#emoting with silly bird mask is silly

[tai-janai]

he was trying to . get that little bug behind your face. he missed

Behold, and pray to, The Tower equivalent: The Ode

[rat-prophetess]

I have this deeply unfortunate condition where I cannot absorb verbal information without doodling, but also I have the drawing skills of young child and the permanently shaky hands of a wizened crone SO the results are. Unfortunate.

I am definitely making a great impression on my classmates and future colleagues by scrawling stick-figure patho characters next to them while they’re trying to listen to orientation lectures 👍🏻

anyway this (+ illegible handwriting) is why I can never lend people my notes. termitarywallart.jpg

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Here, have a casual glimpse into my thought patterns and creative process:

*just scrolling about Tumblr and vibing to "Too Much Wine" by The Fratellis*

Too much wine?

Mihawk?

Mihawk drunk??

Wait wait wait WAIT what are they all like drunk?

GASP s h i n y h e a d c a n o n s

BLANK DOCUMENT HERE I FCKEN COME—

So anyway here's some headcanons about drinking too much (insert adult beverage of choice) with the OPLA boyos.

Implied that Reader is already in a relationship with each character in question.

I shall call it.......

HAMMERED

OPLA!Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy X AFAB!Reader

NSFW Headcanons

Kinda Kinktober I guess? Borderline shitpost, I had way too much fun with this.

♫♬♫ Too Much Wine - The Fratellis ♫♬♫

I'll take the mead from the table

Talk straight while I'm able

Until I'm nothin' less than a crime

Zoro

"Y'know, I actually have four swords, but we're gonna have to go somewhere more private if you wanna see the other one."

Rum, sake, beer, wine, whatever you're down for drinking so is he.

Zoro's got incredibly high endurance and stamina—it's going to take a while for him to show that it's affecting him at all, but once it does, he goes from zero to one hundred faster than you can say "onigiri."

Literally no in between, no tipsy or buzzed. Just sober and then stumbling over his own feet and swearing he absolutely is not drunk the whole time.

All those repressed emotions that he hides behind a mask of dry sarcasm on a day to day basis are coming out in full effect.

That means you're getting one of two Zoros—goofy Zoro or sad Zoro.

Goofy Zoro's going to have his arm around your shoulders, laughing his ass off about that time he caught that idiot Marine brat swinging his sword around bare-ass naked so he chopped off half his hair.

He's likely to get pretty flirty in this state, even downright playful, especially if you initiate it, and it's almost definitely going to end in him dragging you somewhere private to fuck your brains out, because his restraint is totally out the window at this point.

If you end up with sad Zoro, he'll be laying his head in your lap and slurringly asking whether or not you think he's ever really going to be the best swordsman in the world, probably still beating himself up over losing to Mihawk.

Just comb your fingers through his hair and do your best to reassure him that you love him and genuinely believe in him. Whether it works or not, he's going ti end up falling asleep in your lap, so be prepared to be stuck there for a while.

"But like...you really think, like, I can beat that bird-eyed bastard? I mean he fucked me up with a goddamn butterknife."

Sanji

"There we are—a beautiful drink for a beautiful woman."

Turbo Flirt Mode: activated.

Sanji is all for pairing wine with food, but if you're looking to get a little sideways, he's going to want to show off his mixology skills to impress you—and he's going to be making some dangerous concoctions, the kind that taste like there's not a drop of booze in them.

The more lit he gets, the less subtle the flirting. If you thought he was clingy sober, you are in for a surprise, because that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Head on your shoulder, puppy dog eyes, telling you how pretty you are and how much he adores you every thirty seconds, with a big silly grin like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

Brushing his lips along your neck and murmuring all the things he's going to do to you once the two of you are behind closed doors later—and he means every one of them, because you're utterly irresistible to him in this state.

He wants you giggling and blushing just as much as he wants you moaning and trembling under his touch.

Super playful once you are alone, even moreso than usual. He's definitely going to suggest doing body shots, he will beg if he has to, but honestly who in their right mind is going to turn him down?

"You're just...just so—so beautiful—honestly, it should be illegal."

Shanks

"Hold—hold my rum—no, no, just for a moment, I wanna see if I can do a backflip off the railing—"

Spoiler alert: he can't. Now he's lying on the quarterdeck alternating between hysterical laughter and "Oh God that hurt—"

Probably the most fun drunk in the world, but he can be a hazard to his own health as his judgement begins to lapse so someone's going to have to keep an eye on him.

If you're at a tavern or otherwise public location, do not under any circumstances let the man out of your sight for more than two seconds. He turns into a straight-up child, he can and will wander off, and you'll find him a mile away on top of a building, likely half-naked and singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs, with no clue as to how he got up there...or how to get back down.

He's developed quite a high tolerance over the years and tends mostly toward dark rum, though he won't turn down a stein of ale or beer.

Total life of the party energy—telling jokes and stories, he just wants to see everyone laughing and having the absolute best time.

Super, super flirty, he may as well have written the book on pick-up lines; and he doesn't care that you're already together, he's going to drop every single one of them on you just to see how much he can make you giggle or roll your eyes.

He's very likely to pull you onto his lap at some point and make out with you like no one's watching—he already doesn't really care who sees when you're both sober, but he really doesn't care after a little too much rum, so it's probably best to coax him to bed at this point.

He's perfectly happy with cuddling up, laying his head on your chest and draping his arm over you, just humming in contentment and falling asleep together...but if you want more, don't expect to get much sleep, because he wants you lasciviously.

To taste every inch of you, to suffocate between your thighs until you're screaming, to pull you onto his cock and watch you ride him until you're both too breathless and exhausted to do anything but tangle yourselves together in the sheets and drift off to sleep between slow, sensual kisses.

"Oh, princess, just when I catch my breath, you make me lose it all over again."

Mihawk

"If you insist on being such a brat about this, you're going to get what's coming to you."

Mihawk has a strong drive to be in total control of himself and everything happening around him at all times, which means he doesn't tend toward getting drunk.

But...he also has this wee little problem with his ego being larger than the entire volume of every combined ocean in the world. If you imply that you could drink him under the table...he's probably going to sneer and tell you to quit being a brat, but he's also going to be quite driven to prove you wrong.

He does love his wine, but it's generally only a glass or two to wind down and relax—he's definitely got a nice bottle of aged bourbon or eau de vie tucked away somewhere that's going to be coming out, because he's got something to prove now.

Unfortunately for him, due to the fact that he so rarely drinks heavily...he's a bit of a lightweight. Which he won't admit even to himself.

But it barely takes a single lowball of harder liquor to get that pale complexion of his a little flushed.

Perhaps just over three for him to start blinking a bit harder than normal in a futile attempt to get his vision to focus, to start speaking a bit slower to attempt to hide the slight slur in his words as you taunt him about it—which honestly only makes it more pronounced, and more amusing.

You had best enjoy it, because it's probably the only time you're going to hear the words, "Fine, you win," come out of his mouth—as well as perhaps the only time he won't be miffed about conceding. The alcohol in his system has him loosened up just enough that he can't pretend he doesn't find your boldness and sass at least a bit endearing...and even more alluring.

That being said, you're still getting punished for it, teased within an inch of your sanity, and he's going to enjoy every single second of it.

Setting his glass aside, plucking yours from your hand, pinning your hands above your head with a devilish smirk and slowly undressing you, his eyes on yours the entire time.

Trailing his fingertips across your bare skin, drawing closer and closer but never quite giving you want you want, his lips barely brushing against your neck, reminding you in an amused murmur in your ear that he could easily do this all night.

You did have the audacity to challenge him, after all—he has no choice but to remind you who's in charge.

"What is it, my little bird? Did you think you were going to get a consolation prize? You're still going to have to beg."

Buggy

"Bet you two thousand Berries I can shotgun two beers at once, watch this—"

And he basically ends up halfway drowning himself, but hey, you're two thousand Berries richer!

Honestly, there's no party like a Buggy party, because a Buggy party doesn't stop until someone loses a limb—probably him.

No, really. Don't let him use his devil fruit abilities. Keep a bucket of sea water on hand if you have to, because he may literally misplace one of his limbs and you're going to have to go on a Chop Chop Scavenger Hunt to help him find it while you're both completely smashed.

If Buggy's drinking, everybody's drinking, and everybody is getting completely fucked up. This is non-negotiable, he thrives on chaos and that's what he's intent on creating.

Anybody who passes out before him is getting something obscene drawn on their face in permanent ink. He can definitely hold his liquor, so if you can keep up with him then you can expect to be the last two living souls left conscious on the whole ship.

That being said, he doesn't care who's awake—things are going to get kinky, and he's really not bothered about anybody watching. Or joining in, for that matter. This whole operation very well may devolve into a drunken orgy if he has any say in the matter.

Then again, it may also devolve into him flopping dramatically across your lap and divulging absolutely all of his trauma in an emotionally-charged alcohol-induced rant. He won't remember it in the morning, so please do him a favor and don't remind him.

"Hey, uhh...I los—I lost my foot again. .....Sor—*hiccup* sorry."

[kolyubov]

Hi! Can I request Nikolai with a reader who achieved HIS goals? Like (maybe almost) not feeling emotions at all, but she still thinks she's not free. So she pretends to have emotions and much more goofier than him... But when she gets serious she really gets serious!

Sfw! I would love to see how Nikolai would act towards her! :)

Hiii, you're my first request and I'm so excited! I hope I met your expectations<3

Well, I think even if you pretend to be all silly around Nikolai, he'll notice sooner or later. After all, he knows how to pretend to be someone he isn't (like when he pretended to be a secretary or a police officer). And when he confronts you about it… things don't go as expected…

He wouldn't want you to lose your sparkle :((

✧ contents. angst?, Nikolai is a bit ooc and obsessive if you squint.

Nikolai decided to take you out today— The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, it's the perfect day for a date, he thinks.

The spot was far from the city, you weren't even sure where this park was situated but that didn't matter since Nikolai’s coat could bring you back home in an instant.

You two set a blanket down, along with some food and even board games to pass the time before sitting down.

Just the two of you.

“Dove, Look!”

Nikolai points at something behind you, but when you turn around you only meet with the scenery of the park— leaves rustling with the wind, birds chirping, the sound of water from a nearby lake…

The sight alone was almost mesmerizing.

Almost.

You didn't feel happy even if you were smiling slightly; which was only to pretend how much you were supposed to enjoy it. You rather feel melancholic.

When you turned back to Nikolai, he was holding a bouquet of white flowers; lilies of the valley, tulips, roses.

You had to force a bigger smile as you looked down at the flowers, trying to avoid his gaze as the melancholic feeling grew bigger inside you.

The gift itself was incapable of bringing you any sort of joy, rather you felt cherished by him because he intended to make you happy with the white bouquet.

“Oh… Kolya, dear. You didn't need to!” You giggle, reaching for the bouquet, but before you do he pushes the bouquet away from your hands and tilts your chin up.

The smile on your face falls when you meet his heterochromatic eyes, his right one is uncovered. A soft smile across his lips.

He's vulnerable in front of you.

“Darl’, if you want it, I need you to do something for me, please.”

You stay silent for a few seconds before putting on your mask again and chuckling.

Arms wrapping around his neck, making him drop the bouquet and instinctively resting his hands on your waist.

“Want me to smooch you all over your face? paint your nails? try new hairstyles on your hair? help you to bother Sigma? or—”

“I need you to be honest with me, dove.” His voice turns a bit more stern as his grip on your waist tightens slightly.

The way his softness falters makes you realize he's serious, so you stop smiling too.

“Why are you lying to me, hm?” He almost sounds like a father grounding his child. “I'm not mad at you, I just wanna help you because I care about you. I know something's wrong.”

A long sigh escapes your lips. Nikolai would know exactly how you feel; what you wish for… because he's feeling the same too.

To get rid of any complicated emotions that always get in the way of everything.

To be free.

“I don't wanna feel anything anymore…”

Nikolai could feel how his system completely stopped for a brief second after your words. His eyes widened, his hands went numb to your hips, and his stomach twisted.

His darling… not feeling anything?

That'll mean not hearing your sweet laugh when he says something silly, not seeing how your eyes open wide in excitement each time he shows you some random trick, not seeing those pretty cheeks getting red as you cry or get embarrassed.

Does it mean not loving him anymore?

Nikolai's large hands cup your cheeks, and you swear you could feel his fingers trembling.

“Love, don’t— don't do it, nonono.” His voice cracks slightly. He's getting desperate.

Of course, you still love him with your heart and soul, it's impossible to get rid of the love you feel for him, plus, you don't want to even if that means not being completely free.

“I think it's already a bit late… don't you also want to—”

Before you could finish speaking, he pushed you down on the blanket, locking his fingers with yours to pin you down.

“It's not the same, dove. You don't understand.”

A nervous chuckle emerges from his lips. He doesn't want to lose you, because losing your emotions means losing your love for him too.

And he wasn't going to let you leave him caged alone with his complex feelings.

“It's not fair that I'll be the only one who's stuck with his emotions, isn't it?”

There's a large grin on his face that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You can't leave me alone… You won't leave me alone. We'll both be suffering from these emotions if it means being together...”

Nikolai giggles, sealing his promise with a tender kiss on your lips as his hands tighten around yours— Making sure you know you're stuck with him as long as you keep breathing.

© 2024 pinklacydovey

[charkie-ee]

team bolas rojas gas masks designs??

in THIS day and age?????

it may be more likely than you think..

this was my first time drawing a series of different gas masks, no idea if they’re accurate at all, but it was really fun!!

**notes & closeups under the cut :-D**

it’s a lot of notes so be prepared for an info dump.

NOTES:

Philza: honestly, what more is there to say than “CROW MAN!!”? aside from his goggles being glow-in-the-dark, theres not much more to the mask design. however, i decided, “hey! this is purgatory! i can fuck up these characters!” so, he has a ripped ear(?)wing and messily cut back hair. (i didn’t pay too much attention to the hair in this design, i was mainly trying to get the gas masks down, but maybe i’ll go further into later.)

Cellbit: this is definitely one of my favorites, he looks pretty scary, i would NOT stop my car if i saw him on the side of the road. its based off of a cat mask(obviously) and a painted white streak goes through his mask, inspired by his hair. i didn’t include it, but circles in the goggles are supposed to retract with different emotions (kind of how cat’s eyes do, saucer and dagger pupils.) he’s also covered in blood because he’s going through it lore wise.

Slimecicle: ngl, it was my first time drawing code charlie(other than all the wips i have that i’ll never finish),but i think he’s pretty spooky. his mask is the worst quality, like it USED to work well until he wore it out. thus, there are broken air tubes that let the gas in. (he should probably get those replaced.) the holes for his horns are kind of like an airlock, so the gas can’t enter through them (phil helped him make it.) however, it makes it difficult to take off.

Baghera: baghera’s mask is kind of built like charlie’s, except in much better quality. aside from the loose air tubes, the mask almost goes all the way around her head, not letting even the slightest bit of gas in. theres also a plastic duck beak on top of the regular breathy-thing(i have no idea what i’m doing, so, no, i don’t know the technical term for that) to give it the “bird touch.”

Jaiden: jaiden’s mask was FUN. like i kinda went overboard. i did these all on different days, and this was the night after the big egg battle day. i saw she had fnaf bonnie ears along with her bird gas mask, and said “ok cool. i’ll add that.” she has the same feather/beak thing i gave to baghera. also, hair-wise, she gets a hair bun and her brown roots showing through(we love messy haired cubitos ^^)

Foolish: foolish was interesting, not sure i like the final product, but i’m tired, so it’ll do. his mask is based off of a lemon shark. he gas glowing green eyes and golden splotches on the leather. the air tube foolish has is REALLY long. like unnaturally long. so he wraps it around his neck to get it out of the way. the other members are extremely concerned it’ll choke him one day, but foolish thinks it’s cool and will scare other teams away. kind of like a “yea, i’m crazy, i could choke and die at any minute, and i don’t care.” phil, being the protective father figure of the group, does not like this at all.

Carre: and finally, we have carre. ah, sweet, sweet carre.(he is my favorite.) his mask is based off of a snow leopard because i hc he’s half feline. carre has the lightest, and most simple mask, since it’s entirely plastic, and more so based off of skiing or snowboarding goggles.

ANYWAY, i hope these notes make sense, excuse my rambling about silly designs, i tend to doodle messily, and not really have a plan when i draw, lol.

thanks for reading, BYE!

[wordstome]

Shrike pt. 3 - who we are

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, she/her pronouns, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander, absolute tooth rotting fluff, corny as hell towards the end

2.8k words

tw: physical and emotional abuse, violence (chokehold, stabbing, throat slitting)

Hello to everyone reading this from my main blog! In case you haven't seen the pinned post on bucca2, this is my new writing blog. Everything I publish will be here on wordstome now. Please feel free to unfollow bucca2 and follow me here!

also PARIS PALOMA TEASED HER NEW SONG "DRYWALL" JUST FOR SHRIKE CHAPTER 3 SPREAD THE WORD

[PART 1] [PART 2 (PREV)] [MASTERLIST]

What I had left here I just held it tight So someone with your eyes Might come in time To hold me like water Or Christ, hold me like a knife

When you’re in total darkness, your eyes adjust. You can see everything around you, but it’s all devoid of color. Then when the light turns on, it blinds you, but it’s better to be blinded momentarily than to live in the dark forever.

That’s how it feels as you prepare to travel home. To escape. You’re antsy, excited and petrified at the same time. Before, it felt like the days flew past in a murky haze. Now, even the seconds crawl.

It feels like moving in a dream, like you’ll wake up any day now and it will all be taken away from you. Your hope, your new dreams for the future, your König.

A shiver runs through you. Where did “your König” come from?

When you’re not occupied with the anxiety of keeping such a huge secret from your husband, all you think about is König. You’ve spent the past few weeks in a haze, like he’s put some sort of spell on you. You do get a kick out of imagining him as a witch with a hat and cauldron.

But you know it’s something simpler than that. All the feelings you used to have for him have returned.  It’s different than the heady rush you used to get with your husband. It feels sweeter, like you really are a teenage girl with a crush all over again.

It feels naïve, but you also don’t care. You feel safe despite the situation you’re still in, for the first time in a long time. You never would have expected to see König again—even less so for him to become your saving grace.

It seems silly in hindsight that you had been so frightened of him. Sure, the mask was a lot. But it had been something about his energy. It was different than you had ever felt from him, before or after your reunion. If he was that way on the battlefield, then no wonder he had earned the nickname König. You’re not sure if it scares or awes you.

You’re about to find out.

An anxiety attack is the worst feeling in the world.

You dry heave. Your chest feels like a roiling ball of angry carrion birds hollowing you out. You shake like a leaf in the wind. You fall down a long, dark pit of despair as your stomach seizes with nausea.

The train’s delayed. There’s been an issue with the tracks leading out of the city. No trains will be leaving for 12 hours.

You should have just sat in the terminal and waited, or tried to contact König, but you’re not thinking straight. All of your thoughts are focused on your husband, and what he’ll do if he comes home and finds you gone. You decide, somehow, that it would be wiser to throw yourself back into the lion’s den and pretend everything’s alright instead of waiting for him to come raging into the train station and pull you out by the hair. The thought of that is the only thing that gets you up off the wall you were hyperventilating against and back towards home.

The plan is to get home before he does and hide your suitcases. He’s usually not home by this time, anyway. You chalk the rising sense of dread in the pit of your stomach up to your anxiety and turn the handle to go in.

Fuck.

He’s standing in the kitchen.

The years have not been kind to him. He’s far from the charming young man you married. He’s wretched, unkempt, angry. It’s clear he’s been drinking, maybe even before he left work. The shadows etch themselves into the lines of his face as his expression twists into something awful, inhuman. You stand, frozen, as he approaches you.

“Planning a trip without me?” he asks with an awful grin.

You can still salvage this. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I just received word. My mother’s not doing well. I have to go see her.”

“You lie like a whore,” he snarls. “Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention. You’re different nowadays. Not the nice obedient woman I married.”

Your fear turns to anger in an instant. Years and years of this horseshit, waiting on him hand and foot, placing his smallest whims before your own needs and wants—it rushes up through you like hot steam. His nice obedient woman. And the worst thing is, you hate that he’s not wrong. That is what you’ve become.

“Yesterday I came home and you hadn’t even started dinner. Where were you, huh? Running around on me behind my back?” It’s difficult to describe, but his smile is oily: sleazy, untrustworthy, dangerous. “With that big fuck in a hood that came here with the mercenaries, perhaps?”

Your blood runs cold at that. Has he seen you with König? When? Why hasn’t he said anything? It feels like you’re stepping into a trap, but you must move forward if you want to get out.

“He’s going to get what’s coming to him, alright. My manager has a direct line to his boss. One word from him will get that fucker deployed to the middle of nowhere on a suicide mission.”

It’s an absurd threat, and you know it. This drunken idiot has no idea what he’s talking about—as if some middle-management bureaucrat could persuade a PMC to dispose of a soldier like König. But it’s the audacity that irks you. You’ve lived your life serving this man for too long, and now he thinks the world will bend to his whims. There’s absolutely no way he can touch König, but an old and familiar anger rises in you.

A long overdue revelation dawns on you now. He’s a bully. The same as Andreas: little boys with petty insults and empty threats. Pushing people around because their own lives are empty and unsatisfying.

An eerie calm breaks through you like the sky cutting through a storm. The man before you is just a feral animal, snarling and snapping in desperation. You’re not afraid of him anymore.

You reach behind you and slowly roll open the knife drawer, grabbing the first one your fingers land on.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving this house, this country, and this marriage,” you say, gripping the knife in a defensive position. Your father taught you how to hold a knife like this: backwards, with the blade along your arm, sharp edge facing outwards.

“This way, it’s much more difficult for someone to turn the blade against you,” he had told you, demonstrating the motion by moving your arm towards your chest. The memory makes you smile. At the time, you’d been indulging your old man—he had always said that violence was a last resort, but that the world was unkind and one day you may have to defend yourself. He was right, just as he was when he told you he had reservations about your marriage.

You’re going home. You’re going to see your father again. And you’ll never have to tolerate the loathsome toad before you again.

The beast laughs. “What do you think you’re going to do with that? Stab me?” He’s up against you before you can react, the breath leaving your lungs in a gasp as he pins you against a wall by the throat.

“You. Are. Mine. You will never raise a hand against me because I own you,” he hisses, his alcohol-laced breath foul against your face. “And it’s high time you remembered that.” His grip tightens like an iron vice around your throat, but you’re not afraid. Even as your vision begins to blur and blacken, you stare directly into his eyes. They’re like red-hot coals of fury, but you see what’s behind them now. The fear. The cowardice of a desperate man who has no recourse but to lay his hands on someone who can’t fight back.

“You’re pathetic,” you rasp, lips tugging into a smile. The coals burn brighter. The hand squeezes tighter. The adrenaline surges through you like a tide—and your body acts to protect itself, in a way that you haven’t allowed it to in a long time. A feeling as sweet and familiar as an old friend.

The knife makes its home right between his ribs.

He staggers away from you, as if you had slightly winded him instead of stabbed him in the heart. Your hands instantly go to your throat as you cough and sputter, lightheaded and dizzy but alive, so alive. You’ve never felt so alive as you do right now, watching the demon of your own personal hell look down at the blade sticking out of him.

“You stupid little bitch—” He makes as if to lunge at you, but time slows. Your eyes widen as the shadows behind him melt and solidify into a figure. Tall and hooded. No knight in shining armor, but an assassin of deepest night.

König slashes through your husband’s throat in one deadly, beautiful motion.

Your husband falls to the ground like dead weight, gasping and choking on his own blood. Your eyes are fixed on him, a strange sensation bubbling through you. You’re making some kind of noise, loud and cacophonous, as König steps over the dying animal who has controlled you your whole adult life.

His arms find their way around you as you slowly sink to the ground, howling and wailing. He’s so patient, you think numbly with some corner of your mind that remains untouched by the mania seizing the rest of you. The two of you sit there, his body warm and solid against yours, as your body slowly exits fight or flight mode.

“Alex?” you say hoarsely once you’re in your right mind again.

“I’m here,” he rumbles.

You turn to look at him as he pulls the hood off his head. There he is, your Alexander, all grown up. He’s rugged, with nasty-looking white scars streaked across his face, but so, so handsome. His eyes are still the same as he looks at you with something akin to rapturous adoration. Your green-eyed boy.

“You’re back, rosethorn,” he says with a wide grin. There’s a touch of madness to it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Was I…” Exhaustion sets in, seeping through your whole body. “Was I crying or laughing just now?”

He shifts you onto his lap, cradling you like a baby as you look up at him.

“I think you were laughing.”

The police release you after just over half an hour of questioning.

You aren’t going anywhere, of course. They’re leaving you, exiting your hospital room with murmurs of well-wishes for your health. They’ve hardly left the room when König comes striding in, instantly moving to your bedside and holding your hand in his.

He looks tired too, his eyes soft as he takes in your small smile. You’re sure he was being interrogated for much longer than you, but it looks like he passed muster as well. Not as if you had anything to worry about—what could the local police have done to the commander of the mercenaries taking down their local terrorist cell anyway?

“Are you alright? Did they clear you?” His expression hardens as he glances at your neck. You nod weakly. Your throat is going to be bruised for a while, but your attacker hadn’t done any lasting damage.

Attacker. Husband. Corpse. All of these words describe the same thing now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” he says mournfully. “He shouldn’t have had the chance to attack you like that.”

You shake your head at him. He didn’t know that you weren’t on the train heading home, after all. The room is quiet for a few moments, save for the distant beeping of a heart monitor.

“Why…” you manage to ask. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“Why was I there?” He glances around to make sure nobody’s listening, and leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I was there to kill him, of course.”

You shudder a little. He admits it so casually, that he was in your house because he was there to commit a murder. You should be afraid of him, but you feel around in your brain and come up empty-handed.

Instead, you find yourself worried. For him. “What if you had gotten in trouble?”

He snorts. “You underestimate me, rosethorn. I would have just framed it as a robbery.”

You nod. Oh God…does that mean he had planned this? Why doesn’t that horrify or disgust you? You’re just going to have to dissect that later. Right now, you only feel a warm affection towards the man stroking his thumb along your hand in a soothing motion.

“So…what comes next?”

“You’re asking me? We can do whatever you like. I can take you home.”

Home. Where is that, now? It’s certainly not in the house you’ve left behind, where the ghost of the man you were married to settles in every nook and cranny. It doesn’t feel like your childhood home where your parents are, either.

It’s such a corny saying, “home is where the heart is”. But home feels like it’s already here, sitting next to your hospital bed with the fondest look in his eyes.

“I’d like to travel,” you whisper. The with you goes unspoken.

“I have plenty of leave time saved up.”

You flip your hand so you can hold his. It’s huge next to yours. This is the hand that slit your husband’s throat, a hand that has killed countless people.

You’re not sentimental enough to pretend that’s not an issue. You’re not entirely sure this is happily ever after: that all of your problems are solved because you’ve replaced one violent man with another. But another part of you yearns to be the one who gets protected. You’ll take care of König, and you know he’ll take care of you. In his own way.

You can ask the questions later. Right now, you have lost time to make up for.

“Are you sure you should be wearing that scarf?”

The air is cold, but the wind is soft instead of feeling like tiny blades against your face. You tug said scarf down from your face and take in a lungful of crisp, icy air.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure König as he hauls himself up the last ridge to where you’re standing. “It’s loose enough. And it’s chilly.”

“If you say so.” He tugs his neck gaiter further up his nose. “What a view, hm?”

You’re standing on Mont Blanc, blanketed by serene white snow just as the name promised. Further below you, the skiing slopes are crawling with tourists, but here in this little outcropping, the only sound is the occasional rush of wind and your voices.

“I think I can see Salzburg from here,” you say, pointing off into gorgeous landscape spread out before you.

“That is most certainly still Switzerland,” König says, amused. You turn to look at him instead and are rewarded with his shining green eyes looking right back at you.

“Whatever!” You let out a dissatisfied hmph, which draws a hearty laugh from him.

“You came all the way to Chamonix just so you could look at Austria again?”

“It’s a very tall mountain,” you argue.

“It’s one of many very tall mountains. We could have just gone to Großglockner.”

“That’s boring. I’ve always wanted to visit France.”

“You wanted to visit a very expensive ski chalet.”

“Bite me.”

“I just might!” You giggle and squeal as he grabs you, chasing your face with his as you squirm around.

“It is beautiful,” he concedes as he holds a hand above his eyes to keep off the sun. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

“I should push you off this peak right now.”

“You couldn’t move me an inch.” He grabs you by the waist and holds you tight to emphasize his point. You can’t even shift his arms off you, no matter how hard you push.

“Ok, fine, you win.” You pout at him, but he doesn’t let you go.

The dynamic the two of you share is so easygoing and relaxed, it’s like you had a rhythm all along that both of you just fell back into. But of course, there are some things you’ve never done together. Like travel together.

Or kiss.

“Are you going to do it this time?” you ask him, smiling.

His nose wrinkles up, uncharacteristically cute for someone like him. “Well, I was going to, but then you had to open your mouth.”

You cackle. “Go on then.”

“Can I?”

“I just said yes!”

“I forgot how much you like to talk,” he complains. Before you can say another word, he captures your lips in his.

The sky is vivid and blue as the whole world stretches out before you.

#RIPBOZO

Here we are! We're at the end of this little story I started writing on a whim. Honestly, this means a lot to me personally: I wrote a lot when I was younger, but high school and university were very difficult times for me, and I stopped writing fanfiction. I tried to get back into it during the pandemic, but I was never able to finish anything beyond a long-ish drabble. I'm quite proud of this.

Even still, I feel like there are a lot of stories that I still want to tell about this couple. There's quite a lot that I decided to cut from these main 3 chapters for the sake of pacing and time. There's a little bit of dissatisfaction at not having crammed in every little detail that I wanted, but if there's one thing that writing university papers has taught me, it's that perfectionism will keep you from getting anything done. So you will be getting more from Alex and Thorn in the future!

I know a lot of you were anticipating what delicious revenge König was going to exact on Thorn's husband, so I hope you weren't too disappointed ;; While I personally would have loved to have König strap him to a chair in the basement and do some morbid things with a knife, I think it was important for Thorn's character that she's involved in it. While of course the main focus of this story is König, Shrike is also about his beloved Thorn. I hope to explore König and the darker (and pervier) aspects of his character more in subsequent stories. But for now, they're getting a well-deserved happy ending.

One last thing before I go: Chamonix is a resort town in central/southeast France, not far from Lyon. (Sorry, I don't know whether Lyon is south enough to be considered southern France lol). Mont Blanc is Chamonix's main peak of the Alps, and is known for how pretty it is and being at the border of France, Switzerland, and Italy. As König said, if you wanted to visit a mountain as an Austrian, there are several of them at home you could visit, but since I visited it a few years ago, Chamonix has a special place in my heart. I just had to cram it in!

As usual, I'm excited to see your comments and feedback. I've read every single thing everybody has commented about this fic, even if I couldn't respond to you all, and I appreciate it so deeply. Whenever I get feedback I literally feel like kicking my feet and giggling. And if you want to ask questions or request specific scenarios with Thorn and Alex, please do send me an ask!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @kneelingshadowsalome @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @fireballoveraltanta

psst. to my tag list people while I have you here: naturally I will continue tagging you in other Shrike stories, but I'll also be using this same tag list for every other König fic I write. If you'd like to opt out of that, let me know. (No hard feelings, of course :3)

[the-s1lly-corner]

can you make headcanons for all the tadc cast with a reckless reader?

also, have a good day :)

-daz

TADC cast x reckless! reader!

last post for this batch! ill get right back to answering stuff soon! my cinnamon roll dough is almost done with its first rise and ill have to shape them soon! also gotta make the frosting..! short post since the base of one of my thumbs is getting a lil sore idk if its because ive been typing so much these past few days or if i just slept on my hand wrong; maybe both

CAINE:

youre in luck reader! you cant really get hurt in the digital world...! well, not... traditionally.. you can definitely still feel pain, thats for sure, but i dont think your digital body has any bones to break or skin to scrape..! so hey at least you can kind of be as reckless as you want without consequence...! except, there are consequences. caine is not at all happy at your recklessness.. i mean sure yeah some of his IHAs can be more... intense, i mean zooble almost got turned into a gloink, but..! i think he tones down his adventures just so you wont throw yourself into the danger

POMNI:

tries to stop you but her words fall short as you run in yelling into whatever the threat is without a second thought. "i- wait- er..." and youre gone, leaving pomni to hurry and try to catch up with you. she probably has to drag you to safety, assuming this isnt a case where you got all glitched up by an abstracted circus member.. shes gonna have to work herself up to get you to chill out; perhaps ending in a whole emotional thing where she just. explodes? perhaps

RAGATHA:

just because you cant get hurt doesnt mean shes not going to fuss over you. if there were a need for it i think she would keep a pack of Band-Aids on her. however, because you guys cant get hurt in that way, she tries to keep you in bed when you inevitably get knocked a little too hard and need to rest it off. dont even think about trying to get up out of bed, shes going to give you this stern look that only a few percentage of people can muster.

you know the look

the stern one

scolds you too if you get caught up in something real dangerous

only really softens up if you threw yourself in danger for the sake of another person, because i think ragatha would do the same

JAX:

"bet you cant make that jump"

"bet i <> can!"

que you absolutely eating shit after you fail to make that jump, comically flipping over yourself and face planting. you probably have cartoon birds circling around your head. jax laughs at you before eventually coming over to help you up. he will not let you live this kind of stuff, down

KINGER:

he gets so so scared when youre not in his sight, i think if he knew you were willingly throwing yourself into harms way? this man would have a heart attack! like really, or he would if he still had his organs and stuff...if he could he would keep you in his pillow fort with him forever... but he cant, so he has to settle with following you around with meek attempts to try to stop you

ZOOBLE:

zooble would do similar stuff as jax, but when you actually. go to do the dangerous thing they just pull you back. "dude. i wasnt being serious"

bro has to keep you on one of those kid leashes because your first instinct someone says "bet" or "no balls" or anything in that vein, you need to prove yourself

GANGLE:

her comedy mask probably falls off from the sheer shock from how easily you just. launch yourself into things. on one hand she worries for you, but on the other hand she cant help but feel a little jealous; i mean shes just ribbon and a mask, shes not really... tough... strong.. durable... she wants to be able to run around and do the things you do but theres that fear of being immediately broken down or overpowered, you know? didnt mean to get silly there; anyways i think she would try to keep in you bed to sleep off the soreness, like ragatha

[yuri-is-online]

congrats on 500 followers, you deserve it!! ^_^ i adore your writing! for the masquerade event, may i request prompt 11 with trey, jamil and rook? thank you so much!

11. There is a really lovely moon outside tonight that you find yourself admiring, but if you would just turn around you would find someone admiring you.

Annon my lovely annon how does it feel to have such a wonderful beautiful brain, this is perhaps the most perfect line up of characters for this prompt. I'm happy you like my writing and really hope you like this.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, I can't speak French so none of that for Rook, sorry I do not trust google translate. So many references to music in this one... the other event quests can be found on my masterlist.

Trey

If Trey had to pick something about himself he liked he would probably pick his height. It made certain things easier, like walking through crowds and looking at things in the far off distance. It makes these little emotions he has when he sees you easier to deal with, he can always excuse himself and observe from afar. Trey prides himself on being realistic about these sorts of things, prides himself on his restraint and ability to keep things calm.

But it's hard to deny the truth. Painful even. He can feel the ache even before he sees you, his hand even twitches with the desire to reach out and break your reverie. But he can't, you aren't exactly alone, you walked out on to the balcony with Ace and Deuce close at your heels. They're joking with you, distracting you from the moon and stars he thinks you wanted to observe, but you can't seem to bring yourself to be annoyed with them. That's fine, Trey can be annoyed enough for you both. He would never call himself "massive" but he is certainly blessed with a broad set of shoulders.

And an exceptionally creepy (Rook had insisted it was fancy, très magnifique) bird mask that sends the dynamic duo fleeing back to the ballroom "abandoning" you to your fate. He would be tempted to laugh but he does not want to talk to you just yet. You shake your head in amused affection, relaxing onto the railing and letting some of the night's tension roll off your shoulders. He does the same, trying to give you space but not avoiding you when you move closer.

"The moon is beautiful tonight." Trey says after he's let you have your moment, surprised when you turn to him with a flustered look on your face. "That's what you came here to look at, right?" You cough, not helping his certainty but the shy smile that flickers onto your face suggests he has not made a misstep, not exactly anyway.

"It's a nice night." You say. "Stay with me, won't you?" There's emotion to the request he's tempted to read into. Tempted to classify as the same longing he feels and barely swallows when he looks into your eyes.

"I'll stay as long as you like." He says softly, and tries not to smile too much when you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Jamil

He is in love. You look like a ridiculous child and he is in love, Jamil is smiling at every move you make like he is actually happy for once. It's all he can do to pull himself away from his hiding place out to the courtyard you have decided to to stargaze in, as much as he wants to continue admiring you he would rather no one else see him in this horrifying mood.

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie~" You are dancing, he thinks, but it looks more like you are jumping trying to catch the moon in your hands, the rest of your silly song devolving into fits of giggles as you twirl, obsessing over the way the fabric of your costume follows you as you twirl. "Jamil!" You notice him the second he joins you, your hands immediately reach out for his. He lets you take him, lets you guide him in a jerky series of movements he knows aren't real dance moves. You're happy, and seeing him has made you happier.

"Just what are you doing?" He's almost laughing himself now, letting you guide him through your made up dance. "Wouldn't you rather be back in the ballroom?" You hum and shake your head.

"It's too busy in there, I wanted to look at the moon." Your dance slows to a gentle sway, Jamil takes advantage of the lull to take control of the flow, guiding you into a more structured dance. The silver light seems to kiss you, as if the moon is happy you came to look at her. Too bad, Jamil doesn't intend to let your attention wander back her way.

"You know, the view of the moon from Scarabia is especially beautiful, perhaps you would like a change of scenery when you're ready to leave." Jamil helps you twirl your costume, doing his best to guide you back towards the ballroom. He might have been spending his time hiding among the furniture of the ballroom, but he had a plan for tonight. One that involved you wrapped around his finger and waltzing well into the hours of the morning, and while he is not exactly picky about where-

He would very much like everyone to see just where you are ending your night.

Rook

The music in the ballroom drowns the tiny hymn that comes from the balcony. Even if anyone else had been looking for it, they would have found it impossible to hear, but Rook is no casual observer. To the casual observer, Rook is merely standing near the windows and their curtains, the Prefect's strange tune barely recognizable even there.

But then recognizable is not the right word. Rook highly doubts anyone in this world other than him had heard this song.

Initially you had walked onto this balcony because Grim had mentioned seeing a piano there earlier and that had struck you as odd. Why stick a piano out on a balcony if there was going to be a ball with live music inside the actual ballroom why stick an instrument out in the cold? You had thought it would look lonely, but the moon has decided to make it look romantic. Seeing no one around you settle yourself at the keys. And begin to try and play along with the tune in your head.

Rook holds himself back from going to you, telling himself to wait until you look his way, but you don't. You are content to sit and pluck at the piano, seeking the keys that match the memory of another world, another moon. He waits and waits, but still you only idly glance up at the night sky, and never his direction.

"What sweet torture," he murmurs into his mask "to be so ignored by such a perfect sight." As the music finds a stride you still hum, to his great relief. The pitch and quality of the melody matters little when observing someone's most private reflections. What matters is the far away look in their eye, the pride with which they rest their finished fingers on the keys and think aloud some words unlikely to be theirs but fitting all the same.

"Their song interweaves melancholy with moonlight, quiet moonlight so sad and lovely that it makes birds dream in their trees, while fountains sob in ecstasy..."* Your eyes finally turn his way and you startle. He pries his mask free from his face to reassure you of your safety; to you, it is like he has appeared from thin air, but you know him well enough that your surprised smile is more a courtesy than genuine surprise.

"Just how long have you been here Rook?" Your fingers twitch with embarrassment at the keys.

"I was lured here the moment you began to sing my lovely trickster." He bows, mask placed over his heart in genuine devotion. "Truly the power the your soul's voice has to command my steps is frightening." You sigh, embarrassment twinged with joy as you move yourself to make room for him by your side.

"Well then why don't you sit next to me and listen to just how badly I can butcher this piece." He very much doubts you could do such a thing, but who is he to deny your every request?

"My Trickster, I would love nothing more save you."

*Clair de Lune, Paul Verlaine 1869, translated by John Argo 2017. As a note to the interested reader, the linked song is named after the poem. I'm rather fond of it as I once owned a music box that played it.

[rubyroboticalt]

Minecrafters grab your pickaxes, and catch up on the QBLR QUATERLY!

What's up guys, update just dropped! It sure is something to try and decipher, huh. We've got pages of new stuff to go over, so let me learn you a thing about all the events and mishaps that happened on the server this week!

The Nether Angel, the Bird, withers away. Bibi mourns their friend, but does unlock an eye for the Eye Spy puzzles.

Peachy builds a precious pink cottage in a cherry grove. Zpca has guests in the evil lab, sure hope no experiments happen. Desnay has some deep-sea shenanigans with friends, and tames a Little Creature! Not a character creature. This is a mob that looks like a teddy bear.

A group of residents discover the chat bubbles mod, a mod that places typed chat messages above the player's head in a box. Some eggs discover how to imitate each other, so good luck telling which Salem is the real Salem. Residents also rediscover drugs and alcohol.

Two of the robo crew glow in the dark quite nicely! Also, turns out you can wear blackboards with drawings on them on your face as a mask. Now to find out what the point of the mask is.

Splat builds a manor in the mystic grove. Next on FOV competitions, we have a new record for how do you play like this. The other members of popcorn's family have a nice photo with normal fov.

Peachy does some interiors of the cottage! Some lore is silly and fun. Some lore is a kid watching a sister get killed by an uncle. The range of human emotion. And some lore is killing a g-d.

But don't worry! Residents have some very healthy coping mechanisms. And some kinning of that Russian guy who tried to grow a homunculus son using chicken eggs and genetic material. Don't forget the very normal coping dinner, that is vital.

And now, some autistic Minecraft behaviors. The digging isn't the only one, we also have our gothtistics playing funeral and going to Hot Topic.

All in preparation for summerween! Given that halloween is in october and it's not october, residents celebrate summerween to get that sweet sweet spooktacular on. There's costumes, candies, and cunning pranks. Don't forget the photo op!

Remember the creature statues that may not have actually been mentioned in a previous episode? Plenty are now complete, and some even have books for visitors to write to or about the creature in!

And this week on the server comes to a close with hor hor hor hor hor

[ghcstao3]

fun fact!! today marks the one year anniversary of this account (and a year + 3months of writing ghoap!!) and that is honestly so crazy to me

i’m so very grateful for everyone here, everyone who has made my experience in this community better by tenfold. thank you all for reading my silly little posts, and thank you all for just being here!! :D

as a bit of commemoration for the fic that pushed me to make this account, here’s a few wingfic au hcs to come full circle :) ->

-

» since wings are such a big indicator of emotion, having lost his and constantly wearing a mask has made ghost incredibly good at hiding what he’s feeling. unfortunately for him, though, without the mask his thoughts become a little more obvious—his face is just as expressive as his wings had been

» ghost gets phantom limb sensations every once in a while. it makes waking up from nightmares that much worse—dreaming about his torture, about roba taking his wings, to waking up and reaching backward for reassurance that they’re still attached only for them to be gone, it’s made for some pretty terrible nights

» otherwise, though ghost rightfully laments the loss of his wings, with therapy and time and healing he’s learned to deal pretty well. and he can take a joke—for example, the puny little set of costume angel wings that soap bought for him one halloween

» some old habits ghost finds impossible to shake. like how much space he takes up—with large wings, he’d gotten used to making himself smaller as to not take up so much room. but now he just makes himself smaller within a larger space, which is how he manages to scare so many people by going unnoticed

» ghost likes sticking close to soap for comfort and familiarity, but also because he seems to be the only person unafraid to touch ghost with his wings. others think the contact might offend him, but it really doesn’t. because with how expressive soap is, and how in-tune they are with one another, sometimes it almost feels like ghost has wings again when one of soap’s wraps around his shoulder, shifting with emotions they both feel at a given moment

» when on leave, soap has gotten into the bad habit of not taking care of his wings as well just to have an excuse to have ghost preen them instead

» winged recruits underestimate ghost’s knowledge of how to use wings to one’s advantage out in the field. then he’ll kick every one of their asses even with their advantage and suddenly that doubt has vanished. soap himself still has trouble beating ghost in a spar sometimes, and as do price and gaz on occasion

» soap studied the one picture he’d been lent of ghost pre-roba for a long while, and now most—if not all—of his sketches of ghost have him with wings. at first he’s hesitant to show ghost, but ghost adores it

» ghost is still updating his mental catalogue of bird jokes. he will not stop

[bow-of-aros]

Day Twenty-Two: Role Reversal

Summary: Daniel Jacobi is exhausted. Daniel Jacobi makes terrible fucking decisions when he's exhausted.

But, hey, at least he got to hear Kepler laugh before he dies.

-

Hey folks! I struggled coming up with something for this prompt but we got there! This is literally the only way I get see Kepler being tickled and Jacobi is in Such Deep Shit. They are so silly. Hope that y'all enjoy!! <33

-

“Officer Jacobi.” 

Kepler’s voice raised the hairs on the back of Jacobi’s neck. Their most recent mission had gone well with minimal casualties. Jacobi hadn’t even bothered him to the point of pulling over on the side of the road on the way back!

By all accounts, Kepler should be in a good mood.

But Jacobi’s continued survival sometimes hinged on telling the miniscule differences between Kepler’s tones. This was lower than average, the words clipped in a way they only were when Kepler was trying to curb whatever emotions he thought would give his thoughts away.

And Officer Jacobi? Kepler never called him officer. It was always Jacobi, or Mister Jacobi, or sometimes even Daniel if Kepler was trying to convince him to do something particularly heinous.

In short, Jacobi was fucked.

He looked up from his desk, all hopes of getting more than six hours of sleep fading into mist, and said, “Yes, sir?"

“Would you care to tell me what these are?”

Kepler was holding his mission report.

Or, at least, what was supposed to be his mission report.

In his exhausted state, Jacobi had decided that he could deal with that tomorrow and doodled a little picture of him in bed.

He’d been hoping that he’d look like that picture before Kepler decided to look at it.

“Look, I’m planning on getting it done tomorrow!” Jacobi tried to explain himself, “It’s just a placeholder until I get some sleep and can actually focus on it."

Kepler, stone faced, turned the paper around to show Jacobi the back.

Oh. Right.

“Is this also a placeholder, Mister Jacobi?” Is Jacobi hallucinating, or did the corner of his mouth just twitch upward?

It was a drawing of Kepler as a stick figure with some very angry eyebrows. Jacobi had his eyes closed with little z’s drifting up from his head.

He was also flipping Kepler the bird.

“…Yes?”

Jacobi didn’t get a response, so in a desperate bit to get home, he continued packing up his things. He made sure to do it slowly, any sudden movements might set Kepler off.

“You really gotta lighten up, sir.” Jacobi walked up to him, “Let loose, actually smile for once!”

Maybe it was delirium. Maybe it was exhaustion induced insanity. Maybe Jacobi was still riding the high of a job well done.

But he jabbed Kepler in the side like they were friends.

And Kepler clearly hadn’t been expecting it due to the sharp inhale that was cut off almost as soon as it had began.

That was new.

“Jacobi…”

Kepler’s tone was dangerous, a clear warning for Jacobi to back off unless he was looking for an early death.

Well, if he was going to plead insanity, might as well get as much as he can out of it.

Jacobi got a few rapid squeezes to Kepler’s side before he had to dance away. Kepler was not holding back and Jacobi wasn’t looking for a concussion right now.

But the attack hadn’t done what it had clearly intended to do, which was mask the half-flinch and choked exhale that escaped Kepler.

“Mister Jacobi, if you wish to keep your position you will ceASE—”

Because Jacobi had very little survival instinct (obviously. He worked for Goddard Futuristics. Under Warren Kepler.), he decided to take advantage of the fact that Kepler was speaking and wiggle a few fingers under his chin before rapidly pulling them away.

And there it was.

An honest to God giggle.

He’s sure that Kepler would insist that it was a catch in his throat, or maybe a shift in tone due to Jacobi’s insubordinate behaviour, but Jacobi knew.

He saw the brief flash of a genuine grin.

He heard Kepler laugh.

And now, seeing the murderous intent on his commanding officer’s face, Jacobi was pretty sure that it would be the last thing he ever heard.

“Run, Mister Jacobi.”

Wait, what?

“Sir—?”

An edge of mischief had crept into Kepler’s voice and a sort of giddy nervousness began to spread through Jacobi.

Kepler took a step forward, and Jacobi took a step back.

As he spoke, Kepler’s eyes glinted in the dim lighting of the office, and the reminder that they were the only two people there popped into Jacobi’s brain.

Nobody was here to help him.

Nobody would hear him scream.

“Three—”

Jacobi was gone before he could finish the word and an involuntary grin spread across his face when he head Kepler’s steady footsteps in pursuit.

“I will make you regret testing me, Mister Jacobi!”

Ha! Like hell he would.

Jacobi wouldn’t trade this for the fucking world.

[thesquishcloud]

141 Headcanons to Soothe Your Soul

Price:

unapologetically calls everyone "son", even women

gets sad when no one calls him "dad" in return

everyone calls him dad behind his back because they don’t wanna deal with the way he’d cry if he ever heard them

Secretly takes pictures of everyone when they arent looking

Doesnt understand American Football, but lives for how violent it looks

Gaz:

Loves Ghost's shitty jokes

Isnt good at jokes like Ghost, but can turn almost anything into a pun

Keeps a quote book of all the dumb shit everyone has said over the years,, it currently has 4 volumes

Video game fanatic,, mostly plays stuff like animal crossing and stardew valley

Cant sleep unless he has some kind of white noise in the background

Soap:

Brushes his teeth whenever they feel dirty, for however long it takes them to feel clean again

Does not have an organized bone in his body, but his room is somehow never a mess

Wears his heart on his sleeve and can't hide his emotions to save his life

Loona stan

Can full blown sprint in a pair of high heels if he needs to (dont ask, he wont tell)

Ghost:

Doesnt know how to "secretly" love anything, for him its all or nothing

Probably got his ears pierced as a teen/young adult, but hasnt worn any in years

Nicknames make him automatically like people,, give him a silly nickname and you've got an instant friend

Lives in Soap's room on base,, everyone knows,, no one talks about it

Hes actually very expressive, but its hard to tell under the mask

Alejandro:

Is stereotypically gay, while also being stereotypically manly at the same time

Feeds all the local strays

I think he really wants to be a dad, but doesnt think he ever actually will be

Will jump 100ft off a cliff no hesitation, but is too scared to learn how to drive

Counts on his fingers when he does math

Bonus: Rudy and Laswell

Rudy is the official "Little Brother" of the 141

He laughs when he sees kids fall down, but feels bad about it afterwards

Everyone thinks hes some innocent little ball of sunshine, but he actually has the dirtiest mind in the whole group

Write letters to his family and tells them about all the cool new friends hes made

Writes letters to the 141 and tells them about his family

Laswell calls all the 141 "her boys",, it definitely does not make them cry, thank you very much

Rubs it in Price's face that they call her "Mum"

Brings everyone home made food when she can

Loves talking abt her wife, please ask her abt her wife

She definitely owns a really annoying bird that just randomly has a scottish accent for definitely no reason at all what so ever

[poicyss]

Okay I definitely wanna hear ur Duck gushing. I liked her too, but I won't deny the one that was my fav was Rue lol

She's just so much! Aaahh!!!

I feel like Duck is very much a very basic anime protagonist on the surface - clumsy but kind, willing to do anything for her friends, a little confused but she has the spirit etc. However!! While she may be basic, she is in no way boring!

I feel like a lot of the times clumsiness is slapped onto main characters for humor and cute value. And while it does make her silly and cute, it also plays a big role in her character and her struggles. She feels like she doesn't ever really fit in, clumsily navigating and trying to balance the life of Duck the girl and Duck the bird and her role in the story as Princess Tutu.

She's called dumb all the time, but she's very wise! Especially if you're a fan of Rue, you can see how wise Duck is when giving advice and talking to her about her feelings and their relationship with Mytho, even if she has trouble getting her point across. Her intentions, even if her words were jumbled, were felt and changed Rue for the rest of the series. Duck is very Empathetic and a lot better at reading people than she gives herself credit for. She thinks she only has the ability to "save" people as Tutu, but I think a lot of her greatest contributions to saving the others were done as Duck.

She also is very brave. She's the one who first examines her role in the story and tries to search for a better ending. I mean obviously, she's the protagonist, but still! Fakir had been going through the same song and dance his whole life, wishing to change the story and stop it from finishing, but he doesn't go actively looking for a better alternative, instead just sort of stalling for time by keeping Tutu from collecting the heart shards.

I really like how Princess Tutu handles it's characters and their struggles AS characters. I feel like a lot of the time when you hear about characters being "doomed by the narrative" or whatever it's referring more to characters who are doomed by action and not role. And due to being the protagonist, of course, this difference is shown best through Duck. She happily accepts her role as Tutu at first, but then later considers that by becoming human she has been losing her identity as a duck, and how the role of Princess Tutu was sort of forced upon her. Is she just Princess Tutu, or is she more?

And she worries about being a tool used for helping people, but still continues to help people regardless. She's not perfect obviously, but her heart is ALWAYS in the right place, and she is incredibly sincere and strong and I think it's great that she is still able to be the same silly girl while having to struggle with stuff like her identity, purpose and destiny.

I feel like a lot of the time when people apply "angst" to genki characters like Duck it can feel insincere. A lot of people see silly characters, ESPECIALLY GIRLS, as lacking depth. Even protagonists! But Duck is just so emotionally rich. She's very cheery and always wants to do her best, of course, but she's not tied to just being a happy character. Actually, she's probably the only one of the main four who doesn't really wear a mask! She doesn't need to, since her emotions and connections fuel the story and it's characters in a way that isn't just "Don't give up ^^ Love your friends ^^ Girl power!!"

She's awkward and loving and brave and a lot deeper than people (including herself, with all that "I'm just a duck" talk) give her credit for. She reminds me a lot of myself, stumbling blindly through social situations to find a connection and someone who could handle all the big huge emotions I have without being deemed unnecessary.

...I'm gonna be honest, I don't even know if a lot of the above makes sense. I sorta just rambled in a random direction until I felt I made a point lol. And I still feel like I didn't manage to say everything! Ahh!! I love this anime so much!!!

[curvingsunsets]

A Kiss To Remember

A/N: you guys remember when I used to write? Me too. Here’s a Tom!Peter x Reader I started days after NWH came out and only just finished. (i’m. so sorry.) I’m a sucker for silly tropes and a firm believer that a silly kiss will solve everything. Also, I am trying my best to get back into writing! Please be patient with me!

Summary: After the events of NWH, you’ve moved on with your life, forgetting entirely about your boyfriend. Peter, on the other hand, has never let you leave his mind. After a nasty fight, he decides the only place he can go to is you.

Warnings: Blood mentions and cleaning wounds.

The weather wasn’t exactly the friendliest that night. The wind was howling and even with the coziest blanket you could find, the air still somehow nipped at your skin. It was probably the shitty window seal the builders left years ago when the dorms were built. But, you were too cold to even think about complaining, just turning the small space heater closer to you.

You tried to bury yourself deeper into the warmth of your sweater while still trying to focus on the homework that taunted you.

Peter didn’t know where to go. The dark void he’d just faced was something he’d never experienced before, especially with such little technology on his side, something he knew he had to start getting used to.

As he swung through the city, he thought of what he should do. He couldn’t go home since the wounds on his back would leave him restless and angry. The only other spot he could think of was you. So that’s where he went. He made his way to the MIT campus and landed on the fire escape of what he hoped was your dorm, if he remembered correctly.

A thud on the fire escape pulled you away from the countless mathematical equations running through your mind. You weren’t willing to inspect the cause of the sound, probably a bird anyways, you’d assumed. It wasn’t until you heard a muffled groan through the glass that you were lured out of bed.

Opening the thin curtains, you found none other than the infamous Spider-Man huddled over in what looked like incredible pain. You gasp lightly and unlock the window, sliding it open, being slapped with a sharp gust of wind. Something in your gut told you that you had to help him. So, you held out a gentle hand. “Come inside,” you say kindly,” it is way too cold for you to be lounging out on my fire escape.”

He looked at you for a moment, recalling everything that happened before Stephen cast that spell. His chest stung in an emotional pain, rather than the physical. Your concerned face almost calmed him. He remembered the days where he’d come into school and you’d notice a small wound on his forehead and make him stay still as you cleaned it.

He shakes himself out of the daydream and laughs softly, the first thing you heard come out of him other than guttural pain. He takes your hand and slips into the room, immediately sighing in relief at the change in temperature. “Thank you,” he says through chattering teeth, desperately trying to warm himself up.

You lead him to sit down at your desk, immediately draping the abandoned blanket over his shoulders. You open one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a small first-aid kit your mom packed you “Just in case!” You lean closer to the wound on his stomach, figuring out what way you should approach the situation.

“Wh-what what are you doin’?” you hear the masked hero ask.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you in and not patch you up?” you laugh slightly and begin wiping up as much blood as your small towel would allow. You look up at his suit itself, noticing the difference in hue and emblem than you remembered. “New suit?” you ask.

He looks down momentarily and stutters out, “Y-yeah…wanted to try it out.”

“Have all of your suits been this thin?” your words kind of spill out before you can really think them over. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really be asking that.”

“No no no! It’s alright, I swear.” Even through his mask, you could somehow tell that he was being genuine. “Something happened a few weeks ago, I sort of…lost my old suits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say kindly, beginning to poorly sew up the laceration on his stomach. “Now, I’m no medic, so this might not be your best fix,” you explain, paying close attention to your task.

He watched as your tongue poked out from your soft lips as you fixed him up. He knew he couldn’t say anything, but it reminded him of the time he’d tore a hole in his shirt in Italy and you’d offered to patch it up for him.

The two of you fell silent, him from pain and you from not knowing how to start a conversation with a literal superhero. Nothing was said until you finished patching up his stomach. He looked down at your work and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Even through the mask, you could see something in his eye that was almost studying you. The way the silence filled the air left him room to ponder.

“What?” you ask quietly through a breath, finally realizing the very little distance between the two of you. “Oh.” You can feel your face heat up before you pull yourself back and make distance between you and the superhero.

He looks around your room, probably trying to find some sort of conversation starter. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and notices a small teddy bear on your desk adorned in an MIT shirt. “MIT, huh? Okay, smartypants,” he quips, a small and somewhat familiar laugh falls out of his mouth.

You shake your head and smile at him, “It’s not that impressive.” You take another look and notice a pool of blood on his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” you say and place a gentle hand near the wound…just like that day in highschool. “I don’t know if I can get into the mask to fix this one..” you explain.

He hesitated for a moment. He wanted you to know, He wanted you to be able to remember everything and the regret was burning in his chest.

“Y/N..” he lets out softly, immediately grabbing all of your attention.

You’re quiet for a moment, looking over him for probably the 50th time that night. Memories in your mind playing over, just slightly blurred it seems. “I know you,” you begin, “more than I think I do.” You reach for the edge of his mask, hesitating slightly.

He doesn’t stop you, almost sighing in relief when you pull the fabric off of his face. He looks up at your eyes for some sort of sign that you know who he is.

You say nothing, just continue studying him as if he were the rarest crystal in the universe. Something pulls you to him, making you cup his chin slightly. You knew who he was, you’d both shared Dr. Osbourne’s lectures in the main hall from time to time. But something made you think you knew him in a more…personal sense.

Peter’s mind is racing. He noticed a glimmer in your eye for a moment before he reached to hold your hands. “What’re you thinkin’?”

There's something nagging at the back of your mind. Endless moments frozen with a blurry haze begging to be released. Silent moments in the middle of the night while studying for tests, the quiet buzz of the space heater being the only noise. A failed attempt at a pottery class, gentle hands guiding yours over the wet clay.

Your body moves faster than your mind as you gently cup his face, leaning in closer.

He gives you a silent nod before you break the distance and place a soft kiss against his lips. You feel him let out a held breath and his hands find home in your hair.

Every memory, every moment begins flooding back into your mind. The magic that withheld them fizzling away as the two of you kiss. From the first day of fifth grade when he so graciously got his juicy fruit bubble gum stuck to the new sweater your grandmother knit you, to the night after the homecoming dance where you so graciously discovered his other identity. The most recent one just so happened to take place at the statue of liberty, the sky looked as if it were tearing apart at the seams.

And that's where the memories stopped. You don’t know how, but you ended up here, barely knowing the boy you were in love with for a majority of your life.

He didn't give you any more time to think before he pulled away from the kiss.

“Peter, I-” you begin, but the boy cut you off.

“You know me?” he asks, his eyes nearly bursting out of his head.

You nod, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders. “My Peter.” You note the relieved smile on his face. “But…how?” your eyebrows knit together. “How could I have forgotten?”

He lets out a playful scoff, “I may or may not have asked Doctor Strange to make the entire universe forget about Peter Parker…” his words trail off as the sentence finishes. He looks up at your eyes, scanning them for any anger or hurt, but all he could see was relief.

You shake your head almost in disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you, Pete.”

He runs his hands down your arms, taking yours in his own. “And I love you, too,” he’s kissing your knuckles, exhaustion starting to eat at him.

“Stay with me?” you ask quietly. “We have a bit to catch up on, anyways.” After his sleepy nod of approval, you peel away from him to grab a change of clothes. You toss them his way and get situated on your bed

Once he’s changed and comfortable, he joins you, resting his head in your lap. It’s something he always used to do and it brings him an overdue feeling of safety. Your hand finds comfort in the messy knots at the top of his head. Before you can say a word, his breathing comes to a slow, a soft snore leaving his parted lips. You smile down at him and find your own comfort, drifting off soon after.

The weather wasn’t exactly the friendliest that night. The wind was howling and even with the coziest blanket you could find, the air still somehow nipped at your skin. It was probably the shitty window seal the builders left years ago when the dorms were built. But, you were too cold to even think about complaining, just turning the small space heater closer to you.

You tried to bury yourself deeper into the warmth of your sweater while still trying to focus on the homework that taunted you.

Peter didn’t know where to go. The dark void he’d just faced was something he’d never experienced before, especially with such little technology on his side, something he knew he had to start getting used to.

As he swung through the city, he thought of what he should do. He couldn’t go home since the wounds on his back would leave him restless and angry. The only other spot he could think of was you. So that’s where he went. He made his way to the MIT campus and landed on the fire escape of what he hoped was your dorm, if he remembered correctly.

A thud on the fire escape pulled you away from the countless mathematical equations running through your mind. You weren’t willing to inspect the cause of the sound, probably a bird anyways, you’d assumed. It wasn’t until you heard a muffled groan through the glass that you were lured out of bed.

Opening the thin curtains, you found none other than the infamous Spider-Man huddled over in what looked like incredible pain. You gasp lightly and unlock the window, sliding it open, being slapped with a sharp gust of wind. Something in your gut told you that you had to help him. So, you held out a gentle hand. “Come inside,” you say kindly,” it is way too cold for you to be lounging out on my fire escape.”

He looked at you for a moment, recalling everything that happened before Stephen cast that spell. His chest stung in an emotional pain, rather than the physical. Your concerned face almost calmed him. He remembered the days where he’d come into school and you’d notice a small wound on his forehead and make him stay still as you cleaned it.

He shakes himself out of the daydream and laughs softly, the first thing you heard come out of him other than guttural pain. He takes your hand and slips into the room, immediately sighing in relief at the change in temperature. “Thank you,” he says through chattering teeth, desperately trying to warm himself up.

You lead him to sit down at your desk, immediately draping the abandoned blanket over his shoulders. You open one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a small first-aid kit your mom packed you “Just in case!” You lean closer to the wound on his stomach, figuring out what way you should approach the situation.

“Wh-what what are you doin’?” you hear the masked hero ask.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you in and not patch you up?” you laugh slightly and begin wiping up as much blood as your small towel would allow. You look up at his suit itself, noticing the difference in hue and emblem than you remembered. “New suit?” you ask.

He looks down momentarily and stutters out, “Y-yeah…wanted to try it out.”

“Have all of your suits been this thin?” your words kind of spill out before you can really think them over. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really be asking that.”

“No no no! It’s alright, I swear.” Even through his mask, you could somehow tell that he was being genuine. “Something happened a few weeks ago, I sort of…lost my old suits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say kindly, beginning to poorly sew up the laceration on his stomach. “Now, I’m no medic, so this might not be your best fix,” you explain, paying close attention to your task.

He watched as your tongue poked out from your soft lips as you fixed him up. He knew he couldn’t say anything, but it reminded him of the time he’d tore a hole in his shirt in Italy and you’d offered to patch it up for him.

The two of you fell silent, him from pain and you from not knowing how to start a conversation with a literal superhero. Nothing was said until you finished patching up his stomach. He looked down at your work and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Even through the mask, you could see something in his eye that was almost studying you. The way the silence filled the air left him room to ponder.

“What?” you ask quietly through a breath, finally realizing the very little distance between the two of you. “Oh.” You can feel your face heat up before you pull yourself back and make distance between you and the superhero.

He looks around your room, probably trying to find some sort of conversation starter. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and notices a small teddy bear on your desk adorned in an MIT shirt. “MIT, huh? Okay, smartypants,” he quips, a small and somewhat familiar laugh falls out of his mouth.

You shake your head and smile at him, “It’s not that impressive.” You take another look and notice a pool of blood on his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” you say and place a gentle hand near the wound…just like that day in highschool. “I don’t know if I can get into the mask to fix this one..” you explain.

He hesitated for a moment. He wanted you to know, He wanted you to be able to remember everything and the regret was burning in his chest.

“Y/N..” he lets out softly, immediately grabbing all of your attention.

You’re quiet for a moment, looking over him for probably the 50th time that night. Memories in your mind playing over, just slightly blurred it seems. “I know you,” you begin, “more than I think I do.” You reach for the edge of his mask, hesitating slightly.

He doesn’t stop you, almost sighing in relief when you pull the fabric off of his face. He looks up at your eyes for some sort of sign that you know who he is.

You say nothing, just continue studying him as if he were the rarest crystal in the universe. Something pulls you to him, making you cup his chin slightly. You knew who he was, you’d both shared Dr. Osbourne’s lectures in the main hall from time to time. But something made you think you knew him in a more…personal sense.

Peter’s mind is racing. He noticed a glimmer in your eye for a moment before he reached to hold your hands. “What’re you thinkin’?”

There's something nagging at the back of your mind. Endless moments frozen with a blurry haze begging to be released. Silent moments in the middle of the night while studying for tests, the quiet buzz of the space heater being the only noise. A failed attempt at a pottery class, gentle hands guiding yours over the wet clay.

Your body moves faster than your mind as you gently cup his face, leaning in closer.

He gives you a silent nod before you break the distance and place a soft kiss against his lips. You feel him let out a held breath and his hands find home in your hair.

Every memory, every moment begins flooding back into your mind. The magic that withheld them fizzling away as the two of you kiss. From the first day of fifth grade when he so graciously got his juicy fruit bubble gum stuck to the new sweater your grandmother knit you, to the night after the homecoming dance where you so graciously discovered his other identity. The most recent one just so happened to take place at the statue of liberty, the sky looked as if it were tearing apart at the seams.

And that's where the memories stopped. You don’t know how, but you ended up here, barely knowing the boy you were in love with for a majority of your life.

He didn't give you any more time to think before he pulled away from the kiss.

“Peter, I-” you begin, but the boy cut you off.

“You know me?” he asks, his eyes nearly bursting out of his head.

You nod, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders. “My Peter.” You note the relieved smile on his face. “But…how?” your eyebrows knit together. “How could I have forgotten?”

He lets out a playful scoff, “I may or may not have asked Doctor Strange to make the entire universe forget about Peter Parker…” his words trail off as the sentence finishes. He looks up at your eyes, scanning them for any anger or hurt, but all he could see was relief.

You shake your head almost in disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you, Pete.”

He runs his hands down your arms, taking yours in his own. “And I love you, too,” he’s kissing your knuckles, exhaustion starting to eat at him.

“Stay with me?” you ask quietly. “We have a bit to catch up on, anyways.” After his sleepy nod of approval, you peel away from him to grab a change of clothes. You toss them his way and get situated on your bed

Once he’s changed and comfortable, he joins you, resting his head in your lap. It’s something he always used to do and it brings him an overdue feeling of safety. Your hand finds comfort in the messy knots at the top of his head. Before you can say a word, his breathing comes to a slow, a soft snore leaving his parted lips. You smile down at him and find your own comfort, drifting off soon after.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 43: The Moss

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: "Whimsy" and "wisdom" are pretty similar words, when you think about it. Acceptance is found in unexpected places, exchange between a silly girl and God and his will incarnate.

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is The Moss by Cosmo Sheldrake.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Come listen, all ye fair maids, to how the moral goes

Nobody knew and nobody knows

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There’s someone within the group that traveled all this way at the behest of their leader...who isn’t a fan of hot springs. How could that be?! The epitome of peace...ease...healing. The water cleanses you and the steam kisses your cheeks. Who could dislike such a thing, a place that nature carved into the ground so lovingly so as to cure human ailment and sorrows?

The answer is someone that isn’t human, of course.

Indeed, a place like that would do the opposite of what was intended. The water would sink into his joints; the steam would ruin his varnish. When you replace your body, you also replace your needs.

This is why Sasori prefers to work both alone and in the dark.

His room in the inn is closed off, blinds strewn over the one window and a towel kicked to fill up the gap underneath the door, lest obnoxious light and sound stream in. He sits on the bed, not because he wants to but because it is convenient, and he holds his latest masterpiece by the chin.

All of a sudden, over his shoulder...he feels the sculptures of Deidara’s looming from their spot on the table, despite how small they are. Two tiny people, one with a ponytail and one with a hat, standing so close they could be holding their diminutive little hands. Brown eyes acknowledge, but only just a moment, just long enough to narrow and then for his mouth to huff before he turns back to what is, in comparison, clearly the superior form of art.

Corpse turned person looks up to someone the same way, her arms resting either side of his hips upon the mattress while his palms cup her face above his lap.

He knows that what Deidara does and what he does...are both replications of themselves, in a way. He knows this, and so he has to ignore, lest he see himself on the same lowly level as anyone else.

...Ridiculous.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes

Or how the Dong came to own a luminous nose

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Jesus Christ...”

The woman swears as she stands up from where she slept in the corner, between a travel bag and a cabinet, a more sickly tone of her skin under her eyes and spine very, very reluctant to twist its vertebrae after being stuck in the same place for hours on end.

Caw, caw. A bird somewhere, deep in the forest, calls out. For what? Who knows. Most everyone else of its kind has gone to their second home, elsewhere across this planet. It helps her wake up, to think about that kind of loneliness.

One big, big stretch...and she finally notices what is missing.

Konan is gone.

Emotions and thoughts race from one to another in seconds. Surprise, fear, embarrassment...memory. The traveler hunches her shoulders forward and looks to the pristinely made bed, daylight brushing onto dust motes so as to see their shape, almost like fairy-dusted sprites. That bed...presumably where Konan had slept. She exhales a small, self-pitying sigh.

And now she has to go on with the rest of her life, everything she did last night a shadow that walks behind, looming as a reminder. Joy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Where the Jabberwocky's small green tentacles do flow

And the Quangle Wangle plays in the rain and the snow

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I see you’re struggling a bit,” someone speaks, standing besides a curtain. It rests just next to a window just barely cracked open, a small breeze bringing in cold air that shifts the fabric somewhat in front of a figure behind an orange mask. “May I give a word of advice?” the secret Uchiha asks. The tone from covered lips isn’t the one he usually wears, but that doesn’t seem to surprise his audience at all.

Pain gives a long, slow blink. It isn’t like Madara to reveal himself, not outside of Amegakure...though perhaps these circumstances are out of the ordinary. He is, after all, skipping about most of these days as a clown named Tobi. He uncrosses his leg, sitting up straighter in the kitchen chair as he looks somewhat upward to the man by the window pane. “I suppose so.”

“The best way to circle in on the girl…” a normally saccharine spiral suggests, “Is to use her curiosity.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon?

Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But there’s no opportunity for Pain to try such a thing if she stays holed up, as she has been attempting to. With no space truly her own and the living room full of mixed feelings, she’s hanging out in everyone’s favorite place for awkward, comforting sadness: a closet full of old clothes. For the first time, at least to her eyes, Tobi appears, orange mask around the corner with a quick yet light “boop!” and gloved fingers gripping the side of the open doorway as he leans so far in, just to distract, just to delight. “Takara-chan!”

And she responds with equal excitement. “Tobi!”

Scarves fall to the sides as she practically jumps at the sight of her friend. She runs to him, so immensely relieved. It becomes immediately, abundantly clear: she’s been stressed and suppressed as hell. But he already knew that.

He lets her hug as long as she’d like, then holds her a second longer.

“Tobi, where have you been!”

“Oh!” he responds, chipper as ever, as if nothing about him is strange at all. “Around!”

The traveler tilts her head up from where she was snuggled at his chest, trying to look for his expression regardless of the whole faceless situation he has going on. “Around?”

…

A pause, and he answers. “That’s all you’re getting out of me, Takara-chan!”

And the woman gives a nervous laugh, one that becomes a bit softer and eventually fades away alongside her smile. She continues to let him hold her, his arms no longer a mere hug but a place of solitude. She sighs so nicely in his ear. He pats her back, rests his chin on her shoulder.

“...Takara-chan?” Tobi asks, voice quiet enough you quite aren’t sure if it’s his usual, sweet one.

“...Yeah?”

“You don’t seem like you’re having fun.”

…

He’s so easy to perform for, yet so impossible to lie to. More of her weight falls upon him, and her voice, too, gets lower. “Tobi…” she asks behind his ear, “You don’t have any idea what they’re doing...right?”

He backs up just enough to let her go and tilt his head. It flusters her in an instant.

“I-I-I- mean… If they want something...why don’t they just ask for it? Outright?”

Tilts the other way. The woman follows his angle, tilting her own head till she can feel her hair dangle, giving a small frown and a raised brow. “Tobi...?” the performer asks, unsure what she’s supposed to get out of his behavior. His answer, put so straightforwardly, floors her:

“It’s hard to ask for something if you don’t know what you want.”

Her eyes flinch a bit wider, and she understands now why he let her go; it’s lest she feels suffocated.

“What?!” she exclaims reflexively, then hunching her shoulders and fidgeting her fingers in nervous, racing thought. “So like...I’m just around for his curiosity? But— but—!”

The man in a dark green scarf doesn’t add anything, and she is forced to speak her mind, talk out her emotions. What a horrible, necessary lesson, he laments, watching her squirm and beg for help with her wide eyes.

But she does understand, eventually.

“But…” she continues, softer and calmer, and finally willing to look where his eye should be, that black hole in the middle of a spiral. “...Still...why doesn’t he just ask me things? He doesn't seem like...the shy type.” Never one for being good with indirectness herself, ironically. A fragile girl would rather be broken outright than be chipped away piece by piece. But Tobi shares no such fear, he who revels in the disguise, finds his strength within it. He responds somehow both childishly and wisely, perhaps like he's talking to a younger kid on the playground.

...Except they’re in a closet, drowning in old and dusty clothes.

“Oh, Leader-sama isn’t very good at talking.” But he quickly interrupts himself, putting a finger to scratch his chin. “Er...one-to-one, I mean. He’s more of a public speaker kind of guy.”

“I...huh.” And all of a sudden...it hits her. "Huh.” Gravity feels stronger and she walks past her enigmatic friend, wandering over to an empty loveseat in the room adjacent to her dark, moth-scourged haven now absolutely littered with unfolded winter-weather laundry.

The masked man sees the woman inhale...and exhale...as she holds her head in her hand and prepares to ask him a question.

“Tobi...are you saying he and Konan just...have no ulterior motives? For keeping a total stranger in their care?!”

The answer is obvious, and he makes that abundantly clear, regaining his bright and obnoxious persona. “Uhuh!”

“Tobi…” she continues, repeating his name as if it'll make him make sense, brow now pinching till it gives her a headache. “That’s really hard to believe!”

“Oh contrare!” A black-glove wags a finger at her. “I don’t think it’s as hard to as you think it is! Just stop viewing them as the big bad leaders! Think of them like...well…” And emphasized with a shrug: “...everyone else!”

…

Her eyes narrow at him, and the reply is deadpan. “...You mean ninjas that can kill me.”

“Yes! Er. No. I meaaaaan!” He bounces back and forth, both in opinion and with his body, arms up to arms down to arms every which way as he acts out all the contradictions of what he intends to say. Eventually, though, they cross and stay that way. Thank god, she was getting dizzy. “Well...you got everyone else to play along.” What a strange choice of words— “Think about it! Everyone else so far has just wanted someone. What do you think they want?”

And despite herself...she could never forget what they asked for, the leader and his first mate looking down upon her in a hollowed out tree, and she so stupidly sees they did, indeed, put it outright after all:

“...All they want is to know about me,” the woman mutters in realization, a blink to push back all she used to believe. “About my world.”

A long, long silence stills the air, and for a second, she wonders if there’s an expression he holds, just behind his mask, and if it’s better or not that it can’t be seen. How he chooses to reply is much the same.

“...Is that so bad?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Or she, who leapt up mountains, while whistling up a tune

And swapped her songs with swallows while riding on a broom?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

For once, it’s the girl that asks for something first— first thing she’s requested, really, besides being able to sleep in the living room. That kinda sorta failed, so maybe this will kinda sorta succeed? Here goes nothing.

Inch. By inch. By inch. She side-steps into their vision, a man and a woman seated facing each other, though their heads were already angled to lock onto where she’ll end up standing. The performer begins to regret not bringing her guitar, not having something to ground her as she begins to speak up.

“You guys...uh...wanna go for a walk with me?”

A glance between sharp orange eyes and soft violet. Silence. She swears she feels a bead of sweat on her temple, how tense this makes her as she stands in front of them, arms glued to her sides and head tilted down in a shy sort of submission.

“So.” ... “Uhhhh—”

More silence; somewhere along the way they stopped looking at each other and started to look at her. The stranger’s cheeks become pink as she comes to realize what is happening.

“Oh— oh. Uh,” she stammers at their strange form of conveying agreement. “Okay. Just— follow me?”

Not much following to be done if she keeps still. The performer forces herself to turn around and start walking, lest to freeze up watching the two approach.

They go outside, start to walk the path in the woods, the one towards the lake but not necessarily to it. Just getting lost, looking around. That’s been her idea, after all. Hopefully they don’t ask too much. ...Ah, Jesus, she might be fucked if they ask too much. Welp! Too late to stop now.

Thankfully, no such thing happens. The two keep pace on the rough, chipped path, one on either side of her. She has no idea if they’re content or if they’re on guard. It hasn’t been terribly long, sure, but the woman swears she hasn’t seen one of them so much as relax their shoulders. It makes her feel stiff just seeing 'em.

An exhale, and the performer does her best to reenact the mindset she had, when she traveled with Itachi and Kisame. Forget your troubles, enjoy the cool touch in the air. Leveling her head is the best chance she has to actually making this plan work. She turns her head around, taking in the beauty.

“So, uh…” she asks, trying to fill the disquieting gaps of sound. “Was it a long journey to get here?”

“Yes,” Konan answers flatly.

...

...

...And that’s it! Great. Wonderful! The traveler is having a fantastic time.

They are not great conversationalists.

“I. Uh. Uh.” Blind, desperate reaches into her brain find a sentence to jump off of for a continued topic. “Sorry it was so long.”

“...Why are you apologizing?” Konan asks.

“Uh.” Oh Jesus Christ, why IS she?! It isn’t her fault they lived far away! Embarrassment makes her lose the plot. “I. Uh. ...Sorry.”

...

...

Konan glances to Pain from behind the woman’s shoulders. If you have a plan, save me now.

And thankfully, he already did.

“Tell me…” the orange-haired man drawls, a bit of wind flicking his collar. “Have my followers been...sufficient?”

“Uh.” The word is inevitably repeated again. Blink blink. She turns her gaze back to him in confusion. “...What?”

“Apologies. To clarify...I mean in teaching you.”

And another word repeats, too. “...Oh.” Her brow furrows. “I didn’t realize that was an actual assignment. I mean...some of them have taught me some things? ...But...” She abruptly feels on the spot, guilty, and a bit nervous. Like she’s supposed to know more…

She's just been horsing around, playing house and singing songs no one really gets. Maybe, all along, she's been wasting precious time; the thought strikes like lightning from her brain, down her spine, into her heart.

“Then let’s take opportunity to clear the air,” Pain says, taking control of where the conversation will go; she can tell that intent immediately, but will it be for the better? “Listen. I know this is difficult. I know that you don’t trust me— not fully. But I think that can be changed. I want you to believe that I have your best interest at heart. And perhaps...exchange of information is a good place to start.”

“...Well.” A third word now comes, one she didn’t know she had in her, as it conveys she and him really are on the same page. Uh. Oh Well. Wow! “Well…” she trails, and she unconsciously begins to stop in her tracks. If they’re exchanging information, perhaps it’s best to pick something a little less...loaded than what she really wants to confirm the most. “What’s chakra?”

Crunch, crunch. Leaves crackle underneath the sandals of painted toes. The leader of the Akatsuki, once again, gives a hum low and long and with a slight upturn, just enough to give away a sense of humor.

“My hunch was correct. You really don’t know or have such a thing.” Bracing herself for a possible scolding proves unnecessary. He’s more than willing to explain.

In fact, he begins right then and there, making her lose all the tension she holds so tightly in her body. A gasp is made as a pale hand, fingernails so boldly red and impossible to miss, stretches to a stick on the ground embedded into days upon days of mud and freezing fog. He does not bend down. And yet.

And yet.

The stick is taken into his palm, like the two things are magnetized.

God and angel drink in the wonder and awe in those eyes, the gaze of a civilian. They try to remind themselves...not to tire of it. To ingrain it on their souls like a tick on a scoreboard. Again, and again, they’ll show the whole world.

“Think of it...as this…”

What was once horizontal into the ground becomes vertical, Pain pointing the sharper end of the wood into the earth. The performer watches it etch a shape then draw lines within.

“Chakra,” Pain says, “Is a substance that is abundant in all sentient life forms.” The tool pulls away, and it is now clear that the outer boundaries in the dirt resemble a human being, what appears to be veins crawling within from the core of the chest. “It’s produced by organs within the body, and it is transferred much like the circulatory system carries blood, or perhaps more so like the nervous system carries stimulation. Shinobi, by and large, are people that are trained to manipulate chakra.”

Chameleon eyes wait for starry ones to finish taking it in, catch up detail by detail before moving on; eventually, he is satisfied. He pivots ever so slightly to the left side of this image and next begins to form a circle. He splits it in half.

“The creation of chakra involves two things: energy physically manifested in the molecular structure; and energy spiritually generated from your consciousness. Both are finite, but can be trained, much the same way you can strengthen your muscles, grow the capability of your mind. Shinobi can have innate abilities, yes. We have groups called ‘clans’: descendants who share certain skills through their bloodline. But a strong shinobi trains. They work, and work, and test themselves constantly. You’re a musician.” A shift in his tone, one she doesn’t understand until the next sentence follows it up.

“Consider it practicing your art. Or perhaps more aptly...suffering for it.”

The wind whistles a bit more when the branches are barren of leaves.

He sees the furrow of her brow. Regardless of how fantastical everything is...he can tell. She’s having trouble wrapping around it. A look to Konan. She, as always, nods and carries out his will.

“Takara-san,” she says to gently pull her attention. Once it’s had, the ame-nin holds out her palm. Unsure what it means, the civilian looks down to it. A twitch of her stare up. A twitch down. And with nothing else to do...she begins to reach forward.

But with another gasp, she flinches back.

Like disturbing a nest of insects, the ninja's flesh becomes white— starkly white— and begins to flutter away, piece by piece in thin, folded slivers. The woman’s jaw drops and her gaze follows the small sprites to the gray sky. They look so...so...—

Why are they so familiar?

One lingers closer to her face, and she cups her hands to let it land. The shape of it...the sensation…!

It’s made of...paper!!!

“W—...wha—…?” Brow furrows...eyes squint...and then they pop open. The infinite is in her eyes, incredible and bright. “Wow...that’s like…” Quick tilts of her head, up and down, up and down, as a mind taken aback attempts to comprehend what has just happened. Not a magic trick, not an illusion...she feels the touch of the origami, the breeze it makes shifting its wings. The truth is impossible yet undeniable. “...Wow…!”

“Do you see?” the Akatsuki’s leader enters once again, rings looking to the traveler through the fluttering, folded paper that slowly swarms the air. “It isn’t anything such as magic. Everything you see...it is possible, and it is in some tangible, eventually knowable way. Everything in this life has reasoning behind it.”

Her mouth opens at this profound revelation...but she shuts up.

“Speak your mind,” he commands. Her response is quiet, small, and hides her eyes. Her platform for the origami falls, causing it to float away.

“It’s just that. Well. I hate to argue...”

Deidara taught her, though, that she shouldn’t, and there’s no indication from the holy pair that she needs to cease. As such, she takes a breath and follows her gut, closing her eyes, putting a finger to her chin, and recalling something she heard long before:

“There’s a phrase where I’m from. It goes something like...”the advancement of science...is indistinguishable from magic”. That means like… Magic is just...well...things we can’t explain yet! You know what I mean?”

He angles his head ever so slightly, prodding her to continue; this is her side of the exchange. Another in and out of air in her lungs, and she gives it a go, lest she selfishly withhold her end of he bargain. She looks up to the sky littered here-there with gray, wispy clouds.

...Here we go.

“I figure...the history you guys have, if human nature is the same, can’t be that far off from what I know. Correct me if I’m wrong, but...maybe think back to stories you’ve heard about generations beyond. I’ll just...talk about details from my own so forgive me.” She is forgiven, of course, though Pain feels no need to verbalize that. “We used to think that the celestial bodies were like...well...exactly that! Actual things that act like gods and controlled our lives. Even down to the positions they take up there affecting your personality at birth...and then your fate day by day.”

Astrology... It isn’t her thing, but it’s so easy to imagine how it began. If you know nothing about what’s really out there, alongside with hardly knowing what happens down here, it makes one draw connections. Superstitious thinking isn’t inherently wrong; it’s just humans following intuition.

“We credited everything and anything that happens to the sky...because it made sense with the information we had.” Wait— She gets an earful of herself, and her heart leaps out of her chest. Hands come out from under her cape and grip her shoulders in anxiety. “Shit…!” she mutters, then adds more mindfully: “Sorry. Sorry. I—...I’m doing a bad job at this.”

How boggling. Given room to speak and clear the air and she’s already trying to run off the stage. What happened to being a performer? It just makes Pain more curious. “No. Keep going. There’s only one way we’ll get there. I am patient.”

...

“They used to think prayers fixed you when you said them, chanted them while applying potions,” she murmurs, so quiet it’s nearly under her breath. “But that was just...the right length of time you needed to put the salve on the wound, make it effective. They used to think foxes brought you to treasure, because they knew how to fit into tiny spaces you couldn’t. You—...”

Finally, finally a look, and there’s a desperation in the way she looks to the two Akatsuki, trying so hard to connect and fearing failure. “—...See where I’m going with this...?”

The leader continues to speak for them both.

“...I could,” he answers dubiously, though not unkindly, “...Perhaps. How about I share something...common among our folk?” And the purple circles widen, just a touch, just enough for emphasis. “Songs for our folk stories, these lessons you allude to.”

A meaningful pause. Hell of a cue if she’s ever seen one. It makes her swallow.

Konan’s origami is stagnant yet alive, like real butterflies idly twitting their wings as they rest upon brown wood and verdant moss, all over the cold trees surrounding them. Moss… Ah. There’s something.

“I...I actually have one," the traveler finds. "For this.”

She has to walk around as she sings, performs, lest she get too nervous. Lest she make real eye contact.

Her voice is a lot shakier at the start. It’s reminiscent of her first days at the bar. That makes sense; first time she sang for these two a few days ago, she got to hide away. All in the open now, raw and new and so very exposed. She points up to a tree, stripped mostly of leaves but with bark greening with beautiful decay, praying internally that this is somehow, really, going to help.

Legend has it that the moss grows on

The north side of the trees

She taps the sole of her boot into a shallow puddle, watches the ripple change the shape of her face. She speaks down to it, stretching her fingers at the water in demonstration, a gesture of “look here.”

Legend has it that the rain comes down

And the worms come up to breathe

Tilts her chin up, twirls around and bends her arm at the elbow to point a finger to the side. The point then trails up, up, up, as if she’s showing imaginary children the direction in which flowers grow.

Legend has it that the sunbeams come

All the plants, they eat them with their leaves

And closing her eyes, lest she see herself in the reflection of their eyes, she spreads her arms and spins with a tilt in her shoulders, trying to match the way planet Earth works.

Well, legend has it that the world spins ‘round

On an axis of 23 degrees

It’s the first time she noticed something. Something so obvious and vast and unmistakable. It nearly stops her melody with surprise. How did she miss this...?

Today, getting so wonderfully lost, the performer sees twists and turns of roots, varying size and height. You could even use them to climb to where canopies used to be, back in the days of summer where foliage sheltered the forest floor from the sun. Fate’s a weird, lovely thing, giving her something so perfect, both to tell her lesson and keep her occupied. The traveler walks along the trail, up until there’s opportunity to go up. A boot lifts from under her dress, then another, climbing over vines that weave onto and around the knots of wood. Brambles try to catch onto her skirt but lose the tug-o-war, letting her go. Konan glances to Pain as the girl goes on ahead without any any acknowledgement sent back...and he doesn’t look. He just follows.

And despite her hesitation, so does she.

Up and down, up and down. She ascends from a raised knot of a root to a lowered nook of a branch. Words fall from her lips, stilted by the physical activity yet diligently unceasing, rhymes and spells and whimsies that make no sense...and yet they do. You understand what she means, even if it’s utter nonsense.

There’s something admirable about that, about keeping a bit of something so childish alive...even if it is, too, very sad that one must. Pain and Konan know both these things, but feel them in different amounts, hence why while both are steel-faced they have different internal reasonings.

She hums the last part of the song, in her head the clarinets and oboes fading until the gobbles and plunks of sinking water drown the remnants of the song, like the Kraken carrying explorers to the bottom of the sea to join the treasure they tried to claim in its lair.

An exhale, the lady a bit weary from the exercise...and then...it all hits her at once: she was given a thorough explanation of something very real, very serious...and she told them about fairy tales. Her face is instantly hot and beat red. How could she have let this happen?!

Drop, drop.

They both come down, not in a grand jump but almost like kids hanging from swings, onto the ground beside her. It’s suddenly much harder to catch her breath, and the stranger looks at them with wide, twitchy eyes watching for trouble.

“I...I—...S-sorry. Sorry—”

And as they often do...God and Angel exchange glances in silence...and arrive back to her in full agreement.

“It’s difficult to convey such wisdom so...concisely,” the leader says.

Did she hear that right?! Wisdom?! No fucking way. “I…” And then, of course, denial. “I didn’t write it, I just…”

“You shared it with us,” Konan interrupts. “I’m certain it isn’t without skill to memorize a song.”

“Oh—” Oh shit! “Oh, you flatter me— But it’s just...well…”

…

They’re looking at her expectantly. They are...listening to her. Really ACTUALLY listening…!

A tiny, tiny part of her heart soars so high it punctures the organ like a pin in a balloon. A lady so small finds it hard to accept really, truly, being big. “...I’ve never thought it impressive that I just tell people the songs I-I-I’ve always...listened to.”

And something impossible happens. For the first time...Pain smiles. He seems to...for real. Not a conversational ploy, not barely there...it curves his lips up and he, somehow, may actually be capable of feeling joy.

“Then you’ve been training all your life for days like these.”

A paper butterfly lands on the performer's nose, and it all feels too good to be true.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well, we can all learn things, both many and a-few

From that old hunched-up woman who lived inside a shoe

Or the girl that sang by day and by night she ate tear soup

Or the man who drank too much and he got the brewers' droop

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[lixiehugs]

dohee profile

tw : mentions of bullying

BASICS !!

stage name : dohee (hangul: 도희) birth name : wang dohee (hangul: 왕도희) english name : dina wang nicknames : dodo, do, doidoi, doi, hee, doing

birth date : october 8th, 2002 zodiac : libra birthplace : seoul, south korea hometown : boston, usa

ethnicity : korean nationality : south korean languages : korean (100% — native), english (90% — fluent), mandarin chinese (15% — beginner)

PHYSICAL !!

height : 178 cm or 5'10 weight : 54 kg or 118 lbs blood type : b

eye color : brown natural hair : brown, wavy

body modifications : 10 piercings, 2 tattoos face claim : wekimeki lua vocal claim : aespa karina/nmixx sullyoon rap claim : aespa karina

CAREER !!

agencies : hybe labels (2017 - present) training period(s) : 2017 - 2019 group(s) : tomorrow x together subunit(s) : n/a positions : maknae

individual fandom : dodos (after the bird and the similarities to her name) representative emoji : 🦤 (dodo because it is one of her nicknames) social media : @/www.dohee.com on instagram and @/txt_members on twitter

best known for : being the female member of txt. being an autistic kpop idol. her mental health//disabilities representation. her ALWAYS being on beat when dancing. fantastic freestyle dance. being an ace.

PERSONAL !!

mbti : intj-t

positive traits : bubbly. very fun and nice. silly. very loyal. very organised. absolutely adorable. very honest. quite serious but can understand some jokes/sarcasm. funny just by existing. independent (most of the time). very genuine and puts her soul into everything she does.

negative traits : gets attached easily. no concept of time (which causes her to overwork herself). gets angry quite easily but tries to hide it. masks her emotions a lot. has difficulty with change and new environments (to do with autism).

habits : hand flapping. light stomping when excited. rocking. other tics. imitating sounds/words she hears. dinosaur hands. vocal and physical stimming. tapping things. smacking things. stabbing her nails into her palm when stressed. can’t hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds. needing to touch new things and either rubbing it because it feels nice or visibly recoiling. blinking deeply/repetitively.

hobbies : listening to music. dancing! gaming. reading + writing. producing music. painting. crocheting. doing anything to do with art. going shopping. doing everyone’s hair + makeup. going to the gym (sometimes).

BACKSTORY !!

wang dohee was born on october 8th, 2002 to a korean mother and korean father. her mother, wang rina (born 1973) is a volunteer worker for homeless shelters around seoul. her father, wang eungyeol (born 1970) is a software engineer currently working in seoul, south korea.

dohee was born in seoul, south korea as the first child in her family. the pregnancy was very rough for her mother, so despite wanting to have more children, dohee remained an only child. only having one child to focus on, dohee became very close with her parents. she considered them her best friends all throughout her school years and was always happy to come home to them at the end of the day. when dohee had to move out to become a trainee, she was very homesick and missed her parents so much even though she would still see them every weekend and they were not even an hour away.

when dohee was two years old, her family moved to boston, usa. they lived there until dohee turned eleven, as her parents were worried about her deteriorating korean skills. dohee excelled at her korean secondary school, being especially good at the sciences and maths, her arts grades were also superb. dohee graduated two years early, skipping both her sixth and ninth grade years. dohee had trouble making friends and experienced some bullying in secondary school due to many issues. because of this, her parents wanted her to explore some of her interests outside of school, thus leading to her joining a local dance crew in january 2014.

FACTS !!

dohee became a trainee in august of 2017.

she used to be able to speak better english than korean but since moving back, that has changed. 

her parents can speak english well, but dohee is better. 

after moving back to korea, dohee struggled to make friends and had some bullying issues. so, her parents wanted her to explore her interests outside of school, thus allowing her to join a local dance crew in january 2014.

this dance crew entered lots of competitions where dohee could compete in group routines and as a soloist. this also gave her the chance to try out many different styles of dance. 

at one of their competitions in july 2017, dohee was scouted by a bighit employee for her hiphop solo.

her favorite styles of dance are hiphop and modern.

dohee is also quite flexible, but she rarely shows off her skills. 

dohee is ambidextrous. 

she is musically gifted/a musical genius; having perfect pitch, the ability to sight read, and being able to play many different instruments.

her best instrument is piano, but she is getting better at the flute. 

dohee was diagnosed with autism and ocd when she was four years old after her parents grew concerned about some behavioral patterns. 

she does not have any medication for her autism. she has a medication for her ocd which she takes daily.

due to her neurodivergence, dohee has a near photographic memory. she can remember almost any song she’s ever heard, even if it’s for the first time, she can remember any face or name of any person she’s ever met, she is also great with naming movies and tv shows based off of theme songs, casts, quotes, screenshots, etc.

because of her dance background and partly because of her autism, dohee has an insane ability of always being on time while dancing/singing. if a song starts randomly in the middle, she can pick up the choreography and lyrics instantly. 

her reaction time is also wild!! (like that one video of yeonjun dancing immediately after song starts)

also due to her autism, dohee is a very fast talker. it is natural for her; she’s been like this since she was learning how to talk. 

with this ability, she was able to become a very skilled rapper.

her favorite colors are pink and blue.

she loves playing minecraft!!!

she also loves story and puzzle-type games.

dohee is a cat person.

her favorite kpop artists are hyunA, seventeen, red velvet, taeyeon, mamamoo, and nct 127.

her favorite western artists are sabrina carpenter, lana del rey, madison beer, selena gomez, and cavetown.

her favorite movie is the lion king. 

dohee is a huge nerd. 

she loves the harry potter books. 

her favorite season is winter. 

she loves playing in the snow!!

dohee is very in-touch with her inner child. 

dohee has had an emotional support cat since 2013. she has a somali/fox cat. her name is kyongi!

dohee also has an official service dog which she takes everywhere with her. she has a black labrador called chanho. 

dohee crochets!!!

she’s also really gay!!!

the boys have said that when dohee sleeps she makes this grumbling sound. she only does it when she moves in her sleep. the boys have many videos of her doing this.