#but also? I take it while they all hold expertise in mechanic work at the Sons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

me-loving-woso · 5 months ago

Text

Today. Tomorrow.

Author's note: Hi everyone! So I know I've been MIA for several months. But I'm back! This fic will be divided into 3 parts cause I've realized that I can't write a short one-shot. In no way am I an expert in medicine. The information is from Greys Anatomy and the internet. I apologise in advance if I offend anyone Summary: You never thought you'd find love under these circumstances, but sometimes, love works in mysterious ways. For you, it came in the form of Aitana Bonmatí.

TW: Illness, Cancer, Surgery, Happy Ending

You've just returned to Barcelona after being away due to your job. You were an art restorer and had established a small company with some friends from university. While you specialized in medieval and Renaissance art, your three partners specialized in Japanese art, antique jewelry, and ancient Egyptian art. Your company's diverse expertise made you wanted all around the world.

Although managing such a company and traveling extensively at 26 was demanding, you wouldn't trade it for anything. You loved your job and your colleagues, who were also your best friends. Supporting each other through thick and thin made this life worthwhile for you.

That morning, you were driving to your next job. FC Barcelona, yes, the football club wanted you to restore and polish their trophies. They were meticulous about their trophies, and despite the unnecessary level of care, they requested your services every year to maintain them. It was lucrative work with minimal effort. Even though you weren't specialized in that type of restoration, you were willing to assist your colleague and friend with the task since you had little else to do.

As you parked near the Barcelona training grounds, about to pull up the parking brake, you heard an unpleasant sound, like glass breaking, from the back of your car. You hoped it wasn't what you feared. Taking a deep breath, you checked the other side of your car, hoping it was just your imagination. But as soon as you saw the damage and a small woman approaching you with a mortified expression, you knew the worst had happened. She had hit your car. This couldn't have happened at a worse time.

Walking up to the culprit, you were angry. She was about to speak, but you cut her off. "Sorry, miss. How many fingers am I holding up?" You politely showed her two fingers.

Looking baffled, she replied, "Two?"

"Oh, so you have eyes!" you retorted sarcastically. "I guess an SUV right in front of you was too small for you to see." Your anger was palpable.

"I'm so sorry. I-I was overthinking and didn't turn the handlebar all the way to the right," she stammered apologetically. You could see she was genuinely sorry, but in that moment, you didn't care.

"They should revoke your driver's license. You're a menace," you said, crossing your arms and returning to your car. Taking out the accident report, you said, "Let's fill out the accident report so I can be done with you." She nodded sadly and helped you complete the report.

You knew you were being unfair to her. Stuff happens, but this one was the final straw for you.

As you started filling out the report, you noticed her coming back towards you. Despite her being attractive and all, you were too mad to give a damn. Once you wrapped up your part, you handed her the report to fill out while you rang up your insurance company.

After a couple of minutes of you dialing your mechanic and finishing off the paperwork, you said goodbye to the lady and headed to the Barcelona training grounds.

While you were hanging around, you checked out all the team photos with the trophy. The left side had all the guys' photos, with Messi and the 2009 team, while the right side was all about Barcelona Femeni. Your father was a die-hard Barcelona fan; back in the day, you'd go to some games with him. But when you hit high school, you kinda lost interest in football.

As you spotted last year's Ballon d'Or picture, you suddenly recognized her, which made you laugh out loud. You had just had a small car accident with none other than the Ballon d'Or winner, Aitana Bonmatì.

You thought she looked familiar, but it didn’t really click at the time. Well, at least she's better with her feet than with a steering wheel.

When Eva finally showed up at the training grounds, you rushed over to her.

"Hey Y/n, how's it going?" she greeted.

"I'm good. Some car bumped into me about ten minutes ago, but I'm all right."

"Wait what?!" Eva exclaimed, shocked. Since she found out about your condition and all, she's been super protective. "Are you sure you're okay? Do I need to go all out on someone?"

"The damage ain't that bad. And you'll never guess who I had the run-in with."

You pointed at Aitana's photo on the wall. "Aitana Bonmatì?" Eva asked, puzzled.

"Yep."

"Well, at least she's better at kicking a ball than driving a car."

"That's what I was thinking!" you said, pumped. "Now let's get down to business."

A couple of guys from the club gave you the grand tour and hooked you up with a whole room to work in. You offered to take the trophies back to your lab, but they were set on leaving them there.

As you got everything set up, just as you were about to dive in, the bearded dude was heading out. "Just a heads up, the squad might swing by to check out your work. You know, for Instagram and stuff. Don't sweat it; it won't take too long." You gave a hesitant nod, gearing up for your first trophy.

"Imagine if Aitana walks in here with all her teammates!" Eva quips jokingly as the two guys leave you alone. "I'd pay to see her face when she realizes it's you," she chuckles.

"I think it's the men's team. Otherwise, they would've said it," you comment, preparing your materials.

"How was meeting her?" Eva asks eagerly. She's a big fan of the women's side.

"I didn't even recognize her. I was kinda harsh, actually," you chuckle.

"Luck hasn't been on your side lately, with the car and all," she replies sadly.

"Yeah," you say, feeling a wave of emotions you'd rather not deal with. You shake it off and force a smile. "Let's focus on making some good money. I'd love to have jobs like this every day!"

You start working on Champions League and La Liga trophies. There's a lot, and as the hours pass, you feel even more exhausted.

After a couple of hours, the guy from earlier shows up. "So, the team's about to arrive. Is it okay if we film you?"

Eva looks at you, waiting for your response. "Only if I get some free advertising out of it."

He thumbs up. "I'll tag you in the story."

"You better!" you playfully retort, returning to polishing the 2005 men's Champions League trophy. You fake a smile and wait for the team to arrive.

As soon as you hear female voices, you glance at Eva and chuckle. She whispers a "I told you so" and gets back to work.

When they come in, you make eye contact with Aitana. Her smile turns to shock, then mortification. It takes all your willpower not to laugh. Out of all the people in Barcelona, she had to be the one to hit your car?

You quickly present your work, using fancy words you rarely use and explaining all the procedures. Aitana never comes near you, which makes you feel a bit sorry for her.

Once the cameras stop rolling, some of the players ask you both questions. As they're about to leave, Aitana walks up to you, apologizing awkwardly.

"I'm sorry again."

"Don't worry about it. Let's start fresh, okay?" You offer your hand, and she shakes it, smiling.

"I didn't know you worked with trophies," she adds quickly, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now that the anger has passed, you actually look at her. She's one of the most beautiful girls you've ever seen, and you're a sucker for nose rings.

"I'm actually an art restorer for Renaissance art. I'm here to help my friend with this job."

"That's so cool!" She beams at you. "So, are you going to work on my Ballon d'Or trophy too?"

You glance at Eva, who nods slightly. "Yeah, but probably not until next week."

She looks at you hesitantly. "Can I be there? I mean, it's not that I don't trust you, but I'm just curious, that's all."

"Are you done rambling?" You chuckle lightly at her nervousness. She's probably still embarrassed about the accident.

"Yes, I am," she replies shyly, making you chuckle. There's something about her that draws you in, as if you were meant to be near each other.

"Of course, you can join us. It might be a bit dull for you though, since you're all about adrenaline during your football games."

"I'm just really curious, that's all. I won't bother you, I promise," she reassures you, still smiling.

"I don't think you could ever be a bother," you say before you can stop yourself, turning your head away.

"Well then, as a proper apology, can I bring you coffee tomorrow?" she offers.

"You don't have to, Aitana."

"I insist. How do you take your coffee?"

—

The next morning, you waited for Eva to pick you up for Barcelona's facilities. Since your car was at the mechanic's, she'd be giving you rides for at least a week.

As soon as you arrived at the trophies, you got to work promptly.

"So, you think Aitana's actually gonna bring you coffee?" Eva smirks suggestively.

"I doubt it. She'll probably forget. And maybe she was just being polite," you reply, focusing on your task.

"Well, she was all smiles with you yesterday," Eva starts tentatively.

You turn to her, pausing your work. "What? What are you getting at?" you ask, eyebrows raised in exasperation.

"Maybe she wanted something more than your forgiveness. Like your attention, or an excuse to see you again," she smirks.

"You, Eva, have been reading too many romance novels lately," you chuckle, feeling defeated.

"Two is not too many!"

"We've only talked for fifteen minutes."

"Yet it was the first time I saw you smile in a month," she says, making you roll your eyes once again. You're certain Aitana was just being nice. But you can't deny she's cute. And kind. And nice.

"Eva, you know I can't," you say sadly.

"You deserve a shot at happiness too, you know."

"Yes, but I don't think a super hot football player is the answer."

"Well, maybe a super hot footballer isn't the solution, but I know one who promised you coffee," you turn your head towards the door. There she is, with three coffees on a tray, wearing a shy smile. You blush profusely, hoping she didn't overhear your conversation with Eva, but she seems unfazed, waiting for your acknowledgment.

You take a moment to compose yourself before removing your work gloves and standing up to greet her.

"Hi Aitana. Did you manage to park your car properly?" you tease.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" She hands you your coffee and then turns to Eva. "Well, I didn't know what kind of coffee you preferred, so I just brought you the most basic and likable."

Eva looks at her baffled; neither of you expected her to bring Eva coffee or to see her again. "Oh, thank you!" Eva responds before turning back to you, the absurdity of the situation evident in your wide eyes.

She takes a sip of her own coffee, then looks at the trophy you were just working on. "Have you already worked on ours?"

"We wanted to finish the men's trophies first, then do yours next week," you explain. Eva's phone rings, and she excuses herself to take the call, as it was a work call, leaving you and Aitana alone.

“It’s El Prado, I’ll be right back.”

You sit back down to work, and she curiously comes around the table to your side to see what you're doing. "Don't you have practice today?" you ask.

"We have a rest day," she replies. "Your colleague said El Prado called her, like the museum?"

"Yeah, I have to go touch up some paintings, maybe next month? My schedule's really busy right now."

"You do paintings too?" she asks, surprised.

"I usually only do that. I'm just helping Eva with this job. These trophies are already well taken care of; they don't really need this much attention. But I have to say, LaPorta pays really well," you joke, trying to ease the tension. She chuckles lightly. She has a cute laugh, you think.

"Well, now I'll definitely tell LaPorta!" she jokes back.

"Don't you dare!"

You joke and chat for at least another fifteen minutes. There's something about her that makes your stomach flip in ways you definitely don't want it to. She's attentive, curious, and sweet. She's confident but never boastful, which you find refreshing.

As the minutes pass, she gradually moves closer to you, coaxing you into letting her help with your work. You gently push her away, chuckling, telling her they don't pay her to restore trophies. But she doesn't budge. She grabs a pair of gloves, picks up her chair, and places it next to yours. She sits down, and you turn to her, wide-eyed at the proximity, but soon focus back on the trophy.

She tucks a loose hair lock behind your ear, asking for your attention. You turn to her, cheeks slightly flushed. "You're distracting me, Aitana."

"Maybe that is my intention," she smirks teasingly.

"Do you want me to lose my job?"

"It's not my fault you're easily distracted. I haven't done anything. I just sat next to you and put on some gloves," she raises an eyebrow.

"And that's more than enough," you utter to yourself.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" You reply hastily, but she smiles knowingly, as if she caught you saying something you shouldn't have.

You two stare at each other, like strangers trying to solve a puzzle on each other's faces. You can't quite figure her out. She's the best footballer in the world, yet she's so much more. Still, you feel drawn to her, as if you're meant to be there with her, and she with you.

You're probably imagining things and being delusional. You blame it on your period. The silence fills the room, becoming suffocating. It's too intense, too much.

Thankfully, Eva enters the room, and you jump back into action, focusing on the trophy again, while Aitana stares at the floor.

You look at Eva, who's already sending you a big smirk, making you roll your eyes.

Aitana stands up and walks to the door. "I really have to go now. How about tomorrow?"

"What-"

"Okay. Bye!" And she was already out.

You turn to Eva. “Did I miss something?” She asks.

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

—

"So, the blood work came back," your doctor says, settling into his chair and opening your file. "You have anemia. Until your hemoglobin levels increase, we can't proceed with the therapy. I advise you to adjust your diet to include more iron and vitamin B12-rich foods. Also, consider taking some vitamin supplements."

You nod lightly, already mentally noting a trip to the drugstore. After a final visit from the doctor, you head home.

This week has been relatively relaxed compared to your previous ones in Italy. You've been working on an undemanding job with your best friend, which couldn't have gone better. Well, maybe it did. Every day this week, she brought you coffee and lingered for at least 15 minutes to chat with you. Even with her busy training schedule, she always made time to talk. You wouldn't discuss deep topics or your condition, but you appreciated how she listened and remained interested in your life.

Occasionally, she'd flash you that beautiful smile, tempting you to throw caution to the wind and kiss away all her smirks and grins.

—

That same morning, Eva was alone at the Barcelona training grounds because you were at the doctor's office. Around 9 AM, Aitana arrived, searching for you.

"Hi, Eva. Is Y/n here?" she asks.

"Y/n isn't here today. She had a doctor's appointment. Did she forget to tell you?" Eva replies.

Aitana's face falls into a kicked puppy expression. "She did. Anyway, I wanted to give her this." She hands Eva a bag. "It's game tickets. She mentioned she's never been to a Barcelona Femení game, and I wanted to change that. Can you please give them to her?"

Eva studies her, trying to gauge her intentions. "You like her, don't you?"

"What?" Aitana's taken aback, clearly not expecting those words.

"I get it. She's a wonderful person. And stubborn. Just don't hurt her; she's already going through enough," Eva warns.

Aitana nods lightly. "I hope to see you at the stadium this weekend. Bye!" With that, she leaves.

—

Two hours later, you return to work.

"Hey!" you greet Eva.

"Hey! How was the appointment?"

"I have anemia, among other things, so I have to wait for it to get better before starting treatment."

"That sucks. But on the bright side, your footballer came by."

Damn. You were so wrapped up in conversation with her, and also distracted by her presence the day before, that you forgot to tell her you wouldn't be at work the next day.

"I forgot to let her know I wouldn't be here today," you admit.

"I figured. I saw the disappointment on her face when she didn't see you," Eva says, overly dramatic.

"You're being dramatic," you lightly blush.

"Maybe, but she cares about you."

"She's a good friend. It's no wonder everyone likes her."

"She could be more than a friend. I think she's—"

"Again, Eva. You know I can't! Besides, do you really think a girl like her would go for a girl like me?" With every interaction, your feelings for Aitana have grown. You're ignoring them, but you know they're there. Acting on them wouldn't be fair to her. But there's an inexplicable pull that you can't control.

"Y/n, you have qualities not everyone has. If it's a worthiness issue, it's all in your head." Eva hands you the bag Aitana left.

"You know I can't be in a relationship right now."

"Why?"

"You know why. It wouldn't be fair to her."

"Then stop giving her heart eyes. It's annoying, especially when I'm trying to work," Eva chuckles.

"It's not you she's trying to distract," you admit, blushing lightly. "And I don't give her heart eyes." You pout.

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt," she comments ironically. "But I get it. You've never dealt well with hot women anyway. You're just playing it cool because you're still denying your feelings."

"Stop getting inside my head! Let's get back to work."

That night, you finally open the bag. Inside is an envelope with two tickets to Saturday's game against Atletico Madrid, along with a note.

"I hope you enjoy the game! Since I know you don’t have a jersey, I thought I’d give you one of my old ones."

You pull out the jersey, from last year with the Liga F patch. You subtly smell it, convincing yourself it's not weird. Her perfume lingers, but there's also a scent that inexplicably feels like hers.

The next morning, you wake up an hour early for work. You want to finish an be earlier to surprise Aitana and apologize. Knowing she has a physio appointment ending at 10 AM, you plan to surprise her with a macha latte, just as she did for you all week.

Waiting outside the physio building feels like a terrible idea, making you regret everything. As time passes and she doesn't emerge from the building, you were about to give up. But then, after what feels like centuries, she appears. The look on her face makes it all worth it. She walks quickly to you, still wearing a cute smile.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asks.

"I wanted to apologize. I forgot to tell you about yesterday." You hand her the macha. "Plus, this week, it's my turn." You both sit on a bench.

"Is everything okay? Eva mentioned you had a doctor's appointment," she inquired, causing your brain to pause for a moment.

"Uhm, yeah! Just some anemia, but otherwise, I'm good," you fib.

"That must be tough. My mom also has anemia, but fortunately, it's not that serious," she says, switching to a more excited tone. "So, are you coming to the game on Saturday?"

"Of course," you reply, grinning at her excitement.

"You know, since I gave you the tickets, you have to wear my jersey, or they won't let you in," she teases.

"Too bad, I was planning to wear my Putellas jersey. She's the best player on the team. Plus, I love the number 11," you try to rile her up. Her smile fades, and she's about to stand up when you put down your coffee and wrap your arms around her waist to keep her on the bench. "I'm kidding!"

She sits back down, crossing her arms childishly. "I want my jersey back."

You scoot closer to her, attempting to uncross her arms, but she's surprisingly strong. "Oh no. It was a gift. Besides, I think I can get used to the number 14." Finally, you manage to uncross her arms, and she takes your hand, intertwining it with hers. Your heart begins to race as you stare at your hands together. Her voice brings you back to reality.

"I'll show you who's the best."

"I have no doubt." With your free hand, you tuck one of her locks of hair behind her ear. "And you, woman, are one of the most competitive people I know. It's concerning."

"If we win, we'll probably go out to celebrate. Do you want to come?" she asks shyly.

"I'm already going out. One of my friends wants to celebrate his birthday at a bar. Maybe next time?" you suggest.

"Definitely."

You check your watch. "I really have to go now; I need to get back to work. Same time tomorrow?"

"Bringing you coffee is my thing. Are you stealing my ideas, Y/Ln?" she hints.

"Well then, I won't have a reason to see you," you imply, stepping into unknown territory, but it feels right.

"Well, that's just your loss. Coffee's my thing. You'll just have to find another way to see me then."

"Is that a challenge? Because I can find some other excuses to see you before the match," you grin confidently.

"Like?" she asks, smiling back.

"Well, I was thinking of working on your Ballon d'Or tomorrow evening. You've been bugging me for a week, asking for my help. I'll let you work on your Ballon d'Or, if you still want to, of course."

"Oh, so you want to invite me over to do your job?" she smirks.

"Definitely. This was all planned. You didn't see that coming, did you?"

"You just broke my heart. And for a moment I thought what we had was genuine," she says dramatically, making you poke her side.

"I really have to go now. So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

You walk to your car with a smile plastered on your face, feeling a tingling sensation in your hand from when she held it. You feel and sound like a horny teenager. Never in your life has a person made you feel this way, and that scares you.

—

The next morning, you arrived at work with a newfound excitement, which didn't escape Eva's notice.

"Why are you so happy?" she asked.

"Just the usual," you shrugged.

"Does it have something to do with your footballer?"

"She does have a name, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I've seen her more than my parents this past week. It's concerning. By the way, where is she?"

"She'll be here in the evening when we work on the Ballon d'Ors."

"Then I'll be out of your way."

"You don't have to. Nothing will happen between us, don't worry."

"Yeah, no. I've suffered enough this week. All the giggles, all the weird flirting. I'm done. Plus, you're making me feel extremely lonely."

—

Fast forward to the afternoon, you were waiting for Aitana while finishing touching up all the material. Even though the supplement for anemia gave you more energy, you had been working for six hours straight and couldn't wait to finish.

What was left was Aitana's Ballon d'Or. You hated working with gold, so you were glad this was the last thing for Barcelona. You would probably miss being here, but most importantly, you'd miss a person more.

As soon as she came in, you noticed she was still dressed in Barcelona sweats.

"Hey! Did you just finish training?" you asked.

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

"Tiring. I didn't know you wore glasses." She put your glasses on herself.

"You are definitely blind. I remember you asking me if I was blind when we first met. I guess coming from you, it's even funnier," she teased, earning a poke to the side.

You rolled your eyes. "I had contacts on. What's your excuse?"

She showed you her tongue. "Do I look like an art restorer now?" she fake bragged.

"You are way too fit for anything to do with art," you chuckled, gently removing your glasses from her face.

"Hey! I do, in fact, love everything to do with art. I'm here; that should mean something."

"Being friends with an art restorer doesn't change the fact that you're for sports, while I'm for the visual arts."

"Maybe that's why we get along."

"Maybe." You handed her a pair of gloves, which she excitedly put on. "You're getting very excited for this. Working with gold is very boring."

She shrugged. "I'm working with Spain's best art restorer; it's a privilege," she teased.

"I'm far from being the best," you denied shyly.

"I looked you up, you know. Youngest woman to own an art restoring company, you travel the world because everyone wants you. What more can you do?" she insisted confidently.

"You're the best player in the world. Last year, you won everything. What more can you do?" you flipped the conversation.

"I'm far from being the best. I still have to improve," she repeated your words.

"To me, you are the best, if that means something," you admitted, making her turn to you with a big smile on her face.

"Well, I thought Alexia was your favorite player; you claimed that you love the number 11," she raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Well, I told you that I could get used to a 14 on my back. Plus, she didn't bring me coffee for an entire week just to see me. Lame, I might add," you teased her, making her blush.

"Shut up! You loved it," she said shyly, hiding her face away from you.

"Yeah, I really did... Now let's get started."

For the next half-hour, you taught Aitana a part of your work, filling your heart with joy at her curiosity. Whenever you guided her hands, Aitana would send you a look that you couldn't quite explain. It was intense and riveting, making you internally combust.

She was sitting so close to you; you could smell her perfume and shampoo. Your eyes focused on her, and she lightly stuck out her tongue, which you found extremely cute and distracting. As you gently took her hands, you could feel her calluses even with gloves on, you showed her a movement she had to do.

"Thank you for letting me help you," she said shyly, and you gently squeezed her hands.

"No problem. Plus, it's your Ballon d'Or," you shared a quick, soft look. "Actually, you're doing me a favor. Working with gold is my least favorite thing to do. You made it a little more tolerable."

"I'm glad to hear that," she chuckled. "I hope I didn't distract you too much from your work this week," she confessed insecurely. Insecurity didn't suit her well.

"Did you distract me? Yes," her face fell a little. “Do I care? No. We wouldn't be here now," you reassured her, and she lightly nodded in response. "So, on Saturday, I'll have to find ways to distract you from the game, so then we'll be even," you bumped her shoulder playfully.

"I never get distracted," she said confidently. You were glad to see her back to her confident self.

"Is that a challenge?" you raised your eyebrows.

"No challenge. It's a fact."

"Are we back to being all confident now?" you smirked playfully. "Well, now I'll definitely make it my main goal for Saturday to be able to distract you."

"And how do you plan to do that?" she turned to you defiantly.

"My master plan will be divided into plan A, which I still have to devise, and plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I kinda do?"

"Too bad," you chuckled playfully.

It was 6 PM when you decided to go home. You had stayed with Aitana for more than three hours, but strangely enough, it felt like thirty minutes. You had discovered a new side of her that you couldn't get enough of.

She was different in real life from when she was on the pitch—still driven and determined, but also funny, kind, and gentle. She cared about so many things and was so busy, yet she had time to be with you for more than three hours.

She loved books and days spent at the beach. Her passion for football encompassed her whole life, and you admired how passionate she was about her work.

She reminded you of yourself and your love for art. When you asked her about her favorite books, you were surprised when she replied with nerdy titles. Looks could be deceiving; Aitana Bonmatí was a bit of a nerd, and you loved it.

She walked you back to your car with your bag on her shoulder, insisting that it was too heavy. As you reached your car door, you quickly turned to her. "So I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Definitely."

"Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?" you couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, boss," this time, you received a poke on the ribs. "Ow!"

"Thank you for today. I really had fun. I thought working with gold was going to be more boring."

"It wasn't, thanks to you," you wanted to hug her. No, you felt the necessity to do so. Unceremoniously, you brought her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her neck and drawing her closer. After the initial shock, she wrapped her arms around your waist and held you tighter. The hug lasted longer than necessary, but neither of you wanted to let go.

There was a pull that made you not want to leave her embrace. It was comforting, and even if you didn't realize it at the time, you really needed it. After some time, you broke off the hug, said your final goodbye, and left for home.

—

Upon arriving home, you noticed a light emanating from the living room. Initially startled, you thought it might be an intruder. However, upon entering, you found your annoying brother standing there with his arms crossed.

"Jesus Christ! I thought you were a burglar! Idiot!" you exclaimed, smacking his arms in frustration.

"Hi to you too, sis," he responded with a smirk.

"Why didn't you call me?" you asked, placing your bag on the floor before embracing him.

"I needed to talk to you, and I knew you'd find an excuse not to see me," he explained.

"You live in Manchester!"

"I'm back. Got transferred back to Barcelona."

"For good?" you inquired eagerly. Ciro, your brother, was one of the best sports physiotherapists globally, having worked with Man City for almost two years.

"Yeah, got a call from Barcelona. You know I can't say no to that. Plus, I really wanted to be home," he replied.

He towered over you, twenty centimeters taller, with medium-length wavy hair that made heads turn. You both represented the opposite ends of two worlds—you loved art, he loved sports.

"I'm glad you're back," you said warmly, stepping back from the hug.

"Now, why did I have to hear from Mom that you were sick?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"Ciro, I wanted to tell you, but you were busy with work. I really didn't want to worry you."

"You should've told me," he said sadly. "I would've been there. Could've come sooner."

"And do what? I'll start my treatment next week. There's not much you can do."

"I can be there for you. We made a deal to always stick together. You're my older sister, you've always been there for me. The least I could do is to be there for you," he insisted. You sighed sadly, realizing he was right. You should've told him. Perhaps you wanted to protect him, or maybe you feared that acknowledging your illness would make it too real.

"Did you come home because of me?" you asked tentatively, hoping for a different answer.

"As much as Man City pays, Barcelona is my home. And I really missed my sister."

"You're such a suck-up! What do you need?" you teased.

"Well, now that you ask... I might need a place to stay."

Rolling your eyes, you replied, "You can take the guest room."

After settling his stuff in the guest room, you both decided on pizza for dinner. He insisted you make the call, but you refused, playfully tossing his phone back to him. As soon as he returned, you sat on the couch to catch up on each other's lives. It had been months since you'd seen each other, and despite your reluctance to admit it, you missed him.

"Are you also working with Barca Femeni, or only the men's side?" you asked.

"I still don't know. Definitely covering all the home games and the key players if they're injured. Unsure about the away games."

"I have tickets to Saturday's game for the women's side if you want to come," you offered.

"I'll probably have to cover that game, being the first one," he replied with a suggestive smirk. "Why do you have tickets for a football match? Weren't you against 'the sports'?" he teased, using air quotes.

Blushing lightly, you retorted, "I never said I was 'against the sports.' I just prefer books to football games."

"Then why the sudden interest in watching a football match?" His face lit up. "Is it for a girl?" he asked excitedly.

"No girl!" you insisted, though thoughts of Aitana flickered in your mind. "Just felt like it."

"Then why are you smiling?" he persisted, tossing a pillow your way.

"No particular reason," you lied.

"Okay. You'll tell me when you're ready," he said with a knowing smile.

—

Fast forward to Saturday, and Ciro settled into his new job quickly. He primarily worked with the men’s side, working on Gavi and Balde, the most serious injuries at the moment.

On Saturday, he was to finally meet the women’s side in preparation for the game. Patri was the first to arrive, followed by Pina and Bruna. Aitana was the last, there for additional ankle support.

Upon seeing Ciro, Aitana gave him a strange look, as if he reminded her of someone.

"Hello?" Ciro greeted, puzzled by her expression.

Quickly snapping out of it, Aitana apologized, "Oh, hi, sorry! You kinda looked like someone familiar. I apologize if I gave you a weird look." Extending her hand, she introduced herself, "I’m Aitana."

"Hi. I’m Ciro. I’m the new physio. What can I do for you?" he responded.

During their time together, Ciro realized that Aitana was very chatty about nerdy things like books and coffee places—things that reminded him of you and how well you two would get along.

"You said you just came back from Man City, right?" Aitana asked.

"Yes, I did," Ciro replied.

"Did you know that the first atom was split there?" she commented, making Ciro chuckle. She would really get along with you.

"I think you’d be friends with my sister. She said the same thing when I left to go there," Ciro remarked.

"I guess it’s common knowledge," Aitana stated confidently.

"No, it’s not. But I’ll reply the same way I replied to my sister: who cares about atoms, when Manchester is home to the annual World Pie Eating Championship," Ciro chuckled.

"You got a girlfriend there?" Aitana asked unexpectedly.

Blinking at the question, Ciro replied with a crooked smirk, "Why, are you interested?" It was playful banter, no ulterior motives.

Raising her hands defensively, Aitana replied, "Nope, you’re not really my type."

"Then I should really introduce you to my sister," Ciro teased.

"Nah, I’m already interested in someone else. I’m sorry," Aitana smiled brightly.

"Too bad," Ciro finished up her ankle. "You’re all set. I’m sorry if this conversation was unprofessional. Please don’t report it to the club," he added with a tense smile.

"Don’t worry. We were just talking. But I do have to say, the more I see you, the more you look like a person I know," Aitana observed.

"Well, I hope they are great. I don’t want to leave a bad impression," Ciro replied.

"She’s wonderful," Aitana said before heading to the pitch.

—

Meanwhile, you were getting ready with Eva to go to the Estadi Johan Cruyff.

"So your brother’s back in town for good?" Eva asked.

"Yeah, he’s currently crashing at my apartment until he gets a flat of his own. Feels like we’re back to being teenagers living together for Uni," you replied, putting on Aitana’s shirt and giving it a subtle sniff.

"How’s that going?" Eva raised her eyebrows.

"So far, so good. She’s my friend," you reassured her.

"So, you told her about your condition, right?" Eva asked sternly.

You fell silent. "I’ve been meaning to! I just haven’t found the time yet."

"You need to tell her," Eva urged.

"I know. Let me just ignore it for a little longer," you replied hesitantly.

"She won’t go away, you know that?" Eva reassured you.

"I don’t care about that. We’ve only met three weeks ago. I don’t have some sick attachment issues, okay? I... I just really care about her," you admitted.

"I know you do. Or else we wouldn’t be going to a football game just to see her," Eva said with a smile.

—

At the Estadi Johan Cruyff, Aitana had secured great seating spots for you. As they warmed up, you couldn’t take your eyes off her. When she spotted you in the crowd, her face lit up with a huge smile, and she excitedly waved at you.

The game started quickly, with Aitana making a significant impact on the field. Her passing was precise, and she dribbled past opponents effortlessly.

In the first 15 minutes, she had already made an assist and nearly scored a goal. At the thirtieth minute, she scored a remarkable goal from outside the box, prompting you to cheer loudly.

However, the next action worried you. A harsh tackle left Aitana clutching her ankle in pain. Thankfully, your brother quickly tended to her, and she was able to continue playing, albeit with some discomfort. At halftime, Ciro was still with Aitana, leaving you concerned. But what concerned you more was that she didn’t return for the second half, replaced by another player.You quickly sent a text to Ciro, hoping he’d see it.

**You:** Where are you?

**Ciro:** I’m at work, idiot. You saw me.

**You:** I know, but right now? Is everything okay with Aitana?

**Ciro:** Yes, why? Why are you so concerned?

**You:** She’s my friend. Can I come and see her?

Aitana was perched on the physio bed, visibly annoyed that they’d taken her off at half-time.

“Hey, Aitana,” Ciro turned to her, puzzled by her behavior, away from his phone. “How do you know my sister?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Who’s your sister?”

“Y/n?” He stated, as if it were obvious.

“Like Y/n Y/ln? You’re his brother?”

“Yeah!”

“I didn’t know that! She never mentioned she had a brother. That’s why you looked like her!”

“She wants to come and see you. I can’t let her in, but you can if you want.”

Aitana blushed lightly, a fact Ciro noted but didn’t comment on. Internally, she thanked him for it.

“Yeah, of course she can come if she likes.”

He smirked knowingly, making her blush again. “I’ll go get her. Then we’ll have a small talk on how you have the hots for my sister,” he teased, leaving the room.

As soon as you saw Ciro in the hallway, you understood immediately that he had something in mind.

“Since when do you know Aitana Bonmatì?”

“Since I worked on her Ballon d’Or. We’ve become friends.”

“Only that?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Ciro. Only that.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. You are way too worried.”

“Shut up,” you smacked his stomach hard, making him whine. “And not a word about this around her, understood?”

“Can I say one thing?”

“Then you’ll shush?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“She’s really nice and chatty. I get why you like her. Plus, she’s really hot, not to mention your type?”

“You really want me to get violent on you?” You hit him again.

“Ow!”

“You deserved it.”

“You didn’t deny it though…” You hit him again, this time harder. “This one was my fault. I take it back.”

You both reached the door to the physio room. “Now get back to work, Ciro.”

“So bossy! I hope Aitana likes this side of you!” He teased, and you replied with a glare that clearly said, "I’m going to hit you." Your patience was really getting tested. “Bye!” He quickly left to get back on the pitch, while you opened the door.

—

She was sitting still on the physio bed, with some ice on her ankle, still dressed for the match, and lightly pouting.

“Hey,” as soon as she turned to you, she brightened up.

“Hey!” You approached her. “How’s your ankle?”

You took her in, noticing she looked exhausted even though she only played for 45 minutes. Even though you saw her play, you were glad they let her rest.

“It’s good. They took me off for ‘precautionary measures,’” she rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re healthy,” you replied, turning around to show her you were wearing her jersey.

She grabbed both sides of the jersey and dragged you in between her legs. “You have it on!” she said excitedly.

“Of course! I only wear the best! Great game, by the way,” you lightly caressed her thigh, next to her knee, to give her some reassurance. “You scored a banger!”

“Thank you. I’d rather have played more, though,” she pouted, making you smile at her cuteness. “By the way, what was your secret plan to make me distracted?”

You chuckled lightly, completely forgetting. “Plan A was to distract you just by my presence,” you bragged jokingly, making her giggle and earning you a poke in the ribs.

“That’s not true. You just didn’t think of anything to distract me with,” she said confidently.

“Maybe.”

“What was plan B, then?”

“Becoming a pitch invader or just flashing you,” you said dramatically.

“I would’ve definitely loved to see that,” she gave you a playful smirk, lightly gripping your waist a little harder.

You chuckled, smacking the back of her head. Then, you looked at her properly, changing the mood of the conversation. Her eyes looked so tired. “You look exhausted. You still have the elastic band in your hair. Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“I’m just too lazy to take it off,” she confessed bluntly.

You rolled your eyes and then gently took it off her. “There you go. Do you want me to take out your ponytail too?” You looked into her eyes once again.

“You don’t have to. I can do it on my own,” she said shyly.

“I know you can, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to be near you.”

Her face softened, making you melt like chocolate under the sun. She nodded slowly, and you sprang into action. Taking a step closer, you gently took off the elastic band and looped it around your wrist. You scratched her scalp a little, making her release a relaxed sigh. Chuckling lightly, you took a step back to give her some space. As you were about to take another step, she quickly grabbed you, bringing you even closer to her. Swallowing some of the tension, you realized she was in control now and wanted you closer. You quickly looked at her lips, then back to her powerful gaze.

“You don’t have to find an excuse to be closer to me. I always want you near me all the time,” you tucked your head down to hide your blush, not wanting to show her how much those words had affected you. She gently grabbed your chin and raised it to her level.

“Don’t hide from me. I love it when you blush,” she teased.

“Stop doing that,” your face flushed again.

“Doing what?”

“Being all confident and so close to me. It’s distracting.”

She smirked in response. “Maybe that’s the effect I want you to feel. I’ll let you go if you feel uncomfortable,” she reassured you.

You replied by simply placing your hands on the sides of her face, playing lightly with her baby hair.

“We’ve been skirting around it for two weeks now. Don’t you feel the same pull towards me that I have with you? It’s consuming, and it feels so good,” she admitted.

It was intense, obliterating in a sense, yet you couldn’t resist it. You hated not feeling in control. Acting upon these feelings wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I feel it too,” you removed your hands from her and took a step back, seeing her expression change. You could feel her disappointment. “So much. But I can’t,” you sighed defeatedly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Why?” she asked vulnerably. “Do you have a secret boyfriend or something?”

You took a deep breath and decided to tell her. She deserved to know. You couldn’t continue like this.

“Aitana, I have ca—”

The door opened, and the entire team barged in. You subconsciously took another step back and let the team swarm Aitana. They were checking up on her, but her eyes never left yours.

“Hey, you’re the art restorer!” Patri pointed out.

You quickly changed your demeanor to something more cheerful. “Yes, I just came in to say hi to Aitana. I was just about to leave. I’ll see you.”

You quickly left to reunite with Eva and then headed home.

—

Later that night, you were going to a club to celebrate your colleague Pablo’s birthday, but for you, it was also the last party before you had to start your treatment.

The whole thing with Aitana earlier that day had left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like an asshole and couldn’t shake the feeling that things could have gone better between the two of you.

Realising that you never asked for her phone number and that you had finished your work for the club, you concluded that you probably wouldn’t see her again.

So when you left for the beach bar with your friends, you decided to indulge in some vodka. Eva didn’t question it. She knew that sometimes, when you were out with your friends, you stopped being the responsible one and drank more than usual to have some fun. Pablo and Eva always made fun of you because you never had filters and would always create chaos, but you never went overboard.

You were in the middle of the night, two drinks in, and you started telling your friends that you loved them. They only chuckled in response. You alternated between depressing states and euphoric ones, making Eva, who was also intoxicated, extremely confused.

The whole night shifted again when you saw a group of girls entering the bar, including the one girl you thought you’d never see again. As soon as she saw you, she tried to approach you. She wanted to talk about the conversation you had earlier that day, but you tried to drunkenly escape the conversation. It did not work.

A few moments later, you were met with her standing in front of you while you were sitting down at the bar stools. She saw that you were drunk, and her serious appearance faded for a moment.

“Can we—Are you drunk?” she asked.

“Yep,” you confessed without even trying to hide it. “What are you doing here?”

“We are out celebrating the win. What are you doing here?”

“The birthday party,” you slurred. She had her nose ring on. You loved it when she wore it. “You have your nose ring on. I really like it,” you tried to raise your hand to touch it, but she quickly stopped you.

“How much did you drink?” she asked, concerned.

“Not that much. Why are you so serious? I don’t like it when your face scrunches up.”

She chuckled at your drunkenness. “You are so drunk. I’ll take you home.”

“Nooo. You just got here, plus my friends are about to leave,” you protested.

“It’s no biggie. You need to get home to sleep it off.”

“I think I should. On Monday, I have my first treatment. I shouldn’t feel hungover,” you blurted out.

“You have your first what?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

“What?”

“A kiss. You know, the ones you give to a person with the lips,” you explained, while she slowly took your hand and led you out of the bar.

“I know what a kiss is. I don’t think I should give you a kiss, given your current state. And the fact that a few hours ago you rejected me.” You were out now.

“Wait. Why are we outside?”

“I’m taking you home.” She states.

“You tricked me. You are one little sneaky son of a bitch.” You pout, making her laugh.

“You drunk, is the highlight of my day.”

“That’s so sad.” You cover your mouth with your hand childishly. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She giggles in response. “I still want a kiss from you. And I want to you to know that I didn’t in fact reject you. I just told you that I can’t.” You specify.

She leads you to her car without you realizing it. “I hope you are not one of those people who takes me to their car and then try to kill me.” She opens the car door and helps you inside.

She buckles your seatbelt, and due to the closeness, you blurt out. “You are very beautiful. The most perfect face.”

She chuckles, lightly shaking her head. “You are very beautiful too.” She gives you a quick kiss on the temple and round the car to get to the driving seat.

“Was it that difficult to give me a kiss?” You ask her rhetorically, making her roll her eyes at you.

“Can you tell me your address?” She sat down on the driver’s seat and gently turned your head towards her to get some attention.

“I don’t wanna go home. My brother is there.” You whine. “Let’s go to the beach.” You say excitedly.

“Y/n you are drunk. If you don’t tell me your address I’ll bring you to my home.” Aitana tells you seriously.

“Is that an invite?” You smirk suggestively.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Y/n.”

“Calm down. I was just joking!” You grinned.

“I should probably text Eva.” You sober up and sent her, very slowly, a text.

**You** I’m going hmoe with hot footballer. See you on mnoday. I’m drukn but I love you.

The drive pretty much sobered you up. You were still blabbering nonsense to Aitana, talking to her about the most random things. When you arrived, you quickly noticed that you weren’t in your apartment complex.

“I knew it. You brought me here to kill me,” you said, fed up.

“We are at my home.”

You opened the car door and got out before she could help you. “This whole building is your house?!” you said, shocked, while she quickly walked up to you.

“No, you idiot. I have an apartment,” she giggled lightly.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting to see me like this.”

“I am definitely enjoying this. Too bad I can’t make any videos of you like this,” she said, placing a hand behind your back to stabilize you until you got to her apartment.

You curiously wandered around her living room, taking in her home. It was just like her. Every decoration, every piece of furniture reflected her in some way, only something was missing.

“You should get some artwork to fill up the walls. Your house is beautiful, Aitana.”

“Thank you. I guess you can definitely help with that, don’t you think?”

“Not in this condition.” You sat on the couch, while you waited for her to join you.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Not with you like this, tomorrow morning?” she offered, but you weren’t on board with that.

So, with a swift movement, you sat on her lap, taking Aitana by surprise. You placed her hands on your waist and blurted out. “I’ll talk then. I really like you, but I can’t be with you right now. The connection you feel between us is so real and intense that it scares me. You have been one of my biggest blessings in disguise since you came into my life.”

“I’d rather talk about this when you’ll remember it, but I really like you, and I would like to know why we can’t be together.”

You were sober enough to stop yourself from telling her the truth. “I’ll tell you tomorrow morning, I promise.”

You gently rubbed her shoulders, feeling all her muscles, making you giggle.

“What?” she asked, tickling you for a second or two. She was back to being her unserious self, and her crinkle disappeared. Probably it was because she knew that you were safe now.

“You are so muscular.” You squeezed her biceps. “If we were in a zombie apocalypse, would you protect me from all the zombies? You go fend off our enemies while I do the housewife and part-time art restorer. Maybe zombies make art, who knows?”

“Okay, I will,” she indulged you.

“You promise?” You asked her seriously.

“Yes.”

“Pinky promise?” You raised your pinky, and she laced it with hers. “Now it’s sealed.”

“Let’s go to bed,” she spurred you to stand up and walked you to her bedroom. She quickly gave you some spare clothes to change, leaving the room for you to have some privacy. She gave you some Barcelona shorts and one of her old t-shirts.

Somehow, every item had her typical perfume, and that special something that was characteristically hers. You were now a little more sobered up, which made you less chatty and with some inhibitions.

As you opened the door of her bedroom to see where she was, you saw that she was getting the couch ready to sleep.

“Aitana, come to bed. I can take the couch. You already did more than enough for me today.”

“It’s no biggie,” she shrugged.

“No, it’s a big biggie.” You walked up to her and literally dragged her into her own bedroom. “You take the bed.”

“Then we’ll both take it.”

“We can do that.” You waited for her to take her usual side, then you climbed on the other side. She turned off the light, and you moved to your side to face her. “Thank you for tonight. You didn’t have to, but you still took care of me. You are truly one of the most amazing people I know.”

She kissed your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

She laid on her back, making you subconsciously go near her as much as possible, until you looped your arm around her waist and cuddled into her. In response, she gave you another kiss on the temple and nuzzled into you.

—

The next morning, you woke up with a headache. An arm was keeping you down, and as you opened your eyes, confusion swept over you.

Aitana was still softly sleeping on your side. Memories of last night flooded back into your mind. You guessed that she felt you stir awake because not even a minute after you had woken up, she woke up too.

“Good morning,” she said gently, moving away from you and sitting up, quickly stretching herself. You basically mimicked her movements on the other side of the bed and followed her to the living room.

“Coffee?” she offered.

“Definitely,” you replied, sitting down at her kitchen table. “Can I have a glass of water? My head is killing me.” She quickly retrieved it for you and got back to preparing the coffee. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable last night.”

“You didn’t. I’ve thought about what you told me yesterday: that you can’t be with me because it wouldn’t be fair to me. I think… no, I’m certain, that we can work it out together,” she said hopefully. She was still standing when you chuckled sadly.

“Aitana, you don’t know how much I’d want that. But being with me right now isn’t worth it, and I won’t ask you to wait for me because that wouldn’t be fair to you,” you admitted sadly.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Whatever it is, we can—”

“Aitana, I have cancer.”

Now she sat down. “You told me you had anemia,” she said defensively, not really believing you.

“I do also have anemia. That’s why I’ll start chemo so late from the diagnosis,” you released a sigh.

“Is—is it curable?” she almost whispered, almost not knowing how to take the news.

“Thankfully, I found out early about the tumor. The doctors said a 70% success rate.”

“Where is it?”

“Thyroid cancer. It’s a little bump next to my vocal cords.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she pleaded, almost offended.

“Because...I didn’t want you to see me in a different way,” you confessed as your voice cracked vulnerably.

“I could never see you in a bad light. You are a fighter, Y/n, remember it.”

“Do you understand why I can’t be with you?”

“Yes, and I call it bullshit,” she remarked determinedly.

“What—”

“You know, statistics say that only 30% of relationships last the first year. You literally have more hope to live than us being together.”

“And so?”

“And so, why are you denying us to yourself?”

“Maybe because in the next month, all my hair will fall off, I’ll be as weak as I’ll ever be, and I won’t be able to work anymore?” you said sarcastically. “Do you really want a girlfriend like that?”

“I want you, Y/n. We’ll just have to go through the bad times first before the good parts.”

“You know, Aitana Bonmatì, you are one stubborn woman. You never stop until you get what you want, huh?”

She nodded confidently.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to give you an out? For God’s sake, I have cancer! I might die, and I don’t want you to ruin your life to take care of me. I can’t be that selfish. I care about you way too much!” you replied exasperated, still with your head pounding.

She rounded the table and knelt down next to your legs, taking your hands. “It’s not a decision you can make for me. If you won’t let me be there for you as your girlfriend, then I’ll be there for you as a friend. For the record, I care about you too. And even if you already have Eva and Ciro, I won’t let you go through this alone.”

“We could never be friends, you know that?” you gently caressed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch.

“I know. But you are in control, okay? Let me just be there for you, please,” she practically begged you in the last part. You made her stand up while you thought for a moment.

“You won’t surrender, will you?” Your face adorned with a sad smile, while she shook her head. “I’m just a stranger, Aitana.”

“You are way more than that, and you know it,” she paused for a second. “You would do the same for me.” You nodded. You’d probably do worse if you found out that she had cancer.

"Let's take things slow, okay?" you concede, rising from your seat and placing your coffee cup on the table. "I should probably go home. Tomorrow I start chemotherapy, and I should probably rest," you say with a tinge of sadness. Making your way to Aitana's room, you change back into your clothes. After about five minutes, there's a knock on the door.

She slowly opens it. "Do you need me to drive you home? It's no biggie," she offers.

You nod slowly. "Can I come with you for your chemo?" she asks, her voice tentative, not wanting to overstep.

"I don't want you to see me like that," you explain, seeing her disappointment. "But maybe you could come and pick me up afterwards? We can go to lunch somewhere," you suggest.

"I'd love that," she replies with a small smile. "By the way! I think it's time for you to give me your phone number! I still can't believe we haven't exchanged numbers," she chuckles, and you hand her your phone.

She bursts into a giggle, sending you a knowing smirk. "I'm glad to hear that Eva is happy you went home with a hot ass footballer. The next part of the text, it's better that I don't say," she teases, causing you to blush profusely.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, covering your face with your hands.

"Oh no. I love it," she counters, smirking confidently as she tosses your phone back to you. As you unlock it to read Eva's texts, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

**Eva** Fucking finally!

Now go and sex up that hot ass footballer!

"Damn it!" you exclaim, exasperated, prompting a chuckle from Aitana.

The drive back home is mostly silent. As she stops right next to your door, you're unsure how to bid her goodbye. It's been a heavy morning for both of you, and you need time to process everything. You had intended to push her away, give her an out. But she refused to give up, surprising you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right? You'll text me?" she asks, her voice tinged with insecurity.

You reassure her with a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tani. Thank you for everything." With that, you exit the car and wave one last time before entering your home.

Sitting on the couch with a sad expression, you stare at the turned-off TV. You feel awful, like you've made Aitana feel awful. Groaning loudly, you bury your face in your pillow.

Ciro emerges from the guest room, eyeing you. "Rough night?" he asks.

"I told her," you confess.

He sits next to you and pulls you into a hug. "Did it go badly?"

"No, I guess. Is it bad if I wish she had just told me to get out of her life?"

"No," he replies, rubbing your back soothingly. "But I'm glad she'll stick around."

—

Meanwhile, Aitana returns home and collapses on the couch, her face turned toward the wall. She lets out a light but painful sob.

"Damn it."

In the afternoon of the same day she found out of your cancer, she had a recovery session at Barcelona. For the first time ever, she just wanted to stay home.

Despite being off during all her training, her teammates didn’t ask what was going on, as she's not one to let her emotions affect her play. But that day, she was anything but focused. Ciro noticed and approaches her during a water break.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi, Ciro," she greets him, trying to hide her emotions.

"You good?"

"I'm good. Just tired."

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Aitana nods and rejoins her teammates.

"When did you become friends with the physio? Are you over the Art Restorer?" Keira asks.

"Her name is Y/n, and that's her brother," Aitana replied emotionless.

"The hot gene really does run in their family," Patri remarks, earning a smack from Keira.

—

Your first chemo treatment isn't as bad as you feared. Your energy isn't drained at all; in fact, you're super alert, probably because of the steroids.

Aitana arrives half an hour early and joins you in the hospital treatment room.

You're nearly finished; you just have to complete the saline shot.

"Hey, how are you?" Aitana enters the room and gives you a quick hug before sitting beside you. You'd be lying if you said you weren't happy to see her. Her smile melts away your worries in an instant. She's here, and that's enough to lift your spirits.

"I'm nearly done. How's training?" you ask.

"It's good. We worked on free kicks and rondos, so some light stuff. I brought you some snacks," she says, handing you dried fruits and nuts. "I read that the first chemo might make you feel drowsy, and since you also have anemia, I brought you some food with iron."

You smile softly, thanking her with a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Tani." Opening the bag, you search for some almonds. "I hate raisins," you remark.

"Just give them to me," she offers, and you quickly pass all the raisins to her as you eat the rest. "I don't know how you like raisins," you say, giving her a disgusted look.

"They're just fruit," she chuckles.

"How was the treatment? Do you feel sick?" she asks, worry evident in her voice.

"For now, no, probably because of the steroids. I should bring something to do next time," you say, your gaze softening. "About yesterday, we're good, right? I felt like we left each other on a bitter note.”

"It's okay. It was a pretty intense day. Let's just move forward, okay? So, I'm thinking... Let's go get some food, then we'll start our DreamWorks/Disney marathon. What do you say?"

For the past two weeks, the two of you had been discussing doing a movie marathon, and since you both liked kids' movies, you settled on that. However, there was one point of contention: she argued that Disney movies were better, while you favored DreamWorks. So the two of you had started arguing about which was best, and the winner was yet to be decided.

"I'm feeling great! We don't have to barricade ourselves in one of our homes. We can go to the beach and maybe take a walk," you offer, not wanting to confine her to spending the entire day indoors with you, knowing she's a very active person.

"Oh no! We have to finally settle this debate! It's been going on for too long now! Plus, you're going to need all the rest you can get, and I don't mind keeping you company," she insists.

"Are you sure?" You check once again.

"Yes, I'm sure," she reassures you.

—

Her idea proves to be right because as soon as you get home, you feel the steroids wearing off, with a sudden tiredness enveloping your body. As you drive to your home to start the movie marathon, Aitana notices almost immediately, quickly taking your hand and gently squeezing it, not letting go until you arrive.

"Your home is so full of books! I love it," she says excitedly as she steps inside your house.

"I love reading, and I have a college degree and currently doing my second specialization. I guess I have been the culprit of the death of some trees," you joke.

You fetch your grandma's blankets that she knitted for you, then return to the living room.

Aitana is already sitting on the couch with her arms open, waiting for you. Despite wanting to be held by her, you fear she might feel uncomfortable, so you sit on the opposite side.

She looks at you quizzically and then drags you to lay on top of her. You release a content sigh and proceed to hug her sides, fully taking in her body against yours. "Didn't you get the memo? From now on, I'll be your designated cuddle buddy," she giggles.

"Oh my god! How stupid! I completely forgot!" you joke.

She holds you tighter as you search for a movie to watch together, settling on "The Little Mermaid." You start to drift off, only remembering a faded kiss on the temple and a whispered, "You rest. I'll be here when you wake up, mi sirenita."

Approximately an hour later, Ciro returns home after spending the day with the men's team. He's really worried about you and how the treatment went, but he doesn't expect what he sees. You're lightly sleeping on top of Aitana, while she watches a movie on TV.

"Hey," he whispers.

Aitana's head shoots up to look at him. "Hey. She just fell asleep; the drugs wore off, and she got tired."

He smiles softly at the sight of his sister with someone who cares enough to be with her, even while she's sleeping. "How are you feeling?" he asks her.

"Oh, I'm good. She let me come inside while she finished up her treatment, and we had lunch at that place she always talks about."

"I'm glad she lets you be with her. She's stubborn, but don't give up. She'll come around," he reassures her.

She looks at you. "I really hope so," then turns back to Ciro. "Oh, you should text Eva! Y/n told me that she would text her, but I guess she forgot; she might be worried." Hearing all of this chatter, you stir awake, still drowsy.

"Tani, where is all this sound coming from?" you asked her groggily, still keeping your eyes closed.

"Ciro is here," she informed you.

"Hi Ciro," you lightly waved at him, then cuddled up against Aitana once again.

"Hey, how was chemo?"

"Tiring," you replied.

"I can see," he chuckled.

You raised your arm to show him the middle finger. "Okay! I'll wake you up later; you have to call mom."

You grunted at the thought. "Okay, okay. But now let me sleep."

"Do you want to go to bed?" Aitana asked you.

"You are too comfortable!" you replied.

"Why don't we go to bed? We'll be even more comfortable," she giggled.

"Okay," you slowly removed yourself from her and walked with her to your bedroom.

As soon as Aitana laid down on the bed, you resumed the same position as before. You indeed were more comfortable.

"You are the best cuddle buddy, Tani. Thank you." You gave her a kiss on the corner of her lips and fell back into a deep slumber.

—

Approximately an hour later, you woke up. You patted your bed to find Aitana, but she wasn't there. You quickly got out of bed, feeling a little better, and went to the living room to get a cup of water. In the kitchen, you found Ciro.

"Where's—"

"She left about five minutes ago; she had to do some media stuff with Barcelona, and she didn't want to wake you," he explained.

—

For the next two weeks, you had fallen into a routine. Whenever you had chemotherapy, Aitana would take you back for lunch away from the hospital, and sometimes you would take small walks together or watch movies if you were extra tired. In those two weeks, you had gotten a chance to know her better. The more you talked to her, the more you couldn't picture yourself without her.

She was incredible. But most importantly, you loved how she made you feel. She was always so supportive, never failing to make you smile, but most importantly, she was ever-present.

Eva and Ciro would tease you so much because whenever she was around, you became a completely different person: nicer and more compliant. However, the mood from the first two weeks changed when you started losing hair.

You never really gave much thought to your hair; it was long and wavy, and honestly, you never thought about how being bald would actually make you feel. When single locks of hair started falling out, it was really a punch into reality. You had cancer, and your hair was falling out. Still, you didn't tell Ciro or Eva about it, and especially not to Aitana.

You were currently cuddling up next to her while she gently caressed your back. You had just finished your treatment for the week, and you were more exhausted than usual. Your throat was hurting, and your legs were aching as if you had just run a marathon. Aitana was rambling on about a book she started reading that you suggested.

"It's actually so good, no wonder you have great tastes in books," she lightly praised you, giving you a kiss on the scalp. She then tucked your hair behind your ear, but the lock remained in her hand.

"Since when have you been losing hair, Y/n?" she asked softly.

You moved away from her and sat on the couch, realizing that you had just lost another lock of hair. "It's been a week now," you uttered sadly. "Let's just not think about it, okay? I don't want to talk about it," you got defensive.

One thing that you didn't want was for Aitana to see you actually sick or suffering the consequences of cancer. One thing was tiredness, but another thing was losing hair.

"Do you maybe want to shave it all off?" she tried.

"Aitana, I don't want to talk about it, please."

"Okay, okay. I'll stop talking." You felt ashamed and embarrassed that she saw you like this, weak. So you completely closed off from her.

"It's getting late," you looked at your watch. "Tomorrow you have practice, and I have to study. I think that you should leave."

"Wha—"

"Aitana, please," you pleaded, with a vulnerability in your voice that you really didn't want to show.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." With that, she left.

—

You took a loud sigh and went to the bathroom. Your brother's electric razor sat on the counter, and you just looked at it, unable to bring yourself to use it. You tried to convince yourself that you weren't actually losing her, but that didn't quite work.

Whenever you touched your hair, a lock would fall off. It was time to shave it off. Sitting down on the bathroom floor, you sighed deeply. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice when your brother came back home.

He appeared in the bathroom after a couple of minutes. "There you are! I thought you left. Where is Aitana?"

"I told her to leave," you said absently, still looking at the razor. He looked confused, both by your state and how you had kicked out Aitana. "My hair started to fall off. I've been trying to shave it off all afternoon, but I can't." You broke down crying at the last sentence.

"Gosh, I feel so stupid! I never bothered until now about my hair, and now all of a sudden, I can't get rid of it!" Frustrated, you punched your leg.

He sat down next to you and grabbed the razor from you. "But it's not just hair, isn't it?" he stated simply. "Losing hair is a physical reminder of what you are going through. It's scary, especially because you are someone who deals with problems by ignoring them."

You released a choked-out chuckle. "It's scary. You have cancer, you can die. Just like dad. And losing your hair may feel like you are out of control, like your body isn't responding to you anymore like before. But it's just hair." He turned on the razor. "Hair will grow again eventually." He moved the razor next to his scalp, making you react almost immediately.

"What are you doing?" You tried to move his hand away from his hair, but he wouldn't budge.

"I'm showing you that you are not alone, and for as long as you are in this fight, we are in this together." He quickly shaved a whole strip of his hair.

"Are you an idiot! Why did you do that?!" You said angrily, knowing that he would most probably pull off something like this, and even if you begged him not to do it on multiple occasions, he still did it. He didn't bother with your angry tone as he kept shaving off his hair until he was nearly all bald.

"See! It's just hair. Losing your hair is tough, but you know what? It's just another step until you get better. You are a fighter, and you are stronger than this." You were at a loss for words, so you just hugged him.

"Did you search on Google how to talk with your family member who has cancer?" You chuckled lightly, trying to break a little tension.

"I did," he said honestly, earning a small giggle.

You stayed a while inside his embrace, but then you soon remembered why you were in the bathroom. "I think I'm ready to shave it off.”-

—

After a very intense and emotionally charged afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the couch wearing one of your old Adidas beanies. You realized that one drawback of being bald was the constant feeling of coldness. Touching your head without any hair on it was something you had to get used to. It felt strange yet oddly cathartic, signaling your readiness to continue with the treatment.

"So, are you going to tell me why you kicked out that poor girl who's been following you like a lost puppy since you met her?" Ciro jumped on the couch to sit next to you.

"She's not a lost puppy."

"Well, she's been ever-present, bringing you food and always taking naps with you even when she could be doing other stuff."

"Don't make me feel guilty," you said defensively.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do. You haven't fully given her a chance, and I believe she wouldn't want anything more than for you to give her a chance. You are all she talks about." His confession made your cheeks redden, trying to hide away the stupid smile forming on your face.

"I don't want to hurt her," you uttered sadly.

"By pushing her away, you are doing just that."

"I know, but what if I give her a chance and it goes wrong? What if she decides it's too much, or I don't make it? I can't deal with that."

"What if it works? You're simply denying yourself some happiness, which I think you fully deserve."

"Why are you being so wise today?" You tried to change the subject.

"I'm just trying to help out my sister, plus I really hope that if the two of you get together, she'll stop talking about you during the physio sessions. That girl is chatty," he chuckled.

"I should probably go and talk to her," you said.

"She should be home; she told me she needed to rest for tomorrow's practice."

You put on your coat and left for Aitana's apartment with newfound determination.

#woso imagine #barca femeni #woso x reader #aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati #alexia putellas #woso fic #barcelona femeni

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lollytea · 4 months ago

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Delighted myself thinking about the witch kids again, specifically their various attempts to build a replacement portal during the Summer. I'm picturing lots of brainstorm sessions that stretch late into the night and when they get tired enough, they devolve into arguing over who gets the last piece of pizza or playing truth or dare or whatever.

Hunter is feeling really proud of himself for having helped Belos rebuild a portal before. He has experience! He can make himself super useful! And then Amity 'Woman in STEM' Blight is also aiming for the same thing. She's an inventor's daughter. Her Dad's main area of expertise is using magic to power technology. She has plenty of opinions on the mechanical side of things.

Hunter and Amity either click extremely well and are plotting away at a prototype immediately or they disagree on every trivial detail and cannot go five minutes without arguing about it. There's no real resentment here. They're both just used to doing everything themselves and struggle to work as a team.

I don't think the project would get off the ground without Luz. She keeps everybody from wasting time with dud ideas because she's already spent tons of time in the Boiling Isles attempting to build a portal home. She knows exactly what WONT work cuz she's already tried it. She's also got a knack for thinking outside of the box and knows that even though glyphs are rendered useless in this realm, they can still be utilized. If she draws just the right glyph combo and finds a bit of magic for the glyphs to soak up, she's pretty sure they can light this portal's engine up.

Vee reminds them that she's still got a supply of Hexes Holdem cards, which have been working pretty well for keeping her human form. Luz, who had forgotten those things existed, nearly hits the roof in excitement.

Vee doesn't contribute much to the whole construction process, but while she does supervise. She did a health and safety course while at Summer Camp and is diligently making sure nobody is getting their asses blown up.

Portal Building is not Willow's strong suit. She does not have Luz and Hunter's experience, Amity's engineering knowledge or Gus' enthusiasm for tinkering with human technology. So she does what she does best and offers support. She hypes her smart friends up. And when they start doubting that they're actually making any progress, Willow swoops in to encourage them that if ANYBODY can build a portal, her best friends can!! Once the team realizes that they're gonna need something super strong to hold the portal upright, Willow beams. Her vines!! Her vines are tough as hell!! She can do that!!

Gus falls behind a little at first. He might be a prodigy but his skills are quite dependent on the existence of actual magic, so he struggles a bit to find his purpose here. He's very eager to work with human technology but Luz knows more about them than he does. He's smart enough to offer ideas but Hunter and Amity always come up with them before he does because they're both annoyingly STEM brained and have gotten a bit competitive about it. Gus is given the task of gathering equipment for the portal with Vee and he tries not to pout about it. After they managed to track down a half busted TV at a lawn sale, Vee takes him to a petstore to cheer him up. Gus gloomily stares at the hamsters running in their little wheels. He idly thinks about an article he read in one of his human magazines. About how hamsters in wheels can create energy. Unfortunately, hamsters aren't magic.

Cut to 2 days later when the team realizes that the Hexes Holdem cards just aren't gonna cut it. They don't possess nearly enough magic to power up a portal. It's not gonna work. All the time they've spent on this, and it's not even gonna work. They need something else. Anything else.

Luz looks like she's gonna burst into tears. Amity is pacing back and forth. Hunter is like this close 🤏 to slamming his head against the wall in an effort to rattle a genius idea out of his brain. Willow is making a valiant effort to keep everybody from having a full blown meltdown.

Gus is staring intently at Flapjack who is pecking away at the floorboards again. Then he's like "Hey....hear me out....what if-?"

#yes the portal got blown up so none of this matters #but im interested in the journey #how all the kids have very different brains #and how they brought all of their skills together #i think luz and gus have that unconventional thinking thing in common #but i imagine luz coming up with clever but realistic plans. meanwhile gus is operating on a far wilder train of thought #luz was so distracted by the dread that something as random as palismen hamster wheels wouldnt cross her mind #while gus is like. always thinking about weird human realm stuff #also i love the idea of amity and hunters being the engineers of this project #tinkerer!amity i LOVE you and wish we saw more of you #and as much as i love willow which you know is a LOT i know shes not brainy in this specific situation #not the way her friends are #but she still helps. they all help

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zepskies · 11 months ago

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Why We Love the Boys

As promised, here is my review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes. I actually used to write book reviews in my high school journalism days, so here we go!

What this book is: A masterful deep dive. A study on character psychology, the source of the comic and show’s inspiration, and the narrative themes illustrated in The Boys that parallel American culture and our real lives.

It includes interviews from one of the comic’s creators, Darick Robertson, The Krip himself (Eric Kripke), and actors Jim Beaver (Robert Singer), Aya Cash (Stormfront), Chace Crawford (The Deep), Jessie T. Usher (A-Train), Nathan Mitchell (Black Noir), and of course, Jensen Ackles (Soldier Boy).

It also includes a small but significant ode to the creativity of fans and fandom (with a mention of fanfic writers)!

I’ll admit, I felt seen. 😊

Who wrote it: Psychologists Lynn S. Zubernis and Matthew Snyder. Zubernis is a self-proclaimed fangirl of not only this show, but Supernatural and Eric Kripke in general. (That aspect definitely comes through in her writing.)

She is also editor of Family Don’t End with Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Changes Lives and There’ll Be Peace When you Are Done: Actors and Fans Celebrate the Legacy of Supernatural. Both of which I now want to read.

Several other authors also contributed to this book, as their expertise and backgrounds lend to the subjects they’re covering, such as racism, sexism, the entertainment industry, the comic’s inception, and more.

Who wants to read this book: Anyone who enjoys learning about what makes characters tick. What drives their choices, their sense of morality and justice, and their trauma and strife that lead them to do heinous things. This book will help you better understand your favorite characters (and how to write about them).

Perhaps most importantly, this book is for anyone who wants to read it put into words, why many of us love The Boys, as well as Supernatural.

In a way, the latter is more escapism entertainment than The Boys. Because in this show, there isn’t much, if any escape.

Despite this being a “superhero show,” as we all know, it’s so much more than that. It’s a mirror held directly into our own faces: about why we enjoy heroes and antiheroes, and excuse the “bad behavior” of the ones we like.

About mental health, grief and loss, nature and nurture, coping mechanisms and the importance of choice in dealing with trauma; of racism, sexism, misogyny, weaponized social media, politics, corporate greed, and the power (and cruelty) of good marketing.

This book explores the true villain of the story (and it ain’t Homelander).

I’m going to get into my favorite aspects of this book—as well as an amazing chapter on Soldier Boy’s character study (and why we love him, perhaps too much).

Though in my opinion, it was missing one small, but key thing…

The Mirror of The Boys on Screen

This world is a gritty, bloody, and at times all-too realistic take on how superheroes would be if they lived in our world.

They are the worst of celebrities, professional athletes, and politicians all rolled into one. They are the shiny products of a company and are marketed as such. And they often buy into their own hype.

Some of my favorite quotes on this topic:

“The Boys often reflects darkness in our real world that is uncomfortable to watch. While we go through the tedium of our daily lives, trying to get by and using television or comics as an escape, it can feel difficult and overwhelming to confront the very real and insidious sources of authoritarianism, nationalism, and corporatism that are not just part of a story. “This show holds up a mirror and forces us to catch a glimpse of things we need to question, and asks us why we so easily believe the talking points of systems with marketing departments and press flacks behind them that carefully massage every word in order to get us to feel enamored with their product or policy.” (p. 227-228)

“The Boys works to reveal the nonaltruistic, sociopathic nature of contemporary US corporate culture. In a sense, The Boys uses the behavior of its characters to diagnose not an individual, but a culture.” (255)

In studying narrative I’ve learned that the best fiction and art serve to reflect the human experience. In this case, it’s something The Boys does expertly, even though it’s packaged in extreme, shocking, and often uncomfortable ways. But also in brutal, hilarious satire that’s fun to watch.

It “exposes real-world abuses, revealing many” of our own frustrations in American culture and in life in general (267).

Major Themes & Questions Explored

Several Boys themes are explored from a psychological, cultural, and narrative point of view, as I mentioned earlier. These are some of my favorite segments:

Toxic Masculinity & Narcissism

A whopper in The Boys, and the main theme of season 3. This book defines clearly what both of these words actually mean from a psychological point of view.

It also takes the bad taste out of your mouth that you might get from just hearing the words “toxic masculinity,” as it’s a phrase that can be carelessly thrown around to describe men and character traits that aren’t truly toxic.

How being emotionally available to your loved ones and not repressive of your feelings doesn’t make you weak, or less of a man. And how “being strong” doesn’t mean being physically violent and domineering. (AKA: the Big Swinging Dick™️ in the room.)

Narcissism is explored in a very interesting way. The book gives a diagram of different aspects of narcissists and how each character (Soldier Boy, Homelander, Butcher, and the Deep) falls into them.

Soldier Boy, for example, is classified as a “Classic Narcissist,” while Homelander a “Malignant Narcissist.” <- This will play into SB’s character study, and the main difference between SB and Homelander.

Butcher, however, displays narcissistic tendencies but is not, in fact, a narcissist. (More of an antisocial sociopath. Yay for him.)

Misogyny & Sexism

The classic superhero world of comics dates back to the 1930s and ‘40s. It has been, and in many respects still is a (White) male-dominated industry, where in narrative, female superheroes typically work under a male leading the team, as in Justice League, Teen Titans, and the Avengers.

As much as I love DC and Marvel comics, female characters have also been drawn wildly sexual for male readers and the male gaze, and non-supe characters have been written primarily as love interests and damsels for the hero to save. (Think Lois Lane, Lana Lang, and Mary Jane.)

Modern adaptions have given female characters more agency, but their foundations were rooted in underlying sexism and the mythic hero—an Odysseus-type with certain characteristics of male strength and heroism. And that goes all the way back to classic literature, like The Odyssey, Beowulf, and the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In The Boys, the female supes go through the same issues as their comic counterparts. And they are treated how women are treated in the real world—marketable as sexual objects. (Starlight’s forced costume change is a prime example.)

Author Danielle Turchiano argues in the book that the women in power at Vought (Madelyn Stillwell, later Ashley) are given only so much power as men like Stan Edgar and Homelander give to them.

Stillwell, Ashley, and even Stormfront “drink the Kool Aid” of the misogynistic infrastructure of Vought, but they’re not truly “powerful” in and of themselves. (112)

And I would add that the only female characters that have or find true agency are Grace Mallory, Annie January/Starlight, and Maggie Shaw/Queen Maeve. Even Victoria Neuman is trying to work the political schematic and Vought by operating “within the system” Vought has created.

Mental Health, Trauma & Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

This is a huge section, and rightly so. It kind of spans throughout the book, really, because all of these characters have traumas that inform who they are as adults making the (often grotesque) choices they make.

For many of these characters, it stems from their upbringing and fraught relationships with their parents, whether explicitly or implicitly explored in the show.

Butcher: Is an antisocial sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Arrogant, emotionally manipulative, violent, and obsessive. He was also physically and emotionally abused by his father, led to use drinking and violence as a means to cope and express himself. His rage is so deep under his skin—he loathes himself for it (and his father), but struggles immensely to escape it.

Homelander: A malignant narcissist, the height of arrogance, and emotionally manipulative. He lacks empathy for others' pain, and in fact enjoys inflicting it. Yet he was a sensitive, gentle child who only wanted connection and love. Vogelbaum raised him like a lab rat and fostered him in a cold, detached cell. He was raised to be entitled and to believe he was an all-powerful god, the lord of his own kingdom within his mind, excused from the responsibility of his actions.

Soldier Boy: Also a narcissist; violent, arrogant, misogynistic, and often indifferent to the damage he causes, emotional or physical. Yet he was also emotionally abused by his father, who set high and exacting standards for what it meant to be a man. It drives Ben to try and prove his worth to his father, though he’s never able to. It fosters the lack of self-worth he feels as he seeks validation through fame and what he believes power to be.

These three characters have many similarities, but also notable differences that set them apart from one another. And both Butcher and Soldier Boy use substances like drugs and alcohol to cope with their traumas—ones that their forced stoicism and sense of manhood won’t allow them to easily express.

“We see Soldier Boy use substances almost continuously in season three to deal with his PTSD from the childhood emotional abuse he received from his father, the betrayal and assault from his team, and the torture he endured from the Russian scientists.

“In the short term, the use of drugs and alcohol to avoid thoughts and feelings about traumatic experiences can be felt as helpful, but in the long term, it hinders one’s ability to process emotions and can cause a deeper depression from the guilt and shame of both avoidance and substance abuse.” (27)

Heroes, Antiheroes & Villains

This book explores two key questions that the show encourages you to think about:

Who the hell is the hero of this story?

And who is the villain?

The surface-level answer is that Homelander and other supes like him are the villains, and Butcher and his band of bros are the heroes (or antiheroes). But they commit just as questionable, sketchy, and downright murderous acts as the supes they’re trying to take down.

“Butcher is not really a good guy. He’s manipulative and self-centered. His reasons for wanting to take down Homelander are utterly personal. That it serves the greater good is almost a coincidence.” (9)

And if Butcher is not a hero, but a vengeful vigilante, then why do we root for him so much?

Well, we see his incredible flaws. But I sympathize with his struggle in losing his wife and the life he could've continued to have with her. I root for the underdog going against the hydra head of Vought and the psychopathic Homelander.

And I see in Butcher, as I also do with Homelander and Soldier Boy, their traumas and their internal conflicts, their deep-rooted self-loathing, and a desire, deep, deep down…to be loved.

(And to foster connection with others, even if they’re unable to sustain them.)

On the flipside, we have antagonists in this show who do truly heinous things. What makes them compelling and even sympathetic, yet again, are their painful upbringings that have shaped them to be who they are. The supes of this show are byproducts of being treated like products.

Like the saying goes: Villains aren’t born, they’re made.

That’s why the real villain of this story is Vought International. It’s an allegory, and an indictment of the ruthless corporate greed that pervades American culture—and much of the world.

It’s why Stan Edgar is sometimes scarier to me than even Homelander (and was the true villain of my story, Break Me Down), if far more insidious.

Speaking of BMD, let’s get to it, shall we?

Here’s a (lot) bit about the Soldier Boy section of the book.

Soldier Boy: Why We Can’t Hate Him

I had to laugh out loud at the title of Soldier Boy’s chapter:

Loving the Villain: The Confusing Case of Soldier Boy

I’m not gonna lie. I felt called out. 😂

It is a confusing dichotomy. Soldier Boy is an absolute asshole. Misogynistic, narcissistic, arrogant, callous, violent…

But also deeply traumatized, a man-out-of-time, emotionally abused, byproduct of the historically and culturally different time he was raised in, a man who just doesn’t get it…

And also charming, adorably grumpy, and undoubtedly attractive.

It’s hard to indict “Ben” as an unredeemable villain in the same way I do Homelander, the psychologist-labelled Malignant Narcissist.

Therein lies the main difference between Soldier Boy and Homelander: Soldier Boy doesn’t take joy in harming others the way Homelander does. But he still harms people, whether he means to or not.

Zubernis confirms many of my own conclusions and ideas about Soldier Boy, and why I still rooted for him to be better, and didn’t want him to die at the end of season 3.

As Zubernis rightly exclaimed during her own watch of the finale: “Noooo, don’t kill the Danger Grandpa Baby Murder Kitten!” (175)

Because Jensen did what he does best in his roles: He made us feel Ben’s pain.

“What’s funny is, in regard to Jensen playing Soldier Boy, you know he’s fucking fantastic, he’s just so good at bringing the audience, and it’s almost like—what I laugh about is, he was probably a little too good at his job!” Kripke said. (180)

And he continues, “In part it’s because of the fandom. So many people took his side in the finale, they’re like, Were’s on his side, fuck everyone! And you’re like, but he’s the bad guy and he’s trying to kill a ten-year-old.”

Were there fans who held this viewpoint? I’m sure. There are some radicals who don’t give a fuck and will side with their favorite character, come whatever. But while I can’t speak for others, that’s not how I interpreted that moment in the season 3 finale.

Yes, I think Soldier Boy was (wrongfully) willing to fight Ryan. Do I think he would’ve killed him? I’m not sure. I think he would’ve done what he had to do to get Ryan out of his way in his fight with Homelander. Maybe he would’ve been more violent than he intended, in the callous collateral damage he’d shown throughout the season, or maybe he would’ve gone that far, if provoked.

It’s a tough call, as I think this character can go one way or the other in terms of his “villain” nature. We just haven’t seen enough of him in the series yet for me to make that conclusion on the canon-version of Soldier Boy. (In fanfic, I’ve explored my own interpretation.)

But overall, I think The Krip once again underestimated the power of Jensen’s acting.

…And the ardent nature of his mostly female fanbase. 😂

Why We Love Soldier Boy

The author cites multiple reasons for why we love Ben more than we probably should:

It’s Jensen Ackles. Fair enough. His talent speaks for itself.

Soldier Boy’s backstory: He was emotionally abused by his father and as a result, he has a complex regarding his self-worth, “something to prove,” and a secret need for attention, validation, and praise.

He has trauma and PTSD: He is displaced from what is familiar to him and confused when the boys find him, and that is the least of it. He’s been tortured for 40 years. Can you even conceive of that?

He’s charming: in a sexy grandpa, adorably grumpy, lovable asshole kind of way.

We’re drawn to danger: dangerous “edgy” types are fun, especially when you’re physically attracted to the character.

He has his moments of vulnerability: Jensen’s ability to play the nuance in the character is the ultimate draw. I felt his pain, could see his torture, and his resulting PTSD. He longs for a family, even if his ability to bring up those children is questionable at best. 😅

But I think the one aspect the author doesn’t consider is the character’s capacity for change.

Soldier Boy’s Potential

Again, I don’t think you can write off Soldier Boy’s potential for positive character development the same way you can Homelander, or even Butcher.

For one thing, we just haven’t spent enough time with the character. A lot of his collateral damage after he escapes imprisonment has been accidental, or PTSD-induced. Though we can’t discount how he murdered M.M.’s grandfather via collateral damage (and was callous about it).

I think this is what drew me to write about Soldier Boy. “For all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben.”

In the book, Nathan Mitchell also says something amazing about his own character (Black Noir) that resonated with me about Soldier Boy as well:

"One of the ingredients of a compelling character is contradiction. How does one aspect of our personality contradict with one another? [...] Who is he underneath? How might his true nature contrast with the demands of his job?"

Or coded for Soldier Boy/Ben: The pressures he puts on himself to be the type of man he thought his father wanted him to be.

Again, his sexist, misogynistic ideals are shaped by the time he was raised in, by being a product of Vought, and of his father’s emotionally abusive upbringing. Does this excuse or justify all of his behavior? Of course not.

But I think those 40 years in captivity changed him from the careless alpha dog we saw in 1984 Nicaragua…

He admits to Crimson Countess, with tears in his eyes, that he’d loved her. That he waited for her and his team—arguably the only social system he has in his life—to save him. He’s gutted to realize that not only did she and the rest of the team never love him, they hated him. They traded him for nothing. Just to get him out of their lives.

For all he claims to be afraid of nothing, tough as shit, he is afraid when he goes to face Mindstorm. He knows what the supe is capable of, and he visibly takes a shaky breath and tries to steel himself.

For a moment, he drops the “Soldier Boy” persona that he wears like a fine tailored suit. And he tells Butcher that the backstory Vought created for him was a lie; he grew up a rich kid who got sent to boarding school, but flunked out, because "he was a fuck up." And his father couldn’t be bothered to discipline him, implying he didn’t care enough about his own son to even lay a hand on him.

He is reluctant to kill Homelander when he finds out he’s Ben’s son (sort of). He even claims that he would’ve been willing to share the spotlight “with his own son.” — Something I doubt even Homelander would do.

Ben even seems to be fighting tears when he levies the same vitriol at Homelander that his own father did at him:

Homelander: “Weak? I’m you.”

Soldier Boy: “I know. You’re a fucking disappointment.”

Let me be clear. I don’t think it’s up to someone to change him (like a love interest). I don’t subscribe to that thinking, that a woman can “change” a man.

For example: In season 2, Butcher tells Becca, “Who was I before you? Nothing.”

And yet, she tells him that he put her on an unrealistic and unsustainable pedestal, in which she felt like she wasn’t allowed to fully be herself, unable to keep him from flying off the handle in rage. That kind of relationship (where one is dependent on the other to “keep them in check”) doesn’t work as a lasting, satisfying redemption arc, and it doesn’t work in real life either.

I do think, however, that a person is capable of change if they’re broken down enough (pun intended), and if they themselves have a desire to change. Someone they encounter can inspire them to be better, like Butcher with Hughie. That person can help support the other.

At the end of the day, however, it’s Ben that has to want to change.

If he wants love and connection, he’ll have to somehow want it, and try (and sometimes fail) to get it, thereby giving him agency and a redemptive character arc.

Now, obviously, it’s up to The Krip where Ben goes from here. He seems to have a more indicting vision of the character than I do (at least, so far). But we’ll see! The fan demand to bring back the character has already had Kripke confirming that Soldier Boy will be back.

Maybe it will encourage him to give the character a more satisfying ending than Dean Winchester got in Supernatural. Though granted, that one wasn’t his doing, apparently he was in favor of the ending the writers came up with.

Comparing Dean & Ben

In his interview segment, Jensen talks about what, if any, are the comparisons between Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. AKA: Wanting a father’s approval, and an undercurrent of “John Wayne”-esque masculinity in John Winchester that Dean sought to emulate.

Jensen also talks about where he drew from to not only embody the character of Soldier Boy, but bring nuance to him—and show the peeks of vulnerability under the bravado and stoicism.

“He’s so fragile and his ego is fragile. Just like Homelander. These bigger-than-life powerful heroes really have a glass jaw… “And everyone walks on eggshells around him [Soldier Boy], and they tell him that they love him, and it’s the same with Homelander. Then when all of a sudden he faces his old team and Crimson Countess says we never loved you, we hated you—that’s a gut punch for him. Because even though on some level he may have known that, he never thought he would hear it. “And he probably propped himself up around trying to believe otherwise, because how can you walk around knowing everyone you’ve ever cared about hates you? It’s too painful.” (191)

It really is. And I inherently felt this about Soldier Boy/Ben when I watched season 3 for the first time. That’s exactly what I got from his performance and thought, there’s more to this guy than the toxic masculinity he represents.

This guy just wants to be loved, like everyone else. He wants to feel important, and even after his father’s dead, “show him” that Ben is the man his father wanted him to be. And so, he bought into the illusion Vought painstakingly crafted for him.

Whether he can come back from that remains to be seen. But I choose to be optimistic until evidence points to the contrary. 😅 (We’ll see in season 4!)

So that’s my personal take on Soldier Boy and this awesome book. 💚 Thank you again @kaleldobrev for recommending it to me! I hope you all enjoyed my long-winded review and want to check this out.

And if you do read it, I hope to read your thoughts as well!

Tagging people who said they wanted to read my review on this book: @venus-haze @jessjad @kristophalis @sl33pylilbunny

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pareidoliaonthemove · 11 months ago

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@astranite, ah, yes, ‘Runaway’! I can generally turn off my ‘train-brain’ for any train episodes – unless of course our hero or villain is train surfing, traps the opposition on a carriage, and kicks at the coupler to separate the carriage from the engine, and speeds off into the sunset to await round 2. Then the entire neighbourhood has to endure me yelling general abuse, and "Couplers don’t work like that!"

While mag-levs are strictly outside my area of expertise, they do share a lot of infrastructure details and safety features with current diesel-electric, and electric trains, and when you take those into consideration, well, let’s just say the set up shown on screen is, um, lacking.

Brains, John and Virgil should all be having very strong words with the Japanese Rail Network.

First point is: why on god’s green earth are they testing a new locomotive design on a live line?! Especially one that operates passenger services? Even if it is a locomotive undergoing a post-overhaul mainline test, there should have at least been a qualified mechanic on board to test-ride it’s performance. Away from passenger trains.

Second problem: and speaking of the track, it’s all one track, one rail, so how do trains going on opposite directions pass each other? At the very least there should be what’s called ‘crossing loops’: a short section of track that forks off and then runs parallel to the main line, before rejoining it. One train goes into the loop, and pulls up, while the other train passes on the main line. If the crossing loop is long enough the train might not need to stop – this type of setup is more common in the United States than it is in Australia – we get to stop and stretch our legs.

Many crossing loops in my area are being upgraded to include catch points. These are a set of points (which is the junction where a train can change tracks, they can also be called ‘switches’, but the standard term here is ‘points’, so that’s what I’m sticking with) linked to the points on the mainline which are intended to prevent a train rejoining the main line without permission from the controller. Instead, the lead engine will be directed off the tracks to loose forward momentum in a specially constructed section of ballast (rocks, preferably granite, about the size of your fist). A mag-lev train would be able to be shunted to a de-energised section of track, and allowed to shed its momentum safely there. (There should be friction locks that deploy when power is lost, like in an elevator car – ‘it would be like hitting a brick wall’, eh, not so much, Brains.)

Third Problem: And this is the biggie! All modern locomotives have a safety system in place designed to prevent the driver falling asleep on the job. In Australia it is currently called the “Driver Vigilance System”, or ‘vigi’. Its job is to safely stop the train before it is stopped, should the driver fall asleep or be … otherwise incapacitated.

The technology has gone through a few iterations, the oldest being the ‘Dead Man’s Switch’, a footplate that drivers had to hold down while the train was in motion. Unfortunately, due to the fact that drivers can be on a train for up to 12 hours, and it required a degree of force to hold down, drivers were prone to wedging the footplate down with their lunch box, or an emergency flag. Sadly, the system was shown to be entirely ineffective on 31 January 2003 when the driver of the Tangara G7 passenger train suffered a heart attack enroute and slumped with his weight on the deadman’s switch, allowing the passenger train to enter a curve rated for 60km/h at 117km/h. It derailed, killing seven (including the driver), and injuring 40 people. It is commonly referred to as the Waterfall Train Disaster.

The current system has a light illuminated for 10sec, which then flashes for 7 sec, then a 5 sec high pitched beeping, if the ‘vigi’ button is not pressed in that time, the train brakes will deploy automatically, while simultaneously putting in an emergency call to the network controller. If the train crew doesn’t respond to the controller answering the call, emergency procedures are brought into play, and emergency services are sent to the train’s GPS location. (And if you weren’t incapacitated, you would wish you were.)

All the hapless engineer in ‘Runaway’ would have had to do was … not press the button.

And the thing that makes me laugh? John being able to reset the points the ‘instant’ that the passenger train clears the points. For safety’s sake, points are locked in position until the system detects the rail traffic has cleared a set point at a safe distance, and even then, there is ‘time out’ period between clearance, and points unlocking, and then a 120 second ‘time out’ between the points registering as being locked into position, and the signal clearing.

But hey, technology changes. Maybe they ‘improved’ the points system? Although their cyber security is seriously lacking ….

But it looks good on screen, and I don't suppose the series' target demographic really has a whole lot of practical experience in rail operations.

#trains in fiction #thunderbirds are go #season 1 episode 7 #runaway #and that doesn't even consider john's murderous code baby

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barshakar · 1 year ago

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7 Undeniable Reasons Why You Should Write Just After Bed

Do you wonder which is the best time to write and struggle to beat procrastination?

Then hold on. Today I have concrete news that will remove all of your dilemmas and bring you to active mode without thinking much.

You might be heard of the “miracle morning”, but it’s not just a name. There are science and philosophy behind the thinking that morning is the best time to perform something you need to create a habit.

If you are an unbeatable procrastinator, then morning is the best time for you to perform something challenging like writing.

In the book “Eat That Frog, “ the Author Brian Tracy has described that we procrastinate those works that seem difficult for our minds.

And for avoiding procrastination you need a lot of will power which you will get maximum at the start of the day.

Not just this, there are several other reasons which will prove you why morning writing is best. So, let’s understand all of them.

Table of Contents

1. You have high willpower and less external stimuli.

We all know, what is the role of willpower in our life. Creating a new habit requires tons of willpower. Can you generate willpower of your own?

Well, willpower is like the battery on any device. That means it is limited. We all need a good night sleep to charge our battery. And therefore, just after bed, our mind gets its highest potential.

And writing is difficult. No, I’m not telling about myself. Writing is difficult for professional writers as well. That’s not about gaining expertise in writing, but about how much willpower it requires to start a task.

Now you might be thinking, what about our day naps? Are they also work as a charger of our willpower? Fine. That’s a bit true. Whenever we take a nap in the afternoon after heavy energy-draining work, we feel refreshed and charged.

Yah, that time can also be utilized for creative writing, but there are many other points why you should write first after you wake up.

2. It can increase your imagination power.

Yes, writing can improve your power of imagination. Remember, when you were at school, you were told to write an essay or a story to publish in the school newspaper.

How creative you feel at that time. You create a clear picture of your story within your mind. Isn’t it?

Well, if you’ve never participated in those events, you can’t deny your experience on the exam. What about the question you don’t know the exact answer but the story. Don’t you try to force your imagination to write that comprehensive answer?

Writing improves our power of thinking. Indeed you can say writers are the most influential thinkers of the world. This is true. But, here we are talking about writing first thing in the morning. How can writing in the morning can improve our imagination?

According to a study on dreaming and imagination mechanism, our brain collect, process, organize and further create new fragments while sleeping. Some theories also relate the memory consolidation process (transfer of active memory into long-term memory) with sleep.

Writing in the morning means forcing your creative part of the brain to utilize its complete power. Creativity makes us influence our brain for something unique in our way. And that requires a clear imagination.

Utilizing our power of creating, imagining and thinking every morning can take us to the depth of any story. Doing things regularly that means improving it a bit every day.

3. Best time to come up with new ideas.

Do you know writing and editing uses our different parts of brain? And that’s the reason professional writers advise not to edit while writing. Writing uses our creative mind, and editing or proofreading utilizes our analytical brain.

According to neuroscientists researching on a different part of our brain in morning and evening, our ‘diffused’ brain is more active in the morning right after bed. And writing is an activity that is more diffused.

Thus, writing in the morning will help you create more pictures of your story rather than focusing on the perfection in writing.

But, this is not the point here. How writing in the morning will help us in brainstorming fresh ideas?

MRI scans showing brain functionalities in different time frames.

Well, based on the previously discussed research, several MRI scans show that our brain has more functional connectivity in the morning rather than in the evening. And more connectivity means the activation of our creative part. That will ultimately help in constructing unique ideas.

4. Best time to win over your inner critic

When I tried to write in the afternoon or the evening, sometimes it seems impossible. That’s because I’m an expert in procrastinating things. And if writing were a part of my hobby, I would not do it.

However, writing first thing in the morning helps me fight against my evil spirit, which always provokes me for more dopamine rather than performing the essential but difficult tasks.

As procrastination and willpower are the enemies, I put my willpower in front of my habit of remaining within my comfort zone. And guess what, I’m no longer a procrastination campaign for writing.

5. Get a high level of focus.

Sometimes, we love a task, but unable to focus on that for a more extended period. We get motivated and start working on it; however, we found ourselves in web surfing or even scrolling Facebook or Twitter a few later.

Yes, in this case, there is nothing to do with willpower. For intense focus, we must remove things that have a significant role in changing our mood like social media.

But you can have a better concentration on complicated tasks like writing if you do it first in the morning.

According to Cal Newport in his book “Deep Work”, challenging tasks needed a high-level focus, which can be gained by a clean distraction-free environment. And at the early morning, there is less distraction, even inside yourself (inner distraction).

(If you get anxious after waking up and can’t understand what to do, try a few minutes meditation and just after your sessions start writing.)

So, locking yourself within a room in the morning is enough to reach the “flow” or getting onto the writing zone after which you can’t be distracted anymore.

6. It will help you to build a habit.

Did you know, writing comes automatically when you follow a ritual. Even all writer have their specific or unique routines they perform before start writing.

This helps them get directly into the writing zone, and that’s why they don’t need much willpower to start the process.

I’ve learned this from a course “Productivity Hacks for Writers” by Jessica Brody, where she explains productivity habits for writers.

And after that, I also start a few small rituals before writing like doing ten jumping jacks and plugging my headphones with some focusing music.

Most of the writers have their rituals before beginning to put their thoughts on paper, and they often advise to create morning rituals to make writing a habit.

Another vital thing to create writing a habit is timing. No, I’m not telling about the time on the clock. But another clock remains within us that’s known as our biological clock. If you get my point, then experiment it with your pets.

Have you ever noticed, they started begging for food at the same time of the day without even watching the clock? This is due to their biological clock.

So, the point here is creating a morning ritual can help your mind trigger the thoughts of writing, and you can achieve your state of flow quickly.

7. Calm your mind out of the clutter

Alright. In this point, I’m not talking about writing contents, but if writing is your hobby, but still you feel it hard to do every day. You can start journaling.

After waking up, write down your thoughts and your mood. Besides, you can write about five things you are grateful for and five problems you want to solve.

Writing your long term and short term goals in your morning journal help you visualize success and clear your mind.

You can further remove chaos from your mind by writing contents right after bed. Don’t worry these are not useless stuff, but sometimes you will find something recreational you don’t have in any part of the day.

This is because our mind processes thoughts and information during sleep. Thus, after waking up, putting all thoughts onto a paper can help you create a well-structured content.

Final words!

Lastly, if you want to create writing a habit for either improving it or any other reason, you should write consistently and daily. And writing just after bed will help you to do that. Just keep your goal small like writing 500 words or less, as much it’s feeling like climbing a single stair and not an entire mountain.

This way, you will minimize the resistance with your mind and easily focus on the task by beating procrastination.

Now let’s recap, why we should write in the morning.

Challenging tasks require a high amount of willpower, and at the start of the day, you have full of it.

Writing in the morning can improve your imagination power.

Morning is the best time to brainstorm ideas.

You can quickly calm your inner critic.

At early morning there is less distraction, and you can get a high level of concentration.

Writing first thing at the day will help you to build a good habit.

By writing just after rising, you can calm your mind from all the clutters and start your day actively.

Are you still feeling nervous? Let’s follow these steps to make writing habit as smooth as butter.

Think of the most comfortable writing ritual, e.g., drinking coffee or one push-up. Write it down and attach it to your PC or laptop.

Set your mind the night before for writing just after you wake up.

Think of the topic you will write about. Brainstorm ideas, research or take notes one day before to make writing easier.

Wake up, do your ritual, sit down and write. Simple, isn’t it?

Not only in the morning, but you can also write all around the day by following your ritual.

Do you take steps and start writing? Let me know!

If you found my content useful, buy me a tea (it keeps me motivated to write and contributes to my education)!

#writing #on writing #writers block #writing attempts #writing advice #writing adventures #writing after bed #creative writing #writer #writeblr

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pandiongames · 2 years ago

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Banda's Grove Devlog 03 - Badges & Rethinking Mechanics

As a great show of how fluid game design is at this stage, in our last Devlog I said we simplified the word “Fragment” and “Plane” to just Plane. Upon further reading through the game, I chose the wrong word to keep. I ran into an issue of describing what Plane was succinctly, but it is pretty clear what Fragment of a campground is. So I went back and updated the terms and everything fits a lot cleaner now.

Badges

The last few days have seen a lot of work on a single mechanic: Badges. In Banda’s Grove, Badgers are the primary way that players can gain access to new moves and special bonuses for their Camper.

Before, Earning a Badge was a Weekday Action. You spent a pebble and an Action and described a scene of studying for a Badge. It felt pretty lack luster and not tied to character advancement at all.

To fix this, I first created two new concepts: Knowledge and Expertise.

Every time you use a Move, you mark the Knowledge Track on your character sheet. When it fills, you can choose to take a point of Expertise in one of four categories: Crafting, Community, Nature, or Quantum. And then reset the Knowledge Track.

Badges are categorized into those four categories now and cost a certain amount of Expertise to claim. In addition to the badges already in the game, I’ll be adding more, specifically around adding unique Moves that you can gain as many of the current badges are passive bonuses.

Updates Across the Game

The New Convergence Checklist

The introductory portion of the book did not do a good job of explaining how to start a new game. We’ve combined a few sections and created a clear, concise checklist of steps to setup your first game.

Converging the Grove

The Map Drawing and New Grove sections were combined, simplified, and updated for the new mapping rules and we reduce the word count by 20%.

Rules and Regulations

Core Rules was renamed to “Rules and Regulations”, to be more on theme with National Park Service terms. Inside the following Changes:

Pebble rules have been condensed and simplified

Failing mechanic has been removed

“Meet an NPC” Move explained during the NPC section, Move can be used during Weekday or Weekend phases.

Spirits questions simplified, and Moves explained in their section.

Blips rewritten and condensed, updated for new mapping rules

Knowledge and Expertise section added.

Grove Badges moved to their own section and updated with new rules

The Weekend Section completely rewritten, to support Events + Adventures.

Weekend Adventure explanation rewritten. New, short example given.

Sunday Night section rewritten and updated

The Weekday section completely revamped, Moves consolidated to a single, non-nested list. Pebble costs removed from Header, and standard formatting applied.

Special Moves denoted (Meet an NPC), giving players the ability to create new NPCs during any phase.

Heal a Blip Move added for 1 pebble + Quantum Shard cost

Crafting and Gathering sections condensed and updated

Nature Watching section updated and clarified, including denoting creature callouts in the book (name + index number, ie Bonder(25))

Special Event section renamed to Event. Rewritten, simplified, and updated for new Weekend and Mapping rules

Convergence Event section updated for new mapping rules and blip/quantum woods rolls simplified.

Build a Facility section simplified, Facilities moved to their own list under “The Library” section

Make a Camper Section

Next up, we have the Make a Camper section, our character building portion. This also got a complete overhaul, and while it’s still very much a work in progress, these are the changes we’ve made so far:

Rewrote the introduction, including reiterating the Grove Ranger’s role in the game.

Created a “Steps To Make Your Camper” summary list.

Created a General Steps that apply to all playbooks:

Name

Pronouns

Fragment you belong to

Discover a Hobby

Hold a Secret

That all frees up room in the Playbooks. There are Player guidelines included in each playbook, rather than at a “game level”, we are adding an additional Move to each playbook, and rewriting the existing Moves to be more useful. There will now be 0, 1, 2, and 3 pebble spend Moves for each playbook.

The Library

All Lore/Worldbuilding content has been moved to the Library:

The descriptions of each Fragment

Badges List

Organized into categories, and updated with new Badges rules

Crafting Recipes

We’ll be expanding this to offer more options out of the box

Facilities List

Festivals/Events

Section header renamed Event Calendar

Rumors and Happenings

Time and Seasons

Removed optional time tracking for Weekend Adventures, that was tied to Moves and Hex travel.

Tips for Creating

Updated and simplified advice, rewritten for the table, rather than just the Grove Ranger.

The Weekend Adventure Board

Updated wording for new terms and rules.

We’ll be adding in the two supplemental adventures we’ve created to round out the built-in adventures to 10.

Nature Watching Creatures

Finally, the New Camper Orientation, and Quick Start will be getting updated and rewritten, but we haven’t started on those yet.

Until next time! -Andy

#banda's grove overhaul #bandasgrove #ttrpg #ttrpg design #devlog

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quiiscnt · 2 years ago

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GAJEEL :

Gajeel has to remember to tilt his head as he walks in through the threshold ( unless he wants another bruise on his forehead ). “No worries─” He’s interrupted by the sound of a near-accident. Luckily, she appears to be fine.

With the light now on, he begins to glance around - inevitably recalling the two trips he made to Holl of Music. Once, to get his second-ever guitar, because he had left his beloved black one back Oak Town. He never really did pack anything other than essentials when he chose to apply for Fairy Tail following Makarov’s suggestion. And he wasn’t going back, so naturally, he chose the first guitar that caught his eye a few years ago. And then he went back for another - purely for aesthetic reasons. Not that he got to play it much, because soon after, he would be off to Tenrou. And they all knew how that trip went.

Music had been his coping mechanism when Gajeel first begrudgingly joined Fairy Tail. He’d had Juvia right there, but he also needed space. And she had understood ( as she always did ).

A set of instructional books ( for the violin, cello, and saxophones alike ) catch his attention, and he almost laughs. “I don’t think there’s anything that sounds more elegant than a violin, but I’d hate to desecrate that sound. But thanks, y’know I love a good album.” He jokes. “Jazz just really puts me in that mood to clean the entire house, y’know what I mean?” And that part, he's being completely serious about.

His peripheral catches the gentle glint of mint, and he turns his head, carefully walking closer to a set of bass guitars.

Close enough to his area of expertise, while still technically being a new experience. It’s not too much of a time-investment... He could definitely see himself doing that.

A mint-and-white bass, another of a royal blue finish, periwinkle, and one that he didn’t often see. A bass of predominantly white-and-ivory. Beautiful. Ivory. Not completely white, but ivory - and so similar to her hair that─

Why the hell am I thinking of her NOW?!

Instinctively, Gajeel derails his train of thought, and stupidly grabs the nearest one - the one with the periwinkle finish. Not the one he intended to see at all, but that’s fine.

He turns his attention back to Olexa, and tilts his head. “Hey, I never asked you. Why did you decide to close down the Holl of Music? It was a real shame to see it gone.”

♫ ❚❙❘ She had pointed out the box to him and then started to walk away. Pacing around the room, her hand running on top on the boxes she could barely stand to look at.

Olexa hated this room. Storing items in this manner resembled the back room of the store. Her eyes glossed over instructional titles. The same ones she would read over and over again whenever she was forced to sit in silence. At least when she was left at home, she could practice, the sound of music always helped her feel less alone. Maybe she should be thankful to these books, after all she could play any instrument she wanted now. But the trade off of a normal childhood for this ability didn't seem all that fair.

She hated this room, and yet anytime the thought of just throwing away these items crossed her mind she could never go through with it. Practically she tells herself it is so they could still be of use. Yet she knew there was more to it. Emotions never seem to work they way she wants them to.

His comment on jazz snapped her out of her thoughts for a moment. Letting a soft chuckle escape her as she turned to face him finally. The girl watched Gajeel pick up the bass, one of the few instruments in the room. Her magically arsenal had double, triple, or even quadruple of some of them. She felt bad she could hold everything. While she was fine letting supplies collect dust, to see instruments do so hurt her heart in a way.

Olexa opened her mouth to offer he take it when his question cut off her words before she could make them. It was just as unexpected as a punch to the gut, and left her just as speechless.

❝Th-the-the owners d-di-died... a-a-and I couldn't run it as-as-as a teenager...❞ The sentence could have been structed better to be less of a bomb, but it was the fasted explanation that would come to her mind.

A half truth. the shop she could have kept going, but that real income came from the private lessons her parents gave. Despite the kindness and patience of their old students at first, no one wanted to pay for a teacher who couldn't form a proper sentence. When she couldn't keep those going, the store stood no chance either.

Perhaps that was why she couldn't just throw away all these items. Olexa had failed them so much already, if she tossed the last of what they loved, what would they think of her?

#steeltempered #✧┊ soft voice 『 olexa: ic 』#✧┊ main melody of my life 『 olexa: verse main 』#[ backstory arc for gajeel too??? ]#[ tell us WHOMST has ivory hair ??? ]

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lavendertales · 3 years ago

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Feel something—Alfie Solomons x maid!f!reader

summary: taking care of Alfie Solomons isn’t an easy task, especially when there are feelings involved.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: some cussing, tension, feeeeeels.

gif: @laurenkmyers

read on AO3

You approach his bedroom with restlessness. The room, you know, is not strictly off-limits. As his maid, you cleaned every nook and cranny of his house in Margate, including his bedroom. But there’s tension to be felt now.

Alfie Solomons is a fascinating man. You are well-aware of his reputation, but the outside world doesn’t have a clue about the man that he is in his private quarters. Granted, you also didn’t have the full overview, given that Alfie took comfort in his privacy, but you had the most internal knowledge.

For some reason, all of the quirks and little oddities that you discovered about him during your first year of employment made him appear quite captivating. Alfie was a man with so much emotional and physical damage that he no longer possessed the capacity to behave like a normal human being. At the end of the day, he was merely a scarred man, tormented by past demons who shunned his own goodness before the world got the chance to steal it from him.

There was good left in Alfie though; he always stocked up on your favorite wine and food, even if it might’ve not been his personal preference. He spoke to you in a kind tone, always considerate towards you.

You knock on the door and you walk in with a vague tremor upon hearing the raspy Come in. You hold your breath, however, when you’re met with the image of Alfie Solomons bathing. You remain trapped by your own thoughts and emotions, unable to move forward.

Upon seeing you, Alfie rises from the tub slightly, eyes widening with shock, feeling the sudden urge to cover himself, only there is no clothing item available nearby. He’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable and he loathes it.

“What d’you suppose you’re doin’ here?” he growls, eyes staring you down in anger and shock, a truly confusing image that you believe you weren’t meant to see.

“I was asked to come find you.”

“At fuckin’ midnight? Who the fuck – “

“Ollie. He was worried about you, and since I am the only one around here with medical expertise, he kindly asked me to clean your wounds.”

Growling is seemingly part of Alfie’s personality, but you don’t mind it one bit. You take it as a defense mechanism and nothing more. You know he’s rough around the edges and cruel when need be, but you know that he would never hurt you, regardless of the circumstances.

“Don’t need no fuckin’ help,” he mutters, seemingly to himself. “Get out.”

You shut the door behind you. “No.”

“No? What’re you gonna do then? Read me bedtime stories of knights and fairies while I sit here, lookin’ like a fuckin’ prune?”

“I need to remove your stitches and treat your wounds. Do you know how to do that yourself?”

Alfie doesn’t respond. Instead, he lowers his head as if in some sort of discomfiture.

“Alright then, do your work, little one,” he agrees.

When you approach the tub, he gulps in fear. He wouldn’t let anyone come that close to him, especially when he is naked and on display. He watches you as you move slowly and gentle, preparing utensils. His body feels numb, as if it isn’t responsive to the image of you making such a fuss over him, moments after moments. All he knows is the intoxicating scent of your body, lingering in the air, paralyzing his body.

“Here’s what’s become of Alfie Solomons, eh?” he says, apparently having another one of his monologues. “Depending on his maid for simplest tasks. Fuckin’ hell.”

“It’s better when someone else does it. More… visibility.”

You hesitate, and you are certain Alfie realizes it too. But he at least has the decency to keep his mouth shut about that.

“How long till I can go back out there?” he asks as you’re still fumbling with your scissors.

“Out there?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I do, sweetie.”

You gulp, trying your best to ignore the fact that he’d gone from calling you little one to sweetie and how it is affecting you.

“Is that what you enjoy doing the most? Killing?”

“Now listen here, what I do ain’t about that, right? It’s – tricky business.”

Alfie is met with silence, which surprises him. The moment your fingertips touch his chest, he holds his breath as you remove the tiny stitches one by one, taking care not to pinch the exposed and wet skin.

“You’re a bold one, aren’t ya?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Lots of people don’t wanna look at me on account of fear.”

“Do I have any reason to be afraid of you?”

Alfie makes a grimace as if to say you can do whatever you want.

“You haven’t given me any reason to be afraid of you,” you tell him, eyes focused on the stitches and trying your darn hardest to not let your sight wander off further at the sturdy chest of this bear of a man.

“You saw me kill,” he seems to test you. “You saw me come in all bloody, fuckin’ clothes torn… you ain’t said a damn word.”

“It’s none of my business. I am only your maid. Am I not, Alfie?”

Alfie is silent, musing and pondering a plethora of topics about which you were blissfully oblivious. You make the ointment while letting yourself a selfish glance at him. Your eyes don’t go below the chest, not even daring to go to his belly, so you only look at his broad shoulders and chest, your mind wandering far off.

But then you falter, and Alfie picks up on it.

“I have to – “you gesture towards the cuts.

You know how much he despises human touch and how unaccustomed he is to anything that isn’t intended to hurt him. He appears bewildered as he glances at you and then swiftly at the cuts, but he nods, indicating that he trusts you. Naturally, Alfie’s first inclination is to push you away, scare you, and overwhelm you, but with time, he grew accustomed to your presence, and you came to understand him on a far deeper level than you had anticipated.

You start cleaning the wounds one by one, expertly and softly, the only sound in the room now becoming Alfie’s heavy breathing, plainly attempting not to move.

“Sit still now,” you whisper.

“It’s no easy job with these fuckin’ cuts over my chest.”

Alfie swears he sees you smile for a split second, but he averts his gaze. He is acutely aware that he is completely naked, and that the most beautiful woman he has ever met is currently massaging a fragrant ointment on his chest without even batting an eyelid. He is shocked by your strength; he has never seen you like this before. You were usually working hard to make his house the cleanest it’s ever been, but today is a different story. It’s been a full year since you started working for him, and the only thing that hadn’t changed was the way he looked at you, something you had never noticed before.

Alfie’s heart is a concoction of pain and shame, and he’s still avoiding your gaze and your exquisite fingers stroking his skin very delicately. He keeps replaying the previous episode in his thoughts until he can scarcely breathe. You addressed him by his first name, as if humanizing him. He feels like you had humanized him, making him feel like a man, not simply a ruthless criminal.

When he feels a damp cloth against his scarred skin, he suppresses a snarl, and his primordial instincts kick in, yelling at him to push you away and intimidate you in any way he can.

But he doesn’t, and you don’t move a single muscle other than your hands. You’re also holding your breath, your heart racing for the man in front of you.

“I know your answer to this, but… these cuts would heal a lot faster if I’d… burn them.”

Alfie meets your eyes, face flushed and teeth ostensibly clenched. “No.”

“Okay.”

After returning home drenched in blood and his clothes burned one evening, Alfie developed a strong dislike to fire. He murmured something about an explosion and “a few cunts who wanted to serve him cold” when you asked him about it. It was all you needed to hear before you realized you’d fallen for him.

You look aside, suddenly flustered, and go about your business. Alfie notices your dissatisfied expression and, despite the fact that he knows you just have the best of intentions, he couldn’t pull it off. He couldn’t face the thought of fire on his skin, the sensation and the scent, but most of all, he couldn’t stand the concept of appearing more vulnerable in front of you, the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen.

Unpredictability and his undeniable passion for you are his two deadliest foes. He wishes to carry his affection down to the grave with him rather than letting it surface. But he can’t deny that it’s true. It is undeniably true, and it is slowly killing him.

He’s also aware of the ramifications, as well as the risks and murmurs that would follow, as well as the looks and stares – despite the fact that he’s never been the kind to give a damn about what’s going on behind – or in front of – him. They did it all the time, after all; but what about you? You have nothing in common with him. You are lovely and gently, and your perfume has become one of his favorites.

“Right, well. You best be on your way now,” Alfie says.

“What?”

His slightly brusque request catches you off guard. You can’t imagine he’d be so enraged by your presence, especially in this situation. He’s never been rough with you, so there’s no reason to believe now –

“Why do you want me out?” you ask, voice coming down with regret.

“You’re a minx, ya know that? A lethal drug of some sort, running through people’s veins till you get them all… fucked up.”

“People?”

Your eyes meet with his, pleading, begging, and Alfie softens under their power. “Under my fuckin’ veins. There you have it.”

You clear your throat, glare shifting to his beard and hands reaching for a sharp object.

“You need your beard trimmed,” is all you say.

Alfie is taken aback by the unfolding of his unusual confession, and he’s even more shook – to put it mildly – by your calm demeanor and natural response to his comments. His throat is unusually dry, and his words, which are typically invaluable in all of his undertakings, have failed him. So he sits motionless in the tub, surrounded by only tepid water, keeping a watchful eye on you.

You approach him again, this time with a pair of scissors in your hand. As two fingers guide his chin, you reposition yourself so that your faces are almost touching, unsteady and warm breaths blowing against each other’s figures. You and Alfie lock eyes before you begin to cut his beard to your greatest ability, all the while leaving Alfie drunk on you.

Your presence is the most pleasant constant in his life. When you’re around, he always feels better. As your fingers brush against his face, goosebumps tingle your skin. Alfie is hardly aware that he is holding his breath and possibly becoming blue. Regardless of how hard he tried, he couldn’t care less.

He only notices when he exhales hard, prompting you to come to a halt and cup his cheek, as if your hand had its own mind. Alfie draws away from his own fingers as they flirt with the prospect of touching your bare wrist. He remembers who he is and how terrible he must appear, and the self-loathing begins all over again.

“I’m almost done,” you tell him reassuringly.

Alfie mutters something, in Yiddish you reckon, allowing you to continue nonetheless. Even though he is painfully conscious of his shattered nature and face, he can’t get over how delicate your touch is, how simple it is for him to rest under your care.

“You best not be doing this for pity, luv,” he warns you.

“I’m not offering you that.”

Alfie fights the urge to ask you what you are offering otherwise because it is killing him as it is. He doubts he could handle a proper answer from you.

“There you go,” you say rather proudly, inspecting his face. “Just as handsome.”

Alfie had stopped grooming his beard for a reason. He hoped it would divert attention away from his damaged face. He didn’t dislike it personally, but on days like today, in intimate moments like the one he now spends with you, he is acutely aware that his appearance has faded, replaced by some half-dead lookalike.

“I asked for no pity,” he says, fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Heart in your throat, you gulp. “And I am not giving you that.”

“Then… what are you giving me?”

He’d gone ahead and asked you that anyway. He supposes he could be considered a masochist in many ways, for there was no sweeter torture than you.

“Whatever you need,” you reply breathless. “Whatever you want.”

“You’d be willin’ to give everything you got for a man like myself?”

“Seems like the safest option.”

His gaze is fixed on you now. Your stomach twists at the sight, and you dare to believe for a fleeting minute that he’s thinking the same way you are. You look aside in shame when you discover he’s rubbing his hands together near his belly button, much to your astonishment.

“You, luv, fuckin’ consume me.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and out of breath, astounded. The silence is deafening, and it makes your stomach turn. You can’t think of anything to say to him, at least nothing that makes sense.

You doubt you could begin to put into words how you feel about him.

You feel compelled to cup his cheeks, but Alfie catches your wrist with a gentler touch than any you’ve ever experienced. You swallow a gasp as your gaze returns to his.

“Burn the cuts,” he mutters.

“Are you sure? It will hurt.”

Alfie gulps, prompting you to move closer to touch his cheek with your fingers. It’s your first time seeing him up close, and you’re struck by how soft and warm he is. His scar on his face seems to have vanished. You think he’s more ruggedly attractive now than before.

Hearing him address you by your first name causes you to shiver slightly. You can’t help yourself when he says it with such nervousness and fear; you can’t stand the emotional barrier between you two any longer.

You push your lips against his, his scrawny beard brushing against your chin, but it’s Alfie’s still wet palm delicately touching the back of your neck as he draws you in, brushing your hair off your shoulder, that makes you shake and feel tingly all over. You hadn’t expected him to know how to react to a proper kiss – he had to be very touch-starved after all those years in the business.

“You sure know how to prepare a man for pain.”

You smile, accepting his strange idea of a compliment, and, with steady hands, you rush to prepare the hot steel. You falter yet again, but see no objection from Alfie’s side now.

“Do it now before I change my mind,” he warns you.

You nod along, and Alfie takes your arm firmly but not violently, much to your dismay. You both take a deep breath and quickly apply the hot iron to the first cut you notice. When he grunts and curses under his breath, trying as hard as he can to not shout or force you away, your face squirms in anguish as well.

“I’m sorry! I know it hurts, it’ll be over soon, I promise!”

“Fuckin’ hell it hurts, FUCK – “

“I know, I know… I’m sorry! It’ll be just a moment longer, just a little longer, I promise…”

Alfie continues to groan, taking deep breaths in and out to stop his whining. His hold tightens slightly, but you maintain your composure. You imagine he’s going through hell, and you wish you could make things easier for him.

You do your best to speed the process as much as you can, finally rubbing ointment on his chest over the freshly closed wounds, feeling the leftover heat still on the tip of your fingers.

“It’s done. I’m done,” you keep saying. “I’m sorry.”

You look at his face, which is covered in sheer misery, but you think you see a glimmer of melancholy in his eyes. You put away the utensils and the small containers as soon as you finish with the ointment, brushing your hands through his slightly wet hair.

“You did really well,” you encourage him.

God, how come you’ve never noticed how emerald green his eyes are?

Alfie does not blink as he stares at you in awe. He can barely breathe, his breaths thick with a mixture of anguish and dread, but he also feels a grief that he can’t place. He realizes that the sensation of your skin on his is all he cares about.

“Did you only kiss me to ease the pain?” his husky voice inquires.

You waver, though the answer doesn’t require much thinking at all. “Partially.”

Alfie cocks his head and fixes you with his eyes, sadness fading away.

“Partially, you say.”

“I should… let you finish your bath and… let you rest.”

He grabs your wrist again, gulping in a very obvious way. There’s hesitation on both your part, the shy kind that managed to bring down even the strongest man.

“I’m sorry about the fire.”

“I’d let you burn me a thousand times over, luv. It’d hurt less than seeing you walk away.”

Taken aback by the rather flirty confession, your cheeks get flushed right away; you unconsciously lick your lips and smile gallantly.

“Can you do it again?” he pleads.

“Do what?”

He smirks at you, eyes sparking with playfulness. Then of course you get it.

“Oh,” you offer a faint smile.

You brush your lips against his, the kiss deepening in a matter of seconds. Your tongues waltz passionately together, and you lose yourself in the moment, completely ignoring Alfie’s arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you into the tub with him.

You stare up at Alfie, your heart skipping several beats inside your chest, your clothes now soaked and adhering to your body, leaving little to the imagination.

“Like I said… you fuckin’ consume me, luv.”

tags:

@solomons-finest-rum @doin-stuff @acourtofsnakes @potter-solomons @phoenixhalliwell

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x f!reader #alfie solomons x female reader #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fluff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years ago

Text

Enneagram Centers

Sometimes if you're not sure of your core type, you need to consider the "centers" in order to figure out where your focus lies. (And... don't allow yourself to tritype yourself until you're 100% positive of your core. It will explain most of your behavior and coping mechanisms, so tritype isn't an excuse to mistype.)

Centers... there are three. Each one makes decisions differently and focuses on different things. Sometimes you can narrow down your type to the center, and from there, decide which of the three fits you best.

Centers: heart, head, gut.

They are exactly the way they sound.

Heart types make decisions from an emotional place, because their focus is on earning love. How are you seeing me? What image am I presenting to you? What do I want you to see? They are all about a conscious crafting of "self" in comparison to others. Others can see them as emotional, as needing approval, or as making decisions based on what others think of them. It's an image center. How do I feel about this? What does it lead me to do? (2 - find love, earn love. 3 - impress to earn approval. 4 - too broken for love, separate, must show my uniqueness to get love.)

Head types make decisions from a rational place, because their focus is on being secure. They think, think, think. Over-think. Analyze. Observe. Gotta think about that. Need time to mull it over. Their energy is all in their head. Nervous energy. Active energy. Thoughts. What I think, not what I feel. Buzzing. Busy mind. Converting everything to thinking about it. Distrusts their emotions. Emotions lead you wrong. Must be rational! (5 - detach, observe, don't participate. 6 - too many thoughts, unsure, find something to trust, hold onto it. 7 - stay busy to avoid anxiety, lots of thoughts, run with them all, don't want to feel stuck.)

Gut types make decisions from an instinctual place, through body energy. How things "hit" me. What I "sense" is right. How the world slams up against me, and the barriers I build against it. Putting up boundaries to protect myself. Are these boundaries stable? Knowing what to do. Or not knowing. I just know. It's an obvious choice. This is where I'm being lead. (1 - set firm boundaries, I know what's right and wrong. 8 - be a wall others slam into, expand to maintain control, things anger me and make me push back. 9 - the world seems to be taking me over, it's easy just to go along with it, pretend to agree and then do my own thing, avoid conflict.)

Another thing, which goes for mistyping in MBTI as well -- lots of people think they are X so they "act like X" -- but acting is pretending; it's not real. A fix or a core or a type is real when there's no acting involved; it's just what you naturally do, the air you breathe. For a 2 fixer, pretending to be separate, and broken, and craft an identity as a 4... that is hard work, tiring. For a 6 to pretend to be a 9, and stay calm, and not be full of thoughts and over-thinking, is impossible. It's draining. People start acting THE BEHAVIOR instead of looking deep into their motivations. "Oh, I will act like a 7!" You can't act like a 7 and be convincing, a 7 generates those behaviors through their thinking process. Identifiable behaviors are the result of mental energy. Heart processes are the result of emotional energy. And gut responses are instinctual, immediate, no thinking necessary, my body is reacting, sometimes before I can even think about it. ("I felt sick through my body before I even knew what was happening...")

Social variants are much the same, in that your dominant trait is where your attention goes immediately when you are asked a question or forced to come up with a conversation on the spot. It's rapid. Your dominant instinct absorbs most of your thoughts and focus and concern, even if you aren't aware of it.

Like the typing video I linked to the other day -- when asked questions, Megan Fox drew attention to sexual topics and encounters, because she views her past in an sx-dom way; she remembers school by the first boy she French kissed. When she wanted to interrupt her interviewer and pull him off a "boring topic," her brain said: admit you have a crush on him in a "there are only three guys I'd do" way. Again, sx. Her photos -- sx displays. Provocative clothing intended to elicit an sx reaction from others.

With variants, give yourself time and space to discover it. Your variant is probably more obvious to other people than yourself, because they see it's where your mind goes. You can't think your way through this, head types ;), you have to get an instinctual sense of things through comparisons. Think about the variants on their own, what they are about, what their focus is on, and then put them into the context of your core type and what that means.

If it's sp, look for sp's in the world around you. What's their focus on? Sp concerns. What does that mean? They focus on... my body, how I feel, what I can do, can my body withstand this? What's this look like? The guy you know who is an exercise master. The person neurotic about their health. The 2 who focuses on "health and home." (What does that look like? Well, he checks my tires, changes the oil, etc, for me without being asked! Mom makes lunches for us all, packs them, has them waiting by the door, and makes sure to take care of us at home!)

Socials? Inspiring others. Being the go-to person. Sharing what they know in a friendly manner. Focus on community, on inspiring, on being socially appropriate, on noticing when others AREN'T playing by the rules. What's that look like in person? The 1 who sets a moral example through their behavior and frowns on misbehavior. The 3 who wants to impress you with their inspirational journey. (Not their stuff, stuff is sp. Admire my new car? Sp 3!) The 5 who loves to share their expertise about ancient Egypt (their one thing). The likable 2 who runs a YouTube channel about "how to..."

Sexuals? Focus on sex. Heat. Attraction. Scent. Impact. Provocation. Am I turning you on or off? I want to find out, that's why I do it. People are either drawn to me or hate me. That's fine. Attracting them all isn't interesting to me. What's that look like in number terms? The sexy 2 who only "helps" their special person. The 6 who is protective of their mate, while also being anxious and suspicious and fearful of being left OR who goes to an extreme to become attractive in an expected way (the hot girl next door, the man who can protect you, the sensitive man, the tough girl). The 9 who molds themselves into another person and disappears into them (Bella).

It's an area of over-focus, neuroticism, a need you have to fill, whereas your second fix isn't that important. It's how you play, dabble, the stakes aren't as high, and your focus doesn't always go there first. I want this, don't always chase it. (Sx? Intense heat comes after social awareness or self-protection. Soc? Socially aware, but being an influencer comes after sx drive or "my health and home." Sp? Survival comes after public influence or awareness or sx pursuits.)

Being "blind" means... I rarely focus on this. It's not on my radar. Sp blind? Safety?? Survival? Eh, it'll all work out fine. :) Sx blind? Throwing myself recklessly after intense attraction, thirst traps, being super provocative, seems tasteless and risky. Soc-blind? Oblivious to how that statement made you feel about me, or judge me, unaware of how I dress or act being inappropriate to a situation.

#enneagram

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute. Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside. Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by. It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it. Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it. It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore. At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical. But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive. It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it. He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing. Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong. He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have. He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now. He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here. It’s not necessary. He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now. He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago. He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you. He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight. Yes, this is what he’s waiting for. He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi. But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe. In, and out. In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level. Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep. He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient. It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you. Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious. They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around. Pulsing. In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it. Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean. He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip. He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer. He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There. He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious. Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence. There you are. Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it? He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet. To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now. Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world. All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now. He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current. He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember. These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill. Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before. Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal. He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive. The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks. Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it. Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose. Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for. There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus. It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving. With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get. He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him. He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi. But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided. Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps. His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh. It’s… good. It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously. Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely. Where’s the challenge in it? The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him. It’s brash and brutish and not his style. No, this is what he wanted. He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger. Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak. He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect. Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand. Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here? Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave. It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared. If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change. Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time. He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No. No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here. It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him. A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough. Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you? Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you. You’re not here. Why aren’t you here? He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer. Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really. They’re yours. He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor. He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together. This will work. If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open. This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good. His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs. When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him. He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting. He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created. Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously. You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it. But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you. Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops. Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself. His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat. Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows. He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely. Why does it feel so… so spectacular? Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it. Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see. That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist. Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up. No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride. The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine. He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home. Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences. Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there. They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again. But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would. They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability. Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep. His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires. Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants. He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through. No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all. His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now. He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found. He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second. He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth. Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth. Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that. It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it. The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it. He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself. Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice. The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made. Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants. Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now. There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved. Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did. There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened. Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time. He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No. You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe. There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow. He must have… increased it, or something. Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep. Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though. He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now. No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is. Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue. Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs. Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot. Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #Smut #reader insert #dark anakin #no-droids

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years ago

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Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

****************

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 ask blog #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 engineer #engineer tf2 #tf2 solly #send asks #ask blog #headcanon requests #lovely anon #thanks anon #thanks for the ask

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this-is-my-procrastination · 4 years ago

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hi!! i liked your works a lot and i wanted to request f, j and o for akaashi and atsumu? thanks a lot <33

fluff alphabet f, j, and o for akaashi keiji and miya atsumu

a/n: ahh i hope these aren’t too long haha, thank you so much for requesting!! :))

Akaashi Keiji:

F = Feelings (When did they realize their feelings? How did it change their behavior towards you?)

Akaashi quietly observes you for a while

Your little tics and reactive expressions ingrain themselves into his brain until he can close his eyes and picture your face almost perfectly

You’re studying together one day, and it starts off with the standard frequent side glances and an endearing awkwardness

But at some point, he feels himself leaning towards you subconsciously

Not in an obvious way, Akaashi just suddenly felt the urge to scootch closer to you or maybe to brush away that stray piece of your hair that had come undone

He immediately jerks himself back with a mildly troubled look on his face (on the inside this man is having a whole-ass existential crisis)

You tilt your head as you glance at him, and that’s when he knows

Akaashi’s already familiar with your different expressions of annoyance, sadness, happiness, etc., but your face right now was so innocent and clueless and cute and precious - he just felt an overwhelming urge to tell you about all the warm, helpless feelings you give him

He doesn’t, of course, because Akaashi at least tries to plan these things out

His realization doesn’t change his behavior a lot (he’s as sarcastic, chill, and straightfoward as always), but he does start doting on you more

He asks if you got enough sleep last night, sometimes offers to share his lunch with you, even gives you his jacket when you were shivering a little

Pure boi just wants to take care of you; it makes him feel more connected and might just be how he hints at his feelings to you

J = Jealousy (What makes them jealous? How do they deal with jealousy?)

Normally a pretty chill dude that you wouldn’t think ever gets jealous

It’s true that Akaashi definitely has complete faith in you and knows you can handle yourself

He also tends to internalize when it comes to feelings like jealousy because he knows they’re not rational

But that still doesn’t stop him from paying extra attention when you’re talking to other guys

Frowning, he monitors your situation from a distance. You might think he’s not paying attention, but the moment he sees signs that you’re uncomfortable or that the other person is getting too comfortable with touching you, he intervenes

Akaashi’s got skills galore at interjecting himself into conversations, and now he’s calling upon all of them plus his passive aggresive expertise

“(Name), please introduce me to this person. As your boyfriend, I’d really like to know who your acquaintances are.”

Narrows his eyes at the other person when he says “acquaintance”

Highkey throwing all the shade right then, but even after you introduce him, he subtly ends the conversation and pulls you away (after which he feels much more relaxed and comfortable)

Basically admits it if you tease him for being jealous

“Yeah, I was. Is there a problem with me feeling protective of you, love?”

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

If Akaashi at any point liked you enough to be in a relationship with you, he will hold that respect for you forever

Even if you made a mistake, he’ll continue to believe that you deserve a least an in-person meeting before breaking up

He thinks it over a lot before making the decision to break it off

This isn’t something he’d ever take lightly, and he’d use at least a good week to process and think about any alternatives

If there’s truly no other way, he’ll text you to meet him somewhere private, like a small cafe or secluded park

Akaashi tells you his intentions as soon as you arrive; there’s no point in dragging this out and hurting the both of you further

He’s very solemn as he tries to explain, and he tries to state his reasons as clearly as possible, but his mind is a whirlwind at that moment

Respectfully leaves after a few minutes, but when he gets to the car he can feel his eyes watering and hands shaking

Bokuto helps him a lot by keeping him active and engaged with his surroundings, but Akaashi can’t help but lie awake at night thinking about you

It’ll take him at least two or three weeks to start moving on in life, but he’ll always look back on the good times you two shared fondly

Atsumu Miya:

F = Feelings (When did they realize their feelings? How did it change their behavior towards you?)

I think his feelings will hit him all of a sudden

He’ll catch himself at home wondering what you’re doing at that moment

And Atsumu starts realizing that he thinks about you more than himself

He’s not used to thinking about anyone that’s not himself, his spikers, or (occasionally) Osamu

So maybe he sees you struggling with something and, after teasing you a little, he helps you

And when you thank him with a sweet smile, he actually feels himself blush

All he can think is just “oh hell no i cannot be a simp right now”

After that incident, Atsumu might avoid you for a bit (he sees you in the hallway and literally spins on his heel, running into the nearest room to keep cool)

But his sets are noticeably less focused than normal, and Osamu forces Atsumu to man up and talk to you

He becomes a little more conscious of what he says to you. You notice that his mocking insults are almost fond sounding now and that he backs off a lot quicker if he sees he hit something sensitive

He tells himself that it’ll help you feel the same way

Because if being more sensitive to your feelings could make you fall as hard for him as he did for you, then that’s what he’ll do

J = Jealousy (What makes them jealous? How do they deal with jealousy?)

He’s used to getting what he wants, and when you’re not paying attention to him, he’s not

Cue pouty Atsumu

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t like anyone other than him looking at you like that

Feels protective because he knows how amazing you are and how much you tempt him (and if he’s that affected by you, who knows what other people could be thinking about you?)

Like one time, he sees you talking with Osamu, and you have the brightest smile on your face that he absolutely adores... but it’s not directed at him

Clenching his jaw, he immediately storms up to you both and snakes his arms tightly around your body from behind

“Babee, pay attention to me...” Atsumu directs a withering glare at his twin, “‘Samu, get outta here!”

If he feels threatened because a stranger is talking to you, he’ll be less kind (he might get triggered because you started blushing or maybe there was some kind of physical touch involved, which can be as minor as a touch to the shoulder, but Atsumu is not about it)

Straight up stalks over to you both, placing an arm aggresively over your shoulder

“Hey, who’s this?? Actually nahh, it doesn’t matter because he’s insignificant~ C’mere babe, let’s go. Bye now, stranger!”

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

Hm... Atsumu might send a break-up text idk :p

But more likely he’ll give you a call

I just feel like he might be too emotional to do it in person

Depending on his reasons, maybe he’s scared that he might snap at you and leave you feeling like trash (because no matter what the reasons are, he never wants to lash out at you like that)

So he sends a warning text like “we have to talk about something serious” and then call so he can at least break the news with his own voice

Atsumu’s words might come off nonchalant and almost harsh, but it’s accidental; it’s kind of a defense mechanism

He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s also so close to a mental breakdown that he can’t figure out how to break things off earnestly without becoming a crying, blubbering mess

So his words can seem cold, especially when you’re in such a fragile emotional state

But he stays on the line with you for as long as you need, silent as you express your emotions as freely as you want

But if you cry a lot, or your voice is really shaky, this man probably starts tearing up along with you

Just a mutual crying fest by the end, but Atsumu’s still not the type to change his mind unfortunately

He would’ve had to believe his reasons 100% to think about breaking things off with you

Still, he’s depressed and grumpy for the couple weeks after

Gets a little (read: a lot) bitter if someone happens to mention you

Volleyball helps him immensely during this time

He throws himself into improving his setting and techniques, rep after rep

Atsumu tries to avoid all thoughts related to you because they never fail to make his chest hurt

In the end, he knows it was his own decision so he tries hard to move on

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musical-chick-13 · 3 years ago

Note

Excuse me, please tell me about the Mentally I’ll woman and WOC save the world. Also the extremely long canon compliant Adlock fic. Please and thank you 🖤

YES THANK YOU I AM VERY HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT THESE THINGS

Saving the world:

So, basically, there are creature that warp reality and have a real knack for getting into people's heads. They're trying to find the best simulation to place people in or, "system" for people to perceive, by figuring out how best to subjugate Earth (and other planets, though Earth is the one being focused on because I, the author, live here). This allows for a lot of different genres to show up, as well as the team who decides to take them out and figure out how to escape these "systems" by having to fight their way back to reality needing to...improvise.

SPEAKING OF THIS TEAM there are are 4 women: one of them is...basically me: lover of classical music, discovers she's bi over the course of the show, very severe OCD. Her love of music helps her use sound as a weapon and look at situations more creatively, and dealing with her OCD helps her deal with being in the various "systems" because she already has to fight her brain trying to change her perception of reality on a regular basis. She's more optimistic than I am (to a fault), and very good at pretending to be happy because character flaws and conflict!! Occasionally her OCD holds her back from doing the necessary things to save the world because she gets paralyzed by the need to do things ""Right™"" and she is deathly afraid of her intrusive thoughts being weaponized by the reality warpers, which is a major source of angst. Uses self-destructive coping mechanisms as a way to "hold herself accountable."

The next member of this team is an Asian woman with a degree in literature. Because of this, she has a very good understanding of how stories work, as well as a wide breath of knowledge about different time periods, trivia, and strategies. All of which allows her an advantage in breaking down the illusions of the reality warpers. She deals with severe depression, which affects her perception of reality as well. Sometimes this manifests as anger or impulsive behavior, which can be very helpful as tools for motivation and in providing needed split-second decisions, but sometimes it works to her detriment. Has been friends with the woman with OCD for a very long time, and their friendship is central to their respective recoveries.

NEXT CHARACTER. An aroace Indian woman who practices Hinduism. She works as a stuntwoman/stunt driver for the movie industry and, as such, is excellent at working vehicles and physical combat, which are obviously very helpful in the whole saving-the-world-fighting-your-way-out-of-dangerous-simulations, thing, but she has to figure out the best way to reconcile that with her faith. She tends to assume the worst in people, which makes it hard for her to let herself fully open up or be vulnerable, and has made it harder than she'd like to make friends. This is because of the harsh, toxic culture of the entertainment industry, trying to tell her who she should be and how she should act. As it is...wont to do. She didn't want to be a stereotype or be broken by discrimination, so she decided to isolate and harden herself in response. Her harsh understanding and hardened determination allow her to be immune to most of the reality-warping. But she is fiercely compassionate, which ultimately wins out over everything else.

And the last member of the team: A Latina medical student working on her doctorate. Has a love of science, which helps pinpoint the structure/chemical makeup of the systems the team finds themselves stuck in, as well as how to heal those broken by them. Tends to be a workaholic and majorly struggling with a work-life balance on account of a fear of being seen as unintelligent. Some of her fellow doctoral students really suck. Her perseverance allows her to power through the reality-warping illusions. Takes a much more logical approach to conflict and problems, and is extremely loyal to those she lets into her inner circle, but is unafraid to cut ties with narrow-minded or unprincipled people. She also falls in love with a trans man and they quote anime at each other all the time. It's adorable.

Also, all of them are huge fandom nerds, which gives them all different areas of expertise depending on the genre of the simulation they fall into. There is definitely a Big Conflict™ that takes place at a con while everyone is in cosplay. Ultimately, it's a story of healing from your emotional baggage, the strength one can find in friendships, and leaning how to fall in love again with things you might have lost your passion for. It's a story about the complexity of human relationships and how we perceive reality, and how different life experiences (especially as marginalized people) can shape who you are and how you see the world and interact with others. And despite the author's snarky cynicism in real life, this is a story of hope.

Adlock Fic

Sherlock saves Irene. Sherlock helps Irene get a new identity. They bicker and disagree on how best to do this. It's a defense mechanism because they don't understand emotions and don't want to admit that the other person has given them a desire for vulnerability because they Caught Feelings. There's corruption in MI-6 they have to fight, with the assistance of an MI-6 agent who has know Sherlock for years and grows to become good friends with Irene (whom he finds interesting and entertaining in spite of himself). Plus, there's the added stress of them both pretending to be dead and taking down Moriarty's network after he dies. Eventually this all explodes into a volatile discussion of Feelings™ between our two favorite emotionally repressed disasters, and they begin the closest thing they can to a romantic relationship, with Irene eventually giving birth to Nero Holmes, who they have to protect from enemies they've made with the whole "destroying the MI-6 conspiracy and Moriarty's network" thing. Lots of time devoted to Irene kicking ass (and Sherlock being head-over-heels because of it, although he'd never actually admit that).

ask me about my wips

#wow this got LONG I'm sorry #my stuff #wips #adlock #(idk if I should tag that but it IS relevant here?)#multi t(ASK)ing

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masterweaverx · 3 years ago

Text

Part of the fun of these character builds is taking absolutely ridiculous characters and making them work in the context of D&D. So today I’ll be looking at Makuta Teridax, from Bionicle. That’s right, I’m expanding my palette a bit!

So Makuta Teridax is a Makuta. Which means he’s a shape-shifting robot with the elemental power of shadow, a unique shadow hand, a bit of telepathy, the ability to make Kraata and Rhakshi from himself... and, oh, fourty-two seperate Kraata Powers. Which he, himself, can also use. Also he has the mask of Shadows. Yeah, Bionicle was a wacky setting, all things told. Basically, we’re going to have to go Full Caster, with some unusual considerations.

Since we’re going Full Caster, that means we’ll be using the point buy system--all six stats start at 8, and you have 27 points to spend to up them, at a rate of 1 point for one improvement up to 13 and then 2 points per improvement after. That means upping a stat to 15 costs nine points total--and we’re going to be upping Intelligence and Wisdom to 15 to maximize our spell power. That leaves us nine points to split between Constitution and Charisma--five to Constitution, upping it to 13, because Constitution is both the ‘health’ and the ‘concentration’ stat, and 4 to Charisma, upping it to 12, because when a Makuta speaks, you listen. And Teridax is the leader of the Makuta...

Bionicle characters are biomechanical and you know what, so are Warforged! Yes I know the Makuta are actually living gas clouds in airtight armor but (1) they weren’t always that and (2) this is Flavor/Mechanics oriented, not accuracy oriented. Anyway, as an Envoy Warforged specifically, Teridax gets +1 to Constitution and +1 to two other stats--which are of course going to be Intelligence and Wisdom, since those are going to be our casting abilities.

All Warforged have Integrated Protection--instead of wearing armor, they can switch between ‘modes’ they’re proficient in every long rest, great for a shapeshifter. There’s also Warforged Resilience, which makes him immune to disease, resistant to poison, renders eating and drinking and even breathing unnecessary, and makes him impossible to put to sleep magically. Speaking of which he also has Sentry’s rest, which means on a long rest he just goes inert for six hours without going unconscious.

Envoy Warforged in particular have a few other advantages. Their Specialized Design gives them a Skill Proficiency and a Tool Proficiency, and since we’re not going to get it anywhere else Teridax is going to pick Intimidation and Thieves’ tools. And they have an Integrated Tool--they can select one tool they’re proficient with, and not only is it part of their body but they have expertise with it. I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say that the tool, in this case, is a Disguise Kit--because Teridax is going to get proficiency in disguise kits from his background.

And what background is that? Why, Charlatan, of course! Free with proficiencies in Deception, Sleight of Hand, Disguise Kits, and Forgery Kits. It also has the False Identity feature, allowing Makuta Teridax to take on another persona (like say, Turaga Dume), and have all the paperwork on hand to prove that, no really, he’s Turaga Dume! Pay no attention to that sphere in the corner. He’s also really great at forgery of documents.

And now comes the tricky bit: getting 42 Kraata powers, plus all the other abilities Teridax has, onto a spell list. Doing that meant I had to multiclass, pick specific subclasses for each class, allow each class to meet a minimum level, and amp two different stats to their max. It was incredibly tricky, but through some very, VERY careful selection, I pulled it off. Mostly. The Elasticity Kraata Power just couldn’t fit, sorry about that. But everything else, I packed in! Are you ready for this?

Three levels in Tempest Domain Cleric...

...then seventeen levels in Nature Theurgy Wizard.

Okay, so before I explain the subclasses, I’m going to go over the standard class abilities. Clerics have proficiency in light and medium armor, shields and simple weapons, and Wisdom and Charisma saving throws. They get two skill proficiencies--I chose History and persuasion--and at three levels their big thing is just... Channel Divinity. Which I’ll get to in a moment.

Wizards, on the other hand, get Arcane Recovery, which lets them regain spell slots on a short rest once per day up to a total of half their wizard level rounded up. That’s 9 points here, so you can get three third level spell slots, or a fourth and a fifth, or five first and two second... but you can’t get seventh, eighth, or ninth spell slots back, presumably for balance reasons. The Wizard class is also where we’ll get our four Ability Score Increases, for a total of eight points to spread among ability scores--and putting four each in Wisdom and Intelligence lets us have the MAXIMUM SPELL POWER for this combination. Trust me, preparing Spells is important for clerics, and for wizards.

So now let’s talk about the Tempest Domain. Teridax gets proficiency in Heavy Armor and Martial Weapons from it, as well as Wrath Of The Storm--which means if somebody rushes in and hits him, he can use a reaction to force the creature to make a dexterity saving throw or suffer 2d8 Lightning/Thunder damage. And he can do this five times per long rest. Of course, it also gives him a Channel Divinity option; once per rest, Teridax can either Turn Undead (making them run away from him in fear), Harness Divine Power (regaining a spell slot of first, second, or third level), or unleash the power of a Destructive Wave (automatically rolling maximum for Lightning or Thunder damage).

And now... Theurgy Wizard. What does it do, you might ask? Well, it basically hybridizes Cleric and Wizard classes. A Theurgy Wizard takes a Cleric Domain--in this case, Nature--and those spells are considered Wizard spells for purposes of what they can learn. They also get some of the Domain’s cleric benefits--not the eighth level one, or any weapon or armor proficiencies from the first level, but at level seventeen, they have everything else.

Including Channel Arcana, which is slightly different from Channel Divinity. For one thing, Teridax can do it twice per rest, instead of just once. For another, the options are either Divine Arcana, giving +2 to his next spell’s attack roll or save DC, or Charm Animals and Plants, which... charms animals and plants within 30 feet for up to a minute.

Acolyte of Nature means that Teridax has proficiency in Animal Handling and a single druid Cantrip, which we’ll get back to in a moment. Dampen Elements means that, as a reaction, he can give himself or anybody in 30 feet resistance to an attack that hit them if that attack did acid, cold, fire, lightning, or thunder damage--very useful in a world where a good portion of the population has elemental powers. And Master of Nature means that he can take a bonus action to tell critters that are charmed by his Channeled Arcana what to do on their next turn.

And now, at last, we get to the spells. BUT FIRST! Let’s calculate this all out. Since Clerics and Wizards are both full casters, Teridax has all the spell slots--4 first level slots, 3 second-through-fifth level slots each, 2 sixth and seventh level slots, and one slot for eighth and ninth levels.

Clerics can prepare a number of spells equal to their level plus their Wisdom modifer--so 3+5--up to a level determined by their cleric level--in this case, up to second level. They also automatically have spells prepared from their domain, which don’t count toward the previous limit; while it’s only up to the level they can learn, it’s still an extra four spells.

Wizards, on the other hand, learn six spells at first level and two spells every level thereafter, so at level 17 that’s 38 spells. Granted, they only prepare their level plus their intelligence bonus a day, which is 22 spells from that 38 spell list, but hey! That’s on top of the 12 prepared spells of a cleric

And Teridax also has five Wizard Cantrips, 3 Cleric Cantrips, and 1 Druid Cantrip from Nature Theurgy. Which segues well into why I picked Nature Theurgy--I needed a LOT of wizard levels for most of these spells, but I also needed some Cleric levels for some spells wizards couldn’t get, and some Druid spells that neither class could get on their own. And most of the low-level spells I needed that come in a cleric domain actually are from the tempest domain, but the Nature domain has high-level spells from the druid list... hence, Nature Theurge.

So with all that said: The list below covers the spells Makuta Teridax has, and what abilities they correspond to. Spells from Cleric, Cleric Domain, or Druid List use Wisdom; Spells from Wizard or Wizard Theurgy list use Intelligence. The listed Cleric spells are considered always prepared; Teridax selects 22 of the listed Wizard and Theurgy spells every long rest.

The Makuta Power Shadow Hand has 2 component spells: Lightning Lure and Soul Cage. The Makuta Powers Project Voice Through Shadows and Telepathy have the same spell: Telepathy.

The Kraata Power Density Control has 2 component spells: Gaseous Form and Investiture of Stone. The Kraata Power Insect Control has 2 component spells: Infestation and Insect Plague. The Kraata Power Plant Control has 2 component spells: Plant Growth and Grasping Vine. The Kraata Power Rahi Control has 2 component spells: Animal Friendship and Dominate Beast. The Kraata Power Weather Control has 2 component spells: Control Weather and Fog Cloud.

The Kraata Power Stasis Field has 2 component spells: Hold Person and Hold Monster. The Kraata Power Teleportation has 2 component Spells: Misty Step and Teleportation.

The Kraata Powers Fire Resistence and Ice Resistance have the same spell: Protection from Energy. The Kraata Power Elasticity has no component spells, due to not really having a good match and most of its benefits being covered in other spells.

Cantrips: 5 from Wizard, 3 from Cleric, 1 from Druid for Nature Theurgy -Chill Touch [Wizard] --Shadow Blasts (MAKUTA) -Fire Bolt [Wizard] --Heat Vision (Kraata Power) -Infestation [Druid] --Insect Control (Kraata Power) -Lightning Lure [Wizard] --Shadow Hand (MAKUTA) -Mending [Cleric] --Forge Tools (MAKUTA) -Sacred Flame [Cleric] --Laser Vision (Kraata Power) -Thunderclap [Wizard] --Sonics (Kraata Power) -Thaumaturgy [Cleric] --Control world mechanics (MAKUTA) -True Strike [Wizard] [Concentration] --Accuracy (Kraata Power)

1st-4 Slots -Animal Friendship [Wizard Theurgy] --Rahi Control (Kraata Power) -Cause Fear [Wizard] [Concentration] --Fear (Kraata Power) -Command [Cleric] --Terrorize (MASK OF SHADOWS) -Cure Wounds [Cleric] --Quick Healing (Kraata Power) -Fog Cloud [Cleric Domain] [Concentration] --Weather Control (Kraata Power) -Inflict Wounds [Cleric] --Protosteel Armor (MAKUTA) -Ray of Sickness [Wizard] --Poison (Kraata Power) -Sense Emotion [Wizard] [Concentration] --Sense Moral Darkness (MASK OF SHADOWS) -Sleep [Wizard] --Sleep (Kraata Power) -Thunderwave [Cleric Domain] --Power Scream (Kraata Power) -Witch Bolt [Wizard] [Concentration] --Electricity (Kraata Power

2nd-3 Slots -Blindness/Deafness [Cleric] --Enshadow (MASK OF SHADOWS) -Crown of Madness [Wizard] [Concentration] --Anger (Kraata Power) -Darkness [Wizard] [Concentration] --Darkness (Kraata Power) -Detect Thoughts [Wizard] [Concentration] --Mind Reading (Kraata Power) -Enhance Ability [Cleric] [Concentration] --Adaptation (Kraata Power) -Gust of Wind [Cleric Domain] [Concentration] --Vacuum (Kraata Power) -Hold Person [Cleric] [Concentration] --Stasis Field (Kraata Power) -Immovable Object [Wizard] --Gravity (Kraata Power) -Invisibility [Wizard] [Concentration] --Chameleon (Kraata Power) -Locate Object [Cleric] [Concentration] --Sense through Shadows (MASK OF SHADOWS) -Misty Step [Wizard] --Teleportation (Kraata Power) -Shatter [Cleric Domain] --Fragmentation (Kraata Power) -Silence [Cleric] [Concentration] --Silence (Kraata Power) -Spider Climb [Wizard] [Concentration] --Magnetism (Kraata Power)

3rd-3 Slots -Gaseous Form [Wizard] [Concentration] --Density Control (Kraata Power) -Haste [Wizard] [Concentration] --Dodge (Kraata Power) -Major Image [Wizard] [Concentration] --Illusion (Kraata Power) -Melf's Minute Meteors [Wizard] [Concentration] --Plasma (Kraata Power) -Plant Growth [Wizard Theurgy] --Plant Control (Kraata Power) -Protection from Energy [Wizard] [Concentration] --Fire Resistance (Kraata Power) --Ice Resistance (Kraata Power) -Slow [Wizard] [Concentration] --Slow (Kraata Power) -Vampiric Touch [Wizard] [Concentration] --Hunger (Kraata Power)

4th-3 Slots -Confusion [Wizard] [Concentration] --Confusion (Kraata Power) -Dominate Beast [Wizard Theurgy] [Concentration] --Rahi Control (Kraata Power) -Grasping Vine [Wizard Theurgy] [Concentration] --Plant Control (Kraata Power) -Summon Greater Demon [Wizard] [Concentration] --Create Kraata/Rhakshi

5th-3 Slots -Hold Monster [Wizard] [Concentration] --Stasis Field (Kraata Power) -Insect Plague [Wizard Theurgy] [Concentration] --Insect Control (Kraata Power) -Passwall [Wizard] --Molecular Disruption (Kraata Power)

6th-2 Slots -Chain Lightning [Wizard] --Chain Lightning (Kraata Power) -Disintegrate [Wizard] --Disintegration (Kraata Power) -Investiture of Stone [Wizard] [Concentration] --Density Control (Kraata Power) -Soul Cage [Wizard] --Shadow Hand (MAKUTA)

7th-2 Slots -Teleportation [Wizard] --Teleportation (Kraata Power) -Whirlwind [Wizard] [Concentration] --Cyclone (Kraata Power)

8th-1 Slots -Control Weather [Wizard] [Concentration] --Weather Control (Kraata Power) -Telepathy [Wizard] --Project Voice Through Shadow (MAKUTA) --Telepathy (MAKUTA)

9th-1 Slots -Invulnerability [Wizard] [Concentration] --Limited Invulnerability (Kraata Power) -Shapechange [Wizard] [Concentration] --Shapeshifting (Kraata Power)

And I mean... LOOK AT THAT LIST OF SPELLS. It’s ridiculous. Bionicle is an amazing setting, sure, but this is insane! Even if Teridax burns through all his spells, he’s still got nine cantrips--NINE! With a lot of effects! That he can use to attack the petty heroes coming after him.

So yeah, that’s Makuta Teridax.

#Bionicle #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D 5E #Makuta Teridax #Character Build

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dramaticsnakes · 4 years ago

Text

How two exasperated doctors adopted three robots

Characters: Janus, Logan, Virgil, Patton, and Roman

Warnings: Gunshots and cursing, but I think that’s it. Let me know if I missed something!

Summary:

After being hired at the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility, Dr. Janus Dedrick began noticing some suspicious things going on there. He decided to take matters into his own hands, and look into it.

Meanwhile, Janus' frustrating colleague Dr. Logan Croft, had apparently gotten the same idea.

A victorian steampunk fantasy scientists and robots AU.

Word count: 7358

A sincere thank you to @rainbowbutterfrosting on tumblr for beta-reading this fic! It means the world to me.

Read on AO3

Janus Dedrick often considered himself quite brilliant. He had more than one doctorate to prove it, even if such titles couldn’t always be considered truthful. They could either prove that you’d worked hard or that you merely had the money to spare, so that wasn’t what made Janus consider himself brilliant. Neither was his position at the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility. A Facility that was among the first to attempt to figure out how to utilize the previously inaccessible “magic” (as it had been unprofessionally dubbed thus far). His confidence was hardly linked to a title such as “Dr. Dedrick”. According to Janus, his brilliance shined the most when he was doing things entirely on his own accord.

Such as, breaking into the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility at 1am on a Saturday.

One might wonder what Dr. Janus Dedrick was doing, elegantly flipping switches he wasn’t supposed to flip, and walking through passages that were clearly locked away for a reason. It was quite simple really. Janus wanted to figure out what said reason was. Just because Janus worked at the Facility didn’t mean he had access to any and all knowledge about it, and Janus simply intended to change that. Really, was hiding information from the public not enough? If the Facility didn’t intend to make scientists and engineers curious, perhaps they shouldn’t have a gate practically labelled ‘prohibited’ that led to a closed off section of the Facility, which hardly anyone was allowed to enter. They were practically begging for a tactical break-in.

So that was what Janus was doing. In the weeks leading up to it, he’d left skilful remarks, and made sure his duties led him to the right offices. He’d opened a few drawers and lockers, using his fashion-choice of constantly wearing gloves to his advantage. It wasn’t even that difficult, and his suspicions only grew with each new discovery. The fact that there was a prohibited area wasn’t the only weird thing going on. There were blueprints that contradicted each other in strange ways, parts that hadn’t been delivered on time, and multiple other minor inconsistencies. Janus could respect things being kept close to one’s chest, but he also respected anyone intelligent enough to uncover what was being deliberately hidden from them.

Janus heard the final lock click and the steel gears turned on the door. The passage that opened was dark. There were no windows in sight, and even if there were, it was as previously stated, 1am. Janus riffled through the pockets on his vest underneath his cape that he wore in the cold. He got a hold of a box of matches and struck one. He lit the oil lamp in his other hand, which illuminated a small area. Not enough to see everything ahead of him, but enough to ensure that he didn’t easily step on anything vital (or trip, harming himself, who was also a rather vital asset).

His steps echoed down the hall. He noticed a few paintings on the walls, that he hadn’t seen before. There were other paintings in the Facility, but these were different. Made by a different painter perhaps? Some depicted various mechanics, and one or two were of people Janus had seen around the Facility at times but hadn’t had much to do with. He wondered if they worked in this part of the Facility sometimes. What had they done to gain access there? Janus wasn’t certain if he was bitter or excited to see what it was the Facility was attempting to hide. You wouldn’t have this level of security for a couple of unimportant documents or employee files.

The room expanded the further Janus made it. While Janus couldn’t see the entirety of it, he became increasingly aware of just how big the room was. The light was reflected from the surface of a machine, that was several feet taller than Janus. He put the oil lamp a bit closer to it, to get a good look at the switches and buttons. There was a brass panel on it, that didn’t seem too complicated to figure out.

Then Janus heard steps from a door on a different side of the machine. Damn. Who the hell would be there at this hour? Janus scanned the room for a good place to hide, but quickly realized that it was too late.

A man walked around the machine, and locked eyes with Janus. The man wore a black vest with a dark blue necktie. At first Janus was frightened, fearing that his otherwise rather ingenious plan had been found out, but once Janus had a good look at the man, his expression faltered with exasperation. The man had a pair of glasses and a confused look that made Janus’ blood boil.

“What the hell?” Janus said, because really it made no sense.

The man tilted his head slightly and looked Janus up and down. “Dr. Dedrick? To the best of my knowledge you are not allowed in here.”

Janus clenched his fists, but then his expression turned smug. “To the best of my knowledge, neither are you, Dr. Croft.”

Dr. Logan Croft was an agitating individual, who unfortunately happened to be Janus’ colleague. He was hired a few months after Janus and had almost immediately earned a promotion through reputation alone. He was known as a prodigy, who had always passed at the top of his class. Even if his family hadn’t had any sort of formal education previously, Logan had apparently against all odds made it to one of the most esteemed universities. Impressive sure, but it wasn’t as if Janus hadn’t done just as much, if not more. At least Logan Croft hadn’t had to change his name in the process.

The two had many overlapping fields of expertise, which could either result in a wonderful friendship or a bitter rivalry. In this case, the latter was more prominent. Logan’s entire demeanour and the way he was always so hung up on rules and the law annoyed Janus to no end.

Logan adjusted his glasses. “That is correct.”

So why, of all people on this godforsaken planet, was Dr. Logan Croft in the prohibited part of the Facility? Janus huffed with amused disbelief. “If you are here without permission, surely there is no reason for you to condemn me for doing the same?”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t condemning anyone. I was simply wondering what you’re doing here.” he sighed, “Though I wouldn’t consider myself surprised.”

Janus gasped and placed one hand on his chest, taking mock offense. “And why is that, dear doctor?”

“You have a history of doing things you shouldn’t be doing.” Logan said matter-of-factly.

Janus grinned. “Ah, but it’s only truly wrong if anyone of importance notices.”

Logan huffed. “I noticed.”

“Anyone of importance.” Janus repeated, but Logan didn’t react with enough annoyance for it to be satisfying. Janus gestured towards Logan with his free hand. “Though that doesn’t answer why you are here. It seems uncharacteristic of you.”

At this, Logan looked at the floor, and led his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then locked eyes with Janus again. “I believe I’ve made a discovery.”

“And what might that be?” Janus asked with a silky tone, though the spite was clear underneath it.

“It doesn’t concern you unless I find adequate proof.”

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled with disbelief. “With all due respect, Dr. Croft, I don’t think hiding your intentions at this point will be easy for you.”

The ‘for you’ was added to provoke some form of anger, and judging by Logan’s clenched fists at the words, Janus succeeded. “And what are your intentions, Dr. Dedrick?”

“I asked first.”

“No, you did not.”

“You simply said, you were wondering what I was doing here. You never asked the question.” Janus said, adjusting his bowler hat.

Logan gave an exasperated sigh. “I suppose that is technically correct.” Janus looked at Logan’s barely illuminated face with amused anticipation. Logan looked at Janus with a serious expression. “I have had my suspicions that the Facility has been hiding something for a while.”

“Is that so?”

“After looking through some blueprints and files, I’ve noticed that there are… Patterns of inconsistencies if you can say it like that.”

Janus didn’t say anything for a few moments. He wasn’t sure what he found funnier and more ironic. The fact that Logan was there for the exact same reason as him, the fact that Logan thought he knew more, or the fact that Logan had apparently also looked at files they weren’t allowed to look at. “Such as the delayed magitoite delivery?” Janus said almost emotionlessly.

Logan turned his head towards Janus. His mouth was gaping slightly. “And the box of 20 teeth gears.”

Janus smiled wryly. “Not to mention the blueprint detailing the components of a hypothetical robotic arm.”

Logan looked a sceptical for a bit, and Janus hoped that it meant he’d learned something Logan hadn’t. Logan continued. “There was a file that talked about a use of magitoite I haven’t seen anyone in the Facility attempting yet.”

Ah. Janus didn’t know that. He tried to think of something to say to have the last word but couldn’t think of anything he could express in that moment.

Logan moved some hair away from his eyes. His expression was nearly unreadable. “So, you’ve been conducting your own investigation?”

“I have.” Janus replied.

The two men stared at each other in silence for a few breaths. Logan looked thoughtful, and Janus didn’t like the sight. Why did he have to run into Logan Croft? At least it would’ve been a little exciting to explain himself to someone with authority, instead of this pretentious idiot. The thought that Logan had been looking into the same matters as Janus made him want to scream. “I have a proposition.” Logan said

“Yes?”

“Instead of getting in each other’s way, I let you follow me on my investigation.” Logan said.

Janus clenched his fist and groaned. “Oh, how generous of you.” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you.” Logan said, nonchalantly.

Janus sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to attempt to explain what I’ve learned so far to you, then.”

Logan huffed. “Guess I will too.”

Janus tutted. “Unfortunate.”

“Indeed.”

Logan turned his head towards the machine in the room. “What is this?”

Janus looked at the machine and at the mechanics on it. As he looked around the room, he saw the hint of a pipe and some wires that led towards the other end of the room. “It appears to be connected to something. Perhaps some sort of opening mechanism?”

“Do you know how it functions?” Logan asked.

“I haven’t had the chance to l-“

“Never mind I’ve got it.” Logan said, barely acknowledging Janus’ words. He flicked a switch and pushed a button. The machine made some noises, that sounded like bits of metal grinding against one another, and steam came out of an opening on the left. There was the sound of some type of gate moving upwards, further into the room.

Janus groaned. “I could’ve figured that out as well.”

“But you did not.” Logan said, and while it seemed indifferent, Janus didn’t miss the sly look in his eyes.

Janus and Logan continued down the passage with an oil lamp each. On the way, they recounted their discoveries. Most of the time they finished each other’s sentences, unfortunately having discovered nearly the same thing, though Janus savoured each time he knew something Logan didn’t.

Click

“What’s that noise?” Janus asked, stopping in his tracks, holding up one arm with concern and confusion.

“It was a click.” Logan replied.

Janus rolled his eyes and looked at the other. “Oh, I definitely didn’t realize that. But where did it come from?”

“Well, it could’ve been a few things. There are plenty of technologies in-“

Logan never got to finish the sentence, as a bullet flew past them after a quick and sudden ‘bang’. It dashed into the wall beside them, leaving a smoking hole in the metal. Janus’ eyes widened, and he saw that Logan nearly dropped his oil lamp in surprise. As soon as Janus heard another ‘click’, he scanned the area. He noticed another bullet flying towards them. Towards Logan specifically.

“Get down!” he yelled and gave Logan’s sleeve a tug. Logan ducked accordingly and dodged the small bullet.

Logan’s mouth gaped. “It would appear that it was a gun.”

Janus narrowed his eyes and looked ahead. “Well-spotted, Dr. Croft. Glad to know your doctorate is being used to comprehend such vital information.”

Logan glared at Janus. “This is hardly the time for-“

Janus tugged at Logan’s sleeve again, and they ducked once more. The bullet wasn’t anywhere close to hitting them this time around though. Who was it that was aiming at them? What was aiming at them?

“Authorized personnel only.” a voice, that didn’t sound like anything Janus had heard before spoke. It sounded forced and inhuman in a sense. As if it was coming through a phonograph. There wasn’t any emotion behind it. Logan and Janus looked at each other. What should they do about that? Janus was almost convinced that Logan would turn around and leave. Janus would never do something like that. He was getting too curious.

Perhaps Janus had underestimated the other doctor, as Logan closed his eyes tightly, sighed, and grabbed Janus’ arm. “Come on.” Logan said, practically dragging Janus further as if he was a dog. Somewhat offended, Janus ripped his arm away from Logan and brushed his own shoulder.

“I can walk myse-“

Another bulled was fired, but it was several few away from both of them. “Authorized personnel only.” the voice repeated. Janus breathed and picked up the pace. Logan did the same. Janus’ and Logan’s legs were almost equally long, so their pace was annoyingly similar, but Janus tried not to think about that. They had to avoid the danger at hand.

They made it to the end of the hall when they noticed the source of the bullets. It did indeed seem to come from a gun, but the person, or well perhaps not a person, who was holding the gun was the interesting part. The thing that held it, was shaped like a human, but without the skin. Where there should be skin there was brass and steel, with nails in between each piece. It had hair on top of its head, which made Janus even more confused. What was the point of the hair? Purple, covering the eyes… No, not eyes. Round holes that were lit up with a purple glow. It wore a black shirt and a black chequered jacket on top of it, and there were three gears turning by its chest. Another strange thing was, that the gun wasn’t held by it, but was directly attached to the top of the steel hand.

It didn’t take multiple doctorates to conclude that this resembled a robot. Not exactly the ideal hypothetical version, but a simple one. It was mostly a robot in appearance, and a sound player and automatic (terribly aiming) gun in function. Though Janus couldn’t help but feel like it was built to be capable of more than that. It didn’t make much sense though, because that would require technology that wasn’t developed. Perhaps it was just an experiment? “Authorized personnel only.”

Janus scoffed. “Thanks, we get the gist.”

The robot(?) moved the gun back, there was a click, and another shot was fired. This time it went straight for Janus’ head, but he ducked before it did any damage.

“Hm, seems it generally has a terrible aim, except for a few select exceptions.” Logan said, deep in thought, as if he wasn’t in immediate danger.

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the human-shaped gunner. “It’s almost as if it hits by chance rather than technique.”

“How do you think we can shut it down?” Logan asked. It sounded a bit like Logan was a teacher asking the class a question, but Janus couldn’t help but chuckle at it rather than feel offended. It was strange, that Logan hadn’t turned around yet. That he’d rather shut down their mechanical attacker and move on. Perhaps Logan was a little more driven than Janus had initially thought.

“So far, nothing is preventing us from getting closer.” Janus responded. He tilted his head and cooed, “Or does that scare you, doctor?”

Logan let out a ‘ha’. “Not in the slightest. I’d say its lack of aiming abilities renders it rather unintimidating.”

Janus scanned the gunner and noticed that there was a panel on the back. It was possible that there was a switch on there or behind it, which could shut it down. While it had legs, it didn’t seem like it was able to move. Janus approached it just as another meaningless shot was fired, and Logan almost looked annoyed as Janus did so without narration or comment. Just as Janus reached the side of the robot, its other arm stretched out. The sides of it started moving strangely, as if bits of it were finding a place. Before long, two metal plates started reaching through the arm, covering Janus’ path like a shield.

Hold on.

Janus knew of that technology. In fact, he knew it well. “That’s my technology!” he exclaimed, as he looked at the shield. He recognized it on the way, the shield was triggered once he’d reached a certain radius from it. He created it about a year prior, having been tasked to develop a technology that could keep out unwanted visitors. It had still been in an experimental phase then, and he’d been moved to other projects since.

“Ah, it did look rather simple, so I suppose that makes sense.” Logan said, and Janus sighed sharply through his teeth. He tapped the side of the shield, one on the top, one on the bottom, and one on the left, which led the robot to withdraw it slightly. Once Janus reached the back of the robot, he noticed that there was in fact a switch on the back. Janus thought it was a little too easy to see, for it to be an efficient design, so it was likely just a prototype, made to be turned off easily in case of malfunction. The fastened panel made him curious, but he figured that shutting it off first would be ideal. He flipped the switch, and there was a loud, hollow, humming noise, and some clicks from within.

“Hm.” Logan said, “The eyes aren’t lit up anymore.”

“I turned it off, doctor.” Janus said.

“Thank you, I am aware.” Logan replied, a clear bitterness in his tone.

The body felt heavier after being turned off, and it seemed Janus had to hold it up to prevent it from falling. Janus placed his oil lamp on the floor, looked down at his pockets, and grabbed a screwdriver. Logan approached the harmless robot and stood right behind Janus. Logan narrowed his eyes. “Do you bring that with you everywhere?”

Janus smirked and rolled his eyes, as he placed the screwdriver on the screws that fastened the panel on the gunner’s back. “Of course, I’d bring some tools to a break-in. I am not completely dense and inexperienced.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Are break-ins one of your usual pastimes?”

Janus didn’t reply to that, as he removed each screw from the metallic back. Logan was looking him over his shoulder, which was rather irritating. At times it could be fun, if Janus did everything just a little better than Logan would be able to, but Logan was the type who’d notice any small mistake, and Janus would never hear the end of it. To be fair, Janus would do something similar. He wrenched the panel off, which revealed a technology that was indeed exceedingly similar to the one he’d developed. There were more gears, and some of the wires were connected to other places than he was used to, but it wasn’t that difficult to make sense of.

Something that stood out, however, were the bits of the wires, that were twisted in non-optimal ways. Something was being blocked, as if someone was deliberately trying to limit the functions. It didn’t take a genius to deduce, exactly how you could optimize the machine, though Janus wasn’t certain what the optimal version would be like. Would it have a better aim?

Right above all of the gears and wires, Janus saw that the inside of the robot was labelled ‘VIRGIL’.

“That’s not an ideal design.” Logan said.

“I know.” Janus said.

“Its speech centre has a larger vocabulary than ‘authorized personnel only’.” Logan added, which made Janus’ eyes flick to a box in the right corner, whose wires went up towards the mouth.

“Well-spotted.” Janus said, in a way that sounded like he’d immediately noticed himself. He would, of course, if he hadn’t been looking at how his own technology was being used. Janus looked up, and saw that there was a door, blocked by a large metal plate. Logan stood up, and pressed a few buttons nearby, and the plate moved up, scraping against the wall.

“This was the place it was guarding, it seems.” Logan said, nodding into a dark room, “Are you coming?”

“Of course.” Janus said. He placed the screwdriver in his pocket, and allowed the robot to fall just a little, and managed to cradle it in his arms. It wasn’t too heavy. He noticed that the eyes that had seemed pupil-less while they were fully lit up, had something that resembled it anyway, only furthering Janus’ suspicion that it was meant for more.

”Why are you bringing that?” Logan asked.

“Just moving it out of the way for now, so we can make some adjustments and cover our tracks later.” Janus replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He let his eyes flick to the oil lamp. Logan furrowed his eyebrows, leaned down, and took it.

The room was small, and everything in it was dusty. There were scattered notes and blueprints, and Janus quickly noticed that the blueprints were a great deal more detailed than he’d seen before. They were filled with drawings that looked like robot parts, and his mouth gaped upon the sight of a detailed magitoite formula. He wanted to rush over there and take it all, but he froze upon the sight of something even more remarkable.

On the ground, lying languid and lifeless, there were two robots. They were most definitely robots. They looked similar to the VIRGIL, that Janus was carrying in his arms, but they had their own entirely unique design. One wore a light blue short-sleeved suit with a grey pipe strapped over its shoulders. Its hair was red and curly, and Janus wondered if it was synthetic. It had a wide smile on its face, that seemed a little dead on the lifeless robot. The other was built from a more refined metal than the other two and had white broad-shouldered white shirt with a cravat. It also had a metallic red sash with various buttons on it, that lead from the top left to the bottom right. There wasn’t any light in any of their eyes, indicating that they were turned off, but once again Janus noticed that there was something resembling pupils there.

Logan’s eyes were fixed on the robots as well, and Janus could’ve sworn his eyes sparkled. “There… There are more…” Logan said breathlessly.

“Y-yes.” Janus said. He’d expected it to sound more articulate than that.

Logan was shaking, looking at the blueprints on the wall. Janus could hear his own breathing a little too clearly for his liking. Where should they even begin? Logan placed the two oil lamps on a nearby wooden table. “I suggest that we look at the… Robots, first.” Logan said, answering Janus’ unspoken question.

Janus nodded. He walked a little closer to the two bodies on the ground and carefully placed the lifeless VIRGIL next to them. Janus looked at the robots, and the machine in the corner. There were wires connecting to the backs of each one. “Should we try to turn them on?”

“We could dissect them.” Logan said, “And figure out how they function first. Judging by the VIRGIL’s functions, they could be hostile.”

Janus hummed. “I thought you said its lack of aiming abilities rendered it rather unintimidating.” he mimicked Logan’s voice at the last words.

Logan adjusted his glasses and exhaled sharply through his nose. “If you want to risk it, I’m not opposed to it.”

Janus smiled a little to genuinely for his own liking. He nodded towards the machine in the corner. “Try to turn that on, if it isn’t too complicated for you.” he said in a somewhat belittling tone.

Logan rolled his eyes and walked towards it. “Let me know if you need my help turning the robots on.”

“Well, if they’re based on my technology, I hardly see the problem.” Janus said, walking towards the mechanical bodies on the ground.

“I highly doubt they’d all use such a simple protection mechanic.” Logan said.

Janus didn’t bother replying to that. He looked at the three robots on the ground. He wasn’t too keen on turning on the gunner again, so he picked the one in the blue suit with the big smile. He unscrewed the panel on the back, revealing a system that was… Similar, but not entirely. For one, it didn’t seem to utilize Janus’ protection technology, but it did have something else going on. Once again, it was as if something was blocking it.

The name written on this one was ‘PATTON’.

Logan mumbled something to himself, having placed one hand on his chin. He grabbed a tool on the table that Janus couldn’t see, pushed something into the side of the machine, and flicked a large switch on the side. Gears on the walls started turning, and there was a hiss, as steam was released from the top of it. Janus felt some power in the wires of the robot. He flipped the switch on the back. It stood up, suddenly, and Janus almost fell backwards. He shuffled back to his feet and looked at the other side of the robot. The eyes lit up in a light blue colour. It hurt to look directly at them.

“Please state—order” the robot said, but Janus could tell it wasn’t a complete sentence. He looked at the wires inside. He squinted, and unscrewed the side of the speech centre, and switched some of the wires.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked from the other side of the room.

“Fixing it.” Janus stated, in a matter-of-factly tone that could almost be confused with something Logan would say.

Logan bit his lip. “Is that wise?”

“Please st—Please—state order—order.” the PATTON struggled.

Janus tightened one of the gears and gave the water container inside a tap. Steam was released from the mouth of the robot, and Janus moved his hands back abruptly.

“Something is happening.” Logan said, his mouth gaping.

“What?” Janus asked.

“The eyes are different.”

Janus stood up and moved to the front of the PATTON. It was true. The light faded just a little and they no longer looked quite as lifeless. There was a visible pupil and the mouth that had otherwise been stuck in an emotionless smile, moved just a little. As if there were flexible muscles in the jaw. For a moment it frowned, it moved its head in a way that was frighteningly human. It looked at its surroundings, confused, concerned, perhaps scared, until its eyes fell upon Janus and Logan. It smiled, in a sudden and natural motion as if it had done it a million times before. Steam was once again released and there were a few oddly satisfying clicks, as the PATTON moved its arm up in a mechanical, coordinated wave.

“Hey there kiddos. What can I do for you?”

The voice wasn’t as inhuman and mechanical as it had been before. In fact, if it wasn’t for the phonograph-like volume and quality, it could easily be confused as human. Janus and Logan looked at each other at the same time, eyes wide, and without a hint of a single snarky comment from either of them.

“I… I uhm…” Janus said, looking the robot up and down. This wasn’t possible. The design was too complicated, the tone and use of words completely distant from the words of any machine. What Janus was looking at was something that would be considered purely hypothetical. “Who are you?” he asked because no other words were cooperating with him.

“Oh! Where are my manners?” the impossible robot said. One arm moved in a few mechanic motions to the robot’s chest. “I’m Patton.” The eyes closed for a moment as Patton’s head tilted and its (their? his? her?) smile widened.

“That… This…” Logan tried, speechlessly. He shook his head. “I have questions.”

“I’ll answer anything, within the best of my ability.” Patton said with a polite nod.

Logan looked at Janus. “Dr. Dedrick, we do agree that this doesn’t make any sense, do we not?”

Janus nodded a bit too sheepishly for his own liking. He corrected his posture and pulled at his cape a little. “We do.”

“Usually a creation such as this would be considered…” Logan began.

“…purely hypothetical.” Janus finished. He looked at Patton who was smiling as if he was frozen in time. “And judging by the strange shipments, the use of my technology…”

“…the blueprints, the prohibited area, and everything in this room…” Logan added.

“…I assume that the Facility has been keeping some rather influential scientific progress from us, no?” Janus said, his voice gradually shifting into something more bitter.

“Yes.” Logan said with a nod. He looked at Patton. “What do you think Patton’s functions are?”

“Patton, what are your functions?” Janus echoed at the robot.

Patton barely moved. “My purpose is to assist humans with anything they might want help with. This includes but isn’t limited to: cooking, cleaning, holding objects, transporting objects, taking care of children, taking care of pets, and anything else I can be programmed or taught to do.” he closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, “Though I apologize, I cannot do all tasks perfectly, as I have a few malfunctions. I am a prototype.”

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and Logan took a step closer. “Who built you?”

“My creators didn’t identify themselves, but I was produced by the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility.” Patton answered, moving his arms a bit more dynamically, in rather human gestures.

“When?” Janus asked.

“Depends on what year it is now.”

“1891.”

“A little more than four years ago” Patton responded.

“Four ye-“ Janus breathed and chuckled dryly. “There has been this advanced technology at the Facility for that long?” Janus didn’t know is he was more pissed or more ecstatic.

Logan’s breathing was shaky. “Why would they keep something like that from us? Surely it’d be ideal to have as many people as possible working to perfect such a technology instead of having them create a technology that already exists.”

Janus sighed and looked at his colleague. “Dr. Croft, surely you’re not dense enough not to recognize ill intentions?”

Logan looked at Janus with a strained, but neutral expression. “Surely you’re versed enough in the sciences to know, that we cannot jump to such a conclusion without proper data.”

“Oh, because I’m certain people with wonderful intentions would make a robot with a gun that shoots after anyone in range and protect their secrets with this much care.” Janus said sarcastically, gesturing with his arms.

Logan scoffed. “You’re one to talk about secrets.” Janus hissed through his teeth with exasperation.

“Are you talking about Virgil?” Patton said suddenly, sounding a lot less compliant than anything else he’d said. Janus could easily interpret a hint of confusion or concern in Patton’s voice, though that didn’t make much sense. “I- I mean, not to ro-butt in or anything.” Patton added with a smile, as if the robot had caught itself doing something bad and wanted to cover it up.

Logan gasped and squinted. “What did you just say?”

“Virgil?”

“No, the last part.”

Patton stuttered, “Ro-ro-butt in?”

That was… That was a pun.

“No no no that doesn’t make any sense. If wordplay isn’t the robot’s primary function, there is no way that would be a part of its language centre.”

Dr. Logan Croft was in fact, correct, even if it wasn’t what Janus would initially focus on. “Patton.” he said, in a tone that was meant to be friendly and polite. He felt somewhat foolish speaking like that to a machine, but it seemed that Patton was more than that. “Is making… puns… a part of your programming?”

Patton’s upper body moved back a little in a surprise. Patton looked down, in an almost ashamed manner. “No. I am so sorry… I-it’s one of my malfunctions I’m afraid.”

“That’s not…” Logan tried disbelievingly, “How did you learn that?”

“I uhm…” Patton tried, and Janus thought it was remarkable that the robot even added filler words like that. “Well, I once noticed that certain words in my language centre have similar pronunciations or meanings that can be utilized in different situations, and… And it’s terribly addicting.”

“That shouldn’t be…” Logan attempted. “That’s… That’s incredible!”

“Huh?” Patton said, tilting its head slightly.

“You’ve been able to learn from your programming without human interference! I can’t even begin to describe how unique and… Impossible that is.” Logan said. He locked eyes with Janus, and just then, Janus knew exactly was Logan was thinking.

“Magic…” Janus said. It was unbelievable. So much technology was right at their fingertips. Janus looked at Patton. “You mentioned Virgil, correct?” Janus asked, “Something was blocking its programming. Yours too. Why is that?”

For a moment, Patton’s mouth gaped, and the eyes were wide. Then Patton looked down in defeat. “I… I’m not sure. Some humans must have done it because it was the best option. Humans are good at that kind of thing.”

Janus scoffed. “Debatable.” He felt like there were a thousand questions to be asked, but there was a lot of information to take in. Everything was flying around him and meshing in an incomprehensible puddle, which was terribly inconvenient. He looked at Logan. “Should we turn on the others?”

Logan bit his lip. “I am… I am curious.”

“Oh! I can help you!” Patton said excitedly. He stopped moving for a moment. “I-if you desire, that is. What are your names if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Logan Croft.” Logan said.

“Janus Dedrick.” Janus said.

“Of course, Logan Croft and Janus Dedrick. Who would you like to turn on?”

Logan looked at the two robots on the floor. “How about… The one with the sash.”

“That’s Roman! He is a lot of fun.” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ll get him booted up in no time.” Patton winked and pointed at the boots he wore. Logan groaned, although there was still some light in his eyes from the entire situation. Janus couldn’t blame him. Unfortunate really.

“Wait, hold on.” Janus said, “Are you all considered… Are you referred to as a ‘him’?”

“Oh no no, not necessarily! It’s whatever you prefer to refer to us by really.” Patton said, frantically, once again acting as if he’d made a serious mistake.

“But… You use that among yourselves?” Janus asked.

“…Yes, but humans don’t usually do that.” Patton said.

“Where did you learn then?” Logan asked.

Patton paused, and his eyes became distant for a moment. Then he looked up, hesitantly. “I… I don’t know.”

Janus and Logan looked at each other once again, some sort of silent communication between them. Janus could almost forget just how much Logan annoyed him right then.

Patton walked over to Roman, and it dawned upon Janus, that it was the first time he’d seen the robot walk. The movements were loud, and you could clearly hear the metal scraping against itself while each joint moved up and down. It was still impressive. Janus and Logan followed.

“Let me know if I can do anything, to help. That’s what I’m here for.” Patton said.

Janus’ expression faltered a little as Patton said that. Having robots with functions like that made a lot of sense, but at the same time, this robot seemed to have… emotions and thoughts of his own? Janus couldn’t help but feel that there was something a bit sinister about having the robot act as a servant and nothing else.

“So… All of the robots have a full setting and a limited setting.” Logan stated.

“Will he shoot us at the full setting?” Janus asked, coldly.

“No no, Roman wouldn’t do that as far as I know.” Patton said with a smile. Janus almost wanted to comment on the ‘as far as I know’ but figured that saying it to the robot wouldn’t get him anywhere. Even if it was an advanced one.

“Where is my screwdriver…” he mumbled instead.

“Right over here, Janus Dedrick.” Patton said. Janus noticed Patton lean down, picking up the screwdriver from the floor. He marched towards Janus, extending his arm a little, which was apparently something he was capable of, and handed it to the doctor.

“Uhm… Thank you Patton.” Janus said, grabbing the screwdriver. Patton tilted his head and looked confused for a breath, but then his expression softened. It was remarkable how expressive he was. “No problem, Janus Dedrick.”

Janus unscrewed the panel on Roman’s back and fixed the wires and gears. He flicked the switch on the side, and the robot stood up. He didn’t stand up in the same clumsy way that Patton did. It was a little more coordinated and vivid. He held up his arms in a theatrical gesture. “Here comes the noblest Roman of them all!” he exclaimed. He stopped and looked at everyone in the room. “Hello there. How might I entertain you today?”

Ah. An entertainment robot? That seemed… Frivolous, but not entirely surprising. Interesting.

“What are you functions?” Logan asked.

“My, what an honor to meet such a dashing human on this… time of the day, I don’t have a clock function.” Roman said, bowing in a way that produced a few loud clicks. “I am Roman. Designed solely for your entertainment. I can recite all poems, plays, and songs I’ve ever heard.”

“Fascinating.” Logan whispered. “Can you produce poems and such on your own as well perhaps?”

“What?” Roman said, suddenly sounding very frightened, “Well… I…”

Janus squinted. He thought of the way Patton had acted upon the mention of his ‘malfunction’. “It wouldn’t be bad. It would be impressive if that is the case.” he explained.

Roman perked up. “I… Uh… I can!”

Janus watched Roman intently. These robots were truly advanced. Their language was so much like that of a human and their and they even hesitated in their sentences at times.

Logan looked at the final robot on the ground. “What’s it- what’s his function?”

“That’s Virgil! He protects humans!” Patton said.

“Did a great job at that earlier.” Janus remarked sarcastically, but no one reacted to it. Logan took the screwdriver out of Janus’ hand. “Hey!” Janus exclaimed. Logan walked towards the robot on the ground and started unscrewing the panel on the back. “Oh why, don’t bother asking or anything.”

“I apologize.” Logan said, though Janus could tell from the wry smile, that he’d done it partially because it was amusing. Logan removed the panel.

“It’s my technology, you know. I know more about fixing it.” Janus said.

“It’s really not that difficult.” Logan said. He moved some wires, unscrewed a gear. He flipped a switch, and steam was released from the side of the robot. Janus sighed.

“AH!” the robot yelled, standing up abruptly. “What is going on?” he held his gun in front of him and Janus jumped backwards.

“Hello.” Logan said, and Janus was suddenly overcome by how soft Logan’s voice sounded. It sounded kind and caring in a way Janus wasn’t used to.

“W-who are you?” the robot asked.

“Logan Croft.” Logan responded. “Who are you?”

“Virgil.” Virgil replied. He looked around. “Where am I?” his eyes landed on Patton. “Patton! Where are we?”

“I have no clue!” Patton replied, with a smile that didn’t quite suited his response.

“You’re in a prohibited area of the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility.” Logan responded.

“Oh, you’re not obligated to answer our questions!” Patton said, hastily, “Unless you really want to.”

Roman looked at Logan and Janus. “Where are the other humans? Why are we… Here? Did we… Did we do something… Wrong?”

“Goodness, no.” Janus said, “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Do you feel pain?” Logan asked curiously.

“Nothing that matters.” Patton replied. Janus tried to figure out exactly what the implications of that sentence was.

“Well, physical pain would require a nerve system, which seems like an incredibly complicated and useless thing to add, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to have that.”

“Like I said, nothing that matters.” Patton said.

Janus looked at Logan breathlessly. “Croft, they… They feel. Emotions that is.”

“What?” Logan whispered, narrowing his eyes. He looked at each robot. “That’s not possible, there’s no way that the magic can… That’s essentially creating life.”

“Are there more of you here?” Janus asked.

“I am not… Certain.” Patton said, moving his hand up to his chin with a single click. “I mean, we aren’t the only ones that were built but if we’ve been transported here, I don’t know where to find anyone else…”

“Have you been ordered to do anything with us?” Roman asked. Virgil was standing in front of them holding up his shield in a protective stance.

“No.” Logan said, simply, “No one sent us here. We br-“

“We’re here on our own accord.” Janus said, brilliantly. He looked at Logan harshly. “What… What are we supposed to do with all of this.”

“There is so much information, and we can’t just…”

“It’s going to be difficult to cover our tracks…”

“We should resume looking through the Facility.” Logan said.

Janus looked at the robots. “We have to… We have to do something about them before we do that.”

Logan nodded. “You’re right… Ha, ‘right’, that’s unlike you.” but the snarky comment hardly sounded sincere.

Janus exhaled once through his nose and allowed himself to smile just a little, even if he felt that it damaged his reputation. Then he gave the robots a determined glance. “I’m bringing them.”

Logan looked at Janus with a somewhat baffled expression. “And the notes and blueprints?”

“We have to bring them too somehow.” Janus said.

“Perhaps having you tag along wasn’t so bad after all.” Logan said, which made Janus turn his head confusedly, “It means we have more hands to carry all of this.”

Janus huffed.

“Huh?�� Virgil said.

“Would you like to come along with us?” Janus asked.

All the robots looked dumbfounded, and there was silence for a few moments, where you could only hear the clicking of their gears and some steam being released from each of them. Roman was the first to step forward. “Certainly, dashing humans. If you desire my presence.”

Logan looked at Virgil. “Would you like to come along as well?”

Virgil looked at Logan sceptically. “I-If you need my protection.”

Janus looked at Patton who was looking at the floor meekly. “Would I… Like… To… Uhm…”

“Would you?” Logan asked.

“It’s not in my… I can’t…”

Janus breathed as the realization set in. “We would like you to come along.”

“O-of course!” Patton said determinedly, “I will go with you!”

Janus bit his lip and watched as Logan started to collect some of the documents in the room.

This was going to be interesting.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I want to write more in this AU at some point. It probably won't be a cohesive story, but I have some ideas for more stories that take place in this universe. For instance, I would like to introduce Remus at some point. If you'd be interested in reading more stories like this, let me know!

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