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moons-cozy-corner · 2 years ago

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It's Necessary

Holy crud its been MONTHS and I havent posted ANYTHING but IM BACK and with some whumpy sustenance for you!

TW: unskillful attempt at healing, restraints, mention of torture/implied past torture, crying, blood (as always, tell me if I've missed something!)

Whumper missed again, the cotton swab hitting only air as Whumpee squirmed once again out of their reach, falling onto their side this time. This had been going on for ten minutes now, and Whumper was getting seriously tired of it.

Instead they took a deep breath, grabbing the other by the ropes that bound their wrists and pulling them into a seated position again. You’d think Whumpee would just stay still, considering the couch was way softer than the old mattress was.

Whumpee eyed them, glared at them, as they reached for the peroxide, dabbing a bit more on the cotton swab before turning back to Whumpee. The poor thing had blood crusted in their hair, splattered all over their face and shirt. The bruises on their face weren’t even Whumper’s doing; Whumpee had fallen hard on the floor from struggling so hard, and couldn’t even put their hand in front of them to save themself.

"Can't you stay still for one minute? You really are stretching this out, Whumpee."

"Oh, I'm the one dragging this out?" Whumpee scoffed, dodging another of Whumpers attempts to help them. "And how long have you kept me here? Fucking over my life for something that isn't even my fault!" Tears now. Great. Just what Whumper needed.

Whumper groaned, throwing down the first aid supplies and standing, bringing Whumpee up with them. "You're nothing but an ingrateful piece of shit!" The entire room echoed with the thud of Whumpee's head banging off of the hardwood floor. Shit.

Whumper fell to the ground at their captives side, pulling them up slowly. The other let out a choked sob, tears falling from their unblinking eyes. "Whumpee, I'm..." No. This was their prisoner, not their friend. "Get up. If you're refusing treatment then we're going to continue."

Their gazes locked. "N- Whumper, please. Please, I'll stop being difficult. I don't want more, no more!" The whining was impossibly loud in the near empty room. Abandoned houses were meant to be quiet.

Whumper scowled, dragging the sobbing bleeding mess behind them as they walked back to the torture room. "Should have thought o' that before pissing me off." They threw Whumpee into the room before slamming the door. Whumper refused to enter with them. They kept telling themself it was necessary, that doing this was for the betterment of so many others. If they could just get what they needed…

But it had been months. Whumper sank to the floor with their back against the door to Whumpee’s room. Their chest racked with silent sobs, invisible tears tore down their cheeks. All they needed was to lure out Villain, or to get an answer out of Whumpee. But it was getting harder to believe Whumpee knew anything, and the hope that any of this would help was becoming hopeless.

Whumper knew that Villain deserved to deal with the loss of a child. That Whumpee should die just to make Villain suffer. That was what they’d believed, why they’d never stopped. But now…

A weak thud sounded from the door. “S-sir, please. Let me- lemme out… please, help me, I- I'm sorry, Sir, please-" A sob echoed the space around Whumpers head, that of their captors and nearly one of their own following. What would that make of Whumper, that they would cry at this? Weak. They can't give up their mission.

They wiped away their tears and stood. "If I let you out, you will let me tend to your wounds. One more slip-up from you today and-and... well let's hope it doesn't come to that." As Whumper pulled the door slowly open Whumpee fell to the floor. There were beads of sweat, tears, and blood running all over their cheeks. It was pitiful; it made Whumpee look like a-

Whumper sighed. "C'mon, kid, let's get you cleaned up."

Tag-list: @meandmy100blanketsagainstheworld @subval01 @bleeding-letters @whumpkinz @aswallowimprisoned @nicolepascaline

#writeblr #writing community #writing #my writing #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump writing #writers on tumblr #carewhumper #defiant whumpee #tw captivity #tw restraints #whumpblr #villain

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citrusbunnies · 2 years ago

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i love the trope of like magic weapons leaving cool colorful scars like demon hunters having green scars not just from their transformation but from demons theyve fought maybe green black ones like the one on vol'jin? scars from frost enchanted weapons having a blue shimmer and a red one from flame ones or maybe burns from magical fire that shimmer in the light or still burn occasionally like the magic that hit them is still trying to burn them, scars or wounds on forsaken or death knights glowing with the ghostly blue that the lich king is shown to be represented, a different blue than frost scars, by like a permanent reminder of whos service they were once unwillingly tied to, or the scars from nature attacks like solar flare and lunar strike glittering under their respective celestian entity, or scars from the magic like vining puncture scars from vines entwining a druids hands before entangling roots are cast or mages hands being not perfectly flawless like people joke but layered with glittering marks that only show at the right angles from messed up spells or ones too powerful for them to have cast at the time or shamans with magic burns or sharp cuts on their arms from winds kicking up debris and water slicing them at speeds great enough to cut the armor of their enemies that missed a little and hit them too and from restless elementals or people like jaina and kadghar who went grey from exposure to greater amounts of mana than their bodies were supposed to handle their eyes shine purple from the raw arcane in the right light or when casting more powerful spells or tyrande with oh so faint scars slightly darker than the rest of her from where the dark spots from her taking on more of the night warriors power to try and kill sylvanas and and night elf in range if their eyes ever return to normal theyre darker like the new moon still holds them in her hand and speaking of sylvanas her with the great wound from frostmourne in the center of her chest, blue and ice cold to the touch and glittering with necromantic magic no matter how close to the fire she sits, a place she carefully covers with her armor no matter how skimpy it appears she makes sure to cover that spot because she tolerates no weakness especially not from herself, blood elves with ghost blue scars from the blades and claws of the horrors that attacked quel'thalas, night elves with green tinged scars from the fel influences that refuse to leave their forests, and scars from the old gods that seem more purple and black than should be possible without an infection but none show symptoms and the odd scars from the minions of the old gods maybe make people hesitate to be as helpful as they would otherwise because if they left odd scars maybe they left some madness too, anduin and other holy people like priests and paladins and especially the lightforged, their scars tend to heal with a golden tinge like the light itself is intervening to keep them safe, maybe healing from different sources leaves wounds healed oddly like holy healing maybe making someone glitter for a while, not permanently unless it was a bad enough injury to scar even with magic but for a few hours, nature healing leaves someone finding leaves and flowers in strange places, someone with a head wound finding a flower in their hair or leaves dropping off someones shoulder or side after they move once healed and scarred wounds leaving bark growing like the nature magic is trying to protect them from getting hurt again idk im having so much fun coming up with ideas for all of these so maybe expect more later

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shotosprincess · 4 years ago

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BAKUGO SCREAMING AND IZUKU

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ AAAA HIII TYSM FOR REPLYING TO THE BNHA PLAYLIST THINGY FOR FICS I LOVE YOU MWAHMWAH

anyways aaa bet !! ill do midoriya first if you don’t mind bc im currently in such a soft mood and hajdjj i just love him sm :((

— 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙣 ��𝙯𝙪𝙠𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙮𝙖’𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨

inspired by this playlist by nimbus on yt !! pls check them out ansjdjf their playlists r heaven ^^

❝ you never truly understood that about him, the way he continued to put himself through the pain, to push himself, even, past his limits and then some—

plus ultra. and now his arms were all but littered with rough scars of diluted white and blunt tan. ❞

notes ! gender neutral! reader,, best friends to lovers au ,, 2nd person pov

summary: in which your best friend deku shows up at your dorm late at night due to kacchan locking him out. he asks for bandages to stabilize his newly-healed scars, and you ask to kiss them.

genre: fluff !! <33

it went without a doubt that deku had been to recovery girls’ office more times than anyone else at the academy. it hurt, honestly; each time you saw his still-healing figure emerge from the little swing of her door, a sharp pang reverberated starkly through your chest, for though the freshly-scarred over wounds didn’t diminish his beauty in the slightest, you simply couldn’t deny that an empty eddy of sadness settled in you whenever he was in such a state.

and unfortunately for you, he was constantly in it.

his body could only take so much. and he was still so young too—the very same held true for your heart.

it’s been that way ever since the two of you had first entered ua as shining, eager students. though in all fairness you had to admit, he was...different from the very beginning. even as the prelude to his eventual rising and growth in his quirk, he had shone with a certain unmatched brilliance ever since the entrance exams. and over the years you spent together, you had watched him persevere so passionately towards the glow of his ultimate goal; to be a hero who can help others. little did he know just how much he already had. he had always been so excruciatingly oblivious and aloof to even the evidence and affects of his own kindness, and you hated the fact that so many tended to take advantage of it. of him.

though, of course, this did not mean that he was weak in any form. no, if anything he was quite the polar opposite—he had proved it time and time again, and yet it didn’t mean that he couldn’t get hurt too. the dull aching of tiredness ringing in his eyes, the one he tries to desperately to mask, the ragged marks scattered across the pale valleys of his once-scar-barren skin; he wasn’t immune to pain, to injury. and yet, he fought. you never truly understood that about him, the way he continued to put himself through the pain, to push himself, even, past his limits and then some—

plus ultra. and now his arms were all but littered with rough scars of diluted white and blunt tan.

nevertheless, truth be told, you actually admired it a great deal. his sheer determination, the purity of his motives, it was more than laudable. despite all of it, you truly couldn’t help but feel this...magnetic urge to help him. protect him. if you could soothe the pain in any way, even if it would be but a temporary relief—

three knocks clack on the door.

you and izuku’s secret door code—just a silly little something the two of you made up a few months after the dorm system had been put into motion, and all so you could sneak out to the grass-flooded yards of the building and train together.

naturally, you open the door.

“ heyyy there you are! “

your head perks up at the cheery jingling of his voice, all drafts of exhaustion and sleep deprivation washing away almost instantaneously. he might as well be the very personification of caffeine at that point, despite how direly he needed it himself.

the starry shine of his eyes meets with yours as a diluted sanguine seeped colour into his face. he turns his head away awkwardly.

you lean against the doorframe, smiling at him. “ deku...you didn’t tell me we’d be training today. plus it’s a little late right now, don’t you think? i’m already in my pajamas. “

“ yeah, um, sorry about that. kacchan...kinda locked me out. “

“ he what? “

“ he locked me out. “

“ how does that even—don’t you have separate rooms? “

“ well, yeah, but we were racing down the halls after glass today and he...got to my room before i could. well, honestly i have no clue what he’s doing over there. “ he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ oookay then. little concerning, i won’t lie. “ your shoulders lift in a shrug, arms crossing in front of your chest as your shy laugh matches his.

“ so i was wondering if...you know...i could maybe stay here for a bit? “ his voice wavers subtly, though you’re quick to catch it. the tips of his ears flush with a deepened pink.

you can’t help but silently gush about how cute he looked.

you’re quick to snap out of that too. eyes bursting open with a brilliant shock, you notice he’s fiddling nervously with his fingers as you remain absolutely, positively frozen in place.

“ i’m—what? “

his countenance immediately shifts to one of sheer embarrassment. flustered, he begins to frantically wave his hands in front of him, as if to put some sort of considerable distance between his panicking self and your seemingly-composed demeanour. and as if that would do anything to deescalate the tension which was only progressively building between your equally-timid selves at this moment.

“ ohmygod i didn’t mean it in a weird way or anything! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll just—i’ll just go— “

you slide against the wood a little bit, pushing your weight against the slightly-agape door, so it swung open even further to reveal the, admittedly, fairly-messy state of your room. draped carelessly on the side of your bed, a sweater you had taken off earlier because the temperature of your room had suddenly decided to heat up an unreasonable amount. countable cups holding shallow pools of hour-old drinks scattered throughout nearly every shelf. a creased textbook splayed out, cover up on your desk.

yep. definitely looked like someone’s lived here.

“ i mean...you could come in if you want. no one’s stopping you. it’s a little messy though, i haven’t found much time to properly clean it yet, with exams coming soon and stuff. “ a small smile accompanies your growing blush, despite how much you were trying to play it off as nonchalantly as possible.

psh, right. as if letting him in your room—something you had never done prior in the history of your friendship—wasn’t a big deal in the slightest.

his eyes shoot wide as his arms flail about. you have to keep yourself from laughing at his silliness.

“ uhm, i mean...only if that’s okay with you! “

“ yeah, yeah, of course! you need a place to stay for now, after all. who knows when bakugou’s gonna let you back in? “

“ yeah, i guess you’re right. well, i mean, if you really don’t mind— “

you playfully roll your eyes, giggling as you shove him into your room.

“ oh, quit it with the politeness. you’re too nice, you know that? “

“ too...nice? “

“ too nice. “ you reiterate, giving his shoulders a little squeeze.

his head lolls to the side as he carefully lowers himself onto your bed, his sweater shifting with the subtle movement.

for a few moments, the space between you is occupied with a simple, comfortable silence. it’s refreshing, really. a welcome difference from all the boisterousness of the academy. you loved the action and everyone’s energy, of course, but sometimes what you really needed was really just a simple break from everything. to do nothing but exist for a little while, to simply be without the constant pressure of having to get up and jump into action all the time. just for a few moments. and so you relished in these said moments spent with him, for who knows when the next time you could ever be with him like this again would be?

and then his voice fills that void of silence, but you’re not disappointed in the slightest.

“ hey. “

“ yeah? “

“ you don’t happen to have any extra bandages, do you? “

“ bandages? for what? “

he clenches his fist, flexing the muscles in his arm. “ for...stability. just in case. i can’t afford for my arms to get hurt more. “

“ oh. well, uhm...i think i have a few spares in my drawer! “ you push yourself off the bed, leaving the comfort the soft sheets brought about, pulling open a tiny drawer. taking out a transparent box of bandages, you jump back onto the plushness, sitting cross-legged directly across from midoriya, who’s already presenting his arm.

your lips silently part as your fingers wrap themselves around the thick ivory fabrics of bandage, rolling them around so you could wrap them around him.

another pause of wordless silence falls.

“ hey deku? “

“ yeah? “

“ could i...could i kiss your scars? “ you whisper, afraid that he’d get mad, though you knew he was anything but the type to do such a thing.

the meadow depths of his eyes kindle a cozy hearth within you as his initial surprise quickly softens, melting away into what could only be described as the most endearing smile to exist.

“ sure. “

jagged patches and uneven streaks of faded cloud white and prominent earthy tans decorate his arms, and you can’t help but bring the rosiness of your lips to meet them. you decide begin with the ones littered along his fingers.

one kiss for the scar resting within the curved dip between his thumb and index.

“ for every time you used just a flick of your fingers to defend everyone back then, when you didn’t even have full control over your quirk. “

a longing sigh leaves him as he reminisces briefly on the memory. you place a soft kiss upon the scar resting at the side of his pinky.

“ for every fist you made with this hand, for every punch you’ve delivered in the name of other’s safety. “

a drop splashed onto his arm, trickling down and tainting the scars etched into his forearm with a subtle, diaphanous sheen. you look up through your lashes, and a prominent gloss coats the kindness of his dark emeralds. your hand comes up to carefully caress his cheek, cupping it gently as the pad of your thumb swipes beneath his eye, wiping away the upcoming tear. your features are knitted together in concern.

“ are you okay? i can stop if you want me to— “

he takes your hand in both of his, squeezing as if to keep you there forever. “ no, don’t. please.“

it’s a tiny whisper, a softened plea into the dark quiet of the night, as if he were ashamed for wanting to be taken care of. your brows curve downward as you pull your twined hands to your lips, tenderly planting your lips where your skin kissed his.

“ hey, hey. it’s okay. it’s okay. “ you hush him, running your free hand through his thick tendrils of vivid, verdant green.

he leans into your touch, nodding at you as if to urge you to continue, which you gladly accept.

you shift a little closer to him, kissing the thick mark of serration painted into the skin of his wrist.

“ for every countless moment you’ve sacrificed for your dream. “

another kiss to the one just above it.

“ for every hour bled into the night that you spent helping me train. “

your fingers dance along his arm, finally stopping at the scar stretching from his elbow and dragging upwards. as per routine, your lips come down to delicately kiss it.

“ for every ‘ plus ultra! ‘ you’ve ever passionately shouted. “

little giggles left the both of you at that.

your touch trails to the scar just beside it, kissing it as well.

“ for every life you’ve ever saved. “

you look him in the eye. holding his arm like this, you were so close to him. and yet, you didn’t want to pull away. if anything, it was the very last thing you would ever want to do. he matched your stare, a certain sense of longing displaying in your gaze as it reflects off of his. the prolonged stare lasts longer than it probably should, longer than what best friends should probably look at each other this closely, this intimately for. the moonlight dimly shines through your window.

and then it happens.

his lips collide with yours in a captivating symphony, hands going straight to twirl through the locks of your hair as you wrap yours in a loose loop around his neck. everything feels as though it had all snapped into place, and the tension you had felt before was all completely dissipated now, displaced into the passion in which this kiss exuded. it was earth-shattering, galaxy-shredding. it felt as if even pain itself could never reach either of you, not in this moment.

this moment was for the both of you, and no one else. in this moment, in his arms, nothing and no one could hurt you.

he pulls away, stunned, lips parted with a saturated red. you stare at him with just about the same level of blankness, of utter shock at what you two had just done.

but then the realization catches up with him, and he is pulled out of the daze. much to your surprise, he doesn’t move away. if anything, he pulls you closer, enveloping both your hands within his just as he did before.

and just as you had done earlier, he brings them to his lips.

“ and that’s for every ‘ i love you ‘ i’ve ever wanted to say to you but never had the guts to. “

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x688plsloveme · 4 years ago

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Im on mobile so idk how old the post was but could you do how the fo4 companions feel about cuddles ? Im in a fluffy mood lol

It's chill, it was only earlier today. And sorry in advance if this wasn't what you were aiming towards, I'm not a huge cuddler lol

Ada: Doesn't care one way or the other, although she gets why humans like it so she lets her new friends do it. Physical affection that she does like are pats. Jackson would often do it when he was proud of her. Which was basically all the time. She tries to do it to Sole once in a bout of nostalgia and was quickly reminded how much softer humans are than her.

Cait: Is a tad touch repulsed from all her bad experiences so isn't one for cuddling. The way she shows affection is a slap on the back or a punch to the shoulder. Do the same to her and she'll lay you flat - a fact everyone learned pretty quickly (thanks Deacon). She's only tender with those she truly holds near and dear to her heart. Once she does open up, she's great for it. She likes to hold more than be held. But who would complain with the muscles she has though?

Codsworth: Physically cannot cuddle, but that won't stop Sole from hugging him. He deeply appreciates them.

Curie: Definitely a chronic cuddler. She wants to experience every new thing she can, especially with all her new senses. She'll curl up with anybody that will let her and doesn't have a favourite cuddle position yet. One of two people brave (stupid) enough to directly ask Strong for cuddles.

Deacon: The king of casual touch right there. Him and Hancock get along well. He is 100% the clingy friend and will bother whoever he feels a shred of affection towards until they agree. Whether it's big spoon, little spoon, tangled limbs, or just an arm, he'll get whatever affection he can. He likes to know that the people he loves are still there beside him.

Dogmeat: BRING! ON!! THE CUDDLES!!!!!! A cute puppy like him deserves all the attention and he knows it. Is not afraid to use puppy eyes to get cuddles.

Danse: A tad touch starved. Almost cries everytime someone cuddles with him. He can't believe it because that nagging voice in the back of his head still calls him a monster and he tends to believe it. Almost everyone likes to cuddle with him though cause. Well. He's Big™. Big arms for nice holding. Giant bara tiddies for laying. And is always warm. Plus this way they can help him accept himself more so it's a win win.

Gage: He doesn't mind one way or another but is touched with the gesture all the same. It's not often raiders would cuddle each other after all. Very casual. Pretty much does whatever the other person wants to do. "Lay on your back." "Okay." lays down on him like he's another layer of the couch "Here's a book." "Thanks." And that's that.

Hancock: He's too impatient for actual drawn out cuddles. He likes general skin ship quite a lot though. Whether it's an arm around his friend while walking, a quick hug, or even friendly kisses on the cheek, he's fine with it all. It isn't until he finds someone he truly loves that he'll actually want to sit still and cuddle. Just to bask in his own "sunshine."

Longfellow: Very gruff, does not like people. Cuddles are a big no no. He will, however, ruffle people's hair a lot in the kind way only grandpa's could.

MacCready: He's small enough that cuddles with him feel like wrapping oneself around a cat. They do what they want or they leave but are very cute if settled, much like Mac. He doesn't do it often with how little he trusts people though. When it comes to his son and remembering how little he was hugged as a child, he makes sure Duncan gets plenty of cuddles.

Piper: She's pretty casual about touch as well so she gives out cuddles frequently. Whoever sits next to her will eventually have, at bare minimum, an arm around their shoulders before ten minutes has passed.

Preston: Sunshine boy has trust issues but is also touch starved so as soon as he makes a close friend, he's stuck to them like glue. Even worse if he's dating them. Wants to be touching at all times so he knows they're with him and not going anywhere any time soon.

Strong: There are only two people he hasn't immediately bludgeoned to death when they touched him. Sole, and Curie. The doctor had to sometimes to heal his wounds (with no little amount of complaining from him), but he also thought she was acceptable enough to sate her curiosity when it came to supermutants. He thought she was nice and small enough to not bother him, so he doesn't mind her. Sole explained a concept called "love languages" to him and told him that their main one was physical touch, so cuddles just means that they like him. He thinks being accepted by a cool and smart warrior like Sole in that way is rad as hell.

Valentine: Isn't a fan. Especially with the body he has. Though every one in awhile, if he's in a good enough mood and they (sole, Deacon, Curie, piper) pester him enough, he'll layer himself in clothes and let them cuddle. He can't help but feel fond. The fact that they try so hard to show their affection even if it's inconvenient with his body is very heart warming.

X6-88: He's about as touched starved as a person can get. He wasn't shown a lot of affection at the institute, let alone cuddles. In the Wasteland, with Sole, there are people who would love to buddy up more with him, but mutual distrusts keeps them away too. He thinks he only needs Sole anyway and is perfectly fine with only cuddling them. He's uncomfortable doing it with others near though, so he waits until they're completely alone. He's very affectionate when alone. Eventually, he warms up to some of the others and they get their fair share of cuddles as well. Curie and Deacon show themselves to be commendable.

Any sfw headcanons for any fallout character!

#it's in a different format cause you said all of em #in my opinion #based on what i like in a good cuddle #the best ones would be #danse - deacon - curie - x6 #fallout 4 #hancock #nick valentine #deacon #dogmeat #fallout 4 companions #fallout curie #codsworth #old longfellow #porter gage #ada #cait #minexthree

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pa-panda-heroes · 4 years ago

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Hi! This is chest surgery anon! Im sorry I didn't see your character limit! So sorry! If your requests are open, could I have possibly Dabi, Shigaraki, and Toga? And as for the medical stuff anything is fine with me! You can go all out if ya want! Thank you so much and again so sorry!

Aww, sweetheart!! It’s okay!! I understand <3 a lot of people tend to miss character limits and a while back I didn’t have one, so i take no offense to it! ( ◠‿◠ )b I hope you’re recovering well still~

Dabi, Tomura, and Himiko helping out their s/o who has had chest surgery!

Dabi:

Oof. He understands the struggle of recuperation, hardcore. Because of his staples, stretching too much for Dabi is sometimes agonizing. And replacing the staples into torn skin? Hell itself.

So while he’s not that great at encouragement and would be a nurse with horrible bedside manners, he’d rather do things for you and leave it at that. Dabi can reach out for your phone or your drink, or help you wash your hair if that is a problem for you (he’ll get frisky if you’re well enough, though! He’s a greedy bastard at times).

A lot of his staples he can’t reach, so oftentimes you have to help with that. But now, it’s you that needs help, and he’s kinda relieved in an odd way. It makes him feel less weak, so he’s more than happy - though he won’t admit that - to help change your bandages and keep everything clean and drained out.

He’s a professional at being careful with stitches if there are any, because he has experience from his staples. Bandages, however, are a different story. He has to be really careful not to wrap them too tightly or too loosely, which is hard to do when it’s not your own body.

If you’re stuck with a drainage tube or more (or just regular seepage), he won’t be bothered much by it. After all, he has seen and smelled much worse with his own problems and there’s the burning people alive part. Almost nothing fazes this man.

One concept he doesn’t understand, though, is the whole “it will look worse before it looks better” part. Hold up - you just had surgery, doesn’t that mean it should be, ya know, healing? Why does it look like you got hit with a truck y/n are you dying what tHE FU-

Bruising happens sometimes, Dabi. It’s cool. Swelling means white blood cells are doing their part to repair damaged tissue, higher temperature just means increased blood flow. You have to look up several explanations on the internet before he finally gets it. You’d think he would have experience in this department!

Will 100% secretly whine about it all, though. He’s a massive cuddler behind closed doors, so with your stitches, limited movement, and the likely pain, he’s practically frothing at the mouth to fully cuddle and then some. He knows you can’t help it, though! So he pouts in total silence.

Tomura:

When you tell him you’re gonna need help during your recuperation, he’s totally fine with it. It can’t be that hard, he’ll say. Helping you get dressed? Nah, he’ll be fine. Can’t help cook? That’s fine, he’ll get take-out because he can’t cook for shit. But bandages? Oh.

He’ll be fine, he says. He can do it without looking away, he says. But when it comes to it, Tomura is gone. He’s lost. What the fuck is that? Is that a tube?! Why is it swollen?! Tape is nOT MEANT FOR HUMAN BODIES, Y/N-

You poor thing, you have to teach him how to help out. Removing bandages, cleaning everything with antisceptic, watch out for drainage and note down its color, don’t tug on the stitches, signs of infection - all of it. But at least he’s a good listener! He may not know why he’s doing it, but he knows what he’s doing now, at least.

Tomura won’t be totally clueless to everything. If you’re in pain, he’ll bring out painkillers and something to wash it down with before you can even ask. He’ll also ask if ice or a heating pad is okay. He’s a little clueless, but he’s got the spirit. He’s pretty observant, too.

Tomura will get plenty of pillows to put under your arms if you have to hold them a certain way, too. But they get in the way of his putting his head on your lap, so he’ll get all mopey and just use one of the pillows under your arms. Except he can’t get comfortable because it just isn’t the same, so he’ll constantly adjust his head.

His bedside manners won’t be great, he’ll be gruff when telling you to get better, but you know he means well because he won’t look you in the eye. And because he spoils you with treats like his life depends on it, even though that’s really not the kind of diet you need.

Entirely unfazed if you need help bathing. This, he knows how to do! Unlike Dabi, he won’t get any funny ideas and carries on as if he’s bathing himself. Tomura’s utterly silent most of the time, but it’s not difficult to sprout a whole conversation out of him. It’s really peaceful and serene, and he much prefers it over cleaning out any drainage...

Super gentle, sometimes too gentle. Tomura just worries about hurting you. If you share a bed, he will absolutely refuse to sleep in bed with you and instead opts for the floor next to you. He’s a very active sleeper and he’s afraid he’ll end up whacking you with an arm or something. But then, he has to be close to make sure you’re okay or if you need anything. Hence why he ends up on the floor next to you.

Himiko:

She’s creepily compliant when you ask her to help out during your recuperation. But poor Himiko has no idea what this entails for herself or you. She’s used to creating wounds on other people, not fixing or healing them.

Himiko is average height (for a Japanese woman), so reaching things won’t be a major issue unless you’re much taller and store things up high. ...she’s really good at climbing, though, but if memory serves her, you don’t like it when she does that!

Doesn’t mind blood, swelling, bruising - you name it. The sight, the smell, none of it bothers her at all! In fact, seeing you all banged up and bandaged makes her love you more! It’s like you’re all beaten up and bloodied, and she thrives off of it. She really kinda hates that you’re trying to heal and get better.

Of course, when there’s pain she doesn’t quite care much for that part. You’re not like yourself when you’re hurting so badly, she can tell, and it makes her really nervous and anxious. Himiko gets really quiet and mopey, and even more clingy than she already is.

She’s also pouty because she can’t hang off of you like a sloth off a branch. Himiko is too cuddly for her own good, so on a normal day she’s constantly all over you in any which way. It’s just in her nature. However, if you’re able to reverse the rolls, she’ll be much happier!

Really bad at bandaging. Really bad. She forgets to keep everything clean and what to use, she tends to be rough around the sutures, and she can’t get a bandage to keep in place to save her little butt. There’s tape everywhere when she’s done, and half of it won’t stick. How do people do this for a living?!

She’s not a great nurse. Not really. But she’s definitely a source of entertainment. Himiko talks to herself under her breath a lot, and sometimes she’ll say the funniest things when she’s confused about how to do something. Doesn’t matter if it’s her nurse-ly duties or be it cooking and getting clothes for you.

Himiko won’t really bother looking up medical jargon and what’s needed to help you in that department. It’s not that she doesn’t want you getting better. She just really enjoys having you rely on her even if for a short while! It’s more time you get together after all, and she’s super clingy.

#tw: medical #mha #mha headcannons #mha x reader #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #toga x reader #dabi #shigaraki tomura #toga himiko #take care of yourself!! <3

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inked-spirit · 3 years ago

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Y,know how I said I had another au, and had a small oneshot for it:)

Well here's the oneshot, and bonus very out of context because I haven't talked about it yet. Hyrule meets Legend scene! Au is still being put together and is not really thought out much, but it does include the other under-appreciated links, such as Picori (whose also in this small written piece), Spirit, and Tempo. (Will add more if I find out there's others)

Pre-warning I don't know how to do the undercut thing with posts, so it's very long.

Enjoy:)

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

Okay, at this point Hyrule knew he was lost. Very lost.

The further he treked through the thick foilage to find his way back to the fountain. The weaker it's magic became, he was getting further away from it with each passing second.

He knew his sense of direction was terrible but this was just ridiculous.

He tried to call out to any fellow fairy or family that could hear him, to no avail.

It was almost dark, as the sun descended beneath the trees. A few stars making themselves present early. His faint glow making itself known in the growing dark. A pale green.

Pushing through a few more bushes, he comes to a small clearing. Taken up mostly by a decently large pond. It looked pretty deep too.

He felt no fairy magic emanating from the waters and with a disappointed huff sat down beside the ponds rocks.

There was a different kind of magic in the pond though, at the bottom. It felt safe, and somehow he knew it wouldn't hurt him.

Staring up at the stars once more, he sent a prayer to whatever goddess was listening that he'd find his home soon, his mother must be worried sick he hasn't come home before night fall.

He was tired, straying so far from his mother's magic had taken a toll on him. Placing a minor protection spell on the small clearing, he dropped his travel bag on the floor and pulled out a blanket. Nestling himself into a comfortable position using his bag as a pillow of sorts.

"Goodnight mom." He whispered, as he let his eye lids finally close to get some rest.

---

When he woke up it was to a shadow looming over him. He groaned as his eyes slowly opened to meet with a pair of violet ones.

A pale face that looked at him quizitivelly from above. This figure tilted there head at him with a curious glint in there eyes. Short pink hair swept to once side dropping slightly. His long pink bangs swaying beneath his face to the gentle wind.

His eyes widened as he woke up fully, staring at the one above him, whose eyes also widened.

The boy (as he guessed) lept into the pond with a graceful splash and pained gasp. Hyrule rushed to get up. Packing his blanket away and comfortably getting his bag on. He sensed pain was on the boy. He was hurt.

He jumped to the waters edge and peered down to look for the other, finding nothing. Until they peeked there eyes out of the water, brows forrowwed.

"I-im sorry for startling you. I didn't mean to scare you like that." He apologised sitting down in his spot.

The other looked away for a moment before peeking his Head out further so he could see his mouth.

"It's okay. I've just never seen one of your kind before." He replied. His voice was smooth and kind.

Never seen a fairy?

"I've only ever read about fairys in books back home, but fairys were written to be smaller. Your like a very small great fairy, why is that?" The boy asked with a tilt of his head.

"Oh, that's because I'm a great fairy in training." He answered slowly. His eyes trailing to the faint red in the water. The wound.

The boy seemed satisfied with his answer, a small hesitant trust being formed.

"I couldn't help but notice your hurt. Would you mind if I healed you?" He asked, wringing his wrists.

This took the boy by suprise and with small slow nod, he swam closer and reached his arm out of the water. There was a few scars here and there, and what looked like a golden fin across the back of his arm. The boy looked away at first, but once the fairy started to let his magic flow he watched in awe. As the green magic knitted the bloody cut on his arm back together.

When Hyrule pulled his arms away, cutting the magic off, the boy admiring his newly healed arm.

"Did you hurt it on the rocks when I startled you?"

A knod, before the other perked up.

"I'll be back in a second." At that the boy dove under and after about a minute or two he came back up with some cut fish in hands.

"For you." He dropped them on the ground beside Hyrule, awaiting a response.

For a moment he just looked between the other and the fish, before giving an akward smile.

"Oh thank you." He chuckled nervously.

The boy just continued to wait patiently.

"What do I do with them?"

"You eat them, its food."

Glancing down at the fish, he curiously picked one up and went to take a bite.

"Wait y-you cook it first. You were gonna eat it raw?" The boy exclaimed with concern.

Oh.

With a snap of his fingers a small flame appeared in his palm. Growing by the second and so he started to roast it.

Once done (although he burned it in a few places). He finally took a bit. It was juicy but dry, no doubt his own doing. And tasted plain but salty. The burnt bits tasted bitter. But all in all it satisfied him. After his first bite, he set it down and cooked another, holding it out to the boy in the pond.

"I realized I never asked for your name, I'm Hyrule." He spoke, as the boy gingerly took the offered fish.

"I'm Legend." He took a bite and grimaced at first to the taste but settled.

He packed the rest of the fish away in his bag after asking if the boy wanted anymore.

Crossing his legs and resting his head in his palms.

"Hey, ive been meaning to ask. Why do you stay in the pond?"

The boys face frorrowed, his eyes traced the rocks instead of the fairy, and lifted what the fairy assumed was his version of legs. A large white blotched amareanth fishtail, lined with golden fins, some tattered near the end but not much.

"Oh you can't go that far." He spoke sadly.

"Yeah, no legs means no land travel. Fish tail means water travel only." He said simply.

"Do you live in this pond, have any family around here?" He asked a pit forming in his gut.

Legend shook his head,

"I was dropped here on accident by poachers after the few days travel they had me. I've been stuck in this pond for almost a whole week now if in correct. I lived in Hylia lake, with my uncle."

Lake Hylia!

That was at least a few days travel from his fountain, how far did the poachers go to abduct him?

He wanted to help he really did, but what could he do?

...

Then like a blessing from above, an idea popped in his head. Details would be thought of next. But he had an idea, and he was going to help this weird hylian.

Hyrule brightened immediately.

"Hey, what if I took you home? Act as your guide across the lands." Hyrule suggested.

Legend looked at him as if he grew two heads.

"How are you going to do that?"

He didn't know but maybe he could carry Legend to his fountain when he found it and ask his mother for advice. She always knew what to do.

"I could take you to my fairy fountain and find out what to do from there." He suggested, with a shrug and nervous smile.

The pink haired kid, tilted his head in thought before giving a nod.

"That could work. Better than being stuck in here till the day i die."

Thankfully a thought on what he could do came to mind. An friend could possibly help.

"Perfect! It's settled then!" At that Hyrule brought his point finger and thumb to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

He waited a full minute or two before a small willow bird swooped in and perched in his hair.

A small mouse like creature getting off its back and peeking over his forehead from his hair. The creature no bigger than a hylians thumb.

"Hyrule! Long time no see!" The small thing squeaked cheerfully.

They clung to a curl of hair and dropped onto Hyrules waiting palm. The fairy chuckling at the small person?

"It has, hasn't it?" He laughed. Before the small mouse caught eye with Legend.

"A hylian in the pond? And it seems they can see me?" They chittered.

"I dont think hes a hylian. Either he isn't or he is and hes a weird one." Hyrule whispered.

"I'm a mer, deffintly not hylian. And what is that thing in your palm." Legend asked from the water resting his arms on the sand dirt edge.

Oh so that's what he was, he was going to ask mother about that later.

"This is Picori, of the Minish. He's been my best friend, since I could even walk. He may be able to help us with our problem." Hyrule smilled.

"That explains the pond, hylians tend to hate getting wet in clothing." Picori huffed.

Hyrule hummed before, leaning closer to the Minish in his palm. Whispering something Legend couldn't hear or understand with the change in Hyrules language.

Hyrule backed up, and Picori seemed to hum before saying something to the other.

"Alright, Legend I'm going to need to carry you for this next part, would you be okay with that?" Hyrule looked over to the mer in question expectantly.

"Where are you taking me, exactly?" He asked, pulling himself out of the water.

And now, could Hyrule so the rest of him properly. He had what looked like a black tunic like shirt, long sleeves folded above the elbows, and a collar he now folded up, hidding the gills on his neck.

A black and silver belt wrapped around his waist and bottom half of the tunic.

The metal emited no familiar heat, safe.

"Cori has a solution to our problem." He chirped, putting Picori on his shoulder, and reaching to pick Legend up.

Abite difficult and painstakingly Hyrule managed to carry him bridal style, in the directions Picori instructed.

Being meet with a tree stump, that radiated the same magic Picori did.

"Place him on the stump and me on his shoulder." Picori instructed.

Hyrule nodded gently and put Legend on the stump. Next reaching a hand for Picori to climb on and let him onto legends shoulder.

"Tell him not to freak out with this next part, they always do the first go around." Picoris muttered, Hyrule relaying the message.

"Okay now I'm worried, what's the small guy on my shoulder planning." Legend asked nervously.

Hyrule lifting hands to gently take the bird from his head, placing her down on a nearby rock with a pet.

"You'll see in a second." The fairy smiled with a tilt of his head, hair falling with the motion. Before he shrank in the blink of an eye. To a normal fairys size, Legend could only blink dumbly as Hyrule fluttered in place, waiting he noticed.

Picori chittering something from his shoulder, before he felt a strong magic pull him. He landed with an oof on giant mushrooms inside a what looked like the inside of the stump he was sitting on.

Wait-

A small thumping alerted the presence of the Minish, who was now almost the same size as himself (Almost, he was still tiny compared to the others), as he scampered over and helped the merman down from the fungi, and over to a waiting Hyrule by the exit of the stump. The minish and fairy sharing a quick tight hug, before the merman was picked up and held again.

The minish handed Legend a small pale brown thing that looked edible, smelled bitter, but nice. And was told to eat it by Hyrule.

It was an uncomfortable mess with his hearing, a soft static and deafness before it settled and he could understand the mouse guys greeting.

Getting a good look at the world as it was now that he was smaller. It looked huge, and so much more different, things he'd never notice before in full view now. All though he'd never really seen what the surface had to offer anyway. Intill the poachers of course. But still.

"I better grow again before I'm returned home." Legend smirked.

Getting a short laugh from Hyrule.

"You will when when we get to my fountain."

Picori blew a quick whistle with his pinky fingers at a higher note than Hyrules from before. The willow bird peered up, and flapped over. Awaiting it's riders to board.

"You do know where my fountain is, right Picori?" The fairy asked with a nervous chuckle.

The minish nodded getting on the birds back.

No one needed to know he was lost, and add to his reputation. So it went unsaid.

Once they were all situated and Legend was held securely. The bird shot up into the sky at Picoris gentle command.

End

Good day/night whoever read this, hope your doing good^^

#questions and whatnot are welcome #Creature and Myths au #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu picori #legend of zelda #linked universe au #i dont know how to tag #this isnt proof read and i apoligise for my bad writting

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alittlewhump · 3 years ago

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Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

#my writing #story: unbidden #death mention tw #body horror tw

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pfreadsandwrites · 4 years ago

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congratulations on 100+ followers!!🥺❤️✨ bless you and your quality content ahhhh and thats a really good list of prompts there i actually had trouble picking one... but, since im truly a sucker for angst at heart, can i please have a number 15 with Kakashi?👀 please hurt me lmao thank you, and congrats once again!❤️

100 follower celebration

Yes, i used this mangacap.

Anyway, ahh @enchantedpendant, I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long for this! I know you expressed excitement over me writing something angsty way back when I first began the celebration event and ugh I’m just sorry it’s taken so long. And thank you for your support as well. You’ve been so amazing and encouraging right from the start and I’m so grateful :) I really hope you like this... if ‘like’ is the correct word.

Oh - also, to the anon that also requested this exact prompt (great minds think alike, huh?) I’m planning on writing a different version for you! But yours is the penultimate or last one so I’m hoping this’ll tide you over in the meantime!

This is my first piece after being unable to write for a while - forgive me if it’s rusty. I worked hard on this but I also struggled to all hell with it. It’s a circular-ish/montage-y piece. And I could have made it short, focusing on the scene itself, but I wanted this to have an emotional impact, ya know? I hope it worked! Please let me know what you think. Or if there are any mistakes.

warnings: character death, angst, miscarriage, sad feels all around, female reader, mild violence and sex mentions but nothing explicit, 2.9k

taglist: @madaras-housewife @datblobbyfish @praisingkuroosbedhead @allthingskakashi @enchantedpendant @ibukiirisha @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @tachibrii @drunkenfists

15. “Don’t die on me - please.”

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the first time it happened.

How could you not? Little, insignificant, as it might have been to some - to him, if he could convince himself - to you, it was momentous. Lasting only a second, where his calloused fingers had brushed against yours, softer than his, yes, but no less enduring. The normally aloof eye, the only one he seemed to show without hesitation, was intent, the obsidian endless in its depth.

But - out of courtesy to him, or some kind of self-preservation - you’d paid it no mind. Or kept up that pretence, anyway. You found your footing as quickly as you’d lost it, stumbling away from his support no matter how reluctant you were to do so. The gratitude you’d muttered was enough and it seemed like you’d made the right choice; when that quietly shrewd eye of his turned away from you and his strong hands let you go in the same movement. He never let you bask in your own clumsiness, but that somehow made you feel worse. His nonchalance was excruciating. As if he hadn’t just saved you and made it look effortless. As if his touch alone hadn’t frozen you in place.

As if it never happened at all.

(It never should have happened at all.)

But still, you remember it. The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, illuminating that wild silver hair as he turned away from you.

(It was all so disgustingly poetic.)

It took longer than it should have for you to turn away in kind. But you did. Eventually. You made the awkward trek back to camp before him, the internal rambling of your self-berating your only company. It grew louder each time you looked back, stealing little glances against your own will.

It was so loud that you didn’t notice much else.

Not even Kakashi stealing glances back at you, for instance.

***

Why did your breath hitch, even when the air had never been more tranquil?

You remember.

How he always did that, you still don’t know. Perfect timing, though you never appreciated just how perfect until he was gone again.

(You should have learnt to count your blessings.)

Without a trace, and so quickly, unceremoniously, that the entire encounter might well have been a mirage. It still might have been.

(Maybe it’d been better that way.)

You’d had enough. You didn’t think it through much further, and your desperation triumphed over your cautiousness as you sought out the bar exit. The mission, against all odds, was a success. And, against all better judgement, you were dragged along to the accompanying celebration. The atmosphere should have been infectious, you should have smiled more, you should have enjoyed yourself.

Then again, you couldn’t find much to celebrate. Mistakes - your mistakes - had piled up. Your team completed the mission despite you, not because of you. The liability, not the heroine.

(In hindsight, would it really have been so terrible if things ended for you there?)

You’d exhaled dramatically as you made your escape, a feeble attempt to expel all the guilt and shame you’d retained, or tried to retain, up until now.

You still remember the lilt of his voice, smooth and somehow jovial, but never losing that gravelly undertone, as you walked around the corner. How could you ever forget it? No matter how lax he sounded, or tried to sound, the severity lurking underneath always cut you deep.

Are you alright, he’d asked, already knowing the answer. With that signature one-eyed smile, he pretended to believe your response. And you pretended, in turn, that his smile didn’t have had the effect on you it did.

You didn’t exchange that many words as he walked you home, but somehow, it was enough. Though he was always careful with what he revealed, it was enough. He understood - much more than he let on, you suspected - but it was enough.

You didn’t hate yourself quite as much anymore, and - well, it wasn’t too much of a stretch - it didn’t seem like he hated you either. Something in the way his hand squeezed your shoulder, lingering for a moment, just before he saw you off. Was he reluctant to let go?

Maybe.

You slept better that night.

You’d find out later, that, miraculously, Kakashi did too.

***

Why did you feel so secure, sharing in all that suffering?

You remember.

(Why had you been so stupid?)

You’d almost dropped your flowers, when you saw him standing there, facing the memorial stone. It shouldn’t have been shocking; you’d heard gossip, in passing, about how much time he spent here. You’d also heard, in passing, how late he tended to be. Putting two and two together, you never held the latter against him.

You understood, after all. You'd understood all the more as your eyes bore into his back. Something in the way he curled and uncurled his fists, the way he sighed, the way his straightened back gradually hunched.

As far back as you could recall, your attitude to graveyards was… ambivalent. You’d avoid them whenever you could, not out of any tendency to be spooked or anything like that. You just couldn’t bring yourself to leave. It was peaceful, to be immersed somewhere so solemn, with such dense air - but the gravity of it also chained your feet there like an anchor. You knew each time you were there, regardless of your own volition, wouldn’t be the last. So if anyone were to empathise with this particular way he chose to punish himself, it was you.

(And now you would take it on twofold in his stead. What a joke.)

“You don’t often come here,” he’d said quietly, matter-of-factly. Devoid of judgement, though he didn’t bother to face you.

“No. I probably don’t spend as much time here as I should…,” your voice trailed off, and found new confidence, when you watched him stare at that stone. Hopelessly. You didn’t know all the details. But you didn’t need to. All you knew that it was simultaneously frustrating and pitiful. “And you probably spend too much.”

This time, he glanced back over his shoulder. You couldn’t exactly see through his mask, but he seemed… amused? “How do you figure that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

He chuckled, satisfied, and stepped back to give you room. “Then, I guess we balance each other out.”

“What a pair we are.”

“Right. Well, I better-“

You still don’t know why you decided to grab his wrist that day, when he turned to leave. You still don’t know why you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, either.

You still don’t know why Kakashi decided to stay.

***

Why did you flit so rapidly from anger to elation, and why was it always because of him?

You remember.

In hindsight, it had been your fault.

(What the fuck else was new?)

Retreat. Get out of here. It had been a simple order. But it had felt impossible, when the enemy appeared from behind, jutsu blaring, its raw power visible, that disgusting snarl on its wielders’ face - aiming for him.

You didn't think. You couldn’t think. You leapt in front of the attack within seconds, and your plan ended there.

The same couldn’t be said for your captain. With his signature finesse, with a rare scowl - you couldn't tell who it was aimed at - you were moved away, and the enemy deflected, in the same movement.

The battle had come to an end shortly after, through no fault of your own. It took all you had, but you bit your tongue as he scolded you, in front of your comrades, quietly healing your wound.

You had acted for his sake.

(How futile.)

Apparently, that meant nothing to him, not even worthy of acknowledgement. It wasn’t like you had expected gratitude - but for a man known for his stoicism to blow up, and because of you - it made you livid in turn.

The journey back had been silent, seemingly just so you could bask in your own shame.

So, when you were back in the sanctuary of your home, nursing your injury, your failure, and your pride - you hadn’t expected to hear a knock.

Nor had you expected him. Headband missing, brow furrowed and glaring at you in that way you couldn’t understand, much less accept. You’d made a mistake - of disobeying orders, of recklessness, of caring - but why the hell did he care in turn?

“What?” You had hissed, unable to contain the outrage of his interruption of your little haven. Not that it made it any easier to look at him. “You’re here to admonish me again?”

“What the hell was that?” He growled in turn. “You disobeyed my orders and almost got yourself killed.”

“I-,” your voice shook, tears pricked your eyes - he was right, even if it pained you to admit it, but it wasn’t fair. The space between you had shrunk. He was so close now that you saw the rise and fall of his broad chest beneath his vest - apparently just as outraged as you. You had never seen him like this before. “Why are you so mad at me? I was just trying to - I thought-”

“Am I supposed to factor in every one of your impulses? Why did you do that?”

You remember how you heard his heartbeat, pounding - pounding just as loud as yours was. And it depleted your inhibitions. “Because - because you were in danger, you asshole!”

You remember how he had gently grabbed your injured wrist, just as you were about to shove him. You’d anticipated his reflexes, but you couldn’t have anticipated his expression, when you finally met his gaze. You remember how swiftly he’d pulled down his mask, but you couldn’t have anticipated just how breathtaking he’d be, either. Nor how it could feel when he kissed you - finally.

When Kakashi moved to pull away, of course, of course, you moved to pull him right back.

***

Why did you always let him leave?

You remember.

(If you knew how it would end, you never would have let him. Better still, maybe you never should have let him enter in the first place.)

Safe.

You’d never felt so safe.

When he’d appear and reappear at your apartment - the window, never the door, despite your half-hearted protests - waving with that stupid, adorable, one-eyed smile. He knew you’d saunter over, sliding it open with a matching grin, every time without fail.

(You always did. That much, you did.)

When he’d laugh, when you told him about your mishaps. You’d laugh at his in kind - though it didn’t suit you, and you replaced it with your usual sympathetic ear. When you’d accompany him to the memorial stone, and pull him way just at the right time. When he’d pull you away, too.

(What a fool.)

When he’d unmask himself around you, and you pretended not to notice, like it didn’t floor you. When you watched him struggle to decide whether he was relieved or offended. When he kissed you, in that indescribable way that wavered between tentative and determined, soft and powerful, usually choosing the perfect time to flit to the latter, making your knees buckle in the process.

(What a fool.)

When he’d undress you, and no matter how desperate he’d seem, how he always paused to take you in. When he’d move in you, filling your heart and body so much that you thought you might burst. When he’d hold you just that little bit closer, tighter, longer every time.

(What a fool.)

Even when he’d leave, sometimes after you’d fallen asleep, sometimes before - sometimes in the morning - when he’d leave for a day, a week, a month - you felt safe.

Because you knew, in the deep recesses of your heart, that each time you saw him wouldn’t be the last.

(What a fucking fool.)

You remember the first time he said it. Quietly, earnestly, unceremoniously.

“I love you,” Kakashi had murmured into your ear one night, when he was so, so sure you were sleeping.

***

Why did you ever dare think you had any cause for optimism?

You remember.

The two lines, glaring upwards and through you, from that unremarkable little piece of plastic. They’d ran parallel - you thought it apt, just like your trepidation and your excitement. The lines would never meet, though.

(How apt.)

You’d been happy. That was what had shocked you most, save only for the very fact of you being in this situation in the first place. But behind the fear, there it was. A little glow, a nucleus of hope and future nascent deep in your centre, spread through your heart and speckled to your fingertips, your face, your smile - that paired flawlessly with the little bundle of meaning, the combination of you and him budding in your belly.

(Buds drop off before blooming all the time.)

You thought it’d be easy.

(How stupid.)

You thought you could share it all with him right away.

(You wished.)

But there was a part of you that faltered, when he’d show up at your window in that deceptively lax way. The words stuck in your throat, whenever he asked you if you were alright. The ease of his question didn’t match the weight of the truth. It almost felt… cruel.

Maybe his fears would eclipse yours, and all that euphoria you’d harboured would dissolve. Maybe he’d be angry, though you suspected that even if he were, it’d be short lived. Maybe you’d end up keeping him from his duty.

(Maybe you were just a coward.)

Regardless, your hands would float to your stomach whenever they weren’t occupied. Regardless, your mind would conjure up a future, remiss of your own will, an idyllic scene of a child, a marriage, something so sickly sentimental that you wanted to scold yourself. Regardless, it gave you hope.

It was enough, you’d decided. You'd get over it, face him and your fears, because what was waiting on the other side was so good that you’d forget that you had any in the first place. You’d do it.

You’d tell Kakashi the next time you saw him.

***

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the last time it happens.

How could you not? The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, incandescent, illuminating that wild silver hair, that crimson eye, that tired eye. His blood gleams under its splendour, under the green light that emanates fruitlessly from your delicate, shaking fingers. Softer than his, but no less enduring.

It’s all so disgustingly poetic.

He refuses to scream, or shout - just whisper your name, in that restrained, ever-abiding tone. It’s never made you want to scream out more in his turn. You would have done anything to absorb it all in its stead.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, as if he has the energy to. As if you can answer. As if you don’t see the wounds, the bloodshot-eyes, that compliance of his own mortality. His hand - the one that you were stupid enough to trust in, to think was strong - clenches around yours, calloused, then weakens, loosening its grip. He follows it with another impossible, familiar order. “Get out of here.”

“Shut up. Don’t die on me - please,” you beg, coughing up your words in between the sobs that spill forth, onto his face. The ache, the deep, sharp cramp in your hips, the agonising spark that spreads throughout your lower body, and you repeat your futile mantra two-fold.

(It hurts. It hurts so much.)

“Y/N, I- I’m sorry,” he begins, moving to use his dwindling force to brush away your healing fingers, “it’s too late for that. Just get somewhere safe. Please.”

“Shut up,” you repeat. You gasp hoarsely, reinforcing your grip. The pain deepens, in the pit of your throat, your heart, and in your womb, amalgamating together inextricably in some hellish concoction just for you and you alone. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His eyes lid, and suddenly that scar never seems so cutting. It’s all so obvious. He just looks so tired, so… resigned. As if he’s been waiting for this. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So you can’t-”

“It’s over. You know it as well as I do.”

Somewhere, somewhere deep down, you always knew. You knew, but never wanted to admit it. He’d made his peace with dying, long before you ever met, and you can’t hold him back any longer. It almost feels… cruel.

(Not as cruel as him.)

His hand drops, dropping with a graceless thud against your damp thigh. “Y-you’re covered in blood. That’s all mine…?”

“Yes,” you lie, voice as thick as the mixture of blood and tears that stain both you and him. “Don’t worry about me.”

He stops - and you almost think he’s going to call you out, like he’s done so many times before.

(You wish he would.)

You’ve never been able to dupe him. But instead, his eyes crinkle at the corners.

(You love him. You love him so much.)

He smiles that hidden smile, one last time.

His fingers that fight with yours give up, one last time.

He whispers your name, one last time.

Why did it always feel too soon, each time Kakashi let you go?

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi #hatake kakashi #naruto #kakashi imagines #kakashi fanfiction #pfwrites #next up is the Yamato one eeeek #i ain't never written yamato in my life send help #WHY DOES MY STUFF NEVER SHOW IN TAGS??

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years ago

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[SPOILERS FOR LEO’S ROUTE❗️] okay so i just got to the bit after leo reveals what he is, and mc and comte are talking on the balcony & comte offers to turn her into a vampire if she would like. obviously mc declines but i guess my question is, how do you think leonardo would react if mc DID agree to that offer? i am enjoying his route, but i kinda get the feeling he mostly/only loves mc because she is human :/ im interested abt what might happen if she didn’t say no? thank you v much💖💖ly lots

Aww, ily3 hun tyty 💕💕💕I’ll offer my thoughts below, I hope I can answer your questions to satisfaction!

Ah yes, the point in Leo's route where I essentially get shot in the leg and limp through my walk of shame

Jk jk, but I think there has been a considerable degree of displeasure associated with Leonardo's line in the proverbial sand. No life with him can be spent as a vampire, MC must remain human. Despite his easygoing nature, he remains stalwart in his opposition no matter what the MC or Comte has to say. To summarize it quickly, Comte’s relieved exasperation at the end of Leo’s MS gets more across than I think any of my analysis can convey “Thank heavens one of you has good sense.” It offers the implication that he has tried to broach the topic with Leonardo out of concern, only to be met by a brick wall--or doesn’t try at all for fear that he’ll only ensconce Leonardo further into rejecting a greater future for him and MC.

As to how he would react I......really don’t think it would go well? Only because I think it would serve to reinforce the rifts that already exist in Leonardo’s self-perception. He would believe it was his own fault for pushing her in that direction, and while I don’t think he would hate Comte, he would definitely become estranged from one of his only close friends in life. (What GUTS ME about Comte offering to turn MC is that he is probably well aware Leo might beat the shit out of him, never talk to him again, or both--and he still fully accepts that he could lose his best friend to guarantee a future for both of them. Excuse me while I bawl in the corner) He probably wouldn’t hold it against Comte for too long, but he wouldn’t be any less aggrieved and hurt. And when Leonardo is vulnerable, he will hide and nurse his wounds until he can behave with some level of calm--or at the very least until he can pretend he’s okay after an initial explosion. He doesn’t feel comfortable troubling people with his own problems, so he tends to fall into silence when personal things come up. This doesn’t necessarily mean he resolves all of his emotional turmoil, or heals that fast; it only means that he wallows in those feelings alone unless they’re tugged out of him and worked through forcibly.

Basically, I see only one of two possibilities coming to fruition. The first is that he and MC would wobble only to completely fall apart if some kind of resolution could never be found. He’d continue to blame himself and start sabotaging his own happiness, and that would likely mean some level of selfishness directed at MC--resulting in anguish for the both of them. If MC takes on too much without complaint or Leonardo goes too far...I get the feeling that relationship would either end in shambles immediately, or result in a kind of twisted union in which both feel responsible for the other’s hurt but neither one can relieve it (until they’d be forced to split up before someone gets seriously hurt). They would be the source of each other’s suffering, so much so that the walls climbing between them might never again lower.

This might sound odd, but if there’s one thing that Leonardo needs it’s control when it comes to his relationships with others. It is a subtle, but acute trait that might not seem obvious knowing his magnanimous disposition. He decides if MC gets to be a vampire, he bargains with Sebastian because he refuses to be a test subject, he refuses to validate Comte’s conclusions (despite knowing he’s right) because he doesn’t want to cede the power silence/smokescreens offer his emotional vulnerabilities. Even around villains like Shakespeare and the final serial killer, pay close attention. Shakespeare begins revealing deeply personal information and wishes that Leonardo holds close to his heart on purpose, snatching Leonardo’s agency and ability to control how his feelings are being conveyed. How does Leonardo respond? With explosive, forbidding anger--instantaneous and barely contained, nothing at all like his breezy attitude and calm.

If you think about it, it’s a fairly obvious extension of the humiliating powerlessness by which he was raised (he needs to be in control; he needs to be the one who decides who gets to walk away and who doesn’t. He doesn’t come on to MC because he wants to, he does it for the sole purpose of scaring her out of wanting to be a vampire. He doesn’t even attempt to explain where he’s coming from because he falls into whole-scale panic. When he loses control of the trajectory of others--of how they perceive certain things about him--all of his charisma fails him. If he can’t explain or justify where he is mentally, when he’s too afraid they won’t hear him or care, then he needs to redirect the opposing party). Additionally, he feels responsible; that he can better adjust the outcome with his experience--and while that may be true for some things, sometimes he gets ahead of himself. Only an individual can decide their own future and their own happiness, the most others can do is enhance or worsen aspects of life. He doesn’t have enough faith that his presence is positive or worthwhile enough to guarantee his spouse’s happiness ;-;

The other possibility I see is MC coaxing him as best she can into reassurance that she’s happy with her new life. While he may have doubts, there is absolutely room for her to help him approach those fears little by little. If Leonardo has even a hint of doubt in regards to his dismal feelings about her being turned, a potential for acceptance may be nurtured. I don’t think his uncertainty would ever fully vanish; there will always be a lurking fear that a fate tied to his can only mean suffering and disappointment. Prove his worth and compassion with time, and this man will be unable to remember how life was lived before her. It would take a great deal of patience and a sizable obstacle, but it wouldn’t be impossible. His heart is much too big for that, I think.

I don’t think happiness with a turned MC is impossible, only that it would take a lot of work to swing it after a heated moment of decision. I think the way to go with Leonardo is a more enduring effort. He shows much more receptivity after years of being together. I think time, ironically, helps him relax into the possibility of forever as a couple. I think he cannot conceptualize a world in which he is in love, and that this love is not conditional--not dependent on his ability to be the perfect companion, the brilliant inventor, the equanimous mentor. I think he needs to see for himself that love can be gentle and real and whole even when he’s at his worst (by his self-perception).

Also I put some extra meta under the cut because I have brainworms and just can’t stop thinking about Leonardo rn so read if you like, but it’s more related to why he feels this way abt turning MC than necessarily about the outcome.

That being said, I'm conflicted because I don't necessarily think Leonardo only loves MC because she's human? (Rather, I think it’s more a result of his history and the values he’s developed in response to that upbringing. But I’ll loop back to this in a bit, so stay tuned)

I say this for two reasons. Firstly, I don't want to say that no person in this period shared his values (I mean look at Comte)--this would be an overstatement, even if it was rare. But it does appear that Comte and Leonardo are acute exceptions within vampire society in elevating human beings to an equal status among vampires (if not a higher status at points or depending on the person). As such, a vampire partner he’d be comfortable living with is unlikely. Human beings are more optimal in some regards (more adaptable and more egalitarian than vampires, most likely), but he also knows that he’s more susceptible to falling in love with a human; so he makes sure to squash his feelings or remove himself when his feelings become too intense.

Secondly, he's in close quarters with MC by necessity, and reacts to her isolation by virtue of the situation. That's probably half the reason they get together at all; he was fully intending to keep his distance despite his initial curiosity. One thing this signals to me is that even when Leonardo did feel attraction to any person he was in contact with, he would avoid them until they were removed from his presence--or he deflected their romantic approaches enough times for them to give up. With this in mind, it can come as no surprise that Leonardo has kept to himself for nearly five hundred years now. If it was another vampire hitting on him (especially a pureblood), he would be playing into his parents' expectations and would approach the vampire social hierarchy he was working so hard to escape. If they were human, he would deem himself a burden; he could never love them within the normal expectations of a human couple (growing old together, raising a family, etc etc). So ultimately I think it's less her being human, and more their compatibility and context.

As such, I think he just locks himself into a kind of Catch-22? Because in the end I think this is more about his own fears and insecurities--that he can never make someone happy, that he himself will never be enough (hello child of abusive home). Not to oversimplify his character, but one crucial element of his upbringing must be considered if he is to be analyzed properly.

There's something I often think about:

Comte, quoting Leonardo: "‘Not all parents love their children, or even think of them as such.’" [Though he got away and was able to make a life for himself, he had to do it alone.]

There is. A LOT to unpack here. While we may not have evidence of what his familia is like firsthand, this description tells us...so many heartbreaking things. It tells us that Leonardo never once felt like anything more than a child intended to carry on a legacy. The likelihood that his insights, his feelings, or his entire self-hood were acknowledged is pretty much at a hardcore negative three. While it's been a good number of years since he was the problem child/family disappointment, I feel like so many of those experiences seep into his capacity to properly accept the love of another person. It's a good portion of the reason he struggles so intensely with being loved despite his unfathomable wealth of affection for other people. When a person is diagnosed with unlovable and cringe for having positive feelings for others, it's not really surprising that a person might have trouble accepting a commitment or attraction to another person. There is...a kind of Sisyphus dilemma that surfaces in the wake of that kind of life, a constant push + pull between craving acceptance and either expecting it’s loss and/or fearing it’s disappointment. Though he shows signs of healing from it, there are still portions that linger. (Jean-Paul shakes him from this self-berating in his MS, but after four hundred years he still struggles to overcome those instincts. I wish there were words for the extent to which that knowledge breaks my heart...Many say time heals all wounds, but sometimes I think only others can heal them.)

Keep in mind, I don't think his enduring fallacy that "human beings are the epitome of untainted purpose and vitality" is irrelevant or less problematic here. I just think it's a reflection of a deeper disturbance and loss. It's a reflection of his parents' unilateral rejection of the kinder parts of him; his devotion to patience and understanding. It's a kind of reiteration or what he's already known: he's doing exactly what his parents did in an odd way, he's rejecting vampirism whole-scale despite evidence of both pros and cons (just as it is for humanity). I will always offer that his fear of something going wrong during the change is completely valid--but it does feel more like a fear of admitting that vampires (and eternity for that matter) aren't inherently awful. He ran away from his parents for good reason of course, but for all his running he didn’t escape their black and white logic.

It’s funny too, because his absolutism is kind of reflected in his inability to commit to a single discipline in some ways; while part of it is that he probably exhausts study, I have to wonder how much of him oscillating is a fear of eventual failure. (Think his reaction to MC’s knowledge that he can’t dance, his mortification and utter...shock that she wouldn’t use it as a way to make him feel terrible about himself). He probably prefers to hone his skills helping people because the motivation of providing relief is a much more powerful motivator than knowledge for knowledge’s own sake. He needs the impetus, that drive to move him.

Granted, I won't fault anyone for feeling like Leonardo only loves MC for her humanity. At first glance it really did feel that way! But the more I think about it, the more I feel it has more to do with the weight of his life's experience, and the parts of himself he hasn’t been able to reconcile.

Sometimes, with Leonardo, I urge gentleness. So much of who he is disguises all the ways in which he has been hurt. While his decision is selfish and foolish, it comes from a broken place. My unhappiness will always lie predominantly with the fact that he believes to his core that happiness and self-respect is something he doesn’t deserve.

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp mc #ikevamp meta #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #er this response got a lot longer and more detailed than i meant it to be but uh #i hope it's helpful?#this is just how i tend to think about the game but then im also a feral leo stan alhkjadagd #im just that meme like 'i love you but i hate you but i love you' with leo LMFAO #sometimes u just gotta smack some sense into the man (which is why i love that Jean-Paul does exactly that HAHAHA)#but yeah most of the time i look at leo and have to resist the urge to cry and the recent event has been absolutely no exception #i would die for him

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stumacherstan · 5 years ago

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Hey if youre still taking monster requests, can we get a orc x reader where the reader is either a kumiho, a nixie, or a naga? Sorry if not and thank you if you can!

Orc x naga!Reader One-shot:

The forest was beautiful was as always. The lights scattered in between the trees. The birds were singing their melody to soothe any wandered and the inhabitants of the land. The sweet smell of trees and and suffocating pollin.

A loud booming of a newcomer disrupted the peace. The tall orc panted as he was running through the trees, as if he was escaping something. Orcs are usually strong and feared, hardly anyone tries to attack them. However if a group of people are rallied up, people tend to gang up. And unfortunately Orc’s tusks sell high in black markets.

The muscular orc, Wraog, was trying to lose the people behind him. He was just trying to get the next closest village for his people who need a certain plant to heal the ongoing sickness that was going on. He was already tired of 3 days of walking and didn’t have the strength to fight off a group of mages. Wraog was slowly getting lost himself, forgetting trees and saw himself trapped between wilderness and a cave.

“You’re trapped now Orc, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way.” A sleazy voice called out to him, almost too smug for comfort.

“It doesn’t matter really, we’ll try to make it painless. Choose the easy way.” Another light aired voice, as if they weren’t going to saw off his tusks and cut his hair.

Wraog saw 3 other people emerge and he didn’t know how big the cave was. He quickly grabbed his dagger and got into a fighting position. “You can try it, but I won’t go down without a fight.”

“Ah so the hard way it is, I was hoping for this. I was getting bored of easy targets.” The once again annoying sleazy voice said.

Meanwhile, you were napping in your cave. A whole day of picking herbs for your tea and drinking in the sunlight on top of your cave. It was a productive day and you fed a couple days ago. Life was great. Peace was yours. Then it wasn’t.

You felt the ground beneath you tremor which woke you up from your slumber. You groaned and strained your ears to detect anything. You heard voices and curiosity was caught on the hook. You slowly slithered out, but not enough to be seen, to see what was going on. You cringed at the whole commotion, lowlife hunters ganging up on another victim. You hated weaklings that felt hunting in numbers were better.

You saw the whole fight go down and the orc was slowly losing no matter how much he countered. You normally didn’t care too much about others, as you only had to take care of yourself to survive. But they were on your territory and you had time to spare.

You quickly striked out and grabbed one with your tail and slammed them down on the dirt. You grabbed one that was on the orc’s back and bit into his arm, ejecting some venom that was gonna hurt for weeks. “You’re all dissssturbing my sssssleep!” You hissed out.

“Holy shit, a naga. We’re in luck! Get them!”

However they were outnumbered by the strength of an awoken naga and an orc. You both quickly defeated them. They had to run off with their numbers dwindled.

You spit on the dead and shook your head. “I hate mages. Little shitheadssss.” You looked up at the slightly beat up Orc. “I don’t really care in particular, but are you okay?”

Wraog’s legs shook and he fell onto the floor, clearly tired. As any normal being would after trying to fight off five mages by themselves.

“Hey! Get up!!” You shouted at him. You poked his side and groaned. “I guess I’ll take care of you,” you grumbled. You heaved and grabbed him by the legs, you started trudging in your cave. “By the stars, you’re so,,, heavy!”

You finally got him inside and wiped your forehead if any sweat. You got a rag and wet it with well water and cleaned his dirtied faced, rinsed the rag in a bucket, and soaked it in clean water once again. “You poor thing, never seen a orc almost be defeated.” You uttered softly as you placed the wet rag on his forehead.

You quickly cleaned up any of his wounds and fed the starving fire in your cave. You checked him once again just to make sure there wasn’t any other harm done and went into your corner of bedding to pick out a warm blanket to put over him. “Sleep well big one.”

Wraog’s purple eyes burst open. A wonderful smell of stew lowed into his nostrils like a sweet dance. He groaned as he sat up. “Where am I?” The slightly moist rag fell onto his lap, he picked it up and inspected it.

“A ssssimple thank you would ssssuffice,” you answered. You stirred the cauldron and added little pinches of seasoning. It was already done but you were adding finishing touches.

“Oh, you’re the one who helped me.” His eyes traveled down to your tail and widened in surprises. Usually Nagas were selfish creatures and kept to themselves. “Thank you very much, I’m Wraog.”

“I’m (Y/N).” You got out a bowl. “It was really no problem, someone had to teach those poachers a lesson at some point.” You poured the stew into a bowl and handed it to him as well as a glass of water.

He sloppily smiled at you, tusks in the way and all, and grabbed the bowl and glass. “I very much appreciate this.” He slowly ate since he wanted to savor it.

“May I asssk why you were in the foressst?”

“I was trying to get to the next village as mine own has been struck by a sickness. I don’t know the herbs name but I have the notes as to what it is, I was seeking help before I got ambushed.” Wraog wiped his mouth of any excess. “This is really good.”

It wasn’t your place, and you didn’t really care about his people. But you kept getting reeled in. “How bad is the illness?” You noted that he complimented your food. A very respectful orc.

“None of the witch doctors can help without the herb. It’s slowly spreading and getting worse. I hate seeing my people get quarantined.” Wraog looked down. “I hope I can heal soon so I can stop bothering me. You’ve done so much for me already.”

like most nagas, you couldn’t really express emotions well. “Well that sssucksss, let me see your list. Maybe I could be of sssome assssitance sssso you can leave ssssooner. Let me see your notessss.” You stuck out your hand patiently.

Wraog’s eyes lit up like a puppy, excited and cute. “Really? This means so much, I’ll make sure to never bother you again.” He dug his big hands into his pockets and pulled out a small black book. “It’s right here.” He flipped to the page and handed it to you.

You read through everything, your tails tip sticking around impatiently as you drank in the information. “I know what herb thisss isss, I don’t ussse it often unlessss I’m ssssick as well. A very good rememdy that helps. I have ssssome and know where to fetch ssssome more.” You glanced at him then looked away. “You can sssstay here, don’t make too much of a messss.”

“Isn’t it too dark by now? Shouldn’t you also rest after fighting?” Wraog cocked his head like a concerned dog. “Don’t overwhelm yourself.”

Your stomach fluttered but you clicked your tongue in annoyance as to not show your true feelings. “Then I’ll go out in the morning if that’ll ssssoothe you, I don’t want you messsing up your ssstitchessss like the big oaf you are.” You quickly served yourself and ate it delicately.

Wraog wasn’t use to silence, he was use to boasting and chatters filling up the air. He looked around your cave that was big enough for him and you. “Very homey. Suits you.”

You raised an eyebrow. Ah orcs, always the talkative ones. “Thank you.”

Wraog nervously chewed on his lip, he hated awkward silences. He could talk on forever. “Your scales are also very beautiful! Hard to believe you live alone with your beauty.” The word vomit came out and his green face exploded into a darker shade.

Your tail stopped rattling and your ears once again heated up. You coughed awkwardly, trying to make sense of the scene. “I, I choose to live alone. Male nagassss are too ignorant for my liking. No point of mating with sssomeone who I won’t enjoy ssspending time with. What about you? A mate?” You inquired, not because you wanted to pursue. It was just a curious thing seeing it was brought up.

“Ah I see, a beauty against the world. No wonder, I wouldn’t have expected you to be mateless but by choice makes more sense,” Wraog warmly smiled, “I don’t have a partner either. Haven’t found anyone specifically who’s peaked my interests.”

You decided to flirt a little, “I wouldn’t expect a handsome sssweet orc like you to be sssingle. I’m sure you have the ladiesss lining up.”

Wraog felt his heart beat a little faster. “Not normally or maybe Im oblivious to it.” He accidentally yawned, killing the mood.

“Well-“ You grabbed his empty bowl and cup, “I sssuppose it’s time for us to sleep. I gotta get up early to fetch your herbs. Rest well Wraog.” You coiled up in your comfy corner with pillows and blankets and fell asleep peacefully.

Wraog had a more difficulty falling asleep, he couldn’t help be marveled by you. A sweet beautiful naga out here by themselves? You were sweet and sour and it certainly peaked his interests. His eyes wandered all over your form till he himself fell asleep.

————————————————

The next morning, you stretched and cracked any stiff bones. You looked to see Wraog sleeping and smiled softly. You quietly slithered to him and looked at his face with deeper insight. You noticed how his look hair draped over him with delicacy, how he breathed heavily due to tusks being in the way, how sharp his tusks were, and how he just seemed at peace. Your hand swiftly caressed him before you giggled and left the cave by yourself with a basket.

You inhaled the sweet air and listened to the birds sing their song. You looked for the sweet purple and orange plant that could help save his village. You went by the river that held the most of the herb. You carefully picked them without cutting yourself on the prickly thorns at the bottom and laid it down in your basket. You repeated this action until your basket was full and made your own way home.

Wraog had woke up and sat up rather quickly when he saw you were gone. “They’ve gone out to get the herb, right.” He told himself. He tried to make himself busy as by making some breakfast, although he wasn’t sure what you liked or where most of your utensils were.

Still, Wraog tried his best. He carefully broke the eggs and beated the yolk and poured into the skillet. He added salt and pepper and left it to sit. He started on the small rations of the mysterious meat, he tried not to think about it. He cut it into pieces and mixed it with the eggs and folded the eggs with meat inside. Wraog was sure to add spices and although he was confident it tasted good, but it didn’t look appealing. Your food looked appealing and his looked like a mess.

He carefully scooped portions out in your bowl and his bowl. He poured water for both of your cups. Wraog decided to be cute and go outside and pick some bright (colored) flowers that matched your tail. He put in the middle of the table. “Damn, I’m stupid. I don’t know when they’re getting back.”

“I’m back?” You declared. You raised your eyebrow to the messy breakfast before you. “I see that you prepared food for the both of us, thank you.” You set your basket down and coiled up next to the table. “You worked really hard on this. I appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do since you helped me so much.” Wraog’s face darkened a deep green as he felt his stomach flutter with butteries at your soft smile. “Those are enough for those of the sick, I should be thank you the most.”

“You can thank me again when I escort you out the forest. That’ll be the last thank you.”

“I don’t think I’ll need an escort. I can handle myself.” Although he secretly wants to spend more time with you.

“Do you even know how to get out of here?”

“Oh-“ Wraog felt even more embarrassed and probably looked like an idiot in front of you now. “No.”

“That’s why you need an escort you oaf.” Your words were not bitter, just playful. You started to eat and your eyes turned into slits at the taste. “This is amazing!”

“I tried my best, I’m glad you like it.” Wraog smiled with pride. “After all, you deserve the best.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you continued to eat.

____

After breakfast was finished, you put the plates into a corner where you would wash them later. You grabbed a sun hat and bag full of water so you wouldn’t dehydrate on your small journey. “Do you have the strength to carry the basket all the way home?” You asked the orc who was standing outside your cave now.

“Yes, I’m fully rested now and you’ve taken care of you quite well, and fortunately I heal fast thanks to your herbs.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay give me a couple of more minutes.” You remembered how he said it took him three days to get where he was before he was ambushed and packed him a different bag for his own supplies so he can be okay for the trip. You hated seeming soft so you exited your cave and gently threw the bag at his feet. “Your supplies so you don’t die on the way back, your people depend on you.”

“You’re too kind to me.” Wraog couldn’t help but give you smooth forehead a smooch. “I’m glad I stumbled up on even if it was caused by those damn mages.”

Your face blossomed with color and you looked down so he couldn’t see your slitted eyes. “Whatever, let’s go.”

You led the way the whole time, you rarely leave the forest. Only leaving when you need specific supplies, but you usually take short cuts and use your speed to your advantage. Orcs aren’t as fast as nagas so you slowed down your pace for Wraog.

“You know, when I’m not running from mages. The scenery is very beautiful.” Wraog commented, once again hating the silence.

“I suppose it is, I never really took the time to stop and smell the flowers. I usually go wherever I’m headed without slowing down.”

“Fast paced life huh?”

“I guess I’m just use to do everything by myself and just keeping myself busy since I live alone that my set routine stops me from doing new things.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“Nagas are usually lonely creatures. Too territorial unless they have a mate or kids. So I guess you can say I’m use to it.”

“Well does it get boring?”

“I sleep away my boredom.” You paused. “I also read books and imagine myself as the character. It’s really nice.”

“Well, if you’d like, I can always stop by and hang out with you. I have a good sense of direction.”

“It took you three days to even get here, why would you do that just to see me?” You turned your head to look at him as you kept on slithering your way through.

Wraog shyly looked up at the sky, “You’ve really peaked my interest, and I think you’re really cute and interesting and kind. I wouldn’t mind traveling to see you.”

You turned your head back as your face flushed, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind. In fact, I would like that. You’re kind too and cute as well.” You muttered the cute part although he heard you pretty clear.

As you guys chartered more, soon enough the clearing. The clearing showed the path of where Wraog was walking.

“Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

“Not goodbye (Y/N), see you later.”

“Oh right! See you later.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Wraog bent down a little bit to peck your cheek. “Thank you once again for everything, maybe one day we could be more.”

Your eyes turned into slits once again and your ears burned. You closed your eyes and hugged him, taking in his scent so you could remember it until he came back. “Thank you for giving me a chance. See you soon.” You let go although it took him a little longer to let go of you.

Wraog waved as he started walking, and you watched him till he was nothing but a speck.

#orc #monsterlover #monster boyfriend #orc boyfriend #orc x reader #monster x reader #exophilia

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neuxue · 5 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight prologue (part 3)

Levelling up and last stands

Graendal to Galad, and now Galad to Padan Fain. It’s like alignment whiplash.

The sky was black. A tempest. He liked that, though he hated the one who caused it.

This is great because there’s just a hint of ambiguity to who that actually may be. Rand? Or the Dark One? And when you have to ask, even for a second…well, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it.

Hatred. It was the proof that he still lived, the one emotion left.

Well, that’s one more than Rand at any rate.

(Pre-Dragonmount, I mean).

Padan Fain exists to chew scenery and you know what buddy? Chew away. Live your dreams.

Did his hatred cause that storm? It must be so. Yes.

Sorry Fain; pretty sure Rand has first claim on I am the storm. He just carries it better, you see. It’s a good look on him and we don’t mess with that.

I typo-ed that as ‘it’s a god look on him’ and really… either way.

When you accepted madness into yourself – embraced it and drank it in as if it were sunlight or water or the air itself – it became another part of you.

I’m mostly amused by how similar this sounds to the wording of Egwene thinking of how the Aiel handle pain. In this case I don’t think it’s particularly intentional or meaningful or anything, but it amuses me.

Another part of you. Like a hand or an eye.

Not sure those are the best examples, given Rand and also very likely at some point Mat, but sure.

He was finally free.

Has something changed? Oh, wait. Is this the first we’ve seen of him since saidin was cleansed? And Shadar Logoth destroyed? I think it is, in which case… interesting. Particularly interesting since it doesn’t seem to have affected the dagger’s power – Fain’s still obsessed with his precious, at any rate – and last we heard Rand’s wound(s) hadn’t healed. But Shadar Logoth was destroyed, and its power seemingly with it, more or less, and so now Fain or Mordeth or Smeagol or whoever he is these days is free, in a manner of speaking. That’ll end well for everyone involved, I’m sure.

Oh he killed a worm. And he’s in the Blight so that’s a Worm. Im…pressive?

Mist had begun to trail him, creeping up from the ground. Was that mist his madness, or was it his hatred? It was so familiar. It twisted around his ankles and liked at his heels.

Like a yellow fog, that rubs its back upon the window panes, a yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window panes, licks its tongue into the corners of the evening…

No? Or perhaps like, say, Mashadar? I mean, maybe it’s nothing, but if it’s not nothing, that’s… concerning. Were more things freed than Fain, in the ruination of Shadar Logoth? Open to give the world hope but did it also release some element of despair?

The mist struck.

And unless we’ve transported into one of Sanderson’s original works, that means I’m right and the cleansing of saidin did indeed have some… unintended consequences. Which is fitting, in a grander sense of balance, but still kind of… well, sad.

So Fain has levelled up again, it would seem, which is the outcome absolutely no one needed.

That said, he played enough of a part early on, and enough has been made of him from time to time afterwards, that it would be kind of weird to leave him out of the ending. Personally I wouldn’t particularly mind; watching him chew scenery is fun enough from time to time but the rest of the time I sort of tend to forget about him, and I’m not particularly invested in anything to do with him, and the slightly more critical side of me wonders if he was ever truly necessary as a character… but at this point in a series, once you have a character like that, dropping them now would feel untidy. It would feel like an oversight, or like lazy plotting.

Which is hard, when everything about him suggests that his entire purpose is to be a wildcard character. He doesn’t have a clear fated role to play in all of this, unless it’s something to do with his link to the dagger and, via that, to Mat somehow.

Instead, he’s a powerful entity on a third side in a two-sided war. Yes, there are far more factions than that within each of those sides, and so much of the point of the last several books has been that lack of unity, and the tragedy but perhaps inevitability of fighting against those who should be your allies, of losing sight of the larger conflict in favour of the smaller and more immediate ones, and of trying to forge some kind of alliance despite that, and the ways in which that can succeed or fail.

But Fain is less a part of that and more a completely outside element. Not, in a way, unlike Aridhol itself was, as it became Shadar Logoth. A darkness and an evil that came from a form of the Light and its hatred of the Shadow and, over time, twisted. And therefore was an evil that was not truly of the Shadow, but was no longer an ally of the Light. Instead it was its own poison.

That’s kind of what Fain is. Which certainly has potential, as a story element, but I am curious to see how that’s played, and how well it’s played, given the sheer volume of characters we’re dealing with, and the size of this conflict, and the many other themes already at play. Can his role, whatever it is, end up feeling satisfying? I guess we’ll read and find out on that one.

Anyway, that was a bit of a tangent, but the point of it was: yes, he’s levelled up, because I think he has to in order to have a hope of having his part in the ending being interesting or satisfying.

Red below, black above. Red and black, red and black, so much red and black.

See, the thing is, I know for a fact that Brandon Sanderson is a fan of Les Miserables, so I am fully justified in humming ‘red, the blood of angry men; black, the dark of ages past….’

Also, Moridin would approve. Of the colour scheme, if nothing else.

And also of the chaos. Some say the world will end in (bale)fire, some say in ice, and Padan Fain says fuck it why not evil killer mist. Less poetic but sure.

(Let’s play a little game called: over the course of the liveblog, how much of an English Literature syllabus do we think I’ve referenced? …on second thought let’s not play that game)

Oh, the Trollocs didn’t die, they just got a Mashadar Makeover and now they’re competing for Malkier’s Blight’s Next Top Abomination.

He left the Myrddraal. It would not rise, as rumours said they did. His touch now brought instant death to one of its kind. Pity. He had a few nails he might have otherwise put to good use.

Perhaps he should get some gloves. But if he did, he couldn’t cut his hand. What a problem.

The thing is, while the style here is very Sanderson, for a character like Fain it actually works pretty well. Which is mainly, I think, because I have long suspected Sanderson has a soft spot for writing characters who are utterly batshit and having the time of their lives with it. Pass the scenery, and the salt. Yum.

Like an old friend. A dear, beloved old friend that you were going to stab through the eye, open up at the gut and consume by handfuls while drinking his blood. That was the proper way to treat friends.

Sure, it lacks the undertone of beautiful horror, and the poetry of Machin Shin whispering about braiding flayed skin, which is in a way a shame. But it conveys the essential message and character, and at least for me, this works well as an example of Sanderson’s approach of not trying to imitate style because that could go so badly, but instead emulating the feel of the story itself. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but here, at least for me, it does.

It's ironic in a way that it’s a similar thing to what he’s done with Mat, but it has the opposite effect. With Mat – I’ve written about this elsewhere, but tl;dr is that I think he read Mat as funny and so tried to write Mat as funny, using his own methods rather than Jordan’s because imitating style exactly is a lost cause, but something very essential was lost in the translation (like the fact that Mat himself isn’t really humorous; it more comes from the contrast of his thoughts with his actions, and his character against the world around him, but I digress again). So he went for ‘convey the same idea through my own methods rather than trying to imitate Jordan’s’ – consciously or subconsciously – and it backfired. But with Fain, he’s taken the same approach – ‘convey a scenery-chewing wildcard who has lost every mind he’s possessed, which is several’ – and this time the same-idea-different-style still gets that across in a way that feels true to character.

Obviously mileage can and will vary on whether or not this works, but for me it’s just an interesting study in how a certain approach or method can succeed or fail depending on exactly how and where it’s applied, and what the cause of that success or failure may be – why it works in one place but not another, and what went right or wrong.

It is, I think, something of a writing exercise if you want to turn it into one. A bit like reverse-engineering an outline from a book you’ve read (I do this often; I realised at some point that I was doing it and then I made a point of doing it deliberately, and it’s super interesting, and for me at least it’s helped me think more deliberately about the structure of a story, and how that can be leveraged for different effects). But thinking about the specifics of what does or doesn’t work for you about the authorship switch – a particular character, or a scene, or the pacing, or the handling of a certain theme, or anything else – and then digging into the specifics of why it works, or doesn’t.

That, for me, has been more interesting than just picking out the differences. Sure, I’ll nitpick, but I prefer not to focus on it, because ‘this is different’ feels… kind of pointless. Of course it’s different. Figuring out exactly what is different, or why it’s different is interesting sometimes. But also figuring out where and how that difference matters or doesn’t is more what I’m trying to get at here. Because some of the differences, I don’t mind. Some, I do. And trying to understand why I mind some and not others has been helpful at least for me in, again, understanding all of those elements of a story or piece of writing better, and thinking about how they could be used or changed or recombined.

But then, I’m the kind of person who likes to take things apart to figure out how they work. And also to overthink every goddamn text I consume.

Still, it’s a fun one if you’re in the market for writing exercises to try whilst in quarantine.

Malenarin Rai. Bold of you to introduce a new POV character in the penultimate book of a series that already has dozens if not hundreds, but that’s WoT for you.

Also it’s a prologue so the rules are different.

Heeth Tower is a weird name. Heeth. But then, I don’t think Sanderson has ever been quite as good with names as Jordan was. And that’s the sort of change I’m not going to get too worked up over. (Also, it was Jordan who gave us Mountains of Dhoom, so I rest my case).

The whistling wind rattled the wooden shutter.

It’s not time for the wind yet; we’re still in the prologue! Wait your turn, wind; chapter one should be here any day now.

Using a Trolloc horn as a paperweight is pretty badass, Malenarin, but Furyk Karede and his human skull wineglass might offer some competition.

I don’t think we’ve spent much – any, depending on where exactly the scene in TPoD’s prologue takes place – time in Kandor outside of New Spring. I guess we’ve got to finish filling in the map now; we’ve only got one book left!

Malenarin’s son is turning fourteen soon, so he might just be lucky enough to get Tarmon Gai’don as a birthday party.

He smiled, setting the Trolloc horn on the note, in case that shutter broke open again. He’d slain the Trolloc who had borne that horn himself. Then he walked over to the side of his office and opened his battered oak trunk. Among the other effects inside was a cloth-wrapped sword, the brown scabbard kept well oiled and maintained, but faded with time.

Typing it out, it’s not even that similar, but reading this my first thought was of Tam al’Thor, pulling out his old trunk and his old sword at the beginning of The Eye of the World, before giving it to Rand as he sets off on his coming-of-age story.

To have a duty was to have pride – just as to bear a burden was to gain strength.

In moderation, though. *Looks pointedly at Rand al’Thor*

I still don’t understand how turning their backs on the Blight to go find the Dragon Reborn to tell him to pay attention to the Blight is a good idea for the Borderland rulers. I must be missing something here and I hope it is eventually revealed to me, because otherwise that is terrible strategy on so many counts.

The only way to go to the fourth level was to climb a narrow, collapsible ramp on the outside of the tower

What could possibly go wrong? I mean, last time we were in Kandor a kid was thrown off a balcony, so…

[Jargen] wore a cord looped around the shoulder of his brown uniform; it bore a knot for each Trolloc he’d killed. There had to be approaching fifty knots in the thing by now.

That’s cute, Rand says, flicking dust off his shoulder Luke-Skywalker-in-The-Last-Jedi style, and flicking some Arrows of Fire off with it to torch another thousand or so Trollocs without breaking a sweat.

But okay, yes, for an ordinary non-protagonist non-Lan in a random guard tower in Kandor, I suppose that qualifies as pretty badass.

The beacons have been lit! Gondor Rena Tower calls for aid!

Pretty sure that’s your cue, Lan.

Or not; Malenarin seems to think it’s his cue to confirm the SOS and start preparing the tower for… bad things, probably.

Seriously, wind, wait your turn.

Of course his son is next on the list of messenger boys to be sent out. Well, it’s a better fate than being thrown off a balcony at least. Maybe.

‘No, we need to send several messengers. Double up. Just in case the towers fall.’

Do you have any uncrowned infant kings you want to send as well? Just checking.

Malenarin let himself feel a hint of relief that his son was one of those riding to safety. There was no dishonour in that; the messages needed to be delivered, and Keemlin was next on the roster.

There is a kind of parallel here – less a parallel, perhaps, than an echo – to Lan. A son sent to safety as a Borderland hold prepares to fall, the sense of a last stand. Because in the Borderlands perhaps that is not so unusual a story, in its way. The Wheel of Time turns.

It was time for Tarmon Gai’don. And looking out into the storm, Malenarin thought he could see to the very edge of time itself. An edge that was not so far distant.

Maybe you should have a dream-chat with Moridin, Malenarin. Maybe it’s just the air in the Blight: gives you nihilist thoughts.

Oh oops, his son wasn’t one of the messengers to go. Because he decided to be all noble and let another boy go in his place, whose mother had already lost four sons. That’s sweet, kid, and it’ll probably get you killed.

Tian, Sanderson? Named after another ill-fated messenger boy in your own works, perhaps?

‘Run down to my office,’ Malenarin said. ‘There is a sword in my oaken trunk. Fetch it for me.’

Aw. Because his son has proven himself a man, three whole days early. Because we’re approaching the end now, and it’s time for everyone to take their last steps into their roles, become who they must be to face that end – whether they’re a protagonist or just some poor doomed kid in a tower in the Blight.

It's something these kinds of snapshot one-off scenes are good for: to show the scope of the story, that it touches everyone, no matter that they’ve never even met Rand or any of the others. And to give this sense of those final steps happening in snapshots like this across the land. The sense of an entire world taking a last deep breath. And so we pause for brief close-ups on the faces of some of the extras stepping onto the battlefield, to illustrate that.

Keemlin’s swearing his version of the ‘kill the bad things until we die or they do’ that every Borderland (and Aiel) nation seems to have, each with its own slight semantic variations.

‘Rise as a man, my son!’

This is no place, or time, for children. Ergo, he can no longer be a child, by simple virtue of being here. Which makes this a rather bittersweet moment; Malenarin’s proud of his son but there’s also this sense that far too many children are having to grow up far too fast in these last moments (and others will never grow up at all – in today’s theme of referencing poetry I like, go check out The Lads in their Hundreds).

They yelled defiance of the Shadow. For a moment, their voices rang louder than the thunder.

I don’t have a lot to say about this except that it’s a lovely image.

Together they turned to face the oncoming Shadow.

Nice knowing you.

Draghkar overhead and Trollocs oncoming, and they’re just a lonely tower waiting to die. I do love a doomed last stand, even if it’s characters I’ve never met before and likely will never see again.

Malenarin was a man of the Borderlands, same as his father, same as his son beside him. They knew their task. You held until you were relieved.

THAT’S YOUR CUE, LAN.

Next (ToM ch 1) Previous (ToM prologue pt.2)

#i definitely did not split up this prologue correctly #oh well it's done now #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

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faythelyse · 4 years ago

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Joji x Reader {female reader} Apocalyptic setting. Part two.

It had been about a week since I had invited the two new men to our community. Tending to George became a regular part of my day. Cleaning the wound and dressing it atleast 2 times a day. He has slept through all of it, I wonder when he will come to. Ben and Ashlee have been going out every day for a supply run. We haven't been this stocked since everything shut down.

Ashlee had grown close to Ben already, they go out frequently on supply runs, and spend most of their waking time fixing up the truck that is now currently running. To top it all off we haven't seen any infected near the community in 3 days. On my way to now to what is basically George and Bens room. I think they might end up living here for a long time. The thought of that made me smile.

I walk in medical bag in hand ready to dress up his wound. He was actually sitting up with his legs crossed. He appeared groggy, but smiled as I entered. "Did you sleep well?" I asked in a happy tone. Sitting next to him I open up my bag and start getting stuff ready. George starts to try and rip at the medical tape around his bandages.

I reach out and stop him with my hand. "Here let me help" I take a cotton ball and soak it in baby oil and wipe it all around the edges of the tape. He watches quietly.

"Let that sit a bit." I got up to throw the cotton ball away and his eyes followed me around the room.

"Thank you" he says as I sit back in front of him. "Where is Ben? "How long have I been out?"

"Ben is out in the garage with Ashlee, unless they have left already. They are heading out to get stuff to build up our walls a bit more, and you have been out for about 5 days. Did you dream?"

He rubbed his eyes "Um. Yeah, I did." He watched as I pulled out new clean bandages and tape. I start to softly pull off the tape around his ribs and chest. "You've been taking care of me all this time." I nod and continue to remove everything.

He winces as I clean his injury. Its healing. "You are lucky. It seems to be healing up great."

"Thanks to you.. We were lucky to stumble across you. I don't even recall what your name is."

"It's Y/N, if there's anything else you need just let me know" Right as I was close to the door he speaks up again.

"Can you just stay a moment with me. Ben and I haven't seen any others in months. It's nice to just be around someone who isn't infected."

"I understand. The girls and I who make up this community were getting restless not having anyone else to communicate with besides the raiders who come by to give us a hard time and steal our food."

"Raiders come and steal your food?" George looked genuinely worried knowing we really weren't in a good position to fight back.

"They killed Elenas fiance awhile back. We have tolerated them ever since." You look away not knowing what else to say on the subject. You couldn't yet explain to him that one of the raiders was especially infatuated with you and you had no choice but to go on tolerating it with no real way to fight back.

You change the subject "SO what did you do before the world shut down?"

"I made music. I still make music really. Just no ones around to hear it.. " He scratches the back of his neck nervously. "I heard you singing the other day when you came in to clean up the room."

You immediately blush. You don't sing in front of anyone.

"Don't be embarrassed" he laughed so casually "Y/N you sounded beautiful."

You smile nervously still not able to say anything. You could feel your face get hot as he just sat and stared at you for a moment.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to secretly listen in, I just didn't want you to stop.."

Ashlee opens the door "Y/N! We kind of have a small emergency." She motions for you to follow her. Before you leave you grab a pen and some paper from the desk in the corner of the room and lay it on Georges lap. "To write music." You say and smile before leaving the room.

George feeling great about finally having someone else to bond with besides Ben is immediately struck with inspiration and starts writing. George glances over at the green coat he had been injured in and has a flash of memories about the night he had met you. The tone of your sweet voice bounces around his head. Your messy hair, soft eyes and pouty lips had immediately drawn him to you. He wanted to know you.

Ben bursts in and plops down whilst shoving an immense amount of potatoe chips into his mouth. "They have ramen" he says with a mouthful. George rolls his eyes and smiles at his friend. "Yeah Im doing fine, thanks for asking dickhead."

"Aw come on, I knew you'd be fine, you've literally eaten a hair cake and survived." Ben laughs and shoves more chips in his mouth.

"You keep bringing that up like it's some life achievement." George manages to stand up and leans up against the wall next to the window. Ben walks over and gazes out the window with him. Ashlee and Y/N are outside trying their best to catch a mean goose that had laid her eggs in Elenas garden. They had plans to catch and breed her for food. George and Ben laugh quietly while watching this go down. "So what do you think of the girls? They seem great right?" Ben watches Ashlee, he is clearly into her.

"I actually completely agree with you on this one. They are great.." He says while thinking of you. "What if the people who gave me this" he points out his woind" find us here. Then we are putting them in danger."

Bens expression turns serious. "How are they going to find us? Besides if I see those fuckers again I'll be prepared this time."

"They found us last time, and we barely escaped.."

"That was last time, this is different. Have trust." Ben slaps George on the shoulder and starts to leave " Besides, we owe these girls. It wont hurt to stay awhile."

"And your dick has no alternative motivation for this?"

Ben smirks "Of course not, I have no idea what you are implying. " he shuts the door behind him.

George still by the window looks over the area for a moment. A garden was out in the right corner of the yard where a young woman was planting seeds while talking to

Y/N, who was sitting on a nearby stone bench. She appeared to be writing. George thought for a long time on if staying here was the right choice but something about Y/N made him want to linger a bit longer.

He walked outside, and stood behind y/n for a moment before making her aware of his presence. She was so immersed in her writing she didn't hear him walk up.

"You have nice handwriting." George spoke softly but his gentle voice made y/n jump even higher. "Jesus, you scared me. Also its rude to spy on someone who is so obviously journaling." You slam your book shut hoping he hadn't read to much into what you were writing. His big dark brown eyes lightened slightly in the sun. "Could I get a tour of the place? We can talk about how to pay off my debt to you. I really owe you my life." He was serious. You stand up and glance over at Elena. Elena looks up and waves her hand at you giving you the okay to leave her to her garden. "Sounds good, I'll show you around." You lead him out the gate into the front yard. You turn around and show him the full outside view of the house. "This is where we lived before we combined the house behind us, we decided it would be better to have a larger space, and fenced in both backyards, even cleared the second house. Now we have plenty of room in and out without having to worry about infected." You both walk back in, you lead him around the kichen and show him to all the rooms. "Where is your room?" You are starting to get the sense he could be flirting with you. You open the last room revealing your space. It was filled with old cds, books and papers, a bed with maybe too many blankets, and couple game systems hooked up to a tv that was plugged into a generator. "Homey" he says as he walks in making himself comfortable and plopping on your bed.

"You seem comfortable." You smile taking in his small gestures and goofy smiles as he gives your room a good look over. "Okay we can move on to the -" he interrupts you "Whats this?" He picks up a wrinkly piece of paper. It was a suicide note you had written a month or so ago after the raiders had killed elenas fiance and deemed you their new play thing. You didn't want to live in a world where you were trying so hard to survive only to get used whenever they decided to come back. Which was about twice a month. Sucked it up though. You care to deeply for all of your friends. You couldn't leave them to a worse fate. "I don't plan on doing that anymore. It's not a big deal." You whisper while looking down out of embarrassment. He walks up to you and pulls your chin up to meet his gaze. "Y/N I'm here to help if you need me." He pulls you into an unexpected hug. You relax in his arms. That was the moment he decided he didn't want to leave. He wanted to hold onto you and this peaceful place as long as possible. This felt like a dream to him. Ben and George had been wandering with no real home for atleast a couple years now. This felt like it could be home. "I'll pay my debt by helping you get rid of those assholes who think they can come by and take whatever they want." You push away from him. You knew this was dangerous, thinking about standing up to them at all made you sick to your stomach. We couldn't continue living in fear though. You nod your head in agreement. And you both walk back outside where everyone was circled up talking.

#jojixreader #george miller #jojifanfiction #fanfiction #jojifanfic #romance

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malcolmfm · 5 years ago

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* 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 , i hope u are all doing fabulous . my name is 𝐤𝐨𝐝𝐲 , & i can’t even begin to explain how excited i am to be a part of this group . i come from the 𝐩𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞 , my pronouns being 𝐬𝐡𝐞 / 𝐡𝐞𝐫 . i am so happy & so fortunate to be able to write with you all , as all your characters are just amazing . if any of u are interested in plotting & becoming the best of friends , please give this post a 🖤 to consent to an endless love spam in ur ims .

new york’s very own malcolm ‘ mac ’ dunn was spotted on broadway street in converse chuck taylor’s . your resemblance to joe keery is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty - fourth birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being contumacious , but also jocular . i guess being a taurus explains that . three things that would paint a better picture of you would be comic filled bookshelves , roughed up sneakers , and laughter floating through a room .

tw ﹕ depression , suicide attempt .

* 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 ﹕ malcolm ronan dunn . 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 ﹕ mac , mac daddy ( no one calls him this , he calls himself this 🙃 ) , mac attack . 𝐚𝐠𝐞 ﹕ twenty - four . 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 ﹕ may thirteenth . 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 ﹕ cismale / he ﹕ him . 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ﹕ heterosexual . 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ﹕ heteromantic . 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 ﹕ american . 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 ﹕ irish , english , scottish . 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 ﹕ malcolm first began his career as an actor during his teenage years with michael cera’s filmography . he has starred in films that include juno , superbad , nick & norah’s infinite playlist , & scott pilgrim vs . the world . since he had the opportunity to help write & produce songs for the spvtw soundtrack , this eventually led to his transition from acting to becoming a musician , claiming twenty one pilots as his sound . currently he has only released the album blurryface , & has recently concluded the blurryface tour . presently , he is now writing & producing songs for his upcoming album , trench . 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨 ﹕ chandler bing friends , ron weasley harry potter , star - lord guardians of the galaxy , steven hyde & michael kelso hybrid that 70s show , scott pilgrim scott pilgrim vs . the world , jim halpert the office , cody ko youtube , beast boy teen titans , steve harrington stranger things .

* 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 .

malcolm ronan dunn is the first born of derrick & vivian dunn , that alone creating a set sum of high expectations for the male descendent . being the genesis of what would eventually be a very famed family , it entails great pressure of being the eldest . being the offspring of a prominent actor during the 80s turned car mogul & one of the most exceptional astrophysicists of this decade , it was said that malcolm was destined to be an extension of their talents . his childhood was as ordinary as any other , attending school & having juvenile interests . . though one prominent influence in his life was music . ever since he was a baby , a set of hazel hues twinkled & cheeks were perked by harmonies that would liven up a room . by the time he was eight years old , he had already been familiar with all of queen’s discography & can partake in a discussion of how music truly defines our society .

advancing several years ahead , malcolm reaching the ripe age of sixteen , it was then he set his sights on becoming an actor . by the time he had made this realization , he had already been writing music of his own & had become what many would consider an expert drummist . however , music was subsided as a hobby for the time being , as his parents insisted that is what it was meant to be , just a hobby . his parents , his father in particular , was very ecstatic to hear that his son’s interests in becoming an actor . with the vast amount of connections he accumulated during his cinematic years , it had only took a single phone call for malcolm to star in his very first film . a quality in which almost anyone who had known mac is how effortlessly comical the boy was , & could light up just about any crowd with vivacious laughter . the boy’s innately jocular mannerisms is what landed him in his first role as evan in the seth rogan production of superbad . this film would end up being one of malcolm’s most prominent roles in his acting career , alongside scott pilgrim . following his comedic role , he starred as paulie bleeker in the romantic drama juno , which would be his first role in the romantic genre . the project that quickly followed afterward was nick & norah’s infinite playlist , leading as nick in a romance accompanied with comedy . after receiving roles back to back , his name began to rise up in day - to - day conversations , especially amongst younger audiences . he accumulated a vast & very dedicated following , all expressing their adoration for the boy & his charmingly dorkish demeanor . once he hit the age of eighteen , it was then when he landed on what would be his final role in a film , for at least awhile . the media was in a frenzy once it was revealed that malcolm would be portraying scott pilgrim in the upcoming picture , scott pilgrim vs . the world , based on the graphic novel series by bryan lee o'malley . malcolm would consider this role to be his personal favorite , as he was already a devout fan of the graphic novels to begin with , so being able to portray one of his most favorite fictional characters . . a dream , he’d say . not only was the spvtw production his favorite because of his role , but because of the heavy influence music had in the film . he was fortunate enough to be able to write & perform on the soundtrack , along the side of the best song writers in the industry . this is what ultimately led to his decision to transition from acting to becoming a musician , & his involvement in this film is what made many people realize that malcolm was quite the virtuoso .

tw ﹕ depression , suicide attempt .

when malcolm had settled on becoming a musician , his mental state began to gradually decline once he revealed this ambition to his parents . to say the least , they were not very supportive of his shift in careers , especially on what career he was shifting onto . considering malcolm did not have much going for him academically , this alone had concerned his parents . being an actor was what they considered to be stability for him , so to be presented with this news was dismaying on their behalf . the pair genuinely had exhibited zero faith in their son becoming a successful musician , & had forewarned him that there were thousands of talented musicians , essentially raising the question ﹕ ❛ what makes you think you will be good enough to make a living out of this ? ❜ . malcolm felt dispirited by his parents lack of encouragement , as well as faith in himself , to pursue the one thing he has been passionate about since the days of his youth . eventually , the voices in his head began to deter him from fulfilling his passion , & convincing him that he has amounted to a failure . among other contributing factors , malcolm eventually slipped into a deep depression for several months . his days would be spent lying in bed , in a state of restlessness , often skipping meals for the fact that he genuinely did not feel like nourishing his body . the mental state he was exhibiting was so detrimental , that his own life began to be at risk . there would be days where he would wonder what would come from ingesting more pills than what he was prescribed , or having his head remain sunk beneath his bath water for more than a few minutes . on one evening in particular , he decided to test his theory , as he had been sprawled upon the tiles of his bathroom , a capsule of his medication clutched within his palm , ebony hues ascended onto the ceiling in what he believed would be his final moments . he was in too deep . . convinced that there was no light at the end of this tunnel . though fortunately enough , his younger sister , discovered him at just the right time & immediately demanded that he receives help .

end trigger warning .

after several months of therapy , the virtuoso had begun feeling tremendously better , his mental wounds somewhat healed though not entirely . during his dark times , he managed to get some writing done , the various pieces which would eventually be released as his first official album , titled blurryface . by the time he had turned twenty two , the album made its debut & became one of the most streamed albums of the year , & won a grammy for top rock album of the year , along with many other achievements . his most popular tracks off the album include stressed out , ride , tear in my heart , & we don’t believe what’s on tv . his second album , trench , is currently in production & will be releasing singles when the time calls for it . while his depression hasn’t been entirely rid of , he a majority of the time is content with the way life is going .

* 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 .

as mentioned before , he is the most comical guy , & often uses humor as a coping mechanism . you are likely to hear him crack a joke at inappropriate times , & find him laughing in scenarios that make him uncomfortable . he often gets himself into trouble for this , naturally . malcolm has a very robin williams - esque to him , where making others laugh & feel happy to be one of his favorite past times . however , you would never suspect that someone so animated would be suffering from depression . admittedly , he has improved since the evening his sister discovered him , but of course , it still continues to creep its way back into his mental . he doesn’t like to talk about what had happened , & it was hidden from the press entirely so he wouldn’t be pitied or constantly reminded of that night . he tends to avoid the topic of it altogether . the man is one of the most loyal people you could ever meet , & would do absolutely anything for those he loves . his sister , markelle , being a prime example of this . he loves his family more than he loves himself , & prioritizes their well being before his own . he often kept his depression disclosed from them , as well as his friends , for he genuinely did not want anyone to be concerned , in spite of having a reason to be . he is always willing to be the hero in someone else’s story , but never his own , which is probably the most heartbreaking yet beautiful aspect about him . he would sacrifice his own life if it meant that the people who he cared about would be safe , & exhibits bravery in any conflict he finds himself in . to those who don’t know him personally , or even people that do , they would simply describe him as a happy go lucky guy who is constantly seeking an adventure .

malcolm is the kind to downplay his achievements , exhibiting a humble attribute , & is truthfully touched by anyone who enjoys his work . having been told that his work always lifts someone’s spirits when they are down , or his films being involved in the most memorable moments in a person’s life . . that shit means the absolute world to him , & gives him a feeling that he would want to live on for a lifetime . the man loves music , & incorporates music in his life on the daily , for it has the biggest influence on him . his stage presence is truly fucking awesome , for you are truly getting your money’s worth by attending a concert of his . he feels alive & a rush when he is standing before thousands of people , & his faith in the world is always restored when he hears the crowd sing in unison as he performs . there is nothing he loves more than music , & music is an element of what makes him who he is . he is extremely supportive of those who pursue music , or anything , really . he has an understanding & admiration for those who are super passionate about their craft . however , he certainly has his unfavorable qualities as well , & we have to keep it 100 in this house . the guy can be an absolute juvenile when he wants to be , & you almost forget that you are dealing with a twenty four year old in conversation at times . his inner child can get the best of him at times , so he may handle certain situations inappropriately . not only that , he can be incredibly stubborn . varying on the cause , if he is adamant about something , he will disregard the opinions of what anyone has to say about it , even if they are looking for his best interest . in spite of all his achievements , he still can be incredibly insecure with himself or his work , & is his own worst critic . considering he isn’t academically acclaimed , he can be a bit dense . . sometimes it’s frustrating , for you genuinely wonder if he utilizes any brain power . sarcasm is one of his many defense mechanisms , & he can be pretty blunt when he wants to be , something offensive slipping from his lips & likely not even acknowledging how insulting it may sound .

#so . fucking . LONG .#i am SO sorry .#my fingers are in pain ODIFJVDOFV .#but hi everyone ily !#let me love u down !#wealthyhq:intro

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hiraethwyl · 5 years ago

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Lyrin’a Muinvel

LFRP – Lyrin’a Muinvel - Balmung

The Basics ––– –

Age: 33

Birthday: 1st sun of the 2nd umbral moon

Race: Miqo’te, Keeper of the Moon

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Demisexual, homoromantic

Physical Appearance ––––

Hair: White with flecks of black, in a choppy kind of cut that falls in his face far more often than he would like. His ears and tail (which is fluffy because of course it is) are white with mingling grey.

Eyes: pale grey

Height: 5'4”

Build: slender, slight

Distinguishing Marks: None

Common Accessories: A satchel resting across his chest and at his side, usually containing various plants, medical supplies, salves, etc, as well as a journal and other odds and ends. Almost always wearing some kind of cloak or outer robe with a hood. A stave. He wears a brace on his left leg though it is hidden in his boot and most people never know about it.

Personal-----

Profession: Conjurer. Most often affiliated with the Conjurers in Gridania, who he assists within the Twelveswood. He’s taken to a bit of wandering in the last few years, visiting the other citystates.

Skills: Conjury. He is also a Hearer, though he doesn’t often admit as much. A fairly decent healer using mundane techniques as well and, retaining some of his Keeper heritage, a surprisingly good tracker.

Languages: Eorzean Common, bits and pieces of whatever Sylphs speak.

Residence: He calls Gridania home, though he doesnt have a permanent residence

Birthplace: The Twelveswood

Religion: Lyrin’a is undecided in how he feels about the twelve. He does give respect to Menphina as any good Keeper should though.

Patron Deity: Menphina, the lover

Fears: Fire, helplessness, and to a lesser extent dragons

Personality: Lyrin’a comes across as very pensive and even a little melancholy. That said he tries very hard to be a comforting presence to those around him. He doesn’t often have much to say, but if one got to know him they might find that the quiet Keeper could be rather chatty. He can seem a bit lost in the moment, like he’s listening to something others around him can’t quite hear. He has a great love for his forest home but he’s drawn to the other beautiful places in Eorzea as well- the oceans and mountains, snow blown valleys and humid tropical reaches. The miqot’e has an inquisitive nature and it isn’t beyond him to straw from beaten paths if something looks intriguing off trail.

Relationships ––––

Children: None.

Parents: Mother; Lyrin Muinvell (deceased), Father; Viss’to Mosroca (alive, probably)

Siblings: Three sisters (deceased), one half sister (alive)

Other Relatives: Possibly

Pets: None

Traits ––––

* Bold/italisize your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––––

Smoking Habit: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess Drugs: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess Alcohol: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess

RP Hooks ––––

* Need a conjurer?: Cliche as it may be, needing a conjurer is probably the fastest way to get his attention. He takes his duty to the art seriously and genuinely wants to help people. Whether its to heal a minor wound or tend to a weird feeling in the twelveswood he’s unlikely to turn you down. ( He might not seem especially keen of people traipsing through the twelveswood but he also doesnt want anyone eaten by the greenwrath)

* He’s probably easy to pick on outside of Gridania: Lyrin’a isnt accustomed to life in large cities like Uldah or the customs of Ishgard. It’s likely he’s going to make some kind of mistake and out himself as an outsider. *Maybe they’ve met before: I’m perfectly happy figuring out a way they’ve met before and are already acquaintances. Maybe they are vague friends or colleagues, or maybe they’ve known each other for years for one reason or another. Skip the awkward get to know you phase and get right into the silly bickering.

--OOC Stuff--

What am I looking for? Anything. Friend, foe, rival, frenemy, possible love interest, possible hate interest, anything is game. Long term is loved but one offs are fine as well. I’m still a bit new to some of the FFXIV lore beyond ARR having just come back to the game so bear with me while I feel my way through things.

I am Eastern US, 21+ adult, open to most themes as far as rp goes but mostly here for some good writing and happy funtimes. I do have a discord, I do not have a carrd for this character yet but any info you may want that isnt on this post or in my tumblr feel free to reach out about Im happy to answer.

@mooglemeet

#lyrin'a #FFXIV #RP #lyrin'a muinvel

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