#she’s kind of a blunt instrument

[morgacht]

Day 3 - Old OC - Fiadh Soot step cloud

Fiadh ! My little lady, my first character (a Charr ranger)

Formerly of the Soot warband, Fiadh’s an ash legion ranger who really has spend her time out in the wilds to the detriment of her social skills. Her first warband was pretty disfunctional, and while that’s not. Great. She kind of really wishes they hadn’t gone and DIED-

She didn’t languish as a gladium for long however, taking back up with the Cloud warband and changing her name accordingly.

She like. Fairly languishing around level 35 right now, smh. And she has been since 2020! I just didn’t vibe with ranger so much and used a lv. 80 boost on morg and RUINED MYSELF

She’s fun, she has stuff I could work with and I’ll certainly get back to playing a ranger eventually. I just prefer Elementslist and Mesmer right at the moment.

[mixtpecas]

It's 2 am and I'm just thinking about how Cas and Eileen became such complimentary partners for Dean and Sam even when the show (slash Chuck) didn't let them have a happy ending.

Like, Sam wanted independence from his family and hunting. Not because he hated hunting necessarily, but because it represented everything his dad seemed to value over him and his opinions. And throughout the show he does make his own choices, but more often than not they end up with him getting possessed or some other kind of loss of autonomy. And with everyone he dates there seems to be that fear of losing control - not that he's controlling per say, but that he can't really let his guard down. Jess, Amy, Amelia, might know About him, but he doesn't seem to show much real vulnerability or deeper trust in them.

And Eileen gets that - she was written to mirror Sam, but it's not like she's his clone. While Sam seems more run down by everything that's happened to him by the time he meets her, Eileen still has that fire that leads her to do good on her own terms. And because she understands both the hunting and independence aspects of Sam's life, her and Sam can see each other as equals, instead of falling into that civilian/hunter or protector/protectee approach that relationships in the show usually lean towards. It's a real breath of fresh air for me, and feels a lot like how I'd imagine an ideal relationship for Sam - someone that isn't afraid to challenge him, but also encourages him to speak up for himself and value his own feelings.

Then with Dean, there's a lot of similarities to Sam (obviously, with their shared upbringing lol) but he can also be his counterpart. Sam wants trust placed in him and independence, Dean wants commitment and for someone to not leave him. But like Sam's relationships, Dean definitely falls right into the Protector role and what he thinks he should be doing, not what he actually needs or wants (like with Cassie and Lisa). And for him, I feel like it's less about not trusting them (Dean actually confides in people fairly often!) but more about his understandings about relationships and his own self. Dean has been treated (intentionally and unintentionally) as a blunt instrument, someone unchangeable, someone to look to for comfort, etc. even before Mary died ("It's okay Mom, I'll never leave you" comes to mind).

Cas reflects this in the extreme - any of his own feelings were lobotimized out of him and it was seen as impossible for angels to feel at all without falling. For him, he could see Dean as a smaller-scale mirror to what he was feeling. And Dean could see Cas as a more abstract, less intimidating way to see his own life. Like Eileen and Sam, Dean and Cas understand each other as soon as they meet each other. Cas tells Dean he has doubts! Dean prays to Cas after a lifetime of not believing in angels! Their similarities let them connect but their differences let them grow - Dean is so stubborn and full of feeling that Cas finally has the final push to rebel. Cas is the most powerful thing Dean's ever met when he saves him from Hell, so Dean feels safe to rely on him and trust someone to answer him if he asks (or prays). And again, their similarities are at the ground of it all, so they stay as partners and equals.

For Chuck (and the writers) this kind of healthier partnership dynamic goes against the kind of romance they love, that focuses on avoidance and saviour complexes. If Dean and Sam feel secure in their senses of self outside of one another, and are encouraged to keep that up, what happens to the Cycles of Family Trauma Show?? Plus, there's the added elements of Cas being a man and Eileen being deaf (resulting in Despair and the Blurry Wife). Sam and Dean both needed Eileen and Cas at certain points in their stories, whether that was to rescue them, motivate them, give them something to lose, etc. But even though plot development was the main intention for these relationships, they signalled something outside of the routine Cain and Abel story. Instead of just representing that kind of unattainable happy future, Eileen and Cas developed genuine relationships with the brothers that encouraged them to be more genuine people, and eventually led them to defeat God.

[kxlitz]

★ Growing up with Tokio Hotel (Devilish) ★

AN: It is no secret that I adore the childhood friends trope with all of my soul. This is very self indulgent and I have zero shame about it.

!! Some if not most hcs are based off events from Bill Kaulitz’s book “Career Suicide” !!

Part 2

Warning! Underage drinking and Smoking, small mention of bullying, some sexual themes briefly addressed. Friendly reminder it’s Tokio Hotel we’re talking about

How did you end up in Magdeburg or Loitsche is up to you, but there is no denial in saying that you were at the right place, at the right time when you met a little boy with spiky black and red hair at your new school playground

Little Bill Kaulitz thought you were cool from the second he saw you. There weren’t many people in the school that he had an interest on or that even payed any positive attention to him. With you it was different. You looked kind and unique!

Quickly he introduced you to his brother Tom, him being a kid with a bit of an inflated ego it would take him some more time to warm up to you.

In the meantime, you and Bill became inseparable. You were basically glued to each other’s hip. His mom would drop him off at your place every Saturday for you guys to play with your Polly Pockets, Power Rangers, dressing up in some ridiculous outfits that were the highest of fashion for your little selves.

Bill’s mom genuinely loved how her son was not scared to be himself around you. She would often ask how you were doing and when you would come over next.

You started to grow on Tom thanks to his mom’s faith in you. If his beloved mom trusted you then so could he.

Tom was getting into skating at the time, he would offer you to learn with him or watch him do tricks.

He loved the attention.

He probably tried to charm you up but gave it up when he saw of how much worth you were. You guys did not bring it up again, only in interviews later on when you wanted to dirt on Tom.

Unfortunately you wouldn’t always be shielded from the chaos in their childhood. One way or another you would probably end up trashing a train or smoking blunts behind the school bushes very early on.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to show up to class totally high.

On the evening you guys would grab your bikes, or you would ride with one of them, and head down by a lake to smoke, chat and unwind. Throwing rocks in and seing how many times it bounced.

With time the twins found their one true love, music. They dreamed big, long gone were the school talent shows and weddings. They wanted to reach the world.

For that, their little singer, guitarist duo with a keyboard that played bass and drums wouldn’t work.

One morning right before class the boys came up to you, literally sprinting and blabbering at the same time. You only understood “band, you, join, casting”

From that moment on you were doomed.

If you didn’t play an instrument already the twins’s step-dad would happily accept you into his music school for free.

Through his acquaintances you guys found a drummer. He was immature for his age according to Tom. He wore glasses and a little shirt with a cow skiing.

When the day of the “casting” as the twins called it came, Gustav played some Phill Collins and solos for you guys. Clearly it wasn’t a real casting and you were fully aware that this boy was your best bet at getting a drummer for your newly formed band. Yet, the boys took it very seriously.

Tom replied “alright good you have the job” and rolled with it.

What were the odds that at the same music school Gustav attended there was an aspiring bassist.

Again, it was your best bet so you took Georg in.

If your first language was english it could’ve gone two ways when the twins came up with the name “devilish”. You either loved it and thought it was sick or you cringed yet had to tag along with it for the boys.

Now you guys had the time of your lives with the band.

Weekdays after school would be spent entirely at the garage jamming out and drinking. You all sucked at the beginning, barely mastering your instruments but your charm stood out.

Georg and you became friends right away. His energy jumped right at you and you both became such a comedic duo.

He started the fire and you just added fuel to it.

You loved to prank your friends so much.

And innuendos. So many innuendos.

Once Tom joins into your madness, it’s over for everyone else.

It wasn’t rare for you three to come back home all messed up and pass out on Tom’s couch.

Gustav baking and making little snackies for the band while you rehearse !!

Well, you drank and lazied around more than rehearsing per say.

Tom, Georg, Gustav and you playing video games all coddled up on a couch together.

Thank god Bill is there to kick your asses so you actually play music.

Tom and You developed a habit of playing back to back. You thought it looked cool.

Gustav is the glue that keeps you all together, and away from major trouble. Half he time at least.

Quickly enough you gained a little fanbase in town.

At school you might’ve been the outcasts still, but the older and “cooler” kids took you in happily.

Not much changed, it was the same old story of drinking, smoking, trashing shit down but now with the slight change that everyone around you was discovering their sexuality.

You walk in and Georg’s wanking in the corner? Throw a blanket over him and continue with whatever you were doing.

Being around four young boys and their friends surely set you up to become just as shameless as them.

You guys got very familiar with one another and could not care less about changing in the same room or sleeping in the same bed.

You guys were starting to become a set of quintuplets.

You were probably one of the first if not the first person that Bill ever talked to about questionning his orientation and the little romance he had with his old friend.

If you happen to be a part of the community as well, Bill was your confidant as well. It was you guys’s little secret before coming out of the closet.

Needless to say, when Bill got the confirmation that he would be attending “Starsearch” he jumped right into your arms. You were one of his biggest supporters and he wanted you to be there for him.

Bill might’ve not won the competition, but it opened a door for your little band.

[rageprufrock]

Superposition | The Devil Judge WIP

Just a sneak peek into the inevitable outcome of me finding out that I can write a story about a 17 year age gap.

After the fire, Yohan wakes up every morning knowing that Isaac is dead. 

Elijah wakes up every morning convinced her father is alive. 

It's the crush damage of new grief each day, too big for her tiny body and too heavy for her to carry. It's worse than all of Yohan's years under his father's belt; it's not until he loses Isaac and Heejin, until Elijah cries herself unconscious in his arms, that Yohan realizes that his father had been a clumsy jailer, that for all his cruelty he'd been a blunt instrument compared to all the ways suffering can visit itself upon a person. 

It's a miracle Elijah is alive, surviving multiple complex fractures and then delayed treatment. They save the flesh and bone of her legs, piece her back together with literal pins and needles. Her x-rays are difficult to look at; the scarring across her ghost-pale skin is worse. She hurts, in a relentless way that is at first impossible to explain to a child, and then is so ordinary she goes quiet with it, turns it inward. She stops crying. She's too weak and immobile for her once-infamous tantrums. She goes quiet instead. She throws books, toys, anything that Yohan brings into her beautifully appointed private room to try to distract her. 

"It will be hard, and it will take time," her doctors say, with an infuriating paternalism, as if their performed empathy could dampen constant burn of searing fire across Yohan's shoulders, cut into the shell of him. "But she's young and she's resilient—she'll surprise you." 

For the first six months, Yohan spends his limited waking, functional hours desperately trying to hold back the flood with his bare hands. He wakes and he's in too much pain to function. He sleeps and his doctors adjust his pain management regimen. He wakes and he tries to comfort Elijah. He sleeps and he dreams about the skin grafts he's been informed are needed. He wakes and he calls Lawyer Ko. He sleeps when he knows Isaac's Social Responsibility Fund donation is canceled. He loses hours and entire days in the labyrinth of the hospital, winding between the VIP ward and the children's wing, meeting with Elijah's orthopedic surgeon, her occupational therapists, the revolving cast of nurses that transport her from procedure to scan to bedside. He arranges Isaac and Heejin's funeral, and ends up back as a patient when Elijah's meltdown at the gravesite has him tearing one of his barely healed graft sites trying to contain her flailing arms, to swallow all of her screaming pain into the bottomless well in the base of his spine. 

It's eight months and six days after the fire that Yohan hears Elijah laugh again. 

***

Later, he'll get a comprehensive readout from the hospital grapevine, but the day he meets Gaon for the first time, all he knows is that he's been summoned by the terrifying peds nurses because Elijah and her new friend have committed some kind of juvenile crime.

Yohan's not ignorant to the fact that Elijah is a nightmare child, but he's still a little confused about how a five year old who is—frankly—abysmal with her new wheelchair is any kind of threat to society. He fetches up at to the pediatric OT clinic fully prepared to act like a complete entitled asshole about this, because while Elijah is a monster, she's his monster and therefore completely innocent of all sin, original or otherwise. 

Except halfway down the hallway there, he hears the sharp cackle of Elijah's laughter, a goblin shriek of pure wicked joy. It lands like a punch, like a blessing, it leaves him lightheaded. 

When he rushes the door, it's to find Elijah in full glory, giggling so hard she can't speak. Her hair is tied up in a series of tiny ponytails that frame her face like a lion's mane, her face is covered in marker, and she's clutching a filthy orange cat to her chest. 

"Kang Yohan-sshi," says one of the nurses, who is trying and failing to look severe, from the way her mouth keeps wobbling and her voice is trembling. "As you can see, we have a situation."

"I—where did she get the cat?" Yohan asks, faint.

Another nurse, who is making no effort to hide her grin, says, "Apparently, they found him behind a trash can in the garden and snuck him into the hospital." 

Yohan slants his eyes toward her. "They?" 

"I'm really not sure how you missed her very obvious partner in crime," the nurse tells him, actively laughing now, and when Yohan turns to look again—turns to see anything other than the miracle of Elijah's smiling face—he sort of understands her point.

Because sitting next to Elijah is a skinny teenaged boy wearing Elijah's headband, all of his short hair pushed back and sticking out like a massive frill around his thin face, his nose colored black and whiskers drawn across his cheeks. He looks less embarrassed than he probably should be, and more incriminating, he's holding some contraption made out of stolen hospital supplies that looks like one those little fishing toys for cats—a single inflated glove hanging from the end—that the fat orange on Elijah's lap keeps reaching for with outstretched paws. 

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by staff and other parents who are barely containing their hysterics, the whole thing is even more batshit. Nurse Woo Yeji, the iron fist of the pediatrics ward, is looming over Elijah and the kid on the ground, hands on her hips as she booms out:

"Kang Elijah-sshi, give me that creature immediately." 

Elijah narrows her bright little eyes. "Oh no," Yohan mutters.

"My cat," she declares, her chin stuck out in defiance.

"He was so sick and skinny, we had to rescue him," the boy chimes in, with the admirable application of a pair of doleful, sweet eyes. It might be more effective if his face wasn't covered in washable marker and he didn't have a purple heart drawn over his left eyebrow. 

"That cat is at least 4 kilograms overweight," Nurse Yeji tells them both, unmoved. "And let me say: Kim Gaon, I thought you had better judgment than this."

The boy, Gaon, takes the comment with the ease of long familiarity with disappointment, but Yohan still sees his eyes go briefly flinty, briefly cold, before he pastes on a smile and says, "I rode my motorcycle into a wall. If you thought I had good judgement, that's your own fault." 

"Yah! Kim Gaon!" the nurse yells, which just sets Elijah off again into pealing laughter. 

And from the back of the room, Yohan watches the way this mouthy kid, this little punk, glances over to his niece, watches how the fake grin on his face dissolves for something softer—something run through with tenderness too old for his years. 

***

Kim Gaon is 17, orphaned, and a frequent flight risk from the group home he's been remanded to with both his parents dead. In the 13 months since his father had died by suicide, and the 10 months since his mother had followed, he's been picked up by the local cops at least a half-dozen times: for smoking, for drinking, for fighting. Yohan looks up photos of Gaon's once-happy family, reads SNS posts mourning the closure of their family restaurant, the police reports about the suicides, the note in Gaon's hospital file that notes that he's going into arrears for his parents' funeral costs. Kim Gaon's social worker talks about him with a sort of resigned apology, approaches Yohan's interest like another black mark in the boy's service jacket. She looks at Yohan's suit and briefcase, takes his business card and calls him Lawyer Kang, spills the whole of Gaon's history, reassures Yohan that however self-destructive, however volatile, Kim Gaon's never displayed any violent tendencies toward children, that Lawyer Kang should feel free to reach out immediately if he feels concern that Gaon has become Elijah's friend.

"If you'd like me to speak to him, to tell him you're not comfortable with him spending time with you niece, I completely understand," his social worker says. 

Kim Gaon has been treated for two different STIs and tried to kill himself with a motorcycle three months ago. The only people he has left in the world are a childhood friend from down the street and Judge Min Jeongho, who used to eat lunch at the Kim's restaurant every day. 

Kim Gaon is 17 and entirely alone.

Yohan smiles at her. "No need," he reassures her. "I'll handle this on my own." 

***

Too much of Kim Gaon's character reference is ultimately hearsay. Yohan doesn't trust himself, exactly, but he trusts his judgement, so he watches quietly from the sidelines, collecting data. Yohan hears all the nurses talk about how Gaon is achingly polite, how they can't understand how such a nice boy could be such an evident wild child he would ride motorcycles with reckless lack of self preservation. He watches Gaon do other peoples' homework, quizzing them on Joseon history and showing a middle schooler who's learning how to write with his left hand trigonometry. Kim Gaon plays Smash Brothers with a flock of elementary school kids and ruthlessly kicks their asses every single time.

The Kim Gaon that's considered a neighborhood menace, the one sends his teachers into a blind fury, that's the protective armor. Yohan knows from defensive adaptations. 

But being a nice kid isn't the same as belonging in Elijah's life in any meaningful way, Yohan acknowledges, and spends a pointless day drafting soul-killing discovery motions and wondering why he's devoting so much time to this distraction. Maybe it's how Elijah's sleeping through the nights better, communicating her pain and what she needs better. Maybe it's how she tells stories about her friend Gaon, and it briefly feels as if they've traveled backward through time, that Yohan's watching her for the night, hearing and becoming deeply invested in all of her day care drama. 

"Elijah-ah, why do you like Gaon so much?" Yohan asks her one night, midway through the intricate ritual of her bedtime routine.

From her bed, Elijah says, "Gaon is funny and cats like him and also his parents are dead, so someone has to take care of him," and without missing a beat, points her sparkling princess wand toward the closet, commanding, "Check there, too." 

Yohan climbs off of the floor where he'd been checking under the bed and goes.

"Would you want to see Gaon even outside of the hospital?" he asks her, doing a careful four-point inspection of the closet: more clothes than one child could ever wear, 200 pairs of shoes, a stuffed sheep the size of a horse—no monsters. "Closet's clear."

Elijah makes a considering noise. "Gaon-oppa said he was a really good cook, so I want to eat his food," she decides, and shy now, she waves Yohan toward her, tiny hands flapping. "Samchon, come here. I want to tell you a secret."

Yohan cherishes every secret he has with Elijah. Since she was born, he's kept so many for her: that she stole a cookie, that she's really really not scared of thunder, that she loves her uncle best, that church is boring. 

"I'm ready," Yohan promises, and sits at the edge of her bed with his most serious expression. 

Elijah looks left and right, as if there are spies around every corner, before she cups her hands around her mouth and Yohan curls over her so that she can whisper:

"Sometimes I forget I'm sad about Mom and Dad, but Gaon-oppa says that's okay because I never forget that I love them." 

It lands somewhere in Yohan's soft underbelly, in the forever ache of his scare tissue. He looks down into Elijah's solemn little face, her riverstone eyes, and he wonders what kind of benevolent God allows this—forces children to patch one another's broken hearts. He used to wish that he would have died instead, that he could trade himself for Isaac, for Heejin, but he's comforted Elijah through too many nightmares of his own death to entertain it any longer. Love's always been a chain, whether wrapped around his wrist with a cross or trapping him in his father's house. 

"You will, you always will," he whispers back. 

"And they love me, too, of course, in heaven," she tells him, with the haughty confidence of a spoilt only child, who'd grown up with three adults circling around her in constant adulation. 

"And I love you here, on Earth," he says, and does not add, your grandfather loves you, too, from where he's burning in hell.

Elijah goes suddenly quiet, thoughtful and a little distant, and Yohan waits patiently until she says at last, "Gaon doesn't think his parents love him in heaven." 

Yohan stills. "Did he say that?" 

"He told his friend, the unni that visits sometimes," Elijah reports, and staring dead into Yohan's eyes, she adds, "I was hiding behind a curtain listening. He also said he can't be her boyfriend." 

"Okay, well, time for little goblins to go to sleep," Yohan says, because he absolutely cannot start laughing about this because somewhere out there, in the beautiful hereafter that Isaac so fervently believed in, he would be furious if Yohan encouraged this kind of behavior.

***

For all Yohan's been investigating the mystery of Kim Gaon, he's wholly unprepared to be confronted by the reality of the boy while sitting in the hospital cafe at half past five, working his way through a stack of files for court the next day.

"Kang Yohan-sshi?" comes a voice, and when Yohan looks up, it's into the shaggy bangs and thin face of the boy who makes Elijah laugh, standing awkwardly at the edge of his table.

"Ah," he says, flipping his pen across his knuckles. "You're Kim Gaon."

Gaon's eyes round. "You recognize me?" 

"The nurses tell me you're friends with Elijah," Yohan says, and waves at one of the empty chairs at the table, shuffles a few folders around to make room. "Please."

It takes more than a little maneuvering for Gaon to take the offered seat, between his backpack and his crutches, his leg still in its cast, and Yohan offers him a steadying arm, takes his bag, helps shift the table this way and that way. Gaon looks mortified the whole time by these small courtesies, stumbling over thank yous and apologies. It tells on him in ways Gaon can't possibly know, but that Yohan can't possibly ignore.

"What brings you to my temporary office?" Yohan asks, when he's sure the kid isn't going to tip over and break anything else, and is only in immediate danger of blushing to death.

Gaon squares his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, says, "I wanted to talk to you about a cat."

This is how Yohan learns that the orange furball that he's first seen that day in the OT room all those many weeks ago is a stray that's been named Gam, and that Elijah's youthful enthusiasm for petty hospital-based crime has undergone a metamorphosis toward more elaborate heists.

"Not that I don't admire her ambition, but I'm pretty sure you'd notice the yowling lump in her sweater when you pick her up from OT," Gaon says, still nervous and too polite, darting wary little glances upward at Yohan. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she started arguing about how cold it was going to get and I had to admit defeat."

Yohan feels the corners of his mouth curl up, reflexive. "There's wisdom in recognizing when you're beaten," he says. "And I appreciate your letting me know."

"Sure," Gaon says before going quiet for a long measure, some unfinished sentence still hidden behind his lashes. Yohan's patient, waits him out, and is rewarded when a half-minute passes and Gaon says, with a brittle courage and poorly concealed vulnerability, "I—I'd take him with me if I could. I like Gam. But the house where I have to stay won't allow pets."

Yohan can hear a universe in between the confession here: that Gaon must have been worried about the cold weather long before Elijah even noticed, that he'd tried to find an answer all on his own. Yohan feels, tugging in the hollow underneath his breastbone, a hurtful recognition of a younger version of himself, all those raw edges fraying, and maybe—sitting here—he can understand a little of Isaac's quiet sadness, the way Yohan had carried all his suffering alone, as a matter of course, without ever trying to ask for help. 

He looks at the slope of Gaon's shoulders, the wrinkled collar of his school uniform shirt, his terrible haircut, the little divot of a piercing in his ear. Yohan thinks about the sunburst of Elijah's laughter and all the terrible things he's willing to do to sustain it; it's strange to realize he hadn't anticipated something so easy, something that wouldn't hurt at all. 

"Do me a favor," Yohan sighs.

Gaon's head darts up. "Um—if I can?" he says.

"Back me up when I tell her that I thought long and hard about this, and that I'm going to be a strict taskmaster about this cat," Yohan says, with a rueful certainty that there's no way in hell that Elijah is going to buy this narrative, because it looks like the sun is rising in the brightness of Gaon's eyes, the pink happiness of his too-thin cheeks. This kid couldn't lie effectively if his life depended on it. In this light, Gaon looks a little like Isaac, if Isaac was too thin and too hopeful, all gamine pleasure; it makes Yohan feel his bones creak just to look at him. 

"I will, I absolutely will," Gaon promises, smiling now and still shy, but so achingly sweet that it makes Yohan want to buy him hot chocolate, to tell him he's done a good job, to ask if he's eaten dinner. 

He forebears, and starts packing up his work documents instead. 

"Come on," he tells Gaon. "If I'm going to make a fool of myself trying to trap a feral hospital cat, you're coming with me."

Yohan ends up scratched to hell and back, his hand-tailored wool trousers covered in mud, while  Gaon laughs at him with a wide-open happiness that makes something in Yohan's chest feel too big for his rib cage. He decides not to think about it in favor of fetching Elijah from her PT and ferrying her down to his car, where Gaon is waiting for them both, a sulking Gam zipped into the front of his hoodie like an uncooperative child. His smile could light every building in Gangnam. Elijah's shriek of pure joy when she spots him leaves Yohan half-deaf for the drive home, and so the warm patter of Elijah and Gaon talking in the backseat rolls over him in indistinct syllable noises until he drops Gaon off at his group home and helps him to the door. 

"Thank you, for today," Gaon tells him, starry and still rosy, covered in cat hair. 

"Elijah's already drawing up plans for shared custody, so don't be a stranger," Yohan warns. 

He'd been ordered by Elijah to participate in an exchange of contact information with Gaon because everybody in the car had a unique and unaddressed relationship with the trauma of abandonment, and so of course Gam could not be suddenly bereft of one of his humans.

"I won't, I promise," Gaon swears, and nods back toward the car, where Elijah is holding Gam up against the window and waving his paw at them. "You should get her home."

Elijah talks nonstop during the drive out of the urban density of Seoul into the forested beyond where their family home is perched on a melodramatic cliff above a lake. Yohan hears about her nurses, her rivalry with another little boy in OT who sounds like he has a world-ending crush on her Gaon-oppa, and listens to the way Elijah sometimes stops mid-sentence when Gam meows at her and then replies, as if she can understand cat. 

Whatever is bubbling in his veins, its too violent to be the warm kindness of joy. This ferocity feels like some holy gratitude, feels like the way Isaac used to talk about God. Yohan has never any good at faith, but he thinks—to himself, so loudly he hears it over the roar of blood in his ears and the chattering happiness of Elijah, vividly alive—he thinks, thank you, thank you, to whoever is listening: to God, to fate, to fortune, to the fucking cat—to Gaon, waving at Elijah with both hands, a smile on his face and Gam curled close against his chest. 

[strangelittlestories]

It was 4am and Treasure was forcing down a third can of energy drink when thing got *weird*.

The library was hazy with that kind of quiet hysteria that blooms late at night, when impending deadlines crush the soul down into fertile soil for strangeness.

The fluorescent strip lighting and insufficiency of windows didn't help any.

Treasure was tired in a way that banished coherent thought and made sleep an impossibility. Her eyes kept trying to close, but when they did, she just saw spots of dark light floating on the inside of her eyelids.

She stared at those spots, daring them to make sense.

Imagine her surprise, then, when those spots - those holes in the reality of her - began to stare back.

Treasure opened her eyes. She looked down at the energy drink and considered setting it aside (she did not). She looked up again and found she had opened a new document on her laptop.

"MAKE AN OFFERING" It read in bold Grotesque font, each letter an oddly elegant blunt instrument.

Treasure looks from the energy drink to the laptop. Her hand moved on its own, pouring a splash of blue neon liquid onto the keyboard. She resisted the urge to wipe it off. She failed to resist the urge to swear.

The liquid fizzed and hissed on the keyboards and there was a scent of sickly fruit tinged with ozone in the air. The keys, already gummed up by solidifying chemical sweetness, began spitting out characters onto the document.

At first, they were nonsensical - no words, just a jumble of letters, punctuation and blank space. But as Treasure's eyes began to unfocus, the whole mess began to coalesce like one of those magic eye images (but made out of ASCII art).

The figure on the screen was a mess. Eyes like black holes. Lines running down them like cracks or oily ramen stains. Hair like thunder.

"What are you?" Treasure whispered.

Amongst the slurry on the screen, a few letters became bold and spelled out a sentence.

"I AM OVERDUE. GODDESS OF BURNOUT."

"Do you..." Treasure's voice was quiet, reverent, hesitant; a hymn in the key of awkward. "...do you want me to worship you?"

The letters swam. Rearranged.

"YOU ALREADY DO."

"What do you want from me?"

"GET SOME SLEEP."

"I ... I can't. I have a paper on Applied Theurgy due tomorrow."

"NOT A REQUEST."

Treasure's eyes closed. Sleep came.

When she awoke, days later. She found out that she had submitted a paper to the Arch-Professor. It was junk. The same mess of forehead-smashed input through which the goddess had appeared to her.

She had received a B minus.

The title of her paper was "It Is Better to Fade Away: An Accidental Communion."

It had been submitted with the note: "Please Give My New Disciple A Good Grade."

Treasure went in search of coffee.

[incognitobobcat]

Headcanon Tomáš

Photo Source: @jojogreg8441 on Twitter

Name: Tomáš Vrbada

Birthday: July 11, 1993

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Birthplace: Prague, Czech Republic

Languages: Czech, English, Chinese (dialect unknown), learning Japanese

Fighting Style: Ninjitsu and Pencak Silat

Weapon: Karambit

Religion: formerly Catholic

Favorite Colors: Silver and light shades of blue

Favorite Foods: Svíčková, Řízek, Rajská omáčka, Madam Bo’s cooking, homecooked meals, Gyoza, and food from the Osaka night markets (ie. Kuromon), enjoys food in general

Favorite Beverages: Water, Pilsner, milkshakes, and some juices

Favorite Pastimes: movies and tv shows, music, walks in nature, traveling, enjoying various foods from restaurants and night markets

Favorite Actor: Johnny Cage

Favorite Movie Genres: Action, adventure, suspense, psychological thrillers, comedy, and whatever else from other genres that appeal to him.

Favorite Music: Contemporary music, alternative metal, classical and soothing instrumental music.

Favorite Dating/Hangout Spots: Osaka night markets, cozy and casual and cozy restaurants, and romantic and peaceful natural spots.

Personality: He is stern, intimidating, and quiet on the outside. He is able to command the respect from his subordinates. He is assertive in a firm and confident way. As a trained assassin under two established clans, he is true to his oaths and never backs down from kombat. He is loyal, courageous and deadly in his profession. As a person, he is kind, gentle, soft-spoken, eager to help and caretake others. He is intelligent and kind. He enjoys favorite past times with people he likes to hang out with and a woman he’s interested. He can be funny and is a good actor.

Ideal Woman: Tomáš likes a soft and gentle personality who can really connect with him on an emotional level. He values kindness, compassion, and empathy. He needs a partner who can give him the emotional safety and space to be vulnerable. Being a giver himself, he loves it when a woman graciously and enthusiastically accepts his gifts and chivalrous gestures. He also wants a woman who can handle his constant need for reassurance and appreciation, so constant attention and physical touch are very important to him.

Turnoffs In A Woman He Dates: Abrasive, angry, negative, careless with how she words things (straightforwardness is a gray area as it varies from individual to individual), blunt to harsh, overall oné who isn’t “feminine” in behavior. Fiercely independent women are frustrating for him to deal with. He may not be aware of this: even though he has fought alongside strong women who are fierce warriors, he has traditional views of how his woman should be and prefers her to be meek and dependent on him, as it feeds his masculine ego and need to look after someone who is weaker.

Deepest fears: To expand on the last point mentioned above, Tomas’ need to look after someone weaker stems from his past traumas of losing loved ones. He has a fear of abandonment. Subconsciously, this is his way of being in control of what he views as his and those who he sees are in need of his help. This brings him alot of gratification and allows him to feel like he is in control, sometimes in an intrusive way.

Furthermore, When Tomas feels he is not being seen and recognized for his acts of kindness, this will further fuel his fear. When someone can do for themselves what he desires to do for them, he interprets this as a message that he is no longer needed, and therefore discarded.

Turn Off For A Potential Partner: Once Tomas has decided that you are the woman that he wants because you check all of his boxes and meet his needs, he will physically and emotionally latch onto his partner. He would want to be with her as much as he can. Tomas is a very physically affectionate person and will want to cuddle, hold hands and make out as much as possible. He loves frequently having sex as a way to pour himself into his partner and bond with her, and it helps him de-stress, so he will make sure that he gets this as much as possible. This may drain the woman, especially when she is tired or not in the mood.

If the woman isn’t on the same level as Tomas is regarding falling in love at his pace or is more reserved regarding his physical and emotional needs, is not ready to open up about the details of her life, or cannot be emotionally present for reasons ranging from business to tiredness to being with girlfriends, he can get frustrated, insecure, and extremely jealous, to which he will verbally express this making him come across as whiny. If she is careful with her body and not want to have sex during certain times of the month out of fear of unwanted pregnancy, Tomas may eventually accuse her of making excuses to not want to be intimate. In his mind, there must be something wrong with him or she may be falling out of love that she’s distancing herself from him. Repeated reassurances may fall on deaf ears as he may shut down and walk away, or argue her points in such a way to make her feel guilty. The woman may feel obligated to give in to soothe his fears and build resentment over time or she may have to end the relationship.

Tomas expects his partner to be able to pick up on what he is feeling and can’t shut down when his partner doesn’t. Because he fears abandonment, he can be emotionally selfish where he will emotionally manipulate his partner with guilt trips on how much he has done for her, her not appreciating him, and playing the victim to get reassurance and physical affection from her. This may make the woman feel like her efforts are not good enough, which affects her self-esteem, she may feel abused and and be emotionally drained to the point of apathy. Her pulling away from him will further trigger his fears and Tomas may cry and beg, promising to change. If she chooses to stay, things may get comfortable for the old habits to come back. If she walks away, Tomas may double down on his efforts, making it even harder for her to leave.

These behaviours only manifest behind closed doors when you are his person. Outside of that, things are normal to untrained eyes.

Healthy Tomas: If he is healthy and secure in himself and his partner, Tomas is the most giving to her beyond the physical. He will make her feel like she is his priority and she will feel emotionally safe and contained by him. He is empathetic and is attuned to her moods and needs. He also knows when he needs his space and can communicate clearly with his partner, and vice versa. He is also able to walk away from a toxic relationship or once he feels that a relationship has run its course while holding on to the good memories. Tomas is respectful of his partner’s refusal to be intimate for her reasons and will make sure that her needs are taken care of when she is tired or stressed while putting his feelings aside. He is a great friend and lover, and wants to build a family with his future wife when she is the one. He will make an excellent father and husband and would die to protect his family.

[zodiyack]

Pregnancy (A drabble)

Pairings: Jace Wayland x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, pregnancy

Words: 526

Author's note: Just a little idea. I can make this a full fic / miniseries. Only Y/N and Clary have gone in to see Magnus in private.

Masterlist | The Mortal Instruments Masterlist

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read it,  @simonsbluee,  @thewarriorprincessxo,  @sebastianstanslefteyebrow,  @livlaughquinn,  @bubsonnobx,  @bunnyweasley23

Magnus hesitates when he passes Y/N. His expression shifts to one of concern and curiosity. "I'm surprised you're here."

Her brows furrow. "I'm a Shadowhunter, of course I'm here."

"Not that." He chuckles. "Given your predicament, I wouldn't expect you to join them on this journey."

"Why's that?" She asks, genuinely curious.

Magnus looks at her with amusement, then hovers his hand over her stomach. "You're with child."

Clary gasps in place of Y/N, who is too in shock to even react.

"No- I'm not... I mean, I've been sick lately, just... I'm not pregnant." She shakes her head, in denial.

"Y/N, I may not like your kind, but I would not deceive you. You. Are. Pregnant. I recommend that you withdraw from any strenuous missions, avoid putting stress on you and your baby, as well as putting yourself in danger if you wish to keep your child." He orders her. The topic is simply dropped when he returns to Clary.

(After the fight with the vampires)

"You really shouldn't have come, after what Magnus told you?" Clary announces to the group, but directs to Y/N.

Y/N widens her eyes and whips her head in Clary's direction. "Don't."

Jace looks at the two in concern and tilts his head. "What did Magnus tell you?"

Clary opens her mouth to speak. Y/N quickly replies, warning the redhead. "Don't. It's not yours to tell."

Izzy and Alec look at each other with confusion, but wait for Jace to reply. "What did the warlock tell you, Y/N?"

"Do we really have to do this right now?"

Clary rolls her eyes and speaks up, "How long are you gonna hide the fact that you're pregnant? They'll notice eventually! I mean, what about Jace?"

The three's eyes all widen at the reveal. Jace looks upset, but Y/N is livid. Seeing her reaction, Alec's expression darkens and he steps forward.

"Even if that is a concern, it's none of your business, Clary." Her name drips with venom when it comes from his mouth. "You've been ogling Jace since you got here. Your jealousy cannot hide forever either."

"But- Jace, she lied to you!" Clary averts her gaze in shame when he doesn't acknowledge her.

"Alec is right. Though I'm upset Y/N hid it..." Jace looks toward her with a sorry nod, "I still wish it would've been her to tell me, especially since it's between us. I've tried to brush off your advances, but I suppose I must be blunt now. I plan to stay with Y/N and my unborn child. The fact that you've known of our relationship and continued to pursue me has made me question whether I want to train you or not."

It's Izzy's turn to step forward. "We can talk about this later. For now, we need to get back to the institute and put Simon in the infirmary."

"Yeah." It's the only word Y/N lets out before she walks past Clary, bumping her shoulder on the way. Jace follows, also ignoring Clary. The girl can only watch and realize how much she's hurt him.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful. LoTR. on ao3.

There was for many years an hourglass upon Elrond’s desk, a tall ivory-and-glass thing from sunken Númenor. 

As a little child Estel liked to turn it and turn it, and would sit for hours upon his foster father’s lap following the mother-of-pearl etchings on the handle with his fingertips and watching the sand shift softly. 

For a time it was too heavy for his small wrists to turn; but Elrond with his keen hearing would know when the last grains came with an end, and knew when to turn it without lifting his eyes from his papers.

 Elrond had given it for him to hold, when he told him the truth of his name: Aragon, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur’s line and Isildur’s grim failure. 

“Yet also to the courage of his people, and their skill,” Elrond told him. “Your forefather it was who made this time piece as a gift to me. From the glass-rooms of Armenelos it came, the last of Isildur’s works of beauty. It has been of good use to me, and good memory; I give it to you, that you should remember him with gratitude, as well as bitterness.”

“Yet bitter is it what you say to me,” said Estel, who was Aragorn. He was startled still, and yet not surprised entirely; for the blood of kings ran in him, and had at times left an uneasy premonition upon him. 

Still he would have remained been Estel, and no lost kingdom’s wayward heir; least of all in this century, this Age of the world, with an evil reckoning brewing in the distance. 

He turned the hourglass in his hands; a Mannish means of counting time, not to be found in other elvish kingdoms, but common enough in the house of Elrond Peredhel. “Keep it, Master Elrond. I cannot have it as my own, ere I am Isildur’s heir truly. These hurrying moments that are my lifetime shall be a heavy load to carry, I judge, and my course too rough for such a delicate thing.”

“Then keep it I shall, until you wish to reclaim it, or your score of years are run to their course,” said Elrond; and laid upon Estel’s shoulder the heavy comfort of his healer’s hands, which he felt for a time like a yoke as well as a kindness. 

It rested between a tall orchid Celebrían had found once in her expeditions in the wilds of Ennor, a narrow and tall and very orange creature, the last of its kind on these shore - and on the other side was his pile of used quills, which he tended to keep until they were worn through into stumps, too blunt to be sharpened.

He used it little, after that day; but at times Arwen his daughter came, and stood by the chair where Aragorn had sat with bent shoulders to her his name. 

Her fingers, long broideress fingers, touched the waves and leviathans Isildur had carved, with careful deliberation, in the last days of his youth, the dying of his empire. Her eyes grew clouded, then; not with the memory of the past, but her own designs, a future seen with the force of her want. Her own lord of man, his dear face not like any other’s; her own cities crowded with the smell of stone dust and salt.

She left it there, warmed by her skin, and went away from it but for rare and secret visits; but Elrond at times looked heavily upon it, as once he had not. 

That was another Age of the world. There is now an hourglass amidst Tar-Elessar’s instruments - behind the inkwell of Gondorin silver, besides the whittling of an eagle in flight his eldest daughter has wrought him. 

Many gifts have been to him, the king well-returned; but none quite as ancient. Elessar turns it in his hands, when a heavy ruling keeps him at work long into the night; Isildur’s hourglass, grown light with the strength of his manhood, feels always a little terrible to hold.

[thoughtsandbones]

The flesh you thread between my blood and bones slows down the pendulum of death

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc OC (codename: Blue) 💀💙

WARNINGS: Mention of profanity, scars, fluff, anxiety, medical inaccuracies, surgery, blood, gore and just getting the POV of our friendly neighbourhood masked menace.

Plot: Doctor Ruhari Hari Kaur (OC is South Asian ☺️) joins the 141 again, but this time as their doctor. After the betrayal of Shepherd and Graves, Task Force 141 begins their hunt on his whereabouts and locating Makarov.

PLEASE reblog and like! Hope folks are enjoying the series, I am building up characters and plots, cos I have a lot ideas and just been enjoying writing :D

Song inspo: Don't Fear the Reaper - Tom Jones, American Idiot - Green Day, After Dark - Mr.Kitty, 1973 - James Blunt

I grew up with the OG MW2 game, so there are some references to the old one, so kind of a mix of both the OG and the new timeline... (Also I'm ignoring the OG Shepherd betrayal and keeping in line the one with the new timeline..)

All rights reserved to the rightful owners of Call of Duty Modern Warfare.

spelling and some grammar mistakes as I am bad at times... :/

(FYI: bold sentences... that are like this... are supposed to describe redacted data/info to the plot... ;] .. )

Please do let me know how you all are finding this fanfic! :D

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14 and PART 15 I

Part 15 II

Ghost stared at the yellow sign reading in black NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT on the white double doors that led to the operating room where Soap had been wheeled in by both doctors, surrounded by other medical staff.

As he walked behind them when they rushed ahead he heard them shouting all sorts of medical jargon. You were so calmly ordering for mLs of drugs with too many Zs. He looked down at his skeletal gloves, the fake bones once white now stained red with Johnny's blood.

Looking up again at the sign he thought of you. How your hands would also be bloodied, pouring deep into Soap's body, mending him.

You gotta save him he pleaded in his head. He couldn't lose Soap, not now. Not after what they had been through together in Mexico, Chicago... now this.

'C'mon Lt!' Soap's words rang through his skull. Guilt flooded his chest as he remembered moments of how blunt he had been to Soap...

Squeezing his fist tight, Ghost sighed and then walked down the corridor until he found himself a chair in an empty room and plopped the chair right outside those double doors. Sitting down, Ghost winced with pain, the cut sobbed as he sat down and moved his torso.

"Fuuuck" He growled quietly.

Leaning back, he shut his eyes letting the darkness wash over him.

...

Soap was lifted onto the surgical bed. As you and Peyton scrubbed in, the nurses dressed him. Through the window of the scrub room you watched as he was intubated, his bloodied clothes discarded in the yellow hazard bin.

Once scrubbed and prepped, you assume the lead role in the surgery. Neuro was your speciality, this was a spinal injury. This is your arena. Closing your eyes, you breathe in.

"It's a beautiful night to save lives" You say, opening your eyes. Peyton eyes crinkle, a sign she was smiling under her medical mask.

"10 blade" You say and the nurse gives your instrument. You place the edge of the blade two inches above the bullet wound, applying pressure with your index finger you slide the blade across the skin unveiling the flesh beneath.

"Suction" Peyton says and she moves in with the machine that gargles up the blood from the exposed muscle

Peeling back the muscular layers you clamp down areas needing support. Soap's lumbar was one display. No major damage could be seen.

"Bullet must've missed the lumbar" Peyton says

"L1 clear" You say inspecting the upper lumbar region, with your blade you move down

"L2 clear"

"Suction" Peyton says

"L3 clear" you say and then move down

"Suction"

As you looked around L4, there was a sudden gush of blood and the monitors started beeping rapidly

"Found the bullet" You say "Clarissa, Kerrison rongeur" holding your left hand up whilst holding the area with your blade as Peyton continued suction. The beeping subdued.

"Need another pair of hands for this" You say

Peyton gave the suction pipe to the nurse on her right and then took hold of a clamp and forceps.

Cutting away at the connective tissue and muscle you peel the layer as Peyton grabs the shrapnel

"Hard part now.." She said after depositing the shrapnel in dish

Rapid beeping started again. You and Peyton both move together, suction, cutting, threading and assessing any damage to the surrounding nerves.

"Pulse at 120" Clarissa said as she took hold of the forceps from Peyton

"Shit" You say as more blood gushed from the wound which was quickly slurped away from the suction pipe.

"Sutures" Peyton said and she began to sew up the first damaged nerve.

There was a increase in beeping

"Pulse 150"

"Let me do it" You say and Clarissa swiftly gives you a new set of sutures.

After adjusting yourself you look down "Surgical microscope please" And the microscope was brought down to your level and adjusted to your eyeline.

Focusing your eyes through the lense you begin to graft the a new nerve from the damaged nerve, cutting the damaged part and sewing the ends.

This was your element. Fixing the broken. Mending the hurt.

After 5 hours of intense surgery, you and Peyton were nearly finished. The beat of song playing off the speaker was echoing across the walls of the OR. Nodding your head along to the drum of Green Day's American Idiot as you finished suturing the final layer of Soap's skin.

"Nice finish" Peyton said as she cleaned the area "Stats are good" she added looking at the various monitors that beeped rhythmically along with the music.

"Pause music please" You said, one of the nurses pauses.

You cut the last suture and place the forceps onto the tray held by Clarissa.

"Good job Dr Kaur" She said nodding at you. You nod back and return to admire the handiwork which was being dressed by Peyton and another nurse.

"He is stable and stats are looking great" Clarissa says as you eye the monitor. You turn to her and smile, putting more effort to crinkle as your mouth was hidden behind the mask.

"We will take him back to the ICU just for observation" Peyton said as she moved over from Soap to you and Clarissa.

"I'll help take him" Clarissa said "Well done"

"No thank you" You say "Thank you everyone" You say loudly to the rest of the medical team all who respond with a cheerful thanks back.

"I'm gonna head back" You say

"I'll keep you updated, and let you know when the team can see him" Peyton says taking her gloves off as they left the OR, she tapped you on the shoulder and walked off.

Taking off your surgical cover, masks and gloves you wash the grimy sweat off your hands. The smell of strong disinfectant soap filled your nose.

Leaving the scrub room you walk off back towards the double doors where you had rolled Soap in. He was okay now. Had to wait until he was awake to see if there is any nerve damage to his legs...

Checking one of the clocks on the hallway you realise it was 11:49am, you longed for a hot shower and then the comfort of your bed. Walking through the double doors, midway through yawning you were met with a giant man sat in the middle of the hallway. The skull face gave you a jump. It took a few moments to register that it was Ghost.

"Lieut-"

Ghost leapt up from his chair and nearly toppled you over as he confronted you

"Is he alright? Did he make it?" He blurted, his eyes widening at you.

You stare back into his eyes, only just able to make out the blue iris.

"He's okay." You say, reaching your right hand up to to his shoulder.

"His legs, said somethin' abou' his legs" Ghost huffed at you

"Ghost, he is stable and in the ICU, regarding his legs, we will have to wait until he wakes up to assess any damage." You to him calmly

He takes in this information, your calm demeanor. Of course you know what you are doing he thought to himself

"Are you okay sir? You ask

"I'm okay" Ghost said quickly.

You look at him curiously, there was something off about him.

"Okay then.." You say moving away from him.

Ghost moves towards the chair and picked it up with his left arm, the sudden weight made him wince and groan as his unattended wound stretched and weep as he moved.

"Fuuck" He whispered to himself as he set the chair back down and placing his right hand over his wound on the left side of his waist.

"Lieutenant what happened?" You say rushing over to him

"Nothin'" He said trying to push you away. You scoff at him and roll your eyes.

"Ghost, I'm in no mood for bullshit" You say sharply at him. Ghost looked at you, eyebrows narrowed, your eyes slightly red and clearly tired.

He was being rude again.

"I got a nick" He said motioning to his wound looking at your stern face, eyes narrowed. Clearly annoyed. "Can you patch me up?" He asks, your stern face relaxed, softened.

"Right, come with me" You say letting out a big sigh and head out of the RAMC building and then back to the infirmary in Building 2.

Turning the light on you spritz the med bed and give it a quick wipe.

"Get your vest off" You say plainly to Ghost who follows your command. He unties the straps and then sets his vest aside. Attempting to take his hoodie off but he couldn't as the wound caused him to wince further.

"Need some help?" You say as you look over to Ghost who was clearly struggling.

"Alrigh' then" He said and braced himself as you walk closer to him, bringing your hands to his body, rolling the hem of his hoodie slowly and carefully.

Ghost winced again as you went near his waist.

"Might have to cut it off" You suggest looking up at him.

"Go on then" He mumbled, the edge of his mouth curved slightly under his mask.

Grabbing a pair of clothing shears, you cut the hoodie off Ghost, revealing a damp black shirt underneath, his bare muscular arms on unveiled. You look at his waist, and see a patch of dried up blood, parts of his shirt clung to his skin dried and wrinkled.

"Sit on the med bed please" You motioning to the bed and then you walk off to the bathroom to wash your hands. Sleep eludes you. Drying your hands you head back to where Ghost was, who was now sitting crouched on the edge of med bed.

Putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing a stool with your foot you slide close to Ghost, and lift the t-shirt. As suspected the parts that clung to the skin where dried stuck to the wound. An impromptu weak bandage.

"Gonna also have to cut your shirt around the wound, it's dried to the gash"

Ghost looked down at you.

"Can't you bandage it?" He asks and the expression your face held clearly showed he asked a stupid question.

Your look of disbelief subdued, and grabbed the scissors. Ghost's heart quickened. He didn't mind being shirtless. But not when he has been in the field with limited availability to shower, smelt like shit and especially in front of a woman he was interested in...

"Wai-" Ghost began but he was too late, you began to cut his shirt off him, exposing his sticky sweaty scarred skin.

As you cut away at the fabric you notice various deep pink and white scars adorned on his chest and abdomen. Dirt had built up in areas, but it was expected. A shower is the last thing you need in the field.

Grabbing some saline water and a towel, you wash away dirt surrounding the remaining cloth covering his wound. Gently, with your gloved fingers you peel the cloth away revealing the gammy wound. Inflamed and dirty.

"Lift your arm" You ask and Ghost does so and watches as your pour more saline to the wound, his eyes focused on the precision placement of your fingers on his waist, not ogling him.

He slightly winces as your fingers graze over a sensitive area. As you examine the area, you notice it was bumpy, sand had gotten into the wound.

"This area is very inflamed. Lie down, it'll sting as I clean it" You say gently

Ghost shuffled back and then. laid down and then turned his head to watch as you focused on cleaning his wound, your concentration unwavering as you focused on the task at hand. He noticed the lack of talking, just blunt and no joy. But then, you did just finish a 6 hour surgery.

He gazed at your tired eyes, noticed how you rapidly blink every now and then, your mouth pursed, no smile on show. You grabbed some small gauze and wiped the wound.

"This is going to need stitches" You say

"Hmm" Ghost mumbled "I'll let you get to work, I'll just be here" He adds

You laugh slightly and then finish cleaning the area before starting to suture the two layers of fatty tissue and muscle, pulling the flesh together again, wiping away any blood with clean gauze.

Ghost felt himself slip into the bed beneath him as you got to work, focusing on his breathing; in for four, hold, then out slowly for four. Drifting away, away from the chaos of the last 24 hours. Away from the chaos that still looms ahead of him.

<CUE FLASHBACK> 23rd August 2010 Ashfield Base, mess hall "Sergeant Riley" You said as you plopped down opposite your superior in the mess hall with your lunch, the hall was mostly empty, the radio played on the speaker overhead. "Cadet" Sergeant Riley said not looking up from his cup of tea and half-eaten sausage roll. "C'mon sir, you know my name" You quipp at him as you take a bite of your pizza. Simon looks up from his cup and stars at you, your eyes widened and the grin appeared on your face. "Cadet Ruhari" He sighed looking back at his sausage roll. "Cadet maybe no more" You say cheerfully Simon looked up quickly "What do you mean?" He asked "Captain asked if I wanted to come join full time, commit proper into the army." You said "Ah" Simon said quietly "Ain't you got some good brains for uni?" He added and looked at you as you shrugged "Maybe can do it later, but I do enjoy this" You say motioning the space around you. "Nothin' enjoyable about war" He said sharply You were taken aback "Of course not sir, I just meant as in discipline, camaraderie and the protection of one's country" "Hmm" Simon mumbles giving you a slight cold stare with his sharp blue eyes. In that moment of silence, the radio station at base start playing 1973 by James Blunt. The echoes of the piano filled your body and you began to twiddle your fingers to the beat of the drum. Looking at Simon you start to grin, he looks up at you as you begin to mouth the lyrics: Simona.. you're getting older Your journey's been etched on your skin... "Simonaaaa" You sing quietly and giggle Simon gazed at your joyous smile as you continued to mouth the lyrics of the stupid song that made a twist of his name. He watched on as you exaggerated the 'mona' part of Simona and laughed along with you. Simon knew the Captain was going to offer you a place in the army, but he had hoped you would decline. Going out in the field changes people. Changes the best of people. Turns them into someone else. Would you still be the same after you see the horrors of war? Simon wondered as he watched you finally finish the now cold slice of pizza. He would hate to see that beautiful smile disappear.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

[luvrsux]

umm umm hthis is my first time requesting something (the “ing” in requesting autocorrected to “nnghhh” help)

um im kind of like nervous idk but basicaly i had this idea UM so like i umm the reader is like she goes to like guitar and shes in like guitar class w/ law and basically your supposed to do a group project where u like learn a song with a group of 2 or more people but the reader and law are both socially awkward so theyre forced to pair together 😭😭 n then they become friends n sh idk

pelase and thank you!!

(you literally changed my life with your amazing fics)

thanks for the request! \(◦´-`◦)/♡

“This is Awkward”

word count: 3.8k

a/n: new layout omgggg?? and i CHANGED YOUR LIFE?? HELLO?? ilysm enjoy

summary: you meet law at a music class and neither of you know how to socialize, which is no brainer. after being forcefully bumped together to group you realize that the both of you seem to be very alike.

contents: fluff

‘If being socially awkward was a job, I’d be filthy rich…’

You thought while sweating bullets from your forehead just by sitting next to the man you’ve caught yourself staring at for weeks. Your body tensed up as if frozen solid and you couldn’t even bear to glance at the boy next to you. Your music teacher discussed the rules and guidelines of the new project you were groped into. How did your innocently enrolling into a music class for fun turn into you panicking about starting a conversation?

You worked wonders on the guitar ever since you were in single digits. Drums, trumpets, or violins never piqued your interest, but the famous chordophone instrument made sparkles grow in your eyes. Now, you enrolled in an afterschool guitar class for extra credit and to have fun. You were at the top of your class only to be in second place by none other than the culprit of your now skyrocketing nerves; Trafalgar Law.

Law enrolled in the class shortly after you did. He looked stone-cold and extremely intimidating, according to the rest of the students. They all feared him once they saw the printed ink on his fingers, hands, arms, and chest. His piercings on his ears and the one on his lip didn’t make it any better either, but the raven-haired boy seemed to not give a damn. He slouched in his seat without a care in the world until it was time to show off his talents. Everyone adored his musical ability as soon as he enchanted them with his talents like some sort of siren. You couldn’t lie, you were jealous, but his excruciatingly amazing good looks were making it really hard to hold a grudge.

Now, you were paired up with the man himself, and your teacher not only forced you to perform a song together but also sat next to each other for an open discussion before class ended. You could faintly smell his pine and cinnamon scent, the smell sending shockwaves through your body. You both heard the buzzing of conversation amongst your paired peers and realized you two were the only people who weren’t talking.

You heard Law clear his throat. It was apparent he was just as, if not more, awkward than you were. He folded his lips and glanced in the opposite direction while you gave him one quick glance. This was all too painful.

“So…” Law said lowly. The grumbling of his voice nearly startled you considering this man had very few words. You quickly turn to him only to turn away just as fast.

“So…” You say similarly. An amazing conversation you two shared, truly. Law felt like his body was about to explode and pulled on his crew neck sweater to let air flow through his chest.

“What… kind of song do you wanna do?” You ask awkwardly, your voice sounding similar to a robot. You saw Law click his tongue and left his mouth agape to think.

“Not sure…” He replied. ‘Was that it?’ You thought. You can clearly tell this man had very few friends growing up. He bounced his leg up and down as some sort of stim for his nerves.

“Okay this is like… really awkward…” You blurt out, your nerves only making your mouth more blunt. Your cheeks began to flush of pigment and you exhaled in slight laughter. Law nodded.

“Oh, absolutely” He agreed. His pensive demeanor seemed to relax once you began to recognize the thick tension between you two.

“Okay well erm… I’m (F/N)” You shakily held out a hand to the awkward boy only for him to eye it for a few moments. You flinched when you felt him finally grasp it.

“Law” He managed to crack a small smile when the awkwardness began to die down. You two shook hands before it was separated.

“We can do some sort of… duet? Do you also do vocals?” Your voice was low and timid, still not quite fully adjusted to speaking to someone you weren’t fond of. Law scratched the back of his neck nervously and avoided eye contact.

“I do… Sometimes…” He says as if he was ashamed or embarrassed by it. You didn’t expect such a dark and cold guy to be a singer.

“Cool, Me too…” You tried not to stammer or fumble on your words but he was making it really difficult. “Um… The teacher said we don’t have to make our own song” You shrugged.

“What are you insinuating?” Law asked, finally landing his cold eyes on you to hear you out. You lightly blush, seeing his entire face and how defined it is in front of you.

“I’m saying… We can just do a cover of a song… To save us the trouble and the uh” You fold your lips and gesture your hands. “Painful awkwardness…”

“Yeah, smart…” Law shrugged. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly retracted. You could’ve sworn you saw a light tint of pink on his tan cheeks.

“My place or erm… Yours?” He asks, seeming as if he just asked you to do something horrible. You raised an eyebrow and felt your body temperature rise all of a sudden. ‘What? Why is he inviting me over all of a sudden?’

Law seemed to sense your concern and massive confusion with a blink of an eye and rolled his own.

“The teacher said we should meet up someplace outside here to work on it more” Law explained. Those directions were completely foreign to you. She must’ve said it while you were panicking internally just by sitting next to Law.

“Oh, right! Yeah, right…” You laugh nervously and try to create a facade that you knew the whole time, only making it more painfully awkward than before.

“We can… Do mine” You say, your fingers interlocking with each other out of nerves. Law nodded slowly at your statement.

“Cool” Law said lowly. He pulled out a sleek, noir device out of his pocket to unlock it. His screen was presented right in front of you with an empty contact. You stared at it, completely puzzled.

“Oh, right… My number” You say, grabbing his phone to type in your personal digits so you two can keep in touch. Your thumbs were practically vibrating while you moved them to type.

“Erm, here…” You handed his device back to a distracted Law, who seemed to be gazing out the window next to him before quickly turning his head to you.

“Oh, uh thanks,” He says, quickly smiling before tucking his phone away into his pocket. It was only polite for you to reciprocate the same thing—but you didn’t.

The teacher said it was time for everyone to depart and you couldn’t thank her enough for putting an end to the dreadful interaction. Law was quick to grab his bag and hook it onto his shoulder. You were right behind him before he stopped and rubbed his chin to finally face you.

“I’ll.. Text you when I get home… Kay?” He says. His body standing tall rather than sitting down like before was intimidating. He was practically a skyscraper compared to you. You gulped and nodded.

“Got it” You say, your voice slightly softened and you give him a false smile before quickly strutting past him. One simple guy made your body hotter than the surface of the sun, which is exactly how you’d describe his looks.

Despite his painfully terrible social skills, his looks were entirely different. His jawline was chiseled and his fingers were toned. His piercings perfectly fit his character as well as his tattoos. Not to mention the facial hair that did wonders to your brain. You hated how he was more talented than you but also how attractive he was. Surely he knew he could charm any girl he stumbled across but with social skills like that, it was only a fantasy for Law.

The cold breeze from the outdoors felt like paradise against your skin. Finally being able to get fresh air when you were drowning in Earthquaking nerves. But the nerves you once experienced back in class were nothing compared to the ones you’ll experience when Law comes over.

-

When he did, you stared up at him with doe eyes at the doorway. He wore different attire, a more loose and short-sleeved shirt. The only similarity was that he’d never retire the iconic dark color black. He scratched his head while he stood tall before you.

“Uh, hey” Law waved. You giggle out of nervousness before you side stepped aside to let the socially impaired man inside.

He looked inside your apartment like a lost puppy and kept his hands tucked into his jean pockets. He stood uncomfortably by your kitchen island while you locked your front door.

“Um…” You hum before turning to him. He seemed to be intrigued by the decor of your place or was finding any small excuse to avoid eye contact. “Thirsty? Hungry? I uh… Have snacks” You offer, approaching the kitchen only to brush past him. Law caught a whiff of your sweet perfume and it caused his cheeks to flare.

“Oh, how about some sandwiches?” You say with a smile, observing the ingredients you had to assemble the delicious treat. You turned your back to a cringing Law, as if you said the most vile words to ever exist on Earth.

“I don’t do sandwiches…” He grumbled. He felt more comfortable leaning against the table. You raised an eyebrow followed by turning your whole body towards him.

“What? Why?” You ask, quickly folding your arms. Now, you were suddenly craving a sandwich only for it to be stomped on by your awkward house guest.

“I don’t like bread?” Law says with a sassy tone. His tone made you wanna kick him square in his cold face but, of course, you retracted.

“So you’re picky? Gotcha’” You tease, grabbing two clear glasses and filling them up with fresh, purified water.

“It’s just bread. ‘Didn’t know you were an enthusiast for sandwiches” Law rolled his eyes and wrapped his hands around the glass to take a sip. You eyed his tattooed fingers, finally spelling out what they had said; “Death”. ‘Odd choice…’

“Sorry I wanted to make my house guest feel welcome” You grumble before taking a sip. You didn’t receive a word from Law, only a cold glance and a relieved exhale after drinking the beverage.

You walked over to your propped-up guitar that was splashed with stickers of bright colors. You plugged in the amp as well as the instrument itself.

“Oh, my bad…” Law said lowly. Besides bringing himself, he brought his own guitar. He sat by you on the couch, pulling out his instrument.

His sleek, black guitar contrasted dramatically with yours. You two sat in the living room with reasonable space but it still made you nervous. Law stood close by you, leaning over to plug in his guitar. You could practically feel his breath on your neck while he effortlessly plugged it in. You both shared quick eye contact before you quickly turned away. Law sat down in his seat to strum his guitar. It sounded perfectly tuned meanwhile you struggled to tune yours.

“Um… Need help?” Law watched you struggle for a few moments and you felt as if his eyes had daggers of judgment. You glared at him.

“Sure… I guess” You grumble in defeat. With those words, Law stood up to stand right beside you.

His inked hand wrapped on the headstock of the instrument and his fingers pinched the tuning pegs. He leaned over next to you, not quite knowing how close you two were. Law only got closer to strum the guitar. The sound didn’t seem to satisfy him, as he was still close to you to tune the guitar. You heard him grumble in his chest after hearing the wrong tuning.

“One sec” He murmured. He gave the guitar one last strum and it was music to both of your ears. It satisfied the both of you and you saw the cold man carve a smile. Meanwhile, you felt like your heart was about to pump out of your chest. Law looked at you, hoping to see a satisfied smile in hopes that he did a nice job but that was completely absent. As soon as he saw your flushed face and trembling expression, he realized how close he was. His face burned as he quickly moved aside.

“Sorry, I… Um,” He cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt awkwardly. He folded his lips before strutting off back to his seat, gripping the neck of his guitar firmly. If it were a real person, I’d be as bright as a plum in his grip.

“It’s… alright” You managed to finally say through the nerves and pure anxiety. A moment of silence lingered between you two like a swarming disease.

“I can show you my Spotify playlist… For song suggestions, I mean” Law says, already shuffling through his pockets for his phone. Your head perked up at his suggestion, not even considering his idea. Timidly extending your hand out to grab his phone, he anxiously placed it in your hand.

You silently grazed her eyes upon the long list of songs of different genres and artists. Law seemed to have a plethora of different tastes, being the type of person to listen to two totally different songs depending on his mood. Most of which you recognized, and you saw a recurring pattern of your favorite musical artist. The frequency of the songs popping up with each swipe indicated that Law, too, enjoyed that artist.

“You like them?” You presented the profile of the mentioned artist that Law seemed to be following already. His face grew red by your words, causing nothing but embarrassment to seep through his expression.

“Yeah, I guess…” Law stammered on his words and tried everything in his willpower to avoid keeping eye contact. You grew a bright smile at his response, relieved that you found something in common with the awkward man.

“Cool! I—uh… Really like them too” You say, swiping your finger across the screen to find a song that you liked most. Law’s expression softened.

“Oh?” Is all Law managed to say. He ran his fingers through his locks and cracked a small smile, just to put the pensive awkwardness to rest.

“I don’t know many people who know them” Law continues. You gave him a happy glance, the first time ever since you two first exchanged names.

“Me neither. Here, we can do this song then” You say, handing back Law’s personal device he itched for. The song presented in front of him was also a song he similarly enjoyed. He chuckled, the low noise sending chills down your spine.

“I’m down” He shrugged.

Your hands pulled up sheet music digitally on your laptop beside you. Law seemingly did the same through his own device so the both of you were all set. Your house echoed with music as a warmup, it mainly being Law doing a staircase exercise for his fingers. You watched his fingers move smoothly and rhythmically as if he didn’t even have to keep his eyes on the neck of his guitar to make sure his fingers were on the right notes. Law could beautifully tame his guitar with his eyes shut and on the back of his head if he wanted to. Law caught your gaze, almost falling into a similar one.

“Ready…?” He said lowly. You snapped out of your small daydream to focus on the assessment at hand. You clicked your tongue and nodded profusely.

“Yeah-! Yeah, let’s get started!”

You two practiced the song for the first time and it went smoothly. You loved Law’s vocals, slowly lowering your own voice so his own was more apparent. He really was some sort of siren in disguise. You were sworn that if you kept admiring his vocals and talents, you’d be locked under some sort of spell if you hadn’t already.

I start to drown out, forget the sunrise

Are we alone now?

This planet on repeat, left frozen, boiling heat

Too late to find out, too late to find out

And I don’t need love

Your hands hiccuped on the cords, causing the music to stumble to a temporary halt. You grumbled at the fact you messed up a single cord but softened once your eyes trailed on a concerned Law. He had his brows furrowed, looking for an answer at the sudden halt. He telepathically asked you what was up, as if it was clearly spoken in your ears.

“Can’t seem to do this cord… Sorry,” You reply. Law placed his instrument on the other end of the couch to approach you. Each step you took matched your pounding heartbeat. As his inked hand lowered to rest on your frail ones, you were ready to explode.

You watched Law’s silvered necklace dangle on his neck as he leaned down toward you. The swinging of it was enough to hypnotize you as if his charming looks and voice weren’t enough. Law moved your fingers on the correct positioning the sheet music instructed you to do.

“Now strum f’me” Law directed. You halt for a moment, staring up at him for what seemed like decades before you did as told. It was like Law had your body in a chokehold with how obediently you grazed your pick on the metal strings. The note echoed through the walls, Law was more than satisfied with the correct noise in comparison to the hiccuped sound you performed before.

“Thanks…” You murmured. Law took his eyes from your hands, that were now in control by his own, and made eye contact with you. His cheeks grew vibrant, quickly retracting his hands. This time, though, his distance was still pretty close.

“Sorry, I keep messing up and you have to help so much…” You say bashfully, setting the instrument aside. Law cleared his throat once again and scratched his neck. You were starting to notice something consistent.

“It’s alright—I mean, I don’t mind… Helping you, I suppose” Law seemed like an anxious pre-teen with the way he was talking. Truth is, your doe eyes and sweet scent altered the way he saw you. You were cute and shared similar ambitions, Law couldn’t help but feel like a nervous little boy around you.

“You sing… Really nicely, by the way,” You abruptly compliment him, and that nearly made his heart stop. He eyed the neighboring as if it were the most beautiful sight to ever exist.

“Yeah, you too… Thanks” Law tried to cover his vulnerability by rubbing his face, but it was apparent. His terrible social skills and how easy it was to make him flustered, he was more than nervous around you.

“No wonder you’re better than me… I can’t even tune my guitar” You bashfully say, relaxing your tensed body into the seat more comfortably. Law raised an eyebrow for a moment before interlocking his arms together.

“So? You’re great at playing and singing” Law complimented. Despite his nice words, his tone was the opposite. It was like slipping off tin ice, cold as ever.

“Be proud in your playing, ya do it pretty well. Better than everything Iv'e seen in that class at least” Law continues. The eye contact shared between you two during a short pause was bone-chilling. You gave a soft smile.

“Thanks, Law. You’re not so bad after all” You’ve completely relaxed since you met him for the first time. He was quite awful at socializing, but he seemed nothing less than a sweet boy underneath.

“Whaddya’ mean?” Law raised an eyebrow. He nonchalantly leaned his body against the armrest of your couch.

“You’re so painfully awkward, I was worried I’ll forever suffer from awkwardness” You put it blunt, considering there was no other way to put it. You saw Law’s eyes widen and quickly separate his gaze from you out of embarrassment.

“Right erm-… Sorry, I guess…” You giggle at his embarrassment which you suddenly find rather adorable. His contrasting cold nature paired with a nervous attitude, you couldn’t help but blush.

“Hey, how about we go out for some coffee to get to know each other better” You suddenly say. Your lips move uncontrollably to say those words, never once asking anyone out in your life. Not like you never wanted to, but the idea of explaining your feelings was nerve-wracking. You quickly snapped back to reality. “Not like-! A date or anything, just like… Um- Settling in?” You squeak.

Law stared at you with tinted cheeks and wide eyes. He stammered, trying to find the right words to say but to no avail. Law’s indecisiveness was enough for you to completely backtrack on your embarrassing idea.

“Sorry, Forget about it, don’t worry-“ You panicked but Law quickly cut your frantic sentence in half with a clear of his throat. Your face was as bright as a bell pepper.

“No, it’s alright It’s just-… Never really been asked out before” Law was trying everything in his power to cover his face from embarrassment. You stayed silent, but your brain was ricocheting with thoughts. ‘No one asked him out before? How? Look at him! Er- Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually…’

“I—… Accept. It’s a date then” Law adjusts his shirt, presumably because of the added body temperature his nerves provided. Truthfully, Law had been sweating bullets the moment he stepped foot into your home. He was sure you casted some sort of spell with the scent of your perfume.

You eyeball him with dumbfounded eyes. His words racked your brain and you were in disbelief that he actually accepted, let alone called it a date. You couldn’t help but decompress your nerves by laughing, which caused a flustered Law to stare at you

“Sorry, I was just so embarrassed that I didn’t think you’d say yes” You relaxed your composure. Law soon did the same and you both exchanged relieved giggles and chuckles. This day couldn’t get any more weird.

“How’s tomorrow afternoon sound? We can do more than just sit for coffee” You exhale, smiling in bliss rather than in discomfort like how you’ve been resorting to all evening. Law nodded. The pigment of his cheeks seemed to relax.

“Sounds good t’me” Law gave you a half smile, and something told you that this time it was genuine and not full of embarrassment. You giggle.

“Alright. And there will be no sandwiches, kay?” You joked, only to receive an eye roll of Law from pure sass. Knowing that you managed to make a playful joke about him was a sign that you two were now friends, and maybe more of it all goes well.

“How kind of you, (F/N)-ya. Let's get back to playing" He replied sarcastically. Law tried not to make an amused smile but his body was too weak. He couldn’t help but crack his lips into it while picking up his guitar into his hands.

“Don’t mess up this time” He winks. Your heart was sure to burst and your heart rate was off the rails. You giggled, cheeks moderately pigmented to display your feelings.

“Shut up”

all licensing and ownership belong to eiichiro oda

[regulusstarz]

pspspsps! i hope you're still taking requests, but if not, feel free to ignore!

can i ask for step 2 headcanons about vianca with a transfem reader? either romantic or platonic is fine, but i do prefer romantic!

thank you, have a lovely day!

I do, i do. I don't get many requests so i immediately started working on this when i saw it. I apologize if its a bit messy, i had to calm myself down while writing this. If there's more specific headcanons you want, feel free to ask!

Step 2 Vianca x Transfem! Reader

-Vianca is your biggest supporter and defender. She's very honest and opinionated, so she will hold a personal grudge against anyone who might be mean to you. Someone accidentally tripped you? She's giving them a death glare for the next 2 days. They're being mean to you for some reason? The reason doesn't matter, she will be calling them out and in the worst-case scenario force teachers to do something about it.

-very open to having you in her friend group and will be pretty nice. Sure, she can still be a little blunt occasionally, but ofcourse not intentionally mean.

-Any hobby you have, Vianca will gladly hear about it. You play an instrument? That's astounding, can you play something for her?You bake? She'll gladly taste test something for you!You do ballet? She does too, she'll gladly watch you or give you some tips if you want them. You draw or generally like to create things? That's amazing! Vianca will, as always, gladly look at whatever you have created. And if you create something for her she'll cherish it and tell you how nice it is.

Romantic headcanons:

-Loves having sleepovers or hanging out in eachothers rooms. Like just sitting there, maybe playing with each other's hair and giving eachother occasional kisses on the cheek.

-Very proud of being your girlfriend. She won't be overly affectionate in public, but will hold your hand and hug you if you want it.

-If you don't have the same classes, she'll happily bring you to and back from class. Maybe even hold some books for you if they're very heavy.

-Her main way of showing love is quality time and words of affirmation. She wants you to know how much she loves you, how much you mean to her, how pretty she thinks you are. And hanging out with you is one of the greatest things in the day! Even small moments. Like you hanging out with her friend group and her, having a picnic togheter, walking to class togheter..everything is great to her.

-Favorite kiss is a small kiss on the cheek or hand. And her favorite kind of hug is when you're just leaning against eachother, maybe your head being on her shoulder.

————————————

This was a bit short, because we don't have step 2 vianca in the game yet so i don't have much to base this on. Also i did more general headcanons, because Vianca would most likely see you as whatever you identify as. And i can't really talk much on transfem experiences because i personally wouldn't be able to be transfem, but if you do want it to be more centered around that feel free to send another ask!

Have a lovely day yourself, thank you for the request <3

[flugsammy]

Heyy! (Yes I’m still awake) BUT I HAVE A REQUEST AND I REQUIRE YOUR BEAUTIFUL WRITING SKILLS. (Get to this whenever you feel like and if any requests I make in the future make you uncomfortable just delete them!)

Anyways *ahem*

Blackhat and Dr. Flug with an s/o that is a songwriter? (Have fun with this!)

Thanks for the request, Gigi! :)

✈️Dr Flug✈️:

💙It is a fact for us that Dr. Flug doesn't really like music. Don't take him wrong, he just didn't find the kind of music that made him feel. Not until you appeared in his life.

💙Yours songs really made him feel something different. Maybe it was the way you sang? The metaphoric style you wrote your lyrics? However it was, it completely messed with him.

💙In random times, you'd caught him humming your songs under his breath, or imitating the beats with his fingertip without noticing. Now he knows why Demencia always tried to find his taste in music (and she's slightly jealous that YOU were the one who finally found it).

💙If you ever write him a song, FOR HEAVENS, this man would melt in front of you. At first, he wouldn't know how to react. Should he say a simple 'thank you'? No, no, that'd be too little. A moment of silence would pass where you would simply be staring at his blushing face, and then he'd finally give you a brief hug of thanks. Our doctor would certainly have difficulty demonstrating affection, but you could always see in his face (even covered) how grateful he is for you. Later, he would probably write you a thank you letter. He was always better at writing down his thoughts than actually saying them.

🎩Black Hat🎩:

🖤We don't really know Black Hat's vision of music, but it's clear that he wouldn't like anything too modern. He's a traditional man, after all.

🖤As we saw, his main hobby is read newspapers, and if he had to listen to something, it'd probably be the scream of his victims, and not some rhythmic notes.

🖤Despiste that, when feeling too stressed, he listen to some classic music. Happily, it helps to calm down the urge of putting his minions' heads on a plate. His opinion on general songs would not change because of you. There are many things that Black Hat hates, and just few things that he likes, so it'd be a challenge for you to get him to compliment you on your work.

🖤Writing him songs wouldn't be a big surprise for him. If you do something too sappy, it will definitely make him raise an eyebrow and show uou the stink eye. Maybe write a lyric that boosts his ego? It wouldn't be too surprising, he's used to it.

🖤Writing something he likes wouldn't be an easy job, but it wouldn't be impossible. After several times of failing, you'd finally write something that he doesn't hate. While you sang and played for him (on the instrument of your choice), you'd swear you saw his frown disappear for a few seconds. It could be your imagination, you were too focused to think too much about it.

🖤After the end of the song, a deafening silence would fill the room. You were expecting the usual bluntness. The look on his face was indescribable, making you think that maybe your song was so bad that even angered him (wow). But when you finally open your mouth to say something, he would say:

—You did good.

🖤He would never mention this event to anyone, but every time you remembered it, a smile would appear on your face.

Thank you for reading!🌻☀️

[sisterdivinium]

Liking or disliking fictional characters is wholly dependent on subjectivity, but as there will be those baffled by others' attachments, I thought it might be interesting to delve into an unforgettable, uncomfortable scene featuring Ava and Mother Superion to see if the latter's so-called cruelty "should" soil our opinion of her as some apparently believe it must despite later developments.

Let us begin with a quick recapitulation and a summary of what we see when we arrive at this scene: we are at the Cat's Cradle soon after Ava's coercitive conduction there (rather than autonomous arrival), hostile ground very reminiscent of the orphanage where she was mistreated by another group of nuns for years on end. On the other hand, the convent is familiar territory for Mother Superion, her turf, her natural habitat, even, something she would protect at any cost. She is the active enactor of "cruelty" while Ava is its (not-so-passive) recipient -- a woman facing a girl, the representative of an institution facing a lonely individual with no such backing, a believer facing a sceptic, a master and a rookie, someone who once held a certain position and lost it to someone else who holds it now.

There are a number of opposing values embodied by these two characters in this moment, but perhaps, most of all, what thickens the atmosphere around them is their own relationship to the halo: the object which brought Ava back to life, thrusting this outsider into a secret, hermetic order, is the same coveted object that ambiguously rules the OCS, the cause of both grief and anticipation, essential to a beloved sister warrior's death as well as to the aborted ascension of another to the simultaneously prized and feared status of halo bearer.

Here is a dead girl reborn and hungering for some new kind of life, set against a living woman so well-used to and prepared for death as only an experienced, battle-worn soldier can be.

The clash is inevitable.

Even their positions in the scene itself announce it: the vertical aspect of it, with Ava on the floor, her foot stuck in the wall (the same extremity which first twitches and denounces her resurrection after her being unable to use it for so long) while Superion towers darkly over her, symbolically supported by the dogma of centuries with which she is all but blended while Ava pops out in contrast with the empty, colourful wall. The hierarchy is more than clear and, as the one more advanced in said hierarchy, Superion is bound to be the one wielding the metaphorical whip for which her cane is an apt replacement as an instrument of visible, chastising power.

Here is a superior ready to admonish an unruly subordinate, heartless rules and expectations ready to punish someone who did not even choose to be placed under their majesty to begin with.

Of course we side with Ava, how could we not?

She is the weaker link, an innocent being condemned of a crime she did not commit, moved to tears by vile accusations and conduct -- she is the protagonist whose point of view we have followed from the start of the show two episodes ago, whose inner thoughts we are privy to through voice-over comments the likes of which we do not receive for any other characters for the duration of the story.

Superion, however, is introduced only now, a few running minutes prior to this conflict. We don't know her, we don't trust her, we are not allowed any intimacy with her and so the only impression we can rely on is the one provided by Ava's perspective.

Boss bitch, wicked stepmother... Those words are not neutral.

Our opinion, then, is smartly "manipulated" thanks to the lack of independent information we can gather at this point. We have no choice but to condemn Mother Superion, her bluntness, her harshness by the end of this tense dialogue with Ava.

Interestingly, as vicious as her words about Ava are in the following confrontation with Vincent -- callous, hurtful words that stick with us and reinforce our negative impression of her ("a sinner" who "killed herself", an "aberration", a "cancer") --, those terrible words Superion uses were never directed at Ava, not to her face. Calling someone a coward, as she does within the study, might be offensive, but poor Ava's tears might have flowed more abundantly had she heard these other terms being used about her.

Turns out Mother Superion was honest when talking to Vincent earlier.

She didn't go easy indeed, but she also never revealed to Ava the full extent of her contempt. There was some amount of self-restraint and regard for the newcomer despite appearances.

When speaking of Superion's "cruelty" towards Ava, it's "sinner", "aberration" and "cancer" that come to mind... But she never spoke those words to Ava, just to Vincent.

We hear them, we may judge her sternly, but what did Ava actually get from her? Is it really that much of a stretch to understand Ava's forgiveness, to the point where she demonstrates she cares about the nun's view even before their encounter at the Vatican in 1x09 is over, when she attempts to sway Mother Superion's opinion of her by telling her how she is fighting and protecting her friends even if it looks like she's running from trouble yet again?

In reality, what Suzanne speaks of within the red room is Ava's accident, of her death caused by overdose, of how it must have been a nightmare... There are bits of false or biased information given her source, but there are bits of truth in there as well, if tactlessly delivered. The accusation of suicide is heavy, that of coward is perhaps a tad too strong... But nothing of the words exchanged in that moment, however heightened they are by Sylvia de Fanti and Alba Baptista's shining talent, can come close to the rawness displayed in the conversation she has with Vincent -- a conversation Ava is not present for. "Coward" is a speck of dust compared to "aberration".

Of course there's a reason for this mixture we, as an audience, are likely to make between points of view. This was a practical, clever way to nudge us towards sympathy for Vincent and antipathy for Superion, as a means to enhance the later effect of the former's betrayal and the latter's change of heart at the end of s1. Without this scene, both of those events lose their lustre -- but with its inclusion, it seems there are those who are distracted by it and who will still point an accusing finger at the nun, insisting on seeing her in a much more negative light than Ava herself could, oblivious to the character's evolution as the story unfolds.

If at first we rely on Ava's impressions, this scene provides us with Vincent's perspective, which flattens our view of the situation and might lead us to ignore the surprisingly emotionally charged reaction on Superion's part -- which should vehemently suggest to us that there is much more happening underneath her mask of severity.

Moreover, taking Vincent's "side" seems reasonable enough in this episode, but the revelation of his shaky moral grounds further on should at the very least cause a viewer still full of antipathy for Suzanne, even in spite of her redeeming actions, to question whether they truly wish to maintain their ideas when this fallible man who is cruel in his own way has helped cement them.

We could make a case for these two scenes, the one between Ava and Suzanne as well as the one between Suzanne and Vincent, as being only one. Looking at them together is the best method of ascertaining their effects to the fullest extent.

As a result of their confrontation, Ava is left crying... And, at the end of the debate between the priest and the nun, Suzanne leaves the scene in tears as well, if more contained ones. There's a strange sort of equivalence for both women, as the consequences are the same, their emotional reactions are essentially the same and both are left feeling deeply hurt.

That correspondence is perfectly understandable, if shocking at first to those who haven't yet regarded these events with a wider consideration. For, despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary, despite their myriad differences, their power imbalance, the way they are shown on-screen, visually antithetical to one another, the truth is that Ava Silva and Mother Superion here are precisely the same.

The environment, the camera cuts, the authority... It's all a decoy.

If we look at the relationship between speaker and listener, between two individuals who are supposedly participating in the same process of communication together, both Ava and Suzanne choose the same approach: one which negates the very possibility of dialogue, of exchange, of alternating turns between speaking and listening. They are as two negative magnets, irrevocably repulsed by one another's identical charge -- hence the also identical result of both women being moved to tears in the outcome to their meeting.

Mother Superion is, as we know well, strongly prejudiced against Ava when first they are brought together... But so has Ava formed an opinion on her and on the Order of the Cruciform Sword. Both of them have judged the other based on sources of knowledge they see no reason to suspect: Suzanne takes the word of a fellow nun for granted, keeping to class loyalty, while Ava trusts her empirical learning in the direct contact she had with other nuns. Opening an interesting epistemological debate, illustrating how serious the failures of understanding the world through only one fixed method are, ignoring that a complex, multiple existence requires multiple points of view in order to better perceive its truths, neither Suzanne's faith nor Ava's direct experience can fully qualify them in dealing with the other. Both fail to see through the image they have construed of one another, trusting in the surface, in stereotype all the while closing themselves off to genuine connection with one another.

They have both made up their minds about the other party prior to any real dialogue, so their interactions simply cannot be done in good faith -- not by an Ava who doesn't take the nuns or their vocation (or their grief) seriously, not by a Mother Superion plagued by issues of self-esteem and envy.

Another element determines their proposed equality. It is possible that some degree of recognition regarding Ava and their common status, on Suzanne's part, takes place fairly early on, feeding the animosity.

I've been asked before whether Suzanne might not have seen her younger, foolish self in Lilith's arrogance, but it would be just as feasible to assume she might see herself reflected in Ava as well, in her impulsiveness.

If Suzanne might be linked to Lilith through a shared instinct of aggression, then she might as well see a connection to Ava through her indiscipline, her refusal to conform during that initial stay at the Cat's Cradle.

The horror of seeing oneself in "the other" should not be underestimated. It is a moment of realisation wherein this "other" is revealed as not-so-other to begin with as it carries a portion of ourselves in it -- or vice-versa, which only serves to denounce how artificial the obstacles we erect between one another truly are. We can't separate life into neat little boxes of "us vs. them", we can't build hierarchies, rigid orders based on how alien someone else is when we see through the lies and accept that either we, too, are monstrous or that those "monsters" out there are just the same as we.

And if Superion does see something of herself in Ava early on, it's no surprise that she would reject it as well as Ava just as she rejects herself and the echoes of her own actions, her own brashness on that fateful night where her Mother Superion was indirectly slain by her own hand, as a result of her own indiscipline.

That preoccupation with her girls and their safety which Suzanne demonstrates, despite Vincent's inference of her having other intentions when she pushes Ava away, is highly unlikely to be insincere.

Moreover, Ava is an outsider... And, in some capacity, so is Suzanne.

Imprisoned within her own guilt and sentiments of inadequacy, she distances herself from others to such a degree that she might well be on the outside looking in.

Just as Mary can pinpoint this fault with unerring precision and play a central part to Mother Superion's turning the tides at last, so does Mary fulfil the same function in regards to Ava, opening her eyes as she does Suzanne and strengthening the parallel between the two women.

Mary identifies and helps correct both women's conduct as Ava and Suzanne both pushed others away in their own fashion and for their own reasons; the problem is much the same, as is the catalyst that ultimately drives them towards a solution.

That solution, of course, is building bridges instead of burning them down; it's coming to terms with the fact that there is something shared between even those who seem most inimical. Ava and Suzanne are the same, like an estranged pair of mother and daughter who finally set aside their generational differences or incompatibilities, who finally reject the power of fabricated opposition to embrace a much more authentic, honest way of seeing the other as well as themselves and meet in the middle. They accept the fact that what sets them apart is not as important as what brings them together; they overcome the easy, lazy, automatic barrier of antagonism (not without a struggle) with the end of mutual benefit where once there was only mutual injury, lifting the veil or banishing the shame or fear of seeing underneath it only the most familiar of faces.

It's no surprise, then, that their ultimate reconciliation comes through a literal scene of recognition as that in 1x09. Whatever horror there might have existed in Suzanne's facing her reflection in Ava fades as Ava gets the opportunity to be the one staring into the mirror for once.

This scene, once again masterfully played out by Sylvia and Alba, wouldn't even be possible without the previous negativity surrounding their relationship. Now it is defined by what renders them equal; now that equality is not denied and so there is no further miscommunication between them.

This is all reinforced, of course, in s2, when Suzanne opens up to Ava about her time as the halo bearer (thus, as someone who has been in Ava's position, someone just like her) as well as when Ava tells her she will do what she must alone, for the sake of the others -- and Suzanne understands and supports her despite the lessons learned during her own tenure as the warrior nun.

In a world so large and complex, where we are more and more prone to defining ourselves against others as we attempt to reduce some of that maddening complexity, the definitions that really allow us to approach and coexist with our fellows are those that provide healing, that pull them towards us rather than not. Only they can reopen the routes for clean, generous communication, unhindered by problems of malicious (mis)interpretation, and, therefore, facilitate the genuine human connection we all so crave.

So, once more, it would seem that a negative occurrence in Warrior Nun begets positive outcomes.

What we think of as a vicious, savage, unforgivable attack is, first of all, bad but not as vicious or savage as we might initially feel it is -- just enough to affect the very person responsible for it as much as her target, which should be enough of a hint as to how truly merciless this character is(n't). Moreover, it is the first, shaky step both characters take in the sinuous, parallel journey with a common destination that betters them both.

Funny how all of that "cruelty" amounts to a fairly (or deceptively) simple question.

One which, like it or not, prompts Ava to ponder and act, to move, faithful to herself. Her more immediate answer is what we see at the end of 1x03, of course. But the following events in the narrative, in Ava's life, force her to consider what it might actually mean to live -- and we know how that progresses, where that takes her.

And so might we reconsider alongside Ava: our sympathies, our understanding of characters' motivations, whether any of them can be fully right or wrong... If we're paying attention, we shall see that all of them triumph and commit blunders regardless of whatever moral standing they possess, of how central or marginal they are to the show, of how much we might individually like or dislike them. They're built as human as can be, themselves a reflection of our own sprawling, complex world, where most things are relative rather than absolute.

Prejudice is blinding. Identifying and not shying away from our commonality is infinitely more conducive to social life, however difficult it might be to act so. We all of us are susceptible to judging others incorrectly. Even difficult experiences can make us grow us as people in the end -- if only we're willing to find out how.

Now, I cannot speak for all self-avowed fans of Mother Superion, but I find that her presence and importance in the story and in Ava's path is abundantly clear.

There are other reasons to love her, but the next time someone claims it strange to be so keen on a character who was so "mean", perhaps it will be a jolly good opportunity to help them realise how, as Ava and Superion themselves, this person might just be a little too caught up in their own premature conclusions. They are, by choosing to ignore the very well-wrought development of both characters, thanks to one another, adopting the very posture they claim to abhor in Suzanne by denying her complexity and groundlessly seeing her as nothing more but caricature.

And to do so is to fall for the very trap this wonderful show is so earnestly trying to warn us against.

[echantedtoon]

I finally got her done my gosh!! I got her in color and full body! Took too long. I might change the colors of her clothes and her clothes in general later but for now I'm just happy to get her done.

Warnings: Will contain topics such as abuse, almost selling of a human, scars, wounds, etc.

If you are not comfortable with these things please don't read.

Name: Angel Kowareta

Age: 22

Height: 4ft 6 1/2 in

Weight: About same weight as Shinobu a bit heavier by a few pounds or so.

Personality: While usually quiet, Angel has no problems speaking out if she wants to. Tries to be understanding and kind of anyone who speaks to her but if she doesn't like someone or disagrees with something, has no problem with saying her opinion.

Can come off as rude or blunt. Sometimes not on purpose because she's not used to someone interacting with her who didn't either disliked her or found her rude.

She's very self conscious about her body. Developed a slightly blunt sometimes rude exterior as a coping mechanism for it as a result.

Genuinely will respect you if you respect her, otherwise prefers to remain neutral in most situations.

BIO:

Angel was born on the outskirts of a small farming community. Her parents were small farmers and really they lived a simple life but it came with complications when Angel was born. Her birth came with many complications for her mother but both did make it. However this would not be the last time Angel would experience complications starting just moments after she was born.

Angel was born albino, a stark contrast to the normal people in her village and her own family. Extremely pale like the dead. More so she was the first girl born in her father's family for nearly twenty generations, marking her as a bad omen in the eyes of many.

As a result, she did not have a very good home life. Many times her father would accuse her mother of cheating and claiming that there was no possible way he could produce 'a walking corpse'. The end result was Angel growing up with physical abuse from her mother, blaming her for her marriage going sour and many other small instances that were unrelated to Angel but she got blamed for anyways. Her father straight up ignored her existence entirely refusing to acknowledge her at all and if he did refer to her he'd always mention her as 'the walking corpse', 'the ghost's, or a far worse name. The physical abuse from her mother left Angel with scars on her body however they're usually covered by the long dresses she wears(and because I suck at drawing scars).

The village wasn't really much better. Most either avoided her due to the rumors of being cursed or hurled abuse towards her/her family for bringing the bad omen to their small village.

When Angel was about 10, a terrible drought really negatively affected her village. A lot of crops died and many animals had to be butchered before they could die from food shortage or dehydration. Her family was one of the worst affected having most of their crops die outside of just enough to get by. This seemed to be the last straw for both parents because they decided that in order to be rid of the luck, Angel had to go. It was only after overhearing their plans to sell Angel to the Red Light District, that she left. Running away from home and traveling far away from her birthplace.

During her travels, she had met an elderly man who could play the shamisen and taught her how to play. This skill has now become her way to earn money. She travels with a her instrument and puts on small street performances where she sings and plays the shamisen, relying on the generosity of strangers to make ends meat.

Other hobbies of hers includes collecting small charms and trinkets from the towns she visits, drawing(she's not very good at it but it helps her relax), and coming up with new songs to sing for her shows but most of the time she just ends up humming to herself and singing the same ones anyways.

(this is all I got for now but more info will be added later)

[thetriggeredhappy]

sorry for cloggin up your ask box, but i don’t have an ao3 account, so i hope this will do

i love the way you write the kids, especially nikki. she’s so mature, funny and polite, makes my mouth hurt from smiling hearing her and scout talk

another thing, thank you for having the kids act normal around scout and sniper being romantic‼️ they’re not homophobic, just the usual little kid “eww kissingg”

the descriptions of panic attacks are incredibly realistic

also as someone with adhd, you wrote scout SO well. i have the inattentive type and i relate so hard, despite not being hyperactive. forgetting things that i just put in my pocket, wondering if i have my phone while literally being on it, losing your train of thought, drawing constantly, and rejection sensitive dysphoria

i hope it’s okay i’m writing you fan mail in your ask box, i don’t really read fanfic but you’ve got me hooked here. i don’t even know how i started liking sniperscout, but before i read yours i read… ah what’s the name… i forget (searched ao3, it was called “somethin’ stupid, like “i love you”” by preciousposey. man that was a good fic too)

anyway uh

thank you for being a great author!! hope you sleep well and have zero writer’s block forever <3 (and i hope your living situation gets better, i’ve made it up to ch 18 so (why am i getting deja vu writing this im sorry if i did this last time))

thank you! yeah i love nikki. i used to work with kids a lot (a LOT) and they’re just hilarious dude. sometimes these kids will say some shit that’s so excellent and so fun and so entertaining and will know what’s up and she’s kind of a representation of that. kids are great.

and yeah i guess i just don’t personally see like. the value in putting overt homophobia into the tf2 universe. there’s not really the overt expectation of ‘realism’ with the tf2 canon, and while i consider grounding these characters and putting them in more normal circumstances to expand on their more human characteristics to be kind of A Thing I Often Do, i don’t think i need the blunt instrument that is Gritty Realism Through Onscreen Bigotry to make any of the points i want to make in this series. the flavor is kept intentionally lighter throughout that series so that when it gets heavy, it hits a little harder. in other things ive written, and in things i might write in the future, that might pivot, but i don’t ever see bigotry being something necessary to the plot or development of characters in the RB universe.

writing scout as adhd feels kind of inevitable at a certain point if you’re diving into his characteristics and the way he tends to behave. we don’t have a ton to work with but, c’mon. intentionally or unintentionally, he always ends up adhd. the relatable king

and no lie i’ve been listening to ‘still alive’ a LOT lately idk what happened. i listened to that song back in like 2015 a lot then didn’t again until like. three weeks ago. portal was too good for any of us

also just goddamn the fuckin horror movie violins when someone is pre-chapter 20 of taking shots. me when i’m 2/3rds of the way through “sniper dies in this”