#but yea 'oh no the person who loves drawing bones has a weird relationship the gore and the consent of flesh'

[herequeerexitentialfear]

this is the month of realizations that have been years/decades in the coming.

[istgimamess]

Reaction: [ S t r a y K i d s ] finding out their s/o is a [ S u p e r n a t u r a l C r e a t u r e ]

"...hi it's the anon from yesterday! so I'm not sure what way you do your reactions but something i haven't seen yet but would like to is a reaction to finding out that either their s/o or friend, whichever you'd prefer, is a supernatural creature (like werewolf, fae, witch, shape shifter, mermaid, demon, angel, anything really) for stray kids!

let me know if I didn't give you info that you need for a reaction or... if there are any problems with my request, I'm kind of shooting blindly since you don't have rules or anything right? so yea, i hope this is fine tho..."

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[ C h a n ] finds out you’re an [ A n g e l ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ C o n c e r n e d ]

^ he’s logical, fair and patient—he’s known for having a logical minds and a fair judgment. He strives for fairness and justice constantly. This makes him a  wonderful mediator. He’ll analyze every situation with his little legal eagle brain and logical mind; with the help of that he can organize all things well and eliminate the irrelevant. So when you finally admit to being an angel, show him your wings, he’ll most like keep quiet. 

^ also, he’s a great listener—he’ll most definitely listen to your side of the story before making any irrational decisions about your relationship. This goes back to his logical, fair and patient way of thinking; he’ll most likely just sit there quietly and let you do the talking, the explaining. ^ he soaks up all the ideas and information around him like a big brainy sponge. He hates conflicts and confrontations and always watches his words while communicating, talking in a way as to not offend you. When he finally does say something, his words will be well thought out, calculated.

^ he always knows a lot more than he lets on, most likely he already knew you were abnormal—a bit different—from the very start of your relationship. And he was just waiting for you to get comfortable enough to admit it to him, to officially let him in on the secret.

^ he’s very understanding. He’s very thoughtful and interprets things that most people miss out on. This will be beneficial to you when you begin to try and explain to him why you kept this a huge secret for such a long time. He’ll see that it, your unwillingness to tell anybody your origin story, has nothing to do with him not being worthy of knowing. He won’t take it personally.

^ he’ll tell you like it is, straight up, because he’s an honest and upfront person. He’ll wait until you’ve finished explaining and when you question him on his thoughts and feelings in the moment, he won’t sugar coat it—which can be both good and bad.

^ but, also, he can smell bullshit from a mile away. If you omit any significant details, or lie in any way, he will catch on almost instantly. And he won’t be happy.

^ he’s loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of you; finding out you’re an angel won’t change that. If anything, he’ll feel even more protective of both you and your secret. ^ he’ll forgive but never forget. Even though he won’t show it on the surface, he’ll be extremely hurt that it took you so long to tell him. Logically he knows it has nothing to do with him, but emotionally it will feel like you just don’t trust him enough. He’ll forgive you for keeping such a monumental secret, but he’ll never forget that feeling. But once he listens to your story, does his own research, his concern for you will outweigh those hurt feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I did some research,” he trailed off, you jerked at the echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room.

“Research? On what?” you gaze over at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You. Well, angel’s in general, but mostly you.” his voice is much lower, the silence drags on for a moment too long. It’s suddenly stifling. 

“And?” you breath out, still caught off guard.

“What does Éloa mean?” he questions, taking a step around the bed to face you, get a better look. You narrowed your gaze, heart suddenly in your throat. How did he find that name? Did he know? Was he just testing you? You take a deep breath, eyes dropping down to the carpet beneath his bare feet. You decide to just answer him, literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” He tilts his head, contemplatively. And there is something dangerous in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” you pull the blanket closer to you, resisting the sudden urge to spread your wings, stretch them wide and flee.  “Was he a fallen angel?” his eyes are darker now, assessing, he definitely knows. You know he knows. So why wasn’t he saying? “She was, yes.” you hesitate, not wanting to give too much of your past away, but unable to stop yourself. “Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven.” “Tricked her how?” he was still standing above you, he wouldn’t approach you, hasn’t since the night he caught you in full form.  You meet his gaze. “She fell in love with him.” His eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a grimace. How disgusting must it feel to find out your girlfriend is not only a fallen angel, but also a fallen angel who was once in love with Lucifer. You shrink, your wings drawing in closer to your body. “Did he love her?” Like an addict loves his addiction, you think, bitterly.. “The only way he knew how.”  He must have been able to see the pain in your eyes because, for a moment, pure concern crossed his features. He shook his head, schooling his expression once again. “How could he trick her?” “He never told her his name.” you whisper, your voice breaking. And suddenly he wasn’t across the room, standing above you at a distance—he was right in front of you, knee on the bed, arms around your shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” He reached forward to cup your cheek, the touch surprising you. "Please understand that no matter what you are or what has happened in your past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life."

You exhaled after holding your breath for what felt like forever, tears spilling over in excess. "That's pretty heavy, Chan." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of your neck, thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ C h a n g b i n ] finds out you’re a [ W e r e w o l f ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ C u r i o u s ] ^ he’s kind and protective. He feels responsible and is always willing to help you out when you’re in need. He will go to great lengths to make sure that you feel loved and you’re happy. He will always stand up for the underdog, (no werewolf pun intended.) This is beneficial to you because his compassionate heart will win out over his logical mindset. 

 ^ he’s extremely loyal. If there’s one trait imbedded in him, it is his loyalty. He physically won’t be able to turn his back on you—werewolf or not.

^ he’s also very honest. He tends to be extremely direct and straightforward with you. He gives honest feedback to you when you ask for it. He would never speak a white lie just to avoid conflict, or be deemed reasonable, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him bottling up his true thoughts, opinions and emotions on the subject. 

 ^ that being said, his honesty often comes off as excessive bluntness. Therefore, at first, you might catch some heat in that department. 

^ he, at times, can be very inflexible. When he has committed to something, in this case a way of thinking, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stick to that way of thinking. Regardless of how much proof he has in front of him, it will be difficult to convince him otherwise—especially when he grew up believing that werewolves were myth, not real.

^ once he has a significant amount of proof, though, he’ll be insanely curious on the matter and his crazy sense of humor will resurface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, are you an alpha? An omega? Do you turn when you feel threatened?” his wide eyes, his random questioning—it all catches you off guard.

“I’m considered a dominant amongst my pack. And, yes, I guess I would if I felt threatened.” you nod slowly, holding his gaze. You’re the werewolf here, the freak of nature, but this boy—this human—is the weird one. 

“What’s a dominant? Are they more important than a submissive?” he crawls closer to you, his jeans catching on the carpet beneath you.

“Not necessarily. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting themselves: they can fight, they can kill as readily as any other. They are a treasure in a pack, just as important. A source of purpose and of balance.” you catch yourself quoting your great grandmother, the very first female dominant in your pack, a rare, smart, capable wolf.

“Then why does the dominant wolf exist? If a submissive wolf is just as capable, just as important, why make the distinction?” he interjects, your baffled at his level of curiosity.

“Because even through submissives are just as capable and important, they’re very different. It’s a dominants job to protect those beneath them.” you pause momentarily, watch a multitude of expressions cross his face. “Protecting a submissive is far more rewarding because a submissive will never wait until you are wounded or your back is turned to see if you are truly dominant to them. Submissive wolves can be trusted. And they unite the pack with the goal of keeping them safe and cared for.”

There is a long moment where you just stare at each other, his eyes glazed over, a childlike expression on his face. “So you’re a werewolf trapped in a human body?”

You stifle a laugh, unable to control your facial expression. "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition."

"No, really. You’re trapped?” his eyes widen slightly, he leans forward, anticipating your answer.

"Oh? Are you trying to ask me the last time I shifted?" you voice, confusion written all over your face.

“Yes.” he nods enthusiastically. You briefly debate telling him about the traffic incident, but ultimately decide against lying.

“On your birthday.” you admit, sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic and I was running late.” you trail off, suddenly awkward. But then he laughs, big and loud, throwing his head back.

“That’s so cool! I want to be a werewolf. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" he smiles wide. And you roll your eyes, shake your head in pseudo disappointment. “Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?”

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[ H y u n j i n ] finds out you’re a [ M e r m a i d ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ P r a c t i c e d ]

^ he’s very empathetic with a lively imagination and a friendly disposition. He has a boundless capacity for empathy even with those who he barely sees eye to eye with. This is great for you because, even if he is initially angry that you kept such a secret from him, he’ll still empathize with your situation, your story.

^ he’s more emotional than your average guy. He is intune and prone to the infectious emotion of those around him. If he see tears, he will likely cry. If he can sense hurt in your voice, it will sadden him also. 

^ he will love you unconditionally no matter what or who you are.  ^ he’s selfless and generous. No matter how big the secret, how hurt he is from your omission, he will always be there when you need someone. Because he is so practiced in the idea that he can’t live without you, he will always show up when you need him.

^ that being said, because of his idealistic nature, you can often find him walking alone. He can be overly trusting and it often leaves him feeling betrayed, hurt and vulnerable. He might view your lack of openness, truthfulness, as a betrayal within your relationship. And that might make conversation with him, for a while, very stilted. He’ll seem impassive at first, but he will eventually warm back up to you.

^ he’s not one to give up easily. He puts in the work to get what he wants in life and he won’t let it slide away without a fight. He won’t let you go over something like this, not after he’s just got you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There, with bare feet and drenched hair, you were crouched like a child. Upon hearing him approach, you looked up, peered into his dark, hesitant eyes. You wore only an enormous men’s sweater, his sweater—with no extravagant pattern or color, the sweater was a dull beige. Your knees were pulled up inside of it, thin pale ankles peeking out from underneath. The wool sweater alone was dry, as the rest of your head, hands, and feet were as wet as if you’d just been pulled from drowning. Tiny rivers flowed off your hair and pooled on the wool sweater, leaving it dark in splotches. Water droplets glistened on your skin, not running off, as though they couldn’t quite bear to leave you. His eyes held yours in a way his hands did not. His empathetic gaze schooled, his expression practiced, controlled.

“So...a mermaid?” you twist your head the other direction, his voice breaking your concentration momentarily. At this he took a sudden step forward, as if compelled. He had caught a glimpse of pink gills under your chin, his busy eyes dancing along your neck with a new found curiosity. You became overwhelmingly self conscious, tucking your chin, keeping your neck hidden from his view. It had always taken your gills longer to disappear than your tail. 

“My mother told me stories of mermaids. She said they sometimes sing to humans to lure them underwater.” his voice trailed off, momentarily. “But you have a horrible voice.” your gaze snaps up, catching the mischievous look in his eye, his grin.

His teasing catches you off guard, you fumble with your words, “Yeah, well...I've been practicing. Want to hear?” you glare at him, halfheartedly.

He lets out a soft laugh, “I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid too...or at least, I was a mermaid in a past life.” he crouches down, he’s much closer to you now.

“Are you in pain?” you choke out, the idea of him hurting, in any way, unbearable to you. You don’t know why you asked that, he’s obviously just joking—keeping a steady conversation with you, trying to keep you calm.

“Pain? Why would I be in—” he trails off, eyes snapping in your direction. “Wait, are you in pain?” the absolute, genuine concern in his voice has you pulling up short. Your breathing shallow.

“Mermaids hurt when we’re in human form.” you admit, quietly, eyes glued to the rocks on the horizon.

“But...but you never look like you’re in pain, you’re always smiling, always so...graceful—” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowed. It’s as if he’s angry at himself for not catching on to your discomfort much sooner. “What does it feel like?”

“When your tail divides and shrinks until it becomes legs, it’s very painful. It feels as if a sharp sword is slashing through you. Everyone who sees a mermaid on legs will say that they are the most graceful human being they’ve ever laid eyes on—” you remember, vividly, all the times you were complemented for your gliding movement; not even a seasoned dancer is able to tread as lightly as you. “But every step you take feels as if you are treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow.”

There is silence, the ocean waves brushing against the sand, caressing the shore—it’s the only noise you hear for a moment. 

“Then shall I take you home and put you in the bathtub?” his unsystematic question is enough to pull you out of your thoughts completely, his brand of humor easily calming you in your panicked state. You’re suddenly very thankful.

“How do you always know just what to say?" you ask, a smile on your lips. His laugh rumbles through you as he puts his arm around your damp shoulders. "Practice, I guess."

You pull back and give him a quizzical look.

"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging you closer. “I should hope I know what to say now that I've finally got you.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J i s u n g ] finds out you’re a [ D e m o n ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ B e w i l d e r e d ]

^ he’s very intelligent and he’s always ready to expand his knowledge reserves. He usually has a systematic approach to life, he always ensures that he doesn’t miss any loophole behind. So when he finds out about you being a demon, he’s both bewildered and inquisitive.

^ he’s usually very calm and collected on the surface. But underneath he has a great intensity that demands he bring order to his world. He struggles with the need to rearrange his frantic interior beneath the calm exterior until everything is perfect. This might make him seem more freaked out, frightened, than he actually is.

^ he is highly patient with you and always tries to find the good in everything around him. So in reality, even though he initially seems frazzled at your confession, he will actually give you enough time to fix up your act—explain yourself—when need be.

^ he can, at times, be very judgmental. He tends to appraise and judge people based on one particular viewpoint in that person’s life—especially if he doesn’t know that person well enough. That being said, your relationship is solid enough to outlast his initial judgment.

^ he can also be very fussy, as sometimes he gets lost in the details. His strong likes and dislikes make him quite finicky at first. And he’ll definitely feel some type of way that you kept him in the dark for so long.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ All the demons of Hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. As each subsequent civilization became a dominant power, among its first acts was to depose and demonize whoever the previous culture had worshipped. The Jews attacked Belial, the god of the Babylonians. The Christians banished Pan and Loki, the respective deities of the ancient Greeks and Celts. The Anglican British banned belief in the Australian aboriginal spirits known as the Mimi. Satan is depicted with cloven hooves because Pan had them, and he carries a pitchfork based on the trident carried by Neptune. As each deity was deposed, it was relegated to Hell. For gods so long accustomed to receiving tribute and loving attention, of course this status shift put them into a foul mood.

And when Hell, itself, was in a foul mood, demons—specifically the ones planted here on earth—got the brunt of it. So to say you were in a bad mood would be an understatement. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision on your part to agree to speak with Jisung about your origins in that moment.

“It’s not fair.” his voice wavers, the emotional confrontation taking a toll on him.

“What, that I’m a demon or that you managed to date me?” you bit out, tersely. “Don’t.” his voice was abruptly dark. 

“No, you’re right, it’s not fair—but what makes earth feel like Hell is your expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. Good is rarely good and bad is always bad. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset.” you snap back at him, voice just as dark.

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me now?” his eyes narrow.

“How miserably hypocritical,” you respond with a growl. “You think it’s such a burden for you to be tricked into dating the devils servant? What about the burden of me being me?” your voice is much lower now, your practically spitting venom in his direction. “No sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay.”

“I didn’t want this.” his dark eyes, his bewildered gaze reflecting a huge amount of regret.

“Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his—or her—coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. That’s what I did, I pursued you, I desired you. Anything beyond that is your fault.” you turn, ready to flee out the door, the overwhelming urge to hurt something, someone, frightening you.

“My fault!? Is it my fault that I want you? That I want that feeling of standing with you against all odds and succeeding? That I want it so bad, I’d risk destroying everything I’ve worked for?” he spits at your back, crossing the room in a long stride to block your path to the door. “Is that my fault? I should walk away. But all I want to do is follow you, out that door, down the street, all the way back to hell.” his fists are clenched, his face red, you’ve never seen him so frustrated—with you or himself. “What the hell am I doing, falling in love with a demon?”  His sudden confession almost knocks you from your feet. Anger and confusion painting his face.

“You love me?” you whisper in a fit of shock.

“Yes.” he whispers right back, voice matching yours, as if his own confession shocked him as well.

“Enough to follow me all the way to hell?” you’re baffled.

“Well, according to Google, 98.3 percent of lawyers end up in Hell. That's in contrast to the 23 percent of farmers who are eternally damned. Some 45 percent of retail business owners are Hellbound, and 85 percent of computer software writers.” he hums to himself, pausing in thought. “Perhaps a trace number of musicians ascend to Heaven, but statistically speaking, 100 percent of them are cast into the fiery pit. As are essentially 100 percent of journalists and redheads.” he finishes with a satisfied nod. “Readheads?” you cock your eyebrow, completely thrown by the turn of conversation.

“What? I told you! I googled it.” he smiles, oddly proud of himself.

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[ F e l i x ] finds out you’re a [ V a m p i r e ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ P l a y f u l ]

^ like Jisung, he’s appears very calm and collected on the surface; he will struggle with his external facade and his internal need demanding order. This might make him seem very impassive in the moment, as he tends to shut down when confronted with mixed and conflicting emotions.

^ he has an analytical mind that can see things in black and white. He is capable of finding solutions to tough problems, always. He has a keen attention to detail, and likes to absorb everything before making a decision. So he will probably, like Chan, be very quiet and expressionless during your confession.

^ he has a very clever mind. And he will go through all possible elements of thinking before making any decision—so you won’t have to worry about fear, disgust or uncertainty driving him to make an impulsive decision about your relationship.

^ he’s very honest with you, he will always tell you exactly how he feel about you—to your face. He doesn’t like to sugar coat his words. For him, honesty is the best policy, even if the truth hurts. So when he does settle his mind, his inner conflict, enough to respond to you articulately—you might experience some unintentional savagery, but it most definitely will not last for long.

^ he’s pretty old school, a bit conservative and old fashioned. He’s not really into modern changes and prefers things in their old traditional ways. This is beneficial to you, in the given situation, because you are much much older than you seem. Your aura brings that old fashioned feel, and he will still appreciate that—even after realizing why.

^ once he wraps his head around the concept, around the idea of you being a vampire and living off of blood, he’ll be extremely playful. He’ll love to tease you, and honestly, he’s the type to be into a little blood play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah, I get it, you're a vampire," he said. "Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit." 

"You don't mean that." you gape in his direction.  "Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma." You blink once, twice, and it’s as if you’ve never seen him before. “You what?"

"Like. You." Felix enunciated slowly, as if you might not know the words. "Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? We’re literally dating." he sounded cool and grown-up about it, but you saw the hectic color in his cheeks, under the moonlight.

"How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs?" he sniffs, eyes darting around him, never really settling on you.

"I guess I...I just thought.... I don’t know. I just didn't think...You're kind of intimidating, you know." you finally admit. "I'm intimidating? Me? You’re the vampire here!” he spluttered out. "You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that power, and you look... Well, you know how you look." 

"How do I look?" you were fascinated now, you moved a little closer to him on the couch. He laughed nervously. "Oh come on. You're a total model-babe." 

"You're kidding." you deadpan, completely caught off guard.

"You don't think you are?" he shot back at you, side eyeing your expression. You shook you head."Then you're kind of an idiot. Smart, but an idiot." he crossed his arms, momentarily lost in though. “So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?” he questioned after a moment of silence.

“I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting?” your the one tripping over your words now. If you were capable of blushing, you’d be beet red. “I think you’re kind of beautiful...for a human. And really, really strange.” You look away, keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

“Beautiful? But I’m a boy.” he whines.

“Boys can be beautiful too, it’s not subjective to one gender. Besides, beauty is a state of being—it’s inside—not just physical attractiveness.” you reprimand him for his narrow mindedness.

He smiled and looked down, the color in his face deepened. “Thanks for that,” he murmured, “I thought you only considered me to be bratty.”

“Well, to be fair, you are bratty.” you smile, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey!” he gasps, affronted.

“What? You can be bratty and beautiful,” you shot back, repeating yourself once more. “I think it’s interesting.”  There was a beat of silence, “So, your not scared of me? You don’t hate me?” you whispered into the dark room. Before he could even open his mouth to reply, you continue, “I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those would hold a candle to the pain I’d feel if you hated me, if you were scared.”

His dark eyes find you in the light of the moon, his hand reaching out to intertwine with your. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it once more—as if trying to articulate his feelings properly, as if trying to find the words. “That's pretty hot," his deep voice carries in the otherwise quiet room.

"What? Me being staked?" you admonished, unprepared for the turn of conversation.

"Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." he wiggled his eyebrows in your direction, his voice playful, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you squeezed his hand, “I'm sure you are.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J e o n g i n ] finds out you’re a [ N y m p h ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ D e l i g h t e d ]

^ he’s incredibly open-minded and tends to think and do things differently than others. He thinks for himself and likes to keep an open mind about all things. He’s not the type to judge a book by its cover. So you won’t need to worry about any judgment being thrown your way.

^ he’s a true free spirit, meaning any attempts to keep him from being who he really is will make him turn away. This is great, because he has learned to treat others as he wishes to be treated; he won’t ask you to suppress who you are, or change in any way, for the fear that you might do the same to him.

^ he’ll most likely need some space and freedom to work through his thoughts on your unusual upbringing. However, he will be very vocal about exactly why he needs space, as to avoid any miscommunication. He would never up and leave you for being open and honest with him and he wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

^ like Jisung, he is also quite the intellectual. He can amaze anyone with his original ideas; this is great because, right off the bat, he will be so overwhelmed with curiosity, overflowing with questions, he won’t have the time to be upset with you.

^ sure, he’s a bit of an intellectual rebel and he will loudly defend his opinions, but he’s also willing and open to learning. Ultimately, telling him you’re a forest nymph will be like telling him you had grapefruit for breakfast. He has a great power to form and understand abstract concepts and conform and adapt to new information like he’s known it his whole life—like it’s no big deal.

^ he’ll be delighted with your honesty, insanely curious and extremely playful.

^ he’s also very stubborn at times. It is often hard to change his mind about something once it is set for. But you’re close enough to actually succeed in this area, an area which others have failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up sudden—a chill crawling down your spine—in a puddle of cool sunlight. Your hands asleep beside you, your hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth. Frost grows on the window glass, forming whirlpool patterns of lovely translucent geometry, and you stare up, momentarily forgetting where you are. Sitting up slowly, you lean forward and breath on the glass, giving the frost more ammunition. Now the winter nymphs can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see them moving in, ready to do their seasonal damage to your lovely forest, to your home.  That’s when you hear it, a shift in the cool grass. And suddenly he’s right there, crouched down beside you. He rocks forward, and hisses in an attempt to scare you out of your thoughts. But you knew he was there the entire time, you could sense his presence. He could never truly sneak up on you in the forest, not with the many trees and plants and animals—the many eyes and ears.

You turn to him, with a bored expression, “Really? That’s all you got?”

You stretch your wings, hear their crackle, as a show of complete content.

“Not fair! How did you know? I was really quiet this time!” he pouts, whining about how unfair it is. “Also, why are you out here? It’s kind of cold.” he finally sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

You shrug your shoulders, resisting the urge to smile. There’s a pause, a beat of silence, where you both gaze up at the outer side of the house; the windows covered in frost catching your attention, yet again. And then you feel his gaze on you.

“It’s nice.” he whispers and you turn your head to face him, confused.

“That you exist.” he smiles at you and you feel your heart drop.

“I think humans don’t want merely to see beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words—” he cuts himself off, momentarily, watching your face carefully. “We want to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to become part of it. I think that’s why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” he trails off again, and you’re left speechless. His dark eyes catching on the curves and lines of your face.  And then the moment is broken, he looks away, back up at the frost bitten windowsill. But your heart still thumps in your throat. “And this is nice," he begins with a sigh. "Like...one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is drawing the gods and goddesses." your eyes follow his gaze back up to the windowsill, you see that he’s referring to the intricate designs hidden within the frost. Winter nymphs have a tendency to hide such patterns, such art, in their work.

You hum in agreement. “And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated human," you said teasingly.

"I am a student," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.”

"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he adds, in after thought.

You laugh. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left yours. And you found you couldn’t look back, and not blush. He reached over, delicately pulling you into his side—it was only then that you realized how closely he held you, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought you almost eye to eye with him.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries." he chortled, delighted.

You tucked your chin into the wool of his coat. "It's cold," you said, defensively. He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”

“I find that really offensive.” you grumble in response, the forest nymph and fairy blood in you disliking the comparison all together. He laughs, warmly, and pulls you even closer. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ S e u n g m i n ] finds out you’re a [ W i t c h ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ R e l u c t a n t ]

^ he’s highly reliable, it’s in his blood to keep up with commitments. People often completely rely on him to complete complicated tasks with efficiency and perfection as he is naturally very rational. It’s that rational side of his mind that will force him to listen to your explanation to the end.

^ he would never, consciously, let you down; he consistently gives his best to meet your expectations. He’s the first to answer your call and the last to leave a situation when you’re in need. This will be beneficial to you as he will be compelled to stop, listen and hear you out.

^ like Felix, he is extremely analytical. He will think everything through—weighing the options, good and bad—before making a decision about your relationship.

^ at first he’ll be quite reluctant, hesitant and unwilling to budge in his prejudice. It’s something he can’t help, growing up believing witches are evil, dark, dangerous and manipulative. But deep down he knows you, and this will be all he needs to encourage understanding and acceptance.

^ he’s a problem solver. He likes to tackle problems of close ones and the people around him. At first it might seem like he’s trying to control the situation, but you will soon realize that he is only analyzing your situation to find ways of helping you improve your life.

^ he can be critical at times, overly demanding. It’s because he already has a clear picture in his mind about how things should be done. But he’s also open to change, and once he comes to terms with your witchy ways, he will become the most supportive boyfriend you could ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “So tell me about it,” he interjected, pulling you away from your inner dialogue. 

“What?” you look up from your study table, eyes meeting his across the room.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Do you practice Black Magic? Have you ever put me under a spell?” his face is blank, expressionless, but his voice gives away his anger and confusion.

“There is no such thing as White Magic or Black Magic.” you turn you head away from him, unable to accept him being so cold and cruel to you. “If you are participating in magic, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. And just like life, it’s not black and white, all good or all bad.” you trail off, your stomach in knots. It’s best to be truthful, you know this, but it hurts you to think that something like this could damage you relationship. Or worse, end it. You feel the telltale signs of tears forming in your eyes, the heat almost unbearable.

“And no, I’ve never—I would never use it on you.” there is a brief silence and despite him approaching you, stepping much closer, you resolutely keep your eyes lowered. 

“Can you tell me about them?” his voice was much softer now, much too close. You look up into his eyes and realize he’s referring to the plants on your bed side table. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, slowly stand up from the chair and turn towards your bed.

“These are tropical palms. They bring strong solar energy into your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities.” you trail off, carefully watching his expression. “This right here is African violet, and it’s associated with love and magic. But I use it because it’s vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Lunar energy is most important to those in my coven.” you whisper, the vivid memory of your grandmother and aunt surrounding themselves, filling their homes, with African violets almost brings tears to your eyes. “Aloe is associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves. They’re cooling and healing.” you continue on, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing. 

Finally you turn to the last plant, your moms personal favorite. “The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house. It also bestows blessings on anyone who smells it.”  You wait for him to say something, still avoiding his unnerving stare, unsure you want to even see his reaction.

“This stuff? These plants? They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?” his voice is barely there, a whisper, but his words still have the same affect. You blink, once, twice, and the tears you were so set on holding back, fall.

Suddenly he’s there, pulling you closer to him, guiding your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. His warm embrace is enough to comfort you by itself but he still whispers to you, “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m not mad. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.”  And, for once, you truly believe it.

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[ M i n h o ] finds out you’re a [ S h a p e s h i f t e r ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ E n t h r a l l e d ]

^ he’s focused and competitive. When he wants something he just goes for it. Also, when he sets his sight on something (you) he allows very few things to get in his way and does anything to achieve his goal (to be with you.) This focus, this competitive nature, will keep him present and attentive during your confession. 

^ he’s also extremely brave and daring. He isn’t afraid of challenges in life, so what appears to be a crazy risk to more conservative people is just a normal day for the brave-hearted Minho. Because of this, he won���t be afraid. When you tell him, show him, what you really are—he’ll be more enthralled than fearful or confused.

^ one of the great things about Minho is his loyalty to you. He values trust and honesty making him a fiercely loyal boyfriend, and he expects you to be the same way. That being said, he most likely will be upset that you felt the need to keep such a secret. But he will quickly get over it, dismiss those feelings, once he realizes just how honest you’re being with him in the present. ^ he respects you and treats you with amazing loyalty, generosity and kindness. Him finding out you’re a shapeshifter definitely will not change that.

^ however, it most likely will take him a hot second to be content within your relationship dynamic again, as a part of him perceived your lack of truthfulness as disloyalty. There's a pretty good chance that your actions will cause some big-time resentment to him, at least for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s okay, I mean if you want to, if you need to—” he trails off, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m okay with it.” 

You look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of your soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciated and transformed. So you let yourself go.

You groan as your limbs lessen into shorter proportions and your neck stretches. Auburn-coloured fur emerged upon your fevered skin, and the sounds of your bones cracking, shifting in an echo around the cold mountain side. Your snout elongates and your teeth sharpen.

You were panting and, with one last shudder, your body slides from human to fox in a crack. Minho stood there, face drawn up in a twisted expression full of empathetic pain, watching the frost dissipate on your hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. In this form, the world was sharp and clear, he was sharp and clear. You never realized how many different colors of shadow there were, how the angles of his face cast such an array of shade. It made you savor the dark beauty of the cold evening even more.

Minutes passed by—him staring at you, and you staring at him—both of you almost caught in a trance. When a little blue butterfly fluttered up to you, and landed on your snout. You blinked at it and it fluttered to your ear; it was winter, cold and lifeless on the mountain side, why were there suddenly butterflies? A big yellow butterfly gently floats over and lands on your paw, and as if reading your mind, Minho cocks his head to the right, “Well, that’s different.” 

Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down around you, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened once before, in your backyard, when you shifted on a late afternoon.

Your magic must be strong enough, in that moment, to attract them—despite the weather and location. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason you made them feel safe and they gravitated to you like iron shavings to a magnet. Minho let out a quiet giggle as a bigger butterfly landed on your forehead and you shook it off, affronted. Resisting the urge to fight the assault, you took a step back. They ruined your ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

Now if a baby deer frolicked out from between the mountains and tried to cuddle up, you would yip. You wouldn’t bite it, but you would most definitely yip, maybe even growl. You had your limits. Minho slowly approached you and reached out, his fingers hesitant. You tilted your head down, letting him touch your ears. His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the fluffy protrusion. You knew they were warmer than he thought they’d be, a living extension of the human inside. He petted your pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of your muscles bunching and moving underneath. Finishing off with your tale, he ran his fingers through it, slowly, thoroughly.

Sitting back, he winked down at you. "You probably get this a lot, but…I like your backside.” he laughed at your annoyed yip. “What? It’s so fluffy.” You stretch back into human form, the change much easier in reverse, and look up at him from the ground. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?” you roll your eyes, with a smile.

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To the beautiful anon who requested a supernatural s/o reaction [Stray Kids,] I hope you like it!!! 😅😅 It was superrrr fun to do, so thank you for the request, loveee! 🥰

[mundungs]

ϟ.  → robert sheehan : genderfluid : he/they/she : dealer of illicit objects and substances : the raven by the alan parsons project ϟ  did you see mundungus fletcher ? you know ,  31 year old halfblood who was formally in ravenclaw. some say dung can be quite furtive but are known to be unreliable. they are aligned with the order .  maybe that’s why they remind me of naming stray cats, flicking a lighter over and over again, falling asleep on the subway. ϟ 

some links for food

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ciannán o’donnell is a flighty man, one of many relationships and flings and little loyalty, and so his affair with maeve fletcher does not last long. when she tells him she is pregnant, he moves on to a different woman, and maeve has her son alone, with her sister on her side. and thus, mundungus is born (and giving an arguably atrocious name).

he grows up with his mum – a halfblooded witch and by far his favourite person in the world – in limerick, attending muggle school there. he knew who his dad was, but wasn’t quite sure how to feel about — his father is a criminal, a prominent member of the irish mob. 

he meets his dad for the first time at age seven, and was nothing but impressed. his dad showered him with gifts, his mum watching with a furious look on her face but biting her tongue. that moment was a switch for mundungus; he felt the need to impress his dad. he stole some sweets from a store on his way home from school a week later, fished some pennies out of the pockets of his classmates a few months later. when he phoned his dad to tell him, his laugh was warm and filled with life. his relationship with his dad got better as his behaviour got worse. the thrill of stealing, of doing stuff he wasn’t supposed to, lit him not only on fire because it was exciting, but also because he knew his dad would adore it. 

but ciannan, a flighty man, pushes and pulls. and so mundungus was fed disappointment by his father, liking love off a shiny knife rather than a spoon ( silver or plastic, what the fuck does it matter ). details omitted, long story made short: his dad sucks and his mother tries, but mundungus is pulled towards that what smells of danger.

DRUGS MENT. at hogwarts, dung is sorted into ravenclaw. not at all the booksmart type, he falls more into the chaotic-creativity, random-bursts-of-wanting-to-learn-everything-about-something type of ravenclaw. there’s two worlds, then: the muggle world, where he slowly dips his water further in criminal waters, and the wizarding one, where he’s chaotic and messy but a student. when he grows older, these overlap: dung starts selling some of his dad’s weed at hogwarts, and soon gains a reputation of being able to get people less-than-legal shit. 

not getting high off your own supply is not a sentiment he agrees with. not then, not later, not now. dung is fun, always in for a party and willing to supply the goods to throw it. if some rich purebloods lose a few galleons at said party, well, it sure isn’t him! END OF TW

he graduates with two newts, in herbology and potions, failing his dada and charms exams. he’s not an academic.

falling into the family business after graduation is easy. mundungus is attracted by the criminal underworld, both that of muggle ireland and that of the wizarding world. knockturn alley was a place frequented in teenage years, but now becomes more his place. he makes connections, exchanges strange potion recipes for other things. makes an odd wager on a bunch of stolen brass scales and turns a profit. 

a career is not something that interests him; he is more interested in bending rules and making quick money. thievery, selling illegal shit, heists, fraud, fuck-all. mundungus is not limited by one descriptor, one kind of criminality. he just does what he wants and hopes to make a good penny.

but then he almost gets sent to azkaban over some, in his frank opinion, bullshit. it’s dumbledore who talks the wizengamot out of it, saddling dung up with some community service and persuading him towards the order. he’s twenty three. the war is still fresh. he has no interest in it, but he owes the old man. fine.

mundungus does vehemently oppose blood purity and any kind of discriminatory ideals, an anarchist in his very bones, but he is also cowardly. to side with self-proclaimed rebels is not in his blood and yet it’s where he ends up, bringing shady ties to the underworld to the table and a sheer ability to sneak around and fuck the law. and maybe, amidst the ranks of the order, dung finds something he’s not very familiar with: a large family. and dung? well, he’s the stoner, gay, super-fucking-chaotic cousin.

personality

if jesper fahey and kaz brekker had a child, it would be dung. 

other character parallels: fezco ( euphoria ), boris ( the goldfinch ), doug judy ( b99 ), jason mendoza ( the good place ), chris miles ( skins ),  nick miller ( new girl ), creed bratton ( the office ), scott lang ( marvel ), lillian ( unbreakable kimmy schmidt )

technically he’s homeless. he’s got a bedroom at his ma’s place, has a ton of squatter connects in the muggle scene and couch surfes aplenty, but dung doesn’t rent a place. why? landlords are evil. he could afford a place, just doesn’t see the point. life’s better with some adventure.

appears very neutral in public as it’s beneficial to his role in the order??? 

.... tortured artist. writes poetry and loves to draw and paint. 

tattooed the fuck up. some are his own designs.

can usually be spotted wearing The Coat, a rly expensive, vintage long coat that he once stole of a pureblood. he’s enlarged the pockets with some handy spellwork and pretty much carries everything he owes in there, like his produce and his money and his second pair of shoes and his art supplies and probably some random trash. 

loves animals. he loves stray cats especially <3 they are his kin. 

an anarchist. a bit of a punk. a deep idealist with a cowardly heart so constantly betraying himself (and sometimes others?)

queer! enby! genderfluid! i used he/him pronouns throughout this intro but dung truly doesn’t give a damn what u use. loves to dress up in feminine clothes. 

has a ton of aliases, lol, the most important one being marigold fincher. 

cusses too fuckin much to be healthy :/

oh no he is a big sad insecure kid deep inside :/ dont tell anyone how embarrassing!!!! shhhh!! it’s a secret.

quick connection ideas

victim. wow please. if your character is rich. let me steal from u. pick ur pockets. break into ur house. get some of ur stuff and drop it on the black market. 

customer. dung sells. whatever u need. drugs. weird magical things. ask and ye shall receive. his prices are whack but he does deliver <3

pal. party friends! order friends! random encounter friends! dung has a trashmouth and loves to talk pls let him chat u up and u will never be rid of him <3

couch. he couch surfs. a lot. if ur character trusts dung enough to let him into their home (which they shouldnt) then pls let him sleep over for a night. he will leave a strangely expensive necklace on ur kitchen table as a thank u. or wilted flowers. no in between.

skeptic. ur char is in the order and thinks dung is a liability and maybe they have a point. a point mundungus would rather not face :)

dmle bitches. dung hates anyone authoritative but esp the coppers at the ministry (hit wix & aurors) (yea he calls them coppers sorry he doesnt respect them enough to call them aurors <3). give me that doug judy/jake peralta dynamic. or just someone in the dmle who is like ... sigh this guy again??? 

fwb/one night stand/fling/etc. he’s a bit slutty <333 give him some ppl he’s hooked up with / will hook up with.

[poklina]

I guess this is sorta a continuation of eposide 2x10(but pretending simon clary relationship doesn't exist cause im in denial) but do you think you could write something where simon and jace talk a little more about the fact that jace basically risked his life saving simon and jace admits his feelings for simon

hey Friendo hows ur night? mines pretty good i hope you enjoy this mass of disgusting fluff pal

daylight--1.2k

The Institute smelled of burnt charcoal and ozone, like the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm, all metallic and harsh. People spoke in hushed voices as they milled around, checking off a list of the Downworlders laying on the floor, going to the infirmary to get their various wounds checked out, kneeling down and closing the eyes of the fallen Shadowhunters that dotted the Institute. It had been a couple hours since Valentine had been apprehended, but the sword was missing, and everyone that was available had already been dispatched out into the streets of New York to try and find it.

Simon sat on the steps outside, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows as his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the sun, letting the light was over him like it hadn't been able to for the past couple months. Simon had forgotten how nice it was to just be in the sun, as it glowed over his skin and sunk in to bones that had been too cold for too long. His mind was whirring with all of the possibilities this new ability lent him; he could go back to school, he could see his mom, he could be a regular person again.

Clary had gone back inside a couple minutes ago. Simon told her that he just wanted to "process" out here for a moment, and while that was mostly true, he also didn't want to go inside and face all of the dead laying on the marble floor quite yet.

"Simon, what are you doing!"

His eyes snapped open as his head whipped around toward the voice.  A flurry of legs, arms, and blonde hair were all he could see as whoever they were yanked him up and started dragging him towards the open doors. When he finally got his bearings and planted his feet on the ground, Simon saw that it was Jace, arm still bloodied from the last night.

"Jace, Jace, don't worry, I'm fine, I can be in the sun now!"

Jace's hands dropped from their place on Simon's shoulder, and he turned to look at him amazed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm not burning! I only just found out and it's awesome because now I can stop living in the boathouse and hey, maybe I can help you guys with missions too, I know Clary would love that-"

"Oh. Okay. Well, sorry about that"

Jace breaks Simons rambling train of thought and starts to walk back inside. Simon feels like he should let him go, but there's something that he hasn't done yet.

"Wait, Jace!" He takes a step forward and grabs his bicep, and Jace immediately shakes him off.

"What?"

"It's just, ah. I never thanked you for risking your life for me."

"Yes, you did. We've been over this. Can I go now?" Jace is fidgeting like a kid, eyes darting up, down, and sideways but never meeting Simon's.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, I guess I did. Well, uh. Thank you. Again. For that. And for this too, I guess."

Jace cocks his head, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I drink your blood and now I can't get burned? Seems pretty convenient to me."

"Oh. Sure. You're welcome." He makes another attempt to escape, but there's one last question that's been nagging at Simon ever since Clary's face melted away and turned into his.

"Hey, Jace? I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask, and I really don't know if I even should ask it because it's like, really awkward but-"

"For the love of the angel Simon, spit it out." Jace has finally stopped looking everywhere but at him and now all Simon can see is the bright blue-brown of his eyes, and the dark circles underneath, and the red rims; so now Simon knows that this is a really bad idea but he's never been god with that whole "filter" thing and-

"Why you?"

Silence.

Jace doesn't break eye contact, but Simon can see how badly he wants to, in the way his fingers start to rapidly drum against his thigh.

"You know, it's just that Izzy could've done it instead-"

"Izzy wasn't there. I was the only one who could do it."

Simon is surprised by how shaky and uncertain Jace's voice is, but surprised even more by how strong it sounds at the same time. This is the tone of voice you use when you want someone to drop the subject.

But then again, Simon's never been very good at picking up social cues.

"Oh, okay. Well, you did a really great job acting like Clary. I mean, I thought you really actually cared about me, which I know is absolutely-"

"I do."

"-insane...wait, what?"

Jace looks like someone has just lifted a 20 pound weight off of his shoulders, and once he starts talking, it's like he can't stop.

"I do, Simon. I really, really do. I have for a long time, and I really didn't know what to feel so I just pushed you away because I was scared but then you helped Clary and I find Madzie and you sacrificed yourself for us so when Clary told Luke and I that you were hurt I knew, I just knew that it was my turn to save you so I made Clary draw the rune and when I saw you I couldn't think of anything and Simon please don't ever do that to me-us again because I meant it Simon. I meant it." He'd been running his hand through his hair incessantly and was back to doing that thing where he didn't look Simon in the eye and it looked like he was backing up, trying to escape this confession that he'd never meant to make.

For the first time in his life, Simon is truly speechless.

"And I know that you probably don't feel the same and this was a really bad idea to tell you but I had to and now I don't know what to do Simon please say something."

Simon feels like a fish out of water. How do you respond to someone that just confessed their feelings for you? Especially when you just got hit by a train that made you realize that you feel the same?

"Simon, please."

Jace is looking at him again, and those bright blue-brown eyes are filled with longing and pleading and desperation and Simon? Simon just does whatever he thinks he should.

Which is apparently lunging forward and pulling Jace's stupidly tall head towards his own and kissing him like he's never kissed before.

He feels Jace flail around him before he relaxes into in, sliding his hands against Simons shoulder blades and pressing against him.

They stand like this on the steps to the Institute until someone breaks for air, and even then they still cling to each other, muscles straining as they try to pull together a past that should've started much sooner.

"So uh. Thanks," Simon croaks out against Jace's throat, "for everything."

And so they stand there. Bodies pulled in tightly together, and as they start to kiss again because Jace's mouth is like crack because it's that addicting, Simon feels the warmth of the sun on his back and the solid heat of the body in front of him and he thinks that he hasn't felt this warm in so long.

Yea. He could get used to this.