#the english language is an abomination (affectionate)

[vssail]

sunday x reader

warnings: very short, use of affectionate nicknames, kinda hurting sundays feelings, mention of possible future little sundays¿

sunday shows photos of him and robin as babies to his lover

english is not my first language! also im writing this at like 2am without translator so this could be a disaster.

Sunday was so excited to show you those pictures that meant a lot of him. Sharing his childhood, his story to you meant a big step on your relationship, especially because he really wanted to have a family with you. He hears someone open the door of his office and turns around to see you.

"Ah, there you are, my sweet dove" He says, approaching to you and taking your hand. "I have something very dear to me to show you"

Gently, he pulled you to his desk, where the photo album was laying.

"Those are mine and Robin's childhood memories. I want you to see all of me, so please take a look" A sweet smile was adorning his face while he urged you to open the book.

Excited to see your lover as a cute baby, you hurried to do what he told you, only to be greeted with the most horrible thing you had ever witnessed in your life.

"This was me as a newborn" he explained. "I like to imagine that our kids will be this cute even as newborns"

There was no need for explanation. Your breathing was cut off of the tiny bare wings on his little head. Also, baby Sunday's face was something you would never be able to remove of your mind.

You tried your best to hide the emotions you were feeling about the picture and turned page, hoping to see a more grown Sunday (at least with feathers on his wings). Sadly, you again were greeted with another aberration of nature.

"This was my dear sister as a newborn, wasn't she adorable?" He asked you with the most innocent and naive intentions.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you agreed with his statement, and turned page. You were feeling like the worst person in humanity for disliking your dear boyfriend's baby pictures but god, you never expected to see something like that. How could the most handsome man in Penacony be such an abomination as a baby?

Fortunately, the next pictures were normal (the wings had feathers). There was one that you really liked, where Sunday was his sister's audience for a "concert". It was so cute that it almost made you forget the newborn pictures you had the misfortune to see before. But those pictures would never leave your memory.

When you finished seeing the entire album, you stood up and after giving a little kiss to your lover, you got out of the room.

Right after you left, Robin came in.

"How did it go?" she asked, kind of knowing what the response could be.

"I don't think we'll ever be parents after this"

im sorry but i had to

[quinnandersonwrites]

Today in random writing thoughts: why is shepherd pronounced shepherd and not sheferd.

[gentrychild]

To my fellow writers who aren’t native English speakers

Stop apologizing because English isn’t your first language and there might be typos and grammar abominations in your fics. English should be the one apologizing to you!

We’re bad bitches! (affectionate/awe)

We saw the language barrier, stared it down, and broke it to pieces because we wouldn’t let such small detail as a whole another language get in the way.  Writing a fic is difficult enough but we, mad people that we are, do it with two translator tabs opened!

We ought to be proud of ourselves!

And if you’re not, well I will be proud of you in your stead!

[jamespotterthefirst]

Mi Vida (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 950 Warning: Language Premise: The first time she calls him an affectionate pet name in her native language.

Author’s Note: Inspired by an ask from @btwitschelle​ (gracias, amiga!)

“People here drive like utter assholes,” Lilac complained from the other line, the blare of the city audible in the background. “And they say LA drivers are insane. I mean, we are, but I've never seen a breed like the Masshole.”

Ethan allowed a slanted smile, regretting the fact that Lilac wasn't there to see it. He always felt the swell of satisfaction when he saw her reaction to them, namely the way her pink lips parted on their own accord.  His crooked smiles drove her insane, by her own admission.

“You know that makes me a Masshole, too.”

“Yes,” she replied without missing a beat. “But at least you are careful not to almost hit pretty pedestrian doctors when you drive.”

Ethan could hear her hurried footsteps through the phone as she walked and complained about Boston drivers. He listened, leaning back on his office chair and scanning through the emails that didn't require his full attention. Even that simple task proved to be difficult when all he could picture was the rosy flare on her cheeks as she ranted.

Soon, the natural, rhythmic cadence of her native tongue made itself known the more passionate she became. It coated some words, making them sound melodic in a way the English language never could. Ethan loved it when her "accent"—though he hated calling it that—pierced through her words. It happened unintentionally when she was impassioned or speaking quickly. Other times, she did it intentionally for his benefit. Lilac had become aware of the effect her Spanish had on him, particularly when his hands and lips always ended up on her soft curves every time she used it.

“Anyway, I'm about to go inside,” she said. “You're sure you want your usual?”

“Yes, Rookie,” he returned in a stern voice, despite his amusement. “No iced coffee abomination for me.”

Lilac let out a knowing laugh. “As you wish, mi vida. I'll see you in a bit.”

Ethan kept his cellphone pressed between his ear and shoulder long after the call ended. The two words, uttered so casually, had brought his whole world to a grinding halt.  

Mi vida.

He had heard the words murmured in the halls of Edenbrook before, usually within a reassurance to a loved one that everything would be okay. He had seen the love and devotion that paired with the utterance. Ethan knew the literal translation and the meaning those two single words carried. As his heartbeat clamored a frantic tune in his chest, he understood the true joy of being the recipient.

“Here you go, babe,” Lilac said fifteen minutes later, placing the to-go cup in his hand. “Black sludge for you and a delicious cinnamon latte for me.”

She slurped from her iced coffee quite adorably, but Ethan was still in too much of a daze to comment. Lilac frowned.

“Are you alright?”

“My life,” Ethan said.

Lilac's confusion deepened her frown.

“What?”

“That's what it means. What you called me on the phone earlier.”

He could see the way her mind worked to recall and when she did, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah,” she said with a small shrug. “It's a common term of endearment in Spanish…”

When Ethan didn't answer, her expression turned mortified. She bit her lower lip.

“If you don't like it, I can stop—”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not at all. I quite like it, in fact.”

The relief that relaxed her beautiful features melted into the most winsome smile he had ever seen. It tugged at his heart, as though she unknowingly tried to take what was rightfully hers.

Lilac moved closer, filling the space that separated them.

“I have others, if you liked that one so much.”

Her voice was coquettish— raspy and low in ways that set every nerve ending on fire.

“Is that so? Care to share?”

“Mi cielo,” she murmured, lifting herself up to kiss his jaw.

Ethan grinned, feigning deep thought.

“Hmm. What else?”

“Corazón.”

A kiss on the ridge of his cheekbone.

“Tesoro.”

Her lips moved down to his, hovering for an agonizing moment before she kissed him.

“Cariño,” she murmured against his lips, corrupting his innocent, work-appropriate intentions. Her voice, which changed entirely when speaking Spanish, was like warm honey, dripping torturously down his skin. 

Ethan pulled her soft body against his, her curves molding to his hard planes. His mouth, meanwhile, became hungrier with every indulgent stroke and every maddening little hum from Lilac. Ravenous for more of her — every little bit he could take — his mouth moved down to the column of her neck, making her fingernails dig into his biceps.

“You can call me whatever you want as long as you sound like that.” His voice was a gravelly, harsh whisper against her neck.

Soon, rationality reached them through their lustful haze and they separated, now without a string of fluttering kisses.

Still in his arms, Lilac grinned, her lips swollen and darkened by their kiss. “I have some embarrassing ones so you might regret giving me full reign.”

“I don't care. Call me what you like,” he said, very seriously.

Her own amusement vanished as she watched him, looking as though there was something she longed to say. In the end, she brushed a short lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers trailing the side of his face.

“Tu eres lo que más adoro.” She kissed him one last time. “Mi vida.”

The rays of the bright, mid-morning sunshine pierced through the office window, bringing out the gold in her hair and eyes. Ethan watched her, his arms bringing her even closer. Everything he ever needed or wanted was right there, in his arms. He understood the true meaning of her last two words now more than ever: mi vida.

She was his life, too.

Translations:

Mi vida= My life

Mi cielo= My sky

Corazón= Heart

Tesoro= Treasure

Cariño= Dear

Tu eres lo que más adoro.= You are what I most adore. 

Author’s Note: My goal is to write more “Ethan goes a little stupid when his gf/wife speaks Spanish” fics and “Ethan speaks Spanish” fics!

Thank you for reading! 

[oceanmonsters]

okay I already said some of this in those tags but. literal 0 media comprehension present like did you even watch the movie?

the movie does not “come to the conclusion that you’re allowed to treat your family horribly”. the way evelyn treats her family (which is bad yes but I think abominable is an exaggeration) is ALWAYS framed as being wrong and the result is her pushing her family away (joy driving away crying, waymond literally getting divorce papers). this is made even more explicit in how alpha!evelyn literally destroys her family by pushing joy too hard to be the version of her evelyn wants her to be, resulting in joy/jobu killing both of her parents. joy’s feelings of loneliness and not being understood are shown in how jobu topaki literally tore her way across universes trying to find a version of her mum that can understand her and so that she’s not alone. and once evelyn DOES understand her and understand that she wants to destroy herself she fights to try to get closer to her and save her because she doesn’t want to let even one version of her daughter die. and then the actual conclusion of the movie is the normal-universe evelyn reconciling with and accepting her daughter and being more affectionate and loving towards waymond. it’s pretty explicitly stated by the movie that her actions were the ones pushing the family apart and and it’s her actions that have the power to save them and bring them back together. it’s also stated that main universe evelyn’s life is literally the worst possible life she could’ve had but even there, there is happiness and love to be found as long as she makes the choice to be loving to her family. the whole point of the movie is that evelyn’s bad treatment of her family is not okay. the point is about breaking the cycle of generational trauma, not that it’s okay to keep inflicting it.

the IRS are literally not supposed to be the villains — yes, they are somewhat treated as such by evelyn and waymond in the beginning because, as an asian family for whom english is not their first language, they represent a bureaucracy institution with language and processes that they don’t understand and could very easily discriminate against them. it’s like, not at all unrealistic for them to distrust and be scared of deirdre/the IRS especially with evelyn explicitly saying she’s heard of them targeting asian people more harshly. but the overall movie does not treat them as the villains. one of the turning points of the movie is evelyn smoking with deirdre and sympathising based on their shared life experience, and deirdre is lenient with them and gives them another chance. evelyn and deirdre are shown being in love and happy in another universe, showing, once again, the connection between them and how love can be found anywhere. and then the actual conclusion of the movie is the family (joy included) going to file their taxes properly together. the fact that joy is there is significant; she is a native english speaker who helps them through a process that would otherwise have felt hostile and scary to them.

in conclusion

[sur-un-fil]

“Karma is a bitch”

My entry in @nayialovecat's second contest! In both languages, of course... A (huge!) thank you to @waruihoshi for correcting the english version, without her I would have been too ashamed to participate! It's really a little novel, not my best, but it's the first time I participate to a contest and especially for a text in English. Here it is :)

I'll start with the English version and the French version is just below.

Enjoy!

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Fifteen didn't deserve this. He wasn't a bad ... person, and as long as he could remember (that is, until the morning before), he hadn't done anything to justify finding himself tied up and left to feed the Demon. Other than falling into a trap, of course. It wasn't fair. He still had several hours to live, he didn't want to end like this! Well, he would come back to life in the next cycle, but for some time now they had become unusually long. Who knows if they wouldn't just stop someday? Today, for example? With the bad luck that Fifteen dragged on, it was quite possible! So when the Demon offered him a chance to survive, he jumped at it. Two minutes was always better than nothing. Fifteen swallowed his first impulse, which was to sit on the floor to cry and thought while pretending to negotiate with Bendy. He had to surprised him. Show ingenuity. Not easy, for beings made of ink, black magic, despair and small habits. But Fifteen was not a fool. And above all, he was friends with John. John who always came home from Sammy with a blissful smile. He didn't believe for a second that the abomination in front of him was a god. No, he was a poor monster like all of them, but a monster with fangs and claws and a filthy appetite. Yes, but with one or two weaknesses ...

- Just a minute and twenty seconds, my pretty little snack, Bendy creaked with a smirk.

Fifteen flinched. And rushed forward. They weren't that far from his goal. And at that point in the cycle, Fifteen was pretty sure he knew where to find him. He was running as fast as he could. If the Demon was playing fair, he would keep that big, crooked devil form with a damaged leg, which would give him a chance to outrun him. But Bendy was hungry ... Fifteen forced himself not to think about what would happen to him if the Demon took on his bestial form. He bumped into walls as he turned in the hallways, jumped over the black puddles that splashed under the pounding of his feet, hurt his hands as he pushed the doors back ... But he didn't think about it. While fleeing, he tried to mobilize whatever persuasion he had left. He couldn't tell how long he had been running, or even if Bendy was already chasing him. And he wasn't going to stop to listen. Sammy's slogans were displayed on the walls, confirming that he was on the right track. The path they all avoided carefully, usually.

And he found him. Well, "found"... As he opened the door to the radio room, he crashed into Sammy and knocked him down on the floor, swept away by his speed and relief. Before the ex-musician could open his mouth to insult him (and surely promise him some very painful punishment), Fifteen took a deep breath, got up on his hands to look him in the eyes - actually in the mask - and bawled with conviction:

- I WANT TO CONVERT!

Sammy was speechless. It was the first time that one of these ... Useless things had come to him on purpose.

- This is ... Is it true? I mean ... Of course.

Fifteen nodded frantically, persuaded to hear the Demon already coming.

- Uh ... well, let u's talk to you about our Lord first, and ...

- NO! No. Erm, excuse me. Too much faith. Please, dear prophet, could you baptize me right now? I NEED it, you understand? It can't wait!

Fifteen could see the stars shining in Sammy's cardboard eyes. This ability he had to animate his mask had always scared him. But if this freak managed to save his life, he swore to ... To ... To avoid making fun of him too often with his friends. There. He owed him that.

He pushed himself up and jumped to his legs, then reached out and picked Sammy up. He then pushed him as respectfully as possible into the radio room and closed the door. It was paltry protection against Bendy, but maybe it'll give him a few more seconds?  It was worth trying.

Sammy stood in the middle of the room, with dangling arms. He seemed completely overwhelmed bythe turn of the events. Fifteen, in a hurry to save himself, threw himself on his knees in front of him. He then lowered his head and clasped his hands, like he had sometimes caught John doing. Sammy seemed to come out of his delighted amazement. He playfully ran to the back of the room, rummaged in a shelf, and came back to him with a step that  Fifteen considered happy, even from the depths of his fear. He then planted candles in a circle around Fifteen, lit them with a dexterity born of habit (and boredom too). Curious, Fifteen raised his head a little. Sammy wore a clean mask, which a smile bigger than the one of the little devil himself. He had set up a large cardboard representation of Bendy behind him and he was standing in front of Fifteen , his arms raised and a small cup in his right hand.

- My dear ... Sammy began in a powerful voice.

He suddenly lowered his head towards his future follower, who was quivering with impatience and terror.

- What's your name ?

"Fifteen, dear prophet,"  Fifteen replied, emphasizing the last words. He could have sworn that Sammy straightened up, repeating incredulously "Dear Prophet."

- My dear Fifteen, I have the pleasure of welcoming you among the disciples of our Lord Bendy. You've come a long way to get here ...

"But very quickly, believe me!" Fifteen thought sourly.

- ... and we reassure you. You made the right choice. A life full of joy and duty awaits you! You are going to us ...

Fifteen wasn't really listening. He kept a ear open, rolling his eyes internally, annoyed by Sammy's bombast. The ex-musician finally endeds up being silent, perhaps running out of inspiration. He raised his cup to the ceiling. Then he poured it on Fifteen's head. It was cold and oddly thick. And it smelled ...

"... bacon? Is he really baptizing me with soup?"

- You are now part of our community. There are still three of us!

And Fifteen finally heard it. The thud of heavy clawed hands on the floor. He tried to stay calm. He still had a handful seconds left, so he had to try his best. - Let us pray! he exclaimed loudly. He hoped Sammy would take the tension in his voice for a new and vibrant faith.

Sammy looked so delighted with his spontaneous proposal that Fifteen started to feel a bit guilty.  The feeling quickly disappeared when he remembered that his "dear prophet" had previously condemned him to a terrible death. Shivering, he joined his voice to Sammy's, intoning with him a prayer that he found  ridiculous, even though he had forgotten what they were supposed to sound like. He lowered his head, kneeling with his back to the door, with the weirdo reciting happily beside him when the door was torn off its hinges. He didn't move, praying harder, as Sammy turned his head.

- My Lord! What a happy surprise! I have great news: you have more and more believers!

Out of the corner of his eye, Fifteen distinctly saw the Big Bad Ink Demon flinch and step back at the warmth of the masked fanatic's welcome. He only stuck his big horned head through the doorway.

- I forgot you were there, Sally.

- ... Sammy, my Lord.

- Yes, that's what I said, Bendy replied in his deep, husky  voice. Wait ... what are you telling me? What believers?

- New stray lambs opened their eyes and came to worship you! That's wonderful! We will be able to honor you as it should be. Three believers! Imagine how many altars we can build!

- W ... What?

- You will finally be satisfied! Besides, your presence here is proof. I never have the honor to see you at this point in the Cycle. Usually I have to look for you for a long time, or even hide to see you. But you came on your own. You must have felt the power of our love. So the more you will give us the joy of being with us, the stronger our faith will be! 

Fifteen continued to pray absent-mindedly, saying whatever came to his mind that sounded a little religious, but not missing out a crumb of what was happening near to him:

- And we thank You, ô Black Ink, for all these wonderful cartoons You have made. For the strength of their film, which allows us to continue to admire You ... As well as for, uh ... the furniture ... No ... For the bacon soup. Yes, that on the other hand, it is really a miracle that we still find some!

He saw Bendy give him a longing glance, before quickly returning his attention to Sammy, who was beaming with happiness, and  slowly walking towards him with arms wide open. The Ink Demon looked as though he was afraid of what he was planning to do and stepped back again like a big and nervous cat.

- You don't have to, really ... grumbled Bendy.

Sammy was still approaching, looking terribly affectionate, and the Demon whirled around and rushed off down the hall. The prophet slowly lowered his arms, disappointment written on his cardboard mask. Then he turned to Fifteen , who had taken the opportunity to get up and who could not contain his smile. He was alive! He had escaped Bendy! It was a wonderful, a magnificent cyc ...

- Good! Obviously, our Lord, overwhelmed with joy, had to leave. We must now prove ourselves worthy of his trust! I'll teach you the slogans we'll paint on the walls, and show you how to make altars. But I think we are also going to have to innovate. There are more of us, so we have to do new things. We're not going to leave each other now, Fifteen. There is so much to do !

Fifteen felt his happiness of survival die out at the prospect of having to spend all subsequent cycles doing silly and unnecessary things, trapped by a fanatic far too enthusiastic about his faith. Who talked a lot. And who was way too dangerously good with an axe for Fifteen to run away too.

Maybe being eaten by Bendy would't have been so bad after all.

At least it would have been quick.

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[apelcini]

💋🌹 🔥🍊📙😊⭐💛 🌳🍐💙🌸💗 ik it's a lot sorry sdghf letting you decide which oc you wanna do

💋 How affectionate are they with their friends? Their family? Their romantic partner(s) (if they have any)? Are they more physical or emotional when it comes to displaying their affection? Why?

Mymlanslös is aloof and withdrawn, but that’s actually a good thing for her. Back when she lived with her mother she had to shout and fight and scrap for any attention, constantly, and all she wanted to do was exist without having to fight for space. She’s a real loud problem child when she first comes to live with her pappas, but she slowly learns that this is a home with room enough for her. She starts to get quieter and smaller as she shrinks back to her intended size, and moomin is really worried about her, but snufkin assures him that she’s fine. Now her family mostly gives her affection verbally, and they wait for her to come to them for physical affection, which she’s starting to do more and more. On that note, when she gets older, she starts to get more and more irritated by interaction with her hair, compliments and brushing and braiding and all, until one day when she’s 14 she chops it all off, the whole red signal flame that she’s just got to tie into a bun and then she’s a mymble, a woman who has so many children she can’t love them all. She never grows it out again.

🌹 How easy is it for them to connect with others and make friends? On the flip side how easy is it for them to make an enemy of someone? Are they the kind of person who hangs around the food table at a party and never talks to anyone or are they the type who can talk to anyone?

Nellie and Oliver are both outcasts. She’s autistic and jew(ish?) and aroaceagender, he’s fat and trans and probably adhd. They met in kindergarten and stayed friends out of pure luck of finding someone like them (this is NOT unrealistic don’t @ me this is personal experience). Oliver wanted to connect but he just got so tired of everyone he became very abrasive to people he didn’t already like. Nellie just.. doesn’t care. She connects when she can but honestly she finds most human connection lacking. They’re the type to hang out back at a dance and goof off.

🔥 Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff!

Nellie likes frogs and crunchy leaves and cold air on her face. she loves sweaters but she hates the wool texture, but she refuses to just wear oversized hoodies because she’s too pretentious. Her favorite color is actually purple (like plum) but she looks better in warm tones. She doesn’t really like blue and green, and she doesn’t like pastels. She doesn’t like sun because then it’s too warm for sweaters and it’s far too bright. Her favorite music is actually ragtime, but anything that’s not synth is pretty good in her book (she’s autistic and it grates her). She’s a goth in bright colors, really.

🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

I’m gonna share least favorite meal, because it’s funnier. Fillikin HATES fish. Despises it. Her mother hated it too and never fed it to her, and she never got used to it. it’s an essential travel staple especially when traveling with Snufkin but she just. cannot stomach it. When she first came to live with her pappas, back when they weren’t really her pappas but were these two queer men in the woods who took her in and she wanted to impress them she pretended she enjoyed fish. It wasn’t very convincing, and Snufkin mysteriously started having bad luck with fishing, often only managing a decent catch once a month. This went on for as long as was needed until she confessed that she didn’t like it. Her favorite food will always be her Moominpappa’s blueberry pancakes :-)

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun? What things bore your OC to tears and they couldn’t care less about? Why?

Nellie loooves history. She can talk for hours about it, and she does her best to research what REALLY happened. She knows huge swathes of the Dewey decimal system because the internet in her town sucks. This skill is just a neat little quirk based off of my own experience as a history nerd.

She hates English class, she’s smart and good at puzzles but she can’t figure out riddles and metaphors and anything with words. She’s story driven but language itself doesn’t come easily, at least not in a way that makes sense to other people, and she’s so frustrated and jealous of people who can write poetry and stuff.

😊 What can make your OC smile even when they’re feeling down? What cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your OC genrally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? What about your OC makes others happy?

Peter likes to get in his car and drive out of town, just drive and he’s alone in the car and on the road and the scenery changes. He’ll drive half an hour or so out, chill for a bit, and then drive back home. He likes the distance, it clears his head. He’s a somewhat high strung person despite being pretty hands-off. No one really comes to him for emotional support, but he’s pretty good at solving problems so people who know him come to him for that.

⭐ What is your OC afraid of? Any crippling phobias or some such? How do they act when scared and what helps them calm down? Does anyone ever find your OC scary? Why?

Nellie: watching it all disappear and she can’t stop it, it’s turning to ash in her hands and her loved ones are in danger and there’s nothing she can do. Being a bad person through inaction, letting awful people get away with awful things. Also being stalked or followed in the dark, she has a huge phobia of night monsters which is pretty reasonable when you consider where she lives. She carries around a big flashlight for this reason.

💛 In general, how in control of their emotions is your OC? Do they have a good hold on them or do their emotions control them, not the other way around? What do you think is the reason behind this and is your OC ever concerned about their lack of or good control?

Peter is remarkably good with his emotions for a teenaged boy. Unfortunately, he’s not very good with his emotions for someone who’s co-parenting a teen. Nellie and peter’s mother has her head in the cloud, and Peter’s been filling in for the gaps in her memory for as long as he could remember. He’s very good at compartmentalizing and repressing, but he’s got no clue how to actually deal with his emotions. He’s proud of himself for this and is willfully ignoring the inevitable breakdown when he leaves home.

🌳 Compare your OC to themself from 10 years ago. How has their mental state changed since then, how have they aged and grown up? Would they say they’re in a better place than they were back then or do they need help? What advice would they give their younger self? What advice would their younger self give to them now?

Nellie would tell her younger self to keep writing, even if out of spite. To not stop. To not listen to the people who tell her to stop, because she did stop and it was relief at the time but now she really, really regrets it. Now she’s past the point where she can write bad prose in confidence and practice without breaking down, and to her it’s too late to ever start. Her younger self would tell her that adults aren’t all bad, that they want to help you, that they don’t all hate you. She’d tell her that people are worth reaching out to. After all, she reached out to Oliver.

🍐 What is your OC’s mentality? Are they overall positive? Negative? A bit of both? Describe their thought patterns and reasoning behind their choice making!

She’s... passionate. Nellie believes in people being fundamentally human and having a great capacity for both good and evil, and she is always enraged when people turn to evil. Her mother may not have made her lunch every day, but she did impart some wisdom on her and Nellie’s gonna use it. She believes in compassion and friendship to a frankly naive degree, and is always torn when she has to fight a monster. Oliver is more cynical and bitter and jaded, since his parents aren’t forgetful but just very cold. Go to school and spar with your classmates for survival, go home and jostle with your siblings for survival, wrestle your parents for your rights, bump into a beast and fight it. It’s all the same. He thinks she’s being silly when she tries to befriend these abominations and he’s worried for her safety. She thinks he’s being cruel. This is their main source of tension.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?

Nellie always wanted to be a writer, she wanted to write historical fiction. She tried to keep this dream alive, she tried so hard, but relentless ableism from the public school whittled away at this tree until it fell with a whimper. She wants to be an engineer now. She’s good at math, it’s like a puzzle. A very boring puzzle. She‘ll get a job and pay the bills.

🌸 What does your OC’s voice sound like? Their laugh? Are they good at singing? Do they have an accent?

Oliver has a voice that’s like a mix of cavetown’s earlier work and Sidney gish. It’s a nice voice but he hates it so much. He snorts when he laughs and his voice is even higher when he sings. No one there really has an accent besides the backwoods slur (how about it sounds like howa bowdit, twenty rhymes with honey). Nellie’s voice is lower than his and she doesn’t even CARE. He hates every sound that comes out of his mouth but it’s not enough to stop him from talking, he has too many opinions for that.

💗 What would your OC say is their best feature? Why? What do their friends / family / lover(s) / people they know think is their best feature and why?

Fillikin likes her hair. It’s wild, it’s windswept, it’s tangled, it’s a mess. It drives her moominpappa insane but he can’t do anything about it because it’s her hair and she has the right to let it grow into an abomination instead of brushing it. It is the ultimate fuck you to her mother who was oh so attached to her only daughter’s hair. It gets so bad at one point that she gets her matt stuck to a tree while traveling and Snufkinpappa has to chop it off with his knife to get her free. The cut is messy and terrible and she’s DELIGHTED. She swears she’s gonna keep it so ugly and choppy forever but she forgets to cut it, and it gets long and matted until she gets stuck to something again.

Send me oc asks

[thepersianslipper]

Redbeard and Victor Trevor

This is my first meta, so please be gentle!

I’ve been re-reading the cannon for the first time since I started watching BBC Sherlock and I finally got to “The Adventure of The Gloria Scott”. If you don’t know that one, here’s a plot summary for the story.

But I’m not here to talk about the case. I’m here to talk about the character Holmes introduces in his story (and never mentions again) - Victor Trevor. 

According to Holmes himself, Victor Trevor was his only friend in campus.

“You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?” he asked. “He was the only friend I made during the two years I was at college. (…) Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.”

“It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute’s chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. (…)”

The Adventure of The Gloria Scott

That resonated with me: Holmes and Trevor met because Trevor’s dog bit Holmes. Where have we seen this three characters - Sherlock Holmes, Victor Trevor and a dog?

The episode from hell - The Final Problem!

More intelligent people than I have written many wonderful metas about that episode in particular and S4 in general, but I would like to draw your attention to these metas by @sagestreet : Jungian interpretation of TFP and Redbeard and dogs in BBC Sherlock. I highly recommend you read them. Not only are they wonderful, insightful texts, they were my source of inspiration for this meta.

Firstly, let me say that I truly believe Redbeard was Sherlock’s beloved childhood dog. He was referenced several times before S4. It makes way more sense than his being a masked childhood trauma. As we’ve all seen, S4 keeps repeating themes and topics from previous series (from case titles, to music scores to props!). It’s not a big stretch to think that the trope from THoB was ‘recycled’ as well.

SHERLOCK: “Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!”

The Hounds of Baskerville

Secondly, the Mind Palace sequence in HLV tells us that Redbeard was put down for some reason. We can argue further that it happened during his childhood. (In the same MP sequence we see little!Sherlock calling for Redbeard; the dialogue in TSoT “By the way, Sherlock, do you remember Redbeard?”, ”I’m not a child anymore, Mycroft.”)

Thirdly, we know that whatever happened to Redbeard influenced Sherlock deeply. It turned the affectionate, emotional child into the cynical, closed-off adult that we know.

HOLMES: “Oh, Watson, nothing made me. I made me… Redbeard?”

The Abominable Bride

Lastly, in S4 some of the stories adapted have had some drastic tonal changes. One example is “The Adventure of the Yellow Face”, where Holmes’ overconfidence makes him assume the client’s wife is hiding an affair, when she was actually protecting her young daughter, born from a previous marriage. Everyone is happy about the resolution of the case. Even so, Holmes realizes he was wrong, and asks Watson to say ‘Norbury’ if he ever thinks the detective is becoming overconfident. 

"Watson, if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little overconfident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you."

The Adventure of The Yellow Face

The story has a sweet, sentimental ending to it, in sharp contrast with the use of the ‘Norbury’ reference in T6T. 

Another is the gruesome reference to “The Three Garidebs” in TFP… I don’t need to go into that, do I?

So, what if “The Adventure of The Gloria Scott” was also used, but flipped on his head? What if the sweet, simple story of how Holmes met his only friend from University, the one who drove him to pursue criminal investigation as a career (who inspired him to become The Detective), became much darker?

Consider the following premises: 

S4 is fake as shit and should be read in a meta level (I am going with the EMP theory in this one)

Eurus is NOT real, but the embodiment of Sherlock’s shadow/deepest emotions turned human in the EMP universe.

The Sherlock-Victor-Redbeard unit is as real as the Holmes-Trevor-Trevor’s dog unit, but again, reversed, and much, much darker.

In the canon, Trevor’s dog bites Holmes. If in BBC Sherlock Redbeard is Sherlock’s dog, we can assume Redbeard bit Victor.

Here is what I think happened:

Little Sherlock and Victor were best friends. Something happens that causes Redbeard to bite Victor.

If you take @sagestreet (dog=homosexuality), maybe Sherlock fell in love with Victor and told him so or tried to make a move. The other boy didn’t react well to his advances, maybe became violent. In the fight that followed, Redbeard tried to defend his human and attacked Vitor.

Because he attacked a child, Redbeard had to be put down. It’s easy to imagine how terribly that would affect Sherlock. He could have blamed himself, thinking that his feelings for Victor, his desires(=Eurus) killed Redbeard. He learned that caring for someone will end in loneliness and heartbreak. 

Trying to help his little brother, Mycroft teaches Sherlock how to lock away his heart from the world and become imune to sentiment.

“All life ends, all hearts are broken… Caring is not an advantage.”

So, here it is. I hope you enjoyed my musings. English is not my first language, so please forgive any awkwardness.

PS: Bonus points for this image

[restlessmaknae]

Je vous aime

Dedicated to the lovely Jen aka @dawnpil for the @day6writers Secret Santa project. I’ve chosen your bias wrecker because I thought the story would fit him better than Wonpil. *-* I hope you like it! 💖 Happy holidays, dear! 🎁

Pairing: Kang Younghyun (Young K) x reader

Setting: wedding au; best friends to lovers au

Genre: fluff, comedy, slice of life

Words: 3k

The translation of the French expressions used in the story can be found at the end. 😊

“Hey!” You heard Younghyun’s voice from the living room. His deep, raspy voice indicated that he had just woken up though it was nearly midday.

“Oh well… what’s this? What happened? Oh my gosh, my head hurts so much and ouch!” There was a loud thud as he probably tripped over something or bumped into the table. “AND WHY AM I NOT WEARING CLOTHES?” He exclaimed frantically as he probably caught sight of his suit and shirt on the floor. Yep, you saw it coming sooner or later.

You took a deep breath before you made your way to the living room, just to come in sight with your panicky best friend who never had a more confused expression on his face before.

Luckily, he got back on his shirt, so you didn’t have to see his bare chest anymore. Not like you wouldn’t have been pleased to see his naked upper body but you were sure it would distract you from doing pretty much anything. The sight of his messy hair already made you want to play with his onyx-black curls.

As soon as you stepped into the living room, Younghyun’s eyes scanned you from top to bottom. The boy let out a relieved sigh when he realised that you wore your own clothes and looked perfectly radiant. You weren’t the one who had drunk almost two bottles of champagne the previous night.

“Did we… you know…” Younghyun stammered nervously and gulped as he waited for your answer.

“What?” You shrieked like you were asked if you had slept with an elephant. “Of course not, Younghyun! Unlike you, I was completely sober the whole night!” You huffed as if it heard your pride that he had assumed such a thing. You occasionally drank with your friends and co-workers but you never got to the point where you didn’t remember what had happened while you were drinking. The same could be said about Younghyun until Sungjin’s wedding.

You knew it was a bad idea to attend Sungjin’s wedding with Younghyun by your side and then leave him alone for some hours.

It was a horrible idea. It was an awful, abominable, outrageous and calamitous idea. It was the worst idea of the year.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad but it was certainly not a sensible idea because without your supervision Younghyun got so drunk that he started babbling some French nonsense. At least, you were pretty sure that it was French because that was the only language other than Korean and English that your best friend could speak fluently. Not even drunk people could talk foreign languages fluently without years of studying. You were sure he didn’t talk Scottish or something like that.

“If you were sober, would you mind telling me why I woke up on this unfamiliar couch almost naked?” He looked at you with puppy eyes, the obsidian-black of his orbs shining affectionately. You couldn’t help but blush a bit when he stared at you like that. Your legs became jelly and your heart skipped a beat when he was in such a vulnerable state. You wanted to hug him but you were so pissed off after last night that you just couldn’t drag yourself to do it.

“You are just half-naked!” You corrected him as you thought back to the previous night.

“Okay, just half-naked!”

“Though you wanted to get rid of your pants too but I prevented you from taking everything off.” You remarked with a half-smile. You watched with amused eyes as your best friend’s jaw dropped. Literally.

“You can’t be serious!” His voice was almost pleading and you could tell that he was trying to recall anything from the day before but to no avail. Such quantity of alcohol would have left everyone confused.

“I am dead serious.” You nodded as seriously as possible, so he would believe you once and for all. Why would you say that he wanted to take everything off when even you didn’t want to believe it when he started to get undressed like you weren’t even there? Although you sometimes slept at each other’s places, you didn’t start stripping in front of each other. You weren’t those types of best friends.

Younghyun’s desperate expression made you realise that he wouldn’t leave your apartment if you didn’t tell him everything, so you sucked in a deep breath and pointed to the kitchen.

“I’ve made you soup for your hangover, so I suggest you eat it while I’m telling you what happened last night.” You recommended as you looked at your best friend’s horrified expression. He stared at like he had waited for his execution.

“Oh come on, Younghyun! You didn’t kill anyone, okay?”

“Oh okay…” He stuttered, still unsure of what he should believe but at least he followed you into the kitchen and took a seat on a chair.

You re-heated the soup for him and while he was slurping, you started telling him about the previous night. Of course, it wasn’t the whole story but you couldn’t tell him things like you thought he looked like a God in his suit and tie. Of course not!

 Actually, the story started when you arrived at the wedding and Younghyun caught sight of his old friend who was an exchange student at the school where your best friend was studying and he spent a year in Seoul. Then, that so-called Jae went back to America and Younghyun couldn’t keep in touch with him for more than a year, so they hadn’t talked since then. Somehow Jae ended up getting a job in Busan and it turned out that he was a co-worker of Sungjin’s.

Sungjin was actually your cousin who always acted like your overprotective big brother, especially since you got yourself a best friend like Kang Younghyun. Younghyun may have been a gentleman most of the times but he could be really rude sometimes. Like not evil rude but “I’m playing with your feelings and I enjoy it “rude. The worst was still his “I’m a male and you’re a female and I know I can totally drive you crazy with my winks and bicep-showing and stuff like that” rude side.

Truth to be told, Sungjin wasn’t always particularly glad when he was in the same room with Younghyun because he knew about this side of him. Thank God you three didn’t meet up a lot of times because Sungjin was living in Busan and you and your best friend were studying in Seoul.

The wedding took place in Busan where the four of you met up again.

“Good to see you, bro!” Jae gave Younghyun a manly pat on his shoulders and then averted his eyes to you. “I always knew you had a good taste in women.” He commented with a cheeky smile.

You already opened your mouth to say something not too nice and lady-like but your best friend was faster than you.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Jae. She’s just my best friend.”

“Yep, just his best friend.” You repeated a bit too ironically but the edge of his tone hurt you a lot. Just his best friend? Why? Wasn’t it enough for him? Did he want more? Then why on Earth didn’t he tell you?

You were left with confused feelings and blurry memories of you two acting more than just best friends, therefore you weren’t in the state to talk to people. You wanted to get away from the source of your pain as much as possible. That’s why you exited yourself with a lame excuse and spent the rest of the night totally alone in the back of the garden, gazing at the stars and keep asking the same question. Did Younghyun love you more than just a friend?

What made you feel more miserable was the fact that you actually loved him like that. You realised that you liked him more than just your best friend when your father had died and he was there for you, literally spending every minute with you for a whole month. He was there to hold your hand, to be a shoulder to cry on and he was sleeping by your side every single day to make sure that you wouldn’t have nightmares.

After it was easier to deal with your mourning, he eventually moved back to the dormitory. Yet, you started yearning after his presence, the smell of his cologne on your pillow, the soothing touch of his when he drew invisible circles on your back and that smile of his that was like the sunrise after a rainstorm.

On the other hand, you had no idea if Younghyun felt the same. You two were very close and shared everything with one another – except your feelings towards each other.

Sungjin’s wedding changed everything though. You knew it was a mistake to leave your best friend with that bratty Jae because he had brought alcohols from America and spoiled the poor guy with it. On top of that, that swaggy kid who looked like Chicken Little from that cartoon even admitted the whole thing when you bumped into the two. To be precise, Younghyun bumped into you and Jae was behind him.

“What did you do to him?” You exclaimed frantically as your best friend nearly tripped over you.

“I didn’t do anything to him.” Jae shook his head nonchalantly. “He was the one to drank two whole bottles of champagne by himself”

“Then why didn’t you stop him?” Your voice rose higher as Younghyun’s facial expressions became less rigid and more childish. He didn’t look like himself at all. Considering that he never got drunk, you didn’t need to see him in such a state, nor help him with his hangover the day after. Though you felt like it would change after Sungjin’s wedding.

“He looked like he was doing okay.” Jae tried to play the innocent guy’s role but you weren’t one to believe his lies.

“Je suis bien, merci pour votre question.” Your best friend announced a bit louder than necessary, his words dripping off his tongue like honey. He looked like a drunk elementary school kid with that idiot smile on his face but you still found him cute. Gosh, why were you so weak when it came to him?

“What the heck is he talking about?”

“Dunno, man.” Jae shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care about Younghyun’s condition but you sure did. That’s how you ended up dragging the drunk boy to the apartment where you stayed for the weekend because the oh so popular Jaehyung got a call and left reasoning that he was needed in a case of emergency. You quietly cursed under your breath when he evaporated, leaving you alone with your tipsy best friend and a heavy heart.

“Vous savez, vous avez de très beaux yeux.” Younghyun said with dreamy eyes as you were walking down the streets, getting closer and closer to the apartment with each step. In order to make sure that he wouldn’t break any of his bones, you held onto him like you held onto your sanity. Though he seemed to enjoy the situation; he even leaned in and whispered into your eyes the next time he spoke up.

“I don’t you know what you are talking about but sure.”

“Je voulais demander... voulez-vous être ma copine?” You really tried to search for anything that could help you with the translation but you never learned French (and you assumed it was French), so you were pretty much a hopeless case. You knew that Younghyun could speak French as his third language but to speak in another language when he got drunk? Wow, you weren’t sure humanity experienced a similar situation.

“Oh yeah, sure. Just keep on talking nonsense!” You rolled your eyes while your heart was hammering away rapidly. The thought crossed your mind that maybe he wasn’t talking absolute nonsense. What if his words actually made sense and maybe…. they meant something? Something that could affect your relationship.

Yet, you didn’t want to get your hopes up, plus he wasn’t easy to carry around, so you busied himself with thoughts other than the meaning of his words.

“C’est vrai? Et vous m’aimez? Parce que je vous aime.” He cooed into your ears and fluttered his eyelashes at you. A part of you wanted to slap him but the other part of you wanted to hug him.

Oh boy, why was everything so complicated when it came to Younghyun? You wanted him to look at you like that when he was sober again but you knew that his behaviour could only be blamed on his tipsiness.

“Well, at least that sounds familiar but I still don’t know what you are trying to say.” You let out an agitated sigh, glancing at your grinning best friend. Why was he so utterly gorgeous even when he was drunk? “We are almost at the apartment, just don’t vomit until we get there, okay?” You said even though you weren’t sure he could understand what you were talking about. You two didn’t speak the same language anyway.

“Oui, mon chou.”

Luckily, you arrived at the apartment just is time, so you could drag him to the third floor and put him to sleep. Of course, it wasn’t as easy as you initially assumed because opening the door seemed like the most difficult thing in the world when there was your drunk friend by your side of whom who you wanted to take care. Not to mention Younghyun’s one-man stripping show that didn’t help you to feel more at ease when you two finally got inside. You were already worn out by that time, so you couldn’t help but yell at the boy who managed to get rid of his suit and shirt before you scared him off. Then, he stopped and sat down on the couch half-naked.

Three long minutes went by and the drunk guy finally dozed off (much to your relief). Though you couldn’t say that you slept a lot in the room next to the living room because whenever he turned over his side or made some noise, you went to the living room to check up on him. At least you had a place to say, you thought to yourself, because one of Sungjin’s friend owned the place, hence you could stay there for the weekend.

One thing was for sure, it was a memorable wedding that you would never forget.

 “So what did I say?” Younghyun inquired as he finished his soup. His obsidian-black orbs looked like a part of a giant universe – you could get lost in them without ever wanting to be found.

You shared the whole story with him, except the parts you felt too embarrassing to say out loud. For example, you told him that he started speaking in French but you skipped the part of you drooling over his handsomeness even when he was drunk.

“Well, only je vous aime was familiar but I’ve never heard of the others.” You shook your head, trying to recall his exact same words but they were only a blur. You didn’t know French anyway.

“Oh…” Younghyun’s features suddenly became rigid. You thought that there’s something wrong with him – like he was about to vomit – but before you could turn on your panic mode, he continued. “I know what that means.” He gulped nervously. He even scratched the back of his neck which he didn’t do unless he felt extremely uncomfortable.

“And what does that mean?”

“I love you.” The words rolled off his tongue like raindrops from the rooftop.

His words chilled you to the bones and sent unpleasant shivers down your spine. All the oxygen was sucked out of your lungs. Your heart was beating like a drum and you were suddenly afraid that it would break out of your ribcage. You could even feel the blood rushing through your veins. Small wonder why you were almost on the verge of fainting.

“O-Okay.” You cleared your throat in an attempt to snap yourself back to your senses. Why would he confess to you in French? On top of that, he could easily say that to you as your best friend. So why was he so nervous out of the sudden?

“It’s not okay.” Younghyun shook his head like he wanted to get rid of a nightmare.

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to say this to you when I’m not drunk. And when I’m not talking to you in French.” Younghyun confessed right away, his eyes desperately searching for yours. You didn't even recover from your previous heart attack when he gave you another one. You thought it was only a dream and soon you would wake up in your own bed, laughing at the most ridiculous dream of yours.

"W-what?" You stuttered while your best friend nodded accompanied by a shy half-smile. Maybe he was still under the alcohol's effect.

"I love you, I just didn't know how to tell you. I didn't want you to feel like you have to love me back." He said seriously, his eyes shining oh so fondly.

You couldn't form words. Your mouth went dry and you felt a knot forming in your throat. It was the moment you had been waiting for, then why couldn't you muster a single word?

You didn't know how but your body moved without your will and you soon found your lips on Younghyun's champagne and cabbage-flavoured lips. It was definitely an extraordinary combination but you couldn't care less. You savoured his lips like you savoured all those years when you wanted to kiss him but didn't know if he felt the same.

Now you knew. Maybe you would even thank Chicken Little one day for prompting him to drink.

Translation:

“Je suis bien, merci pour votre question.”  - I’m fine, thank you for your question.

“Vous savez, vous avez de très beaux yeux.” - You know, you have beautiful eyes.

“Je voulais demander... voulez-vous être ma copine?” - I’ve been meaning to ask... would you like to be my girlfriend?

“C’est vrai? Et vous m’aimez? Parce que je vous aime.” - Is that right? And do you love me? Because I love you.

“Oui, mon chou.” - Yes, honey.

[writer59january13]

Maintaining marital covenant bailiwick wife doth master

which prime mate affectionately called buttock blaster

alimentary explosion ofttimes causes global disaster

upon such gaseous debacle run for your life ever faster!

Yours truly (humorously dry husband)

can definitively attest,

she (thee missus) nixed, ordained,

inured, espoused blessed

discrete frolicsome liaisons regarding

shenanigans Mister Phil Ander

deviously, knowingly, and stealthily wrested.

Dirty deed done dirt cheap

trick discovered visa vis

super tramping bleep

mother 62311518 claimed,

he drove while sound asleep.

Risque somnambulant tryst

viz escapade constituting naked ape

morphed into nightmare,

when noose hung around nape

verboten fruit heed vape.

Gamesome cocksure attitude

severely irked first born

of his hereditary brood

pricked temptation concerning wedded dude

frenetic altercation begot feud

miscreant dalliance whipsawed and hewed

antics buzz-feeding carnal groove

portrayed (by "mother") as indecent and lewd

spelling downfall impossible mission daughters

envisioned their impeccable father nude

obviously he elicited false pretensions being a prude

no moral compass shamefacedly screwed

licentious transgression abominable however viewed.

The motto carpe diem liberally

translated carte blanche

get thee (yours truly)

to a nunnery sporting about

envisioned foreplay gallivanting without doubt

cavalier attitude hashtagged

yours truly as one preeminent lout

gathering rosebuds while ye may

rather than pout

adapting what me worry playbook page

linkedin to Alfred E. Neuman mad scout

infidelity Casanova wannabe doth tout

plenty of fish aside from American trout.

The aforementioned merely signifies fantastical zeal

sisters of mercy appeasing cogitating human

emulating generic garden variety common wheel

ordinary goodfella well spoken

giving his exemplary poetic spiel

reeling off inane prurient fantasy newsreel

no rhyme nor reason expressing salacious he'll

be coming round the mountain

to quench sexual thirst,

where celibacy finds mine flesh to ail.

Metaphorical libidinal longings I elevate

vis a vis authoring, crafting, entertaining...

juvenile scribblings dat ain't so great

analogous to sexual satisfaction,

employing English language

métier write engenders

yours truly to salivate

subsequently to the electronic

circular filing cabinet

readers moost likely relegate

regarding hormonal secretions I sublimate

thru writing prevaricated risqué tête-à-tête

hooping syllabification harmonious

synchronization doth undulate.

[maculategiraffe]

meet nate

so @theragnarokd sent me a random prompt a couple weeks back (which I post here with permission: ”subby person exhausted, lying on couch half-asleep, while dommy person putters around the house getting shit done”) and it’s been kind of itching my mind ever since and here’s what finally popped out: another Scene From An Alternate Universe Version Of the How Life Goes On The Way It Does Universe.  In this case, an alternate universe in which Nora was the one holding Shaun in the Vault, and therefore died, and Nate survived.

(And... did not come to the same conclusion Nora did, regarding the synths all being his children. :P)

Content notes: M/M, light D/s, grief, light xenophobia, internalized objectification, light Brotherhood of Steel.  Mostly domestic fluff.  No sex.  Kisses, though.

"Lie down."

Danse doesn't hesitate. Orders are orders, and he knows the tone of Nate's voice that makes them orders, not instructions or suggestions. Suggestions are open to counter-suggestions ("I can help"), instructions allow for a certain degree of respectful debate ("I'm not tired"), but the only appropriate response to an order is prompt obedience. He lies down on the couch, face down, folds an arm under his cheek.

"Good," says Nate, and it isn't that he ever speaks coldly to Danse-- he doesn't, Danse thinks it would strike him to the heart if he did, like the shard of evil mirror-glass in the fairy tale he once heard Nate telling Shaun, darkening his vision and freezing him from the inside out-- but there's an especial, sweet, pronounced warmth to his voice sometimes, when he says Good.  As if he's praising not only Danse's obedience, but Danse himself. As if he's considered him deeply, in many moments and from many angles, and has come to the considered and decisive conclusion that Danse is good.

It would make Danse question Nate's judgement, if Danse hadn't likewise observed Nate, for a long time and carefully.

The word of praise would have been enough to warm him, but Nate leans down and kisses him, too, at the corner of his eye, before moving over to the tool bench and beginning the work of sorting the day's haul, into piles of things to sell, things to keep and modify, and things to scrap and use for parts.

The kiss is enough, for now, to soothe Danse's nagging desire to be useful, to prove himself worthy of Nate's time and care. He is tired, so it's good he didn't try to tell Nate he wasn't. Nate wants him to rest, so he will.

It gives him a vertiginous little shiver, sometimes, to think that he ever dared give Nate orders. He couldn't have known, then, what he was, and he didn't yet know Nate very well, either. He knew Nate was strong and skilled, a former soldier for the United States of America, a good fighter and tactician and a definite asset to the Brotherhood. He knew Nate was grieving the loss of his wife, and coolly determined to find his missing child at any cost necessary.

But he hadn't yet seen Nate's face when he returned from the Institute, drawn and pale and seeming years older than when he'd stepped onto the relay platform and vanished in a blinding flash of blue light.

And he hadn't seen Elder Maxson's face-- the one Danse used to look to, to know that he was good, that he was both valuable and valued-- turn cold and revolted at the sight of Danse, heard his disgusted voice ordering Nate to destroy the abomination that was Danse or watch Maxson do it himself-- and seen Nate's eyes flash, his face go bright with a white-hot anger Danse had never seen in him before, and hasn't since.

Danse was ready to die in that moment, at Maxson's hand, his last sight on earth that of Nate's beautiful rage on his behalf, but Nate stepped in front of him, shielding Danse's constructed, artificial body with his own human one.

You can sure fuckin' try, he said to Maxson, silky-calm with fury.  If you think that's gonna play out well for you, Arthur. Or your little army, either.

Maxson's face, bewildered and furious, and then-- defeated.

Danse tried to tell Nate, after Maxson was gone, spitting threats and condemnation behind him, to leave.  Leave me, thank you, I'll never forget this, but Nate said no, said You're coming with me, the first order he ever gave Danse. Human to synth, Danse thought then: Nate claiming his property, the piece of forbidden technology he'd saved from destruction. He obeyed.

For a long time, Nate didn't make it very clear what he wanted with his dubious prize. He brought Danse home to Sanctuary Hills, to the house he'd once shared with his wife and child, and installed Danse in the master bedroom, Nate himself sleeping on a salvaged bed in what had once been his son's nursery. Told everyone else there-- Colonel Garvey of the Minutemen, Mr. and Mrs. Long, Mr. Sturges, Ms. Murphy, Codsworth the still-functioning prewar Mr. Handy housekeeping robot, and the other settlers and vagabonds who had taken up residence in Sanctuary Hills-- that Danse was a synth, and his best friend, and invited them all to take it up with him if there were any problem. When Mrs. Long expressed anger, and worry that Danse might murder them all in their beds, Nate said, calmly and not unkindly, that if she was that worried, he'd be happy to find her somewhere else safe to live. She gaped at him, then subsided.

She still doesn't talk to Danse, keeps her distance, and so does her husband, but Ms. Murphy is affectionate with him, calling him kiddo and hon, and Mr. Sturges and Colonel Garvey both treat him with an easy friendliness, as if it doesn't matter what he is, other than Nate's.

Nate kept taking him out on missions, too, saying his gun was too valuable not to. He didn't trust anyone else to watch his back, he said. Not the way he trusted Danse. And it's true, Danse would rather die than let Nate down, and so far he hasn't done either.

Now, along with the faint thump and clatter of his work, comes the sound of Nate singing. He often sings while he works, and Danse loves to hear his warm, dark, rich voice. Songs from Diamond City Radio, some of them, that Danse has heard before, and then others he hasn't. Some of them in other languages, German and French and Latin-- Nate says he was in the "choir" at his prewar church, a group of volunteers who practiced singing on Wednesdays, and then sang in front of the church on Sunday mornings, and the night before Christmas. Nate knows some of the songs in English and the other language, both.  Adeste fideles, laeti, triumphantes: O come, all ye faithful, joyful, and triumphant. Es ist ein Ros entsprungen, Aus einer Wurzel zart: Lo, how a rose e'er blooming, from tender stem hath sprung.

The one he's singing now is one of the church songs, and it's in English.

Come down, O love divine. Seek thou this soul of mine. And visit it with thine own ardor glowing.

Danse says, "Nate?"

He tried Paladin, just once, and saw Nate's face darken; he'd had to plead with Nate not to cut ties with the Brotherhood altogether, not for me, please, not after everything we've worked so hard to accomplish. Then he tried sir, and Nate said, Danse, buddy, I don't outrank you, and Mr. Bowman sounded ridiculous even inside his own head, so he started saying Nate.

Nate stops singing, and says, "What's up, beautiful?"

Nate calls him all kinds of things now.  Danse, sometimes, still, and sometimes Saul, and then a collection of silly, tender names:  baby doll, honey lamb, sweetheart, gorgeous, sugar, darlin'. Beautiful.

He comes over and kneels down beside the couch where Danse is obediently lying still. Runs a hand over Danse's short hair, against the nap of it, sending a shiver through him.

"Was I singing too loud, baby?" he asks. "Keeping you awake?"

"I'm not sleepy," says Danse, smiling into his arm. "And I like you to sing."

"What do you need, then?" Nate's still stroking his hair, gently and rhythmically, as if he's a domestic cat. "Little attention, huh? Feeling a little bit lonesome over here all by yourself?"

They're rhetorical questions, so Danse doesn't have to answer, especially since Nate's already running fingernails lightly down his back, scratching at the short bristles of hair at the nape of his neck, and then cupping the neck itself to massage the muscles there with his strong hand.

"You did good out there," Nate says, in that warm voice, warm as a blanket laid over him, which Nate will probably do in a bit. "You always do good. Glad you decided to come with. But I want you to try to sleep a little now, sugar. We're still playing catch-up, from your bad night. I'll wake you up when dinner's ready."

"I can help with dinner," Danse suggests, and Nate says, "Thanks, darlin', but no thanks. I'll get Shaun to come in and help me. Little father-son kitchen bonding. Gotta teach the kid how to handle a spatula, you know. Every growing boy--"

He breaks off mid-joke. Danse heard it, too, the word growing. They don't think Shaun is. And there's Danse, who probably won't be getting noticeably older, himself. The time may come when people take Danse for Nate's son, and Shaun for Danse's.

But it's easier to talk about it in the dark, tucked up in the same bed Nate used to share with Nora (he says she would've liked Danse, that he would've liked her too, and on her birthday and the day the bombs fell they go to her grave, near Vault 111, and Nate kneels down and cries and talks to her, about everything that's been happening, and then he says, "Let light perpetual shine upon her," and gets up, and they go home), so they don't say anything right now. Nate kisses him again, lips lingering on the tender skin just behind Danse's ear.

"Be a good boy, now," he says, sweetly enough that Danse knows it's not really in question whether he's a-- whether he's good. (He loves, blushingly, to hear Nate call him good boy, but it's just the slightest bridge too far to think of himself that way.) "Get in a couple hours' nap, and then after we eat, we can have some family game time before we all hit the hay. Blast Radius, checkers, maybe some Dictionary? Then, once Shaun's asleep--"

He tweaks Danse's ear, just a bit, and Danse smiles and squirms a little, and Nate stands up, brushes another quick caress over his hair, and walks away, singing again,

O comforter, draw near. Within my heart appear. And kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Pull Down The Mask

by Pleasant_Nightmares

My friend was too much of a coward to post this, so I'm posting this for them (With their permission of course). Pull down the mask and pretend everything is okay in the Magnus Archives, everything is fine and everyone is alright and there are many shenanigans to be committed.

Words: 2847, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard, Sasha James, Peter Lukas

Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: we love pretending everything is fine right folks, elias is uncomfortably paternal to everyone and no one likes it, crackfic, no one here is straight except for jonah magnus and jurgen leitner, this dives into the crack real quick there is no preparation, despite all else elias is still the lukases' sugar baby, "unholy abomination" is my friend's affectionate term for this, tim is the archivist, we are so terrible at tagging sorry if these get updated every two seconds lmao, elias retains his college habits, aka he's a stoner

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504596

[yenrps]

“When there’s hunger you don’t share out your food, you just devour the weakest ones. This practice works among wolves, since it lets the healthiest and strongest individuals survive. But among sentient races selection of that kind usually allows the biggest bastards to survive and dominate the rest.”   - Andrzej Sapkowski 

CHARACTER SUMMARY

Born and raised by parents believing in the American dream on Boston soil, their small family was set up for a good life, only to later locate to England. For the first nine years, his boyhood remained a cozy five-bedroom-pride of golden moments until that, too, collapsed for good. With his mother gone one night and his father’s empty bottles amassing during the day, he settled for a backpack substitute and despite poor impulse control, Avery soon proved a survivalist. From the streets, off the streets, to being stuck in a classroom to finish his education, he did it all, though not without the help of a stern Samaritan who saw something in him he did not; could not.

As somebody having come from nothing, Avery has learnt that priorities and dreams are dangerous, enough to put what he’s managed in direct jeopardy. Therefore, his wishes for the future aren’t of impossible dimensions, but rather the opposite: to retain a roof over his head, food in the fridge, and a job. And while the world is largely a shithole through his lens, his own moral compass often compels him to consciously disentangle himself from his sacred safety net, readily stepping in for those too weak or otherwise disadvantaged to protect themselves. Even if he hates your guts, he’ll always lend you a hand to get back up - if needed. If not, his disposition and demeanor are reminiscent of a dog that barks and bites.

APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Unlike his callous words and even more cantankerous capacity, Avery’s physically unimpressive. With only 5’4 to boot, he’s almost always tinier than most men, which would’ve made him easily forgettable if it weren’t for the fact that almost virtually every inch of his body is inked with black and white imagery. His figure, however, amplifies his physically confrontational approach to problem-solving: albeit thin, there are also lean muscles that come into play. What puzzles most about him is his voice, for it is deep, raspy,  laced with a faintly Bostonian merged German accent, and masculine; a contrast to his feminine features. Clothes are another matter with which Avery sets himself apart from a crowd — perpetually black, ripped, studded belts and wrist-lets; the quintessence of a Hot-Topic fanatic. That outsider get-up is only made worse by his piercing look. Blue eyes, blue-grey, to leave no doubt that you best fuck off. Along with his tattoos, piercings adorn even more skin, accompanied by scars on his lower back and faint reminders on his wrists.

As he’s made it through more than a handful of assholery, with him being on the receiving end, Avery sees no reason to dress in a way that would give others the idea to talk to him: most folk think he’s trouble — which he is — and only very few ask him questions out of sheer curiosity. That really works for him.

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

“Paranoia, hysteria, anxiety — take your pick. I don’t really care ‘bout these terms. Bottom line is, I’m fucked up.” 

That’s the preface he’d give to describe his personality, and probably all you’ll get. How he generally acts towards people depends on the person, as he’ll be quick to clarify. Somebody indifferent to a heart-to-heart will meet an affectionate and imaginative man while others trying to trap him with false interest and kindness will, invariably, come face to face with an abrasive, cantankerous asshole constantly ignoring others’ limit to draw out their true colors. Anything kind or good is just that to him: too good to be true. It’s because of this, faulty wiring and abusive parenting, that he prefers acquaintances, jumping to and fro different groups without any attempt made to connect to others on a deeper level.

 It might not fill him with gusto or mirth, he says, but it’s safe. As such, Avery would be quick to hide behind pessimism and a black-and-white morality. He, too, has no issue with a quiet night alone. Crowds, he avoids.  While introspection isn’t really his forte, he knows the source of his fear is linked to his past, thereby resulting in a surgically clean kitchen to a pristine bedroom. In an attempt, of course, to at least have control over something in his life. His thoughts, he can’t control, nor his nights. 

Consequently, Avery undoubtedly struggles overall with his consternation. Thinking in extremes, there is either friend or foe, either peace or strife — and as somebody so contradictory, he doesn’t always trust himself to make the right call. Always ricocheting from obedient  to disobedient, from kind to cruel, from aggressive to fearful — there is simply no middle ground.

What remains unchanged, in spite of everything, is his firm stance on justice. Sure, he’s an asshole, but an asshole ready to feed an even bigger asshole their teeth if it helps save your neck. So while he might have no qualms to steal everything not nailed to the floor in your flat, he’ll protect others, steps in, or dies trying.  

What his boss sees in him is also a no-brainer: an extremely talented artist with a firm code and an unrivaled ability to unravel others’ ulterior motives.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

By general standards, Avery’s academic gap in his CV doesn’t speak well for his skills or competences, as one would be quick to presume he’s got none at all, which isn’t true. Regardless of having only done the utmost necessary before dropping out of school, he’s not a monolingual. Since his mother has German roots, their household was bilingual, with English being the primary language in their earlier developmental stages, and German introduced at around six to eight years old respectively. His level of proficiency is high in both languages, making him bilingual despite no linguistic talent or inclination to broaden his horizon. There’s also something to note about his dexterity, for his hands aren’t only his most important tools in his career. Indeed, most of his hobbies revolve around crafting or creating something – woodwork being one example.  

Once he runs, moreover, he runs. Able to complete a marathon with a time of 2:52 hours and an age-graded performance of 71, 48 %, it is safe to say his endurance and speed are passable. Due to a two-year span squatting on the streets, Avery developed his own fighting style and although he lacks formal training and is by no means a martial arts veteran, he knows how to defend himself if needs must.  

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

In two words: indifference is the prelude to every encounter with him - most of the time, that’s all you’ll get. Intimacy, to him, is an invitation to get hurt and thus not remotely what he’s after. Why, after all, would anyone be obtuse enough to meander right into a predator’s orbit? It’s much the same with others acting like benevolent angels. Affection, in short, is much too intertwined in a cobweb of gaslighting, lying, blame, devaluing his own feelings, and physical abuse to keep him in line to think of close relationships as anything but leverage. 

Avery is good company for an evening or two and is all the more willing to hook up once or twice, yet just as promptly, he’ll slip away and out of your daily routine, content to become a stranger anew. As a result of this, his relationship with his biological family is non-existent. His mother abandoned him, his father became less and less a father, and his sister detests him. There’s nothing left for him on that front. However, Avery cannot help but to regard Lin, his boss, and Alexander, a co-worker and little brother substitute, as his family. Both Lin and Alexander have somehow managed to become his friends through solely their efforts, getting to know him as an apprentice proving his worth and then, later on, as a passionate tattoo artist first.

And perhaps even less surprising is his disinterest in anything long-term, most of all potential lovers. Commitment is an abominable idea to him, a waking nightmare, and not something he’d readily consider.  What Avery values most in the few friends he has accumulated, though, is their trust that is a two-way street: he can trust them, and they him.

Because of their acceptance, or perhaps despite their acceptance, there are no energy resources left to give a fuck about other people’s opinions — however, his friend’s opinions are holy to him, and the only two cents he’ll listen to, even though this doesn’t always ring true, for his needs and wants for stability and safety aren’t always in line with his need to play the hero.