#too many points in half-light and empathy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amazinglyegg · 2 years ago

Note

hi!! i want to say i love ur blog sm. its amazing and one of my fav blogs.

i have a hc where sole picks up children’s toys, teddy bears, jangles the moon monkey, and giddy up buttercups while walking thru the wasteland looking for shaun. could u write a react for fo4 companions asking why they pick up “that junk” vs their reactions after finding out the reason why?

Thank you so much!! And this is the most adorable headcanon ever, I love it <3<3<3 I can only imagine how hard it'd be for Sole to constantly see all the toys they was planning to get Shaun for Christmas all broken down and rusted. Plus not even knowing if he's alive or if he would like any of them anymore... augh my heart </3

Companions react: Sole who collects toys for Shaun

Ada

She doesn't even bat an eye when Sole goes around picking up every toy they see

Sole probably only tells her the truth once they overhear Ada calling it scrap

After that Ada will make very sure she doesn't scrap any toys she finds and instead leaves them in a nice pile for Sole to sort through and keep any they want

Might even find it hard to scrap the toys Sole doesn't want (because they're too broken or unsalvagable)

She definitely gets wanting to keep something to remember someone by, and seeing Sole do this might just convince her to keep a transitional object that reminds her of Jackson

Cait

Cait immediately feels like crap for complaining so much

Not only because she kept complaining about Sole's habit, but she had definitely made comments on how dumb and boring the toys are in the past

She doesn't really get it since she's not a parent (and never wants to be), but she still feels like she should have realized it sooner

It also hits a bit close to home for her because she never really had many toys as a kid, so realizing Sole cares about Shaun so much they're constantly looking for trinkets for him is almost unreal to her

She'll probably not say much about it for that reason, too awkward and vaguely in disbelief that parents actually do that for their kids for her to make any comments

Codsworth

Oh he is SO supportive of Sole

Even before Sole tells him they're for Shaun he's pointing out how much Shaun would love them

Probably has Sole's Christmas list for Shaun still stored in his memory (because let's be honest Sole was definitely obsessing over their baby's first Christmas back in October) so he'll point out whenever they find a toy that was on the list

He'll probably go out of his way to grab any toys he sees for Shaun as well

Shaun's bedroom is going to be PACKED with toys before he even gets out of the Institute

Curie

Definitely more curious than frusturated with Sole picking up toys

Might push Sole too hard for an answer at first, but realizes her mistake and apologizes when Sole tells her the truth

I can imagine her having wildly different reactions on it, especially while she's getting used to emotions

One day she's going "but Shaun already has three blankets, no?" and the next day she's crying at the sight of a broken teddy bear

Grief is such a big emotion for Curie and she's so empathetic she's 100% going to be more weepy than Sole is a lot of the time

Danse

Sort of stuck when Sole tells him why they collect toys

On one hand it's his job to tell Sole to drop down the unnecessary stuff and travel light... but on the other hand... they're grieving

So as much as he wants to complain, he probably won't

He gets this is Sole's way of coping and whatnot but he's never been too good at empathy in general, so he won't really know what to say

He definitely won't bother Sole about it, but he will also just kinda ignore it

If him and Sole are close he might (rarely) bring them a toy in good condition he found (he's a scavenger at heart, of course he'll be looking for those things)

Deacon

Probably one of the most initially annoyed companions in this list

He hates kids and everything to do with them so before finding out he'd make plenty of half-jokes half-complaining jabs at how much the kids toys suck

Every time Sole picked up another toy Deacon's saying "Why did they have to make that face so weird?" "Did kids really play with this crap?" "If Santa got me THAT as a gift Christmas would be ruined forever!"

But once Sole tells him the truth he feels like a major asshole

He's another emotionally stunted man who won't know what to say!

He'll mostly ignore it and look the other way, but he'll also sometimes offer to carry the toys for Sole if their pack is too full

It's the least he can do after being so rude to them

Father

He definitely felt Something when Sole told him that fact (sympathy?? Longing?? Who knows)

The fact that he never left Sole's thoughts even while they were struggling to survive in the wastes means a lot to him (he has parent issues okay?)

Gets a bit weirded out if they still insist on gathering toys and giving them to synth Shaun

Like... he's a robot... he doesn't play with toys... why are you grieving me when I'm right here (he's also very emotionally stunted. Unsurprisingly)

Generally not too empathetic about it, and will definitely comment on it if Sole tries bringing dirty/broken toys into the Institute

Gage

Least likely to back down and apologize like the other companions after Sole admits the truth

Probably takes the realist approach of "There's toys everywhere... why can't you just wait until you actually find Shaun and then bring him to an old toy store or something?"

Will be a lot easier on them once he knows the truth though

It's just weird when they're surrounded by toys everywhere. They're literally in an amusement park. Can't Sole just bring Shaun there once they get him??

He's also a bit worried about Sole seeming like a softie, or trying to leave Nuka World once they get their kid back

A toy car or a deck of cards is fine, but you are NOT parading a five foot tall teddy bear around Nuka World. Gage will put his foot down for that one

Hancock

He'll probably only get annoyed with Sole's collection if it manages to get in the way of their work

He has always found childrens toys creepy... he's pretty thankful not many kids wander around Goodneighbor for that reason

Once he finds out the truth his demeanor will change from mild annoyance to "you know what? You do you"

He'll probably find an old tire or something and go "You think Shaun would like this??"

He doesn't know what kids like!! Especially old world kids. When he was a kid he would have been entertained for HOURS with just a stick... why wouldn't Shaun??

Either way, he lets Sole go do whatever they want to do. He won't judge as long as he doesn't have to look at Jangles for any longer than necessary

Maccready

Feels like a complete asshole for not connecting it together sooner

Childrens toys, missing child... how did he not SEE that

Hell, HE grabs little toys for Duncan every once in a while. Obviously he can't judge

He might be a tiny bit salty though

He's had to teach himself to not pick up every toy he thinks Duncan would want because he simply can't send them all to him, so seeing Sole constantly fawn over plushies and trinkets... just kinda hurts knowing he can't do the same at the moment

That being said if he finds something he wants to give to Duncan but can't, he'll give it to Sole instead

Ends up being a pretty good system for them both

Nick Valentine

Out of all of the companions he'd be best at emotional support

He'll sincerely apologizes for bugging Sole about the "junk" they've been lugging around and will reassure them that Shaun would love it

He still remembers which toys were popular at the time and will talk to Sole about it whenever they find one

Catch him and Sole repeating commercial jingles back and forth

He gives them a lot of space to grieve and never complains about all the toys once he finds out who they're for

He doesn't shy away from gently putting his foot down if Sole gets a bit ridiculous, but he does so very, very gently

Like "Hey, that teddy is in tatters. How about we find one that's a bit more... huggable?" or "Shaun doesn't need two Giddyup Buttercups, but if you're okay for it I know a little girl in Diamond City who's been begging for one all year"

Old Longfellow

Aw hell, why not?

Definitely empathizes with them

He feels bad for Sole once he learns the truth so he's perfectly happy to just shut up and let Sole do whatever they need to do to grieve

He's also not really a toy person so he doesn't get it

Like "you think your kid would like THAT??"

But whatever. Sole knows their own kid better than he knows them. If Shaun gets traumatized by seeing Jangles the moon monkey, that's Sole's fault

Piper

Likely to take an "aww, that's sweet" approach to things

Similar to Hancock in that she... doesn't really get it??

Like who needs all these old toys most people don't know how to play with?? Nat played with a rock and a loose piece of string when she was little and she was just fine

Tries to show enthusiasm but ends up going wayy off the mark

She grabs a Barbie doll and says "wouldn't Shaun like this?? He can... I don't know... brush her hair??"

"Shaun would love this!" "Piper that's a mechanical keyboard... with no computer" "Well maybe Shaun would like pretending to write stories!"

Preston

Straight up apologizes for being so harsh to Sole

He didn't need to be so rude about Sole picking up toys. It's their backpack, they can fill it with whatever they want

Appreciates what Sole's doing and will make sure the kids in any settlements don't touch Shaun's toys

He's pretty curious what a lot of toys actually do. He'll ask Sole things like "so do kids... just... sit on the Giddyup Buttercup? And do nothing else??"

Will offer to carry some toys or have caravans bring them back to settlements if they're too much for Sole to carry

X6-88

(assuming Sole's either keeping the toys for themself or wants to give them to synth!Shaun)

Doesn't get it

Father is right there?? Why are you grieving his childhood and focusing on a synth instead of being proud of his achievements??

Going into headcanon territory here but I assume the Institute probably makes toys for (the scientist's) kids to play with already

Not to mention the Institute is pretty anti-clutter, and Shaun doesn't "need" toys to begin with

He just can't wrap his head around why Sole feels the need to hoard a bunch of old broken toys when good ones are in the Institute already

If Sole just insists on keeping the toys in the old nursery he'll be a bit annoyed but won't show it (gotta respect the future director and all)

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jestersprivilegee · 1 month ago

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High and Dry | ch. 5

t. jefferson x reader

You go to a bar and he teaches you how to play pool.

Warnings: swearing, if you can’t tell I have no idea what its like to drink or go to a bar OR play pool

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: thank y’all for y’all’s patience!! enjoy

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view,” you read. Thursday had come quick and Friday had come even quicker, letting you get to the second chapter. “Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”

The quote was a classic. When people think of Atticus Finch, that’s what pops into most of their minds. Even in your own life, you did your best to give compassion and empathy to everyone, envisioning what they must be going through when something happened.

Well, everyone except for Thomas, that is.

You hadn’t put much thought into his experience with you. What he might be feeling every time you shun him away, what his thought process is when responding to your petty comments, why he acted the way he did all those years ago and why he’s acting like this now—it wasn’t taken into consideration by you at all.

Should you consider things from his point of view? Probably. That’s what Suzanne would tell you. In a dark, repressed corner of your mind—no, your heart—that’s what it’s screaming at you to do. Yet for some bizarre, inexplicable reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

In more exciting news, Friday meant that you would be going out with all your new friends. Getting whiskey bent and hell bound was enjoyable every once in a while, and Lord knows you needed a drink. Something to take the edge off. Your mind was consumed by the event happening later in the day, so much that you could hardly focus. Having friends to actually hang out with, who wanted to hang out with you, was way more exciting than you remembered.

Lafayette and John had talked about it all through lunch, hyping it up and sharing as many stories that they could recall. They talked about all the people that usually attended, some of which you haven’t met before, who to avoid when drunk or tipsy, etcetera etcetera. There was one teensy, tiny problem though.

Thomas would be going.

Him, and whoever the fuck this Madison girl was, cause they mentioned her name, too.

There was still a flame of jealousy that ignited in you, which you hated because you shouldn’t feel resentment over some poor girl who was friends with Jefferson. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to her, either. Regardless of who he decides to mingle with now, you refused to let Thomas ruin your night. Avoiding him would be the safest bet although he’s unpredictable and might decide to infiltrate your night himself. Still, you wouldn’t let him have power over your mood. That’s no way to live.

“Ah, you made it! Welcome to ze party, ami,” Lafayette’s thick French accent greeted you, a warm smile on his face and a half empty glass already in his hands.

The Vera Cruz was the type of place where regulars knew each other's stories better than their own. Scents of stale beer mingled with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and a dried floral air freshener struggling to keep up. There was a worn out pool table tucked in the corner, illuminated by a dim overhead light and a flickering neon sign.

An vacant stool was next to Hercules, so you swiftly snagged it after saying hello to everyone. The whole gang was there, as well as a few other teachers you recognized playing pool or occupying other tables. No sign of Thomas yet (not that you were looking for him or anything haha).

“Well don’t you look lovely,” Hercules grinned, resting his elbow on the wooden counter.

“Thanks, you look great per usual,” you shot a sweet smile his way, your hands grazing over the casual dress clinging to your hips. Your eyes flickered to the full glass of beer resting lazily in his hands. “Thought I was late based on how much Lafayette has already drank, but it looks like you only just started. The French really know how to have a good time, huh?”

“Oh, no, this is my second one,” He chuckled. “You’ll figure out pretty quickly how heavy drinkers we can be.” A playful wink was sent your way, and you fumbled over your response.

“Noted,” you said.

Alex stumbled over to you, swinging his arm over you and Hercules. “Y/n! I was just talking about you,” he grinned. He wasn’t tipsy, more so a little mellowed out by the substances he consumed. “We were just about to do shots, before a certain someone gets here. I need to be out of it to handle dealing with him.”

You shared a laugh, spinning to face him. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“I never lie,” he shrugged with a sly smile, “you should join us. I promise you it’ll be fun!”

With a reluctant grin, you nodded. The last time you did shots with someone must’ve been in college, when you were young and full of ambition. Somehow that got lost to depression. “I’ll trust you this time,” you said, following him to where he and John were sitting.

“Yikes, you’re making a big mistake in putting your trust in him,” John laughed, sliding a couple shot glasses to you and Hamilton.

“Ey! Don’t ruin this. Someone finally believes in me. It’d be nice if you’d show that same trust, too,” Alex pouted.

Laurens narrowed his eyes, shifting to where he was facing Alex. “Now, you know I’d do anything for you, Alexander. Don’t give me that shit.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes, the playful banter between them making you feel a tinge out of place. You know that feeling when you’re hanging out with two people who are clearly closer to each other, and they already have their own inside jokes; they laugh with each other so freely that you can’t help but feel awkward? That’s what you were experiencing.

The familiar feeling of missing out.

At some point, your name was called out, snapping you from your trance. They held up their shot glasses, a fiery determination beaming in their smiles. You weakly held yours up too before taking a shot at the same time as them. The liquid burned as it trickled down your throat, prompting you to grimace by accidentally letting it sit on your tongue for too long. John and Alex were hyped up, slapping each other on the back, their laughs mixing with the other voices in the room.

“God, I haven’t done that in forever,” you said, pushing the glass away from you. Your nose was scrunched in disgust, still not over the bitter taste of the alcohol. “Almost forgot how shit it really is,” you laughed.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you’re already done! We’re just getting started,” Laurens said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You winced. “I think one was enough for me.”

Some cheers were heard from other teachers, signaling someone else arrived. When you craned your neck to see who entered, and to your disappointment, public enemy #1 filled your view. Thomas Jefferson, along with a tall, dark bulky man you hadn’t seen before.

You turned back to the duo, a shared look of dread between all three of you.

“Still want to refuse that second shot?” Alex teased.

“I don’t know, I might have to take you up on it now.” A breathy laugh escaped you as anxiety churned in your stomach. You just had to pray he wouldn’t come up and talk to you, but knowing your luck? It would probably happen.

Thomas and his unfamiliar buddy found their way over to a table with a bald, shorter guy who you encountered in passing. Aaron Burr, you think it was? You remember Alexander briefly talking about their frenemy-like relationship. How it started out good, amazing even, until Burr got jealous about all the attention the young teacher was getting. Some feud involving Jefferson happened, and they haven’t spoken since. Damn shame.

“Who’s the guy he’s with?” You asked, leaning against the counter while all three of you stared at them.

“That’s Madison. I’m surprised you don’t know him, I feel like they’re always together,” Alex commented.

Hold on. You thought Madison was a girl? There was no way you seriously felt an ounce of jealousy over a guy who just happened to be called Madison by everyone, with no one using any sort of pronoun to distinguish him. “I thought Madison was a girl?” You voiced your thoughts aloud.

Both Alex and John burst out into laughter at the pure confusion on your face. “James Madison is very much a guy,” he chuckled, patting your shoulder.

“Why not just call him James then?” A pout formed on your lips.

“There’s a James Monroe here, too, everyone just calls him Monroe. It’s easier that way,” he shrugged.

The moment you glanced back at Thomas, you were surprised to see he was already staring dead at you. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, a flicker of familiarity. Immediately, your stomach dropped, and you turned towards Laurens. He looked a little confused and concerned at the sickness in your face.

“He’s staring directly at me,” you whisper-shouted. His eyebrows raised up and like the dunce he is, he peered in Thomas’ direction. “Don’t look!” You seethed, grabbing his arm.

“Sorry!” He winced, ducking down a little. Over the chatter, the rhythmic clicking of 8-ball, and old Rock and Roll playing, you heard the distinct laugh of Thomas Jefferson. “He was staring at you.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” you sighed. “Let’s just ignore him. Maybe he’ll get the hint and leave us alone.”

“He’s coming this way,” John whispered.

Your eyes shot open. “What?”

“Fancy seein’ you here, Y/n,” Thomas smirked, his hand coming to rest on the back of your stool while he towered over you. A scowl appeared on your face when you turned to look at him.

He was wearing a deep purple sweater that hugged his muscles perfectly, as well as a simple gold chain and watch that screamed he was well-put together. Something about him in that outfit, something about that signature scent of cologne he always wore made you swallow hard, and was it hot in here? Because why did your cheeks feel so warm?

“I did get invited, so…” you muttered, trying so hard not to focus on the fact he was standing so close that you could see every individual detail ranging from his lips to the dark, espresso colored eyes that were now trailing down to your dress. Wait. Was he checking you out?

“Run along now, Jefferson, she’s hanging out with us,” Hamilton intervened. Thomas quirked an eyebrow, straightening up.

“Oh, I’m not here for her. I came to say hi to Lafayette. Just thought I’d be polite and stop to say hello to a colleague.”

“You’ve said it, so now you can go,” you spat. Why were you being so bitter? Your nose scrunched up in disgust at how ugly you were being, because when were you okay with being unkind to people? Even to those you don’t like?

“No need to be so hostile, darlin’,” he laughed airily. The use of the pet name sent a chill down your spine. “I actually wanted to see if either of y’all would be up for a game of 8-ball? I think the pool table just opened up.”

You glanced at Alex who grunted, waving you off. “That’s all you, Y/n, I will not be partaking in this.”

“I’ll play,” John chimed in, looking at you since Alex ruled himself out. He had already found his way over to the Schuyler sisters’ table to flirt with Eliza. Hamilton had told you about his infatuation with her, describing how he’d been leaving her heartfelt letters to try and win her over. By the way her hand was on his arm and how she was giggling before he even said anything, it was working.

You sighed begrudgingly, “I guess I’ll play.”

“Perfect!” Thomas’ face lit up in a beaming grin. “Losers have to buy the other drinks. I’ll go get Lafayette to be my partner.” He walked off to find Lafayette while you and John made your way over to the pool table.

“Can’t believe I agreed to this,” you muttered under your breath. Laurens patted your back sympathetically, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey, at least you have me as your partner? I’m amazing at 8-ball, so you have no reason to worry. Your bank account will not suffer on my watch.”

A shared chuckle broke the bitterness in you, and suddenly this game didn’t seem so bad. Thomas dragged Lafayette over, a genuine smile on his face. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him genuinely happy since high school. He looked good when he was smiling.

Before you could say anything, Thomas said something to Lafayette in French, and damn. You knew he moved to France for a few years, but you hadn’t heard him speak the Romance language before. It clicked something within you. And you hated yourself for it, because why were you drooling over Thomas Jefferson speaking French?

Lafayette’s eyes widened at whatever Thomas said, and he answered in a hushed tone, glancing between you and him.

“You catching anything they’re saying?” John whispered.

“No idea,” you hummed. “Thank god you’re good at this game, because I have no idea how to play.” You admitted.

John looked away sheepishly, a guiltiness in his posture. “About that…”

“Hold on—you told me you’re good at this game!”

He paused, pursing his lips. “So I may have been exaggerating a tad.”

“John, I swear to fucking god if I have to buy Jefferson shit—“

“I know how to play a little bit! I’m just not… particularly great. But I promise I can help,” he assured you, his hand motions becoming animated.

“You better not sell.”

A devilish grin slowly spread on Lafayette's face, and he nodded to whatever Thomas said. The two finally broke from their side conversation. You were still hung up on the butterflies that filled your stomach as Jefferson walked towards you, churning with anxiety at knowing virtually nothing about pool.

“Ready to lose?” Thomas held a cocky demeanor, wiping his hands on the sides of his sweater. A nervous habit he still practiced. Weird how you remember the little things about him.

“As if. I will die before I ever pay for you,” you scoffed. While you were distracted in shit talking Jefferson (knowing full well you’d lose), Lafayette was whispering with John, although you couldn’t catch any of it.

“Hm, that’s too bad. For future reference, I like my whiskey neat, or a tequila sunrise if I’m feelin‘ like a rockstar,” he teased. You briefly glanced at his arms when he crossed them, ignoring the thoughts screaming that he was hot. Blame it on the alcohol.

“Was that a reference to The Rolling Stones and the Eagles?”

His smile widened. “Only you’d know that.”

Laurens cleared his throat, breaking the banter with a nervousness in the way he held himself. “I think I’m gonna partner with Lafayette instead, so that it’s fair.”

You paled. “Wait, what? I thought we would be partners?”

He gave you a weak shrug, glancing at Thomas, then Lafayette. “Figured since neither of us know how to play, we should split with the people who actually do.”

A frown tugged your lips. They had to have planned this or something. There was no way that all the whispering they did wasn’t about you. Before you could protest further, the Frenchman himself stepped forward. “Why don’t we get zis game started, oui?”

Right when you weren’t looking, Lafayette shared a nod with Thomas, flashing him a brief smile. Thomas’ hand found it’s way on your lower back as he bent down to whisper in your ear. “Guess you won’t be buyin’ me anything, huh?”

The simplistic touch of the curve in your back was electric. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Part of you resented yourself for fretting over the graze of his fingertips. “Don’t look so disappointed,” you glanced up at him.

He hummed, straightening up with that smug smirk still lingering on him. “Mm, I won’t be. There’s always hope for the future.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed in response. Still keeping his hand placed on the dip in your back, he gently led you to the table, leaning his other hand on it.

“Let us get a practice shot in,” he said to the opposing pair, who nodded in return. “You know how to hold the stick?” He asked.

Embarrassed, you bit your lower lip. “Vaguely. I’ve only ever played once, and let’s just say it didn’t end too well.”

Thomas chuckled, grabbing the cue stick and giving a demonstration on how to properly handleit. “Hold it at your hip with your dominant hand. Your back hand should be perpendicular with the cue,” he explained. For some odd reason, you found yourself staring at the way his broad shoulders strained against his sweater, how his hand gripped the stick. Once again, your thoughts circled back to the idea of him being really, really fucking handsome. Infuriatingly so.

“You should be aligned with the cue ball. Make sure you’re holdin’ the stick usin’ your thumb and index finger, and maybe your middle if you want more power. Watch me.” He lowered himself so he was eye level with the ball, leaning forward. He slid the cue stick in the V-shaped opening between his fingers, seeing a flicker of tension in his forearms before he loosened himself.

Hm. Why were you suddenly drooling?

He pushed the stick forward, effectively hitting a solid into a pocket for demonstration. Thomas straightened up, wearing a satisfied smile as Lafayette rolled the balls back to him. “Your turn.”

You took the cue, inhaling sharply and attempting to push down the nervousness bubbling in your stomach. You lined yourself up like how Thomas said, bending over to be eye-to-eye with the sphere. A huff of disagreement escaped him, and you glanced up to see him knitting his eyebrows in concern.

“You’re a little stiff, darlin’, relax,” he commented. The pet name seemed to fly right past him naturally. He came to your side, placing his hand near your tricep to readjust your form. He didn’t say anything about the way your breath hitched, but you knew he noticed it.

With more correct form, you took a deep breath before sliding the stick across your fingers, hitting the ball just shy of the pocket. “Damn,” you winced, standing up straight with a frown.

“‘Ts alright, no sweat,” he reassured, “try again.”

He watched with patience as you lined up with the cue ball once more, biting your tongue to focus. This time, it went in.

“There you go! You got it,” he grinned. You found a sense of pride swelling in your chest at the praise.

“Now are you ready to play?” Lafayette whined, and the sound of his voice broke the moment between you and Thomas. There was a pang of disappointment when you realized other people were there, and it couldn’t just be you and Jefferson hanging out like old times.

“I suppose,” Jefferson sighed. He glanced at you one final time before moving to help set up the game.

—

The game had ended up in a loss for you and Jefferson. Surprisingly, you made a pretty good team and worked nicely together. But considering how little experience you have, it made sense that Lafayette and John came out victorious. Unfortunately for you, that meant buying them a round.

“Maybe next time, ami,” Lafayette snickered, carrying his drink that you paid for over to Hercules.

“Thanks for the drink, losers!” John laughed as he found Alexander across the bar, still sitting with the Schuylers.

Thomas chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Assholes,” he breathed out. You had taken seats next to one another, loosely holding a drink of preference. “I can’t believe you put up with their shit.”

A snort escaped you. “I can’t either.”

Silence enveloped the conversation, but it wasn’t awkward. There was a hint of comfort in being in his presence again. It was so natural to be around him, not needing to say a single word to know he’s there. But you wouldn’t acknowledge that, because it was the alcohol making you feel all warm and fuzzy. Yeah. The shot and half a drink you’ve had. That’s it.

“That was fun,” he commented, “despite our loss. Which was totally your fault, by the way.” He teased, but there was a softness to him when he looked at you. He took a long sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” you finally responded, “I had fun. Didn’t think it’d be possible, but life continues to surprise me every day.”

A low hum of agreement rumbled from his chest. The night drifted into more drinks, more stolen glances, more dancing and laughing that you didn’t even notice how you left your wallet on the counter.

And you sure didn’t notice who found it, either.

#hamilton #hamilton x reader #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader

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wistfulwanderingone · 1 month ago

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"The Compass and the Blade"

Clavis Moments Snippet - College AU Pt 3 Clavis Lelouch x Reader

Fandom: Ikemen Prince Word Count: ~1881

Summary: Modern College AU

"The Compass and the Blade"

The next class should’ve been forgettable.

Same tired lighting, flickering faintly like it resented being awake. Same too-warm air with that faint hum of overworked vents. The professor was already at the board, scrawling today’s prompt like he was trying to spark a revolution with a dry-erase marker that had seen too many semesters.

And yet...something had changed. Clavis didn’t sit the same way anymore.

He still draped himself across his chair like royalty bored of ruling — legs stretched, collar loose, a sliver of lavender shirt just visible beneath his coat. But there was a shift. The way his fingers tapped his pen against his knee — slower. The way his head tilted, eyes half-lidded but watchful — not just scanning for entertainment.

He wasn’t performing for the room anymore.

He was watching you.

Not obviously. Not constantly. Just enough.

Enough to notice the pause in your pen mid-word, the way your fingers hovered just above the page like your thoughts had wandered somewhere more luminous.

Enough to catch the faint, contemplative smile that curved your mouth as you read a quote someone had scribbled in the corner of the whiteboard.

You reached up absently to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing against your cheek with a kind of unconscious grace. A breeze from the open window stirred the soft ends of your hair, carrying with it the scent of campus ivy and a hint of rain-soaked pavement.

And when your eyes flicked toward him—he winked.

Not flirtatiously — or not just flirtatiously. It was more complicated than that. Amused. Calculated. But also respectful, in the way only he could be: part invitation, part challenge, part admission that, yes, you’d earned his attention — and no, he wasn’t looking away.

Your heart skipped — just once — like it had stepped into a puddle of music.

Annoyingly traitorous thing.

You lowered your gaze quickly, lashes sweeping down as your fingers returned to the margin of your notes. But not before you smiled — just slightly.

But you did reach for your pen again — slowly, deliberately — and resumed writing, even though the words didn’t matter. Not yet.

You tapped the end of it once against your lip. And you didn’t stop watching him either.

That day’s topic: Justice and Empathy.

The board read it plainly in green marker, the handwriting slightly smudged from where the professor’s sleeve had dragged across it. The hum of the overhead lights was louder than the room itself. Half-filled mugs steamed faintly beside laptops. Windows let in the faintest warmth from an overcast sky, the kind of weather that made even deep thoughts feel a little drowsy.

The discussion started slowly.

Buzzwords floated like dust motes in the stale light: systemic, impartial, collective welfare, moral calculus. Students spoke with that familiar brand of performative intellect — voices even, inflections flat, as if true conviction might tarnish the polish of their arguments.

Until someone — someone very proud of his own voice — leaned forward in his seat and declared, “Justice isn’t compatible with emotion. That’s the whole point. Feelings get in the way.”

It was loud enough to claim authority. Smug enough to draw nods from a few corners. Clavis didn’t retort.

Not yet.

He turned his head — not toward the professor, not toward the smug voice — but toward you.

And you… You didn’t notice.

Instead, your pen stilled mid-stroke, ink blooming faintly on the edge of your page, then lifted your gaze — slow, composed, cutting through the dull fog of the room like a song played in the wrong key, but somehow right. “I disagree.”

You didn’t say it loudly. But it carried just the same.

The professor stilled, marker hovering. “Would you elaborate?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Justice without empathy isn’t justice. It’s vengeance dressed in robes.”

The words landed. Softly. Like petals on stone. But the sound they made echoed deeper than expected.

You kept your voice even. Your expression calm. But there was fire tucked neatly beneath your tone — the kind that didn’t demand attention, only stated facts. The kind that knew it had nothing to prove.

“Empathy is what prevents justice from becoming cruelty,” you continued. “Without it, we stop seeing people. We only see rules.”

A scoff broke the moment.

The political science major — the one who always sat too far forward, as if he were about to be knighted — leaned back with a smirk. “Empathy just makes us biased,” he said. “That’s the whole problem. It clouds our judgment.”

Several heads nodded. The professor didn’t.

You turned to him — the student, not the professor — and tilted your head slightly, gaze steady. “So does the absence of it.”

The silence that followed was brief — but not empty. It shivered.

And then Clavis moved.

Not rose. Not stood. Unfolded.

Smooth and unhurried, as though he’d been waiting backstage and had just decided the scene was worthy of his entrance. One hand slipped into his coat pocket. The other draped casually over the back of the chair. His movements had the elegance of ritual — the kind of slow, deliberate grace that could just as easily precede a toast...or a coup.

“If I may,” he said, voice silk-drenched and amused — but edged now, precise as a blade’s kiss, “Bias is everywhere. Empathy has it. So does logic. So does history. The real question is simpler.”

He paused. And smiled — sharp, feline.

“If justice depends on empathy...who gets to decide which feelings are valid?”

A hush rippled through the room, heads tilting in thought, or discomfort. The smirker looked triumphant.

But you sat up straighter, breath steady, the edge of your notebook nudging lightly against your wrist as you lifted your gaze to meet Clavis’s eyes. “That’s the wrong question.”

Stillness. Even Clavis blinked — slowly.

“It’s not about whose feelings are valid,” you said. “It’s about whether we’re willing to listen. Even when we disagree. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Empathy doesn’t erase logic — it contextualizes it. It doesn’t weaken judgment — it deepens it. Like a compass.”

Silence.

Not stunned — attentive. The kind that holds its breath.

Clavis tilted his head, eyes catching a slant of afternoon light. He looked...interested. Focused. Like someone watching a lock begin to turn.

“And what if the compass is broken?” he asked.

“Then we recalibrate,” you replied. “Not by erasing emotion — but by holding it accountable. Like we would with reason. Like we would with anything we value.” You smiled — faint but certain. “Bias isn’t always the enemy. It’s responsibility. And sometimes, it’s the part of us that still remembers how to care.”

He leaned back, folding his arms like a man watching the tide change. “Interesting,” he murmured. “And if empathy clouds judgment?”

You looked at him then — fully. It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t flirtation.

It was clarity.

“It doesn’t cloud it,” you said. “It complicates it. And that’s exactly how it should be.” Your pen returned to the margin of your notes. “Justice should never be easy.”

The professor exhaled slowly, marker forgotten in his hand. It was the look of someone who’d just been handed a key to a lock he’d forgotten existed.

Clavis watched you with a new expression.

At first glance, it could have passed for indifference — the lazy sprawl, the half-lidded eyes, fingertips resting against his temple like a prince posing for a portrait he didn’t intend to finish. His lashes hung low, veiling the sharp glint beneath like clouds just barely hiding the storm. But when you looked closer — because you always did — you’d noticed a quiet recalibration happening behind his gaze.

He wasn’t watching the way he usually did. Not like a hunter. Like a strategist. Someone trying to map the shape of a threat he hadn’t anticipated.

There was no smirk. Not yet. Only the smallest shift at the corners of his mouth — tension caught somewhere between an almost-grin and an almost-frown. Like even he couldn’t decide what the moment meant yet.

You hadn’t walked into his trap — because you’d seen it before it had fully formed. You’d stepped around it, elegant and unhurried. Like someone who knew exactly where every string was tied and simply refused to trip.

The realization had settled over him slowly. Not with a jolt — but with a hush. A quiet kind of awe, sharp-edged and unfamiliar.

He’d just watched the entire classroom orbit something new — something other than him — and only now was he recognizing its center.

You.

He leaned back in his seat, slower than before. Less languid, more deliberate. Fingers steepling just beneath his chin, half to appear thoughtful — half to steady the strange, warm flicker rising under his skin

It wasn’t just what you said. It was how you said it.

The calm confidence. The unshaken tone. The way your gaze never flinched from his, even when you parried him cleanly and the whole room stilled to listen.

You hadn’t dominated. You hadn’t performed. You had dismantled — gently, precisely, without ever raising your voice.

And the worst part? You hadn’t even meant to impress.

That’s what gnawed at him now. Or maybe lit something. He wasn’t sure yet.

The professor moved on. So did the class. Voices picked back up. Pens scratched against notebooks. One student yawned too loudly.

But Clavis remained still.

His attention hadn’t drifted — not even slightly. It lingered, anchored in place, fixed on one thing. You.

His pen sat idle in his fingers now, its weight forgotten, the metal warmed by his palm. Beneath the desk, his other hand drifted absently to the edge of his coat pocket, one thumb tracing the edge of his coat pocket where the old note still lived.

You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Not yet.

Your gaze had drifted out the window beside you, thoughtful and unreadable. A breeze moved just enough to stir the edge of the curtains. The late afternoon light cast warm ribbons across your desk, catching faint glints in your hair and turning the ink in your notes the color of twilight — dusky purple with hints of gold, like pressed lilacs folded into secrets.

You tilted your head. Brushed a strand of hair behind your ear — not nervously, but like your thoughts had caught on it. Your fingers lingered there a moment too long. A breath. A heartbeat.

And then — you looked up.

Your eyes met his. Calm. Present. Entirely unbothered.

Not baiting. Not challenging. Just seeing him.

And staying.

Clavis’s gaze didn’t waver.

He tilted his head slightly — a cat just before the pounce, or a king reconsidering a rival not as an enemy...but as an equal.

His mouth curved.

Not the usual grin — too cruel, too practiced. This one was quiet. Reflexive. Almost reverent.

Acknowledgment.

Like a fencer lowering their blade half an inch in recognition. Not surrender. A shift in stance.

You weren’t trying to be anything. And that — the nerve, the composure, the refusal to be unsettled — it scraped deliciously against the part of him that was always calculating, always circling, always three moves ahead.

Except now, for once, he wasn’t entirely sure whose game it was.

He didn’t know your rules. But he knew one thing:

It wasn’t boring.

And for Clavis Lelouch — That was reason enough to keep playing.

Tag List:

@rjthirsty @ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@nyxthepixystick @ikeprinces-stuff @kaizoku-musume @candiedcoffeedrops @missaengg

@ike-garden2024 @writingwhimsey @reborn-elven-spirit @william-rex @avellanas-nutty-empire

@notjonahclemence

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikemen prince clavis

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midnight--sadness · 5 months ago

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(you right anon)

happy to hear u liked my musings! i really like the way u described gihun as heat, openly passionate, with his intentions clear and pointed; and inho as his natural opposite, deceptive and murky, cold, detached etc they really are two threads in the same stitch

and of course your inclusion of jungbae and youngil as well as sangwoo!! if any man could pull off being jealous of himself its hwang inho. he can tongue at the scar left by the tracker gihun cut out and burn about it while gihun calmly tells him about other little scars left on his body left behind from his childhood, from nights spent at the racetrack or bars or anywhere else inho was not privy to, a different softer sweeter gihun existing within the current man before him

and the idea that gihun wants inho to lose it, to be passionate, to be angry to show SOMETHING human, raw and sticky and bloody is so so fun. show me jealousy and grief, show me hatred in those eyes of yours, don’t look away from this or me, take the mask off, dont lie, i will crack you open and eat your softness etc

love the idea that they both want understanding from the other, and that they long to be equal. they’re darkness chasing light, light chasing darkness.

i think gihun has a particular distain of that geometric frontman mask, that’d he want to break it and then turn and tear at the youngil mask too. what he wants is that squishy human core. he wants to be RIGHT he feels that shit in his bones, so stubborn. he wants surrender from inho the way he wanted surrender from sangwoo.

hes righteous (jungbae) and he’s focused on winning (sangwoo) the way that matters most to him (saving, caring) and hes devastatingly, painfully, only just one man (who cannot save everyone but now he thinks maybe i could save and keep this one…) and this man requires the metaphorical death of the frontman, the mask, in order to accept inho as his. like he needs to kneed inho into something he can hold onto. play by MY rules and im yours to keep. let me win. and the idea that inho wants gihun to be right too ohhhh he really just wants to mash their broken forms together until its impossible to tear them apart. impossible to hurt one and not the other too, to be two as one, to feel the pressure, not of running games that kill hundreds every year but the pressure of protecting one heart. possessiveness can go both ways… as a treat…

loving each other the way the other thinks is inhuman while also contradicting themselves (inho thinking gihuns empathy and goodness is special to gihun and therefore not /human/ly, but wanting him to be right anyway. gihun thinking inho is bathed deeply in the blood of others; inhuman and monstrous, but hes slain that monster and what arose was redemption, not forgiveness but atonement etc)

i really love their back and forths, and combined with an idea u mentioned once, about how gihun was always chasing and admiring sangwoo and would maybe be a little overwhelmed when inho’s the same to him. i think he’d learn to crave the attention like air, esp being so isolated and withdrawn in between seasons he needs love so bad.

needing to always defend his continuous choice to show empathy and trust in humanity when time and time again the people closest to him give him so many reasons why he shouldn’t

getting a little giddy and drunk with the power that comes with choosing to trust someone who hurt so many, and him specifically pretty deeply (my best friend died in the squid games and all i got was this lousy shirt 2x) (and psychosexually obsessed other half with a staring problem sure whatever) he did have fun playing the hero, this once, the pain of it all, was worth it. ohhh seong gihun u will always be famous….

anyway! i ended up adding ur music recs to my 457 playlist!! they were all great! ive never heard lilith before, it was such a gem. if u like lana and mitski i think ‘let the light in’ ft father john misty and ‘me and my husband’ are also very 457.

originally i did have a longer list of music recs to swap with u, but i could feel myself starting to go on a whole different rabbit hole based on some of them, i started yapping about sangihun and this ask is already crazy long so ill leave the 457 specific recs here n save the others for another time maybe! have a lovely day

• ‘thats why i love you’ sir ft sabrina claudio (esp in the context of being halves of halves ugh my heart)

• ‘running out of time’ tyler, the creator

• ‘i need you (to be wrong)’ switchfoot

• ‘walk on by’ dionne warwick (get on the plane… let it be a dream… deeply mournful inho center my beloved)

YES YESYESYEYSYEYSYSYS YYYYYEEEEEESSSSSS!!!!! 😩😩😩😩

gihun wanting to see inho, all of him, not the front man or youngil, just inho.... but inho is so convinced he is unlovable and he cannot be forgiven, his sins are too great, so he can't show gihun, he refuses. but he doesn't realize that for gihun to ever love him, he has to see him.

inho associating gihun's goodness, his faith in humanity, his ability for forgive, deeply nurturing self, not to a human trait, but maybe to somethign god-like, something that is not of this mortal plane. because humans cannot forgive each other like that, they cannot look selfishness and cruelty and horror in the face and still be able to absolve, no, no. that is for gods, for beings of another realm. especially true for a man who has not only participated in the games and then was in charge of them for almost a decade, but also someone who worked in law enforcement and has seen the depravity of mankind.

god, sometimes they remind me of a poem i read about ares and aphrodite, and how aphrodite has held ares' hand for so long that the blood on her hands is the same as his. and that is so reminds me of inhun.

of how, in s1, when gihun offers his hand to sangwoo, his palm is clean but the back of sangwoo's hand is bloody. the implications that is they held hands, the blood on sangwoo would smear gihun, would "taint" him. and it's the same with inho. how can he get close to gihun without spilling this blood all over him? because i think inho wants to show gihun that people are not worth saving but, at the same time, he doesn't want gihun to believe him, because then maybe he can be saved. maybe inho isn't so far gone. maybe, inho can atone at gihun's feet, can lay his sins down and gihun can forgive him for them, can cleanse him of his wrongdoings....

i'm glad you liked my recs!! lana's "let the light in" is such a good song, can't believe i forgot it!!! gonna go listen to yur recs right now!! 🫶🥰

stop, when i was writing down my song recs, i was also seeing so many sangihun songs and was like, no wait this is inhun i cant add sangihun ejfieiioffrghhve

but please send those sangihun song recs and ramblings, i wanna hear them!! 😩

#song recs #asks #yapping 4ever #squid game #seong gi-hun #hwang in-ho #inhun #457 #ginho #you right anon

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astralleywright · 4 days ago

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i quite enjoy orym but i fully agree that liam super softballed him in a lot of character choices. he could be a jackass at TIMES but i never truly believed that he would go hard with him because he pulled too many punches. i'm not here like OH WORST MOST ANNOYING CHARACTER EVER HE SUCKED!!!! but damn he is a bit disappointing compared to caleb

long term Hecate fans and haters will know that I actually used to be a really huge Orym guy!! during and post the split arc, I was really excited for the character I thought he was becoming!! because like. the guy hadn't really had much going on up to this point; he had some sweet or sad moments, but was overall very stagnant as a character. But for a brief beautiful moment, in ep 63 especially, it seemed like Orym was finally moving as a character-in a downward spiral, yes, into pragmatism and moral absolutism, but the kind of downward spiral that could ultimately lift him up to something better than where he started.

And you can see hints of this, but it mostly manifested on Liam's part in Orym losing a lot of his silliness and really playing into his sacrificial nature and emotional repression, by far the most sympathetic of Orym's issues. The casting aside of empathy, the ruthlessness, the tunnel visioned focus on revenge and protecting the status quo, were all things that went noted-by me and likeminded fans, as well as by people like Taliesin, Aabria, and Robbie on 4sd-but it rarely felt intentional, and at times was actively denied by Liam. I finally fully gave up on Orym as a character when Liam went out of his way, 9 months later, to squash the idea that Orym knew Laudna killing Bor'dor would bring Delilah back (after initially suggesting that it was possible on 4sd).

ETA: I should note that this wasn't so much abt the specific thing he denied (i do not want to do Orym nod discourse ever again thank you) as much as the denial happening at all, especially so long after the fact and when he had previously been open to the idea. In short, it felt like a cop-out, an overdefensive aversion to his character being possibly seen in a negative light, especially given he said it during swordgate when most people were already firmly on Orym's side and saying much harsher things about Laudna. It was part of a larger trend of the back half of C3, of Liam telling the audience things abt Orym he hadn't successfully shown in the fiction.

But like. That didn't change that Orym would sometimes do objectionable things, but only minor ones that got brushed away within the narrative, which Liam sometimes didn't seem to realize came across as such. This made Orym pretty impossible to talk about, and frustrating to watch. I don't think a character has to be deeply flawed or morally questionable to be good, but it's a different thing entirely when I keep being told a character is just a sweet little guy when he often really isn't. Especially in a campaign where most everyone else is committing to taking big swings and playing deeply flawed characters.

#crposting #asks #anonymous #this a just part of a larger Orym autopsy in my mind lmao. he disappoints me bc i had such high hopes for him #and i think what he ultimately became was so much simpler and less interesting than he could've been if Liam had rlly locked in #which is the other thing-if Orym had become a rich and well executed character in a different way than i imagined it would be different #than him just ultimately not feeling like much of anything at all #cr meta

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joelswritingmistress · 2 years ago

Text

Last Halloween: Chapter 31

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

The passing of time began to heal the wounds that had been bestowed on you and Joel. Despite some initial reluctance, you agreed to talk to a therapist about being kidnapped by Vic and all that took place before and after. Joel had talked you into it, and agreed to go, himself.

By the summer, you felt almost back to normal; and those wounds turned into scars. Never forgotten, but no longer the focal point of your pain.

You passed the last of your practicals and exams. The final course you finished that summer and by the fall you had your nursing degree as planned.

It was October 1st when you handed your three closest girlfriends your last lump sum of money for the monthly rent on the house you had been renting together. It was bittersweet. The four of you had had so much fun through your mid twenties in that house, and waking up to share laughs and have coffee were the little moments you would miss so dearly.

"You're only moving six minutes down the road," Jessie reminded you, when the two of you cried together, complete with seemingly contradictory smiles.

"I know." You dried your eyes. "But.. I just.. I'm so happy but this is-"

"The end of Act One in your story and the beginning of Act Two." Jessie pulled you in for a long hug. "And this is where the friendships grow stronger, and the real depth comes in."

You sighed. Her words made you cry a little more before you finally got it together and bid a temporary farewell to your friend. The four of you already had a plan to go out the following Friday night and that was solace enough for the time being.

The very bright light at the end of the tunnel was Joel. Once you parted from Jessie, you sped over to Joel's street with your car full of all of your belongings. Your heart was letting you know how full it was from the constant thudding in your chest. It picked up the closer you got and felt like exploding when you pulled down the private driveway.

As promised, Joel sat on his front porch waiting for your arrival. One year later and he still made you swoon. The site of him still made butterflies flutter around in your midsection.

When you parked the car and popped open the driver's side door, you smiled wide as he approached with a key dangling between his fingers. You almost couldn't believe this was really happening.

"Welcome home." Joel smiled just as wide. The two of you couldn't take your eyes off one another and you pulled him in by the collar of his flannel shirt to leave a long, meaningful kiss on his lips.

"I love you," you breathed into his mouth.

"I love you, too." He brushed his nose against yours and you kissed again before accepting the key from him.

"I can't believe I live here now."

Joel kept you close. "Maybe one day I'll get you that cabin in the woods, but I thought this would do for now."

You shook your head and nodded toward the house behind him. "This is home."

He pecked your lips once more. "Come on." He pulled you by the hand and the two of you began to unload the car.

You were on cloud nine. Each box you brought inside made the move feel more permanent. When you unpacked the box that had your Bluetooth speaker in it, you plopped it on the little end table by one of the couches and put on one of your many playlists.

"Bob Dylan," Joel nodded in approval as the first song began to play. "Nice."

You smiled at him as he hauled another box in over shoulder. The two of you went through it together, finding a permanent home for your things. While you didn't want to impose on Joel's space, he was overly accommodating.

"It's our space now," Joel reminded you three or four times.

You stuck your toothbrush in the slot next to his. Joel cleared out more than half of the closet space for clothes. You laid out your boots, shoes and sandals.

When all of the bins and boxes were finally empty, you made your way back downstairs, welcomed by the infamous pipes of Sheryl Crow's Strong Enough, you finally reached for your car keys, and the single, gold key you had placed beside it; the one Joel had given to you.

As you picked it up between your fingers, Joel crept in behind you and kissed down your neck. You moaned lightly with a smile and closed your eyes.

"Mmm.." you let out a deep exhale through your nose. "So, this is my life now, huh?" You sunk back against him.

"As long as you want it to be," Joel whispered, as his hand snaked up the bottom of your shirt.

You turned around and Joel met you halfway in a smoldering kiss, one that you had been wanting to give him all afternoon. For the rest of the night you didn't take your hands off of him. Moving in together had turned you into a feral, needy woman.

When the two of you finally laid in bed, breathing heavy but otherwise quiet, you stated aloud. "I live here."

Joel began to chuckle, guiding you to lay partially on his chest. "You live here."

You sighed contently again, listening to his heart beating rapidly in his chest with your arm slunk across his abdomen. "Imagine if I had never offered you that free coffee that night."

"What's meant to be will always be." Joel played with your hair. "But I'm glad you did." He added, "You're a brave woman. I owe you my life. You gave it back to me."

"All I want from you is to share it with me."

Joel kissed the top of your head and the two of you laid contently for a long while, talking about life, the future, and what was to come. You both intentionally left out the past. It was the easiest way to fall asleep peacefully.

When the next morning rolled around, you felt refreshed. It was like leaving a great dream only to awaken to a better one - one with Joel beside you. Permanently. Every day. For as long as you both could stand to be around one another. In your mind, that meant forever.

You smiled at him sleeping there and swung your legs off the edge of the bed before tiptoeing out of the room so you wouldn't wake him. As much as you wanted to lay there all morning with Joel, you also wanted to surprise him.

Despite it being your first formal night as a resident at the Miller house, you knew your way around the kitchen. And so you went about whipping up pancakes, setting the coffee pot and gathering the syrup, butter and chocolate chips you happened to find in one of the cabinets.

You hesitated before retrieving a long rectangular box wrapped in candy corn wrapping paper from your jacket pocket by the front door and left it by Joel's unmade plate.

Before you could go see if he was awake, your eyes lifted to meet his as he strolled into the kitchen. Joel pulled a long-sleeved tshirt down over boxers and you couldn't help but smile at his head of messy hair.

A smile crept on his face. "It smells amazing down here."

"Thought I'd surprise you on our first official morning living together." You smiled back and retrieved a glass dish filled with pancakes and placed them in the center of the table.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." The two of you sat down at the table and Joel raised his coffee mug to you. "To many more cups of coffee together first thing in the morning."

You giggled and reached for your cup, tapping it gently against his. "To many, many, many more."

Joel took a sip, smacking his lips together with an appreciative sigh and then eyed the little box by his silverware. He smirked and reached for it. "What's this?"

You felt your stomach knot up and folded your hands on top of the table. "You'll uh.. you'll have to open it."

Joel's eyes squinted in playful suspicion but he still smirked as he tore open the corner of the tiny package. "I didn't even know they made candy corn wrapping paper," he commented, glancing up at you with a wider grin.

You flashed him a closed-mouth smile and waited as he removed the small, white box from the paper. His eyes met yours a final time before he opened the box and stared down at the contents inside.

A quiet exhale escaped your lips as you waited for Joel's reaction. Those next few seconds felt like hours.

"This is, um.. is this what I think it is?" He looked right at you now motioning down toward the box. A wide smile spread on his face, "I mean it's not a positive Covid test, right?"

You managed a light laugh but ultimately the gravity of the situation held you firmly in place. "No, it's not a Covid test."

Joel chuckled to himself and brought a hand across his mouth for a second, before running it across his beard. His eyebrows raised and he reached for the rectangular stick in the box.

"Tell me." He stared intensely across the table at you.

Your bottom lip dropped away from your top one and you hesitated. You weren't sure why but it was such a powerful, permanent set of words to string together. When Joel couldn't contain a smile, it gave you enough confidence to spit the words out with a little, timid shrug of your shoulders.

"I'm pregnant."

"Really?" He asked as if he didn't believe it, rising to his feet. Joel made his way toward you.

You nodded and rose to your feet, feeling completely content and at ease in his arms as he hugged you. The warmth that often radiated from him transferred into you and you closed your eyes as his hand moved up and down your back.

It felt as if Joel didn't want to let you go, and you didn't mind. You smiled to yourself when he kissed your forehead before edging his back an inch or two so you were face-to-face.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You nodded and smiled back at him. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, making you laugh and you shared a long, closed-mouth kiss. "I'm going to be a dad." The words came out almost like a question. You were sure the shock of the moment hadn't fully registered yet.

"You're going to be a great dad."

A lopsided smile still lingered on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped and shook his head. When he couldn't find the words, you pulled him back in for a hug and he melted against you.

After a minute or so, Joel finally said. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He picked you up off the ground and spun you in a circle, making you giggle again. When your feet were back on the ground, Joel put a hand on his head and you saw a dampness in his eyes.

"Don't," you said with a laugh, "I made it this long without crying."

"Sorry," he said with a laugh as a tear streaked his face. "Fuck. I'm the man, I shouldn't be crying."

"That's an outdated take," you told him with a laugh, as he dried his face with his hands.

"I know." He chuckled and then dropped down to his knees in front of you, lifting the shirt to expose your stomach. Despite there being no obvious indications of your pregnancy, Joel placed a hand over your abdomen and then left a single kiss just below your belly button.

You cradled his head against you as he placed the side of his face against the area and hugged around your waist.

"We're going to have our own little family," Joel acknowledged allowed.

"Yeah." You ran your fingers through his hair.

"What do you think, five kids?" He joked, making you laugh as he rose back to his feet.

"Maybe seven or eight," you teased back, accepting a series of kisses from him.

"I love you," Joel said again, tucking hair behind you ear. "Really. I loved you right away. Last year, a week into this, I knew this was something that comes once in a lifetime."

You had tears in your eyes now. "I knew it too. And now you finally get your happily ever after."

"So do you."

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee @shayna-d-clown @bbiophiliaa @theclassicvinyldragon @tiffanypooh @mandijo17 @poodlebae @purple-fig @vabeachazn

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jeannefostergoriot · 6 months ago

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Hi @amandayetagain ! I was your secret Santa ^^

I’m like… Late, I’m so sorry about this. It was fun to write though, thanks for letting me go all angsty.

Hope you’ll like this.

And thanks @song-tam for organizing this ^^

CW: death of a major character, blood.

The Blood of Love ~ Sophiana

Sophie was pacing in her room, nervously. Life was a mess. Even more than usual, actually. How could it have been only one month since they discovered Elysian?

So much had happened since then… and every event worse than the previous. Linh and Marella kidnapped while the Black Swan was overwhelmed with attacks on their hideouts, to the point Fintan took the matter in his hands and forcefully escaped his ice prison, burning everything to the ground to free his Prodigy. Well, maybe not alone, considering how guilty Bronte had felt immediately after. To the point of breaking. Healing him had been a challenge and every piece of memory she had seen then… it was still haunting her. So much pain, so much regret, so many things forever faded. And it was so cold, colder than any mind, and the heat at the center was so dim time had seem eternal while she was trying to heal, to inflict positive emotions. The worst thing being that, right after the Councillor was healed, the Neverseen attacked again, exploding a part of Eternalia and threatening to take new captives, they were about to when Fintan jumped in the fight, screaming something that sounded like an order to run to the kids. He had saved Linh and Marella, who were standing awkwardly on the side, and ran when he said.

Then, after this attack, they finally had a moment of peace. Well, peace was sure a big word, but… it looked like it. Truce during which they learnt all the secrets of Elysian, and Keefe told them about his adventures in Humanland, the mysteries uncovered, the meeting with Alvar, everything. Keefe’s story was weighing, but not as much as Elysian’s…

Calm down, Sophie, calm. It’s ok. Yeah they created a damn primal source out of nowhere millennia ago, trapped some Lighter to watch over it, and Gisela wanted to pirate it. And now it lost half its powers. But yeah, calm down.

She couldn’t stop pacing. Walking. Every second of calm given by the outside was even worse than battles to her. She was always planning, always overthinking, always calculating.

And she was also trying to meticulously avoid some thoughts. Keefe was incredible but something wasn’t right, she could not tell what. He felt it too, and that led to difficulties of communication like never before, and his complicated Empathy didn’t help. They truly cared for each other, really, and they thought it was love, these smiles seeing each other, the warmth in their hearts, the constant thinking, but somehow calling it love, saying they were dating…

It felt even more wrong than with Fitz.

Stop thinking about that!

Sophie pulled out a few eyelashes. It had been three days since she last saw Keefe, and she missed him, a bit, but also…

Argh. What was wrong with her???

With anger, she took Hope out of its sheath and started to throw it at the target on her wall. Different pictures of the Neverseen members, in menacing poses. Painted by her boyfriend.

Maybe saying it over and over would make it right. Fake it till you make it.

Her Imparter suddenly started ringing, emitting a red light. Not again…

She took the call, her brows frowning despite her attempts to seem calm.

Teal eyes, bad news.

The Vackers never called without a very serious motive.

“Biana? What’s happening?”

“Erm… You know how I was in scouting mission in that Italian city where there’s the access to the Black Swan hideout?”

“Florence, yeah?”

“Well uh. The scout needs armed support.”

“Biana??? Biana, what do you mean???”

“Can’t tell you, they’ll hear me… Please, just come. And bring as many warriors as you can.”

“Kay, I’ll be there with Sandor and Bo, I go to the Shores of Solace pick Ro, and uh… Do you want your brother to come with Grizel? Is Woltzer with you?”

“Yes for your guards and Ro, yes I have Woltzer, you can bring Grizel if she accepts to leave my brother. No elf, I beg you, too dangerous for us.”

“To this point?? Should I tell the Council???”

“NO. Please, come… it’s…”

Biana’s sentence was interrupted by an explosion so loud it startled Sophie in her room and made Sandor burst through the door, visibly worried.

Sophie immediately explained what was going on, grabbed his hand and ran through the corridors to get to Bo, patrolling outside. Once she had both of them, she ran, arriving to the Shores in a second. There, Keefe and Ro were standing on the beach, talking theories and conspiracies.

Sophie stopped running, looked at her boyfriend with a slight smile that meant all at the same time “sorry”, “stay safe”, and “no, no joke now” as she started to explain that Biana needed help and that she had asked for Ro to come, but no elves except Sophie, cause it was extremely dangerous.

Keefe frowned, saying his commends could be useful, now that he globally knew how to use and control them. But Biana had said no elf. And Sophie wasn’t in the mood for arguing, so she felt relieved when the boy walked towards the house, visibly frustrated. Maybe it was ok. Maybe…

She shook her head, forbidding herself from finishing this thought. He would stay safe.

Ro had said ok. So Sophie grabbed her hand, Sandor at her other side and Bo at Sandor’s other hand, and they ran, finding themselves in Florence.

Which was visibly under attack. The evening sky, the wallsdecorated for the end of the year, old red LEDs falling and exploding, like some sort of apocalypse fireworks. It’s weird. All the chants, suddenly becoming screams. Blood splattered, innocent hurt. It hurt deep in her heart, it weighs.

She must find Biana, she must stop this, she feels tears down her cheeks, she feels her hands burning, she looks around, black hood with a white eye, red bolt jolting from her brain, another hood, another bolt, the pain is unmeasurable, unimaginable, hood, bolt, she doesn’t care about human seeing, they’ll need Erasers, cause the city is imploding and she’s walking through the crowd, looking for her friend, for these teal eyes so characteristic, for these scars so rare that she made beautiful.

“FREEZE!”

Everything stops.

Blonde hair crosses the scene, a challenging smile like a mockery of every pain on earth.

“Sophie, move.”

She feels her breath come back. She moves, slowly. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It feels like a weird slow-motion.

Keefe is here. Keefe takes her in his arms, whispering that he is so sorry, but he couldn’t just let her go. If it’s dangerous, he wants to be there, and she knows this already, so she just nods.

It’s ok. Now that time had slowed down, that everything had frozen on his command, she felt her rush of thoughts calming down.

She looked around, still trying to spot Biana. Cause Biana needed her. Biana had called for her.

“Sophie. I won’t be able to hold the scene much longer.”

“What?”

“The “freeze” commend is temporary. It’s my favorite cause then I don’t have to panic for the solution word. But… it’s temporary. I didn’t have a better one. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t… Don’t be. Please. I love you.”

“I love you too, Foster. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She smiled. No, their relationship wasn’t exactly easy, they had fights, they had difficulties and misunderstandings, but… they were here for each other…

“Help me find Biana, will you? Then we’ll be able to get out of here.”

“Sure. I just…”

“I know, Keefe. We’ll be fast.”

“Biana? Move.”

A sigh echoed from somewhere, turning their eyes towards the other end of the crowded street. They ran in that direction, footsteps sounding so loud in the surnatural silence provoked by the boy’s order. They finally spotted her, waving her bloodied hand towards them, smiling.

And right at the second they waved back, the scene unfroze.

And chaos erupted, explosions and lights flashing everywhere, so loud they were deafening, so many actions, so many screams, Sophie spotted black hood over black hood, she tried to inflict them all with pain and fear as big as those she was feeling, but to not avail, they were too many, and they were using technology, and weapons, she finally reached Biana, turned back to grab Keefe.

Who was bleeding, down on the floor. A lot. He…

“Keefe?? Keefe???”

“I think he’s been stabbed… Just… I… I can do from now, you helped so much, I…”

“Biana, no way in hell I’m leaving you here. I’ll teleport us. Just need a bit of space to run, and to…”

“Wait a sec.”

The brunette took off her cape, put it around Keefe’s body and tried to knot it strongly. At least, that way… maybe he would not loose too much blood… though something in her head, and in Sophie’s eyes, was already screaming that it was too late. At such an hour, Elwin was probably still at Foxfire, but…

One second later, the three teens were in the Care Center of the school, a screaming banshee nestled at their feet. Sophie put down her boyfriend on the closest bed while Biana was running towards the office, dragging Elwin out, begging him to just do something.

The Flasher immediately frowned seeing the quantity of blood, he snapped his fingers, creating different light bulbs reflecting on his glasses. worried. And his face immediately lost all colors. The spleen was pierced. And that…

“I… I’m so sorry, I’m not sure I can do… the hit is too deep… I’m so sorry… Maybe humans could do something?”

“No… Not human medicine… Alvar took some and he can’t lightleap now…”

“You told us about that, yeah, but Keefe… Please, don’t…”

“It’s ok, Foster. Should’ve listened to you. And, Biana?”

“Yeah.”

“Not your fault, kay? Don’t blame yourself, please. You needed help, cause even with all the bravery of the universe making you go one-on-on of a psychopathic Ancient can be not enough. I came to help. I did. I chose it. My fault. You promise?”

“I… I do. I promise. I promise I won’t blame myself.”

“Thanks. Foster, I love you. Always had, always will. You’re the heroine of everyone’s story, the best life keeper of the lost cities. Love you.”

“I… I love you too…”

Elwin was activating around, trying to limit the bleeding, working with the elixirs, trying to buy time.

He could not operate the kid.

These things didn’t exist.

And he could see on the teens face their resolution. The three of them hated it, but the three of them knew that not being able to get around would kill Keefe even more, they knew as much as he did, he was just buying time, Imparter in hand to ask Livvy Sonden for help, but she couldn’t do anything more, she was just recommending that he stays calm. There was terror on the face of the two physicians, terror cause that was not something to ever happen.

Normally, a few elixirs and that was good. But now, it wasn’t enough…

Biana was holding her Imparter too, calling all of their friends, Keefe wanted to talk to them, to apologize, to give advice, to make one last joke, he asked Dex to always color Iggy for him, told Fitz that anger was right after all when their world was so rigged, he was sorry for drifting away, he said to the twins to never let their parents drag them down, that the silver in their hairs was so cool actually, he told Marella to fight for what was right and burn down, literally or not, the problems of their system. To Wylie he asked to care for the reckless, and he thanked the Flasher for all the sacrifices and devotion he gave. The Empath thanked Stina for trying to stay with them, for her acceptation, he advised her to try and be nicer, and most of all, he told her, whispering, that Sophie would probably need an Empath to break through her panic moments, and explained what to do to calm her down, how he did it. To Maruca, he apologized to never get to know her much, thanked her for her implication, and wished her strength.

He even asked to call his father, to say goodbye and make Cassius promise he’d be ok, which the Lord did, despite his visible surprise.

Then, the boy turned to Biana, reiterated how it wasn’t her fault, she had been a great friend through his childhood.

He looked over at the medic over him, desperately trying to just do something, and said that it was ok. There was no solution, but it was ok. It was war, after all, and he risked it. It was not Elwin’s fault.

And, his smile becoming weaker, he turned one last time to Sophie.

“I love you, Sophie. Please, be happy. Please, do not forget to be happy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Keefe…”

And as he closed his eyes, letting out a weakened last breath, she felt her heart breaking. Tears started streaming down her cheeks, with no sob, silent crying for the silence in her head, while Biana was shaking, shock coursing through her veins, forcing her to sat down, staining her dress with the still hot blood of her friend.

This was not… She felt Sophie falling down next to her, shaking too, her head falling on her shoulder as a tentative of connection, to feel less alone, and so the brunette just hold her friend into her arms, trying not to think how her skin was soft, trying to avoid to look at her frowned brows, just comforting her, crying with her.

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

Three weeks later, Havenfield.

Sophie was laying on her bed, music playing from her iPod. Since Keefe’s death, she had barely been able to move, sleep or eat. It was just… too much. After a good ten minutes of crying, she had gone back to Florence, picking the bodyguards, not saying a word, she could not tell Ro what happened. And when the ogre princess had found out, she had been on a rampage, finding Neverseen’s hideouts, destroying and infesting them with her special bacteria, destructing every single thing the could. She saw two unknown members of the Neverseen, captured them, and since them, she was meticulously torturing them to know where they hid, how they went from a place to the other, and a good piece of their plans for the immediate future. Swearing that if she ever found Gisela, the elf would suffer the most excruciating death ever.

But Sophie wasn’t hearing any of that. Her grief was silent. Tears. Waves of denial, where she was expecting her Imparter to ring and reveal his smile, his voice saying that it was all just a way to go investigate and he was sorry. But it never happened. So then came the anger. Short, ill-burning, hate against herself for even telling him about what was happening, three days where every line of thought was bleeding on her thighs, till Biana came, walking through the door, imposing her presence, forcing herself in the visible to take care of the mess the Telepath was.

Feeding her. Soothing her to sleep, a little. Hugging her when she woke from nightmares. Preparing baths for her. Talking to her, about life in the Lost Cities, about Foxfire, about the animals in the garden. Keeping her from hurting herself. Whispering her away from the haze of anger. The Vacker girl had been here for a week and a half, helping Sophie through the grief, chasing the anger away. Reasoning the bargaining the blonde had been stuck in for almost a week.

“You’re doing good, Sophie.”

“Oh. You’re here.”

“Always. Told you I wouldn’t leave your side.”

“Thanks Biana…”

“It’s nothing. I went to the Forbidden Cities with Dad. Picked up some books about what grief is. How it works. I’m not sure I can imagine living in a world where grief is so common there are books written about it. You know you’re a textbook griever?”

“What do you mean?” asked Sophie sitting right back up, looking at Biana.

“Well, the… psychologist, I think they’re called, say there are big tendencies, a bit like steps, or stages, for grief, but they are not… Like, these are tendencies, but you can skip a stage, or do them in a different order. The textbook is five, six or seven. Seven goes chock, denial, anger, depression, resignation, acceptance, reconstruction. Six removes the chock part. And five counts denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. You’ve been doing textbook for five. You had that week of pure denial, then the anger before I came. And with me here, you switched to bargaining, asking me if there was anyway that could’ve not happened, explaining everything you’d change, telling me everything you want different than it is. And now you’re just… sad. No need to be an Empath to know that you feel just so hollow, so sad, that you just cry. I see it. And I’m here. You’ll get through it.”

“Thank you, Biana… And you… how… I’m so selfish, I didn’t even think to ask you before… how are you doing?”

“That’s not selfish, love. You lost your boyfriend! And I’m good. I… I wasn’t that close with Keefe anymore. Honestly, he… he drifted away from us since he fake-joined the Neverseen… He only had you. He thought of calling everyone, but you were his only true friend. He isolated himself so much. So we’re less affected. It was hard for a while, that’s why I didn’t come immediately, but I made peace with it. And you care so much for all of us, you deserve to be cared for.”

“Thank you Biana…”

“That’s nothing. I love you too much to let you on your own.”

“You’re the best.”

Sophie climbed out of the bed, coming to hug her friend. It felt so cozy every time Biana was here. Even when it was just her presence and she was not visible.

It was alright, somehow. A smile, an encouragement, normal talks about school, about friends, strangely not about boys. The Telepath had asked once, the Eclipser had shut it down saying she didn’t care about that, and didn’t have time anyway.

“Bia? You really don’t care about love and boys?”

“Love yes, boys no.”

“…?? What?”

“Yeah no…”

“You’re gay?”

“Uh?”

“I said gay in English, didn’t I?”

“You did. I thought it meant joyful or bright?”

“Yeah. Originally it did. But now we use it to design people who love the same gender. I assume there isn’t a word in the Enlightened Language, if I couldn’t find it?”

“No. There are… There are people like that, and couples… they are classified as bad matches. But we don’t have a specific word. I love the “gay” though. It’d be fun to describe our frowned upon couples with a word that means bright, us who love the light so much…”

“I agree.”

“Do you like girls?”

“…. Maybe?”

“You know… I realized I liked girls when I saw Linh. And then I fell in love. But not for her.”

“Oh? Who do you love?”

“I don’t… I don’t want to tell you.”

“Would you help me know if I like girls?”

“Tell me how.”

“Kiss me.”

“Sophie… no. Please. Don’t…”

“I am not playing with you. I know that’s what it looks like. But… I… think isn’t even a strong enough word. I am pretty sure I love you. But my brain is refusing to admit it. It’s blocking emotions again. Cause you were here through my darkest nights, flickering like a candle, but comforting and illuminating me. Cause you became my light. And I just… feel safer with you, I live in your smile, but my brain refuses to hear it. Please, Bia.”

The brunette smiled. She had dreamed this moment so many times before, she struggled to believe it was real, but it was, she knew it at the brush of Sophie’s hair against her neck, at the light reflecting on the little star scar on her left hand, matching the reddish welts on her own hands. Small details her brain erased in the deep of the night, in the corners of imagination.

It was real. Her hidden, secret love was shared.

She nodded, tilted her friend’s chin up, brushed the smiling lips from the tip of her fingers, and kissed her, slowly, first just a brush, then a pressure, mixing their saliva slowly as they were searching for each other, drowning in a new view of life, discovering happiness and that one feeling of wholeness and belonging they had craved for so long.

They loved each other.

They were home, finally.

And when they separated their lips, trying to breathe, they felt their eyes fixating on each other.

Every breath had to be shared, now, euphoria pulsing in their veins, to have found each other.

#kotlc #kotlc secret santa 2024 #sophiana

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danganronpa-headcanons-imagines · 2 years ago

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Hey this is literally my fist time sending a request ever. But can I get a kokichi who has a crush on a very flirty girl. In fact her ultimate is the ultimate flirt. But she gets even more flirty around kokichi because she likes him too. And kokichi i would think is kinda hard to fluster but at some point she finally does and shes so happy. Thanks. Sorry if this is just nonsense.

Yo, glad to be the first person you send a request to! And don't apologize, it's not nonsense. To be honest I prefer a longer prompt, as it helps lead me! ----------

Kokichi vs The Ultimate Flirt

The Ultimate Flirt, huh? Kokichi wasn't impressed, that's not even a valid talent either! So when he heard of your talent he just kinda shrugged his shoulders

The moment you entered the room, that changed. You were just gorgeous. And your voice? Something about it drew him in like a fishing lure. So the moment you approached him he was ready

Pretty much every person you talked to would eventually get flustered and clam up. Which after so long, has gotten frustrating. No one ever could just TALK to you anymore. Despite people praising the ground you stood on, you felt alone

But with Kokichi... he had bite. He wasn't falling at your feet or losing brain function, he actually had a discussion with you! You had someone you could genuinely talk to!

Actually getting to talk to you made Kokichi realise why you were so well liked. You were really funny and pleasent

After meeting you made an effort to talk to him as much as possible, both to your and his delight

Yeah, both of your crushes on each other only got worse as time went on. You were attracted to his headstrong attitude, and he was attracted to your wit and confidence

It didn't really process in your head, but you were eventually getting more and more flirty with Kokichi in an attempt to make him a blushing mess

But that is NOT easy. He was used to manipulation tactics, which are still evident in flirting techniques. Sure your words were nice, but they couldn't make him break

Everytime you used a line on him, he was able to push back without faltering

It soon became a little game of yours! You'd try to flirt, he'd flirt back, it was fun for you two and made you smile

But being the Ultimate Flirt isn't all sunshine and rainbows. A lot of people take advantage of you, or just do anything to please you. It wore you down over the years

But there was one day that just broke you. Long story short, you learned that half of your friends only wanted to fuck you. They didn't give a shit about a genuine friendship and were using you, which broke your heart. Kokichi found you crying on a park bench, and somehow felt himself feeling genuine empathy

He talked to you for over an hour, just listening to your issues and trying to cheer you up by offering to make their lives hell, making you laugh

Eventually you started to feel so much better. You could just feel that he actually cared, in his own special way

As you felt the last bit of sorrow exit your body, you sighed and looked deep into his eyes

"You know, being around you makes me feel better than ever. I know you said you have a hard time with relationships, but I feel lucky to have you. You should be thanked more often, so... thank you. Thank you Kokichi, for lighting up my life"

Neither of you ever expected it to happen, but suddenly his face turned bright red, jaw hanging open. His eyes were wide, darting around nervously, and he struggled to speak. It was like seeing a Unicorn, no one had ever seen it before, but you got lucky. The sight of his facade crumbling away was adorable

A laugh slipped off your lips and you couldn't stop yourself. After soooo long, so many attempts to crack him, you finally did it! And you didn't even mean to this time!

Kokichi pouted at your laughter, but his heated cheeks sold him out

After that day, you still flirted with him. But everytime he brushed it off, you loved to bring up that one night

When you officially started dating and told everyone, literally no one was surprised. Pretty much everyone thought you were already dating

----------

{Like my work? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi! Every little bit counts~}

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma

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ophanstears · 9 months ago

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[ HeartFell ] Chapter 1 : Into The Darkness

Frisk has always felt like the odd one out - eccentric, curious, and obsessed with everything scary and weird. Trying to prove a local legend to their friends, They climb Mt. Ebott... and fall into the Underground. There, they encounter a creature named Flowey, who is all too eager to help them out. Frisk soon discovers that the Underground is shrouded in a dark energy that has twisted monsters into violent and hateful beings. Feeling empathy for monsterkind, they think that their new powers may hold the key to changing the fate of this broken world. However, Frisk must confront a difficult question: how much of themselves are they willing to sacrifice to become the hero they’ve always longed to be? (Heartfell AU, a personal offshoot of Underfell) (No knowledge on any UnderTale AUs is required for this fic!)

Most days were of clear skies when the sun reached its highest point, bathing the ruthless tundra in a deceptively peaceful light. It was that same barrenness that kept the ever-expanding cities from coming anywhere close to it.

Even the locals of THE TUNDRA dared not stride far into that lush landscape, warning that it was easy to get lost and, once lost, difficult to be found in time for a proper burial. But, despite its incredible hostility, the people there had a hospitality that only few could rival. During most summer days, experienced guides would lead groups of humans big and small through fields that clung close to their village.

Through the strenuous marches up the hillsides, weapons and armors could be found strewn about the landscape, lying half-submerged in the earth. They had been exposed to the elements for what must have been a millennium, and yet, through the layers of rust and corroding metal, one could make out so many intricacies that it felt almost… inspiring. Nearly every piece was ornamented with frilly patterns of vines and leaves, which consistently curled around one identical centerpiece - a faded image of a gilded crest.

The history and culture of those fallen soldiers may have been lost to time, but there was respect to be had for its remnants to have persisted as long as they did.

With one erratic move of their hand, the blue ink of the young human's gel pen splurted as they continued to scribble in their notebook.

It left an unsightly splotch sticking to its owner's hand, which was then quickly smeared all over the page as they carried on despite it. Their sketches were hurried and uneven, spread throughout the pages of their notebook like they were the obsession of a madman, showing nearly identical variations of the same fabled emblem.

Frisk had been reminiscing about going back here for a while. It was tradition for their community to seek out the fields of this very tundra every few years. For one, it was a breathtaking, wondrous sight to behold. For the other, it was a perfect topic for teachers to hang over their student's heads. Nothing but a frivolous time waster, as both parties fantasized about summer holidays lasting a few weeks longer. The students moved through the area in tightly-knit groups, led to the most notable curiosities while being watched by both the guides and teachers as if they were a hawk's prey.

While there was some surface-level interest, there was only so much that a group of young teens could get out of what they saw as the same barren fields of dry grass and rusty pieces of scrap metal.

Frisk's friends looked at their many notes and sketches in a similar vein. Every line they put on the paper was uneven and messy, scrambling any chances of deciphering them. Some minor appreciation was there, one simply couldn't squander the passion their teachers had expected of them.

But there was a difference between passion and the obsession that Frisk had for this place and many other things like it.

One of their friends stuck around for but a fleeting moment to peek over Frisk's shoulder. They knelt in front of a chest piece, sketching down the outlines of the coat of arms carved into its surface. Rust had eaten away at it, leaving more than half of the emblem obscured by a splotch of brown not too different from the inky ones that littered their page. Right next to their current sketch were many more, each one being another worn variant they had found along the trip.

"...You know that you don't need to draw all of these, right? They already know what that symbol looks like." Their friend, Rowan, gave a cautious but scolding remark behind their back, eyebrow furrowed as they looked down at them and their ink-stained hands. Despite the audible annoyance in their friend's voice, Frisk turned around and looked up at them with a sheepish smile. Just as they were about to explain themselves, Rowan picked up on pace again, leaving them in the dust with no more words to spare. Frisk exhaled through gritted teeth as they looked on, their painted nails anxiously tapping against the rim of their notebook before forcing it closed.

It had been a while since they had embarrassed their friend enough to force such a reaction, and they couldn't help but feel like a bad friend for it.

It wasn't the first time they had done so, and they knew it was far from being the last. +

An overwhelming need for caution marked Frisk's actions for the rest of that day. Once so eager to stop at every landmark to note it down, now their book had been clutched close to their hip like it'd fall apart if they didn't. Occasionally did they open it up to sketch something more simple and small, but only when they were clinging to the very back of the group, and were certain that no second pair of eyes were trained on them.

While restraint worked out for most people, Frisk's was more like filling a dam until it cracked from the pressure, and this one had not particularly much space to spare. When they trailed close to their friends, they were silent, even when the subject of their trip came up.

They bit their lip, knowing all too well that they wouldn't be able to stop if they were to mutter as much as a single word. When laughter came from the group, Frisk smiled along, hoping it would ease their mind and make them focus on something else, anything else. It didn't. They did not even listen to what they were saying anymore.

After those sounds of delight rang in their ears, it felt like they had taken a physical shape for the sole purpose of squeezing Frisk's throat, with how much tighter it felt. That was all they could focus on.

+ Only after they had made it back to the youth hostel did those feelings wash away, not too different from footprints on the beach being blurred by waves. Comfortably snuggled up to their blanket in the lower level of the bunk bed, Frisk flipped idly through the pages of their notebook once again as their other friends chatted with each other.

While the others had already changed into their pajamas, Frisk remained on their bed, still wearing the same striped sweater and rolled-up jeans. Their feet occasionally kicked in the air, hanging off the edge of the bed so that their shoes wouldn't dirty the sheets.

"Yeah, one of them keeps trying to scare us with this 'urban legend'. How old do they think we are?"

Frisk perked up at the mere mention, those words were practically the equivalent of chanting a spell to summon them. They gently lowered their book onto their lap, directing their attention towards the group with a curious tilt of their head. Their swaying feet now hovered perfectly still.

"Oh! Are you talking about the ghost train?" Frisk's voice was a quiet whisper compared to the energetic chatter of their friends, yet it was enough to have them all turn their heads towards them in perfect unison.

"Of course, you'd know all about it," Rowan, their friend from earlier, scoffed and rolled their eyes, "if anyone would, it'd be you."

The other two kids, Mert and Erl, did not appear to share their sentiment, giving each other a glance that did not go unnoticed by Frisk. Their curiosity was piqued, even if they didn't want to admit it. Frisk gave the faintest of smiles as they propped their notebook back up because, of course, they would have written down things about the local legend as well. Truly, they did not need the book to retell it, but it gave them a feeling of security that could not be understated.

"They say that a ghost train climbs up to the top of the mountain that's on the other side of the fields," Frisk explained, showing a smile. Their hand brushed over the sketch of said mountain, with several scribbled-over attempts at writing its name filling up the space above. Mt. Ebott, the most discernible one said. "Every full moon, it ferries all those that got lost and died in the plains into the afterlife."

The kids looked at each other. Mixed looks of both interest and concern.

"...It's real, you know," Frisk added on as the silence dragged on longer than they could stomach, nodding their head as if to shake off their own doubts, "I heard it cry once. It went all AHHGHH!" Frisk suddenly lunged forward, throwing their hands up in the air with an exaggerated wail.

Mert jumped and nearly bumped into the chair behind them. Erl stifled an awkward laugh, their fingers nervously gripping the edge of their blanket. Rowan had their arms crossed, huffing as they began to grow frustrated. They were the only one that was not impressed with Frisk's little tale.

"Frisk, that's just a story they tell to keep little kids from wandering off and getting lost.", they said, their voice firm as they threw a glance at the others for backup."Like... it's fine that you like that stuff, but you're overdoing it. You'll give Mert an anxiety attack."

They gestured towards Mert, who was hunched over and fidgeting with the hem of their pajama sleeve.

Mert straightened up at the mention of their name, quickly balling their hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "W-well! If, ah, anything!", they stammered, a nervous grin plastered across their face, "it would make a good horror movie though, right?"

Unaware of Mert's plight, Frisk ignored their friends' doubts to go straight into plotting.

"Maybe if I ask the teachers, we can get a tour up the mountain! It'd be like a super long hike, but if we wake up early enough-" "Frisk," Rowan cut them off, raising a hand dismissively, "the teachers aren't gonna do that. Come on."

But Frisk barely heard them, already lost in all of the possibilities of what they could hear and see up there. "And then we could take pictures of it together!" Frisk's voice rose slightly as they groped for the leather satchel at the foot of the bed. The colorful pins attached to it clinked as their hands brushed past them. "Maybe we'll even see some ghosts and-"

Rowan groaned, their patience wearing too thin to bear another word.

"Ugh! Stop being so weird! You're freaking everyone out!"

Their words landed like a slap and Frisk froze, their fingers tightening around the edges of their satchel. The room fell into an awkward silence. Erl scratched the back of their head, glancing nervously between the two. They opened their mouth to say something, but stopped, not knowing what to say. Finally, it was Mert who grasped the bit of courage they had to speak up. "...I-I know the others are doing a bit of a movie night before we have to go to sleep. M-maybe we could watch that, yeah?" Mert shot a sympathetic look Frisk's way, but they didn't return that gaze. With their head downcast, they stared at the pages of their book once again, fingers grasping at its borders with a pained twitch.

"Yeah, let's do that!", Erl chimed in, all too eager to leave the current conversation behind. "I heard it is technically for grown-ups and stuff!" Mert hesitated as the others got ready, shooting one last glance at Frisk. "...Are you coming, too?"

Frisk didn't look up.

"Maybe later," they whispered, curling up a little tighter under their blanket. Mert wanted to say more, but the others were already heading out, chatting about the movie as if nothing had happened.

They lingered for a second longer, then gave Frisk an apologetic smile before following along.

Frisk remained alone in the dimly lit room, the only sound the soft rustling of pages as they absently turned them over. But no matter how much they browsed, they'd eventually turn back to the smudged sketch of Mt. Ebott.

The mountain's silhouette didn't appear much larger in the drawing than it did in real life, looming over the spanning tundra akin to an ancient guardian.

It was far, but not too far. Was it?

Even now, if they just turned their head toward the window, they knew they’d see it there.

. . .

Frisk bit their lip, their trembling hand clutching at the page in a faint attempt to repress whatever had been welling up in their eyes. But all it did was crumple the previously smooth paper, as a few droplets of water trickled down to stain it. Their shoulders trembled, and they hurriedly wiped at the corners of their eyes with the back of their sleeve.

Why did they have to be so weird? Why couldn't they have come up with that movie idea? Then they wouldn't have looked so stupid and insensible in front of their friends and embarrassed themselves. Why couldn't they just get along with their friends? Were they even their friends?

As quickly as the self-blame came, it shifted into a quiet, simmering anger that stung in their throat. Frisk’s jaw clenched, and their fingers dug into the paper, crinkling it further.

Why could they never fit in? Why did Rowan always have to make them feel like they were the problem like their interests didn’t matter? And why did Mert and Erl never , ever speak up if they felt differently???

It wasn't fair.

Frisk wiped their eyes again, refusing to let any more tears fall. They didn't want to cry because of Rowan's words. Not again. If they were weird for being into this stuff, then maybe it was time to prove that their "weird" wasn’t as ridiculous as Rowan and the others thought.

... It's not like it was too late to go out.

They could hike out to the edge of the fields, get closer to Mt. Ebott, and maybe even see something. Something real. They’d take pictures, or a video, some kind of evidence... anything to show Rowan and the others. Maybe then they'd stop looking at Frisk like they were the weird one. Frisk sat up, picking up their satchel to look it over. Their hands brushed over the colorful pins once again, fingertip briefly resting on one that looked like a tiny pumpkin - a Halloween pin they’d had for years.

They smiled faintly, feeling a little braver about what they were about to do. It was just going to be a short trip. They slipped their notebook inside, as well as some snacks and a bottle of apple juice for the journey. Glancing toward the door to make sure no one was coming, all they heard was the muffled sounds of talking and the low hum of the movie playing down the hall. For once, they loved that nobody was paying attention to them. It was perfect.

They snatched up their jacket from the bedpost, quickly pulling it on and checking their camera to make sure it had enough battery. Satisfied, they slipped it around their neck before heading towards the window. They knew that the youth hostel locked the doors when it turned evening, so sneaking out the front was out of the question. Frisk slid the window open slowly, wincing at the creak that came with it. The distant sound of laughter from the other kids remained, undisturbed. What were they watching back there?

No point in wondering about it now.

Frisk swung one leg over the ledge and carefully lowered themselves out, landing softly on the ground below. The grass beneath their boots crunched slightly under the weight of their landing, but it was hardly loud enough to be heard from inside. They glanced back into the room, making sure no one was watching before shutting the window behind them. Then, readjusting the position of their satchel, they began to walk.

For a summer evening in the tundra, it was a pleasant temperature outside. Too cold to wander about without a jacket for sure, but not so cold that Frisk had to worry about trekking through blankets of ice and snow. The ground beneath their feet was firm, cracked in places, and patches of dry grass spread out in all directions. Some sparse trees were growing in the distance, but they were way too few to create even a thicket. There were no paths either, not official ones anyway, just stretches of wild tundra leading out toward the mountains in the distance.

Frisk had no map to follow, but they did not need any. The distant mountain towering over the landscape was the perfect waypoint. As they walked, the world around them seemed to grow quieter. Occasionally, a distant hoot from some unseen bird echoed in the air, but other than that, it was quiet.

Frisk's steps felt small against the seemingly unending tundra, but it was calming in a way. Just about anything was better than going back there.

Frisk wasn’t entirely sure how long they had been walking, but the aching in their legs suggested it had been a while. The sun was beginning to set, tinting the sky red as it began its path downward. With a tired huff, Frisk plopped themselves down on a large rock, reaching into their satchel to pull out the small bottle of apple juice. They unscrewed the cap, taking a few small sips as they rested. As they did, their eyes traveled up the steep incline of the mountain, trying to gauge how much further they’d have to go and how long it'd take.

If they were quick enough about it, surely they could make it up and back down again to make it back to the hostel in time. And then what?

Pushing the faintest doubts aside, they decided to not rest for too long. The sun was a good reminder that they had a tight time limit to adhere to. The mountain grew steeper the higher they went, and they sometimes had to cling to nearby rocks and shrubs as they made it up a long slope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Frisk reached a small plateau. The tundra they had trekked across earlier now lay far below. Frisk collapsed onto the cold ground, their breath coming out in ragged gasps. The skin of their fingers and palms stung from where they had gripped the sharp edges of rocks and thorny branches on the way up. The sun was barely hanging above the horizon now, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. A few faint stars had begun to twinkle overhead. Frisk stared up at them, their chest tightening. They had made it up here. But why did it feel like they had accomplished nothing?

That was when the weight of their situation began to sink in.

Frisk sat there, motionless, as a sinking feeling of dread pooled in their chest. They had no idea how long it had taken them to get this far. There was nothing here. The wind blew colder now, nipping at their exposed skin and slipping through the seams of their jacket. Frisk curled their toes in their boots, but they couldn’t stop the creeping numbness that settled in their feet. The air seemed to only grow icier like it was slowly closing in around them. And as they shivered, the first hints of panic began to stir within. They scrambled to their feet, their nerves fraying as they realized... It was almost night.

They could feel their heart drop as they looked on, frozen in place by panic. How would they get back? They shuffled forward and towards the edge of the plateau. It stretched downward endlessly, steep and jagged, with its outlines already disappearing into the growing shadows of the night. One wrong slip and they'd tumble down like a rock.

It had been so much easier to climb up than it would be to get back down.

Frisk shook their head in disbelief, their soles dragging over the uneven ground as they stepped back. Their legs ached, and it was getting cold and dark and their friends must have noticed that they were missing by now! What would Rowan say? The thought only made Frisk feel sicker. Rowan’s voice echoed in their mind, sharp and biting, calling them out for being foolish, for running off on some 'pointless adventure'. They'd never live that down. And what would the others think? That they went on this stupid hike and for what? To prove how absolutely stupid they were? Oh, they would laugh and laugh...

I'm going to freeze out here.

Their breaths came quicker now, shallow and panicked. "Oh man… I am in so much trouble," Frisk whimpered, their voice barely more than a whisper. They clutched the strap of their satchel tightly, kneading the fabric in a desperate attempt to calm themselves. But it wasn’t working. The fear wouldn’t go away.

Just then, the cold wind whipped against them with a force so strong, it almost felt like it was trying to push them away from the edge. For a moment, Frisk found themselves hoping that there was another way down, a path or something of the sort that they had missed. All they had to do was look for it. And so they kept walking, even as the wind kept pushing against them, deeper into the caverns that spanned before them. It almost started to feel natural again, the way their body moved despite the fear, despite the cold, despite the exhaustion. Each step seemed to bring back a sliver of the courage they thought they had lost.

And then they saw it.

A massive, gaping hole in the ground, wide and black and unending. It seemed impossibly large, too perfect, too out of place to be a natural formation. That abandoned cave they found themselves in looked like a dead end, but Frisk could not pull themselves away from the sight. They still felt something pushing them - but this time, forward. Their pulse quickened. There was nothing but silence now. No wind, no rustling trees, no distant birds.

All they could hear was the steady thrum of a heartbeat. It was growing louder, faster, more insistent. It reverberated in their ears, in their chest, but something about it was wrong. This isn’t mine.

[PROCEED.]

That word echoed in their mind, not spoken aloud but flowing through their mind like a twisted poison. Frisk’s legs moved on their own, each step drawing them closer to the edge of the abyss. Their hands twitched at their sides, trembling slightly as if wanting to resist but unable to stop.

And just as they were about to dig their heels in, that same command rang again.

[PROCEED.]

They took another step. And another.

And then they were at the edge.

Frisk’s toes hovered just over the lip of the abyss, a strange air rising from below like the breath of some unseen beast lurking.

All their thoughts and senses felt like they'd been turned off, and Frisk could not even tell if the air was of a pleasant warmth or of the same ruthless cold as outside. They peered down into the void, only to find that there was nothing to see. Not even the faint light of the rising moon could break it.

[PROCEED.]

And they did.

For a split second, everything stopped. The world went quiet.

Frisk gasped as they felt their body tip forward, hands flailing in the air as they desperately tried to grab onto something - anything - but there was nothing to hold.

And with a breathless, silent scream lodged in their throat...

They fell.

#undertale #my art #underfell #undertale au #frisk #heartfell au #writing #heartfell chapter

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bi-harrymort · 1 year ago

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yesterday i listened to the order of the phoenix audiobook while doing some chores and i was stuck on a thought about dumbledore i've had for a while but couldn't really articulate...

when i was a kid i liked him - he reminded me of my grandpa.

when i was a teen i became more critical of him and started to appreciate him as a more grey-area character, rather than what he was (i imagine) intended to be - the good and wise, albeit flawed in some ways, mentor figure.

now each year with each re-read of the books i begin to feel more and more irritated whenever he enters a scene... and i couldn't put my finger on why i felt that way (i put the blame of my irritation on fanfiction - reading about different renditions and interpretations of characters influences how we see them, especially since most of the fanfics i read in the hp fandom are, in the least, dumbledore-critical, if not outright dumbledore bashing)

but yesterday a thought struck me, when i was listening to the chapter of harry's hearing at the ministry, and the thought was that dumbledore, in canon, truly seems extremely cold and emotionless...

(many people have already talked about it, but I guess I wanted to maybe touch on some stuff that is not talked about as often?)

albus dumbledore is always kind, pleasant, composed, and presented in a way that is supposed to give us an impression of a very wise, experienced by life and its sorrows, man.

but i think what happened was that his character ended up becoming the opposite of this image.

for example, let's take his first ever scene in the series:

he meets with mcgonagall, and as they wait for hagrid to arrive with harry, they talk...

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

this is the first instance in which my teeth started to grind. of course, the dialogue serves as an intoduction: mcgonagall has to tell us - the audience - who and how significant dumbledore is; in the same scene showcasing voldemort's significance.

the powerful and frightening dark lord, and the powerful, benevolent opposing figure of the story.

but, at the same time, when done this way, it presents a very... strange character... for when we look at this scene through the lenses of the fictional world dumbledore is damn well aware why he was never afraid of voldemort, and should understand why everyone else is, right?

this line paints his modesty in a fake light... (not to mention a lack of empathy to understand why people may be afraid of voldemort) a way for him to show how unremarkable he is, while clearly knowing that he isn't, all to get the points for modesty as well.

it's one thing to be modest while being aware that you may be in some ways special, its another to be 'modest' without acknowledging it, in which case you're either really oblivious or not really honest. and given the story, i wouldn't say that dumbledore is presented as an oblivious character - quite the opposite actually, given how he always seems to know everything - more than any other character. so that would leave us with the option number two...

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of." "You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have." "Only because you're too - well - noble to use them." "It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

why am i rolling my eyes? oh dumbledore, you're so different and awesome and special and noble and good! excuse me i have to throw up.

this happens over and over and over again; save for one or two instances...

but even this i always lumped into a bit of a biased and irrational dislike of a character, and so i didn't think it a sufficient reason to ever bring it up. what did persuade me to write this post is the constant, constant calmness of albus dumbledore.

now, i don't mind passive, calm, composed or, in a similar way, depressed characters. it's all about who they are, what's their backstory, their role in the story, etc.

dumbledore's calmness coupled with all of those other aspects make him into someone very emotionless; emotionless that is veering into ruthlessness. and this trait, we are told and 'shown', is supposed to be the exact opposite of his percieved personality...

he constantly keeps vital information from other people (even if the information pertains to the matters of life-and-death); allows for others (especially children) to fight his battles; shows up only in very critical moments, when he would have had the power to actually prevent some of the events from happening; and is so calm and collected throughout all of the chaos that ensues that he comes off as if he didn't really care about anyone or anything...

he preaches about love and family, and he certainly believes in it to an extent, but his actions and reactions do not fully confirm the truthfulness of his words. he's more like a general of an army - he hates to see his soldiers die, but he's got to let it, he's the only one who knows about the horcruxes - he's the only one who knows how to defeat voldemort once and for all! so he's got to stay in control...

whilst also, in the same breath, preaching about how dangerous having such control is.

telling everyone how he rejects power, claiming he doesn't have it...

whilst being in the position of absolute control.

control that he gained through his knowledge. his intelligence. his fame. his standing in the wizarding world.

he may not be the minister, but the minister heavily relies on him for most of the story... to such an extent that some people don't respect the minister himself. instead they give this respect and power to dumbledore - other witches and wizards treat dumbledore in a way dumbledore claims to reject.

because power isn't only what you do and say. power comes from other people as well. hell, maybe even more so... people give individuals their power.

you may be the smartest and the strongest person in the world and never gain even an ounce of the power that the renowned and celebrated people of the world have.

most of dumbledore's flaws are part of the writing itself - it's a children's book with a child protagonist. he and his teen friends have to save the day...

so, like with voldemort, dumbledore ends up in the limbo between made claims and the 'reality' of the story.

voldemort is powerful, brilliant; a great wizard - whether they love or hate him, other characters always admit that he was great.

dumbledore is also powerful and brilliant; a good man - most characters will confirm it every once in a while, reminding us of this fact.

but that's the issue i guess... or maybe a blessing... the story is what it is, and so when we - the fans - wish to dig deeper, we'll all end up with a thousand different interpretations of the same character, all fuelled by our own, personal understanding of the text, our own personalities and life experiences and our own ways in which we end up interacting with the source material.

so we'll always create unique explanations. some centered solely on the fictional world's perspective, and some combining fiction with the reality of the written book: its genre and possible real-life influences.

the post was supposed to be shorter, but I couldn't leave some of this stuff out... in the middle of writing i considered taking more time before updating and doing more research (maybe even make it into a much bigger project and go through all of dumbledore's scenes in all of the books)... but i decided to table it for another time.

#albus dumbledore meta #hp meta #albus dumbledore critical #I guess:#anti albus dumbledore #although I wouldn't say I hate him - I think he's an interesting character and a lot could be done with him

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volivolition · 1 year ago

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throwing the ask back at you

What are your fav skill designs?

HIII LAZ IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG HKGJHG <333

TL;DR - Canon Designs: Pain Thresh, Vis Cal+Concept, Authority, EMPATHY!!, Interfacing. Personal Designs: Echem, VOLITION!!!, Half Light, Shivers!

okay so if its for canon designs:

Pain Threshold is sick as hell. guy looks so fucking anguished, i LOVE the expression, stabbed through the ribcage OUGH talk about lung imagery!! emotional and physical pain :3

Visual Calculus? also sick as hell! Vizzy and Conceptualization share a spot actually because i love how they're both similar? both have the billowing smoke and the Square of Creation thing, thats so cool, they're matching! (they're in love for this i think…)

Authority?? the way people draw the pointed laurel wreath on him?? SICK AS HELL. wish i could come up with an adequate design for him i LOVE how he looks hkjfh

I TOTALLY AGREE WITH YOU ON EMPATHY... RAUGH... the somber closed eyes, the branching wisps of his head to connect to others, the glow from his chest, his hands around his shoulders in a hug, I LOVE YOU EMPATHYYYYYY!!!!!

also love how Interfacing's arms are rendered (for all the motorics, the stark yellow on black is SO good, intellects and psyches are very muted, physiques are brighter, but motorics are brightest!! do you think its because the skills become more literal and tangible for physiques and motorics, compared to the thought-based intellect and psyche skills?) oough… so interesting…

if it's for personal design, it may change as i design more of them! but for now:

small thing but i love that my Electrochemistry has 6 upper limbs and 9 lower limbs because haha funny number :] guy who's spaghetti. to me.

Volition… listen. listen. knights are my weakness. protectors? swords? cool armor? motherfucker i LOVE you. this art changed me irrevocably and is also the first thing i ever reblogged on this account. youre telling me this guy made a holy vow to harry and isn't knight-coded?? ough. im not normal about him!!! his armor needs cracks so he can move! if theres no cracks, if volition is too high and too rigid, then you cant do anything!! you'll die in that armor if you don't allow a little room for looseness, to let yourself have some temptation for good things that remind you life is worth living. if volition is too loose though, if you have too many cracks in your armor, if you give into too many vices, you're going to fall apart, you're going to get hurt, you're going to destroy yourself. BALANCE!! i love his morale counter in his throat slowly getting exposed as more cracks appear, it's so interesting, it's like a survival tactic, a cry for help. his eyes are dark hollows in his face, and his glowing eyes!! streets and sodium lights!!!!! did you know his eyebrows are also just cracks in his face? i always make sure to connect them to his eyes or the center crack, you can see in all my art of him. my favorite is when he's surprised, the eyebrow is a crack in the back of his crown so it looks like it's raised hfjkh... also i gave him a sword because he deserves it. ough i have so much to say about him. hes so interesting to me…

i do love my Half Light, i haven't posted her yet tho! I WILL EVENTUALLY. SHE'S INTERESTING I LIKE HER!! he lives up to his name, i feel <3 i will expand on this whenever i finish up her design!

MY SHIVERS DESIGN IS REALLY FUN... her powerlines, i have ALWAYS seen her design as a figure inside her head? i dont know if anyone else has. but i like it for symbolism, she is so small but so big... just one of harry's 24 skills and yet encompasses ALL of revachol. a deity to revere her; a duty to protect her. in the hollow of her head, if you look up you can see all the stars above the skyline, and if you look down into her body you can see the night-lit streets of the city, the glowing lights of apartment windows, the expanse stretching farther than one would expect for the dimensions of her body. she doesn't have limbs attached to her body, though she has glowing arms that emerge from the ground or form from the winds. a hundred thousand luminous arms... shivers my darling...

okay so i have so many more favorites and i think ALL of them are so cool but I WILL STOP MYSELF HERE HKJF <3 thank you for asking lazarus i appreciate youuuuu!!! :D

#volta transmissions #oough this has been sitting in my drafts FOREVER HKJFH <33 THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVVEEEEEEE THE SKILLS!!!!!!#esprit: Lazarus

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sweetestpopcorn · 2 years ago

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Hi ! I have question, not too sensitive I hope...since this is a very pro Aegon III blog, could you explain to me why you love him so much ?

I've always struggled to love/understand the character, like yes, he seems nice overall, he's pretty and quiet (though the beautiful melancholic ones have never done it for me *looking at you Rhaegar*), he went through lots of trauma, and his relationship with Daenaera is cute, but nevertheless i've always found Viserys II and even Jace more pleasant and competent.

Like what i love about the most about Aegon III is that he's the son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, but that's not exactly a personality trait (well, it could be considering his parents, but you know what i mean).

Maybe there's something I'm missing about him (or maybe I'm just not receptive to this kind of character), so could you pretty please explain to me what is so great about him so that I might hopefully start to enjoy him as much as you do ? :)

Thank you so much ;)

Hi there,

I would like to start by saying that I don't really see the point in trying to convince anyone to like X or Y character. I certainly hope that people have enough of their own opinion to go by that and not by what someone else thinks or what by others like.

What is the problem of you not linking Aegon III?

I personally see none. I would also argue that you don't have to like Aegon III just because he was Daemon and Rhaenyra's son. For instance I like Corlys and Rhaenys yet their children are as bland as oatmeal and have 0 personality. I won't like them only because of who their parents are, much less make up traits and a personality George couldn't be bothered to give them.

We don't have to like every character. I myself have many that do nothing for me - many from Daemon and Rhaenyra's line - and that I struggle to understand what others might like about them. We are all different and to each their own. I am a firm believer that as long as we stay in our lanes, don't make sh:t up to try and prove a point (headcanons are not the same as canon), and don't harass anyone over their tastes, we don't owe anyone an explanation about why we like or don't like a character.

Now, as to why I like Aegon III, and what I think is so great about him, I believe canon explains itself much better than my own simple words could. I could transcribe everything written, however, since my time is limited and it has been over a month since my last update, I will give you three quotes, spoken by Aegon III himself that not only prove that he was very much Daemon and Rhaenyra's son, but also his own person, one with empathy, and with a little bit of light and fire left to him, even after all the darkness he endured. That an a tiny scene that people sleep on ;) this was a boy every inch worthy of being named after Aegon the Conqueror.

Just as a small note, none of this is to make you like him, it is intended to answer the question of what makes me like him and I think these quotes and the small moment speak for themselves. Alas, I am biased.

"I shall," King Aegon said. "You are sitting in my chair." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"There will be no progress," the king declared, as he was seated. "I will not spend a year upon a horse, sleeping in strange beds and trading empty courtesies with drunken lords, half of whom would gladly see me dead if it gained them a groat. If any man requires word with me, he will find me on the Iron Throne." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"I mean to give the smallfolk peace and food and justice. If that will not suffice to win their love, let Mushroom make a progress. Or perhaps we might send a dancing bear. Someone once told me that the commons love nothing half as much as dancing bears. You may call a halt to this feast tonight as well. Send the lords home to their own keeps and give food to the hungry. Full bellies and dancing bears shall be my policy." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"The blood drained from the queen's cheeks when she beheld the bodies, but young Prince Aegon was the first to realise what they meant. "Mother, flee," he shouted, but too late." (...) "When Prince Aegon snatched up Ser Harrold's sword, Ser Alfred knocked the blade aside contemptuously." (Fire and Blood, pg. 540)

PS: Goes without saying that this is only concerning asoiaf canon, not redacted. Keep redacted in the trash where it belongs.

#aegon iii targaryen #canon aegon iii targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #canon rhaenyra targaryen #I could go on but the books are available #just about every scene he is mentioned or appears in makes him a fav #also this entire scene with his council REEKS of Rhaenyra's scene with Orwyle #but yall aint ready for that convo #nor for the convo of how similar he and dany were with their concern for the smallfolk #nor for the convo of the scene where he tried to save Rhaenyra #just a little boy of nine #the rogue prince #the princess and the queen #fire and blood #house targaryen #valyrianscrolls #our one true saviour and king #100% daemyra's baby #popcorn answers

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scp-head-canons · 1 year ago

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scp 106 in the backrooms? idk what else to say tbh

He was bored. 106 didn't like how he had to be stuck in a Containment cell 24/7. He couldn't do anything like 049, he couldn't wander like 999, he couldn't be fed humans like 682 unless he hunted for them.

He didn't truly care for the humans nor other Anormalies- he had friends, sure, but he wouldn't be all too sad if the foundation or that GOC club thing managed to execute them. It was a lonely life, but the only life for him. He'd heard that quote on some show the researchers had watched at some point on one of his escapees.

That reminded him- why shouldn't he escape?

With a grin, he sank into the floor, ignoring the call of the PA system and the blaring red lights yelling his escape.

It was weird, getting through the many liquids they used to slow him down. He didn't like it. He couldn't walk through it like a wall. At least it didn't hurt him. At most it was an irritation- one that slowed him down further. He was slow enough as it was, goddamn It.

Either way, he wondered if any of his friends would hear the call of the containment breach and come find him and join the spree.

He just got out of the containment cell to see no humans here. Huh. They must have run. He grinned; it was silly that they thought they could escape him for long.

As he left he saw a few doors open. Some of his friends were out too. Nice. At some point he could meet up with them.

He began walking through the hallways, turning left and right and checking rooms, but even after half an hour he hadn't found friend nor does, human or anormaly. No matter; he could keep looking. He was a patient man. Or, humanoid.

He found one of the spaces he often found plenty of humans; but nobody was here. He thought there was something dangerous here, he felt on alert more than normal. And he'd already thought enough things were weird, but this was over the top.

Perhaps they'd all been murdered- who cleaned the bodies up?- , but it wasn't his fault. SCP-106 was confused. There wasn't many humans here at all anymore. Normally whenever he escaped humans clustered together in this specific spot. A so called "Safe Space". Maybe they had gotten smarter.

He sighed and started to create a portal into his dimension. He needed to think where to go. He couldn't do it here; there must be a live exposed wire, there was so much electricity in the air. Sinking into the ground feet first, he took a final glance around- was the floor darker than usual or was it his imagination?- and dropped in.

What the fuck was this? It was weird. Monotone yellow walls, buzzing lights that hurt his head, they were so loud! The floor was a dark carpet that looked damp in places, it reminded 106 of spilled spinal fluid. He didn't know what this was as it certainly wasn't his dimension. Perhaps the humans knew what this was?

Before going into his dimension he supposed he'd explore. Would be a good story to tell his friends later, when he returned.

Walking through, he winced at the squelch of the carpet. Yep, spinal fluid. Suprise, there weren't any humans here either. What did he expect?

Maybe it was the light making him go crazy, or maybe it was the lack of social interaction, but there seemed to be something... moving under the wallpaper. As he continued walking, he felt his vision go slightly blurry. Was that an effect of this anormalous place? He didn't know. He decided to ignore it; it couldn't be real! It couldn't, it couldn't.

He felt paranoia seep in. He knew what it was from 096's description. He hated it. For the first time, he felt empathy- for his friend who was constantly in this hellish world, at least mentally.

He kept thinking he saw stairs, just for them to disappear as he walked to them. It felt terrifying. Since when was there anormalous locations? Perhaps there always was, but he hadn't come across them. He wondered what the foundation's notes, the article for this place would be. This was kind of... well, lonely.

At least he couldn't die of starvation- or thirst- because there seemed to be a full set of zero food or water here.

Either way, it felt like he'd never escape this place without his powers. So he tried to create a portal; but it wouldn't arrive? There was nothing. He just felt tired.

He kept walking, finding some small space with a sign outside. He couldn't understand it- it seemed to be English, he couldn't read that!- but he understood the lettering. M-A-N-D-E-L-A R-O-O-M. Whatever that was, or how to pronounce it. He decided he'd call it the Sign Room. It was the only sign here, apparently.

He walked in and found it was a perfect square with some papers in the middle. He picked them up- he wasn't decaying them, which was weird. Like everything else here- but he understood the numbers, "0" and "1". There were a few words he understood from his friends helping him- "die", "creatures". He didn't understand the rest, though.

He left and decided to keep walking until his vision went blurry again. Did it mean something?

Perhaps now his powers would work. He decided to walk through a wall- the one he chose was oddly dark, like the floor had been when he came here. Maybe it meant he could return? Whatever it was, for the first time he was excited to return to the foundation. He stepped into the wall, and stepped out into a grey hallway...

But it was the wrong grey hallway.

The air tasted like an oil slick, from outside the foundation; it tasted of metal. He didn't like it much. He shivered and walked on. Be wanted to go home, to the foundation. Where he knew what everything was and who was there.

it wasn't as featureless as the pee-coloured place- which he'd call "Yellow", after the colour it was. There were a lot of puddles on the ground. He stepped around then and stayed away; he may be in a new space but that didn't mean he'd like the water.

He wondered what the "creatures" were, from those papers. He saw a broken crate and walked by, not thinking it was important.

He felt tired; he'd willingly go back to his cell at this point. He wasn't used to walking for hours on end.

Suddenly he caught sight of a human. He stepped towards them, wondering if they worked for the foundation. He decided to trust them. He would follow them, let them recontain him- as long as they got him out of here. He noticed they were oddly dressed- very formal. Perhaps a higher-up.

They were bent over a crate, un unopened one. They weren't moving; perhaps they were watching a bug or something. Humans were easily entertained, 106 knew that.

But he quickly decided to go against his trust for them as dread snuck into his mind. They didn't seem right. There was something off about them, he couldn't place his finger on it. His friends had called this the Uncanny Valley- normally only humans got it, but if an anomaly felt the effect something was SERIOUSLY wrong.

He stopped walking and cocked his head to the side- then he wondered why he thought it would make more sense at a 45° angle. He stepped back, letting his hands close into fists, waiting to see the signal to run or hide or fight. He did not believe this person was human anymore. It was obvious they weren't.

Slowly, slowly, they turned their head towards 106. Then he saw why he had felt so... not at ease, for lack of a better word;

They Had No Face.

Trembling, 106 steadied his footing and prepared to run. Whenever he hunted, he'd walk slowly- it felt much better and besides, it scared the prey.

But this time, he was the prey.

Turning to the side, he saw a small hallway with a corner. He hoped it didn't lead to a dead end and, seeing the entity step towards him, made a break for it.

It was terrifying- it hurt to run, he hadn't done so in years. He didn't dare stop, not even to attempt another portal- he just kept running. Around the corner. Through a door. Around a few more corners. Down a few hallways. Through another set of doors. He slammed the doors shut before running once more through a hallway.

Soon her came to a room. Slowing down, he saw a few crates that weren't opened. There was nobody around him, not even the person who chased him- if you could even call them a person. Taking a deep breath, he felt his heart rate calm down. He took a seat on top of one of the supply crates and turned his head warily around the room, looking for any movements.

Sighing, he finally relaxed as he stood, ready to attempt another portal. With a trembling hand, he reached to the ground next to a water puddle-

And jumped back as a hand reached out to grab him.

He was already up, already backing away, terrified that something was like him, getting out of a pocket dimension. More steps back, more worried glances around the room as some grey figure stepped up from the puddle just like he'd stepped up from his portals all those years.

But this one took the puddle with it. Shapeshifter, he thought, as he realised the entity was the puddle. Turning to another set of doors compared to the ones he'd entered through, 106 ran, feeling adrenaline carry him when no energy stepped up to bait.

At the foundation, no entity would harm another; but here, he felt they didn't follow such rules. He knew nothing, except that he needed to get out.

#scp 106 #fanfiction #ask #send ask #send asks #scp #scp Foundation #scp fandom #scp fanfiction #scp fanfic #scp 106 fanfiction #backrooms #backroom #backrooms fanfiction #the backrooms

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larissa-the-scribe · 1 year ago

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Also for the WIP ask game: The Witch in the Woods (Assasin AU)?

Thanks for the ask! (ask game >>here)

Info:

Someone else already did this (>>here), but not to fear. I have a lot of information and this is a long scene.

Backstory behind the scene is that Zo didn't kill Lyn, but he did turn her in as a captive (which was still technically allowed by his contract). However, his clients tried to kill him, too, in order to further cover their bases and keep their secrets hidden. This did not work, and Zo left and yoinked their captive, too (purely for revenge reasons, of course). Lyn is still very tired but also like sure this might as well happen. They head back to the castle that houses the [assassin's guild] (name still pending), thinking that Zo's mentor would side with Zo--after all, their clients broke the contract.

Except, well, the guild also wants Lyn dead, and Zo's mentor doesn't like that their best assassin has started developing human empathy. So he tries to kill Lyn as an object lesson, as any loving mentor would do, really. Zo did NOT almost get killed over this girl so that he could passively sit back and let her die, and he's kind of fed up with being betrayed, so he fights back, yoinks her again (though she already got hurt), and skedaddles with a magic artefact he steals on the way out.

Left without many options and knowing the guild is in hot pursuit, he decides to try his luck with the local wood spirit witch sprite thing. He is not pleased by this, partially because he's not a big believer in magic. Local wood spirit witch sprite thing is not making this any easier on him, either.

Snippet:

What if he had just more surely killed them both by following a wild hunch? Zo gritted his teeth. Too late for doubts now. “[Spright]!” The quiet of the forest returned stiflingly as soon as his voice faded away. In the stillness, Zo realized his heart was beating much faster than he had anticipated. He wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now. Some flash of light? The ground shaking? Lightning and thunder? “Hmmmm, here’s the deal, I don’t do things anymore, especially not for people from the Castle.” Zo whirled around. He had heard absolutely nothing, and yet, lounging against a tree with her hands shoved into the pockets of a faded green cloak, was a brown-skinned girl who didn’t look to be much older than him. Dark brown, almost black, hair spilled and tumbled out of her hood and all over the place. Her dark eyes were lit up with vivid sparks of green, and looked extremely bored. She waved. “[Spright]...?” Zo asked cautiously. He had been trying to summon a person, and now a person was here, so that was the logical conclusion; but this tired-looking young adult--only a couple inches taller than Lyn, and similarly slight--was so far from anything he was expecting from any of the legends that his attempt at logic felt more like trying to use a stick of butter as a handhold. “You called,” the girl pointed out. “I’m almost sorry to have wasted your time. But I don’t place curses on people, I don’t grant wishes, I don’t have any gold or know where any can be found, I don’t kill people, I don’t work miracles, I have a strict policy against necromancy, and if you’re here to fight and defeat the scary woodland menace, I don’t do that either. You look young enough. You can still go back to the Castle and realize you’re on the wrong life path and get out before it’s too late. Good-bye!” “Wait, I’m not—” The girl vanished, her image melting away into gold and green lights scattered in the sunbeams. Zo blinked. “Hello?” He reached forward, half expecting to touch something—but all he could feel was the tree bark behind where she’d been standing.

#spright is abusing her teleportation abilities #Zo is not amused #assassin au #rifters series 3 #tamaki nozomu #zo #asks #ask game #writing asks #ocs #scribe answers #salt and light

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the-leyline-directory · 1 year ago

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Yo let's fight that social phobia and share some bulletpoint information about Silvaire x Krile ship!!!! (and other sil info that is important to the context)

While they are a romantic ship; they do not 'get together' in any capacity (Or even acknowledge said feelings) until mid or post Dawntrail! Before that point is complicated due to Mephistopheles [Voidsent/Sins of Promathia of Silvaire] leaving him unable to allow that reciprocation or understanding.

As they meet during the 'Mephistopheles' arc, Silvaire is not a functional person in a moral sense. He is a villain character who is working with his own agenda in mind, often lying to the scions just to see how they'll deal with MSQ events [Such as he could have warned them about Ascian dealings or many things that caused NPC deaths but chose not too just to see the emotional damage it would bring due to that voidsent/Apathy affliction] ;; Krile however, due to her Echo of knowing Intent, is the first and only person who is capable of calling his lies as they are, this makes him avoid her for a good while.

Silvaire is not a source native, and thus he has a Shard Equivalent; and it is the death of that shard that he takes that 'light' into himself and this is what starts the rebalancing of his moral compass to be a person again. This catalyst event is Haurchefant \o/ Changing his balance from 50%, to 57% (8 times rejoined). Paired with the emotional weight of Haurchefant's code and similarity to Silvaire's original untainted self, this changes his actions onward! (This is a drastically important point but I am so scared to say so cause of how [understandably] important Haurchefant is to the community as a whole!)

Assisting with the Warring Triad, he becomes properly introduced to Krile and she to him in turn - though she keeps her peace about his half truths and guarded speech around her. She can tell that something is up, but he has no direct malicious intent towards the WoL and can indeed be claimed an ally.

During the events of Stormblood, he has a great deal of problems due to the history of Garlemald and his part in what is happening - faced to face with the direct consiqences as his actions when he was The Hound. This goes as far as some of the older resistance members half-recognize him but don't belive this 'Elezen with the WoL' could be that Garlean monster. Krile works to try and ask small questions to him as she can tell there is an obvious hurt there (a feeling that is relatively newly unearthed from his slow rebalancing) - though Silvaire pushes these worries aside and lies to her directly constantly; these lies however are spoken with the Light in his core hiding the truth beneath them, as he deep down wants to admit to it all, and to be real again. Krile doesn't understand without the full context but she takes what information she can glean and doesn't condemn that which she doesn't know, offering him advice here and there to try and get closer to other people.

Despite the one 'ally' he has being kidnapped within Stormblood, Silvaire(More accurate Mephistopheles) buries any empathy or desire to help her. A punishment to himself for his light's attempts to open up to her; as all of these things were in part his doing. However, when the opportunities arise, he cannot stop himself from freely offering information to help the Scions if it would lead to the return of her. This again becomes a loop from those Sins to reprimand those good actions.

While not doing a play-by-play sorry! ;; The times before Shadowbringers are spent in closer company, as Silvaire stops wandering/leaving as often as that sense of longed companionship has taken hold and the Light cannot let it go. Still he lies, and he holds his tongue when he could help, but it is during these slower moments that he becomes closer to the Scions more personally - but most so Krile, who often finds conversations with him to be enlightening to his true personality; as pieces here and there when that Light escapes she can feel are real, he's not always coated with lies - though each of those new truths are covered in a dark sorrow that - occasionally - causes her to step back from him, and he from her in turn. This small back-and-forth of dynamic grows more constant, as both take small steps to open communication.

Small excerpt from this point of time is here! It's a short [for my writing] example!

During the events of Shadowbringers, Silvaire does go to the First; and while there Emet-Selch reveals all the lies, half truths, and actual voidsent affliction thus losing all trust from the Scions, with only the WoL keeping that olive branch at the time. From the depths of 'self' Silvaire now possesses, he actually feels this loss and works the best he can to try and salvage anything of the relationships, but in some cases it's too much to ask - and his 'future with them' is put on hold to deal with the issues at hand. (Thus is [Arc - Guilt] and a character shift \o/)

While Krile was not there for those events, she learns of them once everyone returns and for a short while feels the same sense of bitter betrayal, but knowing the small pieces of the puzzle he'd been giving her for the last two/three years, she doesn't condemn him out the gate and is tentative in her own olive branch alongside the WoL. The conversations they have now are far more pointed, and she is less inclined to let him give a half-answer, but he is less trying to do so; apologizing when the darker habits take him, and correcting himself or offering a different answer.

By this point they are not 'romantic' or even 'shipped' ; always circling around 'friendship' - and it's only now at the start of Endwalker that Silvaire - that original self - tries to build back that lost trust as the isolation of the voidsent still clings to his soul. He spends his time with the WoL, or Krile, working through actions over words to show these feelings. He takes Thancred's earned hostility in stride, and Urianger's avoidance as truth. He finally has the room from forced honesty and the slow overtaking of 'light' to want to be better.

As this is getting long (and a dear friend of mine isn't yet finished Endwalker and I know he'll read this!) I shortform that during those events it's a HELL of alot of emotional growth and attempts as such, with a specific event causing that dark to speak too loudly as the question posed is too real for someone like him to ignore and it's only through the support of those nurtured relationships that Silvaire survives in the end.

And since Dawntrail is still no-talking! Short hand for that is 'Yay! He's a person again!! He's somewhat open and communicative and doesn't hide his non-source-born-accent anymore! He speaks in a dead language on habit for prayer that no one else follows, and he spends the first half of the expansion doing all the 'side quests' with Krile! Lots of bonding and emotional development!! He goes to Tural purely with the intent to help Krile with her own journey of discovery as she did for him, to support her no matter what. The second half.... Well I can't talk about that yet! It's a banger developments though!!! By the end of Dawntrail the two of them have come to admit to feelings and the importance the other holds, Silvaire himself most of all, devoted to the core.

I'll update this later in a few weeks for Dawntrail info cause that's where all the good stuff is! but it IS interconnected to MSQ/Some changes to MSQ! So I literally can't talk about it yet!!

#[pending sil and krile tag]#[This is!! Very short info!!! Sorry it probably doesn't make sense!!]#[theres lots and lots missing but he's also a complicated character sometimes!!]#[and the development of their narrative is peppered through EVERYTHING]#[I hope this is a.... a good very small summary?? I don't know what specifically to talk about]#[but I have made the attempt!! Sorry!!]#[aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]#[when I add the DT stuff I'll put it to his blog too!]

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