battle weary


Boy you got me helpless
Look into your eyes, and the sky’s the limit, I’m helpless
Down for the count, and I’m drownin’ in ‘em!

Please forgive me for what I’ve done to your masterpiece LMM, I just really wanted to draw a loyal as hell blue kid from a big family who always feels second best swooning over over a hotheaded, reckless orphan soldier with beautiful eyes

….but I went with Lance and Keith instead of Eliza and Alexander


Flint (barely) standing upright with Jack in the room and then slumping down with exhaustion once he’s gone 😭😭

Listen to this track and imagine this…

Imagine Aelin and her court returning to Terrasen, battle-weary but victorious, Erawan and Maeve both destroyed.

Imagine them all entering Orynth on horseback, Aelin in the lead with Rowan and Aedion flanking her on either side while the rest trail behind them.

Imagine that as they ride through the city streets, the citizens turn to see who is approaching and stop dead in their tracks.

Imagine Aelin watching them all as she passes, not knowing whether they fear her for her power or hate her for abandoning them for all those years while she killed and reveled in their enemy’s kingdom.

Imagine her fear and dread turning to awe as one by one the citizens of Orynth form a crowd behind her court, following their horses as they approach the palace.

Imagine Aelin and her court reaching the palace gates. She dismounts her mare and slowly, so slowly, moves to step before the crowd, Rowan and Aedion still at her sides, Lysandra, Elide, Lorcan, Gavriel, and Fenrys behind them.

Imagine that she stands before her people in a city she’s seeing for the first time in ten years. A city no longer ravaged, but rebuilding. There is a pause as Aelin looks out among her people and her people stare back at their long-lost queen. Imagine Aelin holding her breath, waiting for them shout and jeer, condemn her as a traitor, surge for her and beat her until she is nothing but dust under their feet.

And imagine those citizens standing in the front of the crowd nearest to her sinking into low bows. And then the crowd ripples like a wave as they all move to kneel before her.

Imagine voices raising, calling out her name and chanting, “Long live the queen!” Narrok’s vision come true at last.

And imagine that as tears stream down Aelin’s face, Rowan takes his mate’s hand and squeezes gently, and never in her life has she ever been as happy as she is in this moment.

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Rhombodera longa (according to the chinese hobby… the other species name I find them under is “ megaera”). 

Actually, aside from her Authentic Battle Damage™ , she doesn’t look that old. Her antennae are even still perfectly in tact. My guess is that one of the many (many many many) oriental garden lizards in the area got a mouthful of her and realized a bit too late that she wasn’t gonna fit. 
I don’t think a bird would have released such a juicy morsel.

Regardless, this species as adults live almost exclusively in the canopies of trees, and seeing her on the ground and so close to the road is bad news for her longevity. I’m glad I got to meet her, though. 

I raised a girl like her from an L1 nymph once–and had mistaken her for a Hierodula sp. until that bright pink thorax started coming through. 
She was a lot less well mannered than this girl though. The one I raised was a proper beast:

Her name was “Noi” which is a typical Thai nickname meaning “little”……….
I mean, you can’t blame me. This was her, as a baby:

Okay–enough reminiscing from me…but yeah!
I really like this species. Battle weary girl in the video is only the second specimen of the genus I’ve stumbled upon yet! 

(Almost forgot to mention! If you want to see more of the small wildlife I’ve met, check out my #Beestiary tag :D )

Drabble 1- Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Part: 1/?
Warnings: None
Summary: Bucky comes home from a mission with a surprise. 
A/N: This is the first part in a series based each part will be a different character and we’re starting off with Bucky. Please come let me know what you think!
Word count : 942

It felt like time was dropping grain by grain into the hour glass as you sat on the sofa waiting. You glanced once more at the clock and you swore it was mocking you. He was due an hour ago and he still wasn’t here. You let out a shaky breath and silently prayed nothing had happened to him. Just as you reached for your phone you heard the key slip into the door, a soft metal on metal sound could be heard as he turned it and opened the door. 

You stayed still, not wanting to overwhelm him in case it was been a really bad mission. His boots made heavy sounds against the wooden floors of your house as he made his way towards you with slow steps. The steps paused and a dull thud sounded as he dropped his duffel, you almost missed the soft sigh out of his mouth. Your heart raced as he appeared in the entrance, battle weary. 

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tbh it always confuses me when people try to write Damas as Serious and Stoic, because like… this is a man who 100% canonically:

  • wears a skirt with slits up to the hips, exposing his bare, perfectly smooth thighs
  • probably implanted(?) a crown into his skull, purely for the ~aesthetic~ (or alternatively: glues them on every day?)
  • takes pecker as his ‘advisor’, despite clearly being a competent leader on his own, and no one questions it (implying that the people of Spargus are used to him doing weird shit like this)
  • is literally the dad equivalent of tsundere in his interactions with Jak. THE BIGGEST TSUNDADRE.
    • Pecker: 'oh, are you beginning to care?’
      Damas: 'my concern was for the artifacts!’
    • and my favourite: 'you make me proud! …that…. our training system is so good…’
  • drives his car through a wall with perfect dramatic timing, casually mowing down several enemies that were about to kill Jak before referring to himself as an entire army
    • …which comes after he specifically advised Jak against being rash; when Jak calls him on the fact that he ignored his own advice about not taking enemies head-on, Damas responds with 'it depends on how hard your skull is’
  • actually emotes a lot? like just look at his shit-eating grin as he drops stupid one-liners, or the 'oh shit I fucked up D8’ face when Jak says he never knew his dad; this man is not stoic at all.

conclusion: Damas is the biggest fucking nerd.

beemichelle7  asked:

So, I'm an Olicity shipper (because I have eyeballs and a heart)...I'm also a fan of Arrow as a whole, in case anyone had a wrong impression that those two descriptors were mutually exclusive. But, anyway- I'm a hardcore Olicity shipper and proud of it. So, knowing that- is 5x20 going to make me happy? I know it's Olicity-centric, answers Qs etc & I'm excited for it.. But also a little scared.. But mostly excited. I should be, right? It's good? I'm battle weary. I need hand-holding, that's all😉

I think it’s been well established that I don’t know what makes Olicity shippers happy.  ;)

That said, as long as you’re not expecting them to get back together at the end of 520, you’ll be quite happy.

NurseyDex Week Day 1 - Get Together/Mutual Pining

It used to be that Derek would look at Dex and see potential.

Potential what? Honestly, it varied day by day. On any given Monday he’d be a potential enemy, but by the following Wednesday night after a brutal battle against the mandatory freshman meal plan he’d be a potential compatriot (battle weary and scarred for life). Weekends were never stable - if there was a kegster raging, Dex would be a potential something - if they were on a roadie Dex would be a potential thorn in Derek’s side (harping on missed passes and making sure that Derek put his retainer in when he’d really just rather pass out, and really, what the fuck even) - and if they were studying-


Derek has always known better than to follow the line of thought as far as potential goes when Dex is soft around the edges and rubbing at his eyes with his fists to stay focused and dedicated and stable.

Because, honestly?

There are days when Derek can’t remember the last time he’s felt more balanced than when he’s got his knees knocking against Dex’s under the kitchen table, a half-eaten pie sat between them and Chowder’s books long since abandoned in favor of passing out.

So. Yeah.

It used to be that Derek would look at Dex and see potential.

Now though? With Dex’s fists curled in Derek’s favorite hoodie and Dex’s lips pressed so soft (barely fucking there) against Derek’s lips and their knees and their thighs and their shins and their everything tangled beyond anything remotely resembling a seamless extrication?


Derek opens his eyes and sees opportunity and hope and promise.

Derek kisses back, and it tastes like reality.

Fic: Shelter [Keyleth, Vex | Episode 85 Spoilers]

[AO3 | FFN | More Fic]

Keyleth chases down Vex in the immediate aftermath. Major spoilers for episode 85.


“Not now, Keyleth.”

Keyleth’s heart is pounding too-loud in her ears, and not just from taking the steps three at a time. Now that she’s caught up with Vex, now that she can hear the catch in her breathing, now that she can see her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, she doesn’t know what to say. She’s not good at this, never has been, but hells, maybe there are only so many harsh words you can hear from family before they stop meaning anything, because she reaches out and grabs Vex’s hand and starts walking.

“Keyleth.” It’s more of a resigned sigh than a rebuke, the special brand of exasperation that sometimes gets under Keyleth’s skin because it’s just a little bit condescending, just a little bit of a jab at her naiveté. “I think I just want to be alone.”

Not trusting herself to speak around the lump in her throat, Keyleth squeezes Vex’s hand distractedly, and pauses, unsure of her direction after the headlong dash through the corridors. She can find her way through forests and mountains and even open sky without losing her path, but the human-built enclosure of the castle still trips her up, sometimes, much as she’s come to think of it as another home. Now the labyrinthine walls feel like a betrayal of that budding familiarity, and the knot in her chest tightens at the thought.

Vex sighs, pulling her hand free and crossing her arms. “Two lefts to the main gate. Come on, then. Let’s go find something to drink that’s strong enough to beat Grog at arm-wrestling.”

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Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 28/28

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

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anonymous asked:

I hc that Bucky Barnes is a sweet cinnamon roll who will make all the Avengers breakfast everyday but leaving it on the table and then hiding, no one knowing it was him.

He takes up baking as a coping mechanism and when the avengers go off on a mission without him, because he hasn’t been cleared to go out on the field yet, he spends the entire week they’re away in the kitchen. He tries out a new recipe for every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner. He tries everything, from simple meals like mac and cheese and scrambled eggs to the most complicated things he can think of, like beef wellington and baked alaska. He cooks so much that F.R.I.D.A.Y has to order ingredients by the pallet. When the avengers come back in the wee hours of the morning, all battle worn and weary, the first thing they do is crash into the kitchen in search of proper food. On the table, there’s an entire spread of breakfast food sitting on the table. Bucky’s made sure to include everyone’s favorite - Nat’s cinnamon rolls, Clint’s breakfast burritos, Steve’s steak omelettes, Sam’s french toast, etc etc. 

Everyone’s confused. There’s no note, and Bucky’s nowhere to be seen. They try to ask the AI who made all the food, but she’s just as elusive as ever. But, not ones to look a gifted horse in the mouth, they dig into the food, not letting a bite go to waste.

From thereon, there’s three meals a day sitting on that table. No one ever asks who makes it, and Bucky never tells them, preferring to sit in the background and watch his family enjoy what he makes. Someone’s gotta look after that broken bunch, and it might as well be him.

anonymous asked:

Het do you have any photo of a post-battlle paladin (shoulders hunched and back arched, rsting against a battle vompanion, a weary look on their eyes aa they expect the next batle ?)

They’re lacking a companion, but this isn’t too far off.

For honor warden_Fanart by Kim Junghun


August 2nd, get ready for our new fantasy GL, On a Leash! Check out the official synopsis below:

Tensions run high on the battlefield as soldiers fight through death. Bombs rain from the sky and bullets pepper the ground. In battle, beasts screech through the sky and tear through the earth. After the smoke clears, the soldiers return to their human forms weary from battle and numbed by death. But amid the explosions and chaos, a spark of passion ignites. Time will tell whether it can survive the horrors of war, or if it will succumb to it.

The Gods Today: Freyja

So I was inspired to further @tricksterinthehedges​‘s post. I hope to slowly work my way through as I spend time working with the gods, researching, and meditating. There’s not really any order outside of who strikes inspiration when.

Sometimes she can be found in various male dominant jobs. A cop. A lawyer. A soldier. A social justice worker. A body guard. The latter is her favorite. Bars and strip clubs are her domain and she will fight to protect it and those inside.

To loyal, respectful patrons and the newcomers who are shy, unsure, and worried, she is considerate and makes sure they enjoy their time. To those who work for her, especially the girls, she demands respect for. There are rules to keep them safe, and all will follow them. She loves her girls. She validates their work. She fights to empower them and let them set their limits and define what their work is and means to them, and she makes sure everyone respects their boundaries. She’s known to give the best bonuses to struggling single-moms, and has put more than one kid’s through college.

Before opening, she can be found in the back helping workers with their make-up, wiping the bar down, doing inventory, and making sure the lighting and sound system are set up just right. The ambiance alone is magic; and she prides herself in the design.

Everyone knows the last dance is reserved for Freyja.

Sex workers know to keep around her. She gives them protection. She helps keep them safe from the scorn of those who spew vitriolic insults their way and those who’ve hired them who don’t understand boundaries and what’s acceptable.

She demands that expressions of female sexuality centers on empowering them first. 

She’s also known to keep the creeps away from women in the gym.

Any free time she gets is devoted to Planned Parenthood and women’s health - whether that health requires a mammogram, a pap-smear, or HRT - she demands for it to be affordable and for it to be available and for it to be quality.

Freyja’s not always the best at handling nay-sayers and protesters, though. Her tactics tend to fall back on hollering and intimidating. Her passion and fury both inspire, make change, and create setbacks. Each time she finds herself staring at the ceiling of a holding cell because she got taken in for excessive force and disturbing the peace, she swears that next time she will keep a calm head. Next time she will destroy her opponents with words: well-crafted arguments and facts that leave no room for her opponent to take ground.

She gets a bit further next time, but the senator had it coming.

Occasionally you can find her and Freyr at Drag Shows, helping with make-up and keeping the crowd safe and respectable. She fiercely battles and dons on war paint every Pride as she walks alongside her brother.

The local animal shelter and hospital frequently receive donations: toys, money, and food. They never know who it’s from; it’s always anonymous. Some of the younger girls who volunteer are pretty sure it’s the badass warrior woman they secretly believe to be either a spy or superhero is the one behind it. She comes every Friday at 3 to stroll through the shelter before spending an hour with the cats, being sure to play with each one. Everyone is amazed when she manages to calm even the oldest and grouchiest of cats. The scarred and ragged 12 year old cat who has been determined feral and has been through more abuse than any animal deserves and refuses the touch or help of anyone. She manages to get him purring and walks away having adopted him. He is a fighter for respect; what’s not given is demanded. They see that quality in each other.

Perhaps most unfamiliar is battle wearied Freyja. Wrinkles crinkle her skin. Her hair has frosted streaks. On another they may give a weak appearance; on her they signal strength and endurance. She retreats to the coast to visit with her father. His warmth and guidance much needed and hard sought. She curls her toes in the sand and feels the salty air scrape her skin. Every now and then Freyr joins her. They lay together, hands clasped, watching the dawning of stars as they try to make sense and find reprieve in the never ending toss and tumble. This is their time for whispered secrets of doubt and insecurities. They find strength in each other’s pulse and their father’s rough hand gently combing through their hair.

She then retreats to her house: a modest place with a thriving garden compliments of her brother and her own nurturing hand. She curls up on her sofa; her fellow fighter worming his way onto her lap, purring words of comfort and assurance. The other, a young calico with enough energy to power the sun, recognizes it’s time to be quiet now and stands vigil during his Lady’s show of vulnerability.

Tomorrow she will begin again. Fighting for equality. Fighting for women. Fighting for all to see their self-worth. Fight for healthcare, comprehensive sex-ed, contraceptives, respect for sex workers and freedom of choice.


But, for now she rests.

thirtythreebetadelta  asked:

Hi! Can I please request headcanons for Optimus Prime not being a morning person? 🐝

The alarms were blaring throughout the base. Grumbling something unintelligible and rolling over onto his front, Optimus threw his arm up over his audials to block out the noise. Even though it happened every single morning, it still felt as though it was far too early to be functional as the heavy footsteps of battle-weary Autobots echoed down the huge corridors. Optimus heard a quiet sshhhk of his door sliding open and closed again with no noise being heard in between, it was the most obvious hint that it was you, the footsteps too stealthy to even be heard. 

He counted the seconds as you approached. 1… 2… 3… …17, 18… Finally, there was a tiny hand placed over top of the throbbing audial flare where you could reach. As though touching it were a button, the alarm ceased and silence settled throughout the base once more save for the muffled voices of the others outside. Your voice was gentle as you stroked the metal.


A groan of dismay from the gigantic Autobot.

“The others are already awake, you should come out and refuel.”

Another groan, and a dismissive curl of steam rising from the exhaust pipes on his back. I heard you the first time.

You sat there, stroking the sensitive metal of the leader’s helm while he huffed and mumbled his way into alertness. A finial flicked. Optics cracked open with a sliver of blue. Systems beeped and booted up, and an engine idled on with a low, healthy rumble.

Optimus rolled over onto his back, giving you the opening to crawl up over his chest and lean against the crook of his neck to stroke the cables there. He let out a heavy exvent and stared unfocused at the ceiling of the base’s room, letting a hand come up to cradle you against him. When you started stroking along those long finials, he let out a quiet, throaty moan and his optics slipped shut once more.

“Five more minutes?” He pleaded sleepily. 

You rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself, admiring the bot’s beautiful features, though you complied and continued your ministrations. There wasn’t anything particularly important that needed to be done today. No Decepticons on the scanners. No attacks on their base. Fowler wasn’t banging on their door asking for explanations. The other Autobots were healthy and happy, all things considered. 

Everything was doing… pretty alright.

“Five more minutes.”

[ Request: Chibs imagine, where he’s watching his twin daughters while his wife is at work and it’s kinda tough ] - i didn’t know how old you wanted the twins to be, so I decided to make them toddlers to give him a little extra slice of hell. 😂 

“You sure you can handle them all day, babe?” you asked. You turned to your husband who was leaned against the doorway, watching you with a smile as you applied your makeup in the bathroom mirror. “I mean, I’m not going to be home until at least five, and they can be a lot to handle for just one person.” 

You were getting ready to leave for work when your nanny had called and said she couldn’t watch your twins today. Chibs insisted he could stay home with them so you wouldn’t have to miss work, but you weren’t sure he really knew what he was signing up for. Your daughters were just a few weeks shy of four, and they were 100% energy all the time. As much as you loved your girls, you knew they were more than a handful, and they left behind a trail of chaos wherever they went. 

Today would be the first time Chibs had stayed with both of the girls entirely on his own, and you were skeptical of how he was going to handle it. Chibs may have been able to deal with all the shit that happened with the club, but three-year-old twin girls were an entirely different story.

“I’ve dealt with much worse,” he laughed, “I think I can handle my own girls.” He flashed you a toothy grin before leaning over and placing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, love.”

You smirked and turned back to the mirror. “If you say so.” 


“Aye, stop running in the house, loves,” Chibs groaned. He pushed his hair back and sighed loudly as he collapsed onto the couch. He had never witnessed two children with as much energy as these two seemed to have, and they were wearing him out. The moment one kid mellowed out, the other was off somewhere getting into trouble. He couldn’t seem to keep up with them, and he was convinced they were multiplying. It’s like they were challenging each other to see who could make their dad wave the white flag first, and he was at a loss. He was amazed that you managed to have the energy to chase down two toddlers every single day. It had only been a few hours, and they were already kicking his ass.

“Daddy!” a soft little voice called from somewhere in the hallway. 

Chibs looked up in confusion. There was now just one of the twins sitting on the living room rug. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself, wondering how the other child had managed to sneak off so quickly without him noticing. He stood from the couch and walked down the hallway. The second twin was standing at the end of the hallway, a crayon in her hand and a grin on her face. Chibs made a face. He already knew what had happened. 

“Daddy, look!” the precious child exclaimed.

Chibs pursed his lips and turned his eyes to the wall. Your child had drawn what Chibs could only assume was an artistic representation of how he felt right now. The squiggles and lines went halfway down the hall. The little girl looked up at her father, her brown eyes bright and excited. She was clearly proud of her work. Chibs couldn’t even be mad at her. Especially not with a face like that.

“I see, love,” he told her, flashing her a loving smile. The little girl’s eyes may have looked like Chibs’, but the way they shone with excitement and wonder reminded him of you. 

He let out another loud sigh and scooped the toddler up from the floor, walking towards the kitchen to grab any cleaning products that might help remove the new decorations on your walls. He loved his daughters more than he could ever explain, but he couldn’t wait until you finally got home.


You opened your front door to reveal Chibs standing in the middle of the living room. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were wide and distraught. He looked like he had just emerged from battle, weary and defeated. You couldn’t help but smirk at his appearance. You had given him fair warning after all.

“Jesus Christ.” Chibs dropped the toys he had been holding in both of his hands. He crossed the living room and enveloped you in a tight hug. “I’ve never been so happy to see you, love,” he mumbled against your shoulder. He looked up at you, a bewildered expression on his face. “I don’t know how you do it,” he continued, shaking his head. “Our children are absolute heathens.” 

You let out an amused laugh and pulled back from your husband. “Tough day, huh?” 

He nodded his head. “They’re a lot to keep up with.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes and walked into the living area, glancing around the room. “Speaking of keeping up with them, where are our kids, babe?” 

Chibs sighed and tiredly flopped himself down onto the couch. “They’re sleeping like little angels now.” He watched you sink down onto the couch beside him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You kicked off your shoes and snuggled up beside your old man. A smirk played at your lips. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” he continued. He took your hand in his and raised it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back. “You’re a saint, love.” 

Chibs looked down at you as you lay with your head against his chest. A proud smile formed on his lips. He knew now that he didn’t tell you nearly enough how much he appreciated you and everything you did for him and your girls. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a woman as strong as you. 

You looked up at your old man and grinned. “Tell me more about how amazing I am.” 

Chibs pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Anything for you, my love.” 

I think one of my favorite things about Baze Malbus is that he sees surly, closed off, battle weary killing machines, and thinks “Those guys look life friends.” He thinks a man in the midst of carrying out an assassination has the face of a friend. He calls a hardened child soldier leading a suicide mission “Little Sister.” He knows they’ve done things, but he still sees them as friends and people, and that makes me emotional.

Logging in to Tumblr last night and literally the Sterek fandom blew up. Reunions were had, those that had remained joined together battle worn, weary but proud. Declarations were made to not watch the season but to mold and create and add to the fandom. Never have I witnessed so much salt for a show and it’s creator nor the togetherness a ship had fashioned together. I was actually pretty impressed and a little surprised by it. The Sterek fandom came back with a vengeance. Glad that I’m a part of it, even distantly.

Originally posted by theindigorose

Told Ya

Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader

Pairing: None

Warnings: None, just fluffy humor

Word Count: 1,022

Summary: What happens when Reader gets curious about Sam’s green smoothie? Hilarity ensues, that’s what.

A/N: I kept the reader as neutral as possible – MJ can be interpreted as any gender, in any ship you prefer. Special thanks to @jerkbitchidjitassbutt for her advice and expertise (love you, girl!).

The Impala cruised along, effortlessly gliding over the long, dark stretch of highway. The radio was off and conversation had long since dwindled, leaving nothing but the familiar soothing, throaty growl of the engine to lull you into a state of blissful relaxation. You stretched your battle-weary limbs and reclined across the length of the backseat. Dean remained intently focused on the road, while Sam gazed out the window as he sipped contentedly on… something. What is that? you wondered. You hadn’t even noticed the cup in his hand until now. Where did he even get that? The contents looked like pureed Martian, but Sam seemed to be enjoying it. You were intrigued…

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anonymous asked:

The skelebros (however many you are willing to take per ask) of your choosing have an SO that works in customer service. One day, while the skelebros are visiting/dropping by, a customer gets very upset and starts screaming at SO and their coworkers. SO ends up with a broken nose before security steps in. SO just resets their nose and continues about their day like this is totally normal.

((I don’t have a character limit, so I just went ahead and did the main 4 sets plus Error cuz I really like him))

UT Sans: Jeeze kid. "i nose you say you’re fine, but do me a favor and take a break.” He’s going to sit with you through your break and might follow you around for part of the day, but if you say you’re fine then who is he to argue? He’s not going to push you but he’s also going to drop subtle hints here and there that you should take the rest of the day and come home with him. “i’d love to cuddle with someone on the couch, but it’s not the same when you’re not there.” “you know in some human cultures they take a nap at noon? what’cha think, babe, should we try it?”

UT Paps: He is going to fuss over you like a mother-hen. While he’s impressed with your combat prowess he can’t believe someone would hit you! He’s going to have some very stern words (and overcooked spaghetti) for them very soon! He is going to ask if you’re okay no less than once every two minutes. If after the first half hour you insist you’re still fine, he’s going to point out that your nose might have started to turn purple and he doesn’t think that’s normal for human–UNLESS OF COURSE IT IS! IN WHICH CASE, I ENJOY THE NEW COLOR VERY MUCH!

UF Sans:  He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t scared shitless. You really know how to give him anxiety, don’t you? It’s good that you can take a hit but you should never have to. He’s not going to fuss over you and if you act like it’s not a big deal, he’s not going to either. 

You will, however, find a bag of frozen peas on your counter (with the receipt and your name tapped to it). 

UF Paps:  He’ll insist on training everyone who works there. The entire staff is going to be prepared if and when it happens again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T HIT THE CUSTOMERS?! He’ll also insist that, while your work is important, a warrior must recuperate after a battle. The last thing he needs is a battle-weary S/O. It’s hard to miss the admiration in his voice though. You handled yourself better than he thought a human could AND you were willing to continue working afterwards. He won’t allow it, but he can appreciate the sentiment. 

US Sans: He’s likely to gasp in shock. While impressed with your work ethic, he insists that you take the rest of the day off! He know exactly what will make you feel better and that’s… rest and something cold for you soft human nose. You thought he would make you tacos? HUMAN IF YOU WANTED TACOS SO BADLY YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GET INTO A FIGHT TO GET THEM! He’ll always make you tacos, all you have to do is ask!

US Paps: There are three things in the world that people don’t get to touch: his brother, you, and his honey. He’s going to joke with you, but his puns and joke are going to sound a little forced and the grin on his face is going to be pulled just a bit tighter. “guess that customer is going to have to face the consequence.” He might tease you a bit, but once he’s sure you’re okay, he might take off for a while. That customer is going to get a very NASTY surprise threat. 

SF Sans: It’s very unlikely that security would get to step in. Look, you’re his S/O–he knows you can handle it. (It doesn’t actually matter if you can’t, he has your back 100% and fully believes you capable of doing impossible things.) That aside, he’s probably all over the customer the second that they started yelling at you. He probably threw the first hit. Fair warning, the second you crack your nose back into place (if there’s only a few people or you’re alone) he’s going to look at you for a solid three seconds like a love-struck doe. 

Enjoy it, it’s a look you will not see often. He’ll boast that he expects nothing less for the mate of the Mighty and Terrible Sans! But… if you need to take a few minutes… it wouldn’t hurt anyone… He’ll probably also bring you several ice packs through the day and take you out for you lunch break–he had it planned anyway! Stop pestering him! 

SF Paps: He’s gonna beat himself up. You can insist that you’re fine and not hurt all you want, but he feels like a complete failure. He let someone hit you. He. Let. You. Get. Hit. Don’t just go back to business as normal, don’t do that to him. Look, he knows you’re not made of glass but spend the rest of day with him. If you can stand the sting, press your head into his chest. He feels the most comfortable with his arms around you, because that’s where you’re safest. 

That’s not to say he won’t be paying that customer a visit later. 

ERROR Sans:  He’s probably gonna miss you resetting your nose, but then again nobody is going to find that customer’s body. There is a fine, fine line in the sand and that line reads “if you touch my s/o, you’re not going to live”. Hitting will SET THIS GUY OFF. Since security had to step in, the customer wouldn’t have even apologized–not that it would have helped. 

You might have to actually stop him from gently deter him from destroying your universe. You probably couldn’t stop it if he really wanted to end your universe. (Pro tip: so long as you’re alive, that universe is good. He might say how he’s just “saving it for last” but really, as long as you’re in it it’s safe. Which is why you shouldn’t let him take you out of it much and if he does, keep him in sight–if you lose track of him, it might not be there when you get back.)