I'm a badass bitch

Symbols:

send 💝 to give my muse a box of chocolates

send 🌹 to give my muse a rose

send 💕 to ask my muse out on a date

send 💍 to propose to my muse

send 💋 to kiss my muse

send 💧 to find out that my muse was stood up on their date

send 💿 to give my muse a romantic mixtape

send 🎶 to serenade my muse

Starters:

“Wow is all this chocolate really for me?”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. Really. You shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t think a literal truckload of roses is too much?”

“Will you be mine?”

“Happy Valentine’s day! Here, I got you this.”

“So, do you have a date tonight?”

“Love stinks, what do you say to a night in? Just you, me, and all the ice cream we can stuff in our faces.”

“I love you, I love you more than anything.”

“I know it’s cheesy but I wrote you a poem.”

“This is the worst day of the year.”

“Sorry but I’m allergic to strawberries.”

“Love is in the air.”

“Maybe I’m only in love with the idea of being in love.”

“Look at all those happy couples, fawning over each other. Disgusting.”

“This Valentine’s day I’m treating myself. I don’t need anybody else.”

“I’m so nervous about my date tonight. Maybe I should just cancel and say I was sick.”

“You’re the best boyfriend/girlfriend/datemate ever.”

“You ready to hit the stores once all the leftover candy gets discounted?”

mortal encountering deity

“I do not believe in gods.”

*bows*

“What’s a god to a non-believer?”

“I have prayed to you more times than I can count.”

“Have you come to save us?”

“Your beauty is too much for any mortal mind to comprehend.”

*begins to pray*

“I prayed to you when I needed you most and you never came.”

“You really call yourself a god? Ha! Oh, wow.”

“You really are a god.”

“Your divinity is plain to see.”

“Are you really immortal?”

“How can this be? How can you be here?”

“This can’t be happening… can it?”

“Don’t you know you’re a god?”

“Our savior has arrived! I knew you would come to us in our hour of need.”

“You’re no god. You’re a joke.”

“Please don’t smite me!”

deity encountering mortal

“Bow, fool.”

“Sing my praises, I love when you mortals do that.”

“Don’t you know who you’re talking to?”

“Whether or not you believe in me is irrelevant, I’m still here.”

“A god? Me? No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Have you brought a sacrifice for me?”

“Worship me or I shall burn this town to ash.”

“No mortal mind can comprehend the power of a god.”

“Mortals… how quaint.”

“You have worshiped me avidly so I suppose I can do you one favor.”

“Yes, it’s me, your savior. In the flesh.”

“Don’t make me smite you.”

“Begone mortal.”

“This is no place for mortals.”

“Perhaps you are not so bad looking… for a mortal.”

“How could a mortal possibly claim to understand me?”

“You have displeased me and for that you shall be punished.”

The world stopped for a second. Eastwood had landed a punch to Isolde’s chest that made the Navigator fall to one knee and spit out some saliva, most would end the fight there, but the Elite Navigator was way more resilient than the average perfil displayed by those in the same position. He pulled himself together and was up again in no time, ready to continue, until the commentary echoed and his head turned to the Fighter.

“What do you think you know of hell?” Isolde’s voice was usually distant, but warm and welcoming, the kind that gave a sense of safety to those around him, soft, loud enough to be heard, yet never so loud everyone else could hear it; however, the question came out quite different from the usual one… it was menancing.

Before Eastwood could stop him, the sikvery haired man jumped down to the same level as Nyx, steps light as feather, but his posture was one he never showed around, he was rigid, ready for combat, lilac colored eyes detached of any emotion, the eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, fists clenched at the sides of his body. That wasn’t the man who usually went around with smiles and more often than not looking quite lost in his own thoughts, who needed to be called back to reality by his teammates.

“What do you think… is hell?” He asked again and sprinted to her, punching the metal wall by the side of Nyx head and not even flinching due to pain or discomfort, his knuckles marking a small dent on the metal. “Do you think it’s this? To be fighting ‘Terons? Perhaps the harsh conditions of the colonies? Maybe to be starving or so thirsty your throat can’t let anything in or out? To be forced into combat in a chance of getting rid of prison or execution?” To each question a new punch was given to the metal and he even bled, but still no sign of pain showed on his face, instead, only the ever roaring storm that grew inside came to his eyes.

Rage. No, that wasn’t rage. That was cholera. Bottled up cholera ready to break at any moment and being held back maybe by his team’s support and a couple of other small good things. The worst kind of wrath, that was a man who’d kill without thinking twice or measuring the consequences.

“You have no idea of what hell is like.” Isolde’s gaze pierced through the Fighter’s, his pupils were no more than a dot, shrank to their limit, unwavering on their focus, and he took a hold of her neck, fingers closing around it and constraining the muscles around the respiratory tract, slowly making it hard for her to breathe, but not enough to kill or lose conscience, only to feel the pain and dispair.

Suddenly the Elite Navigator was pulled back and away from Nyx though, right before he could do any serious damage. It was Virgil who was called by Eastwood to take a hold of the situation and locked Isolde in an embrace, burying Isolde’s face in his hair when he lowered his head, pinning him to where they were and keeping the struggle to a minimum while slowly calming him down.

The mute Elite Fighter looked at the blond Fighter serious, he wasn’t happy with what happened.

“Get out of here, Nyx. You’ve caused enough commotion for a whole week.” Eastwood finally voiced his order once he checked on the Elite Navigator’s situation and pointed both him and Virgil to go to the bench and take a break. “And we’ll have a talk later. A very serious talk. Because this… this is unacceptable.”

However, her simmering annoyance turns to heated anger as she’s strangled, and she kicks and writhes against it, teeth bared and nails digging deep into Isolde’s wrists as she tries to wrench him off of her.  She probably could get free, but this is more a display of warning, before she really loses it at him.  She’s about to bite back at Isolde about how a stuck up rich kid from Earth could not possibly know the kind of hell she’s lived, but she’s cut off by Eastwood, whose calmness about the whole thing only pisses her off even more.  Ignorant bastards, the lot of them.

“At least you were your own person from beginning to end…” Eastwood commented. “… As for Isolde… we may never know who he was before.” The Elite Fighter quietly looked at the direction where Virgil guided Isolde and now sat in silence with him, trying to see to his hand and having the silver haired man stubbornly pull it out of his grasp. “The only things we know is that this isn’t the real him and that he went through way more than any of us can think of. This is just a half-full shell trying to pretend to be a functional human being and giving his best in a daily basis to don’t regress in god knows how many years… not for his own sake, but for ours.”

Eastwood sighed, he was the one who knew Isolde for the longest time and yet he knew as much as everyone else. It didn’t sound unfair for him though as it seemed to be how things worked when it came to the Elite Navigator and, for all he and the others knew, this was a secret kept between the Commanders and Isolde alone, so it was better to don’t pry over it.

“You call weak one of the few Navigators around who would willingly give his life for ours. You scorn on his attempt to build a bridge between Fighters and Navigators, but forgets how hard it’s to lead by example…” His eyes turned to the door when two other Elite Fighters cladded in armor and weapons walked in, probably warned by someone else of what happened, and moved to where Virgil and Isolde were sitting. “… well I hope you’re proud of your big stunt.”

With that he went to see if it was possible to dissolve the situation, perhaps try to avoid the worst as Isolde’s reaction would certainly take him to the Brig. Knowing the Elite Navigator way too well, Eastwood knew he would take all the blame and not point fingers at Nyx, even though she was the one who started; the blame would be all his.

Alas, even with some talk nothing could be done or changed, the two soldiers in working hours took Isolde away after receiving strict orders from their coms. And left Eastwood and Virgil there to ponder how they would tell their partners about the whole situation.

No.  No, she was in the right here, (she wasn’t, but she entirely believed herself to be) so why should she feel bad?  Maybe he had been through some stuff, maybe it had been hellish.  So was what she’d been through, he had no right to tell her otherwise.  So she steels herself with self-assurance, entirely unaware of how grossly hypocritical she’s being.

The world stopped for a second. Eastwood had landed a punch to Isolde’s chest that made the Navigator fall to one knee and spit out some saliva, most would end the fight there, but the Elite Navigator was way more resilient than the average perfil displayed by those in the same position. He pulled himself together and was up again in no time, ready to continue, until the commentary echoed and his head turned to the Fighter.

“What do you think you know of hell?” Isolde’s voice was usually distant, but warm and welcoming, the kind that gave a sense of safety to those around him, soft, loud enough to be heard, yet never so loud everyone else could hear it; however, the question came out quite different from the usual one… it was menancing.

Before Eastwood could stop him, the sikvery haired man jumped down to the same level as Nyx, steps light as feather, but his posture was one he never showed around, he was rigid, ready for combat, lilac colored eyes detached of any emotion, the eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, fists clenched at the sides of his body. That wasn’t the man who usually went around with smiles and more often than not looking quite lost in his own thoughts, who needed to be called back to reality by his teammates.

“What do you think… is hell?” He asked again and sprinted to her, punching the metal wall by the side of Nyx head and not even flinching due to pain or discomfort, his knuckles marking a small dent on the metal. “Do you think it’s this? To be fighting ‘Terons? Perhaps the harsh conditions of the colonies? Maybe to be starving or so thirsty your throat can’t let anything in or out? To be forced into combat in a chance of getting rid of prison or execution?” To each question a new punch was given to the metal and he even bled, but still no sign of pain showed on his face, instead, only the ever roaring storm that grew inside came to his eyes.

Rage. No, that wasn’t rage. That was cholera. Bottled up cholera ready to break at any moment and being held back maybe by his team’s support and a couple of other small good things. The worst kind of wrath, that was a man who’d kill without thinking twice or measuring the consequences.

“You have no idea of what hell is like.” Isolde’s gaze pierced through the Fighter’s, his pupils were no more than a dot, shrank to their limit, unwavering on their focus, and he took a hold of her neck, fingers closing around it and constraining the muscles around the respiratory tract, slowly making it hard for her to breathe, but not enough to kill or lose conscience, only to feel the pain and dispair.

Suddenly the Elite Navigator was pulled back and away from Nyx though, right before he could do any serious damage. It was Virgil who was called by Eastwood to take a hold of the situation and locked Isolde in an embrace, burying Isolde’s face in his hair when he lowered his head, pinning him to where they were and keeping the struggle to a minimum while slowly calming him down.

The mute Elite Fighter looked at the blond Fighter serious, he wasn’t happy with what happened.

“Get out of here, Nyx. You’ve caused enough commotion for a whole week.” Eastwood finally voiced his order once he checked on the Elite Navigator’s situation and pointed both him and Virgil to go to the bench and take a break. “And we’ll have a talk later. A very serious talk. Because this… this is unacceptable.”

However, her simmering annoyance turns to heated anger as she’s strangled, and she kicks and writhes against it, teeth bared and nails digging deep into Isolde’s wrists as she tries to wrench him off of her.  She probably could get free, but this is more a display of warning, before she really loses it at him.  She’s about to bite back at Isolde about how a stuck up rich kid from Earth could not possibly know the kind of hell she’s lived, but she’s cut off by Eastwood, whose calmness about the whole thing only pisses her off even more.  Ignorant bastards, the lot of them.