#i love vira so much she's so normal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ravensbug · 4 years ago

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Cuddles

Fandom: The Legend of Korra

Ship: Kuvira x reader

Request: No

Prompt: “Can you please just hold me?”

Summary: You finally decide to come out to your parents. It doesn’t go exactly like you’d hope, but Kuvira is there to comfort you.

a/n: This is my first oneshot or any fanfiction on here. I have stories that are in the works but they’re drafts right now. Might post them eventually.

Your family had always been accepting, to a point. They let you express your different views and go through the phases of your life because that’s what they thought they were, phases.

When you had told your parents you liked girls you expected a different reaction. You expected your parents to be approving as they had always been. But they shrugged their shoulders like it didn’t mean anything to them.

This hurt you. You weren’t sure if it was because they didn’t seem to care or that they didn’t seem to approve.

You had been planning to tell them for weeks now. The courage you had dwindled the day of and almost disappeared when you told them: “I have something to tell you.”

If it were up to you, you probably would have never told them. But your stubborn best friend, Kuvira, had gotten you to do it. You weren’t going to be mad at her because it hadn’t gone well, she was your support. Frankly, she was your lifeline. You had friends come and go as you grew, but when Kuvira came into your life she never left.

A few nights in the weeks before you told your parents you had stayed up, way too late now that you think about it, thinking about her. It happened more often the more you two talked about telling your parents. You did wonder in those late nights on whether or not you could have more with her. But you always shut that down. She was your friend, if you tried to become more then it would be awkward. The friendship would be ruined. Right?

You had no reason to stay up late tonight. You had told your parents and it had gone well enough. But you couldn’t sleep. You felt something missing that left you cold, even with the layers of blankets protecting you from the cold air surrounding the house.

A knock on your window startled you from the familiar thought that started to consume your mind. At first you froze. You thought that maybe some kids climbed the wrong roof and didn’t realize it. But when the knock came again, a little softer, you knew you had to see who it was.

You ventured out of your blanket burrito, still keeping the last one around your shoulders. When you moved your curtains and rolled up your blinds you were quite shocked by who was waiting outside your window. It was Kuvira.

You panicked and attempted to open the window quickly. It was cold outside and she wasn’t wearing any layers on top of her clothes. You saw her smile and heard a muffled laugh as you failed to open your window.

You twisted the latch using your metal bending, feeling stupid for not doing that in the first place. Pulling the window up let the cold winter air into your room, ruining the warmth that it had. Kuvira climbed into your room and brushed the snow off of her shoulders and hair while she waited for you to close the window.

“Spirits Vira, you’re going to get a cold if you stay outside like that,” you scolded her.

“It’s fine. I don’t get that cold,” She told you. You raised an eyebrow because you could see she was still shivering from being outside.

“Why were you at my window, at 1 am no less?” You walked back to your pile of blankets, but only left the one on.

“I wanted to see how it went with your parents. I hope you didn’t chicken out, Su’s going to kill me when she learns I snuck out again,” she laughed a little. You knew she didn’t care about Su scolding her, that it was a normal thing to happen to her.

Since Kuvira had told you about Su constantly scolding her, and then seeing it for yourself, you felt sorry for Kuvira. She told you not to be, that she was in a better situation with Su than she was if she would still be with her parents.

“I’m not a chicken!” you hit her arm playfully. She raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘really?’.

“I told them ok. They know,” you told her. You didn’t say their reaction, because thinking about it brought up bad thoughts that you didn’t like.

“What did they say?” Kuvira asked you. Of course she wanted to know. At this point neither of you kept many secrets from each other. Both of you had a few that were still too personal to tell.

For Kuvira it was what had gotten her here in the first place. She only told you that her parents had left her here. Not that she had almost killed her mom.

For you, it was getting your brother kicked out of the house. It was significantly less impactful, but you still felt horrible about it. Even if he was horrible and toxic, you still loved him. That was your weakness, you always cared even after you got hurt.

“Y/N, what did they say?” You had spaced out. It was one of the things you did when you didn’t want to talk. Quite convenient in situations with people who didn’t know why you did that. Kuvira knows why you space out and it only worries her when you do it to her.

“They didn’t,” you looked down at your hands and the urge to cry began to overwhelm you. You had no reason to cry when your parents accepted you, at least you thought. Maybe you wanted to cry because the lingering thoughts were trying to take over, trying to remove whatever happiness you would get.

“They didn’t say anything?” Kuvira asked for clarification.

You shook your head. The thought brought the tears threatening to break you. You tried to slow your breath to keep the tears from falling.

“So do they not accept you?” You could hear the hint of anger in her voice.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “They just shrugged at me like it didn’t matter. And I don’t know if that means they accept me or they just don’t care and think it’s a phase,” There was no stopping the tears that began to fall now. Saying it out loud made the possibility seem so much more real than just the thoughts in your head.

Maybe it was the tears or maybe it was the way you curled into yourself, trying to hide from everyone and everything, that made Kuvira forget all the anger that began to build up. She had never been good with emotions, except anger, but she would be damned if she didn’t try to make you feel better.

You realized what had happened when you felt her hand rubbing your back. You had a breakdown. It had been almost six years since you had one, because of your brother. Kuvira wasn’t the one who comforted you then, your parents did. And now the people who were always there for you were the ones, unbeknownst to them, that have made you break down.

“I’m here. You’re safe,” she remembers the words that Su used to comfort her when she had nightmares after coming to Zaofu. Her voice broke through your sobs and thoughts. It was calm, but a different way than usual. It wasn’t the calm before the storm that gave monotone answers to try and hide anger. This calm was new, it was soothing. It brought you back from the negative thoughts and grounded you.

You realize this is what you wanted. Not the break downs, you never wanted those. But someone who could be there for you just like you are for them. Someone, who may not have the same problems to deal with, but knows that being alone to deal with them isn’t ok.

These thoughts of how well you and Kuvira were for each other helped the sobs turn into sniffles and your tears to stop. A thankful smile appeared on your lips. Thankful that you were calm and safe.

Kuvira turned you so you were facing each other, sitting on your bed. She held your hands in hers to keep yourself from going back into a ball of sadness and tears. You had never felt so vulnerable with some outside of your family. You don’t think Kuvira has been this soft with anyone before.

You notice how her face is full of worry, especially her eyes. You’d never stare at them for too long when you two were next to each other, but now you could see her moss green eyes staring back at you. It was an intimate moment because there was only silence, outside of your occasional sniffle.

You don’t exactly remember moving in to hug her, but one second you’re apart and the next you’re holding on to her like your life depended on it. You two had hugged before, but it had always been as a goodbye, nothing more.

Your heart sank a little when Kuvira tensed up. She hadn’t expected you to do that, you weren’t surprised about that. But she remained tense for longer than normal. Like her brain was still processing what had happened.

When you stopped hugging her and looked back to her face there was a blush. Although no one else would have known that, but you did. This made your heart flutter.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“No,” she stopped you from trying to find excuses. “Don’t be sorry. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Thank you for being here,” you smiled. “It’s been so long since my brother, and my parents were always the ones there for me,” you trailed on. It wasn’t one continuous thought, but the bits that you said helped Kuvira piece it together.

“I’m always here if you need me.” She takes your hands in hers again. This time it’s to make sure you understand she’s really there.

“I feel like crap now,” you sighed. You had a smile on your face as you fell back on your bed. Your head hurt and your eyelids were swollen from crying.

“Well you kind of cried a lot,” she explained. She moved to lay next to you, which made both of you feel better.

“You can talk to them about it tomorrow. I’m sure they didn’t want you to think they didn’t care,” Kuvira assured you. She was hoping that they did care, because if they didn’t then there would be something coming for them. Of course she couldn’t be sure because she never had good parental figures, whether it was Su or her real parents.

“It sounds a lot more believable coming from you,” you chuckled. It really did. The confirmation that maybe your parents weren’t trying to be mean made you feel a lot better.

“Y’know,” you sat up on the bed now, “Still don’t know why you decided to come at 1 am to ask me. I told them right after dinner and you could have come then.” Thinking about the whole situation up until now made you feel like a teenager again. Not that you were much of an adult. A lot of people didn’t think you were even if you could legally drink.

“Opal was bothering me and Jr. wasn’t really helping the situation. I decided to leave before I made a mess of things,” Kuvira came up with a lie on the spot. Could she have just told you she came to see you because she was lonely? Yes. But that was a whole other box of feelings she had yet to open. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t be the one to open it.

“At one in the morning?” You glared at her. “We both know Opal can barely stay up past eleven and Jr. stays in the workshop or in his room. No inbetween.” Now you were smirking. You had weeded out her lie and she didn’t know what to say.

The same blush came back more visibly this time. It took a second for you to process her reaction with the unknown answer of why she came to your room. You had a pretty good guess, but you didn’t want to push your luck.

“Just wanted to spend time away from the house?” you asked. It was generic, and definitely not the full reason you believed for her showing up.

“Yeah,” she sighed. Opal and Jr. being a bother wasn’t necessarily a lie, they were quite annoying throughout the day, when all Kuvira wanted was some peace and quiet in the dance studio.

“I’m guessing they were still being annoying?” Kuvira nodded. You weren’t surprised that Opal was being annoying as most teenagers are. But Jr. was a surprise.

“Why Jr.?” You asked. It was very confusing to you.

“He wanted to spend time with me all day for whatever reason.” Kuvira shrugged. “I think he likes me.”

That sentence made you freeze. It was weird, not only because she was his adopted sister, but also because he was showing his interest now.

“He didn’t say it of course. He’s too shy to do that,” she laughed a little. “But I shot him down. I told him I have someone else on my mind.” Again the blush.

You were painstakingly oblivious to the idea that it was you. You were that someone else that she liked. That you were on her mind more often than she was on yours.

Of course being oblivious didn’t make it any better when you asked who. She kept saying “You wouldn’t know them” or “I shouldn’t say”. You really felt like a teenager again.

“Come on, Vira. I can keep a secret,” you pouted. All your constant prodding never made her upset like everyone else would have. But that pout, she couldn’t resist it.

Kuvira sat up to face you again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. It didn’t help her at all.

You were looking at her again with a wide grin on your lips. You felt victorious, that you were going to know something special. To sum it up, you were cocky.

You sat waiting for her to tell you who it was, to see if any of the guesses you had were correct. When she didn’t say anything for almost a minute you started to wonder what she was doing. Wondering if she was nervous or scared. So you placed your hand on hers, a small gesture that felt so much bigger.

Kuvira thought about leaving, forgetting that she mentioned what she said to Jr., and acting like nothing happened tomorrow. She knew there would be no second chance to do this though. You were going to Ba Sing Se for university in the spring. This was her last chance. It had only taken her all of fall to gain the courage to think about this.

This time it was Kuvira who had suddenly moved, suddenly closed the distance between you two. You knew she was forward with practically everything, but you never expected this. It was your turn to be frozen. To let your brain catch up to what was happening.

Her lips were soft against yours. Like she was afraid to stop but afraid to go any farther. She was waiting for you to respond. When you didn’t she was the one who started to apologize and come up with excuses.

“Stop making excuses,” you smiled. It had taken some time for your brain to realize what had happened. Of course she had separated herself from you before you could react.

You pulled her back in for a kiss before she made any more objections or excuses.

It was soft like the last one, but it felt so much better now that you were kissing her back. It felt right, after all the thoughts you’d been having, it felt right.

When you two finally separated for air you leaned your forehead against hers. Everything felt so warm, you no longer needed to be in layers of blankets. Of course Kuvira would inevitably have to go back home, but that was later.

“I’m guessing I’m that someone else, huh?” you asked even though you knew the answer.

“I think the answer is obvious,” she smiled.

You moved closer to her to feel warmer, although being at the edge of the bed wasn’t good either. She let you snuggle into her, smiling at how you clinged to her. It warmed her heart at how cute you looked, but she knew she had to leave.

As if sensing this you looked up at her, that familiar pout on your face that she couldn’t resist.

“Can you please just hold me?” you asked. You weren’t sure if it was the mix of emotions or your genuine need for warmth, but all you wanted to do was stay there in her arms. Being in her arms meant you were safe.

“Of course,” she smiled. When she thought about the disappointed look on Su’s face, she realized it didn’t matter when she got it. Maybe staying for a little while wasn’t so bad.

#kuvira #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #first kiss #cuddles

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dewykth · 4 years ago

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SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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icharchivist · 3 years ago

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I can't believe Vira is getting a 8th unit. Virablue fantasy.

We were legit joking on the chat that it's been a while since the last Vira unit help. But man she looks so pretty. And fire makes sense since her previous fire was an unit only available if you bought a DVD.

Cassius was on everyone's deduction list so it's unsurprising. His art is so gorgeous tho mannn. Tho i didn't expect water but he'll join Bea and Zeta there at least.

And finally the best of all, LADIVAAAAA ❤❤❤

We were all expecting her because of the Granblues and I'm so happy we were right i love her so much, and she looks so happy!!! Bless her

So, good haul this vday, tho wild how in the end legit everyone in my crew is safe. Normally. Aside from our love for Ladiva. I still need to check the chat.

#ichablogging gbf #ichablogging vdaylines #ish

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wannabeauthorclive · 4 years ago

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[Image ID: Dark blue banner of the ocean with four pirate ships saying “Over Land and Sea” with “Camp NaNo WIP Update” underneath. End ID]

I have been really bad at giving updates about how nano is going for me. I said I would do one of these every Sunday, that failed. I’m only doing this one because I finished!! I did it! I hit my goal!!

Project — Over Land and Sea

End Goal — 30,000 words

Daily Goal — 1,000 words

Total written — 30,162 words

Overall Notes — I’m absolutely loving this project and how it’s coming along! It has been difficult juggling all my characters, by it’s a struggle I am willing to do. I also made Desmond a protag (along with Black and Silver) cause I love him too much not to, and it fits the story. I was able to reach my daily goal almost every day and I’m really proud of that! Some days were definitely harder than others, but that’s ok, it’s all part of the journey. I’m changing a lot from my initial outline so I’m glad I kept it in a way that I could change it if I wanted.

Thank you every single one of you -- I don’t think I could have made it this far without you. You’re all wonderful friends and are so so supportive and I love you! Thank you!

~~~ Four of my favorite scenes under the cut! ~~~

Desmond’s POV

He looks over at Captain Black, still a good fifty feet away, and sends her a wicked, wicked smile. For a split second, he could see the panic in her eyes before it’s gone again, wiped away and leaving the Captain Black everyone knows and either hates or loves. She shoots him a wicked grin of her own and his smile falters before returning full force. This will be fun.

He would go and greet her halfway, but alas, he must stay in-between the crew and the ship. She walks right up behind her crew and moves to stand in front of them defensibly. Her posture never sways and her face never softens as she stares at Desmond. Part of him thinks she’s staring into his soul, which is impossible. Impossible.

“We haven’t gotten the chance to properly introduce ourselves.” Desmond starts, holding out his hand. Captain Black doesn’t take it, doesn’t even glance at it. He withdraws his hand, nodding in acceptance of the refusal. “I am Desmond Ponsa.”

Captain Black’s crew’s eyes go even wider while Captain Black herself just snarls. “I know exactly who you are, Ponsa.”

Silver Sterling’s POV

The newspaper. That’s how she found out about Black in the first place, no letters from her or Desmond, and certainly no espionage agent. Could the press be able to track pirate better than a chase could? Someone who has seen the Queen of the Seas lately would sure to report it for good money, and people pay good money for information. But if she tracked Viras’s press, she’d have to catch Captain Black before she moved on. Would Silver be fast enough?

She straightens in the tub, her relaxed posture fully gone. Maybe if she was already moving, maybe if she could find where the Captain would probably stop for supplies. It’d be a wild goose chase, trying to find a pirate. It’s a wild goose chase trying to find someone who has roots, but a pirate? It’s nearly impossible.

That’s what she loves doing, though. The impossible. Proving people were wrong to say she couldn’t do something. That’s what she has been told her whole life. “You can’t do that.” “Only men are able to do that.” “Berian women don’t do that, it doesn’t fit with society.”

And every single one of those things people told her she couldn’t do, she did. That’s one reason why she loved her sister, she didn’t even ask if she could do something or not. She just did them and by the time people could tell her she couldn’t do that, she had already gone and done it.

“The impossible is only impossible to those who are afraid.” Her sisters voice whispers in her ear. That was her motto, said before every risky thing they did. And the words solidified Silver’s idea further.

Captain Black’s POV (TW: mental health problems, serious anxiety)

“No, no, no. No.” Black repeats, her voice quavering but leaving no room for argument. Leaving the wheel, not seeing her crew, not watching for the National Guard, not commanding her ship would be sure to send her into a panic attack. If her anxiety is getting to hard for her to captain her ship properly, she shouldn’t be here at all.

But whatever happens, she’s not gonna let her anxiety and memory blackouts take control over her and dictate wether she is capable of captaining her ship. She’s gonna find a way to put an end to all of it before it gets to that point. Black won’t risk the safety of her crew but she won’t give up being captain unless she is fully incapable. And that’s not gonna be any time soon.

“Black!” Black jerks out of her stupor. “Black, god, you can’t do that.” Ironside whispers, relief and worry and scared blanketing her tone. “You’re here one moment and not the next and something has to change. We can’t be in battle and that happening.” She says forcefully.

This is why Black loves Ironside, she doesn’t step around anything. Straight to the point. Black doesn’t respond, she just keeps staring out over the sea. Waiting for the National Guard give a surprise attack on this bright and cloud-free, sunny day.

Ironside sighs. Her friend’s mind is breaking. It has been for a long while, this is the first time any of them noticed it though. She glances behind her at the faces of the crew, gathered around to see if their captain, friend, and family is alright. A spike of guilt hits her, she should have seen it. But none of them did and now, now Black is paying the price.

It’s like Black’s sanity is slipping out of her fingers like sand and it’s so hard to watch. So, so hard. But she has to, it may be the only way she can help.

Captain Black’s POV (TW: violence, death)

A quick second is all it takes for Black to notice the pistol aimed at Lakoma’s head. A quick second for Black to realize that blood is gonna be split. Not their blood, not if Black can help it. And by God, she can help it. She isn’t losing anyone today. A borderline wicked smile replaces her grin and with a flick of a wrist, two daggers are in her hands.

She sees the panic in her crew’s eyes as the entire Viras Treasury surrounds them. Too many people. They’ve never fought this many before. “Keep going!” She screams at them. She has. She’s fought this many people.

Another flick of the wrist and the dagger is flying through the air. It finds its target in the belly of the same guard with his pistol aimed at Lakoma and another dagger is flying. Another dagger, another guard down.

Tons of weapons can be hidden among the folds of her dress and Black is ever grateful for her weapons. Two more daggers come out, two more daggers hit their mark. One in a throat, one in an eye.

Out of the corner of her eye, Braveheart is beating down one after another soldier, Lakoma is throwing daggers faster than Black can see while gun shots ring out from Tonya.

If only Captain Black had her Cutlass sword, this would all be much easier. She is unstoppable with her sword, no one can get out of her way. But alas, her sword is a size too big to fit in her dress.

A moment in her head and a guard was able to get too close. He throws his weight into his rapier to slice her — obviously not well trained, rapiers are stabbing weapons, not slashing ones — and she quickly ducks under him. With a swift kick to the balls, his rapier is now hers and she demonstrates how you really use a rapier. A stab though the gut. Or heart, but she goes at the gut. The pain lasts longer.

Taglist: @baguettethebooklover @a-completely-normal-writer @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @hysteriwah @tiredlittleoldme @the-writing-avocado @vellichor-virgo @radiomacbeth @wildwrites @crowewritesstuff @crystallized-ink @strangerays @47crayons @ladywithalamp (ask to be +/-)

#wip. over land and sea #my writing #nanowrimo #camp nano 2021 #olas excerpts

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sepublic · 4 years ago

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LGBTQIA+ in Bionicle: RaE

To celebrate the beginning of Pride Month, I figured I may as well briefly delve into the subject of LGBTQIA+ in Bionicle: RaE! And before anyone gets riled up over me ‘changing’ things from the previous lore, don’t worry! I have a permit;

(Also this is Bionicle: Redone and Expanded, it’s a fan-work so chill)

With that out of the way...

On Okoto, queer identity is a completely normal facet of everyday life. There has been no known, recorded instance of bigotry, because why would there be? People are people, and they freely explore their sexualities as they choose.

Being Trans and exploring one’s pronouns is frequent on Okoto. I’ve talked before about how Okoto’s Mask Culture favors the idea of making one’s own identity, creating a new ‘face’ for oneself, one you can actually choose and decide. To Okotans, one’s personal Mask that they make for themselves is more reflective of their personhood and identity than their actual physical face, because it’s something you craft for yourself and decide. Similarly, I imagine Naming Day -which I haven’t figured out the full details for- goes hand-in-hand with this idea of recreating one’s identity, of undergoing a rebirth of sorts.

Now obviously, a culture that prizes discovering yourself, reforging your own identity, sometimes even completing reinventing one’s identity; That’s a very trans-friendly narrative! A lot of people figure themselves out when crafting their personal masks, which tend to go through multiple revisions and versions. Naming Day is a way to come out and solidify and explore one’s new identity, at least for now; Nothing is set in stone! Of course, by that logic, genderfluid identities are also welcomed and appreciated!

On another note, I suppose the subject of one’s physical face and how an individual treats it varies, the way Trans individuals may feel about their own dead names and personalities. Some want to leave it behind and forget entirely, while others are pretty casual about referencing it as a past, outdated thing. Any option is totally valid! Nobody judges in Okoto. By the end of the day, Okotans value the concept of Identity, especially a self-chosen one, very much. Consequently, it’s seen as the epitome of disrespect to disregard someone’s chosen identity and bring up a past name or face of theirs in the process; It’s an incredibly petty, lowly, and grave insult, akin to spitting on someone’s personal mask or destroying it, or insulting a person’s family bloodline. Not even Makuta would stoop so low, so... To anyone who misgenders...

Don’t be worse than the narcissist who literally experimented on people.

During the Creation Age, if one wanted to have sex-reassignment surgery, it was pretty easy thanks to Masks of Power and other Life Automatons. Masks of Healing combined with surgical work can do the job. In particular, the Mask of Control was very efficient at helping trans individuals change their bodies if desired; Keep in mind that contrary to the legends, Ekimu and Makuta actually wore the Masks of Creation and Control interchangeably. Later towards the Creation Age, the two began to become more familiar one of the two, but generally speaking, there was no restriction. If you wanted a quick change, just pop over to Ekimu or Makuta, whoever had the Mask of Control, and ask!

On Xia, the general attitudes towards queer identities is essentially the exact same; It may be a horrific, industrial landscape... But there’s no reason to be bigoted. There’s no basis to it, there’s nothing to gain.

Unfortunately for Trans individuals on Xia, sex-reassignment surgery is far more difficult to have access to. Again, this is not out of any stigma towards trans people, but rather because Xian healthcare in general is so ridiculously expensive that everyone is screwed over. The Trans experience on Xia isn’t fun, because... Any experience on that cursed island isn’t fun.

Now, onto fun facts about the cast; Specifically, several characters’ sexuality and/or identities! I’d call them headcanons, but technically I’m the writer who decides what comes and goes in RaE, so really they’re just... canons.

Tahu- Is one of the most pansexual people out there. He’s a social butterfly that loves and grooves with just about anyone, and he’ll flirt readily- Provided those he’s flirting with are comfortable. He’ll back off if he can sense discomfort, and he makes sure to only do this when the situation is appropriate. As a person with basic morals, personal autonomy and consent is much-respected by Tahu.

Gali- Questioning, both in-universe and from a writer’s perspective. RaE Gali is a character who’s busy figuring a LOT of stuff out regarding her identity and role as a Toa.

Pohatu- He’s Gay, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Onua- Aromantic ace! She doesn’t quite get the idea of sexual attraction or romance, but it’s intriguing to quietly observe from an outsider’s perspective nonetheless!

Kopaka- Pan, but with a particular disposition towards big, buff people.

Lewa- Also Pan, he’s pretty open to a lot of people and loves very freely and compassionately. (Of course, that isn’t to say that non-Pan people, such as aces or aros, don’t have compassion; Onua is a just person after all! It’s just that with Lewa’s very friendly and outreaching nature, it makes a lot of sense to me for him to be open to just about any possible relationship.)

On another note, the Protectors of Jungle and Water, Vizuna and Kivoda, are both non-binary and go by They/Them pronouns! Initially I grappled with deciding which one to make NB, but then it occurred to me that the more there is, the merrier! Likewise, Takua is a trans woman!

Generally speaking, assume most characters are pansexual. There are the occasional exceptions I know for certain, such as Harvali and Vira- They’re lesbians. On another fun note, if a character’s gender in RaE doesn’t match the one they had in the source material, there’s at least a 75% chance that they’re Trans! I haven’t decided on all of them exactly, but for now, it’s safe to assume that they’re probably Trans!

Any Trans Individuals or others of queer identity are free to give input on how I can contribute to, change, or update this kind of worldbuilding! I may be queer, but I’m still no expert in queer identities, and I welcome the feedback, corrections, and experiences of others- Diversity IS the spice of life! LGBTQIA+ asks about RaE are also welcome as well, as are suggestions on representation that I can include!

#bionicle #Bionicle RaE #pride month #pride #lgbtqia #trans rights #aroace #nonbinary #sexuality #lore #worldbuilding #naming day #okoto

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caeruleis · 4 years ago

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@thorn-kissed

"Vira!" The knight calls out upon seeing her dear friend a slight blush appearing across her cheeks. "I hope you don't mind, I made some chocolates for you, since I appreciate you and it's Valentine's Day," she said holding out the immaculately wrapped box. Katalina wasn't good discussing her feeling but today was an exception and she was confident in these chocolates. She had practiced, and although they appeared kind of... lumpy she thought it would taste good. She didn't stray from the recipe.

Valentine’s Day Asks || Feel free to turn into threads!

★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ― ☽ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

Valetine’s Day was a holiday she planned for all year - one she made detailed lists for and poured endless months into well before it ever rolled around. Each year her ideas grew more and more complex, always wanting to outdo herself - always hoping to make Katalina the best chocolates she had ever tasted. Each year, without fail, after tirelessly toiling away in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and flecks of melted chocolate speckling her arms and cheeks, she would deliver the perfect box of chocolates to the one she adored without fail. And each year Katalina’s beautiful face would grace her with a smile meant only for her - one she would tuck away in the depths of her heart to protect from any wandering eyes that might try to disturb them. Oh, the very thought of presenting the knight with such a gift is always enough to get her heart pounding within her chest. Or, rather, it normally is. This year; however, her heart is hammering against her rip cage with something other than euphoria, and her expression is one of utter despair rather than delight as she sits upon the floor the empty kitchen - the others having all already finished their chocolates and were off to hand them out to their loved ones. Her heels scraped against the wooden floor as she drew her knees in against her chest - tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as her calloused hands card through her silky locks until they’ve become a tousled mess as they tangle around her fingers. Her rose lips are pinned beneath her teeth - the smooth skin tattered and torn from biting down upon them in her growing distress.

Oh, how could this happen to her? The chocolates she had planned for Katalina this year were nothing short of wonderful. A tray of milk chocolates with the faces of little animals drawn upon them in sky blue frosting - some were going to be solid while others would be full of cream she knew the other would enjoy: from double chocolate to marshmallow to caramel. They would have been her best chocolates yet, but she had heated the mixture too long and it had seized up on her - ruining the molds she had been working on for months. Now all she had to show were messy glops of chocolates that she couldn’t even imagine letting anywhere neat her dear Katalina’s mouth. And she hadn’t bought enough chocolate to remake everything in the event of something going wrong. Oh, she should have planned for this. It was already late afternoon, surely Katalina must think she’s forgotten about her, or, even worse, she might be drowning in chocolates from unworthy admirers who don’t deserve even a lick of her attention. Oh, how could she have let this happen? The more she mulled over it, the rougher her hands became - nails clawing at wayward strands and her scalp as she curled into herself.

Caught up in her own distress, she doesn’t even take notice of the telltale click of boots in the hallway just outside the kitchen - she would have known by the sound alone that those were Katalina’s shoes. No, it takes the sound of her beloved’s voice to draw her from her miserable state - her head quickly rising from her knees as she clumsily yanks her hands from her hair, leaving her ponytail a complete mess as she looks up at the knight with something akin to wonder in her puffy eyes. Realizing, after a sharp inhale to calm the frantic drum of her heart, that she’s still seated on the floor, and with all the grace she can still muster, she climbs back onto her feet - shaky hands dusting off the muck she had gotten on her skirt as her teeth release her bottom lip so she can pull her chapped mouth into a strained smile. “Oh, Katalina,” she manages to blurt out, her voice a bit hoarse despite her attempt to collect herself so to not look awful in front of the other - something she wasn’t accomplishing at all between her hair and the countless stains decorating her person from her failed attempt. An apology is already on the tip of her tongue - ready to confess her heartfelt mistake, but plunges into the pit of her stomach when the other offers her chocolates.

Long lashes lift until her eyes are wide in shock, and that awful thumb of her heart returns tenfold to the point where she feels it might truly tear itself out of her chest just to be closer to the other. For a moment, she almost thinks she’s dreaming as she stares down at the neatly wrapped box and repeats Katalina’s words in her head over and over again until they finally click into place. Her strained smile swiftly replaced by one full of joy. “Y-You did?” The shock in her voice is evident, but her happiness is just as apparent. “Oh Katalina, thank you so much. I promise I’ll cherish these wonderful chocolates you’ve made for me as much as I cherish you.” Without hesitation, she reaches out to accept the box, holding it tightly against her chest to prove her point - tears of joy threatening to fall from her eyes as her lashes begin to quiver. She’ll simply have to make her return chocolates instead, and, just like that, her despair from a moment ago is complete thrown aside. “It makes me so happy to know you appreciate me enough to give me something so special. I really can’t thank you enough for them.” Unfortunately, her own joy has made her completely forget about Katalina’s inability to cook - it’ll catch up to her, in time, when she actually sits down to eat the chocolates she’s cradling against her chest. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear Katalina.”

#thornkissed #{ kat tag pending }#| ☩ So wield an iron fist and watch grace come crashing down ☩ (Vira: IC) |#| ☩ I never meant to start a fire ; never meant to make you bleed ☩ (Vira: Verse: Default) |#| ☩ Keep the memories you make along the way close at hand ☩ (ask) |#{ One day I will have the brain power to give them a ship tag today is not that day I'm still dying over here scoob }#{ also stop trying to murder my girl fbhdskgyfu }#{ This is your second attempt on her life lol }#{ Thank you for sending this though despite the murder fhjrfgkd }

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eqcentriceqclectic-blog · 5 years ago

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Inherited Demons

2019/12/07 – Nothing Right

Nothing I do is ever right. In His eyes, I will always be a feral horse that needs to be put to the whip. If I don’t and I get free, he hopes that my freedom in the wild will end in cold realisation in my last moments as I am beset by wolves. Even, if objectively right, it is as if an offense on his very existence—as if he were a god or a ghost and disbelief in him would condemn him to abyssal oblivion. And so, being right or doing well is actively discouraged—either through deafening and oppressive silence, or through roaring rage and insufferable indignation. He may be seen as quiet, but that is not to be taken as docility or humility—no; it is a sinister and seething silence. Normally, improvement is supposed to be seen as positive.

I cannot count the number of times I’ve either wanted to run away from home or outright kill myself. It desperate times, they’ve been my mantra or my prayers to soothe my wretched soul. What stopped me from running away? Fear of failure. Fear of strangers. Fear of retribution. An incompetency instilled in me long ago. One I replicated and instilled in a brother placed into my charge, even as a shell of a person—shattered shards looking for a reflection. It wasn’t until that reflection attempted to kill himself that I realised what my shoddily-assembled puzzle-of-a-person had done. I had become that which I had despised all my life--that dictatorial and patriarchal demon for which is suffered beneath had impregnated in me a piece of its insidious soul. It had gripped me in its agonising grasp, and regurgitated the darkness imparted to it, into my screaming-tear-streaked face. And thus, the cycle would continue like a horror-franchise that just won’t die. That was the day I realised—despite my love for the pure curiosity and optimism of children and the undeniable yearning to cradle and raise small-beings of my ghostly-ovaries—that I could not perpetuate this curse. To adopt a family-less entity into this story would be tantamount to sacrificing them to the demon that inhabits our family-line with my own bloodied hands.

I remember when I was bird-sitting Rita (a cousin’s feather-child) and He attempted to interact with it while wildly inebriated—like he enjoys doing—and held out his hand. Rita, as finicky conures tend to be, bit him HARD as she did not know him and did not like him. I feared for that bird’s life as I recognised the drunken rage that overtaken his alcohol-laden-bubbly-demeanor, as he shouted some profanity at the bird. I called out, to let him know I was present, and explained to him why she bit him before telling him to leave her alone.A similar incident happened years ago when I had my bird, Vira. She was a feisty bird and I loved her bravery and assertiveness but the curse infused in me by Him did not make distinctions between humans, non-human animals, plants, or inanimate objects. She and my brother have both bore witness to the same rage and self-perceived-indignity-fuelled-wrath I bore witness to growing up. I loved her dearly, but could not reconcile my own behaviour—I could not split this demonic presence within myself with the love I had for all living things as they both were a part of who I was and it was maddening. But as with all things deeply-unsettling, we seek to take flight from it—as is natural—to get as far as we can from it and forget about it so we can go about our days. To face it, would be to face the demon—itself, a part of you—and to face your own guilt and culpability in its sins, for without you, it would not be able to do its work as a formless, parasitic, lifeless virus. To face your own guilt and responsibility in hurting others is a terrifying thing; it chills you to your core and tears it to shreds because you want to believe you are a good person who does good things, and when you are not the hero of your own story, then you can never be a hero in any story—if you are the villain in your own story, then you will be the villain in all stories.

Looking myself in my own shattered mirror, I could finally see the demon bleeding forth from behind my ill-assembled portrait… I could only play at perfection for so long before all the mismatched pieces fell apart and revealed the vast darkness that mocked me beneath. Like a self-indulgent actor without a true mirror to look into, I enchanted myself with delusions that I was not He and that I was above that which lurked at the bottom of every bottle. And all the while, I was a cheap imitation of him—like a copy-cat-killer imprinting on a serial-killer worshipped by the media. I didn’t need alcohol to justify my crimes, for I had a divine mandate bestowed upon me by my ancestors, which was bestowed upon them by successive emperors, and god-kings before them, and thus the gods themselves. Chinese patriarchy is as insidious a poison as it is insipid as it permeates into every aspect of life in the family. It may not have been such a poison, but it certainly is now. As they say, “Power, absolute, corrupts—absolutely.”

In Chinese culture, there is a powerful emphasis put upon passing on the family name—so much so that female-infanticide was a widespread practice in China. My grandmother used the phrase ‘tuang-tong jeng’ frequently when urging her living descendants to procreate and pray for sons. Also present in Chinese culture is the misguided belief that because all elders are to be afforded respect, it automatically blesses them with the power to always be right—no matter the circumstances. It can be seen in dazzling display with successive Chinese-emperors slaughtering countless people over the millennia, simply for disagreeing or embarrassing the father-of-the-nation with reality and truth. Is it not why the satirical fable of the Emperor and his “new clothes” exists? An emperor that is willfully-blind is one that is indulgent and willfully-negligent—and those that could not see beyond their own gilded mirrors, often led to the starvation of the masses they were given dominion over, and ultimately, their dynasty’s demise. Once they lost their divine mandate, another emperor would rise and a spoiled descendant of his would lead it to ruin, in cycles unending.

After help assembling my mirror to match those that see me for who I am, only now am I able to see the apparition hiding behind it. As puppet-master and puppet entwined as one, it is my responsibility to sever those strings that snake around my offending limbs. It is my responsibility to cast off the shadows that shroud me, as it has become me. It has infused into my essence and become its own—my own—demon, separate from His, but no less His satanic-spawn. Only after acknowledging its existence, screaming its name, can I even begin to excise it like the viral cancer it is. The process is never-ending, for if you ever believe you have destroyed it, your complacency will allow it respite to recover and thus spite your own efforts to defeat it in the first place. We must always strive to be better, despite our accomplishments and desires to revel and relish our achievements—for idle hands do the devil’s work. Resting on our laurels is like laying and brooding upon our nest-eggs atop a poisoned heath—our savings and our accolades will rot along with us. We’ll only fester along our heaped up hoard, as a magnificent dragon does upon all its glittering greed. If I’ve gleaned anything over the past two or so years, it’s that our own pride and arrogance will always be our downfall. It understand that it was my own hubris in believing I was less of a terrible person than he was, only to find myself, one day, staring back at Him in the mirror. I saw me, regurgitating exactly what putrid horrors was spat into my own face, at someone else—someone I was told was below me—simply because they were younger or less of a person than I was. And that is how He still sees me: lowly, basal, lost, stupid, barbaric, “sub-human”—and worst of all—a child. And one that is unbridled, feral, and wild—but worst of all, “uncontrollable”. And, also, wholly unimpressed with the infallibility of the patriarchal parental dictatorship to which begs rebellion and resistance.

I will no longer scrape my head at His feet simply because he decided he would do the “holy” duty of acceding to his mother’s wishes of him to marry a woman he didn’t know, and would never love, and bear for him a son he could present to his parents—just because he is my father and my elder. He is as flawed as we all are and I will not grovel at His feet simply because he thinks he is my superior simply because he is my father and my elder. Respect is earned—not demanded—and throughout the years, my respect for him corroded away until there was no flesh left to burn off. Similarly, I have but few happy memories of Him, as the visceral emotional abuse and on-going threats of physical abuse incinerated the vast majority of them as Vesuvius did the people of Pompeii, or the atomic bomb did to the people of Nagasaki. Neither annihilating disaster completely removed the people from existence, as there remained ashy shells or radioactive shadows in their wakes—such are my happy-memories left, as obtuse imprints in the eroding beach-sands: as vague stories of ‘Snow Black and the Seven Dwarves’, as ephemeral visions of rehabilitating young birds blown to the ground by torrential storms, and as echoes of lessons on why not to step on ants. Stronger and clearer are the memories of being slapped for protesting against a particular untested brand of pizza or being chased with a large wooden stick purchased from Home Depot for refusing a hair-cut from Him. Another, particularly, peculiar poison of His was his inherited creed of beating his own child if that child was bullied to tears (or into action)—a shadow he internalised from his own father when being bullied by neighbourhood Vietnamese kids for being Chinese, back in Vietnam.

Growing up as a child in a house-of-cards propped up by two maternal hopes for their fifth-born children was a bittersweet hell, as many are—sweet enough for hope to grow but not enough to survive under the withering harsh bitterness. Perhaps it’s more of a purgatory: not horrible enough to cause one to kill oneself, but just enough to wish so. Those two grandmothers were my oases of love and care in an arid dusty desert of moonless, endless, nights. They were my guiding stars, above all the rabid fighting and gnashing teeth of childish gore-cloaked-hyaenas that called themselves my parents. My grandmothers were the life-sustaining waters, and my parents were the malarial insects that abated my existence. When my brother attempted to kill himself, I came to find out—of course, through another one of their petty and accusative arguments—that neither of them ever dreamed of having children and raising them. Why? Because they were still children, themselves—they were mostly raised by their elder siblings as their immigrant parents worked to carve a life in an increasingly hostile environment. That environment they grew up in abruptly changed as conditions in Vietnam deteriorated and they it was decided that they all needed to flee through hell and high-water (and marauding pirates). The Peter-Pan-like situation became even more so during His teen and young-adult years; formed here, in Canada, under his elder brother and without parents or grandparents to guide these “Lost Boys” fell into a world of alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and guns that their new peers immersed them in. His elder brother went from a sixteen-year old running a small textiles business that employed workers in Vietnam to an alcoholic who would gamble his way into a depression in Canada. He would go from an inquisitive child making toys out of trash and sticks and swimming in monsoon-flooded roads to a teen drinking himself into a stupor and smoking until his adult teeth would become grey and lined with tar. Children raising children does not yield the positive results, and least of all depressed children raising children—this is true of my parents, and of myself. I had no business being in-charge of my baby brother—absolutely zero—especially with the foul fecal froth spilling from their mouths, to mine, as it then spilled down to my younger brother as I abused him emotionally, verbally and physically as my parents did to me. As explained in the paragraphs above, it did not occur to me until later what I was doing was wrong—it was just what I’ve known and what I felt.

I started to notice how my cousins, aunts, and uncles would look at me as I terrorised my brother over his mistakes—or my perception of his mistakes and improprieties. My logical reasoning at the time was that, “I’m not allowed to do that; why is he?” They always looked startled—or, “unsettled,” maybe is a better word—at my outbursts and threats. I remember once, in a restaurant—where I sat next to him while we were seated amongst our cousins and the adults were sat across from us—where he refused to eat a certain food and I became unreasonably enraged at him and I threatened to cut the head off of the stuffed toy (acquired from Midway arcade in Niagara Falls) if he did not eat it. I had stunned everyone and their hearts broke for my brother, just a young child being terrorised by a teen sibling. Breaking this cycle of abuse was tough—especially while still being abused, yourself. After, breaking free from physical (less so, emotional and verbal) abuse, all the injustice and indignity and rage continued spilling on to the easiest and most vulnerable target, who—under patriarchal rules—would lack arbitrary familial immunity from my wrath and cruelty. Where I could verbally, emotionally, and physically abuse him for whatever I wished, I could only cry, whimper, cower, and hide. However, I did exact vengeance upon them by hiding or damaging the belongings of my parents in protest of their mistreatment of me. There was one instance when I was about six or seven and I fled out of the back of the house after having been shouted out of the tear-stained washroom I had locked myself into on the top floor of the house. On my way passed the car, after deciding that I would run away from home, my eyes burned with salted indignation and so I picked up a stone from the gravel bed and scraped profanities onto the car’s paint and transferred my raw emotions into words. I dropped the stone and continued past the garage and through the laneway until I reached the side-walk, still crying. I stood there, thinking, and came to a realisation that I could not go any further—for if I did, I would be kidnapped and killed by a stranger. So, I walked down to the corner and right back to the front of the house and down the alleyway back to the backyard and back into the house where my parents were still searching—His wooden stick still in-hand—without a clue that I had tried to run away (or that I had keyed words of profanity on to the car with a pebble).

In 2017, when Grandma first became weak after years of mismanaging her own hypertension-medication, I became involved in her healthcare in the balmy month of July. Before then, I didn’t even know she had hypertension and thought she took medication just because it was something a person did when they got as old as she did. After accompanying grandma and Him to both the hospital and her nephrologist, I began researching Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). I learned about how the kidney can be damaged by high blood-pressure and looked into the medication she was taking, going so far as to see which medications could be contra-indicated. I advised Him that grandma’s medication (since she became inconsolable and beyond fearful for her life and no longer was able to manage them herself and became paranoid that we (including the doctors) were trying to poison her and began refusing to take them for a while) should be split into two as then the hypertensive-medications were be better able to manage her blood-pressure through the day instead of causing a sharp drop for the day while allowing it to rise again in the evening--one of her medications for hypertension-management was even specifically designed to be taken at night which is when blood-pressure is supposed to naturally drop. He likes to take credit for this. He also likes to take credit for what he didn’t even believe for a long time—her weakness that started in the first place. When her health was declining in April of 2017, after her nephrologist cut her off from the round of erythropoietin he had initially put her on in the winter prior, He did not believe that it was her health, but her age. I would become increasingly frantic in asserting that this was the reason as the months dragged on and by July, she could barely get out of bed because of how anemic she was. I, unlike He, had done research into what “erythropoietin” was and why she needed to take those shots. I was upset at her nephrologist for cutting her off from those shots because he thought her red-blood-cell count was too high (after a blood-test in March/April) and he’d see her back in three months (this was the cadence of her visits to him: every three months, so approximately four times a year). Again, by July, she was so weak that He took her to the hospital twice in the latter half of that month and once in August where I accompanied them after ending my seasonal job a few days prior. I urged him again that it was the lack of erythropoietin shots and resulting anemia that made her so weak—but he again asserted that it was because she was old. Thankfully, the nephrologist prescribed another round of erythropoietin shots (one shot, every other week, for three months—so six syringes in total). However, the ordeal and fear of death had warped her mind—the nurse at the nephrologist’s office told us that because her GFR was so low, she would likely need dialysis but that dialysis for people aged eighty and up were too at risk of developing a central-line infection—and surgery for a kidney transplant would provide an ever higher risk of mortality. She also told us that she most likely only had two-years left to live—guess what? It’s been over two-years now. I guess it’s the same for when Push got the morbid news that she only had three months left to live and lived another three years. Anyway, I digress. After horrifying and terribly painful months of trying to sleep with an insomniac grandmother in the next room having an end-life crisis, chanting all through the night of her tragic ending, and trying to manage her anxiety, panic, and paranoia in the day-time after both He and mom went to work, and brother went to school, she snapped and her dementia advanced by leagues. In the years prior, I started to notice she became much less brave and much more reserved and careful—in addition to misplacing her watch and other things that told a story of short-term memory loss. She became a lot less aware of her surroundings where, before—as a mischievous little child—I would stand behind the wall at the base of the stairs and try to surprise her but just get a sweet old smirk and an adorable elderly quip as she walked by her silly grandson. However, ever since reaching ninety, just walking to her room and asking what she was watching would startle her half to death (and our floors are obscenely creaky)—she became a lot less aware of her surroundings and where things (or people were). Around this time, she also started to hear ringing in her ears when there was only dead-silence. After she became increasingly unhinged and violent, there became a need to hospitalise her—not for her weakness or anemia, this time, but for her aggression. She probably had not slept for over a month, by this point, and this was most likely the source of said aggression, paranoia, and anxiety. On the car ride there, she was openly hostile to Him while he was driving and my attempts to stop her so as to avoid having a car-accident turned her aggression towards me. When finally passing triage and reaching the waiting area of the emergency department, Grandma continued her violence, painfully hitting Him and I with her gold-and-jade-laden rings. When a room finally opened up, she refused to go and wanted to go back home (even after days and days and days of wanting to be taken to the hospital) and when we tried to gently push her towards the room, she suddenly turned around, and as it with the power of all the elephant matriarchs of the world pushed me and Him out of the room and began assaulting us before the nurses quickly called for orderlies and security to bring her down and tie her arms and legs to the hospital-bed in the room. Because of what had just transpired, she was upgraded to the sub-accute emergency section with a room closer (and facing) the nurses-station. She was sedated with haloperidol through injection because she refused to take an oral dose but during the process Him, I, a nurse, and two security guards needed to hold her down and she still was almost able to bite the nurse (and myself). After that, we were put into contact with the Local Health Integration Network (LHIN) to discuss placing her in an assisted-living facility and both 4th Uncle and He were seriously considering it and passed on the responsibility of coordinating with LHIN to me due to my higher education and superior command of English. They also put in a referral for us to the hospital’s geriatrics department and scheduled us to see a Dr. Cheng at a later date after the attending physician provided a temporary round of anxiolytics (lorazepam). When taking the lorazepam, she was much more docile and also able to sleep and it felt like we got her back from the throes of insanity—that is, until we had to take increasing doses and it became unfeasible to continue. Her violent tirades returned, along with her insomnia and we went to see the geriatrician. He proved to be—not just incompetent, but—wildly careless and inadequate; his bed-side manner was shockingly crass and crude. He never really listened when we came in for the appointment and seemed in a hurry to get us out the door with a new round of pills for her to take: haloperidol, sertraline—you name it, she probably was prescribed it. Some of them were worse than others, like haloperidol which left her a stumbling and drooling mess—taken long enough, left her bid-ridden and Him changing diapers and bed-sheets. Eventually, I decided it was time to stop seeing the geriatrician as I was also so upset with his flippant demeanor when at appointments in his office. He took a little while to convince, as He was afraid of Grandma reverting back to her violent and difficult self even though I was the one home alone with her while everyone else was gone for a majority of the day at work or school. As that was the case, the representatives from LHIN mostly dealt with me when they came by the house whether it was the social-worker on the case or the professionals she would send to the house. The most helpful professional was an occupational therapist who educated me upon dementia and Alzheimer’s as well as providing emotional support and advice on the situation with the geriatrician and his exceedingly terrible medications. Before this, in my ignorance, I was yelling and screaming at Grandma, confused as to how she could go from a completely normal and loving grandmother who I would give up the my own mother for to someone I was afraid of being around. After the occupational therapist left, my relationship with Grandma started slowly shifting back to one of positive interactions and normalcy. He, however, refused to read the educational materials the occupational therapist left to enlighten us on Grandma’s dementia because he refused to believe she had dementia because of how quick and abrupt the change was. He wanted to believe that she was doing this on purpose and after retiring before the Christmas of 2017, would often get into drunken tirades and yell so loud you could hear him throughout the house and even in the backyard. This continued afterwards, as well, and followed the cycles of her decline into bed-riddance (either from the anti-psychotics prescribed by the incompetent geriatrician, or the lack in erythropoietin) and ascent back into insanity and unnatural strength. In another descent in early 2018, after her nephrologist AGAIN decided that her RBC-level was too high and cut her off from erythropoietin for another three months, I again became insistent that He call the nephrologist to prescribe another round of shots. He was stubborn, as always is the case, and believed that her being bed-ridden and defecating in a diaper meant that it was her time—as if you were just born with a pre-determined age at which someone would die at. I was enraged so I took matters into my own hands after getting home from work one day in May and called the nephrologists’ office and angrily berated the secretary, to which she told me that all we had to do was call in after running out and they would send the prescription and shots to the pharmacist and we could pick them up. I sat there after the call, part-relieved that it meant Grandma wouldn’t have to go through another round of panic and part-annoyed that He did not want to do it because of laziness and self-importance (the belief that He is smarter than I, even without doing any research or having any prior knowledge about anything, even though He was always the one who took her to the nephrologist’s and family physician’s appointments). He does the same with plants and ended up condemning our eight-year-old starfruit plant to die in the cold, despite my protest. He always thinks he’s the smartest person, regardless of what experience/knowledge he has or doesn’t have in a particular subject—and I’ve inherited a similar manner of speaking-as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, as if I was 100% sure about what I was saying (which often gets me into trouble).

Depression In every waking day, the demon lurks within your shadow—always just out of the corner of your eye. As that sun sets and the lights go out, that shadow becomes an all-consuming spectre that fills the room as much as it does your mind—it eats that light your try to light inside, unhinging its jaws and swallowing the sun whole like a constrictor after it had crushed all the air from your lungs. A breath-taking darkness sends your heart into a frantic panic, straining and screaming and searching for every last bubble of air in the blood starting to leak from your eyes. Crimson tears streak down, acrid and burning, like streams of fiery lava making their way to the salty sorrowful depths of the oceans. Your head is feverishly throbbing with starvation, suffocating and drowning in itself as it melts from the draconic hell-fires lit under you by the shadowy-figure. You are more palatable to it when scared out of your mind and injuriously maimed by your own hand, so it eats at you night by night, piece-by-piece—it could be days, months, years, or even decades—but it is patient and diabolical. You are to it, like finely aged-wines or cheeses are to a wealthy connoisseur with too much money to know what to do with.

An Unwelcome Stranger Is His child, in his home, being a burden upon him. It doesn’t matter if this person does anything good, because—ultimately—this person is a stranger. A worthless stranger borne of his flesh and blood, that only continues to feast like a fat leech, engorging itself on His blood.

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spellbounding-slytherin · 6 years ago

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So, talking about my Novels a bit more....

Hey there its Vira!

Thought I would talk about my novels a bit more, just so you guys know what you all would be getting into.

So, lets talk about Novel 1.

The Rings of Gallilea: Sworn to Rebirth

(Aka: TROG/ TROGSTR)

So here are the main plot points of the novel:

It is the sacred duty of the Celestial Trinity (the Sun, Moon and Earth) to protect the life in their solar system from outside alien threats

An imperial speciest race known as the Cantillians dub Humans inferior to them, thus sparking a war between them the Celestial Trinity.

The nine planets ally themselves with the Celestial Trinity to protect themselves from a God-destroying weapon created by the Cantillians known as the Catalyst.

The Rings of Gallilea are formed in an attempt to protect the solar system.

The goddess of the moon utilizes their influence on humanity to create a re-birthing curse. As long as humanity shares legends of the gods they will not die.

During a battle with the Cantillian emperor (known as the Serpent) Earth is hit by the Catalyst, destroying his physical form.

One-by one the Rings of Gallilea and the Celestial Trinity fall.

Eventually it is only Mercury The god of knowledge, Moon, the goddess of magic and Pluto rhw God of Alchemy left

In order to save humanity, Moon forces Mercury to give her an "unforgettable" curse so she will retain her memories as a goddess.

Moon uses what is left of her magical power to trap the Cantillian emperor in a diffrent dimension, before she is killed.

Moon falls to earth taking on the form of a human infant.

She is found by the son of a former cult leader and raised moon aware of her godly identity.

Out of gratitude, moon grants her new father figure the "Power of The North Star" and shares a magical bond with him

Their mission now, is to locate the fallen Gods and prepare them for the fight against the looming Cantillian threat.

In summary:

The Rings of Gallilea is a magical Sifi adventure, with sub themes of romance, and drama. The message of The Rings of Gallilea is self-sacrifice, defying fate, humility and mercy along with second chances.

Lets meet our cast!

Luna Abyss- our female lead, Luna is the Goddess of the moon and Magic. Before what Luna refers to as "The Fall" she was regal, elegant and refined. Growing up on earth with her drunkard guardian Victor, and running from government officials who seem to pick up on Luna's signals wherever she goes changed her quite a bit. Luna uses her twin blades Artemis and Frigga to fight off the Cantillian forces sent by recon forces. Luna likes dancing to loud music at ungodly hours, getting fast food at midnight, dogs, and exploring places she probably shouldn't.

Terra Greenwood- Our male lead, Terra is the God of Earth, Nature and humanity. Terra grew up with his Grandma after his dad walked out on his drug-addicted mother. Terra is a member of the Apache Indians, and lives on a reservation in Greenville New Mexico. Terra, despite struggling with depression and minor anger issues, dreams of living a normal life. Getting a good education, a well paying job, taking his grandma and moving far away from Greenville....that Is until Luna shows up. Terra fights with his magic spear Gia, and can command Earth and Nature on a whim. While his abilities are still weak, with some training there is no doubt that Terra can return to his former Glory. Terra enjoys driving his old pickup truck down town, while listening to the hard rock radio station, helping his grandma take care of her garden, and hanging out with his best friends Mitchel and John.

Stella Brighton- our rich mean girl archetype. Stella is the goddess of the Sun. Stella grew up in her mother's mansion sheltered away from the middle and lower class, until one day she forms an unlikely friendship with Terra. An Unlikely friendship turns into an unlikely crush and an unlikely romance. That is until Stella's hopes and dreams are crushed when she discovers her mother and Stepfather have planned an arranged marriage for her. Stella breaks off her relationship with Terra and keeps her head held-high. Stella fights with her fiery bow, Apollo, and can spark a wildfire wherever she pleases. Stella enjoys shopping, traveling, taking selfies, and flaunting her status as Student Council President.

Mitchel James- the Nerd boy archetype, Mitchel is the God of Mercury, Knowledge and Communication (arguably revenge as well) As a young lad, Mitchel idolized his dad, who was in the military. Oftentimes it would be him and his mom while his dad was on deployment. Mitchel took a liking to computer science and technology, because thanks to that he was able to keep in touch with his dad even when he was far away. When Mitchel was 8 years old his dad died in active duty, and it wasn’t long until his mom took to a Sugar Baby lifestyle to try and provide for Mitchel without having to get a job. Mitchel is bullied at school for being the scrawny nerd boy, and takes revenge on his bullies by hacking into their computers and leaking their search history. After Luna rolls into town Mitchel's world is flipped upside down. Suddenly he isn’t armed with just brain-power but physical power. Mitchel fights in a way that is unique to the Rings of Gallilea. Mitchel can create Angels to fight as champions for him. He also uses a Chackram named Athena. Mitchel enjoys hacking into local security cameras to see whats up around town, exploring the dark web, arguing with radical political activists on-line.

John Kingsman- The play-boy Archetype, John is the God of Jupiter Kings, and lightning. John lives what is arguably the best life of anyone in the rings. His parents breed police dogs. Meaning his house is always full of puppies. John's dad is a former military officer, and both him and his mom are current police force members. John is the baby in his family, but is held to high standards. Be home before 7, get good grades, and take care of the dogs. John fights with his Claymore Sword, Odin, along with special abilities like lighting and psychological manipulation. John, obviously enjoys taking the dogs for walks, playing basketball, and going to the shooting range with his mom.

Hotaru Kawaguchi- The goth archetype, and Goddess of Saturn, Time and Death. Hotaru's parents immigrated to the United States after the death of Hotaru's older brother, Hikaru. They came here to give the intellectually gifted Hotaru better opportunities as she grew older. To help support her, the family opened a restaurant in the down town area that quickly became one of the most popular spots in town. Hotaru never really got over Hikaru's death, and took comfort in the macabre. Over summer, Hotaru picks up a second job to earn enough money to afford her dream car, working in an occult shop. She also finds herself involved in an unlikely summer romance. Aside from being able to freeze time and communicate with the dead, Hotaru fights with her staff, Hades, that can transform into a scythe. Hotaru loves books and quite sunny spaces, she likes painting, meditation, watching Elvira specials, and helping her mother and father learn better English.

Aries Vailakis- the Jock archetype, God of Mars and war. Just like Stella he too grew up with rich parents. His family comes a from proud Greek heritage, and own a chain of Mediterranean style restaurants. Aries is a star member of the football team, and is expected to take over the family business when he gets out of college. Most people think there isn't much to Aries other than food and football, sometimes Aries thinks that too. But being a competitive teenage god, can lead to some intense shenanigans. Especially when family, love and blackmail are involved. Aries fights with some seriously thick brass knuckles that spit fire. His brass knuckles can also transform into a large shield, Neiro. Aries likes cooking, working out, watching horror movies with his S/O, and very secretly likes looking at minimalist homes in the Greek countryside in homeowner's magazines.

June Smith, the flip Archetype, Goddess of Venus beauty, seduction and battle. June's mom divorced her dad to be with another man when she was young. Years later June would find out she died of cancer without telling her or her father. Needless to say June had a rough start in life. Given that her dad was the high school principal, she couldn't even act out and punch some nerd in the face. In the day light June masquerades as the nerdy turtleneck loving teacher's pet kinda girl. At night June flips ditching her turtle neck for something low cut and preferably leather. Sneaking out under the ruse of sleep or studying, June slips out to hang out on the edge of town with the local biker gang known as the Black Cat Bikers. Junes got the best of both worlds, her dad wrapped around her finger, and her legs wrapped around the back of her boys bikes. June fights with the sword Atalanta, and can change into any weapon June sees fit. June can also manipulate peoples hormones, making them fall for her or anyone. June will never admit it, but she likes wearing pink fluffy sweaters, she also loves getting fucking drunk, going out to see drag shows, sleeping in until noon, and playing with makeup.

Serena Paisley- The hippy archetype- Serena is the Goddess of Neptune, the ocean and family. Serena is the younger twin sister of Heath. Serena grew up close to her mother, who was somewhat of helicopter parent. Serena’s mother owns a brewing company, and is heavily involved in the Greenvile political scene. growing up in a spotlight Serena wanted to use her spotlight to encourage others to do good, and can often be found doing charity work. One big secret Serena has, is that she is a big fan of smoking weed. being a politicians daughter was a stressful job after all. Serena, can command any body of water and has great people skills. Her very loyal weapon is her trident, Namaka. Serena’s hobbies include Yoga, smoking weed, collecting crystals, playing the pan-flute, and thrift store shopping.

Heath Paisley- The rich boy archetype- Heath is the God of Uranus, Ice, Snow and Vengeance. Heath, is the polar opposite of his sister. He grew up chasing the affections of his long-distance father, who is an actor in Hollywood. Heath has a cold demeanor, and takes a some-what sadistic pleasure in controlling others. He is the student council president at the private school he and Serena attend, Hayden Heights Academy. Heath is secretly insecure about his sexuality, and is in denial about being attracted to men. Heath spends a majority of his time covering for his sisters ‘distasteful shenanigans” in student council meetings, or following in the footsteps of his politician mother. Heath has the power to control Ice, and cold temperatures, he can also force criminals to admit their deeds.Heath fights with twin sickles Poli’Ahu and Endymion.His hobbies include: casual business luncheons, bossing his underclassmen around, and he secretly likes it when his S/O leans over his shoulder while he is trying to work.

Romeo Barns- The rebel archetype- Romeo is the God of Pluto, Alchemy, and Transformation. Romeo has always felt like a social outcast, specifically because he discovered his godly powers at a young age. Romeo lives with his overly preachy preacher uncle, who believes in only one good god above. Romeo, being a sarcastic little shit, decides he needs to be everything his uncle isn't. Romeo sells weed for the Black Cat Biker Gang, his true "Family". Which is how a filthy little grunge rat like him became friends with Serena Paisley. Roemo's godly body grows organic blade-like structures which he can use to defend himself. His clawed-gauntlets, Thanatos and Cerberus add an extra punch. In his spare time Romeo can be seen around town riding his motorcycle. At night he is out spraying unique and vulgar messages on billboards. At school he likes to read the "boring unpopular books" like Catcher in The Rye and Lord of The Flies, and strumming along to his favorite songs on his base guitar

And thats just novel number 1! I'll make a second post about novel number 2 since this is already a quite lengthy post.

Let me know what you guys think, and if you wanna see more.

See ya later

- Vira!

#novel #novelist #writers #writing #writblr #author #sifi #fantasy #meet the characters #gods and goddesses #plot #magic #ocs #oc #oc fanfiction #oc facts

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ihavealavalamp · 6 years ago

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Poetry, UO Ellar, Holly, Huli, Enya

HELL YEA it’s a lot so. beneath the cut.

for poetry!!

01. Full name: previously Jonah Violette (which is cursed), currently Poetry Sumemrgrove, i guess! poetry of summergrove? yeah. 02. Best friend: morgan, harumi, sheila, prosper, and justice are all his closest friends and he loves all of them very much03. Sexuality: bi!04. Favorite color: cyan/blue..05. Relationship status: Very In Love With Morgan06. Ideal mate: morgan..07. Turn-ons: Oh You Know08. Favorite food: hashbrowns babey09. Crushes: thats morgan babes!!!10. Favorite music: he likes more peaceful quiet music, he probably loves the piano!11. Biggest fear: dying. Again. or losing the people who have come to be so important to him..12. Biggest fantasy: being done with all this chosen one stuff and just having a good peaceful life where it isn’t Something every day 13. Bad habits: he has a bit of a temper i guess fhgfh, he tends to lash out if aggravated. and i guess his hot-headedness makes him unaware of his surroundings pretty often so. does collateral damage count as a bad habit.14. Biggest regret: paying for the assassination of the lavals...15. Best kept secrets: i dont know, actually!! most of his big secrets have been revealed at this point in the campaign, he doesnt have much to hide from the party fghgf16. Last thought: i cant think of anything Specific but probably worry about justice rn.. he knows how she feels rn and hopes she’ll be alright17. Worst romantic experience: im sorry i know it ended well but when morgan asked if poetry wanted to be his boyfriend after they kissed and poetry didnt know how to deal with the situation so he just booked it out of the room, leaving morgan standing there in the room alone Stunned. thats a classic. 18. Biggest insecurity: uhh im not sure, actually! i think hes very insecure about whether or not he’s a good person, it’s something hes slowly but surely trying to accept!19. Weapon of choice: eldritch blast babey!!!20. Role Model: i guess... urbec.. shes good and kind and has made unforgivable mistakes in the past but moved on from them and he loves his mom

for Ellar..

01. Full name: Eullatoria Valren Haltedsun! ellar or eulla for short..02. Best friend: nephi, verona, maybe vira, i guess! hes a friendly dude in general but tbh he doesnt really fully open up and have many close friends rn gfhgf,03. Sexuality: ellar Gay04. Favorite color: blue!05. Relationship status: single Unfortunately 06. Ideal mate: wouldnt you like to know07. Turn-ons: mutual love and respect08. Favorite food: Coffee.09. Crushes: hes probably had a few throughout the years, but nothing really notable tbh10. Favorite music: hes a lover of ALL MUSIC11. Biggest fear: losing important things.12. Biggest fantasy: to go back in time13. Bad habits: not COMMUNICATING14. Biggest regret: oh. you know.15. Best kept secrets: OH. YOU KNOW.16. Last thought: BASS BOOSTED H17. Worst romantic experience: he seems the type to embarrass himself irreparably during a date with someone, so probably somethin like that hgfhgf18. Biggest insecurity: that his work will never be enough, probably19. Weapon of choice: his arcane focus! a conducting baton.20. Role Model: his....mom

holly!

01. Full name: Hollyhock uhhh i cant remember his last name rn but it’s sure there02. Best friend: tula..03. Sexuality: Gay04. Favorite color: red!05. Relationship status: tragically single and pining like a moron06. Ideal mate: someone who’s kind and pretty and has a nice singing voice and is reliable and a trustworthy friend that will love and support him no matter what even when theyre going through stuff and tula it’s tula07. Turn-ons: l. love.08. Favorite food: blueberry muffins09. Crushes: you already know the answer here10. Favorite music: whatever this campaigns equivalent of my chemical romance would be.11. Biggest fear: water.12. Biggest fantasy: demolishing the person who made his life miserable and feeling at peace with things for once in his damn life13. Bad habits: being a dumbass reckless bitch14. Biggest regret: being a dumbass reckless bitch15. Best kept secrets: hes not really the secretive type tbh16. Last thought: i do not know hfghgf17. Worst romantic experience: oh well you know18. Biggest insecurity: his fuckton of scars that he has...he doesnt like em.19. Weapon of choice: Cool Sword20. Role Model: i dont know if he has one!

and huli! i answered a couple already:

02. Best friend:well. currently aussrey i guess HDSJDS,, aussrey Good03. Sexuality: oblivious moron04. Favorite color: yello..05. Relationship status: single because hes stupid06. Ideal mate: wouldnt you like to know07. Turn-ons: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Osp0ftiO-Ls08. Favorite food: corn and anything butterscotch flavored09. Crushes: who knows! not him11. Biggest fear: losing all his memories Again12. Biggest fantasy: having a solid normal life without any memory loss fuckshit!13. Bad habits: he likes. to Take. you know how it is14. Biggest regret: all the events that led up to him getting separated from his friends and losing his memories, whatever those may be.15. Best kept secrets: i dont think he really has any gfhgf hes not very secretive16. Last thought: fucka you BASARD17. Worst romantic experience: being an oblivious idiot with angel probably. rip angel.19. Weapon of choice: crossbow..20. Role Model: none atm i dont think..

for enya!

01. Full name: i dont have a last name i dont think gfhfg.. just good ol Enya rn!02. Best friend: Uhhhhh. i dont think she has one fghfgh,03. Sexuality: thats lesbian babes!04. Favorite color: red..05. Relationship status: Bad06. Ideal mate: someone who she feels at peace around..07. Turn-ons: oh you know08. Favorite food: ice cream..09. Crushes: h10. Favorite music: she’d listen to lorde and we all know it11. Biggest fear: accidentally destroying the good things around her..12. Biggest fantasy: not like. Exploding anymore would be nice. 13. Bad habits: bottling up her emotions, probably. the fact that she tends to burst into flames when she feels Strongly isnt really her fault but i guess it counts gfhgf14. Biggest regret: So Many Things15. Best kept secrets: i would say the fact that shes a sorcerer but she really doesnt hide it like at all DSJKGDHGS16. Last thought: H.17. Worst romantic experience: BOY HOWDY,18. Biggest insecurity: being emotive and expressive, probably. so she tries Not to be.19. Weapon of choice: Fire20. Role Model: Herself.

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empirelead-a · 6 years ago

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romance headcanons !!

NAME: Kuvira NICKNAME: Kuvy, Vira GENDER: Female ORIENTATION: Bisexual PREFERRED PET NAMES: She’s not that overly fond using pet names for others or having one being used on her, but she doesn’t really mind things like “love” or “dear”, but for the most part, something like “baby” or “cupcake” is just a big no no. If there’s a pet name that makes you cringe then what makes anyone think that Kuvira would be different? So just stick with something normal, otherwise she’ll hate you.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Depending on which verse, but on my main, it’s complicated but she’s single. FAVORITE CANON SHIP( S ): BAAVIRA FAVORITE NON-CANON SHIP( S ): Korvira, but I have several crossover/oc ships that I do enjoy like with @infiniitas and @uccisore. OPINION ON TRUE LOVE: The general concept of it in her opinion is so eye rolling because life isn’t a fairy tale. Along with the fact having that kind of escapism isn’t healthy, one of which Kuvira knows a bit too well; the thought of someone staying by her side and the thought of not being abandoned, having that happily ever after? Yeah, this makes her kind of a hypocrite but hey she’s a complicated woman and she can’t help it when those thoughts comes and goes. OPINION ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: Kind of like the above, life isn’t a fairy tale. This would mostly be attraction at first sight, not love. A feeling everyone knows all too well and Kuvira is no different, but she’s not an idiot or even that desperate to know her attraction is not the same as having feelings for that person. HOW ‘ROMANTIC’ ARE THEY: Not the most romantic type ever, Kuvira still has a hard time doing anything romantic. This still doesn’t mean she won’t try, and if she’s really trying her best, you’ll know that she really likes you. IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: Strong jawline, broad shoulders, eyebrow game must be strong. This is just her ideal looks on people she may find herself being attracted to, doesn’t mean she’ll hate you if you don’t fit in perfectly to her ideal vision. IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: Intelligent, passionate, patient, understandable, and having some sort of a backbone. UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Bad teeth, bad posture, looking like you came out from a dumpster. UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Impatient, lazy, rude, snobby, loud, too energetic IDEAL DATE: As long as it isn’t too extravagant, then you’re all good but taking her out to like a Avatar equivalent of a McDonalds is not the right answer either. She’s just not into going to a fine dining restaurant or anything that has to do with a room full of snobbish bureaucrats. Preferably, an ideal date for her would be staying in and having a home-cooked meal (which she’s not going to make because she’s not the best cook), or having a picnic under the stars. DO THEY HAVE A TYPE: NERDS AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH: The longest she ever had was with Baatar because, in my opinion and headcanon, those two have been secretly dating for over eight years. But before her relationship with Baatar, it lasted from several months to a year. Things normally didn’t ended all too well on her part due to the fact that she has a hard time opening up and her emotions are pretty fucked up, so two of the people she dated had a difficult time wrapping their heads around why she’s always so distant and never talked much about herself. And if you’re wondering why she was even dating those people in the first place, first of all, she was young and thought “This is what everyone around my age is doing”. PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: Cuddling, long talks, just laying in bed together or being in the same room, dancing, taking a bath. COMMITMENT LEVEL: Kuvira is freaking committed. She can barely handle one relationship, you think she can handle two at the same time? No way! OPINION OF PUBLIC AFFECTION: Not a big fan, the most she would do with her significant other is hand holding and maybe a kiss or two--a tiny one, of course. Other than that, everything else are reserved for the bedroom only or any place that has very little people that will pay little mind to her and significant other. PAST RELATIONSHIPS: Before Baatar, she dated three other people. Two who just wants nothing to do with her and one who was at least understandable at the spot she was in, parting ways on mutual terms.

tagged by : @appointedescort (thanks~) tagging: @infiniitas, @bendsair, @chiefbaefong, @nicholas-wolfwood, @ureio, @uccisore, @the-human-maelstrom, @chillingavatar, and anyone else who wanna do this

#☯ | iron runs through these veins; musing ▬ about kuvira #☯ | the mountains quakes to her words; headcanon #long post

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cryokinesisandlight · 7 years ago

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EXO KoKoBop Criminal AU

With the new concept I got a new AU ...

Yes, I have a criminal AU based on KoKoBop because why not and I want to talk about it because there's no actual story connected to it, just a bunch of babes~

It’s gonna be a long post, though.

This is kind of a lazy gang but I love them.

Minseok (Xiumin) is the leader and he doesn't really do much right now other than being soft and kissing his babes. It's not really some kind of harem or whatever because it's mostly just platonic kisses but he just cares for the members so. fucking. much like where would he be without them?

That's a good question and also he would probably be in jail, not because he'd get caught but just because what's the fun in doing soft crimes and stuff if you're all lonely?

So yeah, he has done most of what the others do but they do it far better than he does - and because he's got an organized mind and is really good at figuring out how to work everything so nothing ever goes wrong, he's just ... the leader.

Honestly, he doesn't look like the leader at all but hey, that's good because nobody would actually think he could do the shit he does. And if you were to betray him, he would kiss your temple right before he cuts your throat. That's my boy Minseok.

Jongin (or Junghwa, maybe Junghwa tbh) is 2nd in command but only because they're romantically involved with Xiumin lmao. Like that's literally it. The two of them just love each other a little more than they love the rest of the members. They're also the scariest member of the gang outside of Xiumin whose appearance betrays his mind.

Either way, Jongin/Junghwa is scary as fuck. They do most of the murders and honestly, they mostly do them for Chanyeol's sake but they can do them for any of the gang members. They enjoy it, the desperation of their victim as they stare death in the eyes. Exhilarating! And it's just so enjoyable to lift that gun, aim that knife, press those fingers into throats.

Jongin/Junghwa loves looking into the eyes of their victims to really see the fear and they honestly have absolutely no trouble killing kids either.

There's nothing psychopathic over them as such, though. Emotions fully intact, moral code just completely screwed.

They love cuddling after a job well done tho and they sleep practically 15 hours a day so most of the time they look so so so soft and approachable lmao.

Chen (Jongdae) is the information. Mostly he gets it from eavesdropping and monitoring the police and the political people but sometimes he also gets it on the streets. Honestly, Jongdae is so wild on the streets like he can sniff up the most irrelevant information and still have it be relevant. Ask about anyone and Jongdae will get you information.

He's got a lot of informants as well. Actually he prefers everything but hacking because hacking is really really boring and it leaves him alone in front of a computer. He's a social guy, man, what did you expect?

He knows how to hack, though, but it's just not something he does if he can avoid it. Getting information the old way is preferred.

Jongdae used to be a spy for North Korea but then he ended up liking South Korea too much so he defected and found Xiumin and Jongin/Junghwa instead and hey, that was pretty good as well.

Jongdae has gotten new identities countless of times but hey, with a guy like Chanyeol, it couldn't get any easier.

So yeah, lets talk about Chanyeol because now I've mentioned him twice, haha. Chanyeol does ghosting. That's primarily his job and oh boy does he enjoy it. In case you don't know what ghosting is, it's taking the identity of someone that few people know has died.

And that's where Jongin/Junghwa comes into their partnership because what better way than to steal a dead person's identity than to kill them first?

That way very few people will know they have died (if any at all) and fixing passport photos etc. is a piece of cake. So mostly they ghost when they need knew identities because that way they can take on a "living" person's identity and if everything else fits (age, appearance to a certain extent, nationality and so on) then why not?

He can make fake identities from scratch as well but that requires more work and Chanyeol actually likes ghosting. To think of the lives they overtake and wonder who they were in the past.

Oh, to dig up all those childhood memories of the ghost and hand them to a member - what a joy.

Chanyeol honestly lives for ghosting.

He's also tall as fuck and has a wide smile on his lips so being in public is not really any problem and - seriously, Chanyeol has so much free time, what is he gonna do with it?

Which leads us to Joonmyun. Not really but I want to talk about Joonmyun. So ... Joonmyun actually does a lot of the footwork in the gang. How boring, now isn't it? Okay, no, not really.

Joonmyun is a total babe and mostly he just sets stuff on fire.

Arson is his specialty and he's developed his own way of doing it. Like you just know when it's EXO's arsonist that has been lighting fires but nobody is able to catch him because he's just that sneaky.

He's so good at what he does, though, because he lingers in the night and also looks like a normal business man at day, assessing the buildings, how to light them on fire subtly and makes mental notes for days or even weeks.

Every arson is so well-planned that it's just impossible to trace it back to him, yet at the same time there's just this thing that makes it his entirely.

He also does drugs as in he sells them. Sometimes he hands them out at night clubs because why the fuck not and he's got that dealer reputation but nobody really dares take him down as a dealer either because Joonmyun is the perfect liar and he can get away with everything.

Smooth motherfucker really.

Let's talk about Soo next. I kind of want it to be Sookyung, though. She's a badass woman. She holds a master in biochemistry and that's actually her best weapon. She spends most of her time in labs and she hates noise and bothersome gang members that just wants to cuddle like get the fuck out of her lab. Right now.

She is actually kind of harmless, even if she's also the most deadlist.

Sookyung usually makes CBRN threats. She has yet to actually release anything to create a contamination but that's beside the question. The threats are definitely enough to have people do their bidding, especially political people.

If you don't know what CBRN stands for, it's an abbreviation of Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear and it's used as either attacks, defense or happens as accidents, usually with quite horrible consequences.

While Sookyung deals mostly with the Chemical and the Biological aspect of CBRN, she has knowledge of the other two as well. She doesn't really use them for consequences but rather nurses her vira and bacteria and tries to combine and create new fatal chemicals.

She's a little introverted and mostly wears a scowl on her face but she's also fiercely loyal and when she's comfortable she can speak for hours about her small microscopic children.

She prefers Xiumin, Jongin/Junghwa, Seyoon and Lay over the talkative members such as Jongdae, Chanyeol and Baekhyun.

Lay operates in a business suit as he walks around in the daylight and looks into numbers. He works top jobs and steals millions of money with fraud, but he's the kindest person on Earth and nobody would consider him worthy of such crimes.

He's intelligent as fuck, often leading to confusing moments and he's often far ahead compared to the people around him. It makes him seem rather dazed and sometimes people think he smokes weed. Yixing has never touched such substances, though, his intelligence just puts him on another level.

Fraud keeps him sane and he loves tempering with the numbers, watching his own bank account grow as he empties banks and large companies before he moves onto the next one.

Originally from China, he has contacts in China as well and sometimes operate there. He likes traveling around the world and Xiumin mostly lets him.

Innocence is his appearance and nobody would suspect a bad bone in him. Too bad they're wrong.

Baekhyun and Seyoon have a small competition, but let's talk about Baekhyun first.

Baekhyun is a thief. He likes action and stuff happening and if he's without his gun it's all just wrong. That's why he has found solitude in robberies and shoplifting, stealing mostly in broad daylight where the chance of getting caught is high.

But Baekhyun is also like a magician and even if he is caught, there's no way to find the stolen goods on him. He cannot be spotted on cameras and he's like a chameleon as he blends in with people. He's absolutely sneaky and he's so observant.

Baekhyun always knows the trends, come to Baekhyun for anything and he will know. The most social of them all (although followed closely by Jongdae) Baekhyun loves to be where people are.

He also pickpockets and he's good at it. Refined pickpocketing with a dash of excitement is his specialty along with the shoplifting and the robberies.

It isn't uncommon that he shoplifts something none of the other members of the gang don't think they need such as expensive wine, Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses.

Seyoon is also a thief, but she has specialised in much more refined theft.

Her specialty is racketeering and her patience and persistence is what lets her get away with it. She plays on fear and often convinces her victims they need the protection she offers, even if the danger is completely fictional. She enjoys the smooth lie that slips through her lips and the fear she can instill in people, only to collect hard cash in her hands.

She loves watching her bank account grow with deposits and her lips are usually curled into a small smile. She's cocky as fuck and considers her work the most important for the gang. Where would they be without her really.

She also does pickpocketing because she cannot let Baekhyun have all the fun.

While she isn't as extroverted and social as he, she has the benefit of her good looks and men are so easy to pickpocket when they're drunk. Her playing field is clubs and bars and she rarely sets foot in a shopping mall.

At the end of the day, she and Baekhyun always counts who got most money from their pickpocketing and while Baekhyun often wins, Seyoon still considers herself a more successful thief. After all, she does the refined theft.

I'm not even sure this gang could work in the real world, but they're important and soft and even though they don't necessarily do all the dirty work with extreme violence and such they still have enough money and most certainly enough power to secretly run the government.

That said, they're usually also hidden from other gangs because of their little street-action and involvement with the rest of them.

Shimmy shimmy kokobop, I think I like it~

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