#i DO think its neat you can tell he was built for speed. but that's for a serious post that i might or might not make later. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ab1tofsp1ce · 3 years

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A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 6: The Bearer of my Stories

Masterlist HERE

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m in the process of getting a masterlist together, which I’ll hopefully post soon. Also, I’m totally open to requests etc if anyone’s interested :)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Angst, fluff and brief mentions of violence

I was sitting on a crate in the hold when the Mandalorian came down from the cockpit, the ship safely in hyperspace. I was leaning up against the wall of the ship next to the ladder, staring at the wall opposite me and trying to catch my breath and slow my heartbeat. He climbed down the ladder and stood at the bottom next to me, watching me but clearly giving me a moment to regain my composure.

“You did well,” he said when I finally looked up at him. “That was quick thinking, with the dagger.”

“I’m glad you gave it to me,” I admitted with a breathy laugh.

“So much for not knowing how to use it,” he said, with a slight smug note to his voice. He suddenly seemed to stiffen up, catching sight of something on me. I realized it was my hands, and this sudden reminder of them made me feel the pain they were in. I looked at them, seeing they were even more scraped and bruised than they had been before.

“I’m – I’m sorry. That was my fault, I threw you too hard.” He strode past me to a cabinet in the wall, which he took a medpack from before bringing it back over and kneeling in front of me.

“No, it’s okay,” I said, trying to get the words out without letting them be swallowed by my nerves. “You did what you had to do. You acted very quickly.”

He took my right hand and sprayed it with a bacta spray. “Not fast enough,” he murmured.

Maybe it was just the shock, but my mind retreated far away from everything, only focusing on what his face must’ve looked like under his helmet. More often by the day I found myself asking this question. If I was less flustered and overcome I may have winced at my shamelessness in this moment. But right now, I saw nothing else. The pain, the sound of the ship, the trembling of my body, the blaster shots ringing in my ears, it all faded away like white noise, and all I felt was his ungloved hands on mine. Maybe he noticed the sudden steadiness of my hand, or felt my gaze on him, because he looked up from his work at me. It sent a shiver down my spine, as he looked at me in that way he always did – expecting an answer to a question he didn’t even need to ask.

“Déjà vu,” I explained, gesturing with a gentle nod of my head to the way he was kneeling in front of me, working on my wounds. He looked back down at my hands with a quiet chuckle.

“For the record,” I began, “I was incredibly impressed with your speed. You saved my life. And how were you supposed to know there would be more of them?”

“The language those crooks were speaking was Huttese,” said the Mandalorian, not looking up from his work.

“Which… you understand?”

He finished bandaging my left hand before he looked up at me. “Poorly, but yes.”

I gave him a reassuring smile, trying to soften the harshness of his tone. I could hear it; he felt guilty. But my hands would heal, and so I felt anything but resentment. I was impressed, actually, that he played along so well. I never would have guessed he knew what they were saying.

I wished I had the strength to tell him how I felt; how grateful I was that, despite this messy, mournful, and painful life I was living, I was glad that I had him.

I must’ve dazed out again, because when I came back to my senses he was walking over to a room at the front of the hold. He stood with his back to me for a moment, before looking over his shoulder. “I’m going to rest for a bit – now we’ve got the chance. Let me know if you… need anything.” Then the doors slid open and he disappeared through them, leaving me on the floor with a slowly elevating heart rate.

There was something about water that helped me think clearly; maybe it was because the water washed away all the other distractions, or that the sound drowned out everything else. Admittedly, it wasn’t often that I got to use a shower on Yak’ish Temeen, so I reveled in the feeling knowing that I shouldn’t waste the water, and allowed myself a moment alone with my thoughts.

I reflected on what I had thought before – that if I had the strength, I would tell him how I felt. Which was ridiculous, right? What was there to feel? We were… he was a business acquaintance, at best. He does a few mutual favors and shows you a sliver of human decency and you…? There’s nothing to consider, I thought, because I don’t feel anything. And even if I… even if I did, I’m going to stop this stupidity right here, right now. The last thing I need right now is to be disoriented by… whatever I was feeling. Which was nothing, I thought decidedly. From this moment, I was going to feel nothing.

I dressed in fresh clothes before taking a moment to look in the mirror. With my hair wet and face clean I looked almost like a different person. And I felt like one, too – compared to who I had been just a week ago. I pressed my fingers to my cheeks, stretching and molding my skin almost as a grounding exercise. But my brain was empty, devoid of anything else. It was the first time in a long time I was unsure of my feelings – I’d spent so long feeling so obviously grief-stricken and scared that I almost didn’t know how to function without that actively looming over me. I gave one last sigh at my reflection.

I didn’t see him for almost a day after. I spent most of my time in the cockpit, except for when I got sick of seeing the stars whiz past in beams of light, and so went into the hull. During this time, I forced myself not to think about him, even going as far as to indulge in my grief if it meant distracting myself. But he didn’t stay in his small room forever.

It was the sound of his boots clunking up the stairs into the cockpit that woke me up from my nap. I was in the passenger’s seat, curled up and probably drooling slightly, and quickly regained my composure as he walked past me and to the navcom.

“How are we going,” I asked, still groggy from my sleep.

“Good. Still on track. And the ship isn’t falling apart. You did a good job with the repairs.” I felt my heart beam at the praise.

“Although,” he said, analyzing a screen in front of him, “I think there’s something wrong with the thermoregulator of the hyperdrive navigational system.” I felt my pride being swallowed at those words, but I ignored the feeling and stood up to look at what he was gesturing to. It was nothing serious, a small little flashing icon on the dash that warned of a protentional overheat. He turned his head to me, still leaning on the dash. “Do you think you could take a look at it?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “It shouldn’t take long.” I lingered for a moment, hoping he would offer to come down with me. But all he said was “thanks, let me know if you need help,” before sitting down in the seat behind him.

It took me all of five minutes to fix the fuse that was broken, taping up it’s a small tear and putting away the tools afterward. But, as I did so, I found myself drawn to the doors at the front of the hull – the room where the Mandalorian had locked himself up in for the past day. Once everything was packed up, I walked over to the door, hesitating with doubt. Well, he never said I wasn’t allowed in there. In fact, he mentioned nothing of the sort, and curiosity was getting the better of me. So, I pressed the button at the side and the doors slid open.

The room was surprisingly bigger than I would’ve thought – probably about the same size as the cockpit. Opposite the door was a large locker, and on the right was a small bed built into the wall of the ship. There were some crates lying around, mostly empty, and that was really all. I suppose it was a bedroom of sorts. I walked over to the locker, and it sprung open, frightening me. It was full of weapons – blasters of various shapes and sizes, grappling hooks, and a whole number of other machines I couldn’t recognize, let alone name. It sent a shiver down my spine – I wondered how many living things had been killed with the items in this room. I shut the locker quietly.

I looked over the bed, which wasn’t made, and something folded between the sheets caught my eye. I went over and pulled it out to see it was a book, a real one made of paper with a thick brown cover. It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen a book before, obviously, but I was aware that they were becoming less and less common – even amongst us Gra’tanars, who usually avoided excessive technology. When I opened it, however, it was in a language I’d never seen before, made of thin, sharp lines in neat horizontal lines.

“It’s Mando’a,” said a voice behind me, and I spun around with a yelp, almost toppling over into the bed. The Mandalorian was leaning against the door frame, watching me expectantly as I stood there in absent-minded shook. “Oh, right! The book!” I said, catching my breath. I put it down hastily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

He seemed to take no notice of my stuttering, walking over to me coolly and picking up the book from where I had discarded it. He was beside me now, close enough that I could’ve sworn I heard his breath through the modulator of his helmet.

“I don’t get to speak it very often anymore,” he said, staring at its cover. “It’s nice to… to read it.”

“What’s it about?” I tentatively turned to face him more. He didn’t look at me.

“Legends, mostly,” he said. “Stories about our people, our best warriors.” I scanned his face. There was something melancholy in his voice, that stung of pain and loss. I knew from just that tone that he was as equally alone in the world as I was.

“Teach me something,” I said. He looked up at me with what I imagined was an expression of surprise. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a light chuckle.

“Okay. Let’s see, we can start simple. Su cuy’gar.” The sound of that word sent a shiver down my spine. The language thickened his voice, making it sound even deeper than it had before. I swallowed hard.

“Su – Su cuyargar…”, I managed.

“Close, close – try again. Su cuy’gar.” He said it slowly for my benefit.

“Su cuy’gar,” I said.

“Good. Well done.” He had turned to face me now, and I was acutely aware of how close he was standing to me.

“What… what does it mean?”

“Hello,” he answered, settling on the bed. I sat next to him, slowly. I was aware how there was an underlying discomfort in this gesture – he wasn’t used to this intimate civility. Frankly, neither was I.

“Teach me another,” I said, more confident now. “Vor Entye,” he said, almost hypnotizing me. “Thank you.”

“Vor Entye,” I repeated.

“N’eparavu takisit.”

“It means ‘sorry’,” he clarified. “Ret’urcye mhi.”

“Ret – Ret’urcye mhi,” I said slowly. “What does that mean?”

He paused for a moment. “Goodbye.”

My heart fluttered. I stared at him, at the small gap of a visor in his helmet, searching it hungrily. I wished he felt more familiar.

“Let me teach you something in return,” I said, adjusting my position to face him more.

“I didn’t know Grat’anarians had a language,” he admitted.

“It’s mostly derelict now,” I admitted. “Only really used in traditional ceremonies or rites. But we all had to learn it growing up.

“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

I thought for a moment, searching my mind for the most meaningful words I could think of. “Jet’ach,” I said.

He repeated it flawlessly, putting my previous stuttering to shame, then looked at me expectantly. My gaze fell to my lap because the sound of him saying that word, a word no one had called me in what felt like a lifetime, pulled something in my chest and I had to fight to suppress the tingling of my eyes. “My grandfather called jet’ach,” I explained. It was hard to find the words to elaborate.

“What… what does it mean?” He was so cautious, so sensitive in the way he asked, that I could’ve sworn he wasn’t wearing his helmet.

“It roughly translates to ‘the bearer of my stories’,” I said shakily. “He called me that because – because I’m the one who will tell others about his life when he’s gone. It’s a very – a very important role bestowed by the patriarch to the eldest child… a responsibility that I owe to his memory.” I felt the tears well up in my eyes. “I just don’t know if I… if I have the strength to tell them. I’m such a… a disappointment,” and my voice cracked on that word. Tears slowly slid down my face.

He reached up, cupping my face in his hand and shifting my eyes to his. I was so taken aback I lost my breath, and he held my face there as he spoke.

“I couldn’t think of a person in this universe who would be disappointed to have you as their granddaughter.”

My body turned to water, and I could feel the blood wash through my body. I couldn’t even stop the next words tumbling out of my mouth.

“I wish I could kiss you.”

Maybe I should’ve felt embarrassed at how easily and brashly I said it, but I couldn’t find it within me to feel any regret. I felt a hundred pounds lighter.

The Mandalorian drew his hand away from my face, and I felt my heart fall into my stomach. I just looked at me for a long, agonizing moment, and then he… he reached up to his helmet. Before I saw anything, and without even really thinking, I shut my eyes. I heard the sound of beskar thump on the metal floor, and I could feel his breath on my face.

“You… you don’t have to close your eyes,” he said, the sound of his voice, his real voice ringing in my ears. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

“I know,” I confessed, before realizing how rude my abruptness could be interpreted, so I added, “but it might be a bit weird if I was staring at you the whole time.”

He chuckled, sending electric shocks up my whole body that were only numbed when I felt his lips on mine. His lips were so soft, not like you’d expect, and warm, and when his tongue slipped into my mouth I couldn’t hold back my quiet moan.

When he drew back, he lingered close to my ear, and I shivered when he whispered that his name was Din. It made so much sense.

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin reader insert #din djarin x ofc #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine

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starlightxsvt · 4 years

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Sunrises || Choi Seungcheol au

Pairing: Seungcheol x Female reader

Genre: apocalypse au, slice of life (?), angst, kinda fluff, some action

Warning: zombies, death and stuffs

"Thank you for saving me that day." You murmur to the male sittig next to you.

Seungcheol, in return says nothing, focusing on peeling the apple in his hand.

It was the third day after he saved you and gave you a place to stay. The man didn't offer his name or any other information - though you figured it out from craved wood that hung on his room's door saying, 'Seungcheol's room' - neither asked yours but you enlightened him with it. He doesn't talk much and doesn't like to be talked much but you kept your mouth open anyway.

It was about two months since the strange virus spread and begun the apocalypse and you were lucky enough to have stumbled upon Seungcheol.

"I really mean it." You whisper. "I'm new in this place. Believe it or not but I moved here literally a few days before the apocalypse started."

You didn't get any response to that either.

"Do you have any family? I don't. My mother died long ago and my father's an addict so I basically ran from him."

More silence.

You take in his features which are too concentrated on peeling the apple. His brows were knit to a frown and he chewed on his lower plump lip.

You swallow, "Who's Sunghoon?" You know you probably shouldn't have asked the question but curiosity got the best of you. You saw the name hanging on one of the rooms which was apparently locked.

He looks up at you, an angry look on his face. "I swear to any higher being up there, if you don't shut your mouth I am going to feed you to the corpses by myself." He stands up murmuring, "This is why I don't like helping people."

You watch his retreating figure walk inside the house and you sigh, leaning against the apple tree and watching the sunset.

A week later

You thanked the heavens everyday for making you stumble upon a guy who's a farmer. Seungcheol had his own produce, a small field of rice and corns and a few apple and lemon trees. It was safe to say these were more than enough in a time like this.

The electricity is unavailable most of the time but it takes some surprise visits every few days for a few hours. That's when you and Seungcheol wash up and store water.

Your days go by rather quickly thanks to the neat system Seungcheol seems to have established. He had things run so smoothly that it was pretty unbelievable the world was going through an apocalypse right now. You help him around the house, cleaning things up, watering the crops and such. He had his own rules - don't waste water or tissues, don't eat too much, don't talk too much. You tried to follow them at your best but you couldn't stop yourself from starting a little conversation more often that which were only met with silence or threats. But so far, Seungcheol was a guy nice enough and you counted your blessings for meeting him.

A few more days later

When you ran from your place you only took your female necessities. Those were dumb things compared to others who ran away with guns and foods.

You sat in the guest room Seungcheol offered you, thinking about what you were gonna do after these necessities were finished.

Suddenly Seungcheol appears knocking on your door before entering. You turn to look at him as he takes a seat. "We'll be heading out tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"There's a super shop a mile away from here. We're going there."

"Why?"

"Why do you think, smartass? We need to stock up on tissue paper and dry foods. I visited there a couple times after the apocalypse started. Apparently the government and NGO's provide foods and stuffs there for the survivors out here."

"Really?Then where are they? We need to find them. They probably built a shelter, we can go live there."

"Do you think it's that simple?"

"Huh?"

Seungcheol sighs. "They are moving in their own pace, okay? The shelters are probably full now with survivors. When their capacity increases they'll let us know. I have a friend who works at the NGO. If he's okay he'll come for me."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"On the day of the breakout."

"I see."

"Prepare yourself for tomorrow. Since you are living in my place, you are coming with me." He stands up to leave.

"I'm not a wuss, you know." You roll your eyes.

"We'll see."

"Yea. And you know, it didn't hurt to speak with me! We could talk more often Mr. Grumpy!" You call after him.

"Shut up."

The next day

"Listen carefully, don't waste anytime. Just grab the things you need and walk into the car." Seungcheol says parking the car in front of the convenience store.

You nod and watch him load his gun and tuck it behind him.

The store is a mess. Broken pieces and bits of metals everywhere. You both walk in and look for the things you came for. Luck seems to be on your side as you find a couple of dry food packets, some toilet papers and some pads -though they are not the best quality, you have to make do with these. You quickly put them on the tote bag you brought with yourself and turned around.

Seungcheol was on the opposite Isle looking through selves for God knows what. You walk out to the front of the store and see and notice taped there.

Food will be supplied here every week along with other necessities. If you are a survivor please hang in there. Once we manage more accommodation, we will come for you. Regarding the infected, our research says they are deaf, so please use that to your advantage.

You turn around to tell Seungcheol about this but instead you meet the eyes of a corpse. It stands there, a mess of blood and gunk as your soul leaves your body.

It approaches you, making garbled sounds and you take back a few steps. From behind him you see Seungcheol approaching will a huge piece of metal rod.

The corpse doesn't turn back to the noises Seungcheol's feet makes while approaching you through the mess, instead it's focus is solely on you, ready to devour. They're really deaf, huh. It opens its mouth ready to chunk a piece of your body when Seungcheol hits him in the head and bangs a couple more times to make sure it's immobile.

"Quick, get in the car. More of them might be around here."

You two dash back to the car, carrying your goods and he starts the car quickly. You look behind to see more of the corpses appearing from around the store. Dusk was approaching soon which meant the corpses will be more alive and ferocious.

The car speeds through the empty road as you clutch onto your tote bag. "Did you know they were deaf?"

"You didn't?" He throws at you. You roll your eyes at him.

"Thanks for saving me again."

"Maybe next time I won't."

Another couple weeks or so later

"I'm going to the supermarket."

"At this hour? It's almost dusk. Are you crazy?"

You watch as Seungcheol puts on the necessary protection on his arms and legs and checks his gun.

"They people from NGO deliver foods during this time since there is no survivors out at this hour. I'm gonna go there and try to meet the delivery guy. Also I need to refill my car."

"Why?"

"To pass a message."

"To your friend who works at the NGO?"

"Yes. I need to let him know that I'm alive. Then he'll come for me."

"What if he's dead?"

Seungcheol says nothing. You forbid him to leaves a few more times but he completely ignores your pleas saying he has to take a chance. Before he is out the door, he hands you his gun. "Keep this with you. Until now, they corpses have never been around here so just stay inside the house and you'll be safe. I don't know if you have your memories after you becoming a corpse but if you see me coming here looking like one of them, shoot me."

What? You swallow as your heart tugs.

"Stop talking like that. You don't need to leave. We've plenty of food. We'll get by. Don't do this Seungcheol."

"Remember what I said." He speaks, ignoring you and turns around.

"Wait." You call, tears pooling in your eyes. "At least take the gun with you. You'll need it more than me. Besides I dont even know how to use it."

Seungcheol looks at you for a beat before taking a gun and giving you a small smile - the first one he ever gave you.

You watch him leave as the sky turn in hues of purple and black.

You spend a restless night, sitting in your room watching the sky and thinking about Seungcheol. You think of how he opened up a bit more in the last few days and the moments you shared.

Sunghoon was my brother. He was in the military. We were outside, celebrating his discharge when the infection spread. The corpses got him while he was trying to save me. I failed him.

I waited for him for a long time, thinking he'd come back. He didn't.

Y/n, if I don't return by dawn don't wait for me.

As the night passed anxiety got the best of you. This is it. I lost him. He's gone. I'll have to survive now, alone.

You were about to have a break down as you saw the first streak of light spread through the sky. You walked to the roof of his farmhouse watching the colors in the sky. You start to accept the fact that you're alone from now on. That is until you see Seungcheol's jeep approaching towards the house.

You held your breath and didn't move your position, waiting to see him come out.

You thought sunsets were pretty until you saw Seungcheol's tired figure getting out of the jeep, his eyes meeting yours and flashing a smile, the brightest one probably, at the crack of dawn.

Sunrises were pretty too. Even prettier perhaps.

A/N: Tbh I wasn't so confident in this one but oh well, here it is. Also thank you for loving my previous work, it really means a lot. As for this one, if it doesn't flop, maybe I'll write a part 2 👀.Anyway thanks again! 💖

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papermariosuggestion · 4 years

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What are you hoping for from a new Paper Mario? What's your "golden ideal", I guess?

I could spend, like, years thinking of things I’d like to see in a Paper Mario game, but I’ll try to narrow it down. Here are some of the main things I’d really like to see:

☆ New partners (plural)

• Based on previously established Mario species, preferably “enemy” species, as “The circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.”

• Unusual, but believable, and perhaps even poignant, backstories and fully realized character arcs. I want to care about these characters because I’m invested in this world, its inhabitants, and those inhabitants’ personal successes and failures, not just because their design is so kawaii and/or their dialogue is so funny, though those things are a plus.

• Distinct personalities and opportunities to show those personalities off (through design, body language, dialogue, etc).

☆ RPG mechanics

• Built on the solid foundation established in Paper Mario (N64)

• Turn-based combat

• A leveling system where you get to choose which stat to increase

• Badges (Including superficial badges like the L Emblem and Attack FX badges)

• Something new, like being able to use two partners to perform a Bros.-Attack-like move, or maybe even stats specifically pertaining to your partners.

☆ New locations

• It’s a delicate balance. Locations should both feel like they could realistically exist in Mario’s world and feel like something we’ve never seen before. TTYD has some great examples of this (Rogueport, Boggly Woods, Twilight Town, etc). Super Paper Mario has some creative locations as well, but because it takes place in another dimension, not in the typical world that Mario inhabits, none of them really feel particularly “Mario-esque” in nature. They’re all a bit off-brand, so to speak.

• On a technical level, graphics are improving all of the time, but that doesn’t automatically lead to more intriguing and/or more visually satisfying designs. At it’s core, Mario is a fantasy franchise, an escape from reality, and the Paper Mario series is one of the few series in the franchise that really builds out- or at least used to really build out- its world, and that world was interesting because it was new and mysterious, it practically begged to be explored. Paper Mario games should show me something I can’t see in reality; I know what paper and cardboard and lemons and steaks look like, show me underground cities and palaces, show me sprawling gardens with talking flowers, show me a floating tourist trap in the sky. The biggest limit is your imagination, so let it run wild, and show me that, show me that Alice in Wonderland-like controlled chaos.

☆ An interconnected world and motivated backtracking

• No stage-selection maps. Even if the game is fairly linear, I don’t need to have that shoved in my face. I don’t want to feel like I’m working my way down a to-do list, glued to a track, I want to journey through the world and explore somewhat freely.

• No fast travel by default (maybe you unlock fast travel after beating an optional challenge like the Pit of 100 Trials)

• No pipes that take you right from the hub world to the chapter area; I wanna walk…

…and I want it to be through a believable, expansive, intricate world that changes as I progress through the game, a world I could see hundreds of times and never get sick of because its details are constantly in flux, and because those details are the kind that make it feel realistic and lived-in. I don’t want to be teleported from A to B, or confined on a path from A to B to C, I want to explore, I want to discover, I want to experience this world and to form an attachment to it. This alone would make backtracking more worthwhile, but…

• …another way to make backtracking even more enjoyable would be to add events that make walking into a game in and of itself, like having to follow a creature up in the trees, or having to get through a cursed area in Mirror Mode, or having to dodge and weave through falling rocks because there’s a huge earthquake destroying- and altering the actual geometry of- the area. Walking doesn’t have to be a chore for you to complete in order to get on with the game, and it shouldn’t be, it should be part of the game, just as engaging as anything else you’re involved in.

☆ Non-linear elements

• The game should still be fairly linear overall, because Paper Mario games are chapter-based stories with beginnings, middles, and ends, but having some say in which chapter comes next, or which partner you meet, or even just which puzzle you solve next would give the player a stronger sense of agency. Story-driven games are at high-risk of making the player feel like they’re just along for the ride, and this would help to counteract that.

☆ Spin dashing

• Gotta go fast! Getting rid of spin dashing always felt like an odd choice to me. Characters like the Yoshi kid, Carrie, and Dashell kind of replaced it, in the sense that they allow you to move quickly, but being able to speed up without switching partners, as well as being able to spin attack and just to witness the utter chaos of Mario flinging himself across the screen again, would make backtracking and walking around in general less of a slog. It would also give you more agency in the overworld and serve as a nice callback to the original game.

☆ Free-moving NPCs & situational dialogue

• In past games, NPCs have been confined to certain paths and locations. They might move from chapter to chapter, but they would always stay in the same general area until you triggered an event that placed them somewhere new. I’d like to see characters wandering around, going in and out of buildings, visiting other locations, having private conversations with one another, getting into fights, buying and selling items at the shop, putting on different clothes, and doing just about anything else they would typically do in-universe. Obviously this would be huge challenge to program, but we’re talking about an ideal here, and anything in this general direction would be an improvement in my eyes. We already see a bit of this in the series, but I’d like to see even more.

• When NPCs say things like “Where are your manners, Mario? You shouldn’t climb on the table” and “Don’t be so careless. There are too many enjoyable things in the world to gamble with your life!” it makes it feel like they actually see what you’re doing and care about what you’re doing. Having NPCs respond to you differently because of where you’re standing, or what partner you have out, or what badges you’re wearing, and so on, makes them into more than just set decoration or a sign to read, it makes them people, or at least more person-like. Nintendo’s been pretty good about this in recent years, probably because technical improvements have made it easier than ever before, and I think it would be fitting for a series known for its world-building.

☆ Dynamic lighting design & a day/night system

• This is all about aesthetics because, as it turns out, visuals are pretty important in a video game. Paper Mario (N64) had some really interesting lighting design, notably in darker areas like the secret passage in Peach’s castle, and we haven’t really seen a lot of that since, despite having more advanced technology that would allow for advanced lighting.

• I’d like to see things like swinging chandeliers that cast beams of light, and cracks in the ceiling that light pours through, and mirrors/reflections that Mario uses to solve puzzles, and shadows that hint at secrets. Lighting is a huge part of shaping a world, and using it in a variety of different and meaningful ways just makes your world seem that much more complex and grounded.

• As for the day/night system, I am picturing a game that visually changes based on the actual time of day, kind of like Animal Crossing games do, but not a game that requires it to be a certain time of day for any gameplay purposes, not for the main quest, not for side-quests, and not even for easter eggs. All I want is for it to be bright when I play in the morning, orange when I play at sunset, and starry when I play at night. This also would add to the game’s replayability, as different chapters would look and feel different depending on what time of day it was when you played through them.

☆ Easter eggs that reference other games in the franchise

• I want it to be clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Mario we see in Paper Mario games is the same Mario we see in other Mario games, not another person, and talking about the time he visited Isle Delfino or when Bowser fused with a sentient tennis racket would really drive that home.

• Make me really look for some, though. It’s cool to spot easter eggs in plain sight, but what’s really rewarding is having to dig for them. I don’t just wanna see Luigi standing in the background, I want to spot little inconsistencies and cracks in the walls and cryptograms spread throughout the world. Sure, the five-year-olds playing might not find them on their first playthrough, but when they’re fifteen and they remember that awesome Paper Mario game they played a decade ago, they won’t just be revisiting a world they’ve fully explored, they’ll be playing on a whole new level, figuratively speaking.

☆ amiibo Compatibility/functionality

• I’m not a big fan of DLC in general, as it’s often overpriced, but I do think amiibos are neat; using a real object to unlock something in a virtual world makes the virtual world feel just that much more alive to me, that much more like it’s a little world I can actually affect.

• The Paper Mario series never really got official merch, and while you do see a bit of your partners’ lives in the epilogue, it’s only a glimpse into their future, so getting little figurines of past partners that make them appear in the game, tell you about a recent adventure they had, and give you a unique badge based on their abilities/personalities/experiences, would be like a dream come true.

☆ Just be creative (I know it’s not that simple, but like, figure it out)

• Surprise me; throw in something inventive and revolutionary, like Wall Merging from A Link Between Worlds or The Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device from Portal. There’s a whole universe of possibilities out there; please dream a little bigger than items disguised as a gameplay element and a hammer that fills in glaringly obvious gaps in paint. Nintendo’s always pushing the video game industry forward with their creative consoles. Use that, take whatever whacky control method they come up with next and integrate it like Super Paper Mario did- but hopefully even better than Super Paper Mario did- with the Wii remote.

• I see fans writing stories, and drawing characters, and making sprites, and working with all kinds of mediums to make art that knocks everything from recent “Paper Mario” games out of the park. Obviously Intelligent Systems can’t just steal those ideas, but I’d love to see them get on that wavelength and match that passion.

• Make a game that you’d never want to put down because you just can’t get enough of it, and don’t even bother with that “You’ve been playing for a while. You wanna take a break, grab a snack, chill out for a sec?” message; if I die playing your game because it’s truly that good, I see that as an absolute win. That’s legendary game design, my friend; aim to make a Paper Mario game so good it’s worth dying for, and if you fall short of that, hopefully you’ll still land on something pretty awesome.

#paper mario #papermariosuggestion #ask

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makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 268: Please Don’t Tap on the Glass

Previously on BnHA: Dabi revealed his true identity to Hawks! His real name is actually [sound of semi truck horns blaring]. What’s that? You didn’t hear me? I said it’s [sound of dolphins chattering]. You really need to listen better. Anyway, so Dabi set Hawks on fire a bunch of times, and Hawks had some flashbacks indicating that Endeavor saved him when he was a small child, and just when it was starting to look like we might get our second tragic death chapter in a row, Tokoyami showed up to defend his mentor! Meanwhile in Jakku, Miruko remembered that even though kicking ass is fun and she’s really good at it, she still had a job to do, so she sped off toward Ujiko’s little hideaway, getting stabbed and impaled a bunch of times along the way and losing an ear and shit (I very much look forward to the cyberpunk robot-limbed Miruko 2.0 that we had better fucking get once this arc is over). Fortunately Endeavor showed up to help her out! Anyway, so absolutely no one was talking about this last week, but the chapter totally ended with Miruko about to bust open Tomura’s bacta tank with a badass roundhouse kick, so, uh. Shit might be about to go down you guys.

Today on BnHA: Shit does indeed go down, but at a very languid pace. Ujiko apparently built Tomura’s holding tank out of Nokia phones and kevlar, so even though Miruko gets a few good kicks in, she ultimately doesn’t do more than just crack it. So now the tank is just standing there leaking ominously while Ujiko sobs for no reason and we all ponder whether or not a 75%-charged Tomura will be any less doom-harbinging than the full-fledged deal. In the meantime we’ve got Girl Noumu thinking strategic thoughts and chucking acid at peeps; Crust still doing absolutely nothing; Endeavor not doing that much better to be honest; and Mic and Aizawa ready and raring to go kill the old man who turned their dead buddy into a sentient Einstein-Rosen bridge. Obviously I’m all in favor of this last bit, but I’m also on team “Mic and Aizawa not dying horribly” though, so. I do have some concerns here.

full disclosure, I’m very sleep-deprived for various reasons related to various things which can be broadly summed up as Just 2020 In General. so anyway, I’m dealing with it, but I’ve noticed that my rate of typos and errors and such has shot waaaaay up in this past week or so, so I’m just putting that out there that you may find some weird shit in this post! maybe I will write the same sentence maybe I will write the same sentence multiple times, or or the same word twice in a row by mistake, or use the completely wrong word. you are more than welcome to point this out and I will not take any offense and will indeed be grateful because I’ve apparently gone blind to it all! anyway so how are you I hope everyone is well

anyway! the chapter is early (god for all I know it’s been out for hours already. HOW FAR BEHIND AM I) so I’m recapping it early so that I will have more time to play Animal Crossing and fish and craft all of my troubles away. speaking of which Horikoshi, you had better not bring me any troubles this week, I am not in the mood do you hear

good fucking lord

is all of that Miruko’s blood??!? god, she’s even better at bleeding than everyone else. now hold up all you excited vampires, you all can get in line, I was here first

by the way Endeavor, I gave you a pass last week because your entrance was so fucking raw and you saved my girl’s life and that was really neat my man. but now that I’ve recovered from my shock and awe and am ready to be sarcastic once more, I just want to say... welcome to the party, guy. did you stop for drive-thru on your commute from the other side of the planet. were you simply not immune to the bizarre 5th dimensional time-stands-still effects of March 2020. are you curious at all how your son has changed during these past 20 years, and by “son” I am referring not to Dabi, but Shouto. are you looking forward to meeting all of Shouto’s children. are you excited to be a granddad. anyway thank you so fucking much for finally making your way down to this lair with all the speed and haste of a federal appeals process

and I see Crust is still fighting this guy after six decades

(ETA: I would be more upset about the scan quality here, but let’s face it, nobody actually cares about seeing this in HD. I’m sorry Crust.)

and we’re really expected to believe this is the very next ranked hero below Miruko. could it be that the hero ranking system is actually flawed. don’t tell me. I’m just as shocked as you are

seriously??

are we really going to stop and chat with Geriatric Hero: Crust over here. really. far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, Number One. but I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure he does still have... let’s just check... one... two... yep, two arms. not that I’m saying your system for prioritizing which of your fellow heroes to help out should be based off of the number of arms they have. but also I am saying that

OH SONNY BOY

is that a two-page panel of Aizawa Hatake Kakashi Shouta and his loyal husband Screaming Man leaping into the fray to take on some high end Noumus with their bad and sexy selves. I think that’s exactly what it is. are we blessed or are we blessed. Aizawa I’m pleased to see you haven’t aged a day and are looking just as fine as ever in this the year 2045

oh wow Endeavor I thought you had incinerated it

why wouldn’t you incinerate it. please incinerate it. did you not learn your lesson. please don’t start taking your cues from Dilly Dally Hero: Crust over here

oh wow

and yet Miruko was kicking all of their asses like they were made of plywood. really though guys. only number five. okay

Aizawa’s shouting that he wasn’t able to erase that last Noumu who was impaling Miruko because his vision was obstructed. that’s okay Aizawa, that’s why Endeavor is hopefully about to incinerate him

oh snap here we go

again, one has to wonder what kinds of interactions with rabbits Horikoshi has had in his troubled young life so as to influence his writing of Miruko’s quirk in such a way. did you at some point get rabbits confused with... I don’t even know. polar bears?! not that I’m fucking complaining holy shit

anyway, so just a friendly reminder that if Miruko dies here I will in fact push the button which triggers the hidden ejector seat built into Horikoshi’s office chair. he will be missed. but he had a good run

ho lyyyyyyy shit

so... Miruko I love you but... then why would you break the fucking vat apart with your moon-powered legs. Miruko. Miruko are you listening. oh shit she’s missing an ear I forgot. oh shit. oh shit

MIRUKO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BUT WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU JUST KICK THE BALD MAN IN THE LAB COAT INSTEAD goddammit well it’s been nice knowing y’all

well then. so this is happening. this is really happening. at least she saved us all from having to face the 100%-charged world-ending Tomura somewhere down the line. instead all we have to do is face the 74%-charged Tomura right fucking now. so that’s. ...I wonder how Tokoyami is doing

holy shit!

leave it to Girl Noumu to be the smart one. for a minute I thought maybe Ujiko had given her Ragdoll’s long-lost quirk. but then I realized that this isn’t a quirk at all, this is just her being smart and using her Big Noumu Brain. anyway so I’m preemptively sorry for having to root against you, Girl Noumu

so now she’s pondering how to disable Aizawa’s quirk. meanwhile I just remembered that we haven’t seen her quirk yet I think. please let it be something good

oh snap she ran away and made it out of Aizawa’s sight range oh fuck

the fuck is up with this thicc fucking Girl Noumu page I can’t tell wtf is going on

LOL OH SHIT

NOT TO WORRY GUYS SHE’S JUST SHOOTING BIG GIANT GLOBS OF ACID AT EVERYONE. can anyone tell if Endeavor has incinerated this Noumu yet down in the middle panel on the left. what is the fucking holdup

and now there’s a big double page of Miruko shattering Tomura’s Noumu Vat, and I can’t quite tell, but it looks like her eyes might be rolling back in a way which I decidedly do not like

(ETA: nah on closer inspection we’re good.)

didn’t she just do this like four pages ago. and how the hell did Tomura suddenly jump from 74% to 75% in like .2 seconds

oh thank god she’s still awake. but now she’s being dragged back now by the Noumu’s bone appendage things because Endeavor SERIOUSLY CANNOT GET HIS FUCKING ACT TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH TO FUCKING LIGHT ITS BRAIN TO ASHES ALREADY, LIKE SERIOUSLY THOUGH. WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL OF THAT TALK ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING FAST AND THE DIFFERENCE A SPLIT SECOND MAKES

Miruko if we make it out of this alive, I’m promoting you to number one. Fatgum will be number two. the only two pro heroes in this arc who have actually impressed me at all. shame on the rest of you. shame

so now somehow or some way Miruko is being flung into Endeavor at the speed of light

I don’t understand this at all. did the Noumu retract those bone whips back into its body superfast while dragging Miruko back with them and somehow it managed to avoid being hit by her projectile body but Endeavor took the impact straight on. this doesn’t make any kind of sense to me with my admittedly rudimentary understanding of physics. but then again it is a fucking manga so I’m not about to call NASA and ask them if this could really happen. so this was a waste of a paragraph I guess!! my bad!!

swear to god this is like the fifth panel of Ujiko just screaming. please just stop. what do you have to be worried about anyway? although if Tomura suddenly went crazy upon awakening and just straight up killed you for no reason, that sure would be delightful! that wouldn’t happen, though. or would it

WHAT IS THIS FUCKING FISH TANK MADE OF

IS THIS A TUBE OF GLASS OR A FUCKING FALLOUT SHELTER

ENDEAVOR I’M GLAD YOU’RE CONCERNED ABOUT MIRUKO BECAUSE I AM TOO, AND ALSO IT’S ALWAYS NICE TO SEE THAT YOU DO HAVE A HEART, BUT ALSO MAYBE JUST LEAVE HER FOR NOW THOUGH, SERIOUSLY??

though on the other hand it’s already too late to stop this inevitable tide, so maybe at this point they should all just get the fuck out of there instead. at least Miruko did her fucking job and saved you all from having to face the invincible unstoppable version. that’ll be a real comfort to everyone when he’s out laying waste to the countryside, I’m sure. but still

-- oh no

the boys heard that. listen you guys, I want Ujiko to die as much as anyone, but I’m gonna need you to not go anywhere near Shigaraki fucking Tomura now or ever. please. do you hear me?? you two still have both of your ears goddammit I want some acknowledgement

-- NO!!!

(ETA: is that. a fucking Tomura dialogue bubble. something stirs in the east. a sleepless malice. the eyes of the enemy are moving.)

THE MANGA GIVETH AND THE MANGA TAKETH AWAY nooooo from 20 pages last week back down to the usual 17. I got spoiled. I expected too much. sob

so now we settle in to wait two weeks to see if Mic’s piercing tones can shatter this fucking adamantium tank like a wine glass. I’m not sure I’m ready for the Noumuraki Tomuracalpse you guys. then again by this point I’m braced for just about anything though so bring it

#bnha 268 #miruko #mirko #I finally caved and did it both ways #endeavor #aizawa shouta #present mic #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste spoiler recap #makeste reads bnha #happy easter everyone #don't mention it to horikoshi though #he's terrified of rabbits as we all know #they are vicious and unstoppable #so please treat them with respect

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nyctolovian · 4 years

Link

Summary:

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something else.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Moth!Jon is a monster under Martin’s bed. What more could you ask for?

Day 1-2: meet-cute

TW: animal abuse

Martin thought he had a pretty neat deal when he bought this house.

From the outside, it looked snug and comfortable, which already ticked off some boxes in Martin’s mental checklist. It had been built with tan brick walls and had a hard cracked cement floor. Short and wide windows brightened up the house and had been added to the house in a rather playful pattern.

The price was surprisingly low for a three-room, especially one that apparently came with some furniture left by the previous family. Sure, it was a bit of a wreck—cobwebs everywhere, carpets of dust, junk left from its previous owner, and the walls seemed to be peeling off. But it only needed some repairs and cleaning up.

Just in case though, Martin had asked the estate agent, “Why’s this house selling so cheap?”

With a pleasant smile, Ms Richardson calmly replied, “This property has been on the market for quite some time and I suppose the family just wants to sell it as soon as they can now.”

Martin hummed as he gave the house another once over. “I see…” he said. “So no major problems? Like a termite infestation or… I don’t know, uh, structural damage?“

Her face grew slightly stiff. “Oh! Nothing of that, I assure you.” There was a brush of overemphasis on her words as her grip on her clipboard tightened a miniscule bit. “Just a slightly old house. That’s all there is to it.” Her sunny smile returned with vengeance.

Martin’s mouth opened to ask another question but, from the corner of his eye, he saw something dark flash across the bedroom. He spun around.

Nothing. Just some cobwebs and the bed. He frowned. “Did you… Was that a rat?” Martin asked. “You saw that, right?”

Ms Richardson looked much tenser than a second ago. Still, she maintained her composed demeanor and said, “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.”

A sigh escaped Martin. He really wished the estate agent would just be honest with him. If it was just a rat infestation, he just had to set some rat traps. The worst case scenario he could call pest control. It really wasn’t something the estate agent had to lie about. It was still a fairly good deal.

He had visited several other properties that were either in worse condition or beyond his budget. It had been tiring disappointment after tiring disappointment. Honestly, this was the best one he had found so far. This was about as good as things could get with a budget as tight as his, he figured.

Nodding to himself, he turned to Ms Richardson and said, “I’ll take it. Can I sign the papers now?”

The smile of gratification on her face was one that reached her eyes. Hastily, she pulled out the contract and shoved the pen and papers into Martin’s hands. “Just sign over here, here, and… here. … Alright! Now, this house will be all yours,” she said. Her voice had a tone of relief that one might have while ridding oneself of the responsibility of baby-sitting a relative’s annoying toddler.

Martin honestly should have been more wary of this. However, he was overtaken with the sheer giddiness of owning his first house. At the ripe age of 32, but no matter! A milestone was a milestone regardless. He was excited to finally have a house to his name.

As soon as Martin could move in, he dedicated a full weekend cleaning up the house, rearranging some of the furniture and applying some wallpapers to fix the peeling walls. He hadn’t spotted any pests or rats the entire duration. Nonetheless, he placed some mouse and bug traps around the house just to be safe. Then, he moved all his belongings in and settled down comfortably.

Five days living in his new house passed, and surprisingly, Martin ran into no problems. No rats; the neighbours were, well, not lovely, but at least decent; no leakages; the roof didn’t collapse atop him in the middle of the night.

Nothing. Absolutely uneventful.

Things couldn’t be better.

(But it did feel a tad bit empty, living alone.)

***

Bang!

Martin jolted awake. He turned his head and looked towards his door. What was that? There was a downpour outside, and it could have been thunder but he could have sworn the noise came from within his house.

He held his breath. It was pure blood-curdling silence for what felt like hours. Just as Martin was about to pass the sound off as a figment of his imagination, he heard a soft thump outside his door.

His breath hitched.

Oh god. Who was that? Was it a burglar? Was it a serial killer?

Martin’s mind ran through every scenario like a video on 10 times playback speed, and every single one of them ended with him being brutally murdered. Slowly, making as little noise as possible, he pulled his sheets closer to himself.

The crack of light under his door shifted with movement.

His heart leapt to his throat and he choked on it. Martin lay as still as he could.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Something was there. Right outside his door. It wasn’t locked.

Shadows under the door gap shifted languidly, morphing in and out of the stream of light. Finally, it shifted away.

He stayed in bed, quivering, as the thumps continued within the living room. At last, the noises stopped. But Martin kept his eyes and ears peeled for any movement. But nothing happened for at least fifteen minutes.

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something again.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Martin strangled a cry of sheer terror. He hurled himself as far as he could from the bed. He was about to open the door but fear of whoever was possibly still outside petrified him.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks at this point as he stared at his bed. Something moved.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Something shifted under his bed.

Then, it crawled out.

And whatever crawled out wasn’t human.

Its shape was all wrong. There were too many appendages and what looked like half-a-metre-long antennas. As the dark figure rose from the floor, Martin recoiled. Something large on the monster’s back shivered erratically for a few seconds before pressing itself to the side of its torso. It bent its body towards him, but Martin could tell that if it stood at its full height, it would be several heads taller than him, and Martin was not a short man. The only thing he could discern in the dark were the monster’s eyes as they made contact with his. They were a pair bright glowing green orbs that pierced through the darkness and into Martin unrelentingly.

His chest was bursting at the seams with pain at how fast his heart was racing. He was going to die. Either from slaughter by this monster, or from a heart attack.

The monster spoke again, “I— This— I…” One of its spindly legs a step towards Martin.

Like cornered prey, he scurried as far as he could without running straight to the serial killer outside his door. “Don’t come any closer!” he hissed, backing to a corner of the room. “I’ve got a… I’ve got a…” His hand hit something that clattered against the wardrobe and he immediately grabbed and brandished it in front of him.

A clothing hanger. It was as good a weapon as any at this point.

“I’ve got a weapon!” Martin threatened, every limb trembling pathetically.

The monster took a step back. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” It held its four upper limbs out in a placating manner. “I truly mean no harm,” it whispered.

“You’re going to kill me!” Martin swung his makeshift weapon through the air in front of him.

“No, no! I…” The monster retracted its limbs. “I don't— I’m not going—”

Thump!

The noise from the door sent the both of them scrambling to the other corner of the room. The monster huddled close to Martin and if it weren’t for the second threat outside, he would have screamed bloody murder. Martin could feel a soft fuzz against his cheek as the monster crowded towards Martin.

“They’re not gone!” it whispered panickedly, tugging his shirt sleeve. “What do we do?”

Roughly, Martin brushed the monster’s hand aside. “We?! Since when was there a ‘we’? You were about to kill me a second ago!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

Another thump interrupted their squabble.

The two froze to the spot, breaths held.

“Y-you’re the one with the weapon,” the monster said, pressing itself closer against the wall. “You should go.”

“No, it’s just a clothing hanger,” he said. “You’re way scarier. You go!”

“But I—”

“You can use my weapon. Here, take it,” Martin said, shoving the clothes hanger into one of the monster’s numerous limbs. When it took ahold of the hanger, he gave the monster a shove towards the door.

It stumbled forward on its too long limbs, body hunched inward. It crept to the door and placed its hand on the knob. Slowly, gently, silently, the monster turned the doorknob and pulled the door open by a tiny fraction. Martin’s fingers pressed apprehensively to his lips without him realising as it stood rigidly still at the door for four seconds.

The thing draped over its back quivered once or twice before it slipped through the thin crack of the door.

There was about five seconds of silence, which were far too long for Martin to handle already. So he quietly moved towards the door and peered out through the tiny gap. He couldn’t see the monster anymore, but neither could he see anyone else.

He was about to head out when he heard a loud bang and the monster shouting in shock. His legs rocketed him back towards his previous corner in a split second. His heart jackrabbit-ing and his tears of fear renewed.

“Oh, good lord,” he heard the monster go.

Which was a strange thing to hear a monster say, first of all. But, also, there was a curl of relief in its voice, delight even. So either Martin was safe, or there were two monsters that could kill him in his house now.

A quick scan across the room revealed nothing Martin could use as a weapon now and his clothing hanger was with the monster.

Great.

Chewing his lip, he bounced between leaping out through his window and charging through the living room. He just paid for the house and he wasn’t keen on giving it up to a couple of monsters! But, rationally, he also knew dying for a house wasn’t quite worth it.

Before he could come to a decision, however, the door creaked open further. In popped the monster from before, cradling something in his arms. Its two other unoccupied arms were excitedly flailing and pointing at the shivering mound it was carrying.

“It was a cat!” it said euphorically, voice trembling ever-so-slightly. Gently, it bent down further and let the cat in its arms hop off.

Martin stared.

The cat was a small thing, probably not fully grown yet. Its fur looked slightly wet and it was quivering from the cold. In the dark, he couldn’t make out the colour of its short fur, but its yellow eyes were adorably round and curious. Lithely, it twisted to look at Martin and then at the monster, before looking back at Martin again. Then, it began to paw at the chair and pushed a bag on the floor, making it fall with a soft fwump.

“I think it’s hungry,” the monster said.

That snapped Martin out of his stupor. “And cold.” He looked up at it expectantly. “Uh, what do cats eat? I don’t have much. Do you think canned tuna would work?”

“I… I think so? Maybe? I-I don’t know.”

“Um… okay. We’ll just have to settle for that then,” he said, heading out.

Martin came back with a plate of scooped-out tuna to a rather strange sight. Squatting and wrapping its two lower arms around his knees, the monster stroked the cat from head to back. The cat let out a content little mewl at the attention, and the monster’s eyes practically glued to the little creature.

Crouching down, Martin placed the plate on the floor and pushed it towards the cat. Loudly, it mewed and bounded towards the food. Without hesitation, it dug right in, tail high in the air with joy. He and the monster watched it as it scoffed down the food. When it was done, it yawned and then shook itself.

“I should get a towel.”

The monster hummed. “Yeah,” it said softly, glowing green eyes never quite leaving the feline that was settling onto the floor now.

Martin stood up. “Can I turn the lights on?” he asked. “To, um, get the towel.”

The monster shifted nervously. “Uh, sure,” it said. “If… If you need to.”

“You’re not going to kill me after I see you in light, right?”

“Heh, no, I won’t. You helped the cat after all.”

“Alright then.” Martin said. He pulled the pull cord to his ceiling lights and the room was bathed in bright yellow light.

He was blinded for a second but judging by the way the monster ducked his head under its black spindly arms for a little longer and shut its eyes, it was more sensitive to the change than him.

Under the light, Martin could see it better now, and the first thing that struck him was that it was much fluffier than he had imagined. The entire body, including the length of its four arms and two legs, were covered in thick short black fuzz. At its neck, however, its fur grew much thicker, and it was practically a scarf of the softest-looking light brown fur. And it wore a thick brown coat over its back. What he didn’t expect was how… vaguely human the monster looked. Aside from the number and the fuzz, its limbs looked human. A mop of grey hair cascaded to its shoulders, with a pair of feelers drooping down to frame his face. The skin on its face was a gentle earthly shade of brown and its eyebrows were thick and bold. Then, its eyelids fluttered open and revealed the ethereally lovely pair of eyes.

Peridots gazed up at Martin and shivered with movement in the light. His breath caught on his throat at the sight.

A shiver passed over the brown coat draped over its back and Martin realised with a start that it wasn’t a coat. They were large brown patterned wings, folded neatly behind it. Moth wings.

“Are you mothman?” Martin blurted.

The way the monster’s eyes lit up was the only indication of its amusement because it didn’t seem to have a mouth. Then, without a mouth, it spoke, “No, not quite.” Its hand moved animatedly. “Yes, I’m, well, a moth, but not a man. And no, not exactly mothman.”

“I-I see,” Martin said, simultaneously unnerved and fascinated by the creature before him. “Well, then, uh… I’ll grab the towel.”

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged through it for his softest clean towel, which he passed to the monster.

With a curt nod, it took the towel and gingerly lifted the cat up by its belly and placed it on top of the towel. Then, it wrapped the cat like a tiny burrito and laid it on the floor as carefully as it could. The little thing yawned and its eyes slowly slid shut.

“It’s sleepy,” the monster offered in commentary. It reached a hand over and began to stroke the cat again.

As the two of them watched the cat doze off, Martin found himself at a loss for words, so he reached for the most familiar set of words. “I’m Martin Blackwood by the way. Um… He/Him pronouns.” Then, for god-knows-what reason, he added, “I’m human.”

The monster’s shoulders shook lightly with a chuckle. “Jon. Uh… Whatever pronouns… I guess, he/him as well. And, well, eldritch moth horror."

"Jon?” Martin repeated. “That’s much more normal than I would have expected.”

“Yeah… My full name is Jonarathimusius Simmsoniumon."

Martin’s jaw dropped. "Piss off! There’s no way that’s a real— You made that one up on the spot.”

“I did not.”

“Alright, but that means you came up with that name at some point in your life and that’s incredibly questionable behaviour.”

Jon folded his arms. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t come up with my name. I was just… born with it?”

“What, so you just—” Martin let his jaw hang as he flailed his arms about to find the words “—popped into existence and just knew your full name?”

“That’s exactly right actually,” Jon replied. If he had a mouth, he’d have the most shit-eating grin on his face.

“How does that even work? How did you even come into being? I just… I have so many questions."

There was a slight frown on Jon’s face. He pressed a finger to his chin. "Honestly, I really don’t know much myself. I just woke up one day and I just… knew things.”

“How did you… become born? I mean, humans, we have to do…”

“Things, yes,” he said, the disgust in his voice signalling he knew what Martin was getting at and didn’t wish to entertain the thought any further.

“Things,” he repeated. “I just want to know is there some sort of… monster-creating god. A witch? Or some monster factory?”

Jon’s eyebrows slid up. “Monster factory?”

“Oh, shut up. How the hell would I know?” Martin pouted.

“Monsters are a manifestation of, well, other being’s emotions and beliefs. If there is enough fear and horror in something, a being will simply just… come into existence, I suppose. There isn’t some sort of order that I’m privy to unfortunately."

"Huh,” Martin said, sitting on his bed. “And where did you come from?”

“Uh…” Jon curled up tighter around himself. “There was a kid who lived here. Jude Perry was her name. She, well, she loved…”

“She loved moths?”

“Burning, burning moths.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She enjoyed pinching moths by their wings and slowly burning them at a candle. I was a manifestation of… the moths’ fears.”

“That's…” Martin frowned. “That’s awful.”

Jon leaned his head against his knees. “Yeah. I woke up in the living room of this house, where she was burning the moths, and when she saw me… Let’s just say the moths never had their vengeance because the family quickly moved right out.”

Martin winced. “Would you have?”

“Hm?” Jon blinked.

“Would you have taken vengeance? Given the chance?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon said. “I gave her quite a scare already when I emerged in her bedroom. But… vengeance per se, I’m unsure. I came into existence as a result of the moths’ fears… not rage. We’re far too timid to hold enough anger to manifest a monster through it.”

“So you’re the reason why this house was so cheap."

"I, well,” he let out a chuckle, “I suppose I am.”

“Are you bound to this house or something?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” he shook his head, causing his feelers to sway gently in front of him. “I can leave whenever. But I just… I don’t know where I could go. I’ve only ever known this place and wherever I look it’s just lit streets after lit streets. I… don’t think I will do too well out there. Especially if I get spotted.”

“Can’t you fly?”

Jon let out a sigh and leaned back slightly. “My wings are fairly useless to be honest. It can’t hold my weight. I can perhaps hover a metre above the ground but not much else if I’m honest.” else.”

“Right,” Martin murmured. Jon was rather large. It would take a lot to lift him off the ground. “That's… That’s quite sad."

The two of them watched the tiny creature swaddled in towel sleep, its body rising and falling with its warm slumber.

“Hey,” Martin said, breaking the silence. He reached for his phone on his bedside table. "I could— um, I could search for the quickest and safest route to wherever you want. I-If you want.”

The wings on Jon’s back fluttered lightly and iridescent green eyes wide with surprise. “You would?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” Martin said, smiling reassuringly.

Jon’s hands curled into animated fists as he shuffled closer to Martin on his other arms and leaned over his shoulder.

Martin pulled out Google Maps and zoomed out for an overview of the area. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want—” Jon’s fists fell slowly to his side as he stared blankly at the phone screen. “I… I actually don’t know.”

“There’s a forest nearby.”

Jon’s face scrunched up slightly. “That sounds awful. Especially with this downpour.”

“Hm… An abandoned car park maybe?”

Hesitance flickered over Jon’s peridot eyes and his wings pressed a little closer to his body.

“No?”

“I… I don’t think so.” He looked down at his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Martin said. “Take your time.”

Just then, the snoozing cat let out a little mewl, and its paws stretched upwards and waved in the air. Jon practically melted into a puddle and he cooed softly and leaned forward to take in the adorable sight.

“Or,” Martin cleared his throat nervously. “I mean… Um… I don’t know. Maybe… I might need some help with cat-sitting. If… If you’re okay with that.” His hands shot up. “Only if you want! No pressure! I… I really don’t mind!”

The moth monster’s eyes lit up and his feelers lifted slightly in what looked like glee. As though suddenly remembering himself, he ducked his head sheepishly and muttered, “I… I would like that. Actually.”

Martin felt heat slowly fill his cheeks and he found himself looking away as well. How ridiculous, he thought to himself. But he couldn’t deny the little flutter in his heart when he imagined what it might feel like, not being so lonely anymore.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #magpod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tmasafehousefest #fluff #meet cute #moth!jon #my writing #fanfic #tma fanfic #tw animal death #tw animal cruelty

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sireswhore · 4 years

Text

Unprofessional

Warnings; smut, language

Professor!scotty

You’re in your last year of college, getting closer and closer towards graduation and achieving your degree that you worked very hard for. Last fall semester was a light load, only a few classes and you couldn’t feel more carefree.

One of your classes’s professor was on maternity leave, she couldn’t teach for this semester. So another teacher is obviously stepping in for the rest of the year.

It’s your next class on your schedule, you make your way down to the room. You walk in, not expecting it to be full because who would be this early to class anyways? You dreaded it, it was your least favorite, but you chose that subject since you needed it to graduate.

You take a seat towards the middle, not exactly in the back to where you can’t see the board in the giant auditorium, but not in the front so the instructor can call on you.

You wonder what the professor looks like; all you know is his name — Sire, Scott, and that he has a PhD.

‘He’s probably so boring, and the most boring looking-‘ you thought until you nearly spit out your water when you see the professor strut into the classroom.

He was tall, fair skinned, had gorgeous fluffy platinum blond hair and he had a ripped, muscled body underneath his tight fitted dress shirt. You literally feel yourself salivate, having to wipe the corners of your mouth and the girl next to you chuckles, fanning her face to show she thinks he’s attractive too.

You watched him step down the steps (more so his ass that is perfectly round in his slacks) and the way his back muscles flex beneath his silky dress shirt.

You leaned forward in your seat, your chin in your hand and your eyes hooded as your breathing speeds up and slows down at the same time, confusing you, but you can’t focus on anything right now except the insanely hot teacher you’ve been blessed with.

So much time has passed by so quickly and all of a sudden the class is filled with seats and the professor is introducing himself.

“Hello, everyone. I’m... Doctor... Sire.” He spaces out his words as he writes his name on the white board. “Although I’m not one of those dicks that’ll correct you if you say ‘professor’ instead of ‘doctor,’ in fact, you can call me Scott if it’s comfortable with you.”

You dreamily giggled, along with about every other girl (and some boys) in class.

“I know in every other class, you went over the syllabus, and that is incredibly boring — the most boring thing in the world I think — so I won’t put you all through that torture. Just read it yourselves and come visit me during office hours if you have any questions or concerns.”

‘I’m definitely visiting him during office hours,’ you thought to yourself.

Throughout the period, he basically talked some more about himself and some ideas he was going to start going through for the next lesson.

You nod, although not really hearing what he said because you were too busy thinking about what his cock looks like.

Class ends quickly, and everyone is scurrying out leaving you being one of the last ones to leave, along with Doctor Sire.

He smiles at you before exiting, leaving you dazzled and embarrassingly trying to control your breathing before running to your dorm.

‘Oh he’s something...,’ you thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks have gone by, and you have yet to visit Doctor Sire during office hours, but you’ve spoken in class every day, which is something you hardly ever do in your other classes.

But your grade was getting strangely low, and you needed to find him to see if you could discuss that.

You find his office, ESED 4589 and check the plate “Sire. PhD” before knocking on the open door. The office is quite big to just be used for tutoring, and you had to look around a filing cabinet to see him sitting at his desk.

“Doctor Sire? May I come in?” You step in anyway, walking towards him and he gestures with a wave.

“Of course you may. Y/N, correct?”

You nod.

“What can I help you with?”

He leans back in his seat, placing his right foot on his left thigh and you feel your mouth water as the material of his pants stretch over his crotch, making him appear as if his dick is about to burst out.

You immediately feels your cheeks heat, you cough, “Oh, um, I had a question about my grade, if that’s okay.” You kept taking glances at his crotch, as much as you tried not to, it was practically on display. You silently hoped he hadn’t noticed.

But he did notice, but he also couldn’t help but sneak glances at your chest, and you were oblivious to those as well.

He secretly found an interest in you, he knew it was wrong and unprofessional, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t have the balls to talk to you, and it would look bad if he did, so he lowered your grade on purpose because he knew you would come speak to him privately.

“Yes of course it’s okay, you can ask me anything.”

“Great,...um, so I’m just confused as to why you gave me a bad grade on this assignment, when I followed all instructions and I-“

“Miss Y/N, you did follow all the instructions, but it wasn’t what I was asking for, some of the points I’ve made probably weren’t clear, I needed more authenticity, something more true to you. You’re one of my brightest students, I expected more from you,” he stated.

Something about listening to Scott’s authorative tone makes a shiver course through your body, making its way in between your thighs and you know you have to fight the feeling before you make a puddle in your heat.

He noticed the way you fidgeted in your seat, crossing your legs to dull out the throb in between them, he smirked to himself.

“It’s far too late to change the grade for that, but I can definitely give you something so you can make up for it and bring your grade up, if you’re up for it.”

“Um, yes! I’ll do it, what is it?” You asked sort of eagerly.

“I’m willing to bump up your average if you would help me with grading some things. Not too heavy, maybe an hour or two after class every day. I’ve been falling behind with a lot of my classes and I’ve been looking for help anyways, so it works out for both of us.”

“Thank you so much, I wont let you down!” You smiled.

“No problem, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N” he waves you off, going back to his work.

“You will!” You said exiting out of his office, once you had your back turned, he already had eyes on your ass until it was out of his view. And he stiffened in his pants.

‘Fuck.... what is she doing to me?,’ Scott thought to himself, running his fingers through his hair stressfully.

For the both of you, it was definitely gonna be a “me time” kind of night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the past few days, you spent the rest of your afternoons and nights at Scott’s office grading papers with him. Spending a couple hours with him has built up so much sexual tension, you can cut it clean with a knife, and it keeps progressing each passing day.

At this point, you both feel it, but you were oblivious of that fact that Scott felt the same way about you. The whole time you thought your feelings were one sided, your professor had a good way of hiding them to keep his professional reputation.

But his reputation all ended when the building closed offices early that night, he had finally found an excuse to invite you over to his house to grade papers.

You were excited, but also nervous. You were stressing on what you were going to wear and other nonsense things, as if this was a date. But it kinda was, at least on your end.

So nevertheless you went with your gut, and made an effort to look a little more presentable than how you usually look during school hours. More casual, but still cute.

And on Scott’s end, he was rushing to make his place look neat even if he’d had already done so for the last five times.

The hour finally came, it was time for you to head over to his place. You spray some perfume before you leave and drive on over to his address.

Scott was just finishing putting down the papers on his coffee table when he finally heard the doorbell ring and nervousness took over his body for a quick second, soon overcame it, and reached the door to invite you in.

The door swings open and you look up to see Doctor Sire behind it, inviting you in with a warm smile. He looked pretty casual as well, he wore his sweatpants and a t-shirt with his hair all messy but even so, it still made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey Y/N, I’m glad you came. Welcome to my casa,” he chuckled.

You walk in, set your shoes aside, and assuming from all the other pairs on the floor, this is a “shoes off” house.

“You have a really nice place Doctor Sire,” you complemented.

“Thank you, you can drop formalities. Just call me Scott,” he chuckled.

You smiled as he locked the door behind him and led you to his living room.

You make your way past him to sit on the couch, he took a slight whiff of your perfume and he swore he almost saw stars.

‘This is gonna be a long night,’ he thought.

- - - - - - - - -

Throughout the night the two of you were both in your own little world, grading papers. But also sneaking glances at eachother left and right.

You thought you were slick, but Scott knew exactly when you moved your eyes towards his direction. He wanted to catch you in the act, to confirm if he was right all along.

And it didn’t take long, not even a couple minutes later you were tempted to sneak another glance. He had just changed his sitting position, and you swear you could see his print in his pants the last time. Curiosity came over you, and before you know it, your eyes definitely weren’t on your own paper.

It didn’t take long for you to realize his eyes weren’t on his either, you froze and your face flushed a bright red. You were caught in the act.

Scott gained a little more confidence to confront you.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?,” he smirked.

“I- oh, just looking at how many papers you have left...” you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off. But Scott wasn’t gonna let this go.

“No you weren’t. You mean to tell me you were looking at the amount of papers I had left for the last 10 times?,” he grinned now.

‘Shit, oh fuck,’ you quickly thought, your palms got sweaty now.

“I- uh-“

“- it’s fine, after all, to make things even I’ve been checking you out more times than you can count,” he said so nonchalantly.

Your heart fluttered, ‘am I dreaming?’ you thought.

You blushed and looked down, not knowing what to do.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, it was very unprofessional on my par-“

“IT’S OKAY!... um, if it makes you feel better, I kinda had a crush on you,” you play with your pen.

“Really?,” he said amusingly, a smirk plastered over his face, “I guess we’re both being unprofessional huh?” he scooted closer to you, and your heart was beating fast, and soon there was another thing beating fast in between your legs.

You crossed your legs, to fight the throbbing feeling.

“You know, squeezing your legs together doesn’t make it go away love.” He whispered as he put a hand on your knee.

You swallowed thickly, he chuckled at the sight of you being all flustered.

“I can help make it go away, I promise you, but only if you want...”

And your breath hitched. Those are the words you’ve been wanting to hear since the first day you saw him. Before you knew it, you parted your legs slowly as his hand traveled closer and closer to your heat at the same pace.

He grabbed your face gently with the other hand and brought it up to face him, you opened your eyes to meet his, his face was so close to yours. Time stopped as the two of you drowned in each others eyes.

He blinked, “Can I kiss you?” He murmured over your lips.

You nodded your head, “y-“ he didn’t even let you finish as he locked his lips with yours. You rested your hand on his chest as you quickly straddled his lap, already feeling his growing boner under you, his hands trailed to grab your ass.

You made sweet little sounds as Scott’s tongue was melting you down. He rolled his tongue with yours, squeezing your ass more into his body, sending tingles throughout yours. You moaned into his mouth at the sensation.

He pulled away even though if it were possible he’d do this with you all day long.

“I waited so long for this,” he said. A satisfied smile breaks on his face.

“Me too,” you said, your eyes flickering over his face, you breathed quite heavily.

And with that you latched your lips onto his exposed neck as you slowly bucked your hips against his boner, “fuck,” he moaned.

“Are you going to keep your promise?” You whispered into his ear.

His eyes became dark, his hand slides down to your cunt, pressing his palm overtop of you through your pants and you’re so wet you’re sure he can feel it even through two layers of fabric.

“I always do,” he said in a threatening tone, and with that he hooks his fingers on your waistband and you help him remove your pants and underwear all in one go.

A shaky breath escapes your mouth as the cold air hits your soft skin. You tug at the waistband of his sweats, and soon he has them down to his ankles.

Then that wasn’t enough for the both of you, shortly the tops came off and you were all fully exposed to one another.

You bring your lips back on his, your bare chest against his, you let his tongue fill your mouth. There was desperation in his kiss, he aggressively pushed his tongue against yours, securing his dominance.

You detach your lips from his with a popping sound and lifted yourself a little more, so his tip now rests at your wet, tight hole. Nonetheless, you remain stationary, simply hovering over him.

That is, until he yanks you down, causing you to take all of him in one go. You cry out, already feeling weak in your thighs.

“I think it’s time you know I don’t like being teased, girl,” he grunts in your ear.

You whine, rocking back and forth with his cock now fully sheathed inside you.

Both of you released sinful moans as you felt yourselves inside each other. Scott moved slowly inside you and gradually increased his thrusts.

He panted as he held your waist tight and got a smooth rhythm on his thrusts and watched you cry in pleasure, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah you like that,” he growled in your ear as his hand trailed to grasp your neck lightly. You hummed loudly while grinding on his dick.

You soon found yourself on the couch as Scott flipped you and crawled on top of you, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck as he inserted himself again.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he rammed his cock inside you persistently at an unforgiving pace.

“FUCK... SCOTT, AHH!” you screamed out loud, “you’re so big..” you breathlessly stammered.

He smirked as that fueled his ego even more, “yeah baby girl?” He taunted as he rammed harder playing with your clit.

You gripped the seat on the side so hard, you almost scratched the material off as you felt a knot growing inside your stomach.

Your legs clenched around his waist tightly as you neared your orgasm.

“Scott I- I’m cl-lose, I’m close, I’m close...” you moaned as you arched your back away from the couch. Gasping for air.

“Don’t make me break my promise girl, come for me.” He uttered. His words sent you to the edge and you fell apart while exhaling sharply. Scott kept going as soon as he felt himself reaching his climax as well.

“Fuck,” he grunted and spurred himself into you, filling you with his warmth. Both of you completely out of breath, laying on top of each other.

Scott stood on his knees and slowly pulled his cock out, he watched you oozed his juices out of your cunt. He swore under his breath at how hot this moment looked, he swore he could come a second time just from this view.

He quickly grabbed some wipes from a drawer in his kitchen and used them to wipe you off as you layed there exhaustingly.

“Does this mean I get an A+” you joked after he was done.

He wore his boxers again, and sat back on the couch as if nothing happened while you wore your shirt and snuggled on top of him, tracing his tattoos on his chest with your finger.

“Definitely,” he chuckled.

The two of you forgot about the papers piled on the desk, and drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

#scotty sire #scott sire #smut #vlog squad #vlog #fanfic #writing

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romelluka · 4 years

Text

Altean & Galra Lifespans

What we know and how to connect it into something that seems inane but is canon, I guess.

Also Lotor’s personal history’s timeline disclosed.

I sincerely do not think anyone on Voltron staff has supervised this very tightly so none of these implications are likely to be lore-relevant. I just found them fun to pick apart. If I missed any info, please let me know!

Let's begin with Altean lifespans! This one is easy. We know the Castle of Lions is 600 years old. We also know that Coran was older than baby age by the time of its creation, since he was able to accompany his grandfather places while it was being built:

This marks Coran as anywhere between 600 and 700 maybe, since he seems to have still been generally young then.

Coran is further considered not OLD-old but definitely on the older end of adult age. This is evidenced by the discussion about him having the slipperies - he is definitely aging, but he’s got plausible deniability on being a real senior citizen. Maybe around 60 to 65 years of human age. So assuming he's maybe 650 or something, it'd make sense to assume Alteans naturally age to around 1000 years. That’s a pretty neat 1:10 conversion from human age... seemingly.

In reality, it doesn’t work out nearly as smoothly.

Because now we get into how the process of aging works for Alteans. We have a pretty solid timeframe for it thanks to Allura and Kova, the cat. Kova is intially a cute fat baby and we see her as such before Allura is born:

That it’s before Allura’s birth is important to remember because Kova gives the only solid indicator of timeframe in the flashbacks.

Kova is 28 decaphoebs (thus roughly years) old shortly before everything goes to shit and the war starts. Assuming Kova was around 1 or 2 when we first see her, that leaves 21 years for.... all of building Voltron, Voltron being active AND Allura growing into the person we see.

Let that sink in. Voltron was only active for about 25 years. That’s canon. It left a legend for millenia, but it wasn't even there for a full century.

And this also tells us that Allura initially aged at human speed. When staff calls her a teenager, that is LITERAL in Earth terms. We are thus forced to conclude that while Alteans live for thousand years on average, their whole childhood to adulthood process only takes 20 years. Like, basically the blink of an eye. Holy shit.

Meanwhile the one thing to truly age Alteans is stress. Look at Alfor before and after Zarkon and Honerva got obsessed with quintessence.... This is what stress does to you......

... okay no, this is me being flippant.

Enough of that, let’s move on to Galra lifespans.

The imperial Galra as we know them all live to incredibly long age. Sendak is as old as Zarkon and Haggar but he's far from the only one who's reached such incredibly lifespans.

Lotor's nanny--- I mean governess-- is also still around. She raised Lotor since some point in his childhood after his old governess is implied to be executed, so she's still thousands of years old.

I'd been wondering for a long time why they'd keep her around until my best friend pointed out the easy solution: the majority of citizens in the Galra empire had one-time quintessence transfusions that simply let them ALL live to such incredible ages.. This also explains the constant expansion of the Empire and its growing quintessence need since the population is only decimated by battle deaths but not really by anyone passing of old age.

Only people who were already on the brink of death at the time of quintessence administration seem to need continous amounts of it: Zarkon, Haggar and the Archivist. Lotor, who's had his administration in the womb, naturally also never needs another dose.

So by now everyone's kind of immortal, but what about before?

The best we get is this statement on Galra history. 33 rulers through 13 millenia - substracting Zarkon we get 32 rulers through 3 millenia here. We get an average time of ruling from this. It's 94 years.

Of course, the correlation of these 94 years to lifespan is nebulous. There are numerous references to the Galra always having been a warring and conquering people, even before they started space travel:

Thus it is pretty hard to believe that Galra rulers historically just died of old age. They likely got killed one way or another after they passed their physical prime.

Now we can only speculate... if this rough century of leadership represents maybe the strongest age of 20 to 40 in human years, then that adds another 100 years of childhood and then a few hundred years more of later adulthood. Galra could maybe age to 600 or even 800?

These are also just speculations. They might have the exact same life expectancy as Alteans originally. We can’t say for sure.

This is also all assuming a continuous aging process akin to that of humans and not whatever is going on with Altean speed childhoods. We can’t really say anything about the aging speed of Galra. Allura is already a teen when Lotor is born so her age compared to his in the final episode’s canon AU means nothing - hell, Lotor isn't even pure Galra so he might age different from the rest of them......

But we do still know some interesting facts about his individual life story.

Romelle states that they've been at the colony since pretty much the time the war began - it can't be EXACTLY that time, of course, but she's also narrating this generations (read: millenia) after the fact.

But with this we know that the colony has likely been around for maybe 8 000 or 9 000 years. That's enough for nearly 10 generations of Alteans but still close to the war to be known as ‘since the war began’ in the local folklore.

Meanwhile we also know research for building the colony took Lotor a few hundred years:

This implies that his one year test that lead to his banishment was maybe 500 to 1 000 years or so after the war.

And by that time Lotor already looked the same as we know him now. Lotor's been a young adult for ca. 9 000 and years, it took him less than 1 000 years to reach adulthood.

This concludes my thoughts on alien aging in Voltron. Thanks for reading!

#voltron #voltron meta #vld meta #lotor #prince lotor #meta #galra #alteans

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testifytime · 4 years

Note

do everything for me, you already know about me BUT: im described as "chaotic faggot" by my friends, i have no filter, I can switch from being outgoing to really nervous in a second, i like drawing, dice, and divinitation. i hoard candles and incense, and i like paintball.

- A Pokemon team/type theme (+ fun facts abt your team!)

Your team is full of Poison types! They’re used the most often for rascly lil fucker trainers, so, it fits :3c

Your signature Pokemon is Toxtricity, though your team also consists of Whirlipede, Haunter, Gloom, Toxicroak, and Crobat!

Fun facts!

Your Toxtricity was sent to you by your juggabro. In his words, it’s a “cool Pokemon to fit your aesthetic but keep you on track”. It can be pretty overprotective, but sometimes it turns a blind eye to the more chaotic things you do.

Your Whirlipede is just an entire baby. Even though it’s got toxic spikes on its shell that COULD kill you, it’s pretty much a lapbug. You just have to try and remind it to be careful before it goes in for snuggles.

Your Haunter and Gloom actually kind of hate each other! Having them out at the same time often ends up with you either getting paralysed or put to sleep. They’re super sweet when they’re apart, though, and both LOVE scritches.

Toxicroak used to be really loveydovey when it was a Croagunk, but now it acts like it’s too cool for school. It’s really not. If you pay more attention to another Pokemon it WILL jab you in the stomach. And then it’ll pretend like it totally wasn’t even because it was jealous.

Your Crobat is the sweetest of the bunch!! It likes to collect (read: steal) things for you that it thinks you’ll like, and is almost always attached to your back out of its Pokeball. Sometimes without you wanting it to be. It can be a bit of a pain, sometimes.

- Bloodcaste/lusus/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck troll (+lore)

You’re a purpleblood with a seaserpent lusus! Your chumhandle is acquiredTalisman.

You live with your lusus in a hive that boarders where the jungle forest ends and the beach begins. It’s a pretty popular spot for violetbloods, admittedly, but it’s also the only place your giantass Seaserpentdad can actually fit; the mouth of the river is deep and leads directly out into the ocean, where he spends most of his time. The hive itself is pretty cluttered - because man, you suck at keeping shit tidy - and filled to the brim with your dice collections, your religious paraphenalia, and all the random junk you’ve stolen (of which there is a lot).

You have a few interests, of which the main is your religion. You’re a diviner of sorts, oddly sought out by your fellow purplebloods to tell them what their purpose is in life as stated by the Great Mirthful Messiahs. You’re not entirely sure that they really do speak through you, but your readings are scary-accurate, and not only does it mean that you’ve made more friends, but you’ve made a fuck tonne of money, too. You’re more fond of practicing with your friends, or on your own, sneaking what you can beneath your lusus’ snout; so far, he hasn’t seemed to question the candle collection you have, or the alter with the Faygo bottlecaps, or the cards, or pendulum made from a grubbone you got from one of your customers. Actually, he hasn’t noticed much of anything? You’re hesitant to go TOO far, but you do like pushing at what you can get away with every now and then.

On top of that, you love to draw - mostly as a form of worship, but also just for fun with your juggabros. You send drawings back and forth, even though you’ve never been able to meet them, and it’s pretty fun! You hope one day that you can get them to your favourite hangout spot to cause a little chaos - which usually means trashing the violetbloods’ rich boy shit and stealing things you know they’re too proud to tattle about. You don’t... always remember doing those things? But you definitely remember the amount of violetbloods that give you nasty glares whenever you walk past. It’s okay, though. You have a rifle and you’re not afraid to use it.

Beyond that, though, you’re... kind of lonely. There’s nobody that you really consider a friend around you, and when your friends do visit you, it’s only every few months. Having all those customers and the nasty violetbloods hanging around is great, sure, but... sometimes you wish you could move your hive closer inland to be near your juggabros. You could, you guess. But then where would your lusus go?

Your lusus is kind of ridiculously huge. You really couldn’t miss him even on the horizon, his giant form standing stark against the two moons. Not that he spends a whole lot of time above the water, though. He pretty much only comes back to get fed and throw a fit if he sees any of your purpleblood customers hanging around.

- Symbol/guardian/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck kid (+lore)

Your symbol is a and your guardian is your big bro! Your chumhandle is augmentedTemptation.

You and your older bro kick it in a sweet lil bottom-floor apartment. It’s kinda dingy, kinda shitty, but it’s the best he can afford and you’re not really one to complain when you know how hard he works just to keep the leaky roof over your head. It’s got everything you want out of a home, anyway; separate bedrooms, tiny bathroom, sweet hangout pad that doubles as a kitchen (which you’ve got a curtain draped over so that it looks like they’re two rooms) - it’s pretty neat. It’s also got a fire escape out the back and easy access to the lobby doors that’re easy to pick, so you figure it’s kinda home.

You absolutely fucking love to play paintball. You’ve got a painball gun that you maybe stole from the store once, and a couple pellets you’ve been buying for cheap online whenever you have the money. You don’t... actually have anyone to play with, but hey, cop cars make a great target. It feeds into your general need for chaos, which isn’t limited to - but has involved - petty theft, breaking into cars, and spray painting defametory phrases against racists and homophobes on billboards. You’ve never actually been caught. Okay, you got caught once, but you’re really good at crying. You’re pretty sure your bro doesn’t know about that.

You like to practice witchy shit in your spare time. You’ve got altars set up for your patrons, and a candle collection that you really don’t know that you’re ever gonna burn through. Plus, incense! Your bro kind of hates the smell, but you just crack open a window and it’s like he doesn’t even know. You’ve also got a pretty fair collection of crystals, but that’s more because people just keep giving them to you? It’s wild what they’ve thought were just normal rocks, and you’re pretty sure some of your collection could sell for a pretty buck, but they make way better offerings.

Of course, you also love to talk to your friends online. You have a bunch! You’re pretty easy to get on with, you think, so you end up just kinda collecting people into one giant group of friends that never stops growing. You share art, play games, chat, make them worried sick when you do dumb shit - it’s great.

Sometimes at dusk you like to go up to the roof of the apartment block you and your bro live in and stand right on the edge. It’s so high up you can see around for miles, and everything below you looks like a speck of dust beneath your feet. The stars twinkle above you in the darkening sky, just barely visible, and you think, every now and then, that you are very, very small.

- A FNAF animatronic design and name

You’re a broken down animatronic, probably one of the earliest of your kind. Maybe even a prototype? Nobody really remembers anymore. You’ve just kind of always been there, at the back of the store, half a body and more coherent than people expect you to be, but never fully quite there. Your head lulls back and forth, your arms moving sluggishly, and in order to get around, you drag yourself across the floor.

You can speak, but not by much. It’s glitchy and switched out more often than not, absolutely terrifying to hear in the dark - but you’re a pretty sweet soul, all things considered. The few who’ve been brave enough to slip back behind the old, abandoned doors, past the cobwebs and through the narrow halls, who haven’t run at the first sight of you, tell tales of a sweet carcass who seemed more scared of being found than anything else.

There are a couple kids who routinely come back to visit you. They like to give you things they’ve found outside the pizzaria, mostly coins and old dice and things that smell sweet to try and cover up how musty you are.

You’ve never hurt a soul the entire time you’ve been there, but your reputation has been built on the whispers of kids who’ve seen the rotting maw of your muzzle, the glint of your endoskeleton and the shine of your eyes in the dark. They call you Thing - as if giving you a name will make you come to life.

The ones that know you better call you Peppi.

- A BNHA Quirk and hero title

Your Quirk is Corroding Touch. Despite its name, and how terrifying it sounds, your quirk is pretty simple! Anything you touch wastes away, and you can control how far along its own personal timeline it decays through. For instance, you could touch a flower and have it start wilting, and stop there on its timeline - or you could have it waste away to a point that it decays completely and turns to mush.

The drawback here is that what you’re doing is essentially speeding up a natural process. Things that don’t waste away without outside forces - such as rocks through erosion - won’t be affected by your quirk. Things that live very long lives before decaying - such as turtles - will take up a lot more of your time to speed them through their natural timeline. Finally, you can’t reverse what you’ve done. Once you’ve sped it through its natural timeline, there’s no going back; another quirk will have to undo the effects.

Of course, it also means that if you plant an oak seed, instead of waiting hundreds of years for it to grow into an oak tree, you can just use your quirk to speed up the process. So it’s a good-bad thing!

Your hero title is the Wasteful Hero: Corrosion. You’re a sort of last-resort hero, and you don’t like being in the limelight. Your quirk is dangerous if not handled correctly, so you work on a team with another hero who has a counter-effective quirk to yours (essentially Hyper Growth!). A lot of civillians are scared of you, but that’s okay. You know that what you do is important, and that your ranking doesn’t matter so long as you’re saving lives.

You are a little bitter, though, that your partner is several ranks ahead of you.

#turnfagshithead #long post//#heartless prince rambles

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essekknits · 4 years

Note

idk if the prompt things still open but... dragon peter nureyev? or more ben lives au bc that was so good

Okay, listen. You can’t just drop such a perfect prompt on me and expect me not to write the absolute shit out of it.

I love it so much this became a full fledged multi-chapter story I am planning to continue.

And here’s the link to it on AO3, if you want to follow!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684750/chapters/54219535

***

He didn’t know what he expected when he heard the clunking of metal, but a young knight in a beat up armour collapsed at his door wasn’t it.

Usually the knights that came to face him were older men, muscular and loud and full of brash courage and pompous self importance. This one wasn’t any of that. He was young and short, his armour and skin smeared with blood. He was also very, very unconscious.

What can one do when faced with a man like that besides helping him? He was intrigued, after all, and if there’s one thing dragons aren’t very good at it’s leaving the things they want.

You see, there are some misconceptions about dragons and their dwellings that people don’t seem to be able to get out of their heads.

First, dragons aren’t some mindless beasts. They aren’t the brutal, thoughtless disasters they were painted as in human culture. They were clever. Smart and quick and cultured. They had their own traditions, their music, their cultures. They were scholars, learned in magic and history and fighting. From a very young age they could shift their forms to more resemble those of humans, until they were able to hide among them.

Second, dragons didn’t live in musty stone caves filled with piles of gold like most would imagine. In fact, most dragons would be insulted at such thought. Dragon dens were the epitome of luxury, carved rooms in the inner caves covered with carpeted, decorated walls, bookcases, trinkets and knickknacks tastefully organised all around, with the brunt of the treasure in rooms properly made for that purpose. Dragons did love gold, but they also enjoyed beauty and comfort, and their dens reflected that.

The young dragon who was named Nureyev (or Peter, as his adoptive father used to call him before his death) picked up the young human in one clawed paw, clutching him close to his chest as he limped into the den. He charmed into existence a bed, human sized, complete with plush pillows and a soft, warm blanket. He lay the battered human in the bed, shifting into a more human form. He then grabbed some clean cotton and a bowl of water, and began cleaning his wounds, humming as he worked.

~~~

Juno didn’t expect to wake up feeling this warm. In fact, he didn’t expect to wake up at all. He hoped for a painless death, and instead got life and a dull ache where he should’ve felt the sharp bite of the steel that cut his skin and flesh. He kept his eyes shut, trying to get a feel for where he was. He fell unconscious at the mouth of a cave, and now… he could hear roaring flame, and soft steps, and the rustling of fabric.

“Good morning, sir knight. I hope you are feeling well.” A voice called, soft and deep and melodic. It was a voice Juno wouldn’t have minded waking up to every day, and wouldn’t have minded dying to either. The stranger already knew he was awake, so what did he have to lose?

He opened his eyes, and was stunned.

On a first glance, the man in front of him looked fairly normal, if extremely beautiful. He was tall and slim, with high cheekbones and dark hair. His clothes were a deep red fabric, heavy and rich and velvety, and he wore golden jewelry adorned with precious gemstones, mainly rubies and garnets.

But on a second glance, you started noticing that things weren’t as they seemed.

His eyes had an alarming colour, like molten gold, shining even over his extravagant jewels. His skin looked slightly more golden than was natural, like it perpetually captured the glow of the sunset. But it was his teeth that gave him away. Just a bit too sharp to be human, he had a smile that made him seem like he was happy to see him, and like he would be just as happy to kill him.

Luckily for Juno, this was not his first time meeting a dragon. Growing up, one of his best friends was a dragon, living in hiding among humans after their whole tribe was destroyed. But Sasha was very different from this man. She was cold, quiet and serious, with black hair and black eyes and small obsidian jewelry she could easily hide. In her dragon form, Sasha was still small and black, her dark scales shimmering in the light and her sleek form built for speed, like she was born to pierce the sky.

“What’s that, sir knight, lost your tongue?” The man chuckled, gracefully sitting on the bed besides Juno. Because it was a bed he was on, and he was covered with a soft blanket. This was… more comfort than he ever had, more or less. His wounds also seemed to have been bandaged, and he was stripped of his armour and left in his underclothes, a loose linen shirt and a knee length braie. He would be embarrassed if not for the immediate threat that was the dragon in front of him, expecting an answer.

“Uhhh, no. You didn’t get that lucky.” He retaliated quickly, earning a delighted chuckle from the dragon. “Thank to you. For your help.” Juno pulled himself up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I was simply curious about the mysterious stranger who passed out at my door. May I know your name, now?” The dragon raised an eyebrow, and Juno barely hesitated to answer. He wasn’t a good enough liar to trick a dragon. Not to mention that he didn’t even really want to lie. Again, he didn’t have anything to lose.

“Juno. Juno Steel.” He answered, and the dragon chuckled.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful knight. My own, I’m afraid, isn’t quite so unique. Rex Glass, it’s a pleasure.” He licked his lips, eyeing Juno in a way that wasn’t all unpleasant. “But where are my manners, I forgot to even offer you water!” He laughed, charming a mug of water in front of Juno’s stare, offering it to him.

“Neat trick.” Juno took the mug, suspicious. He hesitated to drink.

“Oh please, I didn’t poison you, Juno. I took you in when you were unconscious, didn’t I? Dressed your wounds, looked after you… if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up.” Glass rolled his eyes.

“Not why I was hesitating.” Honestly, Juno wouldn’t have minded. “Just wondering if this is a transmutation or a summoning. Or something else entirely. Every person has a different way of getting the same thing done, and transmutated water tastes like dirt.” He put the mug to his mouth, drinking it all in one swig. He was really thirsty.

“Oh? A knight who dabbles in magic? This is something I haven’t seen yet.” Glass tilted his head, and Juno shook his head.

“Not much of a magician myself. Not much of a knight too, if we’re talking about it already. But thanks for the water. Definitely not transmuted.” He gave him a half smile, thinking of the people who he first learned of magic from. His thoughts briefly went to Sasha and her instinctive, meticulous magic, but they soon turned away from her, to his twin brother. Benzaiten’s magic was art, just like his dancing. Juno’s smile faded from his face, before he caught himself, shaking his head and returning his eyes to Rex. “So, how did you do it?” He asked, genuinely interested even if he was a bit distracted.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I just… willed it into existence?” The dragon’s teeth showed again in his smile. He was clearly dramatic, and loved a good story.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve seen magic do weirder things.” Juno shrugged, his voice distant, and the dragon frowned.

“Are you feeling well, Juno? You do seem a bit ill.” His head was tilted again, and his voice seemed genuinely concerned.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Really. Just… injuries, you know? Got hit over the head, that kind of stuff leaves you all spinning sometimes.” Juno ran his fingers through his hair, careful or the area where a bandage covered it.

“I see. How about you go shower? There is a spring not far from here, and when you return I can check on those injuries.” Juno nodded, agreeing to be lead to the spring. Rex left a change of clothes with him, made of simple and comfortable cotton.

Juno couldn’t understand the situation. What does this dragon want? What could he possibly want? He took Juno in when he was injured, dressed his wounds, welcomed him in his den (because that was a dragon’s den if Juno has ever seen one. Which he hasn’t, but he heard the stories Sasha and her parents told). But dragons didn’t do things for no reason. What reason could this dragon, a being powerful enough to just will things into existence, and whose magic pulsed through the whole cave system, vibrating through Juno’s body with every breath, have for trying to help him?

The springs were naturally hot, located in a cave with high ceilings. The stone itself had veins of gold in it, and the light he carried with him shone on it, reflecting back and forth. If this was a human settlement, they would’ve ripped this mountain for its gold already. But this was a dragon’s den, and dragons had value for gold even when it was still in the vein, solely for its beauty and magical qualities. As Juno showered, he could feel his exhaustion peeling off with the grime and blood, magically disappearing. While this particular spring was quite small, Juno could hear larger ones in the depths. Maybe large enough for the dragon to soak in in his true form.

The dragon walked into the cave again once Juno was in his underclothes, this time not as overly dressed as he was before. He wore a white cotton shirt that seemed fitted for his measurements, and dark red pants the same colour as his previous attire. He knelt near Juno, summoning bandaged and some sort of ointment.

“Why are you doing this?” Juno asked quietly, not looking at the man who was currently bandaging his wounds. He tried to tell him he can do it himself, but Glass wouldn’t budge.

“Well, why not? You’re injured and tired, Juno. It would be irresponsible of me as a host to let you go untreated.” His voice was quiet and professional. “Now sit still and let me finish. Then we can go eat.” Juno let him do as he wished, then got fully dressed and followed him back to where they came from.

The food was all on a low table, surrounded by large cushions. Juno wasn’t used to so much food in the same place. This kind of plenty, in general, wasn’t something he was familiar with. But still, he sat at the table besides Rex, they ate, and the conversation flowed. Rex was… charming. His eyes were hypnotising, and he had a certain scent to him, like spices from a far off land, that’s Juno couldn’t quite put his finger on but couldn’t get enough of. Juno thought… he might be okay with it. With being here, with this dragon.

~~~

“So, would you tell me what brought you here, Juno? I am curious.” Nureyev asked, lounging on a pillow and comfortably leaning toward Juno.

“Let’s just say the knights don’t particularly like me.” He sighed tiredly. “I hit the head knight in the face. Tried to expose his corruption, but even though I brought evidence, nobody cared. So they kicked me and started threatening to kill me if I don’t shut my mouth.” He shrugged, like he didn’t care, but his eyes said otherwise.

“That sounds cruel, Juno, I’m sorry for this.” He put a hand on the knight’s, gently tracing his bruised knuckles with his thumb. Everything about this human was fascinating. Usually he didn’t care for humans much. They were there to be exploited or ignored or fought. Nothing more. Nothing like… like this knight, open and hurting and quick witted and with so much sadness in him.

“Well, it is what it is.” He shrugged again, adamantly avoiding Nureyev’s gaze in a way that was almost amusing, and Nureyev took as a challenge.

“So, what will you do now?” He asked, tilting his head at Juno as he put a grape in his mouth, letting it burst between his teeth.

“I… I don’t know. Probably run somewhere else. It’s pretty clear that if I stay around, they’ll kill me. The only reason I survived was because I know the catacombs well, and no one else would go in them.” Juno’s eyes were cast aside, ashamed and tired.

“Well… life can wait one night, can’t it? Come here, Juno.” Nureyev smiled softly at the knight, eyes hooded and posture inviting. He didn’t even need to charm him magically, but Juno looked… almost compelled. He closed the distance between them, and Nureyev pulled him in for a kiss.

This human knight tasted of mead and honey and blood, and fit so easily in his arms that it just felt right. Like it was meant to be, and Juno Steel was always supposed to end right there, in his arms. Like it was only a matter of time, and they would do the same thing in every universe out there.

“Don’t you get tired of pretending?” Juno murmured against his lips as they pulled away, and Peter looked into his deep brown eyes that seemed so warm and so sad.

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head to the side, curious. There was no way he could know. Nureyev was very good at disguising himself, at appearing like a rich, slightly eccentric human. There is no way a knight in his early 20’s would uncover his disguise.

“Pretending to be human.” Juno pulled away just a little further, pinning him with his gaze. He didn’t look like he was running away, though, and that was unusual. “Cut the games, Rex. You’re not the first dragon I met.” His voice was dull and distant, like he wasn’t all there. It wasn’t a knight bragging about the amount of dragons he killed. It was just… acknowledgement. He didn’t look like he was going to attack.

“That… does seem familiar, yes. I must admit, you are not reacting with as much… violence, as I’ve come to expect from a knight.” He confessed, not making any move toward or away from Juno. This was it, either the knight runs, or attacks him, or… well, Nureyev didn’t want to entertain the last option too much, not wanting to be burned by false hopes.

“Why would I react with violence? Hell, you’re the first person I met in days that didn’t want me dead.” Juno sounded a bit sad about that, but only faintly.

“Isn’t this what knights do?… slay the beast?” Nureyev asked carefully. His own parents were killed by knights, or… or so Mag told him. Then again, everything else the man told him was a lie, so why would this be any different? He was still bitter and hurting.

“Even if they do, I don’t care about that. I don’t do this. One of my childhood best friends was a dragon. She lived in hiding in the city. I don’t… I don’t fear dragons more than I should.” Juno’s eyes were cast down, and Nureyev didn’t know whether he wanted to ask him for further clarification or just fight him. Luckily for him, asking for more clarification appeared to be a sure way to start a fight.

“And how much should you fear dragons, sir knight?” He asked, head tilted and tongue as sharp as his teeth. He sounded dangerous, and that’s exactly what he was going for. Slowly, he let more and more inhuman features grow on him. His teeth sharpened even more, the pupils of his eyes turned into vertical slits, and deep golden scales surrounded his eyes and dusted his cheeks. Horns started growing back from his head.

“A lot, but not enough that I’ll attack someone who was kind to me and never tried to hurt me.” Juno’s voice cooled down considerably too. Up until now, he was still using that soft, vulnerable tone, deep and golden and warm. Now his voice was rough, jagged steel. defensive like a wounded animal licking its wounds, lashing out at anyone who would come too close, whether friend or foe. Nureyev almost regretted riling him up like that, He was beautiful like this, but there was pain in the way he carried himself now, sitting up stiffly instead of leaning comfortably on the pillows.

“You are welcome to stay or leave as you please, Juno. I will not hold you captive.” Nureyev eventually said, met with only a small nod from this human knight. He knew the human would leave, deciding to leave a note for him to find in his bags.

While we didn’t separate on the best of terms, my offer to you still stands.

I do hope to see you again, Juno Steel.

signed, yours truly,

Peter Nureyev

#fic #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #the penumbra podcast #tpp #penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years

Text

Title: When in Gotham, do as Batman does

Summary: Desmond Miles, the mentor of Gotham, and Batman have a serious discussion. (Meanwhile, Robin shows the little Novice accompanying their local Assassin how to do the coolest flips.)

AN: AssCreed/Batman Crossover for the 2nd day of AssCreed Week - Assassin Brotherhood.

Desmond loved Gotham. It was like Florence or Venice or Rome, except better because it was his city. You could tell that it had been built on the bodies of Templars and Assassins alike, particularly the Assassin influence was hard to miss if you had their training. Every corner was easy to disappear into, the buildings were high and the houses crammed into each other to create one fast-paced track for rooftop chasers. Not to mention the abandoned underground railroad tracks or the catacombs sleeping even deeper below. Gotham was built for its shadowy protectors and took good care to hide them all away.

Shaun and Becca had declared him officially mad for settling in this city. He could have gone everywhere in the world. Assassins as skilled as Desmond were hard to come by and currently needed all around the globe.

But Desmond had died for their cause once already (and then been fished out of terror-filled green pits of screaming nails on blackboards) and so they had allowed him to pick.

And Desmond had chosen Gotham.

Or maybe the city had chosen him.

People didn’t really move to Gotham, Desmond had noticed. Nor did they ever leave despite having the funds or the motivation. They cursed and screeched and begged, but they never went further than a vacation away.

And some people didn’t leave at all.

It was a moderately warm September night still. They had been blessed with a warm summer, and its remnants were still chasing through the winds, rolling in-between the skyscrapers. Gotham’s chaos had been calm lately. It was only a question of time until the first Rogue broke out of Arkham again, but right now everything was still. It was one of those nights in which they actually had time to look out for the candles and the flashlights asking for their help. Desmond had sent most of his recruits out for training, errands and information gathering. Maybe also a little blackmail depending on how they brave they got tonight. Instead of supervising from their headquarters, Desmond had chosen to take their youngest recruit out. Though Jason, by all means, wasn’t really a recruit as much as he was a kid that had realized the city’s Thief guild might support him on the streets, but the Brotherhood could get him away from them.

Or as away from them as Jason wanted to be.

He’d seen Desmond teach the Novices how to do a Leap of Faith and that was it. He hadn’t stopped pestering Desmond about teaching him, even at the bar where minors definitely weren’t allowed in, until Desmond had agreed. Jason wouldn’t stop arguing that Robin couldn’t have been much older than Jason either when he had started tailing the Bat. However, Jason also didn’t know that Robin had been trained to be an acrobat (and unknowingly an assassin) from birth.

Desmond knew because he had made it his business to know what was going on in his city.

The identities of its brightest protectors were simply a part of that. Batman had been here before Desmond, had bled for this city. Sure, Desmond could argue he had died for the whole world, but at sixteen he had run away from it all, unlike Bruce Wayne, who had already known his destiny then.

This was also the reason why Desmond’s Brotherhood didn’t kill. He respected Batman’s code as the superior rule. Even law enforcement worked with him while they certainly didn’t know about the Brotherhood.

(Well, they did to an extent. You couldn’t miss the spray-painted As that had shown up all over the city, but the police thought those belonged to a random tagger or, at worst, a gang.)

It was another matter that had his out of town Assassin contacts roll their eyes and bite their cheeks at. Desmond had no problems with assassinations. He was freakishly alright with them so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out the Isu had engineered him that way.

However, their Brotherhood’s no-kill rule was the only reason the Bat tolerated their presence. Maybe the fact that they had quietly gotten rid of the Court of Owls had contributed as well. It wasn’t murder if you cryogenically froze them to be picked up by the Justice League later on.

The Gotham Brotherhood didn’t kill. It made them child-friendly enough that Desmond had given in to Jason’s demands and let the eleven-year-old become his protégé.

And so here they were, standing on a rooftop and waiting for the Bat to drop in.

“How much longer do we gotta wait?” Jason asked.

After tonight, Desmond would work on the boy’s situational awareness. He remembered a few games Ezio used to play with his recruits and their children to teach them how to observe. They also had the neat side-effect of detecting whether someone was predisposed for eagle vision. Desmond thought he had seen Jason’s eyes flash gold once or twice, the speed at which he managed to track down people certainly spoke for it, but he couldn’t be sure.

He knew Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson both had the gift though, and that Wayne was aware of it. You didn’t train with an old splinter group of the Brotherhood for years to be ignorant of eagle vision.

“Mask on, kiddo?” Desmond asked instead, studying the shadows to their right that had become just a little too dense.

He had felt ridiculous the first time he had put on a mask, he didn’t need one to obscure his face, but masks made people think of vigilantes, and it was better to be mistaken for those (and honestly in these times the border between Assassin and Vigilante had become thin) than be known as the Brotherhood. Gotham was mostly Templar free and Desmond would like to keep to this way. He didn’t need their attention, not when his people weren’t strong enough yet. Nowadays, Desmond was used to the weight of the mask covering his eyes. He had grown fond of the red and gold Venetian Rebecca had bought him as a joke.

“Never took it off.”

Desmond smiled. “Good.”

Then he turned back to the shadows. “Hello, Batman. Robin.”

Behind him he could feel Jason tense, looking around to spot the vigilantes Desmond had already identified.

“Mentor,” Batman greeted him and finally stepped forward, Robin following him easily, being just a step behind.

“Oooh, who is that?” The Boy Wonder asked, mustering Jason.

“My protégé. Don’t take him too far, please, he’s untrained still.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t take him too far’?” Jason asked, but Robin had already crossed the distance eagerly.

Desmond wasn’t sure whether Batman took Robin along to these meetings precisely to have him distract the companion Desmond had chosen to take with him or if Robin really was just that sociable. The Bat’s intentions were hard enough to read on the really good days and Desmond had better things to do than waste hours on that particular headache.

Within seconds Robin was talking with Jason, contributing most of the conversation, while Jason nodded at the right moments, his eyes never entirely leaving Desmond.

“He’s young.”

Batman too was observing the boys’ interaction. He had his arms crossed over his chest, suggesting a relaxed posture, but his shoulders were tensed.

“I have questions about Abstergo, Desmond Miles. And about those you call Isu.”

Desmond sighed. He had wondered how long it would take Batman to actually figure out his identity. They had pretty much erased Desmond Miles, or any other alias he had used before Abstergo had captured him, from history. By all means, Desmond was a ghost. But apparently, even death couldn’t keep the world’s greatest detective away.

“Alright, Mr. Wayne,” Desmond replied. “But does that mean I can take a look at the Piece of Eden you keep at your manor in turn? I don’t want to criticize, but these things really shouldn’t be handled by someone without experience.”

Batman fell silent. On the rooftop next to them, Jason was shouting in joy while Robin performed his quadruple flip for him. He should watch that jump. It was common knowledge, at least for those interested in acrobatics, that not many people could perform it – Gotham’s resident prince Dick Grayson being by far the youngest person. It was even on his Wikipedia page.

“And you have that experience?”

Desmond tugged at his hoodie’s right sleeve, revealing his black glove first, and then his burned arm beneath. The golden circuitry was shining brightly in the dark. Once he stopped using eagle vision, it would return to a muted yellow you could mistake for tattoo ink.

“You’re standing in front of the world’s expert on these cursed artifacts.”

His smile was weary, but there was no point in lying. Ever since his death, Desmond had been able to feel these remains of Eden if he got close enough to them. They didn’t make him uncomfortable, but he could almost tell what each piece had been crafted for, and the thought of letting them lie around left to their own devices was fear-inspiring.

“We have much to discuss. I’ll contact you. Robin.”

Across, Robin perked up and moved from his handstand into a bridge and then into a stand. Batman waited just long enough for Robin to plunge into a print and jump over the gaps between the rooftops before he too leaped away into the alley on their right.

Jason wasn’t far behind Robin, crossing the space between houses without hesitating. Whatever Robin had demonstrated or told him, its effects were already showing.

“You done already?” Jason asked.

“Mhm. Why are you asking?”

Jason clicked his tongue and shot Desmond an annoyed look. “Nothin’s true. I should ask questions.”

“I taught you that sentence,” Desmond replied and began to walk into the direction of tonight’s second destination. He’d drop Jason back home on the way. Sure, the kid had seen much already, experienced too much for his age, but Desmond wasn’t going to take a ten-year-old to the Foxglove. Not even for information gathering. “And I’m sure it definitely had nothing to do with Robin.”

“Oh, c’ mon, D. It’s Robin. He’s the coolest. So you gotta tell me what you talked about ’cause he was gonna teach me how to do the neat flip.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance to learn from him. Batman just asked for some credentials.”

“Credentials? That can’t be everythin’. Come oooon, tell me. Tell me, tell me, please. You know I can do this all night and day.”

Desmond didn’t doubt him, he knew better. Jason’s presence at his side was proof of that.

“I know. You showed me that you had endurance and now you’ll learn patience.”

“What? You can’t be serious! Des- hey!”

Desmond chose that moment to jump from the balcony into the dumpster beneath. The smell of these containers really made him miss the haystacks of his ancestors.

“Patience, Novice,” Desmond repeated.

Batman would tell him soon enough when he wanted to meet up. You couldn’t shake off Batman once you had his attention.

(And true enough, he got an invitation to Wayne manor a week later. He didn’t dwell on the fact that Batman knew where he lived. It was only fair.)

#dc #dc comics #batman #desmond miles #asscreed #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #fanfic #asscreedevents19

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jeremy-ken-anderson · 4 years

Text

FFXV First Impressions

Impressions So Far (something like 2 hours in):

That opening scene of pushing the car was Actually Clever. It was trying to be clever, but if you succeed and ARE clever “trying to be clever” is allowed!

Running across open ground is a little boring. Definite “Open World-itis” there. They tried to mitigate by including fast travel back to your car. It...sort of mitigates it? But if you’re willing to shrink player perception of the space by including fast travel, then you should show less space and have more space implied.

Night is legit scary. One of the characters mentioned you needed to get in by dark because demons come out and I’m like, “Sure, but I’m an adventurer. Isn’t fighting demons my thing?” That night: I’m running around looking for a hunt target and the asphalt on the road in front of me starts boiling and then up pop a pair of red eyes (literally that’s all you can see of this thing if you’re not standing within 10′ of it). It’s an Iron Giant, and it is level thirty. At this point I am level three. I run. I run immediately and two of my friends still nearly die. I love how they handled night.

The conversation engine needed more time. It’s neat, and a lot of it is good, but it’s not good enough and like human face art it’s gotta be really great to fool humans because we’re used to focusing on it. Two hours in I’ve already hit two or three uncanny-valley type moments where people repeated lines - not just barks but whole conversations. When it’s barks it’s a person having a catch phrase. When it’s a conversation you’re suddenly watching Groundhog Day.

There are parts of this that remind me of the hashtags in KH3 - this weird and too-visible desire of the designers to incorporate some aspect of modern society and its relationship with media but it’s fallen apart because the media isn’t old enough (or the designer not prescient/deep enough) for the designer to conceive of how it really plays out, what it really means in a fantasy space. The mix of having digital GPS yet needing to get rumors about where stuff is on your local map from the local diners is...a weird choice.

When i realized you could mix any ol’ piece of junk you found lying around with your magic to make better magic? Yeah, that’s pretty hot. I wish the system had a faster cooldown for spells (As it is, spells are basically grenades you have to construct yourself before battle, using resources you only find in a couple locations - magic mining nodes, basically - plus whatever physical stuff you wanna combine with them. The magic nodes recharge daily, but you can only make 3 spell-grenades per grenade-slot and only get 4 grenade-slots as far as I can tell). Noctis, your main character, has MP, which should be WP because it’s used exclusively for Warping, at least so far in the game. Personally I think having to spend longer crafting a spell and then being able to use MP to cast it would be rockin’. Like, I would sit there farming up every possible combination of items and spell energy to fill out my spellbook. You could have crazy spells that use 3/4 of your mp gauge, and then you have to duck behind a rock to recover like a proper black mage would have to do and just...I don’t know, I had a similar response of “This was almost as awesome as the magic system I came up with just now that I haven’t tested” back when FFVIII came out. Who knows if my idea for a magic system would actually be any good in practice. It certainly feels good in my head, and frankly I appreciate how close this one came to awesome because this feeling of speculating about the one change to fix everything is really fulfilling for me.

I like the fact that there’s treasure points on your map, and food points on the map, and mining points on the map, but then every now and then you find something valuable that isn’t on the map. It makes wandering around feel just a little more rewarding - It’s better than the fast-travel system at making the open world feel like an okay decision.

I like how wide the range of survivability is! I ran from that level thirty Iron Giant, but I did a level ELEVEN hunt while I was still level THREE. Playing the fights well clearly matters.

I also really like the system for wounds! Basically you have a third score. Normal games have Max HP and Current HP. This game adds in “Current Max HP” which can be between the two. If you get knocked to 0 Current HP your character’s seriously injured and you’re literally limping around hoping for one of your buddies to heal you or trying to get out of immediate danger so you can drink a potion (or trying to limp and drink both at once). While this is happening your Current Max is bleeding out. Let’s say you had 100 max hp and you bleed down to 90 while you pull a potion out. A potion heals you by 50% of your actual Max (so, to 50) and if you can catch a breather out of immediate harm’s way you’ll quickly recover to 90, your Current Max HP. But you won’t recover to 100. Outside of combat, your Current Max rises by 1 every 3-4 seconds until it hits your actual Max HP. This makes it possible to get attacked again when you haven’t really recovered from the last fight, which...isn’t a feeling you get in a lot of these games, especially ones that have regenerating health systems as robust as this one. Just two hours in I’ve already had some really tense encounters where things started going really wrong for me and I pulled out of it but it built that sense of being winded, of being really rattled by the fight, in a way that doesn’t tend to happen.

I think Youtube videos about the game have already said this but I really like that you make your own photo album as you play. By the end of the game you’ve literally got the 200 most meaningful moments to you in that album, or at least your favorite pics. It’s just brilliant, in terms of making a retrospective of stuff that made the game great for you, personally, as the person who played this playthrough of their game.

The food looks delicious, and I’m precisely as disturbed by how much I want to eat it as various people are by how sexy they find cat versions of people in the new Cats movie. There’s one part of my brain that is telling me that it is cartoon food and not real (and that some of it, like the mystery lunchmeat “sushi,” would likely be Super Gross if you could smell it) and it is correct but is also incapable of shutting up the part of my brain that finds the same fake food appetizing.

The collector in me is starting by buying all the skills that grant AP. I have doubts as to whether the game is long enough that I’ll recoup the investment. Like, the one that makes it so Big Catches grant AP costs 99 AP. I think it makes them give 2 AP. Am I actually going to fish up 50 Big Catches in the fishing minigame? (It might even only increase the AP gains by 1, so I’d have to fish up a hundred to profit.) Well fuck it, I know I’m gonna buy every damn skill on every grid anyway so I might as well start with the ones that speed up that process, no matter by how small a degree. The camping and food ones, at the least, were no-brainers.

I have trouble telling the main characters’ voices apart. Say what you will about how dumb Donald sounds in Kingdom Hearts 3, but if Sora, Goofy, Donald, Kairi, King Mickey, Yen Sid, Axel, and Riku were all having a conversation there is no point where you’d be confused about who was talking even if your eyes were closed the whole time. The voices and speech patterns are as recognizable as the silhouettes, in the KH series. Not so much, in FFXV.

I love the way Prompto moves in combat. He is literally always tripping and scrambling to get back up. Seriously, if you have the game play the training session so you can see his move cycle in detail. He spends like half of it with at least one hand on the ground, and I just love it. It’s so dynamic, so expressive, so goofy, so immediately endearing. And then you think, “Wait, we armed our derpiest party member with a gun? What is wrong with us?”

#FFXV #review

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azvolrien · 4 years

Text

Five Vignettes about Asta in Stormhaven - Workshop

Talkin’ ’bout constructs.

~~~

“I just – I don’t understand what the problem is!” Galen said, quickly leafing through his notes. “It’s not a mechanical issue – I’ve tested all of the joints and they move just fine. The crystal is the proper size for a construct this big. It’s some of my neatest rune work ever. And it just – won’t – move!” His voice rose to a wail on the last word.

“All right, take a step back and go get a glass of water,” said Calburn. “We can sort this out, but you need to get your head in the right place first. Believe me, I know from experience that you make more mistakes when you get worked up.”

Galen took a deep, steadying breath, closed his eyes, and ran the fingers of both hands back through his hair. “Yes. All right. Back in a minute.”

To Galen’s visible dismay, his work had gained an extra observer when he returned. One of Master Gwen’s assistants was peering around the door with great interest.

��Right, let’s have another look at this,” said Calburn. “And – sorry, can we help you?”

The woman at the door started and edged around the door into the construct workshop. “Yes, Master Gwen sent me down to get the latest materials inventory.”

“In the office,” said Calburn, pointing. “The blue folder on the desk.”

She nodded and hurried over to collect it. “Is something the matter?” she asked on the way back out.

“My new construct won’t activate,” said Galen morosely.

“Maybe… Maybe I could have a look?” she suggested. “Get a fresh pair of eyes on the problem.”

“I don’t need critique from someone who isn’t even a mage,” muttered Galen.

“Don’t be an arse, Galen,” said Calburn sharply. “Like she says, it can’t hurt to get a fresh look at it.” He stepped aside, clearing the woman’s path, and gestured at the construct.

The woman nodded and walked in a thoughtful circle around the construct, still immobile on its supporting frame. “The metalwork is beautiful,” she commented. “Some very elegant machining on the front legs there, and in the support for the power crystal. The use of the smoky quartz is a nice touch aesthetically, and that crystal’s certainly big enough. So what is the problem?” She knelt down to peer at the runes inscribed on the chest plate and inside the casing along the back of the construct’s neck. “Ah-ha! I see – it’s a simple runic issue.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my runes,” said Galen, folding his arms defensively.

The woman held up a hand in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture. “See, in the activation array on the chest, you’ve used this rune?” She took a notebook from one pocket and drew the symbol in question.

“That’s a perfectly standard power rune,” said Galen.

“Yes – but it’s intended for much smaller constructs. Guard dogs, messengers and similar. By itself it can’t channel enough power to properly activate a construct of this size.”

Calburn leant in for a closer look, comparing the image in the notebook to the one on the construct’s chest. “…She’s right, Galen.”

Galen made an indignant spluttering sound best transcribed as “!?”

“There’s an easy solution, though,” she assured him. “Either you can sand out the original and replace it with this one,” she drew a second rune in her notebook, “or you can add some amplifier marks around the original so it can handle the greater power requirements.” This, too, was added to her notes, and she held up the pad for Galen to see the new diagram. He looked from the paper to the construct and back again a couple of times, and left the workshop without another word.

Calburn sighed. “Sorry about him,” he said. “Senior apprentice – he’s at that stage in his education where he knows just enough to think he knows everything. He’ll come back once he’s salved his bruised ego.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Nah, you’re fine. I figure they learn more from their mistakes than from their triumphs. I didn’t catch that rune problem, though – well done with that!” Calburn looked at her thoughtfully. She hunched her shoulders slightly, her eyes uncertain, and he took what he hoped were a few reassuring steps back to give her more space. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

She nodded. “I just started helping in Master Gwen’s office earlier this week.”

“That explains it, then. M’name’s Calburn – or Master Calburn Sayer of the School of Constructs, to use my full title.”

“Asta zeDamar. Just… just Asta, usually.”

Calburn nodded. “How d’you know about activation arrays?” he asked. “That’s fairly advanced stuff, to know what each specific rune does.”

“Oh, I’ve always been interested in constructs. I’ve probably read most of the available literature – Rathlean’s The Making of Constructs is the seminal work of the modern age, of course, but Magnussen’s treatise on the integration of traditional rune magic is vital reading as well when dealing with built constructs like this, and anyone interested in grown constructs really needs to look at the works of wizards like Pritchard and MacAskill, firstly to understand how the technique originated and then to look at what can really be done with it today. Hassan’s Revenants of Kemet is interesting if you want to look into the deeper historical background, too.”

Calburn blinked.

“Sorry,” said Asta sheepishly. “My parents always used to say I could get very wordy when I got onto the topic of constructs.”

“And you never thought of going into the field yourself?” asked Calburn.

“Well… I would have loved to, but like your student said – I’m not a mage.”

Calburn nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that is a bit of a stumbling block. I suppose you could still have had a role as a designer.”

“I looked into it,” said Asta sadly. “None of the relevant courses accepted non-mage students. I do have a construct, though,” she added more happily, taking a polished oval of black granite from an inside pocket.

“May I see? There’s-” Calburn looked around. “Yes, there’s enough room over there for materialisation.”

Asta held up the stone and stepped back to let her construct materialise around it. Lines of light stretched out from the hovering stone, sketching out a tall, four-legged form before, with a final bright flash, the construct solidified. Calburn covered his mouth with both hands. Asta’s construct looked more like a giant panther than anything else, with sleek black fur with the ghosts of spots like patterns on watered silk. The head, too, was feline, with neat rounded ears, the dark stone embedded in its forehead, and the pupilless yellow eyes typical of a grown construct, while a pair of horns shaped a bit like a ram’s but with a smooth surface more like a cow’s curled out and down from the back of its skull. Proportionally it stood a little taller than a leopard would have, closer to the build of a wolf though more muscular, and the long tail sported a broad, fan-like fringe of wiry hair near the end, but the velvety black paws were pure cat.

“Oh, she is beautiful,” said Calburn, leaning in to see the patterns impressed into the leather of the harness.

“Thank you, but – ‘she’?”

“Oh, you don’t do that? Most people I know use the same pronouns as themselves for their constructs.”

Asta shrugged. “I never got into the habit. Its name is Pardus.”

“I can see why. Out of the Grishin workshop in the Imperial City, yeah? I recognise the detailing on the harness.”

“Not just from the workshop; it was Alexei Grishin himself.”

Calburn whistled, impressed. “His work doesn’t come cheap, either.”

“It wasn’t,” said Asta. “It was a graduation present – my parents saved up for years for it.”

“They must be very proud of you,” said Calburn, smiling.

Asta sighed and looked at the floor. “I… hope they would be.”

“You – oh. Oh, gods. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It – it’s fine. I don’t… really talk about it much.” She ran her fingers over the fine, soft fur on Pardus’s muzzle.

“So… How fast can it run?”

Asta smiled for the distraction. “It can manage a sustained top speed of forty miles an hour over good ground, and a little more in short bursts. It’s very sure-footed, too, so even over rough ground it isn’t slowed down too much.”

“Not bad!” said Calburn. “My Mostol is built more for strength – he can hit thirty flat-out, but his usual speed isn’t much more than twenty – but I’ve clocked Vrand at sixty.”

“Sixty?”

“That’s in level flight, of course,” said Calburn. “On the ground he can barely hit ten – not really made for walking, bless him.” He took the fist-sized summoning stone on its string from inside his tunic. “D’you want to see him?” he asked, gesturing to the door out into the College grounds.

“That’s a very big stone for a simple messenger construct,” said Asta. “Wait – are you saying you’ve made a flying construct big enough to ride?” Calburn nodded. “Then yes, I want to see him!”

Outside, when the gigantic construct had fully materialised and folded his near-hundred-and-fifty-foot wingspan, Asta had to sit down for a moment.

“So you’re telling me,” she said faintly, “that for your masterpiece construct… You made a dragon.”

“Well, he’s a bit more mammalian,” said Calburn. “But essentially… Yeah.”

“You’re a demented genius, Calburn Sayer.”

“I’ve always thought so,” said Calburn with a grin, “but you’re the first to say it out loud.”

“Great gods above. I mean, I’d seen Narwhal, but this…” Asta shook her head, smiling. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And that’s why they made me a Master,” said Calburn, still grinning. “Listen – d’you want to come out for a drink after work?”

“Oh. Um. Uh. That’s very flattering, but I – I’m not interested in men. Romantically.”

“Duly noted for future reference,” said Calburn. “But I didn’t mean romantically – I honestly just wanted to chat some more about constructs.”

Asta considered him in silence for a few seconds.

“I could ask my pal Rhona to come along too if it’d make you more comfortable,” offered Calburn.

“Well, m- Sorry, your pal what?”

“Rhona Carnwennan. You’ve probably seen her around – she’s one of the Healers.”

“Oh. Well… All right, then.”

“Great! Shall we say five o’clock at the Fox and Hare?”

Asta nodded and got to her feet. “That’s the one just down the road, right? Yes, that works – I’ll meet you there at five. Now…” She smiled and held up her satchel. “I really do need to get this inventory back to Master Gwen.”

~~~

Asta got the job on her own merits - Ari didn’t drop a word in Master Gwen’s ear or anything. She did point Asta in the direction of the vacancy, though.

#az writes stories

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

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May The Dread Wolf Take You

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

It was warm out in the Emerald Graves, but the Iron Bull didn’t think he’d ever seen Lavellan look so at ease. He was dressed in light Dalish armours, his feet in neat leather wraps, and for once, the hair was down and out of its bun, instead loose at the back of his neck with two braids holding it in place. He didn’t get to see all of the hair on display, outside of the bedroom, usually, and having it half-loose like this accentuated the vallaslin on his face.

It was nice.

The Vint muttered something under his breath in Tevene when he saw the Inquisitor come down to meet them, unbuckling the satchel from his belt as he came.

“I’ve been collecting shards,” he said. It wasn’t yet dawn, and Dorian and Solas had just come from Skyhold, trading places with Vivienne and Cassandra, who were keenly needed back up the mountain. They weren’t yet done in the Emerald Graves, though, still two more rifts to close up North, and more than that…

“You look well, lethallin,” Solas said, smiling. “This armour is new.”

“We met a Dalish merchant moving west,” Lavellan said. “Thought it would be nice to dress like a proper person for once. Vivienne has left in a huff, in retort.”

“I don’t know that she can leave without the huff,” Iron Bull murmured, and Lavellan smiled.

“You look good,” Dorian said. Bull didn’t miss the light catch in his tone, and he watched the Vint curiously, looking for a sign of something eager, maybe his usual flirtation, but for once it didn’t come. “I’ve never seen…” he trailed off.

“Get ready,” Lavellan said.

“Aren’t you full of energy?” Dorian asked, and there it was, back on his usual balance.

“Vim and vigour are my watchwords,” Lavellan replied, and turned to set the shards away.

“He was right, you know,” Bull murmured, coming up behind the elf as he set them in cotton packing, so that they could transport them a little easier when they were brought west to the Exalted Plains. “You are very energetic.”

“I’ve missed the forest,” Lavellan said, leaning back against Iron Bull’s chest, and Iron Bull slid his hands over his hips, bringing them up to press on his chest, feeling for his nipples under the light leather of the armour, and Lavellan sighed. “I know I won’t be able to dress like this when we go back to Skyhold.”

“I’d love to tell you you could,” Bull murmured, resting his chin on the elf’s head. “But I’d rather you walked around naked.”

“Yes, well,” Lavellan said, reaching back and cupping Iron Bull through his pants, making him hiss. “For two very different reasons, Bull, I won’t be doing either.”

“We’re ready!” came a call from Dorian. “Please don’t be having sex!”

“What if we’re quick?” Lavellan called back.

“How quick?” Dorian replied, and Bull slapped Lavellan’s ass. The sound rang out, and Lavellan let out a sharp little noise, but obediently moved out from the tent, and didn’t even reach back to rub the new sore spot, no matter how much it must hurt. “Oh, that quick!”

“No more play,” Solas said. “We have work to pursue.”

“Exactly,” Lavellan said.

He moved fast, in the Dalish clothes. It was easy to remember he’d been a hunter and a scout, even before the Conclave: he went up trees and stone outcrops like they were nothing, like it was just as easy as walking on the ground, and it was hot. That kind of speed and grace, it was pretty damned sexy.

“Scouts say there’s a rift up here,” Lavellan said, and pointed up the waterfall. It wasn’t a gigantic cliff, but it’d be a bit of a trek going around and up the overgrown, muddied path toward the summit, and yet Iron Bull could see the green glint reflected on the sky… “There’s a cave that leads through, from behind the waterfall. We needn’t even get wet, apparently.”

“And this cave, I presume, is full to the brim with arachnids of all sizes?” Dorian asked.

“It’s elven-built,” Solas murmured as they came toward the entrance, and his fingers glowed with light as he touched a stone face on the entrance to the path Lavellan had indicated, that seemed to lead up behind the waterfall. The rune on it glowered green. “A few hundred years old.”

He lit his hand up with fire, and they began to climb up the hill with him lighting the way. Bull brought up the rear, keeping Dorian and Lavellan between him and Solas. There were spiders, but not too many…

Iron Bull didn’t think he’d ever get used to all these ruins. All these things, abandoned, but still fit for purpose: here in this cave, they came across a place that had plainly been a camp once upon a time, with a stone fireplace that vented the smoke out through a few tunnels carved in the ceiling, with shelves carved right into the walls…

“They took all the statues,” Dorian murmured, looking to the few pedestals that were scattered about the room, empty.

“All but one,” Lavellan replied, smiling, and stepped toward the fireplace. In the very centre was a statue of a wolf, and Lavellan reached up, palms angled to cup its stone cheeks. He laughed, softly to himself. “This wasn’t here, originally.”

“How can you tell?” Dorian asked, falling to stand beside Lavellan’s shoulder.

“This is a statue of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf,” Lavellan murmured. Still, he was smiling, still – it was fond. “He’s dangerous. We don’t worship him like we do any of the gods – he’s a mischievous spirit, more than mischievous, the Great Betrayer. His statue is never placed facing an encampment – he’s always stationed at the entrance, or facing out, to keep a watchful eye. A constant reminder to be wary.”

“You want to keep it?” Iron Bull asked. “You seem to like it an awful lot. Won’t be too heavy.”

Lavellan looked back at him, and smiled a little bit more widely. “No,” he said. “But thank you.”

“Could put it on your balcony,” Bull suggested. “Facing out.”

“Let’s move on,” Solas said. “Thoughts of exterior decorating should be put on hold, for now.”

It was a few weeks later, when they were back in Skyhold, that Iron Bull noted it again. They were in the tavern, and at the table, Blackwall, Varric, and Solas were playing a game of Diamondback with Krem. It was late in the night, and the tavern was pretty much empty except for them…

Lavellan was sitting beside the fire, a piece of wood in his lap, and he was carving, whittling. It was clumsy work, compared to Blackwall’s artistry, but when Blackwall had given him a few pointers, Lavellan had taken it patiently and attentively, like he took tutelage in anything. He liked to learn – that was something he and Bull had in common.

He’d have made a good Ben-Hassrath, if he was viddathari.

But then… He wouldn’t be him, Iron Bull supposed, if he was Ben-Hassrath – he wouldn’t be Dalish anymore, wouldn’t have his rebellion, his Dalish cleverness, his attitude…

“He walks on stealthy paws, wide and black and silent, and he comes right beside, oh yes, oh yes! Eyes gleaming, glittering, teeth a white glare, and he knows him, he knows him, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf!” Cole was sitting beside Lavellan, his legs crossed beneath him, leaning forward and peering out from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, speaking softly. “But is he dangerous? No, no, he’s a friend, a friend! Not a friend forever, but a friend for today, tomorrow, until the end comes…”

Iron Bull glanced to the table. Solas was silent, his gaze focused on Cole, and Varric was looking up too, his expression curious.

“Is this your roundabout way of asking me a question?” Lavellan asked casually, his knife sliding smooth over the chunk of wood in his hand: the shavings he tossed into the fire.

“The wolf whispers and stalks the path ahead of him, clearing the way, but is he friend or foe?”

“He was both,” Lavellan said. “Neither. That’s his purpose.”

“You’ve met the Dread Wolf personally?” Solas asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lavellan laughed. “No! It was just a dream I had, when I was a child. Every now and then, I’d dream about him… It was the same every time, we’d be walking together through the woods. He’d protect me, but I’d protect him, too – from monsters, demons…”

“You trusted the Dread Wolf?” Solas asked.

“Yes and no,” Lavellan murmured. “I suppose it was those dreams that taught me you could trust without trusting all the way. Sometimes I’d wake up with his teeth on my throat… Other times, he’d lead me somewhere safe, show me something wonderful. I dreamt, once, of this palace made of crystal, and when I stepped inside it, it shined…”

He met Solas’ gaze. The elf was staring at him, apparently fascinated, and Lavellan’s lips parted: for a moment, he looked ashamed. “Sorry,” he said. Why ashamed, Iron Bull wondered? Did he really mean it, about the Dread Wolf being evil? “I know it’s… I was only a child, it was just childhood games, and dreams. It stopped by the time I was eleven or so.”

“You never told your Keeper?”

“My Keeper would have gone ballistic,” Lavellan said. “She’d have thought I was being led on by a demon.”

“You might have been,” Solas murmured, his voice serious. “Recurring dreams of that nature would make any Keeper worry.”

“No,” Cole said. “The memories are fresh and clean, sweet like summer tea – just dreams, just games.”

“You ever surprise me, lethallin,” Solas murmured. “Why don’t we deal you in?”

“You know what I just said about how trust only goes so far?” Lavellan asked, his lips quirked up at their edges. “I know better than to face you at Diamondback.”

“Wish I had his wisdom,” Krem muttered, and Iron Bull chuckled.

“Can I see the carving?” Iron Bull asked, and reached over where he was sprawled over Bull’s chest, pulling up the carving from the bedside table. It was almost done, and Iron Bull marvelled at the detail of it – it was a little clumsy, sure, but Lavellan had marked in the texture of the fur, the ears, even the paws had distinct toes. “He hasn’t got eyes. And his ears aren’t finished either, there’s no middle bit.”

“No eyes, no ears,” Lavellan murmured. “No nostrils, either. Not until tomorrow morning, where I put him facing outward, on the balcony.”

“You superstitious, huh?” Iron Bull asked.

“Just cautious,” Lavellan murmured, and set the carving aside so that he could pull Bull to kiss him.

“You want to know a secret?” Lavellan asked, sleepily, as he reclined on the pillows, fucked out, limbs sprawled wide, eyes half-closed, as Bull massaged his thighs, digging in for the knots of muscle he could find and soothing them away.

“Always, kadan,” Bull murmured.

“I still dream about him, sometimes,” Lavellan said. He sounded like he was dreaming already, drifting into sleep. “Still feels like he’s leading me somewhere.”

“Where to?” Bull asked.

“Out of the woods,” Lavellan said. “Or further in. You can never tell, with Fen’Harel.”

“How can you trust somebody while not trusting them?” Iron Bull asked.

Lavellan’s eyes opened, and he met Bull’s gaze. “Well, I suppose that’s the thing, Bull,” he murmured, tone rueful, expression serious. “You can’t.”

“Glad you realize that,” Bull murmured, and pulled Lavellan up to kiss him.

#as defined by dictionary #the iron bull #fen'harel #male lavellan #fanfic #dragon age

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chippsterdotcom · 5 years

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Hollow Knight

Welcome, readers, let's review something that's not anime for once, but a game, a video game. Ladies and gentlemen, picture this you an adventurer who has wandered into a lost forgotten kingdom, a shell of its former self. You don’t know anything about it other than subtle clues suggesting once a mighty kingdom, and your unknown connection to all this. let me introduce you to Hollow Knight, a game developed by the indie developer named, Team Cherry, what's important is the team size Team Cherry is only two people (I’m serious). It came out in 2017 on Microsoft, MacOS, and Linux, but later ported towards consoles in 2018, I played it on the Nintendo Switch. So let's explore the hidden gem that is Hollow Knight.

The story is, well… um, its Dark Souls story telling. You know like when they don't tell you a single thing; the only thing to go off on is scenery, NPC dialogue, and item descriptions. Basically, you need to actively look for it to piece together to form your own interpretation. I don't think I can say anything about the story without spoiling it, and that I still don't properly have an explanation. Even if I did you’d be reading for quite a while, its a very complex story. Hell, even the main character himself is a whole spoiler to the game, just know its really well thought out, and a tragedy. The saddest part is you can go an entire game not knowing what to do. Enough about story, whats a game without gameplay?

The gameplay is simply put a Metroidvania, for you normies out their a Metroidvania is a name for the genre of games inspired by the legendary Metroid, and Castlevania making Metroidvania. The term actually is the type of gameplay that consists of non-linear exploration, item retrieval and usage of these items to get further through the game, Hollow Knight is a great example of a Metroidvania. The map is big, like really big, and full of items for you to either earn or find randomly to access more areas of the said map. Items in this game are sort of unlockable abilities that you permanently own, and use freely, an example is a double jump. The controls are tight, so much so you can't help but to only blame yourself whenever you die. You got your usual up, down, left, and right, attack jump, and heal, ooo, yes you can heal when you hurt an enemy you gain souls, then either use soul to channel ether an attack or heal yourself.

The world that you are constantly surrounded in is also pretty neat. As written above you are in this shell of a kingdom, Hollownest, that's split into a few major regions, including but not limited to Crossroads, City of Tears, Queens Gardens, and deepnest. Each looks different from the last with accompanying music and enemies. Great stuff, you almost forget that only two people built this game from the ground up.

Imagine(more), along your travels you stumble upon a worn building, everything has a blue hue. As you further into the hallway you hear the rain pound on the ceiling, a massive window meets you, the view of a flooded city. You have reached the City of Tears. the soundtrack is wonderful a nice blend of atmosphere and melancholy, like the soundtrack alone will blast you with feelings you didn`t know you could feel the best (in my opinion) has got to be The City of Tears, beautiful heavenly sounds flood your ears, as an angelic voice sings. The tone like water reflects the game perfectly, a slow start, then spices up, all while having an underlying sadness to it.

The highlight in this entire game is the bosses the game is not for the faint of heart, this is a hard game. Bosses are just as hard, but not without fun in them. Most bosses are fun to fight to the sole reason that they have a rhythm to find. For example, Nightmare King Grimm undoubtedly the hardest boss in the entire game, and died many times to him alone, but I never gave up because he had simple attacks but at a fast pace. His moves never changed and were easy to spot, and after a while (the first day) I got used to his speed. The more and more I practiced the quicker my reaction time was; soon enough it looked like a dance, one partner bouncing and bobbing after another. Also, every boss has a purpose to why they are there, again to the fantastic level of story in this game. plus, a great award is awarded if beaten, as in a boss grants access to another area, power-up, or plainly story. Finally, out of 35 bosses, the total, you only need to beat 4 to get the bare minimum end, that's crazy in my mind!

Story: 7/10

Visuals: 10/10

Sounds: 8/10

Enjoyment: 9/10

Final Verdict: Git Gud!

#review #hollow knight #Chippster

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