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seresinhangmanjake · 6 months

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The One I Want: Part 2

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Words: 2010

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He shakes his head, like clearing the fog from his brain, and steps forward. “I’m Jake,” he says, reaching his hand out toward you.

It’s done in such a casually confident manner that it dares you to take a step back, out of his reach and far from his influence. You take his hand anyway.

His palm against yours creates a slight buzzing sensation at your fingertips making you pull your hand away and tighten it into a fist before tucking it behind your back. “That makes more sense than the pretty brunette.”

“Oh, don’t flatter her. She’s not that great,” he says. There’s a light chuckle as he slips his hands into his front pockets. On any other man, you’d acknowledge the hint of nerves accompanying the action, but with this man in particular you brush it off. There is no way this man has ever been nervous a day in his life. “I’m surprised you’re up. Are you okay with your room?”

You glance down at the suitcase not far from where you stand. “I didn’t look for it. Seemed like snooping.”

“Oh, shit. That’s my fault.” Hand flying out of his pocket, he runs it down his face again. He blows out a breath that feels like some form of self-scolding for letting himself neglect you, then bends down to wrap his fingers around the handle of your suitcase. “You can come with me.”

The apartment, while nice, isn’t overly large. The door to what you learn is your room can be seen from your first few steps through the front entryway, but still, you’re glad you didn’t peek on your own. You could’ve found yourself face-to-face with his private space and unable to avoid developing opinions of him based on the first-glance contents of his room.

With a turn and a push, Jake opens your door and stands back against one side of the frame so you can enter. Side-stepping past him, though, is a bit of a squeeze and you can’t help the way your breasts brush across his chest. You don’t miss his flinch and the sharp intake of air through his nose.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

Whether or not he heard you goes unknown as he sets your suitcase down once you’re inside the room and begins his mini tour. “Um, bed,” comes out a little gritty. He points to the largest piece of furniture in the room like you’re a two-year-old learning the names of basic household items. With a cough to clear his throat, he continues. “That door over there is the closet,” he points some more. “And that one’s the bathroom. It’s small, but I hope it’ll be alright for you.”

There’s a pang in your stomach from his last two words. For you. An unnecessary addition with so much power. Power you refuse to let yourself dwell on.

“It’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Right, well I’ll, uh–” Those eyes do their scanning of you again. Lips, breasts, hips. Blink and you would’ve missed it. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says. "It's nice to meet you."

You would say the same, but he’s gone before you get the chance. Shutting the door behind him, you toss your suitcase onto the bed and begin to unpack.

—

The funny thing about these towns—while each one is different from another in appearance and people, they always reveal themselves to share a core component. Your willingness to stay put, and for how long, lies with this component. It is a matter of how intense this component—this judgment—is, and whether or not it infects enough around you to transform everything into a reminder of why you do not belong. While many things have the potential to prove you right or wrong as far as the degree to which you might be judged, what remains a constant disappointment is your attempts to obtain a job.

It doesn’t matter where you look. You get the same once-over, the same raised brow, the same unspoken questions lingering in the air. Are you lost? Did you stumble through the wrong door?

In one day you’ve been turned down by three jobs with ‘help wanted’ signs stuck on the inside of their building’s front window. What’s worse is that, in following typical company policy, they don’t shoo you away at the door. They take your resume, they sit you down, ask you a host of questions, and eventually declare you’re not right for the position.

A restaurant manager did not see you fit for a waitress. Neither did a cafe owner find you capable as a barista. The most painful, however, was also the riskiest. The head of the sales floor at the lingerie boutique who seemed to think women of a certain size aren’t in need of lacy fabrics that accentuate their best bits and pieces because surely they don’t have sex.

That was the one that did you in for the day and now has you moseying back to the apartment.

You walk through the door and shed yourself of jacket, purse, and shoes, likely looking as exhausted as your new roommate did when you first laid eyes on him the night before. You knew you recognized something in the weariness of his eyes. While unexpected, last night Jake Seresin was tired because someone—or many someones—had worn him out.

“Hi.”

You jolt upright, head instinctually turning toward the voice. You’re not used to sharing your space, and obviously so since Jake immediately raises his hands in silent apology for startling you.

“Hi,” you reply, the word riding on the sigh that passes through your lips.

With as much as you can muster for him, you offer a smile before aiming for your bedroom. But you don’t get far.

“What have you been up to all day?” he asks, halting you.

He’s not going to let you go, you realize, not without giving him something in return. Though, seeing as he’s your new roommate who took you in on short notice and charges you pennies to stay, you figure you can oblige.

He’s sitting at the island in the kitchen, now with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. His thumb taps away at the screen, but when you near him he quickly sets it down to offer you his full attention. It’s then that you notice his missing shirt. Your mind must have filled in that blank. You’d assumed some sort of tank top was hidden by the angle at which he sat when you entered the apartment; that the fabric’s color was not so different from the tone of his skin. Looking at him in his bareness now, you can’t ignore how ridiculous that thought was.

You also can’t ignore him; sitting there without shame, practically taunting you to run your eyes over every ridge and valley of his sculpted form. And it is sculpted. Artwork.

But you don’t allow yourself the luxury. Instead, you answer, “Looking for a job.”

Jake sits a little straighter. “I can probably help with that,” he says. “I’ve got a friend who owns a bar down the street, and–”

“No!” you snap. The hope that it wasn’t as harsh as it sounded is snuffed out by the slight widening of his eyes. “Thank you,” is softer, “but no bars.”

He watches you a moment longer before he nods and repeats, “No bars. Got it.” Another moment of silence fills the room until he breaks it. “I’ll ask around.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” You wave away the thought and shake your head, aiming to get off the topic. Solidifying that is your immediate shift onto him. He seems like a guy who probably enjoys talking about himself, anyway. “So, you don’t fly on the weekend?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Have people stopped traveling on Saturdays?”

Blond brows pinch as he twists the beer bottle in absent-minded circles with his fingertips. “What?”

Crossing your arms, you step further into the kitchen until your stomach is resting against the edge of the island. “Your friend said you’re a pilot. I just figured you’d be working a lot.”

Jake’s face doesn’t change; still the epitome of confusion, and you don’t know how to fill the painfully long beats while he examines you. Why you let him examine you must be a slip of the conscious mind, but you keep still. Then his face settles. He takes a sip of his beer, sets it down, and, instead of simply looking at you, stares hard into your eyes.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Wh–” you pause, readjusting your stance. “What makes you think that?”

“Anyone who says ‘pilot’ in this town—or frankly, even close by—assumes Navy, not airline,” he says. If he’s insulted, it doesn’t show. “I’m far from some Delta guy.”

Internally you curse. That err in knowledge peels back a layer of your paint, inviting curiosity and questions. And by the gleam in Jake’s eye, you’re sure you’re going to get plenty. “You’re in the Navy.”

“I am,” he confirms with a single nod. “And most people here have ties to it in some way. But not you, it seems.”

You fidget in the gap between his statements.

“So, where exactly did you come from,” he continues, a wry smile stretching his lips, “And how did you end up here of all places?”

When you meet his stare, you don’t care for the sparkle peeking through. “I drove.”

His head throws back in laughter. “That’s all I get?”

“That’s all you need,” you stress. It’s his own fault for not asking those questions following your email answering his ad. He had an opportunity. He didn’t take it. That’s not your problem. And the longer you stand here, clearly providing him with entertainment, you're once again struck with the desperation to get his attention off of you.

Without much to grasp, you go for the obvious. You allow your eyes to trail downwards and morph your features into a forced grimace. “Don’t you wear clothes?”

“Oh.” Looking down at himself, a gulp bulges his throat. “My bad. It’s been a while since I’ve had to wear a shirt around the place.” Is that disappointment in his tone? Maybe. Who in the world wouldn’t be insulted at the request to put on more clothes instead of removing an additional article? You certainly have been, so who is to say Jake Seresin—who undoubtedly has never faced such a request—wouldn’t feel the same?

To your surprise, he hops up immediately and rounds the island for his room; a move you would appreciate much more if it didn’t reveal the gray sweatpants settled low on his hips. There’s a defined V and a line of hair that disappears below the waistband. You hate that V. You hate that dusting of hair, blonder against his tan skin. Men with Vs and an irritatingly perfect amount of hair there are trouble. Each and every one of them.

“I’ll go get that shirt. Don’t go anywhere.”

For whatever reason—one you’re unwilling to dissect—you do as he asks. But then a light flashes in your peripheral vision. The screen of his phone in response to a new message.

You don’t want to look, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Years of people whispering behind your back, sneaking glances, chuckling, has planted the evergrowing seed of paranoia. Inching closer to the phone, you tap the rectangular block on his screen that reads Nat. Though the phone is locked, the notification expands to reveal the full message.

See, Paranoid is an interesting label. It accuses you of misunderstanding, of being too suspicious, too anxious, or even crazy; and you won’t deny you’ve probably been wrong before, assuming people are talking about you who haven’t spared you a thought. But sometimes, that label is unfair. Sometimes—often, in fact—you are right.

And when you read ‘Not what you expected, is she?’ followed by a tiny smirking face, you know this is one of those times.

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A/N: I hope you liked it! If there are typos blame that on my anxiety. I've got a life-defining procedure tomorrow so wish me luck

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction

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wishing-stones · 2 years

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hullo. i found your ao3 and subsequently went rifling through your tumblr and now i must know... tell me flowey headcanons please. apparently, anything you write, i will absolutely devour

Haha oh my god thank you so much! I’m glad you like my writing so much!

Flowey is an incredibly complex character who I feel gets oversimplified by the fandom a lot. He’s contradictory and fickle and deals with, potentially, decades of lived experiences while still sort of having the mindset of a child (while simultaneously considering himself an adult.)

I have a LOT of Thoughts and Feelings about Flowey, so it’s hard to do without specific prompting. I’ll grab a few that come to mind and roll the dice here.

He actually sleeps a lot more than you think he does. He knows ALL the good sunny spots in the Underground, and naps in them. He is a flower, so he photosynthesizes a lot of his energy.

He’s also still a strange flower-monster-amalgamate, so he can also eat. Pie is the way to his metaphorical heart, but he also likes Nice Cream, and even though he’ll never own up to it, he thinks Starfaits are The Shit.

If he’s in the mood to tell a story, it will be the best damn story ever told. He has a keen mind for memory and is an alarmingly good mimic. He might even get especially animated of he gets excited about his story and… for a minute, he’s like a completely different person.

Puns are the lowest form of humor, and he especially hates the ones Sans tells. The ones Papyrus sneaks in are stealth puns and okay. He just hates the really obvious ones that make you groan. (It reminds him of Home and he doesn’t like it.)

It takes a lot of time and patience, but he’ll eventually get tired of being lonely and head up to the surface. He hangs out in golden flowerbeds topside and is pretty hard to spot (If you don’t know what you’re looking for. He has one extra petal and is a brighter yellow than most of the other flowers, not to mention he’s bigger.)

Speaking of that, Flowey comes to about the knee of an average adult human. He’s pretty big.

While he might not have a soul, the echoes of one are enough for him to feel emotions and react to them. If you were to look, he has a sort of empty monster-soul shaped void that’s lined with tiny specks of dust and held together by Determination. He doesn’t even know he has this because he doesn’t like being in traditional Encounters. It’s no soul, it doesn’t do things like make him feel compassion or regret, but it lets him feel and process anger, frustration, sadness, longing, and even happiness, contentment, humor, serenity, and even affection. If he truly didn’t have something there, he’d be completely emotionless.

Flowey is a world constant. The circumstances surrounding Asriel’s death don’t change just because the human with him was different (swap, Swapfell.) He is always a golden flower, regardless of if it’s Alphys or Undyne doing the DT experiments that make him.

He’s quick to anger and slow to trust, but if he genuinely likes someone, he’s pleasant to be around. He’s an endless wealth of knowledge and experience, and he’s happy to share with people who actually listen to him and take what he has to say to heart.

He has traumatic flashes and nightmares a lot. Phantom pains, phantom body, even, and he wakes up crying during the night. He prefers to sleep during the day, in the sun, for this reason. He’s kind of still afraid of the dark.

There’s ten for you! I love my boy but I don’t often write about him.

#flowey #undertale #k talks #k headcanons #my sonflower

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lodessa · 2 years

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46 from the things you said list 🌼

46) things you said when you kissed me goodnight (no ship listed so I had to make a call)

“I never wanted this. I wanted…”

They wanted such different things, or maybe they wanted the same exact ones. Maybe that was always the problem.

Sometimes it feels like she can half remember it, Buffy leaning over that hospital bed she'd put Faith in: the brush of lip gloss against her forehead, whispered words that seemed to twist and change with the tortuous intricacies of her contorted coma dreams.

"Come back to me."

The chosen two. One person in all the world who was supposed to understand. One person who could ever-

"Do us both a favor, Faith: Never wake up."

Sometimes cruel as shards of broken glass and sometimes cotton candy soft, the latter stings all the worse. It has been years, but she still starts awake sometimes feverish, trying to grasp a truth that probably never happened. It definitely didn’t happen the way she remembers it.

Read the rest under the read more or on A03

“I never wanted this. I wanted…”

They wanted such different things, or maybe they wanted the same exact ones. Maybe that was always the problem.

"Come back to me."

The chosen two. One person in all the world who was supposed to understand. One person who could ever-

"Do us both a favor, Faith: Never wake up."

"Where's that kiss then?"

So when she wakes up, in Buffy's bed, surrounded by the scent of Buffy's shampoo, feeling just how badly every inch of her body is battered, she thinks oh great, another permutation of this stupid fucking dream.

"Hey..." B's voice is gentle but even so it doesn't sound like the memories that haunt Faith. Faith takes her in: sharper angles, gaunt, serious, and tired. Make that exhausted, sad, solid…

Real.

Remembering how she ended up here, or at least putting together the pieces enough to make an educated guess. The weight of her failure attempts to crush her but Faith is a pro at deflecting that shit. So she doesn’t ask about the Potentials, instead she cracks a joke, if halfheartedly.

“How much did I drink?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Reckless.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” B doesn’t take the bait, instead reaching out and taking Faith’s hand in her own.

“Going to take more than that to get rid of me, Summers.” Faith feels herself smile, mostly because it hurts to move her face that much.

“Good,” Buffy smiles back, doing that lip biting thing that is a suggestion and a protestation of innocence at the same time. Perfect. Humanizing. Prudish. Primal. The reluctant hero. The girl who knows or doesn’t know she’s hot. “We still have a First Evil to defeat.”

We. When was the last time either of them actually believed that even existed? Had Buffy ever? Or was it only Faith who even wanted that to be true? No. Buffy just wanted everyone to play by her rules, not the other way around. Sometimes, Faith even wished she could do that, be relegated to a sidekick instead of a problem. If there’s one constant in the world it is me being a disruption, a wrinkle in someone’s perfect life… No. She reminds herself. I don’t have to be. I can be different.

Buffy is looking at her, really looking at her, and Faith wonders what she sees. She must look like shit. Feeling superior as usual, B? she thinks, but that’s not really what she sees in her expression. If I’m vulnerable, so are you. That it? She’s not sure that’s quite right either, but no more comforting thought is coming to mind, so she looks away.

“I’m sure you have better things to do than watch over my bedside.”

“Faith…” Buffy’s hand is calloused as it draws Faith’s face back to meet her gaze. What happened to the lotion routine, B?

She looks like she is about to say something important. (Translation: Brutal and gut wrenching. Sanctimonious and unrealistic. )

“Unless, of course, you are thinking about crawling in next to me,” Faith interrupts, with a suggestive bravado she couldn’t possibly back up right now. That’s fine though. The bluff will be enough to send Buffy running.

Or that’s what Faith expects. But there’s no recoil. Instead that serious expression softens and she moves closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” B murmurs as she leans over and really does press a kiss to Faith’s temple, before settling back into the kitchen chair someone obviously dragged upstairs.

Faith remembers sitting in one of those chairs, remembers leaning across the table and snagging fries off Buffy’s plate, remembers the warmth of that family dinner and the raging heat of her jealousy. She takes one of those deep breaths she practiced in prison and exhales slowly, not sure whether it is the residual bitterness of envy or the quaking remembrance of how much has changed. No more Joyce. No more prom princess. Just the crushing weight of responsibility like a loadstone around her neck.

Neither of them are who they were then. Maybe that’s why instead of making a joke, Faith squeezes Buffy’s hand and lets exhaustion take hold of her once more.

#buffy summers #faith lehane #btvs #sorta #buffy x faith #but also #buffy & faith #you decide

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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 1 year

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3/15/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Deuteronomy 11-13

Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm Jill. Today's the 15th day of March. I'm so glad that you have found your way here. That you've chose to be here. That you are willingly making space, making room in your life for the scriptures to not only breathe, but for the scriptures to speak to your heart, to your intellect, to your soul, to your spirit. And hopefully to change you from the inside out. We have turned the page in the story of our own lives as we got up and we're here, and we have turned the page in the word of God. Today we're continuing in the Book of Deuteronomy, reading chapters 11, 12 and 13. And this week we're reading the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition. I know I say it a lot, but it's truly my heart, what a joy, what a privilege it is that I get to be here with all of you and to do this every other week with my daughter and with my husband not too far away doing the Daily Audio Bible. And I am truly humbled that somehow I get to be a part of this incredible community in this particular way. It could be speechless, but that's rarely the case. But I am often humbled to tears, and today seems to be one of those days. So thank you for just allowing me to be a part of your journey. Deuteronomy, chapter eleven.

Commentary

It seems it's so simple sometimes that it's complicated, right? Or maybe we just have a tendency to complicate really simple things. It is undoubtedly clear, the warning that is coming forth today in the words of the reading, hearing the heart of God, preparing the people, warning them for the potential danger and the constant reminder of what is before them. And it's sort of this cartoon that plays out in my mind. Should we have any other gods? No other gods. If you just don't have any other gods, you will walk into the land that I promised you, the land that is flowing with milk and honey, and your crops will be far more abundant than you can even imagine. Your livestock will be the healthiest, the largest. Should we have any other gods? No other gods. And it's on repeat. It's on this hamster wheel of but hey, what about this god? Would the god of fertility be okay? No other gods. Trust me alone. And I suppose that if we're really thinking about it in its simplest form when we break it down to say that then it's not funny. It's actually sad that we do the very same thing. But what about this shiny distraction over here that is vying for my attention? No other gods. But what about this thing that I can just put my hope in, that I can secure my future in? No other gods. Focus on me. I will lead you into all truth, but that person claims to have the truth. No, that person has a variation of the truth. And I know we're not to the New Testament yet, and if you're new, you don't know about this man named Jesus just yet, but it's important enough to say that Jesus, the Son of God, said, I am the way, the truth and the life. We have to remember what we're reading today is for a specific people in a specific place at a specific time. And it would be easy to insert ourselves here in this story and say, okay, God, I'm going to have no other gods, but I expect the land flowing with milk and honey and the abundance of plenty and the abundance of things that we think bring life. But that's not the promise of eternal life. The promise of eternal life is life and life more abundantly. So it's important that if we are trying to see ourselves in this story, knowing that we are not these people at this place at this time, but we are still applying this scripture, this principle of no other gods, what is the reward? What does that look like? First of all, I think that's a really good question to ask. And I'm almost positive if you asked ten people, there would be ten variations of that answer. But maybe that's a really good question to sit with today. If I am chasing the heart of God, if I am believing these things in hopes for this outcome, what if that outcome doesn't take place? Will you still pursue the heart of God? Will you still strive for no other gods before our God? Will you still hunger and thirst for righteousness? It's an important question that only you can answer, that you can only look within and ask yourself.

Prayer

Father, we thank you for your word today. Thank you for how it pierces our hearts and makes us look deep inside and ask some really difficult questions sometimes that we have to wrestle through. We have to shake up some beliefs and maybe some systems that we have followed and believed without question our entire life. And we have to ask ourselves, how did we get here? And are we pursuing religion or are we pursuing the way, the truth and the life? We thank you that you love us no matter the pursuit, that Your grace is available, no matter our motive and our pursuit. I pray that you would speak to our hearts and convict our hearts of the things that we have placed in front of you that we have just been unwilling to let go of in order to have deeper intimacy with you. God, I thank you that in the questions we find you. You are safe and you are safety. As we wrestle through this question, this thought today, I pray that you would be ever near to the heart of each person. I thank you. Trust that you will be and we pray this now in the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit, amen. Looking forward to turning the page with you again tomorrow. I'm Jill. Until then, love one another.

Community Prayer Line

DABC family, hopefully this is the first time you're hearing my voice because my app crashed when I tried the first recording. So really quickly, this is Jennifer, and I would just ask that you lift my sister Michelle up in prayer. She is going in for surgery on Friday for a laparoscopic surgery. She'll be put under and we're just praying that the surgeon in his hands will be guided by the Lord, the ultimate healer. And we pray that she will be healed within the expected time frame and that she will have no more pain after the surgery. We hope everything goes successfully for her. So I thank you all for lifting her up in prayer alongside me. And then a secondary request. Our family is getting ready to move to another state. And for any of you who have moved even across town, it is very stressful. So I'm just asking you to lift our family up in prayer as well, and that we will stay sane and give the stress and anxiety to the Lord as we continue to work through all the little things that we have to do to plan and get out of here. So I thank you all and I think of you all and I love you all. Thanks so much.

Hello, beautiful DABC family. This is Asia from the City of Angels. And I'd like to pray today for the woman who called in on March 6 regarding her mother. This young woman had met a beautiful man of color from her church and it seems like they're very happy. It seems that she thinks he'd make a great husband and he's a man of God, a man of Christ, a believer. And when she shared the information with her mother, her mother responded in a way that she knew her mother was racist. So, Father God, we come right now to you on our hands and needs pleading the blood of Jesus over this woman's mother, that you will clearly break down this wall, this stumbling stone of the fence, Lord God, this sin of being racist and not loving her brother and sister as she loves herself. Lord God, our second commandment. So, Father, we just pray in this instance instance, that you can really remove the scales from her heart, Father God, that she may see this man in his true form, who he is in Christ Jesus, and that she may be transformed that through this very painful situation that this family may be healed of. I don't know if this is a generational curse or what have you, but whatever it is, Lord God, we pray for healing, for this family removal of this sinful. Sin, of course, I don't know how else to say it. And we pray lord God, you may renew this family and that you will be given so much glory in this act, Lord God, as you heal this family of racism and you bring people groups together to love the Lord and to raise children as your will desires, Lord. And we pray this in the name of our beautiful sovereign God, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. Thank you, DABCers.

Hello, DABC family. This is Diana from Florida and I want to pray for Christine from Maryland and her parents and family. Dear God, I thank you so much for Christine, Lord. She has been very disappointed by her parents because they have rejected her significant other. Not because of his character, not because of anything that he's displaying wrong, but because of the color of his skin, something that he cannot control. Lord God, I pray in the name of Jesus that you would destroy this evil and wicked o Lord God sin that is rooted this iniquity that is rooted in her family, lord of racism, Lord God, that you would kill it in the name of Jesus especially because these are people whom are Christian, Lord, holding and harboring these ignorant and false beliefs. The Lord God, I pray in the name of Jesus that you would destroy this in them, that they would come to full repentance, O Lord God, in the name of Jesus, and that they would not only repent and come to you, but repent and come to Christine and ask for her forgiveness. I pray, O Lord God, in the name of Jesus, that although Christine is feeling bad about this, that she would keep her boundaries, stand her guard and continue to support her significant other, o Lord God, because he is a man of God because he's a Christian, because she loves him. And they are making progress in their relationship, O Lord God. And so long as they may attain that unity, I pray that you would be with them no matter what happens in Jesus name.

Good morning, my DABC family. This is Yvonne from Hilo, alberta, Canada. You can call me his beloved. I'm putting forth a request for prayer. I have had damaged hearing for 40 years. I guess you could say I'm in my own wilderness. And I've also got reactive tinnitus for, like, 21 years. So the more noise I hear, the louder the myriad of tones ring in my head. It's considered moderately severe and has become troublesome enough that I've abandoned gatherings, prayer meetings, and even in church prayer because of the frustration of only catching the odd word that's spoken. But God has provided me with a new found option of surgery to correct both issues up to 90 and 80%, respectively. Because the surgery involved involves the nerve that spans from the inner ear to the brain, I've been informed that there is a 1% chance of permanent hearing loss. Brothers and sisters, would you please stand with me in prayer, petitioning the Lord for his protection against the assignments of the enemy and for God's perfect will to be done. I go under the knife for the first of two operations on March 17. I wholly trust in God, believe you me. It's the surgeon and I that need prayer. So if you would be willing to stand with me and hold me up, I would really appreciate it. And I'm so looking forward to coming back with praise report and a second date. Thank you. Bless you all. Have a wonderful day. Bye.

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E129 (March 16, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Matt Mercer and Taliesin Jaffe!

Matt, on DMing Luc’s Revivify: “That was weird. It’s one thing when it happens because of player action and circumstances and the choices they make. When it’s entirely on me, unintentional, and just realizing different chess pieces you’ve set up, that’s rough.” It was especially rough since this was a child NPC related to a PC. “I was hoping somebody had a spell slot left.” He kept in mind that there are two clerics in the room and that they could resurrect the next day even if the Revivify went poorly. “A good chance, since it’s his first time. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I think we’ll be okay, we’ll see how this goes. It was really stressful in the moment! I did not set out to have that happen, but when I realized what was going to happen, I tried to see it through.” He wouldn’t have prevented a chance to bring him back. “There may have been an offshoot short-run series of games to find a way to bring him back. I would have found some way to correct the circumstance so the players could feel good about moving forward with the story and there was no undue punishment beyond their control.”

Taliesin on Cad’s response: “This is a big thing if you’re a cleric. It was very much coming in like an EMT. Everything should be fine... hopefully. Just focused in and got it done. The minute things started to go south it was like, okay, that’s the next problem.”

On Yeza’s feelings: “It is a very complicated situation. I think he, much like how Veth is trying to figure out what it is that she wants, I think he’s trying to help her find that while also figuring it out for himself. I think Yeza’s also noticing that because Veth’s the more active of the two of them she also takes the weight of the responsibility and the blame for things when they go wrong, unnecessarily. Especially when he himself acknowledges that he’s partially at fault for even dragging everyone in with the Conclave. As much as he’s appreciative for them coming back for him, there’s a lot of back and forth. He’s filled with a lot of regret, too, but he’s very much trying to convince Veth that it’s a burden that she doesn’t have to keep to herself, that they can share it and work through it together.” Matt mentions that, as an actor, he really loves exploring interactions between characters first and foremost. “Especially when you don’t know where it’s going to go.” He also praises Sam as a scene partner - “I really cherish that.”

How does Caduceus feel about Revivify and Speak with Dead? “Speak with Dead is an interesting middle ground, because he knows that it’s not actually speaking with the dead. It’s really just-- it’s almost medical, really. This is just reactivating a brain at a certain point. It’s practically just a muscle twitch at this point. That doesn’t really prod him in that direction. Revivify is interesting, because it had never really come up. At first I thought of it as bending the rules, but it’s not bending the rules. You knock over a plant, you replant it, you don’t stare at it and go ‘Well, that’s over.’ This is just doing the work. No, we can bring this thing back to health. This is all part of the circle of life, that sometimes we can save something. Especially given the stress that he’s put himself through over the past year of being with these people. He’s started to think of himself a bit as a battlefield medic, and triage is just part of the deal, and it’s completely acceptable.”

Did Trent really just want to talk? “Yeah, that circumstance, as it came together, Trent would never have arrived if there wasn’t an indication that there was some kind of infiltration or attack. Even beyond that, it was Jester breaking the concentration on her charm on that one guard when she created her duplicate.” The guards’ job is to inform a member of the Cerberus Assembly, and Trent lived the closest. “He didn’t know who it was, didn’t have any expectation necessarily. The minute he saw the illusion, he knew a powerful magic user was involved.” Seeing Caleb was an unexpected surprise. “I don’t think he wanted to throw down necessarily. He was more interested in figuring out exactly what the nature of this was.” Matt had multiple battlemaps that didn’t get used. “They managed to cleverly out-maneuver him in his surprise of seeing them.” The Nein rocketed up his priority list after that very quickly. Taliesin: “We’re so fucked.”

On Cad being “Uncle Caduceus” to Luc: “It’s the thing he misses most about home, is being a juvenile shit. It’s nice to be able to express that part of him again, as opposed to the serious, life-threatening, constant intensity. I’m very at home just being a little difficult.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Beau! (_rumor_king, photography by kourtyardproductions on Instagram)

On Marion: “Like a lot of people in this whole narrative from the beginning, getting swept up in things larger than her and trying to adapt. This is a circumstance she’s avoided for a long time. She’s having a rough time in some ways, but simultaneously, she’s enduring. Like a mother would. She’s adapting, she’s making it work. Without much of a choice, you just kind of do the best you can and lean on the people around you to help you where they can. Luckily she has a daughter there. She’s probably surprising herself at how well she’s doing given the circumstances.” Matt talks about how weird it is to feel proud of character he’s created. “Of the many things Marion is incredible at, she’s a studier of the human condition. She’s seen and heard the stories of so many. That gives her a very special perspective. She can see elements of that fractured individual within Caleb, and knowing the good that he’s brought to his friends, and knowing he’s possibly saved her life from bad circumstances, she couldn’t not speak up. She very easily falls into that role of maternal comforter, because it’s one of the many things she’s really good at, she enjoys it, and she can see well when people need it.” He’s been enjoying having Marion along for this (despite the difficult circumstances) because he was always a little sad that they only got to see her for short periods of time.

On the Blooming Grove’s safety: “He’s afraid that it’s a premonition. He’s not pinned it down, but he’s happy to let his imagination wander. He at the very least feels like there’s a reason he’s having these thoughts, and that there’s a reason to go there. He’s a big believer that these things don’t just happen. He’s more likely to think that there’s a good reason to go versus a danger to go. He’s had a couple of ominous warnings lately, and he’s not used to them and not a fan. He’s more likely to read something like that as, there is something there waiting for you that you have to discover. There is something that is going to be helpful to you, even if it hurts.”

On Astrid: “While maybe not as readable in overall personality as Trent is, I still want to be careful to not discuss things that are still being discussed within the game and tossed around as possibilities. Astrid is another complicated character, as anyone would be who’s been through the life she has. I can’t say too much. I can say she’s definitely legitimately happy to see Bren/Caleb after all this time.” His reemergence definitely caught her off guard. “We’ll have to see where it goes from there.”

On Cad’s successful Divine Intervention: “He’s definitely hit the ‘on a mission from god’ stage. He’s been that way for the entire campaign of, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for. Even when it sucks a lot, it’s been nice that those things have popped up to remind him, no, no, you’re doing it right, everything’s good. Probably not going to survive the next week, but you’re doing good! Not quite 1 in a 100 chance, but I forget so often to make that roll, and it’s such a great roleplaying roll. I don’t know how at level 20 you could deal with the fact that you can do that every day.”

On Zeenoth getting his comeuppance: the kidnapping was a concept Marisha brought up for Beau’s backstory, and Matt went with it even though it was opposed to the Cobalt Soul’s philosophy because he knew rooting it out would make for an interesting story. “I felt it was an important beat to bring to her, because it was something that she was wronged by. And to show that there are still some good people out there who are trying to make things right.” After the tentative peace, dealing with this became Dairon’s next focus. “I was glad we finally got to it. So many people don’t have the opportunity in their lives to get that sort of justice and vindication, so if I can bring elements of that justice into our world, even for our own hope, I’m going to do that. Especially for my wife’s character, especially for a character that deserves that.” Taliesin points out that if it had come too early, Beau wouldn’t have believed it.

Cad’s thoughts on the Tomb Taker betrayal? “He knew it was gonna come at some point. There was no way that was gonna last. He was hoping it was gonna last a little longer. He was really hoping they had a vested interest in getting them all the way to the end. Nope, this is apparently as far as we go, and he was not prepared for that.” He was expecting the potential for de-escalation. “Caduceus is the only character in there that doesn’t have a history with Lucien. I think he sees him a little more clearly than everybody else does. They’re all looking for this person that Clay, at least, is of the opinion that he’s just not there. This is a very manipulative, very dangerous infernal human. Just smarter than all of them. Really aware that there is no calculating what the hell is going to happen. Conversation is the only way you can deal with someone like that.”

Fan Art of the Week: An amazing Caleb closeup! (rynn_birb on Twitter)

Taliesin on Lucien: “I’m excited he’s the one that’s going to kill us all. Poetic that this is how the game ends.” Matt was delighted when Taliesin handed him carte blanche to do what he wanted with Molly’s past. “I was like ‘shit... oh, wait!’ The character of Lucien was always intended to be an antagonist so that it would have been Molly being chased by the person who wanted their body back. But then it happened that he got his body back.” Taliesin: “He’s so much worse than I ever hoped.”

Matt, on the Holy Avenger: “I hadn’t thought to initially even give that sword.” The good roll was the only reason Kima handed that over. “Well, sure, you get the sword. It was very reactionary, it wasn’t my intent originally. I was like, well, I mean, there’s two avenues she can take with this.” Multiclass into Paladin, or lean into the fact that her subclass is essentially a barbarian paladin. “This really works out in a uniquely beautiful way. Let me see if I can lay out a path for her to earn it.”

On Cad’s attempt at lying blowing up in his face: “He was like that kid that had a really bad day in high school and was like, you know what? I’m going to let loose. This is it. I’m gonna dye a streak in my hair. And then tries to give himself a haircut and ends up with half bangs. Well, okay, obviously I’m not that person. I was feeling a little distraught and I didn’t handle it well. Maybe I’m going dark... no, I’m not going dark. Nope.” Matt mentions how much he relates to Caduceus.

Matt, on the Eyes: “What can I tell you? I’m enjoying the hell out of it. The moment they began to really push to read that book, I was like, okay, this is on you. I’m excited for the point in the narrative where the march continues back to Eiselcross. I am almost impatient - not really - because we’re on the cusp of getting to more of the meat. There’s so much to learn, so much to see, so much to explore. I love instilling my players with absolute terror.”

Thoughts on Jester’s Tarot reading? Taliesin cackles. “Molly made the cards, so. Did it to himself, he did, he did.” Matt: “Once again, another example of things working out unexpectedly and too perfectly for an improvised moment. Fuck.” Taliesin: “Bless the wisdom of chaos.” Matt: “I love that even at this point in the campaign, Molly continues to fuck with people. I’m just so proud. That deeply shook Lucien, for reasons.” Taliesin: “It’s the everlasting gobstopper smoke bomb.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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bakerolivias-archived · 2 years

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you and i both know that klamille was obviously amazing but...

do you think it was the right decision to have cami not complete the transition (for her character, the couple, or even the show in general)?

uhm i assume you mean cami's vampire transition? sorry it took me so long to answer i couldn't understand the ask at first lol. i assume you mean would the show have been better without vamp!cami?

and idk how the the show would have declined or been improved if cami had never been turned into a vampire in the first place (or, god forbid, died because she didn't complete the vamp transition), and i certainly wasn't expecting vamp!cami, but i absolutely loved it and i think it was an excellent choice for her character. if they hadn’t gone through with the transition and chose to have her die instead, i feel like that would have been a situation where the bare bones of an interesting direction the plot could have taken were set, and they just didn’t want to go there and killed her off for no reason? simply because of aurora’s jealousy? aka a case of unfulfilled potential. regardless i’m so glad that they did barrel ahead, because it was an absolutely amazing thing for cami as a character and klamille as a relationship.

cami becoming a vampire and straying into a “morally dubious” (aka having discernible imperfections and making bad choices like any three dimensional character would lmao) path was not ooc at all, and a good decision for her character, because it challenged the perception that cami was this beacon of goodness/klaus’s redemption personified, that she existed only to be his angel/guiding light. and i do think she did a wonderful job being that for klaus but i would never have wanted her to be reduced to just that. aurora had the misguided belief that klaus learning about the fact that cami, righteously, assaulted a man, and gave in to her own anger (which is more justifiable than the way klaus chooses to express disapproval and rage, aka becoming totally homicidal, but i digress), would make his feelings for her dim. that if cami messed up in any way, he’d rethink his attachment to her. which, of course, he didn’t, because klaus knew that she was human and she wasn’t going to be a “goody two shoes” all the time, and he’d never want her to put on a performance of constant perfection. however, the narrative really took it one step further and truly put CK to the test. when cami confronted klaus about how he was intrigued by her quote unquote darkness and attracted to the fact that she was human, cami was telling him not to idealize her, not to put her on a pedestal. regardless of any humanity switch (which she didn’t need to use for it to change her actions), cami is still flawed with or without vampirism and she doesn’t need these qualities to be diminished, she doesn’t need to be “fixed” and become a “do-gooder” again. being a vampire would only enhance those flaws, but i think it’s necessary for those to be revealed and to fully challenge the notion that cami serves exclusively the role of klaus’s redemptor.

and on that vein, it reminds me of how obsessed stefan was with the idea of “fixing” e.lena and how d*mon put on a performance of loving elena for who she is regardless of being human or supernatural (when he used the sirebond to influence her actions purposefully and make her turn off her humanity instead of letting her come to that decision on her own), and how klaus didn’t do either of those things. the circumstances were less than ideal and klaus and cami needed some time apart, so cami could grow into herself and explore a new part of her identity/accept being supernatural, and klaus could prioritize whatever threat the mikaelsons were up against at the time - and this temporary break was necessary for them both, so they could reevaluate how drastically they’ve changed individually and what all of this meant for their relationship. ppl love to compare cami and elena’s vampirism arcs but i think those were vastly different situations, especially where the men were concerned. elena and cami’s vampirism were forced on them unwillingly, and they both struggled, but elena wasn’t really willing to give vampirism a chance or consider it her new life path while it really seemed cami was reaching a point where she could thrive as a vampire, and it suited her a lot better.

what’s most important to me about vamp!cami is that while klamille’s slowburn finally reached the point where they were ready to act on their feelings, that’s not where the story ends, because that’s not how real life relationships work. it’s just one of the many conflicts that a strong relationship has - cami asserting her flawed, complex, and nuanced identity, klaus having to grapple with the fact that she isn’t human anymore, and then them both coming back together when they’re finally ready for a long-term relationship. it’s a very real conflict, and it’s how CK don’t just jump into the honeymoon phase, but go through ups and downs and evolve together, making their relationship stronger. and besides, thematically speaking, it’s very interesting to see cami explore her own “”””darkness”””” especially if she was attracted to a man who had darkness in him as well.

there’s also a practical element to vamp!cami, because, if we ignore the fact that lucien killed her anyways, she still would have died of old age while klaus lived forever. and that’s not really the right way to choose to die and live an immortal existence, just for one potential romantic partner, and it would have been gr8 if cami had chosen that path on her own so she and klaus could built a life together with an extended lifespan, but now that cami is immortal anyways that roadblock is out of the way. it’s a new level of commitment that klaus and cami sufficiently prepared for, to spend an eternity together and take time apart from each other when need be. and even without lucien having killed her, and the whole age dilemma, it all just boils down to cami and klaus building a healthy relationship, that isn��t based on obsession like klaus/aurora, klaus/tatia, and yes, even klaus/caroline were, but also cami growing into her own.

#god i hope this isn't just an incoherent pile of words and an absolute mess #tribridbibrid #long post #mine: meta #klamille #the originals #otp: i would have found you #also i'm not saying that CK wouldn't have been a successful relationship if cami hadn't become immortal #i still think their love would remain strong even if cami had died of old age while klaus lived an eternity #but also i think spending an eternity together would have been the perfect and sensible ending for them as well

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levworship · 3 years

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Hiiii can I get a sfw of manager headcannons? Of maybe all the guys crushing on their manager and how each guy would be as well as how they would deal with literally THE WHOLE GROUP liking you? The manager is bubbly and affectionate with them so it’s what makes them love you. Could it be inarizaki and fukorodani?? (Pls mention my boy konoha hes always left out 😔🤚) thanksss

decided to just combine these if that’s fine. sorry this took my longer than i thought it would.

no warning. just the boys crushing hard and getting a lil possessive over you.

inarizaki

i’d say that collectively, the boys are pretty discreet in comparison to the other teams’ behavior. they’re much more chill with you mostly because of the fear that they’ll chase their adorable little manager away.

and god knows they wouldn’t be able to replace something like you.

everything you did was just so god damned cute. the way you brought them little snacks to enjoy before and after their games, and how while you did care for them as a team, you also cared for them as individuals.

and that’s exactly what put them in their current positions.

at first it was weird, all of them realizing around the same time that their affections for their manager went much deeper than they probably should have.

and on top of all that? you were completely oblivious to it. they considered this to be both a blessing and a curse, as while they could get away with a lot, it was just so frustrating how you never seemed to pick up on their advances.

atsumu was the most bold of the group. he’d have no shame, commenting on how “your hair smells nice today” and how “those bottoms make your legs look so good.” it never failed to tank your once overly bubbly self down to a flustered mess, thanking him before dismissing yourself.

aran figured it was better for him to show you rather than make an attempt with words. always helping you when you struggled to lift something that you should’ve known damn well was too big for you. ushering you away from tsumu when his compliments became just a bit too overwhelming for you. he was like your hero.

suna decided to take a much more slick approach. making and sharing playlists with you with multiple love songs that he could only pray would get your attention, only for you to complain that you needed something “more upbeat.” he even offered you an earbud to listen with him on the rare occasion that he was able to snag a seat next to you.

osamu was also more of a shower than a talker, as his brother already did more than enough of that. his favorite thing was to bring you gifts. foods and maybe even small knickknacks that he claims he picked up because “they reminded me of you.”

and kita, while relatively quiet with you, decided that the best approach was to simply hold his silence with you. he worried you’d become overwhelmed by the others, especially with the team visibly doting over you more and more everyday, so he saw no problem in letting you seek comfort in his silence. besides, you took up most of the time running your mouth to him anyway. not that he was complaining.

while there were some minor disagreements and rare arguments over you, there was one thing they all seemed to agree on. all they wanted was for you to be safe.

which is why they were so protective over you. they couldn’t let their poor, sweet manager get her heart broken by some jackass just looking to manipulate them and toy with their heart! she was just too precious for that.

they didn’t do much directly. not immediately, anyway. if they saw someone seemingly flirting with you, they would wait until they went away to pull you aside, calmly encouraging you not to engage with that person again.

and how could you not listen when they all sounded so certain? it’s not like your favorite boys would ever steer you wrong.

no. never.

fukurodani

i’d also say that this team is also pretty discreet about their little crushes on you.

except for one of them.

“bokuto koutarou” and “discreet” don’t exactly belong in the same sentence.

but for the most part, everything was fine. you kept them all on track, and were even there to help bokuto through his mood swings better than anyone else. you were like a gift sent to them by the gods themselves. and, on top of all of that, you were so sweet and considerate. your energy brought light into the darkest of room. it’s like you wanted all of them to fall for you as hard as they did.

akaashi attempted to show his feelings by putting an effort into caring about yours. he was there to make sure you didn’t overwork yourself, and offered you such kind and reassuring words after a particularly hard day because god he loved the way your smile looked when he did. and even more, he enjoyed being the cause of it.

bokuto was much more straight forward. or, he was trying to be. but somehow you always seemed to brush it off without even realizing. he was always rushing up to you with a “you look so cute today, y/n.” “i’m so glad you’re our manager.” and you just couldn’t resist smiling and giggling at the walking ball of sunshine in your day.

and konoha— well, he pretty much just assisted you in brushing off bokuto. tugging him away whenever he kept bothering you for just a bit too long, and always jokingly reminding you to focus when your eyes wandered around the room too much.

as for other people trying to approach you? and with the intention to flirt? don’t expect to experience much of a reaction at the time, rather, they’d sulk in the realization that none of them can control you or tell you what to do.

still, they avoid this happening as much as they can. sending blank stares at those who look at you for too long. throwing “casual” arms over your shoulder in public while sending a sharp warning glance. even bokuto showed a bit more ice in his veins at the potential threat.

they wouldn’t be in denial about it either. they wanted you for themselves. you were too sweet to let anyone have, including each other. they all knew they shared the same feelings

they just never spoke on them.

nekoma

now now.

these mfs? zero chill. and zero shame or remorse about it either. it’s like a constant battle for attention.

even kenma craves your attention.

it’s literally a fucking wonder and a mystery how you stay oblivious to all of this when they’re literally always smothering you.

how could they not? you were so nice and patient with them, allowing them to bother you all day like that. it wasn’t a job many would be able to handle. but you genuinely enjoyed their company!

kuroo would compliment you constantly. got new shoes? he’s first to point them out. dyed your hair a slightly different color? you bet he noticed. oh, and if you ever need help with even the tiniest thing in any subject? you bet your ass you’re getting trapped in a tutoring session. but that’s okay! you were so thankful for him. the way you remained so positive and patient with him nearly melted him on the spot every time.

kenma attempted to show interest in you by doing exactly that. he paid so much attention to you as well. which, while it doesn’t sound like much, it was always a shocker for the people constantly around him to see just how much attention he showed towards you. it wasn’t to the same extent as kuroo, but it was enough for him to learn your favorite snacks and share them with you after he “accidentally” got too much for him to handle by himself. he could even be caught deep in conversation with you about a game you have never and probably will never play. still, he loved seeing how your eyes lit up as he shared his favorite things with you.

yamamoto was just what you’d expect from him. clingy, forward, and perhaps even creepy if you weren’t so sweet about everything. always giggling and pinching his cheek like a baby. you were going to be the death of him.

lev was just annoying. at least, anyone else would probably find him annoying. but of course not to you! he followed you around all day like a stray cat, finding comfort in the way you treated him so nicely and refused to scold him like the others. your words of encouragement only sent him spiraling in adoration for you. so you best believe your ass that if you asked for literally anything, he was more than happy to take care of it for you.

and yaku? he plays your white knight. always there to pry off yamamoto kuroo and lev, only to plop himself right into their spots. it was a constant game of tug of war and you barely even acknowledged it. it was almost painful to witness.

and even though there was lots and lots of bickering amongst the team over you, all of that was thrown out of the window at the idea of someone trying to take you away.

perhaps they were a bit dramatic, but that guy’s hands were a bit too low for their liking. why were you going around hugging bozos like him anyway? so like the feral pack they were they wasted no time springing into action, tugging you away for “important team matters.”

while you were naive, you weren’t a complete idiot. you scolded each of them quietly and sighed as they lowered their heads in shame. you ruffled lev’s hair as he stood in front of you.

of course you forgave them. which is why the same thing kept happening. over and over again.

requests for haikyuu and bnha are open.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #kenma fluff #kuroo fluff #idk how to tag this #atsumu fluff #bokuto fluff #akaashi fluff #this is hard #ig this is good #.chiyo’s works #.chiyo’s works hq

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sickfic-with-kiko · 3 years

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Oooh would you possibly consider writing a fic about that scenario you mentioned of Kenma getting sick during a livestream?

Heyy I was wondering if you could do one where Kenma and Kuroo are just playing games then kenma feels sick and pukes and Kuroo takes care of him🥺🥺

“Hey, everyone. It’s Kodzuken here.”

Kenma waves to his online audience, booting up his game and adjusting his headset. He’s getting ready to play the latest open-world RPG, recommended to him by his viewers and the most voted on his Twitter poll by a landslide.

The chat is immediately filled with supportive messages, most asking him who he plans to main, and some asking him where his roommate is. The roommate in question, Kuroo, is currently cooking up healthier versions of Kenma’s favourite snacks.

Kenma watches the opening cutscene of the game, blinking slowly to adjust himself to the bright light. There’s an ache building up behind his eye, reminding him of the time he’d deprived himself of sleep and tried to fill in the gaps with energy drinks. Kuroo had really gotten annoyed that one time.

“Right. I’m going to walk around and see what I can do.”

As soon as he’s placed into the fantasy world, he begins to walk around as the default character. He swings his weapon around and breaks a few crates, obtaining ore and food items. After dashing for some time, he finds himself at the edge of a cliff.

“Wait, do I take fall damage?”

Before anyone can answer his question, Kenma walks right off the edge of the cliff, watching his character flail around and the chat explode.

riri_ka: KODZUKEN NO---

pedrosenpai: you really just killed him like that…

“...Oh. He died.” Kenma chuckles, as his character respawns. He’s known to be merciless with in-game characters, sacrificing them without a second thought if it helps him win. The chat spams a bunch of crying emojis and comments, and Kenma climbs back up the cliff after some struggle with getting stuck.

He eventually gets around to reaching a village, talking to the NPCs and piecing together what the game’s objective is. As he takes in the storyline and comments on everything he does, he starts to feel a tug at his stomach.

It doesn’t bother Kenma all that much. He manages to forget about it as he’s practicing the combat mechanics, getting stuck into making combos and figuring out enemy weaknesses. “I think I’m going to main her for the time being.” He chooses a female character wielding a claymore sword, and the chat erupts once again. The general consensus is that he’s made a good choice.

He picks up his water bottle, taking a sip as he closes the character screen. His body seems to warn him that he’s done something wrong. His lunch seems to sit heavy in his stomach, all of a sudden. He takes a deep breath, believing that it’s just a wave of something mild. It doesn’t go away.

“I’m gonna try and fight one of the area bosses.” Kenma warps to an area full of enemies, dashing towards a ferocious-looking plant with teeth around the corolla. It’s good practice for reading attacks, even if it decimates his party.

amphibiansoul: uh you’re getting beat up pretty badly…

darknighthero: and there goes hot sword lady

As expected, his first attempt leaves his party resting at the nearest inn. He lets out a sigh, glad that he doesn’t need to pay any in-game currency to heal. He watches the health bars refill, and in that moment, he’s jealous of video game characters.

Kenma’s stomach grumbles, loud enough for only him to hear. He brushes it off as much as his body will allow him to, pushing the nagging ache to the back of his mind. He hasn’t even gotten two hours into the game yet. He still wants to explore a little.

He recognizes nausea sitting in his chest, enough to be annoying. “I guess I should do one of the lower rank quests.” He keeps talking, so as not to rouse needless concern. He’s going to be just fine.

Kenma is used to having stomach aches and feeling nauseous, especially after sleeping too little or eating junk to keep him going. And he’s used to riding it out, until he feels the feeling slowly ebb away. But at the back of his mind, something tells him that he’s starting to feel worse.

He momentarily looks away from the monitor, sipping some water to try and calm down his stomach. It doesn’t work, and he can feel exactly where the water is sitting. He considers quitting the stream, but he’s close to finishing his quest. He hopes his body will hang on for a little longer.

“You’re going down.”

Kenma swallows, using up his willpower to go against the end-of-quest boss. As he heals and buffs his party, he’s slowly becoming aware of the sloshing in his stomach. The bright screen doesn’t help the queasiness becoming more apparent.

walkingturtle: hey is it just me or does kodzuken look pale today?

wadacchi: kodzuken are you okay?

mustardnwasabi: you can rest if you need to, don’t feel pressured

With a groan, Kenma clutches his aching stomach. The chat is filled with worried listeners voicing out their concerns, and he realizes that faking it is only getting him so far. He attempts to address them before turning off the stream, but a sick feeling in his throat makes him freeze.

He’s going to throw up. Whether he’d suddenly gotten worse or he’d powered through it for too long, he doesn’t know. Nor does he really care. His only concern is cutting the stream and grabbing a receptacle closest to him.

Kenma feels something surge up his throat, and instinctively reaches for the trash can next to his chair. He rolls his chair out of view, hastily bending down onto the floor. No matter how sick he is, he’s not broadcasting it in full view. Warm spit pools in his mouth, dripping into the trash can. He places a hand on his stomach, feeling it grumble against his touch.

A silent gag forces up his stomach’s contents. He’s relieved he’s not a loud puker, but he’s sure that everyone has heard the splatter of vomit against the trash can. Tears prickle at his eyes from the force, and he feels his cheeks redden. He hopes he doesn’t have a fever in addition to everything.

Kenma hurriedly mutes the stream, the closest button he had managed to reach. The sense of relief is quickly painted over by another intense wave of nausea. His stomach squeezes painfully, and a buzz in his ears mutes his surroundings.

He doesn’t notice a presence beside him, until a hand begins to pat his back gently. His head snaps up, only to sink back down after another round of vomiting hits him. “Breathe, Kenma. It’s okay, I turned off the stream for you.”

Kenma wants to thank Kuroo, but he instead grimaces at the pain of his stomach having emptied itself. He nods instead, rinsing his mouth and leaning his head against Kuroo’s flank. He sees the look of surprise on Kuroo’s face, but says nothing.

He crawls over to his bed, picking up his phone and seeing countless mentions of his name on Twitter. “I didn’t cut the stream fast enough,” he sighs, letting out a breath through his nose. His mouth doesn’t taste disgusting when he breathes, at least.

“I’m sure they’re all just worried about you.” Kuroo says, attempting to be reassuring. It reminds Kenma that he’s in front of a wider audience now, that could potentially see him in less than ideal moments. He lets out another groan, squinting at Kuroo.

“What if I don’t want to be fussed about?” Kenma’s mouth forms a pout. “This is what I don’t like about being a Youtuber. I want to be sick in peace. Nobody wants to hear what their favourite YouTuber sounds like when they vomit.”

Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh, pulling the covers up for Kenma. He’s one of the few constants in his life. He cares for Kenma, and Kenma does the same. Having him is a comfort, and almost feels like a luxury.

“Well, don’t concern yourself too much.” Kuroo gives Kenma a gentle pat. He doesn’t say anything to worsen his dampened mood. He knows how Kenma neglects himself when he’s focused, and that lecturing him while he’s sick won’t help. He understands, without Kenma having to tell him.

Kenma tugs at his hoodie, before he can leave to bring him something. His eyes plead him to stay, and Kuroo responds with a loose smile. It’s the expression he uses to tell Kenma that he’s hopeless, and so is he for being utterly in love with him.

#haikyuu sickfic #emeto #vomiting #kuroken #Kozume Kenma #sick kozume kenma

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

Note

Re: your excellent recent metas on stanning Mako and semi-comparing/contrasting him with Katara, do you think Mako should have ever gotten his own TSR-style arc of seeking revenge on his parents’ killer? It’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since re-entering the ATLA/LOK fandom last year. Just, UGH, the wasted potential to use such an arc to really dig into Mako’s psyche and all the hardship he’s endured, and also make said hardship more front-and-center to his audience of antis who unfairly reduce him to a standoffish, philandering asshole. I understand not wanting to re-do TSR in LOK, but Mako deserved SOMETHING of that calibur for a character arc. What are your thoughts?

Oooooh this is a really good question, and it's something I hadn't really thought of before--which, I think, is part of the issue with LoK as a whole. If you'll forgive a bit of a tangent--in atla, we are constantly reminded about the losses that Sokka and Katara have suffered--not in any kind of heavy-handed way (no matter how much the Katara haters will whine about her mentioning their mother, even though they usually won't say boo about Sokka despite him mentioning their father at least as often)--because the narrative makes it very clear that it's something on their minds through everything else that happens. It shapes who they are, and informs a lot of the decisions they make. You can see this with Zuko, too, and the abuse he suffered from his father--even before it is revealed in The Storm, you know that something happened, and that maybe it's not such a great thing that he is desperate to 'regain' his honor and return home. And even Aang, though he only rarely is shown to actually grapple with it on screen, is a constant reminder to the world, as well as to the audience, of the consequences of the war, simply by virtue of being an airbender and the last living remnant of the Air Nomads.

By contrast, LoK doesn't do much with the traumas any of the main cast suffered, particularly not anything that happened prior to the start of the series. Mako has a deeply emotional conversation early on in the show about what happened to his parents, and what he witnessed as a small child, but nothing is ever made of this information. It provides a bit of context, and it allows fans like me who are dissatisfied with the way the show and fandom proceeded to treat him to dig deep and realize just how much he suffered and how much better he deserved--but as far as the show itself is concerned, that conversation was essentially flavortext. It doesn't mean much, the show doesn't seem interested in having Mako or Bolin reflect on their lives or even be shown to visibly mourn their parents (who never show up in so much as a single flashback). Even when they meet their paternal grandmother in book 3, nothing much is made of the connection (and when Bolin has to forcibly evacuate Yin from Ba Sing Se, she makes him wait for her to grab..... the picture of the dead Earth Queen, rather than the picture of her son and his family), other than Yin telling them why their father severed connection with his family and Mako choosing to give her his one memento of his parents.

And like... I get that was meant to be an emotional moment, but... his father chose to cut off all contact with his family. Whatever the reasons might have been, whether he might have changed his mind had he lived, the fact was that what he wanted from his life was to look to the future--to his wife (who he never bothered taking home to meet his parents) and to his children. I really don't think he would have wanted his mother to have his scarf instead of his son--especially not when she had memories of his entire life (adult memories!) to hold onto, while Mako only had the hazy memories of childhood and one physical token to cling to when those might not be enough.

Bolin is glad to suddenly have a huge family, when they meet their grandmother, but again... nothing really comes of this. At some point Bolin mentions that he used to dig through literal garbage for food, and this is played for laughs rather than taken as any kind of serious examination of his life before things changed. The show just doesn't care about the krew as individual characters, not really--they are moved about as needed for the Plot, jokes are occasionally made about their backgrounds, sometimes something is pulled out for an emotional tearjerker moment before never being referenced again (I mean, really, Grandma Yin is around for multiple episodes in book 3 and book 4, and neither Mako nor Bolin spend an episode just begging to hear about their father's childhood?), and... that's about it.

All of which is a very long-winded way of saying yes, I absolutely think that Mako should've gotten his own TSR-like episode. Obviously it shouldn't have been just a carbon-copy, or even necessarily occupy a similar niche in the show--while TSR is very much a Katara episode, it is also a Zuko and Katara episode, because whether you ship them or not, the episode is explicitly about not only Katara gaining closure for here mother's murder, but also about Katara working through her feelings regarding Zuko and choosing to forgive him. However, I absolutely believe that Mako should have been given a chance to confront his parents' murderer, and I think it's a crying shame that this never actually happened.

And the thing is, they wouldn't have even had to 'redo' TSR, any more than you consider Mako as a character to be a 'redo' of Katara just because they have similar childhood traumas--but what they very easily could have done is shown how that trauma lingers. Show Mako's complicated relationship with firebending (he really has no thoughts about his own element, when it is what killed his parents???) and with the Triads that he had to do work for to make ends meet as a teenager so that he could keep Bolin fed. Maybe he knows exactly which of the Triads was responsible for his parents' death--maybe the man's face is burned into his mind, appearing in his own nightmares so frequently he couldn't forget it if he tried.

Maybe he had to do a job for the man who killed his parents, and only the thought of Bolin going hungry or worse if Mako never came home kept him from attacking. Maybe that night, when he got home, after he made sure Bolin had something to eat and went to sleep, he threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach and then he kept retching, throat raw and eyes stinging, because every time he closed his eyes he saw that man's face and felt the hand that killed his parents clapping him on the back for a job well done.

Maybe the man who killed his parents is one of Amon's Triad victims, loses his bending and is pathetic and weak, and Mako struggles against the urge to roast him alive without a second thought. Maybe Korra is there, slowly putting the pieces together, wanting to speak up but knowing that this is Mako's pain and it's something she could never fully understand, believing with all her heart that he'll make the right choice... but still sighing with relief when Mako's shoulders slump, the fire goes out of his hands, and the man who killed his parents runs away.

Maybe, at the end of the book when she is restoring everyone's powers, the man who killed Mako's parents gets to the head of the line... and she refuses. Maybe that's ultimately his punishment. And maybe Mako is standing there, fists clenched against the still-simmering rage in his gut, teeth clenched against the urge to vomit, relaxing only when the man leaves--dejected, rejected and powerless--and smiling, because he can finally begin to heal and move on from the scars left behind by his parents' deaths, but the man who killed them will have to remember every single day for the rest of his life exactly why he's powerless.

Idk, I just think... it would really be neat if Mako had been allowed to get closure for what happened to his parents. It would be... neat. I'm not crying at all shut up.

#atla #lok #mako #mako meta #mako getting his own 'version' of tsr would honestly have been so good though #long post #devildogdemon #asked #lok critical

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peachyteez · 3 years

Text

angel nurse ≫ DAY THREE, LEAP OF FAITH

this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @peachseok

✧ notes: seojin is a made up character! refer to the following to maybe play a little game? ⬇️

if you can guess who i visualized seojin as, there may or may not be a little surprise :)

hint: i visualized him off a webtoon character!

hint: said webtoon has to do with vampires

there’s also a small description of him in the story 👀

back。| next。

yeonjun pinched his nose bridge as he tried processing his dear best friend’s words. “so how do you plan on helping him recover if...you’re not going to see him in person?” he asked.

jiyu bit the inside of her cheek in thought. “i haven’t figured that out yet. but i don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be exposed to human interactions yet. he seemed so closed off and unwilling to cooperate when i came in yesterday.” she said.

“but do you really think he’ll warm up to people when he’s in there by himself?” yeonjun asked. “it’s not like he'll magically—”

“i know, i know,” she groaned before running her hand through her hair. for once, she was stumped on what to do. she didn’t want to force him to break his walls down, but she didn’t want to leave him alone for too long.

“maybe i can ask taehyun to talk to him?” yeonjun offered. “he told me they’re friends.”

she shook her head. “i don’t want to make it look like we’re using his friends to have him cooperate. if anything, it could push him further into his shell.”

yeonjun quietly chuckled before ruffling her hair. “well, seojin checked up on him earlier and he looked to be okay. physically, he looked to be recovering from his injuries, but he looked to have a lot on his mind, according to seojin anyways.”

seojin was one of the hybrid assistants that the facility employs to help patients settle into their new, temporary living space. jiyu remembered him; he used to be one of her former patients before getting adopted by a new family. after settling in, he decided to return to the facility as a caretaker assistant. coincidentally, he was assigned as jiu’s hybrid assistant. small world.

“is that so...?” she mused. “where’s seojin? i might ask him a few questions.”

“last time i saw him, he was in the break room.”

making a beeline for the break room, she saw the familiar tabby hybrid sitting and sipping at his milk carton.

“oh? miss jiyu! it’s been a while,” seojin greeted as jiyu took the seat across from him. jiyu did a double take at how much he had changed compared to the last time she saw him. he was no longer a small, frail tabby cat hybrid; he now looked to be thriving, buff might she even add. he even dyed his hair red, although a bit darker than mingi’s.

“why does no one ever listen to me when i tell them to drop the ‘miss’?” she playfully groaned.

“sorry, force of habit,” he chuckled, referring to his time spent under her care. “but what’s up?”

“you checked on the new fox hybrid this morning, right?” she asked.

one of seojin’s ears twitched as he tilted his head. “the grumpy one? then yes, i did.”

“you say that as if you weren’t grumpy yourself,” she wryly commented with a chuckle. “i had enough scratches to tell.”

he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “anyways, yeah, i checked up on him this morning. poor guy seemed lost in his own thoughts. he spent most of the time looking out the window with this distant look in his eyes,” he recounted. “i managed to get his name, though. it’s yeosang.”

“yeosang...” she said to herself. the name sounded so smooth as it rolled off her tongue. “is he...better?”

seojin pursed his lips. “i asked him if he was willing to let people here help him, but he seemed to shut down at the thought. but i gave him a small pep talk, too so there's maybe a slim chance that his mind cracked a little.”

she thoughtfully nodded. “i can understand here he comes from though. being abandoned by people you love into a harsher reality is never fun. nor will it be easy to forgive,” she mindlessly commented. “but i need to check up on him sooner or later, i can’t just leave him in there by himself for who knows how long. i just...don’t know how to approach him,” she said, wracking her brain for any new ideas.

“maybe you just need to show him like how you did with that tiger hybrid. hongjoong, i believe was his name? during my visits with him, i saw how he changed after each day,” he said. “coming from a hybrid that was treated here, we all come in a little skeptic and hesitant about accepting help from humans, when they were sometimes the root of our problems and why we ended up here in the first place. but you all never gave up on us, and still treated us with care and kindness. it may be part of your job description but we all still appreciate your efforts since we never received much prior to being here.”

jiyu was touched by his words, and also found solace in them. she was glad that majority of the hybrids found comfort and love here. after all, that was the primary goal of their recovery process: to accept a helping hand from their caretakers, form a trust connection with them. “...i’m glad to hear that.”

a small grin was plastered on seojin’s face. “what i’m trying to say is, yeosang might be a little bit more closed off than the others, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t yearn for love and kindness like the rest of us.” finishing his milk, he stood up to throw the carton away and leave. he bent down and booped his head with her’s, giving it the smallest of nuzzles. “i’m sure your hybrids won’t appreciate my scent on you, so take this small nuzzle and good luck!” he childishly grinned before leaving the break room.

watching the tabby cat hybrid leave the room, she chuckled as she watched his tail sway back and forth before she was left alone with her own thoughts. “in a way, i guess he's right...she mused to herself. “alright then, i’ll pay him a visit tomorrow,” she promised herself, the plants by the windowsill being her only witnesses. with the promise, she left the break room to return to the office. as she passed by yeosang’s room, she resolved her promise again.

in his room, yeosang was curled up in the hospital bed as he replayed the conversation he had with seojin a few hours before.

“will you be willing to allow the people here to help?” seojin asked as he joined yeosang by the window, looking out at the different hybrids wandering around with their caretakers.

yeosang was silent. he still didn’t know if he could take another potential betrayal. how would he end up? where would he end up? looking back down outside at the various hybrids, although he would never admit, he was envious of them. envious at how they were able to open up so easily to others, envious at how they were able to smile freely without a care in the world, and envious at how they managed to form a connection with other humans.

seojin observed yeosang’s expressions and slightly smiled before returning his gaze back outside. “i was here once, too,” he admitted, earning yeosang’s attention. “and i had jiyu as my caretaker, too.”

yeosang remembered the female that came in the previous day and inwardly cringed at how awkward they regarded each other.

“and i was like you, too. got hurt pretty bad by my old owners, not to mention other people when i became a stray. and not to mention i gave jiyu enough scratches for a lifetime,” he chuckled. “but she never gave up on me. she always came back at the same time, whether it be for medical checkups or just for a casual hello—”

“why are you telling me this?” yeosang quietly interrupted before feeling a sharp pain on his side. grimacing, he clutched onto his side and slightly bent over from the unexpected pain.

seojin immediately helped him to sit back on the bed before checking his wound and changing the bandages. while preparing the cotton ball and tweezers for the ointment, seojin gently smiled. “i told you because i thought maybe it’d help you relax a little bit while being here,” he said before spreading ointment on yeosang’s gash. “maybe if you heard some personal experiences, maybe i can help you open up a little.”

after changing yeosang’s bandages, seojin started preparing to leave. “maybe give jiyu a chance. i can guarantee she won’t harm you. actually, she’s more prone to accidentally hurting herself rather than others,” he laughed. “see you tomorrow!”

and with that, the door slid shut behind seojin.

yeosang sighed, staring up at the rectangles on the ceiling. it was a constant game of tug-of-war in his mind. ‘yes, maybe she’s different and you can open up’ but also, ‘no, you’ve been through too much to risk it all again’. it wasn’t like he wasn’t taking seojin’s personal experience into consideration, it was just...opening up again was hard.

how did others do it? how did they find it in themselves to be open and friendly with humans again, when humans were the reasons majority of them were there in the first place?

either they have guts of steel, or i’m just a coward. he thought. but the scars and marks on his body were constant reminders of his old life. a life full of pain, anger, distress. fear. he never wanted to feel as much fear as he did ever again.

but he realized that he would never be able to escape his bubble of uncertainity if he just wallowed in it. if he continued to stay how he was, he would never break the cycle of doubts.

taking a deep breath at his revelation, he closed his eyes and steeled his nerves, making a promise to himself.

i’ll take the leap of faith. whether or not it turns out well, that’ll be fate's decision.

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #kang yeosang #kang yeosang imagines #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #ateez yeosang #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #hybrid!ateez #ateez hybrid #ateez au

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 22 - Not Strong Enough

Masterlist; Chapter 21

Summary: You reunite with Neil aboard the icebreaker. With the tension amping up and the mission nearing it’s finale, you have a difficult time making sense of everything.

Warnings: angst (yep, loads of it), swearing.

Author’s Notes: Here it is, finally! Know it took me ages, and I’m so sorry for that. Hopefully from now on it won’t be as bad... This one was fun to write since there’s a lot of emotions to go through :)) Hope you’ll enjoy! Let me know what you think!

PS. Now that we’re onto the icebreaker chapters let me just say that I’ve got a lot planned ;) and I’m excited to share it so thank you all who have sticked around <3

The moment you stepped out of the inversion chambers and into the normal world (well, normal but looking fucked up to you and eight days previously), Ives received the promised further instructions. Get to Trondheim with the local squad, regroup with the reinforcements there, get on board the icebreaker equipped with the inversion technology. At least that was the information you got. Easy. Well, almost, but thankfully nothing seemed to depend on you. Yet. So, you followed the rest of the squad onto the chinook, ignoring the phone that never rang anymore. That was okay. You would not even know what to tell Neil if he called. In less than two hours, you were on military transport to Norway. Again.

In the tense silence of those hours of flight, it was easy to rest. At least you have changed the setting and could focus on stressing about all that was to come instead of the personal matters. Yes, you would have to face Neil and probably work with him as though nothing happened. But the more pressing matter was the potential world ending. For that, you could endure the pain. Focusing on avoiding hyperventilation through the mask, you fell asleep, giving in to the tiredness. When Wheeler shook you awake hours later, you have landed at the base in Trondheim. The icebreaker was supposed to cross by the shore on the next day, leaving the night to be camped out in the military containers on the periphery of the base.

You were lucky to land a spot in the container shared with Wheeler, as she was second in command, and you were still considered ‘precious cargo’. Precious to whom you had no idea. But that did not matter. After a quick meal made up of tin food and weak tea from the thermos, your roommate left for an inspection of the troops and a confab with Ives. You had peace. Taking off the unnecessary layers of clothing, you intended to use the time to curl up under the covers and mope. But it was not meant to be. Suddenly the silence of the air-locked container got pierced by your phone ringing. What the hell… Glancing at the display, your heart stopped for a split second. For a moment, you wanted to ignore it. To pretend you are not available. But your heart knew better, unable to give up the possibility of hearing his voice after all this time. Sitting up on the cot, you picked up the phone. A long exhale on the other side followed by…

“Hey”

As simple as that. Fuck. Neil’s voice was enough to trigger the feelings. The husky tone, the tiredness you sensed through that one word alone. The advantage of the phone call was that he could not hide too much. Not from you.

“Hi… um, why…” you trailed off, annoyed at how something so simple could disrupt the fragile peace.

But judging by the long pause, it was not just you for whom the conversation was a struggle. Brilliant.

“TP told me to call you” right, “Give you a run-down of the state of affairs, so tomorrow is easier for us all,” he added, using that professional tone you came to detest.

Call you? The voice of reason tried to break through the amalgamation of thoughts and feelings. It did not make much sense, seeing as TP did not even trust you after the latest revelations.

“Me?” you blurted out.

Anyone else would have been a more obvious choice. But Neil called you. Why? You wanted to add that question to the mix, but before you could do so, he came up with an answer.

“Not exactly, but I’ve decided that you can pass it on to Ives and so on” the uncertainty in his voice ignited the spark.

“I see” that was the only comment you could muster.

But he understood. He cleared his throat before resuming the conversation. An image flashed before your eyes: tired Neil, with ruffled hair, curled up in the armchair in Oslo, glancing at you from the pages of the book you just borrowed him. That stupid soft smile gracing his exquisite features. Eyes sparkling with satisfaction and affection. Enough.

“We’ve managed to save Kat with that stunt in Oslo…” his voice brought you back to the present moment.

That was something. Despite not having even talked to Kat, you felt sympathy towards her.

“I’m glad. Is she alright?” you occupied the shaking hands with picking up pieces of lint off the blanket.

It did not help your racing pulse. Or the increasing ache in your chest.

“Yeah, she’s recovering. There’s a scar, but that’s nothing compared to what could’ve happened”

God knows what made you say the first thing on your mind then:

“We’ve all been scarred… one way or another” as soon as the words left your mouth, you knew that it was too much.

Fucked up again. It was difficult to remember that you were not supposed to share your thoughts with him anymore. That this was not allowed. Once again, so much had to be left unspoken just for the sake of your sanity.

“I know that better than anyone” his response and the sombre tone made you swallow hard.

Of course. You had no doubts he was regretting the decision to take that bullet for you in New York. After all, the scar was there to haunt him for eternity, reminding him of the time and effort wasted on you.

“TP met with Priya in Oslo…” the change of topic was vital, “She told him about the algorithm and got us the icebreaker” Neil explained.

Back to business. Thank God. All would be perfect if it was not for the audible strain in his voice. It was evidently torturing. For both of you.

“Sator’s got it? All of the parts?” clearing your head, you asked the most important of questions.

How fucked were you?

“Yes,” no hesitation.

Very much so. What would life be without a world-ending scenario taking place just when everything was coming apart? Too boring, probably.

“Fuck” you breathed into the phone, taking a beat to think, “Do we know where? When?”

At least anxiety now had a proper anchor. Something to dig into and stay fixed for a while. A constant companion.

“The day of the Kiev opera siege. But I don’t know where, TP won’t tell me” the remorse was palpable, “Kat helped us piece it together. Sator’s dying, and probably intends to kill himself and trigger the dead-drop, activating the algorithm” double fuck.

Could it get worse? You dared not ask. For a moment, you were grateful Neil called you with the news. At least that way, you heard it from someone you trusted. Or once trusted.

“Jesus…” the silence on the other end was almost comforting, “So that’s the plan? To go back and try to stop him…” you trailed off, raking your head for ways to fix things.

Inversion for over a week more was one thing. Actually pulling this off was another. Because you doubted someone like Sator would be unprepared. You could only hope someone had a plan. Or that your helpful texts would come around. One could wish.

“Yes, in essence,” Neil confirmed your thoughts with that ever-present gloom in his tone.

He was worried too. That eternal desire to comfort him nagged at your bruised heart. It would only get worse once he was within your reach. The collision was unavoidable.

“Okay,” suddenly you wanted nothing but to end the call and sleep, “I’ll let Ives know”

With the awkwardness burning bright, the goodbye was on the tip of your tongue. But…

“I-” Neil cut himself off suddenly.

What? The curiosity was relentless.

“Do you need anything else?” you sat up straighter, forcing the nonchalance.

“No,” after a beat, he added, “Well-”

Christ. There was no power to ignore him.

“Yes?” you stifled the butterflies in your stomach.

It could only hurt more. Surely he would not have anything better to say.

“How are you doing?” the question was dropped with merciless indifference.

You were right. Only he could be that blunt. Unable to keep cool, you cursed out loud:

“Fuck’s sake” taking a deep breath, you gathered all the needed strength to continue, “Neil, do you seriously want me to answer this question?”

There was not enough air in the room. Forcing yourself to calm down, you stared at the wall, counting dents in the metal. Anything to stop the panic.

“I just thought... we’re... I haven’t seen you in over a week and-” he stumbled over the sentence pathetically.

“Maybe it’s better you stop thinking,” you cut him off, feeling the familiar surge of anger “For a while”

How did he dare? You would have thought that he would know better. That he would understand that things changed, and he was no longer allowed access into your mind. But trust Neil to mess it up. To be ignorant of how you felt.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” the soft tone took you by surprise.

Despite the shock, you were too pissed off to give in.

“... I’m afraid you’ve fucked it then,”

There was no stopping the words that spilled from your throat. They rolled off your tongue, fueled by bitterness and hurt.

“It’s not easy getting over rejection, but then you wouldn’t know that. Everyone wants you. And if they don’t, you move on. No hearts harmed in the process. But not everyone is that lucky” you finished only once there was no breath left in your lungs.

Now he knew. The words hung in the space between you, making the phone seem heavy in your hand. Too much too soon. Just when you thought Neil would not respond, you could hear him take a deep breath before asking:

“Is this really how you understand what I said?” the strange timbre in his voice was confusing.

It was as though he was utterly defeated, devoid of anything but resignation. But why? It was you who were hurting, not him. It made no sense.

“Yes,” that had to suffice.

You already said too much, exposed yourself again. Giving him ammunition to strike when necessary. There was no pretending that you did not care. Or that your misplaced love confession during your last conversation was a lie. A sudden noise at the airlock made you look up. Wheeler entered your shared container, oblivious to the drama taking place. After a second of hesitation, you found that you did not mind the company. Once your eyes met, you just nodded, giving her permission to stay. The sombre half-smile told you she suspected who was on the other end.

“I haven’t pushed you away. When you…” Neil’s voice came through the speaker again.

A hint of desperation. As though he wanted you to understand something obvious. But there was nothing there. You could not forget how he took everything but never gave anything back. It was rather simple.

“There’s a major difference between love and want” stating the truth, you could feel Wheeler’s attentive gaze on you “Doubt you’d push away someone as desperate as I was. Especially when you could have something pleasant out of it. But that doesn’t mean you love me” the strength needed to say those words was all you could manage “I need to go now”

You desperately wanted to bury yourself under the blanket and sleep. Maybe never wake up. That could be nice.

“…I’ll see you tomorrow then” the reluctance tore into the remains of your heart.

Tomorrow. Too soon. You knew there was no way of preparing for it. You would have to endure the unbearable and bear it. The world was more important than your comfort or pride.

“Yes, unfortunately,” the honesty could not hurt anyone.

Least of all Neil. You ended the call before he could say anything else and dropped the phone on the bed. Fuck. Burying your head in the pillow, you tried to level the breathing.

“Are you alright?” Wheeler’s question drifted across the narrow space.

“I will be,” you shrugged, turning to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling.

Emptiness. And even more anxiety. Amazing combo. And all because of that dyed blonde lanky bastard with eyes too blue and jaw too sharp. Trust you to fall for the unattainable.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” you glanced sideways at your companion with a grimace, “He called to give me a summary of the events, so to speak” that part still did not make sense, but who were you to argue.

Wheeler let out a low hum, making you face her. You did not like the suspicious expression on her face. But you were too tired to ask. Ignorance is our ammunition and all that. You resumed the summary with a heart even heavier:

“And then he asked how I am, and I just…” you trailed off, giving in to the feelings, “Christ, I’ve no clue how I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow”

Pathetic, again. You half expected Wheeler to slap you for being an annoying, lovesick teenager pining after her crush. Which you were, in all fairness. But instead, you felt a hand pat your arm reassuringly.

“You’ll manage” glancing up, you met the warm smile of your companion, “You’re strong” before you could argue, she added, “And from what I’ve heard, you two really should talk, so maybe the opportunity will come up” it was her turn to shrug, wandering off to prepare the second cot.

“I suppose” that sounded like a nightmare “Got news for you and Ives, by the way”

You were hoping she will make you go to the squad leader right this moment. That would be a perfect distraction.

“Those can wait till tomorrow, get some sleep”

Well, fuck.

*** The nerves and increasing panic only caught up with you in the containers on the way to the icebreaker. The morning was spent in that blissful motion you needed so badly. You passed on the information to squad leaders, packed up, and got ready for the journey, which commenced after you got a call from the ship’s captain. The time spent on board was too short for your liking. Gripping the duffel back with your belongings, you focused on breathing slowly while the chinook approached the icebreaker, preparing to drop the containers and fly off. Somehow, the rattling and the cramped space of the metal box were almost comforting. No one could hurt you there. There was no one to escape and to hide from. But, of course, that too was over too soon. As the container touched the ground with a thud, making you all jump up, you only had a moment to clench your jaw. Ives stood up and opened the door as you all formed a proper formation for disembarking. The cold, piercing light of the sun hit you in the face as the wind tangled the cord connecting your oxygen tank to the mask. One look around assured you of two things – you would have to get accustomed to the sight of sea and sky for miles and that there was no hiding from Neil.

He was there, stood right next to TP, awaiting your arrival. It took you a moment to get accustomed to his military get-up. The black windbreaker zipped up, cargo pants with armour pads on the knees, and heavy boots. Hair windswept, falling into his eyes, making you want nothing but to brush it away. Brilliant. And naturally, he noticed you as well, eyes looking over your frame and face, searching for something. You did wonder whether he found it. To distract yourself, your gaze slipped over to look at TP. Still suspicious and serious. But at least he was not staring at you, trying to see into your soul. And that was enough.

“Welcome aboard” his grim countenance lit up for a second.

After a motion from Ives, you stepped up along with him and Wheeler, joining the two men. You had a proper look around. The rows of containers, rigs, and equipment being stacked in crates, ready for the upcoming battle. Eyeing the accommodation part of the cargo ship, you listened on to the conversation:

“Where exactly are we heading?” Ives’s voice cut straight to the point.

Good question. You glanced back at TP, only to find an enigmatic smile grace his features.

“All in the right time,” he responded, and you could see Neil grimace.

Somehow seeing him that frustrated did not cause any satisfaction. Quite the contrary even. To your inner horror, his eyes met yours right then. Curiously considering, before he reached out a hand:

“It’s good to see you” that was undoubtedly directed at you.

The empty pleasantry hurt like a bitch. But, with four pairs of eyes set on you, there was no choice but to accept the outstretched hand. Swallowing down the panic, you let his hand envelope yours in the casual handshake. Even that amount of contact was enough to make you spiral. Especially with how his thumb brushed over your knuckles. The eyes never leaving yours, urging you to understand something. What you had no clue. The moment was over before you realised, and Neil directed the next sentiment at your companions.

“All of you” they exchanged the handshakes while you stared on.

Once that was done, TP directed your attention towards the accommodation again:

“We’ll show you what’s where” he started walking, giving the directions on the go, “Let everyone else disembark in the meantime”

At least he was more like himself.

You followed them, taking in all the shown spaces. The lower part was occupied by the turnstile and potential training spaces. As you passed, you could hear Ives making arrangements for the troops to start sparing and shooting practice as soon as possible. Next, there were bunk beds and sleeping spaces for everyone. Rows upon rows of small bunks, only privacy was a curtain separating the mattress from the outside world. But it had to do, of course. As you moved up past the machinery, the kitchen, and the common spaces, you have been led to an airlocked corridor near the bridge.

“That’s where we sleep” TP waved a hand in the general direction of the many doors in the corridor.

There was a total of four cabins and a bathroom. Your gaze settled on Neil again. Entirely on its own accord. He shifted hesitantly before directing a question at the squad leader:

“Ives, do you guys want to stay with the troops?”

You could see the emotions bubbling under the nonchalant expression. It was not the usual charming, suave Neil you have met. Now there was uncertainty, doubt, and insecurity. As though he suddenly lost all the confidence and was trying to piece himself together. You did wonder what made him hurt that much.

“Yeah, that’s better for the morals,” Ives replied, ending your strange thoughts.

“As you wish,” Neil grinned in response, before glancing at TP, “I’ll go check on Kat”

Before anyone could respond, he disappeared down the corridor. Interesting. Could it be that he too was bothered by what was going on? Difficult to imagine but plausible.

“Those are yours, Y/N” the mention of your name made you look up.

TP was staring at you inquisitively, a hand on a doorknob, awaiting a reaction. That was unexpected. As much as the fact that he used your name. And did not look that pissed off anymore. You did wonder what was said during their journey back to Oslo. How much did he know?

“I thought I’ll be with the rest of the squad” you stared back quizzically.

“Neil made sure you got your own space” TP shrugged as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

What the hell. Was that why he so casually run off?

“How very kind of him,” you muttered, feeling the gazes of everyone else burning on your skin.

Damn people and their curiosity.

“He’s down the corridor, if-” oh fuck no.

“Thanks,” you cut off the boss with the voice as cold as ice.

He understood, nodding curtly. Thank god. It was enough to know that Neil was close. You did not need the specifics. Or the insinuations behind the information. It did not matter; you would not be visiting him any time soon. Or ever.

*** You have managed to avoid meeting Neil throughout the day. It was busy, filled with getting settled aboard the icebreaker and planning what the next days are going to hold. You were not told what your destination was, but you had a clue Ives knew. That was… disappointing. You have happily missed the mealtime, choosing to hide in the 2 x 3 metres of space that was your cabin. The small bed, one round window, tiny bedside cabinet, and a chair were all you could depend on for the next eight days. Not bad. You were intent on staying there for as long as possible, avoiding the outside unless absolutely necessary. It was a good plan until, at around 1 am, your stomach started rumbling. Supposedly a whole day on just breakfast was bound to end like this. But you were still outraged. Because that meant going out. And here there be monsters. Sighing heavily, you put on the shoes and a jacket and warily stepped into the corridor. Silence. Cold metal walls and floors, deep dark shadows. With the official meeting taking place the next morning, you were hoping everyone was asleep. Or doing whatever people did at night.

Sealing the airlock in the small kitchen, you took off the oxygen mask and placed it on the small table. The galley was equipped with the necessary stuff, including a large, packed fridge, a kettle, sink, and some cabinets filled with non-perishable foods. The eerie silence was almost deafening, so you turned the kettle on, creating background noise. Going through the arsenal, you chose to prepare a sandwich and a tea and then promptly run away to your room. Just in case. As you set to work, confidence grew. Maybe you got lucky. You were in the middle of cutting the bread roll in half when the unmistakable sound of the zipper rung out. Fuck.

“… Hey,” of course.

Your hand slipped, knife slicing open the skin on your pointer finger. Blood dripping onto the counter.

“Shit!” you cursed and dropped the knife, bringing the injured finger to your mouth.

As the coppery taste dissolved on your tongue, you risked turning around to face the intruder. That was mistake number one. Neil was staring at you with concern etched onto his face. Lips pursed; brows furrowed. Hair ruffled as though he has been outside for an extended period of time. The moment your eyes met his, you felt trapped. There was nowhere to go. Just you and him, in 7 square metres. Bloody perfect. His gaze flitted between you and your wounded hand, hesitating and calculating. It was obvious, even to him.

“Are you alright?” the strange unfamiliarity took you by surprise.

You could see the conflict plain as day. Glancing at the cut, you were relieved to see that it was rather shallow, albeit still bleeding significantly. Turning on the tap to rinse it, you replied:

“Yep,” that simple.

And yet not at all. Neil edged closer, stopping right next to you but preserving a meter of space. Turning off the water, you looked up at him curiously. Too close. The blue threatened to drown you if you were not careful. He reached out a hand with fingers trembling slightly. You were frozen in the spot, seeing but unable to react, as he took another step forward.

“Show me-” the moment his skin made contact with yours, the paralysis disappeared.

God no. You jumped back, hitting the edge of the counter with your back. A dull throbbing was nothing compared to the hammering heart and the searing pain in your chest. His eyes widened in shock. Your reaction was evidently unexpected.

“No, that won’t be necessary” finding the voice again, you mustered a tight-lipped smile.

If this were to work, you had to avoid any physical contact. Somehow you knew that if he touched you, the resolve would begin to crumble. That could not happen. You took a deep breath and focused back on the task. The tension was of the knife-cutting kind. Swallowing you both in despair. In the corner of your eye, you could see Neil hesitate, watching you closely. Then he must have made up his mind, for he opened the fridge and started searching for something. After another minute of near-fatal awkwardness, you spoke up:

“Have you been outside?” a simple question dropped in an almost neutral tone.

Fitting perfectly between strokes of the butter knife on the roll. Small talk, easy enough, right?

“Yeah, I’ve watched the stars” Neil took out bread and settled by you at the counter “The sky’s pretty clear tonight” he glanced at you for a second, an enigmatic look on his face.

The walls were up. Back to pretending.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, praying to every god in the universe for help.

Thankfully, one must have listened… Well, sort of.

“You’ve missed the meal earlier,” he noticed while turning on the toaster.

Of course, he would. Forcing your hands to stay steady as you sliced up the tomato, you thought of a good enough answer. Because the truth would not do.

“Just didn’t feel like it” you shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

But he was staring. Leaning by the counter, watching you closely. You felt that this was it when it came to a casual conversation between you.

“But now you do?” this next question sounded differently.

There was a suspicious edge to his voice that you knew would be reflected in his eyes. Your acting was not good enough for this. Swallowing down the rising discomfort, you faced him and steeled your features.

“Yes,” that should suffice.

But then, seeing him attempt psychoanalysis through the means of staring, you chose honesty.

“I was hoping I won’t meet anyone around here this late,” you added and met his gaze.

A challenge. Tell me how I’m wrong, kind of thing. The truth he so clearly wanted. And Neil took it without hesitation.

“Anyone? Or just me?” eyes narrowed; lips curled into a smirk you did not like.

What the fuck? You felt a rush of anger. He maybe was right. But that did not mean he was allowed to question you. To make claims as clear as this.

“What’s your point?” you arched an eyebrow, forcing the most neutral of tones.

A shadow passed through his face, a hint of uncertainty. But as soon as you noticed it, it was gone. He shook his head with an almost imperceptible smile.

“No matter” waving his hand dismissively, he reached for the kettle.

Too close again. His arm brushed against yours as he filled in both of your mugs with the boiling water. You glared at that but chose to bite back the comment. At least he was being useful…

“You were rather quiet earlier...” Neil’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

Your head snapped up, meeting his intense stare. What? From the curiosity in his eyes, you deduced that he was waiting for an answer to that. You were sure to deliver.

“If you wanted me to publicly declare my hatred for you, then I’m sorry to disappoint,” shrugging, you took satisfaction in the way his eyes widened “Are you using that?” pointing at the container with sugar, you observed him a little longer.

Neil seemed less confident now. His tense posture and clenched jaw showed as much. Or the fact that suddenly he was not as eager to stare at you. Maybe that was a win. The only response you got was a head nod for ‘no’. But before you could celebrate the unlikely victory, he spoke again:

“Last time we talked, you said something a little different” there was that suspicious edge again.

You did not dare meet his eyes. The casual way in which he referred to the event made your blood boil. Because that was all the evidence you needed to confirm the worst-case assumptions: he did not care. To Neil, all this was a passing thing, something you can let go of when it becomes inconvenient. Trust you to give your heart to someone like that. The thought gave you an idea. What was said could not be unsaid, but…

“Yeah, but I thought about it, and... I take it back” once the words left your mouth, you felt a stronger surge of fury.

It only got worse when you caught a glimpse of hurt in the depths of his eyes. It was hidden well but still there.

“What?” Neil swallowed hard.

You could see that he did not expect that from you. Good. Perhaps it was a lie, but who was to say you had to be honest. After all, he was not, as it turned out. The look of confusion on his face made you turn up the emotions, throwing in irritability to the mix.

“I know you can be dense, but I’m sure you understood it well enough. I take back what I said in Tallinn” no effort was needed to be mean.

Just as easy as it was to lie. Perhaps too easy even. Out of curiosity, you watched him absorb what you said. At first, Neil’s lips parted a little as though he was holding in a gasp. Then he tensed, and eyebrows furrowed. That was denial. It was replaced with a painfully fake smile. One that did not reach his eyes. In summary, Neil did not seem relieved by what you said. Nor did he seem happy about it. Tough luck.

“Feelings change, huh?” nonchalantly he eyed you as though trying to find anything amiss.

The intensity of his gaze felt as though the fire was burning your skin. Suddenly the casual outfit seemed inadequate. Almost nonexistent in how he could see right through it. It took you a moment to shook it off. To remember that this was a duel, and you could still win. But only if you did not allow him to get too close.

“No. People do” you shrugged and went back to finishing the tea.

Just like that. A silence. And then the sound of a throat being cleared awkwardly:

“What are you trying to say?” unsure and shocked.

The metaphorical penny dropped. You could spare him the torture.

“You know,” putting away the teaspoon with a clink you eyed the toaster, “You might want to take that toast out unless you fancy eating carbon”

“Thanks,” Neil offered you a tight-lipped smile before he attended the burned toast.

You felt like that was the perfect metaphor for the state of your relationship. Or whatever the fuck was it. You were not sure what made you stay then. The walk back to your room did not seem convenient anymore. And the table was right there… It was rather risky, but then it was hard to deny yourself the pleasure. However questionable it may be. He was still your Neil, and his presence felt like the home you have desperately missed. Fortune favours the brave, or whatever. Ignoring his surprised look, you set down the plate and the mug and sat down at the narrow table. You did not have to wait long for a question:

“Do you mind if I stay?” the uncertainty in his voice made you look up.

Sure enough, the blue eyes were fixed on you with reluctance. As though he did not expect you to allow him that much. But then… why not? Perhaps it was the masochistic tendencies speaking.

“Suit yourself” you offered him the tiniest of smiles and focused on finally eating the carefully prepared sandwiches.

The ones you paid in blood and nerves for. At least they were good. After another moment, Neil joined, taking his seat opposite you. You could not help but snicker at the blackened toasts gracing his plate.

For a few minutes, you ate in silence, stealing glances at each other as though they were a crime. For you, they almost felt like it. His blonde hair (fake, as you had to remind yourself) reflected the fluorescents, giving him that angelic look that used to draw you in. It still did as much, only now it was paired with desperation everybody feels when faced with the unattainable. The forbidden fruit. Unable to stop yourself, you glanced at his lips then. The pull was still there, threatening to come crashing down and leave you gasping for air. But you could not give in.

“You saw us” as though Neil could read your mind, he spoke up, “Back at the airport, with Kat,” adding, he met your gaze.

You could tell that this was another attempt at small talk of sorts. You wondered how long this would take until another argument could begin to brew.

“Yeah,” nodding, you took a sip of the tea.

That was all he needed. The moment still sometimes haunted you. The look in his eyes when Neil saw you in Oslo. Now it all made more sense. The shock and apprehension. You were probably the last person he wanted to see back then.

“Why you’ve never said anything?” the question took you by surprise.

Neil, of all people, should know better. You took a moment to gather the thoughts, staring back into those eyes that seemed to see right through you.

“I just followed your favourite logic” upon his confused expression, you explained, “What’s happened-”

“-Happened” he grinned; too proud “You know me well”

His hand that was resting by the mug twitched as though he wanted to reach out. You could not tear your eyes away from it, battling the most primal of instincts that just wanted to touch him. Ignoring the urge, you finished the tea and muttered the answer:

“I thought I do”

It was another of those things that were too easy to tell him. Even though you were being vulnerable through admitting it. Most rules were broken already.

“But?”

You stood up, avoiding the desire to look him in the eye. Anything to make this easier. Enough. You got what you wanted, but now it was time to leave. To cut this torture short for you both.

“If Tallinn taught me anything is that I don’t know you at all. Not the real you, anyway” you rinsed the dishes and moved to the door “Now, excuse me-”

Neil moved fast. Before you could realise he stood up, his hand was wrapped around your arm, making escape impossible. Bewildered by the feelings rushing in all at once, you met his eyes. Even through the two layers of clothing, his touch was burning you. A reminder of all that you have lost. The immeasurable depth of expression in Neil’s face was not helping. You could discern determination, worry, and panic, among others. As though only now he has realised the extent of the damage.

“I never lied to you. Not even once” his grip tightened as he took a step forward.

Your back hit the wall, trapping you between him and the cold metal.

“Should I congratulate you?” stifling the raising panic, you stared up at him with defiance.

It worked.

“…Jesus,” Neil swallowed hard, unable to hide the exasperation, “Why are you like this?”

With the newly found position, you could easily judge his state of mind. He was annoyed, angry even. And that was triggering. Even though the proximity was slowly hazing your mind, proposing scenarios that could never happen. Fuck. You took a deep breath to calm down. To ignore how it felt to have someone look at you like this. Not platonically.

“If you need to ask, I think there’s no point in dragging this conversation any longer” finding your voice again you made sure to turn up the notch “I’d rather go to sleep than get rejected again” the coldness came out of nowhere.

But it was helpful. He did not expect that. The hand on your arm relaxed a little.

“I never rejected you” crease between his eyebrows deepened.

Right. Unable to stop the rising bitterness, you scoffed in his face. This was the opportunity to win the battle and get away before you could fuck it up even worse.

“You’re right,” you relished in the utter confusion visible “You did something worse. But I’m really not in the mood to argue, so… please let me go” gingerly, you placed your hand on his chest with the intent to push him away.

That was another mistake. Neil covered your palm with his, making you shudder. That was enough to make everything worse. Because there was no way of stopping the thoughts. Of ignoring the want, you tried to suppress for the past week. With him this close, touching you as though he meant it, you soon realised how bad it was. There was no way of getting rid of the feelings.

“I’m worried about you. You don’t look well” he broke the tense silence, forcing you to look up.

As if. His face was too striking. With blood pounding in your ears, you made another attempt at freeing yourself by trying to push him away.

“I don’t need your sympathy” taking a step forwards you hoped he would back off.

He did not. The concern visible in his blue eyes was overwhelming any last bit of sanity. All that was left did not make any sense. For a second, you wanted nothing but to have an innocent passerby interrupt you. The embarrassment could be worth it.

“I’m pretty sure you haven’t slept in days. And I-”

Neil was too close. The hand that was wrapped around your arm slid down to your waist while the other wandered up, fingers ghosting your neck. You closed your eyes for a split second, calming down the racing thoughts. This could not happen.

“Neil, stop,” shaking off the paralysis, you cupped his cheek “You can’t help me. So, let’s just leave it,” pouring in all the despair into your gaze, you met his eyes.

What you saw reflected was startling. You have never seen him that confused.

“I…” he faltered, losing the momentum that was there a second ago.

You were winning. But there was no satisfaction. Just the overwhelming despair, tempting you to make use of the predicament. Just this once. It was too easy to let your fingers caress his jaw, feeling the two-day stubble he did not bother shaving off. The disorientation in his eyes deepened as he stared at you with amazement. Speechless, frozen in the moment that seemed endless. As you brushed the pad of your thumb over his lips, Neil inhaled sharply, waking up from the reverie. His grip on your waist tightened, drawing you even closer. The expression in his eyes shifted. Pupils darkened as want took over the reason. You could feel yourself slipping down the slippery slope. Risking too much for god knows what. Or why. The air he breathed out ghosted your lips, an offer of what you could have. The exact same thing you have missed more than anything else. As if guided by the gravity itself, you leaned in, your noses brushing. Mere two inches of space. It would be so easy…

“If you don’t love me, then what is this?” Neil asked, breaking the silence and putting on another enigmatic smile.

The audacity of the question felt like a punch in the gut. That was the harsh wake-up call. Your salvation.

“Whatever it was for you in Tallinn,” you bit back, letting the anger seep into your answer “Let me go” the ice-cold tone was a perfect touch.

Neil took one last long look over your face before he stepped back, releasing you. The visible disappointment made you even angrier. Because how did he dare? What even was this? You had no clue. Only that you were right about touches being forbidden from now on.

“As you wish,” the pleasantry was thrown in your face with a mocking intonation.

You wanted nothing but to slap him. Punch him, make him bleed and hurt like you were. But that would be unbecoming for someone like you. And so, you straightened your back, grabbed the mask, and fixed it over your mouth and nose without as much as a glance in his direction. Enough now.

“See you at the meeting tomorrow” throwing the goodbye over your shoulder you unzipped the airlock.

“Good night” was the last thing you heard upon the exit from the galley.

Jesus Christ. Finally, there was air to breathe.

*** That night you did not get much sleep either, tossing and turning on the narrow bed, unable to make your brain shut up. It was hard not to come up with all the possible what-ifs. Not to wonder what could have happened should Neil stayed silent, and you were to continue. To let yourself get lost in him like you used to. And all of those questions were only amplified by the fact that you chose to sleep in the stolen sweater. Why? You had no clue. Like many things, even your brain stopped making sense a long time ago. And so, when your phone alarm finally rang, you could only accept the fate and grudgingly get up. The dark circles were hard to hide. Or the way your shoulders sagged at the mere idea of facing everyone else. But there was no other way. You got dressed in the most practical outfit and left the cabin with the heart hammering in your chest. All the courage accepted. The mere idea of facing Neil made your stomach turn. That vouched for an amazing start indeed.

The official meeting was supposed to take place at 9:00 on the indoor bridge, and as far you knew the purpose was to officially brief you and the squad. You followed the half-remembered directions, by miracle arriving at the airlock leading to a lounge-like space with sofas, a table with ten chairs, and panoramic windows proving splendid view of the inverted waves and occasional seagulls. It seemed like you were the first one to arrive. Taking a longer look to stare at the horizon, you jumped up at the sound of a throat being cleared. Not alone then…

“Good morning” tall blonde woman stood up from her position on the sofa.

Kat. The drama of the previous night almost made you forget about her. But there is only so long you can run away from reality. The anxiety spike made you take a deep breath before you could respond.

“Hi,” frowning at the awkwardness of the tone, you flashed her an apologetic smile “Sorry to interrupt if you’ve-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she waved a hand dismissively and settled back on the cushions “I’ve just been watching the birds really. Still can’t get used to them” the thoughtful look in her eyes made you smile.

She could not be older than Neil. Tall and slender, dressed in practical military clothes as everyone else, she seemed so different from the woman you saw in Tallinn, bleeding and on the verge of death. Now there was steely confidence to her, intangible yet present. Tentatively, you joined her on the sofa, never taking your eyes off the horizon.

“It takes a while. The first time I got inverted, I panicked the moment I saw a pigeon flying backwards” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you shared the story. But the bewildered smile that split Kat’s face was a good enough reward.

“That sounds horrendous” she choked back a laugh, meeting your gaze with sparkling blue eyes.

“It was cooing too” you added with the conspiratorial whisper, awaiting a response, barely concealing a giggle that was rising in your throat.

“Good God” she grinned in your direction.

Maybe there was some goodness in the universe…

“Yeah, basically” returning the smile, you reached out a hand “Sorry we’ve never got introduced, I’m Y/N”

“Kat” she shook your palm, smiling sympathetically “It’s nice to meet you. Are you part of the squad?”

“Well, sort of… I don’t really know what’s my role is in all this” shrugging helplessly, you allowed more honesty to permeate the sentence “But I’m too involved to ask questions”

“I know the feeling well” you knew the quiet resignation in her gaze from the reflection in the mirror.

As you opened your mouth to ask a question, a zip on the airlock made you freeze. Peace was not an available commodity these days.

“Good morning ladies” Neil’s voice rung out in the room as he stepped into the view.

The fake cheeriness looked out of place on his sombre face. After a quick scan, you could tell that he too has not slept well. And that he was trying his hardest to appear alright when he was everything but. A tell-tale sign was the untied shoelace and uncombed hair sticking out in every direction. Details easily missed by everyone but you. There was nothing you could do with that information. It felt like another tiny but painful stab straight into your battered heart. You did wonder how many more could you handle.

“Did you get a good rest?” Kat’s innocent question brought you back to the moment.

“Not quite” Neil grimaced slightly as his eyes slipped over onto you for a fraction of a second.

That was enough to make Kat notice. You were sure of it. Your cheeks reddened on their own accord, and you returned Neil’s tight-lipped smile. A finishing touch to the act.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening. Neil sat by the table, tapping his foot unconsciously. Kat seemed perplexed, glancing at you both, trying to understand. You would not even know how to explain it if she asked. Suddenly, a text alert pierced the silence, making you jump up. The device buzzed in the pocket of your pullover. With a shaking hand, you retrieved the phone and glanced at the display. TP.

“Fuck” you let out a curse as your eyes flitted over the text.

Passwords. To what? Hell knows.

“What is it?” Neil stood up and was at your side in a second.

You looked up, straight into his eyes. Whatever happened did not matter now. You both understood that.

“I don’t know…” biting down on your lip, you scanned the room, settling on a computer lying on the table, “Give me that laptop. Please” you gestured towards the device, urging him to catch up.

He did. Using those long legs that you always admired, he crossed the room in no time and handed you the laptop. Your hands were trembling as you typed in the passcodes and entered the folder where files from TP always appeared. It certainly did not help that Neil has perched on the armrest of the sofa and was looking over your shoulder. Or that his hand landed on the nape of your neck as he adjusted in the strange position. You swallowed hard, focused on finding the newest folder. Surely enough it was there. Password protected. You typed in the combination of letters and numbers from the text message and held your breath as the system loaded. A second later, you were staring at several files that appeared on the screen. Double-clicking on the first pdf, you opened up a map of a location.

“Is that…” Neil’s whisper came from right over your ear.

Breath ghosting over your neck, making you shiver. But there were more important matters to attend to. Shaking off the feeling, your eyes scanned the map.

“Stalsk-12” you read out loud, “I think this is our destination. TP sent those so we know what to expect” looking at Neil again, you were struck by the proximity.

He nodded, holding your gaze intently. You could see that he was processing what you said and all the implications. What the unexpected files could mean for you. And what were the critical steps to be taken.

“What do you mean he sent those? He’s-” Kat’s confused question made you both snap out of it.

It was terrifyingly easy to forget people other than Neil existed. Another issue to add to your list.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t explain it” you gave Kat the most regretful of smiles and opened a different file.

This one was a list of tips in a way. A short letter with instructions, addressed to you alone. Aware of the tension pervading the room, you scanned it, catching onto the things he mentioned. A tunnel leading to the dead-drop. Hypocenter in the middle of the Soviet secret city. Inverted and normal mercenaries. It sounded like something taken out of an action film. But, supposedly, that was your reality now.

“Anything good?” Neil chimed in, unable to control the anticipation.

You glanced at him again, catching the way he was staring at you rather than at the screen. The way the early morning sun reflected off his profile was tragic. The hair shone like rays of sunlight. The long eyelashes framed his eyes, making the blue stand out even more. Fucking masterpiece. He met your gaze warily, and his brows furrowed even more. That was the cue to answer his question. And to stop staring.

“He’s saying that the most crucial bit will be the lock leading to the dead-drop,” you explained, highlighting the line in the doc “And is sending you his regards,” adding, you gave Neil a small smile.

They were there alright. A final line, telling you to make sure he stays sane and alive. Worrying remark, but you were afraid the boss miscalculated your influence upon the blonde bastard. Maybe he was wrong about some things? Just as the man in question opened his mouth again, someone else entered the bridge, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots and puffs of air from the oxygen masks.

“Who’s saying what?” TP’s question made you frown as the man himself stepped into the room.

Of course, he’d hear that. Now came the dilemma you never knew you would have to face – how to tell your boss you have received information from his future, dead self? And how to make him believe you?

“We’ve got intel. About where we’re heading,” you were saved from answering the question by Neil, who stood up and faced the boss “It’s Siberia, isn’t it?”

Judging by the palpable shock and irritation on TP’s face, it was, in fact, Siberia.

“Who told you that?” the offensive edge to his voice felt like a flashback to Tallinn and the turnstile.

You would rather avoid a repetition of that. Standing up, you took a deep breath. Before anyone else could break-in, you spoke up:

“A very reliable source” when TP’s gaze settled on you, you shrugged.

Quiet confidence, right? A passing shadow of suspicion was not the most encouraging of signs.

“Reliable to who?” his gaze flitted between you and Neil.

Only now you realised how close you were standing to him. Your elbows brushed as you tried to think of an answer. Anything to win the case.

“All of us” Neil’s simple response made you look up at him.

His gaze was fixed on TP with adamant resolve. You felt like this was not the same man who had let his friend pin him to the wall and interrogate him in the most brutal of fashions. The boss sighed and looked at you again.

“How did you get it?”

Right…

“… password protected files” the half-truth felt like the worst of lies.

“From whom?” he pressed, all of the intensity of the dark stare on you.

You could only offer him another shrug and a remorseful look on your face. The scowl you got in response was concerning. But you could not give in.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the best piece of information we could get. We’ve got terrain plans and intel about the dead-drop. Maybe with this, we can make it work” taking a step forwards, you hoped he can see the desperation in your eyes, “All you have to do is trust me” the addition felt necessary, even if hard to be spoken out loud.

The frown on TP’s face deepened as he sighed heavily.

“Bloody hell…” he glanced at the blonde man again, “Neil, what are you thinking?”

Only now you could feel how fast your heart has been beating. Or that sometime within the last few minutes, you have started to tremble.

“I trust her. With my life” Neil delivered the admission with the most neutral of tones.

Fuck. The heartbeat stumbled and then kicked back into action at twice the speed. Unable to stop yourself, you turned around to face him. Sure enough, he met your gaze with certainty. As though that was obvious. Well, maybe to him…

“And the fate of the world too,” he added after a beat, clearly highlighting what mattered more.

Another thing that did not make sense. You made sure he could see the confusion in your eyes as you gave him a formal nod. It was a public setting after all, and you need not make a scene in front of Kat and TP. But at least you had support in your fight, and that was perhaps most important right now.

“This intel is all we’ve got. We might as well make use of it,” Neil summarized, taking that step closer to you again.

You both faced the boss, taking concerning amounts of confidence from simply being able to do it together. You could see the internal battle on TP’s face. Worry, uncertainty, suspicion, conflict, trust…? Finally, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he looked at you again, you could tell that it was done. Only…

“If it backfires…” the unspoken hint of consequences if something went terribly wrong.

You just had to make sure it would not. Easy enough…right?

“If it does, then we’ll worry. For now, let’s get to work” Neil waved his hand dismissively, a rare genuine smile brightening up his face “The stage is yours,” tentatively, he placed his hand on your back, giving you a light push.

Permission to take over. Support and the inability to keep his hands off you. Enough to make you consider jumping off the afterdeck into the freezing depths of the Barents Sea. Because even that was better than approximately a week more of this. But the seals would have to wait. The blue eyes were fixed on you with a glimmer that seemed too affectionate for the state of the affairs. Let’s wipe it off with the best weapon available – the crushing weight of reality. You took a deep breath and began the explanation.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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phoenotopia · 3 years

Text

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game.

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there.

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose.

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

#phoenotopia

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citadelspires · 3 years

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P1-Looking at how great your posts on how Anne,Sasha,&Marcy would interact with both the Duck nephews and Team Magic, I thought I may as well do one on them interacting with Owl House kids and add Sprig & Polly in there too to even it out. Who do you think the Calamity trio, Sprig, and Polly would get along with the best individually between Luz, Amity, King, Willow, and Gus? I'd assume Luz with Marcy (both fantasy nerds), Amity with Sasha (both not so good friends and maybe not so good parents)

First off, thank you I'm glad you enjoyed my posts about the duck crew! Secondly, I am so sorry it took so long to get to this ask, given how much I loved doing the stuff with the duck kids and amphibia girls the first two times around, these types of asks are my absolute favorites to get, so I decided to wait till I had the time to really put some thought into it and give it the response it deserves! That being said, lets get to it! (rest of the post under the cut cause wow this is long)

Ok so I do agree that Luz and Marcy would get along splendidly but I am saving Marcy for later because I have plans for her, along with a few factors that lead me to believe there's some interesting fun to be had with another combination. While Marcy and Luz both share the "enamored with another world" aspect, Marcy's approach is to enjoy diving into studies and making herself useful on commanded missions and such. Luz can't study for longer than a few minutes at a time, and while she's always down to help her friends, she's also perfectly content causing chaos in the home of a known criminal. However, there is a character from Amphibia who loves to engage in the daring adventure side of the world of amphibia, diving headfirst into whatever trouble they can find, regardless of how much they do or do not know what they're getting into.

Luz is a perfect match to go on chaotic adventures and have massive amounts of fun with Sprig. Sprig, especially at the start of Amphibia, is always the one dragging Anne along on all kinds of adventures in the wilds of amphibia, and Luz is the driving force behind exploring the boiling isles and finding new adventures and places to see, exciting things to do. Whether Sprig ended up on the boiling isles or Luz ended up in Amphibia, I'm certain one of the pair would immediately ask if there were any cool and potentially dangerous places to explore, and the other would be the first one to take them up on it. Sprig would get the chance to see more of what the people from Anne's world are like, and Luz would get the chance to see a little glimpse of that "PG fantasy adventure" she was looking for in the first place. Overall the two of them would have so much fun together, on that I am certain.

Next up, I will admit there are probably better characters for each of these two to get matched up with, so this is admittedly a bit of the two being leftover, but I do think I can buildup a pretty solid argument for the pairing. Willow and Polly is a strange duo on the surface. Polly is bold, loud, and aggressive. Willow is calm, quiet, and gentle. However I think there's some potential there. I think Willow is a really great person to keep Polly out of trouble, in the hypothetical scenario Polly is let loose on the boiling isles that would be a complete disaster(for the isles, Polly would come out of a fistfight with the entire emperors coven unscathed) unless someone was there to reign her in. At first Polly might be a little reluctant to be looked after by someone who is just another kid in her eyes, but we've seen bits and pieces of Polly where we're reminded that, as aggressive as she can be sometimes, she's still just a kid. She's not immune to love and affection, and I think Willow is just the kindhearted, loving person to help Polly feel a little more okay with not always being the strong brave kid she tries so hard to be. As a little bonus I think it would be pretty great for Polly to think she's got Willow and her softhearted nature all figured out after some time only to be taken completely by surprise by the sudden realization the moment Willow uses her magic that "oh hold up this girl is insanely powerful." To be honest that might be a pretty great experience too for her to see that power comes in many shapes and forms. (A lot of the people who are able to fight in amphibia are more agressive about it than willow is so it would be new for polly). This goes double if Willow meets Polly in Amphibia because I mean have you seen how much foliage is in that world? Dear Lord Willow would be a god.

(it is at this point that I realize how long this post is gonna be, maybe I should go put a cut up there somewhere)

For the third pairing I will now reveal where I decided to send Marcy. I would absolutely love to see interactions between Gus and Marcy. Just imagine it. I would argue that Gus is the most curious and inquisitive owl house kid, as well as the most inclined to actually be constantly studying new things instead of jumping right into them. Gus is a dedicated investigator (perhaps too dedicated) and Marcy can absolutely get behind that. Beyond that I think Gus would lose his mind to find another human in the first place, let alone one who can probably recite all of human history off the top of her head. Meanwhile with Marcy, she would be absolutely fascinated by everything and everyone in the boiling isles, and I can just imagine right now that every time she had a new question she'd pose it to Gus and Gus would be like "I... I don't know. *excitedly* I don't know! Let's go find out!" cue the two of them rushing off to investigate:tm:. Also! More than anything else i want Marcy to help provide suggestions to Gus on how to improve/expand his tunnels under hexside because I NEVER FORGOT THE TUNNELS.

With only two pairs leftover y'all can probably guess who's going with who. Unless you can't that would also be fair. I am kinda throwing a curveball with Sasha's I suppose, but I think it actually works out pretty well. Sasha and King have incredibly similar ideas about just about everything. While I think initially King would try to order Sasha around and it would get on Sasha's nerves severely, once that toned down, the two of them would get along really well. Sasha wouldn't see King as a threat due to his size and overall lack of power, and King would just continue seeing Sasha as a very strong pawn, though not out loud so she doesn't yell at him. I mean, we've seen what King would act like provided he became a teenager and it's honestly pretty in line with how Sasha would take over and be in power. I can absolutely see the two of them conspiring to run the whole isle, whether or not those plans ever actually come to fruition, I think she'd develop a soft spot for him.

And finally, I think there's a lot of untapped potential with Anne and Amity. While Anne is more coming from the past of the person who got pushed around and Amity is more the one who did the pushing, the two of them have more to bond over than it would seem. The core concept at the depths of each of their characters, is a chance for them to finally figure out who they are and what they want to be. With Anne it's been Sasha's presence and her need to be socially connected at all times that drove her to have a messed up view of friendship (friends are there to do stuff for other friends, like an exchange for their love), and the feeling she should just be quiet and let everything happen to/around her. With Amity it's the constant pressure from her parents to let them define her along everything she does and all of her relationships. Both Anne and Amity are in a place where, after spending so much time missing out on the chance to form their own identities and become their own people, they're finally starting to realize they can decide who they are. They're finally going to find themselves, and it's gonna be beautiful.

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pedros-mustache-main · 3 years

Text

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose.

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities.

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old — yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

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victoria-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Nine: Challenges

AN: This story has really blown up it’s amazing, not to mention my follower count! I appreciate everyone’s support, you don’t know how much it means to me to see my notifications going crazy from all of you. Again, just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist below.

Word Count: 5.8k

Trigger Warnings: body negativity, unresolved trauma, mentions of KKK terrorism, mentions of The Holocaust

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Ten: Old Wounds

It was early morning at the Xavier Mansion and I just finished my morning cup of coffee, when I began walking around the mansion. The sound of light clinking could be heard from Hank's lab and I peeped my head in to see him peering down a microscope. I raised my fist and briskly rapped on the lab door which startled Hank in his chair. He looked up from the instrument and flashed me a shy smile.

I entered the lab and crossed my arms together, "What are you doing up so early?" I asked, sliding onto a stool across from Hank.

"Oh, you know how the saying goes, the early bird gets the worm," Hank answered, letting out a nervous chuckle.

I cocked my eyebrow, but didn't say anything as I stretched myself out, "Well, Hank you can have all them," I quipped, with a smile on my face.

"Why are you up?" he questioned, shifting in his seat.

"My body woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried to force myself," I answered shrugging, as my eyes did a quick glance at the microscope in front of me. "You know Hank, I've been wondering about something," I stated, placing both my arms on the table.

"And what would that be?"

"This serum you're making. It doesn't affect abilities right? Just appearance? Normalizes it?" I questioned him and he gave a small nod. "Why do you hate your mutation so much?" I asked inquisitively.

"Well, where to start? I have huge monkey feet, they're an eyesore to look at," Hank explained darkly, looking down at his shoes.

"Don't!" I scold him and he looked up at me in surprise. "Never say that about yourself Hank. I'm sure there are benefits to your mutation," I commented, trying to get him to see a bright side. "All mutations do," I added, nodding my head.

Hank scoffed slightly, "Like what? Earning another demeaning nickname?" he deadpanned, placing his hands on the table.

"It's not like you're alone in this," I pointed out, but Hank still looked at me unsurely.

"But you have an amazing gift Claudia. You are extremely lucky," Hank reasoned.

"Hey, even the best of powers can have cons," I tell him in an off handed tone. "For most of my life I thought my empathy was a curse. I hated it," I added, balling my fist up.

"Okay, so explain it to me. You asked me so I'll ask you," Hank began. "Why would you hate your abilities?" he questioned.

I sit up straight and fold my leg underneath me, "Once upon a time I wasn't fully in control of my empathic and telekinetic powers. With me, I get emotions, and emotions are real whether they truly are or not. I become the person in a way so much deeper than a telepath could. I am not them, but I am no longer me," I explained, pausing so I could catch my breath. "It was exhausting, the constant migraines I had, not to mention the shields I built to block everyone's emotions worked sporadically," I continued, looking down at the black top of the table. "You have no idea what it's like to be afraid of the damage that you could potentially do because of the powers your born with. But...all of that changed when I met him...my mentor," I finished, looking back up at Hank with a slight frown on my face.

"It sounds as though you don't care for him very much,"

"That's the thing I shouldn't like him, but yet in some twisted way, I owe him everything," I confided quietly. "If it weren't for him, I would have never been able to master my abilities. Hell, even when he was mentoring me I think we just scratched the surface of what I can do. It's probably for the best though, who knows what kind of trouble I would've gotten into or caused," I stated, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips.

"But you could never hurt anyone, you're too kind," Hank insisted, as if it was obvious. I let out a faint laugh, and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why did you laugh at that?" Hank questioned.

"Very rarely have I been called 'kind', that's why I laughed. It's just nice to hear it for a change," I explained, shrugging my shoulders.

Hank nodded his head understandingly and we sat in a comfortable silence. My eyes moved from Hank to the window behind him, my eyes focusing on the magnificent array of gold and pink that colored the landscape before me. It was strange, to be able to slightly let my guard down and become relaxed around Hank, or anyone in the mansion and let them get to know me more. It felt nice to finally have friends.

I focused my gaze back to Hank only to find that he was looking down awkwardly at the floor.

"What is it?" I asked with concern, he fumbled about with his hands not sure to say.

"Claudia, while I sympathize with your plight and what you've gone through, it's still different. I mean, even though you're a mutant your still beautiful, people can't see your mutation and they wouldn't think of you as a freak. They would see you as a goddess," he spoke stubbornly.

"Thank you Hank, I'm flattered," I chuckled, a gentle smile gracing my face. "But I can tell you that not everyone in this world holds that same sentiment," I informed him with a small laugh.

"Well then their blind," Hank stated, a chuckle escaping his lips. He momentarily dropped his stare down to the table before he looked back at me. "Look Claudia, I-uh, I promised myself that I'd find a cure ever since I was a little boy," Hank went on. "And I'm glad you don't care what my feet look like, but it's how I feel," Hank told me with a sigh, the two of us glance at the blood sample that Hank was studying.

Unfolding my leg I stood up from my stool and waltzed over to him, "You know Hank, you're quite stubborn," I mused, letting out a sigh of my own. "But it's your choice," I added smiling, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, "Thank you," he replied, a sigh of relief escaping him.

I pulled him into a side hug, "That doesn't mean I don't like it though," I muttered, making Hank chuckle.

~~~x~~~

Wearily, I trudged to the door and opened it to find the hallway almost leering at me, like it was speaking to me. Shaking it off, I stepped out into the even chillier air and made my way down to the lab from hell where the devil incarnate himself was waiting for me. I do not have the energy for this today, then again…when have I ever? When I heard him demanding me to be in the lab in two minutes or to suffer the consequences, I considered staying in my room, wanting to aggravate him, but decide against it. I didn’t want to stretch it too terribly much. So, on shaky legs I continued my miserable journey to the basement of-

"Claudia," my head snapped to the side at the sound of my name being called, my eyes slightly wide. Blue eyes and dark hair. Charles. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, standing next to me. "You had a faraway look in your eyes," he commented. "And you also started to make some items in here levitate," Charles added quietly.

He opened his mouth again to speak, but all I could hear was my blood pumping in my veins and I closed my eyes tightly to try and calm down, my head swimming with images of my past. My eyes glanced back over to the window I was in front of and stared through the glass pane, it promised to be a beautiful day. Clear skies, temperature below 60, but still warm enough for us to enjoy. I wasn't there now. I was here. Here, staying in a house that belonged to Charles Xavier. I was as far away from that life as humanely possible. I would never do anything I didn't want to do ever again.

"Claudia?"

I looked over to Charles again, "I'm fine," I breathed, not even realizing that my fingernails were digging into my palms until Charles gently took my right fist and pried it open before doing the same with my left. "I was just...thinking. That's all," I answered, flashing him a faux smile.

It was another skill I mastered over the years, hiding my true emotions. If I were to let them show, people would see me as weak. I turned around fully to see Erik and Moira already staring at me, both of them with different expressions. Moira was visibly concerned, while Erik's lips were pressed together creating a thin line. His eyes, they were guarded, as if he wasn't certain what to think of this situation. Or maybe Erik was always like this. It's hard to tell with him.

I looked back over to Charles, "Please, continue," I stated, motioning my hand for him to speak.

Charles gave me a slight nod and cleared his throat, "As I was previously saying, the wings aren't ready yet. Hank has informed me that he has to put the last touches on them today," he announced, looking between the three of us.

"What wings?" I thought.

Moira ran a hand through her straight brown locks, "It's no secret that Sean has a talent for destroying property, but isn't it counterproductive to throw him out a window of what we're trying to accomplish here?" Moira asked, with slight confusion.

"Wait, we're throwing Sean out of a window?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I would also love to know the logic behind this," I stated, a grin now on my face.

"Charles and Hank apparently think he can fly," Moira explained, looking at me.

I folded my arms together, "Unless I'm mistaken, Sean's only power is his supersonic scream," I reminded, staring at the telepath. "How does flying coincide with his ability?" I asked curiously.

"It's the sound waves that Sean emits," Charles began. "When his sound waves hit supersonic they'll carry him," Charles finished.

"Interesting," I nodded my head, I slowly turned back around and stared out of the window again. My attention focused on the towering satellite on Charles' land, as I lifted my right thumb to my lip, sensing that this conversation was over.

"Charles, I've been meaning to ask more about your ideas for training," Moira announced, standing up from her seat.

"Ah, yes! I would love to talk about that," Charles answered happily, I could envision his eyes lighting up at the opportunity to discuss his ideas. "We'll talk it over a cup of tea, yes?" he proposed.

"Sounds lovely," Moira agreed.

I heard the two of of them leaving the room, but didn't bother turning around. My eyes were still trained outside, softly biting my thumb. How did I let this happen to me? I thought I was over of what happened in the past. All it took was me to mention him and suddenly the band-aid that was placed on my wound was ripped off and I'm back to being to that frightened girl I once was.

"Are you alright, Claudia?" Erik asked, breaking me out of my reverie. I didn't say anything or look his way. Just nodded. Suddenly, he was in front of me, and I inhaled deeply, and I involuntarily took a step back. "Look at me," he said gently, and I refused to do so. That was until I felt two rough, calloused fingers lift my chin. "Something troubles you Claudia, I don't need to be a mind reader to know that. Your posture and your face are all the evidence I need," Erik finished, as my brown eyes met his blue ones.

"I'm fine," I answered, pushing his hand away. "Just like I said earlier," I insisted, before turning around to leave the room as well.

I was not in the mood to talk. Not about this.

At the doorway of Charles' study I stopped, "Stop fretting over me Erik, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack," I warned, before walking into the hallway.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps when I spotted my shape-shifting friend turning down the same hallway I was.

"Afternoon Raven," I greeted, mustering up a small smile on my face. Raven didn't return my warm expression as she walked past me, and I cocked my head while furrowing my eyebrows. I turned on my heel and stared at her back. "Raven!" I called, walking at a quick speed to catch up with her as she went down another hallway. "Hey!" I called again, this time grasping her arm. "Have I done something to upset you?" I asked, releasing her arm.

"I just don't understand why you are doing what you're doing," Raven murmured.

"What?" I asked, my face scrunched up in confusion.

"I get that you and Charles have a thing going on, but why isn't that good enough for you?" Raven asked lowly, but the anger was evident in her voice. I scoffed as she finally turned around to face me. "You know, I've been noticing that you and Erik have been acting too friendly to be just friends and you just brushed it off saying it was nothing. But now it seems you turned sights on Hank-"

I waved my hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interjected, my eyes widening at Raven's accusation. "Raven, what the hell are you talking about?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips. "If you're insinuating what I think you are, first of all how dare you! Second of all, I am most certainly not doing what you're accusing of me of," I stated, defending myself. "Where did this all come from? I thought we were friends!" I reminded, crossing my arms against my chest.

"It's just that, that," Raven began, but ended up letting out a frustrated groan and running a hand through her long, blonde hair.

My face softened and reached my arm out to Raven and gently grabbed her arm, "What is bothering you, Raven?" I asked, the anger inside of me ebbing away as I was truly curious what made her have such an outburst towards me.

"You are! You're so perfect," Raven sighed, frustration written all over her face. "Perfect face, perfect powers, perfect body," she listed, almost spitefully.

"Oh, come on Raven, nobody is perfect," I corrected gently, forcing back a smile as I thought back to when Charles and I were discussing the same thing. "I have my imperfections just like everyone else," I assured, giving her arm a slight squeeze.

"Where are they, because I don't see them," Raven disagreed, shaking her head and then crossing her arms. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," she grumbled.

I smiled slightly, "Truly, I am not," I replied, shaking my head. I exhaled deeply. "Well, I hope yelling at me got whatever that was plaguing you out," I mused, crossing my arms again.

Raven put her head in her hands, "I'm sorry," she sighed, lifting her head back up to face me. "It's just that I saw and heard you with Hank this morning and my mind just created so many stupid scenarios," Raven explained, her face flushed with embarrassment. "And then I saw you and Erik, but I turned ar-" she rambled on.

"I'm sorry Raven, but I'm beginning to notice a pattern here," I chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "Are you following me around?" I asked, my expression turning serious now.

"No!" Raven exclaimed quickly. "Well, at least not on purpose. This morning I went to check on Hank's progress with the serum and then I saw you two hugging and just now I saw you and Erik very close to each other," she explained, lowering her gaze to the decorative rug covering the wooden floor. "Just like when you were sparring," the blonde added quietly, before raising her eyes to meet mine.

"Look Raven, despite what you think I do not have an objective of being with every man in the house, okay? The mansion is predominantly male, so yes, it's going to be more common that I'm talking to someone of the opposite gender," I explained, placing my hands on hips. "Makes sense now?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Raven nodded her head, "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Dia," Raven apologized again. "I can't believe I was that stupid to even think that of you," she groaned, hiding her face in her hands temporarily. Raven uncovered her face, "C'mon, let me make you lunch. It's the least I can do," Raven offered, letting out a laugh.

"It certainly is,"

~~~x~~~

"You know what I just adore about you, my dear Claudia? I can break you every night, and you'll still be a viable subject by the next morning,"

I threw punches at the punching bag as if the source of all my bottled up pain was actually here, standing right in front of me. I struck the bag as fast and hard as I could attempting to release all my pent up frustration. Why won't these god forsaken memories just disappear from my mind. I was angry. Frustrated. Upset. Ashamed. Embarrassed. My behavior was unacceptable. I was a broken, scared little girl. I was pathetic. I could never help save the world.

I was so fucking weak.

Never ending questions nagged at my brain as I furiously punched, ignoring the blood dripping off my knuckles.

"Claudia, stop before I make you stop," a velvety voice from behind me ordered.

I turned my head slightly and there stood Erik in his grey sweatsuit, "I'm fine," I stated simply wiping my knuckles on my pants, and positioning myself to continue training once more.

Erik stepped in front of the punching bag, grabbed my wrists in a firm, but not painful grip and pulled me into him, his steely blue eyes gazing intently into my own assessing me like a predator would it's prey.

"You had a thousand yard stare earlier, slightly lost control of your telekinesis, and now your beating a punching bag until your fists are raw and bloody," Erik pointed out, glancing at my bloodied fists. "And you honestly think that you're fine?" he asked, arching a brow and dropping my hands.

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me?" I asked back, annoyed that he wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"But that's what friends do, we worry about each other," Erik informed, folding his arms together. "You would do the same for me, I hope," he added, a small smile forming on his lips.

I took a deep breath and slowly nodded in agreement.

"Come on, I'll clean those up for you," Erik said simply, leading me out of the gym and into a small white room which looked like a small medical bay he lead me over to sink and carefully cleaned my wounds then applied some anesthetic cream. "Sorry if it hurts," he apologized quietly, surprising me with his thoughtfulness. I found myself unintentionally smiling to myself. "What's so funny?" Erik questioned, finishing up with the bandages.

"It's just that...when we first met, I thought you were the biggest asshole known to man," I began, a ghost of grin on my lips. "But now I know that's not true, it's good to know that you're a nice man after all," I finished, pushing off from the sink.

"You think I'm a nice guy, I'm flattered truly I am," Erik replied cheekily. "Any other first impressions you had about me that I should know about?" Erik questioned, arching his brow in amusement while walking out of the door.

"Well, I also thought you were pretty handsome," I started, and Erik' face lit up with what looked like amusement. "But your personality soon negated all of your attractiveness," I added, with a smirk on my lips as I left the small room as well.

Suddenly Erik lifted me up and spun me around.

"Erik! Stop! Friends don't do this!" I said between laughs while attempting to escape his grasp.

"Some friends do!" he countered with a wink. "Now with me being a friend to Claudia, I have to wonder where the real Claudia is. Two compliments within a minute apart, I find that suspicious," Erik remarked, and let out a laugh.

"Erik! Put me down right now!" I scolded, with a smile on my face even though I hated the fact I'd lost control of the situation so easily. From over Erik's shoulder I saw Charles at the end of the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Charles!" I called, a smile still on my face. "My knight in shining armor, come save me!" I exclaimed, reaching my arm out towards Charles and laughing.

"Don't listen to her Charles, this is just a lookalike. She has been too kind to me today, this can't possibly be the Claudia we know!" Erik claimed, his laughter vibrating against me.

Charles chuckled as well as he followed behind us, "You know Erik, I think you might be on to something," he agreed, smiling at me.

"Charles!" I called again, my mouth opened in shock that he took Erik's side instead of mine and Charles just shrugged an amused expression still on his face. I rolled my eyes and grinned myself before turning my attention back to the metal bender carrying me to the living room. "Hey, let me go!" I ordered, lightly hitting Erik's back with my fist.

"Fine," the metal bender answered simply.

In an instant, I landed hard on the floor with a thud. I watched as Erik walked down the hallway laughing all the way. He dropped me? He knew exactly what I meant when I told him to put me down. The audacity of him to do that. I'd show him, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will have the last laugh.

Charles extended his hand out towards me, "It seems you've taken a tumble, my dear," he remarked smiling.

I grabbed it and hopped to my feet, "Yeah, no thanks to that asshole," I commented, nodding my head in the direction of Erik.

"Ah, it seems we were wrong," Charles began with a chuckle. "There's the Claudia we know," he finished, leading me into the living room and I rolled my eyes again.

I spotted Erik standing with a relaxed posture, his hands in his pockets as he waited for Charles and I. He smirked at me and I just slid my index finger across my throat.

"Well, since the two of you are here, I wanted to test an idea out I had with your powers," Charles started, looking at me. "Claudia, I've been thinking about your empathic powers. We know you can use your 'persuasive' ability on people verbally. I want you to inside Erik's mind and give him an order without speaking,"

"What do you want me to make him do?"

Charles hesitated and looked at Erik, "What do you feel comfortable doing?"

Erik thought for a moment, "Nothing that will cause me extreme bodily harm," he answered, giving me a knowing glance.

Fine, I'd think of something else. I closed my eyes and lifted my mental shields as the confusion, curiousness, and a hint of tiredness sparked through my mind from Erik's. An idea popped in my head and I smiled to myself. I opened my eyes and stared at Erik unflinchingly which he returned, I cocked my head to the side and began my work with Erik's brain.

"You're feeling tired," I began. "Very tired," I added.

Erik let out a yawn as I furrowed my brow in concentration.

"You feel dead on your feet, you should have a seat right now," I suggested. "The chair behind you is just calling your name," I continued.

I pushed my suggestion into his head and Erik squatted down as if to sit down on the chair. But there wasn't a chair, so he fell to the floor on his ass. Erik looked up at me and glared.

I smiled triumphantly, "It's what you deserve," I stated, content with myself.

Charles was happy as well, "Excellent!" he cheered, before holding his hand out to Erik to helping him back to his feet.

"Am I done being the test dummy?" Erik asked, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Yes, you were a great help just now," Charles answered cheerfully, Erik shot me one last glare before he left and I stuck my tongue at him childishly. "A bit of fresh air will do the body good, don't you think?" Charles questioned, sticking his hand for me to leave the room first.

"I do," I concurred, making my way out of the room and towards the doors that led to the stone deck.

I pushed the door opened and the fresh late afternoon almost evening air was such a relief. An immense amount of sudden stress completely wiped me out already. The door behind me closed with a soft click from Charles and walked over next to me.

"What happened to your hands Claudia?" Charles asked, grabbing a hold of them and softly running his thumb across my knuckles.

"I got carried away with the punching bag, that's all. Please don't work up a sweat about me, I just had some steam to blow off," I explained, a reassuring smile on my lips.

Charles' brow furrowed as he looked out into the sprawling greenery that almost resembled the gardens of Versailles. The cool October breeze wrapped around us quite heavily as it sent chills down my spine and blew black strands of hair across my face. Charles noticed how my body reacted from the breeze and quickly took his jacket off and placed around my shoulders.

"Claudia," Charles started, giving his jacket a quick tug making sure I was snug within it. "I want you to know that whatever is bothering you, you don't have to face it alone," he reminded gently.

"What makes you think something is bothering me?" I asked, looking up at him.

"You haven't been your usual self, I mean I've barely heard a witty comment from you all day," he pointed out, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"It's better that I do though, you know, when it comes to facing my own problems alone," I answered, before looking over at the gardens as well. "I've done it for years now, what's a few more weeks going to change?" I inquired, shrugging my shoulders before turning my attention back to him.

"Everything," Charles answered, placing each of his hands on my shoulders looking straight into my eyes. "It could change everything, Claudia," Charles repeated, rubbing soothing circles on my biceps before his hands slid down my arms.

~~~x~~~

I laid wide awake in bed, my eyes spacing out, my mind somewhere else, I had been awakened by a dream. Not a dream, exactly, more a memory of a rain made of ashes. The stomach-churning scent of the burning bodies still scorched my nostrils whenever I thought about it. I saw a young boy in ragged striped pajamas and there was also a woman who appeared to be middle aged, but she looked so much older than she should. She was filthy and was in ragged pajamas, just like the boy. And there was a man, a man who looked all too familiar...

That's when I heard something. A creaking of sort. I sat up softly, and my eyes glued onto the door, as the sound grew louder, and soon I knew clearly it was footsteps. I got up and hesitated by my door, until the muffled noises were faint. Creeping out my door, I followed the suspect as I caught their shadow turning to the left in the hallway.

With quiet steps, and making sure to be in line with the shadows, I stalked behind whoever it was. Soon I was close enough to try and take out the figure's features. My night vision not being very strong. But before I could even make out their face, a voice spoke.

"I should have known you would follow me," It was hollow, and low.

I stepped into the speck of light the gleaming moon gave off, "Sorry. I was curious as to why you would be up and lurking around past midnight," I responded to Erik, and moved forth towards him.

"Could not sleep. But I should be asking you the same," he stated gravely.

I shrugged, "Got a lot on my mind," I explained lamely.

We stood there, giving moments of awkward silence, then he began to slip away towards the kitchen. His movement gave me a beckoning signal to follow him. Once there, he dug in the fridge, and tugged out a bottle of beer. He glanced over at me once I sat on the island counter watching him. "Want one?" He asked.

I scoffed at him, my brows raised, and expression saying 'seriously?'.

"I'm too much of a lady to drink beer," I quipped.

A soft chuckle erupted from him and he shook his head, as he pulled out a bottle of pop for me. I gladly took it, and he popped off the caps of both drinks. The two of us taking a swig of our bottles.

"So, what was life like for you before Charles and I hunted you down and dragged you here against your will?" Erik asked, his back leaned against the island beside me, as his eyes roamed over the pictures hanging on the wallpapered walls.

I glanced down at my bottle, my right index finger tracing the rim of the bottle, as I stayed mute after hearing his question. It was a long enough silence to notify him, and let him glimpse over at me.

"Or...don't answer my question," he muttered brashly.

I gave a soft sigh, "I lived in South Carolina until I was five, my grandpa was murdered by the KKK, they bombed his bookstore. It was a miracle that I survived," I began, Erik looked over at me, a sympathetic expression painted on his face. "Then we moved to Pennsylvania, and that's what I considered to be home for me. After I graduated high school, I moved to D.C. and attended college. I graduated and now I'm living the ‘American Dream’ the best that a black woman can," I explained, purposefully excluding certain events that I wasn't ready to share. "Nothing quite special about my life, Erik," I added, before taking another swig of my drink.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather, Claudia," Erik apologized, placing his beer down. "But I know there's more to your story than that. I know there is something or someone from your past that you're running from. Trust me, I know all the signs," he argued softly, and my throat felt awfully dry because of the statement. "If you don't want to tell me about your past, fine. But answer this question for me. Why are you up?" Erik asked again. "And don't tell me another terrible lie," he added.

I sighed, staring into my drink, before answering, seemingly measuring my words, "Sometimes my walls come down when I sleep deeply enough, so my empathy is open. When people have nightmares or sleep fitfully, it can wake me up if the emotional signature is strong enough," I shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

Erik froze, "Do you ever...um...see what people dream?" he scratched the back of his head, projecting nonchalance.

My brown eyes narrowed in speculation on the opening of my bottle, "It depends on if the nightmare is strong enough," I set the bottle down, my eyes sympathetic. "Usually what I see is so fractured that I don't understand it,"

He grunted in his throat in acquiescence, staring at the tabletop, "I've always wondered why Charles never wakes up,"

I shrugged, "Maybe his shields can't drop," I suggested. "He probably made them that way for when he sleeps or needs to block everything, he's had more practice than I. Then again, he's a telepath, so he's working to block thoughts and dreams and such. A person can hide what they think, but rarely can they hide what they feel," I informed.

"That sounded textbook," Erik smirked in humor.

I shrugged, "Probably was," I agreed laughing.

We stood in silence for a moment, before my eyes fell upon his left arm and I noticed the small black numbers. He followed my eyes and extended it fully toward me. The numbers stood out before me almost screaming at me about the pain this man has been through.

"He hurt you, didn't he? Shaw did," I stated bravely, looking up from his arm.

"You...You saw what I dreamed of, didn't you?" Erik questioned, returning my stare and I silently nodded.

"Sorry," I whispered apologetically, and he just mimicked my nod. "H-How old were you?" I asked quietly. "When-When'd it happen?" I asked again, glancing at his arm.

"I was eleven,"

"Eleven?" I echoed, in shock. "That's so young," I breathed.

"You became a bomb survivor at the age of five," Erik reminded grimly, shaking his head.

Neither of us spoke for several long moments before I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear uncomfortably.

"There was a woman that I saw," I recalled. "Who was she?" I questioned, folding my arms together.

"My mother," he answered, staring at me.

I stood staring back at him unsure of what to say or if I wanted to ask the question that was now burning in the back of my mind. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it and breathed deeply.

"How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked softly.

"My family and I were put in a concentration camp, as you know," Erik said quietly. His usual calm demeanor had dropped and now he was sad, almost angry. "It was there were Shaw shot my mother point blank and it was there where I discovered my ability," he answered, his mouth forming a thin line.

I couldn't even imagine witnessing your mother being shot point blank in front of you. It was completely unthinkable and horribly wrong. I shuddered at the thought of him witnessing such a thing.

"I'm sorry, I can't...can't even begin to imagine it,"

As if a sudden electric bolt of realization hit me, I was now aware of why I had woken up suddenly, feeling so...angry, so thirsty for vengeance. It was because Erik wanted Shaw so badly. It was the simple thought of revenge. He wanted to avenge his mother's death to finally be at peace with himself and with the thought of his mother's horrific death.

He blamed himself, but he shouldn't.

I placed a hand on Erik's shoulder for comfort, "We're going to get him," I promised, looking into his blue eyes with a determined stare and he raised his hand covering mine and gave it a soft squeeze.

"There was a never doubt that we wouldn't,"

Chapter Eleven: Bottled Up

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