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minty-mumbles · 3 years

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True Colors

Summary: Monsters are stupid, but they do have excellent color vision, and can recognize patterns almost as well as Hylians. This leads to some misunderstandings.

Or:

Monsters assume that Hylians operate under the same color system as they do.

Content Warning: Not much to note. A few Bokoblins die.

Author's Note: I wrote this to fill this prompt from @linkeduniverse-prompts. It got way out of hand and ended up being about 3k words longer than I expected. I have a cheat sheet about color meanings at the end.

(Read on AO3 Here)

~~~

Greg wasn’t stupid. Well, he had been told plenty of times by his sisters that he was. He was a Red Bokoblin, and Reds weren't known for being very smart. (Not that any kind of Bokoblins were, but that was irrelevant to Greg.)

But personally, he felt he was a lot smarter than many of the others in his clan. Like Jeff.

Jeff was an idiot, even by Bokoblin standards.

It was because he was so intelligent, Greg thought, that he was able to devise a plan to sneak up on this group of travelers. (Truthfully, he wasn't being very sneaky. The group he was tracking was just being particularly unobservant at the moment.)

Greg had seen the perils of attacking first and asking questions later first hand. His brother, Derek, had done so, and picked a fight with the wrong group of travelers. Derek had paid the price for that mistake with his life. And then Derek II did the same... And then Derek III. And then there was Derek IV, who truthfully hadn’t made that poor of a choice in target. It was just plain unfortunate that that Hylian hero had shown up and lit him on fire. (Honestly, maybe his parents should stop naming their kids Derek.)

Not that picking a fight with the wrong Hylians was particularly hard to do for them. Their clan was mostly Reds, the lowliest and weakest of their kind. Only his eldest sisters were lucky enough to be born as Blues. If they went up against any Hylian but the weakest, they were in trouble.

So, yeah. Greg had seen many of his fellow clanmates fall to stupidity. He wasn’t going to be one of them.

At least he hoped so. Jeff might get him killed anyway. Greg didn't know why his sisters always put the two of them together for patrol duty.

Greg crept relatively silently through the bush towards the loudly chattering group of Hylians, letting out only an occasional squeal. Jeff, however, was moving as if he were a Hinox, and he was going to get them caught. Never mind Greg’s brilliant plan of sneaking up on the group of Hylians and seeing what they were up against first.

He turned to Jeff and tried to mime that he should stay here, while Greg got closer to check things out. Unfortunately, it just looked like flailing, with the occasional slap thrown in, and Jeff didn’t seem to understand. Thankfully, he seemed content to stay put. He had gotten distracted by a strange glowing blue ball halfway through Greg’s attempt at communication. Greg really didn't care, as long as Jeff shut up and didn’t move.

Greg crept further forward on his own. When he finally reached the treeline, he hid behind a fallen log, and set about observing the group.

Immediately, his malice-filled veins ran cold.

This was not an ordinary group of travelers.

The intricacies of the Hylians’ marking system were somewhat lost on Monsters as a whole, and although he prided himself on his above-average intelligence, Greg was no exception. The Bokoblin marking system was very straightforward. Those who were Red, like Greg, were the weakest. Then came the Blues, then the Blacks, the Whites, the Silvers, and then the mightiest of all Bokoblins, the Golds. It was quite simple. It telegraphed their ranks and battle prowess nicely, both to other Bokoblins, and to their enemies. Greg thought it was rather thoughtful to give their enemies a heads up on what they were going to be fighting.

Hylians were not in the habit of returning that favor. No Bokoblin had managed to really make heads or tails of their marking system. There were only a few accepted truths that all young Bokoblins are taught.

Brown was the most common coloration, and was pretty much assumed to be similar to Red Bokoblins. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the Browns, except that they were good at running away. A couple Reds could take down a Brown with no trouble.

Then there were the Whites. They were only really found near central Hyrule, near one of the Great Hylian Camps. They were much faster than the Browns and actually seemed to know what they were doing with weapons. They were also very good at sneaking. Greg knew that many camps had been wiped out by White Hylians.

Then there were the Reds. These were possibly the strangest of all the colors. Greg’s sire had told him that they were to be treated, cautiously, as allies. They never attacked Bokoblins without provocation, and they even occasionally teamed up with Bokoblins to take down the Hylians, especially the Whites.

Next up on the Hylian totem pole were the Blues. Personally, Greg thought it was weird that Hylians placed Blue above White, but Hylians as a whole were very strange. Except for a few sightings recently, Blues hadn’t been seen for many, many generations. Their legend persisted though, as they were perhaps the most consistent of all the Hylian colorations. If a Hylian had a bright blue coloring, you could assume that they would have high quality weapons, and would know what to do with them. Browns would even run towards them for protection, or so Greg was told.

They had been known for working together in large groups to bring down entire camps of Bokoblins. Greg had once been told that Bokoblins learned how to band together, and how to find safety in numbers from observing these Hylians.

And then.

And then there were the Greens.

If Blues were legendary, Greens were mythical. Sightings of them were few and very far between, which might have to do with the fact that the Bokoblins who saw them didn’t live to tell the tale. The destruction they wrought was so absolute that even if they hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years, their legend lived on.

(Greg himself had seen one, once. He had only lived because he had run away before the Green had spotted him. He usually tried not to think about it.)

So, yeah. Greg had been expecting a small group of Browns, perhaps some Whites or a Blue thrown in.

That was not what he had gotten.

This was an entire goddamn clan of Greens.

A loud yell from the pair closest to Greg covered up his shocked squeal, as his brain tried to process exactly how much danger he was in.

He could count seven Hylians in front of him, huddled around a campfire. The pair closest to him were wrestling on the ground. Distantly, Greg was reminded of how his sisters wrestled to assert dominance, but these Greens seemed to be much friendlier about it than his sisters were. They weren’t even drawing any blood. The one who currently seemed to be winning wore armor around his shoulder, and a stripe of bright blue around his neck.

That made Greg pause for a moment. Was this a Blue instead of a Green?

But no, the Hylian’s torso was covered in undeniable green.

Similarly, the one pinned under the Blue-Green wore a Red tunic, but under that, a dark Green gave him away. Perhaps the two were some sort of hybrid? The concept of hybrid Bokoblins was foreign. Bokoblins were always one color, but who knew with Hylians.

Most Hylians did not accept Reds into their groups, as they were hostile towards others of their own kind. Maybe that was why Blue-Green was wrestling with Red-Green?

A few yards away, another pair sat on a log watching the pair fight, with a third tending to a fire nearby. The two sitting on the log were the biggest Hylians Greg had seen in this group. If he had to pinpoint any of them as the leaders of this clan, it would be these two. One was covered in armor, which Greg had only seen on the most skilled Hylians, and only in small amounts. The fact that this Hylian was covered in the stuff was intimidating. Greg couldn’t really tell what color this Hylian was, as the armor covered him, but this must be the leader. He was big enough for it, and the one next to him seemed to be showing him a good amount of respect.

The Hylian sitting next to the Leader seemed more like the run-of-the-mill Green. (Not that any Green was run-of-the-mill, but whatever.) The most notable thing about him was the wolf pelt he wore around his shoulders, which did give Greg pause.

His sisters wore the skins of large animals they hunted, as a symbol of their higher status. Neither of them had a wolf pelt, though. Wolves were strong creatures, and best left alone. It could take an entire clan to take down a fully grown wolf, let alone a whole pack. The fact that this Hylian, who wasn’t even the leader of this clan, was wearing the wolf pelt so openly was clearly a warning.

The third was crouched over the fire, moving the logs around with a stick for some reason. This one was a White-Green, a long white covering over his shoulders. He was listening to the conversation between the Leader and Wolf-Pelt, occasionally adding his own thoughts.

Once Greg was able to get over his shock of seeing so many Greens in one place, he was able to see that they weren’t actually all Greens. Two of them, huddled closely together, were just wearing pale Blue. Not quite as concerning as the others, but still strong.

One of them was smaller than any of the others in the clearing. He wore a pale blue covering. Greg paused in confusion. In a group of powerful Greens, why would they tolerate a small, weak Blue? Clans could become stronger, as Greg’s was, as stronger Bokoblins were born. But if his clan was made up of Blues, and a Red was born, they would be killed or driven out. There was no room for weakness.

But then again, Hylians were very strange. Perhaps, since this Blue was obviously a youngling, they had simply not matured into their adult Green coloration? It was possible.

The youngling was crouched over a strange flat rock, held by the other Blue. Now, this one was the same size as the others in the group, and obviously an adult. The excuse of being a youngling did not apply to him.

So why….?

The Blue shifted, lifting the strange rock, and handing it off to the Youngling, joined the White-Green near the fire. As he did, Greg caught sight of a familiar symbol on the rock.

An eye.

The symbol was not strange to him. It was scattered all over the land on large black rocks. However, to see it on a smaller rock like this… seemed familiar, and not in a good way.

Greg strained his memory to try to remember when he had seen this before, and then it hit him.

He had seen this strange rock before, when Derek IV was killed. He had gone after a pair of Brown Hylians who had unwisely traveled off the road. Greg, still being quite young at that point, had hung back to see how it was done. It had gone well for a while. Derek IV chased the pair, swinging a club at them, while the Hylians screeched in fear and scrambled away.

Then, swooping down from the sky like a bird of prey, a Blue Hyalin descended. True to legend, Greg had watched the Browns scramble toward the newcomer for protection. Derek IV, likely having fallen asleep during their sire’s lessons, did not register the danger of this Hylian’s color, and ran straight towards the group.

Greg had watched in horror as his brother was cut down with graceful ease. He hadn’t even had time to squeal a battle cry before he was falling to the earth with a flaming sword buried in his side.

He continued to stare in mounting terror as the Blue bent down and harvested his brother's teeth. The Blue had even taken Derek IV’s weapon for his own before his brother finally took enough fire damage, and broke down into smoke, disappearing.

The Blue had approached the Browns, who hadn’t even looked disgusted at the looting of a body, and had instead gifted the Blue food as a token of appreciation for his protection.

Greg came to a sudden realization. This was no Blue. He was colored like one, but he was alone. According to legends, Blues came in packs, ruthlessly efficient in working together. Besides that, Greg could imagine only one color that was that efficient at killing.

Greens.

Greg didn’t know why this Green was disguised as a Blue, But he didn’t stick around to find out. The last thing he caught sight of was a strange rock on the Green’s hip, with an ominous eye on the front of it. He had booked back to the safety of his clan’s camp. Not that he harbored any delusions that anyone in his clan would survive if the Green-in-Disguise found them.

Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Greg had grown up trying desperately not to fall into the same trap of attacking first and finding out the consequences later as Derek IV had.

Now, the same strange eye symbol was back, on the same strange rock, in the possession of the same Green-in-Disguise. Well, the same clan, at least. The Youngling was still fiddling with the rock, occasionally calling out to the Green-in-Disguise. Greg could only assume it must be some type of weapon, if a Green was in possession of it.

Greg stumbled back, turning to flee. He had saved himself once by fleeing in the face of one Green, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to take on seven Greens at once.

Wait- hold that thought. A rustle in the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing caught his eye. Against his better judgment, he crept back to look. If that was Jeff coming to look for him, and he stumbled into the encampment of a clan of Greens in the process, Greg was not going to be helping him.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, Greg thought privately,) it wasn’t Jeff. It was two more Greens.

Greg felt faint, and nearly swooned on the spot as Wolf-Pelt called out in greeting to the two new arrivals.

These two new arrivals were underwhelming. They were both small. In fact, one of them was even smaller than the youngling already in the camp. His coloring was a strange mash-up of Blue, Red, and, oddly, Purple, which was a color that Greg had never heard of Hylians being. But he also had Green, plain as day. Greg had to wonder if this Four-Color was even younger than the Youngling. Maybe it wasn’t certain yet what his strength level was going to be?

The other was of a more reasonable height for a Hylian, although not as big as many of the others. He had brown coloration peeking out from underneath his green. Perhaps this was the weakest of them all? But again, if he was tolerated in this, frankly overpowered, clan of Greens, then there must be more to him than meets the eye.

But these two new arrivals, no matter how unthreatening they looked, meant the clan now numbered nine. Greg had never seen a Bokoblin clan this large, let alone a Hylian one, at least outside of the Great Hylian Camps. Normally, Hylians only traveled in small groups.

This was bad. If an entire clan of Greens had appeared in Hyrule, then the Hylians were getting stronger. He had to report this to his sisters.

With a determined grunt, Greg turned back to where he had left Jeff. He needed to collect him, and then head back. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think his sisters would care about them not finishing their patrol route.

When he arrived back to the place he left Jeff, his brother was still absorbed with kicking around that strange glowing blue ball from before. Greg didn't know what it was, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. He just wanted to get back to the slight safety of their camp.

Just as he was about to squeal at his brother that it was time to go, he heard a shout from behind him. It was one of the Greens, calling out. For a moment, Greg was worried that they had been discovered.

Then, he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

The weird glowy ball that Jeff had been playing with exploded in blue light. Before Greg could even shield his eyes against the light, it was over. The explosion had taken Jeff out in one hit. His brother's body was already disappearing into smoke, leaving nothing behind.

Greg knew they had been discovered. Somehow, this whole situation must have been a trap, and it had been set up by the Greens. They must have known that Greg was there the entire time.

These Greens were terrifying. Greg could hear Hylian footsteps moving in his direction, and booked it out of the clearing. He wasn't sticking around for them to find him. He was leaving.

At least his sisters couldn't put him with Jeff on patrol anymore.

~~~

It was a rather chilly night. The seasons were just changing in his Hyrule, splashes of reds and golds dotted here and there as some trees started to shed their leaves, and the autumn air wasn’t exactly warm or balmy.

The group usually waited until Wild was ready to make dinner to start a fire, but not tonight. Sky volunteered to collect firewood, and only stopped to set down his pack before leaving to search for kindling. Four and Hyrule also left to scout the area, and make sure there weren't any threats lingering nearby.

Wild helped Time and Twilight move some fallen logs into the clearing for makeshift benches, and then collapsed onto the nearest one. He sighed, and pulled his boots off, shaking a pebble out of the left one that had been bothering him for hours. He didn’t immediately put the boots back on, letting his feet relax after a long day of walking.

Wind settled next to him, Time and Twilight not far off. Legend and Warriors were already bickering about something or another, snarking at each other for where they were perched across the empty fire ring.

Wind sniffed next to him. “Goddess, Wild, your feet stink! Why did you take your shoes off?”

Wild very maturely stuck out his tongue at the younger hero, pointedly ignoring Time’s muttered: “Don’t encourage him, we already have one squabbling pair, we don’t need another.” Wild stuck his dirty boots back in his slate, pulling out one of his cleaner pairs. Wind, forgetting the apparent stench, shifted closer in interest.

“So, how many different sets of clothing do you keep in there?” Wild shifted to show Wind his slate, swiping through the armor and clothing he accumulated on his journey.

“So, this is the Sheikah stealth set. It’s the first set of clothes I bought after waking up from my shrine. I got it in Kakariko. Before that, I was basically wearing a set of rags I found in my Shrine.”

A rustle from across the clearing drew Wild’s attention as Wind continued to poke at the slate. It was just Sky, carrying an armful of wood. Before the Skyloftian could start to set up the fire, Warriors took things one jeer too far, causing Legend to leap across the pit, tackling him off his log. Sky didn’t even do a double-take, ignoring the two wrestling near the side of the clearing, and started to get the fire going.

Next to Wild, Time and Twilight were watching the fight with interest. Twilight turned to Time. “Should we stop them?”

Time shrugged. “They’re not actually hurting each other, are they? Think of it as hand-to-hand combat training.” Twilight stared at Time as Legend got pinned underneath Warriors, and screeched, biting his hand in retaliation.

Time stared back. There was a moment of silence, before Time spoke again. “Fifty rupees that Legend wins.”

Twilight sighed, returning his gaze to the fighting pair. “You’re just as bad as the others sometimes, you know that?” Time just raised an eyebrow in question. Twilight groaned, defeated. “I’ll take that bet.”

Wild snorted. Twilight liked to pretend that he was less of a gremlin than the rest of them, but really, he just hid it better.

“Hey, isn’t that what the Warriors was teasing you about the other day?” Wind’s question brought Wild’s attention back to his slate. Showing on the screen was the Gerudo set, displayed on the digital form of Wild himself. “Wait, it’s yours?”

Wild’s hand darted out, covering the younger boy's mouth. “You will tell no one about this.” He hissed, eyes darting around the clearing, checking to see if anyone had heard. It looked like he was in the clear. It wasn’t that he was particularly ashamed of wearing those clothes, but he would rather spare himself the teasing he knew would be imminent if the group found out.

Wind batted his hand away from his mouth, grinning at him mischievously. “Okay, I won’t.” Wild waited, not believing that it would be that easy. “You have to make seafood curry for dinner though.” Wild hummed, considering. It wasn’t as bad as he thought Wind was going to demand.

“Alright,” He acquiesced. He was planning on making Creamy Vegetable Soup tonight, but he thought seafood curry was just as good. It was no trouble for him to switch up the menu. He had a couple of nice Progys in his slate they needed to eat anyways. He would have done this even if Wind just asked him, though, so he wasn’t sure why-

“But you have to make it spicy.” Wind insisted. Ah, there it was.

“Sure.” He shrugged. Most of the others wouldn’t be pleased. Seafood Curry had a lot of goron spice in it, at least it did the way Wild liked to make it. Wind, Legend, Four, and himself were the only ones in the group who could handle spice. He and Wind had grown up eating spicy food, and Legend traveled to very distant lands, building up a tolerance to all sorts of spices. Four could only tolerate spice occasionally. (It varied. Sometimes he couldn’t even handle a spiced meat skewer, and sometimes he inhaled the spiciest food Wild could make. It was very strange.) Most of the others in the group had low spice tolerance.

Usually, Wild acknowledged that fact in his cooking, and cut back on the spice, but since Wind was asking…

Well, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

He handed the slate off to Wind, rising to join Sky next to the fire, to make sure it was at the right temperature for seafood curry.

Another rustle from the bushes around the clearing drew his attention to the returning Hyrule and Four.

“Anything to report, boys?” It was Twilight who called out, as Time was still snickering at the sulking Warriors and his own purse, now fifty rupees heavier.

“Nothing of importance,” It was Four who answered, coming to sit next to Time. “There’s a stream a few minutes away, and we found a set of Bokoblins footprints, but they were days old.”

“Good, now we should-“ Wild’s attention was drawn away from both the fire and Twilight’s response by a call from Wind.

“Hey, Wild! What does this button do?” That sentence made dread well up in Wild’s stomach. There were only so many buttons to push on the slate, and Wild’s mind flashed back to a very crucial detail that he had forgotten.

He spun around, nearly hitting Sky with the stick he had been using to poke the fire. He could barely get out a shrieked “Wait!” Before there was an ominous click, a moment of tense silence, then-

BOOM.

Right. The bomb he had dropped earlier, and had forgotten to dissipate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling all the world like he was every one of his one hundred and seventeen years. He let out a slow breath, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. Was this what Twilight felt like all the time? He needed to go easier on his mentor.

“That button explodes things, Wind.”

A silent, judgmental stare from Time told him to fix the mess he’d created. With a huff, he heaved himself to his feet, and motioned for Wind to follow him. “Come on, kid. Let’s go do damage control.”

~~~

A/N: You know, writing this made me headcanon that Bokoblins have truly excellent color vision.

Anyways, here's what all the colors mean;

Brown: Average Traveler // White: Sheikah // Red: Yiga // Blue: Hyrule’s Military // Green: Heroes

Blue-Green: Warriors // Red-Green: Legend // White-Green: Sky // The Leader: Time // Wolf-Pelt: Twilight // Youngling: Wind // Green-in-Disguise: Wild // Brown-Green: Hyrule // Four-Color: Four

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yami-writes · 4 years

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BabyCat

(header by me)

Summary: Todoroki's s/o gets hit by a quirk that not only turns her into a baby, but also~ a cat. It is now his job to take care of her until she turns back.

Word count: 1.6k

warnings: fluff (sprinkled angst tehe)

a/n: hello! its been a while since ive actually finished a fic, but here’s my entry(?) for @mha_random_thoughts ‘s ShouCat week! <3

Todoroki’s eyes widened when he saw yaoyorozu holding what seemed to be a mini version of his girlfriend and Mr. Aizawa standing behind her. “She got hit by a quirk.” he firmly stated. “To be specific, the quirk turned her into what seems to be a 3 year old child….” yaoyorozu she said, as she closely examined you “and…… a cat…” “Yeah whatever, just take care of her until she turns back. Yaoyorozu can answer your questions on how to take care of her.” Aizawa walked away, mumbling something about it being too early. Yaoyorozu carefully sets you down on the floor and watches as you latch onto her leg “i'm- im not really sure how you would go about taking care of her~ so you on your own, sorry, todoroki……” she says, as she places you on the couch beside her and walks off, presumably to her room. Todoroki took a glance at you, then at his phone; 7:35am. “How do you get yourself into these situations, y/n…?” he sighed, as he looked back at you. He took a good look at you; you seemed like a normal 3 year old as yaoyorozu said, but you had cat ears on the top of your head. His heart instantly melted at the sight of you. Two things he loves in one! He reached out his hand before immediately pulling back, like he was scared. Scared of burning or freezing you, perhaps? He certainly didn't know how to go about holding you, which would be essential in taking care of you, luckily that debate with himself didn't last long, as you had gotten up and latched on his left leg while he was distracted. You felt him flinch before immediately picking you up with his left hand “so you like my left side, huh?” he asked, but you obviously didn't answer, instead you made yourself comfortable against his chest, feeling the warmth emitting from him. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Todoroki decided it would be best to stay in his dorm until it was time to get ready for classes, just so he wouldn't have you taking everyone’s attention. He tried to get himself together and figure out how to take care of you, but he was having difficulty, all he could see was his father. He didn't want to be like him, he wanted to be caring, he wanted to be a good parent, but he didnt know how. All he could see was his past abuse and it was starting to get to him. Any simple mistake he made would affect you one way or another, but he didn’t know how to prevent those mistakes from happening. He didn't have anything to go off of and it was slowly tearing him apart. He wasn't even sure how to pick you up, all he knew was that you liked his left side, but what if he burns you? He knows you're probably sensitive to temperatures, but he doesn't know how hot or cold it could get until it's unhealthy. Todoroki’s inner panic was put to a pause when he felt your small body cuddle on his left side yet again. Just having your body so close to his put him at ease. He went with his instincts and picked you up and held you close. Any worries he had before melted away at the sight of you falling asleep almost instantly in his arms.

Todoroki took a glance down at his phone; 8:15am. Seems like a good time to head down to the common room. He got up and made his way over, the sudden movement waking you. There surprisingly weren’t a lot of people, but fair considering it was an early Friday morning. He walked over to the kitchen to get you some breakfast “uhm….. What do you eat?” he asked, as he carefully places you on the kitchen island. The two of you basically have a staring contest until he decides to take a look around the kitchen for something you would be able to eat. As he was rummaging around in the fridge, he placed a very red, shiny, ripe apple right beside you. Your little cat ears pointed upwards as you reached for the very appealing fruit. but In that moment, Todoroki spun around and grabbed the fruit before you could even lay a finger on it. reflexes? You pouted as he took the apple you desired and put it out of reach. “I'll cut the apple so you can eat it. Do you want some milk with that?” he asked, as he got out a knife, to which you nodded.

Todoroki put down a plate of beautifully sliced apples and a small glass of milk for you to enjoy. He watched as your face instantly lit up before picking up a slice of apple. Your small baby fangs(?) bit into the apple slice, as he watched you enjoy the small meal he prepared for you. “Oh hey, todoroki!” he heard a familiar voice say “ah, Midoriya….” he responded, not taking your eyes off you. “Uhm… is that a child..?” the green-haired boy asked “w-wait… Y/N!?” He inspected you closely, taking note of every detail while your boyfriend stands behind him, very silent. “Interesting, this is probably the result of quirks merging and becoming more complex…” he continued his incoherent rambling as todoroki picked you up and brought you away from him.

Todoroki sat down on a couch and sat you down on his lap. He took out his phone to check the time; 8:50am. “We have some extra time, what do you wanna do?” he asked. He listened intently to your incoherent babbling, remembering your current state. “Todoroki!” he heard another familiar voice say “what are you doing? You're going to be late!” iida said, chopping the air. “Uhm, its not time yet.” todoroki responded, taking note that iida seemed to not notice you. “At this rate you are going to be late! As class rep i cannot allow that!” “.....ok.”

Todoroki got up and began to make his way out the door and to class, carrying you in his arms. The two of you watched as iida used his engines to get him to class faster.

When the two of you got to class, not surprisingly, there werent alot of people. Todorki took his seat and placed you on his lap. He held you with his left hand as he took out his stuff with his other. You sat in silence throughout class, taking note of every little thing thats happening around you. The two of you went through your first half of classes without any problems, now it was lunchtime. Midoriya had suggested for him to give you fish for lunch, considering your a cat, so he did. He sat you on top the lunch table and watched as the dekusquad entertained you. His mixed matched eyes only had you in sight, quite creepy honestly.

The two of you made it to your last class of the day, the last 5 minutes before going back to the dorms spent doing anything but work. Todoroki had allowed the girls to play with you until he left, but he wasn't happy about it. “Todoroki, you need to calm down, its not a big deal. Their just playing with y/n, its fine!” midoriya said, noticing his friend staring at you enjoying yourself with the girls “...its not that simple.” he bluntly said, his soul piercing eyes still staring right at you. Midoriya let out a defeated sigh, knowing he wasnt gonna convince him.

The end of class came and todoroki gladly swept you away from the 1-A girls with a huff. He didn't even give a warning, just took you.

When you two made it back to the dorms, he went straight to his room. Just knowing such a fragile, innocent child was currently in his possession and in need of protection was stressful. He lied down in bed with a groan and placed you beside him. He didn't have any plans for what to do next. He continued to think about how the day went. Sure, it went without any casualties but, how could it have gone better? Sure he cant change the past, but he felt guilty for whatever reason. I could’ve tried harder, He thought. He continued to try and think of something the two of you could do until you turned back.

purrrrr purrrrrrrr~ todoroki looked down only to see you had crawled onto his chest and fell asleep. His heart melted at the sight of you looking so peaceful. At that point, he allowed your quiet purring to lure him to sleep.

Todoroki woke up to a feeling of emptiness, like something was missing... “y/n?” he called out. He looked beside him, only to see you almost on the edge of the bed, asleep. “y/n.” he said, sitting up and bringing you into his arms “wake up,” “huhh??” you said, slowly opening you eyes “oh, shouto…”

“hello, love. Do you remember anything?”

“i remember everything!” you smiled. “And i have come to one conclusion” you said, as you sat up in the bed, you watched todoroki’s face very closely, trying to find a hint of emotion. None. “i think you’d be a great father to our children, shouto” you continued to scan his face, his eyed slightly widened at your statement, catching him off guard. It surprised him, but it made him happy at the same time, the fact that you wanted to have his children. He pulled you into a hug, resting his forehead on your shoulder “im glad you see me that way, y/n.” he whispered

“nothing would make me happier.”

thank you for reading! <3

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propertyofwicked · 5 years

Note

Could you do an a-z for dating dean please? I loved tom’s! 😍

i really enjoy writing these :) ive got a george one requested so i will be doing that later. hope you enjoy this one anon :)

a - argue

like the mature adults you guys are, any argument results in silent treatment till one of you realises your fault and apologises. sometimes it takes other people to point out your mistakes, but in the end you would talk it out, make compromises and understand your differences. a little goes along way with you and dean.

b - body (his favourite body part of yours)

dean likes your hands. he likes how they move to cup his face when you kiss, he likes how your fingers move effortlessly across your keyboard when you’re typing, he likes how they wrap around things ;) he likes how they fit perfectly in his and he likes how they run over the surface of his back.

c - care (caring for each other when you’re sick)

you both spend a lot of time away from each other, as he is away filming a lot and you are at uni or doing coursework. when you do get to spend time together and it happens that someone is ill, you’re still going to spend as much time together as physically possible. you’ll spend the day in bed, wrapped up warm. If you’re ill, dean wants to treat you like a queen. under no circumstances are you to leave the bed, unless it’s for the toilet, and even then, he keeps an eye on you to make sure you don’t pass out on the way. he’ll cook you food and bring you painkillers as often as needed. when he’s ill, you’ll do mostly the same, perhaps try and move him to the sofa or go for a walk for some fresh air.

d - dates (what do you guys do?)

to the start of your relationship, dean preferred to take you on high key fancy restaurants, but once you were comfortable settled together you’d go on cafe dates in-between lectures or just stay home and watch movies with some takeaway food.

e - engagements (how he proposed)

dean had taken you to venice for your birthday, and spent the entire week spoiling you,as he usually would much to your protests. on the last night before you flew home, you went for dinner and on the way home, he took you to a cute little bridge, tucked away from the main town. whilst you were distracted by the stars appearing in the orange sky, he got down on one near and called out your name to gain your attention.

f - friends and family (do they like you/him?)

his parents loved you. his mum and you often cooked together whenever you visited for dinner, or you and his dad would talk about politics or the football. His little sister liked having a female around that was closer to her age, you were more of her friend than her sister-in-law. your parents liked dean, he was the most respectable boy you’d ever dated and they could see how happy he made you. out of each of your friendship groups, you both were the longest to be single, so your friends were just happy to see you not crying over some failed fling.

g - gifts

as dean was away for filming a lot, he often wanted to remind you of how much he loved you by getting flowers delivered to your house and when he was done filming, he’d sometimes brought back bits of set or props that he thought you would like. being a broke student meant that sometimes the only gift you could send would be some lovely photos specially for him ;)

h - how you met

often, your uni would use it’s rooms to host interviews for press tours, or q&a halls. the uni offered pay for a group of people to set up the rooms and pack up at the end so you volunteered. tt was here you ran into george and dean as it was a 1917 q&a. they were lost so you helped direct them to the room they needed to be in. dean actively stalked you down after the interview and asked if you’d want to go for coffee with him and you hit it off from there.

i - intimacy (how often are yall getting down)

whenever, wherever. he’s down. the amount of time you spend apart just builds up your need to be together, so you grasp at any chance you can to be physically intimate with one another. it’s when you’re bored of a tv program, or he’s wearing a suit, you get the gist.

j - jealousy

you get fairly jealous as dean works around and with a lot of people you believe to be better, prettier, that yourself. as much as dean reassures you, you can’t help yourself from wondering if he’d ever leave you for one of the actress he work with. dean doesn’t tend to be massively jealous, but the more time he spends away from you, the more jealous he gets. he fears that you will find someone who can be in your life more permanently and physically than he can.

k - kinks

dean likes edging/control. he loves to see you struggle to contain your release until he says so, and he loves to take you beyond the point of pleasure till you’re literally begging to cum.

l - long distance

with dean working away so much, long distance gets hard. Sometimes he manages to come home for the weekend, but he could be gone for 3 months at a time. every night, you facetime or call each other whilst just going about your daily routine together, as if he was there. just hearing each others voices daily was enough to keep you going till you saw each other again.

m - moving in

there was never really a point where you moved in with him. your stuff just started manifesting it’s way into his house, to the extent you’d spend ages searching your room for it only to realise you’d left it at dean’s. once you were going into your second year at university, you’d been with dean for almost a year and he just kind of suggested that you live with him to avoiding massive bills for uni halls, but everyone knew it was a ploy to be able to spend more time with you.

n - nights out

as a student, nights out were key to social engagements. so, your group of uni friends and their partners would head out to a local pub and spend the evening chatting drinking or playing darts. you’d both stumble home at the early hours and wake up several hours later with a pounding hangover.

o - open with each other

whilst he was away, it was hard to be fully open with each other, knowing that anything bothering you would just upset each other further as you couldn’t be with each other at the time. once he was home, however, it was easy to spend hours wrapped up together talking about anything that was on your mind.

p - pda

neither of you are particularly into massive displays due to the public eye being on you more often than not, but a simple hand hold or peck didn’t go amiss. dean preferred to save all of his affection for home, where he could properly show you how much you meant to him.

q - questions (what you talk about late at night?)

let’s be honest, you would go into any massively deep conversation it’d be more along the lines of “how was your day? what did you do? did I ever tell you about the time that...” but it was the small moment s like that that counted.

r - reproduction (do you want kids?)

not at this point in time, as it is the start of your careers and you’re both pretty young but you had discussed it a little. if it was to happen by surprise, you’d both embrace it but one day down the line you fully plan to have atleast a child if not more.

s - surprising (what surprised you about him)

the simplicity of his happiness. it doesn’t take much to make dean smile, or let out a little laugh but every time he did you feel a surge of happiness rush through yourself. to see him happy made you happy, so you’d strive to do that as much as humanly possible.

t - together (what you do together)

you guys like watching movies, which isnt surprising given the nature of deans job. you also like to spend quite a lot of time in the bedroom ;)

u - under the influence (drunk vibes)

it was rather common that you’d be out separately, you out with uni mates or him with co stars. drunk calls were the best, both of you becoming the funniest people alive whilst intoxicated. when he chose to stay home and you’d make you way back, fumbling to get the keys in the lock subsequently waking him up, he’d come to you and put you in bed. he’d make sure there was a glass of water and painkillers and a bowl near your head. you’d do the same, but drunk dean is flirty dean and whilst you were trying to change him into sleepable clothing, he’d make comments like “at least by me dinner first”

v - vacations

a lot of your holidays were spent on set with him, but sometimes you’d go abroad to malta or somewhere remote. you preferred quiet, adventure holidays than expensive beach holidays.

w - wedding

you had the cutest wedding ever. it was in this converted barn, with both your families and friends attending and the reception was basically a massive party in very fitting taste for you and dean.

x - xray (when he’s hurt)

dean injured himself on set of 1917, where he slipped down a trench and twisted his ankle fairly bad. because of it, he was sent home for two weeks to recuperate, where you literally tended to his every need. you brought him food, drink, medication and care to the point where he literally had to make you spend time on your other work rather than him for some time. normally it would just end in you falling asleep, cuddling on the sofa, in your living room.

y - you (a random headcanon)

you’d had a long and bad day at uni, so you came home stressed out of your mind, muscled tensed and a pounding headache. the moment you stepped foot into the flat, you bag dropped to the floor and shoes kicked to the side, you walked into the living room where dean looked up at you and sent you a small smile. he noticed the fatigue in your eyes and posture, moving to pat his lap for you to sit on. You found your way onto his lap, legs wrapping around his waist as he moved to lay down. you hands moved under his back to hold him properly and one of his arms snaked around your waist, the other moving to brush a hand through your hair. his head lifted up slightly to press a kiss onto the top of your head.

“bad day?”

“very. but it’s slightly better now.”

“you’re very welcome babygirl”

z - zzzzzzzzzzzz’s (sleeping routine)

dean would be in bed before you every night without fail as you’d be sat doing coursework till late. but he always stayed awake till you made your way into the room and held out his arms for you to climb into and rest your head on his chest. his hands would go straight to your hair and brush through them softly, lulling you into a deep sleep that he too would fall into soon after you.

#1917 #dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman imagine #tom blake #tom blake x reader #tom blake imagine #george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #will schofield #will schofield x reader #will schofield imagine

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brainsdivided · 4 years

Text

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 3

5 September 2293

It took a couple weeks for them to finally get to the Legion's territory. When they did they were on an old highway in the middle of an empty desert. A few legionaries approached them, asking the pair questions. Joshua explained they were traders looking to buy brahmin to transport the stock they’ll purchase. The bandages, he explained that he was beginning to undergo ghoulification and he wished not to expose his appearance to others’ view. With his explanation being satisfactory and reasonable, they were allowed to pass into the town close by, dubbed a ‘free’ town within the Legion. Such towns paid tribute and serve the Legion, but are allowed to trade and act unimpeded to allow for trade to flourish.

The sleeves of Ezekiel’s shirt were stained with blood. Sluggish and nervous, the boy stuck closeby to his caregiver, afraid of the Legion environment that now surrounded them. He whispered softly, "Dad said that your name is forbidden here, is that true?"

"Nobody must know who I am. For them my name is Joshua Danson, traveling trader. They allow traders to roam around freely."

Walking past a few old world buildings, the boy could make out a bar, brothel and even a casino. "Legion doesn't like these places but allows certain places to keep them... for a price. Stay away from them."

Ezekiel nodded then coughed, "Uncle Joshua, I feel dizzy and I'm tasting metal.” As he walked his legs grew heavy, making him lean against Joshua’s side as they walked.

"We're seeing the doctor now." Joshua supported the boy and walked towards a sandcrete house with a large red cross painted upon it.

It was almost as though his legs gave away as soon as they walked through the door and the boy's grip tightened onto Joshua's arm.

One of the nurses rushed over immediately to help the two. Joshua explained that the boy was suffering from radiation poisoning and they had no more medicine for him. Moments later Ezekiel was in a dark room on an IV drip.

“I’ll be back soon.” Joshua gave Ezekiel a pat on his hand before standing upright and giving the nurse some Legion coin as he left to find some supplies.

While Joshua was gone, Ezekiel had napped for what felt like a short while. He was cut from his slumber by a sudden wretch, resulting in him vomiting on himself.

When Joshua came back to the small clinic with the doctor in tow, Ezekiel was being cleaned up and changed.

A dripping of blood from Ezekiel's nose soon, though nothing new. He just wiped it with the sleeve of his new shirt. Feeling the nausea and metallic taste coming on again, he quickly turned his head to the bucket on the floor, vomiting once more. Wiping his bloodied mouth and nose on his shirt, his brown eyes gazed up at his caregiver, who worried for the boy.

The doctor looked over Ezekiel’s face and body. "You weren't kidding about the radiation poisoning. Unfortunately we've had it rough this year, too. Rad-X and Radaway aren’t too common out here where most of it has been used or stored away. The NCR would have more than us. Whatever you found with traders is what is available in this town. All I can do is give an assessment on the severity and his presumed lifespan. I'm just going to go through a checklist to determine that." He put his hand on the boy's forehead, touched his neck, and under his arms. "A bit of a fever. Vomiting is obvious, as well as hemorrhaging. Skin looks pale and his eyes are sunken.” As the doctor made his way performing a physical check-up, he asked Joshua and Ezekiel questions regarding symptoms and concerns.

The doctor concluded the check-up once the questions were answered then Joshua spoke up, "I have been able to buy two doses of rad-away, how much would that improve his status?"

"Maybe 2 more weeks. Hard to say really, because he might not be dealing with just radiation now, he could very easily pick up another illness. Now, unless you find enough to rid him entirely of it, he will have about an extra month in total. You might have better luck in another town." The doctor shook his head sorrowfully before leaning towards Joshua and whispering, "if he starts having seizures and his words begin to slur, I'd say to just comfort him. He's going to be confused and scared. Return back to his home and his family."

Joshua nodded softly. "Not a long time... I see. Do you think... the New Vegas Clinic could help? With an implant perhaps?”

The doctor shrugged, "Possibly. I haven't experimented with those. I'm not sure if they'd work on a kid. Seriously though, you're an uncle. His parents should see him first."

"His parents passed not long ago... that implant though, it could be his only option... the boy doesn't deserve this. Then it is decided, I will take him to the clinic in Vegas."

Sighing, the doctor nodded and bid them farewell. After paying the medical professional, Joshua helped Ezekiel out the door.

There was a long pause, the boy trying to find the right words to put together his thoughts. Having caught some of what was discussed and with news that confirmed his fate, he felt and thought so much and his mind raced. What he could do now or rethink what he could have done differently. For now, he just slipped his hand into Joshua's, not knowing what else to say or think.

Joshua glanced down at the boy and gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "We are going to Vegas. It's a little more than a week from here. I am not giving up yet and neither should you."

Ezekiel’s lips quivered, "I'll try to keep up with you. I will make this whole thing up to you." He spoke meekly. "I'll take your book more seriously. If things get worse or take a turn for the worst, it's my last hope, right?"

"Don't worry about it, son. You just tell me when it gets too much."

"What if I get too tired?" He whispered.

Joshua spoke with conviction, "Then I'll carry you. Just as I carry the burdens the Lord has rested upon me, I will carry yours as well. Your pain, I will add onto my own.”

Smiling up at Joshua, he let go of his hand and instead, wrapped one arm around Joshua’s back and began walking in sync with Joshua, doing his best to keep up with the older man's stride. In turn, Joshua rested his own arm across the boy’s shoulders.

"Are there any dangers on the way to Vegas?" Ezekiel questioned.

Joshua held the boy close. "Not here in Legion territory. It's the safest area of the wasteland. In NCR controlled territory... well, they don't stamp out the dangerous wildlife much. Including bandits and raiding bands.”

"Dad said that whenever he traveled with you, he'd get irritated sometimes. You would clear out groups of yao gui, mantises, and White Legs faster than he could reload and take aim! The second he took aim, he'd have to readjust because you ended up in view and he didn't want to hurt you, of course. With skills like that if anyone tried to tell me that I'm not safe with you then I don't know who I'd be safe with." Talking with his free hand, he waved in front of the both of them trying to tell the story with his hand.

"Well... he exaggerated a bit there. I usually try getting a bit closer with my pistol, yes. Him using a rifle he always stayed behind and took calculated shots over long distances while I let the Lord guide my shots... and fire many of them."

"Yeah I know. He told me that you put a bunch of bullets into Salt-Upon-Wounds. You know if your aim is true, and as good as Dad said it is, you only needed 1 bullet." He joked. "Sometimes too, he'd tell us all the swears he'd spew every time you ran into the sights of his gun, right before he'd go and pull the trigger."

"You better not repeat them, boy." Joshua warned. "You see, when you want a man dead, you need to make sure he is really dead. I am the best example myself. Caesar wanted me dead. He and his assassins failed to see that through. I am not going to make that mistake with anyone I engage with.” He sighed, “I see a lot of your father in you. He was far from perfect, but he was a good man and in these trying times, that is more than I could ask for."

"You cared for him, then? He said it was hard to tell how you felt about him. You'd never really tell him how you felt and that he never knew if he was going to wake up again in Zion some nights because he was afraid he'd tick you off somehow.”

"You see, I may not show it, but he was a man I respected. A warrior. He treated me with respect, too. Even with our disagreements."

Ezekiel looked thoughtfully up at the Arizona sky, thinking of his late father. “I’m sure he figured that.” His eyes flickered back to Joshua, where their eyes met for a brief moment. The pair smiled lightly at each other and held one another closely as they walked, appreciating the company. Looking back on the road, the two followed the road ahead, back towards the desert in which Ezekiel had run from when his family was ripped from him.

#shattered hearts and broken dreams #The title is a work in progress #fallout new vegas #By Me and Igelfish (Not a tumblr user)#ezekiel cassidy #Joshua Graham #Blood #Vomiting #Parental death

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strawberryspeachy · 5 years

Text

So when i watched death note in high school it made me curious about real japanese police work. I read about it alot and came to the conclusion that their justice system isnt too great.

Im currently upset that a coworker who i took as a friend - not only disliked me all along - but went as far as to lie about me to get me in trouble. That no one cared to hear my side. That i was fired on the spot. That people turned their back on me immediately. That no one cares.

Well. 17 year old me would have said. But of course. In Japan your guilty until proven innocent. That japanese put on a show but dont truely like most people. That they band together and will go out of their way to avoid any kind of conflict. That they care more about a pretty appearance than solving anything. 17 year old me that only heard and read about Japan knew these things. 17 year old me imagined this cool different country that works because theyre proud of this... performance way that they live. And i was amused by it. All i knew was america and european history. I was so hungry for something different. I was so interested in different people.

Then I went to Japan. I got here and it was too similar to manga. How silly, i thought, those a comics - i didnt actually expect the country to be like those comics. And ive never really been able to place what that made me feel but id grown past this bemusement of different “alien like” people. Theyre just people who live in another country i thought. I dont like america and our norms. I know nothing but america but i dont agree with any of our steriotypes. You cant describe me the way most would try to describe a typical american. So why would people from any other country be different. Im sure theres people like the sterotype - but certainly more not at all like that.

And i got here and i watched the smiles on service workers slowly fade when they thought no one was watching. I watched children put trash where it didnt belong thinking no one was watching. I was girls laugh loudly and run around and yell at their boyfriends. I watched drunk college kids hollar and reak havoc in the city. Not robot people, not obedient children, not, quiet and demure girls listening to the men, not studious students worried about their reputation. Just people. The same people i saw back home.

And so i thought. Its the same. Different history. Varrying values. Same old people - judgmental and watching everyone ready to scold them if they deem it necessary.

But that guilty until prooven innocent thing. The fact that the old way of caring about your reputation is still a solid work practice.

These things. Make me feel like... i guess.... to my dissapointment. Maybe america really is more free...

I dont want that to be true. The us is so full of itself. Just like healthcare. I want universal health care to be a good thing and at very least in japan its not really. Its better. Its more affordable. Maybe their problem is just how much they hate drugs and thats what stops real care.

But. Ive always been a cautious person - i just dont want to get in trouble. But ive never thought id be in a situation i couldnt talk my way out of - because i dont do anything super bad. Maybe sometimes ive pressed the limits - but never outside of... like i drank underage. I tried to get into bars i wasnt old enough for. Ive dodged paying for the train fare. Dumb things. Things that the worse that would happen is i gotta pay it somehow or id get scolded. Drinking under age is against us law but its almost never taken too seriously.

But its occurred to me. Yeah. In japan it is guilty until prooven innocent. I really could have gotten in legal trouble for baseless allegations.

And japan is as racist and people say. Theyre friendly and try to talk to you in english and say nice things. And it doesnt seem like racism to a person from the states. Out racist look at you with digust. They wont touch you. They wont talk to you. They dont want to know about you

But here... it takes the form of a racist parent who grew up in the 50s and knows that theyre not supposed to be racist but still is.

Theyre welcoming and friendly to your face but talk shit behind your back. They ask a bunch of questions like (in america “where are you really from”) they refuse to accept you might actually belong. They constantly want to assert how different you are so instesd of telling you that your different - they ask questions or explain what theyre doing. And if you say ‘yes we also do this’ they react with disbeleif - what? No! You couldnt possibly get this - this is our thing and you are not us! And they constantly ask if you miss your home. Assume that you’re uncomfortable because they are. Also also. Instred of not wanting to touch you here - theyre much more willing to push you out of the way

Theres many mixed race kids here now though. I assume theyll have to do the same thing that happened in America. I havent met any mixed race adults but ive met plenty of white dads.... all trying super hard to assimilate to the point that they walk around talking like robots. Swearing that everything japan is great and they dont miss their home cointries at all. Pretty similar to the immigrants of america from when my mom was a kid.

So i still think at least for japan. Theyre way more similar to the west than they think they are. But these restricting regulations that they live by... really does make the country seem not as free as id ignorantly beleived it was.

It surprised me because their rules are so much like the way my great grandmother talked about stuff. And while were supposed to care... we just dont in the states. Respect your employer? Sure we say we do to their face but talk shit with coworkers. Worry about your reputation? Eh think im a bitch i dont give a fuck whatcha gonna do about it? Nothing thats right. Dont like another person? No one cares. Like that person or dont - it doesnt change anyone elses relationship with them. Make a mistake? Well if your boss fires you - everyone already probably thinks their an asshole cause generally mistakes are just met with some form of dickwaving belittlement. Pretty sure most of us get mad everytime we hear a story about someone getting fired because they posted a picture of them in a bikiki or having fun - most of this generation agrees thats dumb and has to change.

I feel more like an american now than ever. Americans are reluctant to change im told. Yes. I suppose we are. We might not know the rest of the worlds history but we kinda know our own. And as much as ive alwags agreed with the sentiment that cultures are different and thats just the way they want to be.... we used to be these ways but decided it was restrictive and controlling and mentally abusive and fought it...

Ive been reading more about the work culture in japan to figure out how he fuck this went so wrong. Apparently when young japanese people enter the work force, they cant even have friends as distractions outside of work because their boss will move them away from home.

Ive already read that japanese think suffering is good and seniority and witness first hand their preoccupation of appearing busy over actually being productive. Its just this constant performance.

Perhaps i did stress him out to the point of physical pain. I remember having a massive meltdown where i shook and it felt like my brain was melting after i tried so hard to be a good nice person. I did whag people apparently like. I changed myself to just agree with people and be positive and assume the best in everyone. Then my “friend” told me that i was a bad friend because i asked them if they would people drive their friends home so i could to sleep at 4am. And the two things just didnt click. I didnt go to sleep that night. I sat at my desk shaking for the next 5 hours and having flashbacks.

Im talkative. I talk as much as i do here in real life. And i have alot of questions. I talked to him a lot. Made him look not busy. I know he liked talking to me. I know he did. Thats why i got confortable talking more. He was always surprised when i asked him questions about himself but once he started answering he kept talking. Yeah. Its nice to have someone ask you what your thoughts are on topics. What your experiences have been. Did you like those things or not. I know japan it a group think culture - i guess they get there by really draining out ANY idea of individualality. He told me hed never been asked what he likes about himself. In the us were asked that constantly from elementary school “what do you like about yourself. What do you like about your friend. What makes you different?”

It kinda baffles me... questions and thoughts like these are so common in anime.... and obviously anime is popular in japan. Obviously obviously. Im confused how theyre watching these programs often with such deep meanings.... and not taking anything away from them. In the states our tv programs are always being restricted and stuff because they might give us “bad ideas” but they aren’t restricted here and yet... it seems no one takes anything from them

When i visited japan in 2013 i saw a teenage girl in huge heels lose her balance and stomp on a middle aged womans foot. That woman had already been standing like her feet were in pain and she made a face of being in so much pain. The girl rudely didn’t apologize and the older woman said nothing. She smiled through her pain...

And i also complained to my coworker. Not full on complaining. The small ones you make at work when youre not sure of the extent you can go to. At first he held off like the other teachers. But. Then. He started complaining back. It got to me not needing to be the one say an annoyance first. Like i asked how his meeting was. Other people i worked with might leave it ah it was a bit slow but necessary. And he started that way. But instead he started responding to me a succession of statements the slowly crept more toward his real feelings. ‘It was good... we didnt do much... or anything, i just sat and listened and took notes. we dont learn anything, it takes up a lot of time but we have to go. I dont like those meetings. I dont know their pupose... but were told to go so we must’

Whatever. Im just gonna keep rambling and complaining about this cause it sucks and is awful. Contracted woth my company i wasnt allowed to publically critisize japan. I imagine thats why you dont often find many things on the internet complaining. You will literally be unemployable if your name is attached to critisisms of this country.

Where as everyone can come to the states and tell us to our faces how much we suck and how much cooler their countries are. And generally the younger general is just kinda like - ‘you right’ people write articles all the time shit talking the states and we just go ‘ya we deserve that’ we do. Im not saying dont do that... but like... maybe just maybe. Were doing the good thing where were like

Haha call us fat! We are fat. We love us some mcdonalds. Hm.... why though. Actually we need to fix that. Why are people eating so unhealthy? What is the underlying cause of this problem? Lets try to work on that - and then we fight amoungst ourselves.

I like that... i like thay thing we do

In the states you might not want to become a ‘whistleblower’ and in some industrys you might get black listed for something dumb. But at least we talk about it and agree its a problem. In japan no one wants to even admit they have problems.

Know what else i told him. I talked about how were overworked in the states. That our work culture has gotten too similar to japans and we hate it. No one working 80 hour weeks thinks that they should have to do that. Of course i didnt go about it that way. I told him that my friends back home work 80 hour weeks and its unhealthy. That i cant work that much and refuse to. He i imagine counted how many hours he works and laughed and i said - oh haha yea i guess you also work that much. And he looked so much like he wanted to cry about it in the same way my friends back home. But said its natural in japan and that hes gotten used to it. But he definitely didnt mean it as he said it. I told him my friends say that as well. That i think theyre workaholics and i personally cant do it. That when work calls them they always pick up the phone even when they dont want to. But i dont do that. When my job called me as a server id ignore it and call them back later when it was too late for me to be asked to come in and ask them what they wanted.

Maybe to him my stories felt like when i read about students in europe being allowed to not go to school without reprucussions. It made HAVING to go to school evem more annoying. Why cant we choose to take breaks? I heard that place doesnt have homework - meanwhile im given at least 6 hours work a night! Not everyone has to do this? Other places learn things for fun?? They dont have to keep up with standardized exams that dont account for different teachers and school districts?? A 50% in that country isnt a failing grade???

Those were already shitty things but to read about them not bein universal did make having to endure it more upsetting.

Doesnt change that im stoll upset with him for not saying anything to me. Doesnt change that im mad that he made stuff up.

Really me rambling on about this doesnt change my presepective on any of it. Im just bitching

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pinkpoundcake · 6 years

Text

DESERT DEVIL

CH. 1 THE HISS

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

NSFW AU ( Yes there’s smut)

4k+ words

Here’s the first chapter of something I’ve been working on during off time at school. I like writing drastically different AUs, because they give me a lot liberties. I intend for this to be a short series, so maybe two or three more chapters after this one. Hope ya enjoy if you read!

I’m not sure if FF.net will allow second person, so I’m posting it here. I aint got no AO3. I also apologize for any mistakes! I’ll go back an’ fix as I see em.

EDIT: Went back and fixed some things. Also, I changed the category of this fic. I’m warning the reader that you’re an OC! Kinda like you’re a preset character in a dating sim? If that makes any sense. Those be my only terms of free service.

Dusk had gone and night finally draped over the still view of the valley. You were a silly girl, really. No one in their right mind would pick now of all times to draw water from one of the wells. Maybe once upon a time they would have. It wasn't impractical to wait until the sun stopped cracking its infernal whip to get things done, but once upon a time, the valley had nothing to fear.

II.

You were walking quickly. You kept your wooly head low as you neared the crudely built structure. Only one bucket of water. No one would mind. You just couldn't go to bed with a clear conscience without finally giving your poor, overworked horse something to drink. You'd take the risk, because glory knows you hated having cottonmouth. It was cottonmouth season...all year round it felt, except for the few praise inducing weeks the sky would show mercy and weep. Dry mouth, dry eyes, dry coat, dry everything. Such is the way of the desert.

You gave your heavy water bag a hard yank to make sure it was sealed before you hightailed it back to your plot. The locust had stopped gossiping in the weeds, and it was making you nervous.

III.

You were the sort of gal who liked to blend in, but your talents made that hard. You had an ability, A Gift, as folks liked to call these sorts of things, that made you incredibly valuable for trade.

You engaged in it as well, because you had to, to get along, but it made you an easy volun-telling target for other croppers and craftsmen and all manners of citizens with business

“Could you chat with this fellow for me? He speaks...sumfin’. The hell if I know. He owes me money.”

“Tell that eastern cheapskate I won't go any lower on price!”

“Hey, goat girl, tell the front counter dame in the Apothecary she's welcome in my bunk any time of day~”

First of all, you were a sheep. Second of all...fine.

IV.

Your Gift was nice for the most part. You had your own upper hand when it came to sale. You could understand anyone, no matter the spoken language. Absolutely essential for such an oddly diverse patch of scorched Earth. You could even help filter a speaker to an entire audience if you held their hand. You didn't like to advertise that though, otherwise the mayor and sheriff and whoever else, would be breathing down your neck even more than they did now.

If no one around knew you, then they usually assumed your appearance was all there was to your Gift. So, what you loved most was eavesdropping. Conversations were mostly mundane in other languages. That's how talking worked, but there were days when you were served some pretty interesting dirt or juicy news by unknowing hosts.

They're going to start rationing water tomorrow. Some serious limits, I reckon.

I didn't think it would be this bad this year?! It rained just enough in the early season, didn't it? I wonder where it all goes.

You wonder the same. It gets worse and worse every year. Every year it's a point of serious tension. They don't call this valley Struggler for nothing. Struggling was this town's first, middle, and last time. Maybe it's old maiden name, too.

The commonality is, is that if you made it halfway through the desert, you stopped in this crowded, little town and clung to it for dear life. You personally knew what it was like. Everyone knew what it was like, to fear that you weren't going to make it to The Oasis at the end of your journey. After the promenade that chewed you up, and spat you out, you don't even try.

We don't have enough water for all the people we keep letting stay here!

But what kind of person could keep a cold heart here? What would it take to let someone waste away elsewhere, or worse, face the beast this desert had to offer.

The Hiss.

More chilling than a rattlesnake's warning.

This broad blue sky. The hard clay and sand beneath his form, the cacti, the dry bones and evaporated watering holes. Every scavenger to circle overhead belonged to him.

The hard, hot wind. The mirages that danced in nauseating ribbons. They were his. He could lift his head, and think about howling to his old lovers, the stars, if he still had the singing voice. But he lost that a long time ago with one of his lungs. He was getting old, too, but his bloodlust was getting stronger every year, along with a lot of puzzling urges.

He hated that he could only claim his seared kingdom at night, but it couldn't be helped. He was a partial coward who couldn't hope to understand himself. He still had a deep sense of decency. He was a hypocrite, in a sense. He didn't want to be a bother during the day, if he was such a big bother at night. But being a menace at night was to be a nuisance in the day, regardless.

And nuisance was...too light of a word. Far too light. Crows in his sunflowers were nuisances. Locust in his house were nuisances.

Him?

Oh, he was

VI.

“A killer...A fuckin’ killer!”

You watched as the town sheriff swore and covered the body of a, now former, foreman with a bit of canvas. Splotches of blood bloomed in the fabric over the inclines of the older man's face. From what you saw, he was mauled real good. Or...bad. A big bite right out of his jugular, clavicle, and most of his left shoulder. You weren't the only sick one in the crowd. You would have upchucked your breakfast if this wasn't something you were becoming accustomed to.

First it was Mr. Dandy, gnawed out chest, who used to rally up hunting parties with the German twins who could shoot right out of their fingers, no guns needed. Then it was Eclair, you didn't know her last name, who sold pungent perfume from her own sweat out of her tacky little shop. Y'all never found her head. Big Cat Capri from Cameroon, was torn in two. Though he was a menace with a forgettable Gift that wasn't much missed. Then there was another fellow. Japanese you think, but actually he was still limping around somewhere.

The only one to see The Beast and live… The fella's pretty busted up as far as you know.

Anyway, time for another funeral.

VII.

Speaking of that old Japanese fellow…

You didn't give him much of a glance at any given day, but you could see him out of the corner of your squared pupils, watching you hand off chunks of unwashed wool to craftsmen who were probably going to fashion saddles or boots. It wasn't quite the right time to start plucking from your melon patch, or any of the desert dates, so you were selling off some old stock of your hair. Everyone knew it was your hair, and no one really cared.

God, you couldn't recall his name. You've never actually heard him speak, but the fella always sat at the posts near the trading square and just watched the street; waiting for someone with their hands full to need help lacing up their boots. Or for someone's goat to go astray so he could bring it back to them. Or to help some kid out on errands tether their family horse. You wonder why he would go through those little efforts on a limp. He walked with a cane, bright red like a dragon, with a yellowing cattle horn handle. He wore a big brimmed, leather hat so that he didn't catch perpetual sunburn, thick slacks, a poor fitting button up that used to be white, and strapped riding boots, too, but no spurs.

He was a strange sight, you noted with slight nervousness as he stood, and then made his way over to your shabby booth. He was a tall, tall, tall fella. Tall and skinny, like he didn't fancy eating much. You knew a couple of people who were like that. He had wild, blonde hair, he obviously didn't comb. And honestly, he had the prettiest blue eyes. At least you assumed they were. He was swallow enough that his eyes were sunk deep beneath his brow, but that blue struck out like an aimed double barrel. It made you wonder what he looked like when he was a colt.

“Afternoon, sir,” You cleared your throat. You watched his face to gauge how much he understood you. You didn't want to be rude. “No food. Just some wool today.”

The older man, squinted, seemingly thinking, and then gestured to your freshly sheared head with the handle of his cane.

“It's all mine, yes.” You laughed and scratched one of your horns to release some of your anxiousness.

“How...How much for it?” His accent was somewhat thick, but you were happy you wouldn't have to reach out and grab one of his massive hands to get on some equal ground.

“Five pieces for a small bundle. Ten for the big bundles there.” You watched the fellow consider which size, and then finally he made a decision. Slowly he lifted one of the large cottony wads, and then absentmindedly brought it to his nose. He gently inhaled the intriguing scent there.

You stared, perplexed, and confused. He seemed to pick up on your confusion, and righted himself. He gave you his own awkward smile, almost an apology for…whatever that was. He counted out ten small pieces for you, politely dipped his head with a thank you, and then moseyed along.

Strange…

VIII.

He was drunk. Absolutely drunk, and he'd never had a drop of liquor in his life. Tequila couldn't have been stronger than this. Your scent, your scent was so...He didn't know.

Good.

It made him hungry for things he'd forgotten the name of, forgotten how to describe. He didn't know what he was doing alone in the shack he called his home. Hiding his shame maybe. He'd locked the door with the big expensive chains and padlocks ( that were decor at this point) from the top shelf hours ago as night began to fall. He was paranoid, and feeling ravenous for a completely different, mysterious reason from what he was used to.

He held your wool in one hand, pressing it flush to his nose as he paced from one side of his home to the other. The misaligned floor groaned and weazed beneath his heavy, bare footsteps. His shadow, flickered from a candle or two, and swept the peach papered walls like a dark, lumbering menace.

What was it that he wanted now?!

He didn't understand himself anymore! There was no one to teach him his purpose.

He inhaled again, deep. His exhale emerged with a low rumble. It rattled the chains strapping the front and back door, and shifted the glass in the kitchen window.

It was happening again much too soon.

There used to be a time when he could command the other half of himself. Where he could be whoever he wanted, whenever, but now he was stripped to nothing but incomprehensible impulses.

His wrath. His hunger. His pride.

Something new. His lust.

IX.

You just finished putting the blanket on Kissy, your horse, when the stars began to rub the long day from their eyes and glint down at you. Though still warm, the wind rolled over your fuzzy scalp and settled in the cooling sweat beneath your dark hide. You rubbed your arms, figuring you could use a blanket, too. Your draft's loud chewing in the stable cover was a calming background noise as it mingled with your thoughts. The flat distance, with it's mountainous levels was a pretty sight, despite being empty.

You've always wanted to roam at night, finally figure out what that fabled Oasis was on the other side of hell. You hoped it was heaven, or something close. You wanted to explore more than your town, to see what was out there while the sun wasn't scheduling your funeral. You were bored of being too scared. Stressed with not having enough of the bare minimum essentials. Lonely, too. Kissy kept you company, maybe, but he wasn't all that good with conversation or cooking.

He wasn't good at stopping you from taking 'walks’ either. You found all sorts of excuses for yourself to roam at night. Kissy needed more water, or you needed to find some wild aloe for a wound, or you needed to find sand grubs for your greedy gossip of chickens.

Excuses, excuses.

Mr. Aizawa, was another Japanese fellow (you think), who wasn't the sheriff, but probably could have been. He'd tell you you were full of excuses. The town had a curfew of sorts to 'keep people safe’. Under what authority this curfew came from, you had no clue. If you were caught, the runner up sheriff hogg tied you with a lasso and a warning, and dragged your sorry, law breaking ass back home. Or fined you. Something like that.

He had an annoying Gift that kept others from using their Gifts to get away. You didn't know how he did it. Much to what was probably Deputy Aizawa's disdain, he was plucked out of the crowd the day he arrived. He had a scruffy grifter appearance, but the fellow was awfully strict, perfectly bilingual in relation to you, and knew exactly what your own Gift entailed, so you couldn't pretend you didn't understand any of his honorary demands.

You didn't even give yourself a chance to consider he might be out and about on patrol. You didn't even consider where the hell you were going. All you knew was that you were:

Literally and figuratively hard headed.

And

Dumb as rocks because it was half past night noon, and anywhere beyond the aloe thicket was Hiss county.

The danger zone.

A scent was a scent was a scent. Something to follow to a target. His prey were rotten. He caught the next foul stench on the hit list floating on the western wind. It filled his flared nostrils and made his mouth water with anticipation. His long, thick fingers were still raw and full of splinters from clawing his way out from his pathetic attempts at shutting himself in.

The night was a blur. He was unbothered by the grit he kicked up in his full run. Adrenaline pumped in his veins with the incredible accumulation of power that drove him. There was a roar in his ears. Something he rushed by sliced him; thin little scratches in several places, but he didn't notice. His heart thrashed beneath his ribs as he sensed himself drawing closer and closer.

Wait.

Suddenly, he came to a halt, giving the surrounding weeds severe whiplash.

Everything aside from his heart and his laboured breathing were still. Not a sound from any creature. Nothing was brave enough to disturb him.

There was something... something else on the wind he wanted much, much more that seemed to be coming from the same direction.

XI.

The last thing you wanted to hear was a voice while you were trying to be sneaky. You kept your body low and tucked your tail close to the full round of your bottom. It was going so nicely, your 'stroll’. You were going to take some notes in one of your books, maybe stuff some natural souvenirs in your pocket, and then head back home.

You held still for a while and used a few big, healthy stragglers of agave as your cover. You were hearing the voice again, now two voices. You didn't know what dialect they were speaking, so you closed your eyes, and used your Gift.

He's been shelling out a lot for this reroute. Keeping a lot of people's mouths shut. It's gonna be a lot harder to get this done without the foreman.

Yeah, I thought that, too. It's strange. I'm sorta...spooked. Mr. Dandy and now him. You’d think this whole thing was cursed.

Or someone knows…

They looked mauled, couldn't have been some poor bastard with a pistol. What do they call the thing that's been chewing people up?

Depends on who you talk to. Yok... something. Yokay? Yokai? Chupacabra, though it's not gettin’ goats, that's for sure. Werewolf. Howler. Beast. Plain old monster.

I just hope it's a coincidence. I don't want to be next…

Now...what in the world we're these fellers talking about? You frowned while quietly slinking around to another perch. You watched your footing and hoped they would talk more, but now they were getting further and further away. Headed…somewhere.

Somewhere you kept your eye on. Might want to check it out next time you take a stroll.

XII.

The air pressure flipped like a coin and cut through your moment of reprieve.

Bullseye.

You were so shocked you couldn't even scream. It was caught in your throat with a pinch of desert sand. Something massive and unyielding and menacing had ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

The sky was spinning round and round as the earth teetered wild on its axis. The moon was mocking you. The stars cackled as they danced, blurry streams trailing like faded candle lights behind them.

There was a black patch of sky that didn’t budge, and it only held two stars far above that didn't move either. Because they weren't stars,

they were vivid blue eyes.

XIII.

This was it. This was how you were going to die.

You were already nauseous from hitting you head, and now you were nauseous from hitting reality. You couldn't make a sound, could hardly breathe. Your throat burned like a shot of fireball. Your eyes were wide as you tried to make out the Beast's form. It was hard, with hot tears in your eyes, now shrouding the moon’s pale light. You could hear him, though, the hiss of death. It was high pitched, akin to the sizzle of a hot brand.

Would it have ripping fangs when it bit you? We're those its claws digging into your ankles as it dragged you elsewhere? You were in a bit of pain, and you could sense the stickiness of blood on your back, but you were mentally preparing yourself for a lot more. Images of the sheriff draping canvas over your mangled body caused you to wretch.

You were so stupid!!!!! SO GODDAMN STUPID. HOW COULD YOU PUT YOURSELF IN THIS SITUATION? NO WEAPON. NO NOTHING. THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. HOW COULD YOU-

It stopped.

You stopped.

Confusion boxed you good over the ears.

You were staring up into the face of a man now, and he was staring right back at you.

Your confusion subsided into renewed fear. He was just a man, but the most unnaturally large man you had ever seen. Large was the wrong word. He was...immaculate. A threadbare shirt was struggling to hold itself together as his massive chest flexed. He had a heavily shadowed face and unreadable, though somewhat tense expression. His golden hair stood upright on his forehead head, like a red bat's ears or jack rabbit. Pure, wild, chaotic energy wafted from the heat of his skin. He shifted slightly while sizing you, and your eyes darted to the massive, bear paw of a calloused hand on the other side of your head.

He could sneeze and snap your neck. You believed he could tear a man in two. Oh God in heaven, he did! And you were next!

The Beast made a sudden movement, and you shut your eyes. You clenched everything from your horned head, to your cleft, hooven toes, and waited.

You had no choice but to hold your breath as his big, otherworldly body pressed into yours. It felt like being pressed between something more solid than a rock, and a really hard place. His breath, that you realized was rushed, cooly ghosted your forehead. Was he going to take your noggin like Eclair and mount it over his fireplace?

Greedily, he was drinking in your scent. So much stronger, so much better right from the source. He had to sample more of you. Sip you. Lap you up.

Where was it?! Where was more?!

You didn't think you could tense beyond how much you were tensed now, but you did as his nose left your head to wedge its way up into your neck. You felt the unnatural rumble of his voice in the hollows of your bones, filling your throat and chest. You prepared for hard, life ending bites, but all you received we're moderately painful nips and what could only be described as sloppy kisses. He received the sensation of kissing your fur with intrigue and almost groomed it with a big, wide tongue.

You didn't know what to say, or what to do. He hadn't said a word. You didn't know if the brute mounting you was really human, or …Something. Was all of this even real? Or were you home, wet dreaming about a good rut in your bunk again?

He needed more! More! More! More! Where was more of you?!

He left you one last bite on your shoulder that you were ashamed made you bellow out like the animal you were similar to. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late, the sound excited him. His nose grazed you, his rapid breaths through his nose like the pumping steam from a piston, a panting dog, frantically looking for more of your tastes and smells. Your clothes were in his way, but he didn't have the patience or current cognition to remove them.

He rubbed his cheeks against your generous chest, nipped your stomach through your tattered apron, and then zipped straight to your crotch. You were shocked as he unashamedly, obliviously, pressed his face there and very audibly inhaled. There was another rumble, loud enough to buzz through your entire body.

“A-Ah!” You cried out. The sharp, pleasurable tingle and sting from his deep voice, the pressure from his cheeks, and the heat of his breath was sudden. You were so…you were…

You could end this year's drought right here, right now.

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to access the situation. To think! To sort out what in the HELL was happening, but he had ripped through your overalls with his teeth and was lapping at your plump pussy through your knickers. He'd sniffed out the wetness that had slickened the fabric and was eager to taste. You moved closer and hissed out a pathetic Yeeessss!

Whimpering, you tried to push yourself up on your elbows. Your shoulders hit some hard, cool clay and the back of your head scraped more of the rough rock there. He was suckling like a thirsty calf, drawing the fabric of your knickers into the heat of his mouth along with your long, throbbing clit beneath. The suction was strong, unrelenting, almost painful.

“H-hey, hey! Easy, partner!” Your thighs involuntarily snapped around his head, but he was undeterred. You shoved your hands against his brow, trying to get him to release.

“Please!” You were relieved when he finally did, but it was only for some adjustments. The brute drew his hands beneath your legs and dragged you further into the shadow so he could keep his meal all to himself.

His mouth attacked you again and you wriggled and writhed. Your own breath matched his labored huffs. You bit chunks out of your sense of morality while you bit your lip. With a shaking hand, you brought your clawed fingers to your crotch. His thick tongue grazed your knuckles as you worked to tug the fabric aside and reveal your dark, generous lips, and generously engorged clit beneath. He immediately took what you revealed to him, going from hungry to downright glutenous. You couldn't tell if the additional wetness you felt was from your own cyprine or slobber on his chin.

XIV.

“GOD!! Who are you?! What is your name?” Now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions, but again, you did say you were a silly woman. You gritted your teeth to attempt to contain your cries. He didn't respond at first. The only reply for several deliciously, agonizing moments was the thick, slurping sound of his attention between your legs. This stranger, no demon, was trying to shove his tongue as far up your womanhood as he could, and at this point, he had your loud, keening permission.

“AH! AHH!” Your slapped the hand that wasn't buried in his hair over your mouth again. You couldn't contain yourself. You'd never felt something like this before. You were a maiden who could only daydream, and you weren't sure if you could consider this that, or a nightmare.

“I said!” Your voice cracked and your back arched from the ground as you racketed up to an orgasm. Your voice was weary and hoarse. You were shrieking “what is your name?!”

He still had yet to respond, but if he chose now, you wouldn't have heard him. You came for the first time in your little life ( bless your heart); your mouth stretched wide open, waiting to catch flies. But all you caught was a big, wet kiss.

You could taste yourself. Taste his breath. Your legs were shaking. You were high like you'd been huffing gasoline, so you didn't put up a fight when he lifted you to his chest.

Someone was coming…

He had to take you elsewhere.

The open night sky. The owl judging you both from the whole it ate out a cactus. The earth beneath his feet. The howl of the wind as he ran and you both became a blur.

And you, clinging to his chest:

Belonged to him.

Chapter 1 End

#all might #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #writing #DESERT DEVIL

113 notes · View notes

midnight-circus · 5 years

Text

another bullshit meme

from sidebloggable

answered for logan and lucius bc i dont talk about my big dumb idiot enough

and im actually gonna answer for their original Fable timeline bc ive been feelin nostalgic recently

Their physical weak spots

Logan - depends on his age and/or stress-levels. He has a fair amount of upper body strength from swinging twin swords around all the fucking time, but it wouldn’t be ridiculously hard to overpower him if you could disarm and get hold of him - however, he’s fast, agile and extremely skilled, and it’s getting hold of him in the first place that’s the issue. In the middle of his reign, on the other hand, his body condition takes a dramatic dive - he’s pretty severely underweight and loses a lot of his muscle tone, and it really wouldn’t take much at all to best him.

Lucius - Lucius is a big, heavy mercenary who fights with a broadsword, so it’s hard to get the best of him in a one-to-one melee fight. However, he’s missing his left eye and is deaf in his left ear - subsequently if you use a little bit of stealth and come at him hard and fast from the left, you’ve got a pretty good chance of getting the jump on him. He’s also into middle-age and despite having decent reactions, a younger man of the same build as him might just pip him to the post.

Their emotional/moral weak spots

Logan - oh god lmao. Logan’s a mess, but his primary emotional weak spot is his siblings - be they his original two (hey queenie and dorian) or Morgan. I think he feels a bond that’s closer to paternal than fraternal, and I think the only way he can really justify to himself the pain he puts them through is telling himself he’s doing it for them. ok honestly, he will do fucking anything for them. at the climax of the revolution, the primary thought running through his head is how fucking proud he is. be nice if he said it out loud every once a while - hell, itd be nice if he’d just asked for some fuckin help before causing the literal death of hundreds of people - but yknow. thats just going one step too far i guess

Lucius - he’s a bleeding heart. when Morgan and his little band of rebels rock up in the Dweller village, Lucius is already there running supplies up and down the mountain to them; he watches way too many kids starve to death, and joins up with the rebels in order to lead them through Mourningwood. then he gets a crush on morgan’s little bitch face and just like. never leaves lmao. He’s easily blinded by injustice and gets worked up really quickly when he sees wrong being done - it can lead him to act recklessly or thoughtlessly at times.

Scars or painful spots

Logan - asides from the obvious scars across his lips (fencing wounds when he was a boy), he took some nasty damage from the Crawler during the three days he was trapped in the Auroran cave - he’s got a network of scars on his back that look a little like lashmarks. they hurt when they’re touched and he Does Not talk about them. he’s also got a few other scars here and there on his arms and chest from miscellaneous scraps and scuffles, and he has a deep puncture scar on his abdomen from an assassination attempt, but the less said about those the better.

Lucius - lmao Lucius is literally missing half his face to scar-tissue. he was attacked by a dog as a boy and it left him heavily messed-up. he’s also a merc, as i said, so he’s got a lot of miscellaneous old wounds but nothing quite as obvious as the ones his face.

Best places to kiss on their body

Logan - oh, the neck, bitch. he’s also kind of a slut for being kissed on the insides of his wrists; anywhere vulnerable, basically. if you could kill him there, kiss him there. freak-ass bitch.

Lucius - dude just likes a nice traditional french kiss man nothing crazy. but also definitely give him a blowjob. i know this question said kissing but lets be real thats kind of a kiss.

Guilty pleasures

Logan - he reads really terrible novels. like…really terrible. he pretends he’s reading something highbrow and intellectual but its actually a shitty romance recovered with something suitably acceptable and nobody can know

Lucius - he doesnt have any ‘guilty’ pleasures tbh, he just enjoys stuff unashamedly. he’s too thick to feel guilty

Their vices (physical or emotional)

Logan - lets be real, he’s probably done, like. an impressive amount of coke. i guess the terrible sleeping and eating habits are probably also a vice but like. it’s mainly the coke

Lucius - he smokes like a fuckin chimney

Their tickle spots

Logan - not only does he not have any, but you would also die for trying. Elrick disagrees.

Lucius - his ribs, but he is uncontrollably violent when he’s tickled so its a real good way to get a broken nose. he doesn’t mean to do it, he just spasms.

Bad memories/experiences

Logan - lmao. I’ll skip the most obvious (the 3-Day Auroran Extravaganza) because i think that goes without saying - it left him with crippling PTSD and damaged his mind heavily and insidiously. he was already pretty traumatised by his childhood and i think being forced into so many responsibilities so young also messed him up a little. it’s more like….rather one one or two specific experiences, its more just a general feeling of Bad that has stuck with him throughout his life. It was worsened by his later experiences, and essentially primed him for failure.

Lucius - yknow i was thinking about how to word the answer to this question and i realised that i accidentally made Lucius into Batman. His family farm was attacked and burnt to the ground by bandits when he was about 12; his parents and siblings were killed, and he only escaped by hiding in the coal-cellar. Later, he joined up with the mercenaries to try and track down the group that targeted them. fuck hes batman. i didnt mean to batman

Humiliating memories

Logan - oh man his father was a pro at humiliation. mistakes or oversights werent just punished, they were fuckin learned from, and he figured the best way to do this was humiliation - generally through public displays of What You Did Wrong and repeated recitations of the mistake in front of the people whose opinions Logan valued. It was kind of the catalyst for his inferiority complex and intense desire to succeed without input from others.

Lucius - again, Lucius doesn’t really experience embarrassment - he’s kind of too laid-back for it. yes, it was embarrassing the one time he fell over carrying two milk buckets and threw them all over himself in front of the handsome boy from the next farm over and the guy started laughing at him but like. you live and learn and the dude turned out to have a really ugly laugh anyway so who cares

Fears/phobias

Logan - he’s always had claustrophobia, but after the Auroran Experience this intensifies to a whole new level, and he also develops crippling nyctophobia. part of this is due to his hallucinatory psychosis - he sees things pretty much constantly, but it worsens in low lighting - but it’s also due to the fact that there may very well be actual Things in the dark and he struggles to tell reality from hallucination

Lucius - dogs. fuckin dogs. he hates dogs theyre literally so scary even the small ones bc the small ones move so quick and you never know when theyre gonna come at you

Bad or petty habits

Logan - oh, he’s just a petty bitch. he’s also outwardly arrogant, even if his internal feelings don’t match up to that. drily sarcastic, too, tho a person only really sees that when they get past the walls he throws up - Elrick is very familiar with it.

Lucius - he’s constantly standing to the right-hand side of people and then he wonders why he cant hear them properly

Grudges and vendettas

Logan - he’d hold a grudge against his father if he wasnt dead. he also holds a pretty heavy grudge against Theresa for not just fucking telling him.

Lucius - at first, only against the bandits that killed his family, but once he deals with them hes kind of at a loss as to where to go next. fortunately Logan starts starving people shortly afterwards, so if nothing else it gives him a kickstart into the rest of his life. Subsequently, Lucius will hold a vendetta against Logan for the rest of his life, even after he has been in a relationship with Morgan for years - he will never forgive him for the shit he put the common people through, and he doesnt really give a shit about the ~pressures~ Logan was under at the time. fuckin excuses, man.

Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Logan - his terrible sleeping/eating patterns. even before trauma and night-terrors made it almost impossible for him to sleep peacefully, he didn’t get more than 5 or 6 hours a night, if that.

Lucius - if something is smaller than him, he’ll protect it. he’ll also protect things bigger than him, if given half the chance. hes basically a golden retriever in human form, which is ironic considering his feelings about dogs.

What it takes to make them cry

Logan - would rather die than cry, quite literally.

Lucius - his heart is softer than butter, he’ll cry at anything. he’ll cry at an injured pigeon on the street.

Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

Logan - never, ever, ever talks about what happened in Aurora. The details die with him.

Lucius - he doesn’t really have any - he’s not ashamed of much in his life, and he’s never done anything terrible enough to render it a skeleton.

People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them

Logan - L M A O. yes, it affected him terribly, but tbqh however much its affected him kind of plays second fiddle to how much his actions affected other people.

Lucius - has killed a lot of people who deserved it during his mercenary years, and justifies it to himself by being absolutely certain that they did deserve it. sometimes he doubts this, though, and that doubt plays a big part in his eventually getting out of the game entirely

People who’ve influenced them greatly

Logan - Walter, tho he’ll never admit it in a million years and he still definitely kneecapped him right at the start of the game so idk what that says about him

Lucius - Morgan. it’s real gay, i know, but there it is.

#logan1 #lucius1

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sweetcatmintea · 6 years

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Atlas meets Ivan - Drabble

So, I haven’t got any new pictures for you guys, have a short drabble instead. It was a gift for @babydollneko but she said I could upload it here too :)

Moonlight filtered through the thin clouds overhead illuminating speckles drifting through the late-night air. Hard shingles stole the warmth through Atlas’ shirt, prompting shivers. He lazily took note of his leg dangling over the musty gutter pipe. A clean was long over due but the negligence was understandable, it was no simple task to clean the top of a three-story house. Hoisting himself into a sitting position, Atlas stretched his arms in front of him until there was a satisfying crack.

He wasn’t sure how long his nap had lasted but he felt refreshed enough. It was late afternoon when the summer heat left him lazing about, but that didn’t mean much to him. He had also been sprawled on Lady Clara’s ornate lounge, enjoying the firmness of the well-maintained upholstery and the gentle breeze tussling his bangs. To find himself waking on the roof of an unknown building in an unknown street was not how he expected the day to go. Surprising as it was, there was little mystery. Many an adventure in his youth was prompted by accidentally teleporting somewhere in his sleep. It was kind of like sleep walking, but with more stress for Lady Clara. He glanced at his wrist only to remember he had taken off his stylish purple gloves and accompanying compass cuff earlier in the day. This was going to make things more difficult. Oh well, no use sitting around worrying. Scaling down the building with relative ease, he decided to just explore for a little while. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity. Lady Clara was forever scolding him for roaming around like some tom cat. ‘Come home straight away!’ she’d say. ‘You’re never where you’re supposed to be! Disappearing to who knows where whenever the fancy takes you! Honestly, it’s a wonder I haven’t locked the doors by now!’ Translated roughly, she meant ‘I worry when you disappear, so I want you to come straight back.’ Atlas grinned into his knuckles. She was a funny lady, but certainly good quality. He was an adult now – more or less – and she had relaxed some. It helped that he wasn’t under her constant care and supervision anymore. Still, he’d just have a little look around, then head back. Or, at least, a little look, then try to work out where he would be coming back from. His current location was less important than where he wanted to be, but knowing it would probably help. Music pulsed faintly in the distance, a faint throb indicative of a nightclub type place. Given the back-alley vibes he was getting and the apparent late hour, the club would probably be inhabited primarily by drunks. Atlas sighed. He didn’t want to go amongst drunk people. It was probably the best bet for finding someone to ask his location. Ambling away, he put his money on the opposite direction. Going for the easiest route? Where was the adventure in that?

He must have been a fair way away from Lady Clara’s house. The wind carried a bite more tenacious than that of a summer. Atlas lamented the absence of his favourite dark grey coat. The fur trim, purple of course, was luxuriously soft and oh so fluffy. He really couldn’t complain though, years of waking up in unusual places ensured he was always reasonably covered when he rested. As funny as it would have been, he would not have appreciated exploring in only his boxers.

It wasn’t until the music had faded entirely, replaced with a cricket orchestra more suited to the country than such a populated area, that Atlas finally saw another person. A man, not much older than himself, busied himself opening the large roller doors of a … warehouse, maybe? The mechanisms made such a racket he didn’t notice Atlas approaching him. It was at this point Atlas realised he probably should have tried reading one of the street signs, he had no idea what the common language was here. Hoping it was one he knew, he cleared his throat, immediately catching the other man’s attention. Fabric spun and metal flashed. The knife stopping a mere finger’s width from Atlas’ skin. The two men appraised one another momentarily. This man, decidedly less harmless then Atlas first assumed, was slightly taller than him. His dark hair spiked from his head in organised chaos, complimented by a dark hoody and calculated grin. His teeth were clearly sharp, more so than Atlas’ unusually animalistic ones. Offering a placating smile, Atlas raised his palms to the man. He meant no harm. The switchblade returned to it’s hiding place in one smooth movement but remained at hand. The man’s posture relaxed, replaced with an easy confidence. Most reasonable people would be put off, intimidated even, by a man exuding danger and standing in front of a gaping maw of black. Unfortunately, Atlas was not a terribly reasonable person at times. ‘Foolish’ was almost a nickname at this point. He wasn’t stupid, but, out in the open as they were, he had many escape routes should things go sour. He lowered his hands, resting one in the pocket of his tailored shorts, and waving a greeting with the other. “What are you doing out here?” Ah, English. He knew that one. Lucky~ “Hello,” More accent than he would like, but good enough, “I got a little lost. Would you mind helping me? My name is Atlas, Atlas Mao.” The man tilted his head, lips pursed. “You’ve got cat ears.” It was a question in the form of a statement. “Yep.” He wiggled his ears for emphasis. The man’s grin grew. “Tail too. It was a matching set situation.” Even though he had kept it politely low, he was pretty sure the man had already noticed. The man’s hazel (maybe? It was hard to tell in the dark) eye’s glittered with excitement. “You don’t have … cat people here?” A shake of a head said no. That was unusual, he’d never been to a place where there were no Tainted people. Maybe he was even further than he thought. “Can I touch them?” “P-pardon?” “Your ears. I want to touch them.” The man reached out eagerly. There was a child-like enthusiasm that dampened the automatic ‘no’. Sighing inwardly, Atlas relented and nodded. That’s how he ended up being pet softly in the middle of the night by a very strange man. The plan to wait until his novelty had run its course and then find out where he was, was a bust. The enjoyment the man got appeared to be endless. Being told he was adorable was something he had gotten used to, it becomes necessary when your face becomes a brand, however having someone coo at him in the middle of the night was a bit much. An embarrassed flush crept up his neck as he put some distance between himself and the man. Luckily, he didn’t seem too disappointed, instead pointing out another of Atlas’ peculiarities. “You’re floating.” “Yeah. I don’t want to walk. The floor is really dirty, and my shoes are at home.” He wasn’t that high. Maybe a few inches off the ground. The man narrowed his eyes, considering Atlas again. “You’re not from here, are you?” Finally. He didn’t mind this man, he didn’t know him well enough to decide that he liked him yet, but it felt like some kind of backwards Alice in Wonderland scenario. Given he was the floating cat and all. He really couldn’t stay much longer, he’d promised Lady Clara he’d be in her photoshoot tomorrow. “No. I’m lost. Do you have a map and a compass I could borrow, uh…” “Ivan. You can call me Ivan.” He leaned in closer “I mean it call me.” Atlas didn’t know how to respond to either the wink or the playful nudge. “I’ve got those back home, but I gotta do something first.” He entered the abys of the warehouse, calling over his shoulder. “My cat got out, so I’ve gotta find him before we go back.” Nothing else to do, Atlas followed him in, offering to help search.

The deceptively small light on Ivan’s phone lit up a large chunk of the building. How did the phone have a light in it to begin with? Atlas knew there were some technological leaps lately, but wow! Debris was scattered all over the place. Leaves piled wherever the broken roof permitted. A dry, dusty smell filled the air, clinging to the backs of their throats. With all of the shadows and hidey holes, the chances of finding a cat were slim. Even with his sensitive ears, Atlas couldn’t detect anything other than the scuttling of bugs avoiding Ivan’s light. He strained his eyes but there was neither hide nor hair of any mammal. He was about to tell Ivan that he might want to look else where, but the man cut him off, bellowing “KING CRUNCH!” Evidently, Atlas wasn’t the only one to jump out of their skin. The boxes in the far corner began to rustle in response. Ivan ran over, letting out a proclamation of triumph. “I found my cat!” He dragged an angry, hissing creature from it’s nest, returning to Atlas with a massive smile. Beady eyes glared venomous hatred at Atlas. Little round ears were slicked back and grabby hands scrambled in the air, desperate for a victim. The grey-brown fur bristled like needles. That wasn’t a cat. The raccoon seemed to accept its fate, slumping in Ivan’s arms and chattering murder under its breath. Ivan was positively beaming. “Alright, I got my cat, we can go back. Somehow, he always get’s out when the Bae’s there. It’s weird, I know he likes King Crunch. Who wouldn’t?” Atlas couldn’t help but find Ivan’s clear affection towards his ‘cat’ very sweet. “Why’s he in a jacket?” The fact that the studded leather suited the raccoon was as undeniable as the ridiculousness of addressing raccoon fashion. What an interesting night it was turning out to be. “Oh, that. I tried to put a collar on him, so no one steals him, y’know, but he just kept getting it off. Neal got the jacket made for him so I would” he air quoted “stop moaning about the stupid collar. Good thing King Crunch is so fat, he can’t get his jacket off. No one’s going to mistake him for a stray cat now. I’d have ta kill them if they did though.” He laughed jovially.

If you’re curious -> Atlas Ivan

Ivan was created by, and belongs to, @babydollneko

Atlas is my character

Feedback is appreciated!

#Writing #story #drabble #original story #original character #not my character #Atlas #Ivan #nekomimi #cat boy #More at my deviantArt SweetCatMint

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cuddlycap · 7 years

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Marvel Preference: (Inspired By) Holiday Songs

A/N: What would the holidays be without cheesy little blurbs and our favorite heroes? Hope you guys like! Merry Christmas! (these are so cheesy and bad WOW but it’s all in light fun) Requests are open!

Wanda

“Sleigh Ride”

“Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we

We’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be.”

Wanda was looking around the two of you at the New York scenery, her cheeks quickly growing rosier by the second, her laughter decorating the air.

“Oh, Y/N, this is amazing! Is this a common activity here around Christmas, like ice skating?”

“Not exactly.” Wanda frowned at you.

“It’s not?”

“I mean, I suppose it used to be? Now? Not so much. But I really wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out on anything special this season.” Wanda blinked, her eyes wide.

“Why is that?” You smiled, draping your arm over her shoulder and pulling her closer.

“Because you’re special.” You tapped her nose as you spoke, making her laugh, and consequently making you laugh.

Your relationship with Wanda always seemed to walk a fine line, but you always wished it would be more. However, that didn’t stop you from doing your best to make sure she was always enjoying every moment of her time. From making gingerbread houses, to ice skating on a pond, to seeing The Nutcracker, every moment became a new memory.

Wanda looped her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate you, Y/N. I would be in a lot worse shape if not for you, that’s for sure.”

“Well, that goes both ways. I do it because I love you, Wanda.” You felt her stiffen and felt your heart pound as you tried to think of a way to fix your awkward wording, when Wanda looked up at you and leaned in closer to press her soft lips against yours. Finally, she pulled back with a smile and leaned against your shoulder again.

“I love you too, Y/N.” You let yourself smile in the cold air for the rest of the sleigh ride, unable to believe it had turned into such a magical moment. “You know, I think I’m really starting to love this time of year.” Wanda spoke up, her grip on your arm tightening.

And so, it was all more than worth it.

Tony

“Baby It’s Cold Outside”

“I really can’t stay”

“But baby it’s cold outside”

“I’ve got to go away”

“Baby it’s cold outside”

It was back and forth banter, you couldn’t escape from it, you never could.

“Oh, c'mon. It’s not even late.”

“It’s late to me, Tony.”

“Since when? Plus look at the snow out there.”

“Thank goodness I have a coat, then.” Tony grabbed a hold of the thick coat your were trying to slip on. “Tony…” you stopped when you turned over your shoulder and looked into his earnest eyes.

“Stay. Please?”

Truthfully, you did want to stay, but then, you didn’t. You weren’t entirely sure what was going on between you and Tony. It felt like a passionate flame that was destined to burn out, knowing the way Tony was with women. And you wanted to believe this was different, but you didn’t want to let yourself be that naive. You didn’t want to get hurt.

“I…don’t think I should.” You whispered.

“Give me a good reason why.” He countered. “Everyone else has gone home and now it’s just you and I. I wouldn’t want it any other way. You can even stay the night, pretty chilly out there–”

“I couldn’t, Tony.”

“Yes, you could.”

“Why do you want me to stay so bad?” You asked, turning the table on him and crossing your arms. He hesitated, and you could see he was battling between offering another witty quip, or the truth. Something in your eyes must’ve persuaded him to tell the truth.

“It’s the holiday season, right? You don’t have anyone…I don’t have anyone.” He stepped closer, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re supposed to spend this time of year with the ones that mean the most to you. The ones you love.” He slid your halfway-on coat off your arms and threw it over his back before walking back to the bar top counter and pouring the both of you another glass. “So, will you do me the honor, Y/N? Keep me company.” You stared at his extended glass, his chestnut eyes, hopeful expression.

“…Only if you keep me warm.” He broke out into a grin, and handed you your glass, clinking his to yours.

“Done deal.”

Bucky

“Blue Christmas”

“You’ll be doing alright with your Christmas of white, but I’ll have a blue Christmas”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Buck? It’s supposed to be a good movie.“ Steve asked his best friend. Bucky didn’t even bother looking up.

"No, thanks, Steve. Go ahead without me, have fun.” Steve let out a soft sigh, before he approached his best friend and patted his shoulder gently.

“…I know you miss her, Bucky-” Bucky cut his friend off quickly.

“No, no. I’m okay. She never gets to go home and see her family. She’s been talking about the snow for weeks. She should be with family for Christmas.” Steve didn’t say anything else, only gave him a reassuring smile and comforting rub of his shoulder before he left him alone.

Truthfully, Bucky felt pathetic. He believed the words he told Steve to be the truth, but it didn’t keep him from missing Y/N. There seemed to be an abundance of couples in this holiday season, couples in movies, jewelry commercials, outside his window.

He would never keep you from your family, family came first. However, there was a small voice of doubt in the back of his head scaring him. “She doesn’t love me anymore, she’s ashamed of me and doesn’t want her family to meet me, she doesn’t want to be with me.” He tried to ignore them, knowing they weren’t true and you didn’t love him very much, but still, he moped.

It wasn’t even Christmas yet, and he was miserable, he couldn’t imagine the cold misery that would come on the actual day.

Later that day when the tower was empty and Bucky was alone, his head on a pillow of the couch watching a Christmas movie, there were steps coming down the hall up to the media room he was in. He sat up slowly, recognizing the soft way the steps sounded to be yours. But that had to be to good to be true…right?

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when you rounded the corner, eyes big and cheeks rosy from the cold, bundled in winter wear with a large excited smile on your face.

“Y/N?” He asked in disbelief, tossing a pillow aside and leaping up, crossing the room to you in a few steps and taking you tightly in his arms before pulling back. “What are you doing here, you’re supposed to be back home!” You let out a laugh.

“I’m so stupid, Buck. I don’t know why I thought I had to choose. It was nice being back home at first, but…gosh, I missed you. You’re not supposed to choose between who you love during the holidays, you’re supposed to spend it together. I’m gonna fly back for Christmas in a few days…and you’re coming with me.” His eyes widened.

“You…you want me to meet your family?” You grinned and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his nose, both his cheeks and his lips.

“Yes. I didn’t want to force you or make you uncomfortable…but when I got there, my family didn’t understand why you weren’t with me. And neither did I. Will you please come? They’re really excited to meet you.” At his girl’s words, his heart swelled.

“Of course I’ll come, doll. It would be an honor.” The smile you rewarded him made him feel like he was flying, and he picked you up again, holding you close to him.

“It’s going to be the best Christmas ever, Buck.” You whispered next to his ear, and he pressed his nose to the crook of your neck, smiling into the softness of your skin.

If he had you by his side, every day was already the best.

Loki

“All I Want For Christmas is You”

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”

“I just don’t understand…” Loki muttered under his breath, staring at the long line of people in the middle of the mall waiting to meet a large man seated in what almost looked like a throne, children waiting anxiously to climb his lap.

Thor shrugged beside him, carrying several bags of gifts for the Avengers easily.

“They call him Santa Claus. Every year, children think of what they want the most and ask him for it, and if they’re good, he brings it to them.” Thor glanced at his brother. “So I wouldn’t advise you to speak with him, they say he knows if you’ve been good or bad.”

“Are you insinuating I don’t deserve what I want this holiday?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“What is it that you want?” Loki crossed his arms.

“Are you Santa Claus? I can’t tell you, but I know exactly what I want.” The curious light in Thor’s eyes told Loki he had made a mistake.

After being poked in the ribs incessantly and over 200 questions of "Loki?“ in the span of two hours, he finally snapped.

"Y/N!” He yelled your name, before slapping his hand over his mouth, in fear someone else in the tower heard, especially you. Thor’s mouth was stretching open and Loki decided it was probably better to clamp his hands over his brother’s mouth. “Shh! Not one word, you big oaf!” Thor knocked his hands away.

“I only have encouraging words; brother, Y/N is amazing. Far too good for you, perhaps, but an amazing soul nonetheless.” Loki sighed.

“She is beyond everything I am.” It wasn’t hard to admit his feelings when he felt them to be so true, even to Thor, who Loki knew understood deep down. “I never would’ve thought myself to fall for a mortal, and yet…ive never met anyone like her. If I participated in this season, I would long for nothing, none of those meaningless boxes underneath that massive tree. Only her, and I would be set.” Loki somehow missed the scheming gleam in his brothers eyes.

“Ho, Ho, Ho!” Loki jumped, startled as the door to his room was thrown open later that night and a man came tumbling in wearing the same outfit he had seen earlier tonight at the mall. But he recognized this man right away, it was his brother. “Merry Christmas, Loki, I have a gift for you.”

“Thor.”

“Now, I know you haven’t been the best year, especially not to your brilliant and strong brother…”

“Thor, what is this madness you’re doing. I demand you to stop.”

“I agree.” Loki stopped at the sound of a small voice coming from behind Thor, much softer and melodic, a voice Loki would recognize instantly. Thor stepped aside to reveal Y/N behind him, a large bow pressed to the top of her head. Loki looked to Thor speechlessly, who only winked.

“Merry Christmas!” He left the room again. Loki couldn’t even look at Y/N, though he heard her giggling.

“Maybe you can explain this? I was minding my business in my room and Thor came in dressed like that and slapped a bow on my head, by the way do you know how much it’s going to hurt trying to peel this off?” Loki let out a small nervous chuckle before he walked over hesitantly and began carefully trying to pull the sticky bow from strands of your hair.

“I’m not sure what my brother is up to.” He lied softly, his breath catching in his throat when he looked down and realized you were staring.

“Really? Because…well, he told me that you told him you only wanted one thing this year. And I think we might want the same thing.” He looked down at you, blinking.

“So…you came willingly?” He asked and you smiled, taking the bow he had removed from your head in your hands and pressing it against his chest.

“Yes.”

Nat

“Last Christmas”

“I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye; tell me baby, do you recognize me? Well it’s been a year it doesn’t surprise me”

“She’s here, isn’t she.” You mumbled underneath your breath, trying to make it seem like your mouth wasn’t moving.

“What did you expect?” Sam, your companion to this extravagant Stark Christmas party, asked you, making you sigh.

Of course she would be here.

You worked in close proximity with the Avengers, and you remembered last Christmas very well, thinking you would always remember it fondly. It was another one of these parties, where you finally gathered up enough courage to approach Natasha and tell her how you felt. It was underneath a mistletoe, which you hadn’t even realized, and when you came clean she had only smirked and leaned in to kiss you. Never before had you experienced such joy, exhilaration, bliss…only for it to disappear before the end of the season.

She just disappeared. You never heard anything from her again, for an entire year. And an entire year you spent waiting for this very moment. You wouldn’t look at her.

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she.” You asked Sam, sipping your drink.

“Again…what do you expect.” You sighed and stole a quick glance, your heart hurting at the beautiful satin red dress. You took another drink. “Are you gonna talk to her?” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth firmly, refusing to look in her direction. “No…I don’t think so.” Sam’s huff made you look in his direction.

“Right, so you spent hours getting ready, made me sit my ass in your room while you tried on a million outfits and didn’t even listen to my opinion, just to stand here and not talk to her?” You shrugged defensively.

“Maybe. Don’t you know me by now?” Now Sam sipped his drink.

“Yeah. Good thing she’s nothing like you.” You sent him a panicked glance and he gave you a smirk before leaving your side. You could see brilliant red heading in your direction.

“Sam!” You hissed before you cleared your throat and turned away from Natasha, sipping your drink as if you hadn’t seen her coming.

“Merry Christmas.” Her cool voice sent another pain through your heart, and you turned to her with what you hoped was a neutral expression. She had a light smirk on her face, as though you amused her, and it made you even more indignant.

“This feels oddly like déjà vu .” You spoke as though you were talking to yourself. Her face fell a bit, into something of seriousness. Her hand raised and clasped your wrist gently and you gave in and looked at her. She looked sorry.

“I didn’t want to do what I did.” She murmured so low it felt as though it were just the two of you and not an entire party. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt. Please, can we talk?” You swallowed and gave in with a nod, allowing her to loop her arm through yours. The two of you grabbed your coats and headed up to the roof together, where you stood in silence for a moment.

“If you’re with me, if my enemies know that you’re with me, you could be in danger. And I’m not okay with that.” You frowned.

“So you mean…it wasn’t because you didn’t feel the same…?” Natasha sighed and walked closer, taking your face in her hands. She was always so gentle when she touched you.

“My feelings for you were never the issue, Y/N. I’ve always cared about you. That’s why I left, I could never put you in danger.”

“Nat, I’m willing to take that risk. I don’t care about the possibilities, I like the way my future prospects look with you in it, not without you.” She inspected you for a moment before she leaned forward and kissed you longingly, her lips molding to yours.

“So, so, so naive, my sweet angel. You’re crazy to risk it all for someone like me.”

“No.” You grabbed her hands in yours. “My feelings for you make me anything but crazy, Nat. You’re worth it all.” She sighed, almost in relief, and kissed you once more.

“I’m going to keep you safe, Y/N. No one will ever hurt you, especially not me. Not ever again.”

Steve

“What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve”

“ When the bells all ring and the horns all blow And the couples we know are fondly kissing Will I be with you or will I be among the missing?

Sometimes you couldn’t believe you were dating Captain America. Sometimes you couldn’t believe he was always more nervous than you, as though you were a living legend. It was still in the early stages of your relationship, but to the both of you, it felt like you had known each other all your lives.

Steve acted like you were a goddess; his eyes always shined in reverence when he looked at you. The other Avengers (mainly Tony) would tease him about being “whipped” so soon, but Steve never paid any mind at all.

“So…uh, Y/N…I know this is all really soon.” He had cleared his throat before he started, and was staring down at his plate in self-deprecating amusement, as if he couldn’t believe he was still nervous. “And I really appreciate you spending your Christmas Eve and Christmas tomorrow with me.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Steve.” You giggled a bit. “Actually, I should be thanking you. I didn’t even know you could cook this well.” It was Christmas Eve, and yet, Steve had managed to find a secluded part of the tower for the two of you to have a nice dinner together, which he had cooked himself. There were soft old Christmas songs playing in the backgrounds, even candles.

You reached across the table to rest your hand over his, and it seemed to give him the courage to go on with his original thought.

“Like I said, I know this may seem like too much too soon, but I was wondering what you had planned for New Years Eve?” He looked between your eyes hopefully. It almost looked like he wasn’t even breathing. Your silence must’ve seemed longer to him; he started back up again. “It’s just, you know, this time of year, all the festivities call for not only reflection but looking forward to the future. And I’m not superstitious or anything, but I can’t imagine starting my new year any other way than with you by my side.” You smiled at him, feeling your heart melt.

“I hope I’m not just by your side, Steve.” You teased lightly, giving his hand a squeeze. “I hope when the clock strikes midnight you’re giving me the kiss of a lifetime.” He smiled at you, his dimples showing, before he started laughing in jubilation.

“It’s a promise. Hopefully, the first of many New Year’s to come.”

Thor

“My Only Wish (This Year)”

"Can’t be alone under the mistletoe, he’s all I want in a big red bow…”

“So, Y/N, what did you ask Santa for this year?” Tony asked loudly as you all sat around the fireplace on Christmas Eve. He gave you a suggestive eyebrow raise and you tried your best to play it off, but the other Avengers laughing didn’t help your situation.

It had been one bad night that you let your crush on Thor slip, and to Tony of all people. It wasn’t long before the whole tower knew, somehow except for Thor, who was sitting pleasantly with a cup of coffee, smiling at his friends obliviously.

“Oh, nothing. I have everything I need.” You replied, sending Tony a quick glare.

“Perhaps nothing you need, but surely there must be something that you want, Y/N?” Thor asked, giving you that warm distracting beautiful smile he always gave. You hesitated.

“Um…n-not that I can think of.” You mumbled. There were muffled chuckles and you swore you heard whispering, when suddenly the Avengers stood at the same time.

“Gonna head off to bed now.”

“I’m gonna go shower, have a nice night guys.”

“I have some reading to catch up on.”

“I’m gonna go…for a run.” You glared at all of them as they all but ran from the room, giving you encouraging and teasing smiles and thumbs up, until it was just you and Thor, who almost looked bewildered.

“Was it something I said?” He asked. You sighed.

“No. They think they’re being funny,” you muttered, sipping your hot chocolate. He frowned at that, but said nothing more. You didn’t realize he was still watching you until you shivered.

“Are you cold?” You looked over to see him smiling and extending an arm to invite you to join him and the large blanket he had. “Come, its big enough for the two of us.” You hesitated.

“Are you sure, I mean I can just go get my own…”

“It’s the best one we have, the softest. Besides, I don’t mind sharing with you.” His innocent smile made you smile too and sit down beside him, letting him wrap one end around your shoulders. “See, this is much better, is it not?” He was so close to you, closer than he’d ever been besides when he offered a hug.

“Yeah,” you smiled up at him, snuggling closer towards his chest. “Much better.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and your heart fluttered at how natural it all felt.

“If you get tired, Y/N, you can sleep. I know you work hard. I believe you’ll find me to be quite comfortable.” His quiet rumbling laugh vibrated from deep within his chest next to your ear. And just as you were about to take him up on his offer, something hit your face.

“Ow.” You said, opening your eyes and seeing something green.

“Oh, look! Mistletoe!” You could hear Tony’s voice drifting down from the stairwell along with Clint’s laughter and exaggerated kissing sounds. You gritted your teeth, but stopped when Thor began laughing.

“I’m not sure what game they think they are playing, I would be more than happy to kiss you.”

“It’s because Tony found out that I like you and now he thinks it’s funny to keep trying to–wait did you say you would kiss me?”

“Did you say you like me?” You we’re both staring at each other in amazement.

“Just kiss already, will ya?” Clint said as he walked by towards the kitchen. It felt like a dream when Thor grabbed your chin and brought you closer, laughing happily against your lips.

“To be completely honest with you, Y/N, if Santa were a real being, I would’ve asked him for you, but I suppose I didn’t have to.” He said, smiling. You cuddled closer to him again, now feeling completely at peace as his hand moved to drawing circles on your back.

“Yeah, no. Not Santa. Just me. You’re welcome.” You both looked behind the couch you were sitting at to see Tony, taking a picture with his phone. “And thanks to you lovebirds, we now have our Christmas card. Goodnight, kiddies, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” You shook your head, snuggling back against Thor.

“Wanna think of ways we can embarrass him tomorrow?” You asked, earning a laugh.

“Sometimes I think there is no possible way you could get any better, and yet it seems to happen every day.”

#steve rogers #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #loki #thor #wanda maximoff #tony stark #marvel #mcu #reader insert #marvel preference #marvel preferences #the avengers #marvel imagine

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randomnoteforfuturereference · 7 years

Text

It’s the Little Things: I

ForFutureReference

Words: 1525

Summary: It’s common knowledge that Dex has a multitude of skills tucked away. That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when he brings out a skill that catches Nursey off-guard. Especially when Dex helps Nursey with said skill.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | …

Author’s Note: Finally made my first CP fic (and my first fic in a while), and of course it’s a Nurseydex (though pre-romance). While Year Four hasn’t happened yet, this is vague enough to hopefully be canon-compliant. Special thanks to @kleeklutch for beta-ing. Hope you enjoy!

A bump… A snag… A tear…

At the sound of ripping fibers, blood drains from my face, and my chest constricts as I peer hesitantly at my sleeve and hope against hope that what I think just happened didn’t.

Despite that hope, a small jagged hole mars my sleeve and sends a jolt as painful as a check to the solar plexus.

I take a few steadying breaths as I trudge the rest of the way to my room. No big deal. No big deal at all. Doesn’t matter that this is the cardigan that my grandma gave to me right before I went to Samwell. Doesn’t matter that it provided comfort on days when I didn’t feel like facing the world. These things happen. It’s alright. It’s fine. It’s…

A bump… A snag… A tear…

At the sound of ripping fibers, blood drains from my face, and my chest constricts as I peer hesitantly at my sleeve and hope against hope that what I think just happened didn’t.

Despite that hope, a small jagged hole mars my sleeve and sends a jolt as painful as a check to the solar plexus.

I take a few steadying breaths as I trudge the rest of the way downstairs. No big deal. No big deal at all. Doesn’t matter that this is the cardigan that my grandma gave to me right before I went to Samwell. Doesn’t matter that it provided comfort on days when I didn’t feel like facing the world. These things happen. It’s alright. It’s fine. It’s…

“Chill.”

Of course I utter that word in the threshold of the basement while it’s occupied by my new roomie.

The word might as well be Pavlov’s bell. As if by instinct, two rings of molten metal look up to shine at me from darkness beyond a window. Dex says nothing, but he probably wishes that he could make the figurative flames in that glare literal.

And things just keep getting better…

I hoped that it wouldn’t be this way. I’ve been hoping that we figured things out by the end of last semester. Nope. The semester started as an uneasy truce. Then I had my little spill, and the whole situation deteriorated exponentially. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, Dex moved out. I mean, yeah, I told him that he'd leave by fall, but I didn't think he'd actually do it.

Whatever. Right now I’m tired and don’t have time for this shit. Instead of acknowledging Poindexter’s perpetual pissiness, I move for the washing machine so I can get things over with, call it an afternoon, and be done with this day.

“Wait.”

Dex’s word, and the sound of his window being slid up, is a barrier that stops me before I can even take two steps forward. It also makes me stumble and almost crash right into the washing machine.

If he notices, he makes no mention as he usually loves to do. In fact, I notice that his eyes no longer point at my face but have shifted down to torso-level.

Before I can blurt out an obligatory chirp, Dex beats me to the punch: “You hit that spot by the top of the stairs, didn’t you.”

It draws me up short. “Yeah. How—“

“I need to fix that soon before somebody ends up cutting themselves open,” he sighs before nodding at my sleeve. “You have some way to fix that sweater?”

“It’s a cardigan.” Because a petulant correction is really the only reasonable way to deal with this surreal scenario.

Surprisingly, Dex doesn’t take the bait. “Whatever. Question still stands.”

“Not really.” I’ll probably find a place to get it fixed once I return home. I know Geema’s not going to be angry or anything, but that doesn’t lessen the feeling that I’m letting her down.

Dex stares at me for a couple seconds before heaving another sigh and looking back down to his computer. “Lemme finish this paragraph first.” Without looking up, he makes a grabby motion in my general direction.

My body responds before my mind can catch up. As soon as the cardigan’s off, I lob it towards Dex, who snatches it from mid-air with one hand while using the other to save whatever he’s working on.

With his full attention now on the cardigan, Dex’s eyebrows furrow into another scowl — more confused than the previous pissy — as he handles the garment.

“The fuck is this? Alpaca?”

I have to keep my eyes from widening at the fact that Dex even knows what alpaca fleece is like. “Qiviut, actually.”

For a second, Dex freezes. Then grumbles, “Of course.” Great, is this going to be a rich people thing? Because— “Leave it to you to wear the fluffiest shit.”

“What can I say, Poindexter?” I lean up against the surprisingly sturdy wall of his subterranean bungalow and offer what I hope is an easy grin to masks my continued shock. “It’s the fine things in life.” It also helped got me through today, which was just… off for no real reason. It goes without saying that I’m not going to blurt that fact out. At least not now.

Dex snorts at my comment but, at the same time, still runs his hand along the fabric and nods in clear appreciation. Unaware of how much those little reactions reveal. Then again, William Poindexter always seems to have surprises up his sleeve.

“Should be an easy fix.”

Dex’s voice knocks me out of my reverie, and I respond accordingly: “Wha?”

“I said that this should be an easy fix,” he huffs while holding the now-inside-out cardigan up. “I mean… if you want me to…”

For a moment, all the hard lines and jagged edges melt away, leaving Dex looking strangely hesitant and vulnerable. As if he’s unsure where to go from here and is leaving the choice up to me. I have a foreboding feeling that the choice I make will either open a door for me… or lock it forever.

“Sure,” I drawl and pull up a box to sit right by the window. “I’m up for it.”

I don’t know if my choice is in the right, but either way the moment passes, and Dex gets up and strides with business-like purpose over to a shelf that holds his toolbox.

“Going to nail it closed, Poindexter?” I chirp. Because I have to.

He puts minimal effort in flipping me off before grabbing a different container. It’s one of those fancy assorted Danish cookie tins. Before I can ask, he sits back down by the window and pops the lid off to reveal what might as well be an entire craft store.

Without pause, Dex grabs two spools of thread of similar color, holds them up to my cardigan, tosses one back into the tin, and cuts a length from the other before tossing it back in as well.

“Not a single word,” he growls while plucking a needle from a pincushion. A lobster pincushion.

“Hmm…” My not-word doesn’t make Dex stop, though he still narrows his eyes at me as he needles the thread. Or is it ‘threads the needle’?

Then he gets to work.

It’s hypnotizing to watch. When you see Dex’s hands, it’s hard to not notice the calluses, cracks, and scars. Things that hint of hard work and strength, be it hauling lobster traps, hammering out a stubborn nail, or hitting an accurate slapshot.

However, those same marred hands move with a swift but delicate grace as they guide the needle where it needs to go with little pause. A fluid elegance that hints at the softness of his puck handling and precision of appliance repairs.

The whole time, Dex wears yet another scowl. The same focused glare he brings to the ice to concentrate on the puck and intimidate the opposing team. It’s as if he’s daring the ever-closing tear to resist.

These little connections to what I know about Dex don’t lessen the wonder that I feel in watching him now.

“It’s a useful skill. ‘Be prepared’ and all that.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d mistake Dex’s mumbled comment for mind-reading. “You better stop reading my mind.”

Another huff. “Like I’d want to hop into that hipster hellscape,” he says before wincing at his own words.

I don’t let it go: “Aaww… that almost sounds poetic, Dexy.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back. “Anyways you were just very obvious in your surprise when I brought out my kit. That’s all.”

“Oh…” It still catches me off-guard whenever he gets a read on me. “How long have you been doing this?”

Dex shrugs as much as he can without disrupting his work. “Long enough. How else do you think I’ve kept the same clothes going?”

I don’t have any answer to that. Instead, I continue watching him work. Before long, he creates a knot, pulls it taut, and trims away dangling ends.

Dex declares completion by sending the cardigan flying straight into my face.

As I unwrap the garment from my head, he’s already going over the contents of his kit. “Hope it works,” he mutters while shutting the tin and putting it back in place. “Let me know if anything’s off. It’s my first time handling qiviut, so…” A shrug.

It actually takes me a while to relocate the tear. When I find the little wrinkle that betrays the now-closed hole, it’s obvious to me that the blemish will become lost within the overall texture of the fabric.

“It’s… It…” It’d be great if my damn throat could open up and actually allow me to say something. “Thanks,” I finally breathe out, holding the cardigan tight to my chest.

The only affirmation I receive from Dex is a dismissive wave and grunt as he grabs his window and slides it shut.

If I notice some redness creeping up his ears, I make no mention of it.

Continue on to Part II

#nurseydex #dexnursey #william poindexter #derek nurse #omgcp #check please #ffr makes prose

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brosura · 7 years

Text

memento mori (the curious case of the baker on baker st.) pt. 2/4

Word Count: 4737 Rating: T probably Pairings: Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia Warnings: minor character death, major character death (VERY temporary), alcohol consumption

“Ignis Scientia, young baker and private investigator’s assistant, has a peculiar gift. With a touch, he can bring the dead back to life.”

AKA the promnis pushing da*sies au no one asked for

quick thanks to @danielkesslers for the last minute quick read to make sure, once again, that i am not being my needlessly confusing little self

[start with part I here] [read part III here] [read part IV here] [fic on ao3]

The facts were these.

Sixty seconds, exactly, after Ignis presses his fingers against Prompto’s forehead, a certain unnamed Funeral Director with a pair of sticky fingers dies of a heart attack in the middle of sorting his haul at sixty-two years, eight months and five days.

Of course, Ignis couldn’t have known that he’d traded sticky fingers for Prompto, in the grand scheme of things, so the first thing that jumps into his head once he’s finished carefully helping Prompto back into the coffin and shutting the lid, the first terrifying thought he has is “Gladio!”

Gladio just blinks in mild confusion at Ignis, who - from his perspective - has just thrown open the door for no apparent reason. He blinks again as Ignis sighs, relieved that - from his perspective - he hadn’t accidentally made Iris an only child. Well, less than accidentally. “You ok, Ignis?”

“Y-yes, yes of course,” Ignis says, straightening himself out the best he can in preparation for this unexpected lie. “He, ah, he didn’t see who killed him. But he was strangled with a plastic bag, I don’t know if that helps.”

“Damn,” Gladio hisses. He’s not as visibly upset as he usually is when one of their dead turns out to be a dead end, so to speak, but Ignis can guess that’s for his sake. “I was really hoping for a lead on this one. Well, thanks again, Ignis. You want me to drive you back to the bakery?”

“Thank you, but I’d, ah,” Ignis swallows. He was never good at lying, but luckily he’d been overwhelmed enough before that Gladio will probably attribute this to emotion. “I’d like to attend his funeral, I think.”

Gladio gives him a look that he recognizes as pity for a brief moment, then he just nods. “‘Course. You do what you need to do. Want me to keep you updated?”

“That would be nice,” he says before he can realize that that is most definitely a mistake, that he has just created a situation where he would have to continue lying about the fact that Prompto is very much alive.

“Alright, then.” Gladio pats him on the shoulder. Had Prompto actually been dead, he supposes he would have found this comforting. “See you later.”

“Very well.” Ignis manages to say with a stiff nod as Gladio steps around him to leave the funeral home.

He waits awkwardly by the window until Gladio leaves, then rushes back inside the room where he’d left Prompto only to find the coffin gone.

It’s a mess of an affair, tailing the hearse behind a strangely sparse funeral procession, then waiting awkwardly amongst the mourners (a few genuine, namely an old man and a tall girl with short blonde curls who looked too forlorn to be lying, and a few who were clearly journalists) until the crowd had dispersed enough that he felt comfortable enacting the second part of his poorly developed plan.

Which, to put it casually, involved property damage.

It isn’t until he’s squirreled Prompto safely away from the coffin in the grave and the quickly-concocted distraction that was the burning car of the groundskeepers that his heart starts to calm itself.

It doesn’t have long, though, because he scarcely has time to mention that they should ditch Prompto’s suit from the wake before he’s pulling the thing off.

“Ah,” Ignis stutters. “Er-”

“Oh man!” Prompto interrupts, craning his neck to get a good look at the suit jacket he’s pulling off a shoulder. “Is this my suit from high school prom? I was almost buried in this? How embarrassing!”

“Well, I think you look lovely,” Ignis says offhandedly before he can think about it. It’s enough to make the both of them freeze, and Ignis finds it suddenly much more difficult to meet his eyes.

“Right, um, well,” Prompto starts. He clears his throat. “Don’t suppose you brought a change of pants?”

“Unfortunately, no. To be fair, I didn’t exactly plan to exhume a corpse today.”

“Well, I guess we can’t plan for everything,” Prompto says, and continues the task of undressing himself. He’s on the third button of his dress shirt when he pauses, blinking at Ignis. “No offense, dude, but you watching me is kind of weird.”

“A-ah, right of course, I’ll-” Ignis swivels himself around in lieu of an end to that statement. He clears his throat to drown out the soft sounds of Prompto working at his clothes. “So, ah, high school prom. Who was your lucky partner?”

“Er, no one. Well, someone. But it turned out to be a prank.” Ignis frowns, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that troubling information before Prompto asks, “I know you probably don’t know what they look like, but were my parents at the funeral?”

“I’m not sure,” Ignis admits with regret. He honestly hadn’t been focusing so much on the guests, he was rather more concerned with the fact that Prompto may very well have been buried alive if he hadn’t been quick on his feet (and good at starting fires).

“Guess it’s too much to hope for,” Prompto sighs and there’s the shuffling of clothes.

Then Prompto appears from his periphery, clothed only in the black slacks and a thin, white shirt. He looks smaller without the trappings of a suit, more human with the way his hair is mussed from undressing. He also looks cold, arms crossed over his chest in clear discomfort.

“Ah, it’s rather chilly,” Ignis comments casually as he shrugs off his own simple gray cardigan, tossing it to Prompto, who catches it with a surprised look on his face. “You can borrow that. At least, until we can find you more suitable clothes.”

“O-oh, ok,” Prompto stutters, but he’s carefully pulling on the cardigan anyway. It’s too big for him, barely fits at the shoulders and the sleeves go past his wrists, but he looks more comfortable. Definitely warmer, if the flush on his neck is any indication. “This is fine.”

“So,” Ignis starts, eager to change the subject. “Consider yourself a free man. Now, what do you want to do?”

Prompto’s grin is so bright it rivals the sun.

“Y’know,” Prompto says around a mouthful of a cheeseburger.

He’s in the passenger seat of Ignis’ car, which they had picked up along with a change of clothes on the way to the Cheesy Shack.

It’s a combination of ridiculous and endearing, the sight of him curled up around a bag of junk food in a pair of too-big sweatpants and a loose tank top, still wearing that loose-fitting cardigan. Dark sunglasses obscure his eyes. He was a dead man, after all. Can’t give the poor teen working the drive-through window a scare.

“Being dead really makes you stop and appreciate the value of junk food. Like, when I was alive? It was always ‘don’t eat the cheeseburger, Prompto’ or ‘that’s too much food, Prompto.’ But then I didn’t even make it to twenty-two! Some dude strangled me to death on a cruise ship!” He winces. “Too soon?”

“You’re the one who died,” Ignis offers, sipping at his own ‘Mocha Jivin’” milkshake which he held one gloved hand, the other draped over the steering wheel as they make their way slowly to Noctis’ building. The gloves, naturally, being a precaution. He’s never losing someone to carelessness ever again. And Prompto seemed…averse to wearing sleeves. “I’d say you get the final word on whether or not it’s too soon to discuss the circumstances of your death.”

“Well, I say it’s not too soon,” Prompto says. “Weird to be on eggshells about it, especially since you’re the one who brought me back. Like you literally saw my dead body, gave me a little poke and boop! Here I am. How do you do that, by the way?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” he admits. It’s not a lie. For all he knows about his powers, there’s a garbage bin full of dead plants and things he doesn’t. “It’s, ah, not a thing I care to dwell on.”

“Oh,” Prompto tilts his head. “Too soon?”

Ignis snorts as he pulls into the driveway of Noct’s apartment building, sending a quick text for him to open the garage. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to walk on eggshells, then.” Prompto gives him a grin. “Anyway, not like me to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever.” He switches to a southern drawl midway and seems to surprise himself. “Er, sorry, old habit.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Ignis says with a raised eyebrow and Prompto just shrugs in response. “It’d be good of you to look the gift horse in the mouth just enough to avoid touching me, though.”

“Oh, right! Bummer,” Prompto blurts, then flushes in his seat. “A-any other rules I gotta worry about?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, just what’s common sense for being raised from the dead.”

“Right! No appearing on the porches of my loved ones, no introducing myself by name. Got it!”

“There you are. You’re a natural,” Ignis says with a fond smile.

Prompto gives him a small one in return and it’s a short, quiet moment. But it’s the first one they have where they’re not frantically catching up on lost time or feeling like they’re living in a world made of frozen glass that’s liable to shatter at any moment.

It’s the first moment they have to just be in each other’s presence.

“I really missed you,” Ignis admits, because it feels right and because he thought he might never get the chance, the privilege to say it.

“Me, too,” Prompto says, and they settle into a short but comfortable silence.

If Ignis was an ordinary and average young man, this might have been the sort of scene that ended in a kiss, tentative and shy. But instead, they can only look at each other, read the warmth and longing in their matching small smiles, and imagine.

Then they jump at the sound of knuckles rapping gently against the passenger side window.

“Garage is open,” Noctis drawls, groggy, when Ignis rolls the window down. Ignis knows Noctis well enough that he’s not surprised he’s in pajamas. In fact, he’d anticipated it, and made a quick call ahead to make sure Noctis was awake from his afternoon nap. He also knows Noctis well enough that he can see the recognition in his eyes the moment after his grogginess subsides and he notices Prompto in the passenger’s seat. “Oh shit, you’re-”

“I-I-I’m,” Prompto stutters, eyes wide with panic. “I mean, er, my name is. Pronto? Aurum?”

“Prompto.” Ignis can’t help but laugh. “It’s alright, he knows about me. He’s a friend.”

“Oh, thank god,” he wheezes. “I know we just established the ground rules but I wasn’t like, ready.”

“Well, you did great,” Noctis reassures, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m Noctis.”

“I’m Prompto!” he says with a cheerful grin. “Y’know, like the dead guy.”

“Pretty common name, huh,” Noctis says with a lazy smirk of his own. Then he blinks at the bags in Prompto’s lap. “One of those for me?”

“Please, give me some credit,” Ignis answers for Prompto. It seemed the people he cared about the most all had a similar taste in junk food. “Two of them are for you. Mind if we come in?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says with a yawn. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

The facts were these.

Noctis Lucis Caelum, twenty-one years old, is indisputably Ignis’ closest friend.

He’s proudly guarded this position for nearly ten years, and for ten years, he has been one of the most grounding presences in Ignis’ life. In fact, Ignis had only managed to start accepting his powers as part of himself due to Noct’s intervention.

He’d been content to isolate himself completely until Noctis - lonely and eager to befriend someone who was so hesitant to befriend anyone at all, since so many of their peers wanted his attention for the opportunities his charmed life brought - had wormed his way into Ignis’ very small circle of trust and convinced him that maybe his curse didn’t have to be such a curse. That he could take some of the power back with understanding until it became a mundane and inconvenient thing on most days and a source of fear and anxiety on only some days. Noctis had made for a very good lab assistant and then, over time, a very good friend.

They’d been an odd pair, to be sure - the shy heir and the bookish nobody - but they’d been just that: a pair, a set of friends with a relationship built on mutual and often unconditional trust and support.

But he couldn’t ask Noctis for his unconditional support this time. Noctis knew how his powers worked, after all. Knew what keeping a human alive past the sixty seconds meant.

So he starts to get nervous in the elevator as Noctis, who seems to have woken up a bit more in the time it had taken for Ignis to park the car, gets a knowing look on his face as he gives Prompto a cursory once-over.

He doesn’t say anything other than standard small talk until they’re in the apartment, though.

Then he opens with, “Hey Prompto, you shower yet?”

Diplomatic, subtle, speaking on the level of the audience. He’d learned well from boarding school.

“Uh, no?” Prompto tilts his head, then sniffs himself. “Oh man, no I have not. They sure went heavy on the cologne.”

“You can use mine,” he offers, opening the door to his bedroom preemptively. Diplomatic, subtle, hinting at no ulterior motives. He’d learned very well from boarding school. “Right knob is water level, left knob is temperature. Towels are on top of the sink. Also, you can borrow a change of clothes from my closet. We’re closer in size, I think.”

“Are you sure?” Prompto hesitates at the doorway, but he seems eager at the prospect now that he’s smelled himself.

“Totally,” Noctis shrugs. “Just don’t touch the suits. I go to work in those.”

“Trust me, you could not make me get back in a suit after today,” Prompto starts, but it gets harder and harder to hear him as he retreats into Noct’s room.

The next few moments are spent treading on eggshells. Noctis gives him a tired smile as he pours them both coffee in complete silence and it’s not until they can hear the shower running that he finally speaks.

“So,” he starts, taking a seat across from Ignis, who’s slouched at the kitchen table. He slides him a mug of coffee that Ignis gratefully accepts. “Do you know who it is?”

“I haven’t the faintest,” Ignis says with a shuddering sigh, feeling the weight of the death he’d caused finally setting in. Noct’s expression remains neutral, but Ignis can tell he’s carefully reading Ignis’ expression. He’d feel judged, but he deserves this. At the very least, he’s relieved to finally tell someone. “It isn’t Gladio, at least. And I haven’t had much time to dwell on it, either. It was, ah, I wasn’t at my finest. It’s been a long day.”

Noctis studies him for a moment, then his brows furrow in a combination of concern and pity.

“Oh yeah,” he says, voice gentle. “He’s that Prompto, right?”

“The Lonely Tourist, yes.”

“No, I mean, he’s that Prompto,” Noctis gives him a meaningful look. “The one you used to talk about in boarding school.”

“A-ah, yes.”

If it were up to Ignis, he’d happily trade his dead-raising for the ability to go back in time. He’d have less metaphorical blood on his hands, to be sure. Mainly, though, he wouldn’t have to deal with the look Noctis is giving him right now, in this moment, if he could just tell his child self to stop talking about Prompto with such frequency and fervor to his new and very nosy friend.

“Hmm,” Noctis hums, with a sly look on his face. “I can see you’re still invested.”

Ignis crosses his arms. This isn’t good, he’s already on the defensive. His debate professor would be very disappointed. “And what are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. Just, think I get it now,” Noctis says, but his smirk widens. “He’s cute. Energetic. Good for a downer like you.”

“That’s awfully rude.” He snorts. “And to think, I spent your twenty-first birthday gallivanting about town, witnessing things that should not be repeated, only to be called a downer.”

“Hey, don’t make me pull a gag order on you,” Noctis says without any vitriol. Then he switches abruptly back to that gentle tone when he continues with, “So, Prompto. He’s up now, and for the long run I’m guessing. What do you need me to do?”

“For now, could he stay here?” Ignis says, fiddling with the mug in his hands. He feels guilty involving Noctis in this, but he doesn’t see there being any other option. “Gladio might come by my flat later and he knows what Prompto looks like. And I, ah, I need to focus.”

“Got it,” Noctis says with an adamant little nod that lets Ignis know he can trust him with this. “Want me to bring him by the bakery later?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Hm, I guess that depends on if I get a free tart.”

“Two free tarts,” Ignis says with a smirk. “For your troubles.”

Noctis gives him another of those sly smiles. “I’ll wait for the all-clear, then. And I’m gonna eat this cheeseburger.”

And they’re off the eggshells the moment Noctis starts stuffing his face with the thing.

Ignis has seen death, has seen the many forms it takes but he’ll never quite overcome the horror that was watching Noctis eat a cheeseburger.

At any rate, their conversation treads back onto their more frequented avenues by the time Prompto steps out in a pair of black sweatpants and a yellow shirt with a moogle riding a chocobo printed to the front. It’s quite the look to find charming, but that’s all Ignis can think, all he can focus on as Prompto dries at his ears with the towel draped around his shoulders, making some comment about how nice hot water was.

“Yeah, hot water’s great!” Noctis says, loudly in an effort to snap Ignis out of the daydream he’d been spiraling into. What did he do to deserve a friend like Noctis.

“Y-yes,” Ignis says, clearing his throat. “Right, er, Prompto. You’ll be staying with Noctis for the time being. I have to get back to work, but will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I can manage,” Prompto says with a grin, but it seems tight and tense.

He’s worried, for a moment, that Prompto will be uncomfortable with Noctis. But then Prompto takes one long look at Noct’s entertainment center and heaves a delighted sob.

“Holy shit, you have every console imaginable!” he cries, hovering near the display, his body trembling in tangible excitement. “Is that the Swap? I’ve been saving up for that for ages!”

“That’s the Swap,” Noctis practically purrs, he’s clearly very proud of his set-up. “One of the perks of knowing a guy who knows a guy.” Prompto gives him a look that’s such open want and excitement that Ignis can see the moment it rubs off onto Noctis, who looks very much like the boy he’d met in boarding school when he continues with, “Want to play?”

“Yeah! Hell yeah!”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Ignis tries to say, but it’s in vain, because both Prompto and Noctis are already ignoring him in favor of babbling over the contraption.

Noctis doesn’t even walk him to the door, simply gives him a half-wave.

Now, what did he do to deserve a friend like Noctis.

All things considered, he’s had a very productive day.

Despite having the bakery closed for the majority of its open hours, he’s managed to sell the more delicate pastries off and has Noct’s tarts set aside and his next batch primed for the ovens tomorrow by the time Gladio comes through the door around closing, wordlessly flipping the sign in the window to closed.

He’s got a bottle of liquor in his hand and Ignis doesn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Gladio, from what Ignis has experienced, is quite the drinker.

“Hey, Iggy,” Gladio greets, gentler than usual. “How’s it going?”

“Better,” he admits, because at least he doesn’t have to lie about that. He’s still anxious about who died in Prompto’s place, and he’s still nervous about what the future holds for them both, but he’s better. He’s never been better.

“That’s good, wanna have a couple of drinks?”

Ignis merely nods.

His acting is, to put it delicately, shit. One unfortunate school play that Noctis has on VHS recording for collateral is testament enough to that. But he has a somber expression most days, so at least silence can play to his benefit.

Gladio steps comfortably into the kitchen, pulling out a set of cups as Ignis washes his hands and subtly texts Noctis that he should stay away from the bakery. Gladio pours a clear brown liquid into a set of glasses in what he probably imagines is a somber silence for the dead, and not the moment of fear and anxiety that it actually is for Ignis. They take their first drinks in the same silence, and Ignis feels himself relaxing ever so slightly as the liquor burns its way to his gut.

He’s not usually one to drink, but he finds himself glad he’s doing so when Gladio offhandedly says, “Heard that that mean old funeral director croaked this afternoon. Weird coincidence, huh?”

But Ignis doesn’t hear anything after “that mean old funeral director croaked this afternoon” because he’s coughing up his liquor. For a brief, terrifying moment as he hacks up half a lung and about a shot of whiskey, he thinks that Gladio’s guessed his game. That bringing up the funeral director was an accusation and not small talk.

He’s relieved to find that Gladio seems to only think that he’s coughing because of the liquor, though, and that he doesn’t seem to have that calculating look on as he pats Ignis’ back. “Sorry. Still a sore subject?”

“Not, ah,” he chokes on the sting of the whiskey as it makes its way back up his throat. “Not particularly.”

“That’s good,” Gladio says. Then he switches into that tone that he uses on a victim Ignis has just raised, and Ignis feels his anxiety raise in turn when Gladio continues with, “‘Cause I was hoping to hear more about him, that Prompto guy.”

“I’m afraid-,” Ignis swallows. Yes, he is afraid. “I’m afraid I don’t know how much I can say. It’s been years since I’d seen him last, and we were only children then.”

“You sure?” Gladio prods. “Even a little detail works. ‘Cause I could really use anything at this point.”

Ignis could tell him all the things he’s learned about Prompto in their short time together, all the things that came rushing out when they’d walked to Ignis’ apartment.

He could tell Gladio that Prompto’s persevered through what Ignis can only perceive as a lonely childhood, that he’s bright and cheerful and yet talks about himself as if he deserves the scant few friends and lack of parental attention he regularly alludes to, that he loves taking photos and he’s eager to travel again, in spite of being killed for it the once. That he looks very charming in a pair of sweats and a ridiculous t-shirt.

But none of this would be helpful, and all of this would be incriminating, so he says, “I really can’t say.”

Gladio sighs in disappointment, and it’s heavy and genuine enough that even while Ignis is skirting the edge of drunkenness, he can tell that Gladio’s only hope tonight was to squeeze some detail about Prompto’s life and death out of him. He lets himself relax and take another drink of the whiskey.

“Man, with how beat up you were about him, figured you might have been close or something,” Gladio mumbles. “I mean, you were real beat up. And you recognized him on sight...”

It’s just a series of observations, a habit Ignis is accustomed to. Gladio is a private detective, but he’s no spy, so Ignis has sat quietly as Gladio mumbled his way through a case on more than one occasion. If he cared more, he could jot down notes and steal Gladio’s cases right from under him. But he’s a baker by practice, a consultant by necessity. And he couldn’t hurt Iris’ feeling’s like that.

What he’s not anticipating is for Gladio’s mumbling to trail off until there’s a smirk on his lips and Ignis finds himself nervous in a new set of ways. “So, what was he? First crush?”

“I-I’m not sure what you’re-” Ignis sputters, but he’s not doing a fine job of denying it. And gods, he wishes he wasn’t such an easy read, because Gladio’s smirk is growing more insufferable by the second.

“Knew it,” he teases, and tips back another sip of the whiskey. “Trying to picture you as a kid with a crush, but it’s hard. You’re so stuffy sometimes.”

“We were all young once,” Ignis says, simply. “Though you’d be right to assume I was rather… stuffy as a child as well. Prompto managed to see through that, though. He is, er, he was a very kind and bright boy.”

“Sounds like a good guy.” Gladio takes another sip of the whiskey, but he’s back to that somber tone when he sets it down. “Kind of strange, though, you know? When you’re a kid, there are all these people that mean so much to you at one moment that completely leave your life in the next, and you have no idea why. You can only hope you’ll remember them in a few years, and that they’re remembering you, too.”

“Isn’t that just what it’s like to have people you care about?” Ignis says quietly as he fills up their cups.

“Huh,” Gladio grunts. “Guess that’s just what it’s like.”

They both have someone of their own in mind as they take a long drink from their glasses.

The facts are these.

Ignis Scientia - twenty-two years, six months, three weeks and four days old, full-time baker, part-time private investigator’s assistant and responsible party to a revival/murder - is much, much drunker than he intended to be.

He and Gladio, despite the premise of their meeting being founded on a complete lie, have been more honest and forthcoming with each other than they’ve ever been, in no small part due to the entire two bottles of alcohol. He’s learned a lot of things about Gladio, like that he’s been taking on so many cases lately because he’s getting more and more anxious about paying for Iris’ college education, that he cooks most of the family dinners, and that he’s very, very good at eating pie with nothing but his bare hands. Or, at least, much better at eating pie with his bare hands than Ignis is.

Either way, they’re both two hands deep in a pie each, a predicament that explains why Ignis doesn’t receive a critical text message that might have prepared him for what happens next.

What happens next being Prompto himself kicking the door open - it was such a small town that Ignis rarely locked it - tailed by a very anxious Noctis.

They’re both clearly in pajamas and it would be ridiculous if it weren’t for the fact that Prompto is shaking, eyes shining with moisture as he rounds on Ignis.

“You knew! That’s what the beeping was!” Prompto says. He might be shouting, he looks upset enough to be shouting and that’s definitely worrying, but at the moment Ignis’ ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton, and all he can focus on is the fact that Prompto’s still wearing his old gray cardigan. “Who was it?!”

“Sorry,” Noctis says, looking guilty. His eyes dart between Prompto and Ignis with a nervous energy. “I thought you told him how your powers worked.”

“Don’t apologize, Noct,” Prompto barks over his shoulder, then returns to poking a finger at Ignis’ chest. “You’re the one who needs to apologize! So, who was it?! Who died for me?!”

Ignis doesn’t get a chance to answer, though, because beside him Gladio is making a confused grumble as he squints at Prompto.

“Yeah, Ignis?” he grates out, hands still coated in the purple filling of a blueberry pie as he brings one to rub at his forehead. “Is that our fucking victim?”

Ignis Scientia - twenty-two years, six months, three weeks and four days old, full-time baker, part-time private investigator’s assistant and known responsible party to a revival/murder - wishes he could drink more.

Ohh, W-wOOPS? - Ignis

next time: four rowdy boys solve a murder

#ffxv #promnis #prompto x ignis #ignis x prompto #my fic #please get recognized by the pairing tag this time i'm begging u #long post #text heavy

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totallyrhettro · 7 years

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The Lone Jedi, Chapter 9

Word Count: 2034 Rating: This chapter: PG. Overall story: explicit Warnings: None Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Link POV

Link was dressed in a loose-fitting, light green blouse with a deep v-neck showing off much of his hairy chest. The billowy sleeves hung down to just below his elbows. His baggy pants were similarly colored except for a thin band of bronze around the waist. Rhett had bought him these clothes long ago, along with a new pair of thick shoes more suited to long walks in the woods. The clothes weren't as open to air as Link was used to, but the soft fabric was like heaven against his skin, and he found them very pleasant to wear.

It was definitely a different look than the slave outfit he had when he first came into Rhett’s care and he hoped no one would identify him as a former servant to the reigning Hutt. Link paced nervously in front of the academy entrance, occasionally running his fingers through his newly cut hair, while he waited for his friend to finish putting a bridle on Herb the kybuck. He liked the new cut; it was still a bit long on top, but shorter on the sides. It made him look very different and in a very good way. He hoped it was enough to keep anyone from knowing who he was.

“It's going to be fine, Link,” Rhett told him. “I promise. I'll be right beside you the whole time.”

“If the Hutt’s men find out-”

“They won't. They won’t recognize you because you don't look like a slave. You look like a free man and that's what you are.” He placed his hands on Link’s shoulders, holding his gaze and Link felt the fear melt away. “Even if someone is looking for the lost slaves from your caravan, they won't find any where you stand because you are no longer a slave. Never again.” Link smiled, but was still a little uneasy. It wasn't that he was scared; not exactly. It was just that he still hadn't figured out who he was, if not property of the Hutt. Finding a new identity was proving easier said than done.

It was a long walk down the mountain on foot but Herb was covered in bags for supplies. Besides, Link appreciated the exercise. He liked to keep his legs fit and his heart strong. While Rhett led the way, Herb’s reins in hand, Link watched the scenery around them. The forest was far more beautiful in the daylight when he could see the colorful flowers and plants growing everywhere. There was no sign of vicious animals, only singing birds and the occasional small rodent scurrying by.

When they finally got to the nearby village of Sasalea, a small trading post in a large clearing, the chatter of birds gave way to the chattering of people engaged in casual conversation and commerce. No one seemed to pay any mind to the two travelers from the mountains any more than the rest of the prospective buyers. Link looked over the covered kiosks that before he had only ever been able to see from a distance.

Rhett followed close behind, a sweet smile on his face, watching the shorter man’s excitement over the simplest things. Link didn't care if he looked silly, impressed by items that everyone else barely gave a second glance. The everyday electronics and mechanisms were amazing to his uneducated mind. He marveled at these common things, amazed that such things existed. The cheaply made clothing and decorations seemed just as beautiful as the lavish collections he had seen back in the Hutt’s palace. A whole new world was being revealed to him and he enjoyed every minute of it.

Gently, with a hand at the small of Link’s back, Rhett guided his companion along. He wanted to give him time to look over everything, but they really were here to pick up supplies. Eventually they made it to one of the larger stores, this one a full sized building and not just a cart set out in the street. It had a few customers already inside, browsing the various wares with mild interest. Like the people outside, they didn’t seem to care about Link or Rhett as they entered.

“Feel free to look around,” Rhett told his friend. “I'll come and get you when I got everything.” Link nodded enthusiastically with a wide grin before heading over to view an interesting display of musical instruments. He’d seen very similar gadgets while he lived in the palace. There was always music when he danced and he quite enjoyed to listen to it in his free time as well. Music was one of the few pleasures he truly enjoyed. Glancing over at Rhett, who was still negotiating with the merchant, Link wondered if his new friend liked music. Maybe he even knew how to play one of these things. It was a nice thought.

Moving on to another display, Link found some very interesting and rather exotic looking oil lamps. Most of the lighting back at the palace were electric, modern tech. These things looked ancient but fascinating. He picked one up and tried to figure out how it worked by just examining it.

As he turned it about in his hand, he held it up to his nose, giving it an experimental sniff. The oil inside was old and congealed. The lamp probably hadn’t been used in years and the smell was putrid. Link gagged instantly, dropping the lamp to the ground as he flinched. It didn’t break, but rolled across the floor, spilling its contents as it went. Finally it came to a stop, up against someone’s foot, and the rest of the disgusting fluid emptied around the stranger’s shoe. He did not look pleased.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. Following the trail of dark, sappy goo all the way to its source, the large man’s eyes settled on Link with a glare. Standing about two inches taller than Link, and built like a living pile driver, the man didn’t look like someone you’d ever want to mess with. His brown and green clothes were covered in filth, while his face was dark and greasy. He towered over Link, scowling, and pointed a finger into the shorter man’s chest. “Just what do you think you’re doing, stoopa?”

“It… It was an accident!” The words were barely out of his mouth before the man grabbed him roughly by the wrist and twisted him around so they were facing the same direction. Holding him close to his chest, the man tightened his grip until Link could barely breathe.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he growled. No matter how hard Link struggled, he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d never been in a fight before, no physical confrontation or punching match. He had barely even argued with anyone while he lived in the Hutt’s palace. Without any experience in combat, he had no idea what to do. He tried to bite down on the man’s arm, but didn’t even manage to damage the thick, leather sleeve. Just as he was about to start kicking, and possibly making an even bigger scene, he heard the voice of his savior.

“Put him down.” Rhett’s voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even particularity threatening, but he was most certainly not making a request. The stern look on his face and the ice in his eyes gave the stranger pause. Glancing back and forth between the two of them, he decided the brunet in his arms wasn’t worth the trouble. As he let go, he shoved Link to the ground with a sneer. Then he looked up again at Rhett, obviously trying to be more intimidating than he felt.

“Are you going to pay me for my ruined shoes?” he demanded. Rhett didn’t blink an eye. In fact, Link saw the hint of an amused grin at the corner of his mouth. He glanced down, giving the shoes a pointed look, before turning his attention back to the man’s face.

“I would,” he began, calmly. “But I don’t have change for a wupiupi.” The man looked like he wanted to hit Rhett square in the nose for that comment, but he held back. Rhett was almost half a foot taller, and he had an air of confidence about him. The stranger sulked away leaving Link alone with his friend and rescuer.

“Thanks,” he muttered, as Rhett helped him to his feet.

“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” Rhett teased with a smile, but Link frowned back. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. If Rhett hadn’t been there, that stranger would have no doubt pounded the snot out of him. He felt useless and embarrassed but most of all he felt powerless, and that was not an easy feeling to digest. Even as a slave, he had never felt that vulnerable. There was power in dancing, in making his audience desire him. This was different. Being grabbed and held like this didn’t happen. He was never that kind of slave.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered. “I should never have-”

“Hey, you’re alright.” Rhett placed a tender hand on Link’s shoulder, standing close so they could speak quietly and not be overheard. “I’m here. I would never let anything happen to you.”

“But you won’t always be there to protect me, will you?” Link secretly hoped he would be. “He could have… I don’t… I can’t...” He dropped his head into his hands, leaning against the nearby wall and trying not to collapse in tears. When he was cast out from the Hutt’s palace, he knew the lands outside were a dangerous place, but it was only now really sinking in. How was he going to survive this crazy world?

“Link.” Rhett waited until his friend met his gaze. He stared into those tender eyes, his own face soft and understanding. “It was my mistake. I didn’t prepare you for this, and I’m sorry. But-” he added- “I think I know how to help you.”

“Buy me a weapon?” Link asked, hopeful.

“No. For one thing many places don’t allow weapons.” Though he didn’t say so, he also didn’t want Link to end up hurting himself with any weapon he gave him. “I have a better idea.” Before he could elaborate, the merchant who owned the shop called out to him from the back of the room.

“Are you going to buy this stuff, or what?”

Once they had purchased all the supplies they needed they left the store, placing now filled bags onto Herb’s back. As they turned and began walking the long trail back into the forest and up the mountain, Rhett started telling his friend his great idea. He would teach him how to fight.

“It’s only for self defense,” he explained. “But with a bit of training you should be able to stop anyone who wants to hurt you from doing so.” Link loved the idea, but he was dubious that he could learn enough to keep big guys, like the one who grabbed him, at bay. Rhett told him it wasn’t just about brute strength, though working out daily would certainly help. It was about technique and using one’s opponent’s overconfidence against them.

“Will you teach me to use a bok-, uh bokkan?”

“I can, if you like. While you usually won’t have a sword to use, it will help strengthen your muscles. I know quite a few methods of self defense but all of them require you to keep up with exercise and training. It will be hard work.”

“I’m ready.” Link puffed out his chest a bit, not noticing the smile it brought to Rhett’s face. “I spent many hours learning to dance. I’m used to hard work.”

“Fighting is a lot like dancing actually, when done correctly. Your history with dance will be quite an advantage.” Thinking about this, Link flexed his arm and looked over his bicep, as if appraising it. He was fairly muscular; he managed to maintain an athletic, toned body over the last few weeks with various physical labor. It had been awhile since he danced, really danced, but he felt ready for anything Rhett’s teachings could throw at him.

Next Chapter

Additional Notes-

Kybuck: an animal originally from Kashyyyk. They look very much like the Tauntauns found on Hoth, if you crossed one with a horse.

Wupiupi: worth about 20 US cents. This golden coin is the lowest form of currency in the star wars universe, equaling about half of a republic credit. In this context, it’s like saying penny.

Stoopa: a fool or stupid person.

Bokken: Not from star wars, but adapted for this fiction. A wooden sword used for training.

More Fics

#rhett #link #rhink #fanfic #star wars #starwars #the lone jedi

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culinarystrategist · 8 years

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✿ five times my muse almost texted yours, and the one time they did.

Send a symbol

✿ five times my muse almost texted yours, and the one time they did.

@mercuriix

“Hey, mister! Can you get that down for me, please?”

It takes a moment for Ignis to realise that he’s the mister in question. Looking down, he sees a small child, bouncing and pointing towards an array plush, baby chocobos on the shelf opposite. Whirling around, he grabs the toy closes to him and holds it out.

“No, not that one. The blue one.” The child rolls his eyes and points again. “There!”

Replacing the original, Ignis gestures to the blue chocobo and glances down for confirmation. Certain that he’s now on the right lines, he takes the plush from the shelf and gives it to the child.

“Thanks mister! Mom! Mommy!” Clearly delighted, the child goes running off, presumably to persuade his mother to buy the toy, leaving Ignis standing by the display. He knows someone who’d love one of these, and his phone is in his hand, poised to take a photo before he knows it.

It goes unused, however, because Prompto is Noctis’ friend, not his, and while they may have each others’ numbers, they don’t regularly communicate. To start like this would be improper.

ii. Staring down at packed bags, Ignis chews his lip. For most of his life, he’s been preparing for this. The same can be said of Noctis and Gladio. Prompto, however, is an unknown quantity. A commoner with next to no experience or training. Friend or not, Ignis’ conscience battles over whether or not Prompto should be included in their party. There was no doubts over his enthusiasm; rather, his usefulness was what came under Ignis’ questioning. Diplomatically speaking, it is vital that they conduct themselves appropriately and Ignis believes this may be beyond Prompto’s abilities.

Four times now, he’s attempted to compose a text message, trying to word it in such a way that he’ll spare Prompto’s feelings whilst suggesting that he should remain behind in the city. It feels like a cruelty, both to Prompto and to Noctis, so the messages keep being deleted and rewritten as he struggles to find the best way of putting his thoughts into words.

Midway through his fifth try, Ignis’ phone vibrates with a message received. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he brings up an image of Prompto’s smiling face. The caption underneath declares him ‘Ready for anything!’. It may not do much to assuage Ignis’ concerns, but it does help him make up his mind about what he wants to say: nothing.

iii.

“We agreed to stick together,” Ignis protests, his phone in his hand. “The sun will be setting soon. Who knows what trouble will find him?”

The tent is up, the campfire roaring and dinner is almost ready, but one of their party - Prompto - is nowhere to be seen. He took off a little while ago, riding his chocobo with unabashed zeal.

“Leave the kid be, Iggy,” Gladio grumbles, pausing in his training tussle with Noctis to shake his head. “He’s just blowin’ off steam. He’ll be back soon enough.”

Trees surround the haven, making it impossible to see very far. Ignis cocks his head and listens for the telltale warks of a jumping, leaping chocobo, but none are to be heard. With daemons on the prowl, Imperials in the air and all manner of creatures stalking the forest, Ignis feels justified in fearing for Prompto’s safety.

“Yeah, he can look after himself!” Which was easy for Noctis to say, even if Gladio did have him in a headlock at that moment.

“Hm.” Unconvinced, yet acquiescing, Ignis slips his phone back into his pocket. “If he’s not back in fifteen minutes, I’m sending you two out after him.” If he wasn’t back in fifteen minutes, a text probably wouldn’t suffice.

iv.

There’s nothing quite like an early morning stroll to blow the cobwebs from one’s mind. The beauty of Altissia is quite breathtaking and as Ignis climbs yet another set of stairs, he almost wishes he had someone with whom he could share the sights. The others were all still fast asleep when he left, and undoubtedly still would be when he returns with an armful of freshly baked delights for breakfast. Assuming he can find the bakery.

As stunning as it is, Altissia is maze-like. The staircases and canals make it very easy to get lost. One wrong turn and you’re somewhere you don’t wish to be, with no idea of how to get back. One day, sometime in the future, Ignis will come back and spend at least a week here, getting to know all the little streets and narrow alleys with the boutiques and shops that beg for attention that he doesn’t have time to give right now.

Up and over another bridge, Ignis glances out towards the sea and a shock of blond hair catches his eye. Prompto is awake? This is a surprise! He’d call out, but the distance between them is too great for his voice to carry, so he reaches for his phone instead, to send a message and suggest that they, somehow, try to meet up.

The figure turns, though, and Ignis realises his mistake in the nick of time. It’s not Prompto over there, merely a lookalike.

A putrid stench fills the air. This place is as impure as it’s possible to be. Locked in a cell, Ignis and Gladio sit in silence but for the ever present thrum of machinery in the background. Noctis is somewhere in this keep and, Ignis hopes, Prompto too. Head tilted back to rest against the wall, Ignis lets out a weary sigh. It’s hard to tell how long they’ve been here.

“I wish they’d turn on the lights. I hate this darkness.” Gladio’s low, rumbling complaint makes Ignis chuckle.

“Welcome to my world,” he retorts, dark humour lacing his words.

“Huh? Oh, right. Sorry. Still getting used to the whole… You know.”

Blindness, is the word he’s looking for, but Gladio skirts around it. Noctis does too, to an extent. The only one who hasn’t is Prompto. Ignis misses the kid’s bluntness.

Despite being bundled into a cell, he and Gladio had been allowed to keep their belongings, and Ignis pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb gliding over the smooth screen. At some point, once all of this is over, he’ll have to get someone to help him set up the voice recognition so he can use it again. Right now, it’s as useful to him as a brick.

“You know you’re writing gibberish there, don’t you?” Ignis can feel Gladio looming over him, peering down at his phone. “If Prompto ever gets that, he’ll think you’ve gone crazy.”

“I didn’t intend to write anything,” he says, pressing the button on the side to lock the screen. “Just… Passing the time.”

✿

“I don’t know how you do it,” Takka tells him as he serves Ignis a hearty bowl of chili. “But I’m glad that you do.”

Years ago, Ignis would have dismissed the idea of a blind hunter as a preposterous notion, yet there he is, precisely that. As odd as it may sound, being used to having no vision has actually proven a boon to his abilities. He had a head start.

“Oh hey, I had one of your buddies in here the other day. Prompto. Right where you’re sitting, as it happens. How about that? You fellas still keep in touch?”

“From time to time, yes.” Communication with Gladio was regular, but, much to his shame, Ignis hadn’t spoken to Prompto in a long while.

“He said he was staying around this area,” Takka added, before moving away to take care of other things, leaving Ignis to his food, and his thoughts. Eating slowly, Ignis tries to remember the last time he and Prompto crossed paths. For the first two - or was it three? - years since Noctis’ disappearance, the three men had stuck together, but gradually drifted apart. It’s probably close to three months since their last meeting and they’re long overdue for another.

Once his meal is done, Ignis steps outside with his phone clutched in his hand. Raising it, he speaks slowly and clearly.

“Text message to Prompto: Currently at Hammerhead. If you are in the vicinity and have the time, perhaps we could get together.” Pausing to let the voice to text catch up, Ignis spoke the command to send the message. It was time for a reunion.

#mercuriix #thanks for sending!#cut for length

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years

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Camelot: I Know It Sounds a Bit Bizarre

My inventory fills up as I continue with Camelot.

Since my first year of blogging, when I forced myself to win Wizardry while adhering to its implementation of permadeath, I’ve often remarked that I would never do that again. My adherence to “playing the way the developers intended” was so strict that during the remainder of the year, I quit Wizardry II, III, and IV rather than even consider backing up the save files. (I would later return to II and III and win both under more relaxed rules.) These days, I am likely to try to abide by both the developer’s original intent and my own “conduct” (limited saves), but I feel that showing and documenting the endgame are more important than questions of integrity.

Thus, there’s a certain exhilaration to the occasional PLATO game, where cheating isn’t even an option. (At least, not in most forms, though see below for a slightly unusual version.) When my character dies, I frequently have a moment of disbelief, almost like people who experience sudden tragedies report having in real life. A couple years ago, I happened to speak to a woman whose husband had fallen asleep while driving home from work and had run head-on into a truck. “I remember thinking he was just here,” she told me. “How could such a simple mistake be so irrevocable? How could there be no rewind button? No do-over?” That’s how I feel when my elf fighter gets killed by a demon. I mean, maybe not exactly, but there are analogues.

The point is, life is precious in the real world and in Camelot, so it becomes all that more meaningful when you succeed. And while death may be a constant danger in the game, it’s not at all arbitrary. When it happens to me, it’s almost always because I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. The game is actually quite good about offering multiple ways out of a situation, about not requiring you to engage enemies that you don’t want to engage. You have to be quick with your fingers, but it would be theoretically possible to explore an entire dungeon level, and collect a good percentage of its treasure, without engaging in a single combat round.

The problem is that once you decide to stand and fight, the game can be relentless. For instance, last night I wandered into a room and faced “6 imps.” I had faced imps before. They’re a demon type, but not very hard, and I was a relatively high level. Generally, when facing stacks of multiple enemies, you concentrate on killing one. Once you do, you escape the room, pray for healing, re-enter, and try to kill the next one. If you must, you can return to the town if your prayers run out.

What I didn’t know was that the 6 creatures weren’t actually imps; they were manes. That’s a tougher demon. It turns out that this game goes one better than Oubliette, which often gave you the category of monster but not the specific monster. In Camelot, the character can mis-identify the specific monster. When I hit (F)ight, I watched myself do 60% damage to one creature and then watched as the demons took their turn and pounded my health from 100% to 40% in one round. There’s no way to escape or to do anything in the middle of a combat round; that’s the point of no return. At that point, I should have immediately fled, or prayed in combat, or done anything but attack a second time, because clearly the enemies were capable of doing more than 50% damage in a single round, and I was now below 50%. But some primitive part of my mind, trained on other RPGs, forgetting temporarily that actions are irrevocable, decided that I didn’t want to waste the 60% damage I’d already achieved, and to at least try to kill one of the demons before I escaped. I hit (F)ight again, missed, and was swiftly torn apart.

Another death.

As I mentioned last time, there’s a good chance of resurrection, and Chester was resurrected. He’s been resurrected a few times now. But each one comes with a loss of score, the higher the level the higher the loss, and Chester now has a score of over -99,999. Fortunately, it caps there. Joshua Tabin (the author) insists that I’ll recover those points at higher levels, but I’m not sure he’s considering the possibility that I’ll die a few more times at those higher levels, too.

I guess Joshua felt a little bad about the game’s difficulty as I reported it in the first entry (though, as he points out, it’s only difficult if you approach it as a typical RPG instead of as Camelot specifically). Joshua and his Level 17 ogre, Drek McFeffer, joined me for a while last night on the first two levels. He ran ahead of me in the dungeon, decimating some of the rooms and alerting me where I could find lucrative treasure caches. One room on each dungeon level is designated the “stud room” and features better treasure and harder monsters than anywhere else on the same level. He helped me clear Level 1’s stud room a couple of times so I could bulk up my equipment. He also used his admin powers to insert a couple of useful items into the town’s store, and all the while he kept a steady stream of hints and tips going with the game’s chat feature. I still died twice, lest you think he made it too easy.

The author throws me some hints as I map the dungeon.

I can’t speak for the mid-game or late-game, but finding useful equipment in the early game is a joy. You have numerous equipment slots, and almost anything you find during the first 10 hours is an upgrade. I was more than three hours into the game before I even had a weapon, so finding my first short sword and then a steel sword was like hitting the real-life lottery. When I found a mithril helmet in one of the stud rooms, I had to stop myself from calling my mother with the good news. Later, it was destroyed because of a cursed item, and the pain was palpable.

Camelot does some clever things with its inventory, too. There are useful items like Palantirs, which tell you where you can find quest enemies (those you have to kill to level up), and Scrolls of Recall to whisk you back to town. The Scroll of Identify does what it suggests, but it can also be used to identify traps before you open chests, and items before you pick them up. The latter use is particularly important because some items are cursed, and in this game, cursed items break the items of the same type that you already have before replacing them. It’s a particular joy to find manuals, which increase your attributes permanently, but potions that increase them temporarily (they last a long time) are almost as good.

There are several items that let you briefly charm a monster companion. The Orb of Entrapment, for instance, seems to work on dragon types. Having one of those at your side really helps clear out a room.

A charmed firedrake follows me around.

I also like how character development is palpable. At some point, you get two attacks per round, which makes you feel like Hercules on the first level. (Although, as I learned more than once, you still can’t get cocky.) Attack and defense factors increase as you level, and it’s rewarding to go from missing 90% of the time to 70% of the time, to reversing the ratio and hitting more times than you miss.

Joshua clarified a few things from the comments on the first entry. He absolutely intended the game to be played by a single player. However, he also expected that the player would use two simultaneous logins. He built a feature where one user can “follow” another user on an automap, and I guess it was common at the time for one player to take over two terminals with two user names, playing on one, and using the automap on the other. A single player with two characters can also have them rescue and resurrect each other, at a higher chance of success than if you rely on the whims of the gods. Thus, I applied for and received a second Cyber1 account.

Playing with two terminal windows side-by-side.

I spent a number of hours mapping Level 2 and parts of Levels 3 and 4, but every time I thought I was finally badass enough to march around a level unopposed, I’d get my ass handed to me by some group of mages or demons who kill me in a single round.

Level 2 of the Camelot dungeon.

In the first entry, I noted that a number of rooms have “flavor text,” and I noticed that various rooms on Level 2 repeated those on the first level. For instance, both have rooms coated in guano, filled with statues, with soft ground, with an empty wallet, and so forth. Both have a small room with beakers and burners that seems to be a lab. Both have a room where I feel a “force of nature.” Joshua has hinted at deeper puzzles later in the game, and I wonder if they have something to do with these rooms.

If I need an alchemist’s lab later, I’ll know where to come.

Camelot is probably going to have to go on the back burner for a while. I enjoy the gameplay, but it’s taken me 16 hours to build a Level 14 character and map two and a half levels. The characters who have actually won the game are Level 60. I’ll dip into it now and then as I continue to progress with the rest of my list.

Time so far: 16 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/camelot-i-know-it-sounds-a-bit-bizarre/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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armyhealth9-blog · 5 years

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Episode 405 - Robb and Nicki Q&A #9

We're back with Q&A #9 with Robb and Nicki.

Remember to submit your own questions for Robb and Nicki to answer on a future show here: https://robbwolf.com/contact/submit-a-question-for-the-podcast/

Show Notes:

1. [2:06] Kidney Stones

Krisztian says: I've been mostly Paleo for about 5 years now based on one of your piror books. Overall, it has worked well for me, with one exception. I started to develop kidney stones on a regular basis. I finally had them analyzed and they turned out to be calcium oxalate stones. Upon reading up on this condition, it stems from a high amount of oxalate in the diet. Unfortunatley, most of the foods I liked on Paleo happen to be super high in oxalate... spinach, nuts, seeds, dark chocolate, sweet potatoes. The other wammy here is that I was initially avoiding dairy on Paleo which turns out to be worse for stones because one way to counteract high oxalate intake is to match it with high calcium to avoid stone formation. I've since gone back to eating plenty of cheese and high fat dairy in my diet.

I'm curious if this is a common issue that you've seen and I'm wondering if this is something that might be helped by going to a keto diet.

2. [5:33] Sugar addiction Kathryn says: Hey Robb, I am really hoping you can give me some insight into why I can't seem to fully recover from sugar addiction. I have had a sweet tooth my whole life, but in recent years I have learned that I have a true addiction to sugar. In the last four years or so, I have studied a lot of nutrition, functional medicine and ancestral health perspectives and gone on a strict paleo diet for months at a time. In almost every way, a clean diet of whole foods makes me feel amazing (better sleep, clearer skin, joints and movement feels better, etc.), except, I become very depressed. It's not a mopey, weepy kind of depressed, it's literally a depression of all feeling, like I feel very little at all. But I do sometimes feel really, really irritable, or sometimes bouts of rage that don’t match the situations they arise in. But most of the time, I just feel blah. I thought this would go away after a couple of weeks or even a month or two of eating clean, but it didn't. In happy or exciting moments, it was like I just couldn't feel those emotions fully. I also noticed that I didn't crack jokes like I usually do or feel like being social. All my feelings were dulled. Even sad ones. And when I did fall off the diet, and eat sugar, I immediately felt cheerful again. To me, it seems that the years of sugar abuse have altered my brain enough that without sugar, I can't feel normal emotions anymore. So my question is concerning healing my brain. Is it possible to reverse these effects? The longest I have gone on a strict paleo diet is three months. I admit it was hard to keep going when I just didn't see myself ever feeling happy again. If it's possible to heal my brain and increase its capacity for proper dopamine signaling again, are there certain therapies or supplements that can precipitate and accelerate that healing? Perhaps I am ignorant of some other factor or mechanism at work here. I would be grateful for any insight or help you can give. Thanks for the incredible work you do to bring to light the truth about human health and nutrition.

Notes:

Carb 22: https://carbsyndrome.com/nutraceuticals-new/

STEM Talk Episode 69 (David LeMay): https://www.ihmc.us/stemtalk/episode-69/

3. [11:32] Metabolic Flexibility and Weight Loss/Maintenance Julia says: Robb and Nicki, I am very interested in the concept of metabolic flexibility and eagerly waiting to hear your upcoming lecture on this topic. Intuitively it makes sense that given variation in season and climate that humans would have relied on a menu of macronutrient combinations. My question is: how can developing metabolic flexibility be used as tool for weight loss/maintenance? I have been about 90% ketogenic for the past 28 months; the other 10% would be high carb meals which I have allowed as a metabolically flexible person. I can swing in and out of ketosis with ease; however, I have noticed that if I go through periods of higher carb, it does result in weight gain which is tough to lose even when reentering ketosis. I do crossfit almost daily and practice the 18:6 IF schedule, and I don't notice either of those things affecting my performance. Thanks!

4. [16:31] Low afternoon energy

Laura says: Hi Robb and Nicki, Thank you both for all you do! I've been a huge fan since 2010 and admire your relentless pursuit of the truth when it comes to health and nutrition.

My question is about my extremely low energy in the early afternoons. I know it is a common complaint, but I feel like I've done everything I can to fix the common mistakes that lead to the afternoon slump, and I also feel like my exhaustion is too extreme to be normal for my age and health status.

I'm 32 years old, I eat low carbish (75-100g most days), have toyed with keto, eat mostly paleo with the addition of some dairy and occasional non gluten grains. I do crossfit 3x/week and spend most of my time chasing my 2 year old around. My sleep is good most of the time, and I do not have any major life stressors that effect me currently. No diagnosed health conditions, no rx meds.

I had bloodwork done recently, and my doctor was very impressed with the results, especially my blood lipids. A1c was 4.8, C-reactive protein 0.8, no thyroid antibodies present. Fasting blood sugar 78. The only things that were slightly out of range were homocysteine (slightly low at 4.6), Uric acid low at 2.4, serum iron slightly high at 148, and my free T3 was a little low at 2.5. Another Doctor years ago prescribed me naturethroid but I never took it.

Ive tried changing my diet in every way imaginable to try to combat a possible hypoglycemic or food sensitivity related slump after lunch. I've eliminated various foods that people can be sensitive to,and ive even tried more carbs in the morning, but that leads to blood sugar imbalance and cravings all day. As a result, my breakfasts and lunches would fall under the keto umbrella, as I feel better when I eat carbs later in the day.

The only thing that seems to slightly help is not eating at all, but I just get so hungry! My activity level is fairly high and I don't feel like I'm a great candidate for intermittent fasting at this point.

My mom, who has had MS for about 30 years, does not eat all day and only eats dinner because she's says eating makes her tired. I just can't handle not eating at all, and I do feel fatigued and hypoglycemic if I try to skip meals.

Thanks for reading and for all you do!!

5. [23:08] Carb test and ketosis

Carl says: Hey Robb,

I read Wired to Eat while I was pretty deep into a ketotic cycle, so I didn't immediately get to the 7-day carb test. Years of self-experimentation have led me to a relatively low carb (<50g/day) Paleo diet with an occasional 48 hour fast, an occasional ketotic cycle, and a very occasional carb re-feed. Genetic testing revealed some SNPs that predispose me to insulin resistance, and others that positively affect my fat metabolism, reinforcing the fact that I look, feel, and perform better eating in this fashion. I do enjoy my occasional carb binges, so I'd like to perform the carb test in order to whittle my food selections down to those least damaging to my metabolism; but I'm concerned that my postprandial blood glucose readings will be skewed upward because I don't regularly eat more than ten or fifteen grams of effective carbs at a time. Should I bring my daily and per-meal carb intake up for a certain period of time before starting the carb test, or is a 50 gram bolus of carbs small enough to give me a true measure of glucose tolerance for the purpose of food selection? Thanks in advance.

6. [27:30] Creativity and Writing Process

Peter says: Robb,

I hope all is well. I'm a big fan of the Podcast and excited about the Q & A return. I have a two-parter both within the same general idea.

FIRSTLY: I'm a writer and I am alway curious about how others approach the creative process. I was curious if you could elaborate on how you approach writing and creativity in regards to balancing an active lifestyle? And how a typical day when writing might look.

For example -- Do you do things like meditate? What time of the day do you write? Where do you write? If you write in the morning how do you reconcile with hanging outside first thing in the morning to get some sun? If you do Jujutsu around noon and roll for 2 hours how do you write around it? You've mentioned eating big meals in the morning, if you're in a heavy writing period, is this a habit you stick with? Oh by the way, you have a wife and kids... how do you balance it all?

Do you still do caffeine? Do you force yourself to take breaks during writing? How do you avoid sitting for 5/6 hours straight?

Sorry for all the questions, I've just been thinking about this a lot lately as I enter into a career pursuing my passion as a writer while trying to balance and prioritize my health. As I am sure you can attest, writing can be all consuming if you let it and setting boundaries is vital -- though difficult, especially if you're in "the zone." So I'd love to hear your thoughts.

[33:18] SECONDLY: I'd love to get your thoughts on the mechanisms at play when writing or doing anything else that requires intense mental focus in regards to willpower. Correct me if I am wrong, but it feels like for me, many aspects of writing and maintaining a healthy lifestyle (choosing healthy food over shitty stuff, hitting the gym, walking, etc.) can drain from the same willpower tank (if not just psychologically, and physically -- physiologically as well). This isn't to say that both can't exist -- rather does one need to be given priority based on ordering of events throughout the day?

For example, I feel my creativity comes to me first thing in the morning. If I were to wake up and hit a Metcon first thing, I feel my creativity gets depleted from the shared willpower tank. I feel this to be true with little things that chip away at my early morning start time as well. For example, taking the time to make a big healthy breakfast, sitting in the sun, even a short walk, all delay me tapping into when I feel I am creatively primed -- but is it worth the sacrifice of my health?

I was curious if you have any thoughts on when or how you prioritize creativity. Or maybe this is all just a bunch of bullshit like Robert Rodriguez says -- and our creativity is totally out of our control.

Anyways, love the show and everything you do. If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.

Regards, Peter

Source: http://robbwolf.libsyn.com/episode-405-robb-and-nicki-qa-9

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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