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thirstforhelmets · 3 years ago

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Warden Eternal Dream Goes from ‘Villain Tries To Body Snatch Protagonist to Villain is Now Very Confused and Now The Protagonist’s Armor and Slowly Falling For Them’

TLDR; Convince fragment of misanthropic Promethean portal-making, potentially infinite Doppler gander-producing humanoid of destruction to not body snatch you through dumb explanations of why the cult worshipping him is whitewashing everything fun and depressing about humanity, that he should just observe humanity for himself with a guide, and did you forget to mention that human bodies natural produce drugs and he could experience them with you?! Also, you both kind of fall in love after a few years together and end up explaining it rather than confessing cause you’re too used to doing that all the time.

Basically, a cult somehow gets their hands on a remnant of Warden Eternal’s core and plan to put him in a human body to be their God. Only problem is that they need to have the BEST candidate for the Warden’s new body and do this convoluted scheme where they run a ‘Be The Master Chief’-type theme park/fun house thing in the biggest warehouse ever.

Like, you don’t have to be an augmented human or anything but there is layers to their bullshit where they are indirectly trying to get someone as unconsciously close to the Master Chief as possible. Like, you’re kind of doing a wacky version of the Human-Covenant War, except you’re pulling mind games and ‘seeing between the lines’ in each area’s ‘game’ and ruleset. Each area rewarding a piece of light armor that ‘helps’ you but also can ‘corrupt’ you midway through the ‘run’. You get ‘corrupted’? you have to start all over. Also, everything is fucking randomized to prevent meta gaming.

So, basically, the female protagonist accidentally fucks up midway through the beginning portion of the beginner area and turns off the communicator, not thinking anything of it since the staff does relay the rules and rules are written on the board for each game.

Bottom Line: The female protagonist gets all the armor pieces and the ‘late game’ upgrades in the challenge arena the entire way without any corruption points only through blatantly stupid luck only two or three steps down from the Master Chief, himself. AND you beat Warden Eternal by basically telling him that he’s missing out by turning you into a literal meat suit and that there’s lots of shit that’s worth experiencing with a human guide on human worlds. Also, if he mind-melded maybe just 10% with you instead of 100% he gets to have a free ride to know what shit like serotonin and endorphins feel like.

Also ‘these losers are showing you a wayyyy too sterile view of humanity. Come with me and we’ll experience the good AND the bad together! Just merge the rest of yourself with my armor and no one will know the difference!’

And he takes you up on it. (no idea what happens with the cult. I guess they’re cool with it? Dreams are weird.)

It then kind of skips forward a bit where he has experienced a lot of the human roller coaster that is emotions via you as a proxy and finds it worth maintaining the relationship for the 2-3 years of friendship.

It’s not like this went unnoticed though.

Dr. Halsey and ONI have been keeping very close tabs for obvious reasons (He still is still a teleporting historically-misanthropic Promethean death machine that can spawn portals at any time to throw copies of himself everywhere) He will ALWAYS be a very real threat even if he is taking a leisurely vacation from his misanthropic ways.

It doesn’t help that you are quick to anger and throw punches if someone REALLY goes out of there way to make an ass of themselves (He even acknowledges this by calling you a ‘monkey girl’ after you take him to the zoo and you both watch two monkeys throw wild haymakers at each other in their cage).

On a surface level, you are SO not the ideal candidate to be undertaking this kind of task so they have spies and always have a spartan team ready to go if Warden Eternal has had enough of being an observer and wants to start ruining planets and colonies. It even got to the point where even Master Chief had knowledge of the unorthodox relationship, seeing as he was interviewed by ONI earlier on about his experience with the Promethean.

So, the third act is the protagonist waking up in a large glass room with lift pads and all sorts of platforms, along with a rolling tv cart with a CRT television at the top, a vcr, and other dated technology gadgets that the Warden picked up a fondness for. It all stimulates your eagerly curious monkey-part of your brain but you kind of realize after a few moments that Warden (whom you affectionately call ‘Dan’ at this point, mostly to tease him) isn’t affixed to your bodysuit and that the old armor from the cult is there instead.

Worried, but not unfamiliar with his own need to wander about when in semi-public locations or the privacy of your usual accommodations (your mother’s house), you try calling out, seeing if he hijacked the speaker system or something to stay in contact like he usually does. The CRT unit turns on and you can hear a rather tired-sounding Dan talk to you through the room’s speaker system. He tells you that he has had enough of your shenanigans and wants to return to his old ways but you KNOW something is instantly off with your friend. That this isn’t like him. (the dream kind of implied this but I didn’t want to skip it just cause my dream did).

You kind of put two and two together and realize that this whole set up was ‘a zoo’: You were being observed separately for some reason and it stunk instantly of ONI, like Dan has described to you in the past.

You beg Dan to portal to you. That you two could just ‘coffin’ your way out of this trouble like you always did. (Warden Eternal literally coffins you in an air-tight form and pulls you both through a portal, incase it isn’t clear). He passively refuses the idea, making it abundantly clear that something terrifying was likely happening either to him physically or otherwise when it was always your go-to.

Whatever could make Dan just feel this defeated only meant that it probably involved your wellbeing. That you were likely a hostage.

Monkey rage starts simmering under the surface as you hated how dirty this all was playing out.

No one makes the Warden depressed unless it’s YOUR fucking depressed ass feeding him that chemical cocktail of your own equally depressed-making!

You shout at nothing but everything! Knowing full well whom-ever had set this up was listening and watching your every move! How dare they think they were animals to be locked up in a zoo?! How dare they think that they had the right to lock them up when nothing bad ever came of their travels, even when you unwisely slugged motherfuckers in the face! They always deserved it and you never hurt anyone otherwise!

Warden then makes a portal and reassembles himself in front of you, looking no worse for wear but his usually bright inner flame rather delicately smaller than normal. He really wasn’t doing so well. (god, it real hurt to see him like that. The pain I could feel was so heart-rending. Fuck you, Dream).

You tried to be an optimist for you both in this moment of reunion: Happy that you were right to assume he didn’t want to be a human-hating monster again and that he was still capable of making portals.

‘This is the end of the wonderful road for us’.

Dan seemed so resigned that it was clear that something dark was going to happen if you didn’t intervene. Like he was going to say goodbye forever.

It made you think back to another inevitable death that happened years ago: That of your beloved childhood cat.

You begged him not to go. Not to die and become a phantom you could only feel and hold in your most heart-breaking dreams. Dan knew of your feelings, of the phantom dips of a wonderful feline that walked around your almost-sleeping form to find a comfortable spot on your bed to lay down at night. He enjoyed the companionship of your current cat at your mother’s home, knew that your feelings of despair at waking from such dreams were enough to bore the deepest hole in the strongest of metals.

The fact that you felt such deep pain from the idea of him leaving this mortal plane for good helped resolve his own feelings. That this was one part of unconditional love.

He won’t see you harmed or killed but he couldn’t just leave you with a wound that heals ever so slowly: One that takes years to scab and even more for the phantom pains of the scar, itself, to dissipate.

The Warden would not let himself feel that either. Nor let the machinations of mankind’s worst guide him to self-destruct by their hands without his own intervention.

It’s with that, you told him you loved him. That the feelings you felt at that moment was love and that if he had to go, it was not to return as a phantom. It was more of an explanation than a love confession: you did do that often in the beginning when he questioned the point of such chemistry being a factor that drove the actions of humanity. But, still, it was nice to have that reassurance that this conclusion of his was not as obscene as it could have been.

With that, he dissipates his flame and delicately floats his pieces to you, reforming your jigsaw-like suit of ‘Mjolnir’ armor, complete with his annoying face plate blocking your sight. Letting out a nostalgic sigh you, grabbed the chin of the plate and pulled it up so it sat flat on top of your head. You were back together, the mind-meld back to its full, rightful ten percent.

With that, Dan closed the portal and the scene ends.

While some time has passed (the dream was not clear) not nearly enough allowed you two to explore what the enclosure provided until ONI placed another card down on the figurative table. Spartan Locke, from Strike Team Osiris, dressed down in a sterile white ONI uniform without any signs of hostile intent, enters your enclosure and states that he will be your guide if you wanted a tour of the facility you were in.

Both Dan and you immediately suspected potential for foul play since the Promethean did recognize his voice signature from Genesis. You both needed more intel about the place (and who was in charge) in order to negotiate your freedom and hacking anymore than Dan already did to talk earlier would be met with overwhelming force. Not taking the bait might be worse than just trying to chance something else.

Unfortunately, it was probably the easiest trap ONI could have sprung on you, personally, knowing your history of violent confrontations. Spartan Locke, while being ever unshakeable, kept steering conversations into the unpleasant. He kept bringing up Dan’s unwavering support of Cortana when she had the Mantle of Responsibility, his refusal to hear any opposition to the point of trying to kill the two spartan teams sent to retrieve Cortana (including the Master Chief), and his near limitless potential for the genocide of the human race, regardless if he hasn’t displayed any of his prior known abilities outside of utilizing portals.

You explained Dan’s situation: That he was only a fragment of the Promethean, you saved him from a cult bent on doing much worse than he had ever mentioned wanting to inflict on humanity, and, more to the point, Dan had never harmed a hair on a human’s head in the 2-3 years that you’ve been with him outside of you using his makeshift gauntlet to knock the stupid out of assholes who had it coming. You loudly and proudly declared that it was you and you alone in those cases who was responsible. Also adding it was ridiculous that they were being apprehended now, if your using of a Promethean’s armor to inflict trivial damage to thug’s faces was the reason for all of this.

It didn’t help.

No amount of justification or good behavior from a formerly violent alien species (HELLO!? The Arbiter?!? Anyone?!?) would sway Locke from his conclusion that everything about Warden Eternal was a primed nuke. That he was clearly lying. That you were a gullible idiot who managed to trip her way into a clearly bored cult deities’ hands. That it was plain luck that Dan ever found the experiences he had with humanity in the few years that the Promethean became an ‘observer’. It was all a badly convincing ploy to let him gather up-to-date information on humanity’s current assets and general combat abilities outside of the spartans he encountered.

And Dan just stayed quiet the whole time.

It wasn’t like the proud Promethean to be passive to insults against him, so much that it honestly had you a bit shaken that it could very much be the truth.

Your mind-melding was a one-way exchange.

You were not privy to the Warden’s thoughts unless he made them known.

It was through sheer desperation to dig in even farther.

Changing the subject just wasn’t possible, no matter how much you tried to diffuse it and cease this hostile, raging fire burning every diplomatic fiber you had inside. Not even being callus and pointing out that he was clearly trying to bait you into a fight helped.

Hell, it just made it even easier for the spartan to get right to the point.

With pleasantries clearly never on the table, you knew that Dan probably had ample reason beyond letting you speak on his behalf to keep silent.

You went in knowing the tour to be a bait but the cruel reality was your temper was the one weak chain in the link and no amount of screaming, incoherent crying and pleading would get this heartless man to empathize.

It was only when he grabbed your wrist to prevent you from going back into the observation room that you snapped.

In the time it took for you to swing for his jaw, the spartan had your back thrown down hard into the ceramic tile and nearly shattered your spine if not for Dan’s lightening-quick intervention. A gun was pressed hard into your exposed forehead, the man’s face almost terrifyingly cold as before as he used his weight to keep you pinned in place.

‘So, this was what it was like to fight a spartan.’

The blow had you extremely woozy, it felt like you didn’t have enough blood flow to move even a finger even if you wanted to continue to resist. The fight was snuffed out easier than a lit candle wick for the spartan.

“The gun is unnecessary. She cannot move, Spartan.” Dan finally spoke, utilizing the speakers in the hallways.

Locke seemed to think otherwise as he kept his position.

“That’s not the point, Warden Eternal.”

Apparently, that was all that needed to be said as Dan drifted his pieces off of your armor and body suit, opening a portal to send himself into an unknown destination.

It was only when the portal was sealed shut that more white uniforms came out from the seemingly empty connected hallways to descend on you. You were restrained and hauled away, them not even batting a lash when three pinky-length diamonds floated out from under your body to quickly follow. Those not carrying you on the stretcher were heavily armed with assault rifles at the ready but it was obvious that it was to reinforce the ‘you’re a hostage’ message to Dan.

(the dream then skips passed the recovery and to the final section)

Locke escorts you into another of the facility’s sterile, white-tile room with Dan at one end, like you expected, but this one had a reinforced glass wall running the length of one wall and an old, one-armed woman on the other side of it. The spartan had his pistol draw but was at military ease as you assessed the situation.

The speakers crackled as the woman began speaking. Telling you that she was Dr. Halsey of the spartan program, Cortana’s creator, and all this other stuff before quickly getting down to business: She wants the Warden to terminate himself but he reneged on doing so after talking to you. So, her only option is to have you force him to do so as all other methods available have failed.

Halsey theorizes that even if they look into more financially-burdensome options of disposal, the cult’s influence on the Warden Eternal’s current existence might result in him actually achieving a full takeover of your body should his metal form be forcefully terminated, creating more undesirable outcomes for all involved. Of course she mentions that he isn’t too fond of the possibility of dying or his death basically triggering the cult’s original intent and figures that if you just accept facts it would basically free him of the burden to live, in exchange for your life and freedom.

She restates all of the points Locke did, showing you video evidence of the damage unrestrained Prometheans have collected from the Master Chief and all spartans that ever encountered them. You watched as Warden Eternal dismissed humanity and any good will that could come from them taking up the Mantle of Responsibility (thought, to be honest, humanity as it was would be horrible caretakers of the universe, so past-Dan DID kind of have a point). It was clear that Dan was very much capable of being a destructive force worthy of being deemed as such, from what you could see.

Still, you reiterated your own points as calmly as possible. Wishing you had more concrete evidence (outside of bringing your mother or numerous other innocent people into this mess) to back your claims of Dan being committed to simply observing humanity, adding that the cult’s inability to get him to fuse with a body prior to your stumbling into him. He wasn’t ‘just’ the Warden Eternal anymore. While he was capable of immense destruction and human casualties he never once did more than bad-mouth them. Dan had ample opportunities to act but never did so. He wasn’t a trojan horse.

Halsey has Locke leave and brings in the Master Chief to try to give his opinion on the matter, thinking he, who actually met and dealt with Warden Eternal numerous times, whom she knew you admired (like everyone else).

Chief gives a brief, rather unbiased account of his experiences but refrains from answering Halsey’s question on if he thought the Warden was still dangerous. When asked, he says he doesn’t have a complete understanding of the last 2-3 years of the Warden’s current existence to be able to confidently conclude an opinion.

(this is meta but, yes, dream protagonist has all knowledge of most of Halo material and knows of Cortana and Chief’s relationship and parting but its never outright said.)

Knowing John’s struggles, you think that might be the reason he has decided to remain neutral at the moment. Halsey admonishes him for his lack of resolve but understands that she knew this could have been the case when she brought him into this. (Maybe Halsey was aware of John’s feelings and was indirectly helping him get closer with this almost scary mirroring of events? It didn’t feel malicious on her part. She genuinely wanted his opinion and trusted him to approach this situation better than they could).

At a current stand-still, you felt entirely pissed off by your helplessness and everyone’s refusal to even consider your experience! You turn your rage towards Halsey and decide to hit her where SHE likely would hurt, bringing up her looking down on you and saying that while your existence might just be a flash in the pan, everyone will forget the person, the woman, Dr. Halsey after she dies. You bring up hugely important women in history and how their efforts were ultimately downplayed, especially in the scientific sector. How people will continue to assume she wasn’t brilliant and just slept her way to the top to get grant money and that she basically stole ideas from other scientist, even if it was a collaboration of humanity’s finest minds.

(and because it’s a fucking dream) It’s exactly the shit that got under Halsey’s skin and, in a lapse of judgement (or just overinflated ego with her favorite spartan present), she lowers the glass barrier and uses every step she takes to get to you to give a run down on her hardships and chides you for your lack of common sense when given control of something far more powerful than you could ever understand.

You clocked her right in the face, breaking a finger or two from the force and lack of finesse.

Halsey falls to the ground with a broken nose but the Master Chief probably broke your jaw in addition to many other facial bone structures when he put you down face-first into the ground to restrain you.

Dan was absolutely furious and yelled at the over-use of force to restrain an un-augmented human but the lack of suppressive gun fire being leveled in his direction was an obvious sign of him staying put.

“Fucking run, Dan!” You managed to muffle out from having your face dug into the floor.

“I refuse to let even a piece of me leave!” Dan yells and eloquently adds that you’re a fucking moron for starting a fight when you’re the one who will (and is currently) suffering the consequences of throwing fists around a spartan. A SECOND TIME he might add!

You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, mostly from the excruciating pain.

It was definitely love you were feeling at this most inappropriate of times, you knew that for certain. (god this was so fucking cute to experience).

Halsey cooled down quiet a bit during the down time and stood back up to coldly admonish you for your foolish temper.

“Then don’t exploit it, Fucker!” You growled in retort.

You are then put on a stretcher by the white uniforms and are entertained by armed escort to medical while a nurse is waved off by Dr. Halsey for the moment.

Only the Master Chief, Dr. Halsey, and Dan are left alone in the room and Dan uses it to calmly ask for leniency on your behalf. “She’s a hotheaded ape at times but one of the betters of your race.”

Dr. Halsey and the Chief quietly contemplate this for a brief moment before silently leaving Dan by himself in the room.

Walking to Medical together, Halsey bring ups the issue of using something as flimsy as ‘love’ to keep the Warden on a leash.

John simply agrees that it is love but doesn’t disclose his opinion on if it would be an effective tool.

She then quietly asks if killing them both through means as humane as possible would be worth the risk instead of something/someone/the environment killing either of them ‘in the wild’ or, at the least, the protagonist's natural death might just be delaying the calamity for future minds to worry of.

John is confident that humanity will find a means but otherwise has no opinion other than Warden Eternal is ‘stable’ (not currently dangerous but still does have the capacity for great harm).

Halsey isn’t too fond of John’s judgement but agrees that maybe a solution could be found should both the Warden and protagonist be persuaded to take part in a few tests from time-to-time.

John is secretly relieved to hear of this, his thoughts of Cortana and their two painful goodbyes still a scar that makes itself known from time to time.

(and the dream ends more or less around here. I have day-dreamed a bit where Dan bounds a small piece of himself to one of your spinal cord bones so that the mind-meld is 10% both ways so you can ‘feel’ his emotions too, as wild of an experience that is. Another point was that John and Halsey’s hope pans out and technology does ultimately progress to a point where, when the protagonist eventually dies to dementia in her old age, Dan slots the bonded bone and metal fragment into an advanced android body and ‘uploads’ his picture perfectly preserved memories of them (both good and bad) into the mix to basically resurrect the protagonist with almost perfect accuracy. You get to survive into the future beside him. His fondness for humanity slowly growing throughout the decades and culminating in him actually defending humanity in the many defensive wars it found itself in.

No, he never changes his mind that humanity is not fit for the mantle but believes it is worth preserving for future generation to flourish.)

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evil-robot-cat · 3 years ago

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People ask what parts I used to make my Sidon custom, and I thought, instead of spitting out a bunch of random numbers, I’ll make a graphic that shows pictures of the Nendoroids I sourced parts from. Since Tumblr is more text-friendly than Instagram, there’s more info under this handy cut:

HEAD: I chose this one because when you pull out the pigtails, it’s very close to a bald, bare head. It became problematic when the skull parts didn’t fully close around the face I had chosen. It’s a rare but possible thing with Nendoroids. So 100%, you don’t have to find this head specifically, just any head that’s on the simple side - because you’re gonna have to build the fins and tail from scratch!

FACE: Since Sidon doesn’t have a nose (unless... the ridge...?), it’s good to get a faceplate that also has no nose. A cheap way to get one is to look for an ugly/unpopular Nendoroid More novelty face and repaint it.

TORSO: “But Robot Cat, there is no torso pic.” No. I. Um. Don’t actually remember what torso is in there. It’s a random generic torso from some body or other. Like the head, all that mattered was having a bare, simple body that I could build Sidon’s shape onto.

ARMS: I wanted arms that had bracelets or cuffs, with holes for separate hands. There are several like that, this is just the one I found first. As for why...

HANDS: Most Nendoroid hands cut off at the wrist, but some are longer. That extra length can be covered with putty to match up with the arms’ bands. It’s not easy to do, but it gives Sidon’s arms some extra length. I wasn’t in the HP fandom, so I didn’t know about the terf shit until some time after buying the doll. I certainly wouldn’t have bought this particular Nendoroid if I had known! Little Witch Academia is a good substitute. Those are numbers 747, 835, and 859. It’s what I would use if I were to make this project again.

LEGS: I like these. They’re puffy, so they match his chonky thighs, and they’re jointed, so they can pose. Only thing is, they’re black, and painting them white was a pain in the ass. I live in fear of the paint scuffing or chipping. But it’s worth it for that zora leg look.

WORK: I covered the highlights in another post. The nitty gritty is easier to see by digging through my Instagram hobby account. The older this post gets, the further back you’ll have to dig, and I’m sorry for that. But you’ll see my other adventures and experiments, too!

SAFETY: The most important thing to remember is to use proper PPE. This is a hobby for adults, and it involves the use of dangerous and toxic chemicals. When I sculpt, I wear safety goggles and nitrile gloves to protect my eyes and skin. When I sand/paint/seal, I do it outside and I wear a fitted respirator with P100 filters. The filters are not permanent - once you can smell things through them, it’s time to change them out.

Don’t fuck with your lungs. Don’t do it. Not for a toy. Not for anything.

REMINDER: This is not the only/best/correct way to make a custom. It’s just an in-depth look at what one person did. You can look at it for inspiration or go “Nah, I’ll do it better than this.” Customizing is about self expression, so you should be proud of your creations!

EXTRA: The B-word will inevitably come up. If you’re dabbling your feet in the hobby for the very first time, it’s okay to buy a bootleg to practice on. But bootlegs are made in unsafe places and conditions, so if you decide to get into customizing for the long haul, then it’s time to avoid the fake stuff. You can get authentic Nendoroid parts for very low prices at Chibi Chop Shop. They’re legit and reliable. They get their parts directly from licensed GSC distributors and fellow collectors. I’ve been ordering from them for years and I love them! I don’t get any kind of discount for saying this stuff, so you know it’s real.

#custom nendoroid #prince sidon #botw sidon #prince sidon nendoroid #toy photography

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athetos · 2 years ago

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Favorite band?

Favorite song?

Favorite genre?

And have you ever made music/thought about making music?

I don't have an absolute favorite band, but I really love Dead Kennedys, My Chemical Romance, Senses Fail, Taking Back Sunday, Parkway Drive, The Interrupters, Archspire, Rings of Saturn, Misfits, and Pinkshift

Asking my favorite song is asking me to choose which of my 394849 children are my favorite. But, here's a few I rank very highly: Zero Percent by My Chemical Romance (it sucks that it's a b-side, wtf), Teen Idle by Marina, End of the World/Game of Chess by Senses Fail, Holiday in Cambodia by Dead Kennedys, Relentless Mutation by Archspire, Hybrid Moments by Misfits, I Wanna Be Sedated by the Ramones, I Just Want to Sell Out My Funeral by the Wonder Years, and Kids by MGMT.

My favorite genre of music is typically best summed up as "abrasive." I listen to just about every subgenre of punk and metal, with my favorites being technical death metal and hardcore, plus whatever qualifies as emo (from American Football to A Skylit Drive). Outside of that, I dabble in hip hop, pop, alternative, pretty much anything that isn't modern country, god that shit is awful. Classic country gets a pass though, I was raised on it and Harper Valley PTA was a treasure.

I always think about making music... I play bass, I've been playing for almost a decade now. I used to write my own songs from time to time, but lately I just learn stuff I like. I don't have the free time or money to start a band or anything like that, and music software is scary. So I just like jamming.

#ash.mp3

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drspencerweed · 4 years ago

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okay I think it was #12 from the fluff requests:

“I dedicated this nail to you when I painted them.”

so many directions this could go and if u want me to give some specific request just lmk

okay my immediate thought was spencer painting his nails spencer paint his nails spencer painting his nails so here we go

I did this instead of doing my homework and it got longer than I wanted it too (its about 1.2k)

----

You came into work beaming, ready to show off the nail art you had done the night before. It was a little hobby you had picked up recently, always a fan of fun colors on your nails but only more recently dabbling in the actual art side of things. Penelope had come over the night before and you had done them together. Hers were full of hearts and little kittens, while you decided to make a set that was different on each nail. One for each team member.

“See! Yours is a little Sergio!” You said to Emily, letting her hold your hand and look closely at the black cat on your right middle finger. Of course you noticed when Spencer arrive, only a few minutes after you, but you tried not to let your attention linger too long in case Emily noticed where it was. Hiding a crush on a coworker when all of your coworkers were profilers was unendingly exhausting.

Before you could even say anything, Spencer was peering over Emily’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?” He inquired.

“[Y/N] did her nails.” Emily said. You blushed a little, and pointed to your left ring finger where a white thought bubble contrasted a black background. In the thought bubble was red letter ‘187′.

“I dedicated this nail to you when I painted them.” You said quietly, praying he wouldn’t read into the fact that you happened to put his nail on your wedding finger. He leaned down to look at it close up, hands never leaving the strap of his satchel where he hadn’t even put down his bag.

“That’s really incredible. It’s so small.” He said, amazement in his voice.

“Thank you.” You almost whispered, hoping the blush you could feel on your cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt.

You thought that would be the end of it. You showed the whole team all of their nails, and everyone complimented you and really enjoyed the little personalized designs you had done. The three fingers that weren’t dedicated to team members each had small little hearts on them. (One of them was the pinky next to Spencer’s finger. Penelope wouldn’t stop teasing you for that when you had done it.) In the break room, you were stirring milk into your coffee when someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned to see Spencer standing there, playing with his fingers and clearly nervous about something.

“Hey! What’s up?” You asked, continuing to stir your tea. He took a few steps closer to you, looking over his shoulder as if he was nervous someone would overhear.

“Do you think-uhm. Would you want to-” He cut himself off and took a deep breath with his eyes closed, clearly gathering himself. Your heart hammered in your chest. He wasn’t going to....no. He wouldn’t. You shook the thought out of your head as soon as it came. Either way, whatever he was trying to ask you was obviously not coming easily. You took a step towards him and tilted your head.

“Whatever it is, you can ask me Spencer.” You reassure him.

What he said next was so rushed and jumbled that if you hadn’t been well versed in Spencer-speak, you would’ve never understood what he said. “I was thinking that maybe you could paint my nails? Because yours look really pretty and I’ve thought about it before but I always thought it was weird but you’re so good at it and-”

“Whoa! Slow down.” You said, you reached out slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, and when he didn’t you grabbed his hand and his gaze snapped from the floor to you. “It’s not weird. I would love to paint your nails. You can come over tonight.”

You rode back to your apartment together, talking about everything and nothing in the way you only could with Spencer. When you finally arrived, you let him settle on the couch while you went and got all the polishes you had. While you laid them out on your coffee table, Spencer rambled about the history of nail varnish. You couldn’t help but smile the entire time.

You prompted him to pick a color, and he settled on a sky blue. Sitting cross-legged across from him on the couch, you pulled his hand into your lap. It was shaking slightly, and his gaze stayed on where your hands were touching. “There’s no need to be nervous, Spence.” You said, placing your other hand on top of his to try and settle the shaking.

He scoffed. “That’s what you think.” He looked like he regretted it as soon as he said it, but you just chuckled.

“It’s what I know. No one is going to care if your nails are blue. I promise.” You tilted you head down to catch his eye. “I never break a promise.” He smiled a little and nodded.

“Okay. Go ahead.” He said, wiggling his fingers in your palm. You worked quickly and neatly, answering all of Spencer’s questions about how you did it so steadily, and listening to him tell you about the different chemicals that made nail polish smell like nail polish. You had forgotten how intimate painting someone else’s nails could be, your hands touching the entire time. The delicacy of holding his finger steady in between your own. If you had a crush before tonight, you were well on your way to infatuated now. His long slender fingers just did something to you, and you had never gotten the chance to study them so up close.

When you put on the final coat on his left pinky, you were almost disappointed that it was over. Spencer had gone quiet, simply watching you work. Your tongue was sticking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. “All done.” You said quietly, but made no moves to let go of his hand. You looked up and found his gaze was already on your face. “What do you think?”

He didn’t even look down at his nails. “Beautiful.” You giggled, and shook your head.

“You didn’t even look.”

“I wasn’t talking about the nails,” he whispered. Your jaw dropped and a flush rose from your neck to your cheeks. His face froze, and he started scrambling to get off the couch, mumbling apologies. You pulled him back by the grip on his hand, and when his head turned to you he was closer than before, having shifted in his effort to get away.

You didn’t even say anything, his face too close to resist. You moved forward and pressed your lips against his, the hand not holding his threading into his hair and holding him close to you. His soft lips molded into your own and you sighed into it. He pulled his hand from your grasp only to move both of his hands to your cheeks, holding you in place as your lips brushed over and over. When you both pulled back, you pressed your forehead against his. He let out a small laugh and brought a hand up to brush your hair out of your face. His wet fingernails got caught a bit in your hair.

“Oh no,” He whined, pulling back to look at his hand. “I smudged it.”

You laughed brightly, so happy you could float. “Well I have no problem doing it again if it always ends like that.”

#thank you so much this was such a good prompt #1k celebration #blurbs #concepts #yes im posting this at almost 3am and what about it #homoose #answered

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alotsgonnachange · 3 years ago

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The Love Witch

(A fun and silly little introduction I wrote because 1. grad school is pissing me off and 2. I haven’t been posting stuff on here as often and want to flesh out my dummy ocs)

Danielle Dupont was often referred to as “The Love Witch” during the first iteration of her shop.

A gauzy shop filled with wares that varied from kitschy to sexual to disturbing, she was a conoisseur of sorts. On one hand, charmed candles, rose scented incense, massage oils, ointments, lubricants, sprays, aphrodisiacs, potions, and many more provided the majority of her customer base. On the other hand, her business savvy side gave her many connections (plugs…for lack of better terminology) for items that pertained very specifically to pleasure. Everything you can imagine - Lingerie, anything phallic of any size or material, whips, floggers, enchanted feathers, gags, tingling lubricant - also in her arsenal. Her client base included individuals from all walks of life. Kings, queens, beggars, liars, thieves - It didn’t matter. She guaranteed that all would leave a visit to the Love Witch more than satisfied.

Ironically, Danielle didn’t understand where the nickname came from. She’d given up on love a long time ago and didn’t particularly practice it herself. Sure, she’d flirt, wear pinks and reds, bat her eyelashes, wink and grin, dance and sing of love- But it wasn’t for her, she thought. It’s a storybook thing that happens to other people but not for me. She often thought it made more sense to say that she dabbled in Sex and not Love. And she preferred it that way. It was only natural that her line of work also came with suitors, but they would be sorely disappointed with the reality of attempting to court her.

From her (short) time singing at an opera house, she learned very quickly that some of the songs people requested she sing were starting to feel a little bit too familiar and even realized that she’d scorned a fling who happened to also be a Bard, who sang laments about the Love Witch who broke her heart… Gods she HATED that damn bard for that slander - No matter how good in the sack she was!

Nonetheless, many years later when she relocated to Vesuvia in search of better business (which she quite easily found both at her storefront and the red market) she was perplexed at some of the requests she got from customers. She thought it would be funny to lean into the Love Witch schtick and often anointed her wares with similar cheesy sayings and referred to herself as such. Unfortunately for her, the Vesuvians took the love part VERY seriously and asked her for advice, tarot readings, consultations, and ugh.. Therapy?? She often had to turn these down, for she didn’t deal with divination and her advice was often too blunt (“So what? Dump her and move on.”) and she would kindly redirect them to someone who could help. Perhaps there was another local magician who could figure out those damn cards.

And so continues the daily toil of the Love Witch who’s maybe not so into love, and is just trying to get by every day. Up at the wee hours of the morning with her cauldrons and her chemicals. If you were to catch her off guard, however… or maybe pleasantly surprise her, perhaps you can convince her otherwise about love’s existence.

#My text #my art #fan apprentice #i guess she aint really a fan apprentice but rather…some guy #danielle dupont

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hains-mae · 4 years ago

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Flowers - Pt. 5 (The End)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (The End)

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

The Flowers: @call-me-prodigy @annoylinglyaries @zphilophobiaz @comic-brew @biglilwing @awkwardspontaneity @lozzybowe @mariiecapo @distressedearie @diyosku @dracoaereum @thesuitelifeofafangirl @chims-kookies @blade-xingston @danicalifxrnia

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays.

Notes: Wow that was a fun ride. But every story comes to an end, I hope you guys enjoy the final chapter! And thank you everyone who has taken their time to like, comment, and reblog. I appreciate it a lot <3

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

Robin visited every other night after that. It was surreal to have a hero that you’ve so long admired become your frequent visitor. Then again, nothing seemed normal anymore.

“It’s past the convention week. How do you keep coming here?” I asked curiously one night.

Robin gave me a lopsided grin and tapped the side of his nose. “I have my ways.”

After Mom’s week long leave was up she begrudgingly had to go back to work. The hospital assured her that I was healing fairly well, and that I would be transferred to Gotham Hospital the following weekend.

I was never really lonely though. Besides the friendly staff, my midnight visitor always came right on time. I wondered why he would take the time. Maybe it was to get to know me better? Perhaps my speech that night managed to get through to him. I had hoped it was both.

If I was being honest though, I was a little more than glad he did. I had meant it when I told the boy that I found him intriguing. He was a tough nut to crack though. I couldn’t blame him.

During the day when I would shower, I’d trace the flowers across my frame and wonder just how much he had gone through.

Soul marks start to appear at 10 years of age. You could imagine the shock (and worry) my parents had gone through when they found me one day absolutely covered in flowers.

From a young age I would hide them. Always wearing my sleeves till my palms, my neck constantly covered with either my jacket, scarf or high placed collars. It wasn’t that I was ashamed, but Gotham liked to talk – and when you’re the subject of attention, then you’re an easy target for criminals.

As I got older, the marks around my neck forearms slowly faded. I had worried about my soul mate and their well-being. Now that I understood everything, it was a different type of worry all together. The kind that would sit at the pit of your stomach and tie knots, heavy enough to keep you on edge.

My T.V in the hospital room was always on the same channel, Gotham News. Every battle would have my heart clenching as the camera’s desperately tried to follow the fight. Most of the time’s they wouldn’t be able to capture the end, and I’d be left holding my breath.

That’s one other reason I looked forward to our nightly visits. I could relax knowing he was alright.

I still wasn’t sure what I felt for this enigma of a person. But I knew that I wanted to get closer.

“I have an idea.” Robin said one evening. There was a glint his eye, the mask was off since my mom wasn’t around anymore. “And it’s got something to do with your invention.”

I arched a brow. “The bullets are complete but I still have yet to finalize the counter measures.”

He nodded understandingly. “Counter affect can wait. We don’t want to encase anyone in rock at the moment, but I’m putting it out there since you wanted to help.”

Intrigued, I urged him to continue.

Damian was quite brilliant in his own way. After much thought and planning, we had about 3 more types of chemically enhanced concoctions laid out. All of which were to go through Batman before beginning the experimentation process. He has assured me that I would be leading the research team for that under Wayne Ent.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital.

“Do you like sweets?” He asked randomly.

Arching a brow I studied him. He was slouched on the couch with his leg dangling on one side and a book in his hands.

Charles Dickens.

“Yes.” I said, noting his obvious attempt to look natural. “Do you?”

“On occasion.” The boy shifted a shoulder to mimic a shrug.

The very next visit he had a black bag slung across his shoulder. His face gave nothing away but from the times I’ve spent with him, I realised it was his eyes that did most of the talking.

“Whatcha got over there?” I asked curiously, scooting closer to him at the edge of the bed.

“Patience.” He said and pulled up the make shift table that was attached to the side of my bed. Placing a medium sized box on top, he carefully undid the lid and opened it. “I present to you, baklavas.”

In the dim light I saw that they were flaky, almost like a croissant. There were some with a mix of nuts, from pistachios to almonds. Others were plain but still looked heavenly. They gleamed with a moistness, as if coated with a syrupy substance. I picked one up and popped it into my mouth.

It burst with flavour and dissolved much too fast. I squeaked at the exotic taste.

“Oh my gosh these are so good.” I said, licking my thumb.

Robin looked pleased.

“You should have one.” I pushed the box towards him but he shook his head.

“They’re yours.” He said.

“Nonsense. Food always taste better when shared.” I picked another one up intending to eat it.

“If you insist.”

I had barely managed to register the wicked glint in his eye before he took hold of my wrist and brought my hand that was holding the sweet close to his mouth. He took it carefully from me in one easy motion and lightly licked my finger.

“You’re right. It does taste better when shared.”

I felt the burn on my cheeks and ears before I heard the warning blare of the heart monitor. Immediately, Robin slipped behind the couch just as the nurses for the nightshift burst into my room in a panic. They fussed over me as I repeatedly tried to tell them I was alright. My heart finally calmed and once they left, Robin got up covering his mouth. He was trying to keep himself from laughing.

-x-x-x-

The weekend came much faster than I had anticipated. When the doctors checked on my progress, they gave the thumbs up for me to be transferred to Gotham’s hospital. Mom was relieved, and wouldn’t stop fussing over me when we got there. I let it be though, thinking it was more for her own peace of mind than mine.

After that it was a short two weeks before I was fully discharged.

Robins visits never wavered though. If anything, he had stayed for longer periods of time. I got to know the boy under the mask more than I had hoped for and opened up in return more than I had intended.

I found out his brothers were vigilantes too. He pointed them all out one evening with a family picture he’d secretly stashed in his wallet. They were a “thorn” to his side — as he had so eloquently described, but I could see just how much he loved them. That was another thing I learnt about him, his speech patterns were very posh. He liked to use formal names and slang was not completely in his vocabulary. I asked him about that one time, to which he only replied “another time”. It was probably a touchy subject, where he exactly grew up.

His favourite colour was green, and his adoration for animals was as deep as black hole. It was crazy how perfect my mind painted him to be, and the more I knew, the harder it was to ignore the feelings growing inside me.

He enjoys reading, but would gladly spend the day locked in his room with his tablet and pen drawing the day away. He is good both in traditional and digital art, and sometimes dabbles in graphic design when he feels like it. He prefers his tea without any additives, but would not hesitate to pour bucket loads of milk and sugar in his coffee during the rare moments he drinks it.

I could list everything down but it would just solidify my attraction to him, and honestly I doubt this was he needed right now. Juggling a double life sounded a lot more stressful than he showed it to be. He hardly ever talked about it but from the amount of flowers blooming on me, it was difficult to see it any other way but exhausting. He’d kick butt at night, get hurt, then go to school the very next day like nothing happened.

He arrived one evening like he normally did and I had rushed up to pull off his glove. I felt a sting earlier and found a Sakura branch littered with pink flowers. I was right, his arm was soaked in red, and the gash looked bad.

“It’s just a scratch.” He promised me.

I didn’t reply. Taking him straight to the bathroom, I rinsed out the remaining blood and addressed the wound. After bandaging him up I finally looked into his eyes and showed him just how worried I was.

That evening we sat next to each other, with our fingers intertwined and his thumb randomly brushing against my knuckles.

-x-x-x-

Finally I was able to return home. Being able to lie down on my own bed, inside my own house, I could let loose and properly relax. I threw myself onto the soft comforters that smelled like fabric softener and smiled to myself.

Home sweet home.

But not for long, I reminded myself that this evening I would be dining with the Wayne’s. Swallowing hard, I hurried my face onto the pillows. I can’t mess this up, not after everything they’ve done for me.

Damian’s smirking face suddenly came to mind, and all his welcomed visits. It made my stomach grow warm. Remembering us sharing the sweets he gifted – soft lips against my fingers.

I groaned into the pillow, the room was getting a little hot. Getting up gingerly, as to not aggravate the newly healed stitches, I manoeuvred my way to the window and pushed it open. The cold evening air felt good against my heated skin. I sighed in content.

If I were being honest, I didn’t know what exactly was happening between us. I didn’t know if I wanted anything to happen between us. Wouldn’t it be weird, considering that I’d be interning for his dad in just a couple of months. Possibly work there if my luck doesn’t run out first. Not to mention WHO he was.

You’re just a normal girl, I chided myself. Not someone important enough to stand beside such a prestigious boy and his ridiculously wealthy family.

But even then – I found myself wondering. Seeking. Imagining… What if we were to become something more? What if it works? What if we fall in –

“Y/n!” Mom’s voice broke through my reverie, waking me up from the needless train of thought.

Closing my window, I poked my head out the door and found her putting on a bracelet.

“Are you ready? The cab is nearly here.” She asked.

I nodded and took a step closer to her. Looking quickly at the vanity mirror in the hallway, I gave myself a once over to make sure everything was in place. I had on a slightly fitting turtle neck sweater, paired with a high waisted pleated skirt and dark stockings. On my feet I sported on my boots. It was safe to assume no one would be able to see my soul marks.

My mom grabbed her purse and headed downstairs. I followed close behind her, handing her her coat before locking up the front door.

The cab driver arrived a few minutes in, and we drove off straight to Wayne Manor.

“This is exciting isn’t it?” She said to me with a lift in her voice, as she exited the cab to get the gates opened.

Once we could enter, we were greeted with a very large land that was pristinely kept. The grass was cut evenly, and the trees lining the estate were trimmed to perfection. Bushes were perfectly shaped into different animals, and flowers systematically grown to create swirls and shapes beside the road. A big fountain was situated just in front of the mansion while a man in a black suit waited beside the opened doors.

We exited the cab after paying and did our best to take it all in without looking like fishes out of water.

“Ah, Mrs. & Ms. Y/l/n.” It was the man who I saw pick up Damian that one night in Metropolis appeared. I also remembered him in the family photograph. His accent was thickly laced with British poise. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I shall be you’re attendant for the evening.”

“Thank you.” Mom was quick to compose herself.

As soon as I entered the house I felt my breath stolen away. It was huge. Everything looked so new and polished.

I barely registered my mom and Alfred chatting away as he led her to the dining hall.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

I nearly jumped at the voice that startled me. Whipping my head around, I found Jason standing with his hands in his pockets.

“I remember my first time coming in here. Completely floored.” He chucked.

I waved a small greeting. “Everything looks so –“

“Expensive? Exorbitant? Grand?” He tried to guess.

“Beautiful.” I breathed out.

He laughed. “Not what I expected. But you’re full of surprises aren’t you.”

I blushed. “Ah, I’m not sure about that. I’m just me.”

“Hey, no stealing our guest before dinner.” Dick walked down the stair case with Tim beside him.

“Feeling better Y/n?” Tim asked as we grouped just below the stairs.

“Yeah, thank you.” I answered, suddenly feeling flustered as they surrounded me.

Stay calm.

“Don’t be nervous.” Dick said with an air of comfort.

I wanted to ask what made him think so, but he answered before I even began to articulate the words.

“You’re fidgeting like a college student during a thesis debate.” He said simply.

“You’re… very good at reading people.” I arched a brow at him.

“One of my many amazing abilities” He winked.

Jason let out an air of playful frustration and pulled Dick aside. “And now you’re stealing her. Can’t hold a normal conversation can you Dickie, always a flirt.”

“First of all – do I need to remind you who mostly does all the talking during dad’s parties. And second of all – I am not a flirt. I can’t help it if I’m charming.” Dick mocked a suave look and shot it as his brother.

Jason looked like he was about to gag and Tim was less than pleased. I laughed at their antics.

“What’s funny?” Damian appeared beside me. I jumped and held a hand to my racing heart.

“Jeez, do all of you have a talent for sneaking up on people?” I wheezed out, trying to gather my bearings.

They all grinned at me without answering.

Robins, my inner muse whispered. I brushed off the thought as quick as it had come.

We had made it to the dining area just in time for Alfred to begin serving the meals. My mother was already chatting up a storm with Mr. Wayne. A wine glass in hand and a slight tint to her cheeks. She looked happy.

I began walking towards the seat beside my mother when Damian pulled out the chair like a gentleman. I bit the inside of my cheek and mumbled a thank you.

He took the space beside me and the rest of his brothers seated themselves opposite us.

As we opened our plates for dinner, I was amazed to see how well it was presented. Mr. Pennyworth continued to serves other dishes, and once he was done he left the room.

The food tasted just as good as it looked.

Easy conversation wafted around us, the usual topics of school, and future plans. Mr. Wayne brought up the internship which I nearly gushed over due to my excitement. Damian held back a laugh with a cough when he noticed my little slip up before I composed myself again. I bumped his knee under the table and playfully glared at him. He smirked and bumped me back.

“My compliments to the chef Mr. Wayne.” Mom said.

“I’ll be sure to tell him.” He smiled through a glass of wine. How many glasses in were they at this point? Damian and I were the only ones who weren’t allowed so both our glasses were filled with water and juice.

“And, please,” Mr. Wayne continued. “Call me Bruce.”

“Hey, we should give the women a tour.” Dick suggested. “I’m sure you’ll both love it.”

Jason and Tim had excused themselves, and I had an inkling as to what they were up to. Patrols were a common thing, as Damian told me.

And so with Dick and Bruce leading, my mother and I followed as they showed off the grandness of the manor.

I couldn’t help but be awestruck all over again. The library was huge. Their shelves towered from ceiling to floor, and filled with all kinds of books. From novels to more informative documents. I recognised a couple of titles from the times Damian spent the night reading.

The sunroom was next. The glass was near invisible. I took in the sight of the gorgeous garden just beyond the panels, being able to outline a gazebo at the far end with flowers twisting around its pillars. I unconsciously touched my stomach where the stitches were, randomly pondering what kind of flower had bloomed from such a brutal wound.

“Are you okay?” Damian was beside me immediately and his hand supported my elbow. His voice was laced with concern.

“Oh.” I realised what he was talking about and pulled my hand down. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

“Honey?” My mom’s face pinched in concern. “Is it hurting again?”

“I just need to rest Mom, I’m fine.” I assured her. “You should continue, I’ll just sit here for a bit.”

Mom was hesitant but there wasn’t much she could do, and she knew it. So they moved on, but not without Mr. Wayne asking for some painkillers to be brought to me.

After taking the medicine, I thanked ‘Alfred’ (as he had asked me to call him) before he left.

Damian was sitting on the arm rest of the couch. My hand was in his and he rubbed random circles around my knuckles. His brows were furrowed, and his features were set in a deep scowl. I could practically feel the guilt and worry radiating off of him.

“I have to be honest, I thought I’d see more animals around.” I said, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Father asked me to keep Titus in my room for the time-being, he didn’t know how you two would react to a Great Dane, or vice-versa.” The boy said simply.

“Great Dane?” I asked flabbergasted.

The corner of Damian’s lips turned upwards. “When you feel better I’ll introduce you.”

“It’s a date.” I answered before thinking. All at once I realised what I said and felt my cheeks burn. “Ah – I mean, not date. If you aren’t comfortable with that, people just use the word date as a meeting time or –“

“It’s a date.” He brought my fingers up and ghosted his lips over them. I had to hold my breath fearing that my heart would stop.

I was momentarily stunned by his forwardness and calm. Looking away I managed to slow down my heart rate to a regular beat.

“I still need to guess the rest right?” I asked coyly.

He gestured for me to continue.

“Let’s see.” I rested my head on the couch and closed my eyes to recall our conversation back in the ball room. “We’ve got a dog, a cat.”

“Mhm.” Damian nodded, moving from the arm rest to the empty space next to me.

My brain brought up an old song from the Princess and the Frog, when they had to ‘Dig a Little Deeper’.

A dog, a pig, a cow, a goat – the lyrics were sung in my subconscious before I could stop it.

“A cow.” I guessed.

Damian’s eyes grew a little wide, before a grin made its way to his lips. “Yes.”

“What seriously?” I giggled. “You actually have a cow?”

“Bat-Cow.” He chuckled. “I was a child, and that was the first name to come up.”

I was full on laughing now. “I cannot wait to meet them. But that was seriously a random guess, now I feel like my confidence is dwindling.”

“Then how about you wait till you see them?” He suggested.

I bit my lip and shifted in my seat, our knees brushed and I felt that warmth spread across my chest. We’re close. A little too close.

When I looked at him I found he was staring at the garden outside. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. There was something about this boy that just drew me closer, making me want more. I traced the little moles across his cheek and wondered when I had let this magnetic pull take over me.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Damian commented. His intense green eyes bore into mine as he threw a deviously charming smirk my way.

I blushed and looked away, suddenly finding my shoes a lot more interesting than it was. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

He turned towards me. And I made the mistake of facing him again, because now our faces were just mere inches apart.

I found myself gazing at his beautiful green eyes that contrasted so well with his tanned olive skin. There were so many different shades of green looping and mixing with one another, it felt like a maze – one that I would willingly get lost in.

My fingers rested in the spaces between his, and I marvelled at how everything in that moment felt right.

I tilted towards him, and he did the same towards me.

“What are we doing?” I whispered, stealing a glance at his lips.

Heart pounding.

Blood racing.

It left me dizzy.

“I’m… not sure.” Damian replied, his tone low. “But if you asked me to kiss you, I would.”

His thumb grazed the inside of my wrist with a feather-light touch and I burst into flames.

“Kiss me.”

And he did.

-THE END-

#My Fan Fiction #Damian Wayne x Reader #DC comics #dc universe #Soulmate AU #Batman #batboys x reader #Nightwing #Red Hood #Red Robin #Robin #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Flowers AU

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butternutsquashoil · 4 years ago

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Songs from my library that I think class 1-A would listen to pt.1

Includes Iida, Aoyama, Momo, Hagakure, Mina, Jiro, Denki, Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugo

Tenya Iida

He listens to the Beetles and his favorite song is ‘Here Comes the Sun’

I just feel it in my souls that Iida would listen to older music, because frankly, I think that most modern pop songs would scare him. He also listens to Billy Joel songs which he thoroughly enjoys! Also, unlike Denki, Iida listens to Careless Whispers without the knowledge that it is in fact a meme

He basically has the music taste of my grandfather. He also enjoys listening to classical music while doing homework

Kyoka Jiro

She most definitely listens to ‘Bad Reputation’ by Joan Jett. She just gives off the vibes ya know?

She also listened to a lot of My Chemical Romance when she was in middle school and as she got older, she listened to Ozzy Osborn and older hard rock.

She also dabbles with other genres, but rock is her all-time favorite! (She also listens to Kesha bc I say so)

Momo Yaoyorozu

I think her favorite song is ‘New Soul’ by Yael Naim, and she learned how to play it on the piano

She also listens to a lot of soft pop and classical music. She usually listens to Ed Sheeran, Lewis Capaldi and Adele. Here favorite song for each of them is ‘Photograph’ ‘Someone You loved’ and either ‘When We Were Young’ or ‘Someone Like You’

Here favorite classical musician to listen to is Beethoven and her favorite song of his is ‘Sonata No.14’ played in C-Sharp

Yuga Aoyama

It was sooooo hard to find songs that I thought he would listen to, but I ultimately decided he is a Swifty lol

His favorite albums are Speak Now and Lover and his favorite songs are ‘Better Than Revenge’ and ‘The Story Of Us’ from Speak Now and his favorites from Lover are ‘I Forgot You Existed’ and ‘London Boy’

He also listens to Gillian Hills and his favorite song of hers is ‘Zuo bisou bisou’ is his all time favorite song!

Toru Hagakure

She listens to a lot of weastern pop music, but she also listens to Kpop and Jpop and her favorite songs are ‘Boy With Luv’ by BTS and ‘Butter Sugar Cream’ by Tomggg

I think she listens to a lot of Zedd and and Panic! At The Disco, to and her favorite songs would be ‘Happy Now’ and ‘High Hopes’

She also listens to whatever is trending on tik tok just because

Mina Ashido

Ok, Mina most definitely listens to Megan Thee Stallion, Lizzo and Cardi B

She doesn’t really have a favorite but she listened to WAP and Truth Hurts for a solid month and a half and can sing both song songs from start to finish

She also really likes Beach Bunny and Hailee Steinfeld and her favorite songs from those two are ‘Prom Queen’ and ‘Most Girls’

Denki

Denki listens to a shit ton of meme music, and he usually ends up enjoying it un-ironically. His favorites are Careless Whispers by George Michel and Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley, and the squad absolutely dreads when it’s his turn to play music

He also has a playlist of Mario music and blares it through his headphones while doing homework (which is the only way that he’s able to concentrate on it)

His favorite Mario Kart song is Koopa Cape and he has choreographed a whole dance routine for it. He also loves the Wii theme, and it plays on repeat in his head 24/7

He and Kirishima also listen to Disney music all the time and his favorite is ‘Hakuna Matata’ from the Lion King

Kirishima

Kiri definitely listens to Panic! At The Disco and My Chemical Romance. His favorite songs from those two are ‘Hey Look Ma, I Made It’ ‘Victorious’ and ‘Teenagers’

He also listens to Lizzo, which Mina got him hooked on and he really likes ‘Good as Hell’.

Kiri also had a banger workout playlist which has a lot of Imagine Dragons and obviously has to have Eye of The Tiger on it lol

His favorite Disney song is ‘I’ll Make a Man Out of You’ and he really looks up to Mulan and thinks she is the manliest Disney Princess

Sero

Sero listens to spanish pop and absolutely listens to Despacito and laughs his ass off when people who don’t know Spanish try to sing it and get the words terribly wrong

He also would listen to Lil Nas X and his favorite song is ‘MONTERO’ because I say so

Another artist that I think Sero likes is Elvis Presley. I just think that he would vibe with the more chill songs like ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ and ‘Suspicious Minds’

Bakugo

BAKUGO LISTENS TO SAKURA KISS AND CHIKATTO CHIKA CHIKA AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME IM WRONG!

He also listens to death metal, but mostly for the drum parts, and tries to learn them so that he can say that he can do it better. He likes the band The Black Dahlia Murder and his favorite song by them is ‘The Window’

But ultimately, Bakugo really likes songs like ‘Would You Be So Kind’ and ‘Absolutely Smitten’ by dodie because they help him calm down and they make think of Kirishima.

Ok, that’s all! Hope you enjoyed :)

Oh! And here’s a link back to my master list! Hope you have a lovely day <3

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Trials and Tributes (2/5)

Summary:

"There were witches who lived among them. Or so that's what Levi was told. He just could not believe for the life of him that she'd be one of them."

Levi is a soldier who interrogates witches before they are put on trial and Hange might just be a witch.

Levihan Secret Santa Gift for @cleacourgette

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Notes: This is an early posting. The posting period is from January 3-10 so I timed the chapters in a way that the story will be complete by the time the posting period starts. I planned on waiting a bit later but I’m expecting life to get a little busy from January 4-10 since I’ll be going back to work and moving houses so I decided to get this done and posted now while there’s still time. Either way I hope you enjoy!

“When there’s no moon in the sky, please don’t visit my cabin.”

“Why?”

“One day, I promise I’ll tell you.”

And that one day never did come. She never did tell him.

As Levi watched the court proceedings, he couldn’t help but think that maybe she would never be able to keep that promise of telling him herself. The trial would pull the answers out of her, the bishop in charge of interrogation in front of the high court would twist into something more digestible for the public, the crowds that filled the large trial room.

Although Levi had a seat near the front of the room. The acoustics of the room and the murmurs around him made it difficult to hear Hange's voice from where he stood.

“Hange Zoe, youngest daughter of the Baron Zoe. Or at least, that was what we had tortured out of our late baron.”

If Levi had not been trained in the art of keeping calm at the thought of blood, he probably would have had to stifle a wince. He was present when the whole Zoe family was brought in for interrogation only a few days ago. They were quickly deemed traitors, accomplices to the witches, tortured then put to death.

But Hange hadn’t even been proven a witch yet. Levi was sure there were at least political motivations in that impulsive decision to put the family to death. He had stumbled upon some hearsay that within a few days of their capture, a new noble family moved into their manor. The capture of Hange was only the nail on the coffin. A fair catalyst to a usurpation of power. A motivation that Levi almost found valid, but not at all anything worth admiring.

“It turned out Baron Zoe had been hiding a witch in his family. Why he had decided to take one in? Or how he had he raised her to become a servant to the devil. We do not know.”

I swear! She’s my daughter! And she’s not a witch! He had sworn that until his death. That was what Levi witnessed at least as he forced himself to watch the tortures and executions done in private. Human executions were too grand and expensive of a festivity. Of course they would save their budget for the youngest adopted daughter who was suspected of witchcraft.

Levi did not think she was adopted though. He had seen those hazel eyes enough times. Her father’s were the exact same shape as hers, the nose curled the same way. If Hange really was a witch, then maybe the witches from a young age were powerful enough to take whatever appearance pleases them. Or maybe she had sworn allegiance to the devil years after.

Or that was what they were discussing as Levi pondered it. To a degree, Levi could not help but doubt even his own assumptions. If witches were that powerful, why did all of them so easily die when they were burnt at stake. Why did so many of them drown as they were thrown into the sea?

“According to the results of the interrogation, Hange Zoe disappeared at the age of eight, right after she got involved in the murder of a child her age.”

There were loud murmurs coming from the crowds behind him, a few gasps. A murder at the age of eight?

“We thought a witch had kidnapped her then. It might just have been an awakening of her powers since soon after she disappeared, the plague happened. Many children lost parents, many parents have lost kids but isn’t it weird that the Zoe family didn’t lose anyone but their murderous child who turned out to be alive decades after? Coincidence? I think not.”

Despite identifying as one of the kids who had lost their parents during the plague in question, Levi strangly found himself coming up with an argument against that accusation. The Zoe family was rich. They lived in a ten hectare parcel of land, a fifteen minute carriage ride to the main square. They had servants to go shopping for them and access to the best doctors. Of course they wouldn’t have experienced as many losses as the common people. It applied to any noble family . Levi only had to look at Erwin next to him to guess that he was probably thinking the same thing.

They called a witness to the stand. Levi quickly refocused his eyes to the center of the room when the crowd went silent, watching a burly man make his way to the table designated for witnesses.

He was introduced as a pub owner and praised for taking the long trip to the capital to tell his story. The praises and exaltations only continued from there. “This man over here had the courage to step forward and report the witch who had been hiding in their small town.” The bishop announced as the pub owner slowly made his way to the stand.

Courage? That was definitely not the right word.The man did not look at all terrified to be on the witness stand. In fact, he had looked proud. His dinner jacket and his coat were luxuries that were completely non existent in the small town he had come from. Levi couldn't help but suspect bribery was involved.

He allowed himself a glance at Hange. Hange was looking at the man on the witness stand, her face a mixture of confusion, recognition and something else. That something else on her face only made his stomach twist tighter into a knot.

With the abundance of stimuli to take in as the courtroom exploded into murmurs, Levi only found it more difficult to comprehend that nagging feeling in his stomach. He turned to the witness, leaving to them the responsibility of giving him the answers he needed.

“More than a decade ago, an apothecary opened up in a cabin in the woods, a thirty minute walk from the center of town. Despite its humble beginnings, it amassed quite a reputation. Soon everyone in town knew about the doctor who can cure any illness. Even townspeople from the neighboring towns would make the journey to her clinic for healing."

“And you were one of them?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I had no choice your Grace, there was a disease going around the village which caused watery stool. I had gone to other doctors first but none of them were able to cure it or trace the cause. I’m sure you would understand a father’s love for their son, being so close to the Lord our Father yourself.”

“A father’s love for the son cannot be quantified. I understand the desperation which may have caused you to dabble into witchcraft. Your sins and the sins of the townspeople are pardoned. You mustered up the courage to turn her in after all.”

The man nodded gratefully. “When I arrived in the small cabin in the woods, I recognized that voice and those eyes almost instantly. The way she spoke, you only see that confidence among the nobility and those eyes… Those were the hazel eyes of a Zoe. But the Zoes lived on their own land far from the woods. I only had to take a closer look though to realize that she was the missing Zoe. The murderer who killed poor Tommy more than a decade ago.”

A chunk of the room gasped.

Of course, put a name on the victim and suddenly everybody sympathizes. Was the name of the victim even Tommy? Levi had heard enough hearsay wandering around town to know it probably wasn’t Tommy. He looked to Hange to see her face was unreadable with maybe a hint of confusion and as Levi looked a little closer, he finally figured out what it was.

Betrayal.

“Didn’t she cure your son?” The bishop asked as he read through what could have been records, maybe from interviews from others around the town.

“She did cure my son. And she was able to diagnose the disease and trace the cause to one of the wells in town. It turned out he had an unfortunate case of er… dysentery.”

“There were numerous cases of dysentery around your hometown only recently apparently.” The bishop continued. “And it was traced to the well in the middle of the square. It was Hange who reported it to the officials.”

“Definitely an attempt to wash her own hands of sins and to gain the goodwill of the people, good sir. To a lot of people in the town, she was a miracle worker but mind you, with that level of skill with medicine, chemicals and diseases, she can’t be human. How do we know she didn’t start the plague for her own selfish reasons? Only the one who started it could have known it came from the well.”

Because she isn’t selfish. Levi just knew. In fact, he was sure she would have done all that out of the goodness of her heart.

Levi only ended up questioning his memories of Hange as the crowd exploded into boos and jeers all directed at the brunette in the middle of the room. The latter had bowed her head and Levi was left having to imagine what she might have felt at that moment.

The crowd mentality was apparent among those in the room. Others were starting to pelt things at Hange, pieces of trash and stone. Levi couldn’t help but be grateful for the guard that had quickly escorted her out of the room when some of the trash started to meet their target.

“I smell politics,” Erwin commented.

Levi felt a wave of relief come through him with Erwin’s words. The crowds had only made him question his own memories and his own emotions. Was he supposed to be as angry or as terrified as them? He never had been towards any of the witches. The emotions he had felt towards Hange, definitely influenced by their history together resonated much stronger and were fighting for more control than Levi would have wanted to give.

At that moment, when Erwin, the one person in the army he trusted and looked up to, validated his problematic thoughts, Levi was quick to let it consume him further.

Just like with the many witches he had interrogated, Levi somehow knew they were just as much of a victim as everyone else.

Maybe Hange was just another victim.

Trials and Tributes

Levi took a sip of the tea she had served him. The herbs were fresh from the herb garden she kept.

She had a way of mixing the leaves to make the aroma linger on his nose. The tea she served varied depending on what was blooming, what was in season. She always picked the strongest herbs with consequently the most distinct aromas. Even the smallest sip, had his whole mouth exploding in aromas of what could have been fruits or flowers. Her skill with mixing had made him sharper when it came to tastes and scents and Levi was sure he would only be enjoying more tea in the years to come.

“What are your plans?” Levi asked, an attempt at conversation. Hange had been oddly quiet since he started to express his interest in army recruitment.

Hange shook her head. “No plans. I don’t know how long I’m gonna have to stay here.”

“Fine, but if you could leave. What would you do first?”

Hange played with the mug on her hand. A small smile creeped up her lips. As Levi looked closely though, he could see her eyes were far from smiling. It was a look of pained yearning. Why can’t you go out? He had asked that so many times before only for her to digress.

She shrugged. “I wanna see more people… Meet new people, make friends, learn from them.”

“Maybe you can start with the townspeople?” Levi said. She had mentioned before, she never went to the town, for reasons.

“Maybe when things calm down, I’ll start an apothecary," Hange said. "You know, working with you has made me realize something.”

“What?”

“Maybe I can help people and I think that’s what I want to do.”

Trials and Tributes

“What happened when you were eight years old?”

Levi did not waste any time as he entered the room. He was relieved to see that none of the trash had hit her hard enough to wound her. She was unharmed, save for a few scratches.

“I never did tell you huh?”

Levi had hoped that she would deny it. All he saw in her eyes though was a brief realization at that particular omission. Was she really a murderer? A witch?

“We’ve known each other for years but you never told me anything about your childhood.”

“I thought you’d come back and I thought maybe I could tell you then when it was all over.” Hange smiled. Her look was accusing and Levi could tell what she had wanted to say just by her eyes. Maybe if you came back you’d know.

“We’re here already. Just tell me. What happened?”

Hange shrugged. “After I ‘murdered’ him?” She had put a little more emphasis into the word ‘murdered’ than what was necessary, her tone almost mocking. That was the word many of the people in the trial had used though. The circumstances of how the boy had died were left out of the records and only left a little more suspicious. “I started living in a cabin in the woods and then I met you.”

“Your full name is Hange Zoe?”

“My father is Baron Zoe.”

“I would expect your parents would have been rich enough to cover for the murder of a peasant child.”

“The circumstances of his death were strange. Strange enough that the townspeople had come together to organize a witch hunt. My parents had me live in a small cabin in the woods and forbade me from seeing anyone else at least until the hysteria ended. It was lonely but they did visit once a month to bring food… They’d sneak in when the nights were at their darkest…”

“When there’s no moon in the sky, please don’t visit my cabin.”

“Why?”

“One day, I promise I’ll tell you.”

Hange had started to ramble from there yet Levi’s thoughts were still a few steps behind. “What were the circumstances of the boy’s death?” He asked.

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I never saw the body and no one told me about it.”

Trials and Tributes

“But what happened to make them think you did it?”

"I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.” Teddy was already on his knees in embarrassment. “It was an accident!”

“Yeah but my mom’s gonna give me a beating when she finds out I soiled my shoe. Maybe you should have watched where you were going!”

Hange winced as she watched Tobias kick the small boy in the stomach. “Can we go back to playing pirates now? You can just clean it yourself when you get home!” She had known for a long time that Tobias was a warmonger and had done her best since they first met to keep conflict at the minimum.

“What do you know Zoe? You have servants to wipe it off for you!”

“Well, what if I bring it home and have it washed for you?” Hange suggested. Tobias' eyes had seemed a little wild and it did nothing to placate the foreboding feeling that tickled her chest. She had to find a way to pacify him fast.

“No. I want him to pay.”

“He already apologized.”

“I don’t accept words. I want actions.” Tobias said as he moved his foot a little closer to Teddy’s face. The latter was doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Hange couldn’t even tell if he was still conscious.

That was until Tobias gave him a light kick on the face. “Clean it.”

Teddy opened his eyes weakly and looked up at the owner of the shoe. “I’ll bring it to the nearby river now.” He had brought out his hand to remove the shoe from Tobias’ foot.

“No. Clean it with your mouth.”

“Tobi. Stop!.” Hange screamed. A second later, she found herself looking back to see that the other boys were silent. For a few seconds she had wondered if she should stay silent too. Was that the right thing to do?

That few seconds were more than enough though for Tobias to goad Teddy into sticking his tongue out and licking the soiled portion of his shoe.

“Stop it!” Hange was only started to panic more, her heart started to beat wilder as she watched Tobias push the sole of his foot into Teddy’s face.

“I…kan...gtttt.” I can’t breathe.

Hange comprehended more than enough of the situation. “You’re killing him!” She looked back at the other boys who only stood by unmoving. WIthin seconds, Teddy had stopped struggling and Hange was only starting to realize that someone had to move or someone was going to die.

A bunch of cowards. She muttered one ugly word at the boys behind her before she launched herself at Tobias.

His surprised face was priceless. Having been too preoccupied by it, Hange did not notice what was going on until it was too late.

It could have been anger or fear that had spurred her on. But alas, she had used too much of her strength. She had launched into the air, the two boys beneath her. She was flying from the dirt trodden path where they were playing their game of pirates only a second ago and into the grassy fields next to it.

A split second later Hange’s head was spinning as the impact of the fall shook her body.

She had little time though to process that though. Soon after the impact came a bloodcurdling scream.

Trials and Tributes

“A Bible Test?” Levi did not need to ask what it was. In fact, that wasn’t the question running through his head when the clergy had informed him of their next plan of action for Hange. He had to keep a straight face as they explained it, having decided for himself so long ago how incredibly archaic and maybe even pointless that test was.

The priest nodded. “Yes. The Bible Test,” he said so confidently that Levi was relieved he had concealed the judgement in his face so well.

“But isn’t a little too…”

The priest continued to look at him expectantly.

Archaic? Prone to error? “Flawed…” Levi managed to say. “I mean she is an important prisoner to you.”

“Yes she will be going through other tests as well. We just want to make sure of everything. ” The priest had said the word everything with so much emphasis that Levi almost believed that they were actually messengers of the god they so enthusiastically preached about despite their numerous vices.

“So when will it be?” Levi asked.

“As soon as possible.”

‘As soon as possible’ came that evening, a few hours after the priest had called him to the office to discuss the next plan of action of the trials of Hange. It was a small ceremony with only a few priests to witness the event. Levi couldn’t help but note that it was more important then to keep a straight face with multiple pairs of clergy eyes eyeing him and the prisoner next to him.

Hange was next to him at that moment though as he scanned the faces of the clergy members all lined up on their seats in front of him. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved though since their eyes were all trained on Hange.

One of the guards guided Hange into one of the platforms of that large contraption that took up a huge chunk of the room. It wasn’t at all unfamiliar. Levi had seen the bible test in action so many times before.

If the Accused were weighed in Scales against a Bible, the Bible would prove too heavy for them . Therefore, being lighter than the bible would prove that they were guilty.

Or so, that’s what they had explained to him. Levi though had secretly tried that on himself a year ago, a way to cope with the guilt of silently watching a small woman receive a death sentence after she had weighed less than the largest bible in their library.

Levi had turned out to be much lighter than that bible he had tested with then. Unless I am a witch? It was a casual thought he allowed himself as he watched multiple servants haul a much larger bible into the room. The bible they carried might have even been twice the size of what Levi had weighed himself with years ago. He couldn’t help but think, the clergy had fixed the results of that test already.

Hange looked a little confused as well as she watched the bible be hauled into the room in some sort of wagon.

Had no one explained to her what would happen? Levi had not time himself having had to deal with paperwork before the trial. When he did meet her in the trial room, all eyes were on Hange though and there was no time to discuss anything between themselves.

The bishop rose to his feet as soon as the wagon was pushed to a halt next to the platform opposite Hange.

“A servant of the devil should not be able to take the weight of God’s words...”

Blah blah blah. Levi had heard that same speech before. His eyes were on Hange though who had started to grip more tightly the ropes that connected the platform to the beam on top of the weighing scale. She had started to understand as well what they were planning on doing.

Through experience, Levi knew already that no person they had ever put on trial could ever be prepared enough for that moment when the large bible is dropped on the platform opposite them. Hange was no exception. Although there was the determination in her eyes and maybe the defiance at the system that made that trial possible, it was quick to be replaced by surprise and maybe fear as she faltered when the scale rose and rocked beneath her. She was only held together by the ropes she had held on to so tightly.

“So it looks like she is a witch.” One of the clergymen said, looking too satisfied with the conclusion.

The clergymen converged in their seats and from where he stood, Levi could make out some of their conversation.

Pricking Tests. Swimming Tests. Ducking Stools. Burning at Stake.

He had seen them more than enough times to picture how they would go about so accurately. Just imagining Hange’s face in the stead of the many others that had gone before her only made Levi’s stomach turn. He was sure he wouldn’t want to watch Hange go through that.

“Just a suggestion, your grace,” Levi said as he closed in on their congregation. “Since we’re already here and we have a bible in front of us, would it be possible for us to try the prayer test?”

Trials and Tributes

Hange liked reading. When she wasn’t talking to him, she was usually focused on her experiments or a good book. Levi had let her be more often than not, having seen the way she made the goofiest smiles or the most crestfallen faces as she stared at pieces of paper. It was entertaining enough at least.

“Hey, why are you smiling?” Levi asked. Her smile at that moment was a little wider than usual and her face softened as her eyes followed the words on the page.

“I was smiling?” The smile quickly disappeared as Hange looked up from her book, replaced by a look of astonishment and maybe confusion.

“You sometimes smile when you read.” Levi commented.

“Well, there’s not much to do here. I don’t meet a lot of people, can’t go out so I guess i just get a little too invested in reading.” Hange explained, looking apologetic.

“I think it’s okay to smile,” Levi said, hoping that would be enough for Hange to relax. She had looked too tense since she looked up from her book. She continued to stare expectantly at him though.

“What line were you just reading?” Levi asked, an attempt to get her to relax and look back at her book.

“It’s from Canterbury Tales.”

Levi sat next to her and scooted near enough to have a good view of the line Hange was pointing at.

For Goddes love, taak al in pacience

Oure prisoun, for it may noon oother be;

Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.

Som wikke aspect or disposicioun

Of Saturne, by sum constellacioun

Hath yeven us this, al though we hadde it sworn;

So stood the hevene, whan that we were born.

We moste endure it, this the short and playn.'

Hange started to read it aloud soon after.

“For a goddess’ love, talk all in patience

Our prison, for it may no one other be;

Fortune has given us this adversity.

Some weak aspect or disposition.

Of Saturne, by some constellation

Has given us this, although we had it sworn;

So stood the heaven, when that we were born.

We must endure it, this, the short and playing.”

Trials and Tributes

Levi had heard her read aloud many times before. He was sure it was at least going to be a more accurate test than the bible test they had put her through just a second ago.

The accused will be made to recite the “Lord’s Prayer” without error – this included any stumbling, stammering, or outright spasming. As elocution is a painstaking art, it seems that any average human would slip up, but under “God’s eyes” mistakes are unacceptable.

Every single person he had watched who had taken the test had failed. It was just too easy to slip up with too many eyes boring down at you. When that one recitation could determine life and death, Levi had seen many of the accused witches go crazy on the spot, even before they could finish. He knew though, Hange was different. Hange never stuttered when she read, even when she had on the largest smile or the longest face. He had made her read aloud many times to know.

She was guided to a table and the bible was placed in front of her.

“Matthew Chapter 6, Verse 9-13,” the bishop ordered.

The servants carefully flipped through the pages of the old bible while Hange watched. Levi felt his heart race as he followed her eyes as they scanned the pages of the bible. Hange put her finger on one line and spoke:

“After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And bring us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.”

And forgive us our trespasses..

And bring us not into temptation.

Levi listened closely to those parts in particular knowing the most common errors were made there. He had peeked at the congregation as those parts came up to see that the bishop had bent forward from his seat as if he too was focusing on Hange’s words.

She did beautifully and Levi was almost mesmerized to see the way she had read it aloud. She had timed the rests well, breezed through the words when she needed to. For a second, Levi could even imagine he was once again in the cabin, listening to her recount the words of Chaucer and the story of the knight.

“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Trespasses. A word so easily to stumble on but Hange had glided through those words as smoothly and as quickly as water striders on a shallow pond.

Hange went silent after the last word, looking at the clergymen expectantly then at Levi.

She isn’t a witch. Levi nodded in return, willing himself not to return the subtle smile she had given him. His heart only clenched though as she dropped the smile.

I’ll smile later. When it’s just the two of us. He had hoped she at least got that message when he raised his eyebrows at her. With the way her hands shook from their place on top of the open bible, Levi was sure she didn’t.

Or maybe she saw something else Levi could not see from his angle.

He turned a little to the side, moving closer to Hange. From that angle at least he saw the serious face of the bishop, and the way the bishop had raised an eyebrow at her, as if he were studying a fattened cow and picking the best place to slice it.

“Too perfect. It was a trick of the Devil," the bishop concluded.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #fanfiction

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mor-beck-more-problems · 5 years ago

Text

Poison and Wine || Morgan & Miriam

Just two undead gals being pals.

@meflemming

The hide, not yet treated, floated in the water like forgotten flotsam after a wreck, or perhaps a dead body. Morgan had only floated in the deep after coming back from the dead, where she could rise or sink at will. She couldn’t imagine how she might have looked if her curse had tried to drown her instead, if Remmy would have had to fish her out with a hook, or their bare hands, but maybe it would have been something like this. “And you say this helps you feel more alive?” She asked, curious underneath her snark. “Do you think this is like, a thing for people like us? Searching for life in more death?” she mused.”I’ve spent a lot of time this past month watching animals die and thinking about taxidermy.”

Hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up, Miriam added a few chemicals to the water so that the hide didn’t damage while it soaked. It’d be a while before it was ready to go into the liming process, but she had a few pieces in various states of treatment to show off to Morgan since the other woman had been curious enough about the process. “Well, perhaps it’s a thing for you, but this goes a bit further back for me,” Miriam said, lips quirked up. She washed her hands, explaining, “Leatherworking has been in my family since before we moved to White Crest several odd generations ago. Though, I will admit, the process of dying has become much more interesting. I suppose since I can’t do it again…” She raised an eyebrow. “Taxidermy, though? An interesting pursuit. A fun one, too, I’ve heard.”

“I didn’t take you as someone into tradition, Mim,” Morgan said. “You seemed like such a renegade. Still, I mean you’re heading this operation by yourself. And everything here is…” More than a little impressive. Even to her undead senses, the leather workshop was rich with the smell of creation, death into a different kind of life. The tools were heavy, plain, and simple. The tables, spacious. Everything had its place, its purpose, its balance. It looked like the most beautiful puzzle to Morgan. “Yeah, you can’t really watch your own death, you only remember the part where it hurt, and where it was quiet. Or--I mean, do you? Still remember?” She sped along with the other train of discussion, just in case it was too personal, even for the strange bond of undeath between them. “Yeah, well, my girlfriend dabbles and I spent a lot of time in the shed where she works. Playing with glass eyes and small specimens she’s done. It’s kinda neat, how they get suspended in time, sometimes a little prettier, a little happier looking than they were before. Some of them still look alive, if it weren’t for how still they are. It’s...interesting, I guess. I think skinning the critters is going to be the hardest part, if I ever try. I kinda go apeshit for some nice, raw, dead tissue.”

“I have a head for business and a talent for making things, dearest,” Miriam said breezily. “And I put more work into this business than my father ever did. I actually make things. He simply ran them.” She looked around her home workshop, everything neat and orderly and accounted for. Her father had it built for her after… well, after. No windows for sunlight to escape in, and it was connected to the house through the wine cellar. It was the perfect workspace for all sorts of work, and Miriam took more than a little pride in it. She grew quiet, trying to think of her death. The car wreck, the pain and the heat of it, was still fresh on her mind. “I remember it rather clearly, though I couldn’t even begin to tell you when the troubles of my life ended and the troubles of my unlife began. Someone, though, came along, and here we stand. Making leather.” She walked over to a piece that was closer to being finished, the hide already cured and turned into actual leather. She’d been toying around with it, a messenger bag, perhaps, tooling floral designs into the flaps of it. On the table in front of it was the designs sketched out more clearly onto paper, so she had a rough idea on what she was creating. Next to it was a sketch of a pair of heeled boots she thought about attempting, though it’d been quite some time since she’d attempted shoes. “It’s all a bit macabre how we make beautiful things out of death, isn’t it? Jackets, taxidermied animals, it was all living once and we… I don’t guess I could say that I’m doing much to preserve it, but.” She looked Morgan over. “You’re still very new to all of this. Control comes with experience. Until then… Perhaps you can help her with the less bloodied parts?”

Morgan hadn’t considered that Miriam’s work would be a pragmatic choice. But she’d never had anything passed down to her except her curse, nothing she could use or consider her own. She was used to using whatever she had on hand, though. And this, well, she could admit was a pretty good ‘whatever’ to lean on in a crisis. “Do you identify more as an artist or a craftsman?” She asked, hearing Miriam’s pride in doing the heavy work on her own. “Oh, yeah, I think...that’s the hope right now. I haven’t really got up the nerve to see her while she’s working, but I fiddle with the tools sometimes, the glass eyes. It’s weird, what pains people will take to make something fake look like it has a spark of life. Although, I think it’s all in the lid sculpting, from what I can tell. Even in people, it’s the skin that signals emotion, or the eyebrows,” She gestured to Miriam’s own expression with a smirk.

Morgan wandered over to the work in progress, ghosting her finger along the shapes tooled into the leather. “With leather I guess it’s different,” she said. “What do you think about, when you’re making it into something? What are you trying to capture?”

Considering the question, Miriam cocked her head to the side, considering her work. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. One of my teachers in college would have said an artist. Between my sketches, and I’ve dabbled in other mediums. But some businessmen I’ve worked with would say a craftsman. All the work that goes into the craft, the labor behind it. But you asked me.” She paused. “I’d say there’s an art to the craft. I can do practical. I made a saddle once. Someone recently asked me for a harness.” Though, that one seemed to be more for pleasure than practicality. “But I like detail, and adding artistic flair to my work. I want it to be personal. When I do something, I like it to be one of a kind. I have two employees for the shop in town. We all work everything by hand, though they rarely cure their own leather. I buy supplies for them, and they make it lovely. They make it into art. So, I suppose it’s all about the piece, really.” She smirked, allowing her face to be more expressive. “There’s your convoluted answer for the day. Though I’m sure I’ll have more. And people don’t want it to seem fake. They want it to seem preserved. A dear family pet isn’t really dead, only sleeping by the fire. They want the illusion of well-preserved life.”

Miriam looked over at the piece, moving a bit closer to Morgan. How strange; she was rarely around other members of the undead. It was almost as quiet as if she was alone in the room. Not a single heartbeat between the two of them. “Mostly I’m trying to capture what the buyer wants,” she said wryly. “But sometimes, I’m simply playing around. I think about what looks pretty. If it’s something I could stand to own myself or not. I might see a design in something and think I can do it better, so I make the attempt. The end result is either something that can be sold at an extremely high price or an extremely low one.”

“You’re gonna hate this, but putting my spin on a commission was my favorite part of the alchemy-crystal game,” Morgan said, looking thoughtfully at the sketches on the table, carefully picking up one sheet, then the other. “Every once in a while I got some really boring, overly-detailed request, usually ugly too. But some people would say, I want an amethyst mirror, I want a smoky quartz ring holder that reminds me of my cat’s left paw, and that was it. That middle space, where what they want becomes part of the challenge, or the fun, was the best. I don’t even know how many sketchbooks like these I threw out.” She brushed her hands on her skirt, as if dusting away the memory, the longing for those hours. “Whatever I do next will be the old-fashioned way, don’t worry,” she said wryly. “A set up like this would be nice. It feels lived-in, for lack of a better word. I bet you could pass a whole day here and not notice a thing. Or maybe that’s just me? Time has a way of getting slippery. I’m not good at coming home when I’m supposed to unless I set an alarm. If it wasn’t for everyone else, I don’t think I’d mind so much. Days and nights don’t mean as much when you don’t sleep. But I guess that’s different for you, you sleep a little, right?” She danced her fingers on the edge of the table, pressing down, testing how much of it she could feel. “Do you have anyone, that makes time matter for you?”

“You were certainly good with your craft,” Miriam said, only a bit begrudgingly. She had the decanter Morgan made in the house, filled with quality bourbon. She’d yet to actually drink any of it, but she stared at it sometimes, torn between being disgusted and impressed. “I’ve always liked it when customers give me that bit of creative license, the freedom to give them what they want without it being too specific.” She did raise a single eyebrow a bit at Morgan’s comment. “Morgan, dear, I know it’s not quite the same,” not as wholly wrong, “as it was before, but, for better or worse, you’ll always be using magic with whatever you apply yourself to for the rest of your days. There’s no more old-fashioned way.” She looked around, taking pride in her workshop, the one place that she felt at home. “I do pass the whole day in here occasionally. Sometimes several days. No eating, no sleeping, no noticing the time until it’s pointed out to me.” She shrugged, leaned against the workbench. Miriam didn’t slump; she was raised better than that, but she did grab a pencil and twirl it between her fingers, thoughtful. “I sleep?” She hated how it sounded like a question. “Not for long, and it’s not… I don’t particularly dream or anything. I suppose it’s just rest. The closest I got to sleeping lasted for several years and was closer to death, I think.” She watched Morgan’s fingers and the slight dent in the table they caused. She didn’t say anything about it, though, too focused on the question. Did she? No. She had acquaintances, occasional dalliances, but no one who made time matter. That had been Theo and his family and her family. They were all gone now. Now, all she had was revenge, and that didn’t make time matter; it just made it drag. “I have my work,” she said breezily, while not being specific as to what work she meant. “It’s no person, but it serves its purpose.”

“What do you mean no more old-fashioned way? Like, because--” Because she was dead? Or un-dead rather? Morgan hadn’t thought of it that way before. Obviously what had happened to her wasn’t the norm. Dead people, generally speaking, did not come back. The soft nothing space she had slept in was the end of all things. There were no more sunrises or lovers or rabbits any more than there was no more sleep, no more taste. And with magic dead inside her, she carried that betrayal. She hadn’t thought that it was keeping her alive, somehow. That it had seeped into her corpse and carried her through her existence. But if it wasn’t her heart, what else could she call it? “Because of what I am? W-what--” She looked down at her hands, pasty and dead and--still, somehow hers. “Does that ever bother you? That you’re a little magic too? That the same energy in the universe that I used to control is part of why you’re still here? I just-- I’ve never even thought of it that way before,” and now that she had, now that she could, her mouth quirked upwards in a small guilty smile of wonder. How could she never have asked herself that before? And how did Miriam know, and want to comfort her with that truth? “I just wonder how you could, much less say it so easy like that.” She looked at Miriam thoughtfully, and wondered if her loneliness had been part of why she’d felt drawn to her before. She’d lost so much, even before she died, and she knew pain well enough to become bent and twisted by it. How heavy must it be to do that? “You should let yourself have people, Miriam,” she said. “Sometimes they’re the only thing that makes a day mean anything.” She held her gaze for as long as she could. Morgan wasn’t sure if Miriam would listen, if she knew that she meant it, but she hoped. Morgan rubbed her hands on her skirt and reached under the table to pop the dents she’d made smooth again. “Is there, uh, anything else I can see?”

“On the nose,” Miriam said quietly. “We’re just dead things reformed by something impossible to truly understand until we’re no longer quite dead.” She’d spent hours thinking on it, fretting about it. What she was, what made her, or, rather, unmade her. She had, for the early years, clung desperately to the idea that she might have survived that wretched car crash. It wouldn’t have killed her. She would have been fine. She’d been resentful of others like her, particularly those who weren’t bound to the town or molded by white-hot revenge. Eventually, she’d come to terms with magic, what it was and what it was for. “I have no problem with magic, Morgan. I truly don’t. It’s a beautiful thing, you know. But it doesn’t belong with humans.” How humans perverted magic. They used it and twisted it into beautiful things, sometimes, like Morgan’s crystals, but also awful, wretched things. “Magic corrupts them all, in the end. Kills them. It killed us.” Miriam places a hand over her unbeating chest. “Only difference is that it keeps us alive as well.” She knew she wasn’t going to get Morgan to see her side. Spellcasters, even former ones, rarely did. Though, she supposed that was usually because the conversation was a bit one-sided; she talked, they screamed. It made it so hard for them to hear her. The last one had screamed until he couldn’t; he’d been about useless, unable to tell her about any local covens or even how to fix her White Crest-locked predicament. He left his shoe, too. She saw it out of the corner of her eye but was careful not to draw too much attention to it. Instead, she met Morgan’s eyes and smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. It’d do me good to have,” she paused, ruminated on the word, “friends. We are so useless alone.” She clapped her hands together and looked around. “There’s not too much else going on in here, but there’s a set of stairs and a tunnel that connect to the house’s wine cellar so I can avoid sunlight. My mother’s idea.” It was also so the staff wouldn’t see the family’s bloody secret lurking around in the dark, but still. It was a nice gesture. “I have a fairly decent collection of alcohol. It’s practically useless unless in large quantities, but it’s pretty to look at.”

“A car killed you, unless there’s more to the story. Not that you have to share either, but—” Morgan shrugged, mouth stretched in a sympathetic grimace. “But my family curse killed me. So you’re not wrong there. I just didn’t think about magic as bringing me back. The magic I did before didn’t really look like this.” She slid off her cuff and showed the scar near her wrist in the shape of Remmy’s mouth. “But you’re right. Nothing else to call it.” She tugged the cuff back down and tugged on her sleeve for good measure. “And I am, about having friends. I don’t know how much you believe me, but I mean it. You should get to have people, Miriam. It means a lot, to be known.” She smirked at the idea of the wine cellar. “Hey, at least you can get drunk at all. I’m down to appreciate the aesthetic though.” She wandered over to the walls, looking for the stairs and room in question. She’d thought there’d be more, but it was almost a relief to see that Miriam held on to some of her humanity, even with the side murder.

“A car headed to confront my husband, who was only using me for money so that he could fund his coven’s magic is what killed me,” Miriam said with a shrug. It was fine. She’d come to terms with it. Her jacket was on the back of the chair she was standing near. She stroked the sleeve gently. “See, it’s magic that’s keeping us alive. Not what human’s can practice, of course.” They were doomed if spellcasters learned how to do whatever bullshit it was that made vampires and zombies. Then again… Necromancers. Miriam fucking hated spellcasters. She smirked, though. “Well, I do thank you for that, Morgan. I should invest in some people. Friends.” She batted her eyelashes, knowing it probably wouldn’t work with Morgan having a girlfriend but not being one to turn down an opportunity. “We can be friends, I hope? Put all the silliness of the past behind us?” She led the way to the stairs, wondering if she should move the shoe but deciding against it. “Have you tried mixing alcohol with, I don’t know, organs? That might get you a little buzzed. Blood always helps me.”

“People aren’t investments,” Morgan childed mildly. “It doesn’t necessarily speak badly of you if things don’t ‘pay off’ the way you want. What speaks well of you is that you try anyway.” She answered Miriam’s fluttering lashes with a coy smile, a roll of her eyes. It was a little late to pretend there wasn’t something of a connection between them. Mriam understood what it meant to walk through death in a way like she did, and without a reason to fear her, Morgan found the return of a feeling she’d had before: a wish that Miriam would let someone ease her pain a little, that she would let go and allow herself a different way of being. “We can be friends, yeah,” she said gently. “And, tragically, no boozy combo I’ve tried yet seems to take the edge off. So that’s one point for vampires!” She followed Miriam towards the dark hall, trailing her fingers on the wall. She noticed a stray shoe strewn absently as she went, pointing to it as she asked, “Do you, uh, get a lot of company down here?”

“Nonsense,” Miriam said. “I was always taught that people were investments. Good ones, if you went about it the right way.” But she could see what Morgan was saying. Relationships were meant to be enjoyed. They were good things, usually. Unfortunately, when all was said and done, Miriam had done a bit too much to allow anyone to get too close. She didn’t regret any of the wretches she’d killed; why, she could barely even remember their faces. Sure, the first few times had been rough, and sure, she ached for something to fill the whole inside of her, the one that wasn’t desperate for revenge and blood. But she was quite good at pushing all of that aside, pretending she was whole. She was still a young vampire, after all, more years in the ground than she’d spent as a creature of the night. Perhaps she’d eventually get used to feeling like this. And, if not, well. She’d read that vampires could turn it all off, if they so desired. Whatever would happen to her if she couldn’t feel her anger and rage? Her thirst for revenge? She didn’t know. Maybe she’d find out. “Darling, you can still go out in the sun. I’d trade all the booze in the world for a nice day sunning down at Dark Score. But maybe we can find something out there for you.” Looking at the shoe, she gave Morgan a wink. “Well, I did say I liked to have dalliances, didn’t I?”

Morgan winced, feeling guilty for bemoaning her eternal sobriety when Miriam couldn’t even watch a sunrise. She couldn’t feel a sunburn or a winter chill anymore, but she could stand in the light and the snow and imagine what it was like. She could remember, at least for now. “What, you mean drinking away the undead existential crisis isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” She asked wryly. “That’s a fair point, you know,” she said. “More than. Sorry. Although, apparently there’s a giant squid in the lake that may or may not eat people, so maybe you’re not missing out on too much.” She really didn’t need to know anymore about Miriam’s dalliances, however charming calling them that sounded in her dated cadence. She scampered down the stairs after Miriam, ready to leave all of that behind and see the rest of her place.

“There’s nothing like a drunken bender every few weeks to destroy your liquor cabinet,” Miriam joked. Though, she wasn’t actually joking, seeing as how she could smell last week’s rage in the form of spilled wine all over the cellar. She sucked in her cheeks frowning. “I forgot about the mess down here. Those undead existential crises tend to end in a bit of broken glass.” She gave a short laugh, but she could clearly smell blood, human blood, underneath all the wine. And if she could, she figured Morgan could as well. “It’s nothing to apologize for, darling. And I have heard about the squid. See, I can’t recall anything like that happening back when I was alive.” Miriam really needed to learn to clean up after herself better. And, perhaps a wine cellar wasn’t the best place to torture a little witch bitch into giving her information on a coven she apparently didn’t know anything about. There’d been some spilled wine, spilled blood, and a new rosebush in the garden. But no cleaning of the wine cellar. It was a shame, too. In her rage she’d managed to break a few bottles of very pricey vintage. It was a waste on all fronts. She walked over to the stairwell leading to the house, a sigh on her lips as she stepped over the mess. Miriam gave Morgan a tight smile. “I’m sometimes unaware of my own strength and anger, these days.”

Maybe if she hadn’t died and made a passtime of stuffing her face with viscera, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to notice the difference between wine and bloodstains on sight. She might not have been able to sense some bits of dead skin, dead something, ground into the floor. But she was salivating in a way that made her clench up with undease. Why was she feeling the hunger pull? Why was there blood mixed with broken glass. Morgan stopped short, surveying the mess. She looked up at Miriam’s thin smile, too sharp to reach her eyes. She didn’t need to ask, she shouldn’t. The whole reason she had stayed away from Miriam for so long was because she knew what she was capable of. She didn’t just carry darkness in her, she had hatred. The kind of hatred that lead to a mess like this. Blood spread in so many directions couldn’t be from anything swift or easy. She backed away slowly. “Y-yeah, um...I can see that. That’s…” The smart thing to do would be to come up with some non threatening question to indicate she didn’t care or at least wasn’t going to push. But as she crept back up the way she came, eyes fixated on the stains she couldn’t un-see as blood she asked, “Who was that? How many...how many people do you bring down here?”

Miriam frowned. A part of her recognized that she should apologize, try to start this over and appeal to the tentative friendship that had been forming between the two of them since before Morgan even died. Miriam wouldn’t lie, she’d grown a bit fond of the witch even while she wanted to kill her, just as she’d always been fond of Theo’s sisters and friends. But Miriam had been raised to not apologize, even before she’d been turned, so she didn’t, couldn’t. Whatever. “It’s mostly just wine, you know,” she said as a way of explanation. But that wasn’t good enough, probably. Readjusted. She smiled, an attempt to soothe. Sometimes, Miriam forgot that she was more bite than bark. “Morgan, I would never harm you, you know. Not anymore. I have no reason to even try.” She adjusted her posture, trying to appear non threatening, but she could no more do that than get Morgan to forget their first encounter. So, she sighed and took a seat near the steps that led to her house. They were on opposite sides of the wine cellar, at an impasse. “I don’t ask for names,” she said. “And she didn’t have any information. Just a drifter, lucky bitch.” Really, Miriam couldn’t be to blame for killing the woman. She’d practically rubbed it in Miriam’s face that she could leave and perform magic while Miriam was stuck in this town as a living corpse. She closed her eyes and took a soothing breath that she didn’t need. “I don’t know. Not many. Wine cellars make terrible places to conduct business, you know. Too many breakable things that I don’t want broken.” She ran her finger through a dark, sticky substance near her heel.

“Miriam--” Morgan began, her voice soft and heavy with disappointment. What had she expected? Where was the surprise in any of this? She stopped, tugging on the roots of her hair as she tried to take in the cold, matter-of-fact way Miriam talked about her killings. It reminded her of Deirdre when she was at her worst, when she was the thing her mother wanted her to be. How could Miriam be this way in so short a time, after one heartbreak? Had she loved him that much, that nothing could exist for her besides that hurt? She let out a long sigh. “I know you wouldn’t, Miriam. I know that,” she said. “But I wish you would let this go. Or at least that I could understand how--why this is so important to you. If it’s so fulfilling, why do you have to turn yourself off like that.” She nodded in her direction, taking in all the signs, the hard lines, the heaviness of the apathy. It was somehow more horrible to look at than the blood. “I just...if it was really that worth it, I don’t think you would have to be like this about it. I think if you understood you can have something besides hating people who never hurt you…” What? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t see another version of Miriam hiding under the darkness, exactly. She knew she was lonely, driven, proud. Sometimes, under the weight of her death and her un-life, she could be funny. But Morgan didn’t know what else. She just wanted to believe it existed. Another breath. It was stupid, she didn’t need to breathe at all, but if she could float some air into her, maybe she could understand why she felt this upset over something she should have known all along.

There was a part of Miriam that wanted desperately for someone, anyone, to understand. She couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t from a lack of trying. After she’d killed Theo, when the high from it all had faded away, she’d cried until she couldn’t. Her mother had been the one to find her, a bloody mess, a shadow of a human being, sobbing over what was left of the husband she’d killed. Her mother, prim and proper, who had left the rearing of her daughter to her stern and more business-oriented husband when Miriam had been more interested in leathers than satins, didn’t know how to react to seeing her child the murderer. The monster. She never did. And yet she’d tried to comfort. And Miriam had let her, had thought this was a one and done situation. But there was no such thing. She couldn’t explain the hunger or rage that was only quieted by others’ screams. Morgan would certainly never understand it. Instead, Miriam kept her face impassive as she licked the blood and wine off her fingers, her eyes flashing red at the taste. She smiled, both sharp and sanguine. “Dearest, I’m only being myself.” She leaned back against the steps. “At least, what’s left of me.” Her hate must be fed to be tempered. She’d learned that the hard way. Miriam would stop if she only knew how.

Morgan lingered in the stairwell, wondering again what in all the earth she had been thinking of in coming here. Why she didn’t have her fill of Miriam from the last time. Had she really set aside the hatred in her eyes over a shared dread of eternity? Was the numbness, the pain between them really enough to scrub away the things she’d done? When she’d been alive, Miriam had sent her to the flipping hospital, of all things. She looked at the woman, resigned and stubborn on the ground. She was so lost she couldn’t even argue with Morgan, couldn’t even fight her.

Morgan crossed the room, stepping over the mess out of respect for the dead. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know sorry’s are stupid, but since I actually know how it is to wake up and feel chunks of yourself missing, I feel like I’m allowed. And--I just don’t think those empty spaces have to stay that way. Not for you, or for anyone else. There has to be something different, something better for you.” She bent down, closer than she had ever been to Miriam yet. She ghosted her fingers over Miriam’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I wish you would look for it some more,” she said. Then she turned back the way she’d come and left.

Not meaning to, Miriam flinched back from the tenderness of Morgan’s touch. She hadn’t experienced anything like that in so long. Not even the people she’d slept with recently had been tender. But she didn’t cry, for what it was worth. Didn’t allow tears to even begin to well in the corners of her eyes. But she felt worn around the edges and seen. It was fucking with her head a bit. Did Morgan seriously think she could be redeemed? After all that she’d done? There was no redemption for her, only vengeance and the final death that it would bring. This was what she knew, what she felt in the pit of her cold heart. But she couldn’t find the words to say it. Instead, she said, “Shut the door on the way out, sweetness.” It wasn’t loud, and it lacked her usual bravado. She stood up slowly, a phantom feeling in her bones, like her true age’s weariness was catching up to her, and she went in the opposite direction. She was going to have to clean up herself, it seemed. Didn’t matter. She had a bit more time on her hands than she planned for the evening, anyway.

#wickedswriting #poison and wine #wr miriam #wr chatzy #wr miriam chatzy

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

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Interior designer Danny Fenton! If you enjoy this please hit that reblog button!

Danny had been on somewhat of a hyper fixation spiral since Sydney had explained how Sanctuaries work in the Infinite Realms. You make one from the surrounding ectoplasm and it’s your place. Only assholes will invade your sanctuary without permission and you have every right to fight them over it. Danny acknowledged that ghosts were people, and like people, he didn’t want them just waltzing into his house because the only nearby door to Earth was in it.

So, Danny had taken a blank sketchbook, let some of that ghostly energy flow into his mind, and considered how he wanted his sanctuary to look. It took weeks of drawing, of looking up pictures of the ISS, going to that abandoned observatory at that one hill, going with Sam on a trip to a jungle (he’d learned that bugs were discouraged from being near him if he let out little pulses of energy) and his own hike through Amity’s woods. He found himself tugged and drawn toward so many places for inspiration it shocked him. He drew server rooms, a room for nothing but videogames, a movie theater, a bowling alley. The library, the arcade, that coffee shop Sam liked that sold weird books, the park, Danny filled his sketchbook up and up and up (it shouldn’t have this many pages in it but his life was so strange he didn’t even notice that).

A month after Danny had come up with this plan, he was in a pottery class, learning how the process of molding clay at your fingertips felt and worked. He had to leave to fight ghosts, yes, but he was learning and the art of turning a pile of mush into something new made something in Danny sing.

Walking through the portal always brought back the most awful memories, but he soldiered on because this? It was important. Danny sat in front of the portal on the other side, surrounded by dark void and glowing green, blue, indigo, and violet mist (it was those colors and more, it was all the colors human eyes could not see). He lay one hand on his sketchbook, closed his eyes, breathed in, and let his energy flow outward. Immediately the mists pulsed and ebbed and flowed and danced to the tune of his core and Danny imagined himself drawing and molding at the same time. His aura shone brighter and brighter, and around the portal formed steel and stone, which extended upward, downward, outward. For an age, Danny let himself get lost in the sheer art of creation and the world around him hummed and thrummed as it was pulled closer together and twisted and stretched and aligned just so.

As a favor to a boy they would not know personally for some time, she twisted the dilation of Time around the Fenton Portal relative to Earth. Thanks to him, an hour would pass in that material Realm while Danny was lost in an obsession he didn’t even know he had - creating. Ectoplasm and the Soul both were infinite and as such Danny wove together the most beautiful tapestry he could without pause.

When Danny finally opened his eyes and the burning power ebbed back into his still ringing core, he was inside of a room. It was his workshop back home, or a replica of it, instead of his parents’ lab, though the portal was right where it was in the lab of course. He let his feet rest on the smooth linoleum or at least what he thought might be linoleum, and hummed. He walked over to the stairs and ascended, noting that artifact storage and weapon storage were both there. The kitchen, however, was very different. It was like something out a professional restaurant, every surface looking beautifully clean with knives and spoons and measuring tools and bowls and everything one could wish for to cook a five-star meal with littering the place. Meals he cooked with his dad, disasters he’d helped his mom and sister either make or destroy, Tucker and his mom’s home cooking, Agatha’s wonders all came to mind and Danny grinned. There was enough room for all of them to work together on something here.

The living room had couches, beanbag chairs, and very well cushioned chairs everywhere, the carpet feeling like a soft moss under his toes when he took off his boots and the walls and ceiling covered in murals of a forest under a starry night sky. When Danny flicked his fingers, a holographic screen appeared in the air and he beamed. Scrolling around quickly showed that signals were caught rather easily through the portal and he could connect to the internet or to any version of a cable package on Earth. “Tucker will love this.” That thought, of course, led Danny deeper into the house, to the stairs and up them toward a room. Crisscrossing the room were lines like circuits, gold, green, and red the theme of the room. It appeared a cross between a lab and a living room.

The largest feature was a sunken area in the middle of the floor that housed a circular bank of computers, as well as a bolted and padded chair that spun in a circle to reach every screen. Over to one side was a table with a sewing machine, countless pieces of fabric off on a shelf nearby. To the other side was a table with an entire DnD map on it, miniatures laid out waiting to take form. To one side as well there was a cabinet next to a refrigerator and a freezer, all labeled ‘chemicals’, and wow, Danny should probably check what those were. He knew Tucker was starting to dabble in chemistry but anything made from ectoplasm was probably dangerous to go experimenting with. The dartboard in the visage of a computerized eye was, in Danny’s humble opinion, a nice touch on his part.

“Well, there’s only one other door here besides the entrance and I’m gonna bet that’s like, an extra bedroom. So, let’s see what else we’ve got here.” Danny floated down the halls and hummed when he found a door made of polished obsidian with streaks of thread woven around it. He pulled open the door and chuckled. “Wow. plants everywhere, spider silk all over the place, black and purple with rebellion posters. I wonder who this room is for.” Danny floated up to the ceiling when he caught an odd glint and raised a brow at the cameras hovering in a strange formation. But then he pulled back down and snorted when he realized they were arranged like the eyes of a spider. There was a door labeled dark room where only a red light could be seen and when Danny touched the floor with his hand he found that it absolutely was some kind of moss. “I wonder how alive anything I like, willed into existence around here, can be. Is this real moss feeding on the ambient energy in Realms or does it just look and feel like that cause I thought it was thematically appropriate?”

Deciding that was best left for later, Danny flew off down the hall and up the winding stairs once more, finding himself suddenly in a library that seemed to go on and on in all directions. Shelves upon shelves that towered twice his height littered this floor so far like a maze that Danny couldn’t tell if there was an end made of true walls or if that second floor ringed with a brass balcony was supported by yet more bookshelves. Couches and chairs and tables were scattered all around, and the carpet was a soft lilac with orange and blue eye patterns repeating all over it. “This doesn’t feel like Sam or Tuck… it feels like Jazz. Wow, the rooms really feel like them. Ok, Fenton, don’t get too wrapped up in that. Ghost stuff is weird and you’ve felt and seen what your friends’ aurae are like before. This is just a whole nother level of it, in your own personal afterlife home.”

Spinning around the spiral staircase once he found it up to the very top of the building found Danny in an observatory, to understate. There was a telescope that looked out and up into the void toward the dots and pinpricks of light that hinted at the spirits of stars shining in the distance. The walls were all made of glass - likely one-way glass - and each was a different color, each reflecting a different view of somewhere on Earth. Most of them showed Amity, the places he went to most frequently, and the places he had to protect most often, but there was also a view of the whole of NASA’s facilities, the night sky, the biggest planetarium in the world, etcetera. Danny felt tears rising to his eyes, blurring his vision. “This is beautiful…”

On one table was a map, shifting and changing like waves on the ocean, which showed all the places that Danny had been in the Infinite Realms. There was a door that led to a room filled with easels, canvas, paint, brushes, pencils, paper, everything he could ever crave for drawing and molding art from clay and ink and paper. A flick of his fingers brought up a hologram when he got close to some speakers and every song he’d ever listened to was there, somehow in full even when his memories had faded of the lyrics and names.

“Alright. Ok, I can’t- I can’t stay here or I’ll never leave. I have to bring Tucker and Sam to see this.” Danny looked out a window, this one opening up onto a balcony, and he gasped. Stretching out for at least a mile or three was violet stone under several buildings. It looked for all the world like a town surrounding his house, with a forest and wood surrounding that town. “Holy shit. Yeah, I gotta show Tucker and Sam.”

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Sanctuary #Lairs #Danny's Lair #fanfiction #phanfiction #phanfic #fanfic #fanphic #fanphiction #phanphiction #phanphic #Rexy Writes

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damagedsmile · 4 years ago

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Info regarding how J operates his criminal activities within his gang; I take much influence here from both the Arkham City game & the fundamentals of real-life organised crime while hoping I give no disrespect to that sort of business & the individuals whom work within it.

Background: J operates his business mainly out of his home, the Steel Mill (formerly owned by Roman Sionis). This is where his Boys congregate before work, generally hang out, & it is mainly dedicated to work with a small part of it actually kept private & made in to a home of sorts for J. J also works with devising chemical weapons of chaos / torturing foes within the basement. The other place he uses as a board room of sorts is his private booth within the luxury lap-dancing club he owns, called the Smile & Grin. His actual business dealings - when he’s not causing chaos - involve protection rackets around his turf, drug selling/smuggling, &; bomb or arms selling/smuggling. On occasion he dabbles within the Black market through established connections.

J looks for four things in his potential employees as follows:

1. A history of mental illness, preferably with violent leanings

2. A criminal record, petty crime is okay but 1st/2nd degree major crimes are desirable

3. Possible skills &/or connections pertaining to the world of organised crime, or previous knowledge of working in organised crime

4. A penis

The mental illness is a necessity as J is more than aware that only the ‘craziest’ thugs would have the guts to do as he bids & obey him but aside from that there are more personal reasons, such as believing he is helping those he employs as it is highly unlikely they will be considered employable by others.

A criminal record is pretty self-explanatory; he doesn’t want to hire on somebody green who turns out to be a pacifist or who has a moral compass pointing due north.

The third criteria is simply a matter of value. Do you have any particular skills to bring to the table or are you just a thug who knows how to shoot? Is your cousin a notable Falcone or perhaps a drug-dealer who sells good shit? Have you done anything like this before & if so, how experienced are you?

And the final criteria may sound overly anti-feminist but in truth, that has nothing to do with it. J is an equalist – meaning he believes everyone regardless of gender (or non-gender), sexuality, etc etc deserve to all be treated exactly the same – but professionally, his opinions are obviously left at the door, for good reason.

J is a business-man at the end of the day & he means to run a tight ship. As such he looks to employ only the most eligible people he comes across & he will frequent himself with these people’s records: he is fully aware there are those among his crew who have a history of sexual assault or rape exclusively towards women. Would it really be wise then to employ a woman?

Second to this fact is that as a man, J is obviously aware how distracting women can be. He himself does not mix business with pleasure, as he sees it as an inflammatory accident waiting to happen: no one wants to get shot because they were busy oogling the woman at their side. Hence why J rarely has Harley around when he is planning offences or speaking with his crew.

Not saying J would never employ a woman to work for him – he has no problem outsourcing female “help” for some jobs – but it would take some thought.

Also, it is an unspoken rule within the ranks that a mask should be worn, even when just hanging around the Steel Mill, but particularly when outside; this mask is chosen by the wearer & often designed with paint etc etc, perhaps chosen specifically as a reflection of their personality. Main reason for wearing a mask is that when operating around Gotham, anonymity is the best policy & a mask helps with intimidation. Of course if a crew member did not care for remaining unknown, a mask does not have to be worn at all.

Let us be frank here because you all know me to carry an amount of realism in my threads: working in organised crime is not a game. It’s a job at the end of the day & a very dangerous one at which I do not condone. Working in a gang is not simply a matter of ‘I like to kill people so I should be with you guys’. You get in based on your trustworthiness, capability, & achievements. It’s not all glamour & respect unless you happen to be a ‘made man’ like J, in which case you’re the boss and you reap all the rewards.

Depending how far along you are in the gang hierarchy, you will be expected to kill & torture people from all walks of life. One day it may be another underling from a rival gang, it could be a pimp who has useful information, it could be one of your best friends who’s become a snitch, or it could even be an innocent citizen who is simply mixed up with the wrong crowd. Working with J guarantees these things and it also guarantees you will also be dipping your feet in to the world of terrorism. You can expect the rest of your duties will be similar to police work in that you will be chasing down leads or suspicious persons, defending your territory & those within it (who pay you for protection), hiding/recovering evidence, & you will be reporting to someone above your station who will put you in your place if you get out of line – namely J.

You will not receive thanks. You may receive bonuses but never thanks. You will not be coddled. You will not be waited on. You have to be tough & you must represent J well. You’re expected to live up to a certain standard & there are rules to follow. Remember you are working for the Joker: one false move, you’re dead. Even if J just has a bad day & you happen to smile at him, you’re dead. Let us not forget either you are risking your life & the lives of those you love. You are risking imprisonment.

Why am I mentioning these things? You can guarantee that if your character were to thread with mine in a crew scenario (a popular idea), you would be faced with some potentially harsh stuff along the lines of what I’ve just written – they are examples of what you can expect within a crew thread or what you can expect to be mentioned in passing paragraphs. I don’t want anybody thinking J or I are being jerks for no reason or anything: there are reasons, which have been outlined. Of course these examples may never be completely explored in a thread (or even multiples of threads) yet you can guarantee at least one aspect will come along for plot purposes & if your character is the type who would balk at such details or possibly suffer with a moral dilemma, it’s better we don’t waste time then with this sort of plot. If you seek to forge a relationship through this sort of plot, please don’t. It has only ever worked out that way once & it was not planned by me nor the other mun involved.

Do not expect J to care if your character can shoot fireballs out their ass while singing the national anthem (I would be impressed with this but I am not my character). Do not expect him to run up to your character & demand they join his crew without first assessing the situation. Do not expect him to fall in love with yours just because they love to kill. Do not expect him to tolerate your character disrespecting him specifically in a boss-employee situation. Do not expect your character to automatically be made J’s right-hand man (like Jonny Frost).

#hc #these sorta plots happened in the past & never went well #bare the once but it was unplanned #too many peeps seem to think their muse is entitled to a place beside J while at the same time thinking they can work for him #& disrespect him constantly #i mean do you walk into work & treat your boss like shit & actually believe this is ok?#hey boss hey employee today i need you to do x y z #fuck you boss i wont do what you tell me #ok youre fired then bye

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gaiatheorist · 4 years ago

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A little knowledge...

I keep starting this, and then deleting it, that’s either an indication that I’m trying to process as fully as i can, or that I’m being avoidant, and slipping into another depressive episode, I’ll keep an eye on it.

I have an untidy heap of paperwork at the side of my desk, it’s not ‘on’ the desk yet, because I’m not quite ready to fill it in. There’s no deadline on it, so it’s ‘floating’, rather than ‘fixed’, and the formatting of it is doing my head in. It’s the end-of-course review and coping plan for the Trauma Stabilisation Group I finished last week. I told my son a few days ago that the ‘mentals’ write their own coping plans, and he was incredulous, I’m relatively good at planning, and taking all factors into consideration, but the new medication, and the appeal against the denial of my disability benefit, and, well, 2020 are taking a toll on me, I’m slipping.

‘Introduction to Trauma Stabilisation Class’, three 90-minute sessions, delivered via Microsoft ‘Teams’, on account of the Covid-19 pandemic, we’re too unwell to be left to our own devices, so the online group was the least-bad option. It’s free, I know a fair few people who have had to pay for their own therapy, because they can’t access NHS treatment, and I know I’m part of a very small, but fortunate number, to still be on NHS lists. Groups of people with mental health issues are always a bit of a gamble, there’s the waiting-room-contagion factor, where some people will exchange symptoms and ‘unhelpful coping mechanisms’, and the weird mix of characters that are inevitable. This was either my third or fourth ‘Introduction to...’ group, and the online format was differently stressful to the in-the-flesh ones. I know ‘most’ of my group-dynamic bad habits, and there’s always a little bit of my cognitive functioning occupied with telling myself *don’t* do this, or that. In a nutshell, I’m a watchful show-off, the ‘feeling small and vulnerable’ part of my C-PTSD would, historically, lead me to muck about, or attempt to dominate groups, throw in my autistic ‘organising’, my professional desire to help, and the fatigue and over-stimulus from the brain injuries, and I *could* be a nightmare in groups.

I was honest with the triage staff right from the beginning, it’ll be in my notes that I acknowledge my tendencies to ‘take charge’, as a means of coping with so much in my life that’s been beyond my control, it’s not all deliberate, and it’s sometimes really useful. I’m a sheep-dog, which is productive when I’m rounding up stragglers, and pointing them in the right direction, less-so when I’m distracted by a squirrel outside the window.

Being what I am, and knowing what I know from my previous career is a double-edged sword. I know the fancy words for the theories and processes, so can be mildly irritated when the language has to be dumbed-down to the lowest common denominator. It does have to be, though, on the previous course, we had a couple of participants who couldn’t read the text on the worksheets (formatting issue, too much text crammed onto each page, to save on photocopying costs, they strained my eyes a bit) I can’t do my (TM) Autistic thing of assuming that, if I ‘know’ a thing, everyone else in the room does too. I can do my helpful thing of re-explaining something the facilitator has said if the group don’t seem to ‘get’ it, or clarifying something a participant has said if the facilitators misconstrue it. (One of the staff on the previous course was an absolute horror for that, she wasn’t listening actively, just barrelling on with what she thought had been said, people stop volunteering information when that happens.) I’m not there to ‘help’, or to ‘lead’, though. One of the participants in this last group threw a bit of a tantrum, she’d dominated most of the speaking in the previous session, and flipped when I was given air-time to explain something. That was hard to deal with, because I automatically switched to Mentor-mode, and very nearly lost track of the content trying to think of a way to alert one of the facilitators to check in on her, and try to bring her down from her agitated state before she hurt herself.

I’m dabbling with the slightly paranoid theory that some participants, or even facilitators might think I’m a Mystery Shopper sort of thing. My ‘old’ practices and processes made a lot of people ask “How do you DO that?”, the ‘Matilda’-thing, I just do, I’m exceptional at a lot of very difficult things sometimes, but I can’t use oven-gloves, and, especially recently, I’ve been forgetting a lot of words. Other participants might think I’m a smart-arse, I am, it doesn’t matter, I imagine I frustrate the facilitators because I can give theoretically correct answers, but can’t consistently apply the theories in my own life. I’m not there to make friends, we all have to sign contracts of expectations saying we won’t form relationships, I understand that, an elective empathy with other high-end mental health cases is never going to be a good thing. My curious combination of conditions makes me a bit of a distance-er anyway, I stick as firmly as I can to the procedural pathways, it’s a process-with-purpose, not a popularity contest.

I’m struggling with the ‘be kind to yourself’ angle again. It’s not in my nature, I don’t know how. That bumps heads with the ‘normalising nice things’, even at this level of mental health intervention, we’re encouraged to ‘savour the taste of your favourite food’- food is just fuel, I don’t have a favourite, and, when people start banging on about chocolate, or cake, or whatever, I don’t get it. Visit a favourite place, phone/meet up with a friend, listen to uplifting music, go for a walk, buy yourself flowers, have a haircut, all of the ‘normal’ nice-things leave me cold, I don’t really have hobbies or interests, very few things spark my oxytocin or dopamine responses, I’m not a joyful type, that’s my baseline-normal, not a press-the-panic-button indicator that I’m depressed.

“You’re just not trying!” Luckily, nobody ‘medical’ has trotted that one out, but it’s been the backing track to my life pretty much forever. I am trying, I’m trying very hard, especially since the brain injuries. There’s been a slow realisation that I have to pick my battles wisely, though. I’ve long maintained that anyone who’s ‘always’ happy must have a flap in their back where the batteries go, I’m not advocating living in a constant state of ‘Eeyore’ gloom, but constant joy must be bloody exhausting. I’m not always moody or maudlin, I’m just sort of ‘flat’, not particularly animated or enthusiastic about much, but I can engage for short periods when I need to. “Smile, love, it might never happen!” can get right in the bin, and, as the internet pointed out the other day, telling someone to ‘just think positive’ as a cure-all is ridiculous. Well-meaning, but oblivious people will chip in with their intrusive-insensitive opinions of how a bit of yoga, or more vegetables are all we need to be all-better, and it’s a challenge to not point out that some of us are a bit beyond ‘just snapping out of it’.

That’s not defeatist. I’m autistic, my brain runs on a non-standard Operating System, the updates don’t always load, and I have to make a hell of a lot of work-around adaptations. Sometimes life’s like walking everywhere with my shoes on the wrong feet, and sometimes it’s like my appliances have come with the wrong plug, and I have to stick a spoon-handle in the Earth socket to make them work. On top of the autism, I had a succession of adverse experiences through the course of my life, which have left me with C-PTSD. I have a telephone-directory of medical conditions, and the icing on the cake was the brain haemorrhage five years ago, I have brain injuries, bits of metal plugging up aneurysms, and one area of ‘risky’ defects on my brain-stem. Those are facts, I have a file of medical paperwork about two inches thick, but the UK disability benefit departments have decided to latch onto the fact that I’m not on any medication for mental health issues. (I’ve tried lots, none of them worked long-term, and now we know we’re dealing with a neurodevelopmental disorder, and physical brain damage, I don’t think a bit of Prozac is going to help.)

Knowing that my brain is physically and chemically different to ‘most’ people’s is not a get-out-of-jail-free-card. These are reasons, not excuses, and I’m doing what I can to work within and around my limitations. I’m not unique, or a special unicorn, I’m disabled, and damaged, and trying to work with the fragmented NHS. One of the issues with the trauma course was the assumptions. I absolutely don’t blame the facilitators, they’re working with pre-prepared material, and a ‘difficult’ cohort. I did gently correct the course-leader, when she started listing ‘normal’ coping mechanisms, the walk-in-the-park, cup-of-tea-with-friends type ones. Some of those ‘simple’ activities are incredibly difficult for some of us, that’s why we’re at this level of intervention, if we could have ‘just’ joined a knitting circle, or taken up photography, we’d already have done it. I explained the need for pacing, the other two participants had limited impulse control, so giving the ‘shopping list’ of strategies was a bit risky, I know I have a tendency to over-reach, so need to be careful with myself. None of us had mentioned nightmares or flashbacks, but they’re on the standard list of indicators for PTSD. There was an assumption that we all had them, in the same way as one of the other triage practitioners, ages ago, told me “It’s not PTSD, because you don’t have nightmares.” I have auditory and olfactory flashbacks and hallucinations.

The doctors that didn’t make further investigations for the mutated migraines before the aneurysm ruptured. The gyneacologist that told my HUSBAND “There’s nothing physically wrong with her.”, the Occupational Health doctor who told me “It’s not vertigo, because that’s spinning.” and “It wasn’t a stroke, because you don’t have one-sided weakness.” I know they have to have lists of diagnostic criteria to start from, but Little-Miss-Autistic here spent far too long just-trying-to-cope because I didn’t fit neatly into their matrices. (Don’t get me started on DWP/PIP ignoring reams of evidence, and just picking out that I turned up to the assessment with my trousers on the right way around...)

I know too much about some things, and not enough about others. My ‘flat’ presentation gives the impression that I’m calm when I’m not, and coping more than I am. The review for the trauma class isn’t until September, and I genuinely don’t know what the next step will be. I’m already on the waiting list for the ‘Compassion’ course, and the very long waiting list for the Specialist Neurodevelopmental Service in the city, to see if there’s anything ‘else’ I haven’t already tried to work within and around the autism. I’ve slipped through a million holes in a million nets, because I know enough to give the answers I ‘should’, the biggest irony is that when I answer “I don’t know.”, the assumption is that I’m being defensive or difficult. A little knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing.

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winchester-with-wings · 6 years ago

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Chemical Reactions (Part 23)

Series Summary: Being a teacher at Central City Academy doesn’t leave much time for a personal life. You didn’t really notice or care…that is until the day the new substitute science teacher, Barry Allen makes an appearance.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 23 Summary: The decision has been made. Time Jump...

Pairing: Barry Allen x Reader, Substitute Teacher!Barry Allen x Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1500ish

A/N: Thank you to my amazing friend and beta @thinkwritexpress-official!! Hope ya’ll like it! I’m about to have a stressful day at work so please give me something to look forward to! :( *i don’t own gifs*

Please let me know what you guys think of the story! Send me asks!

Mobile Masterlist

This was posted a few days agao on my Patreon! Wanna get previews, early access and make requests? Become a Patron! Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated!)

The school year at CCA had ended with the expectation that Barry would continue on as full-time faculty.

Your secret relationship had ended the day Dr. Stein demanded an answer.

Barry maintains that your eyes were red and puffy from crying that day in his office. You’d had a substitute teacher scheduled too.

At the end of the school year, Barry bid his students goodbye and well wishes for the summer, all except Patty. Barry had been tempted to flunk her out of resentment. That would’ve meant that she wouldn’t graduate though, so he gave her the grade she’d earned solely off her scores.

Barry had also attended the graduation ceremony but only to see his brother Wally walk and get his diploma. Standing in the crowd with Joe and Iris beside him, Barry couldn’t help but look for you as well. Iris found you and called you over. You’d politely declined.

That’s how Joe and Iris found out about the break-up.

And Barry hasn’t seen you since that day.

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2 Months Later…

“Wally, have you finished packing?” Joe asks the recent graduate.

“I was actually thinking that maybe I could stay here while I go to school?”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to get off your butt,” Joe grumbles, playfully pushing on Wally’s head as he walks past. Wally is sitting sideways with his legs hanging over the armrest of Joe’s favorite chair in the living room.

“I’m keeping Barry company.”

The two men’s gazes drift across the room to rest on Barry, laying back on the couch in a hoodie while holding the remote in his hand. He barely registers the conversation, keeping his eyes on the TV, but is he even watching it? It’s Star Wars, but it’s the prequel trilogy, should he really be watching this? It doesn’t matter. On commercials, Barry flips between other channels but always comes back to Star Wars.

“Don’t enable him, Wally, and don’t use him as an excuse,” Iris scolds him, walking into the room and setting down her purse. She takes the remote from Barry’s hand and turns off the tv.

“...heyyy…” comes Barry’s delayed reaction. Iris hands the remote to Joe and then pushes back Barry’s hood to play with his hair. She kisses the top of his head but comes away frowning.

“Oh boy, you need to shower,” she tells him. Barry just grunts in response. Iris has seen Barry through past breakups but never like this. “Barr, I’m making your favorite meal tonight. The least you could do is smell better...and change out of those sweats. Now get going,” Iris pats him on the shoulder as he sits up, slumping forward. “And you,” she points at Wally. “I want you to go pack at least two boxes.”

“Dad, can’t I please stay here?” Wally looks up at Joe.

“We’ll talk about it,” Joe responds but his eyes don’t leave Barry. His heart breaks for his son, seeing him like this. Barry has heard him even say so in hushed whispers with Iris.

At dinner, Barry picks at the food, even though Joe did most of the cooking. Which is lucky. That means the food is actually really good. But Barry just can’t bring himself to eat.

“Have you given any thoughts to my offer, Barry?” Joe says.

“Hmm? What?” He looks up. Barry’s hair still looks a bit damp and he’s wearing a fresh t-shirt and jeans.

“I said, Captain Singh has been pleased with your work this summer. He and I thought you might like some more part-time work at the department?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea Dad!” Iris agrees. “It would keep you busy during the school breaks.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s been good. I just need to think about it some more.”

“Okay, well don’t think too long. The summer is already half over,” Joe mumbles as he turns his focus back to his food.

“May I be excused?” Barry asks a few minutes later, his plate still plenty full. “Thank you for the meal but I’m just not feeling very good. Think I need to lie down for a bit.”

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll wrap this up for you if you want it later,” Iris says, rubbing Barry’s back before he gets up from the table. He goes back to the couch and lays down.

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Eventually, the hunger pangs become too much. He attributes his headache to hunger too but he knows better. Barry reheats some of the food but it doesn’t hit the spot. It’s about 8 o’clock so he decides to go for a walk, maybe go to Jitters.

He finds himself walking in downtown Central City, listening to music with that same old hoodie on. Maybe he should go for a run to get his blood pumping, to lift his spirits. He starts with a gentle jog, focusing on the ground beneath his feet with every step, noticing the faint smell of rain in the air.

He jogs until the burning in his lungs is enough to distract him from the other pain in his chest. But he finally has to come to a stop to catch his breath. He’s resting his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. He takes out his headphones and pushes back the hood which has fallen over his brow. When he notices where he is--he winces--not because of where he is of course, no, it’s because of the running, right? It couldn’t possibly be that he’s inadvertently run into Y/N’s neighborhood, right? He was running for Jitters and that’s just a few blocks down. That’s all, right?

He heads in the direction of Jitters, trying his hardest to not look at your apartment building. Is the light on? He wouldn’t know. But he does know. He knows it’s not on. You’re not home.

Because you’re walking down the street right now. Arm in arm with another man.

Barry’s heart skips a beat and it stops him in his tracks. He shuffles his feet quickly with the intent to cross the street. But then you look up in the midst of laughing, and you stop.

It’s too late for Barry to walk, or rather run away.

“Barry? Hey,” you smile, tender and perhaps a bit sad. Or maybe Barry is only imagining it. He looks up and notices that you’ve just exited a restaurant with this man. His knuckles are white and his face is burning with jealousy. “Looks like you’re out for a run? It’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Barry finds his voice. “It’s uh--good to see you too. Oh and yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” The two of you know enough to guess why. “Figured a jog would help. Was just heading to Jitters. ”

“Oh, that’s nice. Not sure a coffee will help with the sleep problem though,” you giggle and Barry fights down a smile. Damn, he’s missed your laugh. He misses your smile and the way your eyes always betrayed your feelings. He misses the feel of your skin on his, the touch of your hand on his face. He looks you up and down, drinking in your figure. You’re wearing a new dress. He’d never seen you wear it before. What was the occasion? “Oh, where are my manners? Barry, I’d like you to meet Julian Albert. Julian, this is Barry Allen. We work together at CCA.”

“I’m also her ex-boyfriend,” Barry wants to add but he doesn’t.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allen,” he says with a british accent. He’s is shorter than Barry and has blonde hair and blue eyes. He extends his hand and Barry shakes it, perhaps a little stronger than necessary.

“Nice to meet you. You guys just have dinner?” Barry asks, playing nonchalant and gesturing to the restaurant.

“Yes, we did. It was marvelous. Have you been there?”

“No not yet. Always planned to take my girlfriend there though,” Barry says. Seeing the flutter of your lashes and the hurt in your eyes, it makes him feel a bit better. Are you in as much pain as him or have you truly moved on?

“Ah, well. We would highly recommend it, right Darling?” Julian looks at you. He’s oblivious to your hesitation but you nod eventually. “And you work with Y/N? What subject do you teach?”

“Chemistry and forensic science.”

“I teach the kids while Barry teaches teenagers.” like Patty, Barry assumes your implication.

“Oh wow, fascinating. I’ve dabbled with crime scene investigation before as well.”

“Julian’s an archaeologist,” you add. Barry feigns interest, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh wow! That’s gotta be fun, playing in the dirt, right?”

“That’s an oversimplification actually,” Julian comments, although he seems to understand that it was a joke.

“Well we should probably get going. I have somewhere to be in the morning so I don’t want to stay out much later,” you make an excuse, saving everyone from this encounter.

“Oh, of course, love. I’d be happy to walk you home. It was nice meeting you, Barry.” Julian smiles, completely oblivious.

“Wish I could say the same,” Barry says the words with a grimace before he can catch himself. You stare at him, shocked, your mouth hanging open. He doesn’t give either of you a chance to respond before he starts jogging again.

tagging: @autoblocked @book-loving--anime-chick @abbessolute @karazoiel @overlyobsethed @therealcap @whoopxd @bookworm4ever99 @geeksareunique @potterwolf16 @frankie2902 @fabinapercabeth4179 @yessoftball-lover06 @blckthrns @barry-writes @ravenhaviland @clockblobber @iammsamy @softdudebro @parkerschurros @stuttering-psychopath @woaahkelsey @montytheravenclaw @sanya-gryff @smutfornerds

#my writing #barry allen #barry allen x reader #barry allen fanfic #barry allen imagine #barry allen angst #the flash #the flash x reader #the flash au #grant gustin #barry allen au #barry x reader

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girlbattled · 5 years ago

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hola m’angels , i’m min ! twenty-two ( aka gettin old ) , from the gmt timezone ( aka will be awake when everyone’s sleeping ) , and i use she/her mainly but i don’t mind anythin else . if anyone happens to wanna go wild with me over anime, robert pattinson / zoe kravitz as batcat, or riot games dropping way too much shit on us on the 10th anniversary pls hop into my ims or give me a little ping over on discord at 𝖓𝖔𝖊𝖑 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓#0252 .

* drum roll pls * i present to you sloane janeway !

underneath the cut is a little bit about my baby gorl. her bio, fun facts, some wanted stuff, etc etc. if you fancy plotting w her it’d be super cool if you liked this or if u came to me, either in my ims or discord ! i’m super down for anything & loan is a total mess so pls throw stuff at me . ♡ ♡ ♡

trigger warnings : abuse, physical abuse, neglect, destructive behaviours, alcohol, drugs, sex, overdose. if i’ve missed any, please forgive me and let me know.

the new york janeway’s, you’re sure you’ve heard of them before. cyrus janeway, a stockbroker with far too little time on his hands, flanked by estrella janeway, his personal assistant turned life partner. they gave birth not longer after the wedding of the century to their eldest son, their pride and joy, cole janeway. he was to be the golden child, the heir to the estate... that was, until sloane came along.

from birth, sloane was a vicious departure from her family. she was unplanned, unexpected, perhaps unwanted was a stretch but it certainly wouldn’t have been far off the mark. her birth nearly destroyed the reputation the janeway’s had so carefully cultivated for themselves, nobody could quite believe cyrus and estrella would be so stupid, but along she came regardless. a spanner in the cogs.

for the first few years, sloane didn’t feel the difference between herself and cole. whilst he kept his distance, which she had always assumed was because she was five years younger and a girl, she never believed there to be bad blood. she was dressed up in countless fancy dresses, her golden locks repeatedly brushed and subjected to numerous chemical treatments, and even her skin somewhat speckled with makeup even as a toddler. estrella always seemed like she was trying to make up for something. it didn’t take long for sloane to notice.

she began acting out at the age of six, when she realised acting the pretty and perfect princess did not get her what she wanted. when she was quiet, she was ignored, but when she was loud? at least the help scurried to her, at least her nanny cradled her in her arms, at least cole’s personal butler gave her a look full of love rather than scorn. it wasn’t long before she was hanging out in the kitchen rather than the dining hall, the quarters rather than her own room.

as she grew older, however, her acts grew. countless times her mother woke to find her dressing room trashed, her father’s hunting trophies ripped to shreds, her brother’s endless awards from school all in the garbage. they tried to discipline her, cyrus even hit sloane a few times, but all it did was make her angry. instilled a fire within her. when they locked her doors, she climbed out of the window. when they barred her windows, she broke the door into splinters. when they replaced the door, she ripped up the floorboards. sloane was a loose cannon. and things were only about to get worse.

for the most part, she’d kept her nuisances to the confines of her “home”, only wishing to get back at her parents for neglecting her for so long. only one night, when she was fourteen years old and had finished her latest act of malcontent, it was cole who chose to deal with her. he, as a nineteen year old male who’d grown a considerable amount of bulk as star of his college football team, proceeded to beat the shit out of her.

turns out, the brother she thought had simply never been on her wavelength had never been on the same planet as her at all. he despised sloane. despised everything she was and stood for, and made sure she knew as she was spitting up blood on their pristine carpets.

the next day, sloane strolled into school. no makeup. joint hanging from her lips. typical upper class attire replaced with torn jeans and a shirt far too inappropriate. when people asked her what had happened, she had simply replied, ‘ you should see the other guy. ’ and birthed a new persona.

sloane’s way of coping with what her brother had done to her, and what her family had allowed him to do, was to fall deep into the cesspits of teenagedom. drugs, sex, alcohol – she’d done it all by the age of eighteen. yet somehow, the part of sloane before, the part that was simply a bratty child with a short fuse, was gone. now she was a danger. she held a wicked grin and too many scrapes to count. she knew no bounds, understood no loyalties, screamed at the top of her lungs as if she were attending the world’s wildest rager. on top of it all, sloane was the maximum party girl. nobody cared what she was going home to, because all they cared about was where she’d be at 1am on a friday night. she became the family wild child. photos of her strewn over the papers. consistent beatings and beratings from the men in her family did nothing to drown out the buzz she received from the attention she’d craved her entire life. sloane was finally getting everything she ever wanted, why did it matter where it was coming from?

as a final resort, her family shipped her off to hollingsworth. here, away from the prying eyes and judgemental glares of the horrid new yorkers, sloane somewhat thrived. forced into economics by her shithead father, but enjoying every test she aced and spat in his face, she fell quickly into gamma rho alpha and, by the time she had finished her freshman year, she was well in line to be vice president. she was still a wreck, still doing anything she could for the attention and limelight she craved, still bouncing off the walls in an attempt to get her desired adrenaline rush, but what little responsibility she’d been given allowed her to finally form connections. friends, best friends, but anything more than that? things like love, compassion, altruism? she wasn’t even sure what those were.

♡ personality.

uncritical. if there’s anything sloane is, it’s uncritical. she’s never held judgement against anyone in her life, and would never hold judgement against anyone who came to her to admit a heinous or strange deed. she’s heard all sorts, from strange sexscapades to near deaths, and to each of them she often has the same reaction – a loud chortle, followed by disbelief and a desire to know way too many details.

venturesome. to try and stop the blonde from heading out on an adventure is a task mortals would find impossible. a true ‘yes girl’, sloane has never been one to say no to anything, and to never back out of something she said yes to, no matter how bizarre or dangerous the situation might become. she’s always first into the fray, first in line of all the girls to beat the burglar up with a hair straightener, first in line into the abandoned building, first to jump off the roof into the pool.

allegiant. whilst sloane’s loyalty is almost as rare as unicorn blood, it’s possible to receive it, and when you do it’s something you’ll never lose. she sticks by those who have managed to put up with her, unable to let them go even when they do her dirty.

graceless. a. clumsy. bitch. if you’re expecting sloane’s etiquette lessons to have stuck with her, you’re very wrong. the girl trips over her own feet more times than she can count in a day, always has at least something broken, fractured, or sprained, and has certainly won the award in gamma rho alpha for ‘most freak accidents in a single day’.

chaotic. everything about sloane is a nightmare come to life. she drags people down, deep into the depths of places they never thought they’d be, wishes for them to destroy their lives like she’s destroyed hers. to say she loves to see the world burn would be an understatement. she loves starting and watching drama, getting into fights, smashing up homes and belongings, getting into relationships she shouldn’t be in. trying to stop is nigh impossible, the chaos is almost an addiction, and she’s not ready to give it up.

needy. despite it all, she’s still the same girl who was never loved. not truly, not by anyone, and perhaps somewhere deep down she still craves that. she’ll leave you on read for days but god forbid you do the same to her. she’ll have a one night stand and dip right after but never lets her flings leave her life without something to remember her by. she drunk calls the exes she let get away, tells them she loves them and calls them a pussy in the same sentence. no matter how much she tries, she can’t hide the part of her she thinks is ugliest at all, her desire for others.

♡ fun facts.

an avid skateboarder, she picked it up in an attempt to ruin the family image even further when she was fifteen but it stuck in a surprising way. she now tends to ride it over campus, and has broken at least three in her time here.

massive stoner. whilst sloane openly dabbles in most drugs, weed’s the one that’s stuck with her, and it’s the only thing that slows her down. she’s a much nicer person when she smokes and she tends to have a preference for indica over sativa.

fucking bosses her major. economics, despite all its complexities, is something sloane is just naturally adept at. she takes a picture of every grade she gets with her middle finger in front of it, posts it on facebook and tags her father. he blocked her over a year ago.

besides that tho she’s stupid af. a lot of people think she puts it on bc of her grades and bc . . . she does everything for kicks, but no, she’s just kinda ditzy. a lot of people also think she’s just a straight up cheater and hasn’t gotten her grades herself.

nicknames are loan or jane, jane’s reserved for those she’s closest to tho!

♡ wanteds.

fellow sorority sisters 0/? ⟶ self-explanatory! positive, negative, etc etc etc. i wanna plot w all her gals so bad lmao. besties, literal sisters, clothes sharers, secret smokers, party gals, enemies, girls who’ve slept w each other’s exes, all of it bABY.

economics pal 0/1 ⟶ i’m thinking this person goes to sloane for help with everything and sloane pretty much does all their work for them. she doesn’t care bc it’s easy, and the other person blesses her and thanks her all the time. it’s a quiet agreement, so whilst it’s no secret bc sloane hates keeping them, it’s def hush hush. this person is one of the few who actually believes sloane’s as smart as they say. can also be a business student or smthn with similar classes!

super soft bestie 0/1 ⟶ ok so this is male only for a dumb reason i’m rly sorry. i had this plot before where my old muse sloane’s based off had a really sweet, selfless soft pal who was a dude, but they’d never slept together, she’d never even flirted somehow, and he was the one person in sloane’s life who always had her best interests at heart, and she defended him tooth and nail against anybody. the most unlikely duo ever and i want it back. she knew he never wanted anything else from her and that’s why it was so easy for her to attach, but bc this other person deals well with affection and is very reassuring, she never feels needy around them.

people she skates with 0/2 ⟶ people she met down the skatepark or at a typical hangout before meeting them at hollingsworth. when she’s with them she’s pretty chill, though they’ve def been responsible for saving her ass and driving her to the ER a few times.

people she smokes with 1/3 ⟶ oh shit whaddup stoner gang? lmao sorry anyway, yeah, again self-explanatory but! a lil more interesting because sloane’s very different when she’s stoned. she’s calmer, talks slower, and lets people get a word in and doesn’t try and get everyone involved w her hare brained schemes. these people probably actually enjoy her company! how wild?

new yorkers 0/? ⟶ sloane’s underwear has been plastered on the front page of most nyc tabloids and she’s the daughter of two massives in the industry, new york natives will know her somewhat. they can use that against her, they can empathize, or we can concoct some real dramatic shit. people who helped her fuck someone up, and now theyre keeping it quiet? someone she slept with who’s come to hollingsworth with their girlfriend/boyfriend? an addict she started on pills? yikes, lots of opportunity tho.

exes 0/2 ⟶ whew boy. we all know by now sloane’s a hot mess, right gang? so let’s see some people she’s messed up in the past. tOTALLY open to more exes and the more crazy the plot u bring me, the better. i lov angst just like anyone else does.

the one she didn’t ruin 1/1 ⟶ the one person in her life sloane walked away from without destroying, aka, the one she let get away because she realised she was going to harm someone she severely card about. she would’ve ended things with this person rather than pushing their buttons, would’ve been faithful and honest in their relationship, but dipped bc she’d let herself get involved too fast, too soon. definitely a name she’s forbidden her friends from bringing up.

lifeline 1/1 ⟶ let’s be real for a second about drug use, you can do it responsibly, but when you don’t, you can get in some serious fucking trouble. this person has always been there to stop sloane from od’ing. she only does hard drugs at ragers, so her risk is a bit lower than expected, but when she does them she does them. she’s a serious risk, and for some reason this gentle soul has taken it upon themselves to get her stomach pumped, take her home, clean her up, and give her a warm bed to stay in. they don’t speak much away from these nights where she has this vulnerability (she’s definitely mumbled things about her past to them), but that could very well change.

#𝙴𝚇𝙴. 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟶 ⟶ david dobrik’s t-shirt supplier. ⎠ out of character.#hi ! so sorry this isn't in pages i didn't quite have the time but !!! baby gorl #there's a lot here i apologise #hworths:intro #might not show up bc i had to make a brand new blog booooo

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