#never fr drawn angry before this

[razziematazz]

got pissed off abt the cowboy hat so i projected onto him

[kittencomicslol]

Gyutaro x Artist but gyutaro is their Main Muse and they just lobe drawing or sketching him!

Gyutaro x Artist! Reader headcanons :3

______

LOVEEEE THIS IDEA UGHHH I LOVE DRAWING HIM SO BAD HE IS SO COOL AND BEAUTIFUL ❤️❤️❤️

His body is so so cool and I love drawing it and writing about it gyah he’s so cool.. you will definitely hear my rambles and interest in his funky little critter body in this.

Only possible tw would be Gyutaro struggling w why anyone would find him pretty but that’s a given so yah

I’m so sorry this took me a long time to put out, I know I say this like every blue moon I post but my life is fr crazy 😭 it’s getting better tho. I just do these for fun and comfort and i appreciate prompts/requests for when I’m in the need to relax and write about my favorite little guy

•Gyutaro has not a single clue why you seem to be so infatuated with creating art of specifically him

“The entertainment district has so many unique pretty people in it, those who are leaps and bounds more handsome than he is. So why him?

•At first he was even angry to think you would try to gaze upon him in an artistic light before anyone else. He was hideous, he didn’t deserve to be drawn or painted.

•But you didn’t seem to think so

•He would never admit it and prefer to only display his annoyance, but he really was flattered the first few times.

•When you asked to draw him he laughed, because why would you want to do such a thing? He thought you were joking. You were in the entertainment district, a place with some of the most beautiful people in all of Japan!

•But yet.. you insisted on doting upon his hideous form and praising his appearance. showering him with gifts from your natural talent of creativity and your dedication to craft.

•Of course he was envious at first.. of course you were talented. beautiful, nice, and talented. He hated all of those things.

•But he didn’t hate you.

•Gyutaro would unconsciously be annoyed due to thinking your artistic ability is natural born talent. It wasn’t fair how so many humans were blessed with those gifts while he himself seemed to only be cursed with suffering and imperfections.

•Though, after watching you work and create so many different pieces even he himself was able to notice how subtly you improved or when you messed up.

•And of course he noticed because no matter if he would express it or not at first, he adored you making art of him.

•Gyutaro was naturally a very attentive demon. The man grew up on the streets racked with danger and disease. Such living conditions were a constant battle to survive and in order to do so, he needed to be aware of his surroundings.

•His nature to pick up on smaller things only intensified when Ume was born because now he was watching over her, and he deemed her life as bounds more valuable than his own.

•He loved seeing you fail or mess up at your art.. and it wasn’t in an exactly sadistic or crude way like he would feel when seeing others fail. With you, it felt like he was watching you learn and grow. He was witnessing your failure and proof that your talent wasn’t natural, You had to work for it. And something about that struck a chord in him.

•Embarrassment was always a very common emotion for him to express when you asked for a better look at him.

•’I want to see your back better, I need to see the way your spine curves.’

•‘Let me see you up close so I can get your birthmarks right’

•‘Can you show me your hand?’

•Every single little question you asked always gave him butterflies, both from nerves and him becoming flustered.

•But over time as you two bonded; he became much more comfortable with sharing his body with you.

•His small crude comments about how ‘pointless’ your art of him was gradually turned into quiet mumbles of appreciation or gentle praise.

•Sometimes, if you get lucky he will allow you to touch him. Trailing your hand down his odd protruding spine, or delicately brushing your fingers over his ribs that were barely covered by his skin.

•One time he even let you feel his stomach.. if you could even call it that, and where his abs were just to see how his strange anatomy worked. That interaction didn’t last for long as he got far too flustered and anxious to let you continue, but it was still fascinating nonetheless.

•Gyutaro was almost constantly put off but your compliments about the parts of his body he hated the most.

•His disgusting marks? They were pretty, and looked like paint on a canvas to you.

•His visible ribs? They were unique, a wonderful oddity.

•His crooked spine? One of your ‘favorite parts’ of him to draw

•His bloodshot down turned eyes? They looked like gemstones to you, sparkled like the stars.

•It was like any aspect he found repulsive about himself, you saw it the exact opposite.

•There was one small interaction Gyutaro didn’t think he would ever forget, something that touched him in a way he had never felt before

•It was common for you to show Gyutaro new drawings you made of him.. working as Daki’s artist you only had so much time to ever gift him with full pieces.

•Not that he cared, at this point if you gave him a stick figure and said it was him he would be grateful you even thought of him.

•Perhaps that was only because of your close bond.. if another human did that things probably wouldn’t go so sweetly.

•He wished he had a better place to keep such cherished things though all he had was the little cave where him and Daki stored food and skeletons.

•Nevertheless, you liked to doodle him a lot in quick sketches that you almost always displayed to him. Usually you came to sit with him when you would draw him to get reference for something about his ghoulish unnatural form, especially for his birthmarks. He had so many he was used to you coming in with near finished drawings that still needed reference for where his spots were.

•Eventually, you stopped asking for such things and it almost made him sad. Did you just loose interest?.. he wouldn’t blame you, he was hideous.

•Of course that was him being overly negative and unrealistic. You still frequently showed him art you created of him, so he had no reason to think that. But he usually wasn’t very logical when it came to thoughts about his own body..

•One night the two of you ended up in the same room together for a while, Gyutaro glancing over to you for a moment..

•”(Y/N)..”

•He croaked out your name in his broken voice that you never seemed to comment on. Almost instantly you raised your head and turned all of your attention onto Gyutaro

•“Hm?”

*The demon let out a small huff. He felt pathetic asking something like this. He was an upper moon demon, he shouldn’t care.

•“Why did.. why did you stop visiting me whenever you draw?”

• he forced out, letting out a small sigh as soon as he did. He had to use restraint to hold himself back from hiding his face in his palms

•But instead of ignoring him or saying you got sick of looking at his ugly face, you chuckled.

•”Taro, I’ve drawn you so many times I already know what you look like. I even have your marks memorized.”

•He went quiet, his face flushing a crimson hue from your response. There was just.. no way. You couldn’t be real. What had he done to deserve you?..

•”Oh..”

•Was all he was able to manage out, too flustered and dumbfounded to come up with a proper response.

•If he wasn’t in love with you enough before, he was far past head over heels by now.

•The concept of abstract art interested him as well, and he would always be very grateful whenever you would explain how some people found deep interest in things that looked.. less than appealing.

•One of Gyutaro’s favorite small details he always picked up on was in your doodles of him.

•Sometimes you liked to add something extra onto your work to make it more lively, and whenever you did that with him it would always be little hearts around him.

•Things so small yet so meaningful were things he had always loved, and this was definitely no exception.

•When you displayed your art to others you could never exactly display him.. though you sometimes added little details that you knew he would notice

•Little black splotches around the canvas akin to his marks, small Kanji for the number six sometimes appearing.

•He knew you couldn’t exactly ‘show him off’ and he knew you probably wouldn’t want to if you could.. but even so, seeing you do something that still counted as showing him off meant a lot.

•Even if nobody else noticed or knew, he did.

•He noticed all of the little details, the stray lines, the mistakes. Every little thing about your art he adored

•The same way he adored you.

————

WAAA!! I wrote most of this months ago at like 12AM and I am astounded that it actually held up and I didn’t have to completly re-write it. Just finished it up

[enzenwriting]

7 days -without a week pt2 (2.3k words)

Jake sim x reader. #angst #fluff

Jake feels the warm air in the morning, a little too humid for his liking but he doesn’t think much of it. He does his usual suburban routine- wake up, get ready and hop in his car to drive to university. Or so he thinks.

1 seconds…48 second… 5 minutes passes and he’s still there. He hadn’t even started his car….

He thinks he forgets something, maybe his biology book but remember it’s physics lecture today. Or maybe he was supposed to wear a different outfit. He can’t figure it out.

He feels like something is missing but can’t point out what it is. Shrugging it off, he starts his drive and your tune starts playing 2 minute into the drive.

“Y/N please, it’s too early-“

He realises you’re not next to him. (Awkward)🐦‍⬛

Opting on turning off the music altogether, he then starts hearing your voice. Damn, he might be going KINDA insane. What’s next? Seeing you?

Surprise! Yes he does (really!) he sees you on the bus stop laughing with euijoo. He thanks the universe that he’s stuck on a traffic because he would’ve crashed the car💀 (either with car infront of him… or with EJ what)

You don’t notice him when he discreetly opens his car window. Damn, why’d u just ignore your bestie like that?

PAUSE JAKE REMEMBERS.

Ok so your reaction might be valid on this one………

Jake shrugs it off, you’d been angry at him many times before, you’ll come around in a week.

You’ll be back greeting him in the morning half asleep, in his car singing to your tune, running over new food places and maybe planning weekend movie schedule.

You’ll hang around him during lunch anyway, it’s not like you can change it a day🥴

Well apparently you can…. because he doesn’t see you all morning and as soon as you entere the uni’s canteen, your direction was STRAIGHT towards euijoo and your other casual friends.

Jake is speechless, were you really that mad. It’s starting to be a little petty. 😬

“If you keep glaring at them like that, you’ll burn a hole on euijoo’s head” -Jay.

Jake was TOTALLY not starring😡

“Missing your girlfriend Jakey?~” poor Riki doesn’t understand the situation but boy did that hit a nerve

“Fuck off, she’s not my girlfriend and I’m glad she finally got my message”

“What do you mean? Did you say something mean to y/n? ” Jay’s got our back🥹

Jake can’t stand it. He can’t stand the bickering and he can’t stand you laughing at euijoo. He wasn’t THAT funny. Hoon’s stupid miso joke was funnier than his whole being. So Jake just left everyone🫡

Heeseung explains the whole situation because damn…. The whole team heard the yelling, so your behaviour IS TOTALLY valid

They can’t say the same with Jake’s reactions though

Jake is balancing between being a kicked puppy or an angry rabid dog. No between.

Jake looks like he’d been abandoned by you. He looks at you longer and more often than he did. And they don’t miss way it gets a little intense when you’re with euijoo.

And Jake slowly notices too.

It’s been a little under 5 days when he’s realising your missing presence. The empty drive going to university and back, the seat next to him in classes you both share, and his phone notifications.

5 days never felt long and unbearable. And you weren’t budging. You’d been avoiding him all together and it’s going strong

and when they say karma hits back, it really went back at the best time for Jake.

Really. At the end of 5th day, he was benched out again during practice for spacing out. “Jake… if u gets benched out for the nth time again, you might get benched during the game in 2 weeks fr” -coach.

WTF. That on top of you avoiding him like a plague doesn’t make Jake feel good anymore.

He takes a break and by miracle, he sees you when he went to get his water bottle filled!!!

Suddenly, he felt a huge sense of relief seeing you. It’s like your presence is a natural remedy to his fatigue.

Jake didn’t know why but he is drawn towards you, forgetting his half filled bottle by the fountain. His mouth opened, ready to call out your name-

Freeze

He watched you jogged up to none other than euijoo, handing him a drink. euijoo’s arm swings around you, hand circling on your small back. A small laugh eliciting from you as he whispers something on your ear, both walking towards the exit.

Jake’s pupils were shaking as he watched the scene, the interaction was SO casual. SO affectionate. The interaction you’ve always had reserved for him. The action that should only be for him. He IS your best friends after all.

Jake broke his thoughts when he felt an ugly pain in chest, and small yet piercing pricks on his insides. The piercing pain gets worse when he remembers euijoo’s arm around you…. and your smile.

He hasn’t seen you in a while, and maybe- just maybe… he thought talking to you and seeing your smile will make everything all okay again.

Jake clicked his tongue, brushing his hair back before heading to the gym.

“Day 6 of Byun Euijoo babysitting a sad heartbroken hopeless romantic. Thank you for these chocolates” you sigh

“Don’t be a sadist. Just focus on your chocolate and find us a cafe to visit after class today so your brain preoccupied . My treat” his hand coming up to pinch your cheek hard.

You and euijoo are 🤞🏻. A little back story: You’ve got the realest sibling dynamics. You met euijoo I one of your class; and he was lk a jakeyn shipper at how cute you two were until he found you crying while eating ice cream the day the fight happened.

boy forced out that information OUT of you. and since, the new founded brotherly care instinct came out

You swat his hand away and just like that, annoying you became the focus of the next 5 minutes

But you weren’t the only one ‘annoyed’ at Euijoo. 6 tables from you, remains the inner rabid boy.

“You know. If you really want something to happen, you should just talk to y/n. You’re acting like her when you used to pay more attention to other girls than her and she’d get all jealous and quiet” - Heeseung

Wait- that’s why you were quiet in some days? Why hadn’t you told him? He was your best friend. “Jealous?”

“Yep. Dont know if you hadn’t noticed, u glare at them looking all mean an’ rough. Playground bully vibe.” Ri-ki joked, trying to ease the awkward tension

“naauuurr no way, im not jealous or anything”

“You need to seriously stop lying to yourself. If the world made you two childhood friend and got a long so well together, you’re both bound to develop feelings and accepting them instead of being in denial is a lot easier than ruining whatever u guys had” Jay groaned in annoyance.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Jake felt anger overwhelm him .”y/n was the one who kept pushing her romantic feelings on me. I’m supposed to be her best friend, nothing more”

Oh he could be NOT this stewwwpid

“You keep saying you’re her best friend but are you even being hers?” Jay shot back defensively, jaw clenching tightly. Jay had equally known you way back too, so he can be defensive when it comes to it. (GO JAY🫶)

“And you’re blaming y/n? You’re more than just being fucking stupid now. Y/n had never forced her romantic feelings on you beyond your boundaries. All this time, she was being a good best friend waiting for you to return something someday. But you? You’re the shittiest best friend.” JAW DROPPPED.

“Get your head out of your ass and wake up, if you just showed a bit of interest with y/n and became a good best friend to her, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place” Jay… marry me atp

“You don’t know shit Jay. This whole bestfriend and romance is too fucked up” (Jake pls respectfully shut up babs)

“if this situation is fucked up, then what about you Sim? Don’t you think it’s fucked up that you keep hurting your own childhood best friend for nothing? Acting like a fucking brat each time she’s around”

“What” Jake might just be shaking rn

“You just tossed away her feelings, trying to be ignorant of your own. You didn’t think she wouldn’t notice, right? Taking her kindness for granted, rolling your eyes at her whenever she was a little too happy at your actions, and throwing her gift.“

“I NEVER DID-“

“Yeah, that letter she wrote you and you threw it right in the trash infront of her face? Fuck you. And she’d come and smile at me saying you were having a bad day ”

Jake couldn’t respond, he didn’t know want to say. He admits some of the things he’s done in the past weren’t nice, but he was just upset when those things happened.

Maybe that was the coldest wake up call

“It’s not hard to admit you’re in the wrong. You’re ignoring the fact you like her and masking it as best friend. No wonder y/n is replacing you with euijoo. He should’ve been her-“

Before Jay could finish, Jake pushed him by the chest.

“Oh hyung that’s kinda little too far-“ Riki couldn’t even finish his sentence too

And it all happened in a single second

Jake launched himself onto Jay, grabbing the boy by the collar and his right fist, collided against the side of Jay’s mouth.

All this in the canteen too. And you saw. You were ready to walk up to Jake but you felt euijoo’s hand on yours, shaking his head to say it wasn’t for you to interfere before dragging you away.

At 6pm, Jake find himself in his bedroom. His room filled with memories of you two. It doesn’t really help the situation. Polaroid of you two on his wall, the old (and his first!) basketball you gave him, your doodles on his books….

But you’re not there, next to him laughing and watching some Netflix shows over takeout

In fact, he can’t remember the last time you came over to watch Netflix show after he stopped you because someone had suggested it was too romantically domestic and you didn’t protest.

Now his thought is on you. Were you doing that with euijoo now? Did he return the same feeling as you felt and didn’t hold himself in the guise of friendship? He would make you way more happier than he ever could.

He’s literally mentally and physically tired at the though.

Jake turned over to his stomach, burying his face against his pillows. His heart ached even more with a dull pain.

This is what he wanted right? But now he was wishing for nothing more than to restart this friendship with feelings with you.

It took 7 days for Jake to realise everything. He arrived to university, messy hair and dark circles. His steps is towards his group of friends, especially towards Jay who’s sporting a dark cut on his lip.

“I’m sorry. You were right Jay. I didn’t have the right to get mad at y/n for developing feelings and showing them when I’m no better. I guess I did too, but tried to push it as friendship. I was just scared”

“And, I wasn’t really mad at y/n or you guys. I was just really mad at myself for letting it get this far and-“

“Hey, it’s okay Sim. We forgive you. All that matters is you’ve acknowledged your mistakes and feelings. Now we just have to work on them” Jay chuckled, attempting to comfort the sulking boy

Oh how Jake wished you’d say the same after all this

At lunch, Jake is aware of the soft sound of your laughter at the back of the room, making his heart heavy .

He watched you say something to Nicholas and Gaeul excitedly. He smiled at the sight, adoring the wide smile on your lips.

As if his feelings crashed all too sudden, he’s hit with the realisation that you’ll probably never look at him like that anymore.

“Hey guys! I know this might be sudden, but the art club are needing help for the cultural festival. Do you have time to help even for an hour? I know you might be busy with basketball so you can skip when you have practice” Under class Kim Sunoo appeared like the ray of sunshine infront of the guys.

Jake has no time

“We already have few people joining! Y/n just signed up to help-“

“I HAVE THE TIME” eyes on Jake.

“You do?” Heeseung side eyes him.

“We all do. Sign us all up!” Maybe he’s definitely using this to finally have the chance to talk to you

He’s not even sure where this sudden resolution is coming from? But this might be a sign

Let’s just say Sunoo walks out of the canteen the happiest he’d ever been😁

He can’t take back what he’s already said and done

7 days without you felt empty.

And he’ll return those 7 days to make up for the lost minutes, days and week without your presence.

7 days he’ll give his best to show you what he should’ve done for you.

7 days… he hopes he’ll have you back

⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

an: this might’ve been too long than I planned so stay tuned for last part/pt3 !!!!!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[highwayorgantrade]

A Little Distraction

Pairing: gn!reader x Pelle

Word Count: 559

Warnings: Nothing I don't think? Pure fluff. Cursing. Reader is mentioned having like chin length/longer hair.

Summary: It's cold as fuck. Fr.

A/N: So, I know this character isn't nearly as popular as Carlisle, but I have an insane thirst for this man that just must be quenched. Also I don't know if it's unreasonably cold where y'all are, but here in the south, we're struggling. So, I came up with this little one shot/drabble while crying myself to sleep under 3 blankets.

When Pelle looked up from his sketchbook, he wished he could have taken a picture of what you looked like. A throw blanket was wrapped around your shoulders, and it was obvious that you were never giving his hoodie back. A solid pout was stuck on your face, and he would have laughed if you didn't look so pissed off.

"It's cold." You grumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

"Pants might help." He quipped, setting his book and pencil on the stand next to the bed you two shared, and sat up to take in the sight better.

Ugh, pants?

It was freezing, and the wood floors and the thin walls of your apartment did not make your situation better. In the ten seconds you spent outside, the cold has gone past your skin and had infected your bones, you had tried eating hot food, and a scalding shower still hadn't drawn out the bite. But you would rather perish from the cold than wear pants to bed. You rolled your eyes at him, and gasped, a merciless smile replacing the pout.

"Don't you dare." He warned quietly. "Stay away from me."

You stalked your way closer to the bed, completely ignoring his warnings.

"I'm just getting into bed, Pelle, why are you so uptight?" You feigned innocence, but you both knew what you were about to do. He watched you with a close eye, calculating your movements. You got into bed, and as if on instinct, he stretched his arm out so you could lay your head on his chest.

"You're so warm." You cooed, running your hands over his shirt.

"Yes, my love, and I would like to stay that way, so please-." Pelle couldn't finish his sentence before you latched your feet on his upper thigh. "Oh, you little demon!" He tried to push you away, but it was no use. He sighed in defeat as you moved yourself as close to him as you could, sliding your hand under his shirt.

"The neighbors would think you were getting murdered from the way you cry." You taunted, deciding to push your limits a little more. Not that Pelle was ever the type to get angry, he would always go along with your little games. You had asked him once if you were annoying, and he had laughed, engulfed you in a tight hug, and kissed the top of your head before answering, "Absolutely."

"And yet I survive." He lifted your chin so you could look up at him, but you kissed him before he could pull you in. His facial hair scratched lightly against your face, and you smiled into the kiss. You shifted your weight on top of him, and his hands rested on your waist. When you pulled back, he tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Don't even tell me to get up, because it's not happening." You warned, and he chuckled while circling his thumbs on your thighs.

"Well, I would love to stay here, but," He glanced toward the open suitcases on the floor. "We have to finish packing."

"No, five more minutes." You groaned, and let your head fall into his chest.

"Min kärlek, I promise, my family will love you." He patted your thigh, and hooked your chin with his finger. "Come on, Sweden is waiting for you."

[haysprite]

you said you had headcanons of Julie which involve frank, please share 👀.

OH GLADLY <3 These are the main ones that live in my mind rent free teehee (besides the ones I've already drawn out/talked about before ofc ofc)!

• They absolutely LOVE listening to each other talk. They’ll take turns talking about whatever is on their mind, whether it's just something they find interesting, a rant, whatever. Even if the other has been talking for 10+ minutes nonstop, they’ll just sit there and listen, completely enamored by the other.

• Frank will go looking for one of his shirts or jackets, only to find Julie laying around wearing the exact thing he was looking for. Although a bit annoyed, he can’t help but smile as he goes and finds something else to wear.

• Frank is a HORRIBLE dancer, he can’t dance to save his life. Julie, although not the best dancer herself, still tries to teach him as much as she possibly can. Even though he doesn’t particularly understand WHY she wants to teach him, he still enjoys it, since he gets to be close with her and it makes her happy.

• When Frank was still attending Fairview and on the basketball team, Julie would drag the other two to all his games and be his biggest cheerleader. He got distracted on the court by her every so often, but he didn’t mind (though the rest of his team sure did lmfao).

• Whenever they get in a fight, they can’t really stay mad at each other for too long. It would take a LOT to get them to not speak for a few days, but they always make up in the end. Frank blows up a lot, but he’s slowly learning how to control his anger and direct it elsewhere with Julie’s help.

• Frank has like, a sixth sense when it comes to Julie being upset. He’s able to tell almost right away if she’s feelin down or angry, and though he doesn’t always know how to help out, he still tries his best. He’ll typically just scoop her up and cuddle with her until she’s either ready to talk or has calmed down.

• Though it took a little bit of convincing Julie on Frank’s part (since Julie is a bit indecisive with certain shit), they eventually got matching tattoos. No idea what they’d be, but they’d either be on their wrists or their shoulders.

• Frank runs super warm, so whenever she’s feelin too cold, Julie will run up to him and just snuggle against him. This catches him off guard every damn time, cause how tf is it physically possible to be this cold? He’s her personal heater

• Frank is very protective of Julie! He tries not to be overbearing, since he knows she’s a bad bitch that can handle herself, but he’ll gladly beat the shit out of anybody that tries messing with her when he’s around.

• Frank is one of the main subjects of Julie’s silly art/doodles. She never shows em to him, but he catches her eventually and drowns her in compliments. She’s a bit embarrassed about it at first, but he’s her hype man, and his appreciation of her art means the world to him.

   -They love watching horror/slasher films together a LOT! Both of em are pretty desensitized to like, everything, so they honestly just end up talking about and making fun of the movie the whole time. They’d point out stupid shit or crack jokes. Half of the time they’d barely make it halfway through the movie before they’re laughing their asses off over the stupidest shit or making out.

• While Julie is a morning person, Frank is very much not. Julie will try to get out of bed, only to be dragged back by Frank despite her protests. He’ll always say “5 more minutes”, which tends to turn into another hour before Julie has to kick him off the bed and book it so she can finally grab a bowl of cereal or somethin and get her day started.

• Julie is the one typically driving them around, since Frank honestly probably got his license taken away and doesn’t really have a car (he’d steal one, but it’d be a lot harder to get away with that than anything else, doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried tho). She’s always the one in control of the music, despite all of Frank’s protests.

• Julie tends to plan out most of their dates, and will always make sure everything goes according to plan. Frank, on the other hand, will sometimes surprise Julie with spur of the moment dates that honestly typically end in disaster a good chunk of the time.

• Frank loves to get lil treats for Julie since he knows she’s a major sweet tooth. He’ll snatch her some cupcakes from the store whenever he gets the chance, and Julie is always super grateful for this.

• Whenever it's a really bad snow day and neither of them feel like going out, they’ll just hang around in the lodge all day by the campfire, huddled up in some blankets and drinking hot cocoa while they snuggle.

• The amount of shit Frank would steal for Julie and just leave around for her to find is immeasurable. He’s like a lil crow sometimes, he’ll find something that reminds him of her, snatch it, and give it to her.

• Whenever alcohol is involved, I feel like Julie gets super sappy over the smallest stuff, and will drunkenly blabber on to Frank about how much she loves him. It takes a LOT to get Frank drunk, on the other hand, so he’ll kinda just be dealing with a silly Julie for a while until he’s absolutely wasted himself. Then they’d just be stupid together before passing out and waking up with the worst hangovers.

• They love pulling harmless pranks on each other a lot, mainly just to see how the other would react. They also lightly bully each other, mainly just calling each other names or making fun of each other. Neither of them takes it too far, of course, and will quickly stop if they know they’re about to hurt each other by accident.

• For their 1 year anniversary, Frank purposely took her to the coffee shop where they originally met. They sit in the same spot and just laugh and talk for hours, before they proceed to spend the rest of the day doing their silly shenanigans hand in hand.

[romainlettusdinnerparty]

you are SO insanely talented oh my god just!!! the shading!! their expressions!! so so so impressive wow

omg i completely forgot to answer this ahhh better late than never i suppose

anywho,, thank you soooo much bae!! you fr have no idea how much this means to me, literally i think this is my favorite thing ive ever drawn?? ive mentioned this before but (mostly) all my background for drawing is makeup technique; which doesn't tend to be something you use to actually create emotion/expressions cuz like it's already on a face that can convey emotion pretty well on its own yk (however you can actually use makeup as a tool to emphasize an emotion if that makes sense? like harsh shadows you create with like contour or eyeshadow or even the contrast between the lip color and the skin tone can make someone look more powerful or angry. there's also variations of clown makeup (and traditional theatre styles and opera too) that do actually almost paint on expressions/emotions but i am far less well versed in those makeup styles) so making mike and will look like like they're actually having feelings and communicating that was a huge challenge and i feel like i learned a ton about the actual art of drawing rather than just expanding my skills of shading and highlighting etc. and created something I'm kinda insanely proud of?

sorry for the ramble oops I'm just a little bit insane about this one 😗

(also currently eating up every update of indiana she's a runner,, also feeling insane about that btw!!!)

[ryozoro]

Hades Playlist - iii.

NOW PLAYING: blinding lights [the weeknd]

cw: mentions of crimes

an: hi, literally sorry if it’s choppy 💀 I’ll go back and try to touch it up later

Previous Song 🔊 Playlist 🔊EP 🔊Next Song

“I know that if I wasn’t scared, something’s wrong, because the thrill is what’s scary.” – Richard Pryor

��O-oh, yeah,” yn locked her phone and placed it onto the counter with the screen faced down. “Thanks, I promise I’ll pay you after I get my last check transferred. Plus, why the hell would I have a boyfriend; family and school over boys, remember?”

“No need to pay me back,” the grumpy-looking man slurped his fill before speaking through a mouth-full of ramen, “iss’ on the house anytime its family. You can tell me one thing for the price of the meal, though.” Angry arched a brow and continued to devour his meal.

“No need to pay me back,” the grumpy-looking man slurped his fill before speaking through a mouth-full of ramen, “iss’ on the house anytime its family. You can tell me one thing for the price of the meal, though.” Angry arched a brow and continued to devour his meal.

“Damn,” Angry laughed breathily, “wish I thought of that, but that’s not it. Who is ‘tani senpai’ with a heart if not yer boyfriend?” He stared at her waiting for small indications of guilt. “I have pretty good fuckin eyesight and you happened to be a terrible liar. Yanno Draken told us of all your bad habits when you try to hide something.”

“Look,” yn pressed her forehead to the cold counter in embarrassment, “I DON”T have a boyfriend… Tani senpai is just some guy I have become, mm infatuated with. I don’t know, he just radiates an aura I never thought I would be drawn to.” She looked up to see angry fighting back a laugh and felt a small pout form on her face. “Go ahead, laugh it up, asshole.”

“Look,” yn pressed her forehead to the cold counter in embarrassment, “I DON”T have a boyfriend… Tani senpai is just some guy I have become, mm infatuated with. I don’t know, he just radiates an aura I never thought I would be drawn to.” She looked up to see angry fighting back a laugh and felt a small pout form on her face. “Go ahead, laugh it up, asshole.”

“HA,” Souta reached over and flicked her forehead, “I’m not laughing at you being happy, I’m laughing because the last time I heard you this poetic, you were trippin over Inui. If I remember correctly, ‘Inui just makes me feel like Icarus and he is the sun – he is just so far and yet so close to my reach. Yer diary was dry and ya seemed too intense for me. Very Shakespeare, not enough Playboi Carti.”

“I hate you so much,” yn laughed and checked her phone once she felt another buzz.

Tani senpai <3: don’t be scared to say no, loser LMAO. But srsly, I do wanna talk to you – missed your shaky words ~

Tani senpai <3: ill stop bein mean ~ I really do be bored. Rin and Sanz are lookin at new models and i have no interest in it.

Tani senpai <3: fr tho, you can say no if you wish, no pressure little one.

Yn felt tension in her head form as she began trying to find an excuse to slip away from angry without any major suspicions. “O-oh, crap. Big bro is callin’, let me see what he wants!” Yn tried to keep her voice even, but she couldn’t even convince herself that she was telling the truth.

“Go upstairs to the house,” angry took his keys off his belt loop, “I’ll put yer food in a container, so it’ll stay warm. Tell the assholes to hurry up and bring their asses here. I wanna take a nap before we open up shop.”

Souta wasn’t an idiot; he knew that it wasn’t Draken, but you seemed eager to answer so he decided to let you have this moment. Once you headed upstairs, he called Draken and asked him to run to the downtown market for some more meats and vegetables for the shop. Smiley was confused when Draken announced to the others at the request of the younger twin, but once he received a text from Angry – he went along with his brother’s plan.

Me but Blue: hey, just go along with buying more supplies, pls. our inventory is kinda low, but I also wanna give little ryuguji some time to have fun bein young and talkin to boys.

Me (Smiley): talkin to boys? Yanno drakens not gonna like that LMAO >:)

Me but Blue: Definitely not, but the kid has never even dared talked about a guy since Inui family zoned her lol. Plus shes like, our little sister too, gotta let her run loose sometimes.

Me (Smiley): aye aye cap’in. just make sure you loosen the leash, don’t unclip it.

Me but Blue: I’ll make sure shes not doin dumb shit >:( don’t sweat it, thanks smiley

Me (Smiley): any time little bro :)

Yn quickly unlocked the door to the apartment and made way to Smiley and Angry’s infamous couch that Draken had constantly talked about; apparently, it was so soft to the point that Mikey fell asleep on it and even he put down his guard. She slowly sat down and felt herself drifting off into pure bliss; her body sinking into the plush, leather cushions. Her eyes began to drift closed as all her built up fatigue weighed down on her, but her comfort didn’t last as incessant buzzes from her phone caused her eyes to shoot open.

Incoming Call…bzzt…bzzt…bzzt

“Oooi, you answered,” Ran had let out a small laugh.

“I didn’t even say we could call yet, you psychopath,” yn said in a soft yet firm voice in hopes of convincing herself that she wasn’t nervous. How could she not? He was practically speaking into her ear with his silky, deep voice –

“Yeah, but you hadn’t answered me at all, so I assumed it’d be alright to call you to make sure my message got through,” she could almost hear the smirk on his face, “so, doll, did my message go through?”

“No,” yn sarcastically replied, “I don’t think I received any of your messages. Maybe your phone bill cut off your unlimited texting?”

“Oh?” the older Haitani hummed and shuffled on his end, “tell me, little lamb, did you receive that message, or did it not go through, again?”

“What.?” Yn was confused until she felt her phone vibrate against her palm. Turning back to one of her bad habits, she bit her nail as her screen read ‘iMessage: Tani Senpai <3; Image Attachment.’ “What did you send me?”

“It went through?” Ran asked teasingly, “maybe my unlimited texting didn’t get cut off?” His laugh shouldn’t have been as intoxicating as it was, but yn found it to be her new favorite sound. “Why don’t you check and see if it loaded? Just for me, okay? Gotta make sure I don’t need to switch phone companies.”

“I- Okay,” she tried to giggle cutely like Emma does when Takemichi says something funny, but growing up around the boys, yn found herself cackling with an ugly snort towards the end when she tried to catch her breath and Ran became silent on his end of the call. “To the gods above please kill me right now. L-look, I can’t lie – I can’t laugh like the pretty city girls you probably hear a lot –“ Yn began to ramble on but was cut off by Ran’s sudden outburst of laughter.

“PLEASE,” she heard him inhale, “PLEASE LAUGH AGAIN, SEND ME AN AUDIO OF YOU LAUGHING.”

Suddenly all the tension and intimidating walls that stood before her had fell and she felt as if she could talk the same exact way she talks to Angry. Just as her anxiety was easing down and she laughed freely, her heartbeat quickened as she received an ‘Incoming Facetime Call..’

“What the hell are you trying to FaceTime me for?” She squealed out and glared at the screen.

“Ha, you not gonna answer it?” Ran laughed as he tapped his screen, “Come on, answer it~ I wanna see who I’m talking to.”

“You’ve seen me before though,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, but I wanna see you all bandaged up now. Yer photo was so cute, and it made me wanna see you even more, plus, I wanna see yer reaction to my photo.”

“Fine, but tonight I get to tell you all about the plot of homestuck.”

“Already excited for our conversation later, huh? Yer so cute, pick up the damn call you asswipe.”

“Yer so mean to me,” Yn chuckled and decided to press answer, “but I guess I’ll indulge in the bully’s wishes.” As it connected, she got a full view of Ran’s beautiful figure sitting in a nice leather chair in an office building with glass walls and the city on display in the back. “Wow, so the bully has big money, huh?”

“What a wattpad story, huh?” Ran smirked, “except I’m not Justin Bieber or a member from mindless behavior, so that is how you know it’s real life. You do know I would like to look at your face, yanno, on FACEtime.” The older haitani started playing with pens on the desk, “stop showing your forehead, wanna see the banged-up baby~”

“Fine,” yn groaned as she flipped on her stomach and propped the phone up against the arm of the couch and scooted back so Ran could see her face as she cuddled into a decorative pillow, “is this better, your highness?”

“Mhm,” ‘Tani Senpai’ brought a hand to his face and smiled in awe as his hooded lids stared at her through the screen, “I’ll call you on my computer tonight, wanna see your face on a bigger screen. Smile please?”

“For what?” She furrowed her brows as she began thinking about every flaw and crease that stretched across her face whenever she smiled. “I don’t really like my smile that much; I think it’s gotten a little sloppy lately…”

“Yn-chan,”Ran stared at her with the most unimpressed flat lipped expression, “yer smile is nice, shut the fuck up and smile.”

“Asshole,” yn mumbled before giving a small smile in hopes that it will suffice, “better?”

“No,” Ran titled his head and arched his brow, “show yer teeth. That’s how you’re supposed to smile.”

“You don’t show your teeth when you smile –“

“I’m different,” he sighed and leaned back in his chair, “people don’t live to see me smile, they smile once they realize I let them live. Smile for me, please?”

“uuuuuuuuggghhhhhh,” she buried her face into the pillow before sitting up and propping her phone up on the coffee table. “Why do you wanna see me smile so bad?” She wiped her hands across her face while making sure not to tear any of the bandages.

“Just for a contact photo, loser. Don’t over think anything.” Ran smirked and began tapping his finger on the desk, “Oh, you never looked at the photo I sent you.~”

“What is it?”

“Just look and I’ll stop asking for a smile.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.~”

Yn made way to her messages –

“Face fully in the screen, hot stuff,” ran had smirked as he watched her with the smuggest look that had seemed to be permanently etched on since she met him earlier that day.

Yn rolled her eyes and made her way to her messages with her face in full view. Taking a quick breath, she weighed out the potential dangers of doing what the Bonten Executive wanted her to do; It could be one of the three evils: an unsolicited dick pic, a stupid dank meme, or a random thirst trap. Praying to the gods above and trying to drown out Ran’s beautiful, deep laughs.

“Open it ya scaredy cat,” Ran was now propped on his elbows as his right hand’s index finger traced the tattoo that adorned his throat, “don’t worry, it’s not a dead body.”

“I -, why would I think that it’d be a dead body?” yn tilted her head with void filled eyes, “Have you killed someone before?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, dumb dumb,” Ran cleared his throat, “just open the damn –“

“I’m on it ‘loser,’” she mocked with a smirk and finally opened the message, “wait - what is this Tani?”

“It’s my first mugshot,” Ran twirled in his chair before stopping upruptly, “I was a cutie, huh?”

“Oh my god,” yn fell back on the couch the couch and placed her hands over her face, “what the fuck, bro?”

“Oi, put your face back on,” he tapped the screen in hopes of getting yn to sit up, “what do you mean ‘what the fuck,’ huh? I was cute. Your friends were ugly.” Ran’s finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button as he was not one to be openly disrespected – he didn’t care who it was, he’s not having it.

“You were just so,” the younger ryuguji sat up and smiled crookedly, “so adorable. Like, how the hell did you get into so much trouble with this innocent face?”

“Mmm,” Ran hummed as he fiddled with his baton, “I was so adorable committing acts of man slaughter and raging wars throughout the streets, wasn’t I?”

“You committed manslaughter back then?”

“You haven’t?” He laughed and twirled in his seat.

“No,” yn rolled her eyes, “sorry, I have to graduate first before my big brother allows me to do that.”

The conversation went on and on, filled with yn’s rants on Chainsaw Man and Ran’s ‘highlight reel’ for his personal favorite crimes he committed. She learned that his biggest motivation to remain strong is for his brother – Rindou, and he learned that she does her best to make her big brother proud.

“As much as I want to continue this conversation,” the eldest haitani sighed, “I have to go and be an adult. If you don’t mind..., do you still want to call later?”

“Yeah,” yn chuckled before bringing the phone close to her face, “I’d like that a lot. Oh! One rule though.” She stared into the camera, etching his mesmerizing smile into her mind, as she waited for his reply.

“What is it, angel face?” Ran tilted his head as he brought the baton tip to trace his tatted adam’s apple.

“I have to call you first…, can’t risk Kenken pestering me for answers,” she looked off towards the sides, “I hope it doesn’t bother you I just – I really don’t want my brother to be spooked that I’m talking to someone who has a pretty bad rep around the country, ya know?”

“That’s it?” Ran arched a brow, “you don’t want hush money or me to pay off your loans, so you don’t turn me in?”

“No,” yn grimaced at the thought of asking for money, “I would never. I just really want to enjoy a friendship I found on my own and not through my brother. So, I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“I’ll hold you to it. Have a good day, baby girl.” Ran winked before he hung up, leaving yn in a giddy fit.

Tani Senpai <3: oh, forgot to send this to you – now, have a great day, princess ;) [image attached]

"OHMYGOD-" yn screamed out as she locked her phone and fell off the couch, "WHY THE FU-"

"YN," Draken came rushing through, "ARE YOU OKAY? WHY DID YOU FALL?"

"AH," yn quickly got up and hugged her brother, "you're baaaack, hey bud. Sorry, I was just - just watching a scary movie on my phone and the jump scare got me." she prayed that her smile was convincing enough to trick her brother into thinking she was just embarrassed at being caught.

"Why would you jump? You love scary movies -"

"Draken," smiley barged in with angry following close behind, "come on man, let's let yn finish what ever teen shit she was doing, and you help us unload all these groceries." with that, smiley dragged him back down stairs, leaving enough room for angry to slip through and check on you.

"You okay there, idiot?" Angry checked to make sure your bandages weren't torn or bled through, "he didn't catch you, did he?"

"No," yn looped her arms around souta's shoulders and nuzzled into his collar bone, "thank you, you're the best." yn let go before quickly pressing a quick kiss to the blue headed man's cheek and getting up to her feet. "Now," she pulled on the younger twin's hands and started following after their older brothers, "let's go before the others start making way up here, too."

"Yeah, whatever," Souta grunted, happy that yn wasn't looking at him as his scowl was accompanied by a deep red blush. 'Fucking hell,' the man thought to himself, 'calm down you stupid ogre heart.'

as the day went on, everything seemed normal and Draken seemed to have bought the whole 'scary movie' lie as he didn't ask anymore questions on it. yn was surrounded by people she loved and supported her with every rish she was willing to take, but she couldn't shake a feeling of guilt that piled in the bottom of her stomach. she couldn't tell if her guilt was lying to her big brother and going against his rules, or the fact that she didn't feel guilty or alarmed being in contact with a Bonten Executive; maybe she felt guily because she liked being in Ran's good graces, or maybe she felt guilty because she found herself craving more of him.

taglist :) [bold means I could tag :(]: Taglist: @richiyo @haitanigigi @chifuyusprincess @legravalice @l-ilysm @katariinasworld

[capsironunderoos]

Fire

DINCEMBER - December 7 - Fire

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

Summary: Din’s cyare has been captured and held at an Imperial base, and he stops at nothing to get her back.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Mentions of torture via Imps, a very angry Din, some fighting, and very brief mentions of death

Author’s Note: Ahhh this is so overdue! My student teaching started back up again after finals and I had some assignments to complete for it that kept me from writing. I had hoped to write more today, but that just didn’t happen. I hope to just post a bunch of the Dincember prompts at once in the next few days to get back on track! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!

Here’s the previous prompt:

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hoth Chocolate

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

This is the hardest that he has ever pushed his body. 

His arms are weak and his legs tremble, but he doesn’t stop. 

He can’t stop. 

If he does, he will suffer an unbearable loss, and there is only so much he can carry, so much that he can endure. 

His blaster never leaves his hand, becoming almost an extension of himself as he fires without so much as a glance. 

It makes no difference, the blaster bolt hits homes every time. 

He is focused, his skills as a bounty hunter and Mandalorian warrior continuing to serve him as he tears through the Imperial facility. 

Din thinks to himself that the Imps are beginning to multiply faster than womp rats, but he does not stop to dwell on the implications of that thought. 

If he stops for anything, to catch his breath, to check his surroundings, he will surely collapse. 

The stress of the past few days, of the constant searching and questioning have begun to take their toll. 

He shakes the thought of stopping from his mind, forcing himself to continue, regardless of the pain in his legs, and the ache that has already settled into his shoulders. 

He has never fought so hard before. 

His hands land punches that force the receivers into the nearest wall, and his feet connect to bones with such strength that the sound of their cracking rattles around his helmet like thunder. 

He spots an officer now, watches as he is hunched over a switchboard, punching at buttons as he glances from the control panel to the Mandalorian stalking towards him. 

Din will not admit it, but the fear in his eyes spurs him on. 

Good, he thinks, let them tremble before me, let them be afraid of the repercussions of what they have done. 

When he reaches the control panel, he grabs the officer by his throat, pushing him as he walks until they reach the wall. 

The officer’s head bounces off of the wall from the force of Din’s hand around his throat, cueing his hat to fall, and the echoing thud of his skull settles into a sick sense of satisfaction in Din’s stomach. 

“Where is she?” 

He growls out from behind his helmet, and the modulator amplifies the anger tenfold. 

The officer is visibly sweating now, thick bullets running down his forehead as he tries to look anywhere but at the enraged Mandalorian in front of him. 

This only stokes the fury growing in Din’s chest, and he picks his hand up off of the officer’s neck just long enough for him to gulp in a breath of air before his hand is settled around his throat again, and this time Din does not hold back. 

He cannot stop himself before a sickening crack fills the room around him, and the officer falls to the ground below him. 

Din huffs in annoyance, his adrenaline beginning to surge again. 

The pounding of his feet begins to subside as the chemical overtakes his body, and he feels a renewing sense of energy. 

He strides over to the control panel and is pleased to see different angles of a room displayed on it. 

The feed is live, and he stands stoically still as he sees you suddenly fall into frame. 

Your clothes are tattered and dirty, and your hair falls around your face as you collide with the floor. 

He can see your chest rising and falling, and a sense of relief begins to overtake the adrenaline. 

Din silently chants for you to get up, to show him that you never gave up hope that he would come for you. 

Maker how he hopes and wishes that you never gave up on him, that you always knew that he would travel to the farthest edges of the Outer Rim just to have you safe again. 

His heart rate speeds up when he sees two stormtroopers taking their time as they walk to where you still lay on the floor. It’s clear that they are speaking amongst themselves, but he doesn’t know how to work the control panel in order to hear what they are saying. 

He watches as one of them bends down to scoop you up and off of the floor, and as soon as he does, you leap up, swinging your leg to knock his out from under him. He lands on his back, and before either of them can react, you have grabbed his blaster, aimed, and expertly killed the both of them. 

Din watches with bated breath now, and he isn’t sure he remembers how to move. 

Seeing such a small glimpse of you, and in such a drastically different mental state than the last time he saw you, is enough for him to forget how to even breathe at all. 

His brain screams at him to move, to find you, but he does not listen until he sees you run out of the frame. 

He locates the identification numbers of your cell on the control panel and begins to run. 

Din is sure that the pounding of his feet against the floor would be enough to crack the tile, but he doesn’t care. 

He pushes himself, harder than he ever has before, to reach you as quickly as he can. 

You have been gone from his presence for far too long, and he cannot stand another second without you. 

As he rounds yet another corner, he knocks into something solid, and further extends his already drawn blaster in order for it to be in front of him, pointing at whatever he just knocked over. 

His actions quickly change as he registers that it’s you. 

You quickly jump to your feet, the trooper’s blaster you had stolen aimed at Din. 

He notices your hands shaking, and he can see bruises and cuts laced around your face. He notes how swollen your right eye is, and the blood resting against your split lip. 

“Din?” You whisper, almost in disbelief, and his heart plummets to his stomach. 

Had you given up hope that he would come for you? 

“They said you were here, but I didn’t believe them. I’m sorry, I didn’t believe them,” you begin to repeat your words, and Din notes that you are still aiming the blaster at him. 

He slowly holsters his own, before raising his hands in surrender in front of him. 

“Cyare, it’s me. It’s me. It’s Din.” 

He repeats, hoping that the words will register and that you will lower the blaster. 

Upon hearing his name, you do just that, and the blaster clatters to the ground before you fall into his raised arms. He is caught off-guard, but moves quickly to catch you before you meet the ground. 

You are crying now, soft whimpers as you clutch onto the chestplate of his beskar. 

He wraps you up into his chest, pulling you to him as he holds you. 

The alarms are blaring, and the lights are starting to flash, but he ignores all of it. 

When he hears the distant tone of talk through a stormtrooper helmet, he does not hesitate to scoop you into his arms. When you don’t protest, he looks down to see that you are either sleeping or have passed out, and he hopes that it’s the former. 

Despite the fact that he had to fight his way in, he manages to remember a way out, and by some miracle he doesn’t run into any trouble, except a mouse droid he has to shoo off. 

Once he emerges into daylight again, he begins running and he feels his body physically sigh in relief when he sees the Crest sitting just before him.

---

After jumping onto the Crest and immediately taking-off, Din quickly discovered that you had indeed passed out. He had let you be for the few moments it took him to launch the Razor Crest, but as soon as he was able to click on the auto-pilot he was back at your side, moving you to rest on the cot the both of you share. 

He sits beside you on said cot now, his hands moving to cup your face and turn it towards him. 

“Cyar’ika. Please wake up,” he begs, and oh, how he begs. 

He begins to make promises to the Maker, to the stars, hell, he thinks he even makes a promise to the force at one point. 

Din knows you require medical attention, but he wants you awake so that you can explain to him what has happened to you, even if he is unsure that he will be able to listen to you describe what you have endured. 

His hands move to your shoulders, and with a firm, but gentle, shake you gasp back into consciousness. 

You grab at his arms and he helps you sit up before realizing that you think he is one of them. 

“Cyare, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, it’s Din.” He whispers, and you look at him with wild, wide eyes. 

He can tell you are trying to figure out if you should trust him, but when you catch a glimpse of the signet on his right shoulder pauldron relief instantly floods your eyes and you look down at the similar symbol on your skin. 

His right hand finds it, his glove-clad fingers coming to rest against the mudhorn there on your wrist. 

You look back up at him then, and you can feel the emotion and exhaustion rolling off of him. 

“I need to get you cleaned up,” he deadpans, but his words are soft and laced with care. 

You nod and allow him to lead you into the cockpit of the Crest. 

He softly guides you into the pilot’s seat before he disappears for a minute to retrieve supplies, but you barely notice his missing presence. 

Your eyes have found the stars, and you drink them in as if they are cold Bantha milk. 

It had been days since you had seen them, and you missed how many there were, how easy it was to stare at them and have them calm every thought in your mind. 

When Din returns, he stands for a moment to watch you look at the stars in wonder. 

Their light shines into the Crest, illuminating the cockpit and painting a stark silver onto your features. He notices then just how bad your bruised eye is swelling, and how the bright light from the stars seems to deepen every cut he finds on your skin. 

Din can’t help but to let out a shaky sigh at the thought of what you’ve been through, and at the thought of what would have happened had he not gotten there when he did. 

Hearing his breath escape through the modulator cues you to snap your attention in his direction, and he wonders how long it will be before his presence no longer incites fear. 

“Cyar’ika, it’s me. It’s your Din. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Your eyes stay wide and wary, but a small smile works its way onto your lips before it falls again. The cut on them has begun to bleed at the motion, and Din slowly makes his way to you to tend to it. 

He squats down in front of you, and you sit rigidly still. 

He lifts a wet cloth in front of you, and watches as you look between it and him. 

“I need to clean that up, okay? Is it okay if I do that for you?” 

You slowly nod, and his left hand moves to cup your cheek and keep your head still as his right gently swipes at the blood sitting on your lip. When he is satisfied that he has stopped the blood flow, he exchanges the cloth for another. 

“Now, cyare, I need to clean up the cuts and bruises here okay?” 

At the word “here,” he taps his left thumb softly against your cheek as his hand still cups your face. 

You nod and he removes his hand to brush the hair out of your eyes and away from your face. 

You whimper at the loss of contact, and the sound and action is so unlike you that it catches Din off-guard. 

“Haar’chak, what did they do to you?” 

He whispers, and he takes note of the tears that begin to sit along your waterline in response. 

“I wouldn’t tell them,” you start, and your voice cracks at the use of it. 

Din is quick to hand you a glass of water, and you take it from him, greedily gulping it down. He wonders then if you have been fed or given water at all since your capture. 

“I wouldn’t tell them where you were, or where he was. That got me time with some angry troopers. I think they may have broken a rib or two. One of them could land a pretty solid right-hook, for an Imp.” 

You try to laugh off your words, to pass over them as if they are nothing, but the sound won't come. A sad smile rests on your lips as Din continues his ministrations. His touch is soft as he does his best to clean the cuts on your face.

“Then I wouldn’t tell them your name, or the name of the child, and that afforded me a visit from an angry officer. He asked for the cameras to be turned off, and then proceeded to beat me so bad that I couldn’t stay conscious for most of it.” 

Din can feel his hands beginning to tremble as he continues to clean you up. They shake in both anger and sadness, and he is glad that it is time to apply the bacta patches. This gives him a moment to gain control over his nerves.

“I need to apply bacta now, okay?” He asks, and you nod. 

When the medicine hits your open wounds, a sharp hiss escapes through your gritted teeth, and Din’s heart constricts at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and you shake your head before talking again, trying to mask the pain of the healing agent against your open cuts. 

“When I didn’t tell them if he was special, or gifted, or whatever they want to call him, they sent in the firing squad. That was when they told me you were there to rescue me. I didn’t fully believe them, but I knew if you were there that it would be my best chance to escape.” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, cyare.”

You place your hand on his arm that rests in your lap, and he glances down at it.

“I never gave up that you would come for me, Din.”

He nods and returns to his work, his heart beating so fast he is sure that you can hear it hitting the beskar that sits on his chest.

As you sit in silence now, Din softly rubs at the cuts on your skin, his mind growing increasingly angry the more he thinks about what you endured, but his heart reaches out to you, aches for you. 

He was in pain too, upset that your capture had been because of him. That they had tortured you to get to him, to learn about the little one. 

As if you can read his mind, you ask him about Grogu.

“Where is he, Din? Please, please tell me he is okay,” you whisper, and it is the first time Din has been able to fully meet your eyes. 

“He is safe, cyare. I left him with Cara on Nevarro. We’re going to get him now.” 

You nod, satisfied with his response. Din hands you a cold compress and instructs you to press it onto your swollen eye. 

“I got this when I wouldn’t explain my relationship to you, or why I wear our clan symbol.” You mumble, and Din’s eyes flit to the mudhorn on your wrist once more. 

He thinks then about his clan of three, small and a little broken, but strong, and his all the same. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and you stare at him before he says it again, louder this time. 

“I’m sorry I turned my back for too long during that fight. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I’m sorry that I’ve dragged you into this mess, this is no life for you, or the child.” 

He rushes out, and you are shaking your head in disagreement so hard that it has started to ache. 

“Do not sit there and apologize to me, Din Djarin. I know what I signed up for, and I willingly signed up for it. I would give my life to protect that child, and I would do the same for you. Have I not proven that? Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” 

Din’s helmet jumps up at the quick movement he makes upon hearing those words escape your lips. 

His eyes search yours through the visor, and he finds nothing but sincerity staring back at him. 

“I’ll kill them for what they did to you, cyar’ika.” He states, and you smile at him. 

“I would set the world on fire to keep you warm.”

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember:

DINCEMBER - December 9 - “Let It Snow”

[smalltragedy]

* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

yes hi i did bring ducky back. i promised. please love him jst the same im sry he had 2 go fr a while. 

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out).

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts.

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now.

[boobootheclownfool]

A Bit Too Scary

aone takanobu x reader

warnings: I find it cannon that aone is scared of horror films but I haven’t included any mentions of what is actually happening on the tv bc I too am scared of them and don’t watch them so once again this is just. Pure fluff.  word count: 1100+ A/N: Alright y’all... it’s finally time for best boy. I fr love him sm he IS a teddy bear no one can tell me different. He would treat whoever his s/o is so well like I can just feel it. Pure baby. He make heart go boom boom, head empty only aone. I hope you like it! ➽───────────────❥

The snow billowed against the windows of the living room. You could hear the howl of the wind even though they were tightly closed. Although, trying to look out of the window was impossible from the build-up of snow and the fog from the warmth of the room. 

I, however, was snuggled up on the couch underneath a mountain of blankets and pressed into the side of my boyfriend, Aone. After hours of convincing, I finally got him to agree to watch my favourite horror movie with me, promising that I’d comfort him if he got too scared. 

“Please, babe. It won’t be that bad!” I whined, pouting up at him. “It’s fun! Plus we can cuddle…” I trailed off as I tried my best to jump up and wrap my arms around his neck and he managed to catch me by my waist, lifting my body so I wasn’t straining his neck. 

By this point I was face to face with him, my legs dangling in the air. I knew I’d gotten him to cave by the look in his eye and the softening of the grumpy look that was always plastered on his face. I pouted even more so, trying to push him over the edge and finally, he let out a soft grunt. 

“Alright,” he grumbled, before kissing me gently. “If it’s too scary I’ll-” 

“I’ll make you feel better!” I giggled out. “I promise, bub.” 

An hour later and I was cuddled into Aone’s side, his arm draped around me and my eyes glued to the screen before us. I’d seen this movie three times over and it never failed to have me hooked. I don’t know what it was about scary movies that made me love them so much, perhaps the joint feeling of being terrified and amused at the same time. Or the planning of what I would do in that situation, preferably making it as stupid and chaotic as possible.

The thought of aggressively barking at a demon had me snickering despite the intense scene occurring on the screen at that moment. Aone turned his head towards me in confusion, and we held each other's gaze for a moment before he let out a sigh and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I worry about you.”

I nuzzled my head against his chest. “Sometimes, I worry as well.” 

As the plot progressed the scenes grew more sinister. I could feel Aone’s body become increasingly tenser, and I redirected my gaze towards his face to see if he was alright. He was nervously rubbing his spare hand up and down his thigh and his whole body flinched as a jump scare occurred on the screen. 

“Aone,” I whisper gently. He doesn’t notice, too drawn into the menacing scene. A heavy weight came over my chest as I realised that it was my fault he was so frightened. I had no idea that these types of movies would have such an effect on him. 

Sometimes I forget how sensitive he is. That whilst he may look angry and like he would step on you if you got in his way, he was nothing of the sort. Aone wouldn’t hurt a fly, in fact, he was scared of bugs, although I can never figure out if it’s because he’s afraid to hurt them or if he’s genuinely terrified of them. 

I internally cursed myself out for being so forgetful, before climbing into his lap so I was facing him. “Aone…” 

His eyes immediately snapped to my face, stress pronounced on his facial features. Eyebrows were furrowed, creases prominent on his forehead, his mouth was in a firm line. “(y/n), what are you doing?” 

I placed a palm against his cheek, rubbing my thumb back and forth softly. I genuinely felt as though guilt was eating at my insides. “It’s a bit scary, huh?” He leant his face affectionately into my hand and closed his eyes, facial features relaxing. 

“A bit. It’s alright though. I just want to make you happy, bub.” 

His response soothed my guilt, filling up the empty feeling in my gut with a warmth that ran like honey through my veins and I found myself practically melting at his words. He was so sweet to me.

Without another word, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his face into my chest, my head resting on top of his, buried into his hair. He was stiff for a moment, before he relaxed and nuzzled himself into the crook of my neck. Long gone was the movie, an afterthought in my mind, all I wanted to do was to stay wrapped up like this with Aone forever. 

We sat there for a long while, until I felt soft, warm lips pressing against my neck.  “I can’t breathe very well, bub.” 

I let go of his head, pulling away so that I could see his face. A rare, soft smile contorted the rest of his features, his eyes squinted, cheeks flushed a soft pink from the warmth of our embrace. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything so adorable in my entire life. 

Suddenly, his body began to move, throwing me off balance and I wrapped my arms around his neck again to keep myself steady. “What are you doing?” 

“This.” 

He rotated our bodies so that we were lying horizontally on the couch, before pulling the blanket up and over our heads so we no longer had to watch the movie.

The tips of our noses were touching, and I could just make out his features in the dimmed light. Surprising me again, he pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. It was warm, making my head feel fuzzy and my whole body tingle in response. I sighed against him, and when we separated I once again caught a smile creeping its way onto his face. 

The fact that I was able to make him smile like this caused me to do the same, except mine wasn’t soft. It was so big it made my cheeks ache and my eyes scrunch up. 

“I love you,” I whispered. And I truly meant it. I couldn’t think of anyone else in my life bringing me such happiness. 

I could feel the heat from his face radiating against mine, we were so close. “I love you too, bub.” 

He wrapped a hand around my waist to pull me closer to him, adjusting my body so I could snuggle my head underneath his chin. He lifted a leg so I was able to place one of mine in between, before using his free hand to gently rub the back of my neck. 

“Stay here, please,” he mumbled into my hair. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Always.” I began to press tender kisses underneath his ear and he hummed at the sensation, running his fingers down the length of my spine in response. 

“Thank you.”

[rhetoricalrogue]

31 Days of Wayhaven, Day 28

Prompt: Vengeful Rating: PG for kissin’ Words: 2,873 Characters: Winona Adams, Falk Summary: Things apparently go very wrong before going very, very right.

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.  Also, an early birthday present to @ejunkiet, seeing as she’s the one responsible for getting me hooked on the mirror man! 

Winona didn’t quite know how she stumbled back to her little Agency safehouse, and not for the first time, she was grateful that she didn’t have any neighbors.  She made it to her bathroom on shaky legs and tried her best to not look in the mirror as she ran the taps as hot as they would go.

Blood dripped from her mouth, staining her teeth and gums a frightening red.  It made a trail from her mouth down to her chin and throat, staining the neckline of her dress. 

She ripped it off and threw it as far as she could, the material making a muted slap against the shower curtain.  Winona made a faint sobbing noise as she grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at the blood, not caring that the water was almost scalding.  Satisfied that she had all of it off, she gave her steamed up mirror a fearful glance before backing away from the bathroom - and the mirror - as fast as she could.

“Please, please…” Winona gripped the phone in her hand so hard she was surprised it didn’t crack the case.  Another sob bubbled up her throat and she clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, but she wasn’t fast enough.

“What’s wrong?” Cam’s deep, accented voice sliced through her heart like a blade and she ached at being so far away from her team, from her family. “Are you hurt?”

“I fucked up,” she told him, not even bothering to hide the tears.  “I ruined everything.”

There was a rustle of sheets along the line and she winced again, realizing that it was late where she was, which meant it was extremely early by Facility times.  “Winona, breathe.  Calm down.”  Cam paused and Winona heard him take a few deep breaths, her chest rising and falling in time with them.  “Tell me what happened, tell me how I can help.”

Winona kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed only in her underwear.  She gripped the phone in one hand and pulled the mass of blankets close to her with the other.  “I kissed him.  It was wrong.”  She sniffled.  “So I bit him.”

She caught the groggy sound of a woman’s voice in the background and heard Cam murmur something to whoever was in bed with him, but she couldn’t tell who it was.  Somewhere underneath her own anguish, she felt a pang of grief for Penny.  “Wait.  Kissed who?  Bit who?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  “Falk.”  They’d been fighting, which wasn’t anything unusual, seeing as his need for vengeance and her lack of leads were clashing more and more as the days went on into weeks.  Tempers had finally boiled over and he accused her of dragging her feet so he and his people could stay under the Agency’s thumb.  She’d yelled back that she was trying to find the remaining trappers who had attacked them and killed Sanja but he wasn’t doing much to help except demand outrageous results when she didn’t have much to go on.  Then perhaps you aren’t as capable of an agent as I believed you to be.  The cold way he had told her that made something inside her snap so she puffed herself up to her full height and jabbed her finger at his chest as he loomed over her.  She didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but it hadn’t been much before he grabbed at her shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers.

It had been a wild kiss, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in the longest time - not since Nelros, her traitorous brain supplied - one that made her feel as if she were in the middle of a maelstrom, skin tingling wherever his hands roamed.  She had relaxed in his arms, body melting against his, before it registered just what was happening.

The Agency had forbidden her from feeding off humans during her exile as punishment.  They also hadn’t supplied her with a volunteer to feed from.  The last time she had partaken in absorbing a lover’s pleasure to regain her own vitality had been weeks before the incident in the interrogation room, and that incident had left her even more sapped of energy.  It was no wonder she was constantly tired all the time and it was difficult for her to focus.  She was starving to the point where one kiss from Falk had felt like a sudden oasis in a barren desert.

It had also been wrong of her, and she was certain that he would realize what was going on and be disgusted or even more angry at her than he already was.  She’d tried to break away when his mouth moved from hers to trail searing hot kisses against her throat - and oh, how that had made trying to move away difficult! - a no finally coming out as she tried to wiggle her way out of his grasp.

It hadn’t worked.  Her pheromones must have been in overdrive, because it seemed as if any attempt to get away only spurred him on.  So she did the one thing she thought to do: the next time he kissed her, she bit him hard enough to draw blood and kept her teeth clamped on his lip until the pain registered and he shoved her out of his lap, his hand covering his mouth as the wounds sluggishly healed.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing she said before she turned tail and ran, which led her to where she was no, half-naked and trembling underneath a pile of blankets, her friend’s voice at her ear trying his best to calm her down as she sobbed.

“And now everything is ruined,” she cried, curling up into a tight ball.  “Falk will alert the Agency, they’ll pull me from this, and I’ll never be able to rejoin our unit.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t know…”

“I’m so tired, Cam,” she dragged the blankets close.  “All I wanted was to get this assignment done and now I’ve ruined everything and I’ll never be able to come home.”  

“Where are you?  The Agency didn’t give us your coordinates.  Tell me where you are and I’ll be over as soon as I possibly can.”

Winona shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see the motion.  “I can’t.  I’m already the reason the team was demoted, I’m not going to be the reason you get punished further.”

“Fuck punishments.  You’re hurting and I need to help you.  Tell me where you are, please.”  There was a pause where Winona could hear Cam getting dressed and she felt even more guilty for upsetting him.

“No, Cam.  I need to face this on my own. I just...I just needed to hear your voice one more time.”

“Winona, please. Dinnae do this.”

“I love you, I love all of you very much.  You’re my family, I hope you know that.”

“Winona -!”  She didn’t let him finish before she hung up on him and clicked her phone off.

“Goodbye, Cam.”  She wrapped her arms around herself and decided she was going to allow herself one night to wallow in grief before contacting Falk and facing whatever consequences her actions had made.  Sitting up, she rubbed at her cheeks, belatedly realizing that she must look a mess, her mascara dripping down her face and her eyes puffy. 

She would have made it to the bathroom to wipe away the last of the makeup she hadn’t cried off when she came face to face with Falk as he entered the hallway from the living room, obviously coming in from the mirror hanging there.  “I didn’t think you would want to see me so soon,” she said, taking a step backwards towards her room.

“You’re frightened of me.”  He took a step towards her before stopping, the hand he extended to try to touch her falling limply back to his side.

She pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin.  If she were to die there in the hallway, teary-eyed and wearing nothing but a cute matching bra and panty set, then she was going to go out as dignified as she could be, damn it. “I injured you, you have every right to demand retribution.”

Falk’s hand went to his lip, his fingers brushing against where her teeth had drawn blood.  While the wounds had closed up and disappeared, his bottom lip was still slightly swollen and bruised looking.  “You told me no.  You told me to stop.  I did not.”  She wished that she could read his eyes, but the thin gold rings around pitch black sclera told her nothing.  “I came to apologize, Winona.”

She must have made some sound, because he took several more steps towards her.  She flinched when the backs of his fingers touched her cheek, traced the line of ruined mascara.  “I did this,” he said, his voice hoarse and eyebrows pinched.  His eyes widened and she felt the prickle of magic dance across her skin before he lifted his hand away from her.  “You have no reason to be, why are you heaping guilt upon your shoulders?”

“It was my fault,” she argued, her hand going towards the power dampening bracelet she never went without.  “Had I not been what I am, you wouldn’t have -”

He cut her off.  “Wouldn’t have been intrigued by you?  Wouldn’t have lain awake at night wondering how someone I had barely met could fill my thoughts?”  He frowned.  “It’s true, the magic that lingers around you has somewhat of a draw on me, but Winona, your powers have little effect on me.  I kissed you because I wanted to, not because your abilities forced me to.”

“I’m slow to give you the results you need.  You were right: I’m not the agent best suited for this job.  There are so many others who would have already accomplished the task you gave them,” she squared her shoulders again.  “But unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”

“And apparently you’re stuck with me.”  He tipped his head to the side, silver hair slipping across his shoulder.  “You were speaking with someone when I came through the mirror.  I couldn’t help but overhear parts of your conversation.  Why is it that you cannot leave?”

Her eyes looked down at the carpet, ashamed that he had heard her emotional outburst with Cam.  “There was an incident with a suspect I was interrogating,” she told him.  “Something went wrong and as punishment, my superiors gave me your case.  I think they knew that you were angry and while you had parted ways with the Agency on peaceful terms, there was enough distrust between you and my organization to cause some friction between us.  I was instructed to remain here until you were pleased with your accommodations the Agency supplied and to show that you can trust us.  While not instructed to introduce another peace treaty to you, I believe that they hoped I could gain your trust so that sometime in the future, that option would be open for discussion.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “And they told you to do whatever it took to make me happy so that your mission would be a success, I gather?”

Winona nodded.  “Which was why you agreed so readily to helping me hunt these trappers down?”  She nodded again, listening as he made a noise deep in his throat as he processed the information.  “Your Agency, did they make accommodations for you?  You’ve been pale and drawn lately, your attention wandering.  I’ll be blunt: have you not sustained yourself?”

She seemed to shrink inwards, her shoulders rounding.  “No.  As part of my punishment, my superiors forbade me to partake in human pleasures.”

His frown deepened.  “And when was the last time that you did so?”

“Nearly a month ago.  I can go without for quite some time.”

Falk arched an eyebrow.  “And yet it seems as if you are at the end of that reserve.”  He took another step towards her, the gap between them next to nothing.  “Tell me, little firebrand, did your Agency forbid you from seeking the comfort of fellow supernatural individuals?”

“Falk, no.”

He reached out, his fingers sliding through her hair.  “And why not?”

“Because…” She tipped her head up and looked him in the eye.  “I refuse to sleep with you as purely a...a...business transaction.”

“It would be mutually beneficial to us.  You would regain the energy that you’ve lacked and I would gain an agent who was back at their best.”

“So, you do see me as only a tool for your vengeance.”

“You knew what I wanted from the moment you agreed to help me.  You know what I want to do to those people who wronged me and mine.”  He leaned down and Winona had to close her eyes at the feel of his breath against her cheeks.  “Yet I do not see you as a tool to be used and thrown aside, Winona.  You have captivated me in ways I had tried to avoid, especially after losing one so dear to me.”

“I…”

“Tell me that my advances are unwelcome and I’ll step back and be nothing but professional towards you.  You have nothing to fear from me, I wasn’t going to contact the Agency before I came here and I won’t be contacting the Agency on what transpired tonight after I leave.  I have no desire to be the reason why you cannot return to the people you care so much about.”

Winona took a breath and tentatively reached out to trace the gold embroidery on his jacket.  “And if I told you that your advances were welcome?  What then?”

He sucked in a breath as her fingers went from the open jacket to the thin tunic he wore underneath, the warmth from her fingers sinking through the fabric to the skin underneath.  “Are they welcome?”  His hand cupped her cheek and she sighed before swaying towards him.  “Not as a means to an end, but as genuine interest?”

“Yes,” she whispered, opening her eyes from where they had slid shut at his touch.  She looked at him, her lips turning downward in confusion, when he pressed a kiss to her forehead and then moved away, even though it looked as if taking a single step away from her was a step too far away.  “Falk?”

“It’s been a long night,” he explained.  “You’re tired and I’m mostly to blame.  I should let you rest.”  Falk paused when Winona reached for his hand.  He gave her a soft smile as he laced his fingers with hers.

“Wait.”  She gently tugged at his hand and looked up at him pleadingly.  “Would you stay?  At least until I fell asleep?”

She watched as his expression turned soft, his lips turning upwards into a fond smile.  “I have nothing on my schedule keeping me from staying until you fall asleep,” he teased, bringing their joined hands up to his lips to kiss her knuckles.  “And I don’t see anything keeping me from staying and being here when you wake either.”

Winona smiled up at him, but then froze.  “I look a mess,” she told him, wiggling her hands out of his grasp so she could wipe at her face. “And I’m not in my pajamas.”

“I think you look beautiful.”  His eyes moved appreciatively down her body.  “And I happen to like your sleepwear.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Give me a moment to clean myself up, okay?”  She gestured to the bedroom doorway.  “Make yourself at home.”

It didn’t take her long to wash her face and do away with her bra to slip into the oversized t-shirt she had set aside to sleep in, the soft, dark gray material comforting.  When she got back to the bedroom, Falk had divested himself of his shoes and jacket, and was in the process of pulling his tunic over his head.

“You’re staring,” he accused, shirt obscuring his vision.

“And you’re preening,” she shot back, watching as he flexed the muscles in his abdomen before whipping the shirt over his head.

“I couldn’t help myself, not when I have such a lovely admirer.”  He waited until she picked her side of the bed before sliding under the sheets, arms open for her to curl up against him.  Unable to help herself, Winona cupped his face in her hand and pressed the softest of kisses against his mouth, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip, partly because she could, and partly as an apology for earlier.

“Sleep,” he whispered, affectionately nudging his nose against hers.  “And perhaps dream of me?”

She smiled, exhaustion from the day catching up with her.  “Only if you do the same.”

“Ah, Winona. Unistan Sinust nii päeval kui õõl.”  Seeing as she hadn’t understood him when he lapsed into Estonian in the past, he was prepared to tease her with a non-answer when she asked him what he had said, but found out that she was already asleep.  He gathered her closer in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “Sleep easy.  Sa oled mulle nii kallis.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter fifteen: art pop and pop art

By a quarter to eleven, Joey had left Sam's apartment and disappeared into the inky darkness, and Frank still hadn't returned to his room downstairs. The building was silent, and yet the sound of Stormtroopers of Death still rang throughout her ears. In retrospect, their lyrics made her blush to think about. Loud, crude, rude, and over the top, and yet glorious.

Add to this, she was going to get that money, for sure.

Her ankle and her knee continued to ache from her fall, but at least Joey was kind enough to help her spread it across the couch cushions. The last thing he did prior to leaving was place an ice pack on her ankle.

In the mean time, she flipped back to the drawing of the man from her dreams for a good long look at him. There were a few things she knew she could have done a little better, such as the white stripe atop his head. And yet, what was done was done right there in her hands. She gazed into those dark eyes and she wondered if she could see him more in her dreams.

Despite it being late, Sam had no desire to go to bed just yet. What she said to Joey had already gone away from her mouth. The deadline was coming up. She needed to fill out the rest of those pages. She thought of the show from earlier, and the mirrored images right before her.

There needed to be more than what she had already done in the prior pages. There needed to be more as the time was counting down to the due date. With a grimace in pain, she lifted herself from the couch and she ducked back into the bedroom to check the exact day on a little piece of paper on her desk. She thought about that due date, much closer than she originally believed if she wanted to start that fall term, as she returned to the front room for the journal. She let out a low whistle from the pain in her leg, but without wasting another second, she returned the pack onto her injury.

She wondered if she could turn it in early so it could be a weight lifted off of her shoulders. One less thing to worry about. All night long. All night and not a single moment of sleep from the pressure, and also from the pain.

Both combined to drive her.

She set the journal across her lap and she brought the tip of the pencil to the paper. Her view had been mirrored, and she had no reference to help out, but she managed to sketch out Dan with his bass guitar slung over his shoulder from memory: much like Frank, Charlie, and Joey, he had wavy long dark hair down past his shoulders, which he kept obscured over his face. He looked to be playing left handed there on the page, but she needed to draw it out. She needed to use Stormtroopers of Death, her saviors, the men with no restraint on their sense of humor or their own groovy distorted music, as her muses for the night.

Once she had signed the full graphite drawing of Dan, she drew out a sketch for Scott, followed by one of Billy, complete with a microphone in hand. Charlie was drawn from the side so she could work on a bit of perspective for the drum kit: she started work on the cymbals when the first rays of the sun shone through the window on the other side of the room.

“Oh my god,” she muttered as she lifted the page and revealed one more page rested upon the hard cover of the journal. Even though she had pushed out all the rest of the building, she swore she never heard anyone walking through that front door after Joey had left. Frank still hadn't returned home overnight. She shifted her leg every so often to keep things comfortable all night long: but that time, she moved her foot closer to the back of the couch and every inch tingled.

Sam grimaced in pain as she moved her leg closer to her body in hopes to wake up her foot, albeit without causing any more pain to her ankle.

She thought of the boys down in Brooklyn. Joey liked her, and Joey also told her that it could be possible that Frank could develop something with her. It was taking on some sort of triangular form right before her eyes, and yet it might have been a part of her imagination. No one really said anything, and for all she knew it was just based on hearsay all courtesy of Aurora.

She needed one more drawing.

Something. Anything.

There was a myriad of things she hadn't drawn as of yet. Two people in the same picture, let alone two people close together. She kept her leg bent and lay her knee on the cushion, and she rested the journal atop her knee. She drew out their heads first, side by side. Their arms wrapped around each other's bodies. Their thighs pressed against each other. She drew out the upper lip on the left one, followed by the bottom lip. The upper lip on the right one, followed by the bottom lip. Both of them interlocked with each other.

She held back for a better look at the rough drawing, and she realized neither of them had no hair.

No one was telling her anything. All of it based on assumption. Maybe she could pry an answer out of someone somehow if she forced it. Aurora had her work cut out for her and there was no way she could rightfully ask either Joey or Frank without being blunt.

She closed her tired eyes and sighed through her nose. She thought about Joey's black curls as she put down dark spirals on the figure on the right: within time, she put down some soft waves on the figure on the left. She soon followed it all up with a bit of shading around her breasts to ensure they resembled to breasts. She thought about Joey's chest and if it resembled to anything she was shading in at the moment.

It was just something to make her giggle, to play around with Aurora should she ever see it for herself. But then again, it was just a journal to be handed into a small group of people who were to decide her fate for her and her position in art school. Not for Aurora's eyes, or the eyes of anyone else.

And with that, she signed the bottom of the drawing and leaned back into the couch. She let out a low whistle as she knew she would have to make a trip downtown anyway to check on Frank and Charlie.

Sam limped into the kitchen, and she put on a quick pot of coffee. All the while, Emile's voice floated up from downstairs, right through the heater vent in the far corner of the room. He sounded angry about something; his voice was then followed up by that of a woman. Bickering with one of the tenants about something.

She sipped her coffee and within time, she hobbled down the block to the subway station for that long trip back to down to Brooklyn. She hoped to hitch a ride with Aurora again up to the school as she held onto her journal on her lap and kept her purse close to her body. Even though the ice on her ankle helped a great deal, there was no way she could stand up the whole ride down there. Indeed, sitting there had its discomfort: she couldn't stretch out her legs and every time she did, someone always ran into her feet.

Lucky for her, she reached the heart of Brooklyn before she could ache any more and yet she had no idea where L'Amour was right off base. She peered up at the clear blue sky overhead, at the skyscrapers that lined the crowded streets before her. She squinted against the bright sun and she took her sunglasses out of her purse with one hand.

The woman donned in all black set against a bright colored street.

She thought about what she and Joey had gone through the night before with all the signs along the road. Just follow the signs. They know more than those on the road. Sam took a glimpse across the street and she recognized those pale bricks and those bright lights on the side, now darkened with the daylight. Something donned in total darkness set against a bright colored street.

Despite the pain in her leg, she crossed the street with the journal still pressed to the side of her body. She recognized that helmet of orange near the edge of the building.

“Marla!” she called out, to which Marla turned around for a look over at her. She squinted her eyes and brought a hand over her brow to protect from the bright mid morning sun.

“Hey!” she greeted Sam, who hurried up towards her, still with the journal pressed to her body. Marla dropped her gaze to her stiff arm and frowned at the sight. “What you got there?”

“My sketchbook,” Sam replied, somewhat out of breath. “You know, the thing I have to turn into the school at some point so I can start up.”

“Oh, yeah! I was just going to ask you about that, but you went home with Joey.” She peered behind Sam, still with a frown plastered on her face. “Where is Joey?”

“He went home after he dropped me off.” It was the truth: Joey did return home after he helped her into the apartment.

“By the way, how's your leg doing? Lars told me you took a big fall next to the stage and it was hurting like hell last night.”

“It's—It's better than it was,” she confessed as she shuffled her foot over the surface of the sidewalk. “Still hurts, and I'm limping, too. At least I can walk around, though—last night, I couldn't hardly take two steps without feeling like I was about to fall over again.”

Charlie emerged from behind the edge of the building with his hair disheveled and a pair of sunglasses over his face.

“Who you talking to, babe—oh, hey, Sam!” He showed her a sickly little smile.

“Were you guys here all night?” she asked him as he stretched his arms up over his head.

“Yeah, everyone was like, 'stay the night!' and Marla and I were like, 'okay?' so we slept in the back room. We were just about to get some breakfast.”

“Well, I hate to do this to you guys, but—I have to turn this in.” Sam held up the journal and Charlie gasped.

“Oh, shit! Already?” He was stunned.

“Well, the sooner, the better.”

“Oh, right, right, right. Well, yeah—let's fetch Frankie and mosey on up to the school—” He leaned back a bit and turned his head. “Hey, Frankie! Let's get sump'n to eat!”

“I had a feeling Frankie was here still,” Sam confessed as she shifted her weight: her ankle started to ache again.

“Yeah, Frankie passed out last night,” said Marla with a chuckle. Frank emerged from behind Charlie with his hair glistening under the sun.

“Did you shower just now?” Sam asked him with a laugh.

“I ran my head under one of the kitchen sinks in there,” he cracked, “yeah, I showered in there. We're all a little bit hungover still from last night. Including me.”

Marla put her arm around Sam to help her out to the car, even though she promised her she could walk just fine on her own.

“We're going to make a little stop up by the school, too,” Charlie told Frank once they were in the car. “Sam I am's gotta show the people there her journal.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Frank's voice filled out the front of the car. He then turned around and showed her a big beaming smile. “You're gonna places, I just know it!”

They started on the drive up to Manhattan and all the while Frank couldn't help but drum on the ceiling right over his head and on the dashboard.

“Man, and you thought I was obnoxious with that,” Charlie scoffed as they took the main artery up to Manhattan.

“Oh, come on, my best friend is gonna get into art school!” Frank exclaimed. “I gotta celebrate, Char.”

Sam gazed out the window, at all the buildings that surrounded the block. The whole thing felt like a dream, like none of it was actually happening. The sun was big and bright against the pure blue sky, which was more blue than she ever imagined. The lights were brighter than ever before and the warm spring air that flowed through the car windows never smelled sweeter, despite it being the heart of the City.

Within time, they reached the small shady parking lot outside of the school. Charlie pulled up to the curb before the glass front doors and Sam almost swan dove out of the back seat, still with the journal in hand. Charlie burst out laughing and then he turned to Frank and Marla.

“You guys wanna take a walk?” he offered them as Sam gathered herself and adjusted her purse strap. Bad idea to do that: her leg ached even more as a result of it. She stood upright and Frank and Charlie came up to her.

“Good luck, girly cue,” Frank said in a big bold voice, and he threw his arms around her.

“We'll be waiting for you out here,” Charlie added, as he stood back and rested his hands on the cold metallic railing within the concrete steps. She then turned to the glass doors with her purse over her shoulder and the sketchbook tucked her arm, and she headed inside.

She was greeted by that familiar clean smell from the carpet, the smell of college, as well as a young man in a sensible white shirt and with a head of fine platinum blond hair.

“I'm here to turn in my art to get into art school,” she proclaimed.

“Oh, really?” he asked her with a friendly smile on his face, and she handed the journal to him as if she was depending her life on him. “Did you fill out all the paper work yet?”

“I did, yes.”

“And your name?”

“Samantha Shelley,” she stated, “for the fall term.”

“I hope we can have you by then, Miss Shelley,” he told her with a thin lipped smile. “We will send you a letter in the next week—give or take.” He took her hand: his fingers curled around her hand like spidery snakes and his palm had a bit of a warmth to it that she couldn't explain, and for a moment, she forgot about the pain in her knee and her ankle. She could trust him.

“What's your name, by the way?” she asked him.

“I'm Bill,” he said, “and I'm supposed to be at work soon.”

“I'll leave you to it, then,” she declared as the smile crept across her face.

“And I'll hand this into the right people,” he vowed; for a second, she swore he winked at her. Without another word, they parted ways and she returned outside to find Frank and Charlie right next to the car; the latter leaned into the rear window to say something to Marla while the former put his hair up in a loose ponytail atop his head.

“Five little monkeys jumpin' on the bed,” they chanted in unison, when Frank turned to see her.

“There she is!” he declared with his arm extended towards her. She pressed herself close to his body. “That was quick. How'd it go?”

“They're going to send me a letter in about a week or so,” she explained.

“God, how exciting!” Marla exclaimed. “Attending art school in New York City.”

“Also, you might wanna check your bank account at some point today,” Charlie suggested with a grin on his face.

“And I have to talk to Aurora about something, too,” Marla informed them.

“She headed back up to the place, didn't she?” Charlie asked her as he bowed his head back in through the open window.

“Yeah, she did—real early this morning.”

“Miss Work Horse,” Sam joked as she rounded the back end of the car and slid into the back seat.

They headed on back up through the streets of Manhattan to meet up with Aurora, who stood outside of the front door with a clipboard full of papers in one arm and her jet black hair tied up in a taut ponytail atop her head. Her purple top shone in the bright sun like a piece of amethyst; the four of them pulled up to the curb in front of her.

“Uh, yes, we'd like four bowls of pho, some French fries, and I'd like a milkshake,” Charlie joked in a single breath.

“A milkshake with pho?” Aurora replied as she wrinkled her nose.

“At least it's pho and not kimchi,” Marla retorted as she slid out of the car.

“Oh, hell yeah, that's true,” Aurora nodded and tucked the pen behind her ear. “Oh, and by the way, we've got some people you guys oughta meet here.”

“Some dudes?” Sam called as she climbed out of the back seat right behind Marla, even though she very easily could take that other side. She adjusted the strap of her purse.

“Some manly men, yes,” Aurora joked, “and there's a girl, too.”

“Manly men and a girly girl,” Frank added as he climbed out of the passenger seat and fixed his ponytail yet again.

Aurora led them into the cozy front room, made even cozier by how many people had congregated in there. Five men dressed in total black as well as a girl with a short bob of jet black hair, a low cut black top over a leather mini skirt, and something sticklike in her back pocket stood behind them with her arms folded across her chest. She was the only person with short hair given each of those men had long inky waves down past their shoulders. They all turned to Aurora, Marla, Sam, Frank, and Charlie.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” Aurora declared, “meet the Legacy, here all the way from the Bay Area with their four track.”

Sam's eyes wondered to the far edge of the room.

There he was again. The boy with the yarmulke atop his head, except that time she could actually see him at a close range. He had little tight curls at the back of his head which started to touch his shoulders, and his face was slightly round and boyish; even from across the room, Sam could tell he towered over her. He reached up to adjust the yarmulke and she could tell he had a great deal of that thick black hair under there.

But there was something more to him.

At one point, he took off the yarmulke and gave his hair a toss back with a flick of his head. For a second, she swore the lights shone a little too hard onto the right side of his head, but when he lowered his head, she noticed a little sliver of white over his forehead. Maybe it was the light hitting him at an odd angle. Or maybe not, given the rest of his hair was solid black. A little shock of white, about the size of her pinky finger, against a helmet of solid jet black waves all around his head.

He held the yarmulke before him in one hand and he ran his free fingers through his hair. It was definitely a little sprout of white hair; white silvery hair much like the mysterious man in her dreams. The only difference was he seemed nothing like the man in her dreams, who always held her or at least wanted to come closer to her; on the other hand, this young man seemed more interested in what was going on behind that door. However, she still wanted to keep her eyes on him and that little sliver on the crown of his head, like a little droplet of a pearl.

“Sam?” Aurora asked her which broke her out of her daydream.

“Huh?” Sam gaped at her, flabbergasted.

“Marsha's tryin' to get through,” Frank told her, and Sam stumbled back a bit. Marsha breezed past her to greet this small, fledgling band.

“So you guys changed drummers, right?” Aurora asked the girl with the drum sticks in her back pocket.

“Yeah, Louie left for a bit,” she grumbled, “but then again, I'm the one payin' his rent so I dunno what his big deal is all about.” She looked like she meant business, even with her arms folded across her chest to accentuate it. One of the boys giggled behind her and she flashed him a smirk.

“Okay, so you're—” Aurora gestured to her.

“Zelda,” she said.

“Zelda?”

“Zelda Carmichael. I'm the alternate and the one paying Louie's rent.”

“I'm Eric,” the heavy boy next to her said.

“Eric, that was it!” Aurora declared as she scribbled something down. Before Sam and Marla could learn their other names, Frank and Charlie led them into the next room. Even from down the hallway, Sam kept her eye on that little knit yarmulke for a second longer. He looked like he was about ten years old, except he was willing to play in a metal band.

“Yeah, Derrick left—” Eric was cut off by Sam moving out of earshot.

“Just wanna get you ladies into another spot,” Frank told them as he fixed his ponytail yet again.

“Didn't know they were going to be here just yet, either,” Marla confessed.

“Apparently they're not going to be the Legacy anymore,” Charlie announced. “That's according to Billy, anyways.”

“They're not?” Aurora gaped at him and she almost dropped her pencil.

“Yeah, I guess there's another band down in New Orleans called that,” he explained, “and they copyrighted the name, too. That's what I've heard, anyways. They don't even know—all they know is there's another band called the Legacy. As far as I know, they're just going to drop the 'the' as far as their demo tape goes, but who knows. But I have no idea what kind of music they do, either.”

“So they're going to have to change their name,” Aurora concluded.

“What're they called now?” Sam asked him.

“They've got some ideas, but one that caught my ear—'cause Billy was the one who came up with it—was Testament.”

“Testament! Sounds mysterious.”

“Mysterious and faithful sounding,” Aurora added. “Like they're about to preach something to me, or give me something to help me out.”

“I like it,” Marla said, “there's a bit of an elegance to it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Billy came up with it, really?”

“Yeah. At least I think he did. When he comes back up this way, ask him 'bout it, babe.”

“Where is Billy, anyways?” Frank asked him.

“He disappeared as far as I know,” Charlie joked. Marla took a seat on the couch on the side of the room, and Sam followed suit so they could take up a pocket of silence against the crowded place.

“So much people in here right now,” Sam said in a low voice and with a grin on her face. All the things happening around her made her forget about the pain in her leg.

“Yeah, it's starting to...” Marla cleared her throat. “...come together. Like it's all on the come up. All the hard work is about to play out in the best way possible. It's all bands coming together with their tapes and their records. It's almost like a dream.”

“And I've got art school knocking on the door, too,” Sam added. “Bring it on, I say.”

Marla extended her hand to give her a high five, and that was when Billy stumbled into the room right then.

“There's the man of the hour!” Sam declared with a clap of her hands.

“So you came up with the name Testament,” Marla started as she gave her orange hair a toss.

“Yeah, but nothing's concrete as of yet,” he explained with a bit of a quiver to his words. He then pointed at Sam. “Check your bank account. You've got a little something waiting for you.”

“That's what I've heard,” she said, and she turned her head to Marla.

Everything felt to be on the come up. But there was something she still didn't understand at the moment, and that was the boy in the yarmulke.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

7th February >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Mark 1:29-39 for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B: ‘Everybody is looking for you’.

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Gospel (Except USA)

Mark 1:29-39

He cast out devils and cured many who were suffering from disease

On leaving the synagogue, Jesus went with James and John straight to the house of Simon and Andrew. Now Simon’s mother-in-law had gone to bed with fever, and they told him about her straightaway. He went to her, took her by the hand and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to wait on them.    That evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were sick and those who were possessed by devils. The whole town came crowding round the door, and he cured many who were suffering from diseases of one kind or another; he also cast out many devils, but he would not allow them to speak, because they knew who he was.    In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too, because that is why I came.’ And he went all through Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out devils.

Gospel (USA)

Mark 1:29–39

Jesus cured many who were sick with various diseases.

On leaving the synagogue Jesus entered the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John. Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever. They immediately told him about her. He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them.    When it was evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were ill or possessed by demons. The whole town was gathered at the door. He cured many who were sick with various diseases, and he drove out many demons, not permitting them to speak because they knew him.    Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed. Simon and those who were with him pursued him and on finding him said, “Everyone is looking for you.” He told them, “Let us go on to the nearby villages that I may preach there also. For this purpose have I come.” So he went into their synagogues, preaching and driving out demons throughout the whole of Galilee.

Reflections (6)

(i) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I had a friend who died some years ago. She had been confined to her bed for many years because of a debilitating illness. She had a poster on her wall which read, ‘Life is fragile, handle with prayer’. She needed everything done for her. Yet, there was one thing she could do for herself, and that was to pray. She was a woman of deep prayer. I am sure there were times when her prayer echoed the prayer of Job in the first reading. Job’s prayer is one long complaint to God, a prayer of lamentation from the depths of distress. The prayer of lamentation is a very valid form of prayer; it expresses our struggle to find God in the darkest experiences of life. Complaining to God can be a deep form of faith. Prayer can sometimes take the form of just giving vent to the darkness within, opening up our most painful struggles to God. In some ways it is a prayer of trust, because we are only that honest about ourselves with someone we can trust.

If the prayer of this friend of mine resembled at times Job’s prayer of lamentation, it took other forms as well. It certainly took the form of interceding for others. Although she could easily have become completely absorbed by her own suffering, she was always thinking of others and praying for them. She also regularly gave thanks to God. She appreciated every kindness that was shown and gave thanks to God for it. The readings today prompted us to ask, ‘How do I pray?’ and ‘Why do I pray?’ That second question is the more fundamental of the two. Some very good and loving people see little or no value in prayer. Why bother with prayer at all? Surely, there are better ways of spending your time.

Yet, if we have faith, even if it is only the size of a mustard seed, we will invariably find ourselves drawn to prayer of some kind. After all, what is faith only a relationship with the Lord, in response to his relationship with us? Like any relationship we have with someone, we need to give expression to this relationship in some way. We will feel the need to connect, to communicate, with the one we have a relationship with. It is true that when our relationship with someone breaks down, perhaps in a very acrimonious way, we no longer feel the need to communicate with them. On the contrary, we may want to have nothing to do with them. We have nothing more to say to them. Our hurt and anger can become a stone wall between us and them. Our relationship with God, with the Lord, can break down too. Life’s trials and troubles can leave us feeling angry with God and, unlike Job who openly expressed his anger to God, we can express our anger towards God by withdrawing. We stop praying, or we just go through the motions of prayer. Yet, whereas human relationships can break down irretrievably, our relationship with the Lord never breaks down irretrievably, and that is because the Lord keeps knocking on our door. He keeps pursuing us, not to burden us but to heal us. In the words of today’s psalm, the Lord ‘heals the broken-hearted; he binds up all their wounds’. The Lord keeps seeking us out in his love because he wants to do for us what he did for Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in the gospel reading, taking us by the hand and helping us up, empowering us to serve others in love.

The Lord who seeks us out is prepared to wait on our response, just as the father in the parable of the prodigal son was prepared to wait for his rebellious younger son. The Lord’s waiting is not a passive waiting because he is all the time drawing us to himself. He said on one occasion, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. ‘Why, then, do I pray?’ I pray in response to the drawing power of the Lord’s love. In the gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had just healed Peter’s mother-in-law; he then healed many who were sick from various diseases and who had gathered at the door of the house. When Jesus went off to pray, early the following morning, Peter and his companions went looking for him and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you’. They were asking, ‘Why are you out here praying when you could be healing more people?’ Jesus was praying in response to the drawing power of God his Father’s love. He came away from that prayer, knowing what he had to do, not go back to Capernaum as his disciples wanted him to do, but go further afield. His time with God in prayer freed him to take the path God wanted him to take. When we turn to prayer, in response to the Lord’s drawing of us, even if it is after a long time of resisting, we will not only experience his healing presence, but we will be helped to take the path the Lord wants us to take. That will always be the path of loving service of others, the path of making ourselves weak for the weak, in the words of Paul in today’s second reading.

And/Or

(ii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 All of us from time to time can experience life as something of a struggle or a burden. This might be because of some difficulty in our family, or our work may be unsatisfying or troublesome, or in these times of recession we may have lost our job, or our own health or the health of someone we love may be deteriorating. Any one of these or similar experiences can take its toll on us. We might find ourselves struggling to get through the day; we feel stressed and, as a result, we overreact to things, getting annoyed at what we would normally take in our stride. We may even find we have little energy for life.

 At such times we can identify easily with the sentiments of Job in the first reading, and with his description of life as ‘pressed service’ and ‘hired drudgery’. The temptation when life becomes a burden can be to try harder, to summon up more of our energies, to do more to tackle the problem. In reality, the better path might be to do less, to step back and be still, to open ourselves to the presence of the Lord. During the past week I heard someone say that we are human beings not human doings. We often find it easier to do than to be.

 The portrayal of Jesus in today’s gospel reading may have something to teach us in this regard. Because people recognised that God’s healing power was at work through Jesus, they came to him in great numbers in their brokenness, and reached out to him for healing. He certainly had no shortage of work. He was told initially about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law who was sick with a fever. Later on that day the whole town came crowding round the door of Simon Peter’s house looking for healing. That was only in Capernaum. Jesus could have worked day and night in all the towns of Galilee, healing the broken, releasing people from whatever was enslaving them.

 Yet, Jesus knew the importance of standing back from what he was doing and being alone with God, even if it meant doing less. In the gospel reading we find him going off to a lonely place early in the morning to pray. When the disciples realized where he had gone, they were clearly puzzled by this behaviour of Jesus - going off on his own like that when there was so much work to be done. ‘Everyone in Capernaum is looking for you’, they said, as much as to say, ‘what are you doing out here on your own, when you could be healing more sick people back in Capernaum?’ But Jesus was not at the mercy of the demands of others, even the demands of those he was closest to. There was an even more important relationship in his life than his relationship with the needy and the sick, and that was his relationship with God, his Father. To do the work of the Father well, he knew that he needed to be with the Father, even though that meant doing less.

 Paul in our second reading declares that he has made himself the slave, the servant of everyone. He was very committed to the work of bringing the gospel to others. He knew he was called to this service and he gave himself generously to it. Our own lives as Christians are very much about service too, serving one another in love, just as people served Simon’s mother-in-law by bringing Jesus to her, and people served the sick of Capernaum by bringing them to Jesus. Within our parish, parishioners serve other parishioners in all kinds of ways. People serve family members who are unwell or immobile at home; people look out for neighbours who need support. In a whole variety of ways, people are involved in the work of service of others. We are very dependant on the little services we render each other.

 Yet, even more fundamental than the ways we serve each other is the way that God can serve us. God sent his Son not to be served but to serve and to give his life for us. Jesus revealed God to be our Servant. Jesus went away from the demands of others to open himself to the service of God, to be renewed and strengthened by God’s presence. If Jesus needed to be alone before God and to be served by God’s presence, how much more is that true of ourselves. We need to be before God, to come before him in our poverty and to be renewed by God’s presence.

 If we can learn to be with God in stillness, then our service of others is more likely to be the kind of service that God wants for them. After spending time alone with God, Jesus did not go straight back to Capernaum, as Simon and the others wanted him to. He went on to other towns, because he knew this was what God wanted. It is not easy to acquire this habit of being alone with God in quietness and stillness, because so much of our culture today tells us that this is a waste of time, that we should be doing this, that or the other. We pray that the example of Jesus in the gospel this morning would inspire us to be with God, regardless of the demands made on us by life.

And/Or

(iii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 One of the very sad and tragic features of the time in which we live is the number of people who take their own lives. Men in early adulthood seem to be a particularly vulnerable group. It is difficult to understand the bleakness of spirit that must in some way be at the root of such a drastic step. Bleakness of spirit can afflict us all even if it never leads us to contemplate taking our own life. There can be many reasons for such bleakness of spirit. Our life can take a turn for the worst for one reason or another. Something deeply distressing can happen to us or to someone with whom we are very close. It is at such times that the words of Job in today’s first reading find a ready echo in our hearts: ‘Is not our life on earth nothing more than pressed service, our time no better than hired drudgery… months of delusion I have assigned to me, nothing for my own but nights of grief’. These are the words of one who has a sense of hopelessness in the face of the darkness of his experience of life.

 What saved Job from total despair is that he was able to express how he felt to God. He addressed God very directly, sometimes in very angry and uncompromising terms. A few verses after our reading, he bellows at God: ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle.’ Job had enough freedom in his relationship with God to speak to God directly out of the darkness of his experience. Job teaches us to speak to God out of the depths. The old Catechism definition of prayer that I learned at primary school was: ‘Prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God’. At one level it may sound a rather rarefied definition of prayer. Yet, when you think about it, this is actually a very earthy understanding of prayer. If prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God, then prayer is the raising up of everything that is in our mind and heart to God. If what is in our minds and hearts are the darkest of human sentiments and thoughts, then that is what we must raise up to God. We speak to God out of the reality of our lives, whatever that reality might be. Job shows us that our prayer does not have to be censured in any way. If prayer is not real, it is not really prayer. If our heart is broken, it is the broken heart that we bring to God in prayer.

 There is a line in today’s responsorial psalm which states: ‘The Lord heals the broken-hearted’. As Job continued at length to speak to God out of his broken heart, he eventually went on to find healing. There is another line in one of the psalms which simply states: ‘The Lord is close to the broken-hearted’. If this was the conviction of the people of Israel who did not know Jesus, how much more should it be our conviction? Jesus revealed God to be close to the broken, to those who were broken in body, mind or spirit. The gospel reading this morning shows the closeness of Jesus, and, therefore, of God, to the broken. Indeed, in Jesus, God became one of the broken. On the cross Jesus reveals a God who is broken in body and spirit. A well-known German theologian once wrote a book with the title, ‘The Crucified God’. God entered our brokenness in Jesus, and experienced it from the inside. God could not get closer to the broken than that.

 In today’s second reading, St. Paul says of himself: ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. God could say the very same: ‘For the weak I made myself weak; for the broken, I made myself broken’. If that is the God in whom we believe, then we need have no hesitation in bringing our brokenness to God in prayer. If Job who did not know Jesus had this freedom, we should have that same freedom to an even greater degree. Many of us will be familiar with the saying: ‘A burden shared is a burden halved’. Sometimes it can be difficult to share our burden with another, even with the person we are closest to, with whom we may have shared most of our lives. If we cannot share a burden with our closest companion, it is not the case that the only alternative is to keep it to ourselves. We can share that burden with the Lord. The prayer of sharing, the prayer of the open heart, is a very authentic form of prayer. Sharing ourselves with God in this way is not quite the same as asking God for something, petitioning God. We are simply sharing; we are telling our story to God. We are opening up that story to God’s presence, to God’s influence. That is a very valid and worthwhile form of prayer.

 In today’s gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had been ministering to the broken most of the day. Early next morning, he got up and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Working with the burdened no doubt left him burdened, as is the case for all of us. His prayer was a time when he could share his burden with the Father. In doing so, he found strength to continue. ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns’, he said to his disciples after his prayer. The best teaching is often by example. Jesus is teaching us here by his own example to lift up whatever may be in our hearts and minds to God and in doing that to find new strength.

And/Or

(iv) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 We are all familiar with suffering in one shape or form, whether it is physical, emotional, mental or spiritual suffering. There is no getting away from suffering; it comes to us all and it comes in different guises at different times of our lives. To live is to suffer. Regardless of our differences, suffering is something we all have in common. Some people seem to suffer more than others. Yet, it is difficult to measure suffering, especially in others. Some who do not seem to be suffering can be in great pain and others who seem to be suffering greatly can have a deep peace. The cry of Job in this morning’s first reading is one that comes out of deep suffering. He is in a very dark place indeed. Not only has he lost his health, his property and members of his family but he seems to have lost God. He had been living an exemplary life and he cannot understand why God has allowed so much misfortune to befall him. The God whom he worshipped when times were good now seems a complete stranger to him. The God to whom he related as a friend now seems to have become his enemy. The experience of loss, whether it is the loss of health or property or loved ones, can bring on something of a spiritual crisis. Some can be tempted to abandon God, when their prayers out of the depths are not heard. They feel angry at God; they sense that their trust in God has not been vindicated. That is very much the place where Job finds himself in today’s first reading. Job in that sense is every man or woman. The literary figure of Job is a very authentic depiction of the dark side of human experience, indeed, the dark side of faith in God.

 The English writer C.S. Lewis was both a great intellectual and a man of great faith. He set out to give a rational explanation for the Christian vision of life. In 1940 he wrote a book called The Problem of Pain in which he brought his intellect and his faith to bear on the problem of suffering. However, twenty one years, in 1961, he wrote a very different book, called, A Grief Observed. In that book he recognizes that his rational, cerebral, faith has taken something of a battering. The book consists of the painful and brutally honest reflections of a man whose wife has died, slowly and in pain, from cancer. The book gives a vivid description of his own reaction, as a man of faith, to his wife’s death. His rational faith fell to pieces when confronted with suffering of a devastatingly personal kind. He writes at one point, ‘Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that silence’. The name of Lewis’s wife was Joy. He had earlier written a book called Surprised by Joy in which he wrote about the impact meeting her had on his life. His book A Grief Observed has received a wide readership because of his authentic and moving account of the impact of bereavement. Even though his rational, cerebral faith took something of a battering because of Joy’s death, Lewis did not lose his faith. Through the darkness of this experience he claims to have come to love his wife more truly. He writes that God had helped him to see that because the love he and his wife had for each other had reached its earthly limit, it was ready for its heavenly fulfilment.

 Faith has to come to terms with the cross and it is at the foot of the cross that faith can be purified and deepened. Jesus himself entered fully into the darkness of human suffering. In today’s second reading, Paul says of himself, ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. That is certainly true of Jesus. He entered fully into the weakness of the human condition. Elsewhere, in one of his letters, Paul says of Christ that ‘though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich’. On the cross Jesus was at his weakest and poorest; it was on Calvary that, in the words of Lewis, Jesus went to God and found a door slammed in his face, as he cried out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ Yet, that cry of desolation is itself an act of faith; it is the language faith uses when confronted with the harrowing darkness of loss. God did not forsake Jesus, but brought through death into the fullness of life. The Jesus who was crucified in weakness is the same risen Lord who is with us in our own experiences of suffering and desolation, just as he was with the suffering and the broken in this morning’s gospel reading. He is with us as one who knows our experience from the inside. Having gone down into the depths and having moved beyond the depths into a fuller life, he can enable us to do the same. He is the good shepherd who, even when we walk through the valley of darkness, is there with his crook and his staff, leading us to springs of living water.

And/Or

(v) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 A few weeks ago Pope Frances paid a visit to Sri Lanka and the Philippines. While in the Philippines, he visited Tacloban. It was there that, on November 8, 2013, the six-metre high waves generated by Super Typhoon Yolanda, the strongest storm ever recorded on earth, smashed into the homes and lives of thousands of people, leaving behind death and destruction. One of the reasons Pope Francis went to the Philippines was to be with the people of this city who had lost so much. He celebrated Mass on the grounds of the airport in Tacloban. Half a million people braved wind and rain to take part in the liturgy. In his homily the Pope departed from his prepared script, and his words touched the hearts of all present. He said, ‘So many of you have lost everything. I don’t know what to say to you, but the Lord does know what to say to you. Some of you have lost part of your families. All I can do is keep silence and walk with you with my silent heart. Many of you have asked the Lord – Why Lord? And to each of you, to your heart, Christ responds with his heart from the cross. I have no more words for you. Let us look to Christ’. The Pope was acknowledging that, in the face of tragedy on such a catastrophic scale, the only adequate response he can make is silence and an invitation to those affected by this tragedy to turn in prayer towards the Lord on the cross and allow him to speak to them.

 Today’s first reading is from the book of Job. That book tells the story of a good man who lost everything, his property, the members of his family and, finally, his health. Today’s short reading captures something of Job’s dark mood. His friends gathered round him in his great loss but the words they speak to him only deepen his dark mood and add to his burden. They suggest that all these misfortunes happened to Job because he has displeased God. If he were to repent of his wrongdoing all would be well. Job finds no comfort in these words; they ring hollow. He has been living as good and upright a life as is humanly possible. He is angry with God because of all that has been taken from him, and his friends’ words make him even angrier. A little further on from where our reading ends he turns to God in desperation, ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle?’ Complaining to God like this can be a deep form of faith. Lamenting to God is part of our struggle to find God in our pain and loss.

 Some of you may have found yourselves in a dark place because of some deep loss and, perhaps, some of the well-intentioned words that were spoken to you at that time only added to your distress. If we are to be truly present to others in their pain and loss we have to try and enter the darkness with them. We have to somehow suffer with them, which is the meaning of compassion. Saint Paul touches on this when in today’s second reading he says, ‘for the weak, I made myself weak’. This involves a great act of self-emptying on our part, a stepping out of ourselves to be one with the other. Only then will whatever words we speak ring true. When we do try to become one with the other in their pain and loss, we will often get a strong sense, like Pope Francis in Tacloban, that our silence is more appropriate than our words. When we are present to others in this compassionate way, then our presence will be a source of healing for them.

 The gospels suggest that this was the way Jesus was present to others. If Paul could say, ‘for the weak I made myself weak’, Jesus could certainly have said the same. On many occasions in the gospels, the emotion of ‘compassion’ is ascribed to Jesus. He suffered with those who suffered and it was out of that identification with their suffering that he could be a source of healing for them. That is why, as we hear in today’s gospel reading, the sick and the broken were drawn to him in such huge numbers. It was above all on the cross that Jesus made himself weak with the weak, identifying with us totally in our brokenness and pain. As the crucified and risen Lord, he is compassionately present to us today as much as he was to those of his own time. That is why, although Pope Francis recognized that words were inadequate, he said to the people of Tacloban, ‘the Lord from the cross is there for you, in everything the same as us. That is why we have a Lord who cries with us and walks with us in the most difficult moments of life’. We too are invited to prayerfully come before the Lord on the cross in our own times of pain and loss. As we do so, we will be empowered to be present to others in their dark valleys, in the compassionate way the Lord is present to us.

And/Or

(vi) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Most of us will have known difficult and dark times at some point in our lives. We often find ourselves in a dark place. It might be brought on by a sudden experience of ill health or some experience of loss. Someone close to us may be in a dark place for a similar reason and it impacts powerfully on us. Job is certainly in a very dark place in today’s first reading. A great sense of despondency comes through his words. He experiences life as ‘hired drudgery’ and ‘pressed service’. A few verses after our reading ends, he exclaims, ‘I loathe my life’. The striking thing about Job is that he articulates his darkness of spirit before God. All the time he is not talking to myself, but to God; he is praying. Having declared ‘I loathe my life’, he immediately cries out to God, ‘Let me alone’. His way of addressing God is very honest and, at times, very angry. This is prayer at its most authentic. He yells at God, shouts at God, wonders where God is, asks God to leave him alone. Yet, by the end of the book, in and through this raw and honest prayer, he comes to some sense of peace and acceptance, some awareness that, in spite of his loss and suffering, he is being held by God who cares for all his creatures.

 The experience of suffering in ourselves or in others can often shake our faith to the core. We struggle to reconcile the goodness of God with our own suffering and the suffering of others, especially the suffering of the innocent and most defenceless. The problem of evil and the suffering it produces is not easily resolved intellectually for people of faith. The gospel reading today suggests that Jesus often found himself surrounded by suffering. Having healed a very disturbed man in the synagogue of Capernaum, he is immediately brought to the house of Simon Peter’s mother in law who is in bed with a fever. All the sick of the town, ‘the whole town’, then come crowding around the door of Simon’s house, looking for Jesus to heal them of their various diseases. Jesus might have had his own questions about the endless suffering that surrounded him, day after day. When Jesus himself entered the dark valley of suffering and loss, he had his own questions. As he hung from the cross, he cried aloud, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ This is not an intellectual question about the place of suffering in a world created by a good Creator. It is a much more heartfelt and personal question. Jesus was asking, ‘Where are you, God, in my suffering?’ It is the kind of question Job addresses to God throughout his long dialogue with God. Just like Job’s question, Jesus’ question from the cross was prayer. He was addressing God directly in prayer.

 Although Jesus surrounded by the endless suffering of others, according to the gospel reading, there comes a time when he needed to go off alone to pray. Before dawn, while everyone else slept, he left the house where so much human suffering had gathered and he went off to a lonely place by himself to pray. It is as if Jesus needed to bring all this suffering and its impact on him to prayer. He somehow opened up this tide of human suffering to God his Father, whom he knew to be the Father also of all those who suffered. While he is at prayer, Simon Peter discovers where he is and says to him, ‘Everyone one is looking for you’. The suffering people of Capernaum are knocking on your door, Peter is saying. Yet, even though everyone is searching for him, Jesus knows that he needs time and space to search for God in prayer. Jesus was very aware of the depth of his need for God. He had to pray, just as he had to eat and drink. We can be much less aware of the depth of our need for God. Yet, our need for God is even greater than Jesus’ need, and our need for God is all the greater when suffering presses in on us. Suffering drove Jesus to pray; it drove Job to prayer; it needs to drive us to prayer too. The temptation can be to allow the experience of suffering to turn us away from God, and, yet, it is above all in such difficult and dark moments that we most need to keep the lines of communication open to God, even if it is only to complain to God and to question God.

 I am often struck at how some people who have such great suffering in their lives also have a deep prayer life. Invariably such people are never bitter about their situation. They often have an extraordinary serenity and peace about them. Suffering, whatever form it takes, has the capacity to turn is in on ourselves. Yet, in bringing the experience of suffering to prayer, as Job did, as Jesus did, we open ourselves up to the Lord who is always close to the broken hearted, and we can find the spiritual strength to live through our suffering and loss, even though we may not understand it.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[duckyaltalt]

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[airship-full-of-dragons]

oh yeah. now I remember why I didn’t draw Cear for 4 years. the 4 arms complicate things and his horn shape is dumb

[returnn-of-the-mac]

what about companions reacting to a sole survivor who has a symbiote from venom?

So I approached this one by having the companions react to learning that Sole acquired symbiote powers by venom (not sure if you meant venom like poison or the movie venom) . Not 100% sure if this is how you wanted it, so just lmk if you wanted it differently and I’ll make another. Please enjoy!😊

Edit: It was actually the venom movie so this will be re-done once I actually see the movie!

FO4 Companions React: Sole Gaining Symbiotic Powers

As Sole and their companion approached the Glowing Sea, they stumbled upon unusually barren terrain. Assuming it’s desolate nature was due to the high radiation in the area, the duo continued on their way, thinking nothing of it. Suddenly, the ground shook and dozens of hostile Radscopions emerged from the ground. The pair had stumbled upon a nest.

The Radscorpions swarmed Sole and their companion, brutally swinging their stingers in seemingly every direction. One of the larger scorpions managed to dig its stinger into the bottom of Sole’s wrist, cutting through the skin and piercing the vein. Sole’s vision tunneled before they collapsed.

...

While unconscious, Sole’s companion managed to find a nearby medical center to treat their injuries.

Cait: ”Hope that rest was refreshin,” Cait commented, walking over to her companion, “Turns out yer part poisonous bug now, darlin.” She grabbed Sole’s hand and turned it over, pointing at a patch of gauze that was taped over their wrist, “That Radscorpion managed to sting ye right in the vein. Ye got it’s DNA in yer bloodsteam. From what the doc was sayin, ye have some Radscorpion abilities now, like seein in the dark and scratches of venom and shite.” She scoffed, “That’s what they said, at least. Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.”

Danse: Sole opened their eyes and glanced around, confused. They heard a sigh of relief from the corner of the room. “Glad to see you pulled through, soldier,” Danse began, approaching his companion, “I was worried; the sting you received from that Radscorpion was severe. You’ve been unconscious for two days.” He handed Sole a bottle of purified water and sat down beside them. “There’s more to it. Cade said the Radscorpion pierced your vein and injected some of its DNA into your bloodstream.” Sole stated blankly at the Paladin. “Apparently both your DNA and the Radscorpion DNA bonded and formed a symbiotic mutation. Essentially, you’re now part Radscorpion. Cade informed me that this means you now have inherited some abilities that Radscorpions possess, such as night vision and the ability to eject venom from your fingernails.” Sole froze in disbelief, and Danse gave them a gentle smile. “But you’re okay. The mutation is harmless. I know it’s an...unconventional...situation that you’re in right now but these new abilities could prove to be an outstanding advantage in combat, soldier.”

Deacon: Deacon was sitting in the corner of the room, taping something onto Sole’s Vault suit. Sole sat up and Deacon smiled. “Heeey good morning! You’ve been out cold for like...3 years?” Sole’s jaw dropped and Deacon laughed, “I’m messing with you. It’s been like 2 days.” Deacon held up Sole’s Vault suit, which had a piece of paper with a shoddily-drawn scorpion on it. “Like it? I can’t sew, so that’s the best I can do. Oh, wait! Let me explain. Brace yourself— this is good.” Deacon dramatically cleared his throat, “According to the Doc, that darn ‘scorp stung you right in the vein and injected some DNA, so now you’re part Radscorion. Isn’t that neat?” Deacon beamed, “I turned your Vault suit into a super cool superhero outfit. Nifty, huh?”

Piper: “Blue...? Easy now. No need to rush waking up. Take your time,” Piper coaxed. Sole slowly opened their eyes and sat up. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I thought I was going to lose you,” Piper began, her voice wavering slightly. She quickly cleared her throat. “Uh, anyway, I have some pretty cool news to share with you...you ready?” Sole warily nodded, and Piper smirked. “The doctor said that you and the Radscorion’s DNA combined somehow, and you now have some awesome RadScorp powers!” Sole blinked and Piper laughed. “I’m dead serious, Blue! This isn’t a joke. Here—“ she said, shoving a bunch of wrinkled papers into Sole’s arms. Sole examined the chicken scratch and then looked at their companion. “I recorded every single thing the doctors said,” she beamed, “Read up!”

MacCready: “Oh! You’re awake!” An unusually giddy MacCready exclaimed. Sole raised an eyebrow, off-put by their companion’s strange behavior. “[Name], you’re never going to believe this! Apparently, when you got stung by that Radscorpion, you got some of it’s DNA. You know what that means?” Sole watched in amusement as their companion could barely contain his excitement, “You’re part Radscorpion! Like those superheroes, you read about in the comics! You‘re like a real-life RadMan!” Sole smirked and MacCready suddenly got serious. “You have to let me help you pick the name though. Don’t pick something lame. You want to be remembered for being awesome, not for being the laughing stock of the Commonwealth.”

Gage: “Ya awake now, ‘Scorp?” Gage dryly chuckled as a confused Sole looked around, “Ya were knocked out for days, boss. Thought ya died on me. But nah. Managed to find a hospital and they patched ya up nicely.” Sole continued to take in their surroundings. “There’s more to the story, boss,” Gage began, “Apparently that oversized bug injected it’s DNA into ya. So I guess you’re part Radscorp now. Cool, ain’t it?” Gage continued, “So I was thinkin with this new power of yours...we could go back to Nuka World and finally get all of this rival gang shit under control. Get all those goons straightened out. Ya with me?”

Strong: “Wakey, wakey, puny human,” Strong cooed, “It been days! Strong want to leave hospital and SMASH!!” Sole mumbled and rolled over. “Here, take meat. Make human strong, Strong said, handing Sole a piece of Yao Guai meat. Sole gripped the meat with their nails and immediately felt that something was off. The meat in their hands immediately changed from a pale red to a deep brown before completely disintegrating. Strong looked alarmed, “HUMAN! WHAT HAPPEN? TAKE ANOTHER,” he insisted, shoving a cut of Deathclaw meat into his companion’s hands. Once again, Sole grabbed the cutlet and the entire piece turned to foul-smelling mush. Strong was beyond shocked. “Human...human touch deadly now? Strong impressed.”

X6-88: Sole slowly opened their eyes and glanced around. They were in the Institute. “That was a close call, [sir/ma’am],” X6 stated, “I wasn’t certain if you were going to make it back here alive.” It was then that Sole noticed their patched up arms. “The Radscorpion punctured your vein; you nearly bled out,”’X6 explained, “We were able to stabilize you and stitch your wounds, however, there are some permanent side-effects.” Sole listened attentively and the Courser continued, “You now have Radscorpion DNA in your bloodstream. As a result, you will now have improved night vision. Additionally, your saliva now contains highly acidic venom that you are immune to.” X6 waited as Sole processed the information. When he was certain they understood, he continued, “You were a crucial asset to the Institute before this accident. Now, you are invaluable. With these enhanced abilities, you not only serve as a more powerful individual representing the Institute but you also serve as the basis for new research pertaining to the symbiotic relationships between human beings and other creatures. Imagine what the Institute could achieve with a militia of symbiotes.”

Preston: “General? How are you feeling?” Preston asked, his voice laced with concern. Sole blinked a few times before slowly sitting up. “What a relief,” he signed, “I thought for sure you’d— never mind. All that matters now is that you’re alright.” Sole looked at their wrist, which was patched with gauze. “Oh, right,” Preston began, “About that Radscorpion sting...well...it kinda injected you with some of its DNA.” Sole began to panic and Preston put a gentle hand on their arm. “Hey now, don’t worry. The sting was harmless. In fact, you actually gained some pretty cool powers from it,” he beamed, “Apparently you can now see better in the dark and your nails contain acidic venom.”

Nick: “How’re you doing, pal?” Nick asked, laying his cool, metallic hand on Sole’s forehead. “Well, you’re not burning up anymore, so that’s a good sign.” He sat down next to his companion and offered them a bottle of purified water, “That was quite a beating you took from that oversized pest. It’s a relief to see that you’re recovering,” he continued, “And because that sucker managed to inject its DNA through your veins, you’re going to have some pretty extraordinary abilities.” Sole stared at the detective in disbelief, and he held his hands up. “Hey now, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just relaying what the doctor told me.”

Codsworth: “[Sir/Mum]? Are you awake? Do you need any assistance?” Sole groaned in pain and stared at the robot hovering at their bedside. “Oh! It’s good to finally see some life in you! When I saw you get attacked by that hostile Radscorpion I...I didn’t know what to think. I’m just pleased to see you’re doing alright.” Codsworth paused for a moment before continuing. “I do have some...er...news for you, whenever you’re ready to hear it.” Sole cautiously eyed the robot, then nodded. Codsworth hesitated, struggling for words, “Well, [sir/mum]...the way that angry bugger stung you...it injected some of its DNA into your bloodstream. Apparently, your DNA combined and now...now you’re part Radscorpion.”

Hancock: “Mornin’ sunshine,” Hancock laughed, “how was your two-day-long nap?” Sole quickly sat up, alarmed that they had been asleep for so long. They couldn’t even remember what happened before they had blacked out. “Hey, chill out there. Don’t wantcha damaging yourself even more. You’re lucky you even made it out alive this time. Thought for sure I’d lost ya.” Hancock smirked. “I got something else to tell ya— and I swear, this ain’t the chems talking— you gained powers from that Radscorp sting,” Hancock grabbed Sole’s hand and pointed at their wrapped wrist, “Guess the sucker injected you with some symbiotic DNA shit. Pretty sweet if ya ask me. Guess now you can see better in the dark and you have venom flowing through your fingernails!”

Longfellow: “And the sun peaks through the storm clouds! Good to see you conscious, kiddo,” Longfellow handed Sole a glass filled with a clear liquid, “It’s whiskey. You’re going to need a drink to handle this news.” Sole accepted the glance and looked back at their companion, concerned about what he had just said. “You’re not gonna die, so don’t you be worrying too much about that,” Longfellow reassured, “It turns out when you got stung by the ‘scorp, it injected some of it’s venom into you. I guess this gave you some kinda enhanced abilities, as the doctor kindly put it. If you’re the kind who’s into that superhero mumbo-jumbo, then I suppose it’s your lucky day!”

Curie: “Ah, [Madame/Monsieur], you’re finally awake,” the synth sighed in relief as she quickly fetched a bottle of purified water and some Mutfruit for her companion. “Please, eat and drink up. You’ve been asleep for several days.” She sat next to Sole, watched them take a sip of water, and smiled. “I’m so glad you’ve recovered,” she stated, “There is just one thing you should know.” She gently cupped Sole’s hand and flipped it over, revealing a patched up wrist. “See here, [Madame/Monsieur]? This is where the Radscorpion stung you...apparently it injected some of its DNA into your bloodstream,” she explained, “The DNA bonded with your own and formed a symbiote. You are now—technically— part human, part Radscorpion.” Sole’s jaw dropped and Curie giggled. “Do not be alarmed! It is not a bad thing. In fact, you have enhanced abilities because of the DNA. Additionally, you would make an excellent candidate on further research about symbiotic relationships between human and insect DNA.”

Ada: “It is wonderful to see that you are feeling better, [sir/ma’am].” Ada commented as she approached her dazed companion. “I hope you are well. That Radscorpion was extremely aggressive. After a quick scan, I identified it as the queen. You are lucky to be alive.” Ada handed Sole a teddy bear, “Take this. I have some alarming news for you.” Sole clenched onto the teddy as they braced themself for the worst. “The queen injected you with some of her DNA. That DNA combined with your own and formed a symbiotic relationship. You now have the ability to see clearly at night and you have acid glands in your nails...which is precisely why the teddy bear I just gave you is melting as we speak.”