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lover-of-skellies · 9 months

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Sci smooch thoughts im so normal about him

The smooch-ability rating for Sci is 9 out of 12. He’s a safe one to smooch, if not a bit awkward. Sci isn’t likely to hurt you for smooching him, but he might mentally blue screen and attempt to act like it never happened

1) How dangerous is his mouth? Not at all, actually. His teeth are not sharp or jagged, they’re flat, meaning there’s nothing for the smoocher to get their lips cut on. 2 points for having perfectly flat, safe teeth

2) Would Sci bite? For the life of me, no, I can’t see him being a biter, since he just seems so passive about most things. Is he aggressive? Like some of the other characters who have already gotten ratings, he can be, but probably only when the situation is dire and really calls for it. Outside of those dire circumstances though, no, I don’t see him being an aggressive sort of person. That being said, he gets 2 more points

3) Are there any health hazards to the smoocher? Nope, not that I can think of. He doesn’t carry any potentially dangerous weapons, his his hygiene seems decent enough, and he’s not leaking any gross or questionable fluids. He does have a lot of capabilities with magic, but he seems to have very good control over it, which limits his chance of accidentally hurting anyone with it. All things considered, I think he deserves 2 more safety points

4) Does he have a sympathetic backstory? He raised his brother and is very likely the one who financially supports them both, while also working as a scientist. I don’t know much about how his AU differs from the original Undertale, admittedly, but assuming he’s just a younger Sans Classic (long before Frisk fell into the underground), everything is practically the same. I should probably give him full points for being the responsible older brother who takes it upon himself to raise his sibling, but at the same time, from what I know, he hasn’t endured anything major. I don’t really see any reasons to feel much sympathy for him, so I’m saying he doesn’t get any points for this area

5) Does he deserve a smooch? Maybe. Maybe a little bit. He does do a lot to financially support himself and his Papyrus, but aside from that, he’s not done much that makes him super deserving. For this section, I’ll give him 1 point

6) is he cute or cool? Cool, no, not necessarily. His design is pretty basic, and although it’s not very eye catching, it does help people identify him a bit easier. Cute, however… people seem have a draw to anxious characters, bonus points if they’re small, have big eyes, or wear huge glasses that help their eyes seem bigger. While he does not have eyes, he does have eye sockets, and pairing his sockets with the glasses he wears, it makes him look like he has bigger eyes. He’s also not to tallest guy in existence, either, so yes, I think he counts as cute. 2 points for this area

In total, Sci gets a rating of 9. He’s a fairly safe bet for someone to smooch, since there’s nothing inherently dangerous about him. The only things keeping him from having a perfect rating would be his lack of a more sympathetic backstory and the fact that he doesn’t do much to really warrant getting a smooch in the first place. Again, admittedly, all I know about him is that he’s basically younger Sans, who happens to be a scientist. There could be some information I’m missing, so feel free to take this rating and some of my logic with a grain of salt

#anon #asks #science sans #sci sans #smoochability rating

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styxtrixmix · 2 years

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Too Many Thads AU by @cryptocism but I adopted them all emotionally and oh whoops they're living with the Allens my bad. AU of an AU ✨🤌

Part four. Final part of introducing my takes on them all, might draw more of them later on

Also no, I didn't realize these two had their own official names prior to making this. I'm still gonna post it as I originally saw it, but y'know take this with a heftier grain of salt than the others

Does by Daniel/Danni (again, @cryptocism has their own names for these two, and once those are revealed I'll probably update the names here. But until then, oh well)

Kooky little guy

Genuinely believes 3 and 5 are dating

Everyone else is too weirded out to correct him

He wouldn't believe them anyways

At Least It Was Here - The 88

Goes by Hunter (again with the official names, not using them currently. Might find an actual explanation for this AU AU)

Named themself after the Owl House character

They watched it for the culture and fell in love

Nonbinary they/them pronouns

Accidentally wore the exact same hair style and color as Issaiah once

Almost ended very very poorly

9 doesn't die in this because the only angst allowed here is introspective or something

Went back to ginger once Issaiah started dying his hair strawberry blonde

This Is Home - Cavetown

Don't worry, there's a playlist

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWnAyne92-ZY4vmVFXjb9150lwoBCFrX0

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shini--chan · 3 years

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I love you're writing skills! How would be the reader react when she travel the time back so like the 1600 in England?. And England would she see her in modern clothes. She want go back to her time(2020). Im so sorry for my bad English

Thank you, that is very sweet of you. Also don’t worry – your English probably isn’t as bad as you think.

If you want to see anything else set in that period, go and check that Pirate AU! Post. Now on to this here.

Yandere England – 1600s/Timetravler

Whether you would like it or not, you would find yourself hurtling through time and landing in England during the 17th century. Right in Puritan England to be precise, literally the worst decade to land into right after ending up in the middle of a battle. You would be wandering the countryside, in total confusion as well as in complete panic. That would be how Arthur would find you. He would be heading back home, utterly disgruntled by the state of affairs that he would have to suffer under. Then he would notice you, an alien entity by all means, in your strange clothing and foreign manners. First, he would consider just leaving you to your fate (which could be very gruesome) as the loon you would appear to be to him. Then he would remember the supposed Christian values of hospitality and altruism and approach you to take you home with him.

You would be both relieved and frightened to see somebody approach you. Through his clothing it would dawn upon you that you were really in the past. Despite fearing being deemed a witch or being interrogated or suffering from any other fate that would cross your mind, you would know that you would need help. The moment Arthur would open his mouth to inquire about you, the final nail would be hammered in the coffin. The Old English that would meet your ears would be absolute proof that was once history would be your present. A notion that would be affirmed when Arthur’s face would wrinkle in confusion when you would use your English.

Your strange use of his language would confuse, but would nevertheless ring a bell in the back of his mind. It would remind him how English had developed over the centuries. Would your way of using it just be a natural result of further evolution, hence making you a … timetravler? That would be at least what you would be trying to convey over the language barrier. Arthur would be sceptical at first, wanting to rule out all other possibilities before believe you. If you’d think him to be a fool, then you’d have something else coming. Then you’d try to use evidence to convince him.

Quickly, he grabbed the strange thing you were holding out to him. After giving you a brief mistrusting look, he would take a few steps away from you. A paranoid bastard as ever, he turned to stand in such a way that you couldn’t see everything he was doing while keeping an eye on you.

The thing that you handed to him was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was rectangular and slim, smooth with its dark glass and opaque surfaces. He glimpsed his own cruel visage in the reflection. Was it nothing more than a strange mirror?

Then he went on to inspect the sides, the tips of his fingers finding a few elevations in the material. Curious, he pressed one of them …

… and nearly dropped it when the dark glass promptly lit up and it emitted a strange sound. You yelled besides him, suddenly directly at his side since your device had been endangered. He was sure that hadn’t his reflexes been so quick, then he would have to defend himself against a very enraged stranger. Instead, you glare at him, as irritated as you were, and tried to snatch your thing back.

Agitated by your action in turned, Arthur roughly pushed you away, sending you sprawling to the ground. You cussed at him, the aggressor recognising a few of the swears you tossed at him but not finding himself bothered enough to respond and instead staring at the picture that had manifested.

There was a colourful background, the nuances and lines and shadows showing a painting that was far more realistic then any he had ever seen before. In front of it, a series of number shined at him. One set was probably the time, he deduced, while the other was most likely the date from how it was written.

2021 …

That was nearly 400 hundred years in the future. He looked at you, observed how you had picking stones out of your scraped and bleeding palms.

Despite your disagreeable demeanour, you would likely prove very useful to him.

He would promptly take you with him, trying his best to convey to you through gestures and miss-matched words that he would only want to help you. If you prove define, then he would coerce you into following him by taking your smartphone hostage. Once you would calm down, then you would rationalize that this would probably be the best option you could receive and concede his wishes.

Arthur would keep you in his house, ensure that all the servants would steer clear from the rooms he would house you in, and gradually butter up to you, with all intentions of drawing the details of his future out of you. Other than that, he would intently observe you, knowing that the behavioural patter say a lot about a person, and in extension, give clues about the environment they grew up in. And needly to say, he would be very surprised by some things.

“You know, it is the third time you demand to be allowed to wash yourself this week. Don’t you think you are going too far? There is miasma in the water, and if you continue like this, not only will you render yourself a fool, but you’ll also become sick”, he chided you as he watched you hauled a bucket up the stairs.

As weak as you were, you were struggling with your heavy load, evidence to the lack of physical labour you had done in your life. It made Arthur ask himself if everybody in the future would be as weak and spoiled as you are, or if you were just the exception.

Either way, while manners and etiquette called for him to ease your burden which you evidently couldn’t manage on your own, he found the sight of you straggling up the flight of cold stone steps far too amusing to intervene.

With trembling arms, your set down the bucket and stared at him, eyes shooting daggers up at him. “In case you didn’t know, it is dirt that actually makes people sick. It is cleanliness that prevents infection. Which is why you would do well to wash daily as well!”

With a frown, Arthur picked up his shirt to sniff it. In his opinion, he didn’t stink, so he didn’t see what you were making such a fuss about. He was also sure he had understood you correctly – the two of you had managed to sort out things to the extent that you could communicate fairly well.

“I think that changing underclothing daily and bathing once a month to be sufficient. And now, before you say anything, be sure to keep your attitude in check. I’ve had more than enough of it”, he told you.

He watched your face wrinkle and swore he heard you mutter: “Damn patriarchy and its superiority complex.”

He didn’t know whether to be alarmed about your very simplistic, black-and-white view of the world and your grievous oversimplifications of the current era or be amused about how you thought you knew everything. Either way, he would have to take your words about the future with a grain of salt – who knew just how skewed your recounts would be.

“I fail to see how this has to do with that. The matter at hand is about the guest treating the host with respect, expected courtesy allowing humans to live together. I could put you out on the streets if you keep being a brat”, he countered.

You grasped the handle once more, water spilling over the rim as you picked it up with both hands. “We both know that you wouldn’t do that. You value me too much.”

And oh, in what ways he was beginning to value you.

For one, he would detest how condescending you would be, due to having all the knowledge of the next centuries and all the benefits that would come with it. Yet, he would bare most of it. When he wouldn’t, he’d let his sharp-tongue and centuries worth of life experience come to light. He would mock you for your nativity and prod at you for being coddled and accustomed to yet-to-be luxuries.

Arthur would tell you that he would put effort in finding a way to send you back to your own time. That would be a shameless lie. He wouldn’t be interested in anything of the sort. Rather he would insist on you staying with him, to help him further his imperial ambitions. Besides, you would be the most interesting and riveting thing that would have happened to him in ages. He would quickly grow attached to you, and with you having nobody else than him (he would ensure that) in a harsh and foreign world of which you would truly know little, you would find yourself relying on him.

He might tell you that he is a personification. Secrets for secrets, after all. And with him providing proof of his semi-immortality and the absurdity of time travel having happened you would be inclined to believe him. England would also tell you that if you would return to your own time, he would be sure to seek you out, so that you can be back together again. Besides rising alarm bells in your head, you would find yourself asking just how much of the timeline you would end up altering with the scrapes of information that he would wheedle out of you.

#yandere england #yandere hetalia #time traveler #yandere hetalia x reader

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yeojaa · 4 years

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( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. the angst is heavy in this chapter. there’s also mentions of drunk driving, a reference to drug use, and really, just a lot of sadness. proceed with caution!

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle i lob you both!

wc. 2.8k

chapter one.

You’ve barely moved an inch, rooted to the spot by fear and sadness and three long years of distance. It feels far too strange to be so close, to see him somewhere other than an illuminated screen. You know you should say something, do something - anything - but every tired bone in your body is telling you to run and that’s something you can’t do. Not after you’ve come so far.

So you take a deep breath - deep as you can manage without bursting the dam that packs itself with flimsy sticks and stones - and step forward. It feels monumental, far more than a single footfall.

He’s watching you, carefully, as he’s always done, with awe written into every line still visible beneath bandages. You see the way his jaw tenses, how the muscle works in agitation and hopelessness. He’s holding himself back, much to your surprise. You think you only recognize that because you know him so well.

And then you remember - you don’t know him at all. Not anymore.

Because he might seem like the same boy you’ve loved for most of your life, but he’s nothing but a ghost now. A figure from your worst nightmares, draped in white linen and gauze.

His hair’s far longer than it’s ever been, sweeping over the sharp contours of his cheeks, past the singular scar he’d gotten in third grade. It curls over his ears even in its dishevelled state, looking in desperate need of a cut and yet endearing all at once. The way he stares at you remains the same - intense, achingly familiar - and his smile - a little battered and bruised now - stretches like pavement, concrete and grounding.

You hate that it does something to your heart, the delicate frame of your rib cage rattling with the way the organ nearly launches itself out of your throat and into his hands.

You take another step. Jungkook doesn’t look away.

“I missed you,” he says, as if you’re an old friend, someone who’s come to hold his hand. As if he hadn’t broken your heart into a million pieces and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him since you managed to piece it back together.

How you’d managed to rebuild yourself after that, you’re not sure. You’d collected the broken bits, filled the cracks with gold, and mended it into something different. A bit flawed and imperfect, but whole - stronger and illuminated. You’d done that all on your own.

That doesn’t mean it doesn't still beat for him, just a little.

A part of you aches to return his words. It’s halfway off your tongue when you cut it off, severing it with a bite of your teeth and a resolve that just barely holds on.

You reach his side - still a good foot from the edge of the bed - and settle into the worn leather chair to his right. It’s comfortable, surprisingly so, but you can’t find it in yourself to relax. You’re ramrod straight, line of your spine strung like a bow.

It’s hard to look at him directly - to recognize the parts of him you’d once called yours - so you don’t, instead allowing your gaze to bounce across the room. There are large bouquets of flowers against the few surfaces, all larger-than-life arrangements that look at odds with the barren body that’s laid up beside you. You wonder, idly, who they’re from. Friends? Family? Your heart stutters. Fans?

There’s a bag and personal effects on the couch. Black leather, exorbitantly expensive, embossed with his initials on the interior pocket. The gift you’d gotten him for your last anniversary - the same one he’d nearly lost on tour despite the fact that it cost you more than you’d have cared to admit. Something like anger simmers in your stomach at the sight of it.

When he speaks again, you’re still glaring at the bag, unable to tear your eyes from the supple material and all the memories it carries.

“Pumpkin?”

The nickname tears you from your reverie. You can’t help the way you suddenly stare at him - all wide-eyed surprise. “What?”

Something close to relief floods his expression, spilling like wet paint over the curve of his mouth, the corners of his eyes. It spreads delight into every inch, unrelenting and unrepentant. “I said I missed you, Pumpkin.” He repeats himself not because you haven’t heard him but because he wants that reaction again - the one that tells him everything he needs to know.

You resent him for it.

“Please don’t call me that.” You wish it were stronger - that you were stronger. It’s hard.

You know you shouldn’t love him anymore and that none of this should affect you. After all, he’d thrown your heart into a blender with three shots of vodka and chased it down with some pills and cigarette smoke. He’d filled all the space you’d given him with other things - riches and women and thin white lines - and he’d had the audacity to be surprised when your own sadness had slipped in, too.

He’d always imagined you’d keep it locked up, held so closely he’d never have to face it. You’d thought so to, really. Hadn’t expected the way it spilled out regardless, too much misery to be kept in a little glass house.

There was only so much you could take before it all came crumbling down.

So, it’s hard. You love him because he’s him and you’re you and that means more than you can possibly put into words.

“Don’t call you what?” It’s almost patronizing, like he can’t quite believe his ears.

“You know what.”

He scoffs - a low, broken sound that catches halfway out, muffled by chain-smoking and not nearly enough sleep. “You never used to have a problem with it.”

“We were together then,” you retort quietly, sandpaper grit and burnt coffee bitter.

“Just tossing me aside then?”

You’re not quite sure where he pulls it from - the sheer, idiotic confidence he somehow fits into his words, framing them like you’re in the wrong. You wonder if it comes from years in the spotlight because it certainly wasn’t there before.

“Don’t say it like that.” What’s meant to be reproachful comes almost pleading, soft and sad and stained with saltwater.

“Then don’t tell me what to do.”

The silence that falls is paradoxical, miserable and fulfilling all at once.

It hurts in the worst of ways, sparking from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears. It feels like being outlined in neon - vivid pain in shades of pink and green that burn through your veins. Proverbial I told you so’s curl over your ankles and around your heart, little reminders that this is who he is now and every path would’ve led you here anyway. Parallel lines meant to converge only once before diverging once more.

“I’m sorry.” His apology feels infinite, as if it’s meant to make up for multitudes. “I just…”

Nothing further comes. You don’t know what you’d expected.

“It’s fine,” you say, even though it’s decidedly not fine. Absolutely nothing about this was even remotely fine. You weren’t even really sure why you’d agreed to come. You were still working through all your reasonings, turning them on their heads in hopes of receiving an answer other than the glaringly obvious ones that spilt out like salt grains.

“Is it?” Something about how he speaks, how the question seems so small, prompts you to meet his eyes. You wish you hadn’t.

There’s an infinite galaxy swirling in his irises, a million words he hasn’t spoken. They beg to be loved regardless, to feel even a semblance of the warmth your smile had once offered. It breaks your heart all over again, splitting it into pieces where the cracks and crevices haven’t quite fused together fully.

“I missed you, Pumpkin.” You don’t have it in you to rebuff him. Not when he reaches for you - a feeble gesture that pulls his figure close, entire bruised frame reassembling like a shuddering skeleton. He’s starry-eyed and intoxicating, drawing you into the Jungkook-shaped supernova you’re helpless against. “I missed you so fucking bad.”

“Jungkook.”

His name sounds like it’s about to break apart just like your heart, shattering wide open into a thousand splintered fragments.

“Please don’t do this.” Not again, you think. Not after all this time.

“I can’t,” he says and it’s shipwrecks and car crashes, misery in the form of broken teeth and battered bones and endless blue in his eyes. “I need you. I need you.”

It doesn’t escape you that you’ve heard these words before. You’d tucked that memory into the furthest corner, up and above your head in a shelf that you’d never touch. You’d folded it away into the box labelled JEON JUNGKOOK and tried to forget about it. You haven’t been able to.

It bursts out now, bouncing around your skull and in your ears - a feedback loop that won’t stop.

“Please.” You try again.

He’s gripping your hand so tightly - with a strength that feels far too much for someone only a day past a terrible accident - and it feels white hot and alive. Where his skin touches, he burns candle wax and coaxing - honeyed and warm. You imagine you’ll peel the drippings off later and be left with scars in the form of his hands. You wonder just how much more you can take.

“Please.” You try a third time. It’s feeble, frayed from holding on too long and too tight.

He hears it just as well as you.

“Stay with me. I don’t have anyone else.”

A part of you wonders how true that is. Surely, he had his family - his lovely parents that you’d practically considered your own. You can’t imagine they’d leave him here to rot.

Your resolve still crumbles, just a little, from the topmost pillar.

Ever the opportunist, Jungkook watches the fall of your Roman empire with rapt attention, hopeful as a new god. If only you weren’t so easy to read - full hand laid out on the table.

“What happened?” You pose the question in place of an agreement, words offered in the same instance you remove your hand - or try to, anyway. It doesn’t get very far. He seems adamant in keeping your fingers twined, knuckles stark white and riddled with tension. You wonder if he’s oblivious to it or if he just doesn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time.

So focused on the way he holds you - claims you in the iron shackle that he deems he needs - you almost miss the way his features contort, rolling through a myriad of emotion before settling into a defensive mask.

You hadn’t expected a bared soul or a confession of all his sins - you knew enough of them already - but you’d hoped for some semblance of honesty.

By his expression, you wonder if you’ll even get that.

“I was in an accident.” It’s short, terse and held tightly between his teeth.

You don’t mean it in any way but observational. “I see that.”

He still takes it the wrong way, scowl fitting like a glove. It steels his jaw and hardens the line of his mouth, the moulting of purple over and around his eye doing little to hide the storm that grows in his stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You can feel a headache coming on - the first pinpricks of it just behind your eyes and at your temples. It forms in bits and pieces, a silhouette of a man that burns your retinas and makes your grit your teeth.

“Nothing, Kook.” It comes far more tired than you expect it to, weighed down by something you can’t quite place. It feels like you’ve run a marathon in this small room. You wonder if this is what it’s always like - draining and miserable and reminiscent of the hell of tenth grade gym class.

“I’m sorry.”

How many times has he said that now? Will it ever be enough? For him? For you?

You shake your head, a slow gesture that doesn’t really register at first. You’re so used to appeasing him - even three years later - and it comes of its own accord, bobbing your neck on your shoulders like second nature. You could hold it back, but you seem just as intent on repeating yourself as he does. “It’s fine.”

Maybe this is what the two of you are destined for - two lost lovers stuck on a merry-go-round.

“It’s not fine.” He’s released your hand now - you try to ignore the sudden, overwhelming disappointment that crashes into you like a tidal wave - and uses the bruised, bandaged one of his own to scrub down the side of his face. It’s a surprisingly tired gesture, as if all of a sudden the weight of his situation has settled on his shoulders. You barely catch the words that fumble out next, hidden behind the palm of his hand and the ink that swirls over his ink. “I just…”

You’re hopeful for a split second. Hopeful that he might let you in, despite the fact that you know you shouldn’t even be knocking at that door.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.” It comes so small, your heart clenches in your chest.

Then you wonder - what had he done?

“I won’t.” It’s not a promise but it sounds like one, filled with sunbeams and reassurance. You wish you could offer it any other way, maybe with careful regard and just the right amount of distance. Instead, you’re committed, poker chips piled high on green felt. All or nothing. You can’t help it.

“I fucked up.”

For the first time, you see him as he was those years ago - full of promise and hope, eager for a taste of the unknown. You see him as the Jeon Jungkook you’d known and loved, vulnerability threaded through all five feet ten inches of his frame.

You want to help him. You shouldn’t, but you do. “You can tell me.”

“We just finished the tour.” Pride colours his answer in glimmering strands of gold, threads that glint as he speaks. Charisma oozes out of every pore, shimmering like precious stones hidden behind his molars and within his stare. It’s easy to understand how he’s done so well for himself. “I was… celebrating. You know.” You certainly don’t, but you nod along regardless. “Things got a little out of hand.”

His attention seems far away, focused on something you can’t see. He continues carefully, cherry picking his words.

“I probably shouldn’t have driven. She—” Everything comes to a stuttering halt, his doe-eyed stare suddenly finding yours with alarm. “—I mean, they. Uh.” The damage is already done. You can feel it taking root - that same hurt you’d felt creeping into your throat before you’d stepped foot into this space. You swallow it down as best you can, tearing your gaze from his to train somewhere on the cotton that rests in his lap.

“Go on.”

He’s stuttering just a bit, because he can’t help it. He knows he’s been caught. You know he’s been caught. Gone is the Jungkook you’d once known. You see him for all he is yet again - a poor boy dressed in leather and lies. It hurts far more than it should.

“Uh. W-w-we were in, uh, the car.” The intensity of his gaze feels like two little laser beams. You can practically feel them burning through the top of your head as you refuse to meet his eyes. “I was— I was drunk and I didn’t— I didn’t see the other car.”

You’ve heard enough.

You wonder if the way you’re staring at him now is the way he’d most feared. It must be by how his face falls, crumples like a house made of playing cards.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” You mean it - really, you do - but that’s the only thing you can give him.

For his and for your sake, you need to leave. Now.

“Please remove me as your emergency contact.” Your voice wobbles, falling apart as you speak. You worry the tears will follow soon after. You can barely make out his expression, the wetness crowding heavily along your lashes and turning everything into a strange amorphous blob.

It’s getting harder to breathe the longer you stay. Each step towards the door feels like your head on the chopping block. Once you cross that threshold, it’ll be severed clean off. You’ll leave your heart in this room, with this boy who hasn’t grown a single day in the last three years.

You think he must be speaking to you but you can’t make it out. Everything’s muffled, like you’re underwater and about to drown. It fills your ears and steals your senses, narrowing your focus to the polished steel door handle that’s just within reach.

“I’m really, really glad you’re okay.” It’s all you can manage before the dam breaks and you’re throwing yourself into the hallway and the waiting arms of your brother. You don’t know how to stop the noise that rips out of your throat, wet and desperate and barely coherent.

Yoongi was right - you shouldn’t have come.

author note. this was quite short but it didn’t feel right with another scene added to it. the next chapters will move the story along a lot more. ty for reading! 💖

tag list. @jalexa83

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kpopfanfictrash · 3 years

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hi Shanna!! as a consistent content creator, how do you motivate yourself to keep writing fics? are you ever nervous about posting a new story/idea/outline? do you ever think like ‘ah this is overdone so i just shouldn’t’? (i have a mean inner voice i admit)

i’m playing around with the idea of creating more of an online presence but it’s so nerve-wracking! and the motivation to do it consistently is really hard too. i’m also really nervous about the privacy aspect of it all. ik you don’t post a lot about your personal life, but how do you know where to draw the line? do you have any advice for someone who wants to be seen but is afraid of opening up? :’)

Hello, anon! I'm going to do my best to answer all your questions, so bear with me -- breaking them all down below the cut :)

1. How do I motivate myself to keep writing fics?

I think this has changed over the course of my blog's journey. When I first started writing and didn't have many followers (it took me about nine months - 1 year to reach 5K), I kept myself motivated by taking requests, utilizing writing prompts and joining networks to participate in network events. Honestly, the best advice I can give a new blog is: post frequently and on a clear schedule. At the start of my blog, I posted every four days (smaller chapters than what I write now), and gradually grew my base. Now though, my motivation tends to come from taking on new challenges and trying to better my content. I want to continue improving and providing fun material for readers, so that's usually what motivates me as I plan a new fic. Positive responses and interactions from readers are also key.

2. Am I ever nervous about positing a new story/idea/outline?

Yes. Always LOL. It never gets easier, to be honest. In my experience, my worries about writing have changed, but not disappeared. I tend to write a broad array of genres and styles, so it's always a risk that the new thing I write won't resonate with my readers. When I first began posting, my main worry was that no one would read. Now, it's that people will read, and they'll hate it. LOL I've just kind of reconciled myself to this fact.

3. Do I ever think "ah this is overdone, so I just shouldn't'?

Mmm I have had this thought, but it usually isn't one of my main worries. Honestly, you can break down pretty much any story into predictable pieces. That doesn't mean you shouldn't write it. No one has ever written that trope, or that AU with your voice before, and that's what you have to keep reminding yourself.

4. How do I draw the line with my personal life?

OOF. This is something which took me awhile to figure out. I used to be much more open on my blog, but I've gradually had to create some hard limits. To be blunt, I now view this blog as a place where I post fanfiction, and not my personal space. I occasionally share personal info (books I read, photos of my dog, responding to things friends tag me in), but for the most part, I only share what's relevant to my writing. Limits on your blog should be whatever's comfortable for you. I know other blogs are comfortable being viewed as a personality/writer, but that's not really something which appeals to me. Of course, I'm glad when people like me (duh, I'm human), but I prefer to keep my personal life separate. I don't talk about my job, employer, location, background, or people in my real life who don't have a Tumblr. I think the best way to figure these limits out for yourself is by trial and error! Based on your questions, if sounds as though you may benefit from harder lines, but then again, you might find you enjoy interacting on a more personal level. My best advice is to go slow and pull back if you need it. You are only one person and you can't do it all. Prioritize what's most important to you, and cut out the rest.

5. Am I ever scared of being misunderstood or misinterpreted in my online presence? If so, how do I deal with that?

Absolutely. I deal with this by keeping my personal life separate as much as possible. Even this can backfire though, since I've heard people call me absent or aloof. Ultimately, you can't please everyone. You're going to eventually do or say something which will be taken the wrong way, or someone won't agree with, and that's okay. We're all human and we all make mistakes. All you can do is try to keep a level head, examine the issue raised and decide for yourself if it's something you need to change. Be as kind as possible to other people, but don't forget to stand up for yourself. Ultimately, everything online should be taken with a grain of salt; your readers can't really know you based on a few posts. Sharing anything with the public always comes with risk, but it's a brave thing to do and can bring great rewards. Most people on this site are lovely, kind and supportive. Your interactions with these people will far outweigh the negative.

6. Advice for someone who wants to be seen, but is afraid of opening up.

I hope some of what I shared above was helpful! I'm right there with you, anon. I'm an introvert who gets overwhelmed by a lot of social interaction, but I do love sharing my writing with people. It took me almost six months after creating my blog to post my first fic, but sometimes you just need to do it. Being scared is normal, but if you don't take risks, you'll never reach the reward. Whether that's sharing your writing, or making new friends, or whatever you seek to gain from your online presence -- sometimes you just have to do it! Best of luck in your journey, babe :)

#asks #advice

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warmau · 4 years

Text

★ donation request: cupid!au changbin

“love sucks”

you cross your arms and don’t let your stare waiver as your best friend changbin pouts and throws his hands up in the air

“it does not SUCK, it’s the best thing ever!”

“changbin that’s easy for you to say, you make people fall in love like its your job. but im - im just a hopeless cause.”

changbin freezes, for a second you think its because you’ve made a really good point

that point being that changbin has an energy that's made off all things a person could associate with love: pink hearts, bouquets of daises, sweet chocolates

he just ,,,,,,,,,,, steps into a room and his big smile and need for affection draws people to him like a magnet

meanwhile you’ve been known to be kind of a ,,,,,,,,, storm cloud

people either shy away or are too worried to interact

the fact that you and him are so close truly baffles people - felix once said that it was probably because you balance each other out

which minho disagreed with: “i think they just like arguing with each other”

either way - you assume he’s just come to the realization that he and you are different and therefore your opinion, that love is a scam, is just your opinion and-

“ho-how did you know?”

you blink

“know what? that love is fake-”

“no, how did you about about my job?!?! no one knows, i havent even told any of the guys-”

you put your hands up and the panic on your friends face almost pales him

“what are you talking about? making people fall in love is your job? are you like -”

changbin’s shoulders sag a little, he mutters something under his breath about some higherups being upset with him

and you’re once again spiraled into confusion

“are you like a counsel-”

“yes, im a cupid angel.”

you stop and for a good minute the two of you just look at each other before you finally regain your senses and roll your eyes

“that’s enough joking around changbin, seri-”

“im not joking.”

you’ve been his best friend for years, and you know changbin enjoys being silly, so you take everything he says - especially when you two are bickering - with a grain of salt

“ok then, prove it.”

“ok”

you don’t expect the curtness, and you super don’t expect changbin - your best friend who you have known for years - to suddenly sprout a pair of big, fluffy white wings

and a slowly rotating, sparkling halo

he snaps his fingers and between them appears a golden arrow with a pink tip

you just stand in shocked silence before he kind of just goes; “see- is this enough proof?”

a lot of things run through your head

one; you argument is over for sure now, after all you might have been right on the nose about changbin’s job about making others fall in love

even though you meant it in no way even close to this

but you were wrong about love not existing, because if changbin existed then, well - 1+1=2, right?

but then your eyes narrow

“wai-wait if you’re a cupid then,,,,,,,,,,,,,,changbin, why haven’t you helped me fall in love? you could have saved us years of fighting over this, if you’d just shot me with your arrow - that’s how it works right?!?”

the wings suddenly disappear in a poof of pink smoke, along with the arrow and the halo

you wave away the clouds and see that changbin ,,,,,,,,, is staring at the floor

he’s doing that thing where he avoids looking at you because he’s got a secret

and even though his biggest secret just got revealed, you can tell there’s something more

“changbin?”

you ask more softly, gently reaching out toward him

changbin never shy's away from touches, but this time he steps back

his voice trembles a little

“it-it’s hard, i can’t - i can’t just find someone for you -”

immediately you assume its because of your friendship, you and changbin - even though as people you’re so different - do mean a lot to each other

the reality is that when you admit it to yourself

even before finding out about this cupid business, you were well aware of the fact that love was real

you’d slowly and surely fallen for changbin - but you never wanted to hurt your bond - so you were just confused, if he had just chosen someone else for you

everything would be easy - right?

“i didn’t mean it changbin, im so-”

“it’s because - no one is good enough for you, but also because i want-”

your hand that’s still reaching toward him freezes

“because i want you to myself,,,,,,,,,,and i know thats bad,,,,,,,,,”

he struggles, but finally meets your gaze with his own

he looks apologetic, like what he’s said is hurting you, when in fact you feel like spring itself has bloomed in your chest

“i know you don’t believe in love and i-”

you come closer, the words from changbin’s mouth drown out, and you just pull him toward you

you lean in and let your mouth brush his, curious and hesitant, until you feel changbin relax

and lean into you two

a lot has happened in the past couple of minutes and your brain barely wraps around it

but you are too invested in the way changbin is kissing you so well that you don’t mind

he does pull back for a second and you think its to chide you about how love is real - you’ve always believed in it, haven’t you?

and you’re about to just give in and admit yes, because you just want to kiss him some more

when you see a look of concern flash in his eyes

“changbin?”

“chan and the other higherups are definitely gonna be mad now,,,,,,,”

“who?”

“the other cup- oh screw it.”

he leans back in, both hands on your cheeks as he kisses you again.

he’s so happy his wings sprout back out and you giggle when they envelope you two and the feathers tickle your cheeks

#changbin scenarios #changbin au #changbin imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #skz au #member: changbin #sfw #donation commissions #changbin #skz #stray kids #cupid!au

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“I think that somehow, somewhere inside of us, We must be similar, if not the same, So I continue to be wanting you, Left of center, against the grain... And if you want me, you can find me Left of center, off of the strip, In the outskirts and in the fringes, In the corner, out of the grip...” ~“Left of Center,” by Suzanne Vega

x~x~x~x

I BLAME THAT OTP AU ASK FOR THIS COMPLETELY. Once I got the image of Hipster!Barista!Orion in my head, I just had to slap it down on paper to get it out of my head.

A few notes on his tattoos: on his neck, you might just barely make out a hamsa, or Hand of Fatima, which can protect against the evil eye and bring good fortune; on the outside of Orion’s arm closest to us, we have a magpie surrounding by flowing ocean waves, and finally, on the inside of his other arm that you can’t see as well is the Orion constellation. And he has multiple piercings because of course he does.

So yes. Orion Amari is a senior barista at a coffee shop called the Jam City Cafe (LOL) who’s best known for his wonderfully chill attitude and for his tendency to dispense oddly wise advice to his more regular patrons. It wouldn’t be unlikely to see him in a supporting role in some Hollywood hopeful’s screenplay as this odd sage that helps the leading lady with her romantic turmoil in the third act and then disappears into the void, never to be seen again. And honestly, as much of a fixture as Orion is at the coffee shop and therefore in many people’s day-to-day existence, not a lot of people know him very well. Most people don’t know that he was a philosophy major in college, or that he was the captain and second striker of his high school football team, or that he was raised exclusively in foster care, with no permanent home to call his own. But Orion isn’t troubled by this -- he’s always been sort of on the outside looking in and he’s more than used to people not understanding his thought process. As long as his life remains interesting and he’s able to eventually get where he wants to go, that’s all that really matters. And in the meantime, he’ll keep on making orders for his regular customers -- “Doppio with extra foam,” “Iced White Caffe Mocha,” “Cafe au Lait spiked with Kahlua” -- he knows them by their orders more than their names.

One regular customer in particular, who Orion is rather fond of, is the one he calls “Salted Caramel Macchiato,” or just “Caramel,” casually. She’s always the first customer to pick up a cup of coffee every morning when the shop opens at 4:00, and she almost always sweeps back in the evening so as to work on her laptop for a few hours while sipping another. She’ll often have music playing in her earbuds while she’s working at her laptop, meaning Orion wasn’t able to talk to her for the longest time for fear of disrupting her focus -- so instead he would merely watch her curiously. From watching, Orion sussed out that she worked in a law office -- he noticed a logo letterhead featuring a set of scales on one of the documents she was editing on her laptop one day. And admittedly, she did dress the part too: every time he saw Caramel, she always wore sharp tailored jackets, colorful blouses, and vintage A-line skirts or wide-leg trousers, her ginger hair was always combed into a neat bob, and her lips were painted a daring red. Despite her conservative and very put-together look and the meticulous regularity of her schedule, however, Caramel did possess some interesting quirks. For one, her music didn’t match her look at all -- there were times Orion could hear the faintest sounds of rock and roll blaring out of her earbuds. Other times she actually would absently sing some of the songs aloud, and her half-hearted voice actually sounded kind of pretty. Her laptop wallpaper was a family picture with her standing with what looked like an older brother and her mother outside their lit-up house at Christmas with snow in their hair and trying desperately not to laugh while the older brother dances about, wearing his Christmas scarf like a feather boa. Whenever she’d turn on her laptop, Caramel would always take a minute to look over the picture and smile fondly before getting to work. Then there was the fact that she wasn’t the least bit stuck-up -- even if she didn’t really have time to socialize, she always looked every employee, from the baristas to the cleaning staff, straight in the eye and thanked them, rather than just treat them like automatons like a lot of the other customers that would stroll through. She also always tipped.

And so, the one evening that Orion was closing and he saw Caramel not wearing her earbuds, he approached her. Apparently someone snatched the earbuds out of her desk at work that day, and so she decided not to play any music while she worked, so as not to disrupt anyone. Since Orion and Caramel were the only ones in the shop that night, Orion said he wouldn’t mind if she wanted to play something.

“Preferably something softer than what you were playing yesterday, however,” he added with a wry smile.

Caramel had to laugh behind her hand, her almond-shaped blue eyes creasing slightly. “Oh -- I’m sorry, did it bother you?”

“Not at all,” said Orion. “But it did make for an entertaining image, seeing someone so poised fighting back the urge to headbang to the beat in her ears.”

Caramel smiled. “What can I say? Queen is iconic.”

Turning her focus back to her laptop, she then proceeded to turn on some slightly quieter soft rock, including a song about butterflies that she said was by Michael Jackson. She couldn’t help but sing along to the chorus once or twice under her breath -- the second time when she caught herself, Caramel quickly glanced up at Orion as if to apologize, only to meet his eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” he complimented her.

Caramel glanced away, smiling modestly. “...Thank you.”

“I liked the song you were singing last Tuesday,” he pressed on, as he brought his cleaning rag along the espresso machine behind the counter. “I would’ve said so at the time, but you looked to be in no state to have a conversation.”

Carewyn gave something of a grimace. “Mm...yeah, Tuesday was a bit rough.”

Orion placed his arms on the counter and leaned forward, clearly ready to listen. Caramel, however, shook her head dismissively.

“Work drama. Nothing that exciting, just exhausting enough that you want an escape from it, when the workday is done...”

She typed away at her laptop as the next song in her playlist started.

“Which artist sings this?” asked Orion, as he shifted himself back up off the counter so he could continue cleaning.

“Suzanne Vega.”

Orion listened for a moment, closing his eyes absently. “...This is her, I think. The musician you were singing along to on Tuesday. There is a similar aura, to the lyrics -- detached and understated, and yet rhythmic in its poetry.”

Caramel’s almond-shaped blue eyes lit up. “Oh, I know which song you mean now...hold on...”

She opened her music directory and browsed the songs until she found what she was looking for and double-clicked on it. Once it started, Orion’s mouth spread into a full smile.

“That’s the one,” he said.

He spritzed the counter with some cleaner and started to wipe it down.

“Sing as loud as you’d like,” he added without looking up. “Calming music can be very helpful in finding one’s center of balance.”

Caramel cocked an eyebrow. “‘Finding one’s center of balance?’”

“Certainly. One always does their best work when one’s mind is at peace, their spirit focused, and their aura balanced, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so. I just don’t know if I would’ve phrased it that way.”

“As to be expected,” said Orion. “You seem like the sort of person who never is at a loss for how to phrase things in your own way.”

Caramel blinked. Then her lips spread into a full, wry white smile of her own.

“And you seem like the sort of person who anyone would be foolish to underestimate.”

Orion’s black eyes glittered with something oddly like mischief as Caramel once again returned to typing away on her laptop. Not long after, he caught her singing along to the song in a fuller voice: the perfect accompaniment for him while he finished bussing the counter.

Caramel’s voice was really quite pretty -- like a robin’s.

From that day on, Caramel would take out her earbuds if she and Orion were the only ones in the cafe during closing hours. Sometimes they’d chat about philosophy, or animals, or the Olympic games -- once they even had a deep, meandering conversation about the movie Labyrinth being a metaphor for a young woman coming of age and the importance of fantasy stories to a child’s developing mind. And on those nights that were more crowded and Caramel had her earbuds in her ears, Orion couldn’t help but “reach out” anyway by drawing little custom designs in the foam of her Salted Caramel Macchiatos. One of his very first was a Michael-Jackson-worthy butterfly.

#'football' meaning soccer to us americans XD;#because really could you see orion playing american football?? uh no #I think this'll just be a one-shot guys #I actually know nothing about coffee shops I don't drink coffee LMAO #but I did think the image was cute #<3 #hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #au #coffee shop au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #my writing

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

Note

waitwait so ive been working on a future!au (and by 'working on' i mean 'constantly daydreming about but never writing') set in the same world as healer!tam and ive become...so attached to the idea of sophie becoming a councillor, but specifically before that being an emissary and going on assignments for both bronte and oralie. i just. i wants it!!! i feel like sophie would be the kind of person to keep pursuing what's right- as much as it would be painful, i dont think she'd say "fuck it" and stop fighting after the neverseen are gone. its just not like her. and i feel like, maybe after growing older and getting new beliefs and values and whatnot, itd be really interesting to see her both working with (and specifically for) two councillors, one of which is her biological mother (something she will never be able to tell anyone, and something she will always condemn oralie for) and the other is...well, it's bronte- he's the mean one, the cruel one, yknow, and i dont think he's exactly well-liked among the elven people. and her working for them, one hated and the other a traitor, and eventually taking one of their places, putting her in a position where she can enact the change they didnt (or couldnt, idk their circumstances) would just be....so good? i have no idea if im making sense here but...yeah. yeah. also i want to see sophie bonding with oralie and bronte. not necessarily liking them, but like. you know what i mean. i think.

but yeah. councillor!sophie.

- pyro

oof I know what you mean with that daydreaming thing. I've got an entire universe with ocs and everything that I guarantee will never make it onto paper. They're just going to live in my mind rent-free forever. Maybe i'll draw them one day tho--

that's off topic! anyways. I think Sophie as a councillor could have so much potential and the idea has fascinated me for a while, but it's a slippery slope between having her engage reasonably with the government and with a grain a salt and with the intention to make a change and with all the horrors they let happen in mind, and with her just becoming a councillor and giving in to what they want and ignoring all her experiences and thoughts for the sake of oo councillor!sophie!! at least that's how it is for me.

it like...it's so good but only if you approach it just right, if that makes sense. and you're right!! she'd do it for the right reasons. I don't think she's capable of resting, same way I don't think Tam is capable of stopping either. The two of them are similar in that sense: they're just going to keep going and going and going forever. They don't have an off switch. sophie is too opinionated to ever take a step back, not when she has such compelling morals that she literally can't ignore even if she wants to. They both have personal vendetta's against the system in a way most of the others don't. Sure, Keefe, Biana, and Fitz have been made aware that their world isn't everything they thought it was, but it was never working against them the way it was for the two of them. The others, Marella and Maruca and Dex feel like they want quieter lives. They either want things to go away or to deal with their problems on their own and actively say Fuck You to the system, not to fix it. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just different. Sophie broke the law when she was twelve! and essentially said she'd do it again--she's not taking a break just because the Neverseen are gone.

Sophie has had critiques about the elven world outside of the Neverseen--things like working class cities seeming unfair, not liking the matching system, ashamed of how Exillium worked, thinking the council isn't doing enough, etc. Her grievances aren't just with the dangerous rebels, it's with the system as a whole. So an opporunity to start fixing it from the inside out? She'd absolutely take. I think she might feel so guilty at passing up the opportunity later that she couldn't stand not to become a councillor.

also, your idea about her becoming an emissary is really interesting to me. i don't think Sophie would want to be a councillor (something something that one quote about the best leaders are the people who don't want to lead), not at first. i think she'd avoid the responsibility and possible restrictions, preferring to do things her own way. But working for the council? for Bronte and Oralie? that brings her a lot closer to the center of things, a chance to see how things work. she could compile a list of things she didn't like, things she wanted to change, so then when the opportunity arose for her to be elected she'd already be ready, knowing what she wanted to do and why. she's always had the drive to make change happen, and as much as she might dislike the idea of being a councillor and all the theatrics and appearances, it could be the best way to make those changes.

i'm kinda going off on my own tangent now so I'll stop, but I think the idea of sophie becoming a councillor has so many possibilities and avenues to explore that I love talking about it! because I did get distracted, if there's a specific part of your ask/idea that I glossed over that you'd want me to focus more on feel free to send me another ask because I'd be happy to talk more about councillor!sophie. pyro your ideas are excellent and I am eternally honored I get to hear them <33

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love-and-anarchy-au · 3 years

Text

Love & Anarchy: Chapter 7

last chapter of the week, my loves! this week was a bit hard to me, so posting this au just kept me straight. this chapter is c r u c i a l, sooo enjoy it, i guess. bye bye my loves, and see yall next week.

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @dawniebb @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare @magykaldealings

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words:

9,166

Part 1: A boy named Alec Artino

5 years old Alec

“Buon compleanno, Alec! Five years now.”

Alec smiled and his cheeks flushed, soft pink on his skin.

Julieta, David, and Alec were sitting at the table of the dinning room, and Alec's two siblings were entertaining him on his fifth birthday. The air reeked of coffee, vanilla, and cream. Julieta had made tiramisu, with extra coffee, just the way Alec liked it, and David had a very special gift for Alec, although he hadn't given it to him yet.

Alec was very happy, especially because his father was not present. Finally, the boy finished his giant (anual) portion of tiramisu, cleaned, with a napkin, his lips full of cream, and claimed his second gift.

Or third, since his father not being home was a gift.

“Give me my gift, David, I want to see it!” Alec ordered, clapping his sticky little hands.

David pretended to be exasperated and handed Alec his long-awaited gift. It was wrapped in a black silk scarf, and it was round, yet straight at the same time.

Alec took the gift in his hands and pulled the black silk scarf out with his mind. His lips formed an almost perfect "o" when he saw what was his gift.

It was a helmet. The helmet was big enough for Alec and his little head, but it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing Alec had ever seen. It shimmered like a sun of its own and gave off a slight warmth, pleasant to the touch. Alec's veins flashed with excitement and longing. Alec squealed excitedly and put it on. It was like the helmet of the Savior of Prodigies.

“You said a helmet would be better than a headband, so I told David,” Julieta said, winking.

“Grazie, Julieta. Grazie, David,” Alec thanked them and screamed again, very happy with his gift. The helmet wobbled on Alec's skull. David and Julieta laughed; the image was (yet) adorable.

The house shook again, frantic, the way it hadn't shook since Stella left them. The pictures on the walls threatened to fall to the floor and a vase from a shelf did indeed fall. Alec caught the vase with his mind in time, thankfully. The shaking this time felt lighter, more excited, while the other had been heavier, more painful.

Julieta held on from the table and took Alec's hand. She also took the vase and set it back on the shelf.

“Watch out, Alec! You must learn to control your powers”, Julieta chided him, with a calm voice.

Alec huffed, sulking. He had not yet learned to control his telekinesis. He was just a child and on top of it, he lived in a society where using your powers was condemning yourself to die on the street.

“Who can I learn from? Your powers are instincts,” Alec complained, now irritated but also sad. He didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all his siblings.

Julieta denied and David returned to his world. His goal was already accomplished. Julieta sighed.

“First, all powers are instincts. And second, all powers are controllable; you, like everyone else, must learn to moderate your impulses; otherwise, you'll end up destroying the whole city,” Julieta explained as she gathered up the dishes and went to the sink to wash them and leave no trace of Alec's birthday celebration. If their father found out that they had spent money preparing a tiramisu, he would take all his anger out on his poor youngest son. Alec didn't want that, least of all on his birthday.

Alec nodded, embarrassed. He felt repressed, but he knew his sister was right.

“How can I learn?” Alec asked.

Julieta mused, twisting her hair with her fingers. Then she rummaged through a cupboard and put a salt shaker on the other end of the table, away from Alec.

“Draw it to you, Alec.”

Alec nodded and stared at the salt shaker. He imagined himself pulling it towards him, the salt shaker in his hands, the salt shaker a few inches from him ...

Nothing happened.

Alec groaned, frustrated.

“Feel the salt shaker, Alec. Feel what you want to attract” Julieta indicated, and stood behind him, resting a hand on Alec's shoulder, supporting him.

Feel it.

Alec imagined the salt shaker. He imagined its texture, the temperature of the glass, the grains of salt piled up inside. He imagined the metal on top, the traces of salt on it, the coldness of the metal. Alec envisioned ten different ways to draw the salt shaker toward him: through the air, across the table, directly, slowly, in the blink of an eye, in hysterical twists. He closed his eyes and imagined.

No.

He felt.

He felt the fragility of glass, the malleability of metal, how slippery the grains of salt were, although not to him, thanks to his powers. Alec called out to the glass, drew the metal, and attracted the salt toward him. Although he wanted to do it quickly, he decided to take his time, go step by step, second by second. The salt shaker moved, suspended in midair, like it was pulled by an invisible string that Alec had. Alec's eyes were closed; all his senses were focused on being a magnet, on attracting the salt shaker. Between them, a respectful silence embraced them.

The salt shaker reached Alec's little hand, who was ready to grab it.

Julieta clapped her hands excitedly and kissed Alec on the forehead (it was difficult, since Alec was still wearing his helmet).

“Very good, Alec!” the girl congratulated him, with a huge smile on her face.

David half smiled, and patted Alec on the shoulder.

“Well done.”

Julieta walked over to the sink, rummaged in a drawer next to her, and took out all the utensils that were in it. She spread them out on the table and looked at Alec.

“Bring them to you,” Julieta asked him, with a smile. “Take your time, bambino, there’s no rush.”

Alec nodded and refocused. He closed his eyes.

His senses told him that there was metal, not far from him. Alec felt every utensil, every piece of metal, and he imagined his powers were like invisible hands, ready to take anything. He took a utensil and hung it from the air. He chose another, a knife, and did the same. Both of his hands were already occupied.

But he realized that he didn't have just two hands.

He had more.

He tried grabbing one more spoon. A fork. A knife. Another spoon. Another knife. Another fork. And so on until all the utensils in the house (and even a couple of plates) were floating in the air.

Alec opened his eyes, and so did his mouth, as he was amazed at how many things he could suspend in midair, just in two minutes.

He laughed and all the objects spun around frantically.

“Alec! Watch out!” Julieta alerted, and, desperate, she began trying to return the utensils and plates to their place. It was useless; everything was pinned to the air and they wouldn't move unless Alec wanted to.

Alec smiled and confidently returned all the plates, knives, forks, and spoons to their place in the blink of an eye.

Alec smiled even more.

He was able to control his powers.

He looked at his siblings. His smile diminished considerably.

Julieta was stunned and stared at the air, hypnotized. David was frowning, and he was confused. They were both paralyzed.

“Did I do it well?” Alec asked, seeking for their approval.

Julieta and David looked him in the eyes.

“Oh God, Alec,” Julieta sighed, and dramatically sat down on a chair. She began rubbing her temples with her index fingers.

“Wow,” David exclaimed and sat down too. Neither of them both was looking at Alec.

Alec frowned and removed his helmet. He put on the table, in front of him.

“What happened? Did I do something wrong?” Alec doubted, now worried. What had he done, what had he done, what had he done.

Julieta finally looked him in the eye.

“No Alec, you haven't done anything wrong, it's just that…” Julieta stopped to let out a breath of air. She took a deep breath and intertwined her fingers. “You know that telekineticians can usually only manipulate one or two objects, right?”

Alec pursed his lips, and arched an eyebrow.

“How do you know that?”

Julieta sighed for the third time.

“When they are about to kill them, they can usually manipulate some of the stones that hit them, but no more. You, Alec, just handled at least twenty objects at a time.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. He was beginning to understand Julieta's point.

“Which means…” Alec began doubtfully.

“You're powerful, Alec. Very powerful. Most telekineticians can't shake the walls around them,” Julieta finally explained.

Alec gulped.

Him, powerful?

Seriously?

He could not believe it.

It was as believeable as thinking his father loved him.

The only difference was that this might be true: him, being powerful.

Suppostly powerful. According to Julieta.

Julieta might be wrong, he thought.

But he also knew Julieta was rarely wrong.

“What should I do?” Alec asked, lost.

David rubbed his eyes with his knuckles but didn't respond.

“Be careful,” Julieta said. “Always”

Alec sighed. They all sighed.

It was Alec's birthday and the fourth gift was one more cross to carry on his back.

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sorasfishing · 4 years

Note

I am so sooo sorry to hear you are having a tough time roght now. I am sending you warm thoughts, and in the meantime, I was wondering if you would share your thoughts on the Digimon reboot? What have you enjoyed? Do you have any criticisms? How do you think the story will progress? ☺☺

Thank you!! <3 <3

I’ll drop my long, over-analytical and rambling thoughts under the cut and properly tag after I post, but I’ll add now that this post contains spoilers for the Digimon Adventure reboot aka Digimon Adventure:[Digivice]

In addition, these are purely my thoughts and opinions so please take them with a grain of salt.

Also, feel free to send me an ask. <3

What I have enjoyed I do have some nitpicks (see criticisms) but I have to say I am enjoying this series as a whole. Being a fan of the original series mixed with my adoration for “what if” and “AU” ideas, I’m enjoying this “fresh take on an old idea” thing.

Some things to note:

-Most of the introductory evolutions have been stunning, and the battles following them have been so hype!!

-The soundtrack!!! I really like the music, including the OP and ED.

-Really, more Digimon Adventure for us, I can’t deny that. Even if it’s meant to be a different thing it’s fun to see my favorite characters interact again!

-It’s awesome to see one of my favorite series rebooted and especially watching it within a fandom space that I as well as many others may not have had during the time the original series aired. This is my absolute favorite part about it.

Criticisms ON EVOLUTIONS. I love Taichi/Agumon/Yamato/Gabumon to death. Their Digimon respectively were given the most incredible evolution animations I have seen yet. And I know they are the stars/favorites of the franchise. It just makes me sad sometimes when comparing those to the rest of the gang. I’ll admit that some evolution transitions have made sense, but being a Sora-biased fan there were a few of Biyomon/Piyomon to Birdramon evolutions that made me go, “alright, really?” XD She got shafted

Less of a nitpick and more a plea - How long are they going to hold out on letting us see Takeru and Hikari?

How I think the story will progress That was a huge cliffhanger at the end of episode 15! It gave me Cyber Sleuth vibes, mostly because I recently played a part of that game where going down the steps in the subway had some distortions between the net versus the Real World. Right now, I’m wondering if Team Taikoumi (I just made up a name) are really in the Real World which has been impacted by that ‘outage’ in a horrifying way. Or if they’re in a Digiworld/Net illusion of some sort.

I’m really curious to see how the story will progress myself! It seems like they’re drawing out the plot until we see Takeru and Hikari because of how they might play a pivotal part in the Holy Digimon lore (and I also say “drawing out” because I am lowkey getting impatient that we’re not seeing them in the series right now, lol!). I’m thinking in the next episode or two we’ll see drawbacks for the split groups before we see Leomon.

Given that we were given a glimpse of the Mega Digimon in the war (that scene gave me chills) we might see those evolutions for each Chosen Child. I’d also hope that there would be additional exposition of their special trait symbols during this time.

Also, purely based on the ED - it might be minor, but given that we see Yamato have facial expressions other than his moody ones and slight smiles, I want to believe that something will happen to make him open up more and be more expressive. Maybe that’ll play into the progression of the story, character development (and mega evolutions?!?!).

In the end, I love everything Digimon Adventure and I am happily enjoying this series as the crazed nerd that I am. <3<3

#ask noct #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure: spoilers #digimon spoilers #spoilers #digidigi-monmon #thank you <3

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evengayerpanic · 4 years

Text

The Nomon Trap [1 of 9]

In celebration of finishing my first fic, combined with the start of season seven of The 100, I’ve decided to branch out and write a little fic for one of my other truest loves, Clexa and their little family of Madi and Aden. This fic is going to be extremely AU, a little crack!fic-y and based off the movie, The Parent Trap.

I’ll repeat, this is NOT supposed to be a good or accurate representation of either The 100, Clarke and Lexa, Madi and Aden, or the movie The Parent Trap. It literally was written to give me a little break from heavier and more intense fanfiction ideas, so please take it with a grain of salt. It’s all AU and just for fun.

_______________________________________

The sun arose on the mountain-side Camp Weather. Dozens of young nightbloods ran around the camp grounds, packs of clothing and weapons were slung over shoulders, as the children ran group to group, trying to find their bunk assignments, their friends and anything that would make them feel at home.

As the camp counsellor father-son duo of Thelonious and Wells Jaha went into their opening speech, followed by Wells calling out bunk assignments, a young girl watched as her bright yellow pack was brought from the camp buses to a pile of other packs.

“Good, found my pack!” She exclaimed, pushing dark brown hair out of her eyes, reaching in to grab it before suddenly six other packs were dumped on top. “Great, now the only question is how to get it.”

A small laugh was heard beside her, the young girl turning to find a similarly aged boy standing beside her. “You must be new here.” He fixed her a smirk.

“How could you tell?” The girl groaned.

“You didn’t know enough to grab your pack before it joined the pile. I’m Jordan Jasper Green, it’s my third year at Camp Weather... and I think, you might need help getting that pack out.” He explained with a grin.

“Madi Griffin, and yes please.” Madi smiled, as the two of them grabbed a hold of her pack, and pulled.

It did not budge an inch.

As the two watched, confused on how to pull out the bag, they saw from across the pile as a girl with her hair in pigtails and a jeweled wire headband was able to grab her own pack with one hand effortlessly.

“Now that’s my kind of Nightblood.” Madi remarked.

Jordan nodded his head, cupping his hand to his mouth. “Diyoza! Can we get a little help over here!”

The girl looked up, smile on her face. “Sure!” She moved over to them with a smile. “I’m Hope.”

“Madi. That yellow pack is mine.” She responded, watching in awe as the slightly older girl pulled it out quickly, handing it to her quickly. “Thanks!”

“Woah, you’re from the Ark?” Hope’s eyes went big, Jordan following suit as they hounded with questions.

“Did you guys really live in the sky?”

“Do you know A.L.I.E.?”

“Woah, woah, guys! I’ve never even met A.L.I.E. before! I live in Arkadia, it’s the camp that was made when the Ark fell? I never lived in the sky.” Madi smiled, throwing her arms up to stop more questions.

“That’s still so cool.” Hope murmured, Jordan nodding his head in agreement, before the sound of Wells Jaha calling Madi’s name had her ears perk up.

“Griffin. Madi?”

“Right here!”

“You’re in Skaikru!” He announced.

Jordan and Hope high-fived Madi with an excited shout of “That’s what we’re in too!” Before the three kids, cheered, and began marching off to their cabin.

_________________

As the three children clambered on, an expensive looking car pulled up to the main cabins, opening the door to reveal a well-dressed man in strong looking armour helping a young boy get out of the car.

The boy was also quite well-dressed, his own armour on prominent display as he turned to face the man.

“Well, here we are, Camp Weather... Are you sure about this Aden?” The man questioned, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the cabins and children around him. “We traveled all the way from Polis for this?”

Aden could only laugh, fixing the older man with a bright smile. “Lincoln, Camp Weather is supposed to be one of the best for training Nightbloods.”

Lincoln frowned as he glanced around at the accommodations around them. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Besides...” Aden piped up, interrupting him. “Nomon went to Camp Weather when she was a bit younger.”

Lincoln bowed his head at his statement. “Speaking of your Nomon. She gave us a very specific list to check off once we got here.” He pulled out some paper, glancing it over quickly with a short grimace.

“Chainmail?”

“Check.”

“Gauntlets.”

“Check.”

“Swords and Shields.”

“Check, check.”

Lincoln stared at Aden with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Check for Swords, check for Shields, go on.”

“Breast plate, medium helm, sketchbook drawings of your Nomon, Fleimkepa, War Chief and of course, your trusty Scout... me.” Lincoln read the rest.

“I think I’ve got just about all of it.” Aden smiled, looking back at the man who served as beloved scout, body guard and strong male influence to him.

Lincoln put his arm out, the young boy immediately dashing into it as the guard crushed him to his chest for a tight and emotional (to Lincoln) hug.

“I will miss you hainofa.”

“Not as much as I’ll miss you, yontsleya.”

Aden grabbed his bags from Lincoln, and then grabbed the older man’s forearm, the man immediately grabbing his in return, their heads bowing together to just a touch before Lincoln pulled back. “Alright, Aden... Go on. Just remember, if you want to come home, I can be back to get you quickly.”

Aden smiled. “I’ll be fine, I promise, maybe I can find someone here who also plays Karnöffel besides me?”

Lincoln let out a laugh, opening the door to the car and responding as he got in. “Maybe you can find someone who will kick your ass at it, hm?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!”

_________________

That night at dinner, Madi was in line for dinner with Jordan and Hope. The three were piling on the different pasta salads, and chicken skewers, and grilled vegetables when Thelonious Jaha got beside Madi to help himself to the tuna salad bowl.

“Oh, sorry there kiddo. Just had to get some tuna salad. Try some!” The camp owner exclaimed.

“No thank you, I’m allergic to tuna.” Madi replied, flashing him a smile before running off to her table.

With that, Thelonious turned to his other side. “How about you, would you like to try some tuna salad?”

Aden looked up from where he was piling hot dogs and some macaroni onto his plate, his friends Adria and Tris seemingly having disappeared to their table. “Oh, sorry, I can’t... I’m allergic, but thank you!”

Thelonious narrowed his eyes, staring for a second. “Weren’t you just... I’m sorry, you look very similar to a little girl that was just here.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he turned to check behind him as well. “Do you have a sister or something?”

“I’m an only child, sir! Aden Woods, from Trikru!” The boy immediately stood in a salute, before grabbing his plate to go join his friends. “Good day, Sir!”

Thelonious shook his head for a moment before returning to the tuna salad, scooping another spoonful onto his plate before he murmured to himself. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this?”

“Pardon me, sir?” A voice broke out from his left, the older man turning to see the first girl with him again.

“Now wait a second, weren’t you just a boy from Trikru?” Thelonious’ mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Madi’s eyes widened. “A boy?! You’ve lost it, Mr. Jaha.”

Thelonious turned once more, away from the girl to check behind him for the boy and when he couldn’t see him, he turned back to Madi mid-sentence to say “Yes, I suppose I ha-” only to find that she had also left him as well and he was alone.

“Thelonious, you are losing it.” He murmured before scooping one last spoonful of tuna salad on his plate.

_________________

It wasn’t until the next morning that Madi Griffin and Aden Woods came face to face with each other.

It had been a rather uneventful morning; Madi, Jordan and Hope had been in swordplay all day with Madi kicking every challenger’s butt, being declared the victor over and over again to her delight.

Aden, Tris and Adria had decided to go for a canoe ride before their way back to the mess hall saw Wells Jaha declaring Madi Griffin the winner again, and asking if there were any more challengers for her.

“You should do it Aden!” Tris exclaimed, nudging him.

“Oh Aden, you’d totally kick her butt!” Adria agreed.

He shook his head with a laugh, turning down their offering. “Nomon taught me that the blade was only for killing, not playing.” He repeated solemnly.

“It’s like training, come on Aden!”

Throwing his hands up, the eleven year old boy lamented. “Okay! I’ll do it, I mean, Nomon never has a problem with training. It builds character!”

Moments later he was suited up properly, a full helm and chainmail on his frame as he was handed a blade.

The fight was a lengthy one; Adria, Hope, Jordan and Tris all cheering on their respective friends as the two danced across the battle ground, both showing a large amount of skill and strategy in their swings.

Every lunge that Madi made was effortlessly sidestepped by Aden, and every swing that Aden made was easily dodged by Madi. As Aden caught Madi’s blade with his, the girl quickly spun and he fell into a haystack, his blade getting caught for a moment as she quickly tried to land a thwack onto his armour only to fall short as he diverted backward.

Catching his blade and pulling it free of it’s hold, Aden jumped to an upper deck of the battle ground, Madi leaping seconds later. The two played cat and mouse, twisting and turning to switch who was on the offensive and the defensive until Aden was backed into a corner. Madi lunged forward with an “Got you!” Aden dropped to the ground as Madi sent herself flying overtop the bannister and into a water trough.

“I am so sorry!” Aden immediately shouted, leaping forward to help Madi out of the trough, only for the girl to grab his forearm and drag him in after her.

As the cheers of the crowd died down, Wells Jaha pulled the two children out of the trough, holding Aden’s arm as the victor to the screams of his friends.

“Okay, you two, that was a great match. Shake hands!”

The two grumbled, pulling of their helms and dropping them with a gasp as steely eyes met steely eyes. The crowd of children around them went silent, watching as the two stared at each other in shock.

“Hayon!” Aden murmured, as Madi glared at him.

“What’s everyone looking at?” She said coldly.

Aden raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you see it?” At her blank look, he continued on, his heart racing in his chest. “We look just like each other! Same eyes, same jawline, same freckling and complexion.”

Madi laughed, taking a step forward, her arms crossed over her chest. “You think that I look like you?”

The boy nodded, shrugging his shoulders, as his two friends joined in standing behind him supporting.

“You wish.” Madi practically growled. “My eyes are most crystal than yours, and my jaw... definitely more defined. You have far too many freckles, and as for your complexion?” She paused, as Jordan and Hope stood behind her as well, glaring at Adria and Tris. “You look like you’ve been in the sun too long, you’re blotchy.” She finally smirked.

Tris let out a hiss. “Want me to rearrange her face?”

Aden held out his hand, stopping her immediately. “I’ve got it... you’re right Madi, we could never be like each other. I mean the real difference, is that I know how to swordfight better than you... or maybe it’s the fact that I have honour and you don’t.”

With tension so thick you couldn’t cut it with a chainsaw, the two preteens glared daggers at each other as Wells held his hands out to stop their fight. “Come on guys let’s break it up... Aden, Madi... Madi, Aden... Woah, you do look really alike.”

#The 100 #fanfiction #fanfic idea #AU fanfiction #crackfic #Clexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa #lexa woods #aden #madi griffin #aden woods #The Nomon Trap #the parent trap au #dont take this seriously

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rutilation · 5 years

Photo

Let’s talk about chapter 81

I have a fondness for anticlimax humor, so I found this chapter to be pretty hilarious, alongside all the heartbreak and intrigue. This woman threatens to dump the ending of Eva on us, keeps us in suspense for a month, only for Phos to be too much of a klutz to bring about third impact. It reminds me a bit of the bait and switch with Shiro. I love it. This bit was great too. After keeping his duplicity in the realm of subtext for nearly thirty chapters, Aechmea just comes right out and says, with a flummoxed expression, that he has more terrible secrets than he could possibly explain within twenty minutes. Ichikawa went right for my jugular.

Many others have already written at length about how Rutile’s attempt to find purpose in repairing Padparadscha has completely ruined their relationship and made Rutile a worse person in the process, so I won’t retread that old ground. But, I would like to reiterate that this attitude is a reoccurring and prominent thread of the story. Bort found purpose in protecting their beloved Dia, but in their zeal, they drove Dia away by making them feel like a useless burden, by expecting them to be content with existing as a mere object of protection. While Aechmea doesn’t seem to find purpose in Cairngorm, he does act entitled and possessive towards them, would greatly prefer it if Cairn acted like a passive trophy wife 100% of the time instead of just 85% of the time, and generally pushes back whenever they try to do anything remotely proactive. And who can forget that time he pitched a fit when Cairn actually went against his wishes.

Phos is one of the few to buck this trend. Their reaction to the debacle with Cairn was pretty even-keeled, especially considering that they don’t know what went down in chapter 67. They’re clearly bitter and hurt, but they still took Cairn’s advice to heart, and also asked if they were okay before leaving for earth. And in this chapter, we got some insight into how they feel about their other failed relationship. At first, they reached toward the clipboard with a look of desperation. But, in the moment that they realize Cinnabar has left both them and the promise that gave them purpose behind, there is no desperation or rage—only resignation. The typically implacable Phos admits defeat without a fight. It’s a deeply sad moment, but the way Phos refuses to let their feelings curdle into spiteful entitlement is downright refreshing. This could be considered another parallel they share with Kongou, who is also very accepting of other’s choices and desires, even to his own detriment.

Anyway, hopefully this is a turning point for Rutile so that they’ll snap out of their terrible attitude and rethink their life, or something.

In chapter 72, Cairn offhandedly mentions they have no idea what Aechmea is talking about most of the time, and that they prefer to keep it that way. This was the first of several hints indicating that they’re kind of terrified of finding out what Aechmea’s deal is. In particular, this line from chapter 75 seems to have really rattled them—they’ve brought it up several times now, and it’s been on their mind even after the long time skip. When Cairn thinks they’re about to die without learning the truth, they confront Aechmea directly, but the second that Phos messes up, they back down and return to more trivial topics of conversation. (This is also the moment the moe eyes return after being largely absent for a chapter and a half.)

Their line here is a callback to what Aechmea said in chapter 78, and probably a deliberate one on their part. If I were to read between the lines, I think what they’re really saying is something this: “I know I’m not getting anything out of you at this point, so I’m not even going to try. Also, I’m going to pretend everything is fine and that this debacle never happened. Secrets? What secrets?!” As per usual, they’ve taken one step forward and two steps back. But, as much as Cairn might wish they could, they can’t un-open Pandora’s Box. I will say, though, that I’m a little nervous about what lengths they might go to in order to keep things as they are, so that they don’t have to face those potentially awful truths.

(Y’know, I can’t help but see some parallels in my own emotional reaction to this series. On one hand, I really want to know what happens next, and where Ichikawa is going with all this, but at the same time, I kind of want to remain ignorant of all the strife to come, and instead escape to some 500k slowburn cinnaphos coffeeshop AU. It would be so much less stressful if Phos were breaking the espresso machine* instead of my heart.)

Anyway whatever this secret is, I suspect it might re-contextualize chapter 67. Ichikawa seems to value the agency of her characters a lot, and the plot tends to progress because of choices instead of contrivance or coincidence (more on that in a moment,) even if it means that those choices make a previously popular character less sympathetic. With that in mind, I doubt Ichikawa intends for Cairn to get away with abdicating responsibility for every choice they made before chapter 68.

For the past handful of chapters, Phos has seemed pretty suicidal. So, it’s interesting that even after saying they’ve lost the will to go on, they nonetheless ran for their life when the others started chasing them, instead of throwing in the towel and simply letting themselves be shattered. It seems like they still have some fight left in them, even if only subconsciously.

Speaking of Phos’s subconscious, I’ve saved the aspect of this chapter I found most fascinating for last—the way in which the apocalypse is averted by Phos, uh, knocking over a table and making too much noise with their spider-limbs. This is pure speculation, so take it with a grain of salt, but I think it’s possible that Phos alerted the gems on purpose. According to what Aechmea said last chapter, they’ve been looming over Kongou for two whole hours, so it seems a little odd that they’d lose their balance now, at the last possible moment. While it is, as I’ve stated earlier, totally hilarious, this turn of events is a little too convenient, especially for a story that’s so aggressively character driven. As I wrote in my last essay, it’s most fitting that this moment comes down to Phos or Kongou’s choice, so I’m inclined to believe that is, in fact, what happened. I also think it’s quite possible that this act of self-sabotage was subconscious, like some events earlier in the story such as Phos’s out-of-control legs, or the cage made of their arms.

Furthermore, remember how Phos came to earth this time around with the hope that Euclase would be willing to hear them out? Well, if this blunder was, in actuality, a veiled cry for help, then their original plan has actually come to pass, just not in the way they were expecting—which is kind of the story of Phos’s life. (Man, it feels weird to try and adjust my brain to Euclase-stan-mode.)

Regarding the framing of the scene, we only see the moment Phos trips from Aechmea and Cairn’s perspective, and we don’t get a clear look at the action until the table has already tipped over. That Ichikawa chose to compose the scene in this manner leads me to believe there’s some sleight of hand going on here. Not to mention the fact that we’re not privy to Phos’s thoughts for the entire chapter, and it’s a little hard to parse their expressions when their face has been pureed.

Assuming my interpretation is correct, if I were to take a stab at why Phos backed out, it would be this:

A. They can’t stand looking at a snail in pain for five seconds, so watching Kongou stare up at them for two hours with the expression of a ewe watching its lamb ride off to the slaughter house might have been more than they could bear.

B. It’s been established that they already suspect Aechmea of withholding information, so perhaps they’re hesitant to give him what he wants without knowing the consequences.

Like I said, this is merely a possibility…but if it is the case, I would like Phos to know that I am very proud of them.

And finally, a few little observations that don’t fit in anywhere else

Judging from context clues, it seems that after Padparadscha was cured of their mercury poisoning, Aechmea removed their replacements, hid them away, and told the others that they were dead, or something. What a dick. The question is, why did he do that? They have shown themselves to be much more canny and goal-oriented than the other gems on the moon, so maybe Aechmea didn’t want someone like that around, and used the opportunity to get rid of them. But, who knows?

In chapter 79, it seemed like there was a huge hole in Phos’s torso, but in this chapter, what pieces are missing seems to change from drawing to drawing, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Regardless, there are consistently huge chunks of their head and legs missing, and the earth gems are unlikely to just give them back, so it’s likely they’ll be replaced. Their replacements are just as much a part of the Phos we’ve come to know as their original material, so the prospect of losing even a part of those replacements is rather sad. Those legs were gifted with love, dammit!

My boy cicada came to save Phos :,). IIRC, Cicada and Ventri are the only characters who have given Phos a hug over the course of the story, and are thus the only valid members of the supporting cast. Padparadscha is also allowed into this exclusive club for giving Phos a very comforting head pat.

Bort has started wearing powder on their left leg again.

Amethyst(?) brought a rope along. Like this is some sort of Phos-rodeo. Hilarious.

*bonus points if the espresso machine is nicknamed “sensei”

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous

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feralquirks · 4 years

Text

BLOG LORE

i. disclaimer

so this AU is a crossover between my hero & assassination classroom. if you really want to know the details, i have links to the fic(s) this blog is based on littered in almost every canon character’s bio. keep in mind, it’s based on it so not everything is on the nail.

another thing to keep in mind; it may be a crossover, but the AU itself is almost completely original, so you don’t need much knowledge of assassination classroom to get the AU. the elements that are borrowed from it are explained anyway. & if you have any questions at all, please ask because i love love love LOVE questions omg. that & take all this with a grain of salt when plotting; i can & am more than willing to tweak certain things for others!

i will also be dissecting this into three timelines considering my izuku, main himiko, & now mikumo will be taking place in three different timelines, mirroring each other.

ii. premise

approximately three or four years before the start of UA {current timeline}, there was an epidemic that struck the whole of japan. children, all quirkless, began vanishing from their homes. they were all between the ages of 12-18.

about 20 in total by the end of the two year epidemic, dubbed the Quirkless Epidemic, were reported missing. Among these missing were Izuku Midoriya / Mikumo Akatani, Himiko Toga, a girl named Orchid Lin, & a boy named Tobiko Mizushima. These children were the only ones who came out alive.

the kidnapped had undergone severe quirk experimentation, & all those not accounted for above had died before they were rescued. the man who led the project is called Kotaro Yanagisawa, who was in association with All for One, commissioned by him to advance quirk research & creating quirks to implant into people.

iii. the experiments

the quirk experiments in question were antimatter based, but mixed very dangerously with another compound. the injection form of the quirk manifested in some of the children as tendrils, appearing very much like tentacles. they came out from the head or neck area, but it’s unknown if it can come out from other places like the arm or back.

the children were basically tortured in order to draw the quirk out. a lot of them were electrocuted or burned.

in the end, many of their bodies rejected the quirk, ending in their deaths. the ones who didn’t immediately die from the quirk, or their bodies didn’t immediately reject the quirk, were deemed as the “perfect noumus” because they were compatible with the quirk.

iv. the quirk

the quirk itself was pretty OP, but with a very fatal drawback.

some of its abilities involve:

-inhuman speed enhancement -immunity to most quirks -enhanced healing / regeneration -tendril shapeshifting -heightened senses

while many drawbacks involve:

-allergic to bug spray?? -inability to swim / paralyzing fear of water / swimming -tentacles absorb too much water to the point of pain -tentacles are somewhat sentient? or rather influential -to elaborate, the user begins to experience auditory hallucinations -user experienced intense pain in the area the tentacles manifest -messes with the user’s mind & can push it to the brink of insanity -increases user’s bloodlust -in the case the body rejects the quirk, it will die without quirk adjustment medicine or quirk suppressants, & in some cases, both at the same time -it can be ‘shut off’ or placed under a ‘dormant / disabled’ state (ie. Eraserhead’s Erasure can shut it off & keep it off with one glance) -overwhelming emotions can trigger the quirk to become active once again after it was disabled

v. dabi

touya todoroki was actually the first to be taken & experimented on. he was there for three years, experimented on before the facility was found. unfortunately, because he had faked his death prior to this, he was not involved in the 20 missing.

touya was called ‘beta 01′ & because he was the first to be experimented on, they took the fact he had a quirk as a reason why the experiments were failures. he was the reason why they turned their attention to quirkless children.

touya never manifested the tentacle quirk, his flames destroying them before they could emerge. however, he did still contract some of the drawbacks, being intense pain in the places it was injected, increased bloodlust, & a paralyzing fear of water / swimming.

vi. ARO

the organization called ARO is led by the mother of one of the kidnapped children, Tobiko. ARO is a government-funded operation, while also being top secret. they have tons of scientists studying the antimatter quirks, what makes it tick, how to reverse the effects, or even make it benign---just tentacles.

they employ scientists, spies, assassins, & heroes. the ones known are the assassins, Flare & Monsoon (Esperanza & Akoni), & Dabi (Touya). there are also assassins in training, the commander’s own son Takoyaki & another young girl who are tasked with keeping an eye on izuku / mikumo / himiko (as per timeline) in UA.

vii. capture

the villains had also captured a pro assassin after Touya was contained. he was known as the Grim Reaper & was the perfect noumu because his body didn’t reject the quirk & no medications were needed. his entire body had transformed by the end of it, & he caused an explosion in one of the facilities (the entire base was under the guise of a research science center), bringing the attention of nearby heroes---& All Might himself.

many of the scientists involved in the kidnapping were arrested, while Yanagisawa escaped through All for One’s portal with Himiko / Izuku (timeline dependent) & the rest of his research + some leftover antimatter vials.

once Izuku / Mikumo / Himiko enter into UA two years later, UA is aware of their involvement in the experiments & have offered services to them in case they need support ever.

viii. izuku route

in which izuku was rescued by all might, along with orchid & tobiko. himiko was the one taken & eventually escaped, then joined the League of Villains, all while her quirk is slowly killing her if she isn’t taking quirk adjustment medicine. izuku attended kunugigaoka’s class 3-E

ix. mikumo route

in which izuku was not kidnapped at all, but mikumo was. he was rescued by all might but not given one for all. he went to kunugigaoka, into class 3-E & never had his quirk ‘disabled’ but he takes quirk adjustment medicine. he eventually defected from the class entirely, but rose again after applying to UA & attending class 1-A with his ‘tentacle hair’ quirk.

x. himiko route

in which himiko was the one who was rescued by all might & given one for all while izuku was taken. she attended kunugigaoka’s class 3-E & applied to UA, getting into class 1-A.

#and thats all im willing to write now ofmg #🐾 ━ headcanons #torture tw #kidnapping tw #child death tw #death tw #human experimentation tw

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lxiewrites · 5 years

Text

Day4: Hogwarts AU

Klance AU month- where Keith is working on extra credit for Potions

I know nothing about potion making so take it with a grain of salt plz ehehehe

Ao3

Keith was carefully measuring out the right amount of pearl dust for his potion. Right now it was a little murky and not the pearly sheen it was supposed to be. Perhaps more pearl dust would change that. It couldn’t be too much or it would not react well with the moonstone. It had to be exact or the potion would just blow up or melt the floor or something.

“Keith!”

“Gah!” His hand jerked and tipped a handful of pearl dust into his potion. He held his breath, heart slow in his chest, as the potion bubbled in his cauldron. It didn’t have the pearly sheen or the swirls but looked more like a fizzing soup of soap bubbles.

He whipped his head around to glare at Lance, who slowly backed away, hands up, and a wry grin that definitely made it look like he did it on purpose. “Sorry, my bad.”

Rolling his eyes he picked up his cauldron to dump it and start again. “What do you want, Lance?”

He sidled up next to him planting himself down on the table to watch him gather new materials. “Do I have to want something?”

“With you? Probably.”

He brought his hand up to his chest, gasping in in mock-horror. “I am insulted. Insulted I say! You just weren’t there for dinner so I thought I’d check up on you.”

Keith felt heat crawl across his cheeks. “Oh.”

“I actually found you pretty easily, did you even shower after quidditch practice? You smell like a broom,” Lance added with a teasing grin.

The heat in his face turned up to an eleven. He stabbed him in the arm with the leftover thorns on a rose stem. “Sod off, Lance!”

Laughing, Lance batted him away while settling in next to him, declaring that he would watch him work to procrastinate on transfiguration homework.

Lance stayed with him for the next few hours while he worked on his new potion, occasionally passing him an ingredient between stories. He cracked jokes and rambled on about his day, telling him about how Hunk’s cuisine spell exploded or how Pidge accidentally half transformed Rover into a flying goblet.

Keith chuckled as Lance colored the story with wild hand gestures and dramatic voice retellings, only seeming to become more animated the more Keith laughed.

Keith didn’t dare look over at the Hufflepuff doing his best to get his attention. The logic in his mind telling him that the less attention he gave him the more he would try to earn it.

He ignored the soft, fuzzy feelings in his chest, floating around like dandelion puffs. The soft electric buzzing under his skin. The own thrill of excitement that he gets when Lance’s attention is for him and only him. It makes him feel almost greedy, wanting it all for himself, but he can’t exactly feel sorry for it either.

“Why are you even making a potion at seven at night anyway, mullet?”

Keith focused on measuring the right amount of pearl dust and counted three, four, five rose thorns to toss in. “Extra credit for potions. Professor Honerva said that I wouldn’t pass unless I make a perfect advanced potion.”

“Damn, that sucks.” Lance edged closer, craning his neck to peer inside of the cauldron, the clean scent of his facial wash drifting over. “Which one? It looks like swamp water.”

Pushing him away and straightening his hair Keith dumped in a bit of powdered moonstone, lightening the potion’s color into a deep purple. “That’s because it’s not done yet, dumbass.” He pointed to a little vial of clear liquid. “Hand me the peppermint oil.”

Lance slid it over, the vial almost spilling over the edge before Keith caught it. He spared him a single glare, to which Lance only responded with an innocent grin, and added a couple of drops of the pearly liquid.

Three drops hit the surface, the mother-of-pearl sheen spreading across the potion in ripples and swirls rising from the surface.

Keith paused for a second, worried that he made a mistake. It didn’t smell like anything at first. Only the clean smell of freshly washed laundry and soap before it gave way to the scent of earth and the air right before a thunderstorm. Threaded through the smells swirling around his head was the smell of soap. Soap that reminded him a little too much of the boy standing next to him. He purposely took a step back from the potion.

“It’s pretty, I’ll give you that.” Lance drifted closer to the gold cauldron, head dipping closer to the potion. ”What potion is it?”

Keith furrowed his brows. Lance might not have been that interested in potions but when he smelled the potion he should’ve known it was amortentia. Did he mess up the potion?

“Do you not smell anything?”

“Not… exactly?” Lance inhaled deeply over the cauldron, unknowingly drawing himself closer. Keith gently took his shoulder and drew him back. “It just smells like broom polish but I assumed that was you. Hmmm, wait, oh! Sea salt? A bonfire?” He looked over at him with questioning eyes, silently asking if he was right.

Keith could only shrug, stiff and awkward. “It’s supposed to be amortentia. So if those are the things you like I guess it worked?”

Lance jerked, almost knocking over the peppermint oil. Red crept up his neck as he tried to right the ingredients on the table but only knocking more over. Flapping his hands he leaped back from the table, hands firmly at his sides. “A-amortentia?”

“Yes?”

Lance stood there, stiff as a board, watching Keith with a focus that made him shift and want to look away. But he didn’t, Keith stared right back at Lance, face slowly warming under his scrutiny.

Lance must have not found what he was looking for, shoulders relaxing but his eyes seemed almost simultaneously disappointed and relieved. The red slowly receded from his face as he stepped over and swung an arm around Keith’s shoulder. “I think you nailed it, buddy. It’s definitely amortentia.” He tossed a cover over Keith’s potion and started to lead Keith out of the classroom. “Let’s sneak into the kitchens and get dinner because I highly doubt your Gryffindor ass ate anything if you didn’t even shower.”

Keith actually did eat before he left to make the potion. It was right on the tip of his tongue to tell Lance so but he swallowed it down. A few more hours with Lance couldn’t hurt anyone.

#klance au month #2k19 #klance #hogwarts au #hufflepuff!Lance #Gryffindor!Keith #Oblivious!Keith #love potions

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