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evolutionsvoid · 4 years ago

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As I have mentioned in a previous entry, the Underworld is not fully a place filled with fire and brimstone, but it does contain volcanic areas. Think of it as just another ecosystem that exists within an underground world. Just like how we have swamps, deserts and forests, they have fungal forests, geode canyons and lava rivers! So if you are visiting the Underworld in hopes of seeing some of this molten material, you are going to need a guide to direct you to the regions where it is prevalent! Be sure to bring plenty of heat protection and tough clothing, as these habitats are a bit harsh! Obviously the sheer heat is one factor, but all the rock that surrounds these places are quite sharp! Pretty much the whole habitat is made of igneous rock, and there is plenty of obsidian and other sharp stones to make the floor like razors! Honestly, I did most of my research and observing from a far distance away, practically sitting in the neighboring cavern and peeking through whatever tunnels offered a clear view. I am a bit sad my body cannot handle these places, because what glimpses I got were fascinating! Lava flowing like rivers of water, branching and winding through the rock beds! Great pools of magma the size of lakes, boiling and bubbling! Fire falls pouring over cliffs, creating a blinding spectacle found nowhere else! Quite incredible, but incredibly dangerous! I would be a pile of ash in seconds if I set root in such a place! In fact, I am pretty sure only demons and shades can truly dwell in these regions, save for any magic users who can create a resistance to the extreme heat. When it comes to these toasty places, the denizens of the Underworld have two different types of molten habitats: lava rivers and magma pools. Those who are savvy with the terms "lava" and "magma" are probably pretty heated with me seemingly using the two interchangeably. However, I must object! Though they may seem wrong to us up above, things are little different down below! Surface dwellers designate lava as the stuff that reaches the surface, while the magma remains down below. For a people who live entirely underground, those definitions don't really help. Instead, they differentiate the two through movement, or lack thereof. Lava is the molten stuff that flows, much like a river or stream. Magma sits where it is at and goes nowhere, like a lake or pond. Think of it like lentic and lotic systems for water, but magma is lentic and lava is lotic! I think I am explaining this right... Anyways! Despite the harsh heat and seemingly barren landscape, these molten regions can also be filled with life! If you know a thing or two about fungi, then you know they won't be stopped by mere heat! Many species of fungus grow here, with some looking quite similar to the ones found in volcanic deserts! Where fungus arises, other creatures will follow, using these mushrooms and molds as the foundation of the food web. Many of these species I refer to live upon the shores of these molten bodies, but what about within it? Turns out, there are indeed creatures that swim through the lava and magma, like the magnificent Pteramafic! These creatures are often jokingly called "lava fish" by us folk up above, but it seems this nickname for the Pteramafic may be fitting! Studies and dissections of these creatures have shown a lot of similarities to fish, mainly those who have no jaws. It is believed that these are some ancient fish species that long separated themselves from the water-lovers up above, and have settled in a hotter home. They have fins, bones and scales, but much of the details in their anatomy and make up is quite different. The most obvious difference is that they can swim through lava! Insane! I can't even begin to describe how specialized their bodies must be to pull off such a feat! The scales they have are tougher than metal, and their fins are arranged like claws to help pull them through thicker bits of magma. Their rostrums have greatly elongated to create a horn-like structure, which helps them slice through the boiling lava. Much like their jawless brethren, they possess no mandibles or likewise features. Instead, they are filter feeders, who strain the molten rock for some kind of mineral or nutrients that they can digest. With this diet, they must swim and burrow through the lava and magma to get their fill, which makes them appear as speedsters! It was quite a sight to watch these bizarre fish tear through the fiery streams, their beautiful dorsal fins looking like sails of some boat trapped in purgatory.

With their homes made in the flowing lava and bubbling magma, the Pteramafic are obviously endearing to the people of the Underworld. Those who worship fire and believe it to be the source of their soul and life no doubt find some holiness in those who literally live in flame. The Pteramafic is seen as the messenger of Pyrogohna, being believed to be one of the few creatures who can actually swim down to the realm of the Gods Below. They relay information and knowledge from the upper layers down to the Goddess of Fire, filling her in on what her children up above are doing. It is believed that these fish are how Pyrogohna knows how to pace her dance, to ensure that the Underworld thrives. Thus, it is forbidden to bring harm to these creatures, as striking down a messenger of the Gods Below is surely one of the greatest sins. Though there is no hunting allowed of the Pteramafic, one may find their parts and pieces showing up in temples. I asked about this, after I saw a priest cloaked in the hide of a lava fish. While the people may not bring harm to these fish, they are allowed to harvest those that have already died. However, this collection can only be done by the priests of Pyrogohna, and the carcass must be brought to one of her temples. There it will be honored for its service, and then its body will be stripped for parts. Its hide and armor are fashioned into garb, its fins into banners and its horn into holy staffs and instruments. These items can only be held by honored members of the temple and Fire Dancers, and often they aren't even allowed to leave the premises. I got to see some of these crafts when Leyick took me to one of the worships, and they were gorgeous to behold! However, I was informed not to even go near these things, as they were meant only for the priests and preachers, and certainly not for outsiders. That turned out to be quite easy, as the hectic worship of Pyrogohna didn't really leave a whole lot of time for inspecting and studying. I was too busy getting pulled into dances and desperately trying not die of exhaustion. My adventures and studies have given me a body built with unstoppable endurance and incredible stamina, but it sure didn't seem like it that day! In my defense, it was a whole lot of dancing in a very hot room. You try doing a two hour country dance in a sauna and I am sure you will be just as winded as I! I must note that during my study of the Pteramafic I was musing about the culture significance of the Pteramafic. The fact that they were a holy species with such protection was fascinating to me, but then Vespar mentioned something that got me wondering. She made a comment that suggested that the Pteramafic was inedible for demons, shades and....well, pretty much anything. A creature built to survive molten temperatures and eat slag isn't exactly something that would show up at the dinner table. No doubt the meat would be poisonous to many species, so I had to wonder if this informed anything. Were the Pteramafic seen as holy before or after they found out you couldn't eat them? It sounds absolutely silly to say aloud, but I am curious. Perhaps it is just pure coincidence, or maybe this helped shape their views of the species. Hard to say, and probably isn't my place to really debate this. I would bring it up to my guides, but I think it would just give them more ammo to make fun of me. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian -------------------------------------------------------- Any lava place has got to have lava fish! And yes, I am aware real lava and magma doesn't function like this, but it is a sin practically every fantasy world commits, so I think its fine. Since we are the Underworld, that means we need prehistoric fish, so why not the pteraspis?

#fish #pteraspis #monster #creature #lava #lava fish #art #drawing

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abizarreyodelingincident · 5 years ago

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Linked Universe: Regrets

“Although I accepted life as the hero, I could not convey the lessons of that life to those who came after... At last, I have eased my regrets.”

Twilight had never forgotten those words. He had carried them with pride. Used them when his hands faltered. Remembered the strength that had been taught to him. Swords without courage meant nothing. With the lessons of the Hero's Shade, Twilight struck down Hyrule's greatest enemy for good.

(He thought. But there would be another after him, long after, but one nonetheless, and he would suffer greatly from the shadow of Hyrule's first enemy.)

Nowadays, it's a white lie that haunts his nights.

“Link... I... See you later.”

He's learned when things aren't meant to be. And he loves his fellow heroes. Wouldn't trade them for peaceful days wandering his Hyrule. He loves them. Like brothers. Like another father. But he knows it can't last. Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. And theirs... through time and space... there will be no reunion after they've completed this quest.

He should shield his heart better, but they slip past too easily for that. One day, they'll go their separate way. He can't change that. Still, any time he looks at the old man, his heart squeeze and he just wants to help. To save him. He can't.

Is it like that for anyone else? Does Hyrule hide something like this from Legend behind all his sweet smiles and his eagerness to learn? Does he also think of a nameless grave by a tree? Maybe a grand mausoleum, because it's Legend, and he's earned at least this much, to hear him speak of his many trials?

He smirks to himself at the idea, but it slips soon enough.

Four? No one's quite sure where he fits in the timeline, but the best guess is 'early'. Wind? No, he's said the legends exist, but the hero never showed. Warriors thinks it's the timelines diverging when Time returned to his youth to prevent Ganon's rise. He's another odd one out. Knowing a bit of everything and everyone's legacy. Does Warriors know how it'll end for me?Wild certainly doesn't.

The truth is Twilight knows that Time will never be fully content despite Malon, despite a future as a father, and he hates the fact that he cannot save his mentor. Cannot prevent that regret from taking root in him. He's only ever known that he hated leaving his Hyrule defenseless, with no one to learn from the hardships he was shoved into as a child.

Twilight hates it so much. Sometimes, Zant's pendant pulsed with the dark emotions that want to choke him up. He almost wonders if there isn't something right in the ranting of the old usurpers. The Goddesses were so many things, but kind?

It's hard to remember their blessings when the people you love most see their fate as cursed. When Hyrule is doomed without that pain.

“Green rupee for your thoughts?” Warriors ask, watching the sun set over the horizon.

“I know I'm country folk, but we ain't that cheap, Captain,” Twilight drawls.

Warriors shrugs, then pulls his sword out to run a whetstone over its edge. “Well, I'm broke. My queen and I hadn't thought it'd stretch out over this long.”

The thought sobers Twilight, who is decidedly not looking dusk painting the sky like a bonfire. “Miss her?” he says, quieter than usual.

Warriors' glance is a bit sharper than warranted, but he makes no comment about it. “Certainly,” he replies easily. “She was one of the few... mhmm, wait, did I never tell you about my situation back in my era?”

He sees the non-sequitur and accepts it with a sigh of relief. Sitting down by the same tree, he settles just close enough for them to touch shoulders. “No, but I sense this is a long story.”

“It's the perfect length, thank you,” Warriors haughtily counters. “So, it all begins roughly ten years ago-”

Twilight snorts, and pushes his brother roughly. Warriors is agile enough he slips back into place without dropping the sword or the stone, radiating smug triumph.

In the end, he joins Warriors on first watch just to distract himself from his thoughts.

***

Lon Lon Ranch is one of his favorite place to visit. Stepping inside feels like being served a slice of Ordon on a platter. It's a piece of home, without the awkwardness that comes from the odd looks here and there. Unspoken questions about every little way he's changed.

Twilight shakes his head. What's he doing? Somewhat forcefully, he pulls back the sleeves of his tunic and spits in his hands. He's got some work to do, and it's not Legend (who is egging Warriors more than he's shoveling) or Wind (who is having the time of his life learning how to ride with Time's Epona) that'll finish the chores for him.

“Here, sweetheart.” Malon holds out a waterskin to him and a towel. “Don't forget to rest and drink every once in a while. With this sun, it's not healthy to neglect it.”

He accepts gratefully, swallowing a mouthful of cool water first. “I will, Ma'am.”

“Oh, hush with that. It's Malon for family,” she corrects him easily, and he ducks his head, pleased. “And I'll be watching you, sweetheart. The Goddesses know my Link's not one to recognize his limits.”

Time straightens and leans against the handle of his spade. “Now, now, honey, you know I'm a reasonable man.”

“Did I tell you about the time my clever husband decided to renovate the ba-!”

Malon lets out a fake shriek when Time grabs her with his dirt-covered hands. Pretends to fight back. She's not fooling him or her husband. They've both witnessed her handling the cattle. It's not from Time's side of the family that Twilight inherited the strength.

(They're the type of couple that teases each other constantly. He wonders what it would have been like if Midna...)

There's something a little different about Malon today. Something under her skin. Like she was holding on to a secret with both hands and it's threatening to explode the whole time. He wouldn't call her nervous. Excited, though? Yes.

He finds out at dinner.

They've just finished another two course meal courtesy of Malon and Wild when she pulls her husband aside during dessert. It gets a glance or two, but the conversation keeps going on the topic of stupidest things they've ever done. Since it's Wild's turn though, Twilight can still focus on the married couple by the sink.

(It's a sad day when he can name more for Wild than Wild remembers. They've got diverging definitions of what constitutes a 'stupid' thing. He will forever argue against the monster masks, especially the lynel one.)

“I was waiting for a chance to tell you in person. I saw a wisewoman last week.”

“What for...?” Time asks, and he sounds a little anxious for once, hands hovering closer to his wife.

Coy, Malon bites her lips and glances at Twilight. Time has to turn to see where, exactly, she's looking, and his breath hitches when he realizes. His mouth twitch as he grabs both her hands, focused on her with such intensity she giggles.

“You mean...?”

She breaks into a grin, nods and whispers-yells: “Yes! We're going to be parents, Link.”

The kiss he lands on her lips is indecent enough to attract whistles from some of the others, who seem to be clueing in to the excitement in the room. When those two come apart, a pleasant blush colors their cheeks, and he tells her, over and over that he loves her. When he's had his fill, he whirls around to face them and their cheering.

“Boys!” Time calls out, exuberant, absolutely unguarded. “Boys! I'm going to be a father!”

The roof, improbably, resists the eruption of screams. Time's pure joy is contagious and it's the best news they've got since starting this quest. Congratulations rain on the happy couple.

“Someone's going to have competition, huh?” Legend nudges Twilight's ribs, wagging eyebrows.

Normally, Twilight would be flattered that his bond with Time is that obvious. Normally, he'd grab Legend and give him a noogie for his insolence. Make him cry 'uncle'. The classic big brother behavior he's used to. But he barely hears the words as it is, his mind bogged down by a sudden realization.

He stalls.

He's a second delayed in joining in the congratulations, behind Sky and Hyrule who are a little less physical in their affections. They've formed a circle around their leader and his wife, offering their best wishes, joking, patting Time on the back, kissing Malon's cheeks.

And then it's his turn.

Twilight remembers to breath. Offers his hand first.

“Oh, come here, you!” she swats away his hand and forces him into a hug that's warm, soft.

“You'll make a wonderful mother, Malon.”

Her expression shifts slightly, more of a knowing smirk, and he can see her laughter in her eyes. 'Oh, now you tell me.'

It's impossible for him not to smile back.

And below that elation, the flare of hope in his guts, is a heart stopping dread.

***

The next few battles are some of the worst Twilight had to struggle through. The enemies' number swell. Their ambushes turn elaborate with unheard of combinations of monsters that never coexisted naturally. The puppeteer behind them has tightened the strings, and Twilight has trouble keeping his head above water when every second he looks away, he fears his mentor (father) will die.

It's sheer experience and a heaping dose of help from his companions that ensure he's not dead. And even then...

“There, good as new,” Hyrule proclaims, slapping Twilight's bicep for good measure. “Now how about you don't pull a Wild and drop your weapon next time? We're counting on you to teach him caution, not the opposite.”

“Heard you, 'Rule!” Wild protests from where he's helping Four hobble back to them.

“Great, because we all saw that thing with the peahat.”

“It was the only way!”

And here goes the bickering, Twilight huffs. Wild and Hyrule get along like a house on fire, which means that it's warm and toasty for a while until everything collapse into ashes for a bit. Then they rebuild it better and stronger than before with perfect coordination. It's impressive, honestly, how they both push in the same direction without a second thought.

At least this doesn't look like he'll need to turn into a wolf to fetch them in a forest on the other side of a mountain like last time (he's still bitter about it, a mountain?).

“Pup,” Time's voice jolts him back into awareness. His mentor's standing right behind him. “Come with me for a minute?”

For a second, he hesitates. He likes to imagine a thousand explanations for it, but he already knows the one. Sky shot him the odd look during the fight. Saw him sloppier than usual. And Time keeps an even closer look on all of them.

The clearing is just far enough to be away from prying eyes, though not far enough they can't hear the others if they pay attention. Both sides could hear and rush at the first sign of trouble. It's a good place for a talk.

“Twilight,” Time begins, voice brimming with concern, “what's wrong?”

“It's...”

Silence lingers between them, with all the things Twilight can't say.

“Does it have anything to do about Malon's pregnancy?” Time asks, and Twilight cringes. “Ah. I figured as much. Are you bothered?”

Twilight fights the flashback to one of those evenings Rusl took him aside for a fatherly talk. He feels about as small as he did back then too. “No, of course not! It's... before, when I met Malon and saw you two didn't have kids, I realized you were safe. Every one of us is risking his life on this quest, but I could hold onto the idea that you'd live through, that it was impossible that you didn't because I'm here.”

“Were you not worried for my safety before this, Pup?” Time teases, a full on smirk on his face.

Twilight's face burns. “I, no, that's not it at all! It's just... Goddesses, I'm being silly.”

The hand that rests on his shoulder feels solid. Grounding. Like Time means to give him back some of that certainty through sheer force of will.

Twilight's relieved that it works on him.

“Pup, I promise I have no intention of dying and leaving Malon to raise our little hellion all on her own. I wouldn't do that to her.”

“Oh, right, the poor gal,” Twilight hears himself reply.

Time blinks. Then hooks his arm around Twilight's neck, an unholy glint in his good eye. “A youngster like you's too ignorant to mock your elders like this. But I suppose I should teach you.”

***

Time's few additions to the prank war ongoing inside their camps gives Twilight chills.

But he joins in the laughs with the rest of them.

And he almost forgets.

***

They have a lead on the object of their quest.

A location they must investigate. No guarantee, but reports seem promising.

It's hard not to get swept right in by his brothers' enthusiasms. He's found more family through this quest than he had ever hoped to get, but it's also been a mess of ambushes, lost directions and insufferable assholes (some of which, he loves because they're his pack, his siblings, his dad).

“I'll cut the fucker's balls right off!” Wind cheers, which gets nods from Legend and Wild, and winces from Sky and Warriors.

Twilight is more in the 'rip their throat out' camp, but he's also got a unique perspective on how to get personal with killing off your enemies.

(If their quest is to end, he will stand between any number of enemies so that his family returns home safe.)

***

The Temple of Souls.

A place of power, of memories. Deeds commemorated here. Statues of the various chosen heroes during their adventures. Honored and immortalized in stone.

Twilight hesitates before the one statue of a beast, and the imp riding its back. It's a testament to how much the other heroes helped him heal that he mostly feels nostalgia looking at his past. The pain, muted by Wild's enthusiasm or Four's more solemn amusement.

They search through the history of the Hero's Spirit together, with Warriors leading them. Their captain's light-hearted jester attitude's been replaced by his battlefield look. A strategist and a soldier, at the head of a battalion of legends. And yet, there's a tightness to his expression. Twilight gets why and he makes sure to stay close. The sorceress had been reformed, so this world's Zelda said. But the fear's longer lasting.

Time lingers near the statue of the Hero of Time. So do the others, with Warriors deciding to keep watch, since they clearly couldn't deal with the idea of Time having once been a child.

A little kid. Probably not even as tall as Colin or Talo. Twilight tries to imagine letting these two go on a quest to save Hyrule and his mind buckles in protest at the knowledge of what kind of monstrosities can crawl up from the darkest corners of Hyrule. Imagines them in the Arbiter's Ground, and he feels acute pain in his left hand, where he is gripping his sword's hilt so hard his knuckles turn white.

Hylia stole Time's childhood, but Twilight won't let her take his future.

***

They found the enemy.

It found them in return. Hyrule is the first to realize, and it's their wanderer's words that ring in their heads during the worst battle of their lives.

'Impaled by a shadow in my likeness. Everything I gave, he returned right back.'

Dark Link. The other side of the coin. The shadow of the Hero's Spirit, grown with each incarnation.

It is not an opponent for any one hero to take on anymore. Dark Link is the sum of every dark turns their minds have ever taken, every moment of fear, despair, anger. Every dirty trick. Every method of handling a sword. It reflects all nine of them, in turn and at once.

And it means that each one of them know a piece of Dark Link as intimately as the back of their hands.

The battle does not end quickly.

While most encounters with monsters last minutes at most and encounters with bosses sometimes stretch twice or thrice that, this battle goes on for what feels like lifetimes. There's not a thing Twilight knows that he doesn't see at some point in Dark Link's arsenal. He's forced to see his journey thrown back at him, and he only went on a single one.

(He loses both his shield and his sword midway through. Has to join in the sniping until that's destroyed. Breaks two more of Wild's weapons. Fought with fangs and claws till he desperately needed healing.)

They came prepared. Armed with every weapon they have. Overstocked with potions and blessings and fairies.

They're still all exhausted, wounded and little more than dead on their feet when Wild lands the apparent fatal blow with a shock arrow. Electricity dances on the shade, its face a mask of silent agony, and it stumbles, shape unsteady, and sinks back into nothing.

“Is it... is it over?” Wind asks, his shirt shredded and an ugly burn on his collarbone.

“Steady!” Warriors calls out. “It might be trying to trick us.”

They watch every corner of the room with the hard earned hatred of a difficult opponent. They're all on their last leg and they can't keep going much longer. The air's so thick with tension Twilight tastes it. His instinct's screaming at him. He knows, in his heart, that this is it.

(It might be why he looked.)

(None of the others have spent as much time as him watching shadows, longing for the way they might waver and twist and become a beloved companion.)

Time's shadow shouldn't be this inky black.

Time's grip on his sword is also looser than his shadow's.

Twilight breaks into a sprint.

For a long time, Twilight had no choice. No matter what, his old mentor couldn't die before he had children.

Somehow, he'd been naïve enough to find comfort in that. Since then, he's dreamed of Time holding his baby, happier than he had ever dared express before. The memories of years that aged his heart faster than his body no longer a burden in his quiet little corner of the world.

There still isn't a choice. Time must go back to his wife and child. Twilight won't accept any other outcome. He'll turn silly images conjured from his resting mind into rock solid visions of the future.

Time's shadow stands up.

Hyrule shouts a warning.

And the blade swings.

“TWILIGHT!”

The taste of copper washes over his tongue. Drips from the corner of his mouth.

He looks down. A blade's shadow is impaling him straight through the chest. And Dark Link's face splits into a savage grin. Triumphant.

Heat bleeds out of his wound too fast. Somehow, he's certain this isn't poison, or at least, the traditional kind. It's climbing up his limbs, through his torso, and squeezes as if it were the coils of a snake. There's something wild, uncontrolled to it. Malicious. Its embrace tightens. Tries to leave him helpless, paralyzed.

It's fine. More so than any other hero, he's used to darkness. Made it a tool for himself in the ways the others haven't dared. And he's suddenly so thankful for it. That it's him. His country doesn't need him anymore, not like Sky who needs to build it from the ground, not like Legend who can never step outside his doors without getting roped into saving another country, not like Hyrule who guards the secret of his royal family, not like Warriors who is working so damn hard to earn back trust and honor amongst his own, not like Wild who wants to serve his Zelda and pay back his past mistake.

He doesn't even have grand projects for the future, like discovering a new land with pirates, find a lost brother, or simply build a home with his wife.

He's just... a farmer who picked up a sword and had help at the right time. Even if he dies, he knows his friends in the resistance could still protect Hyrule in his stead. The kids can look after themselves and each other now. Queen Zelda has always been stronger than him. And Illia... he'll finally let Epona go back to her. He can only hope that will be enough.

Because here and now, he is needed one last time.

Dark Link snarls and grins and begins to pull back his sword.

Twilight's hand catches his wrist. Grips.

Dark Link flinches. Red eyes flickers between his wrist and Twilight's serene smile. The other hand lashes like a whip, dagger's shade aimed right at his face, but that one instead pierces through Twilight's palm. Closing fingers lock Dark Link's arm into place. Neither can escape the other now. For the first time, hesitation flashes on the doppelganger's face. Tilts into fear as it starts to struggle. Each movement is rough, violent and murder on Twilight's battered body. The thing's strength should scare him.

Except Twilight learned to wrestle gorons for fun. He wins every time.

The others rally. He catches them rushing forward in the corner of his eyes.

It tries to slip inside his shadows, but Twilight remembers that trick too. He pulls back, welcomes the darkness and Dark Link's feet blur, fuse to the ground, to Twilight's own shadow. It's oddly fitting.

With a deadly chime, the biggoron sword sails over his shoulder and catches Dark Link's arm. It rams itself against Twilight, tries to stagger him, but his mentor's at his back now, and the battleworn heroes, his wronged family, repay their suffering with interest.

One skewering echoed eight times over. Every aspect of the Hero's Spirit stabbing at their inner darkness, fighting the demon that claimed their faults. It cannot escape this time. Its face shifts with every blow. From young to old to young again, a twin lost at birth. Bitter. Resentful. It's weak and faltering when at last, it becomes Twilight's.

With one last battle cry, Sky executes a point perfect great spin that slices straight through Dark Link's neck. Its head goes flying and dissolves before it hits the ground. The body remains longer. Some of it clings to Twilight, sinks into him. He might have worried about this eventually, but the black sword fades and his tunic become slick with blood.

Yeah... there's no coming back from that one.

Dark Mirrors had always been his greatest weakness. What set him on his journey, what broke him in the end, twice. He thinks... he thinks he managed to pick up the pieces well enough.

“Sorry, guys...” His attempt at a smile turn into a grimace of pain. “I don't think I can walk this off...”

“Hyrule! Heal him!”

Hyrule's corpse-like pallor is all the answer they need. The fight exhausted the last of his magic. He's still stumbling forward like he will put his own life into the spell if he needs it. Sky's the one to pull him back, looking sick.

Legend's bag is upturned over the floor, and three of them kneel amongst the items. Twilight notes with faint amusement that this time, their prickly veteran does not yell at them to be careful with his stuff. Rare items gathered through harrowing adventures just go flying on the sides, discarded as useless. He hopes none of them break. He'd hate that to be one of the last things Legend remember about him.

“Don't,” Twilight says, but it's too weak to get through his family's panic. “It's okay...”

Four, the one trying to help him stand, snaps at him. “Don't say that!”

“I-” His knees give out from under him. Four goes down with him.

“Twilight!”

The others snap their heads in their direction.

It takes one look at Time's face to realize what a fool he'd been. It's almost enough to make him regret it. But no, given another chance, he'd make the same decision over and over again.

“Please...” he tries to say, but it's lost in a gargle of copper and red.

The screaming worsens.

Will Time go to his grave with this on his mind? He can't. Twilight wants to beg him not to. Wants to explain. Free himself of the fear he's clung to for the months they traveled together. But his lungs refuse to cooperate, filling with blood. Every attempt to speak just pains him more and produces mere wheezes.

Not on my behalf, he thinks, a last jolt of strength going through him from frustration and fear and sorrow. He hates the knowledge he'll put his mentor to rest with false hope. That he'll move on, thinking that his training might save him from this fate.

(From Ganondorf, yes, always. Hyrule saved because of the old man. Always cursed not to be known for his heroism, wasn't he?)

High whistling notes edge the confines of his consciousness. Fast notes, frantic, played with the fervor of a dying man, and he almost chuckles thinking he has a much better understanding of this as darkness creeps on the corner of his eyes and heat leeches out of his wound.

He can't see Time anymore. Just vague outlines of all his brothers, the color of their cloaks and hair the best way he can distinguish them by now. Hands push down on his shoulders, lift him gently. Scarred hands. Strands of blonde hair tickle his face.

Wild.

“'M sorry...” he breathes out. Tears prick at his eyes, knowing how much this'll hurt his cub. His little brother who already bears the weight of so many deaths. “Not... f-f-au-lt. Swear,�� he tries to sound stern, he really does.

He can't go to his grave otherwise. He'll stay alive just so Wild and Time and the others don't pick up the guilt.

Eh...

She did always call him an optimist.

He's probably in some dying dream, he sees hands the shades of her skin join Wild's, brush his hair away from his eyes. Liquid flames frame a face like hers. The mocking lilt of her voice is broken by a sob though. He's never heard that before.

He wishes he could stop the pain for all of them, but he's tired.

Maybe... maybe Hylia granted him that one last favor. Maybe it's just him and his stupid heart that won't heal right, that makes him see what's not there...

He doesn't have the strength to do more than believe anyway.

“Midna...”

Tender warmth brush over his lips, one last little balm before he goes. It's gentle. So unlike her, so like her too. Eh. He always imagined they'd be cold.

***

Wild sees Twilight's eyes close, and his world snaps in half.

His brother slips from his arms, but thankfully, the woman's grip on him is steady. Familiar. It makes Twilight look at peace, as if he was sleeping in his lover's lap. It's something he always wished for his big brother, from the moment he heard that joke about a princess and a mirror. To have someone who loved him worth the pain he'd gone through.

And he only gets it in death.

It can't end this way. It can't! Mipha! he grapples with the thought and it wins. “MIPHA! PLEASE!”

She'd healed him from the brink so many times. Twilight's even more of a hero than him, so it would only be fair, right? Just this once. Just this once. He can't lose someone else because of his incompetence!

But Mipha has long gone to rest, and no one disturbs their group of heroes from their loss.

Wild feels himself scrap at his old hood, pushes it down over his head. As if that would stop reality from sinking in. He can't look at Twilight's body. He can't. He just wants to wake up in the shrine, like nothing ever happened. Like he hasn't watched-

“It was you!” Warriors snarls at the woman, his tone as biting as a sword's kiss. “All this time! It was you that broke his heart! He said he lost you, but you just left, didn't you?! You could have gone back to him!”

The strange woman – Midna – finally turns away from Twil- from... she turns to Warriors. Tears trail down her cheeks despite the faintest hint of a smile. “I always hoped he would forget me, the sweet fool.”

It's spoken with the sort of affection in one of Twilight's hair ruffling, but the insult feels searing. Wind's on her the next second.

“Don't you dare call him that!” he howls in her face, the shout less intimidated by the snot and tears he can't hold in. “Don't you- Twilight's not- not...”

Somehow, Sky can move. He lifts Wind away from Midna. It breaks the teen's rage, and he curls into Sky's shoulders as if their chosen isn't crying himself.

“He was,” she says, and it strikes Wild that she is just like Twilight had said. Fierce. Powerful. And a bit cruel. Like a jewel barbed in thorns – even if she'd laugh at the description. “It could have been different, if he hadn't been who he was. But he would always make this choice. You know this.”

Memories come to Wild, unbidden, of days in his Hyrule, where the only one he could count on was himself and a wolf. Hordes chasing a beast whilst he picked them off one by one. Enormous monsters fell side by side with his friend. Cold nights buried in fur. Panicked barks getting closer to him as he struggled to stand in the middle of a battlefield.

Goddesses...

The music – when, who, had started, – breaks into a horrible screech that should never come out of an instrument. It's half scream. Half something shattering.

“Why isn't it working?!” Time croaks, hands trembling around his broken ocarina.

“That power was only ever borrowed,” Midna says as if every syllable costs her. “The price would be too high.”

Legend is the next one to move from sorrow to rage. “No! We'll do it again!” He kneels by his bags and he's tossing aside items by the dozens. “We didn't come all this way for this!”

“You did,” Midna's voice falters. “And so did I. It was always meant to end like this.”

An horrible sinking feeling seizes Wild's heart. “You... knew?”

They freeze.

Midna looks down at Twilight's face and brushes a strand of hair away from his markings. “At the very end of our adventures, I was spared by the Goddess. Salvaged, maybe, from the ruins of forbidden power and the home of my dearest friend. Hylia spoke to me then. Told me.”

Wild sees her chest shudder before her voice breaks.

“Told me that Link and I would only be reunited on the day of his death. That I'd be the one to take his last breath. It was the only way Hyrule could be safe.”

“Fuck Hyrule!” Legend shouts, hoarse. “What is the point-? Every time! F-fuck this kingdom and fuck Hylia! What about us?! Why does she hate us so much?!”

Legend's arms fall to the sides, his grief spent. He stares at his feet and doesn't react when his successor hugs him tight. Warriors gets his other side.

Wild feels numb. He had done his best the first time around, to believe that Hylia wanted the best even when she let his Zelda suffer through her silence. He thought, maybe, her late answer had a purpose. But he can't figure it out. A kingdom she claimed to protect, destroyed before she helped.

His chest hurts. He can't breath right.

Ahead, the air tears with a jarring noise and a burst of black particles. He can't help the flare of hope they bring, the very same magic that Twilight used to become a wolf. But his brother's not moving. Midna's arm is raised toward the black portal.

“No, no!” Time finally breaks out of his paralysis, reaching out for Twilight's body. “You can't take him!”

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I don't have much time left. I must bring him back to his village. I owe him that much.”

None of them stop her from walking back into the shadows, their lost brother in her arms.

***

The greatest threat to their world has finally been defeated. Months of hardship, over. The purpose for which Hylia assembled them, fulfilled. It should have been heralded by a feast, a last evening together before the final goodbyes. The weight of their mission should have been lifted, but now it won't leave them.

They try.

They find the seediest tavern, in the darkest corner of town. They are not looking for a celebration. They want to drown the sorrow in something less painful than grief, be it a bar fight, a hangover or a round of the bard's singing.

All eight of them around a table, nine drinks before them. A toast.

Unshed tears.

Stories. All those times Twilight played big brother to them. Tried to be the reasonable one even when he was smirking under his wolf pelt. Those games of cards he won the pants off Warriors, literally. Those times he teased Legend with his incomprehensible slangs (they'd never know what that one about goat horns mean, would they?). Those nights they woke bundled up under a wolf. Those days he would spend at their bedside, caring for injuries he sniffed out better than most.

They call up more drinks, left the ninth alone, and pour their soul into making themselves almost believe he was still alive. That Midna had taken his sleeping body back where he'd finally get to be in love with her.

For the time of a few laughs, it works. Then they look at the empty seat.

“He died.” Time drops his head into his hands, smaller than they'd ever seen him before. “Twilight died, and I wasn't even holding him! I was playing that goddess-curse ocarina! He told me! He told me he would die for me and I didn't listen!”

“He would have died for any of us,” Warriors says, weakly. “Just like we would have died for him.”

At the end of the night, when they stumble out, unsteady, Wild picks up the ninth drink and empties it outside.

***

The arrow's tip strikes one eye and detonates.

Cracks in the stone spread a little further. But the statue is still standing. It waited for him when he came back. Here. The only thing still standing in the ruins of the temple. Where his first journey began.

He can't hear her voice as he did before. He has no crest to offer, no proof of his valor to receive a blessing. Even now, the thought makes him want to hurl. To carve out the gifts he'd received from the monster that parades as a goddess right out of his chest.

“Why?!” Wild screams at the unfeeling block of stone.

The damage reaches the statue's middle, and a chunk tears off. A piece of her cloak. Dust follows. He shoots another bomb arrow. Almost grins to see a piece of her hair fly off.

“Why? Why WHYWHYWHY?!”

Fingers close on air. He's emptied his quiver.

Glowing bomb runes materialize in his hands, and he can barely wait out the cooldown time between each new explosion.

He switches to a club.

“Why him?!” He wails at the stone. “Why was it him?! Why not me?!”

The shout drains the last of his strength. With a sob, he falls to his knees.

“You did this to him! You killed my brother!” he spits every inch of venom that's making his chest heave, that burns his eyes and that opened this gaping hole inside him. “Why did you do that?! You're supposed to be good! Everyone told me you protect Hyrule! But you don't! You just send the same mortal do your job over and over again! And now he's... he's DEAD! What's the point of you?!”

“Link!”

Zelda's voice.

It rubs his skin raw that she sounds so happy. She should be disgusted to see such a worthless hero! She should have left him to die in that field!

She stops by the broken entrance to the Temple of Time, her gaze flickering to the statue, to his sorry state. The ecstatic looks vanishes and a far more fitting sadness replaces it.

“Link...?”

For a frightening moment, he thinks he's going to hate her. Hate Zelda for what she represents. He thinks he won't be able to look at her without knowing what she is. That there'll always be a voice in the back of his mind telling him she shares her soul with the unfeeling thing that lead his brother to his death.

“What happened?” she asks, gentle.

“T-Twilight... he's... ”

The club hits the ground.

Zelda closes her arms around him, and he clings to her like she's going to disappear.

***

“It's a boy!”

The wisewoman presents the small squirming body to Time.

Wisps of strawberry blonde hair crown his son's mostly naked head. Not dark enough to be...

He banishes the thought from his head. It's unfair. It's cruel. He can't compare them. His son. His son, he repeats to himself when the little bundle shifts against the inside of his elbow. Malon was right. That button nose is far cuter than his.

He's perfect.

His heart is threatening to jump right out of his chest. He doesn't think he can express all the love he has for this little hylian boy properly. He doesn't think it's possible to love anyone that much. For years, he'd feared a pauper's grave, a hole on the side of the road. A monster getting lucky at last and no one to mourn him. And now he was holding his firstborn child.

Malon had pushed past that fear and the walls he'd built around his heart. Twilight had shown him without a doubt he could have a family.

Twilight had...

It could have been different. But he would always make this choice.

Always choose to save Time at the last possible moment. For Malon. For their son.

Time dabs the corner of his eyes, and loses himself in the feeling of his son's skin against his own. He's so lucky to be able to hold him. To kiss the top of his head. To look at the beauty of his wife and child together. He doesn't know if he deserves it. Doesn't feel like he does anymore. But he can't throw it away. The price was so high. He wants every moment spent well. A full life to shower his child with love, for all the children he might have on the ranch.

I promised you.

Twilight is his successor, his son. A strong, kind young man that died too soon for Time's mistake. If he'd been stronger, if any of them had been a little stronger, perhaps...

He's never resented the lack of recognition over his deeds so ardently before. Never felt the bitterness take root this deep. Everything he was, everything he did, forgotten, lost. Accounts of his deeds, his prowesses, gone. Sword techniques. Tricks. Items. Twilight had been a farmer before Hylia had pushed his fate onto him. How could his own descendant have nothing of Time's knowledge and treasures passed down to him? If he had...

On the Triforce, he swears. He will pass on everything he knows to his children and his grandchildren after them, make them promise to perpetuate that tradition, so that Twilight might live longer. He couldn't fail him again.

He swears.

He will do anything to help Twilight survive their last quest.

In this world or the next.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #LU Twilight #LU Time

143 notes · View notes

onyourzeus · 4 years ago

Text

raining | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: raining pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you genre: fluff, fictional universe words: 4.4k

was listening to this playlist while writing. author’s note: overwhelmingly cliche, like kdrama levels of it. be forewarned. i am in my youngk feelings tonight, folks. i just wanted to write something sickeningly cute & i think i achieved it lol. do enjoy, regardless.

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

The moment you step outside the door, you immediately regret it. You were never one to love the cold, you actually welcome it— but when signs of heavy rain are bound to happen within the hour or so it’s not advisable for anyone to enjoy a walk outside.

You pull on the ends of your sweaters even more, keeping the tips of your fingers enclosed in the warmth of the fabric. A slight yet wintry breeze whispers against your ear and you shiver involuntarily. It was a win-win situation to cover your head with the hoodie as your hair had seen better days before, and it keeps you extra protected from the cold.

The convenience store was a mere ten to fifteen walk from your street, it shouldn’t be a big deal. So here you are, shuddering in house clothes, trudging your way to the nearest mart to snag yourself a cup of noodles or two, and maybe buy a drink to keep you toasty on the way back.

Hands tucked in between your sides, you briskly make your way to your destination. At eight in the evening on a weeknight, there seems to be a couple of people enjoying a chilly stroll outside.

Well, the only difference is that they’re all dressed for the occasion: thick coats, thicker scarves, and an overwhelming sense of excitement for this weather.

“They better go home soon before it starts to rain,” you mumble under your breath, costing a fog to escape in front of you. It looks nice, though, that they have one or another person accompanying them tonight. Some with hands held tight and others just comfortably walking side by side.

The sudden chattering of your teeth makes you question your bitter sentiment. You decide not to think about it any further as you approach the blinding lights of the convenience store.

Pushing the door open with some elbow grease (they really need to replace that), you’re welcomed with a whiff of plastic packaged items, coffee brewing on the side, and the silent hum of cash registers at the front.

You’re starting to feel the heat of the inside replace your slight shivering, but you ought to keep the hood on and make the trip as fast as possible.

Walking towards the ramen aisle, your eyes widen at the sheer possibilities of microwavable meals you can have tonight: curry-flavored, spicy seafood, extra hot with three Xs, it’s shameful that you find these all so appealing.

Before your mouth waters embarrassingly, you grab three cups of your choice and cradle them in one hand securely. Moving over to the chilled section, you check the price of a small container of kimchi to see if you’re lucky enough to spice up your dinner for tonight.

Unfortunately, you don’t think it fits your budget, recalling that you just grabbed a couple of coins from the counter before leaving the apartment.

Somehow, while being preoccupied by the fact that you can’t have any kimchi, your head collides against someone’s back. In the most awkward encounter that can happen, cups of noodles drop on the floor. Your hoodie falls off your head, revealing the hair you’re trying to keep away from the public.

With heated cheeks, you apologize profusely to this person’s back, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking!” You don’t even wait for them to turn around as you quickly bend down and grab your items.

He picks them up before you do.

You get a glimpse of him in the seconds he’s bent down; his hair parted in the middle with a little curl to them, roots are dark brown but everything else of a faded grey, his thick brown coat nicely shaping his shoulders, and as he slowly stand upright you have a clear view of a black turtleneck that hugs his neck perfectly, and his face—

“No worries, it happens,” he tells you casually, holding onto your dropped items. His eyes are slanted and yet you see gentleness in them. As he gives you a small smile, you notice his high cheekbones protruding from such graceful features.

The sudden warmth emanating from your thrift-store find sweater makes your face feel like it’s about to erupt from embarrassment. You scramble over to grab your cup of noodles from his grasp, grazing the skin on his hands. Even that sensation felt so soft for such a short period of interaction.

You do need to go out and see people more.

“T-thanks,” you manage to blurt out. From all the apparent staring you’ve done in the past minute or so, you find your eyes glued on the floor intensely.

“Excuse me…” you trail off almost inaudibly, but he gives you space in the aisle you’ve collided so you can stand in line for the register.

It felt like an eternity being face to face with him as people have formed a queue to pay already, but you will yourself not to look back. It was a… lucky accident?

If you can call it that— you still look like you haven’t unearthed yourself from your hermit cave for months. And him— well, to put it frankly, he just looked unreal to be sauntering his way at a local convenience store.

You shake your head, quickly pull up your hoodie once again and tighten the straps a little bit more forcefully this time.

It’s hard to hide the shame, but at least your hair will be out of sight again.

Impatiently, you tap your foot with the sound of the clock on the wall. Some problem of some kind with the scanner up front was causing the line to lag, and not to say so first-world problem-haver, but the less time you spend in here, the more time you can scream into your pillow back home.

A stretch of the neck, you look up, down, and side to side. On your left, your eyes catch something too familiar.

Something in the universe is clearly toying with you because as soon as you crane your head just a tad bit further, you find the same gorgeous man standing behind you. He’s looking somewhere else, eyes pointed in the distance and his lips pursed together in thought.

Why. Is He. So. Cute. Just standing there like that?

“Hi,” you see his lips move, voice low but friendly. “Your ramen alright there?”

“Me?” you squeak out. His eyes train themselves on you, and for a second he looks just as confused. But he comes back with a short laugh, and you feel like shrinking into dust.

But it doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at you, it wasn’t mean or said with a grimace at all.

He nods his head confirming your silly question and adds, “Yes, the ones you’re holding onto for dear life in there.”

“These?” you ask again, like a complete dysfunctional human machine. “Oh, um— yeah. They’re fine. Hahaha,” you reply and you sound nervous.

You shouldn’t be, he’s asking a legitimate question and you’re making it out to be like an interrogation! Snap out of it, reprimanding yourself in the head. This is not how you talk to people at all.

“Good.” He continues smiling at you, but his eyes shift elsewhere. Well, that’s probably your cue to stop this uncomfortable situation for yourself, and for his good as well.

But he’s still talking, and addressing you it seems.

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Hi, I can take your stuff right here, miss.”

“Yes, please! Thanks,” you hurry off to the front, out of breath and out of words left to speak.

There was no point to keep looking back, you’ve done your part acting the way you did. Maybe you should have just waited until tomorrow to get groceries, you would have benefitted from sleeping in earlier than showcasing how clumsy you can be to a complete stranger. (Not to mention someone your type.)

The employee speedily checks out your items and puts them in a paper bag. She asks if there was anything else you’d like, and you contemplate on the hot coffee that you wanted. You pull out the coins and one lone paper bill you had in your pockets to assess if it’s within your budget.

“Is this enough for what I got?” you lay out your change and then some on the counter. It may be your imagination, but it feels like the guy behind you is watching. You shift to the side slightly to hide the fact that you’re paying with coins.

She glances at your choice of payment, and says words that could literally be the cause of your death tonight. “I’m sorry, do you have an extra fifty cents? These would only pay for three of your cup noodles, miss.”

Robbed of one, already cheap choice of dinner tonight, her voice seemed to increase in volume revealing your insufficient amount of cash on hand to everyone in the store.

She watches as you blink your eyes tight, face squirming hard.

“It’s okay… I’ll just get those that I can pay for,” you respond meekly, and she nods. You don’t hear anything else anymore, maybe she was offering a coupon or whatever, you had one mission and one thing in mind only: get the hell out of there.

You take the paper bag, bow your head in thanks, and head out the door faster than you can realize that the rain had started pouring hard for what seemed like a few minutes prior.

Now your sweater is drenched, your paper bag is starting to crumble from the bottom, and you didn’t bring an umbrella.

Nor do you have any money or phone with you to call a cab to your apartment.

In an effort to keep some parts of you not wet, you keep to yourself just barely outside of the store where the roof is still hanging; just enough to cover half of your body from the pouring rain. It’s amazing, you think, what absolute god must you have angered for you to be stuck in something so stupid like this?

You can’t go back in the store, the guy is still there— suddenly you realize with a panic in your heart. He’ll see you here, right next to the door, waiting for the rain to stop once he exits out of the store.

Either way, he’ll recognize you, and to pity you or laugh at you secretly, it’s his choice now. It’s his right to, you wouldn’t care anymore.

Let the clown music reverberate in your ears, it’s an anthem you’d proudly sing amidst pouring rain.

With your thoughts seeming to come to life for the nth time, the door opens with an annoying chime, and as you look up it’s him, of course, it’s him.

But he’s not laughing nor does it look like he’s just going to avoid your sorry figure. He stands next to you, opens up his black umbrella at an arm’s reach and puts it over both your heads. His shoulders touch your wet sweater, and you’re inclined to move away but the umbrella can only cover a tiny area.

You hold in a breath, afraid when you exhale he’d see panic written all over your face.

“You okay?”

You nod, keeping your gaze forward, into the dim surroundings and the pitter patter of the night sky.

“Do you have any means of going home?” He asks again, and you’re sure he’s looking at you.

“I was planning on walking…” you finally quip, quiet and unsure of yourself. “Once the rain stops,” you let out a shaky breath. Frankly, you feel more stressed out than nervous at this point.

He doesn’t strike you as a man with malicious intent so far, and if he were to rob you right here right now, well — he should know, of all people in this store (aside from the cashier) that there’s nothing of value with you at the moment. You’re basically of no value as far as you can tell.

Sad.

“It doesn’t look like it’s stopping anytime soon,” he says, and you take a quick peek at him. He scans the surroundings, eyes focused and eyebrows knitted together. He looks back at you, and you’re frozen in place.

“Let me call a cab for you,” he tells you with concern.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” you say frantically, dismissing him with one hand. The other was still holding the wet paper bag against your chest, and you feel it dampening your sweater each second that passes by. “I can just wait it out in the store.”

He continues to look at you as he pouts, and you stand there next to him feeling small. You appreciate his kindness, really, but you know a guy dressed like that has better places to be at and you’re here slowing him down.

“Honestly, it’s okay,” you try and ease his worries, but he doesn’t look convinced. “I live, like, fifteen minutes away. I have nothing else to do at home, so there’s no reason for me to be back so soon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you urge on, smiling at his politeness. “Besides, I don’t want to keep you here. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Nonsense. It should be the rain apologizing to us,” he says with a tsk.

You can’t help but giggle at his silly remark. He’s handling this stress-free while you haven’t stopped sweating since he stood beside you with the umbrella.

“How about this, I give you my umbrella—” you start to protest but he puts a finger up, coaxing you to bite your lip to keep it shut. “— so that you can walk home without getting rained on too much, and I’ll call myself a cab.”

It was a tempting offer, but not quite reasonable to you yet.

It’s the generosity he’s offering which shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, in fact, you should feel relieved. But your guard is still up, even if the rain isn’t letting up itself anytime soon.

If you keep declining him, who knows how much more patience he has to appease your feigning grandiose modesty?

“I’d pay for your cab if I had money with me right now,” you admit shyly. “Unless you’re comfortable with an online transfer, I’d have to know your information...” It was a stretch because maybe at that point you’d learn of his name, but you didn’t want to go too far.

“Don’t worry about me for a moment. You can take my umbrella, and I can take a cab. We get home safely, with one of us less drenched unfortunately, but everything will work out in the end. Deal?” His proposition sounds so firm and settled that you had no reason to deny him anymore.

So you relent, much to your own benefit, too. “Fine.”

He chuckles at your unintentional curt response. You correct yourself, “I mean— thank you, for the umbrella. Sorry, I was just stupid to go out without one, knowing it was gonna rain sooner than later.”

“Happens to the best of us,” he chuckles again while pulling something out of his own paper bag. You recognize it immediately, the cup noodles you had to let go of.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have—”

“There you go again, rejecting what I’m putting down here,” he chastises. “It would be a shame if,” he looks at the label before continuing, “Savory Shiitake Soup was left out unwillingly with his other cup noodle pals.”

You stop yourself from internally cringing at how he read it so slowly, as if he’s never had cup ramen in his life. You’d believe it, too, but then again he’s the one parading his sophisticated looks in a local store at a random town.

“I stick to the basic kinds,” he explains, seeing the meek surprise on your face.

It is almost twenty degrees out yet your body temperature is steaming hot. You admit defeat (to yourself) and open up the paper bag so he can put the cup inside. Secretly, you’re thankful the whole gang is in there which makes your stomach grumble all of a sudden. And he hears it.

“I take it, it's almost dinnertime,” he points out.

“Shut up,” you say, lips pouting. To a stranger.

He laughs at the bluntness. “It’s the perfect meal for a weather like this. If you have any eggs at home, I recommend cracking one in right before you eat it.”

“Yes!” You exclaim loudly, eyes shining with interest.

You’ve always done that with your ramen, albeit you hear of some people’s disgust over such a technique.

“I do have eggs at home, thank god, but I can’t believe you do it that way too,” you disclose. It makes the soup eggy and more creamy, what can you say?

“I add a drop of chili oil for added spice on mine, that really seals the deal for me,” you continue, feeling a little less uptight being next to him. However, the moment you uttered those words, his face grimaces for a second as he gulps and nods absently at you.

“You’re not a spicy guy yourself?” It comes out before you register what those words could mean otherwise.

He doesn’t catch it or at least, he doesn’t mind. He laughs again, and the gleeful contrast of his voice to the harsh rain is somewhat giving you warmth inside.

(And not the sweaty kind.)

“Not in regards to food, sadly no,” he says. “My friends tolerate it better than I do, so whenever I have the chance to cook for them I have to separate their portions if the recipe called for some kick to it.”

“You cook?”

“I try to,” he implies sheepishly, cheekbones turning up with the way he grins. It was endearing, watching him explain how it’s become a hobby of his for the past few months and that his roommates have benefited as a result.

All the food talk continues to make you hungrier, but the way he shares personal stories all of a sudden is a delightful experience for you. His eyes glint animatedly when he recalls the time when two of his friends fought over leftover bulgogi, in which he had no choice but to make some more. At two in the morning.

You listen intently, and laugh when he reaches the punchline and prideful banter about the people he seemed to deeply care about. It didn’t even matter how hard hitting the rain felt against the ground, you were actually covered quite expansively by the umbrella.

In return, you quickly notice that the side of his coat has been drenched all this time. Instinctively, you pull at the sleeve of his clothing, surprising him by the movement as you butt heads for a moment. It wasn’t hard, but it definitely paused the natural flow of conversation you two were having.

“You’ve had the umbrella mostly on me this whole time,” you chide almost regretting doing so, “Sorry.”

“It’s just clothes,” he chuckles upon realizing what just happened, but afterwards his smile returns. “Thanks for looking out for me, though.”

You feel yourself smiling too wide from that comment.

You think of something to say before you get too comfortable with this feeling, and then you remember: “You haven’t booked your way home yet.”

“Oh! You’re right,” he says a little too quickly, and you feel a twinge of disappointment weighting in your stomach at how fast he reacted to that.

Of course, at the end of the day, he’s just stuck with you due to some unlucky situation you found yourself in. He’s just doing you a favor.

He checks his phone for a few minutes, the light illuminating on his face. You notice the hard lines of his jaw and the curvature of his nose a bit more definitely now, and it’s amazing how one person can look like that.

This time, you reprimand yourself from staring too much and so you watch the people passing by again. Hand in hand, raincoats and umbrellas in their grasp as they fight against the current of the rain.

“Okay, I just finished booking it on the app. It says it should arrive in less than five minutes,” he brings you out of your reverie.

“That’s great to hear,” you say with as much enthusiasm as you can. You eye the handle of the umbrella in which his hand has been gripping all this time. You know you’re soon to be left with it, alone, as he rides the cab and finally part ways with you.

“I can keep holding on to this until it gets here,” he says, almost reading your mind. “I hope it is of good use to you tonight, and in the near future.”

“I’ll keep it safe and useful, of course,” you say, feeling the pit of your stomach get heavier and heavier. You’re not sure what it is, or you’re probably in denial. You start to count the seconds in your head, imagining how to tell him goodbye and perhaps… never seeing him again.

You don’t even know his name.

“I’m Younghyun— before I forget,” yet again, he hears the pleas in your mind and you ought to keep the thoughts silent as he suspiciously introduces himself.

“I’ve been exposing my friends’ and their ways of borderline gluttony to you, I haven’t even given you my name yet.”

Younghyun, you repeat in your head. Your lips curl upward at the sound of his name, it suits him well.

“Do you mind if I can get yours as well?” It was a polite question, nothing out of the ordinary of two people meeting each other for the first time.

But Younghyun seemed to have other, further plans from that. His phone is still on, and it’s facing in your direction. Looking down, you see that he has an unfilled out contact information on the screen.

“Oh,” you mumble out loud, not wanting for it to sound too pleasantly surprised. He takes it the other way, however, as he tries to retract his phone. “Sorry, I thought— I just wanted to know if you got home safely and—”

“No, please! It’s okay. I’d— um, I don’t have my phone on me right now but I can text my number if that’s alright with you,” you explain quickly before he can put it back in his pocket.

With an openly relieved expression, Younghyun changes the app to his messages and gives you his phone. You type in something easy to recognize in addition to your name on it, and send it to your number. Right as you give it back to him, a car with its headlights on park upfront, beaming the two of you with its brightness.

“I guess that’s my ride,” Younghyun hesitates. “I know it seems odd, but I really enjoyed talking to you despite…,” he finishes by looking at the puddle forming underneath where you both stand. You agree with a hearty laugh, the uneasiness you feel inside dissipating.

“Thank you, for the umbrella. And my cheap shiitake noodles,” you humor him, but your words are laced with sincerity.

He hands you the umbrella, enclosing his fingers over yours as you grip onto the handle tightly. His hand is just the right temperature, cozy and warm. It immediately sends your head reeling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share the ride with me? I think I’ve proven enough to you that I’m just a beginner in the kitchen, and not an evil person,” Younghyun suggests. You nudge him just enough to tip him over the edge, playful and amicable on your end.

“I’ll text you, I promise. Is that good enough for you, Younghyun?” With the sound of his name coming from you, lips widen in the most cheerful grin he’s shared to you today.

If you’re being really honest with yourself, you feel a little special.

“You better stay true to your words.”

“Go home, Younghyun!”

You watch his ride pull out of the parking lot, and drive into the night. It’s funny because the rain went from hazardous conditions to gentle whispers of droplets which makes walking back home easier for you, probably even without an umbrella.

But you hold onto it tight, knowing that Younghyun had his hands on the same spot makes you squeal like a teenage girl on the way home. You walk faster than normal, pools of water on the pavement splashing at the ends of your sweatpants. It’s disgusting, you most likely need to change completely, but it was far from your concern.

You get home and head straight for your bed where your phone was, disregarding the drenched clothes you have on dripping on the sheets.

The text from Younghyun’s number came through, and inspecting further he texts you two more times.

You giggle, finally letting out giddy feelings where no one can judge you. You text him back.

And you think that’s the end for today, and you think of things to say for tomorrow that wouldn’t make you seem like you’re overstepping it. But your phone vibrates in your hand, and your eyes stare at his quick response.

Your heart pounds in your chest; it’s heavy, weighing down on you but for completely different reasons.

You plop down on your bed head first, pillow against your cheek. You actually do it, you scream. Not of what you thought you’d be doing, but the complete opposite.

Before you pass out in excitement, you manage a reply.

You do end up staying up late at night, eating your well deserved hot cup of noodles. But the laptop isn’t on, and you decide you can catch up on shows some other time.

You and Younghyun text the night away, it’s not awkward anymore. You feel yourself easing up to his banter through messages and gifs which you try to one up him every so often.

The rain had stopped sometime in the night, and instead your heart continued to pound heavily in your chest. It was exhilarating, to say the least, but you welcomed the feeling of having something to look forward to.

You remind yourself to not only do groceries tomorrow, but also do your laundry. (You never got to change into something more dry that night.)

#young k scenarios #young k imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #brian kang imagines #brian kang scenarios #young k x reader #young k au #day6 au #by:jiae

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mommymooze · 4 years ago

Text

Bob

Bob-Original Character.

Warning: Crack (yes, I found crack!) vulgar, violent, bad humor, toasty cinnamonrolls Hubert abuse

Part 1

He confidently strides around the grounds of the Monastery like he owns the place. Noone dares to tell him he doesn’t. He’s always been curious, his quest for knowledge knows no bounds. That Riegan kid? An amateur next to him. The poisons and potions that boy comes up with? He made those before he was 9. Riegan is always bragging about Lysithia. Youngest girl to graduate from the School of Sorcery, she is such a prodigy, bla, bla, bla. He had graduated before his 10th birthday. His graduating thesis rewrote the book on transmogrification.

He doesn’t care for Claude practically sticking his tongue in Professor Byleth’s ear at every turn. Okay, so the doof hasn’t quite done that, but he can see that the guy really ‘breathily’ speaks in her ear, so he may as well be. Bob is not jealous. Byleth doesn’t interest him. Not in that way. He knows she’s the best choice for Professor for the Blue Lions. Golden Deer are too chaotic and disorganized. The Black Eagles are practically run by the Agarthans, unfortunately those idiots can’t see it. Besides, its easier to ‘fit in’ with the people of his ‘land’. He’s a noble, in the loosest sense of the word.

His fellow Blue Lions will follow Dimitri to hell and back. Little do they know that Dimitri already has one foot in hell. The guy is nuts. The things he talks about in his sleep, well, Bob’s seen people like that before. They have endured some really heavy shit and trauma. Usually it’s a one-way trip. Dimitri’s hanging on by a thin frayed thread and only Dedue is keeping him grounded. Looks like Professor Byleth is picking up on it. Saving Dedue’s life was the best thing that ever happened to Dimitri.

Now Sylvain, he got a rotten deal handed to him. Don’t blame him for his coping mechanism of getting back at the girls that are after him for his goods and not him. A bit self-destructive, but he does kind of enjoy it, until it goes south. Step in Ingrid, to save him. She’s such a knight in shining armor, rescuing princess Sylvain every time. Felix, he needs a complete emotional enema. He’s been blocked up since his brother died. His father’s been blocked up since his wife died. Felix locked down all of his feelings and emotions only letting out anger and hatred. Any time he has a feeling related to kindness or love, he beats it out of himself by training to death. Ashe, there is a sweet young man. A cinnamon roll through and through. He’s been through tough times and better times. You just can’t let harm come to a freaking ray of sunshine like him. Annette is definitely in the cinnamon rolls covered in sunshine category as well, even though her conception sperm donor is a dick. Daddy Gustav, ugh, Duscur screwed him in the head too. ‘I failed as a knight. I couldn’t protect them.’ So you dump your family, stick your thumb in your ass and watch Dimitri fall apart? Really? Yeah he super sucks as a father type thing. Mercedes is a fun girl. She’s seen some shit, yet she is so motherly to all the Lions. She is not one to give up, even on her loser psycho brother.

Bob is a model student. He watches the idiotic pranks that Sylvain pulls. Fart jokes? That is third grade stuff. They have the big mock battle between the classes in a few weeks. Bob catches the redhead getting turned down by Felix when he invites his bff to town to check out some girls. Bob just happens to be near the door when Sylvain exits.

“Hey man, heard you may be heading to town. Need a wingman?” Bob offers.

“Only if you buy the first round.” Sylvain grins.

They head out the front gates to the town on the other side of the woods. Talking about their favorite types of girls, Sylvain is ready to hit up anything in a skirt by the time they hit the closest drinking establishment. Half an ale gone and the redhead has found a couple of prospective tarts ready to take a bite out of. Bob takes a seat next to a young brunette cleric who shyly smiles as he sits. They chatter amicably, before the evening is over, he knows of her family, history, deity (not Sothis, gasp) how long she has done this, life’s dreams, battle experience, her strongest spells, affinities, favorite foods, shoe size and her birthday. Sylvain returns to the tavern a bit disheveled and a grin from ear to ear. Bob bids his little friend good night. Once he is finished suffering through the heavily detailed victorious encounter that the handsome cavalier has just experienced, Bob changes direction of the conversation to the redhead himself.

“Dude, why do you act like such a fuckup? Felix hits it right on the nose every time and you just crumble. You are much smarter than you lead everyone to believe. You hold back on your magic. You can handle a lance like nobody’s business. If you practiced some, get your speed up, you’d be deadly. What’s the deal?” Bob doesn’t exactly hold back.

“Look,” Sylvain whines, “I know I’m a fuckup. My father has my life lined up for me. He’ll pick out who I marry, I’m stuck watching over the Gautier territory, making crestbabies to grow up and wield the Lance of Ruin. My brother was fucked over by my father for not having a crest. I had to go out and kill him. My own brother. My whole life is so messed up, why should I even try?”

Bob leans over and whispers into the redhead’s ear. “Man, the winds of change are coming. This whole godessdamned world is going to be flipped upside down. Just when you think it can’t get any worse it does. It’s gonna be a mess. Then one day, there’s going to be a light in that darkness, and the world is tilted again. All the slates are going to be wiped clean and I intend on being there to rewrite it all. I just want you to come along for the ride, dude.”

Sylvain looks at Bob like he’s got two heads. “How much did you have to drink while I was gone? That is some crazy heavy shit. Whatever it was, you gotta buy me some next time.” He laughs as they get back to the monastery gates.

------------------

Bob quickly becomes bored with the highly censored library in the monastery and decides to find where the one is in Abyss. Besides, he hates the skinwalker librarian. The creep likes to hand out anti church of Seiros paraphernalia to anyone that would take one. Bob knew of Abyss long before he had ever arrived. He found out more information about Garreg Mach on the outside than on the inside. Once you go past the front gate, the church folks zip their lips shut. He sneaks around a few tunnels, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone nearby. Noting some footsteps slowly moving closer, he blends in with the walls. Two girls walk past, he’s just about to let them keep going, but he recognizes one of them.

“Hapi?” Bob softly gasps.

“Dipshit! Long time no see, jerk!” Hapi runs over and hugs him.

The taller blonde girl stands, waiting for a proper introduction.

“Oh, Coco, this is my friend, Dipshit. He helped get me out of the terrible place where, you know, those guys were.” Hapi says.

The noble woman offers her hand, “Constance Von Nuvelle. I am temporarily living here, however I strive to restore House Nuvelle to its finest glory.

Bob takes her hand, kissing the back of it, “I am very honored to make your acquaintance. How fortunate to meet such a beautiful woman as yourself in such an interesting location.”

Constance Nuvelle giggles at his introduction. Bob is all OMG she is so CUTE.

Hapi gives him the stink-eye “Aaanyyway, we should prolly take you to meet Yuribird. He’s the boss around here. “

So they meander over to the class room and meet Yuri. Tall, beautiful, with an air of mystery for kicks, Yuri greets the newcomer. “Any friend of Hapi’s is welcome.”

Bob explains his presence. “I’m not here to get in your business. Just wanted to check out your library. If I find anything useful to you, I know where to go with it. Mostly I am interested in all the crap that is going on topside.”

Yuri walks with him to the place where Seteth’s banished books have been stored. Bob tears into it like a man starved. Feeding on everything he can get his hands on.

Yuri decides to be sociable for a moment. “Whatcha looking for friend?”

Bob “the usual. Nabatheans, Agarthans, saints, Nemesis, relics, bloodlines, histories that may be a little closer to the truth than what they have upstairs. “

Yuri nods. “Sure. Have at it.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything about the Crest of Aubin or the rest of you guys.” Bob offhandedly remarks looking through a few books.

Yuri starts cleaning under his nails with a particularly sharp dagger. “Funny, no one mentioned Crests, much less if anyone has one.”

“I can smell ‘em.” Bob says indifferently. “One of their experiments gone haywire. Hapi and I did time together. Ask her, she’s where I got my crest.”

“Have fun.” Yuri quips before heading out, stashing his dagger.

Bob is devouring this library. Opens every single book on every single shelf. Divides them into piles. Church, Magic, research, Agarthans, useful, and crap.

Encyclopedia of Fodlan’s Insects. Insects is what the Agarthans call Nabatheans. Winged bugs that need squashing. It also describes items forbidden by the church. These of course are things the Agarthans have used for centuries. Telescopes, viewing lenses, metal printing presses, decent condoms. Bob laughs out loud at the section on autopsies. Wouldn’t want you poking around inside someone’s head or chest. May accidentally find a crest stone or worse rattling around in there. Bob finishes sorting the upper levels of the Shadow Library. He hands a few books to Yuri to peruse, telling him to hang on to them, Bob would like a close look when he is done. Bob shuffles off with armful after armful of books, taking them to a quiet little nook that Yuri has permitted for him. Not much bigger than a closet, but its enough room to keep the books secure. Just as he’s on his last trips, who should happen to arrive at the library but Hubert von Vestra.

“Hey Bro, what the fuck you doin’ down here?” Bob impolitely and arrogantly asks.

“You. Why don’t you crawl back under your rock.” Hubert curses.

“Surprised to see you standing up. Usually you’re on all fours licking her high and mightynesses boots.” Bob shakes his head, getting his black and white bangs out of his eyes.

“Lady Edelgard deserves all of my praise and loyalty for everything she has been through. House Vestra shall always be at her service.” Hubert stiffly replies.

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you. She hasn’t been through half the shit I’ve been through. She’s barely holding it together. What’s fucking hilarious is she’s relying on you to help her keep it together. You still haven’t gotten over killing father. You should’ve let me know. I’d’ve done it in a heartbeat. Can’t wait till I can slit my beautiful mother’s throat and listen to her gurgling as the life flows from her.”

“He denounced you. You are not a Vestra.” The Black Eagle spits out.

Bob puts his hands on his hips. “Gimme a break. You and I are cut from the same mold. Same greasy black hair, at least I take care of mine. Same strong chin, handsome cheek bones, body structure. Hell we have the same color eyes from father. Just because I’m your half bro doesn’t mean I’m not part of your family. We’re both drawn to black and dark magic. We wield spells far above our fellow students. Just think of the things we could do together. “

“No. You are crude, undignified, unprodigious, and disgusting inside as well as out.” Hubert spits.

“We’re twins! I’m just the better looking one. Just ask anyone. You stand around like a starving vulture ready to pounce on everyone. Always looming and leering. That creepy guy intimidation thing only gets you so far. You need to work on your charm.” Bob schmoozes, moving closer to his half brother.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Hubert gives a disgusted frown and warps away.

“I love dicking with him. Fucking dickwad.” Bob laughs a deep and frightening laugh that scares some female out in the hallway who screams and runs away.

----------------------------

When Flayne goes missing, Bob becomes unhappy. She’s a sweet and innocent girl. Yeah, she’s got dragon blood and all that, but really she’s nice. Cinnamon roll nice. Too nice to be caught up in any Agarthan mess. And this kidnapping has Agarthan written all over it.

Bob shows up behind Hubert, smashing his face into a wall and nicking his half bro’s throat as he puts a dagger under his chin. “Tell her to call the Agarthan dogs back. Tell her how wrong it is to work with them. They are not your friends. The enemy of your enemy crap doesn’t work. They are only using you, not the other way around”

Hubert, bloody nosed from having it smashed into a wall mutters, “I will bring it up in our next conversation.”

“Yeah. Talk about it. All talk, no action.” Bob disappears through the wall. He materializes in the library behind Ashe.

“Ashe, take off your baseball cap.” The cool dark mage orders.

The grey haired cinnamon roll takes off his hat and sits very straight in the comfy chair in the library. He can feel the hand patting his head, then stroking his hair from the top of his head down to his neck.

“Good boy, you are a good boy Ashe.” Bob begins his mantra, praising and patting.

“Yes. I am a good boy.” Ashe repeats, closing his eyes.

Thirty minutes later Ashe is happily asleep curled up in the chair and Bob no longer has steam coming out of his ears. Bob looks around the library. Where is that Thomas creep anyway? Bob goes to the upper levels where Thomas’ desk is located. Pinned to the bulletin board is a cartoon of Rhea tied to a stake while they light a huge fire under her. A poster in Medieval script saying “Dragons must Die!!!” A stack of love poems devoted to Catherine, his forbidden love. And a large, oversized rubber stamp that says “DENIED”. But no sign of Thomas. Bob decides to pay the gatekeeper a visit. He floats down the three flights of stairs to the main level. Not only because it is cool if you can float, but he also won’t trip over one of Claude’s 17 pairs of roller-skates he leaves everywhere, especially on stairs.

“Greetings Bob, nothing to report.” The gatekeeper happily greets the black and white haired mage, cheerfully looking up into his piercing citrine eyes.

“Hey Keeps, you ever see the librarian head out of these gates?” Bob asks him in a deep, sultry voice.

“Oh yeah, I guess he left almost a week ago. I bet he’s going out to chase down some overdue books. Had a large empty sack on his shoulder.” Gatekeeper smiles ever so widely, a blush to his cheeks as he stares deeper into Bob’s eyes.

Caspar overhears the conversation, gasps, and runs straight to Linhardt’s room to save his best friend from being sentenced to death for his lack of library returns.

Bob returns to his room for the night to ponder the mysteries of the universe, Flayn’s location, why does Felix do that thing with his hair, and why does Dimitri find Alois’ jokes funny? They suck so bad. Is it the madness?

-----------

Breakfast with the Blue Lions is enlightening. There are rumors of some sort of dude that dresses up like the grim reaper, complete with scythe that is creeping out the people in the village. Just one more thing to add to the list of the weird crap that is going on around this place. As he walks across the courtyard, some guy from the kitchen bumps into him.

“Hey, watch it, bud.” Bob giving the guy the eye.

Kitchen guy stops him. ”Have you seen Manuela?” he asks as blood is dripping down his arm.

Bob holds his hands out like he is holding two invisible watermelons to his chest, “Really big…?”

The guy nods.

Bob smirks, “Never heard of her. What were you doing?” Bob curiously asks.

“Peeling potatoes. Knife slipped.” Kitchen guy says, not looking so good. Bob knows to avoid potatoes for dinner.

“Head for the training grounds, healers are always hanging out there for practice opportunities.” Bob says before heading to the stable area. Just as he walks past the Knights quarters, he hears a shriek in a perfect “C”. Probably Manuela. Just before he goes inside he stops a guy standing out front telling him to get the Blue Lions. You know, the group with the really tall hot blonde guy? Yeah, those Blue Lions.

The mage runs down the hall and finds a door partially open. He pushes it the rest of the way to find Manuela lying on the floor. She’s reaching out for something by the wall, as Bob gets closer he can smell them, Agarthans. He feels around and there’s a secret passage that opens wide to show a path down to the stink. The dark mage heads straight down the hole, lighting every torch on the way to guide the rest of his house. The Professor arrives at the bottom of the stairs to find all of the enemies in the immediate area are on fire. Bob is currently hurling fire spells through the gate at the enemies in the next room. “Die motherfuckers!! MUahahahahahahaha! Eat this!” Bob screams as he throws another fireball at one of the guys in the next room who tries to hide as far in a corner as possible, but still winds up having his robes catch fire and he screams in agony.

Byleth places her hand on Bob’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “Calm down dude, you’re frightening the kids. Don’t scar our cinnamonrolls.”

Bob pulls a fist in front of his mouth. “Oopsie. Sorry. Was over excited. ::cough cough::”

The Blue Lions take over from here. Ashe unlocks the door as Felix and Sylvain rush in followed by Dedue and Ingrid. The professor heads to the left to unlock another gate.

Bob reaches over to pat Ashe on the head. “Good boy, you are such a good boy.”

Ashe smiles as his eyes glaze the slightest bit.

They move forward quickly wiping out the soldiers that are nearby. Felix and Sylvain take some warp tiles that send them to various places in the area where they can deactivate trap tiles. They all are joined together at the door in front of the death knight. Ashe opens the door. Bob’s already materialized in the room and hitting the big masked dude on the horsie with Dark Spikes T when the Flame Emperor shows up to send horsie boy off.

Flame Emperor “Go home Creepy McCreepface, you done good. I am the Flame Emperor. I will reforge the world.” And with that they both warp off.

Professor “We need to get these kids out of here.”

Bob, “I’ll grab Flayne, leave that other one, it smells bad.” He tosses Flayne over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Bob carries her all the way to the infirmary. When putting her on a cot, he notices that her shirt sleeves were sliced open to her armpits and there are multiple holes in her arms where the evil bloodsuckers have taken her blood multiple times. He whispers to Manuela that the girl is a few quarts low, then he leaves.

Bob heads straight to Hubert’s room. His half brother isn’t there, so he waits for him to show up. So he’s not too bored, he goes into his brothers notes on spells and adds a few extra lines here and there to Sigils and changes ingredients on some poisons.

As soon as Hubert enters the door he is tripped then given a knee in the back while his dear half sibling repeatedly smashes his face into the floor.

“I told ::slam:: you not ::slam:: to work ::slam:: with them. ::slam slam:: Fucking idiot! ::slam slam slam::

Hubert’s nose is quite crooked and he can’t breathe correctly through it now. “I toad her, but she woodit lissen.”

Bob continues his rant. “Now we have a kid that suddenly appears from being gone last year. “ He definitely does airquotes on the word “suddenly”. “She’s one of them, I know it. Dump her. Dump the Agarthans. And wash your hair sometimes, ew.” Bob disappears through the floor, listening to Hubert call him a few names that weren’t in the book. Bob needs to write those down.

----------------------

It was time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and no Deerz allowed. Byleth has been working them pretty hard, advancing Bob as quickly as she can in magic certifications. He’s got reason down better than anyone in the group, so he’s been teaching them more advanced spellcasting. Byleth doesn’t say much but she catches on fast. If you can get Annette to shut up and concentrate, she does an amazing job. Mercedes doesn’t have her heart in it but manages to get a few reason spells down, Fire for sure, and Thunder is getting better. Felix is great with Thunder. Sylvain would be great with fire, but he screws around too much.

The horn signals for the battle to begin. Bob immediately heads for the back lines of the Black Eagles, materializing behind Linhardt, stabbing him with a blade covered with a powerful sleeping concoction. Lin would probably thank him. Bob heads over to behind Marianne in the Golden Deer. He whispers “good night, sweetie” in her ear before he holds a cloth covered with the same powerful sleeping potion. Lying her carefully on the ground he hides out in the nearby bushes to find out where Lysithia has gone off to.

He watches Ferdinand and Sylvain get into it. Handsome redheads on horses stab at each other repeatedly with pointed sticks. Finally, Sylvain gets the upper hand, but not by much. Ferdinand is out and heads to the boundary lines. Sylvain heads back to Mercedes for a bit of patching up. Annette is working on whittling down Ignatz, blowing his arrows off course as she attacks with wind spells. The professor is taking out Raphael and Claude. Bob decides to throw a mire at Hilda. She screams about her hair and how gross the magic muck feels all over her and gives up. Felix is giving Leonie a workout. Sylvain is back and taking on Lorenz. Lorenz throws a decent Fire spell at Sylvain, causing the redhead’s horse to rear up, he still is able to stay on the steed and then counter Lorenz with a decent lance jab that knocks the grapeheaded guy off his horse.

The battle continues on. It is between the lions and eagles, the deer are out. Its very helpful at this point that the eagles have no healer except for Dorothea. Her magic is going to be defensive not attacking for the most part. Edelgard marches down the field heading for Dimitri and Dedue, followed by Hubert and Caspar. Bob lost track of Petra and Felix, not sure who won that match. Bob grabs a large wooden sword lying on the ground and materializes behind Hubert. Swinging the flat edge of the blade at full force at the back of Hubert’s head, Bob provides Hubert with the headache of the month.

“Blockhead.” Bob smirks as he watches the dark mage fall and Bob disappears into the ground just under the swing of Edelgard’s axe. Bob shows up in a copse of trees not far away watching the rest of the blue lions completely wipe out the black eagles.

---------------------

Bob is in Abyss, in the laboratory of the most creative and beautiful sorceress he has ever met.

“Darling, would you be so kind to join me for lunch today? I would be ever so honored and grateful if you would grace my humble presence with your enlightening company.” Bob croons.

“Ever the charming one, pumpkin. However I must decline as I have serious potions to concoct today and they simply cannot mix themselves.” Constance smiles ever so sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“Ahh. I so adore your everworking and brilliant mind, however you do need nourishment for your delectable body. If I may, I will retrieve lunch from above and bring it back to provide you with the energy needed to complete your serious tasks. “ Bob dashingly offers, his hands on his hips, his hair waving in the breeze, a sparkle shows on his teeth with a ding.

“I suppose I must acquiesce to obtaining sustenance. Having your handsome face as accompaniment is also a great pleasure. Please do go, with haste and fetch our midday feast.” Coco wiggles her fingers, encouraging him to hurry.

“But of course my flower, my jewel. I shall return poste haste.” Bob says, holding his palm open for her to gently place her hand within it so that he may delicately kiss the back of her hand, and then lick it for good measure.

He then disappears through the floor, only a minute later to walk through the wall behind her.

“Every moment away tears at my heart, my sweet lady. I am overjoyed to have returned and bask in your beauty once again. Please join me.” The handsome dark mage waves a hand at the beautifully set table complete with two darling candelabras with Ashen Wolves colored candles, napkins and tablecloth.

They sit on the same side of the table. Bob smiles and he feeds her bite after bite until she is satisfied. Next time he may even offer to chew if for her if she so desires. He takes a napkin and lightly dabs at the corner of her mouth.

“There my precious one.” Bob coos in her ear. “Have you been sated? Is there anything else that I may obtain for you? I would pull the stars from the sky if you would only ask for them.”

Constance smiles, a bit of green something stuck on her teeth, “Nah, I’m good. “

Bob helps her from her chair and walks her back to the laboratory table. “Ahh. Then, although it pains me to do so< I shall leave you to your work.” He says before snapping his fingers, clearing the table.

Bob dips her, giving her a face sucking kiss until her skin on her cheeks is almost purple, as he stands her back up she is completely gasping for breath, trying to cool herself with her fan. She has a severe case of the vapors. He then rises into the air, disappearing through the ceiling.

----------------------------

Remire Village. Nice place if you like living in Hell!!!! Whole place is aflame. Dimitri is acting like Frankenstein’s monster getting creeped out by the flames everywhere giving him flashbacks of Duscur. Felix is getting flashbacks of feral Dimitri. Sylvain is getting flashbacks of the girls he had dated here, they’re all monsters now and after him. Ingrid is having flashbacks of when she was camping and her marshmallows AND her hotdog fell into the campfire. Bob is busy covering the eyes of Annette and Ashe to keep them from as much of the horror as possible, the smell around him of burnt cinnamon is concerning. Somehow they save the villagers, Thomas’ skin is removed from Solon, a pasty white older than dirt uglier than sin guy. Professor B beats up the old guy pretty quick and pastyboy heads for the hills.

The Death Knight is there. Bob pulls the cinnamon rolls over and whispers in their ears.

“Hey kids, would you like to see your dear Uncle Bob get rid of the McKreepface guy on the horse? I’ll let you laugh at him while he burns, okay?”

Ashe and Annette nod their heads very quickly has Bob hands them each a bowl of popcorn and a box of milkduds for the show.

“Huzza-huzza-HOOM! You’re about to meet your DOOOOOOM!” Bob cackles as the magic of Dark Spikes T whips from his fingers and chomps on the body of the Death Knight like Godzilla eating buildings in Tokyo. The only thing left of the dude is a Dark Seal that Bob wraps in a pink bow and hands to Professor Byleth.

“Don’t you want this, Bob?” the Professor asks.

“Nope, mother got me one for my birth day. Figured you could use a spare.” The dark mage quips.

The Flame Emperor shows up. “Deathknight, you’re having too much fuuuuuuuuuck! What did you do to my pet?”

“Chomp chomp bitch.” Bob says making hand gestures like his fingers are teeth chomping towards her face.

Jeralt is angry. “So you’re the one that did this to my favorite village?”

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” The Flame Emperor backpedals. “Yeah, Solon works with me, but man I didn’t know he was going to pull this shit.”

“Come to the dark side!” Flameface pleads. “I will give you cookies…”

“We got Mercedes, your cookies suck compared to ours. Oh, and you suck too.” Says Byleth.

“Look, Solon and his buddies, they are powerful. Together, me, you, The Sword of the Creator. We can take them down.” Flame face

Bob pulls his right hand into his sleeve to make it look like it’s been cut off. “I’ll never rule the universe with you!”

Dedue runs up saying his Princeliness is missing. Bob grabs his two cinnamon rolls protectively.

“Don’t let Mr. CrazySpaghettihead scare you. Lets go get some icecream.” Bob says leading them to the monastery.

#fe3h #fire embelm three houses #Blue Lions #Crack #my stories #Black Eagles #FE16 hubert von vestra #byleth eisner

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overwatch-does-stuff · 5 years ago

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The Adventures of McCree Holmes and Sigma Watson- Intermediary 1

You're wondering what my first reactions were to taking the old man under my wing? Y'know, it didn't turn out to be as straightforwards as I thought it would be. I underestimated his title as the "town madman", though calling him mad was a bit of a harsh word. The gentle folks of Ironclad weren't usually the exaggerating type. That should have been my first clue.

----------------------------------------------------- The road was flat, and made of a smooth dirt that had been beaten down by countless wagons. McCree Holmes never understood some folk's notion of avoiding major roads like this one. The walk was easy, almost too easy, as he kept finding that at his normal pace, he kept leaving his new partner behind in the dust. "E-excuse me." Sigma called up from behind. "I haven't walked this far in, well, I don't think I've ever walked this far." McCree Holmes turned around and waited for him to catch up. "Never?" Then again, judging by the fact that Sigma wore no shoes, he wasn't surprised. "Well, if I have, I don't remember it." Sigma came up beside him, his fingers twitching. "And, well, you see, I normally don't. . ." McCree Holmes stopped walking. "It's okay. Spit it out." "Would it be okay if I float instead?" McCree Holmes blinked. "Sure?" It was as if Sigma had just stepped into a warm bath. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh of relief as his feet left the ground. He bobbed up and down for a bit before steadying. "Ah, that's better!" He smiled. "I was beginning to feel all pent up." Pent up? McCree Holmes wasn't a magic user. He had never studied in depth any sort of spellbook and tome. But, one thing he did know was that it took effort and concentration to direct magic. There were legends about magic folk who taught themselves to fly, and even they could do it for only a short amount of time. He took another look at Sigma and decided not to make a deal of it yet. "I'm glad that helps ya'." "I normally don't do it in front of people. They always look at me funny. Perhaps it scares them?" Sigma went on. "Well, I can't prevent any funny looks from anyone else, but I don't care if you do it in front of me, pardner." McCree Holmes tapped his shoulder. Sigma leaned into his touch for a moment, before looking down the road. "Let's keep going, shall we?" ----------------------------------------------------- After that, Sigma's mood improved mightily, and I wasn't about to interrogate him further as to why. For the rest of that day, we walked. Eventually the sun started to set, with no town in sight. I knew the woods we were in, however, and I knew they weren't dangerous. Besides, it wasn't going to be a full moon that night. We were safe to make camp. ----------------------------------------------------- The campsite was a quaint little clearing that was shielded with trees from the road. McCree Holmes set to work gathering firewood, and he had assigned Sigma the task of clearing the ground. McCree Holmes came back with a good bundle of sticks and moss kindling only to find Sigma simply floating still, and the clearing still full of dead leaves. "Is there a reason you're waitin'?" The detective asked with a sigh. Sigma's gaze suddenly flinched over to him. "Shouldn't we be closer to the road? That way, we can flee should something try and capture us." The paranoia in his tone surprised McCree Holmes, and he paused for a moment before answering. "Well, anything that would be tryin' to capture us would be coming down the road. That's why we're out of sight of it. If something were really coming at us, our goal would be to hide, rather than to run." "I'm not very good at hiding." Sigma muttered, looking away. Without another word, or even a gesture, all the leaves on the ground of the campsite were blown to the sides by an invisible force. Sigma hummed something under his breath. "Well, you made that look easy." McCree Holmes marveled for just a moment before he set the bundle of sticks down and began building a fire. After setting the kindling, he took out a flint and steel from his pocket. It only took him a few strikes before the kindling caught, and soon they had a decent fire in the center of the clearing. Sigma lowered himself back down to the ground, and sat down next to the fire, gazing into it. McCree Holmes sat down next to him. He pulled out a small package of jerky from his pocket. "I say we split this." Sigma shook his head. "No, thanks. I don't need it as much as you do." McCree Holmes looked him up and down. The orange firelight reflected off his pale skin, and though his shirt was loose, McCree Holmes could tell he was thin. Perhaps too thin. "You look like you're half starvin' to death." McCree Holmes remarked. "We're splittin' this. You gotta eat. I can buy more supplies in the next town." Sigma's gaze did not move from the fire. "I suppose my body needs sustenance once in a while. Alright, I'll have some." McCree Holmes did not reply. What was there to say in response to a statement like that? He decided it was best to simply let it be. He opened the package of jerky and began warming it over the fire. As soon as it started to smoke, he pulled it off and split it into even portions. "Here's yours, nice and toasty," he handed a chunk of the meet to Sigma. Sigma stared at it for a moment, before grabbing it and taking a bite. McCree Holmes did the same, and they ate together in silence. Sigma still stared into the fire. Suddenly, Sigma turned. "Do you hear that music?" McCree Holmes held his breath and listened around. The only noises were the sound of wind in the trees and crickets chirping in the grass. He shook his head. "There's no music, partner." His response caused Sigma's eyes to lose focus, and a look of panic to cross his face. "I'm sorry. I must be. . . imagining things." The fire began to die down, and McCree Holmes laid his serape down on a flat patch of ground. Sigma, however, still sat in the same position. While McCree Holmes was turned away, he had put his hands over his ears and started to mutter. "Hey, pardner. What's up?" McCree Holmes approached him again. "The melody, it's too loud." Sigma's voice was a whisper. "There's no music. I already told ya' that." He tapped his shoulder. "It's too much to handle." Sigma responded only by pressing on his ears harder. McCree Holmes paused. Even if there was no music, it was real enough for Sigma. He tried to think of a solution to block out a melody that didn't exist. Ignoring it wouldn't work. How about distraction? McCree Holmes searched his pockets until he found the right one. He pulled out a rusty-looking harmonica. The thing had been a joke gift from his last partner, but he had learned to play it well enough. He started blowing out the tune to a song he had written himself. He called it Route 66. He had composed it thinking of where he grew up, and the melody was peaceful and home-y, at least for him. Sigma was startled when he began to play, before looking at him with curiosity. The old man slowly uncovered his ears as the song progressed. He began to tap on his own leg along with the slow beat. After that song ended, McCree Holmes played another couple of songs as the light of the fire slowly disappeared. Soon all that was left were the coals. McCree Holmes brought the harmonica down from his lips and gave a small smile. "Thank you." Sigma returned the smile. "You're very talented." "I wouldn't call it talent. More a bit of boredom and plenty of free time on the road." McCree Holmes said with a hint of laughter. "Don't discredit yourself." Sigma replied. "I meant it." "You flatter me." McCree Holmes laid down on his serape on the ground. He yawned. Sigma laid himself similarly across the remains of the campfire from him. "Good night, detective." "Goodnight, Sigma." ----------------------------------------------------- Every night from then on, Sigma would always encourage me to break out the harmonica and bust out a song or two. It became our nightly routine. That was one thing I noticed about him- he always liked to have his routines. He was a very particular sort of person, though too nervous and polite to exercise his will on anyone else. His temperament was certainly different from my previous partner's, that was for sure. I didn't know what made him that way. I had only known the man for a few days. I wasn't about to go digging up his secrets, as much as my mystery sense told me I should investigate further. Especially because it seemed he was runnin' from them himself. ----------------------------------------------------- McCree Holmes woke up when the sun peeked through the trees, dappling the forest floor with specks of light. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, a little stiff but no worse for wear. He looked over to find his partner already up, well, floating. Sigma looked down on him. Slight shivers traveled up and down his body. "Well, somebody's up bright and chipper." McCree Holmes greeted him. "I-I'm a very l-light sleeper." Sigma wrapped his arms around himself. The morning was crisp, that was for sure. McCree Holmes wasn't cold, as he had several layers of good clothes on, as part of his detective outfit. But Sigma's clothes, he noticed, were practically threadbare. He wore a loose, patchy long-sleeved shirt, stained brown from its original color from dirt and wear. His pants looked just as thin and were covered in patches. The bottoms were frayed and only came down to just above his ankles. The only thing about him that didn't look completely worn was his long, dark blue scarf. McCree Holmes stood up. He grabbed his serape from the ground and shook the dirt off of it. He held it out in front of him for a moment, and looked back to Sigma. "Say, you look cold. Do ya' want my serape?" He asked. The sizing would be about right, he figured. "No, I couldn't do that. It's yours." Sigma shook his head. "I'll warm up. I'll be fine." "Nonsense. Come'ere." McCree Holmes walked towards him. "You deserve to have something, at least until we can get you new clothes." "But I like these clothes. They're comfortable." He protested further. "They're a little worn, don't you think?" McCree Holmes gestured. "And they don't match my detective look at all. Perhaps we could get you a good uniform-" "No!" Sigma turned away. "Not a uniform. Not a uniform again. Please." McCree Holmes took a step towards him, and laid his serape over Sigma's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I won't make you do anything you don't want to." Sigma paused, before touching the serape. He gently spread out the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms. He turned back to face McCree Holmes. "Thank you. This is much better." He said quietly. His shivering had stopped. McCree Holmes smiled. "Keep it. It looks good on you." Sigma gave a weak smile, his eyes glistening with tears. ----------------------------------------------------- The look on his face was that of a man who had never been given anything by life before. It was a haunting look, a sorrowful look. Sigma had that kind of look a lot. I swore to myself it was a look I would never get used to seeing. I couldn't let it become normal. No one deserved to have that look on their face. That was my job, my self-proclaimed calling to life, after all, to help the desperate people in this world with no one else to turn to. Call it intuition. Call it fate. Call it the universe, if you will, but something tells me that Sigma and I were meant to find each other.

#overwatch #overwatch au #fantasy au #sigma #mccree #overwatch fanfiction #siebren de kuiper #jesse mccree #McCree Holmes and Sigma Watson #not a ship #sigma!watson

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years ago

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 18)

The Course Of True Love

Catching up with Beau and Penelope. This chapter is rated mature for some suggestive content.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Pearson had cooked up the fish the boys had caught by the time Arthur and I went back to camp. Nobody seemed to notice anything was different, not that they would, but it was surreal surrounding myself with all those people, having meaningless small talk while all the time my heart and mind was buzzing. Arthur sat by my side around the campfire for the remainder of the evening, through dinner and through the gradual dispersal of the gang members as they retired to their respective bedrolls.

It seemed so funny to me, to sit next to him and join in on conversations about how tasty the fish was, and how nice it was to eat something other than venison, and how much muggier the air was here compared to near Valentine. When mere hours ago we'd been making out with each other, completely alone and exploring each other for the first time in such a new, wonderful way. It never left my mind, keeping my body up a few degrees higher than usual and making me smile for no apparent reason, as far as anyone else was concerned. When asked about it by John, I just told him I was happy to be settled in at the new camp. It wasn't a lie, really; just not the entire truth.

The night wound down and it was the latest I'd stayed up, Arthur and I still sitting side by side around the campfire, opposite Javier who was playing his guitar, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Micah was still up, though he wasn't anywhere near us, choosing to sit leaning up against the big tree in the middle of the camp whittling a piece of wood by lantern light. He'd been keeping his distance since Jack had come over to ask him what he'd done with the flowers he asked him to pick. I'd cocked a brow at him, but it really didn't shock me. Micah didn't strike me as the type to go out picking flowers himself.

Nobody was speaking, we were just enjoying the peace of the night-time ambience by Flat Iron Lake; crickets, frogs, the occasional hooing of a distant owl, and of course Javier's peaceful tune. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his music, because it definitely helped me sleep since he would often still be playing whenever I went to bed, but I felt it might disturb the atmosphere so I kept quiet.

Arthur and I would likely have gone to sleep hours ago, but I got the sense that neither one of us wanted to move. Well, I knew that I certainly didn't. I was exhausted, but sitting shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, leaning up against a log with our legs stretched out long, I was reluctant to leave. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, my backside kept going a little numb against the hard ground, but it was warm by the fire and I wanted to be with him. I was still thinking about our kiss, wanting more than anything to do it again but I wouldn't have dreamt of bringing that kind of attention to us at the camp; even if it was just Javier and Micah around to witness it. I was content just feeling his arm and side pressed against mine, even that gave me a giddy feeling in my tummy.

We fell asleep like that, sitting next to each other, though of course I didn't know anything about it until morning when we were woken up by Pearson. He found it amusing, and to my surprise he didn't seem to think anything of it. I woke up at the sound of his chuckle, then Arthur jolted awake when Pearson kicked his foot. My neck was sore and I groaned as I lifted my head from Arthur's shoulder.

"I beat you two this morning, you been here all night? I thought waking you'd be the kindest thing, twisting your necks like that. Coffee's ready," he told us, walking back over to his station.

I felt groggy and stiff and gingerly rolled my neck a couple of times before looking up at Arthur who'd sat forwards and was rubbing at his eyes. I smiled a little, my mind clearing up as I realised where I was.

"Good morning," I said to him, watching him lift his head to look at me and give me a sleepy smile. I reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, my hand lingering a moment too long before I let go and stood up. "I'll grab us some coffee."

"Meet you down by the lake?" He suggested, looking up at me from his spot on the floor. I noted a look in his eyes, something hopeful and bright behind the tiredness. I grinned, nodding before heading off.

I filled two cups with fresh coffee and headed down towards the water's edge, spotting Arthur sitting at the end of the jetty, where I had been the previous evening. I joined him there, handing him his cup before sitting down cross-legged beside him. It was a little cooler that day, the sky white with light clouds, a breeze coming off the lake, but it wasn't by any means cold. I watched a group of ducks nearby as we sat quietly; I liked that about Arthur, he wasn't one for forced chit-chat. He was happy to sit in silence, as was I. Though, I didn't mind at all when he broke it.

"Your neck as stiff as mine?" He suddenly asked, a small wince on his face as he turned to me. I chuckled a little.

"Yes. I don't even remember falling asleep," I said, and Arthur shook his head.

"Me neither. Though I do remember feeling toasty warm and not wanting to move, that probably had something to do with it."

"Mhm, I was more than content to stay by your side," I admitted, watching his eyebrows jump a little in surprise.

"Really? Oh, well I'm glad it wasn't just my company boring you to sleep," he joked, swaying his body towards mine to bump against my shoulder.

"'Course not," I smirked. "You were a comfy pillow."

"You're used to sleeping on the ground, I'll take that with a pinch of salt," he chuckled.

"Arthur, are you heading out to find out more about the Grays today?" Dutch's voice startled us both, and we turned to watch him strolling down the edge of the lake towards us, coffee in one hand, a cigar in the other. Molly was with him, loyally standing by his side like she did so often. She was one member of the camp I had barely spoken to.

"I was planning on it, yeah, unless you got something else?" Arthur replied, leaning back to look past me at Dutch, his hand coming down to hold himself up behind me, his body easing closer to mine in one of those ways that was entirely innocent yet set my pulse racing.

"You go do that, but I'd like you to meet me at the sheriff's office again some time, I reckon we should get a little more acquainted with him," he said, a smile forming on his face that was just slightly unsettling. I did not know what to make of Dutch Van Der Linde.

I heard Arthur let out a breath behind me, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. "Sure. But I don't know why you think–"

"Hiding in plain sight, Arthur. Like I said," Dutch said, then turned to leave before Arthur had a chance to respond.

I caught Molly's eye before she left too, and offered her a smile; the one she returned was friendly, though a little tense. I knew she and Dutch had been arguing, they certainly didn't make much of a secret of it when they yelled at each other across the camp. I never said anything or asked anyone, though, it wasn't my business. Molly tended to isolate herself away from the other girls, spending a lot of time in Dutch's tent. I told myself then and there that I would avoid doing that if this thing that Arthur and I had began went any further, I enjoyed the company of the girls far too much to cut myself off from them. It was plain for me to see that Molly was completely smitten with Dutch, though, so I could hardly blame her.

Arthur sighed again, breaking me from my thoughts. I turned to him, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's jus' Dutch wanting to get into bed with the local law, I can't understand it," he told me under his breath.

"I'm no one to talk on this subject but I will admit, it does seem rather strange given why we're here," I shrugged and Arthur nodded at me, giving me a look.

"Don't take a genius. You've been here just a few weeks and you can see that, but I suppose I should trust that Dutch knows what he's doing. He's got us out of a hell of a lot of sticky situations, I don't always understand his methods but we seem to fall on our feet," he acquiesced, finalising the topic before looking up at me.

"So I guess I'm paying the Grays a visit today."

The name hadn't triggered much before, but when I remembered where we were, my brows raised. "Oh, the Grays! I know of them."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I worked for them a little when I was staying out here last. They had a vermin problem, paid me to shoot rats in their stables," I explained, and Arthur just stared at me for a moment, cogs turning in his head.

"You particularly close to 'em?" He asked. It would've been an odd question if I didn't know the Van Der Linde gang well enough to realise they were probably planning on robbing them blind.

"No. I was most friendly with the sheriff's nephew, Beau, he kept me company sometimes, out in the stables. If you're worried I'm gonna try and stop you folk from doing what you need to do, I won't. That whole family, besides Beau, is awful. I reckon even he'd hesitate to stop you from screwing 'em over," I laughed.

"Awful, how?" Arthur raised a brow, curious.

"According to Beau, they're violent, greedy, stupid and intolerant. I only met a few of 'em but the ones I did meet weren't all that nice to me; perverted," I shook my head as I recalled it. "One of his cousins got mighty friendly with me, he was nice at first but it got real creepy."

Arthur cocked his head, frowning a little. It prompted me to explain.

"He'd hang around when Beau weren't there. Ask me a bunch of weird stuff, kept telling me I could take my shoes off if I wanted," I snorted. "Out in the stables, like I'm gonna."

"Okay…" Arthur squinted and drawled the word slowly.

"He offered to fill me a bath one day. Like an idiot I jumped at the chance, I rarely got to take hot baths, I'm sure you understand. I washed in rivers and lakes, mostly, a hot bath in a house sounded too good to pass up. But the whole damn time I swear I could hear him outside the door, just waiting there, probably watching through the cracks or… something," I shuddered, shaking my head.

"That's…" he trailed off, seemingly stumped at how to respond.

"He never tried anything; never touched me or nothing," I shook my head. "I think he just like watching me."

"Well I'm glad it never went further than that," Arthur said.

"I have a lot of stories like that. I tend to attract a certain brand of gentleman, it seems. And I wonder why I've never been interested in romance," I laughed, then looked at him and put my hand on his knee. "'til now, of course."

"Just tell me if I get creepy," he laughed.

"You're far from creepy," I assured him with a smirk. "Anyway, you want me to come with you to the Gray's?"

"You think that's a good idea?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind seeing Beau again, and they know me there so you'll get in easier," I explained, and Arthur nodded in understanding.

"That's a good point."

"Then it's settled," I smiled.

I took a bath in the lake in a secluded area a short distance from camp before we left, and my hair was still damp when I mounted up with Arthur, I left it down and it occurred to me that he had never seen me that way. He took a double take when he saw me, but waited until we were away from the camp to tell me that I looked pretty with my hair down – not that I didn't look pretty otherwise, he was hasty to add – and his words made me blush something fierce.

Beau seemed surprised to see me, after all, it had been a long time and he knew my lifestyle; that I moved around an awful lot. He also seemed pleased, however, welcoming me with a firm squeeze of my hand and an array of questions about how I'd been keeping. Beau was always very fanciful and unrestrained with his words, babbling on and at times barely letting anyone else get a word in. But he was an easy conversationalist because of that, it was easy to get him talking and give yourself the chance to just sit and listen without having to say much yourself.

Especially when Penelope was mentioned. After introducing Arthur as a good friend of mine, I asked him how she was doing, and watched his whole demeanour shift into something hopelessly enraptured. The man was completely devoted.

"Oh, she is as usual trapped by that god-awful family of hers, as am I. Seeing her is getting harder and harder, they've got guards all over and she can't leave the place without being interrogated," he was saying, glancing around as he did.

"But you're still together? That's a testament to your commitment to one another, that says to me that you'll find a way," I offered, watching his face soften into a hopeful smile.

"How I wish you are right," he sighed.

"Why don't you pair just flee?" Arthur questioned.

"Well, between you and I, that is the plan. Eventually," he told us, peeking around the edge of the storage building we were behind before coming back and pulling out a letter. "Would you be so kind as to… to do me a small favour?"

Arthur and I shared a look.

"I will pay you for your troubles. Would you deliver this letter to her? She likes to spend time out in the gazebo by the lake over there. I have this bracelet for her, too,” he held a small box out along with the letter, waiting for one of us to take them. "You've met Penelope, she knows you. Perhaps if you tell the guards you're visiting as a friend?" He suggested to me.

I considered for a moment, then reached out to take the items. "Sure, Beau."

"Oh, thank you! You're a treasure, I always knew so," he beamed at me. I nodded awkwardly, keeping my head down at the flattery. I waved a hand at Arthur and started heading back towards our horses.

"Come on, Arthur," I said, noting his look of disbelief.

"Good luck!" Beau called after us as we mounted up and made to leave the Gray estate.

"You're helping them? With this?" Arthur asked me, cantering alongside me.

"Yes, wouldn't you have?" I retorted.

"Well… sure, I guess. He did say he'd pay. But you're gonna put yourself on the line like that, with all those guards?"

"I'm a friend of Penelope's, dropping by for a spot of tea in the gazebo," I shrugged.

"I could just sneak in, you know," he laughed, a little bewildered at my attitude.

"And if you get caught, you get shot," I pointed out to him. He bobbed his head from side to side in consideration. "If I go in it'll be a lot safer, they ain't gonna shoot at a lady who meets them head on, intentions transparent."

"Fair enough, I won't argue with that logic. But I'll be staying nearby, just in case," he said.

"Of course," I nodded, then grinned at him. "Some things just need a woman's touch."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure."

We approached the Braithwaite's estate, where Penelope would be, and Arthur hung back so he could wait nearby while I rode up to the entrance and dismounted my horse. The guards perked up when they saw me coming, gripping their weapons and keeping their eyes on me. I strolled up to them, my smile easy and perhaps even a little naive.

"Afternoon, fellers. Is Penelope about?" I asked. The guards glanced between each other, and one of them eventually spoke up.

"We've been told not to let anyone on the property without approval," a guard with an impressive moustache told me.

"I'm sure if you gave Penelope my name she'd give you her approval. I'm an old friend of hers and was just passing through, I wanted to drop in on her and see how she was," I suggested, and gave the guards my name.

The moustachioed guard nodded to one standing nearby, who left us; presumably to seek out Penelope. I could only pray that she actually remembered me, we had met a number of times when I was staying around Rhodes. I was fond of her, and hoped that the feeling was mutual enough for her to tell the guards to let me in. Otherwise, Arthur and I would have to resort to plan B and sneak onto the property somehow. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

I also had to admit that I wanted to prove to Arthur that I could be useful.

I stood in silence with the guards staring at me. I rocked on my heels, glancing around the place as we waited. While silences with Arthur were rarely awkward, this silence certainly was, and I felt myself scrambling for something to say or do to fill the space. I glanced at the head honcho guard with the moustache, and cleared my throat.

"How are you, sir?" I asked. He cocked a brow, glanced at the other guard. Christ, had these men never had a conversation before?

"Fine, miss. Yourself?" He said after a long pause. I smiled at the response.

"Very well, thank you," I nodded. "I'm passing through on my way to Saint Denis. First big city I've ever been to!" I spun a little yarn, just for fun.

"Oh? I hope you enjoy it. I actually have a sister who lives out there," he told me, shoulders loosening, his grip on his weapon becoming more casual.

"Really? Does she like it out there?"

"Loves it. I've never been much for the place, personally, I'm more of a country man. She met her husband there and never looked back," he told me, and suddenly we were like two friendly strangers having a chat on the street.

"Maybe I'll get lucky and meet my future husband there too," I laughed, watching his brows raise and his attitude shift.

"You're not married?" He queried.

"No, not me," I shook my head, feigning sadness.

"Oh, me neither," he told me and I nodded, stalling at where to carry on from there. The other guard cleared his throat and casually strolled away, mentioning something about patrolling the estate.

Well, shit.

"How long are you staying in Saint Denis, miss? Perhaps I could find some time to show you some points of interest?"

Shit!

I continued to just look at the guy, an awkward smile plastered on my face, my bullshit falling through as I clocked what was going on. Luckily, I spotted movement over the guard's shoulder.

"Oh! Your friend's back, look," I pointed to him as he jogged back over to us.

"Come on in, ma'am, apologies for the hostility. Penelope is out at the gazebo, just over there. Would you like someone to escort you?" The returning guard told me, and relief filled me to the brim.

"No, that's quite alright. Thank you kindly!" I said, grabbing the opportunity to speed away from the moustache, heading in the direction the guard pointed me in.

I found Penelope sitting down in the gazebo with a cup of tea, looking as beautiful and put together as I remembered her, with her curled and styled blonde hair and her powder blue frock. She rose to her feet and called my name when she spotted me, and I rushed over to her to give her a gentle hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Penelope! It's good to see you, you look well," I told her and she gave me a once over.

"As do you! When I saw you last it wasn't long after your brother's passing. You look much happier, now, I'm glad to see," she said, beaming at me. "I must admit, I had quite the surprise when they told me you were here, I never expected to see you again."

"I hope you don't mind me just dropping in, you see…" I glanced around to check that we weren't being watched before I pulled the letter and the gift from my satchel. "I met with Beau today, he asked me to give these to you."

"Oh, Beau! He's such a sweetheart," she swooned, sitting down and tearing open the letter. I took a seat next to her and watched as she read. "How I wish things were different," she sighed, shaking her head.

"I think you will find a way, Penelope. You and Beau certainly belong together," I assured her and she looked up and smiled at me.

"I'm glad somebody can see that. My family are just foul, I hope they get what's coming to them… I'm sorry, they just make me so mad," she tutted and put the letter down. "Where are my manners? Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. I shouldn't stay too long, I have somebody waiting for me," I explained and she cocked her head.

"Really? Pardon me if this sounds rude, but I was under the impression you kept with your own company?"

"That was true, until recently. I have made a few friends," I said, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

"Oh? Does one of those happen to be a gentleman friend?" She gave me a knowing smile and I chuckled. "I can see that look in your eye, madam. There's no fooling a hopeless romantic like yours truly."

"Well, perhaps," I said quietly and she laughed a very ladylike, tinkly laugh.

"Alright, I won't grill you. But I wish you the best."

"I wish the same for you," I gave her arm a gentle pat and she glanced down.

"I'm sorry to ask," she started.

"You have something for me to give to Beau?" I guessed, and she nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you. You're a kind soul," she smiled, handing me a letter.

"You're most welcome. Take care of yourself, Penelope. It was lovely seeing you," I rose to my feet and she stood up too, giving me another quick hug before letting me head back.

I made sure to make my exit as quickly as possible to avoid being flagged down by the moustache; I absolutely hadn't intended to give him any ideas. That was a total accident. I met with Arthur again away from the property, not far from the tree-lined road leading up to the manor. He was smoking a cigarette, but stubbed it out when he saw me approaching. I held up Penelope's letter to Beau and he raised a brow.

"We turning into messengers, now?" He laughed.

"We gotta go back to Beau to get our payment anyway," I shrugged.

"Everything go smoothly in there?" He asked.

"Of course," I smirked. "Why wouldn't it?"

"No reason," he said, taking a few steps towards me.

"I'm a fantastic bullshitter, Arthur. If running in this gang has taught me anything about myself, it's that."

"Yeah? What'chu spin this time?"

"I'm off to Saint Denis, hoping to find a husband, apparently. Though, I should be more careful with what I say. The poor guard thought I was flirting, I reckon."

"Do I gotta keep an eye on you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snickered. A devilish smirk crossed his lips as he closed the gap between us and pinched my chin between his fingers. My heart rate skyrocketed.

"John, Micah, the guard… who else you trying to seduce?" He teased me, pressing one of my buttons so easily. I sputtered and shook my head.

"Arthur!" I hissed, and he laughed at my response.

"I'm just kidding, princess. Relax," he whispered, making my body feel like simmering water, all loose and unstable. "We've been out here alone for hours and I ain't kissed you once, we're wasting opportunities here."

"We've been busy," I murmured half-heartedly, my mind going all foggy as he came closer, his lips inches from mine. He paused there, looking into my eyes as if asking for permission, I nodded just slightly and he closed in.

Gosh, it was just as new and wonderful as the first time. Arthur's lips felt plush against mine; not the softest in the world due to a healing cut, but certainly soft as in gentle. They moved so nicely with mine and I mewled quietly against them, taking his free hand in mine and pressing our palms together, squeezing him and running my thumb over the back of his hand. I was panting in moments and letting out the occasional little sound, eventually prompting Arthur to pull back and chuckle.

"Are you always this vocal when you kiss?"

"I guess we'll find out," I breathed.

"Oh, I forgot, this is…" he trailed off. "Everything feels even more new to you than it does to me."

"Should I try to be quiet?"

"No," he told me, then kissed me again, cupping the back of my head and pushing his fingers through my loose hair. I pushed my body up against his, completely forgetting our surroundings. For all I knew we could be on a stage in front of thousands and I would still be focused on nothing but him and the way he tasted.

I didn't quite know what to do when his tongue pressed against the seal of my lips. By the time I'd made the decision to open my mouth, his tongue had already retreated and Arthur was reining himself in, pulling back to catch his breath.

"I like the sounds you make. Makes me wonder what you'd sound like–" he stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. "I will stop there before my mouth gets me into trouble."

"Arthur," I whispered, wrapping my free hand around his suspenders.

"I forget myself when I kiss you, I fear I'll do something to upset you if I'm not careful," he admitted.

"I'm a grown woman," I reminded him, and he opened his eyes to look into mine. "This might be new to me, physically, but you best believe it ain't new to my mind. I've wanted to experience this for so long."

"I would hate for you to think I'm being disrespectful, but everything you do when we kiss has me feeling… thinking… I can't say the words. This is happening real fast and I'm struggling to control my thoughts, among other things."

"Are you talking about the fact that it feels like you're wearing an extra revolver on your belt?" I whispered meekly, almost like I didn't want him to hear me.

Arthur went beet red and started leaning back, but I kept him close with the hand on his suspenders.

"Yes," he confessed.

"Don't worry about it," I reassured him, feeling my own body stir at the thought of him becoming aroused because of little old me. Arthur visibly relaxed.

"I haven't had this kind of attention in a long time and I guess I'm just a little sensitive," he said sheepishly. I shook my head and kissed his jawline.

"You don't have to justify nothing," I said.

"I feel like a damn teenager," he laughed breathily and I smirked.

"You should know I feel just the same."

"Then I reckon we ought to, uh, to leave each other alone for a while," he suggested. I pouted a little, but nodded anyway.

"I guess," I sighed. "Though, it was your idea to kiss me."

"Guilty as charged," he laughed, then slowly slid away from me. It was oh so tempting to glance down and see what I was feeling against my lower belly, but I forced myself to behave. "Come on, let's go give that letter to Beau."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #atink #penelope braithwaite #beau gray #reader insert #dutch van der linde

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fashiontypewriter · 2 years ago

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Always & Forever- Sweaters

The fashion business is incredible. It is always evolving and changing. Athleisure is the current buzzword. The concept is that you can dress stylishly or in attire that is appropriate for both socialization and exercise.

It's no secret that many of us prefer to stay inside while dressed in our coziest clothing when the temperatures begin to drop. This typically entails sweatpants and sweatshirts for many folks. Sweats are the ideal at-home clothing for chilly days since they are incredibly comfy and keep you warm without being overly tight or heated.

Undoubtedly, sweatshirts are now a common item in many people's wardrobes. Finding one that complements your personality and style is simple because they are available in a wide variety of styles and colors. You can layer them under other clothing or wear them alone to stay extra warm. Of course, sweatpants are also a need. They are the ideal attire for lounging around the house or running errands.

Nail Those Fabrics To A T!

Some of the most popular apparel products in the world are sweatshirts and sweatpants. This is due to the fact that they are exceedingly warm and comfortable. But many people are unaware that sweatshirts and sweatpants are made from unique materials specifically designed to keep us warm.

Typically, fleece, a fabric type renowned for its warmth and softness, is used to make sweatshirts. Since fleece is made of synthetic fibers, it is created by humans. This makes it an excellent material for sweatshirts since it keeps us warm even when the weather is chilly.

The fabric used to make sweatpants is usually cotton or a cotton blend. This is due to the fact that cotton is a natural substance that is renowned for being supple and breathable. In warmer weather, it also aids in keeping us cool and comfortable.

Check for cotton or fleece-made hoodies and sweatpants if you want something to keep you warm and comfortable. You'll be happy that you did!

The Three Miniature Tricks- When, Why & How

Many people's wardrobes consist primarily of sweatshirts and sweatpants. They can be worn on a variety of occasions and frequently offer warmth and comfort. Here are three suggestions for styling sweatshirts and sweatpants for various settings:

For the moments you wish to feel at ease & every bit of comfort, sweatshirts and sweatpants are the ideal pair of apparel. Frequently consisting of a supple, absorbent material, these pieces of garments guarantee you a toasty aura.

When you need to be warm, on a chilly day, sweatshirts and sweatpants can also keep you warm. Sweatpants' loose shape and additional layer of fabric can help you maintain a comfortable body temperature.

These costumes we converse about, rather garments, aren’t just for lounging about. For when you wish to look fashionable, whether it be for the purpose of working from home or running your daily errands, sweatshirts and sweatpants do just the trick. If you’re an individual aiming for a more casual but stylish look, try pairing a sweater with some fancy pants as well- or, for a more put-together outlook, combine a jacket with sweatpants!

Therefore, you now see why either or both of them are the model choices if you’re an individual seeking for ultimate comfort & versatility. We’d like to think lazing around your home just got smarter.

Comfy, adaptable & most importantly- the classiest!

Resources:

The North Face NZ

lululemon

Adidas NZ

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castingdirect · 4 years ago

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ASK THE SEXPERTS UK: 10 Scientific Answers To Your Most Embarrassing Questions

Everything you've ever wanted to know... and some stuff you definitely didn't The internet is a godsend for the shy and awkward among us. The human body is cool and all, but it's also squishy and icky and disgusting and we're all told on no uncertain terms that we're not supposed to talk about things. Nobody likes airing their dirty laundry, apart from those people who volunteer to get their bits smirked at on Embarrassing Bodies in exchange for their 15 minutes of fame, and old Uncle Google has done a lot to help. Just imagine having some kind of horribly distasteful question back in the olden days - what did you do? Ask the boot-faced librarian to point you to the flatulence section? We now live in a more enlightened age where we can Google all manner of mortifying questions and concerns from the safety of incognito mode, and still look our co workers in the eye on Monday. So, let's pull up the big-boy pants and get a bit frank about some of the more unsavoury aspects of our human flesh-mobiles. 10 - WHY DOES COFFEE MAKE YOU POOP? Chances are, half of you will have read that heading and known exactly what it means, the other half will have a blank expression on your face, but for a section of the population, their morning cup o' Joe gets more than just their brains moving. According to one study, around one third of participants asked experienced coffee's laxative effects but, so far, we can only make an educated guess as to why. A study, carried out by S. R. Brown and P.A. Cann, (really), that coffee promotes the production of peptide hormone called gastrin. This increases the motor activity in the colon, or in other words, squeezes the poop out. Interestingly, it appears that it's not actually the caffeine in coffee that is to blame, as decaffeinated coffee has virtually the same effect, but the active ingredient still eludes scientists. 9 - IS HOLDING IN YOUR WEE BAD FOR YOU It's not exactly comfortable, but could ignoring nature's call actually do you harm? Yes it could, but it probably won't, is the answer. For those of you who like to have their worst nightmares confirmed, the bladder can actually explode, when this happens, the reservoir of urine will usually flood the abdominal cavity and can medical intervention drain it. No need to go running off to the bathroom quite yet though, as this usually only happens when the poor, unfortunate patient is physically unable to pee, such as in the case of some cancers of following surgery. The good news is that most people will usually wet themselves before things get to this stage, making it probably the only instance in which peeing your pants is probably the best possible outcome. Although your abdomen is unlikely to go pop on long car journeys, it is still not advisable to hold it in too much as this can lead to infections. Not meaning to sound like your mum or anything, but it's always best to 'have a try' anyway. 8 - WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN NORMAL SWEAT AND BO? Why is it that some people can emerge from a workout with an odourless glow, and some people can end up smelling like they've just spent six months living under a teenage boy's bed? Well, it's all down to where you're sweating from. You have two different types of sweat glands, eccrine or apocrine, Eccrine sweat is mostly made up of water, with some electrolytes such as potassium and sodium and a teeny tiny bit of fat. This kind of sweat is produced as part of your body's cooling system, either when you're mid-beast-mode at the gym, or curled up in a toasty blanket fort. This kind of sweat doesn't really smell all that much and provided you shower, you won't produce body odour. Apocrine sweat, however, is a different story. Your apocrine sweat glands are located wherever hair is abundant on your body, and these glands secrete a mixture of sweat and sebum, loaded with proteins, lipids and steroids. This secretion is also odourless to begin with but, unfortunately, the bacteria that live on your skin just can't get enough of the stuff, and it's contact with these bacteria that produces the familiar BO aroma. Unfortunately, how much apocrine sweat you produce is largely down to genetics, with the addition of some environmental factors such as weight, but regular washing should be enough to keep it under control for most people. Those areas with more hair or more erm, folds, are likely to exacerbate it as the hair traps more dirt, oil and dead skin. 7 - WHY DO WE LIKE THE SMELL OF OUR OWN FARTS? Oh don't act all coy, because you know you do it too - and scientists have actually confirmed in double blind studies that people really do prefer to preview what they brewed, but why should that be? No, it's not that your farts just smell better than everyone else's, it's all to do with the way your body processes threats, and your disgust response is basically your first line of defence against infection and disease. Generally speaking, the bad smells = biohazard and farts are no different as they can contain poop particles containing bacteria that can cause tonsillitis, impetigo and flesh-eating disease. This isn't much of a problem for those knicker-wearing modern folk, but back in the old days when we were all running around in the nip, a fart could pose a serious threat. The reason that you don't find your own farts as disgusting as other people's is because they're a part of you, and the bacteria in your gut is unique to you and will produce a signature scent - your more inclined to like your odours because they are familiar to you. Similarly, you'll be more tolerant of your own body odour and mothers are more tolerant of their offspring's' many excretions to allow them to care for them properly. ASAPScience discuss this important issue in more detail here. 6 - WHY SOME GUYS CAN'T GROW BEARDS? Beards are traditionally a sign of virile masculinity whether or not we have reached peak-beard yet. This is understandably distressing for the many men who find themselves unable to produce a convincing crop of facial fur. Beard growth begins in adolescence and doesn't finish maturing until the early to mid-twenties, so there might still be hope for you young'uns out there. The face-fun begins as levels of testosterone skyrocket during puberty, causing the fine hair on a boy's face to grow thicker and darker. It's not necessarily a case of high or low testosterone levels, beard and non-beard growers have been found to have similar levels of testosterone, but it seems to be down to how sensitive you are to testosterone. This is a bit of a double-edged sword however, because high sensitivity to testosterone - whilst it may produce a magnificent beard - can also lead to male pattern baldness. 5 - WHAT CAUSES DANDRUFF? There are many reasons that people think are the cause of dandruff, whether it be stress, diet, washing hair too much, or not washing it enough, but, whilst some of these can exacerbate that little flurry of shoulder-snow, none of them are actually the root cause of it. So in more slightly stomach-churning news, it turns out that dandruff is caused by a fungus that lives on your scalp, and this fungus known as Malassezia Globosa, is similar to yeast, but lives on the scalp because it just can't get enough of your oily hair. Malassezia Globosa uses enzymes to feed off the sebum secreted by your skin, but this process produces a substance called oleic acid, which some people are sensitive to. This will cause certain people's immune systems to kick into overdrive, ramping up the skin-shedding to max levels - so whilst everyone has the fungus, only some people will suffer from dandruff. So, what can you do? Pollution is thought to make it worse, so a hat or a headscarf might do the trick, but sunlight is also thought to combat it, so take it off when the sun comes out. Most anti-dandruff shampoos will simply wash the dandruff out of your hair by exfoliating the scalp, but it won't tackle the root of the problem. If your dandruff is making you particularly miserable, then the best thing to do is to use an antifungal shampoo and exterminate the blighters. Shampoos containing ketoconazole should do the trick, although Malassezia Globosa can develop a resistance, so use it sparingly, and in the long term, those lovely people over at Head and Shoulders have actually managed to sequence the DNA of the fungus in the hope that it will lead to a once-and-for-all treatment for dandruff. 4 - WHAT IS MORNING WOOD? It's generally always been thought that your morning glory is caused by the need to pee, it's thought that this is the body's way of safeguarding against wetting the bed, as an erection will inhibit the ability to pee, even if you can get the angles right. This isn't the full story, because for a start, you don't generally get pee-boners any other time of the day, even if you've desperately been trying to hold it til you reach the toilet. According to one study for the Society for Endocrinology, morning wood could well be the penile equivalent of your chap twiddling it's things. Normally, throughout the day, your brain is always keeping the little guy in check, to ensure he doesn't go rogue, however, when you enter REM sleep at night, (rapid-eye movement), the noradrenergic cells responsible for inhibiting erections are switched off, pretty much leaving your little head to do it's own thinking. You'll be surprised to learn that all a penis really wants to do is stand to attention. This will usually happen multiple times through a night, but you only notice the one you wake up with - the morning gory. Combine this with the fact that most people wake up needing to pee and that the erection will usually go down in the time it takes for you to go to the bathroom, you'll be forgiven for thinking it's just cos your bladders full. Either that, or just due tot hat dream you were having - you know, the one you wake up from and immediately try to go back to sleep again to finish it off... 3 - CAN PLUCKING A HAIRY MOLE GIVE YOU SKIN CANCER? People are often wary of moles, and understandably so, as it's normal to be wary of something that can suddenly kill you for no reason. However, this means that all kinds of scare stories and old wives' takes around them, one of which is that you should never pluck a hair from a mole, unless it turns you on like a jealous dragon guarding its treasure, and gives you skin cancer. Fortunately, this is probably not true, and most medical professionals will tell you that you can pretty much do what you want with your moles - pluck them, shave them, join them, all together with a full-body-dot-to-dot tattoo - they won't magically transform into a melanoma. Chances are, this myth is a classic example of confirmation bias, because moles often seem to turn on their owners for no good reason, people will scrabble around for some kind of casual relationship between their actions and the melanoma, naking the link with plucking where there isn't one. Moles will turn malignant if there is a chance to their cells, which plucking won't cause, but something like sunburn will. So, if you're going to do anything to your moles, put sun-cream on them. 2 WHY ARE NIPPLES A DIFFERENT COLOUR? Most people know by now why men have nipples, the internet has had that one covered for a while, buy why exactly are they such a funny colour? It was thought for a long time that the darker colour was to make it easier for a baby to find it for milk-extraction purposes, but this theory was largely guesswork and has a couple of gaping holes in it, the best of which being that babies' eyesight is so bad that they probably can't even see a nipple three inches from their nose. Also, there's no other animal that does this and bottle fed babies don't appear to struggle with finding the teat of a bottle. The darker colour of the nipples and areola is all down to hormones, and during puberty, the flood of oestrogen and testosterone causes the body to produce more melanin, which is the pigment that gives everything from hair colour to freckles. This is also why the penis and labia darken during puberty, and it's even why many fair-haired children grow up to be brunettes. The likelihood is that this is just another one of those things that signals that the individual is reaching sexual maturity and is capable of having lots of sex and babies, because, this is what it's all about, evolutionary speaking. As a general rule though, there's a strong genetic trait involved, and it's probably got something to do with bonking. 1 - WHAT IS SQUIRTING? Did you know or were you were aware that female ejaculation is banned from all UK porn? While there is a fair amount of confusion as to why this particular act was banned, with many people viewing it as an attack on female pleasure, the official reason for the ban is all to do with what 'squirting' actually is, because, it's peeing. 'Water sports' is the act of urinating on one another for sexual gratification, (also known as golden showers), are also banned from British porn, and squirting falls well within this category. There is much debate as to what is actually happening when some women release a torrent of fluid at the point of climax, so some plucky scientists took it upon themselves to investigate this mysterious substance and set up a sexy experiment to take a good look. Women were asked to provide a urine sample and then completely empty their bladders before chasing that orgasm, and a pelvic scan confirmed that the bladder was indeed empty at the beginning of the experiment, but a second scan which was performed just before the point of orgasm (because there are no two words in the English language sexier than 'pelvic scan') and hey presto, the bladder was magically full once more. At the moment of climax, the squirted liquid was collected and the pelvis scanned again and the bladder was once again bare of liquid, leading the scientists to believe this was pee. The thing is, there is actually a much closer female equivalent to ejaculate, a milky white fluid produced by the Skene glands, and seeing as this doesn't seem to fall under the 'watersports' bracket, then it's probably still allowed in porn. It's a bit less exciting that the urinal pyrotechnics of talented squirters, so it may not catch on. Read the full article

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simplemlmsponsoring · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on http://simplemlmsponsoring.com/attraction-marketing-formula/attraction-marketing/3-controversial-ways-to-increase-your-facebook-live-conversions/

3 Controversial Ways to Increase Your Facebook Live Conversions

Do you stink at pooping?

No, seriously!

Not only is this a physiologically valid question (as you’ll soon learn), but it’s also the subject of a massively successful viral advertisement that generated over $15 million in sales back in 2015 alone.

Here’s the story…

The “Squatty Potty” company, makers of a toilet accessory for improving your “number two” posture, needed to get creative when promoting their product, which helps users achieve more satisfying results on a properly-equipped porcelain throne.

Funded largely through an appearance on Shark Tank, the bootstrapped company approached the Harmon Brothers’ advertising agency to produce a lighthearted and informative sales video for the “Internet era.”

It’s futile to describe; just take a look…

youtube

Whether you find it funny or in poor taste, you can’t argue with the results this puerile toilet humor produced.

According to numbers reported by Adweek, this campaign…

Garnered over 66 million views on Facebook and YouTube (in 4 months) Went certifiably viral (with 75% organic viewership) Kept 70% of viewers watching all the way to the end of the video Boosted online sales 600% and retail sales 400%

That’s a smashing success by any reckoning!

And it goes to show how the Internet’s truly the “wild west” of advertising.

In contrast, let’s take a look at another scatologically-oriented ad spot…

This one’s from one of America’s iconic, yet recently fallen-on-hard-times retailers…

youtube

This non-stop series of double entendres also went viral, piling up tens-of-millions of views.

However, the response wasn’t terribly welcoming or amused.

In fact, lots of consumers were offended and the evening news ran stories like, “has Kmart gone too far?”

Unfortunately sales dropped that quarter and they pulled the video from their social media channels.

And Kmart wasn’t doing too well to start with, if you recall.

So what’s the difference between Squatty Potty’s and Kmart’s ads?

Well, not much—from one perspective.

After all, they’re both humorous, controversial, and performed well with the Millennial crowd.

But, from a brand standpoint…

Kmart’s a family-oriented storefront, so as you can imagine, “ship my pants” was found offensive by much of their community-minded demographic.

Thus, Kmart experienced media fallout and hate mail from consumers from attempting this type of “edgy” marketing.

Squatty Potty, on the other hand, is obviously more congruent with toilet humor.

Obviously, offbeat ads work for offbeat products (which appeal to offbeat consumers).

This congruency, in “advertising vernacular,” is called a message to market match.

And this is critical for your marketing efforts.

In a moment we’ll discuss 3 methods to appropriately use controversy to build trust and rapport, and dramatically increase your conversions—especially on a live presentation, such as Facebook Live.

But first…

Let’s talk about how NOT to use controversy

Because it can, obviously, soil your reputation.

Looking at you, Kmart

Okay, so question: does the idea of delivering your latest comedic routine at open mic night excite you?

For most people, the answer is absolutely not!

Because even though Squatty Potty pulled it off like a champ, humor isn’t easy.

When executed well, it’s a great rapport builder, which can make you “hip” and relatable.

But if you miss the mark, it’s death to your sales.

There’s no quicker way to alienate your audience than an off-color joke that doesn’t land, so I’d recommend staying away from being controversial via humor, especially risqué humor.

So yeah, I did start this post with two ad examples I don’t want you to follow, but what can I say, we’re not in the business of exchanging a few laughs for attention and dollars.

There are a few other controversial topics we want to avoid, but we’ll get to those later.

First let’s dive into some recommended methods of ruffling a few feathers!

Your goal is to interrupt and agitate your audience

It’s no secret that controversy captures attention.

It’s unexpected.

Much like the iconic “record scratch” sound effect, a little controversy shatters the monotony of a regularly-scheduled routine, and perks folks’ ears right up.

And here’s the sales secret to keep in mind…

Being lukewarm does not rouse people into action!

If you’re too “milk toasty,” you’re just going to create indifference.

That’s bad.

Because people will tune you out without a second thought, whether you’re marketing on the Internet or through offline methods.

Not good.

Because you know what makes people take action?

EMOTION.

So if you want action…

Then you’ve got to “stir the pot” a bit…

And make your audience actually FEEL something.

A bit of controversy is great for creating such emotional tension.

I mean, think about it, what controversial topic doesn’t get folks all hot n’ bothered?

Think about it…

Whether it’s politics, economics, religion, bioethics, or Jar Jar Binks…

Every thinking person’s got strong opinions!

Okay, so to recap the process of inspiring action right quick…

First you capture attention Then you agitate the emotions of your audience

That’s what controversy has to offer when you’re marketing on the Internet.

How to increase Facebook Live conversions through controversy…

If you’re reading this, then you already know that there’s no quicker way to connect with your audience and get them to take action than going live on their News Feed.

So let’s dive into 3 ways to employ controversy to increase attendance, capture attention, and seriously boost your conversions.

These are all proven strategies, which minimize risks and maximize rewards of agitating your audience, while being relatively “safe” bets.

Let’s begin with…

A “damaging admission” is pretty broad and can take a couple of different forms.

Here are two of my favorites…

a.) You can admit something “negative”

I’ve seen many marketers say things like…

If I’m honest, I used to build my business for selfish reasons, but now I want to help people.

This builds credibility and trust, all in one.

After all, who doesn’t love a good redemption narrative?

This can also take the form of being vulnerable and admitting something you’ve done wrong…

When I first started, I used to spam the heck out of everyone on Facebook, but now I know better.

If you want your audience to feel something, you should go first.

Another tactic is this…

b.) You can be brutally honest about the shortcomings of whatever you’re promoting

Now, this might seem like a great way to shoot yourself in the foot.

But such honesty creates a ton of trust because you’re openly expressing the “negative” about what your offer cannot do.

This can be cleverly positioned, too.

This isn’t for everyone!

Don’t you want to know more when you see a statement like that?

Now, you can close the loop like this…

Hey, if you’re looking for some get-rich-quick scheme where you sit on the couch and do nothing, this isn’t for you. You actually have to work to be successful with our products and services. But if you’re willing to put in the time and invest in yourself, then you can achieve x, y, and z.

Works like a charm!

Moving on…

Here’s a window into human nature…

Pretty much everyone is convinced they’re being lied to.

This is natural.

It’s likely a product of the increasing level of of specialization in society—as it’s really hard to know everything about the modern world.

There’s a ton of knowledge that’s inaccessible to you, me, and everyone else.

Therefore doctors are lying to you, lawyers are lying to you, scientists are lying to you, politicians most certainly are lying to you, the news is lying to you, Google and Facebook are spying on you, etc., etc.

And look, I’m not here to debate who is and isn’t actually lying to you.

(Except in the case of politicians.)

In almost every instance above, we’ll never know all the facts about what’s what.

(Except in the case of politicians.)

After all, we’re not hanging around the Oval Office, or sitting at the CEO of Monsanto’s desk, or invited to private UN meetings, or sitting in at the World Economic Forum, etc., so who knows what’s really going on, right?

You get the idea.

Now here’s how you use these suspicions to your advantage…

Remember Kevin Trudeau?

How about his iconic series of infomercials…

Natural Cures “They” Don’t Want You to Know About The Weight Loss Cure “They” Don’t Want You to Know About Debt Cures “They” Don’t Want You to Know About

Regardless of your opinion of the man or the products (which aren’t our concern here)…

Those are KILLER titles with an amazing marketing angle, because they plays on these fears.

If you’ve been around the networking space even longer, you might recall the classic presentation…

Dead Doctors Don’t Lie

It similarly achieved “cult” status back in the days of cassette tapes, using the exact same formula…

You’re being lied to It’s not your fault Here’s what you’re not being told Now buy my sh*t! ;-)

So you can easily piggyback on this idea by confirming your audience’s suspicions that they are somehow being “lied” to.

Here are a few example titles from our blog…

What To Do When Your Upline Doesn’t Want You to Use the Internet to Build Why Company Leaders are Secretly Using the Internet to Prospect & Recruit, While Telling Their Downline to Keep It “Old School” Is It Ok to “Steal” Someone Else’s Downline?

This type of content could easily be adapted into a Facebook Live.

I mean, don’t you want to learn more when you read those titles?

Attacking the “old school” has a long history in attraction marketing, because it works.

Just keep it classy.

And whatever you do, don’t name names (as there are legal repercussions).

Finally…

This one’s easy and effective.

It creates a pattern interrupt and makes folks pay attention.

And you can do it with just about anything.

Here’s an example:

You probably think that getting traffic is hard. Well, guess what, it isn’t. In fact, if you give me 4 minutes to explain, I’ll show you how to get traffic today! It’s so easy your grandma could do it.

Make sense?

Now, let’s do the converse:

You’ve probably heard from some “guru” trying to sell you something that getting traffic is easy. Well, guess what, I’m here to tell you it’s NOT. First of all, you’ve got to know how to find a responsive audience. Secondly, you’ve got to know how to write compelling ad-copy. And thirdly, you’ve got to suffer through the learning curve of whatever traffic platform you choose. You know what all that adds up to? A giant headache. So instead…

See how that works?

Both of my statements are true—from a certain perspective—yet they are contradictory.

You can use this technique with anything.

Any market.

Any niche.

In fact, a brainstorming exercise is write out a list of commonly-held beliefs in one column, and how you intended to “spin” them in the other.

So what has your audience heard over and over?

It’s “sharing not selling” Everyone is your prospect It’s a ground floor opportunity Anyone and everyone can do this It practically sells itself This is the greatest product ever You just need more belief You’re in business for yourself, but not by yourself

Easily skewered, right?

Okay, so quick recap…

Here are the 3 controversial ways to capture attention and increase your Facebook Live conversions…

Make a damaging admission Confirm your audience’s suspicions Contradict commonly-held beliefs

Those should get you stirring up some controversy, so you can get your prospects to reach out to learn more.

Because that’s what this is all about, right?

Now, of course…

You simply can’t learn all the ins-and-outs of promoting your network marketing business on social media from a single blog post.

It’s a big topic, after all.

Now, if you’d like to learn more about effortlessly connecting with your ideal customers without being pushy or ‘spammy’…

Then I strongly recommend getting access to Elite Marketing Pro’s FREE 10-Day Online Recruiting Bootcamp to discover a step-by-step business-building blueprint called “attraction marketing,” which has a decade-plus track record of creating success stories.

You’ll learn about about the specific tools and techniques you can use to connect with prospects online, so you’ll never have to act desperate, chase down or strong-arm anybody to make a sale, or deal with cold calling and rejection, ever again.

These methods allow you to build your business automatically—where prospects reach out to you (instead of you having to reach out to them).

You can take advantage of these methods starting today—no matter how much (or little) online prospecting and recruiting experience you currently have.

The bottom line is that, in today’s age, you don’t need to be pushy, obnoxious, or overly-aggressive to build a successful business!

So if you’re ready to get started…

Simply click here and you’ll get access to EMP’s 10-Day Online Recruiting Bootcamp.

Andrew Draughon Director of Content Elite Marketing Pro

FREE INTERNET RECRUITING COURSE

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