#is merely an innocent happenstance of language

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

“i’m never going to tell latin americans how to feel but why would any bolivians disagree with me?” is a very funny take from someone getting defensive about the possibility of referring to US nationals as something other than americans

[wrennnies]

HEY TUYS IM NOT DEAD

so in the last month ive been on holiday and then got sucked into inazuma eleven, since i was alresdy playing it ill give a short summary of what i thought (plus inaxuma eleven 2) and also the anime!!! (though shorter bc i watched it in a dub of a language i barely know) ill try and play all the inazuma eleven 3 games, i only watched the first season of inazuma eleven go tho.

inazuma eleven 1: it was great!!!! unfortunately ive been endeared to bobby shearers. also i thought the erik plotline went nowhere but i was supposed to get him before kirkwood.... the last battle i beat by mere happenstance, whoops!!! i lovedit tho. ALSO someone pls answer this: are zeus like.... genetically modified humans????? cuz it neverr gets answered, ray darks way of speaking was SO VAGUE. like is the research abt the boys or the steroids????

also nellys so cool i love her. the anime was super cool, but i was confused with its 127 eps since i only played the first game so i thought it mightve been like some anime only stuff??? turns out theres more than one inazuma eleven game.

i think the anime adapted the game pretty well, from what i could understand but i thought celia was way meaner abt jude in the game??? idk if its bc she has the “im gonna end ur life” face all the time in that game that made me think that though.... probably since shes like way more "innocent and cute" in the second game (todd ironside is so wrird i HATE HIMM in the first game)

anyway inazuma eleven 2!!!!!

great game, i called shawn shibuya since i didnt know his english name, or his Japanese one for that matter. the reason i chose shibuya was because i played twewy right before seeing him, and he looks like a shibuya.

speaking of which, i had some names for the people i didnt know the names of!! heres a list of the more interesting ones:

shawn: shibuya

victoria: peach (because her name sounded like peach in the localisation)

sue: girl inlove with erik

dvalin: hades (he looked like a hades)

hurley: dry sea (same reason as victoria)

darren: knockoff mark (look i didnt know anything abt this guy)

knockoff axel (i dont remember his name im sorry but his hairs kinda styled the same way????)

archer: giacomo????? giakomo???? i literally have no idea who or ehat a gyacomo is i just saw him and said "giackomo" SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHO GIACOMO IS, maybe i mixed gakupos name and komo os name together???? but WHY????

camilla: kori (i played time hollow before this and they looked kinda similar)

anyway back on task i really liked the girls, even if they got their ass kicked most of the time... like everyone else 😭😭 also jack was so sexist like WHATTT least mark was like yeah u come over here NOW.

the love stuff was cool, i savestated to ge everyones dialogue lol... i think my favs either toris or celias, its hilar that they dont even CONSIDER celia to be gf material 😭😭😭 but thats fine with me, love her. i liked how nathans mental breakdown was done in the anime betterr than the game since he left himself and bot bc he got the shit beat outta him. also SHAWN FROSTE. KIND????? HE CALLED CLOISTER DIVINITY "CLOTH EARED BEGGARS" AND TOLD SOMEONE THAT THEY HAD A FACE ONLY A MOTHER WOULD LOVE FUCK YOU MEAN KIND???? blunts more accurare i think. hes also scottish so i thought hurleyd be welsh since shawn was scottish and hes north uk so i thought west would be welsh... even if that makes no sense. AND SOUNDTOWN IS SO FUNNY like "hed kill the coach to get that key" lmao???? some of the character sprites are.... interestinf!!!! victoria definitely looks better in the anime 😭😭😭

nah but to learn that these orphans were just cosplaying their ocs while bombing schools is insane LIKE THET GET NO REPRECUSSIONS???? THEY DESTROYRD SCHOOLS ANDI KNOW THEYRE ALL LIKE 12 BUT STILL???? also dvalin is such theatre kid, they ALL ARE.

aliens destroying the world via football is honestly so level 5 i think they found their footing.

linas eng voice does NOT suit her LMAO itsl like a teenagers voice like thats a grown ass woman bro

caleb is cool tho love his insane sprite

like did jordan EVER apologise for destorying a bunch of schools??? i prolly shouldnt say bombing cuz they werent bombs...

also i thouggt for SURE this franchise would be more popular like ONLY 2,861 FICS ON AO3 FROM A SERIES THAT LARGE????? FUCK OFF... LIKE PROFRSSOR LAYTON HASLIKE TEN THOUDAND OR SMTH STUPID??? and i also need to know which game i can recruit professor layton to football fight with me

and jordan was done SO DIRTY in sesson 3 LIKE NOOO COME BACK :(((((

and i thought axel x mark would be WAYYY more popular than it is???? like i cant believe caleb x jude is the most popular thing on ao3 😭😭

also i cant believe jordan and xavier adopted kariya and its ONLY MENTIONED IN THE DISCONTINUED GACHA GAME???? like isnt that breaking SOME sort of workplace relationship rule?????

im glad to see nelly and mark together, tho it makes me a bit sad to think what silvia wouldve thought bc she def was there when it happened, i also read some of the fandom pages for them and he gets married to camilla in an au???? like GOD silvia cant catch a BREAK

also go was really good!!! hate that pikachu fucker though. /j they got people that arent british!!!! and i got spoilt via my sister. cant believe hurley whirley wasnt in season ine tho wtf. caleb also lookslike a middle aged mother when hes older lmao. i also hate that fuck ass dog for a moment i thoight he was gonna start talking like a certain other level five dog i could name, SHERLY.

and im guessing tenma isnt in orion bc hes dead since axel wasnt alienating himself to save him that time....

i got spoilers and i thought that shawns dead bro was actually alive 😭😭😭 in inazuma eleven

descole and stahnguns secret love child is also cool, love the new captain even if hes rich and plays piano

and i think thats it!!!! thanks for reading if uve read this far lol

[forever-rogue]

Can you do one where reader (who's partners with them) goes on a date and Javi happens to already be at the same bar the date takes place and at one point the reader doesn't feel good so she seeks out Javi and he quickly realizes she's been roofied?

I love protective Javi, but then again, don’t we all?

Warnings: drug mention, mention of violence, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive, language, 18+ only!

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier was a lot of things. A walking contradiction as much as he was steadfast in his ways. When you’d first met him, you’d been severely tempted to punch him right in his smug handsome face with that stupid charming grin, and that singular dumb dimple that already made your heart flutter.

It was your first day on the job, a fresh, brand new agent and the bastard had the nerve to ask you to fetch him a coffee. Not only that, but the way he had the balls to end the request with a slow, drawn sweetheart.

You’d exchanged a wry look with Steve, the golden haired man you already decided you liked much better. He had shrugged innocently and turned back to his papers with what you were positive was a smug little grin on his face. Back then you’d been annoyed, but looking back on it now, several years later, you realized it had been a sort of pseudo-test; to see if you’d meld into Javi’s advances or hold your own.

“No,” you’d told Javier firmly, watching as surprise look slowly crept into his features, “go fuck yourself and get your own coffee, old man.”

You’d never seen Steve laugh harder or Javier more in shock than that morning. To say you had proven yourself to both men was an understatement.

To say you ended up developing feelings for that stupid, dark haired, motherfucker was a gross understatement. Fallen in head first and through stuck in lust love with him was a much more accurate sentiment. Although you would never admit that to him or anyone else, let alone yourself.

Instead you settled on other things.

I love your cock. I love when you fuck me like this. I love when you use your mouth on me.

Yeah...it had quickly turned into that.

But Javier reciprocated in kind.

I love your pussy, just like you were made for me. I love when you get on your knees. I love how you look covered in my cum.

It was a lot of lust turned into love, but neither of you would ever admit that. Besides, it was never going to amount to anything; it was just some stress relief between two coworkers that understood each other more intimately than anyone else. No one knew the horrors of what either of you when through on a daily basis. But the two of you knew, and took solace in that fact.

You weren’t sure when the lines became so blurred, but you were almost positive it was around the same time that Javier made your relationship trysts an exclusive thing. No one else, just you and Javi. And damn. You liked that more than anything else.

But it wasn’t going to last forever; no, you knew that well from the start. What started out a one time thing that slowly stretched into more was never going behind that. You were sure of it, despite how good, how alive and protected and safe he made you feel, it was never going anywhere besides your dirty secret. Even the brightest stars burned out at some point.

Which is why when an agent from another department, a non-noteworthy average man, asked you out for dinner and drinks you said yes. It wasn’t an enthusiastic yes by any means, and the way your eyes had flicked to Javier before you agreed to go wasn’t lost on either of you. But he remained still and said nothing while you offered up a small yes.

Before the end of the day, you’d wandered over to his desk, ready to explain yourself, but he was quick to cut you off, not even looking up from his papers. You’re free to see anyone, Dulzura, he insisted in a gruff tone, have fun.

The part that hurt was the most was the fact that he didn’t bother to stop you as you walked out, even lingering for a moment at the door. The light bit of foolish hope you’d clung onto was for no reason after all. But at least you had an answer now. Javier was nothing more than a release.

»»————-　♡　————-««

All this nodding and smiling was going to give you a sore face and a headache, you realized. For a man that seemed so unassuming, he sure did love talking about himself. At one point when you drifted off from the conversation and let your mind wander, you’d looked across the crowded bar, and noticed him.

Of course he’d decided to come here to unwind after a long. Typical. Part of you momentarily wondered if he’d overheard you making your plans in order to come and watch you, but you weren’t going to flatter yourself that much. Chances, coincidence, mere happenstance. Besides that, it was a popular bar, and not an unsurprising place to find anyone on a Friday night.

But when you’d caught his eye, he offered you only a stiff little half smile, and you could visibly see the muscles in his neck stiffen as you raised your glass lightly in a mock salute. It didn’t a genius to figure out he was in a bad mood.

After some time, when you’d downed your greasy bar food, and finished off yet another drink, you still found yourself unable to handle your date. You couldn’t just sneak out, no that would be too obvious and awkward, especially come Monday when you were all back at the office. Instead, you settled on excusing yourself to use the restroom, hoping that if you spent long enough there he would take the hint.

Slipping off the stool, you almost dashed to the bathroom, making your way through the crowd and brushing against past Javier. He watched you bolt away with a curious expression, wondering what had caused the sudden escape. Internally sighing, he studied the man that was your date and frowned. You could have chosen anyone in the world, preferably him, but you’d chosen David of all the people. The man was a joke, a downright fool, and yet you’d said yes.

Fuck. But he could only blame himself. He’d never made a move, and every time he wanted to, especially after you started falling asleep in his arms, he talked himself out of it. It was just sex and companionship, he was sure of it. And now? Well, he been a fool and missed his chance. He narrowed his eyes at your date, wishing it was socially appropriate to go and beat the shit out of him. But he had reason to, and didn’t need to stir up anything. Instead, he decided to silently simmer, and told himself that he’d cut things off with you soon.

It was the right thing to do. Or so he thought.

He watched as you slowly flounced back and downed the rest of your drink, pretending to be engaged in conversation. He knew that face anywhere; the one you used when you feigned interest. Usually it made him laugh, but no? It caused a pit in the bottom of stomach.

But Javier was determined to stay, to keep an eye on you. Something in his gut was telling him that was something was off. And although he knew his instincts were clouded by his overwhelming feelings for you, he always knew that his feelings were rarely wrong.

So he stayed, long after his own companion had left and watched. Watched as you started acting more odd and more strange as you consumed another drink. It was a dramatic shift from your previous demeanor but your date was unphased. At one point, you swayed dramatically in your stool and almost fell to the floor.

Javier almost jumped to his feet as you straightened up and excused yourself again. He could see you mumbling something as the asshole man in question nodding, giving you a grin not unlike that of a wicked wolf.

Slowly stumbling through the crowd you knew something was off. Nothing felt right and the world seemed woozy and far away. You did however, recognize one thing...well, person. Javier. You wobbled over to him on unsure legs as he leaped to his feet, large, strong hands going to your waist to steady you.

“Javi,” your mouth felt heavy and dry and his name came off more than a whimper, a pathetic plea, as you met his dark eyes. His expression was somewhere between intense concern and furious anger as he helped to sick you down in the both, shoving a glass of water at you, “I don’t feel good. Feels weird...wrong. I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Look at me, Dulzura,” he gentle took your chin in his hand as he tried to study your face, but your head kept wanting to lull around. He gritted his teeth as he quickly put two and two together. A growl, primal and instinctive sounded deep in his throat as he look back at your date. Your date that was suddenly mysteriously disappeared.

The rat bastard had made a hasty escape as soon as you saw go to Javi.

He was a dead man.

“Javi,” you mumbled softly, “can you help? Please? I know you hate me now, but I dunno what to do.”

“I could never hate you,” he insisted as he held up the water for you to drink. You made quick work of downing it, feeling slightly less parched than before but still as miserable. Javi easily scooped you up in his arms, clutching you tightly to his chest as you mumbled incomprehensible things, “we’re going home. I’ve got you now.”

“’s okay Javi,” you managed to get out as you buried your head in his chest, “‘iloveyou.”

He stiffened at your words, unsure if you’d actually said those words, or if he was just a hopeful fool. Either way, that wasn’t his name concern at the moment. Getting you safe and into bed was top priority.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“J-Javi?” your voice cracked on his name as you realized just how dry your throat still was. Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you studied your surroundings, only realizing after a few moments that you were in his bedroom. A tall glass of water was on his bedside table, along with some pain killers. You took both without hesitation.

On cue, almost as if he could sense you were awake, a soft knock came on the door before he slowly opened the door. He let out a long exhale of relief when he realized you were awake and seemingly okay. Your eyes were wide and worried with your lips pulled into a small frown.

“How are you feeling?” he came in and sat at the foot of the bed, studying you with those eyes you swore you could see right into your soul. You shrugged as you set the glass down and tried not to cry.

“Alright I guess,” you sighed, feeling like an idiot, “I’m a fool. I can’t believe I let that happen. I don’t know I didn’t see it last night...I’m a fucking DEA Agent and I can’t tell when I’m getting drugged. I should be fired and sent right back home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he reached over and gave your knee a gentle squeeze, “it could have happened to anyone. Please don’t blame yourself for it. That guy was a fucking asshole.”

“Javier,” you leaned forward and reached for his hand, taking it gingerly in yours as you studied it. His dominant hand, as well as the other was covered in cuts and bruises, all sorts of colors already and swollen. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as your mouth dropped open, “what happened....Javi. Oh, Javier, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is...”

“He had it coming,” was all he said as he held your hand in his, holding onto it protectively, “he’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I thought about it...”

“What if he tells-”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Javier-”

“Listen,” he stopped you gently, “I had been thinking about doing it all night. From the moment I saw him with you. This just gave me a reason to do it.”

“What do you mean?” you bit your bottom lip as you met his eyes, the two of you watching each other with a silent intensity as you tried not to let your hopes get the better of you. Javier reached up and gently touched your cheek, brushing his fingers over your soft skin and stopping at your lips, “please don’t say something you don’t mean. Please.”

“Why do you think I won’t mean it?” he asked as you dropped his gaze, playing with your hands as you tried to keep your heart from beating out of your chest, “god, I’ve fucking meant it for years. I just can’t ever say it, but when I saw you with that piece of shit, I knew. I should have just-”

“I love you,” and just like that those three words the both of you had danced around for years were out in the air. And it had been so easy, so simple - effortless. But it didn’t stop the nerves, the fear of rejection, the fear of the unknown. You chanced a peek at him, watched as a look of sheer panic crossed his features before settling into the softest expression you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a slight nod of head, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, “that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Say it then, asshole,” you laughed lightly, feeling your heart settle as your normal rapport started to bubble through, “or you can kiss my ass.”

“I’m not opposed to that-”

“Javier,” you jokingly groaned as he pulled you forward, but just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, “some things never change, huh?”

“Nope,” he laughed, “but it’s true.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

[jafndaegur]

Things Said and Unsaid

Jumin Han x MC

Mystic Messenger

a/n: now that the zine is long past, here is my story from the Garden of Eden Zine:) Enjoy!

Jumin twisted the flower stem between his fingers as he reclined further against the chair. Waxy pink petals mocked him in a way that he did not appreciate and the bright bloom weighed heavily, leaning forward in his careless grasp. He rested his chin on the back of his free hand, temple twitching at the not-quite perfect amount of wine for a buzz but enough for a headache. 

MC's voice still floated in the air as if she'd just called about her final report for the RFA event.

"All of the flower arrangements are ready for the party," her voice was stilted over the phone even as she tried to be chipper.

Jumin wondered if she felt uncomfortable around him with everything said and done. "They'll look beautiful I'm sure." He reassured. 

The pause and silence between them felt unnatural and constricting.

"What did you pick? For the bouquets." He finally peeped out, his voice rocking with concern. Had they always struggled with communicating? The memory of being able to freely converse with her, speaking of any little trivial thing that came to mind an easy and amusing way for him to pass the time. Surely he hadn’t ruined things so thoroughly during the time she had spent at the penthouse.

MC’s airy and pitched laugh reached his ears in a painful display of her discomfort. "That'd ruin the surprise."

And what a surprise it'd been.

Jumin had been eager, and even anxious, in awaiting her arrival to the party. Afterall they all owed its renewed existence to her. And he himself owed so much to her too. When they had parted the night before, V rightfully helping her return to the apartment, it had been with a tender apology. She'd embraced him—held him close and promised things would work out the way they should.

He wasn’t sure if it had been a lie or her convincing herself. Perhaps some odd adherration of both to her conviction.

The day of the party came, but MC did not.

It was obvious that Seven had hesitated his journey before finally making the reluctant trek to Jumin with a piece of paper in one hand and a tied bouquet of flowers in the other.

The pink camellia had seemed so bright and vibrant in the light of the ballroom. And even now in Jumin's hand, standing stark and vibrant, the bloom dazzled against the rest of his muted parlor decor. It smiled and flourished, and yet here he sat more dejected and more confused than ever.

Somehow, he managed his way back to the kitchen, where the rest of his  bouquet lay abandoned on his dining room table—scattered petals and bulbs strewn across the wood top due to his careless toss of the bunch. He had been angry and frustrated at the time, but now he felt guilt tugging at the span of his ribs when he thought of the disregard he gave to her last gift to him. The note lay innocently next to it, as if trying to appease him with the gentle slope of MC's handwriting.

I've meant everything Jumin. Said and unsaid. I don't regret anything and I hope you won't either. But we both need this to move forward, I think this is what's right...I hope you'll see that. I've left you the best.

-MC

Among the flowers, pink carnations were the easiest to pick out. The petals crimped and wavy, and the blossoms themselves the most commonplace and plain. And yet MC had made sure the flowers had stayed nestled close amongst bushels of goldenrod. Another odd pick for a formal party. His eye for detail made things easy to recognize that beautiful hardworking and problem-solving touch MC made with every  deliberate and precise choice. He knew that much. From the sorrel that warmly held everything together, to the pink camellias blushing prettily at the center wrapped in forget-me-nots.

In times such as these Jumin realized he had one consultant he could count on, a source where information passed easily from itself to him. Where he could learn unhindered and without bias about the best that MC left behind for him. Because surely, she did not simply mean the best flowers from the bunch. She was too clever for that.

He found himself at a library, in the area with the farmer's almanacs and horticulture how-tos. It was an aisle he frequented when seeking answers to inquiries about his vineyard. 

Heavy and cumbersome, he found an encyclopedic tome titled Whispers from the Flowers. It was an odd name but upon opening it he found satisfaction knowing that his assumption on its topic had been correct. The flower language. Something not in a million years he imagined himself researching. But for MC, he would do anything. And his beloved left behind one very, very important clue. "Things said and unsaid." And he hoped it was more than a mere sentimental way of saying she left him behind regardless of whether or not she was able to relay all she wished to. 

Jumin found the index at the back of the book, searching for sorrel first. MC had meticulously ensured that the green and stringy plant entwined itself around the main bouquet like a cradle. It was hardly a flower and yet the vibrancy of it added life and color outside of the thematic pink hues of the other blooms. Affection. Sorrel is the gateway to confessions and the key to unlocking the heart—it lays bare the raw and pure emotion of those who offer it. His fingers danced over the words, tracing the letters with the faintest of smiles. MC's disappearance seemed like a rather large lack of said-affection, but he knew there had to be further explanation. And all answers resided within the little puzzle she had set aside just for him.

Because she knew and understood he had every capability to solve it. He hoped.

Encouragement. Good fortune. Goldenrod offers the same blade with two edges. One of well wishes and the other of outstretched hands. It is an easy flower to convey both farewells and prosperity. 

Jumin’s breath curled within his chest and his fingers hovered. “Farewells.” It was a mutter, something that he dare not speak more than a whisper.  MC left behind hide nor hair of her existence. The memory of her laugh and gilded eyes were the only proof he could offer. Yet somewhere amongst the agonizing pull in his chest as he read the summary over and over again, he feared that she had truly meant her goodbye hidden within these flowers. 

He knew his own faults had greatly weighed upon her decision to leave with Jihyun that day. But had he really ruined things so much that she chose never to see any of them again to escape him? Were all affections between them nullified because of his shortcomings.

Breath hitched and his fists clenched the book. Memories of true love. Forget-me-nots are the staple flower of sweet love. Anyone gifting their sweetheart with these iconic blooms know every moment spent with their true love will be cherished and treasured. Jumin’s brow furrowed. Contradictory. This was all so illogical and contradictory. If he had not just recently gone through a week-long anxiety attack and now the loss of the woman he had planned to propose to, he’d chalk these meanings up to happenstance and throw the book into the closest recycling bin. But everything said had been meant. And everything unsaid had been meant. He needed for his own sanity and for his own comprehension to know if these flowers truly enveloped MC’s feelings for him. Or if he was just a fool trying to pry into a love that was never his to keep.

“I’ll never forget you.” 

A shudder. The words flowed past his lips as he read the phrase mechanically. “I’ll never forget you.” Each utterance a tremor to his heart as the walls constricted and shook.

I’ll never forget you. Pink carnations are easily the most misused and the most misunderstood. Believed to be a simpleton’s flower, the meaning behind this bloom is often lost due to being handed out of context. It’s beautiful and pastel color can often be misleading. It is a mournful flower, often handed at the cusp of goodbye. A beautiful tendril to remember a fleeting yet vibrant romance. 

The search through the index for the last flower was a trembling one.  Jumin’s fingers skimmed the crisp paper gentle against his skin as he tried to account his increasing pulse to apprehension or suspense. He was approaching the last piece of MC’s riddle and good or bad—real or not—he had been able to come to some conclusion about their parting. About their romance. About them. 

His vision blurred and he felt the world spin.

A note had been tucked away close to the spine where the pages parted. It was a small envelope, no bigger than an index card. “Jumin” had been scripted neatly on the front, and on the back, there was a little flower drawn over the edge of the opening flap. He recognized MC’s handwriting anywhere. Impulse struck a chord with his nerves and he plucked the note quickly before forcing himself to slow down. He wanted to finish this mission. 

Pink camellias. Longing for you.

No more waiting. Jumin dropped the book and tore the envelope open. His heart pitter-pattered and he double took the gentle slope of that oh-so familiar handwriting. The gentle sweep and slant of her penmanship was obvious the moment he gazed upon the ink. There before him, tiny and hopeful, was a phone number. He'd arrived at the end of her puzzle with a growing smile, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. His finger brushed the new note.

"You can be greedy, you know," he whispered reverently. "Around me don't worry. Whatever fears or struggles we may have to face, we'll figure them out together. You don't have to hold back for my sake or for yours."

He pulled two business cards from his wallet, placing one in the forget-me-knots section and the other in the section about pink camellias. Satisfied, he closed the book and walked to the front desk where the head librarian sat typing away on the computer. Noticing his approach, they gave him a warm smile. Holding out their hand, the librarian inclined their head.

"Got everything you need?"

Jumin nodded and handed the book over. "I will soon enough. In the meantime, could you place this on hold? A friend is going to pick it up."

"Of course," the librarian nodded. "Name and number."

"Han MC," Jumin decided with a touch of humor, a welcomed break to his multi-day anxiety high, before reciting the number from the note.

The person assured him that MC would be notified and that the book would be on hold for the next twenty-four hours. He bowed his head slightly and graciously thanked them before heading to the car where Driver Kim awaited. There was so little time to get ready but he wanted to make the most of this anticipation that clung to his lungs with baited breath.

[hedgiwithapen]

Antumbra

Antumbra: noun. The area outside the darkest shadow of a solar eclipse.

It was sheer luck that the wide space, part desert, part prairie, sand and sagebrush and yellowed grass, was currently being used for tactical practice when, on a clear summer morning, someone sounded the alert. A bright streak arced across the sky, flaming as it crashed. The D.E.O. agents reached the small pod in minutes.

“What is it?” One asked, peering at the singed metal. “An opportunity,” the squad leader replied. “Call base. We need to get this thing underground. Move it, people.” He watched the pod, the way it lay still, a snake waiting to strike. Not if he could help it. He recognized a few of the symbols, soot streaked from entry into Earth’s atmosphere. They would take no chances with the creature inside.

It wasn’t until after the pod was secured in the nearest D.E.O. base, the occupant sedated and locked away without ever seeing sunlight, that news came that a second ship had crashed, this one larger.

Hank Henshaw glared at the man who’d brought the news. His work was never done, but it would be, eventually. It might take years, but Earth would be safe from alien influence under his watch, someday. Until then, he had calls to make, recruits to replace, and assets to acquire. This new Kryptonian had brought disaster, but perhaps it would be useful as well.

(Roughly three years later)

J’onn J’onzz had worn this form--this face-- for months now, but it still felt strange, foreign. Like he was stretched too thin and squeezed too tight, like one of the large earth snakes from the forest he’d hidden in, growing against dying scales. He wanted to shed it, but he didn’t dare. He’d run out of escape routes.  Even in solitude, he could not risk being J’onn, not anymore. Hank Henshaw. That was his name, who he had to be. The problem was, Hank was only skin deep. Even with all the time he’d had trying to train his thoughts, his gate, to turn skittish fear into anger, he had to remain conscious of the role he played. No part of who he had been could leak out, green tint under dark skin.

But he wanted to, especially here, in this work space underground that seemed to sing to his deepest instincts to run, to fly. He knew without doubt that there were no allies here, not any with power. If his deception, his disguise was ever revealed, even the few analysts that seemed like they had a grasp of ethics wouldn’t dare side with him, and the soldiers never would. The captives, the alien criminals kept under lock and key, would be no better, and J’onn knew that even to save his own life he would never release the murderers from their cells. One of the Faceless Hunters, other creatures from planets far beyond the furthest reaches of Martian travel and creatures closer in, nightmare monsters. He was no fool. He knew he was not the only refugee who had come to this place, but those in the cellblocks were not mere travelers who had lost their homes. These were aliens who had taken the fresh start they might have had and thrown it aside for greed, for violence. He would never allow himself to make that same choice, and he could not risk the lives of innocents by using them as cover. He would just have to be careful. He could not afford the cost of being discovered.

It was exhausting. Being Hank Henshaw was so much more than hiding under human skin, behind human eyes and trying not to flinch at open flames. But he learned. He read the files on the computers, feigning memory lapses courtesy of that last failed mission to bring in the Manhunter. He learned what he could, walking the same path into the facility that Hank had, heavy boots and chin up, as if he feared nothing. This was his fortress, his. That meant, to stay safe, he had to act like it.

He had to honor the sacrifice of the man who had died to save him. Jeremiah. He had been an help to another Alien, another peaceful one.  Superman, the press called him, but J’onn had not yet met him--the same alien that had been the cause, he learned, for the D.E.O’s founding. Peaceful or not, hero or not, J’onn was unsure he wanted to get involved--it was far too risky. And his life was no longer his own. He had promised Jeremiah that he would protect his daughter, and an oath sworn as a life-debt to a dying man was not something that could be taken lightly.  In a few years, the girl would be grown, and if she were as smart as her father had claimed, that one night in the jungle, there might be a place for her here.

This would have to be the goal. To slowly fill the ranks of the DEO with those like Alex Danvers, like her late father, perhaps even like he himself--people who wanted to help, not to seek out and destroy. It would take years, but then, J’onn had time, assuming he mastered the part. He was certain he could.

A few weeks after being fully cleared, fully recognized in this second identity, this false name, J’onn’s careful planning almost fell apart.

He had taken to exploring, having little else to occupy non-work hours. He needed to make muscle memory know each corner of the DEO’s underground base, erase any doubt that he was not fit to lead the organization. He read files, histories that only went back a decade or so, and walked the hallways in his heavy boots that reminded him he had to be human. That flying was never again an option.

He wasn’t certain why he had not been aware of one of the cell blocks on the lowest level, deep in the earth until then, but he found it almost by happenstance, drawn to the thin red light. As he approached, wondering what creature was so dangerous that it would be kept here, what crime it might have committed, he saw a small figure trembling in the corner.

He may have worn a human skin, too close and itching to be shrugged off. He may have pressed down the use of his powers, for fear of become dependent upon them. But he did not need anything beyond human eyes to see the small form flinch, to hear whimpering (Ieiu, Ieiu)  in a language he was certain he had heard before, but could not place.

He left just as quickly, his stomach acids protesting what his mind translated. It was a child. The prisoner in the cell was a tiny child, pale and thin. He had not needed to read her mind or understand her words to know she had been terrified. K'hym. T'ania. The memory of the last time he had seen his daughters seared like flame in his mind. Was some parent out there wondering for the fate of their own child? Had his children huddled, alone and terrified in a dark prison cell?

He wanted to vomit, and so he ran, slowing only to a halt when he reached the upper levels and the risk of being seen.

What crime could that pathetic creature have committed to be left in almost total darkness? What if she was like himself? Not one who had chosen this planet in malice but in desperation, alone and frightened, with no Jeremiah Danvers to chose her life over his?

“Sir? Director Henshaw?” a young woman asked, voice clipped. An intern, of sorts, the lowest ranking of the already highly ranked officials and agents permitted to work here. “Are you well?”

“I am fine,” he told her firmly. “I need to check our records for any discrepancies. There’s another audit coming up.”

She winced. That meant budget reviews, an endless stream of meetings if not everything was perfectly documented. “Of course, Sir. Understood.”

He waited until she had scurried off, no doubt to let everyone know to be careful with their paperwork, before sinking into his chair and digging deeper into the files. And there it was, plain text. Project KR Eclipse.

A Kryptonian pod had been found, only miles from the crash site of Fort Rozz, with a lone occupant. Unlike the being that had been labeled the ‘Man of Steel’ by Metropolis’s reporters, this one did not seem to possess that same invulnerability, or strength. Notes from Director Henshaw, the real Director, whose face J’onn now twisted in revulsion, filled the screen, conclusions drawn from what files had be salvaged from Fort Rozz and from tests they had run on the child. Blood tests, brain scans, pages of lists that dated even during the time Henshaw had been dead. Nowhere did it list a crime committed, and the mugshot showed only a pale face, dirt marks on her cheeks, dishwater hair mussed and tangled. J’onn closed the files, closed his eyes, and cursed inwardly. He could not compromise his cover. He could not show kindness or weakness (or the weakness that was kindness in the eyes of humans) without risking being discovered. Then what would be his fate, to die on a steel lab table or languish for centuries in a dark cell until he forgot even his own name? His oath--.

He had abandoned platitudes like “everything happens for a reason” when the White Martians had torn his beloved from his arms. Now he wondered, if this was the reason he had been spared the fate of his people, if this was why the old Director himself had been the one to confront him, if this was why he still breathed when Jeremiah did not. Was this how he was meant to pay forward his debt, a life for a life, one refugee to another?

He had lived more than 300 years, his family was dead.

He took his coat from the hook, and started for the exit.

~~ break ~~

J’onn knocked on the door of the large house, feeling awkward standing on the white-painted porch without his uniform on. As much as he loathed wearing it, being Hank Henshaw with all his weapons, it was a measure of safety. Security. But he stood on the porch in civilian khakis and waited for the door to open.

The blonde woman, whiter than she had seemed in the photograph on file, looked at him, the exasperated smile folding into a tight frown, fear and anger lining the creases around her eyes. She paused, as if trying to find words. He spoke first.

“Mrs. Danvers. May I come in?”

“Doctor,” she corrected as if out of habit, and then realized. “You--No. Get out, get away, leave us alone.”

“Dr. Danvers,” he said, formally, no emotion slipping through to the mask he wore. “It’s urgent. I need to speak with you.”

She shook her head, moving to close the door. He stopped her, but only because desperation demanded it.

“It’s about your husband.” It was, in a roundabout kind of way. “ You got my husband killed.” She did not stumble or stutter over the word. J’onn nodded, solemn. “This is not a conversation for your porch and neighbors to hear, Dr. Danvers,” he said, though there were no neighbors near enough to hear or watch the confrontation.

She opened the door wider. “Come in, then.”

As soon as the door was closed, J’onn closed his eyes. He could not back out now. He needed this woman.

“Your husband was not the only expert on Kryptonians, was he, Dr. Danvers?” She stepped back, shaking her head. “No. No, I will not work for you and your sick organization. I won’t. You took my husband, isn’t that enough for you? That you took him from me, from us, that I had to lie to our daughter, about why he never came home? Now you want me, too? Jeremiah gave you his research, and I don’t know any more than that. Now, get out, Henshaw.”

“My name is not Hank Henshaw,” J’onn said softly. Even if he managed to free the little Kryptonian, he could not give her a home, not when it was so certain he would be trading his own life for hers. She would need someone trustworthy, someone safe. Someone who would protect her.  “Your husband died to save my life. I have to pay that forward, and I need your help. Please.”

He held out a photograph, the one he’d risked printing out. Eliza Danvers took the picture, looking at the girl’s tear and dirt smudged face, then up at J’onn. Slowly, she nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

~~ break ~~

J’onn had done his best to get most of the agents out of the underground facility, dispatching teams as far as Ojai on carefully laid trails after more Fort Rozz escapees--perhaps finding some of them would delay the discovery of a betrayal and an empty cell. More agents he had temporarily assigned to the other bases, or loaned to the military to assist on various projects (and spy on the new General, Sam something or other.) Only a skeleton crew remained, and now, in the hour or so before sunrise, was the best chance there would be. He had done what he could. The rest would be up to H'ronmeer, or Rao, or fate.

The cell door opened under his hand, and the disheveled figure flinched, scrambling backward until she hit the wall, arms raised in defense. In the dim light and shadow, J’onn’s vision faltered for a heartbeat, the Kryptonian girl’s face replaced by T'ania’s before reverting back to her own, bone white, with wide, dark eyes.

"Zha,” she whispered, “Khap zha sem, eiahm sem rraop.” He didn’t understand, exactly, but he didn’t need to to see how terrified she was.

He crouched and held out a hand. “Voi,” he said, the word Eliza had told him meant “safe.” She startled, looking at him, trembling. The fleeting glimpse he had had of her, the picture, had not been much, J’onn realized. She had not just been locked in, but chained, like an animal. Like a monster. Her bare feet looked cracked and bruised, but it may have only been the poor lighting. She looked to be perhaps fourteen, if that, thin and pale. Her eyes were haunted, but she kept her head up. She was brave. A fighter. She would have had to be, to survive here, for so long, but she was tired, leaning against that far wall for support as much as for protection.

She chewed her chapped lip, then whispered, “Voikirium?”

“Voikir--voikirium,” J’onn hoped it meant the same as ‘Voi,’ that she would trust him. They did not have much time. He stepped into the cell, and she did not flinch as he used his master key to undo the manacle at her ankle, watching him silently. He gestured to the door, holding out his hand again. She took a breath, and then his hand, her skin icy against his. He led the way up the least used stairs, the narrowest hallways, grateful for his determination to know every inch of the base. It may not do him much good after today, but that would be alright. The girl stopped short as they reached the last doorway before the final stretch of hall that lead out. She looked up at him, and again he could have sworn that the fluorescent lighting gave her his daughter’s features. He opened the door, and walked quickly, tugging her along. Eliza Danvers would be waiting just beyond the perimeter. He only had to make sure that the child reached her.

No one spotted them as he opened the doors, predawn light spilling in. The girl gave a tiny squeak of fear, but he squeezed her hand. The air was dry, smelling of rabbitbrush and sage, as familiar to J’onn as the scents of the rainforest in Peru had been. But she stopped, breathing in as though her lungs would never be filled, staring up at the pearly sky, her mouth open, her ragged clothing shifting in the faint breeze. Tears glimmered on her cheeks, but she did not move to rub them away, only let them fall.

Over the lip of the mountain in the west, the sun started to rise, golden and warm.

~Fin~

~

The following are loose Kryptionese translations, I did my best with a limited dictionary and grammar rules I tried to learn in like 30 minutes so)

Ieiu - Mother Zha - No

Khap zha sem- I do not want (literally ‘want no I’)

eiahm sem rraop - I beg you (literally ‘beg you I’)

Voi- safe, secure, all right Voikirium - deliverer, rescuer, savior

[find-your-rp-partner]

looking for a long-term rp partner (originals only)

♦ 21, finnish, game art/animation uni student.

♦ I roleplay via email and skype. I'm only looking for OC x OC and original settings (taking inspiration from other things is fine tho), no canon stuff for me this time. 

♦ I write in third-person and multiple paragraph responses, however I tend to match my replies to my partners. Please be willing to write at least 4-5 sentences, one liners are not my thing. 

♦ English is not my native language and I’m just a mere human so mistakes are bound to happen. I’m looking for a partner who understands this and is relaxed about roleplaying (!).

♦ I want to chat OOC and joke about our characters. Plotting, dumb character memes, they are all part of the fun imo. I just want to get invested into our characters! Make me sad when we eventually tear our OCs lives apart. 

♦ I’m fine with m/f, f/f, m/m. Currently more interested in m/f and f/f as I have plenty of m/m ships.

♦ I prefer playing females, but if we are doubling you can expect characters from all range (females/males/nonbinary). In all honesty I would prefer doubling, as it makes things more interesting.

♦ I love drawing so I would love to draw our characters (as long as my partner is fine with that). I am also into creating playlists, pinterest boards, you name it. Faceclaims are cool with me too! 

♦ Am I ok with violence, smut, kinks and darker themes? Absolutely YES. There is not much I won’t do, as long as we discuss it beforehand. Btw, if you are not 18+ smut is not gonna happen, kay. 

S T I L L H E R E ? Okay, now to the juicy bits! I’m interested in genres such as high fantasy, post-apocalyptic, medieval fantasy, horror, supernatural, sci-fi, honestly all goes expect… Slice of life. I love world building, and overly complicated plots. The more weirder/creative the plot is the more fun it is! That’s my jam, man. I like monster pairings, enemies to friends to lovers trope, endless snark and putting my characters into weird situations where they don’t know what the heck to do. Fluff and angst, that too, please.  P L O T S Some plots I have in mind. Please suggest your own though, this is not just a one way street, y’know! History is written by the victors Centuries ago monsters attempted to conquer the world, and back then only The Order, a religious group formed by village elders, could stop them. After the great war The Order aided the world to flourish again. They built shelters, fed the hungry, and trained hunters to protect the villages… The monsters decreased and so did attacks, and there came a point in time where monsters were thought to be extinct until a more evolved, stronger force came forth. The monsters’ descendants were almost human-like, able to blend in and live among humans. The Order began to call these creatures Xavierans which in their language meant “the cursed ones”, and the witch hunts began. If you were suspected of being a Xavieran the sentence was death by various torturous methods. Villagers would turn against each other, innocents would be sentenced, and rumors spread. It did not matter what was the truth or if the cursed one in question was a harmless child - if the blood was black it demanded a penalty. Gradually Xavierans formed groups, living outside of villages and cities in the peace of forest, some plotting retribution and others only wishing to live like humans do. Most Xavierans have been cursed with a short life span. Their bodies so mutated, they can barely function. Many of them are known to go insane and lose their humanity, to the point where they cannot recognize their own family. If another Xavieran sees signs of their peer growing ravenous they try to end their life as soon as possible. It is called mercy killing, because if they are left as it is they will keep on growing and mutating until they do not resemble any bit of human and only hunger for human flesh. I would like to play a huntress, raised and taught by The Order to loathe Xavierans. Lately, The Orders methods has made her question if whatever they are doing is right, but it is not enough for her to turn on her own people. If we were to double, I have a wider cast in mind but that can be discussed in further detail via skype/email if you are particularly interested in this plot. Know hope Are you into post-apocalyptic settings? I sure am! I do not have a clear, defined idea for this one but I would like the setting to take inspiration from Mad Max, Borderlands (vg) and zombie films. A ragtag group of thieves and criminals are brought together by sheer happenstance. How are they going to survive? And how many will die? Reborn “In Norse mythology, Ragnarök is a series of future events, including a great battle, foretold to ultimately result in the death of a number of major figures (including the gods Odin, Thor, Týr, Freyr, Heimdallr, and Loki), the occurrence of various natural disasters, and the subsequent submersion of the world in water. Afterward, the world will resurface anew and fertile, the surviving and returning gods will meet, and the world will be repopulated by two human survivors.” What if Ragnarök resulted into Gods being reborn as meekly modern time humans? Humans who cannot remember their past lives as Gods until it starts to come back to them in bits and pieces as hazy dreams and terrifying nightmares? What if their powers returned, but because their human bodies are weak and frail, they cannot control them? (This can really be taken to any direction we want to, meaning I do not have a clear idea for this plot yet.)

Just some I came up with! Feel free to suggest more (in fact it would be great if you did). I’m not picky, and want to work on these as a team. C O N T A C T S

EMAIL:  corvusmonedulas (a) gmail.com SKYPE: rrhaella TUMBLR: here

Let me know who you are and what you like, I hope to hear from y’all soon. c: Also please tell me about yourself, what kind of pairings you like, if you are interested in any of the plots above or have your own ones you would like to build upon, etc. Let’s chat!

[fyrapartnersearch]

looking for a long-term rp partner, originals/OCs only

♦ 21, finnish, game art/animation uni student.

♦ I roleplay via email and skype. I’m only looking for OC x OC and original settings (taking inspiration from other things is fine tho), no canon stuff for me this time.

♦ I write in third-person and multiple paragraph responses, however I tend to match my replies to my partners. Please be willing to write at least 4-5 sentences, one liners are not my thing.

♦ English is not my native language and I’m just a mere human so mistakes are bound to happen. I’m looking for a partner who understands this and is relaxed about roleplaying (!).

♦ I want to chat OOC and joke about our characters. Plotting, dumb character memes, they are all part of the fun imo. I just want to be invested in our characters! Make me sad when we eventually tear our OCs lives apart.

♦ I’m fine with m/f, f/f, m/m. Currently more interested in m/f and f/f as I have plenty of m/m ships.

♦ I prefer playing females, but if we are doubling you can expect characters from all range (females/males/nonbinary). In all honesty I would prefer doubling, as it makes things more interesting.

♦ I love drawing so I would love to draw our characters (as long as my partner is fine with that). I am also into creating playlists, pinterest boards, you name it. Faceclaims are cool with me too!

♦ Am I ok with violence, smut, kinks and darker themes? Absolutely YES. There is not much I won’t do, as long as we discuss it beforehand. Please be aware that if you are not 18+ I am not going to smut with you. Naw. 

S T I L L H E R E ? Okay, now to the juicy bits! I’m interested in genres such as high fantasy, post-apocalyptic, medieval fantasy, horror, supernatural, sci-fi, honestly all goes expect… Slice of life. I love world building, and overly complicated plots. The more weirder/creative the plot is the more fun it is! That’s my jam, man. I like monster pairings, enemies to friends to lovers trope, endless snark and putting my characters into weird situations where they don’t know what the heck to do. Fluff and angst, that too, please.  P L O T S Some plots I have in mind. Please suggest your own though, this is not just a one way street, y’know! History is written by the victors Centuries ago monsters attempted to conquer the world, and back then only The Order, a religious group formed by village elders, could stop them. After the great war The Order aided the world to flourish again. They built shelters, fed the hungry, and trained hunters to protect the villages… The monsters decreased and so did attacks, and there came a point in time where monsters were thought to be extinct until a more evolved, stronger force came forth. The monsters’ descendants were almost human-like, able to blend in and live among humans. The Order began to call these creatures Xavierans which in their language meant “the cursed ones”, and the witch hunts began. If you were suspected of being a Xavieran the sentence was death by various torturous methods. Villagers would turn against each other, innocents would be sentenced, and rumors spread. It did not matter what was the truth or if the cursed one in question was a harmless child - if the blood was black it demanded a penalty. Gradually Xavierans formed groups, living outside of villages and cities in the peace of forest, some plotting retribution and others only wishing to live like humans do. Most Xavierans have been cursed with a short life span. Their bodies so mutated, they can barely function. Many of them are known to go insane and lose their humanity, to the point where they cannot recognize their own family. If another Xavieran sees signs of their peer growing ravenous they try to end their life as soon as possible. It is called mercy killing, because if they are left as it is they will keep on growing and mutating until they do not resemble any bit of human and only hunger for human flesh. I would like to play a huntress, raised and taught by The Order to loathe Xavierans. Lately, The Orders methods has made her question if whatever they are doing is right, but it is not enough for her to turn on her own people. If we were to double, I have a wider cast in mind but that can be discussed in further detail via skype/email if you are particularly interested in this plot. Know hope Are you into post-apocalyptic settings? I sure am! I do not have a clear, defined idea for this one but I would like the setting to take inspiration from Mad Max, Borderlands (vg) and zombie films. A ragtag group of thieves and criminals are brought together by sheer happenstance. How are they going to survive? And how many will die? Reborn “In Norse mythology, Ragnarök is a series of future events, including a great battle, foretold to ultimately result in the death of a number of major figures (including the gods Odin, Thor, Týr, Freyr, Heimdallr, and Loki), the occurrence of various natural disasters, and the subsequent submersion of the world in water. Afterward, the world will resurface anew and fertile, the surviving and returning gods will meet, and the world will be repopulated by two human survivors.” What if Ragnarök resulted into Gods being reborn as meekly modern time humans? Humans who cannot remember their past lives as Gods until it starts to come back to them in bits and pieces as hazy dreams and terrifying nightmares? What if their powers returned, but because their human bodies are weak and frail, they cannot control them? (This can really be taken to any direction we want to, meaning I do not have a clear idea for this plot yet.)

Just some I came up with! Feel free to suggest more (in fact it would be great if you did). I’m not picky, and want to work on these as a team. C O N T A C T S

EMAIL:  corvusmonedulas (a) gmail.com SKYPE: rrhaella TUMBLR: here

I hope to hear from y’all soon. c: Also please tell me about yourself, what kind of pairings you like, if you are interested in any of the plots above or have your own ones you would like to build upon, etc. Let’s chat!