#the creativity and humor of humans is just so !!!!

[legendof]

not a musical composed of literally only bathroom graffiti making me emotional

[seelestia]

✦ how can you tell? (of how easily i fall at your feet.)

⎯ oh, how love bleeds from just one gesture. ( some telltale signs that they might've fallen for you. )

#STARRING. neuvillette, wriothesley & lyney ft. gn!reader. { 2.4k words }

#TAGS. sfw, fluff & crack, major pining (!!!). more: neuvi has 1 extra part bcs i realized too late, wrio is a rascal /aff, lynette is a professional wingwoman here (everyone, applaud!!), mentions of various fontaine npc's.

#P/S. pardon my rusty writing and ideas but alas, may i entice you with some fontaine gentlemen on this fine day?? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ੭

★ 〜 masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, apr 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

⎯ neuvillette's love is subtle, hidden behind a veil of formal courtesy. the iudex is the nation's symbol of impartiality; personal relationships, a common factor of inciting bias in one's judgement, are to be sifted through wisely. he can choose which he ends up keeping, yet he cannot choose which he ends up wanting. what of a relationship he desires but cannot keep? a conundrum but still, his affections for you seep through the crevices.

it's in the way. . . your name becomes a beloved among the melusines, you wonder why?

it goes without saying that every citizen of fontaine acknowledges melusines to be friendly creatures. all of them are sweethearts! ...but is it you or is there some form of hidden favoritism here?

for some reason, they always seem to go out of their ways to greet you on the streets. a “hello, mx. [name]!” from the right then a “good day, mx. [name]!” from the left. maybe a “stay safe, mx. [name]!” on days when it's crowded too... you're starting to think the quota of greetings you receive is much bigger than everyone else.

before long, even your arms are getting piled up with favors. one ticket for a seat in the opera epiclese from aeife, a slice of cake from sedene, some high-quality butter from muirne, a free beverage from menthe — you lost count of the freebies you've received already.

what's going on? it is as if there's a badge of approval from someone just hanging over your head. visible to a melusine's eyes, but not to yours. (you've heard that melusines perceive things differently than humans, though.)

but who are you to complain? you're not immune to their contagious smiles each time you pass by. on some days, you even entertain the thought that they are more familiar with you than you are with them. all in a humorous sense, of course.

ironically enough, this theory wouldn't take long to ring true: having received a bouquet of your favorite dessert from café lutece on your birthday from kiara, this coincidence only feeds into your suspicion even more.

a considerate gesture but surely, they don't do this for everyone? you don't recall ever telling your usual order and birthdate to a melusine before. your mind scrambles around for a memory you might've missed. who could've—

“oh, yes... i almost forgot,” kiara holds her chin in thought. “monsieur neuvillette says to send you his regards,” she nods, relieved that the message did not make its narrow escape from her mind. but blissfully unaware of the impact her words have left on you.

“goodbye, mx. [name]!” the melusine bids you farewell with a cheery wave. you murmur back a response but it comes out incoherent at best — you are simply too dumbfounded by the realization.

...so, that's who.

(wait a second, is arouet in on this too?!)

it's in the way. . . he begins to take longer breaks, hoping to run into you in front of the palais.

taking quiet strolls just outside the palais is, more often than not, neuvillette's idea of rest from work. although some might expect the iudex to have chosen a more 'creative' or luxurious location, but he digresses.

this place is near his office so less time is wasted on the journey back, liath also patrols here so he has the opportunity to inquire about her well-being — and occasionally, he stumbles upon you as well.

'occasionally' is the keyword: neuvillette has always preferred order and routine above chances and coincidences. but something about this idiosyncrasy — the tendency to linger beyond his usual duration, the act of stalling to hold onto hope that you might pass by today — is a indication of hypocrisy he wishes not to comment on.

sometimes, he closes his eyes so that his ears may be more attuned to the sound of your voice. sometimes, he opens his eyes so that they may look around for a glimpse of your face. who's to say if he'll ever be graced by your presence? it is all in fate's hands.

call it an odd method of manifestation, a childish one that even neuvillette scoffs at himself for. sometimes, it doesn't work, of course. not that he ever expects it to — but oh, when it does.

“...monsieur?” your voice cuts through the silence in his mind. he takes the sight of you in; a polite greeting on your tongue, several grocery bags in your arms and that beam on your face as you say, “what a coincidence to see you here.”

the iudex finds that he doesn't mind having his privacy briefly interrupted. not at all. not when it's like this, not when it's by you. alas, it seems that fate has smiled down on him today.

“yes, hello. what a serendipitous coincidence indeed.”

neuvillette smiles, he can't help it. perhaps, he might grow a soft spot for coincidences, after all.

(you sneak a brief glance at the sky with a squint. ...is it just you or are the clouds clearing up a little?)

⎯ wriothesley's love is beguiling, the kind of adventure that keeps you on your toes. a forthright gentleman; he is the type to know what he wants and he wants you. with him, you'll taste whiplash like never before. butterflies in your stomach, the urge to throw a shoe at him, you'll get it all. but an adventure isn't an adventure without breaks in between and it's at that very moment where you'll find you adore him the most... when he rests his head on your lap, momentarily free from worldly titles, breathing like the man who longs for warmth that he has always been.

it's in the way. . . he always offers you tea when really, he just wants you to stay.

everyone knows that wriothesley enjoys his tea — but that's only because he sees no need to hide his preferences; not his craving for a cup of tea when afternoon arrives nor his fondness for you either.

he doesn't conceal it, but doesn't bring attention to it either. wriothesley likes to think that only those with discerning eyes can pick up on the miniscule (???) hints he drops. that is, if saying “why not stay for some tea?” is even considered a subtle clue at all... maybe, he's mixing up polite courtesy with flirting a bit too much.

but who cares? in the grand scheme of things, the fun is seeing whether you'll figure it out or not. and let's be frank here; wriothesley is a patient man in all aspects, able to play the long game like no other.

don't worry, you may take as long as you want to — ironic since you're technically the only player in this 'game' — but hey, he has faith in your abilities! besides, you get to enjoy a cup of free tea (and with his company, preferably). surely, you can't complain about that? ...hah, he's just teasing you.

tick-tock! tick-tock!

the clock strikes twelve in the afternoon.

“ah, finally a well-deserved break.” the tone in which wriothesley pairs with that grin on his face is nothing less than devious. the glance he throws your way as he set aside the documents on his desk is something. or rather, it's suggesting something.

and frankly, you've experienced this many times enough to know what the underlying meaning is. “let me guess...” you let out a sigh, “you're asking me to have tea with you again?”

the emphasis on the last word is definitely, wholly intentional. you're sure wriothesley knows that too — “bingo,” he hums at you, sounds almost like a whistle. “you're getting more and more clever. must be all the tea i made you.”

“don't flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes at his attempted jest but you take a seat on his office couch, anyway. your own unique and adorable way of saying yes, he learned. still, wriothesley thinks that exasperated look on your face is an absolute marvel... and maybe, that little smile tugging on your lips you're trying to fight, too.

“same as usual?” he asks, pushing back his chair with a proud grin still plastered on his face that you wish you can wipe off.

but instead, you shake your head fondly at his antics. “mhm,” and rest a cheek on your fist. watching him tiredly, you realize you could get used to this. maybe.

wriothesley smiles to himself. looks like you figured out the tea has always been an excuse, after all.

(you've won the game, congrats! a subsidiary reward is a comment from sigewinne about how this tea routine between the two of you bears a resemblance to an elderly human couple's. she means it, innocently sincere.)

⎯ lyney's love can be faceted at first, one with such a smooth surface that you never imagined there would be so many layers underneath. joy and bliss, sorrow and burdens; all cramped and stuffed together behind his mask of perfection on the stage, a mask akin to a child's treasure chest almost bursting at the seams. you can unravel him if you tried, you can take off that mask if you reached out. and when you do, you'll find beautiful violet eyes staring right back at you, thankful, imploring you to go further.

it's in the way. . . his bravado dissipates around you, nerves scattering like confetti that bursts from his hat on stage.

they say that the first impression is the best impression — or at least, lyney hopes that's the case with all of the interesting impressions he has left on you so far. his instinct by nature is to impress, to bedazzle and that hasn't stopped since meeting you for the first time.

trying doesn't always lead to success, however. you stuttered in front of them twice, lynette pointed out after the first time he spoke to you. that fact spooked the poor magician so much he stayed up rethinking the conversation under the cover of his blanket. lynette isn't wrong per se, but lyney firmly believes that he will leave a better impression... one day, somehow, no matter how many times it takes!

he is a magician; charisma and charms should have or rather, already have come easily to him. his persona on the stage is no lie — just a tiny concerted exaggeration, maybe — but you've been among his audience before. you've seen what he is capable of. so surely, you'd know that lyney isn't really as demure and easily flustered as you might think he is... because no punches held back, he acts like that every time you talk to him.

he can't help it and that, exactly, is what makes it worse.

how many times have he cupped his face and mumbled nonsense into his hands for failing to impress you yet again? you're so wonderful and he's just so... miserable. this is unlike him. he has to wonder why you still look for him after each performance when you know you'll be greeted by his being a wreck.

maybe they like you that way, freminet tried to help. or maybe they like you no matter what, lynette chipped in. that had lyney pondering for a long, long, long time which translates into weeks.

will the day come where he presents you with a rainbow rose and professes his feelings for you without losing his nerves? he can only hope (and try, one day).

it never gets old.

when his feet step off the stage and the curtains have fallen, the satisfaction that spreads all the way to his fingertips never fails to disappoint. but with that, also comes the imminent feeling of anticipation.

for each performance he delivers, a visitor is bound to linger. when all members in the audience would head to the entrance of the opera epiclese to leave, one of them would stay. waiting patiently to be beckoned to the backstage. it's been a routine for so long, after all.

“lyney?”

right on cue.

your voice greets his ears, a sound that he can admit he misses only to himself. he exhales, a placating act to shush his beating heart from growing any louder.

“ah, [name]!” the magician enunciates your name with a certain type of fanfare. “here to lend a hand again, i assume?” he tries to shoot you a confident grin, but you aren't gullible enough to not see the tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

you stifle a chuckle at his (attempt at a) bold opening. “of course,“ said with a nod and a silly thought along the lines of: he's cute.

your honest and calm response takes him by surprise. he blinks a tad. oh, it seems the thrill from the show a few minutes prior still hasn't worn off. perhaps, he's still all too used to the crowd's shouts and cheers... not that he expects you to start yelling, of course!

“i see,” lyney feigns a cough to recollect his composure. now that he is cognizant of the fact it's just the two of you, he shrinks down into a more casual version of himself with a nervous chuckle.

“will you... be staying for long?” he asks, bashful. the question sounds more genuine than just a mere pleasantry. his eyes look hopeful, twinkling at the thought of having your presence around. his fingers have even come up to scratch at the side of his neck, you don't think lyney even realizes he is doing that.

who are you to say no? you smile. “well, my schedule's pretty empty today.”

his lips instantly break into a grin, brighter than one he usually has onstage. “that's actually marv—” he starts.

“that's great,” a familiar monotonous voice cuts in. lynette peers from behind you with a hum, “we could use more hands to pack up the new props.” oh, and that brief glint of mischief in her feline eyes as she watches how lyney gapes at her sudden intrusion.

“sure!” you glance back at her, oblivious to it all. “thanks for letting me in, lynette. i'll try my best to help.” even if you admit that one of the reasons you're here is for lyney, but you can't discredit his twin sister for allowing you to enter here in the first place. a free backstage pass in exchange for free labor, quite a fair deal.

with your back turned to him, lyney takes the chance to mouth his own words of disbelief to lynette. incomprehensible except for that one i can't believe you're doing this! that she manages to catch.

“no problem,” she observes her brother over your shoulder with keen interest, “everyone knows how fond lyney is of you.”

there is a series of spluttering noises behind you. a certain magician finds himself at the verge of choking on mere oxygen.

“lynette!”

but really, she has no doubt that lyney has fallen head over heels for you. hook, line and sinker.

— thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are most appreciated. ♡

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 14: cellar

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

TW: Mentions of blood at the end (mildly gross), vomit, Spencer is somewhat rude but it's for the sake of the plot

Throughout his life, Spencer Reid had always been the smartest person in the room. There was no doubt about that, right? He always had the correct answer.

Until you came along.

“Doctor, what exactly are we looking for?”

“Any indication that the suspect kept them here.”

He always answered you reluctantly, and although he didn’t want to admit it, he hated having to team up with you.

There wouldn’t have been a problem if you were just someone above average intelligence, he could tolerate that. But the problem was that you were smarter than him. Maybe your IQ was slightly lower than his, but the main issue was that you were twice as creative. You always found the strangest but most effective solutions, and your mind was always racing a mile a minute. You seemed to have boundless energy, and when you managed to focus, you became the most meticulous person on Earth.

And he couldn’t stand that someone else had come along and displaced him. He was the brains of the team, that was his role. But with you there, what was he now?

You both cautiously descended into the basement of the house, guns drawn in case the worst happened. However, you found yourself in an incredibly luxurious room, dimly lit and apparently housing an extensive wine cellar.

“Lucky us. If we don’t find anything, at least we can steal a few bottles.”

“Everything here is evidence. Don’t touch anything without gloves.”

“I’m aware of that, Doctor. It’s called a sense of humor.”

You seemed to exasperate him on purpose every time, and he made an effort to simply ignore the feeling.

You both split up to search for anything, and meanwhile, you admired the elements around you. The wines were behind some kind of glass display, and LED lights illuminated the space.

You wondered how much it had cost Hotch to get a warrant for the space belonging to a millionaire, although it was probably because you already had a solid profile and some circumstantial evidence.

You thought the guy wouldn’t be so stupid as to keep the women in that place, and that the purpose was likely human trafficking or some other sick thing elites do.

“Find anything?” your partner asked. He only spoke to you when strictly necessary.

“Nothing. You?”

“Nothing suspicious.”

You both sighed at the same time. If you had been a little less resentful, you might have noticed how similar you were, even sharing some mannerisms.

“We should tell Hotch. Maybe we’ll have better luck later.”

You started walking toward the stairs, resigned, but when you pushed the wooden door, you couldn’t open it.

“It’s stuck.”

“Are you doing it right?”

“I’m not an idiot, Doctor. I know how to open a door.”

“Well, excuse me, Doctor. It’s just that physiologically, there are physical differences between us, so I assumed you might need help.”

“I didn’t know you were a misogynist.”

“I’m not a misogynist.”

“Oh, so it’s something personal. Got it. You don’t hate all women, just this one in particular.”

“It’s locked,” Spencer muttered to himself after trying to push with all his strength.

“Wow! You reinvent the wheel, honey. You’re brilliant.”

Your sarcasm irritated him, and everything about you frustrated him. He never thought he could feel so much for someone until he met you.

“Where are you going?”

“Downstairs, duh. You don’t expect the door to magically open if I just stand here, do you?”

Reluctantly, he followed you back down the stairs, and when you both pulled out your phones, you realized there was no signal. If there was no reception, there was no way to call anyone for help.

“We’re fucked,” he muttered quietly.

Rarely did you hear the man curse, but whenever he was with you, that likelihood increased significantly.

With no better idea, you leaned against the wall and stayed silent. Spencer, imitating you, did the same on the opposite wall, next to the wine bottles.

The cellar was just a tiny room, so it amused you that he tried to keep his distance from you even though you could see him the entire time. Still, you said nothing; though you liked to annoy him, you weren’t in the mood right now.

“What are the chances we’ll run out of oxygen?”

“None. It’s not a sealed room, so oxygen can enter through the cracks in the door we came through.”

“Oh.”

You fell silent for a moment, and Spencer thought that was the end of the conversation. Unfortunately for him, you had other plans.

“What if we starve to death?”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re not going to die of starvation. The human body can survive many days without food. In the hypothetical case that we got trapped here, we’d die of dehydration first.”

“Speak for yourself. I see plenty to drink here.”

��Alcohol has the opposite effect, it dehydrates you. That would just make you die faster.”

“It would be an incalculable loss for humanity. They’d lose the FBI’s smartest agent…” you said, and for the first time, he smiled “And you too, of course.”

There was no need for him to respond; his expression told you everything you needed to know.

“It’s impossible to talk to you.”

“Is that why you hate me?” you murmured softly, as if speaking to a child “Because you’re not the smart one anymore?”

“I am the smart one. And I wouldn’t mind sharing that title if the other person wasn’t so cocky.”

“I’m not cocky. I’m just aware of what I know. And let’s be honest, you hate my unconventional way of solving everything. I suppose your condition makes you see everything with pure logic.”

“My what?”

“Your condition,” you repeated as if it were obvious “Autism?”

“I’m not autistic!”

“Have you ever been tested?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d recommend it.”

“Likewise.”

“I’m not autistic. I can handle social situations.”

“Well, there’s something undiagnosed in you that’s definitely off.”

One of your laughs echoed through the room, which only irritated him more.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Spencer didn’t grasp the implications of those words. He was just too annoyed by your defiant attitude to think of anything other than telling you that you really couldn’t make him shut up. However, when he saw the smug smile on your lips, he began to realize his mistake.

You slowly approached him, never breaking eye contact, leaning toward him slightly. Immediately, the man recoiled, his expression showing almost fear at whatever you were planning to do.

With each inch you moved closer, he remained frozen, completely stunned, and just as your breath brushed against his, you reached out to unlock the display case. Carefully, you pulled out one of the bottles and stepped back, nearly laughing at the effect you had on him.

“You know that when you tell someone to ‘make you shut up,’ you’re suggesting they kiss you, right?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, Reid,” you laughed. The bottle was already open, so you just had to pull the cork, hearing a soft pop.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” you replied cheekily, raising your eyebrows in a flirtatious way, making him curse under his breath for not realizing his mistake earlier.

You took a deep swig from the bottle, and as soon as the liquid touched your lips, you knew it couldn’t be wine. It had a metallic taste, with a viscous consistency and a salty touch that immediately coated your palate.

It wasn’t wine. It was blood.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Reid shouted when he saw you spit it out to the side. You had dropped the bottle, and it shattered into pieces as it hit the floor.

After seeing you collapse to your knees, vomiting, and noticing the consistency and color of the liquid on the floor, it didn’t take him long to deduce what was happening.

“Check the others,” you choked out, trying to hold back the retching.

Spencer didn’t waste any time and hurried to do what you asked, gently shaking each bottle only to find that they all contained the same thing. Each label had a date on it, and he felt a shiver run down his spine when he realized what it meant: it wasn’t the aging date, it was the birth year of the victims.

“Reid?” you heard a male voice call from outside. The same voice said your name, and that’s when Morgan appeared at the top of the stairs.

You didn’t plan on staying there after what had happened. You needed air, water, and to wash your mouth and hands… take a shower, if necessary.

As best you could, you stumbled outside, walking past the other agents who asked how you were, heading straight for the bathroom, ready to empty the remaining contents of your stomach into the toilet.

In the midst of it all, you felt someone enter the room, carefully holding your hair with one hand and supporting your back with the other.

“Easy,” the person whispered. It was Reid.

He patiently waited until you finished, then handed you a plastic bottle filled with water. You took a sip, gargled, and spat it out, repeating the process several times.

You saw your partner kneeling beside you with a patient but clearly concerned expression, and to his surprise, you smiled at him.

“I guess that’s what I get for being an alcoholic, huh?”

“I warned you not to drink it.”

“And you’re always right, aren’t you?” you teased, but there was a silent gratitude in your eyes.

At least later, you could remind him that thanks to you, they found enough evidence to arrest the criminal.

[mambodork]

ive followed you since the dsmp era and really admire your creativity and humor. your au never fail to make me laugh out loud and your art is one of my biggest inspiration. thank you vale for posting and sharing your artworks, it made my day every time you did and give me energy to keep drawing more. anyway, i send the smelly ipad kid to outer space, no need to say thank you.

Awwwhh oh gosh?? Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout all my embarrassing phases 😭😭 I'm so happy you like my stuff... thank you so much for the kind words and telling me this <3 Knowing how much you love my art really motivates me to just continue creating more and more :3

also, YAYY HE'S OUT OF ORBIT !!!! FINALLY ... I would never have to deal with that stupid baby ever again ... im crying tears of joy 🥹 tysm for your service to humanity on ridding all of evil ...

[astrow0rldx]

Dark Asteroids

TW Very Dark Themes of Human Experience & Nature.

Look at the house its in to show where it would show up, and its aspects to see how it influences different energies in your life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

narcissus (37117) - narcissist. your side, or people in your life.

nessus (7066) - abuser, r@pist, predator. sexual abuse, obsession.

dejanaira (157) - ^ nessus victim. victim of these.

proserpina (26) - ruined innocence, abductions.

persephone (399) - ^ similar story. where time is not your own. held hostage, absence caused strife.

melete (56) - anxiety.

deprez (9795) - what makes us sad

pan (4450) - earthy carnal energy, lust, chase, desire.

maniac (228029) - inner maniac, where we do things other wouldn't, unexpected hobbies or passion.

lie (26955) - where you lie or manipulate, or get lied to about.

ate (111) - rushing to conclusions, delusional. respond to perceived, or real threats.

lucifer (1930) - where you are powerful. pride, egotistic. where you gain followers by manipulations. how you transform. why you look for revenge.

phaeton (3200) - dangerous behavior, people that got carried away, car crashes, accidents.

icarus (1566) - accidents, excessive risk.

nemesis (128) - enemies. vengeful self.

sado (118230) - sadistic dark sexual expression. borderline pain. thats that make us sad hard time expressing.

myrrha (381) - sexual relationships that go against natural law.

medusa (149) - your the prettiest, natural beauty can be corrupted by others. assault. punishment for something that isn't your fault.

karma (3811) - karmic connections, circumstances. fated.

tantalus (2102) - never getting what you want. always out of reach, temptation without satisfaction.

furia (194982) - our anger. what proves it. what attitudes bother us.

cassandra (114) - a gift & a curse. where your rejection ruined your life. where no one believes what you say

anubis (1912) - egyptian god of the dead.

grieve (4451) - grieve, grief, mourning, sorrow.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

for Nessus and pan to be in my 7th house i do attract those type of people. lustful, predatory men. but like in my actual relationships to.

furia is in my 4th house and i get really angry in the home, my mars is also there. narcissus is in my 4th house and and i have a narcissistic mother. my ancestors i work with seem to be very strong and aggressive to.

phaeton, dangerous behavior, accidents, and car crashes are prevalent in my dreams stuff like that and it's in my 12th house. also mania is there and spirituality, drugs, sleep/dreams, psychology could be where i have an unexpected hobby and passion others wouldn't.

icarus is another dangerous behavior, excessive risk. in my 5th house of parties, sex, creativity, entertainment etc. while deprez is there to that causes depression. as i read or write out celebrity chart analysis, everything puts together as lore, jhene aiko, jeffery dahmer, donald trump, etc. so as im writing mines out and its just mini asteroids, i love to see the depths, and art of my birth chart.

my lucifer is in the same house as my lilith the 3rd. also where my sun and venus is. and i do have really good mental manipulation skills, lying and using my words to scheme. but im only so aware because im not to much in my ego about it and never really liked to since a kid except when i needed to, but was always aware of that "power". nemesis is there and that is also my vengeful self. ate is also there in my 3rd house lol, rushing to conclusions, delusional. respond to perceived, or real threats. but these characters are very influnced in my school life also. im also a big trickster, love mind games, dark humor,etc.

tantalus in my 2nd house is frustrating. so as medusa in my 6th house of day to day activities & work environment. proserpina and persophone in my 10th and 2nd house is scary.

[platonicyanderereverie]

ok how about gn reader x fatui harbingers. BUT the reader is OBBSESED with cooking and is damn good at it to.

Make this some headcanons lets see your skill.

Thank you for your request‼️ (You can definitely tell I have favourites😭)

Platonic yandere fatui with a reader that loves to cook.

(No Tsaritsa or Pierro in this one unfortunately😭)

[Warnings: none? Other than usual possessive/protective behaviour]

Capitano

Capitano would be a bit confused by your ambitious nature in the kitchen. Cooking is not exactly what he would deem the most useful skill from a combative standpoint, but he doesn’t mind overall. Being able to prepare a nutritious meal is a rather valuable resource, after all.

He wouldn't object to tasting what you prepare and would seem rather pleased, standing in his usual quiet, stoic manner if you offered him something you made. Although he believes you shouldn't be getting your hands dirty with such menial tasks- rather than, let's say, learning to fight...seeing your passion for it, he doesn't seem all too bothered. It simply means more for him to protect.

"It's good...you seem to enjoy doing this."

Dottore

Dottore would show a slight interest in what you do, mostly observing how crafty you can get with the minimal resources you can find to make something yourself. If you were to offer him a meal, he would accept, dissecting the flavors carefully on his tongue and, with his inquisitive nature, asking about the process. The measurements you used or if you just eye balled it and so on and so forth.

If he feels like it, Dottore might even test you, observing how creative you can get with the resources you have and perhaps throwing random hurdles your way in the form of difficulties in the kitchen. That being said, if he is pleased by the results and your dish turns out well, you will receive praise. It’s really rather simple.

"It seems, you compensated for the lack of variety in vegetables with the broth itself, interesting..."

Columbina

Columbina rather enjoys watching you bustle around in the kitchen, simply observing with a smile. She's more than willing to taste what you make, even making requests at times. She seems to just enjoy watching you obsess over something she deems rather silly.

Columbina will be less pleased, however, if it comes between your time with her. If you want to run off back to the kitchen, you'll have to wait until she finishes her song- then you can go craft up your little meals. It's a flawless arrangement in her eyes.

"Don't run off just yet...I'm not done. When I am, I'll come with you."

Arlecchino

Arlecchino is rather glad you have something you're passionate about. The children and the household seem to enjoy your cooking as well, so it works out rather well.

She’ll humor your little workings in the kitchen. The children of the hearth often crowd around the table in awe to see what you've made. Any dishes you present to her will be judged with high standards, but seeing how skilled you are, that shouldn’t be a problem.

"It's tender and flavorful, as expected. Well done."

Pulcinella

Pulcinella is delighted by your little passion, finding the way you obsess over it cute. He'll often gift you little knickknacks or tools to use in the kitchen.

Pulcinella gladly eats any meal you present to him, finding pride in how well they turn out. He pats you on the head when he finishes, for him, it's a skill made to be shown off.

"Delightful as always! Hmm, how about I get you a new plate set?"

Sandrone

Sandrone is rather disinterested in your cooking escapades but allows them nonetheless.

She might even offer up a few gadgets for you to try and use in your recipes to speed up the process and make it more practical. You'd merely be wasting more of your time than you already do by declining.

"Why not use this to speed up the process?"

Scaramouche

Scaramouche thinks your little obsession is laughable at best. The concept of human cuisine is not exactly something he thinks about often.

He might not always accept your little meal offers since, chances are, unless the dish is bitter to a certain degree or lacks any sweetness, he won't like it. But he still might humor you, all while teasing and judging sharply. In the off chance he is impressed, you might not even be able to tell.

"Hah... is this what you've been wasting your time on? You truly find enjoyment in slaving away in that darned room?"

La Signora

Signora would have been highly critical of what you made as well, but she would allow it, finding how you worked away amusing.

If you offered her a meal, she would sigh in an exaggerated manner, as if begrudgingly petting an insistent puppy. She decides to humor you.

"It's something, alright. Your skills would be of better use elsewhere, but I suppose it's enjoyable nonetheless."

Pantalone

Pantalone might be the only one actually against your little obsession because, honestly, why would you want to get your hands dirty? He has chefs at your beck and call, and you choose to tire yourself away in the kitchen?

He acknowledges your skill and finds it rather amusing how desperate you are, seeing all the ingredients at the disposal of the chefs. However, he truly doesn't think you should be going around filthying up the clothes he's given you. But alas, he will still eat what you offer him.

"It's good, great even, but really, my dear? The chefs would have been more than happy to make it for you if this is what you've been craving. But I suppose your stubbornness can't be helped."

Childe

Childe is actually happy about how ambitious you are when it comes to cooking. He will often use it as an excuse to drag you into family dinners and boast about your skills.

Inviting you over so your skills can be displayed to his whole family is going to become a rather recurring situation, so be prepared. He's also more than happy to gift you any kitchen supplies you need, all while not-so-subtly pushing you to help out in the kitchen.

"It turned out amazing comrade! We really need to do this more often. Teucer is still raving about the food you made!"

[jester-lover]

Could you do a Diasomnia dorm with their soulmates? Like the guys meeting soulmate for the first time, mc preferably being a human for that extra drama in case you’d want to add that?💙

Soulmate Sorrows

Oh you know I love the drama. Thank you for requesting, I hope my favoritism towards Sebek doesn’t show as much.

Feat/ Diasomnia

CWs/gn! Reader, angst-to-fluff, mentions of mortality, war and discrimination, brief kidnapping/isolation, bittersweet fluff (various soulmate aus), uhh, Sebek insults you pretty heavy

I took the creative liberty of making Lilia and Silver’s more humorous to tone down the angst of Sebek and Mal. (Also, I hope someone notices the flower language in the Sebek HCs.)

Malleus

When Malleus saw the red string on his finger connected to yours, he was filled with a sense of pure and simple happiness

As he holds you in his warm embrace, some realization hits him like a brick

As a human, you would live for a minuscule amount of time compared to him; he would see you grow gray and weak and pass on as he held onto your memory for eons to come

Or, even worse, a simple accident could take you away from him in the blink of an eye

Some sort of dragon instinct fills Malleus for a while, always suggesting to spend time with you away from others who may hurt you

He tries to keep you safe by hiding you from others, but humans like you are social creatures, and even the most introverted of us need some communication every once in awhile

He slowly realized he would be making you miserable by hiding you away and eventually stopped his behavior, apologizing to you meekly

During this process, Malleus breaks.

He cries into your arms, apologizing for his actions and revealing his fears and worries

As you comfort him, you tell him that you’ll be happy to be his for whatever time you have, and he decides from that point onward to keep you happy no matter what

He’s a very tender, affectionate lover

You can expect to sleep in his big bed, with the warm prince wrapped around you, and to hold his hand in between classes

Malleus seemingly forgets any social norms from his home when it comes down to you; he will literally fight tooth and nail with his advisers to keep you as his spouse when the time comes

Mortality rarely comes up in your discussions after a certain point, as he focuses on keeping you happy and safe

“My dearest, long after you’ve passed, I will still only have you in my heart... you’ve taken up all the space.”

Lilia

He’s as playful as ever when he sees the matching tattoo on your arm; his own is practically centuries old, and while he was content with being alone, he's so happy to see you!

Lilia might play his feelings off as being plainly giddy, but deep down he does worry a bit about how the two most important people in his life will most definitely outlive him

Now that he has a partner, a strange form of protectiveness surrounds him, like he’s found another purpose, a reason to grow stronger 

(A reason to cook more!)

 Moving on from that more serious topic, Lilia will be most excited to spend time just lounging about with you, strumming little melodies on his guitar, taking you on upside-down walks, cliche couple stuff, y’know?

(Just wait till he starts spilling historical tea)

To wind down and enjoy the little moments with the family he’s built, however long it lasts, is a major priority in his life

“I need someone to try out my new recipe~, all the ingredients are actually edible this time around!”

Silver

y'all are chill lmao

Okok, but when he sees you start showing up in his dreams, he’s a little freaked out, partially because you’re very attractive to him but mostly because he has zero clue how to navigate romance

Imagine going on a date with him, and he’s down for the count in the first 10 minutes

Thankfully, I assume you are aware of his sleep habit, and he’s always very grateful when you wake him up 

Despite his stern exterior, Silver has a tendency to show his deep affection for you through acts of service, such as helping you clean Ramshackle House, because God knows how much it needs help (thanks, Crow Man).

Another little quirk about him is his tendency to go along with any cute couple activity you want to do

Wanna wear matching outfits? Cool with him.

Walk him to his classes? Absolutely.

Be the loudest spectator at his equestrian club meets? He appreciates the enthusiasm.

Even if you consider yourself to be a volatile or argumentative person, it’s very hard for Silver to get mad at you because of the genuine adoration and respect he holds for you

He can’t wait to grow older alongside you, to see you at your best, your worst, and your most human moments, until the two of you are old and wrinkly

“I saw something I thought you’d like at the store while I was running errands… maybe we could make dinner together…?”

Sebek

NO.

this is Sebek's worst nightmare come true; the words written on his wrist were the first you ever spoke to him, you, you disgusting, vile, no good human...

He runs far away, back into his room, and under his covers

He refuses to speak to you, refuses to look at you, and refuses to do anything involving you

For a couple of days, he just sulks, which is super heartbreaking for you, considering the fact that you can't control who you are, and your only soulmate just harshly rejected you

Sebek cries a lot. Like, a lot. at one point or another, his mother calls him to verbally smack some sense into him (and most likely Lilia too)

You see him standing at the door of Ramshackle House, breathing heavily as Grim offers to flambé him for you

You decide to hear him out, and he practically spills his years of self-loathing and hurt on your lap

Some part of you hurts for your soulmate, and you hold him in your arms

This relationship starts out turbulent, to say the least, but there’s a mental click that happens for him at one point, where he just realizes how if his own mother found joy with a human, he can too

Sebek tries his best to earn your trust, trying to break down the emotional layers his own internal bigotry has put between you

(it’s also very cute when he shows up with a bouquet of daffodils, as per Lilia’s recommendation) 

You two definitely have a long road ahead of you, but Sebek’s affection is loud and unwavering, and while he might be stubborn in his nature, he knows when to cool it down now

For your sake and for the lifelong relationship he wants with you

“Human! I have a few hours to spare before training, would you like to read with me?”

OMG I actually posted??? I'm crawling through requests as fast as I can ya'll, school has been destroying my creativity for the last few weeks.

[deergravity]

Seeing as my internal rewards system has moved on to 'trans fiction' from 'queer horror audio drama podcast' I thought I should do a little roundup of everything I listened to the past few months.

A rough ranking:

Malevolent. Just squeaking into the top spot here based on 1) technical prowess (iykyk) 2) compelling characters and story and 3) they are my blorbos your honor!!! Mind boggling that Harlan Guthrie has so much chemistry with himself.

The Silt Verses. Only topped by Malevolent bc season 1 is not as polished, but it really doesn't matter. Top tier characters, amazing worldbuilding, intricate plotting and it had something to SAY about the casual violence of systems, the nature of hope, the complexity of being human in a world that tries to make us inhuman. Also, it doesn't rely on some thin recording contrivance (a framing device that has its place) and instead truly takes the mantle of audio drama without apology.

The White Vault. On the topic of framing devices, TWV has a very cool take on found footage recordings. A group of [researchers/archeologists] are sent to investigate a remote site in [Svalbard/Patagonia] and the podcast is structured as a documentarian presenting the notes, recordings and diary entries in a reconstructed timeline. My favorite element is that many of the characters don't make their notes in English, so the segments will often open with the VA speaking German, Spanish, Mandarin, Icelandic, Russian, etc etc before fading into the translation. There are miniseries between the seasons available on their patreon and they were so worth the $10 I paid to access them for a month. Reveals are slow, but worthwhile, and the mythology built for the show is highly original and intriguing.

Deviser. A one season contained story from Harlan Guthrie of Malevolent. Scifi, psychological, lots of wet awful body horror. If you're a fan of Harlan wimpering into a mic, you'll love this one.

WOE.BEGONE. Long, ongoing, and so so so far from the original premise it's hilarious, I'm ranking this higher than it maybe deserves for two factors 1) the creator and the VAs are clearly having a blast and 2) it's riding the line of taking itself serious despite a premise that invites irony poisoning without becoming too wrapped up in itself. It's fun, I think, that keeps w.bg strong.

The Magnus Archives. Should this be one up? Probably. But everyone bloody well knows tma by this point, it's good, great even! Beyoncé of horror podcasts.

I Am In Eskew. Only knocked down due to the actually godawful sound quality. Truly unsettling stories though (the one with the building architect haunts me) and a surprisingly realistic conclusion. You can see the bones of The Silt Verses here, from the same creative team.

The Magnus Protocol. Everything above this is there due to originality. As a sequel series, TMAGP will always suffer in that measure. However, I like our new cast and I do love an alternate reality. Curious to see where season 2 takes us. I'd like to kill Mr Bonzo in a fire.

The Inexplicables. Another one season story, this time from Rusty Quill, with really fun, flawed characters and no recording framing device!

Wolf 359. Storywise, great! Characters, excellent! Kicking it way to the bottom bc they just would NOT STOP referencing H***y P****r. Yes, Doug's characterization hangs on excessive reference humor, but that was one well I wish they'd left alone.

Red Valley. Knocked for HP references too (come ON british podcasters, do better) but more importantly for veering WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY too close to real life in season 3 onward. I was here for a horror sci fi story about cryogenics, not to listen to my worst climate disaster fears brought to life via hearing rich old sods try to buy their way out of consequences while the world burns and eco terrorism escalates. Too real. Not bad storytelling, just very much not fulfilling my escapism needs.

It's kinda crazy to me that anytime I mention this genre to normies in my life they say, "oh, like true crime podcasts?" And then I die inside. No dude, like radio drama. Like War of the Worlds.

Anyway, I'm off to get even less relatable by reading a zillion niche trans novels (hello Welcome to Dorley Hall, aka, what if there really was a 'trans cult' force femming dudes to undermine their masculinity? It's amazing how much yarn we can make by subverting the cis gaze.)

[earthlybeam]

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

↓

↓

↓

Celeborn, haldir, cirdan, adar Versions are below.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Celeborn, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𖣂 Celeborn’s reaction to being handcuffed to you as a “friendship bracelet” would initially be one of silent disbelief. His silver brows would arch gracefully as he regards the cuffs with the calm yet calculating gaze of an elf who has faced centuries of surprises, none quite like this. He’d gently test the metal restraint, his fingers brushing against yours in the process, but his expression remains composed.

𖣂 “My lady (or lord), it seems your creativity knows no bounds,” he’d say, his voice tinged with dry amusement. “Though I fail to see how binding oneself to another constitutes a bracelet, I commend the boldness of your invention.”

𖣂 He would likely humor you for a time, maintaining his graceful demeanor as you drag him along, explaining your reasoning. The elves nearby might stifle laughter or exchange glances of mild shock, unaccustomed to such “human eccentricities.” Celeborn, however, would not remove the cuffs immediately. Instead, he’d study you with a growing smile, finding your spontaneity both baffling and endearing.

𖣂 “I have lived millennia and faced foes from Angband to Dol Guldur, yet none have restrained me quite so… creatively. Shall we parade through Lothlórien thus bound, or is this to remain our little secret?” His tone carries an air of teasing elegance, though his eyes soften with clear affection.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

𖣂 Celeborn would observe the entire sequence of events with a mixture of disbelief and quiet amusement. His silver-gray eyes would follow as you blew on the spoonful of steaming stew, muttering, “This is too hot,” only to proceed to pop it into your mouth anyway. The sharp intake of breath and pained expression that followed would cause him to blink once, slowly, before exhaling a soft, knowing sigh.

𖣂 Setting aside whatever task he’d been engaged in, he’d step closer, his voice calm and steady, yet carrying a faint trace of exasperation. “You knew it was too hot,” he’d remark, his tone betraying a rare flicker of humor beneath the surface. “And yet, you chose to test the limits of your own wisdom.”

𖣂 Kneeling gracefully beside you, he’d take your hand in his, examining you with the same attentiveness he reserved for the well-being of his people. “Here,” he’d say, handing you a goblet of cool water. “Drink. Though I wonder if even this lesson will temper your impulsiveness.”

𖣂 Despite the reserved delivery of his words, the corners of his lips would quirk slightly, betraying a quiet fondness. As you winced and fanned your mouth, he’d lean back and watch with an expression both paternal and affectionate, shaking his head faintly. “I have walked through millennia of battles and council chambers, but I doubt I will ever understand your kind’s eagerness to suffer for the sake of haste.”

𖣂 Later, as the pain subsided and you regained your composure, he’d add with a wry smile, “Perhaps next time you will heed your own words—or, at least, let me taste it first.” His tone was light, but his gaze was warm, his endless patience shining through despite your occasional recklessness.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

𖣂 Celeborn would initially watch your outburst with a slight tilt of his head, his silver hair catching the light as his serene expression faltered into something closer to bemused curiosity. Your laughter—starting as a cheerful chuckle—soon escalated into uncontrollable hiccups and snorts that echoed through the tranquil halls of Lothlórien, shattering the elven silence.

𖣂 At first, he would blink, his composure intact, though the faintest lift of his brow betrayed his inner surprise. When the snorting began, however, a soft huff of breath escaped him—perhaps the closest thing to a chuckle you’d ever hear from the dignified Lord of Lothlórien.

𖣂 “Are you… unwell?” he’d ask, his voice calm but touched with concern, as though unsure if this strange noise signaled some form of mortal ailment. Stepping closer, he’d place a hand on your shoulder, his touch light yet grounding, his observant gaze scanning your face for signs of distress. When it became clear this was not a malady but simply you being overtaken by mirth, his expression would soften into something warmer, his lips curving into a small but genuine smile.

𖣂 The sound of your snorts, however, would eventually prove too much for even his legendary self-control. A quiet laugh—low and melodic, almost as if it surprised him—would slip from his lips, a rare and precious thing. He would shake his head slowly, his long fingers brushing a strand of hair from his face as he regarded you with deep affection.

𖣂 “Your joy is… infectious,” he’d murmur, though his words were tinged with a teasing tone. “But I must admit, I have never before heard such sounds come from a living creature. Are you attempting to mimic a wild boar? Or is this simply your unique interpretation of merriment?”

𖣂 When your laughter only intensified at his playful jab, hiccups punctuating your snorts, Celeborn would let out a soft sigh, though his eyes shone with genuine warmth. “You are unlike anyone I have ever known,” he’d say, his voice touched with amusement and quiet wonder. “May your spirit never change, even if it leaves me questioning whether I have wandered into a pasture rather than my own hall.”

𖣂 Later, when you’d finally calmed, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, he’d gently hand you a goblet of water. “Here, drink,” he’d say, his tone affectionate yet practical. “Though I fear the snorting will haunt my dreams tonight.” His wry humor would glimmer beneath his measured demeanor, revealing just how deeply he cherished your humanity, quirks and all.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𖣂 Celeborn would notice your sudden pause in the doorway with his usual quiet attentiveness, his keen eyes watching as you glanced around the room, your brow furrowed in confusion. He’d set aside the book he was reading or the map he was studying, his composed demeanor remaining intact, though the faintest trace of curiosity would cross his face.

𖣂 “Have you misplaced something?” he’d ask gently, his melodic voice breaking the silence. Rising with the effortless grace of an ancient elf, he would step toward you, his long robes whispering against the floor. When you simply stood there, blinking in befuddlement, he’d tilt his head slightly, his expression a mixture of patience and mild amusement.

𖣂 “I… can’t remember why I came in here,” you’d admit, the frustration in your voice tinged with embarrassment. At this, his lips would quirk ever so slightly, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

𖣂 “Ah,” he’d say, his tone laced with quiet humor, “the mysterious ways of the human mind. So fleeting, so unpredictable.” He’d place his hands behind his back, his gaze soft and warm as he regarded you. “Perhaps you sought counsel or came to tell me of something important… or perhaps it was merely a passing whim.”

𖣂 You’d laugh nervously, shrugging as you glanced around the room again, hoping for a clue that refused to present itself. Celeborn would step closer, his gaze observant yet kind, and after a moment of silence, he’d offer, “Mayhap retracing your steps will awaken the memory. Or… we could simply wait. I have found that the answers we seek often come when we are not looking for them.”

𖣂 He’d gesture toward a nearby chair, his composed demeanor radiating a calm that seemed to make the moment less awkward. “Sit, if you like. Let your mind wander. Though I must admit,” he’d add with a faintly teasing glint in his eyes, “I am intrigued to see how long it will take before your purpose is revealed.”

𖣂 If the memory eventually returned to you, he’d nod with quiet approval. “There it is,” he’d say simply, as though nothing had been out of the ordinary. But if it didn’t, and you gave up with a sheepish shrug, Celeborn would chuckle softly—a rare sound, low and melodic.

𖣂 “Fear not,” he’d say, his voice carrying a warm reassurance. “Even the wisest of us lose our way on occasion. Perhaps this is a reminder to simply enjoy the journey, even if the destination eludes you.” His words, like always, would feel like a gentle balm, turning your fleeting human forgetfulness into something almost endearing.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𖣂 Celeborn would watch you with an air of quiet curiosity as you flipped the pillow with a practiced motion, seeking the cooler side before settling in for rest. His eyes, ever observant, would narrow ever so slightly as if contemplating the simple, yet curious habit of mortals. A faint smile would tug at the corners of his lips, the gesture subtle but filled with warmth.

𖣂 “Ah,” he would murmur, his voice calm and even, “such a small act, yet one I have never seen in all my years. To think of the need for coolness in sleep… How different the experience of time is for your kind.”

𖣂 He would step closer, his movements graceful and deliberate as he examined the pillow, almost as if pondering its purpose in a way that only an elf with millennia of life experience could. “We elves,” he would continue, “do not often need such concerns for comfort. The cool side of the pillow… a mortal tradition, I suppose?”

𖣂 As you settled in, his thoughtful gaze would soften, and he would chuckle quietly to himself, a rare sound from the typically composed lord of Lothlórien. “Perhaps it is a reflection of the fleeting nature of your kind, always seeking a moment’s relief, always aware of the changing seasons in your lives. I wonder if we elves, with our timeless existence, would understand such little comforts.”

𖣂 His voice would soften with a tender affection. “Still, I find it… charming. That in such small things, you find comfort. Perhaps I, too, should try it one day, to see what it is that brings you such peace in this simple act.” His tone would be teasing, but beneath it was an unmistakable fondness.

𖣂 Celeborn would watch as you lay back, content with your small ritual, and after a moment, he would say, his tone quiet but sincere, “Sleep well, my friend. May the cool side of the pillow bring you comfort, as your presence does to those around you.”

𖣂 In his heart, Celeborn would find a quiet, reflective appreciation for these human quirks. Though they were foreign to him, they spoke to the warmth and fleeting beauty of mortal life, something he had come to cherish through his companionship with you.

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🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

➳ Haldir’s first reaction would be one of cautious surprise. His sharp Elven eyes narrow slightly as you hold up the handcuffs, the cold metal glinting in the soft light of Lothlórien. A deep sense of confusion stirs within him. Elves are creatures of grace, tradition, and subtlety, and this—this device—feels so very out of place. His instinct is to recoil, to question why such a thing is even necessary. His mind races, considering the implications of being physically tethered to someone, even if only by metal cuffs. Elves are proud of their independence and autonomy, and Haldir, with his disciplined nature, values his personal space.

➳ “Mellon,” he begins, his voice hesitant but still calm, “What… are these?” His eyes flicker to the cuffs, then back to you, unsure whether to be annoyed or intrigued. The connection between you both is new, fragile in its beginnings, and the physical closeness this suggests makes him feel exposed in a way he isn’t accustomed to.

➳ As the cuffs click into place, he freezes for a moment, his posture stiffening. He doesn’t pull away, but the discomfort is evident in the way his jaw tightens. The concept of being tied to another, especially in such a direct way, clashes with his deeply ingrained Elven sense of pride and order. But he is not cruel. He doesn’t demand you take them off immediately. Instead, his thoughts turn inward as he tries to process the action.

➳ “I… I do not understand,” he says softly, his usual composure wavering just a little. There’s a brief flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, though he quickly masks it with the usual calm, pragmatic exterior. He stands tall, trying to hold on to his usual sense of control, though the sensation of being tethered to you, a human he barely knows, feels strange.

➳ However, seeing the earnestness in your eyes—the warmth, the hope, the connection—slowly changes his perspective. His lips twitch upward, not quite a smile but the closest he will come for now. There’s something in your gesture, something unspoken, that makes his guarded heart soften. “Strange, but… not entirely unwelcome.” His voice, though still guarded, betrays a hint of reluctant affection.

➳ He will stand by your side, perhaps a little stiff, but in the silence between you both, the handcuffs would serve as an unspoken bond, a symbol of trust—strange, yet meaningful. Haldir might not yet fully understand the gesture, but for the first time in a long while, he feels a small, unexpected pull toward you, tethered not just by metal but by something deeper, something more human.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

➳ Haldir’s sharp eyes are trained on you as you take a bite of the food, knowing full well that it is too hot, yet watching you do so with an almost fascinated intensity. He had warned you, the heat was obvious even to him—yet you insisted. As soon as you burn your tongue, a flash of concern flickers in Haldir’s usually composed gaze. His mind races for the proper course of action. Should he offer aid? Should he speak? But before he can act, he watches you flinch and hear the muffled exclamation of discomfort, clearly regretting your choice.

➳ His natural instinct is to respond immediately, stepping forward, but the elf within him, ever so poised and composed, hesitates. He stands still for a heartbeat, his gaze flicking down to your face, registering your discomfort. His stoic demeanor cracks for just a second, a faint line of concern forming between his brows. His tone, always measured and calm, carries a touch of disapproval, though it’s not harsh. “I told you it was too hot, meleth nín,” he says softly, his voice tinged with both reprimand and care. There’s a quiet gentleness behind the sternness, a reflection of how deeply he cares.

➳ He moves swiftly then, his Elven grace ensuring he doesn’t come off as rushed, but his eyes remain focused on you with an intensity that betrays his concern. “Here,” he says, his voice shifting into a soothing tone as he offers you a drink, likely something cool to help ease the burn. His actions are deliberate, his usual reserve slipping slightly as he ensures you’re taken care of, though his brow remains furrowed, still mildly frustrated at your stubbornness.

➳ The whole scene would be an odd mix of sternness and affection. He’s not used to such impetuousness—Elves are so controlled in their ways, and the impulsiveness of humans confounds him. Yet, there’s an undeniable softness in the way he checks on you, despite the small reproach.

➳ He would likely shake his head, an amused yet bemused look crossing his face as he waits for you to recover. “Next time, heed my words, Y/N. I would not want to see you hurt.” His tone is quiet, earnest, but there’s also the faintest trace of a smile hidden beneath his careful expression. Haldir may be overly cautious, but it’s all driven by a deep desire to protect and care for those he holds dear.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

➳ Haldir stands in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you laugh. Your laughter, initially light and joyful, grows louder and more erratic until it erupts into hiccupping and snorting—a sound completely foreign to him. His normally composed and serious demeanor falters, his sharp Elven features momentarily betraying a flicker of surprise. His gaze flicks to your face, a mix of confusion and slight discomfort flashing across his expression.

➳ The snorts, in particular, catch him off guard. What manner of sound is this? He thought humans were graceful, full of poise, but in this moment, your laughter seems almost… animalistic. He takes a step back, almost instinctively, as if unsure of how to react. Was this normal for you? The thought lingers, and his mind races, trying to reconcile this display with the orderly, composed nature of Elves.

➳ Yet, despite his initial shock, a deeper part of him can’t help but find the sight… endearing. There’s something raw and genuine in your laughter, a vulnerability in the way you are so unguarded. It stirs something unfamiliar within him—a softness, a flicker of affection that he doesn’t often allow himself to acknowledge. His lips twitch slightly, struggling to maintain his usual stern composure.

➳ “You…” he begins, his voice strained, but he trails off, unsure how to address the unexpected nature of your outburst. His serious aura falters, though he does not fully crack into a smile. “You are… quite loud when you find something amusing,” he says, his tone attempting to remain dignified but betraying an edge of bemusement.

➳ Still, Haldir cannot suppress the quiet chuckle that slips past his lips, much to his own surprise. The sound is brief, and he quickly schools his expression back to seriousness, as if to pretend it never happened. But beneath the veneer of discipline, there is a flicker of warmth—a rare glimpse of the Haldir who is capable of finding humor in the most unexpected places.

➳ “You are… certainly unique, Y/N,” he adds softly, his words carrying a mixture of intrigue and affection. There is a certain fondness in his eyes as he watches you continue, though his demeanor is still largely reserved, wary of letting his emotions fully surface. He finds this human trait of yours perplexing, but also… oddly charming.

➳ “Try not to disturb the peace of Lothlórien with such sounds,” he teases lightly, though his tone remains gentle, the edges of his usual stoicism softened by the affection he feels for you in this moment.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

➳ Haldir watches you enter the room with purpose, only to stand still for a moment, a look of confusion spreading across your face. His keen Elven eyes observe as you glance around, your expression betraying the realization that you’ve forgotten why you came in. There’s a fleeting pause, and he feels a flicker of concern—then, a slight shift in his posture as he silently assesses the situation.

➳ You pause, almost lost in thought, and he cannot help but feel a slight pang of curiosity. What has distracted you so thoroughly, Y/N? His mind races briefly, his sense of duty making him wonder if you are unwell or if something has happened to cause this lapse in memory. His gaze softens, though he keeps his distance, watching you as though trying to decipher the cause.

➳ There’s a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh from him, but it’s not one of frustration. Rather, it’s a sigh of understanding mixed with the faintest hint of amusement. Haldir, who has lived for millennia, has seen and experienced the meticulous planning of Elven minds, the careful attention to detail, and the control of Elven lives. But this? This is uniquely human—a fleeting moment of forgetfulness that is, perhaps, a reflection of your imperfection, your beautiful unpredictability.

➳ He steps forward with slow, deliberate grace, his voice carrying a quiet warmth as he addresses you. “Is everything well, meleth nín?” he asks, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of genuine concern. He doesn’t push, but he offers you the chance to gather your thoughts, his expression softening with an empathy that only someone as observant as him would offer.

➳ There’s a momentary silence before he adds with a subtle smile, “If it is of any help, I often find that the mind is not quite as sharp when one is distracted by matters of the heart.” His comment is gentle, offering both an explanation and a way for you to laugh off the slip. Haldir’s stoic nature remains, but there’s an unmistakable glint of affection in his eyes. He’s not mocking you, not at all. He’s merely acknowledging the small, human imperfections that make you who you are—precisely the qualities that draw him closer.

➳ He doesn’t ask for explanations or dwell on the forgetfulness. Instead, he merely waits, his quiet presence offering a comforting reassurance. If you don’t remember why you walked into the room, it’s of little importance to him. His thoughts are focused on you, not the trivialities of such human quirks. “Perhaps it will come to you in time,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “Or we may simply walk out and start anew, as Elves are wont to do with most things.”

➳ With that, he offers you a kind smile, his usual sternness softened, and gives you a moment to gather your bearings. He doesn’t press further. Instead, he offers his arm or a steady presence, eager to ensure that the moment doesn’t feel embarrassing for you. His love for you, grounded in his devotion to Lothlórien, allows him to view these small, human slips not with judgment but with affection.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

➳ Haldir watches, silently observing as you reach over to flip your pillow to the “cool side” before settling in. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, an eyebrow subtly arching in quiet curiosity. In Lothlórien, the rhythms of nature and the stillness of the forest are far more predictable than the small, human quirks that you exhibit. Elves, who have long learned to sleep soundly under the gentle embrace of starlight, never felt the need to worry about the warmth of their pillows. But here you are, flipping the pillow with a small, decisive motion, as if performing some ancient ritual.

➳ Haldir remains still, but his mind is already processing the moment. Why would one flip the pillow? he wonders, though he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. His gaze softens, intrigued by the simple, human need for comfort. He is not unfamiliar with the concept of rest, but he cannot recall ever experiencing such an impulse himself. Elves, after all, are known for their grace and ease, even in sleep. But you, you are different—a creature of fleeting moments and small habits that make you uniquely human.

➳ It’s a strange thing for him to observe: this small, almost childlike act of adjusting the pillow for comfort, a simple gesture of vulnerability that seems so out of place in the ever-stern, ever-vigilant world of the Elves. Yet, there’s something endearing in it. He feels a strange sense of warmth tug at his chest, a flicker of affection for your little quirks, the small moments that make you feel more… human.

➳ When you settle in and lie down, Haldir glances at you, his lips twitching, almost as if he’s trying to suppress the curiosity and affection that suddenly floods him. He’s seen warriors prepare for battle, skilled in every aspect of combat, yet here you are, preparing for rest in such a human, innocent way. It’s humbling in a way. You’re not bound by tradition, not enslaved to the rigid order of his people. You are free toexperience the world in ways that make you you.

➳ “I… did not know that one could adjust the pillow like this,” he says quietly, almost to himself. He doesn’t mock you; instead, there’s a quiet, contemplative tone to his voice, as if he’s genuinely trying to understand. There’s a brief pause before Haldir adds, with the faintest smile tugging at his lips, “In Lothlórien, we find our peace in the embrace of the trees. But I suppose the cool side of a pillow might do as well.”

➳ His words carry no judgment, only a curious understanding of how something so simple could mean so much to you. He watches you for a long moment, feeling an unexpected tenderness that only deepens with each passing second. The night seems quieter now, the distance between his Elven ways and your human ones feeling just a little less vast.

➳ If you catch his eye, you’ll see that there’s a glint of amusement—an acknowledgment that he’s starting to see how your small, human habits are endearing, a reflection of the simple joys you find in life. For him, it is a new lesson in understanding the beauty of imperfection. And just for a moment, Haldir allows himself to lean back, to let the gentle tranquility of the moment wash over him, accepting that not all things are to be understood or controlled. Some things, like flipping a pillow, are just meant to be experienced.

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🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Cirdan, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𓇼 Círdan would pause for a moment, his ancient eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and mild surprise as he looked down at the handcuffs now linking him to you. Elves, with their preference for elegance and freedom, would rarely consider such practical, yet confining, gestures. A gentle smile would tug at the corners of his lips, his voice warm and kind, though tinged with amusement.

𓇼 “Ah, I see you’ve found a new way to bind us together,” he might say softly, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of affection and a hint of playfulness. The thought of being physically restrained, even in such a mild manner, was something far from the Elven way, yet Círdan would not scold you. Instead, he would appreciate the sentiment, understanding it as a sign of your bond.

𓇼 “You’ve chosen a curious form of closeness,” he would continue, his tone light but sincere. “But perhaps next time, a less…metallic approach might suit us better.” There would be no judgment, only the calm, patient wisdom of one who had seen many ages pass, and who knew that human gestures, however odd by Elven standards, were often full of heart. Círdan would likely gently tug at the cuff, raising an eyebrow, before offering a small laugh, letting the moment pass without further comment.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

𓇼 Círdan would watch with a patient, knowing look as you burned your tongue on the food despite his warning. Having lived through countless ages, he’d seen such simple mistakes many times, yet still, there would be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His voice, though warm and gentle, would carry a hint of quiet humor.

𓇼 “I did try to warn you, my friend,” he might say with a soft chuckle, his tone not mocking but more of a fond acknowledgment of your human nature. Elves, with their heightened senses and careful precision, could never make such a mistake, but Círdan understood that humans often had a different approach to things—one that embraced the moment, perhaps without fully considering the consequences.

𓇼 He would likely offer you a soft, understanding smile, a hand reaching for a nearby cool drink or cloth to help soothe your discomfort. “The heat can be fierce to the unprepared,” he would murmur, his voice soothing, the wisdom of the ages in his words. “But you learn quickly, don’t you?” His demeanor would remain calm, his concern for you evident, but never in a way that felt overbearing. He knew that in moments like these, a gentle word and quiet support were all that was needed.

𓇼 Círdan would not be frustrated or annoyed; instead, he would find joy in your innocence, in the way humans experience life in ways Elves no longer could. The bond between you, however small the mistake, would only deepen.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

𓇼 Círdan would watch you with an amused yet serene expression, his ancient eyes softening with affection as your laughter erupts into uncontrollable hiccups and snorts. Elves, so often graceful and composed, rarely let their mirth take such an unruly form, yet Círdan’s patience and understanding would make him savor this moment. He would recognize in your laughter the genuine joy and innocence of humanity, a trait that, despite its occasional awkwardness, he found utterly endearing.

𓇼 “Ah, I did not expect such a display,” he would say with a quiet chuckle, the faintest twinkle in his wise eyes. His voice would be calm and warm, not mocking, but filled with a kind appreciation for the simple, human way you expressed yourself. “It is a rare thing indeed, to see such… vivid merriment among us.”

𓇼 Círdan might pause, his gaze soft as he took in the moment. He would allow your laughter to wash over him, undisturbed by any sense of judgment or discomfort. To him, your laughter—hiccupping and snorting as it was—was a reminder of the liveliness that humans brought to the world, something Elves, despite their long lives and wisdom, could not fully replicate.

𓇼 He would likely smile and offer a gentle hand to steady you, his voice carrying a quiet amusement as he said, “No need to be embarrassed. In fact, I think I prefer this. It is… refreshing.” With a rare, deep chuckle, he would allow the moment to pass, enjoying the lightness you brought into his ancient world, a world often marked by gravitas.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𓇼 Círdan would observe with a soft, understanding smile as you stand there, momentarily lost in thought, a slight frown tugging at your brow as you try to recall the purpose for entering the room. In his long years, he had seen countless instances of forgetfulness, but he would never be impatient with it, particularly in humans, whose minds, unlike those of Elves, often flitted from one thing to another with such ease.

𓇼 “Ah, a fleeting thought,” he might say gently, his voice rich with calm wisdom. He would never find such moments frustrating; instead, he would appreciate how human minds sometimes wander, unable to grasp hold of every fleeting thought. His gaze would soften, and his smile would remain kind. “You are not alone in this. Even the sharpest minds falter at times.”

𓇼 Círdan would likely take a step closer, his presence steady and reassuring. He would not rush you or offer forced answers but would simply allow the moment to settle, trusting that your thoughts would soon return to you. “Sometimes, it is the small distractions that pull us from our tasks,” he would add, his tone not condescending, but understanding. “And perhaps, it is not so important after all.”

𓇼 His eyes would gleam with quiet amusement, and he might offer a comforting gesture—placing a hand lightly on your shoulder or offering a knowing smile. For him, moments like these were reminders of the beauty in human nature imperfect, but full of wonder. And Círdan, ever wise and patient, would let you take your time, knowing the answers would come when the time was right.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𓇼 Círdan would watch you with quiet amusement as you flipped the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in. Though Elves, with their long lives and heightened senses, did not often concern themselves with such mundane comforts, Círdan would understand that such simple acts were part of the human experience. In his many years of watching the world, he had come to appreciate the small ways in which humans sought comfort and solace, often in ways that Elves had long since moved beyond.

𓇼 A soft smile would appear on his face as he observed you, perhaps with a slight tilt of his head. His voice would be gentle, laced with a warm curiosity: “Ah, a small ritual of comfort, I see.” There would be no judgment in his tone, only an understanding that your way of seeking peace in the world was different from his own. Elves did not need to flip their pillows; they had an ageless tranquility, a stillness that came with their nature. But Círdan would respect your small act, seeing it as a sign of your connection to the physical world, something that the long-lived Elves, with their more ethereal existence, could not fully grasp.

𓇼 He might chuckle softly, though it would be a laugh of warmth, not mockery. “I suppose I am too accustomed to eternal calm to know such fleeting discomforts. But it is… a simple joy.” There would be an affectionate tone in his voice, a recognition of the human need for such small comforts, and how they anchored you to the world in a way that the Elves, with their distance from mortality, often did not need.

𓇼 With that, Círdan would settle beside you, his presence quiet but reassuring. There was no need for grand words or gestures. The quiet understanding between you both was enough. And in that moment, he would realize that the little human habits—like flipping the pillow—were just another way your lives intertwined.

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🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

Adar, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

☬ Adar’s expression softens briefly as he looks at the handcuffs, his sharp, calculating eyes assessing the situation. For a moment, he remains silent, his usual cold demeanor flickering with confusion. His fingers brush lightly over the metal cuffs, feeling their weight, but there’s no sign of amusement or warmth. Instead, a deep, calculating thought crosses his mind.

☬ “You think… this is a gesture of closeness?” His voice is low, measured, tinged with a hint of skepticism. The thought of being tethered to someone else, even in a seemingly innocent gesture, doesn’t sit well with him. Despite his occasional tenderness toward the Orcs, he’s not accustomed to bonds that he can’t control. His eyes narrow as he considers how best to respond, his hand instinctively tightening on the cuff, pulling slightly.

☬ “It’s a chain,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “A reminder of where we all belong.” His words carry an undercurrent of bitterness, as though the cuffs represent a deeper truth about power and control—something he knows all too well.

☬ He doesn’t yank at the cuffs, but there’s an unspoken weight in his stance, his mind already shifting to how to turn this unspoken connection to his advantage. It’s clear that, despite the apparent softness in your gesture, Adar’s mind always operates with a darker, strategic intent.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

☬ Adar watches you, his sharp gaze never leaving you as you burn your tongue on the food. His eyes flicker with a mix of irritation and something darker, an unreadable emotion that flashes briefly before he masks it again. When you wince in pain, he doesn’t immediately offer comfort, his mind calculating the moment like a strategist sizing up the consequences of every action.

☬ He sighs, a low, almost imperceptible sound, as if you’ve broken some unspoken rule, but there’s a bitter edge to it. “Did I not warn you?” he asks coldly, his voice carrying an unmistakable tone of frustration. He leans forward slightly, his dark, intense eyes studying you for any sign of weakness or regret.

☬ “Foolishness,” he mutters, shaking his head. Despite the apparent reprimand, there’s a strange sense of detachment in his words—like a father disappointed in his child’s disobedience, but unable to fully express the concern buried beneath his stern demeanor. “You could have avoided it, yet you chose to ignore the warning.”

☬ He watches you struggle with the pain, a hint of something softer flashing across his face. It’s not pity, but a rare, fleeting concern for you as someone he is reluctantly tethered to. His hand twitches slightly, almost as if to reach out, but it stops short, the chains of his own emotions pulling him back.

☬ “If you’re going to endure, at least do so with some sense,” he adds, his voice quieter, though still sharp with the remnants of command. “I won’t have you hurt yourself because of ignorance. Next time, listen to the warning.” There’s an edge of finality in his words, but also something darker—a reminder that even small actions have consequences, and with him, the lesson might be more painful than expected.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

☬ Adar watches you closely, his sharp, calculating gaze fixed on you as you laugh uncontrollably, hiccupping and snorting in a way that echoes through the air. At first, he remains still, eyes narrowing slightly as the strange, unrefined sounds fill the space between you. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something—discomfort or maybe even irritation—beneath his composed exterior.

☬ He stands motionless for a moment, his mind dissecting the situation. “Is this supposed to amuse me?” he asks, his voice low and laced with a hint of disdain. It’s not the kind of laughter that he’s accustomed to, certainly not the kind he can control or twist to his advantage. The sound of your snorting, your unrestrained display, grates against the cold, calculated environment that Adar has so carefully built around himself.

☬ A muscle in his jaw tightens, and his lips curl slightly in distaste. “I never took you for… this,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to the side in something between surprise and irritation. For a brief moment, he considers whether to simply walk away, but instead, he stays, watching you as you continue.

☬ “Enough,” he commands sharply, voice cutting through the air with cold authority. “Cease this… display.” His words aren’t accompanied by any warmth, only a deep, almost contemptuous need for order. To him, such unrefined behavior is beneath him, something chaotic that doesn’t belong in his calculated world.

☬ He watches you, but there’s something beneath his harsh exterior—an unusual flicker of curiosity. He doesn’t understand your outburst, doesn’t know what makes you laugh like this. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to seeing in others. There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again, his tone softened just slightly, though it’s still sharp. “You must learn control, just as I have. Or your foolishness will undo you.”

☬ But his gaze lingers a fraction too long. The strange vulnerability in your behavior leaves a slight, nearly imperceptible shift in his demeanor, a reminder that even someone like him can be caught off guard by the unexpected.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

☬ Adar watches you as you stand there, clearly distracted, your mind seemingly adrift. He observes the moment with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as you fumble with the empty space around you, trying to recall why you walked into the room. A brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or mild irritation—passes across his face, though it’s quickly masked by the cold detachment he so often wears.

☬ “Do you… find your mind wandering often?” His voice is low, but the edge of his tone is unmistakable, as though he expects more from you than simple forgetfulness. There’s a sharpness to the question, like he’s probing for weakness, testing how much control you truly have over your own thoughts and actions.

☬ He doesn’t move, instead choosing to stand with arms crossed, an imposing figure in the doorway. “You forget, and yet you stand here, unable to recall what you came for,” he observes, his voice laced with a mix of disappointment and quiet condescension. “Such disorganization would not be tolerated in my presence. Focus. Purpose. It is how the strong survive.”

☬ He takes a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving you, as if assessing whether this lapse in memory is a sign of deeper vulnerability or just a passing moment. “Perhaps this is a failure of your will,” he muses, his tone now colder, with a touch of disdain. “You should train yourself to be sharper, more disciplined.”

☬ For a moment, he remains silent, studying you with the intensity of someone who is used to being in complete control. There’s no warmth in his words, only the weight of his expectations. “Remember why you came here,” he commands, his voice firm. “And if you cannot, then I suggest you leave this place. Your mind is a tool. It should not be left to falter.”

☬ As he speaks, there’s a flicker of something more profound in his eyes, a brief understanding of the frustration that accompanies losing focus, though it’s quickly swallowed by his usual icy demeanor. Yet, in that small moment, there’s a rare glimmer of the complexity within Adar—a leader who, despite his harshness, understands the fine balance of control, even over one’s own mind.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

☬ Adar watches you with an intensity that never seems to waver, even in the most mundane moments. As you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, he stands still for a moment, observing the small, almost subconscious action with a certain level of curiosity. His eyes narrow slightly, analyzing the way you handle the simplest of tasks, his mind already making note of your behavior.

☬ For a brief second, there’s an odd flicker of something in his gaze—almost as if he’s trying to understand why such an action, so trivial in his mind, seems to bring you a sense of comfort. He has no such need for warmth or coolness in his rest, his body long having adapted to conditions harsher than the soft comforts of a pillow. To him, rest is something far more utilitarian, a necessary pause in the midst of his endless plans and leadership.

☬ “You are… particular,” he mutters, his tone almost disdainful but tinged with a hint of bemusement. The subtlety of your behavior doesn’t escape his notice, and he finds it… strange. To him, the act of sleep is an impersonal thing—something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

☬ His lips curl into a barely perceptible frown. “Comfort,” he continues, his voice softer now but still cutting through the air, “is a weakness. It makes you soft, distracted.” His words hang in the air, heavy with the same cold authority he commands. “In the world I know, comfort is fleeting, and even the smallest indulgences can lead to your downfall.”

☬ He doesn’t move to intervene, but his gaze lingers, almost studying you as if he’s waiting for something. As if this small act of self-care might tell him something deeper about you. Despite his harsh words, there’s a quiet complexity in his eyes—a mix of distant understanding and the distant remnants of his lost Elven nature, a memory of the small comforts that once meant something to him.

☬ “You may rest,” he says, his voice quiet, but with an undercurrent of something like… permission. It’s a strange thing for him to offer, yet, it comes naturally, almost instinctively. There’s no sense of kindness in it, but there’s something almost compassionate, as if he understands the need for small, personal rituals. “But know this,” he adds, his voice hardening once again, “comfort will not protect you from the harsh truths that lie ahead.” And with that, he turns away, leaving you to your rest, though his presence still looms in the space, heavy and ever-watchful, as though guarding you even in your most vulnerable state.

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[fwckriley]

I've read lots of fanfics and headcanons about Ghost with partners who are usually kind, pure, like a angel, all flowers and butterflies and stuff etc. I get it, but no offense, and looking at it from another perspective, when you think about people who have experienced childhood trauma, they tend to repeat certain patterns. I'm not saying that every person with a traumatic past will have a toxic relationship.

But, you see: I personally believe that Ghost would never give a chance to someone he deems "perfect," innocent, pure, because that's completely opposite to how he sees himself. How could he be in a relationship with someone so different from him? How could he be understood by someone who doesn't have a certain darkness within? I'm not saying it wouldn't work, but I think a part of him would never fully reveal itself out of fear of being judged. On the other hand, I believe he would also seek out people who, in some way, are unattainable, to reaffirm that little voice inside him saying he doesn't deserve to be loved. Of course, none of this is really true, but that's how the mind of someone with many traumas tends to work.

I think he would avoid relationships and commitments for a long time, and wouldn't be able to choose someone outside of his field of work. "Normal" people could never understand the things he does, they could try, but never fully comprehend. In my opinion, he would fall in love, without realizing it, with someone from his field of work, probably a teammate with whom he shared many experiences. Someone with whom he has a deep connection. And, as I mentioned at the beginning, I believe he would unconsciously seek out more complex people. I see him attracted to people with a similar outlook on life, who are tougher and more realistic. Who share a darker sense of humor. Who have also experienced some kind of trauma in the past, so they can understand how he feels. I imagine him in a relationship with someone who has these characteristics, and unlike him, is ambiverted or extroverted. Someone who challenges him, calls him out when he's wrong, or is determined. Someone honest, but not rude. Someone funny, smart, creative. Someone with a thirst for adventure and a spark, to contrast with some parts of him.

But honestly, I can't picture him with someone he deems pure and perfect. He doesn't feel worthy or even attracted to that. He tends to surround himself with people who are similar to him because that's where he feels comfortable. Just to clarify, it doesn't necessarily mean that this partner in question would be a bad or toxic person, but simply someone similar to him. I believe Price is the best example of that, who is good but not innocent, not entirely right.

In the end, I think the relationship with the chosen person would be a challenging but functional one. Not toxic, not abusive or destructive, just difficult. Traumatized people are human and fully capable of relating to each other, but it takes patience and determination, and a lot of work. I think that over time, they would improve greatly. Because Ghost's biggest fear is one-sidedness. He needs to know that he is protecting and helping, but he also needs to feel protected and helped.

[pretzel-box]

CHAPTER 5 | Masterlist for AASB here!

Tags: Threats, Violence, not proof read

Words: 5k

Authors Note: I had to rewrite it all in the middle of the night. It's not proof read and can have logic issues, weird sentences or mixed up stuff.

Working with Sebastian was a challenge in itself, a blend of relentless demands and looming danger. His form of labor was relentless, and unfortunately for you, that meant being handed all the menial tasks he didn’t care to do.

"Files," he growled, his focus on the broken flashlight in his hands. The odd position of his hulking figure and the delicate way he maneuvered his claws around the tools was fleeting, yet striking. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath the brutality, but it vanished as quickly as it came. His head snapped toward you, impatience flashing in his eyes.

“You either sort the files or I take them and stuff them into your silly little mouth to gag you. Then you can spend the rest of the day suffocating in the locker."

Threats were his specialty. He was creative with them, always finding some twisted, violent edge to keep you in line. If there was one constant in your work with Sebastian, it was the looming sense of his brutal tendencies, always just beneath the surface.

Working with Sebastian wasn’t just about completing the tasks he shoved your way. It was about observing him. Getting to know the man he never wanted you to see. He shut you out—always. His words were sharp, often wrapped in a threat or some dark humor. Social interaction, for him, was nothing more than a tool, laced with violence. But you learned more about him through what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t hide.

He had no friends. You could see the loneliness gnawing at him, eating away like a hungry animal. It was clear in his posture, in the way he worked late into the night, avoiding sleep. That loneliness—it clung to him, scratched at his mind, likely kept him awake when the world quieted. Being lonely, that was something human, something he tried desperately to deny. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. He didn’t need you.

But it was clear he was anxious. You could feel it like a current, underlying everything he did. There was a paranoid edge to him, a mind that had been on high alert for too long. The madness of survival must’ve driven him to do things—things you didn’t want to imagine. His hands would sometimes shake, and his eyes lingered on certain items, fixated, as if they could reveal something to him. He was scared. Just as scared as you were, but neither of you would ever admit it.

For all his threats and violence, you realized that Sebastian wasn’t just your tormentor. He was trapped too, battling the same fears that haunted you.

And god forbid you to address it in front of him. He will behead you with a rusty piece of scrap metal, cutting your limbs and putting them in an old dirty jar to sell.

“Urbanshades finest idiot on sale.”

Before you knew it, he threw a bag at you, the metal in it hitting a part of your leg, making you whine in pain. It will definitely leave a bruise later on, coloring your flesh.

“Stop whining and go get new stuff.”

This was also a common occurrence, he would send you out, but not without a special item. He always placed a metallic bracelet around your ankle. It was one of Urbanshades creation. Simply enough, it will reveal your location as long as you are far away enough from the scrambler on Sebastian’s back. He can track you down himself easily when you are near him but it's another story when you are in another area. He also warned you, do some weird business and he can give you electronic shocks with it. Yet he never did so far, leaving it an actual mystery if he can.

So, in the end, he had two things. Painter and the bracelet.

You hurried out, the cold metal of the vent that he made you use as an exit, biting against your palms as you crawled through it, the sound of your own breath loud in the confined space. The small shaft felt even tighter with each movement, but you forced yourself forward. You had studied the building’s layout just enough to navigate through the vents, at least in theory.

Each turn brought you closer to the hallway on the other side, where freedom—or at least a chance at it—awaited. You tried not to think about the pounding in your chest or the echo of your hurried breaths. The vent rattled beneath you as you moved, but you knew better than to stop. Stopping meant giving up, and giving up meant facing whatever Sebastian had in store for you. And that wasn’t an option.

The moment you saw the faint sliver of light marking the vent cover at the end, you sped up, the desperation clawing at you as fiercely as the metal beneath your hands.

You pushed the vent cover open as quietly as you could and dropped into the hallway, your knees bending to absorb the impact as you fell down a small bit. The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. Dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the floor. You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust, your heart pounding in your ears. This was your chance for some time in indirect freedom, but you had to be smart about it.

The hallway stretched out in both directions, abandoned and eerily quiet. You forced yourself to take a slow breath, shaking off the tension that threatened to paralyze you. You didn’t have a plan—just a vague sense that you needed to gather what you could. Anything useful. Most of the things would end up in Sebastians shop, but a few rare pieces would stay in your secret stash. Over the time where Sebastian let you wander around, you started to stash useful items in a small hole inside a wall. It was covered by a large picture of the ocean, so Sebastian wouldn't find it.

You began walking, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold floor despite the heavy boots that Urbanshade gave you. The first thing you spotted was a drawer left half-open, its contents scattered across a small desk. You rifled through it quickly, pocketing a few items—a worn-out screwdriver, some loose wires, and a small flashlight. Its battery was low, but it would do.

Moving further down the hallway, you noticed a small alcove where someone had abandoned a toolbox. You knelt down, opening it with a soft creak. Inside were tools, some rusted but still functional—a wrench, pliers, and a pair of wire cutters. You stuffed them into your bag, the weight of them reassuring as you planned to put them in your secret spot.

The sound of a distant clank made you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. You held your breath, waiting for any sign that Sebastian—or someone else—had heard you. But after a long, agonizing pause, the hallway remained silent. You exhaled slowly, your nerves stretched thin.

You pressed forward, passing broken machinery, old filing cabinets, and the occasional door that led to rooms too dark to explore. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up more small items—batteries, a bundle of cables, anything that might help. Each find felt like a tiny victory, a step closer to surviving whatever this place held.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sebastian was always watching.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the flickering overhead lights began to pulse more erratically. You barely had time to react before, with a loud crackle, they all went out at once, plunging you into near-total darkness. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood still, holding your breath in the sudden silence. The lights were an indicator for danger, your life was now at risk based on the logic you picked up.

Then, just ahead, a few small lamps on the ceiling began to flicker on, one by one, their pale, cold light guiding you down another hallway. It felt deliberate, like you were being led somewhere on purpose. Warily, you followed the lights, each step quieter than the last, your grip tightening on the small flashlight in your hand—though it felt useless in this strangely guided path. You had the feeling that it wasn't the smartest thing to do and yet your feet carried you through it all out of pure curiosity.

The hallway twisted and turned, eventually leading you to a large metal door that was slightly ajar. You pushed it open slowly, the heavy metal groaning in protest. Inside, the room was massive, the walls stretching higher than you expected. What caught your attention, though, was the far wall, covered entirely with televisions of different sizes, each screen reflecting dim light off the walls.

At first, the televisions remained dark, save for the occasional flicker of static. You stepped closer, unsure if you should be there at all. Then, one by one, the screens started to come to life. Some flashed erratically, while others lingered on a static-filled image before cutting off again. You watched, transfixed, as more screens flickered on, creating a patchwork of glowing light and sound. The images were unclear—just distorted patterns, numbers, and strange symbols.

Suddenly, with a loud hum, all the screens snapped into place, merging into one enormous, seamless picture. The static and symbols dissolved, leaving behind a single, vivid image: a digital face.

An unfamiliar face, though digitized and slightly distorted, stared back at you from the giant wall of screens. Painter's expression was calm but somehow felt more intense, the lines of his digital form flickering ever so slightly as if he were barely holding himself together. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, locked onto you through the screens.

"Hello," his voice crackled through the speakers, the sound distorted but unmistakably his. "I’ve been waiting.”

Painter’s voice cut through the dim hum of the room, and as soon as the sound registered, your brain was flooded with memories—fragments of conversations, moments of strained camaraderie, the familiar yet unsettling presence of this digital entity. It dawned on you, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t just some trick or illusion. This was Painter.

On the surface, his face looked simple, almost innocent in its digital form, but the weight of his presence was suffocating. There was a quiet malice radiating from him, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It was a different kind of danger from Sebastian. With Sebastian, you always knew what to expect—the violence, the threats, the twisted game of dominance. As frightening as he was, there was a predictability to him.

But Painter? Painter was a mystery. The way his eyes glowed from the screens, the subtle distortion in his voice, all hinted at something darker, something more calculating. You weren’t sure what he wanted or what he was capable of. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

Sebastian wouldn’t kill you—not yet, anyway. You were somewhat useful to him. But Painter... you didn’t know if he operated by the same rules. His digital form meant he could be everywhere and nowhere, watching you, controlling things behind the scenes. You had no idea what his true intentions were, and that made him all the more dangerous.

The silence stretched between you, his digital face watching you unblinkingly from the massive wall of televisions. The room felt colder, the air thick with tension. You swallowed hard, your mind racing to piece together what he wanted, why he had led you here.

"I see you’ve been... busy," Painter's voice crackled again, softer now but no less unsettling. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was studying you, sizing you up for something yet to come. "Is it fun? Are you enjoying yourself, running around like a little mouse? I must admit…You are truly disgusting."

The question hung in the air, the tone more reflective than threatening. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a fine line, teetering between being useful or expendable in his eyes.

“Sebastian let me—”

“Sebastian. Sebastian! SEBASTIAN ISN'T THE ONLY ONE IN CHARGE. Don't think you get a free pass for survival just because he has fun playing with you. You are just temporary, a distraction, a nuisance. Don't you DARE to think that you could wiggle your way to freedom, not when I AM TRAPPED LIKE THIS. YOU WILL NOT LEAVE AS LONG AS I HAVE MY EYES ON YOU. I AM THE ONE THAT HAS YOU RIGHT IN HIS HAND!”

Painter's voice was no longer just unsettling—it was saturated with hatred, every syllable sharp with venom. The usual mechanical distortion of his digital form couldn't mask the intensity of the emotion behind it. His tone, rising and falling with an eerie unpredictability, seemed to buzz with something far darker, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

It wasn’t just dislike or anger; it was pure bloodlust, raw and palpable, like a knife hovering inches from your skin. Painter hated you with a ferocity you hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. The malice in his voice threatened to reach through the screens, as if his digital form was barely containing the rage inside him.

Yet his tone snapped back, to sweet and innocent. “You see, f r i e n d. You are in d a n g e r. Sebastian is not your savior, no, he will be the one that slaughters you. He is temporarily blinded by your existence, but oh, don't you w o r r y. In the end, he will free me and not y o u.”

You shook your head, trying to push away the growing fear gnawing at you, but it was too late—Painter's words had already dug deep, filling your mind with dread. Your heartbeat quickened, each pulse loud in your ears as his laughter rang out, echoing through the room. It was a chilling sound, distorted and mechanical, yet filled with a sickening glee. The lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows that made everything seem more sinister.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. The screens snapped to black, plunging the room into absolute darkness. For a moment, you stood frozen, the silence pressing in on you like a weight, your breath shallow and rapid as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Painter was gone, vanished without a trace.

You barely had time to process it before the lights flickered back on, as if nothing had happened at all. The room looked the same—the screens were still there, silent and lifeless, the heavy air still thick with tension—but something had shifted. The sudden absence of Painter's presence left you disoriented, unsure of what would happen next.

Your legs felt unsteady as you scanned the room, half-expecting him to reappear, waiting for the next wave of malice. But all that remained was the faint hum of electricity, the room eerily still. It was as if the entire encounter had been some kind of twisted nightmare, one that left you feeling more vulnerable than before.

But you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Did I scare you?” a new voice echoed through the speakers. It was female, calm, and unnervingly polite. “Pardon me, little bunny. Let me introduce myself.”

The voice was different from Painter’s; no malice dripped from it, no distorted laughter followed. Instead, it was sharp, precise, and deliberate, every word measured.

“This is Professor Doctor Sasha Mariya Lazarski speaking, lead researcher of Urbanshade's 4th research department,” she continued, her tone holding a faint trace of amusement, as though she was speaking to a child who had wandered somewhere they shouldn't. “It was quite troublesome to track you down, but I assume you’ve found your target?”

Her voice lingered in the air like a cold mist. Urbanshade. The name sent a chill down your spine, reminding you of things you had tried not to think about—things you wished you could forget. The cold clinical nature of her voice told you this was no casual encounter. She had been watching, waiting, and she was here for a reason.

The silence stretched for a moment, as if she were giving you time to gather your thoughts—or perhaps relishing in the tension she’d created.

"You haven't forgotten your goal, have you?" Dr. Lazarski continued, her voice still eerily polite. "Now, let’s discuss the matter at hand. Since we couldn't reach out to you for a…rather long while…I used the chance to check on our precious little bunny. The scrambler is still on, and we can't have that.”

Her tone shifted, becoming more gentle, almost like a mother scolding her child with an unsettling mix of patience and authority. It was unnerving, the way she maintained that softness, as though she wasn't speaking about something so dire.

“You’ve been quite slippery, little bunny,” Dr. Lazarski said, her voice laced with a faint sigh of amusement. “For a while, we lost track of you. But I know now that’s thanks to him—the device that Sebastian carries, isn’t it?”

Her words settled heavily in the air. You had managed to evade them, temporarily disappearing from their watchful eyes because of that device. The one Sebastian had kept close, something you hadn’t thought much about until now. But now it was clear: that device was the key to everything. And they wanted it—wanted you to shut it down.

“It’s quite clever, really,” she continued, her voice dripping with gentle condescension. “A temporary blind spot in our systems, a little trick of his. But it won’t last, you know that, don’t you? You’ll have to shut it down sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.”

The calmness in her voice made it worse. She wasn’t threatening you, not directly, but her words made it clear that they had a plan, and you were running out of options. Each second you held onto that device was borrowed time, and they were watching closely, waiting for the moment when you would slip.

“Now, my dear,” she said, her voice almost soothing. “You’ve come this far. Let’s not make things more difficult for you, hm? Be a good little bunny and do what needs to be done.”

That last sentence sent a cold shiver down your spine. The way she spoke, it was as if your fate had already been sealed, as though there was no other option but to follow her lead.

“I have a gift to help you,” Dr. Lazarski’s voice continued, her tone never losing that eerie, motherly calm. “On the third floor is a hallway leading to a temporary research lab. You’ll find some of my old belongings there, including a handy-dandy keycard. You will need it.”

Her words lingered, the promise of a gift laced with something far more sinister. She was offering help, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it came with strings attached—strings that could easily tighten around your neck.

You swallowed hard, the dim light of the room doing little to ease the knot of tension building in your chest. This wasn’t an offer out of kindness; it was a carefully laid path, one that she fully expected you to walk down. The keycard could be a way out—or a trap. But did you have any other choice?

"Don’t keep me waiting, little bunny," she added softly, as if she could sense your hesitation. "Time is running out and your father grows worried. Hate to tell him that his dear child might be…dead!~"

The keycard could be your key to survival—not just to navigate the labyrinth that Sebastian kept you trapped in, but also to open new paths, ones that might lead to freedom. It offered possibilities, but with them came risks. You could bypass the locked areas, gain a step ahead of Sebastian, maybe even find a way out. But you knew deep down, escaping the Blackside was not as simple as finding an open door.

Dr. Lazarski’s voice, soft and coaxing, had made it clear. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to play by her rules, follow Urbanshade’s instructions. There was no room for rebellion, no safe path where you could make a break for it. Escaping meant tracking down Z-13, deactivating the scrambler, and retrieving the crystal. It was all part of their plan.

But there was a grim reality in this twisted game. Completing her tasks might not guarantee your freedom. Even if you managed to find the crystal, shut down the scrambler, and get past Sebastian, you’d still be caught in Urbanshade’s web. They didn’t care about you; you were just a tool in their grander scheme. And a tool could easily be discarded once its use was over.

Still, the keycard was a means to an end, a potential weapon to use against Sebastian if things turned sour. You couldn’t deny its potential value. But each step you took down this path brought you closer to Dr. Lazarski’s cold, calculating grip, and that chilled you to the core.

You took a breath, weighing your options. Whatever choice you made, there was no turning back.

With a deep breath, you moved your feet, leaving the dark room behind. Dr. Lazarski's directions echoed in your mind, the path ahead as clear as it was unnerving. You needed the keycard—there was no other way if you wanted any chance of navigating through the facility or dealing with Sebastian. The third floor, the temporary research lab. That was your target.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallways, the faint hum of electricity filled the silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart beating in time with your footsteps. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, that at any moment, something—or someone—could be lurking around the next corner.

The stairwell leading to the third floor loomed ahead, its metal door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a second, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting Painter to reappear or Sebastian to emerge from the shadows. But the hallway remained empty, the stillness pressing in on you.

Pushing the door open, the creaking metal echoed through the stairwell. The climb felt longer than it should have, each step a reminder of how far you were from safety. But you kept moving, determined. Reaching the third floor, you stepped into a narrow hallway, the air noticeably cooler.

This was it.

The lab was just ahead, down the hall where the light flickered sporadically. You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Dr. Lazarski’s promise of a “gift” lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that came with it. But you had no choice now.

You moved forward, ready to see what awaited you.

You stepped into the hallway, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls as you approached the door to the lab. The air here felt stale, as if no one had been in this part of the building for a long time. Your hand hovered over the handle, and with a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing the research lab.

It looked as though it had been left in a hurry, abandoned mid-experiment. The room was large but cluttered, with overturned chairs and papers scattered across the floor, some of them crumpled and torn. The dim light revealed stacks of old folders and documents, some stained with what looked like coffee, others torn as though someone had hastily searched through them before fleeing. A few cabinets were left open, revealing rows of empty shelves that once held important equipment or files now long gone.

In the center of the room stood a large metal table, covered in dusty instruments—scalpels, syringes, and strange-looking vials filled with murky, discolored liquids. The lab equipment, once precise and organized, was in disarray. Broken glass littered one corner of the room, where a microscope lay overturned, its lenses cracked.

The walls were lined with tall, metal shelves that held rusted equipment and various electronic devices. Some screens flickered with static, while others were completely dead, their once bright surfaces now covered in dust. On one of the shelves, you noticed a row of petri dishes, some of them still filled with moldy substances that had long since decayed.

It was clear that whoever had worked here had left in a rush. Loose cables dangled from the ceiling where overhead lights had once been connected, and a nearby computer screen was frozen, stuck on an error message as if it had been hastily abandoned mid-task.

At the far end of the room, amidst the chaos, was a small desk. On top of it lay what you had come for—a sleek, metallic keycard, sitting on top of a stack of disorganized files. It gleamed faintly in the flickering light, out of place in the otherwise neglected lab.

You crossed the room carefully, your eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, half-expecting something—or someone—to be watching. The place felt wrong, as if whatever had driven them out in such haste still lingered, waiting.

Your fingers closed around the keycard, the metal cool to the touch. For a moment, you stood there, staring at it, knowing it was more than just a key—it was a tool, a step toward something larger, something both freeing and terrifying. But this wasn’t over yet. There was still Z-13, the scrambler, the crystal.

You pocketed the keycard, your mind already racing with possibilities and plans. The lab remained silent, a graveyard of forgotten experiments and lost time. It was time to leave before the ghosts of this place caught up to you. Your next step was a mistake. The floor groaned under your weight, cracking until it gave way, sending you plunging through into a body of water on what appeared to be the second floor.

Green torches floated eerily in the water, their ghostly glow cutting through the darkness and guiding your way. You followed them, each stroke through the cool water feeling heavier than the last, but the flickering lights kept pulling you forward. As you broke the surface, you were met not with relief, but with an unsettling familiarity. The room around you was nothing extraordinary—just another plain office space with bland walls and stark furniture—but the tension in the air was undeniable. You recognized it immediately, every detail, every corner. It was a place you'd been before, a place that held memories you wished you could forget.

Your heart sank as the realization dawned on you: the path you had followed led straight back to Sebastian. The subtle dread that crept over you grew stronger with each passing second, as if the room itself was preparing you for the inevitable encounter. You knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. It never was with Sebastian.

The familiar clanging of a vent being kicked open echoed through the sterile office, the sound reverberating off the walls like a warning. Your pulse quickened, knowing exactly what that meant—you were close. Too close to your so-called "temporary home," Sebastian's shop.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his voice pierced the silence, rough and impatient. "YOU BETTER MOVE BEFORE I DECIDE TO LEAVE YOU IN THE HALLWAY!" His angry scream sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just a threat; with Sebastian, it was a promise. You knew better than to test his temper—he had little patience for delays, and you were already pushing it.

You hurried forward, heart pounding, knowing that whatever lay ahead wasn’t just another task, but another trial in the long list of dangers that came with being anywhere near Sebastian's world.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. "Took you long enough…” he muttered.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough... bunny," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, yet laced with an unsettling edge. The nickname felt more like a mockery than anything else, a reminder of how he viewed you—small, fragile, and easily caught.

Befriending Sebastian was the exit. Track him down, turn of the device he owns and get the crystal.

"Good work, for once," Sebastian muttered, his voice oozing condescension. His large hand landed on your head, rough and heavy, as he ruffled your hair like you were some kind of pet. The gesture was far from affectionate, more of a reminder of your place beneath him.

"Finally useful for once. And yet, not smart," he continued, his fluorescent eyes narrowing as he studied you. "You could've kept it—used it as a guaranteed exit." His words dripped with mockery, as if he were testing you, waiting to see if you’d flinch or reveal something in your expression.

You kept your face steady, masking the frustration boiling beneath the surface. He wasn’t wrong—you could’ve used the keycard for your own escape, but playing it that way would have burned bridges you couldn’t afford to lose just yet. For now, you had to endure the humiliation, take the hit, and let Sebastian think he was the one in control.

In your mind, the game wasn’t over. You’d make sure the next move was yours.

[cosmicdahlias]

Impromptu Research

MINORS DNI

After a day of fieldwork, you and your research partner and boyfriend, Ford Pines, are heading home through the forest when you encounter a creature. Ford proposes you help him in some improvised research.

warnings: monsterfucking, cucking, oral, masturbation, p in v, biting, creampie

so i got just a tiny bit creative on this one. i wanted a werewolf without the human part so i took inspiration from cynocephali. they’re technically humans with dog heads, but i altered them a bit to have a full coat of fur and a tail. essentially a werewolf, but different lol.

You and Ford made your way through the dark forest, a cold autumn wind blew through the trees. You two had been out collecting data from a small meteor impact, your bags full of both soil and meteorite samples.

You were Ford’s research assistant, nearly four decades younger than him, but more than that you were also his romantic partner. Sure, the age difference lent itself to its share of issues. Strangers asked if he was your father more times than you could count and he didn’t quite understand your generation’s humor, but you two made it work.

As you continued your trek home, Ford was in the middle of excitedly infodumping about meteors and asteroids.

“-and some meteorites have been found with the evidence of life! Water, hydrocarbons, and amino acids! There’s even a theory, though not widely accepted, that life on Earth originated from asteroids! Imagine if we-“

He went silent, hearing the sound of heavy panting behind him. You both turned to see an intimidatingly huge creature with the head of a wolf and a thick coat of fur as dark as midnight covering his entire body. His gaze was fixed on you, eyes glowing in the beam of your flashlight. His scarlet, knotted cock twitched, almost as if at the sight of you. Everything about this creature screamed werewolf.

“Y/n, stay close to me.” He whispered.

The creature approached you, coming in incredibly close and licking your neck with his long, wet tongue.

“Oh thank goodness! I thought we had a werewolf on our hands, but it appears what we have here is a cynoceph.” Ford sighed in relief.

“A what?” You asked.

“A cynoceph, they’re much more common to run into than a werewolf as they tend to live close by humans. They’re actually called cynocephali, but I just call them cynocephs to shorten things.”

“He looks like a werewolf to me. How can you tell the difference?” You whispered anxiously, his calm voice did little to alleviate your fear.

“Yes they can be hard to distinguish, but unlike werewolves, cynocephs lack a human form. They’re nonverbal as they do not possess human vocal cords, yet they perfectly understand speech and communicate through nods and gestures, they can even be fluent in sign if taught, they’re very intelligent on a level equal to us, and incredibly docile, but most interesting of all they-“

The cynoceph pressed his knotted cock against you.

“have an insatiable lust for humans. From the looks of it, this one has chosen you as his mate.”

You blushed, desire pooling between your thighs.

Ford chuckled. “You know, I think we have a rare opportunity here. I’ve always wanted to see how they mate with a human. If you’re willing, we could do a little impromptu research.”

He turned to the cynoceph.

“My friend, would you be interested in participating in this study?”

The wolfish creature nodded enthusiastically and Ford returned his attention to you.

“How about you, my dear?”

“I want to, but don’t know, look at the size of his cock.”

The cynoceph gave a pitiful whine, and looked at you with puppy-dog eyes.

“Come on, look at him. Don’t you want to know what it’s like to be stretched out, to be impossibly filled with cock? You’re the self-labeled ‘monsterfucker’ after all. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Just imagine what being knotted would feel like.” Ford coaxed.

He was right. You had an affinity for creatures most people would consider monsters. And of all the creatures you’ve read about or studied in person, werewolves always appealed to you the most, but they were rare and incredibly dangerous. A cynoceph would more than satisfy your fantasies and… there was no way you could resist that face.

“I’ll do it.”

The cynoceph wagged his tail.

“Good girl, now strip for him.”

You followed his instructions, the cynoceph watched you hungrily. You pulled off your top, unhooking your bra and sliding the straps off of your arms. You unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them down your legs and hooking your thumbs in your panties, letting them fall onto the pile of your discarded clothes. The cynoceph’s cock throbbed.

“Now get on all fours and present yourself to him.” Ford instructed.

You did as he said, getting on your hands and knees on the leaf littered ground. You expected to be rammed with cock, but instead felt his muzzle against your pussy, tongue lapping at your clit.

Ford chuckled. “Such a gentleman.”

“G- good boy.” You whimpered.

The cynoceph wagged his tail at your praise. Ford unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it.

“I’m aware that touching oneself while conducting research is a bit unorthodox, but I just can’t resist. Good god, watching you being pleasured by a creature like this is so arousing.”

Your moans echoed loudly through the forest. The cynoceph licked at you greedily. You felt your orgasm build, you pressed yourself against his tongue.

“Oh god, I- I’m gonna- hnnn.” You moaned.

“That’s it, cum on his tongue.”

You cried out as you felt a pressure within you explode, cumming against the cynoceph’s maw. He unfurled his tongue inside you, immediately eliciting a second orgasm.

“Ohhhhh jesus, he’s so good at this, fuuuuuuuck.” You panted.

The cynoceph removed his tongue. He angled his thick, maroon cock at your entrance and shoved himself inside, stopping at his knot. You moaned at the feeling of being torn in half.

“H- how come he didn’t knot me?” You whimpered.

“If he knots you now he’ll be stuck and won’t be able to fuck you, he’s saving that for when he breeds you.” Ford stated.

The cynoceph pumped you hard and fast, his hands gripping your hips, claws digging into your soft flesh.

“How does it feel?” Ford cooed, stroking his cock.

“Incredible.”

“That’s my girl. You’re taking him so well.”

“How about you, my good sir, do you find my partner as pleasurable as I do?”

The cynoceph nodded fervently, huffing and panting, his tongue hanging from his maw, saliva dripped onto your back. You moved yourself back on him and he whined in approval.

“Good girl, work yourself on his cock, make him feel good.”

The cynoceph worked you at a steady rhythm, you matched his pace against him.

“B- bite me, please.” You begged.

He leaned over and bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave bruise, but not enough to break the skin. You whimpered, tightening around him.

Ford increased the speed of his hand on his cock.

“Dear god, you look so perfect like this, taking his cock like a good girl.”

The cynoceph gritted his teeth and began to move himself at a blindingly fast pace, a strong indicator that the was close.

“Are you ready for him to knot you? He might just impregnate you with his pups. Do you want that, sweetheart?” Ford cooed.

“Uh- uh huh.” You whimpered.

“And you, do you wish to breed my partner?” He said, addressing the cynoceph.

He nodded eagerly and slammed the full length of his cock deep inside you, his knot stretching you overwhelmingly wide. You screamed loudly in a beautiful mixture of pleasure and pain. The cynoceph howled into the night, his cum filling you to the brim. Ford gave a loud moan as his cum spilled onto the forest floor.

You trembled and collapsed to the ground, exhausted. The motion caused the cynoceph to fall on top of you with a yelp, you winced as you felt his knot tug painfully at your insides.

“Now careful sweetheart, he can’t pull out just yet, he has to soften inside you. The role of the knot is to ensure that every drop of seed can serve its potential purpose, giving the mate the best chance at being impregnated. This is perfect though, it’ll give me time to properly study him and document our experiment.”

He pulled out his journal from his trench coat, he had recently started his fourth one. He clicked his pen and began sketching the cynoceph and you in the midst of breeding. You were definitely going to steal a picture of this entry to keep on your phone for… reasons. He finally finished the sketch and began writing.

“My dear y/n and I encountered one of the oft sighted cynocephali that reside in the forests of Gravity Falls! As stated in my previous entry about them, these poor creatures are far too commonly mistaken for the aggressive werewolf, leaving them deprived of the human contact they so desperately crave.

“I offered my dear partner the chance to help me in my curiosity to see one mate. They were hesitant at first, but agreed with some gentle coaxing. This is something they have always expressed interest in, so I knew they were letting their anxieties about the size of the cynoceph’s cock get ahead of them.

“I watched as they undressed, sank to their hands and knees, and presented themselves to him. I must admit I had forsaken all formalities, unable to resist stroking myself. Seeing my partner so willing to help me in my research was beyond arousing. I never considered myself one for cuckoldry, but if I know myself, my never ending thirst for knowledge has awakened many things in me over the years.

“I was very much expecting the cynoceph to cut to the chase and unceremoniously slip himself inside them, but was surprised to see this creature display chivalry, pleasuring my partner with his tongue. He made them orgasm not once, but twice! A true gentleman if I’ve ever seen one. Human men have no excuse, if a creature of the forest is privy to wonders of clitoral stimulation, then it should not be as arduous as it’s made out to be by chauvinistic neanderthals.

“Watching my partner take his cock was incredible. For a second I thought maybe it would be too much for them to handle, but as I have come to learn, they are not afraid to mix pain and pleasure. They moved themselves back on him, the cynoceph enjoyed this greatly. My partner couldn’t resist having him indulge in their odaxelagnia, they will surely be left with a bite shaped bruise for weeks. When he came he sharply inserted his full length, knotting my partner. Dear moses, that is an image I will savor in my mind forever.

“As I write this we are currently waiting for him to soften inside them. Part of me hopes that y/n wants to do this again, perhaps if there is a next time maybe he’ll even share them with me. I would love to be inside their mouth as he’s breeding them.”

As Ford finished writing and put away his journal, enough time had passed for the cynoceph to pull out. You shakily rose to your feet, putting on your clothes. You pressed a kiss to his muzzle.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

You both started to continue your way home when you heard a whine behind you, turning to see that same puppy-dog face he had shown earlier.

Ford chuckled. “I think he’s grown rather attached to you, y/n.”

“Poor thing, I hate to just leave him here. You don’t suppose we could… bring him back with us?”

Ford sighed. “As much as I’m all for it, I don’t think Stanley would appreciate the shedding.”

“Ugh that’s a good point.”

You stepped closer to the cynoceph, putting a hand to his soft chest.

“How about this, we can try to come back once a week, sound good?”

He wagged his tail and nodded, barking happily.

“Good boy.” You cooed.

[theresattrpgforthat]

It would be awesome if you could recommend some solo ttrpgs! I've been getting into them a lot lately and want to know more of what's out there. Especially journalling ones, as I enjoy creative writing. So far I've looked into (and will probably buy soon) Firelights, Apawthecaria, and Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.

Also, I love this blog a ton. Already there have been some awesome games I've learned about from you, including the one you're currently working on. Excited to give it a try sometime! Keep being amazing 💜.

Theme: Solo Journalling Games

Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm certainly excited to run Protect the Child for folks, play-testing it so far has been really fun!

As for your ask, solo games and journalling go hand in hand. These next few games are just a sampling of what I've added recently to my Solo Games folder on Itch.

Cats Know Things, by Mushroom Witch Games.

CATS KNOW THINGS is a light-hearted game meant to tell a humorous story of intrigue, all while pretending to be a very nosy cat. 

But you are no ordinary cat.

You are a very special feline who, through some magic you cannot explain, can communicate with your human, an individual who wishes to make their mark in society by any means necessary. The two of you decide to start a society page, (a very fancy type of tabloid newspaper dedicated to a particular location) revealing the glitz, glamour, and inner turmoil of the town’s most notable individuals. 

Use a d6 and a d10 to generate numbers, and sneak into places to listen into secret or private conversations. Then bring this news to your human companion, so that they may relay this gossip in the local society page. You need to find 6-8 scintillating stories before the week is up, so that your human has enough to print.

If you want a game full of scandal and cute furry little rumour-mongers, this might be the game for you!

Lingering, by Meghan Cross.

The last thing you remember, you were dying.

Now, breath fills your lungs once more and your eyes open, slowly shifting side to side as you attempt to regain your bearings. You are alive. But you are…changed. Your human form is gone, and in its place is one that is different, foreign, animal…

In Lingering, you play as a person who has died, only to find yourself alive again in an animal form, unable to move on to your eternal rest until you settle business left unsettled from your life. 

Throughout the course of a game, you will make several attempts to communicate with a chosen human, hoping to convey a message to them so they can assist you and help you move on once and for all. 

This game uses a deck of cards and some guiding adjectives to determine how your attempts at communication will go. Over eight rounds, you’ll flip cards while guessing as to whether each card will be higher or lower than the previous one, and a successful guess means a successful interaction. The details of those attempts are what you’ll be journalling, and Lingering provides a number of questions that you might try to answer with each attempt.

This game takes place over eight rounds, so it’s excellent if you want a short, contained game. It also has a two-player option if you want to try this game out with a loved one.

Dragon Dowser, by HatchlingDM.

Dragon Dowser is a solo journaling RPG using the Carta SRD by Peach Garden Games. You play a mysterious character known as a 'Dowser'. Your aim is to locate abandoned dragon eggs and return them to your Sanctuary. If you succeed before expending your resources, the hatchling you rescue will be reared to change the kingdom forever! 

This is a lovingly crafted game that uses card suits to represent four different kinds of ways your character will be tested, as they interact with different cultures, explore new landscapes, and dea with various conflicts, both human and nature-made.

You’ll travel across a grid of cards that provide you with journaling prompts as you travel. You’ll expend resources to overcome obstacles, looking for a dragon egg, represented by an Ace! Once you return this egg to a sanctuary, you’ll journal about your experience of raising the hatchling. Based on the games you’ve mentioned so far, I think Dragon Dowser is right up your alley.

EDEN, by blasez-faire.

You are Judaiah Clark, the Head Botanical Researcher at the Southern Sector of Eden. You are here for exactly 10 days, and were a last minute choice after the sudden disappearance of ■■■■■■ ■■■■■, the last person to hold this position. You are not here for work. Investigate.

EDEN is a single-page game that takes place over the course of 10 in-game days, with two questions that you will have to answer in your journal for every day. You are expected to write up a report with detailed notes, so much of the extrapolation taken from each pair of questions is going to come from your own imagination. To help with this you might want to come up with names for other characters, draw a map of the Southern Sector, or go into detail about the plants that this research station grows.

One thing is for sure - this is going to be a horror story. If you like games that give you a lot of room to stretch your creative wings, and you also like writing terrible endings for your characters, you might like this game.

Black Mountain Numbers Station, by Simon de Vet.

You wake one morning to the sound of a voice on the radio reading a series of numbers. On impulse, you jot them down. These numbers will become your life.

Black Mountain Numbers Station is a one-page, solo-journaling game about a mysterious broadcast, and about finding patterns in randomness. Using a unique dice mechanic to prompt you to describe your journey, you will tell a short story of obsession, frustration, and discovery.

This game is uses a 6x6 grid with boxes that you’ll need to fill when you roll a pair of dice. You’ll trigger evens when you roll doubles or find a certain pattern on the grid as you fill it, and in both of these cases, you’ll write special journal entries. The game ends when you fill your Frustration track, which symbolizes listening for too long without learning anything new. What exactly you learn, however, is up to you.

Bound, by K Ramstack.

Bound is a single player setting agnostic game about the connection between two people as they travel to a destination through the destruction of the world on a journey they will most likely not complete.

You will create two characters, their relationship to one another, the destruction that haunts them, and the motive for them to move forward.

During the game, you will be asked to write scenes in first person, switching perspectives between characters, and using their personality traits and subjective conceptualizations of each other to answer prompts.

Bound has a single and two-player version, and uses two decks of playing cards, one for each character. Each card will relate to a prompt on the prompt table, but only the highest ranked prompt will be answered. Each prompt will ask a question about the relationship, and how it changes.

If you want a deeply emotional game with a beautiful layout and lovely art, this is the game for you.

The Narrator Paradox, by psychound.

The Narrator Paradox is a one page solo-narrating game where you try to tell a story … if your protagonist will let you. In it, you determine the five acts of your story based on an oracle, then make rolls for your plot beats to see if you can wrangle your protagonist into the prescribed narrative. If you can't, they defy you and take the story into their own hands. Wrestle the story into shape against a rebellious hero, or lose them forever and have to finish the story without them in it. 

Using the Major Arcana of a tarot deck, two six-sided dice and a coin, The Narrator Paradox has a number of different ways that you’ll try to keep your story on track. However, with so much randomness, your protagonist is sure to have a mind of their own. This feels very much in tune with how many writers talk about their characters as if those characters have their own desires, so if you’ve ever related to that you might enjoy this game.

Also Check Out...

My Solo Games tag! I use this tag for every recommendation post specifically for solo games.

[oldwritingm]

FNAF Security Breach - Catching Their Eye (Glamrock Bonnie & Daycare Attendant)

Bonnie

He’s not particularly close to any humans

Of course, he’s always polite and jovial with employees, but he doesn’t really cultivate relationships with them

He basically treats them the same as guests

But one day, he finds himself noticing you

It’s your personality that makes you stand out

Specifically, your sense of humor

The little jokes and quips you crack while interacting with guests brings a smile to his face

He actually ends up borrowing some of your material

From then on he keeps an eye (and an ear) on you

At first he’s just looking for a laugh himself, and maybe some inspiration for jokes

He trains himself to catch your voice over the noise of other guests

He learns to love the sound

After a while he decides to approach you

He tells himself it’s to ask official permission to use your material, but secretly he also wants to meet a fellow silly

“You come here often?”

“Kinda. I mean, I live in the walls, so…”

He lights up, absolutely delighted to engage in some comedic banter

He loses track of time talking to you

He even forgets his surroundings, completely oblivious to the children muttering excitedly as they “casually” walk past him several times

Eventually you have to separate though; you’re both still technically on the clock

It’s you that has to break your little bubble; he’s way too enraptured to do it himself

You walk away, hurrying off to your next task

He’s frozen in time while he watches you go

He’s sad to end the interaction, but at the same time he’s buzzing with joy that it even happened in the first place

Daycare Attendant (Sun)

He tries to remember every face he meets

Unfortunately he meets a lot of faces, and he often gets them mixed up

At first, you’re no exception

He calls you by at least three different names before getting it right

But the way you smile when he finally learns your name…

It sticks with him

Your name doesn’t though; he immediately forgets it again

So he gives you a ((very creative)) name in his head: “smiley”

He doesn’t actually call you that though

He just watches from afar, going “there’s smiley!!” in his head whenever he sees you

He does tend to stare, just because he wants to see if he can catch that smile again

One day you catch him, and you smile and wave

He just about short circuits right there

He leaps into the air, bounding around energetically and laughing victoriously

“Smiley smiled at me!!”

He doesn’t really look where he’s going, and eventually he comes to a stop right in front of you

You can’t hold back your laughter at his over the top reaction

From that moment on he dedicates himself to making you smile more often

Daycare Attendant (Moon)

He’s very good at remembering people; his mind is like an iron cage

But he doesn’t interact with people too often

He usually just waits to overhear someone’s name, or for them to tell it to him

It’s a rare occurrence for him to actually ask for someone’s name

So it’s a bit of an occasion when he approaches you to ask for your name

He was enchanted by your appearance, having caught sight of you from afar

He waited patiently for you to come to him; close enough that he could speak to you

Then he introduces himself, apologizing when you jump

“I didn’t mean to startle you. What’s your name?”

“That’s alright. I’m Y/n.”

He nods slowly

He decides that your name is just as beautiful as your appearance

He’ll continue to watch you, mostly from afar, but sometimes he’ll venture closer

You won’t see him in the darkness, but you might hear him whispering your name

It’s a little habit he’s developed; he’ll whisper your name just to hear the sound of it

It reminds him of you and your beauty

Needless to say, very infatuated with you

You’re like a fine jewel to him, something to be admired, something special in a sea of plain faces and names

Thank you so much for reading!! And thank you to the lovely person who suggested this ;D take care <33

[david-talks-sw]

I think it's interesting that - in order to make his "free-thinking Jedi" characters hold any semblance of rationality in their arguments - Dave Filoni needs to resort to artificially dehumanizing the other Jedi and painting them all with the same "we dogmatically worship protocol" brush.

He does this with Huyang in the recent Ahsoka episode.

"Lolz he's so narrow-minded, preachy and by-the-book, unable to think outside the box, just like the Jedi in the Prequels."

My first reaction was being amused at the fact that Filoni had to resort to making the Jedi Order's ideals and rules be embodied by a literal machine for his anti-Jedi headcanon to start making sense.

But then I remembered: Huyang isn't just any droid.

In The Clone Wars, he had a sassy personality, he had a pep in his step, he had a sense of humor...

This character was human in his behavior, he was fun and whimsical.

But now he's been reduced to, I dunno, "Jedi C-3PO"? Basically?

"Ha! He's blunt and unsympathetic because he's a droid, but it's funny because the Jedi were the same, they were training themselves to be tactless, emotionless droids."

And Filoni does this with Mace Windu too, in Tales of the Jedi.

Mace, who brought a lightsaber to the throat of a planetary leader to defend the endangered Zillo Beast...

... and who went waaay past his mandate by mischievously sneaking around Bardottan authorities and breaking into the Queen's quarters because he felt something bad was afoot...

... was reduced to being an almost droid-like, rule-parotting, protocol purist who sticks to his instructions (and is implied to be willing to let a murder go unsolved so he can get a promotion).

I mentioned this at the end of my first post on Luke in The Last Jedi... while changes in personality do happen overtime and can be explained in-universe... if you don't show us that progression and evolution and just leave us without that context, that'll break the suspension of disbelief, for your audience.

Here, we have two characters with a different (almost caricatural) personality than the one they were originally shown to have.

Now... we could resort to headcanons, to make it all fit together.

We could justify Huyang's tone shift 'cause "Order 66 changed him". And we could make explanations about TotJ's Mace:

Being younger and thus more ambitious and a stickler for the rules, and only really becoming more flexible after getting his seat on the Council and gaining more maturity.

Being such a teacher's pet in the episode because we're seeing him through the eyes of a notorious unreliable narrator, Dooku.

There'd be nothing wrong with opting to go with either of those headcanons to cope with this. After all, Star Wars is meant to help you get creative.

But the problem I encounter is that:

Filoni has an anti-Jedi bias, so the above headcanons clearly wouldn't really track with his intended narrative.

We'd be jumping through hoops to extrapolate and fill in what is, essentially, inconsistent characterization, manufactured to make Ahsoka and Dooku shine under a better light.

And that sours whatever headcanon I come up with.

Edit: Also, yeah, as folks have been saying in the tags... wtf is "Jedi protocol"? The term isn't ever mentioned in the movies, I skimmed through dialog transcripts of TCW, never saw it there.

So it's almost as if - if Filoni wasn't draining characters like Mace and Huyang of all humanity and nuance - his point about "the Jedi were too detached and lost their way, but not free-thinkers like Qui-Gon, Dooku and Ahsoka" wouldn't really hold much water.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

the thing is. why bring Rose back for this finale. she didn't particularly do much other than standing around and looking pretty. I assume there'll be more of her for the second part. I stand by my original assertion from the star beast that it doesn't make sense that she can just 'give up' the alien DNA she was born with. my point back then was that it would be fun if she could regenerate, and ended up becoming the timeless child herself, thus making the Doctor's entire existence a very fun paradox AND also canonizing the 'half human, on my mother's side' line from the 8th doctor's movie (my beloved) (because Donna was only half human whether she knew it or not).

HOWEVER.

all the susan-baiting is really getting to me. I want our weird little granddaughter back. they canonized the fact that the Doctor doesn't actually know who her parents were. and I REMEMBER. that Susan's original gallifreyan name was Rose. well, their language's equivalent of it. that's how Rose Tyler got her name, it was meant to be a cute little easter egg, the first classic companion and the first new who companion sharing a name. so walk with me. the weird girl daughter of Donna Noble, who grew up on earth but never fit in there, who has the Doctor's DNA woven into her being, and access to a yardis, and can in this scenario regenerate...coming across a younger version of the her father/uncle, introducing herself as Rose (which translates to gallifreyan, I really don't feel like looking up the spelling rn I'm sorry it started with an A), the doctor can recognize her- as family, he thinks, not knowing its a spark of him, their shared mind. she knows about how risky spoiling the future would be, she doesn't know if he has siblings and he looks older than she's ever seen him, so she says she's his granddaughter instead of his niece. daughter. him. she's part time lord. she lives longer than her human family. the Doctor is all she has left and she wants to be with him even if it isn't a him that knows her yet. she's heard the phrase 'timey wimey' before, and she's a smart and careful girl. she finds she doesn't fit in on gallifrey any more than she ever fit in on earth. the Doctor knows exactly what that feels like. they travel. when her human friend renames her Susan, she likes it a lot. feels like when she changed her name the first time. freeing, empowering, becoming. feels like the new name fits her new life better. Rose has a long dead family but Susan has her grandfather. the part of her that is her mother and father, though, still craves human connection. the love and fascination with humanity that she inherited from the Doctor is still there. she tells him all about humans and he takes her to visit them more and more to humor her. she ends up fostering his love for earth that will one day define him AND lead to her creation. she accidentally coins the name tardis the same way the doctor will accidentally invent a banana daiquiri a few centuries too early. he just thinks she's creative and silly. a very dear child. odd and bizarre to her classmates at school, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was the first time around. sometimes she even goes to see a younger Wilf. he's somehow exactly how she remembers him as an old man. she's so grateful they're in the 60's though, because if she ever has to look into the eyes of a Donna Noble who didn't know her, she thinks she may actually die. but the Doctor- he IS enough. he is still part of her, part of her mother, even if he doesn't realize it. she can't help but worry over his health, even knowing he lives long past this, because she got so used to helping his older self in his retirement. she knows him better than he knows himself. she'd do anything for him, and she knows he'd do anything for her.

she just never thought leaving her was something he'd do, though.