#they stress Bal out

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

More Nimona headcanons because these dorks have taken over my brain

I feel like Nimona tried really hard to hate Ambrosius

The first month they knew each other Nimona tried so hard to antagonize him and poke fun at him and remind him of the shit he’s done wrong 

But it’s kind of hard to hate someone who’s slow to anger and quick to forgive 

Reminding someone of their past mistakes with the intent to hurt them kind of stops being fun when the person is constantly aware of their mistakes 

And owns up to them without making excuses and is constantly trying to undo the damage their mistakes caused  

After a while, he grows on her and she starts to trust him and in return he trusts her

This one is based heavily on me and my best friends 

Nimona and Ambrosius will talk shit loudly in public 

They won’t use code names and if they don’t know the person they’ll start describing them like “Did you see that dude in the yellow shirt? He just pushed that kid out of line what a dick!”

They won't check to see if the person is out of earshot either they simply don't give a fuck

And this gives Bal so much fucking anxiety enough that he starts pleading with them to stop

You hear them going off about something and Bal saying “Ambrosius love hun sunshine I’m begging you to keep your voice down” 

“Nim Nimona starlight hi I would like to remind you that they’re still behind us and I don’t want to explain to Ambrosius why you’ve gotten into another fight this week so please stop” 

To which Nimona responds with “Tell him he’ll probably laugh”

Whenever Nimona and Ambrosius want to rant they rant to each other 

Because Bal is the type of person to give advice in the middle of a rant 

Talking some “If you explain this to them in a calm and compassionate manner I’m sure they’ll stop”

And while that's excellent advice sometimes you just want to scream your most unhinged thoughts at someone 

And they never judge each other either 

Nimona can look Ambrosius dead in the eyes and go “Have you ever gotten so angry during an argument that you’ve considered lighting their car on fire?” 

And Ambrosius won't even think about it he’ll respond immediately with a “Who hasn't?” while Bal slowly backs out of the room and silently vows to hide his car the next time they fight 

Whenever Ambrosius comes home from a stressful day at work he just walks into the house and lets out the most dramatic drawn out sigh 

And whenever Nimona hears that noise they’ll run to the living room and sit on the couch patiently waiting for their daily rant session 

Whenever Nimona gets home and wants to rant he’ll walk around until he finds Ambrosius

And if he can't find him he’ll sit by Bal and stew in his anger while he waits for him to come home 

He can't even take one step through the door without Nimona saying something like “How dare you make me wait” 

And Ambrosius will always respond with something like “Oh I’m so sorry firecracker it’ll never happen again”

And encourage them to tell him the information they’ve been patiently waiting to spill

Bal doesn’t rant unless he’s literally at the end of his rope

Like you have to royally screw him over for him to go home and rant to his family 

When he finally rants to them they don’t make a big deal out of it 

But they do however try their best to take care of him without raising his suspicions 

Nimona will conveniently make Bal’s favorite dinner 

Ambrosius will just so happen to pick up his favorite dessert on his way home (cause they both know the signs of a Bal rant and they plan accordingly) 

They listen to his rant and let him eat his favorite food in peace while they play his favorite movies 

You know real wholesome shit 

All the while they’re coming up with plans in their head to destroy this person's life

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i’m obsessed with your declan fics! can we get one where the reader has to calm him down? it would be even more fun if they were mad/annoyed at each other but he can’t help but seek her out when he needs comfort 👀

Paradoxical.

you currently can’t stand the sight of each other. and yet, in this moment… yours is the only face he wants to see.

declan o’hara x female reader (nickname - lucky.)

warnings - smut. cursing. angst. unspecified age gap. yeeeeeearning.

word count - 4.6k

authors note - she’s back 💋. loooved this request, so thank you so much to whoever sent it!! i’m still on my rivals shit, so please join me in this never ending journey. never getting over this man <3

masterlist. inbox.

“How are you doing?”

You snuggle further into the pillows on the bed, popping another strawberry in your mouth to avoid the question.

“Lucky.”

“Hmm?”

“I asked how you are.”

“M’fine,” you answer as you chew, praying the subject gets changed. She clearly doesn’t believe you, so you sigh and look at her pointedly. “I’m being serious. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Taggie.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What? No! I’d never think that.”

“Then why are you treating me like I’m oblivious? I can see that you’re not fine, but you keep lying to my face.”

Taking a deep breath, you exhale in resignation.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re caught in the middle of all of this, Tag.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. He’s your dad, I’m your friend. You are quite literally the middle man here.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she counters, perching on the edge of her bed. “If I have to be the peacekeeper, I will be.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

“I know, but these things happen. I just… if I knew what had happened, I could try and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Tag. I promise you, you can’t.”

She’s quiet for a moment, tracing the patterns on your socks as she thinks.

“What happened, Lucky? I swear that whatever it is, I won’t judge you. I just want to know how it all went so… wrong. One minute the two of you were the best of friends, and the next minute you’re packing up your office and leaving without so much as an explanation.”

“It’s complicated,” you murmur.

“So complicated that you had to quit your job?”

“Yes.”

“He’s never going to find a better assistant than you, you know. Never. He doesn’t even want to look for one, says he’d rather do all the work himself.”

“Well that’s stupid of him. He can’t do all that stuff himself.”

“Exactly. He’s willing to put himself through all of that stress so as not to replace you.”

“That’s his foolish choice, Tag.”

She sighs in frustration, leaning back against the footboard of the bed.

“Did he upset you? Did he say something stupid? You know what he’s like, he often doesn’t think before he speaks. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation here.”

“It wasn’t him, it was me. I quit by my own volition. He didn’t upset me, he didn’t offend me… I just had to do the right thing, which was to leave. I know you’re trying to help, Tag, but you can’t. Not with this.”

Taggie finally realises that she’s fighting a losing battle, choosing instead to shuffle over so she’s all cosy in the pillows next to you.

“I won’t tell him you were here,” she whispers, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you’re caught up in the middle of all of this.”

“I don’t mind, honestly. I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Give it some time. It’s meant to heal all wounds, after all.”

She chuckles, resting her head against yours affectionately.

“Will you help me make some raspberry tarts? I need at least forty of them, and I could do with an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course I will. But if your dad comes home, I’m sprinting out the back door.”

“Alright,” she laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll help with your escape, if need be.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re tempted to smash your head into the bar top.

You’ve been debating the pros and cons of it for the last forty five minutes, actually.

The gala is bustling, bodies packed into the beautiful ballroom with barely an inch between them. Everyone has a drink in hand, the light from the chandelier glinting off of the champagne and whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

You’d said yes to the event when you were still Declan’s assistant - assuming that you’d go together, just like always. And now, here you are, standing on opposite ends of the room and avoiding each other like your lives depend on it.

A cool hand finds your waist, spiced aftershave hitting your senses and letting you know who it is before they even have to speak.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi, Rupert.”

He spins you around gracefully, smiling at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“You look ravishing, as always.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, you know. You scrub up quite nicely.”

“Oh stop, I’ll start blushing.”

You can’t help but laugh, accepting his arm as he offers it out to you.

“Come on darling, let’s socialise a bit. You can’t stand in the corner forever.”

“I can.”

“Not on my watch.”

He’s dragging you across the floor before you can process what’s happening, people passing by you in blurs of colour and sparkles.

“Dance with me.”

“Is this fun for you? Torturing me?”

“Oh, immensely,” he grins, hands finding your hips.

You reluctantly wrap your arms around his neck, looking at him with a quirked brow.

“Don’t you have a thousand other women you could be dancing with, Rupert?”

He spins you playfully, laughing as you shriek.

“I do, but none of them are nearly as beautiful as you.”

“Oh god,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Does that line usually work?”

“Never on women as smart as you,” he chuckles, swaying you gently.

You stare at him carefully for a moment, realising you know him too well when you instantly see through his carefree facade.

“Ask it, then.”

“Hmm?”

“I know that’s what this is. You’re going to get me all soft and relaxed and tipsy, and then you’ll ask me about Declan. You might as well just cut to the chase, Rupert.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re much too intelligent to think that I believe that.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head, getting a good look at you and your unwavering expression.

“Fine, you stubborn woman. Fine. I wanted to ask you about Declan at some point tonight. But only from a place of care and concern, not because I’m going to try to wrangle the two you of back together or anything.”

“Subtlety has never been your strong suit.”

“Forgive me for being confused, alright? You were joined at the hip, and all of a sudden you can’t stand the sight of each other. It’s just so unlike the two of you.”

You sigh deeply, dropping your head forward so it rests on his chest. Rupert’s arms tighten around you, silently letting you know he’s got your back.

“It’s complicated,” you explain, muffled by the material of the man’s shirt. “Stupidly complicated.”

“So complicated that it can never, ever be repaired? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Blimey,” he half gasps, the sound vibrating through the both of you. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, you bastard.”

Rupert laughs so loudly that people turn their heads to see why, the cadence of it completely infectious. Declan watches from across the room, unable to help himself from at least glancing at the two of you together so cosily.

“He’s currently watching you like some sort of bird of prey,” he informs, tilting your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes. “Whatever it was that happened, it hasn’t erased the fact that he cares about you. A lot. And I know for a fact you care about him.”

“Of course I do.”

“There we go then. Surely it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bit of good old fashioned communication.”

“You’re a terrible communicator,” you argue.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head as you both sway to the music once again.

“If I had a pound for every time that applied to you, Rupert, I’d be a fucking millionaire.”

He twirls you outwards quickly, watching as the skirt of your dress billows with the breeze of the action.

“And if I had a pound for every time Declan has pretended to stare interestedly around the room this evening just so he has an excuse to look at you, I’d be a millionaire too.”

You ignore the way your heartbeat picks up at his words, choosing instead to focus on the steady rhythm of the music from the piano that fills the space.

“Maybe he’s looking at you.”

“No, Lucky. He’s always looking at you.”

You sigh in resignation, fingers fiddling with Rupert’s collar as you straighten out his tie.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to respond to that.”

“You’re practically his right arm. This separation, whatever its cause, is doing both of you more harm than good. I don’t want to push you darling, because that isn’t fair - but just think about everything I’ve said, alright?”

He stares at you expectantly, brows raised in questioning.

“Alright.”

The grin on his face is almost blinding, beaming out in all directions.

“Now, you look too beautiful to stand on the fringes. I will dance with you all night if I have to, if it means showing off this stunning dress of yours.”

“So charming,” you smile, shaking your head. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse, isn’t it?”

“You’d be stupid to,” he winks, still grinning like the devil.

You let him lead you further into the middle of the dance floor, chuckling as he spins you as you go. Your hand has just slipped into Rupert’s once more when you’re both startled by a crash coming from the other side of the room.

The two of you whip your heads around towards the source of the commotion, to see two men in undoubtedly expensive suits brawling with each other. One of them is throwing punches while the other can do nothing but take them, merciless at his opponents hands. Some people are shouting and screaming, trying to physically separate them, while others turn a complete blind eye to the ruckus.

“Fuck,” Rupert mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the scene.

You’re about to ask what the hell he’s doing when you’re pushed forwards and given a clearer view of what’s in front of you, understanding Rupert’s panic immediately.

Ginger is on the floor. Declan is standing above him with bloody knuckles.

“Fuck,” you repeat.

You want to run in the other direction, desperate to not be involved with the drama. And then you look at Declan - the way he’s falling apart at the seams, nerves ruined and adrenaline rushing through his veins, clearly on the edge of something awful… and all of a sudden you’re walking towards the brawl, logic be damned.

There’s so much noise surrounding you that you can’t hear yourself think. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding against your ribcage in your sudden determination to get to the Irishman.

You’re yelling his name without even realising you’re doing it, shouting at the top of your lungs to fight over the commotion.

“Declan! Oh for fuck sake… Declan!”

Your voice somehow breaks through the noise like a sirens call, the familiar melody of it finding his ears like his favourite song. His eyes finally meet yours, and the rest of the room melts away.

You have a conversation without saying anything, so many words exchanged in such a short amount of time. The two of you have always been good at this - communicating in your own language, silently and easily.

You grab his injured hand and intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him away from the scene of the crime with determination. You cast a look back to Ginger, who remains on the floor with blood dripping from his nose, before dragging Declan through the crowd and towards the front door of the huge Manor House. You can hear Rupert trying to mitigate the situation as you leave, using his charm as he does best.

You make your way outside, yanking the man behind you in your path without so much of a glance backwards. You trudge through the gardens in your heels, ignoring the way the dewy grass brushes across the tops of your feet occasionally. Finally, after walking for what feels like hours but was actually mere minutes, you come across a bench, sheltered by an old stone wall and neatly trimmed hedges.

You shove him to sit down, still refusing to look him in the eye. Neither of you say anything, the evening breeze and two sets of lungs heaving all that can be heard.

“What happened?” you whisper eventually, reluctant to disturb the peace. “Who started it?”

Declan looks surprised that you’re speaking to him, failing to hide the shock on his face.

“Will ya sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore, remember?” you half joke, sitting down anyway.

“Funny,” he says, completely deadpan. He looks at you carefully for a long moment, before continuing. “It was Ginger, obviously. I wouldn’t waste my time with him otherwise.”

“What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

“Well it shouldn’t.”

“Right.”

You stare at your shoes, wondering why you even bothered to rescue him back in the ballroom.

“Fuck this, then,” you mutter as you stand up to leave.

A hand wraps around your wrist as quick as a flash, pulling you back to sit down where you were.

“No. You don’t get to just walk away from me, not again.”

“Tell me what Ginger said.”

“Tell me why you quit workin’ for me.”

“I already did.”

“Liar. You gave me a poor excuse that’s absolute bollocks. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“That’s your problem, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

You stare at him, completely exasperated by the events of the last hour.

“You can’t just punch people at galas, Declan. It’s a bad look for you, for Venturer, and for every member of staff that relies on you.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He scrubs his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with both you and the situation at hand.

“He made some horrible comment about you. I fell right into his trap too, like a bull and a fuckin’ red scarf.”

“What did he say?”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Just… something crude about you sleepin’ with me to get to where you are. Called me a cradle snatcher, too.”

“You can’t be a cradle snatcher if I’m a grown woman.”

“Exactly. And it’s not true, anyway. We all know that.”

“So why did you hit him, then? If we all know it’s not true?”

Declan sighs, fatigue painting the sound.

“Because no one gets to speak about you like that with no consequence. And because I was angry.”

“At me.”

“At you. Yes.”

You fiddle with your fingers, entirely unprepared for the fact that you’re about to have the one conversation you’ve been completely avoiding.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” you begin. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

“Then what did you mean to happen, Lucky? Did you think that you could just up and quit with absolutely no warning, without a problem? That I’d just let you walk out? Did ya think I’d help you pack your things?”

“Obviously not,” you whisper. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not. Which is why I know that you thought about that decision long and hard. And that’s what I can’t seem to wrap my head around.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes, clearly desperate to resolve the issues between you.

“Please, Lucky.”

His voice is cracking just like his heart, breaking down the middle to allow all of his emotions to spill out onto the grass. You’ve never heard him sound like this. You hate it.

“I had to, Declan. For both of our sakes.”

“For fuck sake, can you cut it out?” he snaps, volume raising.

“Cut what out?”

“Speaking in these fucking riddles! I can’t even pretend that I have any idea what you’re talkin’ about. Please, whatever it is, however terrible you think it is… I just need you to say it. We’ll deal with the consequences. But I can’t keep goin’ around in circles, dancing around the subject constantly.”

You take a deep breath, bottom lip wobbling as you will yourself not to cry. You’re well and truly at the end of your tether, unsure of how much more you can take - or how much you want to. Deciding to throw caution into the wind, you exhale carefully before turning to face the man next to you.

“You’ll hate me. When I tell you.”

“I could never hate you. Never, Lucky.”

You get lost in your own head for a moment, staring off into space as you debate the best way to go about this. A large hand finds its way into your knee, comforting and grounding. His thumb rubs patterns into your skin where the slit of your dress is, warming you up from the outside in.

“I thought about it for a long time,” you begin. “A long time. Because being your assistant is the best job I have ever had, or will ever have. It was a dream, Declan. Even when we had a tough day, or week, or month, I always knew we’d be okay.”

He nods, his full attention on you.

“We were comfortable, me and you. Maybe a little too comfortable for a boss and his assistant, but in a good way, I think. I was settled, with you.”

He squeezes your thigh, urging you to continue.

“But then, I think we got too settled. People started to notice - which doesn’t matter, but they did nonetheless. I was sleeping over at your house, staying awake with you until the early hours, attending galas and events as your date. And I wasn’t sure what it was - the thing that was bothering me - until one day, it clicked.”

“Lucky…” he whispers, desperate for you to spit it out.

“I’m in love with you.”

The two of you sit the silence for a moment, listening to the breeze softly whip around you.

“That’s what clicked. And that’s why I quit. Because it felt like a conflict of interest, like a… betrayal.”

“A betrayal?”

“Yes. Like I was taking advantage, or something. And I didn’t think it was fair, for you, having me pining over you at work. I didn’t want you to feel pity for me, if you noticed eventually - I hated the idea of being treated differently by you, all through fault of my own. So I quit to get ahead of it.”

“Are ya done?”

“I, uh… yes?”

“Great.”

Declan surges forward, smashing his lips to yours with the most passion than you’ve ever experienced in your life. One of his hands tangles in your hair as the other cradles your face, pulling you as close as he physically can. His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily, allowing you to taste whiskey, cigarettes and the cool night air. Eventually, when you both need to breathe, he pulls away reluctantly, resting his forehead on yours.

“Did you do that to make me shut up?” you murmur, fighting to keep the smile off your face.

“Yes and no.”

He’s grinning like the devil, chuckling as the palms of his hands find your cheeks.

“Yes and no?”

“Yes and no. I took the action needed to stop you rambling. But I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“… What?”

“Why do you think we got so comfortable, Lucky? It works two ways. You were just the only one brave enough to make a change - even if it was the completely wrong thing to do.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“The opposite,” he laughs. “I can’t remember when it happened. I woke up one day and I just knew. And I knew that you’d never feel the same way, but I love being around you so much that I was willing to make that sacrifice. So I was a coward, and I stayed silent.”

“We’ve made this complicated. Too complicated.”

“Much too complicated.”

“But… it is. You were my boss, and you’re older than me, and I’m good friends with Taggie now, and-”

Declan kisses you again, sweeter this time.

“We can figure it out, Lucky. You know we can.”

“Maybe,” you whisper.

“And I want you to come back to work.”

“Declan-”

“I’m serious. I cannot cope without you. I will never find an assistant as good as you, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I want you. No one else.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest, like I said earlier.”

“But it isn’t. Not anymore. Before all of this, we were two people in love working together. And when you come back, we’ll be two people in love working together.”

You can’t find it in you to argue, realising that he’s actually making a good point. If anything, it should be easier now that you’ve both communicated your feelings - no more skeletons in the closet.

“Tell me you don’t miss it,” he provokes. “Tell me you’re not even remotely tempted to come back.”

“I can’t.”

“Exactly.”

You take a deep breath, moving the hair away from his eyes tenderly.

“I’ll think about it, alright? I’ll have a think when I go home.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, entirely too satisfied with the outcome of this conversation.

“I know we’re in uncharted territory here, Lucky. But we can figure it out. You know we can.”

“I know. It’ll be hard, but… I know.”

You lean up to kiss him softly, sighing as your eyes drift closed. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pulls you closer, trying to plaster every inch of his body to yours.

You lose yourself in everything Declan - the way he tastes, the way he smells, the way he feels underneath your fingertips. You want to strip him bare right here and memorise every curve of his muscles, every line in his skin, every mark on his face.

His hand slips further and further up the slit of your dress, gripping at your thigh as if he’s worried you’ll slip away. You’re half in his lap, draped over him on the bench as he still pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispers against your throat. “Every. Single. Night.”

He kisses his way along your neck, revelling in the way you squirm at the feeling of his moustache on your skin. You grab fistfuls of his white shirt, crumpling it in your hands to try and give yourself some sort of anchor.

When Declan’s fingertips slip into your underwear, all you can do is sigh, resigned to the fact that you’d let him do absolutely anything he wanted in this current moment.

“We’re in public,” you protest weakly, both of you knowing you don’t want him to stop.

“We’re at the bottom of the garden, surrounded by three hedges and a wall. If anyone sees, that’s their fault.”

You drop your head forward onto his shoulder, parting your legs to give him a better angle. He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels just how aroused you are, practically vibrating with want.

“Are ya this wet f’me?”

You nod against his shirt, not trusting your voice.

“Oh, sweetheart. Well I can’t leave you like this, can I? That’d be cruel.”

He pulls your underwear to the side fully so he can slip a finger into you with ease, both of you groaning at the sensation. Sliding a second one in, you hold onto him for dear life, panting like you’ve run a marathon.

“Please,” you whisper. “Declan, please.”

“I’ll do anything to hear you say my name like that again, Lucky. Anything in the world.”

“Declan.”

He sets a steady pace, crooking his fingers as he goes to make sure you see stars. Your eyes are rolling back, lip caught between your teeth to stifle any sounds that threaten to escape.

“God, I wish I could hear how pretty you sound,” he groans, looking at you intently. “You can make as much noise as you want when I take you home. Promise.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips up to meet his rhythm. The bench is cold underneath you, the air turning chilly, but neither of you pay any mind to it. You’re too far gone to care.

You grab Declan’s other hand and stick two of his fingers in your mouth, laving your tongue around them to keep you quiet. He moans at the sight, all deep and rumbled, the sound reverberating through both of you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

All you can do is look at him with big, bright eyes, pleading with him silently to finish the job at hand.

“You want me to make you come, sweetheart? That it?”

When you nod, he picks up the pace of his fingers, thumb pressing circles into your clit.

“Have ya thought about this? In bed, alone, getting yourself off in the dark?”

You whine at his words, nodding your head in answer.

“That’s a good girl. Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me and I’ll take you home and fuck you properly, yeah?”

You see stars as you climax, gripping onto his shirt and his hand for dear life. He works you through it, murmuring filthy promises into your ear as he does it.

Lifting his fingers from between your thighs, he pops them straight into his mouth, both of you groaning in unison.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your lips, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Perfect girl.”

You shuffle sideways so you’re pressed into Declan’s side, two strong arms encircling you immediately.

“Thank you.”

“For the orgasm?”

“Yes and no,” you laugh. “For listening to me. I’ve been going insane trying to think about what I’d say to you if I got the chance to explain myself, but no words seemed to suffice.”

“I just wish you’d talked to me sooner, sweetheart. I’ve been going insane trying to get through life without you. Not to mention that office is chaos.”

You laugh gently, cuddling into him and his warmth.

“I’ll fix it on Monday.”

“Yeah? For definite?” he asks, hope colouring his voice.

“Yeah. Like I said - best job I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, sweetheart.”

You grin as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, all soft and sugary sweet.

“Besides. Someone’s going to have to sort out the inevitable mess that’ll follow you hitting Ginger at a charity gala.”

“Ah, I forgot about that,” he laughs, planting a kiss into your hair. “What would I do without ya, hmm?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you smile, resting your head onto his shoulder. “Never again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sit on the bench for a little while longer, both of you looking up at the stars that paint the sky in a canopy above your heads. You’re quite convinced you could stay like this forever, just the two of you in your own little universe.

There’s paperwork to be done, meetings to be had, deals to be made. But all of that can wait.

Right now, it’s just you and Declan.

The way it should be.

reblogs are gold dust, lovers!! reblog and circulate your favourite fics, and your writers will create more. simple. <3

[sefarlen]

Bal ~~💓💓

When I'm stressed out, I like to draw him and his super cute Puppy Eye.✨✨

[dangraccoon]

Untitled Spreadsheet - PRIVATE

Chapter 7 - Talk

Word Count: 1449

Content: everyone in the 212th are both Cody and Kenobi's wingmen, brotherly teasing, listen they are openly flirting in this one and Cody is being a disaster about it all, someone give Rex an award for dealing with this man

For @literallyjustanerd, based on this post

Mando'a Guide shebs - ass vod - brother/sister/sibling Kote - glory; used here as Cody's real name before it was simplified to 'Cody' taylir gar kovid olar bal jii - keep your head here and now ibic linibar gar mirda - this needs your mind ori'vod - big brother/sister/sibling jetiise - Jedi (plural; singular is jetii)

“Come on, General!” a shiny shouted, not noticing Cody’s presence. “Kick his shebs!”

Cody leaned a little to see through the crowded troopers. On the practice mat he saw two men; one trooper, down to just his blacks - Boil, by the looks of it, and General Kenobi. He was in a simple tunic, plain colors, like most of his clothing. Sweat was dripping down his face, but he smirked as he spoke quietly to his opponent. 

Cody suddenly felt that the room was far too hot, and his armor was too constricting.

“Sir,” one of the shinies near him squeaked as he noticed his commanding officer. 

“Easy, vod,” Cody chuckled, waving him off. “Just here to watch.”

“Uh, yessir,” the trooper said awkwardly before turning back to watch the spar.

Cody stalked quietly behind the captive audience that encircled the mat, finding himself to be similarly enraptured with every movement the general made. 

With the chaos of the battlefield and the stress of command, he never had the chance to truly witness the prowess for which his general was known. 

It was certainly something to behold. The way he dodged Boil’s every move reminded him of a dance. The wicked, cocky grin plastered across his face reminded him– 

“Commander!” someone shouted, fortunately before he could finish the thought. 

Waxer rushed to him. “You’re up next, Kote,” he informed him with a wide grin. 

“Not on your life, Wax,” he deadpanned, ignoring the stir of longing in his gut. 

“C’mon, it’ll be’- ooh!”

Waxer’s urging was cut off by the way Kenobi slammed Boil into the mat, quickly wrapping him up in a hold that had Boil tapping out. 

Waxer laughed, running over to help Kenobi pick his brother up from the mat. “You just won me thirty credits, General!”

“Glad to be of service,” Kenobi chuckled, idly wiping some of the sweat from his brow. 

Time seemed to slow, the cheers and laughter from the gathered vode faded out. Right then, for Cody, there was only him and the general in this room. 

Kenobi’s face was flushed from the effort, drops of sweat dotting his skin. He grasped Boil’s forearm with a grin, laughing lightly at something Waxer said. 

He was brought back to the present by a rough hit to his shoulder. 

He scowled at the offender. 

“You should take a holo,” Gregor chuckled. ���It’ll last longer.”

Cody smacked his arm. “Kriff off.”

“–suppose, if he’d be interested,” Kenobi said, coming up in front of him. His brow cocked as he eyed Cody with such an interest that he felt the tips of his ears go red. “Would you, my dear Commander?”

Cody blinked at him. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“Well, Boil and Waxer here have me quite convinced I should challenge you next,” Kenobi said with a smirk that made Cody feel like his heart was about to beat right out of his chest.

“I- I couldn’t, sir,” he said quietly.

“I can’t see why not,” Kenobi chuckled, then leaned in closer to him. Cody prayed to any supposed maker out there that the General couldn’t hear the way Cody’s breath froze along with his heart. “I’m reluctant to think that you’d be scared.”

Boil and Waxer sucked in a breath. Their eyes darted between their COs. 

Cody huffed something like a laugh, already beginning to remove the armor from his arms. “Never, sir,” he smirked.

By the time Cody had shucked the last of the plastoid pieces from him, the General had toweled himself off and was getting a drink.

“Ready, General?” he asked. “To lose that is.”

Kenobi chuckled again. “Losing is no displeasure, my dear,” he grinned. “As long as I’m losing to you.”

If that hadn’t already stopped Cody in his tracks, what Kenobi did next certainly would have. 

Just as Cody turned to face him, General Kenobi was freeing his arms of his tunic, tossing it off to the side in a messy heap.

While Cody was still breathless, Kenobi dropped into a starting stance, his arms held before him at the ready. He smirked and Cody was certain he was about to embarrass himself by going completely lightheaded before their match could even begin.

Taylir gar kovid olar bal jii, Kote, the echo of Alpha-17’s snarl rang through his mind. Ibic linibar gar mirda.

He readied himself, then nodded to Kenobi. 

For a few moments, they only circled one another, both oblivious to the shouts and cheers from the watching crowd of soldiers. Cody would feign an attack, testing Kenobi’s reactions, and Kenobi moved swiftly enough that Cody was sure that he was at least partially relying on his connection to the Force.

“Care to actually make a move, General?” he smirked. 

“Only should you stop teasing me, my dear,” Kenobi chuckled back.

Cody scoffed lightly, then shifted the position of his left arm, giving the General an opening.

The General took the opportunity, jabbing a sharp right hook in his direction, forcing Cody to take a step back, only to find they’d gotten closer to the edge of the mat than he’d thought.

His ankle rolled beneath him–sending a twinge of pain up his leg–but he managed to catch himself just in time to block Kenobi’s incoming hit.

Kenobi smiled as he looked Cody up and down. “Impeccable footwork,” he purred. “You could make an exquisite dancer.”

He nearly froze, if not for the growl of his ori’vod in the back of his mind, but offered his own blows toward his General.

The General parried them somewhat easily, moving back across the mat with the same grace that always somewhat distracted Cody on the battlefield. He wouldn’t let it now.

Cody kept on the offensive, hurling his fists towards Kenobi. 

“Come now, Cody,” he said, slightly breathlessly. “You’re not going easy on me, are you?”

“What would make you think so, sir?” he asked just as he managed to wrap his arm around Kenobi’s neck, spinning and pulling Kenobi’s back tightly against him. “What do you believe I’ve done wrong?” he hummed into the General’s ear.

“No need to pull your punches, Commander,” he told him, his voice dropping dangerously low. “You know I can take more.”

Cody heard his own breath leave in a quiet huff and the next thing he knew he was on his back, his General over top of him. 

Kenobi grinned at Cody’s shock ever so briefly before changing back into that somewhat cocky look of determination. 

“Yield,” he whispered. 

Cody stared at him for a moment, then made a… tactical decision. 

He let his eyes drop to Kenobi’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. 

Kenobi gasped softly, his cheeks flushing an even deeper red than they’d been from the exercise. 

That was his opportunity. 

Cody flipped their position, flattening Kenobi’s chest against the mat. He wrapped his arm beneath the General’s with his hand on the back of his neck. His leg wove into Kenobi’s, pinning him firmly down. 

“Ah, alright!” Kenobi muttered, struggling to free himself from the Commander’s grasp. “You got me– I yield,” he said, a bit louder to let their audience–that Cody had all but forgotten about–know the match was over. 

A long beep sounded over the ship’s PA system, signaling the shift change. Cody could hear them leaving, laughing, bickering, and groaning about the coming work. 

Cody rolled off his opponent, pushing himself up to his feet. Kenobi flopped onto his back and Cody got a proper look at him for the first time since their match started. 

He was dewy with sweat, the fringe of auburn hair sticking slightly to his forehead. His face and ears were still tinted pink, though he wasn’t sure of the cause. It seemed the rest of his body was spotted with far more freckles than his face was, which was the realization that forced Cody back to reality. 

“Good effort, General,” he smirked, offering a hand. 

Rex: damn codes

Rex: havent seen you spar like that in a minute

Rex: gregor sent me the holovid

Cody: I can’t say I’m surprised by that. 

Rex: no sound though 

Rex: does kenobi always talk that much??

Rex: my jetiise say he does

Rex: curious about his smack talk

Cody: I’ve updated the spreadsheet. 

Rex: cody you cant be serious

Rex: cody

Cody: Those are all perfectly reasonable suspicions. 

Rex: skywalker talks shit all the time when we spar but not like THAT

Rex: no suspicions explain him talking to you like that

Rex: actually you know what

Rex: there is no heterosexual explanation for this

Cody: Don’t be ridiculous, Rex. You’re supposed to talk me into rationality, not feed into my delusions.

Event: While sparring in the gym, the boys goaded General Kenobi into challenging me. He proceeded to remove his shirt before we began and made comments throughout, including the following (verbatim): “Losing is no displeasure, my dear, as long as I’m losing to you.” “Impeccable footwork. You could make an exquisite dancer.” “No need to pull your punches, Commander. You know I can take more.”

Rational explanation: General Kenobi flirts with all of his opponents.-Distraction technique?-His idea of trash talk?-Is he just like that? On reviewing the described event, Rex has requested I redact the former with the following comment: “There is no heterosexual explanation for this.”

Irrational explanation: General Kenobi meant what he said in exactly the way he said it

Additional notes: Is it actually an irrational explanation to assume he means the things he says?

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[cosmictyto]

Suddenly got suckerpunched with a stomach bug so take some “when they’re sick” headcanons:

🗡️🖤 Ballister - “Sick? Oh, no no no, I don’t GET sick…” Is something he usually says while visibly shaking, with a fever, and after nearly hacking out a lung. He’s the kind of guy who just ignores whatever he catches until it takes him out or until Ambrosius starts dragging his ass to bed or to a doctor. Generally, I see him as one of those lucky bastards who doesn’t get sick that often. But when he does it’s usually pretty damn bad. And I 100% see him being the kind of guy during training who stresses himself out whenever exams are coming up. Enough that he usually gets sick somehow because he’s just kneecapping his immune system from said stress.

🦁💛 Ambrosius - He’s the complete opposite of Ballister in this regard. While he’s not sickly per-se, he does get sick way more often. And (though of course Bal would never admit it) he’s a bit of a baby when he does come down with something. He’s taking time off the moment he feels weird, and though he knows he’s gotta stay away from his boyfriend so he doesn’t spread anything, he’s still sending little texts about how he misses him, so on and so forth. And on those rare occasions where they’re both sick? Super cuddly. Even more-so than usual. For this man cuddles are the best medicine… okay, and really spicy soup, but mostly cuddles.

(Bonus HC - Because I’m not 100% on this one and it’s wrapped up in a bunch of other HCs I have - I could also see him maybe being a bit of a hypochondriac mostly due to his family and how they respond to illness and injury. For starters, I definitely see Ambrosius as a “rainbow baby” and on top of that, I can see the Goldenloins being extra protective of their bloodline in general. (Even in spite of throwing their children into knighthood which can be dangerous.) So any time Kid!Ambrosius got sick or hurt, everyone fussed over him more than they really should have. Even for more typical or minor stuff since, if something happened to him, it might mean trouble further down the line for Gloreth’s lineage. Which, kids have a tendency to notice and latch on to these things. They might not get the why, but they definitely feel those emotions.)

🦈💖 Nimona - “I don’t get sick.” Except… she actually doesn’t. Unlike Bal who’s just coping really hard, she genuinely doesn’t come down with human or animal diseases since they can’t live in her magic-based body. Now, if she were to contract something magical, she’s the kind of person who’s fine until things are most definitely not fine. And you can tell because she suddenly gets way more quiet, spacey, and subdued. Mostly because she’s trying to figure out what the hell’s wrong with her, since, ya’know, she legit doesn’t get sick… until she just crashes. And good luck waking her up, because you probably won’t. She’s hibernating until her body works this nonsense out of its system. Which is more than a little concerning for the people around her, since she’s been out for, like, a week straight now- but it’s fine. Because when she wakes up she’ll be SUPER groggy and hangry for about an hour and then she’s back to normal. As if nothing ever even happened.

[williamlandon]

Hi! Do you think you could make a villain au where Ambrosius is a yandere for Ballister and will murder for him? Ps: Your art is amazing!

Hiii! So sorry this took awhile to answer, I’ve been burnout lately and finals just ended, but I instantly fell in love with this idea.

Story wise, I came up with a couple ideas of what the story could be, but it’s totally up for interpretation. ——————————————————————————————————

I imagine that Ambrosius’s life constantly consisted of things he loved being taken away from him due to a strict family, strict rules, tight royal expectations, and just seemed like he had no freedom and zero say in anything he did. He just felt alone for years.

But one day he found young Ballister practicing out in the woods, monologging to himself. After spotting him, Ballister convinced Ambrosius to come and practice with him. Since that day, they had been practicing together in the woods to prepare for the day that Ballister would attempt to tryout to become a royal knight. Though he got away with it for years, Ambrosius was one day caught by the royal gardener who saw him speeding towards the woods. After being told, his parents were furious. He was scolded and punished greatly, except this time, he had enough.

Days before the knight tryouts, Ballister had noticed that Ambrosius wasn’t as bubbly as he usually was.

“They’re dead. Gone.”

In shock, all he could do was comfort Ambrosius and help him get through this massive loss.

Fast forward years later, Ambrosius has gotten some help with ruling the kingdom. Queen Valerin, who was the previous royal ambassador, took the thrown. Despite not being on top, Ambrosius was still thankful for the extra help. But not only was there a new queen, but a new ambassador. The Director.

Now with all of this stress gone from his shoulders, Ambrosius figured he could finally spend some time practicing with his recently asked out but secret bf, Ballister. With more time together, Ambrosius became very attached, especially since his childhood Bal was the only person who really gave their time and attention to him.

The Director noticed this strangely close connection with the two, and with already disliking them both, she disliked them more. But soon, she found out what was really going on between the two. With this increasing hatred for them, especially Ballister due to him being the only non royal blood knight, she came up with an idea to potentially turn them against each other, but little did she know that she was going to awaken a slumbering anger.

Her plan was to convince Ambrosius that Ballister was simply using him to gain status and learn about his weaknesses, until eventually taking his life along with the queen’s to become the new era of royalty. But unlike her wishes, even after framing Bal for the murder of the queen, Ambrosius wasn’t as gullible as she had hoped. With the help of the Squire, he had gained information about the rest of her plans. She had planned to kill Ballister to gain royalty herself.

Furious, Ambrosius heard an angry, yet familiar voice inside of his head.

From then on, anyone who had paid any form of a threat to Ballister, would never see the light of day again. The only one who was able to get away (for now) was the Director, due to the fear of her death being pinned upon Bal. ——————————————————————————————————

soooo yea I skipped sleep for this and I am very tired. But like I said tysm to whoever requested this bc I love this idea. This is definitely my headcannon for this AU, I’m excited to see other stories of this AU. Have a good day! ^^

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 1: Mercy

Chapter 1 here we go - written in collaboration with @bitsy83! (Also available on ao3 here!)

Masterpost

-

Ambrosius was there when the sword went off. The deadly blast caught everyone by surprise - Ambrosius barely had a moment to think before grabbing his sword. It was a moment though, just long enough for him to gather his wits and knock the sword from Ballister’s hand before anyone else got hurt, Ballister included. The sword fell to the ground, sparking as it disintegrated into pieces. Ambrosius and Ballister stared at it, then at each other in shock. Then the guards leapt into action. Ballister was so stunned he didn’t fight back when they pinned his arms behind his back and forced him to his knees.

“I didn’t do it.” his voice was barely audible over the noise of the stadium. Then the guards started dragging him away, past the stunned cadets, back into the tunnels below the Glorodome. “I DIDN’T DO IT!” he shouted, finding his voice. “SOMEONE SWITCHED MY SWORD!”

Ambrosius had watched in shocked silence. There was nothing else he could do.

~ ~ ~

The queen was dead. It was all over the news. Killed by the commoner knight himself. What remained of the blaster-equipped sword was locked away as evidence while The Institute investigated the event. Everyone was saying it was an open-and-shut case - replicas of famous swords were easy to get, and Ballister could have easily gotten one and hidden an energy weapon in it. Why was the question that was bothering Ambrosius.

He’d read the write-ups explaining the psyche of the ‘deranged, previous street urchin who’d snapped under stress’, but he’d known the man for over a decade - the profile didn’t fit. Ballister wasn’t a murderer… unless the last ten years had all been an act. Had their friendship been a facade? Had Ballister been planning this for years? Was this his revenge on a system he felt had mistreated him for so long? Or had he been telling the truth on the night of the murder - that someone had switched his sword out, that he’d been set up? But then who had done it? Some terrorist faction that was just now showing itself? The kingdom had been peaceful for decades, why would something surface now?

Ambrosius needed to make sense of this. He trusted The Institute to take care of it, but impatience was getting the better of him. He’d asked for visitation rights several times in the days since the Queen’s murder, but each time he’d been denied. That man was a raving lunatic, they’d told him, and he needed to be kept calm and isolated.

That wasn’t what the dungeon’s camera feed was showing. Ambrosius sat back in his chair in The Institute’s security room, perplexed. The feed showed Ballister looking dejected, sitting in a cell, sometimes pacing, but mostly just… sitting there, not saying a word. No mad ravings like the guards had described. Ambrosius fast-forwarded the feed. Hours of footage, all showing the same thing; nothing. The guards were lying. Why? Why was nothing adding up?

Ambrosius turned away from the computer, rubbing his head. Staring at big screens always made his eyes hurt. Smaller screens, not so much. He flicked his phone open. A news article flashed on the screen; ‘Breaking News: Ballister’s Written Confession Revealed’. Ambrosius blinked. When had that happened? He’d already skimmed through the bulk of the security camera footage from the last few days, and he hadn’t seen anyone go to interview him.

He tapped the article. Sure enough, there it was. A confession of murder, along with enough broken grammar to convince anyone that the author had lost it. Ambrosius stared at the screen until his eyes hurt again. Why would Bal implicate himself if he'd said he was innocent? Now with a confession made clear, all that was left was the sentencing, and there was only one punishment for murder in the kingdom; death.

Years of feelings began to surface - the times they’d stayed out late getting nachos, the times Bal had comforted him when his parents had died - so many experiences built on love and trust. Ambrosius didn’t want to believe Ballister was a murderer. He didn’t want to lose him. He couldn’t lose him.

Ambrosius got up. The article had mentioned the sentencing would be that evening. There was something he could do - he’d heard of an old custom that someone of noble blood or of high status could call for mercy on a convict - not a full pardon, but a punishment could be lightened. As Gloreth’s direct descendant, Ambrosius could get a judge to give a lifetime of house arrest over hanging… if it was still valid.

Ambrosius headed to the court building. They would know if he could declare mercy and how. If he hurried, maybe he could save Bal’s life.

The receptionist knew about the custom, but didn’t know if it was still legal or who would handle it. It hadn’t been done in decades. She made some calls to different departments to see. Ambrosius dug his nails into his palm every time a call turned out fruitless. Time was ticking away. Time he didn’t have.

Finally, they found the answer; the custom was still legal. Better yet, they found out who would handle the proceeding - someone in the judicial building across the campus. There would be paperwork involved. Ambrosius hated paperwork.

Ambrosius didn’t say who he was pardoning, but he could see the confusion on the clerk’s face when he handed him the sheaf of necessary papers. There was only one person in line for sentencing, and who would pardon an obvious murderer?

Ambrosius sat in the lobby and pored over the forms. He needed proof of his lineage. He needed the exact charges against Ballister. He needed the name of the judge. So many fields. So many signatures. He didn’t have time for this! Maybe he could get the first page done, declare mercy, say he’d missed a page, and then finish the rest afterward. Anything to stall the proceedings long enough to get it all filled out.

The records building was his first stop. It wasn’t far, just a few minutes walk. Ambrosius jogged across the campus green. How much time did he have left? He glanced at a nearby clock tower. Then he froze.

In the distance, there was a black flag flying above the judgment tower. The papers in Ambrosius’s hands crinkled as he tightened his grip. A black flag meant an execution was in progress. He’d missed the sentencing.

Ambrosius broke into a run. Forget the paperwork. He’d declare mercy on the spot and worry about that later. But he needed to get there. He needed to get there NOW!

People hurried out of his way as he tore through side streets and courtyards. He ran, his pulse pounding in his ears. The flag was still at full mast. He could see the front doors to the tower in the distance, two guards out front.

The guards stepped in front of the doors as he approached.

“Closed event. Nobody else allowed in.”

Ambrosius didn’t stop. “Let me in! I need to mercy—”

“No one. Else. Allowed.” The guard stated again.

Ambrosius rushed them. It almost worked - they hadn’t expected that from Gloreth’s descendant. He’d nearly gotten his hand on the door handle when they grabbed him and shoved him backwards. Ambrosius didn’t relent. He pushed back, digging in his heels, reaching past them for the handle.

“Let me in!”

His fingers touched the handle briefly. Then he found himself thrown onto the ground, paperwork falling from his hand.

“Don’t make this difficult.” a guard growled.

Ambrosius was back on his feet in an instant, frantic.

“Or what?! I am a knight! Descendant of Gloreth!” He charged again, this time trying to grapple a guard.

“That doesn’t matter.” The other guard grabbed Ambrosius from behind. “Closed event. Direct orders.”

Ambrosius landed on his back again, his head hitting the pavement. He looked up at the sky for a moment, dazed. The black flag. It was being lowered.

“NO!”

The tower door opened and a reporter stepped out, absently scrolling through a notepad. The guards moved to let her pass. Ambrosius seized his chance and barrelled through the opening, past the guards, into the courtyard.

“STOP! I DECLARE MERCY!”

His voice echoed off the walls, startling the audience in front of the gallows. Everyone turned to look at him. Ambrosius charged through the crowd, ignoring them. The gallows looked empty. Where was the convicted?

“I declare mercy!” He shouted again, pushing his way to the front. Then he froze. He could see the base of the gallows now. A tower worker was working the noose off an all-too-familiar figure laying in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Ballister Boldheart was dead.

-

Chapter 2

[jack-the-fool]

A variety of inconsequential Nimona headcannons :)

-Ballister is TERRIBLE at keeping track of his phone/noticing when he has texts and calls which post-movie causes Ambrosuis such distress because he starts catastrophizing when Bal doesn't text him back for 20 minutes.

-Ambrosius knows theoretically how to cook but 10 times out of 10 will opt for take-out when left to his own devices. Nimona can cook but only specific meals she likes (breakfast tacos, brownies in a mug, etc). Ballister is the only one who actually knows how to cook in that he can be given various ingredients and make something out of them.

-Nimona gets a hold of some of her and Ballister's old wanted posters and hangs them up in her room. Bal thinks it's funny. Ambrosius has mixed feelings.

-Nimona all but refuses to call Ballister by his name. it's always "boss" or some variation. When she's being purposefully obtuse with people she doesn't know she'll call him "Larry" on occasion.

-Similarly, she never calls Ambrosius by his name either. When she does address him at first it's usually some variation of "Arm-Choppy" (which he weathers like a champ). Eventually, he graduates to "golden boy" or "The Boss' Boyfriend" until she decides he's cool now.

-The trio are all competitive to varying degrees. Nimona is competitive for the sake of being competitive and will announce dumb little contests when she's feeling bored. Ambrosius is mostly competitive about inconsequential things and made-up scenarios. When things are too serious his anxiety response kicks in and he basically stops caring while still somehow being stressed about it. Ballister acts like he isn't that competitive but it's a lie. Mostly in physical competitions, but he also IS that good so he usually wins anyway. When it is more of a challenge for him he starts to get weirdly serious and agitated.

[intothefandomverse]

Nimona headcanons I came up with while in line at Disney World

When goldheart was first starting wedding planning, they were told by one of the fancy elitist wedding planners that if nimona was going to be in the wedding, that they should change their hair to a natural color so it matched the (frankly quite boring) themeing that was recommended. Ambrosius was so mad about this that that night, he had nimona dye his hair bright pink to match hers. They went in the next day, and after the planner had a heart attack, they got fired.

Sometimes, Bal and Ambrosius will forget that Nimona can shapeshift when they haven't seen her in a while in any form other than human in a while and/or are really stressed and distracted, so when she just spontaneously turns into a shark (or other animal) they'll get startled for a second, then remember it's just Nimona

When Nimona gets tired of walking, they'll turn into a small animal and climb on one of the boys and make them carry him around

Nimona will turn into a cat when they don't get enough attention and start smacking things off the counters. It starts with the least breakable stuff and slowly accelerates to become actual breakable things, like cups, and even threatens to knock down important things (but never actually would)

Nimona loves learning about different cultures, especially ones that may go out of existence soon, because she feels it can help preserve the traditions and languages, even if he's the only one who knows them. They have a scrapbook of all the cultures they've learned about over the years, and a lot of it is drawn due to a combination of not being able to sit down long enough to write them all out, and not being able to write long sentences in most of the languages (they try to keep the pages with the languages to match them, even if it only ends up being a few words)

Bal's love language is infodumping. You can't tell me that man wouldn't rant about anything and everything sciencey/how things work at any chance he gets just because he loves it and wants to share that love with others. Ambrosius loves when he infodumps. He thinks Bal is cute when he does it. Nimona also infodumps as a love language. So does Otter Infodump Guy. Nimona and Otter Infodump Guy love dropping random facts about animals. And nimona loves listening to Bal's "how it works" dumps. Nimona will also infodump about their latest craft because they love crafting, and Ambrosius even taught her how to use a machine to sew (she never got to learn despite being around since they were created, his mom taught him how to sew when he was a child)

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

I dont have a long funny title for these Nimona headcanons

Nimona will steal the boy's stuff all the time 

she’ll eat food off their plates when they’re not looking or will steal their food from the fridge 

She also steals all of Ambrosius’ rubber bands and claw clips 

And when she thinks the boys aren't wearing their clothes enough she’ll take them and either upcycle them or wear them as pajamas 

They’ve asked her a million times why she does this and her answer every single time is “It's fun”

The trio all have stims that the others view as harmful 

When Bal is stressed he’ll grind his teeth or bite his nails 

Nimona will bite his lips or pick at scabs that he let form

Ambrosius will bite the inside of his mouth or pull his hair 

And they all have little signals for each other to make them mindful that they’re doing it 

They don’t try and stop each other they know it’ll just make it worse but it’s a little reminder that they’re doing it 

Just a little “Hey I know you know yourself best and what you can handle but you’re also starting to bleed so please be careful” 

When they have their mouth stims the other will do things like whistle or hum just small things that you can’t do easily when you’re grinding your teeth or biting your mouth/nails

When Nimona is picking at his scabs the boys will tap their feet or drum on their legs 

And when Ambrosius is pulling his hair Nimona and Bal will offer to tie it up or braid it and sometimes they’ll just slide a rubber band over to him

If he doesn’t want the rubber band or doesn’t want them touching him they don’t force him they consider it a success because they still got through to him 

And if he lets them mess with his hair they consider it a bigger success because they love braiding his hair

When Ambrosius doesn’t have to go to work or doesn’t have to be in early Bal and Nimona take turns styling his hair

It doesn’t matter if it takes 5 minutes or 50 he’ll wait patiently for them to finish

And he leaves the house like that too no matter how crazy or stupid it looks

They have a little collection of pictures that they/civilians took and posted of their “masterpieces” 

Ambrosius has an 8-step skincare routine that he does every single day

Doesn’t matter if he’s witnessed every atrocity the world can throw at him he’s still doing it 

He also has a dedicated hair care routine that he spent hours researching 

Bal doesn’t give a singular solitary fuck what he puts on his face

As long as it’s cruelty-free not expensive and works he doesn’t care 

When Bal and Ambrosius first became friends Bal told him that he didn’t really wash his face even after he joined the institute 

Ambrosius almost passed out while whining about how the world is a cruel and unusual place 

He has worn Bal down over the years and made him use two products face wash and moisturizer 

He also found out that Nimona doesn’t take care of their skin at all

And when they saw how shocked Ambrosius was they continued by saying “In fact I take dirt baths like a chinchilla”

All he could choke out was “My lovely little tornado why?” They started laughing and claimed it’s “good for my immune system” 

Which caused Ambrosius to ask almost hysterically “What immune system?!”

[ejzah]

Blunt Force, Part 3

***

Kensi woke up the next morning, cheek pressed into the blanket covering Deeks with her left hand loosely resting on his arm. The last thing she remembered was a nurse coming in to check Deeks around 3:30. She squinted at her watch; it took her eyes a few extra moments to focus on the bold seven on the small screen.

Minus the routine checks, Deeks slept through the night, much to Kensi’s relief. She’d worried he’d be plagued by the pain and nausea, but apparently the medication did its job since he’d only stirred a few times. She eased away from Deeks to avoid waking him up and slipped out of the room taking her go bag with her.

Yesterday, one of the nurses had shown her a restroom usually reserved for employees. It was stocked with toiletries and had a larger sink and mirror, which the nurse had encouraged Kensi to use if needed. Fortunately it wasn’t already in use at this time in the morning, so she locked herself inside.

She changed into a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt, swiping some deodorant on as an afterthought. Balling her used clothes into a ball, she shoved them into one corner of her bag, picturing Deeks’ teasing smirk.

As Kensi turned to the sink, she caught a flash of her reflection, and grimaced at what she saw. She might not have been injured, but she didn’t look all that much better than Deeks. The stress and minimal sleep had taken its toll; he eyes were shadowed and a little bloodshot, her hair stringy and matted.

Grabbing a spare hair band, she pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail, then bent over the sink to splash several handfuls of cool water over her face. It didn’t do much for her appearance, but she at least felt more human. She finished it up with a quick brush of her teeth before stuffing everything back into her bag, and hurriedly leaving the restroom.

It had only taken her about ten minutes, but Kensi didn’t want to risk missing Deeks waking up all alone. Fortunately, he hadn’t moved an inch in the time she’d been gone. He had one cheek turned into his pillow with his lips slightly parted.

Good. He needed the sleep, especially if his concussion symptoms persisted.

Ignoring the voice that told her she was being creepy and stepping way over boundaries, Kensi swept a few strands of hair out of his eyes. Then because she was this far in, she allowed herself to cup his cheek. His skin was reassuringly warm. For how physical they tended to be with each other, she’d only touched Deeks’ face a few times, and in this way even more rarely.

The memory of the one time she’d kissed him, under the ruse of maintaining a cover, sprang to mind. It had been rushed and overridden by the adrenaline of the moment, yet she still remembered the softness of his lips, the slight rasp of his beard under her fingers. It left her with an aching want that she usually suppressed. Now though, he had the desperate urge to lean down and press her lips to his.

Kensi hastily pulled her hand back, curling it against her chest to prevent acting on that urge. Clearing her throat, she glanced around the room, like someone might have caught her in the moment of weakness. She didn’t even have a brain injury to excuse her lapse in judgment.

Moving the chair back to what Kensi deemed a safe distance—Deeks didn’t need her fondling him in his sleep—she pulled out her phone. While he slept, she checked her emails and texts.

Callen wanted yet another update, Nell wanted to know if she needed anything, and Eric let her know he’d picked up Monty and would take care of him as long as needed.

Damn, she hadn’t even thought of Monty. Hopefully he hadn’t missed any meals or bathroom breaks.

She sent off a short update to Callen, then texted Nell, asking if she could bring more clothes and other necessities. Even though Deeks would likely encourage her to leave, Kensi had no intention of abandoning him unless ordered to.

A heavy knock interrupted the relative quiet of the room and an aide opened the door, a tray balanced on one arm.

“Good morning, Mr Deeks!”

Kensi rushed over to her, making a hushing gesture. “I’ll take it. He’s still sleeping,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman apologized.

“It’s ok. Thank you.”

Kensi shut the door quietly, but when she turned around, she saw the damage had already been done; Deeks’ legs shifted restlessly under the blankets as he started to wake up. He blinked several times, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion briefly. Then he landed on Kensi and his eyes cleared with recognition. And maybe a touch of disappointment.

Hey,” he murmured in a voice hoarse with sleep. Kensi quickly set the tray of liquids and jello to the side, hurrying over to him.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

He inhaled deeply, and stretched, his spine cracking audibly with the movement. “Better. I mean, my head still hurts, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode anymore.”

“That’s good,” Kensi said, feeling unaccountably awkward again. “Do you want some breakfast?”

His nostrils flared at her question and he gave the tiniest shake of his head. “Could I have some water?” he asked.

“Of course.” She filled one of the little plastic cups from the pitcher on his tray, handing it over to Deeks. His hand shook as he lifted the cup to his lips, taking an experimental sip. Apparently it settled well enough, because he took a larger swallow, and sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

“Did you stay here all night?” he asked, still speaking quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wouldn’t leave you like that,” she said, imagining him waking in the middle of the night all alone and confused. Not to mention, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

“Thanks.” He gestured vaguely, adding, “For all of this. Sticking around, explaining everything.”

“That’s what partners do,” she told him simply.

“Mm, partners.” Something in his voice shifted and he opened his eyes, observing her a curious look. “How exactly does that work if I’m not an agent?”

“You’re our LAPD Liaison,” Kensi explained.

“That sounds made up.”

Kensi almost laughed, even though she realized he hadn’t meant it as a joke. “The position was created so we’d have less conflict with the LAPD.” He didn’t interrupt, so Kensi continued, sitting down again.

“I didn’t have a partner at the time, so our boss, Hetty, paired us up. At first it was really rocky, I guess it still is sometimes—” she smiled softly. “We eventually learned to trust each other and we make a good team.” That seemed an inadequate summation of everything their relationships entailed, yet she didn’t know how to do it justice without veering into areas she’d rather not discuss just yet.

“It’s so weird to hear you talk about me, us I guess, in the past and have no memory of it,” he mused.

“It’s pretty weird from my point of view too.”

“Am I any good at it. Liaising?” he wondered, sounding doubtful.

“One of the best,” Kensi confirmed without an hesitation. At any other time, she’d have insulted him, teased him about his ego, but now he needed honesty. He needed to trust her and himself. “You have a way of looking at cases from a different angle than any one else would ever consider. It gets you some odd looks, but usually pays off.” She paused, considering how honest to be. “You’re also an amazing undercover operative.”

“I go undercover?”

“Yeah, pretty often. Sometimes for longer operations and other times last-minute roles that last a few minutes or hours. You’ve created several unique aliases, including a homeless man named Artie, who wears a disgusting jacket.”

“Ok, now you’re just making stuff up,” Deeks commented with a grin.

“I swear I’m not.” Kensi held her hands up. “You also have several criminal aliases you’ve used to infiltrate various crime rings and organizations,” she added. “Most importantly though, you have a way of connecting with witnesses and victims that never fails to amaze me. You’re great with kids.”

His expression softened at the last revelation, vulnerability in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to work with kids. To help people. I like knowing that I was finally able to do that.”

So he’d already become disillusioned with criminal law. He’d never gone into much detail, but she’d figured out he’d been pretty miserable with representing dangerous criminals. A question was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back, not wanting to take advantage of Deeks’ vulnerability.

“You do help a lot of people. Every single day.”

He nodded, almost to himself, his eyes distant. “Do you trust me?” he asked unexpectedly. “As your partner.”

“Absolutely,” Kensi answered emphatically. “With my life.”

***

A/N: Turns out an amnesiac and concussed Deeks is very open. And Kensi can’t resist that.

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Hello could you do more fics about ballister head injury?(love your worke❤️)

THIS RESPAWNED IN MY DRAFTS HOLY SHIT

I'm so glad you love my work thank you so much for this ask 🩷 sorry it took so long but as I had said in another post, my Tumblr ate it for breakfast and it was disappeared from my askbox and drafts. But it reappeared!!! Please enjoy your very late drabble request <3

Cw: seizures, brain injury

Ballister leaned against Ambrosius, closing his eyes. “You sleepy, Bal?”

“Mhm.” Ballister rubbed his eyes. “I couldn't get to sleep last night. Kept having headaches and weird dreams.”

“That's no good, babe. Try to take it easy today. Do you think it's your head?”

“He just said it was his head, duh.” Nimona cut in. She'd been back for the past couple months, and she and Ambrosius were still getting used to each other. Ballister chuckled. “It's probably fine.” Ambrosius made a worried face.

Eight months ago, when Ballister was on the run, he'd suffered considerable head trauma, several times, one after another after another. The whole thing left Ballister with considerable brain damage in the frontal and temporal lobes especially. It was especially significant in the first few weeks after everything happened, when he was often unsteady on his feet, spoke with slurred speech, struggled with short term memory, understanding rapid or unclear speech, and extreme emotional outbursts where he would be extremely afraid, sad, angry, or happy without apparent cause. He'd also started having seizures at that time. Ambrosius learned to deal with them, but he always hoped each one would be Ballister's last. The doctor said they'd stop eventually, but they never knew when eventually would come.

Thankfully, since then, his brain had healed tremendously. Still, Ambrosius couldn't help but worry when Ballister had anything going on with his head.

“Alright, well, just be careful, okay? Don't strain yourself.” He kissed Ballister's cheek.

Nimona cackled. “Come on, Nemesis. I don't think the boss is gonna let some dumb headache slow him down! He's not made of glass, you know. He's ten percent solid steel and a hundred percent badass!”

“My arm makes up five percent of my weight, Nimona, also it's made of titanium.” Ballister smiled at her.

“See? Even cooler.” She returned to what she was doing and Ambrosius sighed. Maybe he was being a little overly anxious.

But as the day went on, Ballister seemed off. Foggy, distracted, a little bit uncharacteristically emotional or snippy sometimes. Even Nimona noticed, Ambrosius could see the puzzlement in her face even if she said nothing. It all came to a head later that day, they were at a park and they were noticed by members of the public, who started their usual barrage, asking frankly triggering questions and requesting photographs and signatures.

Ambrosius was used to all that, but while Ballister was somewhat accustomed to it, it always stressed him out. Ambrosius managed to fish his lover and Nimona away from the paparazzi and back to the safety of their vehicle.

“You guys alright?” Ambrosius started it up, flying through the airways. Ballister didn't answer, he glanced over. “Bal?”

His lover looked distant, blinking fast, looking around in a haze. “Do you, lemon?”

“What?” Oh shit. “Nimona, take his arm off!” Ambrosius began landing the vehicle in a safe place.

“What?” She looked quizzically from the backseat.

“Now! He's having a seizure, the prosthetic is wired to his nerves and muscle, the electrical signals can make it go nuts!”

Ballister knew a seizure was coming when he tasted lemon out of nowhere. They needed to get it together quickly, he was already having trouble speaking.

Quickly Nimona reached forward and disconnected the arm, and not a moment too soon. Ballister’s face twisted and his head began to jerk, along with his right leg, a rhythmic back and forth motion. Once Ambrosius was safely parked, he grabbed the blanket from the back seat and cushioned Ballister's head, and started a timer on his phone. A car was not the ideal place for this to happen, he wasn't completely sure of the protocol. Ballister was at least buckled, so he couldn't collapse into the dashboard. “It's okay, Bal.” He whispered softly. Everything will be okay.”

Nimona's eyes were wide with terror. After sixty-two seconds, Ballister went still, his eyes blearily gazing in front of him, foggy. Ambrosius stroked his hair. “It's over, love. It's over. You're okay.”

Nimona swallowed. “What happened to him?”

Ambrosius exited the vehicle and came around to open Ballister's door so he could more closely check up on him. He unbuckled him and helped him out of the car, supporting most of his weight. “Nimona, let me lay him in the back, he needs to lay on his side.”

Nimona moved out of the way. “What happened to him?”

Once Ballister was laid safely in a recovery position, Ambrosius sat beside the car and stroked his hair. “He had a seizure.”

“A seizure? I thought you had to be born with those. I've never seen him do this before.”

“He hit his head, a lot, after–” Ambrosius swallowed. “After what I did to him. It all added up, and left enough damage that this happens sometimes. Eventually it's supposed to go away, but we have no idea when. He's okay, he just won't be able to talk for a few minutes. Will you sit back here with him? Just make sure he's breathing okay, and try to comfort him while I drive home. Sometimes he gets a little emotional. You can give his arm back, too.” He swallowed. He wanted to comfort Ballister, but he needed to get them home safely. Ballister could recover better at home.

Nimona didn't seem to know what to do, but for once, she didn't argue. Ambrosius drove home hearing her speak softer than he ever had, in a reassuring voice.

When they got home, they managed to assist Ballister inside. He could now understand speech and get out a word here and there, but he was mostly disoriented and exhausted. Once Ambrosius checked that his breathing was normal, and he didn't have any severe bites in his mouth, he tucked him into their bed and let him rest, setting a timer to wake him up and check on him.

Nimona looked gaunt, she paced the living room.

“Aren't you a thousand years old? I thought you'd be used to things like seizures. This wasn't a bad one, thankfully. He's okay, you don't have to worry.” Ambrosius was a hypocrite. He was extremely worried.

She shook her head. “Not that, I mean, I've seen them before, they're normal, I've known thousands of people– but I didn't realize— I didn't realize someone could hurt their head so easily.” She whispered.

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed. “He got hit in the face with a rock when the Institute blew up. And I dragged him home. And I didn't even try to make sure he didn't hit his head! He was getting smacked into curbs left and right and– and I thought it was funny!” She rubbed her face. “I haven't been close with a human in so long, I forgot how fragile they were, how even something like that– it's partially my fault, don't you get it? I was careless and he hit his head and now he's suffering because of me.”

Ambrosius swallowed. Ballister told him about how Nimona said he'd hit his head on the curb when she took him home, and yes, it had contributed to several in a series of head injuries. He sat on the couch. “Nimona, it's not your fault. I knew about that. The doctor said the concussions hadn't helped, but most of the damage was from the debris, from Todd beating him up, and from when he fell through the stadium floor. It's just– how it is.”

Nimona sat on the couch beside him and sniffed. “You don't understand. I forgot how easily humans can be hurt. How easily they can die.”

“Oh…” Ambrosius looked down. “Well, for what it's worth, I don't think he'd be here at all if it wasn't for you. Humans are weak, but Ballister is strong. He's kind, resilient, and forgiving– I know that better than anyone. He's gonna be fine. Don't beat yourself up.”

Nimona sniffed and smiled at him. “Thanks, nemesis.”

[fancy-1ucky-star]

Replaced

In that instant, he was replaced. Watching them dance with each other on stage while he sits behind the curtain, looking at what was supposed to be his stage light. 

“This is what you get when you mess up, Victor,” Madam Viola stated, appearing right behind him as he clutched the locket in his pocket. Her presence completely made him snap out of his lonesome wonder and he cocked his head back to her. She really didn’t need to rub the wound with salt, but that was Madam Viola for you. Maybe it was her tight turtleneck collar not letting enough oxygen get to her head, making her hard attitude. Cold as ice, frozen in prestigious egotism; you had to deal with her if you wanted to be a part of the big plays, except here he was after being her favorite for so long. Then Fabian shows up and flaunts his talent and suddenly he’s wanted for the star role. 

“Madam Viola, I tried my best!” Victor snapped, these words she threw irked him. It was supposed to be him playing Prince Siegfried, with his beautiful angel playing Odette. Madam Viola didn’t appreciate his disrespect as she sneered, eyeing him down with irises made of sharp blades. 

“You talk to me like that again and you won’t even be a part of the stage anymore,” she threatens, practically growling from how much her voice was in her throat—can’t tell if that’s her french accent, or just her temper—not to mention her baring her teeth like fangs. Pointing her witch finger at Victor as if she were to cast a curse on him. Quickly turning around and walking away to tend to other business. When she said something like that, she meant it. 

He remembers what made him at his position now, that very one misstep that cost him his reputation. The opening night at the performance he had practiced so intensely. Worked so hard just to fail.

That one misstep.

Walking on stage like he was the king of this whole theatre. Taking his first leap, and falling to the ground. The crash hit and pained each part which slammed the hard floor. It had never happened before, he was a professional, things like this didn’t happen to him. Yet it did. Cracking his ankle apart, splitting a bone completely. On stage when there was a full audience. The gasp they collectively made was so loud. People whispered to one another throughout as he stared with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. Then taking a glance to Ottillie watching behind the stage in shock, cupped hands covering her own gasp. The stage lights blinded him, before the curtain closed. It was embarrassing. Just thinking about it gives him a headache, not being able to handle the experience again even if it was a vague memory. It still made his knuckles turn white as he manifested all the stress he had into his fingertips.

Now not only his leg was broken; his locket was too. Impulsively slamming the piece of metal down in distress. Grunting while throwing hands up to grip his hair, before his eyes softened at the picture. Ottilie with her pretty smile sat within the photo and he couldn’t help but feel guilty at what he had just done. Thrown her on the ground like that? He should feel shame. Probably one of the reasons she’s now distanced. Out of reach; unlike a locket he could hold to his heart. If only he could curl those pretty mousy blonde locks once more. “Your dark hair next to my light hair looks like one of those moon cookies,” Ottillie once said to him. So whenever he thinks of moon cookies he thinks of her, of them together. That’s an image he could sit with. Picking the photo up, he gazed at her preserved pristine state. He can’t help the feeling she looks back with resentment. It hurts him. More painful than any broken limb could be. A heartache is much more severe than a physical injury. It weighed his heart tighter than a ball and chain.

“What are you looking at?” The calm waters of his mind ripple in waves as he hears Fabian’s thick polish accent prickle through his pure daydream. The show had ended, and Fabian was now here. Best ballet dancer the people claim, when Victor had never even heard of him before this. Victor’s known! People are eager to see what he has to offer every time he arrives. What does Fabian have to show for? Shoving the photo in his coat pocket before Fabian could see. Trying to stay quiet, not focus his gaze on him, hoping ignoring him would make him leave Victor alone. But it wouldn’t. It just made him poke the bear more. His intolerable laugh grated Victor’s ears.

“What is it, buddy? You don’t have to keep these secrets with me,” Fabian coaxed, wrapping an arm around Victor’s shoulders. He had to recoil at this gesture before shoving his arm off with strength. 

“It’s nothing. I just need to be left alone.”

“No, no. It’s something, I can sense it. Madam Viola on your ass?”

Victor just gave him an eyeroll. Then much better priorates presented themselves as Ottillie walked past. She was dazzling in stage light, and even not in the lights of the stage there was still some glow about her. Quickening his steps to try and reach her, and leave Fabian, except he caught up. To be fair it was easy to, Victor was limping in crutches after all.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Get out of my way, Fabian,” Victor grunted, gritting his teeth. Focus sticking to Ottillie who was getting her makeup fixed up by Madam Viola that kept saying she was a star. Which she was, he couldn’t argue with that. Except the words she sang brought up sour jealousy. Blood boiled inside his veins as her new golden boy was interrupting his way, not only that but to hear Madam Viola’s sweet voice, saved only for her most prized dancers. As he lost his reputation, now all he gets is the frozen breath she utters in shame. 

“Oh, acting all tough now, are we?” Fabian jeered, snarling under his masked facade of a smile. Gums peeking out as arrogance and stupidity made for a strongly exaggerated mask.

“Save it, Fabian. I don’t want to argue.” Eyes slid over to Fabian’s cocky grin. His blonde hair getting in his face so perfectly, it was disgusting. The predator smile he held, something to toy his prey with, opened as he was about to say something but was interrupted. Madam Viola called him over and he grunted in disappointment, failing to deliver his witty line—boo hoo, poor little baby—quickly upholding his pretty smile and went over to her. 

Then there was the princess in clear view. Consistently checking herself in her hand mirror which was rimmed with gold florals. Hand rubbing against her neck before it reaches up to her hair to coil it in her finger, crossing her legs, uncrossing her legs. Not being able to hold still, eyeing her neck within the reflection. Her gaze was glued to it, lips that curved down like something wasn’t right. 

Victor took steps toward her to give at least a word out. “Ottillie, you got a secon-”

“Not right now,” she interrupted, only giving him a glance before pulling away. Turning her back towards him while reaching to cover her neck. 

“I really need to talk to you.”

“Victor, I can’t right now,” she said, her body language going rigid and small, curling over the mirror. It was strange seeing her in such a state, usually she’d be holding her chin high. It’s like she had been drained of all herself.

“Look, I know it ended on bad terms…and I’m sorry!” he retorts, not meaning for his voice to be such a boom as it was, his hand landing on her shoulder to turn her around and actually see her face. Then he saw what she was trying to hide. She tried covering her neck still, but the glow was too prominent. A blue ring surrounding her neck that was so strong, makeup could not cover. Victor had to gasp in shock. The mirror glistened with silver as the blue sat above the gold. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes shot wide. 

“What is that?” he whispered, reaching to touch it as if she was still his, but the hard truth he can’t understand is that she’s not. She pushed his hand away, eyes dropping down, almost in shame. These strange marks, illuminous and…frightening. He had never seen something like this; it’s unnatural!

“Just go away!” Ottilie pleaded, back turned as she shied away. He had to get closer to know why she’s so in distress, maybe to even lift the trouble she’s going through. Pulling her blonde hair back to see the tears reflecting the blue as she tries not to make any eye contact. 

“How can I? I hate seeing you in such distress,” he whispers, his warm breath so close against her ear just like times before. He missed being this close. He missed having a workable leg so he could twirl with her on stage and dance the night away in front of the crowd; bow as they applauded from the show they gave, then give her her own encore after. With the same distance. Brushing his fingers through the strands of her hair before wiping the tears away. She didn’t speak, but took quick glances, trying to stop a smile slowly creeping up. Shaking her head slowly as if to say silently he’s too much, but not saying no to his touch as she finally makes eye contact with him. Not holding back a smile. 

“Don’t tell anyone what you saw,” she whispered, before her gaze shifted to behind him.

“Why? What is this?” Victor was practically begging for an answer, taking her hands into his, as someone would to warm up someone else’s hands; holding both tightly so that the warmth in his grip melted away her cold fear. Then her smile faded.

“Whatcha doing buddy?” Fabian asks, appearing from behind and a strong grip on Victor’s shoulder. This touch made a shiver reverberate throughout his bones. He laughed. That stupid laugh. A hearty laugh which was full of grit and venom if it thought to bite.

“Leave us alone, Fabian!” Victor shouted, almost so loud the audience taking their leave might’ve heard, and if the theatre was now empty his voice might’ve echoed throughout the busy stage crew. He was small in size—in comparison to Fabian, that is—yet, he could still have such power in his voice. So much, he often forgets how much it can be. The loud volume of agitated emotion didn’t bother Fabian, his chuckle might’ve been a hand swiping dust off his shoulders, just as his hand slid down Victor’s.

“Come on, Ottillie. We shall celebrate another wonderful show at the after party,” Fabian said, not even acknowledging Victor. He put out his hand, and Ottillie took it. She took it! With a blank stare, as if she wasn’t even there, only following orders. Like what they had before meant nothing. The intimacy he held her hands with burned away like a love letter turning to ash in a fireplace. As she was getting up to follow him, Victor had to stop this. This wasn’t the Ottillie he knew. 

He remembers the days where they’d be sitting above the stage and talk badly about Fabian whenever they saw him prancing around practice. Shared whispers flowing to one another, saying hurtful things followed by sweet giggles. They might’ve even tried throwing the snacks they had at him, almonds flying at him like bullets as he was the target. Then Madam Viola would chide them for such immature acts, but it was fun then. Except, where did that Ottillie go?

“Fabian, we were talking.” Victor interrupted, Fists shaking in frustration, clamping them tight around the handle of his crutches. 

“Doesn’t seem like she was that interested. Right, sweet?” Fabian said, looking over to Ottillie.

Sweet? Hearing him call her that made him want to vomit; bitterness filled Victor at that moment, and Fabian was full of it. Bitterness that was nothing of sorry. To top it all off Ottillie didn’t speak up for herself like she usually might’ve. Standing tall and speaking her mind. Instead she looked to the side with her lips pinched shut, almost like she had a lock on them; and Fabian held that key tight in his grubby fingers. She nodded slowly while following him, his arm wrapping around her like a snake about to devour a mouse. 

Victor was left watching them walk away. Sighing out his soul, fists softened and dropped. Depression enveloping him as he just stood there in shock. He felt like he was losing control. Losing control of his life. Lost as he was dropped and left with no one coming back for him.

“Victor, don’t you dare bother Fabian like that again! What are you doing standing there? Go make yourself useful and help the crew,” Madam Viola scolds, pointing to the stage crew putting the props away. Pushing him over there before he could even answer with her hands rested against his back, walking behind him so he was forced to walk with. “You and your temper,” she paused to take a sigh. As she stood there to look him up and down, he had the moment to look at her clearly. Noticing something strange, blue illuminating under her collar. “I swear that boy is trouble,” she whispered, walking away to other business.

“Wait! Madam Viola!” Victor exclaimed, halting before her only to point at his own neck to insinuate what he was about to ask. “Your neck. What’s happened to your neck?”

“What about my neck?” Crossing her arms with a sneer hooking her lip.

“That glow,” he said, before reaching out and undoing the tight bow around her neck—his legs might be disabled at the moment, but his arms have the same speed as they did before—pulling the ribbon before it all fell apart, and then the collar unraveled to reveal the same ring Ottillie had. The blue glow. That strange mark, clinging in the shape of a choker. She quickly caught the cloth to hide what had been revealed. 

“It’s none of your business. Now move along,” she said, chin tipped up before walking away steadily, heels clicking down the wooden floor. Victor raised an eyebrow as this would be a heinous act of disrespect to her, she would’ve normally gone ballistic; shutting down all reason to yell to her heart's content, or at least given a heavy snarl and wide open eyes holding balls of fire. She only walked away calmly while doing back up the bow he had undone. “Get back to work!” she finally barked, well in character, as if she lost her personality then picking it back up. 

Rolling his eyes, he got to work. Hobbling over to the team rolling out decorations and what not, grabbing a mop to help ready the stage for the next performance. Resting his elbows on the crutches while his hands did the rest. It might’ve hurt not being a pampered perfect star getting fame after a successful night, but the repetitive motions of swiping the mop back and forth was relaxing. It was meditating. Able to focus all attention on what he was doing. The floor getting cleaned…for the next show…he’s not a part of. 

It might hurt. 

He continued. Thoughts curving his mind down deeper paths. All the regrets and mistakes getting stuck down his throat and choking him so he couldn’t speak. He could’ve been nicer at times, maybe showing more care and saying sorry for his actions, but some people deserve less than that. Some people deserve a brick to the head for all the headaches they caused. He gripped the wooden handle of the mop tighter. Fabian and that laugh of his like a nightmare. Then there were sweeter ones who had seen the rot in him. Sweet ones that tasted like blondie brownies if they had a flavor, who had to deal with his nefarious behavior. Ottillie didn’t like him for a reason, it was only fair, especially when he’s stuck here cleaning up. A waste of a star he turned into, not being able to help looking at his reflection in the soapy water, sighing. The place got more cleared, emptied and hollow. He would’ve continued sweeping but he felt a subtle tapping his shoulder. It snapped him out of his focus. Looking back quickly expecting Fabian to bother him again, he always likes holding his shoulder like he’s a close friend; he’s only a fake fan pretending they’re buddies. What does he want? Startled, jumping to see a young freckled face man behind him, not Fabian.

“Sorry to frighten you! Just wanted to say you don’t have to do this in crutches, you’re welcome to sit down and relax. If Madam Viola says anything about it I promise to back you up,” he assured, winking as he took the mop right from Victor’s hands. 

“I couldn’t,” he responded. He was raised to be well mannered, it was only polite to decline—even though he slips occasionally to snap when he feels inclined. He likes to think he seems noble when he says please and thank you, holding the door, and declining such an offer. Could say it’s a character just as the one he plays on stage when he acts nice. We all have our own characters we play to strangers don’t we? A smile and wave to a stranger walking past and such. Here a stranger stood in front so he had to smile and wave. Present himself as what he’s known for. 

“No, no! It’s my pleasure! I’m a big fan of you after all,” he mentioned, looking away as he blushed under the brown splatters across his tan face, fidgeting by tossing the mop back and forth in his hands, like he was a fangirl trying to act composed. The compliment was definitely easy on the ears, it made Victor smile, a real smile, and had to ask what his name was. Eyes lighting up as the one he sees as a star brightens them. 

“Teodoro, sir! And you’re Victor Agin,” he gushes, a big goofy grin across the young man’s face, and Victor nodded in confirmation before thanking him—if he insisted, it was only right—going off to the corner of boxes which sat still. Teodoro went to sweep the rest of the area with the same beaming attitude.

People rushed around the stage, and he watched as he sat in the shadows. It was strange how someone who was watched, rows of people gathered to see him, suddenly turned into the people watcher. Crew members cleaning up—including Teodoro, taking glances at Victor who sat back and relaxed—and others carrying back props to where they belong. The wall he sat at lined with boxes upon boxes, slowly getting picked away one by one. After another had gone after several others, something had appeared, a hidden treasure hiding in the shadows along with him. Suddenly a glow shone at the corner of his eyes. That same blue glow that was hidden under Madam Viola’s collar and painted across Ottillie’s neck. It was hidden in the cracks of boxes; it must have dropped as it was splayed out messily. Powder everywhere and it illuminated so brightly. He had to pick it up and steal it for himself. Scooping it back into the sack, it felt prickling against his hand—not a bad prickling, it was a tickle. It was a strange feeling. It was a strange magic that left strange marks. A power he was very intrigued in, so he tucked it away in his coat pocket. Heading home early as he had better things to do.

🫀

If you liked this just as much as I do, then keep up since there's def gonna be a part 2!!! This was a prompt and the prompt was either 'replaced' or 'strange marks' and i did both :3

[mashithamel]

I found that someone had transcribed the Old Tongue lyrics for “Nynaeve al’Meara,” but I haven’t found a translation yet. So I took a stab at it!

I’ll post the Old Tongue lyrics, then my attempt at a translation. Words or lines in bold are ones I had to guess at using context. It’s not an exact one-to-one translation, but more of what I think it’s trying to say.

Afterward, I will list out the words and their meanings. (?) means I couldn’t find that exact word, and where possible I breakdown how I determined a likely meaning. Bold words are ones I could not find a meaning for.

With the definitions I will link to my translation sources and at the top the original site with the transcription. Enjoy!

**************

Totah Manetheren der

Waji weladthi tar valon

Ninte ghoba dvo ahendrelle

Dvodrelle duadh ninte khadye

Devore rieht

Riehtne mazers sa’trewele

Aleikya saidar

Mat’saidar daghain’cov

Seren’shai

Pochivat

Ninte saidendrelle

Tsunga ellis sheikar

Ashandore balfrait

Grean al dival

Shukan vaanok

Ni’walden merwon

Kerenya keewal

Ashandore Jaendar

Ashandore ma’zaffid

Ma’tumasenya ashandore

Ashama’sein der mirhage

********************

Far from your mountain home

Now you are in Tar Valon

Your soul is of the two rivers

The waters of the Two Rivers is in your bones

Strive for balance

You balance on one side your magnificent braid

You must own your own power

Your power will overcome your fear

Stubborn woman

Make

The strength of the river

Into a raging fire

Wisdom from the Women’s Circle

Channel from the Light

Seek to protect them

Your fears are boiling

You must let them boil out

Wisdom of women

Wisdom you are enough

Your protection, Wisdom

Will guard them from harm

*********************

Definitions

totah: far

Manetheren: mountain home

der: from

waji: now

weladthi: life

ninte: your

ghoba: soul

dvo: two

ahendrelle: river/waters

Dvodrelle: Two Rivers

duadh: water

khadye: related to bone

devorye: ask yourself (?)

- devor: ask

- ye: I

rieht: balance

riehtne: balancer (?)

- rieht: balance

- ne: suffix -er

mazera

sa’: superlative

trewele: braid

aleikya: one’s own (?)

- al: of the

- lei: man

- ya: my own

saidar: power (feminine)

- sai: power

- dar: female

mat: control

daghain: fear

cov: owner

seren: stubborn

shai: woman

pochivat: start

saidendrelle: power of the river

tsunga: into (solely based on context)

ellis sheikar: raging sun (literally “bright sun”)

ashandore: Wisdom (literally “mountain guard”)

balfrait: Women’s Circle (?)

- bal: circle

- frait: strong

grean: channel

al’: to the

dival: light

shukan: healthy, pl (?)

- shuk: health

- an: pleural

vaanok: delve (?)

- vaa: maybe sense?

- nok: maybe act?

ni: for

walden

merwon: boiling

kerenya: cook for yourself (?)

- ren: related to cooking

- ya: my own

keewal: out/finish (?)

- keesh: out

Jaendar: belonging to women (?)

- ja: of

- en: pleural

- dar: feminine

ma’zaffi: completely whole (?)

- ma: stresses importance

- zaffi: complete

- d: belonging to

ma’tumasenya: protection (?)

- ma: stresses importance

- tumasen: safe

- ya: my own

ashama: guard

sein: them

mirhage: harm

[hisuian-history-makers]

Random Nimona (2023 Movie) Headcanons

—Ballister and Ambrosius did combine their last names to make “Goldenheart/Goldheart” due to Nimona relentlessly teasing the latter.

—Nimona is fine using any pronouns and will frequently change which type they/she use except it/its. No need to explain why…

—Ambros’ middle name is Gloria. The fact his initials spell out Agg will never cease to get a small chuckle out of Nimona or Ballister.

—Bal has let Nimona spray-paint some of his arms. A few have themes he proudly wears.

—Graffiti is legal in the city once Ambros’ passes a law. As long as the art in question doesn’t contain any inappropriate imagery.

—Sometimes they play a version of Guess Who? called “Guess What?” where Nimona will shapeshift into an extinct species. Whoever guesses the closest related animal to it wins!

—She sometimes corrects historical inaccuracies reminding everyone that they are genuinely at or over one thousand years old.

—Ballister will occasionally share stories about the Queen spending time with him. Mentions of her are scarce yet always entertaining as they involve a very devoted kid Bal’s antics.

(Ambros’ favorite has to be when Bal “protected” the Queen from dirtying her feet by literally throwing himself into the mud puddle.)

—Nimona isn’t human and sometimes his dads have a hard time wrapping their heads around this fact. She/He/They are simply Nimona.

(The first time they shifted into one was when she met Gloreth. He just exists, simple as that.)

—Gloreth came up with the name Nimona…

—She will take requests from kids to shapeshift into. Some suggestions even teach them about animals they have no clue existed like Giraffes!

—Ambros’ is a worrywart who stressed over written exams. Sometimes he wouldn’t even finish the assignments due to needing to grammar and spellcheck every little sentence.

[magicrainbowkitties]

Just saw nimona. Very ok and not at all feeling seen and heard in finally seeing a narrative that explicitly rejects respectability politics and about to chew on the drywall.

But I need you to understand. The fact that the one kiss is just a casual gay smooch.

THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT!!! Nimona as a film is EFFORTLESSLY queer. Like. Bal and Ambrosius just love each other. Nimona is just Nimona. I cannot stress to you enough just how important it is for shit like this, where queerness doesn't NEED a label, where it just happens and is a normal occurrence, to exist. There is gonna be some kid out there who sees themself in this movie and for once isn't gonna be terrified of who they are. They're gonna see that part of themselves for what it is: A normal part of life. I quite literally cannot stress to you enough how important this movie is. Fucking hell.