#not only is this skilled labor but im DAMN skilled at it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moodywyrm · 11 months

Note

Thinking about bringing farmhand! Sevika dinner that I cooked.

That’s all that’s the whole thing but I fucking love the idea of farmhand!Sevika and all your au stuff and hc it’s so cool.

I need you to know that this ask made me n jj @pinknightsinmymind malfunction when we saw it. also im listening to dial drunk by Noah kahan and I feel like it applies to Sevika pre-farm in a bad way, so we have a few thoughts going.

The first time you cooked Sevika dinner, it caught her off guard. It was a week or so after she helped you get the kitchen in the farmhouse back in working order, on a cool day in March. She'd been going through the old barn for whatever supplies were still usable, and by the time she was done she had a pile of tools and old fertilizers, one hell of a sore body, and an empty stomach. She wanted nothing more than to drag herself back into her cabin, scarf down something easy, and pass out.

So she's a little bit irritated when you call out to her from the porch of the farmhouse. Not too upset, because, really, how upset can she be when you're haloed in warm light, dressed in a sweet little outfit that you could only wear because Sevika promised she could handle all the farm work today, and smiling at her so prettily.

"Sevika! Come here, I've got something for you!" You yell, waving her over. Sevika sighs and redirects her path to you, trudging up the stairs to the house and letting you guide her through the sparsely decorated space.

"What's the matter? Didya need my he-" She pauses, staring at the sight in front of her in shock. Laid out on the rickety old dining table are steaming hot dishes of chicken, cornbread, mac n cheese, and veggies. Too much for one person, and in fact there are two places set on either end.

"Surprise! I know you've been working real hard on the farm and you've been more help to me than you could ever know, so I wanted to do something for ya, especially since you helped me fix up the kitchen," You say, waiting anxiously for any response that wasn't just stunned silence. Sevika just stares, staring at the pure labor of love that was this dinner. These dishes take time, and effort, and you made them for her?

"You really didn't have to do all this..."

"I wanted to, you've done so much for me already," You murmur, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and gesturing for her to sit down. Your movements have a sort of soft authority to them, and Sevika knows instantly she won't win this. With a sigh, she sits down in the armchair you'd dragged into the kitchen, watching as you sit down across from her in your own armchair.

Before Sevika could do anything, you start piling food onto her plate, giggling at the way her stomach grumbles at the smell of a good, home cooked meal. She can't help but feel a bit suspicious. She knows you're a good person, you haven't given her a reason to think otherwise. But, fuck, it's been a damn long time since someone has done something like this for her and not expected anything in return. She really, truly, doesn't know what to say.

You sense her apprehension and let her grab her own chicken, serving yourself food and letting the silence settle between you two. She waits for you to serve yourself before either of you start eating, but once she gets a taste, she's voracious. It's been years since she's had a meal this good, and she swears you have the cooking skills of an aunt or some shit, because this incredible. You giggle, watching as she devours the mac n cheese without a second thought.

"I take it that you like it?"

"This is fucking delicious," She grunts, biting into a drumstick and moaning, "Who taught you to cook like this?"

You try not to get caught up on the sounds of her eating, beating back any less than appropriate thoughts, to answer her question. "I did. Cooking gave me something to do, and anyways I love doing it, so I just gradually got pretty okay at it."

"You're better than 'pretty okay', you cook like an angel," Sevika says, looking at you with nothing but sincerity in those deep, tired eyes.

"Well, thank you, I'm glad you like it," You murmur, shoving some cornbread in your mouth before you could say anything more.

Sevika follows your example and tucks back into her place, groaning at the taste of glazed yams. She's slows her pace a little, wanting to enjoy the food and this strangely comforting moment with you. You've done nothing to make her wary, and she is – against all odds – deeply comforted by your little display. It feels good, being taken care of, she realizes. It makes her want to take care of you, and she really can't analyze that any deeper or she'll go insane. So she does the only thing she knows how to do. She makes herself useful.

"You know, you should really get some better dining chairs," She grumbles, gesturing at the worn-out armchairs you two were sitting on.

"Yeah probably, but I can't really afford them just yet."

"I could make you some, got some spare wood lying around," She mumbles, already thinking back to the pile of spare wood lying in the unused barn.

"Oh you don't have to do that, really," You scramble, not wanting to push any more work onto her. "I kinda like the armchairs for now, they're real comfy."

Sevika snorts a little at that. "Sure they're comfortable, but they'll be a bitch to clean if you spill food on 'em."

"You're not making me chairs, Sevika. Really, it's okay." Your words are firm, shutting her down, and it takes every ounce of strength in Sevika to not freeze up.

You said no to the chairs, and now she can't even the score and that is terrifying. She tries not to freak out, focusing her energy on eating the food you made her, but everything feels a bit to familiar. She doesn't want to be in anyones debt, and she knows she literally works for you, but it's never felt like it. Her brain is moving a thousand miles per minute, speeding through every way this could go wrong, when you reach out and gently touch her hand.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you. I just don't wanna add to your workload right now, especially since we're gonna have a lot of work with the farm soon. It's a real sweet offer, but the chairs aren't my top priority right now," You murmur, your voice gentle and soothing, trying not to upset her any more.

Sevika sighs, trying to release some of the tension she's filled with. You watch as the creases on her forehead smooth out, the soft slope of her shoulders as they drop.

"It's okay, I get it. Maybe later, once things are less intense, I can work on 'em. Just wanted to thank you, for doing this," She says, gesturing to the spread before her. You huff out a soft laugh that sets her on edge, but that dissipates when you pat her rough hand.

"Sevika, I did this as a thank you for helping me. If we get into a loop of thank you's, it'll be never-ending," You giggle, and the sound rings through Sevika's head like a wedding bell. She can't help but admire how good you look in the soft light, how domestic this whole scene must look to an outsider. Two women eating dinner, basically holding hands and looking at each other with more gentleness than could ever pass as platonic. It makes her heart do a weird little flip, if she's being honest. She needs to shift the conversation before she gets down on one knee, and fast.

"If your apologies are this delicious, I wouldn't mind it," She chuckles, patting your hand before returning to her plate. You roll your eyes and laugh, feeling the moment fade a bit.

You two finish your meal in peace, Sevika sharing little details from her day. It's good, sweet, and honestly you wouldn't mind doing this every night. When you send her off to her cabin that night with a full belly and tupperware stuffed with leftovers, you can't help but feel a messy fluttering in your chest. You go to sleep that night wishing that she'd fallen asleep with you, not knowing that Sevika was thinking the exact same thing, less than forty feet away.

#anon #arcane sevika #farm au! sevika #sevika fluff #sevika x reader #sevika x reader fluff

142 notes · View notes

littleravenette · 1 year

Text

major spoilers for the ending of the novel

my headcanons of kim suho's body

so considering that kim suho only eats gimbap and even then he only eats it because it's free/cheap. i would think that his body is like, very skinny? but he's still broad because he works in a construction site of course. i think his body is also very malnourished. get that boy some protein!!

anyways, compared to suho being in lloyd's body is 5cm shorter than javier, i think that suho being in kim suho's body would be more shorter. i still haven't figured out how much shorter, but he's shorter now that's for sure. why? the laurasia continent is presumably inspired by/based on europe (well, i assume so) and generally europeans have a taller height average than those in asia. like, kim suho is an average height korean male living in seoul, but in laurasia? yeah nah, everyone's gonna have to look down at him im sorry. also i either hc him as being shorter or on par with alicia in height, because i think it's funny. imagine the insufferable man who sacrificed himself and came back is now shorter than you and in a different body, yeah.

ok coming back to point number one, lloyd is already used to eating three meals a day by now, he's been in laurasia for years so of course he is. but kim suho's body doesn't. i think it would fucked him up somewhat, especially because his brain is used to it but his body doesn't, so when he tries to eat he either wants to throw it up or actually do throw up. i think his old-new-old(??) body have to adjust to this sudden increase intake of food. lloyd is so frustrated because of this and keeps getting into weird angry bursts and he is so sorry. *scribbles on note* make marbella patiently encourage lloydsuho in this aspect. make it a bonding moment, make lloydsuho talk about his admittedly bad but needed habits in seoul-

im also gonna astral project my back pain into kim suho's body because i can okay. like, carrying concrete on your back everyday? not having the best on site medical attention? presumably small injuries that get gloss over constantly? bad health insurance contracts? yeah that man is going to have back pain and other places pain. that mans body ache. it's so different from lloyd's that he keeps getting whiplash from the changes of his body, how his mental state is now so different to his bad and bruised old body. lloydsuho all throughout this is just, this is fine, i think, i don't know there's no modern medicine here-

oh! not to forget that he lost all of his swordsmanship skills, especially mana heart and mental asrahan technique. sure he could have some leftover instincts of being a sword master but remember, he was a fraud, that man used RP to go up. and honestly? he genuinely doesn't want to go through all that training again, he wants to have a break thank you very much. besides, he have javier who'll protect him (even though it's always been a failure but let's talk about that in a another post.) and other people who will take care of him. also he fought king of hell, he's gonna hang that over everyone to get him out of work/training and everyone knows that's just an excuse but they'll indulge him anyways because he did kinda died, y'know? if the young master doesn't want to do it, who will argue with him and win?

everyone's reaction to this... lloyd would be so conflicted. like, that is the young master, you can feel it, you can feel the viciousness and crooked mind leaking out of that body. but also now you have to look down at him if you want to maintain eye contact. they don't know if this decreased or increased his intimidation factor. also his body is weak now. before, he can dig for hours with a shovel. now, if he goes for one hour his arms would start to shake. this is because in seoul there was modern construction equipment that could help him, now? it's just pure labor, and his body is not up for the task right now. lloyd promises to himself to be better because this is his specialty, and he is going to get better damn it. (javier is watching him 24/7 because fakelloyd-suho-lloyd is weak now, he'll be damned if he dies after all that).

also wanna add in, because that lloydsuho's body is very weak compared before going into the reincarnation gate, everyone is going to take advantage of that and carry him around, much to lloyd's utter disgruntlement. oh, the young master is panting? here go on my back. the young master is tired after flying around with yongong? i'll help you *puts lloyd on their shoulder*. there was this one time where someone swooped lloyd into a princess carry and everyone in the vicinity had to witness in world record breaking speed of how lloyd's face became slightly red. it's not much, but it's lloyd, the one who straight up lies without a trace of guilt, who puts up an iron plate on his face. so of course it was a spectacle. (lloyd was surprised of how unconsciously he did that, maybe the peacefulness was getting to him, he didn't really mind it).

that's all, goodbye

#the greatest estate developer #the greatest estate designer #tged #the greatest estate developer spoilers #source: i made it the fuck up #also this hc is going into my fic #if i get around on making an outline of it haha #i keep mixing lloyd's name with kim suho #idk why but i just think that he needs that extra identity crisis with everyone around him yknow #kim suho is babygirl anyways so #rara headcanons

141 notes · View notes

jbt7493 · 7 months

Text

yknow what'd be cute? (dwarf fortress feature) if different... okay this is like my minecraft opinions. Uh if the game had like, ideal cuts for different types of gems so that it knew like, okay, an emerald cut emerald is gonna be better than a tapered baguette cut emerald but a brilliant diamond is better than a table cut diamond.

but first off like the basis you'd use for that is subjective anyway and secondly you dont have control over what type of cut you get so either you'd just be slightly changing the average value of the gemcutting job and adding more variance to it (frustrating if you get the "wrong" cut repeatedly on your expensive gems), you'd make higher skill gemcutters more likely to randomly pick the "right" cut (this would be the reason to do it, since cut gems don't have a quality level so gemcutter skill isnt super meaningful, but then you'd end up with ONLY emerald cut emeralds and it'd make it less fun), or you'd get the ability to pick and then it'd be just as much a case of it being boring that all emeralds are emerald cut instead of having variety with zero upside

it might be neat if in history scholars/gemcutters could discover/invent new gem cuts. i was thinking about how like, scholardwarves can for instance discover the germ theory of disease. but it doesnt seem to have any mechanical impact. it'd be neat if civilizations and scholars discovering new things gradually changed the technology level available to you. but that would be... a whole nother game on top of what is already a hell of a fuckin game. does seem a little silly that a civilization can be largely identical for a thousand years though. i mean its not like human civilization didnt have stagnation periods but in dwarf fortress you can achieve all the criteria that should be necessary to get some technological progress from pretty much any model of history but especially the correct one - enough food that everyone comfortably eats 3 meals a day and the stockpile only grows, big booms in population, people are able to spend time on labor other than engaging in food production and construction, and plenty of incentive for a new technological leap - and you can get scholars discovering new things. but you can't use them. well, obviously its just not a developed feature. but it does seem like the sort of thing that they should want to do eventually; im not sure they do, since i know there's a specifically desired tech level that they see themselves at in terms of development. i mean i guess it's just preferable to keep things available as you add new features instead of adding new features that you need to fuckin grind to get access to.

would also make it annoying to make a new world if you dont enjoy having to not only make a new fort but get the fort to an affluent level and then get a bunch of scholars to jerk off for a while for a *chance* at unlocking the feature you want to use. so yeah this is also a bad feature.

damn, two features thought of in one post and both suck ass i am not good at this

2 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 3 years

Text

neighborly things - sokka x fem!reader

summary: reader can’t make things for shit. thankfully, she has a cute and crafty neighbor willing to help her.

a/n: im so sorry lmao. i have requests and i have 2 series that havent been updated in like a month but sometimes i just need to write a stupid little oneshot to get back in the writing mood. i did this in an hour

im not a screwdriver expert so dont come at me if some of this info is wrong lmao

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): some cursing but otherwise pure fluff. also i didnt proofread im SORRY im pretty sure they laugh grin and smile like 200 times

“Dammit!”

Anyone unfortunate enough to have a place near you during this time would have heard the phrase on more than twenty occasions, and it wasn’t even noon yet. You had gotten the parts in the mail to put together a new dresser a couple days ago, and had finally decided to take on the task. You didn’t know if it was because you were inexperienced with furniture or just lacked basic comprehension skills, but it was proving to be no less than Herculean.

You threw the screwdriver at the wall and fell back to the floor as you let your arms sprawl out above you. You had been trying to screw in a part for no less than thirty minutes, and if a miracle didn’t happen right about now, you were going to lose your mind.

Your head snapped towards the door when she heard a knock, and your brows creased. “God?” You muttered as you got up, wondering if you had actually thought a miracle into existence.

You weren’t greeted by a deity when you opened the door, but the man standing in front of you was pretty damn close. With ocean blue eyes, hair pulled back in a ponytail with shaved sides, and toned arms, he was a sight to behold. But you had no idea why he was in front of your door.

“Hey, are you okay?” He questioned, genuine concern in his tone.

“Um, yeah, why?” You were trying to rack your brain for any memory of this guy — because you knew you would remember him if you had seen him before — but to no avail. “Also, who are you and why are you here?”

“Right,” he chuckled. “My name’s Sokka. I’m your neighbor; I live—” he gestured at the door just next to your place, “—over there. Moved in a couple weeks ago, so that’s probably why you don’t know me. I’ve just been hearing a lot of cursing and loud noises coming from your place, so I figured I would stop in and see what was going on.”

“Oh. That’s.. very considerate of you, Sokka. I’m just…” you sighed and chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all. “I’m just trying to put together a dresser, and it’s not going well at all. That latest sound you heard was the culmination of my rage. I threw a screwdriver at the wall.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” he laughed. “Listen. I don’t wanna intrude on you or anything, but I happen to be pretty good at putting things together. I had to do a lot of furniture construction when I first moved in, plus I’m the one all my friends call when they need help with putting anything together. I could probably help you with whatever’s troubling you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, no. I just go door to door joking around with people, asking if they need help with their furniture, sometimes I ask if their refrigerator is running? It really gets a kick out of them.”

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly and stepped aside so he could enter your apartment. “Thank you so much, Sokka. I’ve read the instructions a million times, I seriously don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

He crouched down and picked up the manual, turning to a dog-eared page and skimming over the instructions. He pointed at the screwdriver you had thrown against the wall and glanced back at you. “Is that the one you’ve been using?”

You closed and locked the door behind him then walked over to the wall, picking up the unfortunate victim of your anger and spinning it in your hands. “Yeah, why?”

“Do you know what kind it is?”

“Um.. maybe? God, I don’t know. I think it’s a Phillip’s head?”

Sokka laughed and shook his head, holding up the manual so you could see it. “That’s where you’re going wrong. You need a Pozidriv for these screws — they’re similar enough that anyone can make a mistake.”

You stared at Sokka in complete amazement — apparently, your savior lived next door, and he came in the form of a handsome guy with basic knowledge on putting furniture together. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you said as you walked over and took the booklet from himl. You flipped through it a couple times and read over the part, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” you repeated, louder this time. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get that thing to- to work, to screw, to— whatever you call it?”

“It’s actually to—”

“Thirty minutes!” You interrupted, earning a small chuckle from Sokka. “Thirty damn minutes that I have been trying to get that screw in, and it’s all because I was using the wrong screwdriver. Why would they make screwdrivers that are so similar but aren’t interchangeable?!”

He shrugged and held up his hands. “Don’t ask me — I don’t make the rules, I just follow them. But like I said; this dresser might fall apart if you keep using this thing. I actually have a Pozidriv back at my place, I can go get it and we can finish this up together.”

“God, that would be the biggest help,” you admitted. “But I don’t wanna take up your time — I don’t know how I would even repay you.”

“I’m doing this because I want to help you,” he said. “You don’t have to repay me. Think of it as… as a neighborly thing.”

“A neighborly thing?” you repeated with a laugh. “Well, if you’re offering, I’m definitely not going to refuse.”

“I am offering,” Sokka winked. “And unless you want to be at this for another three days, I think you should take that offer.”

You pretended to deliberate over it before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’ll let you help me. I mean, really you should be thanking me for this brilliant opportunity to, um.. hone your skills.”

He laughed, a brilliant sound that made your heart sing, and nodded as he went back to the door. “Thank you so much for letting me put together this dresser. Truly, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then I’m happy to be of assistance.”

Sokka grinned then unlocked and opened the door. “I’ll be right back, then we can get started.”

Once he got back, the two of you got to work. The next three hours passed so quickly as you and Sokka talked about everything from the work you did to people in your lives (no girlfriend, thankfully), to exchanging stories — even the silence, though rare, was comfortable.

Sokka pushed the last drawer into its place then clapped his hands as he stood up, admiring the fruits of your labor. “And that’s it! We’re done.”

“Wait, we’re done? Already?” You set down the instruction manual and stood up as well, backing up to Sokka’s position to see what he saw. “Wow, that looks.. that looks just like the picture. We are good at this! Well, you’re really good at this, I’m good at keeping you entertained. But still!”

You held your hand up for a high five and he laughed, but not without meeting it with a satisfying clap.

“It does look pretty good,” he admitted. “And not only do you have a brand new, fully functioning dresser, you also had the priceless experience of spending three hours with the neighbor you know nothing about.”

“That’s not true,” you countered. “I know that you’re really good at putting things together, you’re a genius when it comes to anything math or science, and you hate blueberries.”

Sokka snickered and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “That’s everything there is to know.”

“I dunno, Sokka. You seem like a pretty interesting guy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not every day that someone offers to put together a whole dresser just because they feel bad.”

“Well—” he tore off a blank part of the instruction manual and picked up a spare pen from the counter, then put it up against the wall as he scribbled something on it. Sokka put the pen down and handed the slip of paper to you with a smile. “If you ever need any more help with furniture, then call me.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up as you took the paper. Your fingers brushed ever so slightly as you took the slip of paper, and you decided to just go for it. You bit back a grin and tried to sound as innocuous as possible. “And if I want to get to know you beyond the blueberries?”

Sokka laughed and leaned against the doorframe. “Definitely call me.”

“Great.”

The two of you smiled at each other like idiots for way too long before a notification from his phone broke the silence. He jumped from the sudden noise and dug his phone out of his pocket, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, my sister just texted me and I gotta get over to her place.” Sokka started towards the door then paused and turned around. “I actually had a lot of fun doing this, though. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You knew you had that same smile on your face, but it just wouldn’t go away. His energy was contagious. “Definitely.”

“Great.” He winked at you one last time then left, closing the door behind him, and finally snapping you out of your spell.

You leaned against the dresser and stared at the slip of paper in your hands, committing the number to memory.

You were definitely going to take him up on that offer.

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin

#avatar the last airbender #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender fic #atla fic #avatar fic #sokka #sokka atla #sokka avatar #sokka fic #sokka x reader #sokka x reader fic #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #avatar x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader #sadie writes

215 notes · View notes

onyxoverride · 3 years

Note

Im still sitting here, thinking about Twitch Streamer! Zeke. He gets really, really hypercompetitive even if it’s one of those really complex first person shooter games or a challenge with a wholesome game. Its pretty self explanatory when it comes to ranked games but for wholesome games... maybe maximizing profits in a farming game like Stardew Valley or a speed run of who can make the most aesthetically pleasing island in Animal Crossing between him and his twitch friends in a set amount of time. They’d stream for a set amount of time so their audiences get to see their progress (twitch streamer!Pieck wins every time and he’s always salty about it. Swears that they should have blind judging. They do and Pieck still wins).

I can see him also doing a lot of strategy and skill games that require a lot of skill honing. He’s ridiculously good at shooting games from years of COD and the like. I can see him doing Pokemon nuzlockes and gets super attached to his team. He computes his chances and researches everything so they all survive, cocky and a bit too confident. He even shows off the spread sheets he’s made and he’s way too proud of them. He gets so mad when he gets KO’d by some attack that was less likely to happen. One time, he had to take a long break and end his stream early after his starter died. He’s known for his contained rage and rants about how things were supposed to go HIS way, not some numbers programmed into this machine box. (It goesnt help that he throws back his head and groans with that deep voice of his 😳)

But he’s chill too. He plays Animal Crossing noncompetitively and just chats with his, um, chat. He even tries out some games his chat tells him to. I don’t think he’ll play very story heavy games but his chat loves his blunt and dry comments about the plot and the in-game logic. His chat once convinced him to play Hatoful Boyfriend and you can see him visibly TORTURED by the plot and its nonsensicalness but his audience LOVES it (“how does a bird be a waiter? Hm? First of all, he had no hands to do labor such as handle and send out orders, second, isNT THAT A HEALTH VIOLATION?! Like it or not, birds can carry pathogens harmful to humans- I would never go to this cafe.”). But another bird related game he actually enjoyed was Untitled Goose Game. He loved the chaos he brought the townsfolk while his little goose had a little cute bow on. He never extends his stream but does it JUST for Untitled Goose game.

He does give in and goes for games like What Remains of Edith Finch and while his audience knows him to be this cynical, realistic, blunt man, he showed that he had a sensitive side to him as well. He’s not a dick when it comes to sensitive material and acts serious and does a little PSA of what he knows and encourages everyone to do more reseach on sensitive topcs. His audience can at least rest easy that he’s not one of those assholes.

He shows off this more soft, sensitive side when his s/o drops by. They know when he gets kind of worked up from a game while in stream so they just bring him coffee or a lil snack to brighten his spirits. Chat goes ‘huh’ when they see Zeke smile genuinely for once, saying “Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart. Just what I needed.” in a really sweet tone thats a far cry from his usual demeanor. He immediately recovers and does another round of whatever it was he was playing. He gets boastful when you bring him up a slice of his favorite cake, telling the chat “if you guys would hate on me, hate on me for scoring the jackpot in romance. I have the best damn s/o in exsistence, it should be illegal. Illegal.”

He gets carried away once, wanting a kiss after you’d bring him his coffee for the stream. For a split second, you show up in frame and the chat goes nuts, asking if they could finally meet you. Zeke has fun with this, teasing his chat with stuff like, “oh? Please, you wouldn’t be able to handle how gorgeous they are.” and “you’d all combust in front of your screens from how hot they are.”. It’s really more on if you’re comfortable showing your face to his stream and he respects your decision. He’ll happily tease his chat about it going, “wow, a lot of you are s*mps for my s/o and you’ve literally only seen their hands and maybe their hair- you guys got it bad.” But does address it seriously if it gets out of hand.

When you do agree and show yourself, Zeke has you sit on his lap, a hand on your thigh and another one on your waist. It was like he was boasting some sort of trophy while you wave shyly to chat and how enthusiastic they are to finally meet you. You appear in some other streams, playing with him in competitive games sitting next to each other. Chat expects him to snap at you or something but he takes any defeat with grace, a slight frown on his face but will smile widely as you taunt him jokingly. There’s this one playstation co-op game i cant remember the name of where you have to use the same controller to win. It’s just a light hearted stream of the two of you egging on the other for not reacting fast enough or complaining about how bad the other is. Chat gladly becomes third wheel as enjoy yourselves. Truly one of twitch’s solid couples.

Scrolling up and seeing the amout ive written is disgusting (bc i sent this in as an ask) feel free to delete im just here to share with with u 👉👈🥺

Pls never be disgusted with how much you send, I love getting asks like these because it's obvious you're enjoying yourself and I love that!!

I can imagine you bringing him coffee and he stands up to hide your face a bit and kiss you but he kisses you a bit to long and too heated so you say "Dont do that, you'll get me riled up" and he goes red because "babe that mic can still hear us..."

Even though it's a bit embarrassing you laugh, "Well now they know you're good at other things besides video games," you leave him with a kiss.

When he goes back to streaming he's red as hell and scratching his ear a bit, completely flustered as he tries to continue nonchalantly and ignore the chat for a second.

He does fawn over you on stream. Chat asks about you and he's immediately looking a little softer, more in love. Teases them, "I don't know, maybe i want to keep them for myself, my little secret."

If they ever get go meet you it's a whole event, Zeke teasingly hypes you up and the chat goes crazy because wow, you're beautiful. He's like "This is my beautiful wonderful secret now not-so-secret significant other!"

Then you start playing together or him coaching you through. Which gets frustrating because he tries to be in control and you just got to say "Zekey I know you love to be in control but if you try to backseat game me like that I will hurt you," and he backs off and says sorry.

Chat teases him for being called "Zekey" and even his Streamer friends tease him but he's like "only they can call me that."

If he ever meets pushy fangirls that are bound to go "Zekey!" Even though he's made it clear only you can call him that he immediately is eyebrow raised, "who are you talking to? And don't flirt with me." Very blunt about it.

#❖.zeke jaeger #◆.aot #⚫.drabbles #⚫.answered #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yaeger x reader #zeke yeager x reader

17 notes · View notes

urmomsstuntdouble · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 100!!! 💕 maybe for the writing request a hc list or maybe a character analysis on nyo Romano? 👉👈

of course! and thank you! this is sort of a combo of both? but here ya go, i hope you like it!

her name is chiara leandra vargas. i feel like maybe that didnt need to be said but also the name lovina, while similar to actual italian names, annoys me because its just tacking an a onto the end of lovino which isnt a name. i do think lavinia is kinda cute tho, although my favorite L names are leandra and larissa.

i dont think italy had an equivalent to the Women’s Land Army (in Britain and the US, during WW1 and WW2, female civilians were organized into little farming communities to replpace the labor shortage caused by men going into the military), but that’s basically how i imagine her fashion sense is. just. this

also related to ww2 she was 100% in the resistence

she cuts her own bangs

one of her many jobs throughout history was a rollerskating waitress. i have absolutely no historical basis for this. it is the Vibe

on another fashion note, she tends to either dress similarly to the style of the WLA uniform or like. she’s trying to win at fashion week.

chiara also makes the majority of her own clothes, with a preference for sewing by hand. i think that the nations are sort of treated like royalty by their governments, i imagine she’s had a lot of very nice clothes throughout the years, and there are certain things that she just misses, and modern technology can’t recreate her faves, so she likes to make stuff for herself. her level of involvement for getting the materials really varies too. if she’s feeling it, she might go out and shear a sheep. if that’s not the vibe she’d just as easily go to a fabric store and buy a couple meters of cotton.

this is sort of related to another hc but she does not give a flying fuck about how feminine her wardrobe is anymore.

as an immortal woman, chiara tends to not particularly care about gender as a concept. she’s south italy, what more do you care, ya know? i think her relationship with her gender is a bit complex but also as simple as “well italia is feminine so it makes sense that im a woman.” like a lot of the female nations, i imagine she’s very strong and hasnt always been taken seriously by even the members of her own government, so it’s been hard, but she genuinely doesnt care anymore how people see her. because of that, she’s a much lighter person than she used to be, to the extent that other nations will comment on it. like...i think when she met russia again in the 20th century he was like wow you’re so chill what did you do to chiara? you know? and though she’s not like, fully happy and at peace with everything related to her gender, she’s just sort of over it, ya know?

she has an interesting relationship with religion. i think she sees herself as being A Very Good Catholic™, but is she though? once again, as an immmortal, i dont think chiara’s very attached to religion as a concept, mostly because she cannot go to heaven, because she cannot die. well, she could, but she’s over 2000 years old and she doesnt look like she’s going anywhere soon, so. at this point she just sort of goes with what the church says, and if she disagrees with that, will make her own interpretation of the bible. and if she doesn’t like what the bible has to say, she’ll fall back on her own opinions. she has a little bit of catholic guilt about it

she’s definitely got some weird feelings about catholicism and how people can use it in ways that hurt others. its a bit conflicting, because the vatican is literally in her heart but she also doesn’t really like everything that comes out of it. at the end of the day she sort of prioritizes being a good person over being a good christian, although that’s not really how she sees it in her own head.

she prefers to wear looser clothing. stuff that hides the shape of her hips and chest. this is because she’s often been told that she couldn’t fight or that she shouldn’t fight, because she’s a woman, but if you tell miss chiara vargas not to do something. She Will. i know that in hetalia canon female characters are shown to be soldiers too, like hungary, although im not sure if that’s the most historically accurate. i also think it might’ve been harder for nyo romano, because a lot of romano’s character is defined by his relationships with veneziano and with spain, during which both of them try to protect him from harm at every turn (screams in veneziano trying to make sure romano doesnt have to stress himself out with work while also implying that he thinks romano is lazy and incapable and thereby making him even more stressed because he thinks his brother hates him-). so if nyo romano is operating under those same frameworks and dynamics as her male counterpart, i think that spain and vene might have tried to fight for her a lot. that annoyed chiara for obvious reasons but also did wind up. preventing her from fighting a lot. i think that she was definitely involved in all military conflicts involving south italy, but not necessarily fighting for all of it, you know? anyway, all that is to say that i think she’d have people to sneak around if she wanted to fight, so she would need to disguise herself in order to do so.

side note while she was like. an infantryman or whatever she definitely used that as a chance to explore her bisexuality. chiara would make a damn fine soldier and village girls think so too

lactose intolerant but still eats so much cheese because as south italy she legally has to. she suffers in silence because soy/almond/oat milk dont cut it for cheese. however, if she’s feeling a coffee with milk, she will use one of the non-dairy alternatives.

has had a crush on half of europe at some point

also had a thing with cuba for a time. borrowing the hc from the cumano server that cuba re-taught her how to speak spanish but The Correct Cuban Way and now she’s like. fucking carribean sounding. whenever chiara gets in a fight with spain she’ll lay on the cuban accent extra thick, because its fun to watch isabel pull her hair out sometimes :)

amazing singing voice

really good at makeup and only uses her skills for things that are sexy and evil

writing requests

#my love is stored in the chiara #thats my fjucking girl!!!!!#she dresses like a grandpa but like a very fashionable grandpa you know? like she's the most desired grandpa in town #also sorry i tried to combine hc list and analysis #i hope this is to your satisfactions #hetalia #hws #hws romano #nyo romano #writing requests #ceros posting

24 notes · View notes

diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

Text

Dumpling ch. 19

Authors Notes: (Starting to get into the chapters I’ve had planned for literally YEARS. Feels so good making progress. And thank you for all the lovely messages! Hope you all enjoy.)

Farris’s answer came in the form of manual labor. Three large bushels of long beans that needed washing and their stems pulled off, ten pumpkins that needed breaking down and seeds collected and washed, and confusingly enough, a whole pine tree limb that needed all the needles removed and collected.

As preparation for the dinner service was ramping up, the main kitchen was in full swing with staff rushing around and hot and sharp instruments flying about. So the two humans were banished to corner of the spice pantry atop a small table strategically placed with nothing nearby so as to be used in an any ill-conceived escape attempt. They were a small island onto themselves and would not be able to leave without a giant’s aid. Supposedly.

“He thinks he’s so clever,” Jae remarked after they green door had been shut and they had been given their orders. “He thinks I can’t get down off of this? Watch me.”

“Don’t,” Nenani hissed at him. “We’re already in enough trouble.”

“This is nothin’,” remarked Jae with a cocky grin. “I’ve been in much worse.”

Nenani stared at him, unimpressed. “I’ve heard.”

“Farris’s mind must be going,” he said, paying her no mind as he sat at the edge of the table and began to lower himself down, feet reaching and feeling around for a foothold. The green door behind him silently opened and Yale stepped in grinning. As Nenani opened her mouth to say something, the giant put a finger to his lips conspiratorially and winked. She closed her mouth and watched.

Jae had not picked up on Yale’s presence at all and continued talking aloud. “How many times has he seen me climb these tables. Pff, he should know me better than this...”

“Aye,” agreed Yale, grinning like a cat from the doorway, and startling Jae. The boy scrambled for purchased on the old wooden surface, breathless with surprise and exertion. Jae glared over his shoulder. But Yale, just grinned mischievously, gestured vaguely in their direction. “S’why Farris asked me t’grease them legs. So less ya want to have a long fall and crack yer arse on them stones, best be stayin’ where ya are, brat.”

From behind the green door somewhere out in the kitchen, Farris called out, “He tryin’ to run?”

“Aye, he is.”

“GET YER ARSE BACK ON THAT TABLE, BRAT. OR I’LL BOIL YA WITH THEM BEANS!”

Huffing through his noes, Jae reluctantly pulled himself back up to sit on the table’s edge.

“I’m not gonna sit here and play kitchen lackey all day.”

“Well,” Yale replied. “Farris says ya are.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Fer the time bein’, the King says we can,” Yale replied with a shrug. “So get to it ya two. Gjerk’s waitin’ on them pumpkins.”

“You lot could have this all done in a few minutes,” Jae objected. “This will take us forever!”

“THAT’S THE DAMN POINT, BOY!” Farris hollered from beyond the door. “TIE ‘IM TO THE DAMN TABLE IF YA HAVE TO, YALE.”

“Gladly,” Yale replied, almost daring Jae to give him justification to do just that. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

Jae glowered miserably at the expectant giant before getting to his feet and walking over to the pile of gourds, kicking one lightly, before sitting down with an audible thump. “How are we suppose to cut these if we don’t have a knife?”

As if anticipating the question, Yale strode over to their small table and reached behind his back to pull from his apron a leather bundle. It was tiny in the black haired giant’s hands and he held it out to Jae. “Connar was gracious enough to lend these to us.”

As Jae begrudgingly took the parcel, Yale’s other hand reached out and patted him on the head. Already irritated, Jae snarled and smacked the retreating fingers.

“Do that again and I’ll bite you!” Jae warned.

“Try it and I’ll bite ya back. And I warn ya,” Yale said, not at all taking the threat serious. He rather seemed to find whole thing immensely amusing. “I’d bet good coin that mine’s much worse.”

Yale left them to it after that and both Jae and Nenani spent the remainder of the afternoon at the tasks. For nearly an hour Jae was muttering to himself in irritation about the injustice of it all and being a general curmudgeon. The leather bound parcel turned out to be three knives of varying shapes and lengths, but of high quality and honed to a sharp edge.

“I should have just let them tie me up and used these to cut myself free,” Jae grumbled, examining one of the larger knives. “This sucks.”

“Can’t we just finish this and let it be done with?” Nenani pleaded. “Aren’t you tired? Because I want to get this done and go to sleep.”

“Fine,” Jae relented. “They didn’t have to be so commanding about it. Sheesh...”

“They’re just trying to keep us safe,” she told him with a frown. “You’re being such a baby.”

She had expected a sharp tongued retort, but Jae was silent and seemingly lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, he replied in a small and nearly regretful voice, “I know...”

…………………………….

She never in her life had ever seen a long bean. They were as thick as a persons arm and as long as Nenani was tall. Jae told her they were native to Vhasshal and grew in an area called Timberbrook, where they were apparently famous for them. Despite their size, they were easy enough to work through, but the pumpkin were a much messier affair and neither human much cared for the smell. They were a mottled green and gray and not any bigger than a normal gourd. But their outer flesh was hard and tough. Jae took it upon himself to break apart and cut the dusty colored gourds while Nenani picked out the small white flat seeds from their slimey and goopy innards. After washing and drying, they went into a shallow ceramic pot and set aside. What any giant would want with such tiny seeds, Nenani did not know.

“Yaesha uses them,” Jae replied, plunging one of Connar’s knives into the flesh of the next gourd. “He grinds them up and adds them to tonics.”

The worst task ended up being the pine needle collecting. The small green barbs were sharp and there was so many to collect. After the sheer physical exertion of the previous two tasks, let alone the earlier events of the day, Nenani’s hand coordination was all but shot. It made her hands clumsy and prone to pricking herself on the sharp ends. She tried to use her skirts as a glove, but they still managed to penetrate and stab at her sore fingers.

“Why would you even want to eat a pine tree,” Nenani said grumpily and sucked on her abused finger tips. She grimaced as the bitter taste of pine sap hit her tongue. “Ugh, it’s gross.”

“You don’t eat it,” Jae laughed. “You boil the needles and make a tea. It’s supposed to help with arthritis.”

They still had almost half of the tree branch still to harvest when Yale poked his head in through the door. “Makin’ any headway? Gjerk’s needin’ them pumpkins now.”

“They’re over there,” Jae replied shortly, waving at the pile of cut up gourd behind the,. “Take ‘em! They stink.”

With a suppressed smile, Yale easily swept the chunks of pumpkin onto a dish and surveyed the rest of their work. “Still on the pine needles? You two are maddeningly slow at this.”

His teasing tone was lost on both humans and they returned his cheeky grin with tired glares.

“Can we be done now?” Nenani asked pleadingly. “I’m tired of picking pine needles.”

“Yer not supposed to enjoy yer punishment, Dumplin’,” Yale laughed. “But, seein’ as it’s gettin’ late and you two are slower than molasses...”

As he trailed off, Yale looked around and back through the green doorway to see if anyone was watching and then plucked up the pine branch. As easily as picking a flower, Yale pinched one end and dragged fingers across, pulling every needle off effortlessly and when he was done, placed back down upon the table a bare tree limb. Both Nenani and Jae sighed in relief.

“Gods, finally!” Jae exclaimed, falling back onto the table and closing his eyes.

“Can I go to sleep now?” Nenani asked, her eye barely open.

Yale chuckled. “What? Without supper? Figured you’d be starvin’ by now.”

“I am, but also sleepy...”

“Bet you wish you had some of Maevis’s loopy juice now, huh?”

Nenani made a gagging sound. “No.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Gjerk and Herit, as the youngest of the kitchen staff, were set to cleaning as the last of the top table’s dishes were taken up through back servants’ stairwell. Bart, Saen, Avery, and Yale were still out in the courtyard and Farris was making his rounds and verifying everything of that day’s work that needed doing had in fact been done.

“What do you think the King’s gonna do?” Herit asked, wiping down the long table. “About the Ibronian fella.”

“He should throw him in the dungeon.” Gjerk replied, stirring the pot of simmering stew that would be their dinner. He planted one hand on his hip and waved the spoon in the air. “What kind a’ man threatens two lil’ kids? They can’t even reach his kneecaps!”

“You realize I’m only a year younger than you, right?” Jae asked from his perch on small shelf near the archway door.

Gjerk’s face and tips of his ears turned red. “W-well, yeah. But you’re a whole lot smaller than me. It’s not the same!”

“Nah, Jae’s right,” Herit snickered. “I think if it were a contest between which of ya could outrun the Ibronian, my money would be on ‘im.”

Nenani was nowhere near as skilled in climbing as Jae, so she was relegated to counter below and had not been paying very much attention to the conversation. Yale had taken pity on her earlier and set her up with some honey tea to revive her and that had occupied the majority of her attention. So when a large wooden spoon slammed against the wall a few feet from her head, she let out an involuntary shriek of surprise. Herit and Gjerk were chasing after one another, pulling at each others’ clothes and hair. Herit got a good grab on his fellow and the two tumbled to the ground in a cacophonous heap of curses and cries of anger and pain.

It wasn’t a moment later that Yale came rushing through the archway, eyes sharp and seeking. “What th’fuck is goin’ on?!”

Neither of the younger giants paused in their brawl to answer him and it took only a moment for Yale to piece it all together. From behind Yale, Avery and Bart entered and seeing his two underlings tumbling about the floor, the bearded giant scowled.

“Get yer arses off the floor, ya idgets!” yelled Bart. “Before I skin both yer hides!”

As Avery and Bart went about separating the two tenderfoots, Yale made a bee line to Nenani. “What was the scream fer? Ya alright?”

Embarrassed, Nenani hunched her shoulders and hid her face partially behind her cup. She nodded meekly. “...it just scared me.”

Yale blinked down at her and then rolled his eyes with a sigh. Despite that, he did look visibly relieved. “Had me thinkin’ someone came down and started attackin’ you lot.”

“Not unless Gjerk’s soup spoon counts...” Jae added.

Once he fight was broken up and the preparations for supper continued, routine took over and everyone began to take their seats. Herit silently poured out measures of ale while sporting a new split lip as Gjerk dolled out bowls of stew with a newly ripped shirt collar.

“Lolly’s gonna have yer hide,” snickered Saen in reference to the torn garment. Gjerk moved as if to pass a bowl to him, but passed him over and handed it to Yale instead.

Saen frowned. “Oi!”

“I can mend it myself...” Gjerk mumbled.

“Quinn and Kol ain’t back yet?” Herit asked, setting two mugs of ale in front of each bakers’ empty chairs.

“No,” Farris said, cleaning off the hilt of a small blade. Once satisfied, he slipped back into the sheath at his hip. Nenani could not remember ever seeing him wear a knife before. Use one, certainly. But he had never armed himself and she could not help but feel a pinprick of worry. “But if they want to eat, they best be hurryin’.”

“Where did they go?” Jae asked from his seat next to Nenani. Yale had taken a shallow ceramic dish and placed it upturned on the table to give the two human a sort of table of their own.

“Lolly came and got them earlier,” Bart replied, breaking apart a chunk of bread and handing smaller portions to Jae and Nenani. “The Queen was wantin’ a word with ‘em.”

“And that doesn’t bother anyone?” Jae asked, pulling at the softer insides of his piece of bread. “Y’know. Given what’s going on.”

“The Queen doesn’t have a reason t’want ‘em harmed,” Farris said after taking a long pull of his ale. “It’s you she hates, boy. Not my bakers.”

“Guilt by association?” He offered back.

“Gods help us all.” The kitchen master replied. Jae smiled and huffed a quiet laugh.

“S’long as they don’t spill any gravy on her,” Bart said with a grin. “I’m bettin’ they’ll be just fine.”

The smile was gone from Jae face in an instant, but Yale, Saen, and Farris were highly amused.

“What’re the chances that I could get some of that ale?” Jae asked.

“Not good,” chortled Farris. “Tea’ll suit ya just fine.”

Jae slumped down in defeat, sheer exhaustion finally dulling his tongue. Just as things had begun to quiet down and everyone tucked into their food, rapid footsteps began echoing down the servants stairwell. Both Kol and Quinn practically leaped down the last few stairs and into the kitchen, faces flushed and breathing hard. And grinning wildly.

“I take it all is well?” Farris asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yer never gonna guess what just-” Quinn began, quickly sweeping into his seat.

“The Queen gave us raises!” Kol cut him off as he too took his seat, beating the table excitedly. Quinn gave Kol a murderous glare, but it was quickly swept away by his own excitement and he drank heavily from his tankard.

Farris’s blinked in surprise. “She what?”

“Congratulations...” Avery muttered jealously.

“No, ya dolt. All of us!” Kol snapped. The entire table perked up. “She’s givin’ us all a penny more per month!”

“What?” Yale asked with a mouthful of soup. “Really? Why?”

“Guess she really liked them pastries we’ve been makin’,” Quinn answered smugly. “But I guess we’ve all impressed her with the cookin’.”

“Horse shit,” Farris replied grimly. He did not seem to be sharing in the collective mirth. “Looks t’me like she’s buying favors.”

The energy of the room dulled as they mulled over the idea.

“What favors would she be buying?” Jae asked Farris, not quite masking his nervousness. It did not escape Farris’s notice and waved his hand dismissively.

“We ain’t handin’ ya over to her if that’s what yer worried about.”

“I’d do it for three pennies extra,” Avery quipped, but Saen punched him in the arm. “AH! Dammit, Saen it was a joke!”

“I have doubts,” said Farris in a raised tone to recapture the staff’s attention. “...that she has anythin’ like that in mind. She’s startin’ t’see how unpopular she is with some folks and she’s a young lass. Newly married and in a land that ain’t her own.”

“She might be just tryin’ to establish some sort of peace,” Bart agreed, but still seemed to contemplate the situation. “She’s plenty popular with the blue bloods, though. Why try to win our lowly favors and opinions?”

“Maybe it ain’t our opinions she’s trying to win,” Yale countered. “D’ya hear anythin' 'bout what’s t’be done with the Ibronian, lads?”

“Nothing official, but a footman told me he’s bein’ sent back to Ibronia first light,” Quinn said. “I guess the King really let ‘im have it too.”

Yale nodded knowingly. “Aye, like I said. It ain’t our favor she’s vying fer.” He poked Jae in the side, inciting a cry of irritation from the human. “Maybe it’s his.”

There was a short pause before the entire table seem to erupt in dissension. Even Jae was looking at Yale as though the young Vhasshalan had properly lost his marbles.

“HA!” Kol laughed. “She never had much of an opinion of ‘im before. Why now?”

As the discussion turned to all the reasons why Yale’s theory was absolute bonk, Nenani mulled over the riddle in her mind. She remembered Barnaby’s painting of the King and Queen’s wedding day and tried to recall if she seemed happy in the picture. She understood that the marriage had been for political reasons and it seemed to her that it would be a very hard thing to marry for that rather than love. To be far away from your family. Her new husband might be very angry with her for what Creag had tried to do in her name. She certainly hoped that the Queen felt bad about her man trying to kill Jae. And her!

The conversation carried on in that way further into the night long after their bowls were empty and Nenani began to feel the heavy tug of sleep.

“Oh, wait. Look at th' Dumplin’,” someone said teasingly. She blinked blearily in the direction of the voice to identify the source, but she could not tell as the world began to blur. Warm soft laughter swam above her as she laid her head down and closed her eyes. “Ah! There she goes...”

…………………………………………

It was a familiar dream now. Boats burned on the horizon and people screamed, but she did not see her Uncle’s boat this time. Instead, a small skiff ambled moor-less in the tide and the longer she stared, the closer the skiff approached. She hovered above the water, toes barely touching the surface, and watched immobile as the dark skiff drew near. It bumped lightly against her shins as she looked into it. A shroud covered body lay inside surrounded by burial offerings and flowers. A large jeweled amulet lay atop the green shroud and she found it mesmerizing. The jewel set in the center was as large as a duck’s eggs and was speckled with flecks of orange, red, green, and yellow. The burning light of the fires made the red of the jewel glisten like blood and she could not resist reaching out to touch it. As her fingers grazed the ice cold surface of the amulet, the green velvet shroud pulled away to reveal the empty black eyes of a skull.

With a gasp, Nenani drew back her hand.

Stone rose up from the waves and pressed to her feet and suddenly she was no longer in the harbor of the Southland Ports, but deep inside the walls of Vhasshal. The pitted walls of the catacombs rose up around her and voices rang out inaudibly. Nenani turned to find the way out, but her movements were slow and weighted as though trying to run through deep mud. Something gripped her wrist and pulled, but she would not turn to look at it. She could feel the hard bone of its hand and hear the rattling of its spine.

“The cracks grow wider,” the voice moaned, tugging her closer to the center of the room. “Soon he will see you…”

“Please,” she begged, crying wildly as she was pulled ever more closer to the room’s center. “Please leave me alone!”

“There is too much inside you building...the cracks will break...”

“I just wanna go home! Please! PLEASE!”

A boney hand gripped her face and she could smell ash. “...the fire of Silvaara is still wild.”

The harder she breathed, the less air she seemed to take in and no matter how hard she pushed back, the skeleton assailant was so much stronger. Something pressed up against the side of her head and the voice spoke again, hideously close to her ear. “He will come for you...”

“MAMA!”

All at once she was free and she tumbled hard onto her knees. The cold air of the catacombs was gone and replaced with the warmth of the kitchen hearth. She could smell stew and ale and feel the rough wood grain under her hands. All at once sound returned and everyone was shouting in surprise.

“Seven hells!”

“What the fuck was that fer?”

“Shit-!”

“Gods, that one can scream...”

Something large touched her back and she immediately curled in on herself with a cry of terror.

“Oi! Nenani,” Yales voice broke through the haze and she sensed his hands hovering over her. “Yer alright! It was just a nightmare, Dumplin’. Yer alright.”

Her rapid breathing slowed as she became of aware of herself again and a rolling wave of emotion surged from inside her and poured out. Tears turned to muffled cries and then into open sobbing that just would not cease. Yale laid a tentative hand on her back, rubbing lightly and trying to comfort her. She reached out to grasp his fingers as though they would keep her from sinking into the abyss. His voice, quiet and calming, whispered over her head so close she could feel the heat of his breath along her neck. “Yer safe, Nenani. Was just a dream, darlin’. Just a bad dream...”

“Yale,” Farris’s gruff voice spoke from somewhere to Nenani’s right. “Go on an’ get that lil’un t’bed.”

She did not hear Yale responded, but his hands slowly and with measures and practiced care scooped her into the crook of one arm before he turned towards the barracks. She felt a moment of panic as the passed through the curtains and into the pitch dark of the room and even more so when Yale lowered her down onto a pillow. She grabbed onto his shirt as he tried to pull away.

“S’alright. Just let me light a candle, eh?” Her fingers reluctantly released the fabric and she listened with baited breath as Yale hurried to light a candle. A flicker of yellow flame appeared nearby as the candle’s wick caught the flame of the match. Yale sat it inside a small oval cutout in the wall near his bunk and crouched down to be eye level with Nenani.

“Better?”

Nenani nodded, but it was a lie. Yale seemed to sense it as well and slowly reached out a hand towards her. He patted her hair softly as Nenani sniffed and tried to control her hiccuping sobs. “Yer shakin’, Dumplin’. Must’ve been a bad one to set ya off like this.”

Her throat felt clogged and too tight to answer so she just nodded.

“Wanna tell me what it was about? Might help some,” Yale offered. “Was it that Creag bastard?”

She shook her head.

“...was it Farris?”

She shook her head vehemently and managed a thick sounding, “...n-no...not Farris.”

“Keral then? Knowin’ him, he probably made ya think ya were in real deep trouble when he found ya in the halls with no marker.”

She shook her head again.

“Well...” Yale probed further. “Wanna tell me? You don’t have ta if ya don’t wanna.”

She was able to meet his gaze at last and could see the real concern in them. Yale had been endlessly kind to her ever since she first arrived. He always hung around and stepped in to defend her whenever he felt he was needed and always made sure she was fed and had company. She utterly trusted Yale possibly more than anyone else in all of Vhasshal. And before she really understood what she was saying, the words left her lips.

“...there are...dead people...in the walls...”

#Dumpling #Fantasy Story #giant #giants #tiny #human #Vhasshal #Nenani #Jae #Farris #Yale #nightmare

30 notes · View notes

blookmallow · 4 years

Text

im DOING it im FIGURING SHIT OUT im making SO MANY IRON BARS now and UNLOCKING things and. progressing basically everything except my actual graveyard, which was the point of all this in the first place, but i’M GETTING THERE, AT LEAST :’)

-----

I OPENED A SECRET PASSAGEWAY IN MY BASEMENT AND SOMEHOW ENDED UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE VILLAGE

[kronk voice] what are the ODDS of that trap door leading me out here

this makes no fucking sense. it takes so long to walk over here but i can walk like half that distance in my basement and somehow end up here. i can only conclude there is a spacetime rift in my basement

i mean technically i got here in the first place because of a spacetime rift or something so i guess thats not actually unlikely

coward

i like the “yet.....” though lmao

donkey decided it was time for a labor strike. viva la revolution

i agree though he absolutely should get paid for carrying that cart back and forth all day, though i am not sure why that responsibility falls to me and not whoever he’s getting the corpses from in the first place, but i guess he’s also working for me

at first i was very uninterested in the fact that i can apparently also do farming in this game about graveyard management (bc i need carrots to pay my donkey friend for his services) but it appears all i have to do is plant seeds and then carrots happen a few days later, i dont have to like. water the plants or anything so thats fine by me i can periodically plant carrots for this guy

I ALSO FUCKIGN FIGURED OUT I *CAN* ACTUALLY TRADE IN MY BURIAL CERTIFICATES FOR MY PAYCHECK, AS WELL, THE SHOPKEEPER LIED TO ME, FUCKER DOES HAVE MONEY

i mean maybe he didn’t at the time and i didnt understand the trading mechanic well enough to realize it,

its like skyrim where you can see how much the merchant has/they only have a limited amount of money but he DEFINITELY had enough money to pay me for my certificates and i have no idea how long he did. or why he A) told me he was broke when he wasnt, or B) never bothered to inform me when he got more money in and could afford to pay me

this isn’t just like some random guy im trying to sell stuff to either he’s like. technically the innkeeper but also Essentially The Head Of The Village and this is supposed to be his responsibility

anyway i cant tell if i got Temporarily Swindled or if im just stupid and didn’t understand how to sell things (GRANTED IT IS VERY CONFUSING AT FIRST) but i SWEAR he said he didn’t have the money when i met him

ALL THAT TO SAY I FINALLY HAVE MONEY :’) not a lot of it but like, Some. enough to buy seeds sometimes.

i also get a little money from my sermons now, and im not Really sure its ok for me to be using the church donation funds to like, go buy carrot seeds so the corpse donkey will continue to bring me presents (the presents are corpses)

like im not really using money to renovate the graveyard im mostly just crafting a bunch of shit out of like, rocks i found and trees i chopped down myself but w/e this doesnt seem like a very. well run respectable church in the first place :’) i AM trying to help out as many people as i can, for what thats worth,

i also failed my first sermon for some reason despite the fact that it was exactly the same as my second one. there doesnt seem to be anything i can Do really other than. input my. prayer. notes. or whatever it is. to summon Faith. i have no idea lmao im STARTING to get SOME of this though im doing loads better even if half of it is still mostly incomprehensible

i rebuilt a fuckin BRIDGE!!!! its the worlds shittiest looking bridge but theres SO MUCH IRON over here so my crafting quest has become much easier

my organs chest is coming along fabulously, as well

everything stacks except for organs i dont know why and im not sure what im going to do when i run out of space for organs considering i still have no IDEA what i can even do with these

i dont understand the actual grave duties parts at all, i get corpses, i Can take all this stuff out of them but there’s no apparent use for any of it (im pretty sure i can sell the corpse meat if i manage to figure out how to get a forged approval stamp though lmao) it seems to lower their. quality?? or something?? and sometimes produces a “Surgical Mistake” bc my dude’s butchering skills arent that great yet but i have no IDEA what the Quality, or whatever it is, of the corpses even affects at all. removing some things seems to make it go UP for some reason but some things make it go down. my guess is im very bad at embalming and im removing all the wrong stuff and i dont have like, embalming fluid or anything so i dont really know what use it is to drain the blood out anyway except for like, Now I Have All This Blood

i guess maybe it’s messing with the quality level of my graveyard (which i do know i can improve by making nicer gravestones and stuff. that at least makes sense and I KNOW HOW TO DO IT, IMAgine) but i also don’t know what the graveyard quality affects either. my first task was to get it up to 5... uh. grave. points? but there isnt any clear indication of like, what next levels i want to be at or w/e. im at 16, whatever that means. im also running out of grave space which is definitely about to become a problem. i may have to start dumping some of these corpses into the river unless i can figure out how to unlock cremation :’ )

and im currently at a standstill on one of my quests because i need water to make a few things. i have a well. i can get a bucket of water from the well. but A Bucket Of Water and Water seem to be TWO DIFFERENT THINGS for some reason. im stuck bc i cant figure out how to get the water out of the bucket. im thriving

I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO GET A PASS TO GO INTO THE TOWN AND I GOT FUCKIGN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING AND DIED

my skull friend says Something Doesn’t Want You To Go There and im just like god damn it i wanted more shops

anyway ive now completely filled up my gross chest and i still dont know what to do with any of these. i stopped collecting things that dont stack since i dont know what to do with them anyway but its hard to resist the temptation to cut out a guy’s heart when given the option to :’ )

#lucy plays graveyard keeper

3 notes · View notes

xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 5 years

Text

seal moves in

(i dont remember if i ever posted this so im reposting it, this is from the far far future)

Seven centuries ago the Wyld washed over an entire direction in the wake of a Crusade, and it recedes slowly. Islands of lucidity jut forth like washed-up debris, either raksha playgrounds or remnants of Creation. It is here, scant miles beyond the edge of the world, that Siege Perilous looms. The sun does not reach here, though there is light; the deserts give way to paving-stones and green hills, and a hamlet in the shadow of a castle. The hamlet is empty, long abandoned by the look of it -- but surely less than seven centuries empty, when bleached banners still fly in the square intact. No, these houses were evacuated a mere five years ago, when their ancient hero finally returned to liberate them from raksha encirclement. When the castle's heir took up his rightful seat. When the Seal of Unforgotten Kings came home. A marble statue stands in the Siege's courtyard, gazing down on those who would enter the castle. In those five years, it has seen the Dusk a scant three times.

A bottle of champagne smashed across its sunburst-crowned brow. "I hereby chrishen thish party... open!" Star declared.

Seal glowered up at him, perched on the statue's shoulder. "Get down from there," he shouted. "I wanted to fucking drink that."

Star shrugged, tossing the neck of the bottle over his shoulder and fluttering down. "Desh brought more, I think. Beshidesh, that shtuff schucksh. Gotta drink like a bucketful to get tipshy."

Des had indeed brought more; various bottles nestled in the crook of her arm, and beside her a white-haired boy labored under what appeared to be picnic baskets laden so high they obscured his face. Des clicked her tongue at him. "You know you don't have to carry all that, Sever," she said. "I could have got a ghost to do it."

Shoulders shrugged carefully on either side of the tower. "I don't mind," a basket at face height replied. Severed Tail of the Serpent Resembles Truth By its Writhing carefully adjusted the tower, distributing the weight more evenly, and continued on his way. Behind him, Des frowned and followed.

+++

Seal flung the castle doors open. "Honey, we're home," he shouted, emboldened by the presence of his friends. The empty hall echoed it back to him, white dust swirling in the corners from the sudden breeze.

Take this seriously, a voice said in his head. Seal could see him out of the corner of his eye: the spitting image of the statue outside, standing ramrod-straight and two heads taller than Seal, running a finger across the breastplate of a nearby suit of armor. Brightest Morning Star frowned at Seal. Is this any way to treat your domicile? The inheritance of centuries?

"Shut the fuck up, old man," Seal muttered through gritted teeth. "You're not even real."

Realer than your cleaning skills, the man responded before Star breezed through the space where he should have been standing. "Scho, where do you want thisch?" he said, louder than usual and brandishing a pilfered bottle of Shadow's brandy. He was pointedly not making eye contact, and Seal recognized that he had heard him talking to his preincarnation.

He flushed with anger. "Do I look like I give a shit?" he snapped. "We're gonna desecrate every fucking room in this castle, I didn't make a fucking itinerary."

Schtar shrugged and moved on, sweeping his gaze around the castle -- probably doing that dumb Investigation shit again. "Oh, here we go," he said, opening a door. "Big ol' dining hall, kitschen muscht be thish way. C'mon, let'sh shee if they got schomefing to toasht thish bread with." He disappeared into the darkness, and the other Deathknights followed suit.

Brightest Morning Star reappeared in front of Seal, a phantom wind blowing away the nothingness that obscured him. You haven't picked up after yourself since the last time you were here, he reminded the boy disapprovingly. Or the time before that. You could at least sweep up some wreckage before they see.

Seal grabbed an ornamental vase and flung it at the apparition. It sailed through empty air and smashed against the floor. "Fuck you!" he shouted at the silent hall, but images assailed him behind his eyelids: ruined tapestries with the faces singed away, spears with the hafts snapped in half and buried in discarded shields, the remnants of Seal's last tantrum here. The vast mural of stained glass he knelt before, unable to destroy it, unable to look directly at his predecessor's face. Seal swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away hot tears. He flung the red droplets on the floor. "Fine!" he declared angrily. "I'll go do your dumb fucking chores. Bitch."

Broom's in the upstairs closet, if it hasn't rotted away, Brightest Morning Star sniped from inside his mind.

+++

The broom was not in the upstairs closet.

Seal stared at the rack where it should have lay, where his-and-not-his memories pictured it beside the dustpan, which was also gone. "Hey, old man," he called out. "Are you fucking senile or did you just have servants do all your shit for you? Don't know where your own goddamn broom is?"

No response. Seal slammed the closet shut, and it rattled the frame pleasingly. "What the fuck now?" he asked out loud. Did someone break into the castle and steal his fucking broom? Glorious First Light loomed in the back of his mind. What if, by taking it from the castle, he'd left it vulnerable?

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, and broke into a run. Seal might have hated all this fucking stuff, but it was his fucking stuff. The treasury was filled with priceless First Age artifacts and also a bunch of stuff he'd smashed to pieces, and if some raksha bastard even fucking thought about fucking touching it --

Seal skidded to a halt. There was no raksha bastard. The treasury door was open, and as far as Seal could tell everything was in place. Except for the story crystals he'd smashed to pieces last time he was here, and had left scattered across the floor. As far as Seal could tell, there wasn't even a splinter of crystal on the floor, though their spots on the shelves remained empty.

What the fuck? Seal spun around. The sword he'd bent in half was gone as well, replaced with a completely different one -- a jian instead of a dao. The row of statuettes was artfully arranged to hide the ones Seal had beheaded. Even the trophy case Seal had cut in half was standing straight. He ventured over and tapped a finger against it.

It crashed down -- someone had merely shoved the two halves together so neatly Seal hadn't spotted the join. The noise startled him, and he jumped back -- and, out of the corner of his eye, saw movement. "Hey!" he cried reflexively, and pursued. The castle was a maze of halls and display cases and rooms full of junk, but whoever Seal was chasing seemed to know it like the back of their hand -- Seal only caught a flicker of movement, a flap of cloth disappearing around a corner. "Stop fucking running, bastard!" he shouted, and hurled Glorious First Light.

The spear blasted a crater in the wall at the end of the corridor, coming to rest buried a full hand into the stone -- and a hair's breadth from Des' face, where she was coming around the corner. "Who are you yelling at?" she asked, unflapped, stepping back and tucking her hair back behind her ears. "There's no one here."

Seal came to a stop with one foot up against the wall, trying to yank the weapon out. "Some -- fucker -- stole my broom," he said, grunting. "And cleaned my fucking treasury."

Des raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Stole your broom and not your hoard of ancient and extremely valuable relics?" she asked. "And... swept with it? Surely you should be thanking them."

"I don't know what they fucking did," Seal grumbled. He pulled one last time and finally pulled the spear free, which meant that boy and weapon went tumbling head over heels. From his new position on the floor, Seal swore loudly and freely.

Des' eyes sparked with laughter as she helped Seal to his feet. "Well, if you think the mystery can wait for an hour or two, Star has managed to warm up the pie. Without any slime involved."

"Pie," Seal said fervently, and forgot about the broom entirely.

+++

The pie was burnt. The sandwiches were dry. The brandy tasted like shit. Seal enjoyed the hell out of it all.

They had left the great hall dark and empty and chosen to eat in the kitchen instead. It was cozy, gathered around the slab in the center while the fire blazed in the stove. Des had found a fork and knife; Star and Seal were eating with their hands. Seal wasn't sure Sever was eating at all, but every time he looked there was less food on the plate, so he guessed he must be. Also, Seal was drunk.

"Sol's own fucking cock," he said, wiping his mouth. "This stuff really fucking tastes like a rat's ass." He slammed the empty glass down on the table and motioned for Des to pour him another shot. "But damn if it doesn't fucking do you."

Star's giggle broke into hiccups. "How do you know what a rat'sh assh tashtesh like?" he managed to slur out. "Eat a lot of rat asshesh in your schildhood?"

"Not as many as your fucking mom," Seal shot back. Star gasped, actually offended, but Sever distracted him with a slice of pie and Seal gloated silently at getting the last word.

"So," Des said, pouring herself another glass of rose, which Star and Seal weren't allowed to touch (Sever had a small cupful in front of him). "What sort of magnificent things have you got in this castle anyways?"

Seal shrugged around a mouthful of burger (helpfully prepared by Pho ahead of time). "Treasury mostly," he replied. "I raided the armory but there's a bunch more shit in there. Like five fucking rooms full of random junk. East tower's full of little glass things, no idea what they do. Library, chapel, hangar --"

"--hanger?" Star piped up. "Like a big clothesh hanger?"

"I believe Seal means a hangar," Sever cut in smoothly. "Where First Age flying vessels are often stored."

Star's jaw hung open, comically filled with half-mashed mince. "You got airschipsh?"

A grin spread across Seal's face. "Hey, Star. Betcha can't fly faster than a First Age warbird."

"Betscha can't hit me in the air with a Firscht Age warbird," Star countered, and they were off.

+++

This is not the intended use of a warbird.

"Can't hear you over the sound of this fucking warbird!" Seal shouted, over the sound of this fucking warbird.

These are holy weapons of war, not children's toys!

"Eat my fucking ass," Seal answered hotly, pulling back on the harness-gloves. The warbird responded, thirty thousand pounds of ancient magic carefully yoked to steel and fire, made to cut through behemoths like wet paper. Currently, Seal was trying to keep Star in his sights, though the winged Day Caste was swooping erratically through the air above the Siege Perilous.

At the very least you could shoot him down, Brightest Morning Star replied a little petulantly. It's commendable how quickly you've picked up the controls, but we both know it's really my hand at the helm. Show me what you can do.

Seal waved a hand dismissively, which caused the warbird to spin alarmingly through the air. "I'm not gonna kill him," he responded when the aircraft was back under control. "Just wanna show off a little."

Oh, and smashing a warbird into him at a hundred miles an hour won't kill him?

"He's got Resistance Charms," Seal said, squinting as he finally lined Star up in the center of his sights -- "He'll probably be fine." -- and rammed the throttle forwards.

The warbird's skeleton, Seal vaguely remembered his preincarnation vaguely remembering, was made of orichalcum and jade inlaid with starmetal. But all the architectural parts were mundane steel, so it really should have been no surprise when the warbird intercepted Star with a sickening crunch and the nose of the warbird crumpled inwards, Star's body tearing through it like a cannonball and rocketing backwards past Seal's head. Seal whooped even as the warbird began blaring new alarm sirens; orichalcum and steel versus soulsteel and Abyssal, it was no contest.

I hope you're happy with yourself, Brightest Morning Star spat. Try not to land on my best roses.

The ground rose to meet Seal, and everything went black.

+++

When he came to, he was on fire.

Seal yelped and struggled out of the warbird's cockpit, slapping at himself all over. Half his shirt had burned away, and the right leg of his pants tore off entirely as he snagged it on something falling out of the cockpit. The flame didn't blacken his skin like it should have, but it still stung like a bitch, so Seal spent a good minute rolling on the ground and loosing a barrage of curses.

"Having fun?" a voice asked from nearby. Seal righted himself to find Des sitting at a glass table, teacup in hand. They were in the castle's courtyard, though Seal could see a smouldering streak on the roof where the warbird must have caught it on the way down; empty flowerbeds surrounded them, organizing the courtyard in a geomantically auspicious pattern. Seal could remember every flower that had bloomed here once, the perfected Essence they had channeled. None of them were the black roses spilling out where Bloodthorn was planted blade-down in the soil.

"Practically dust," Des said, setting down her teacup and running a hand over the dirt. "Haven't been watered in two thousand years. Still, there's life in these old things yet." She fondled a rose, heedless of the thorns. Seal was dimly aware that she was making a point, and decided not to care.

"Where's Star?" he demanded. "Fucker owes me fifty yen."

Des shrugged. "He landed over there," she said, indicating a point over Seal's shoulder. He turned to see a divot gouged into the earth, and at the end a pair of craters he had come to associate with the Wings. "Then he got up, mumbled something about his bones, and limped away. Sever was preparing a party in the chapel, so I think he went there to lie down." Seal lit up and turned to go, but Des caught his hand. "Listen, Seal," she said, her voice lower. "Honestly. How are you feeling?"

A butterfly fluttered down to land on a rose. Vibrant blue shimmered against velvet black.

"Weird, honestly," Seal admitted. He came back to flop down into a chair opposite Des. "It's like.... he's still here, obviously, but this place isn't his anymore. It's mine. But he keeps trying to be me, or I keep trying to be him." He grunted in frustration at not having the words, but Des hummed softly and nodded.

"It's complicated," she agreed. "Hard to tell what's you and what isn't. And everything hurts in every direction. You know," she said, saving Seal the awkwardness of having to reply, "you should try talking to Sever sometime. You've got a lot in common."

Seal scoffed. "Sever?" he said scornfully. "I love the guy, but he's got more in common with a filing cabinet than a human being."

Des hummed again. "You might say that. Just as he might say you've got more in common with your spear than with any of us." Seal's anima burst into darkness, but Des laid her hand on his -- gently, communicating her calm. "Exactly," she said. "Exactly."

Seal grumbled and withdrew his power. "Fine," he said. "Let's go see about this fucking party.

+++

They found Sever and Star in the chapel. Star was laying on a pew, an arm over his eyes, still smoking slightly. The Wings had sawed a hole in the back of the pew so they could drape dejectedly onto the floor. Sever was sitting on the floor, a scroll of parchment rolled out down the center aisle. Seal limped closer to discover that Sever was making exactly the itinerary he hadn't made: a room-by-room schedule that spanned the entire night.

"Sol fucking Invictus," Seal muttered. "Did you hand write four fucking copies of the same schedule?"

"It is not the same schedule," Sever explained, handing them out. "These also contain personalized information such as alcohol preferences and sleeping arrangements. But, yes."

Des took her itinerary with interest. "My, Sever, this is.... very thought out. You've placed yourself on a team with Seal for chicken?"

Seal thought he saw the shadow of a blush cross Sever's face. "Star has an advantage because of his wings and Seal has one because of his Caste, so I thought your style of motion would complement Star's best." Des nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah! We're gonna fucking kick your assh at schicken!" Star called from the pew, where he was now face down. "Juscht asch shoon asch my fasche shtopsh being on fire."

"You owe me a hundred yen, by the fucking way," Seal called back. Star grumbled and fished around in his pockets for a minute, then flipped him a koku and muttered for him to keep the schange. Seal pocketed it and glared around the room darkly. Colored crystal occupied the entire wall behind the podium, depicting Brightest Morning Star with four arms driving his spear down the throat of a serpentine raksha. There was no sun above Siege Perilous, yet Brightest Morning Star's face shone as though the sun were shining through it. Seal exchanged glares with it for a minute before looking away. "Do we have to fucking start here, though?" he muttered. "I hate this fucking room."

Sever looked down with a frown, pen already in hand, but Des caught his hand before he could start writing. "That's exactly why we're starting here," she said. "I've brought some supplies I think you might enjoy." She reached into a basket and pulled out a small silvery cylinder, with a bump at one end, and handed it to Seal. "Hold it like this," she instructed, "twist that nozzle, and press down. No, hold it the other way --"

A hideous shade of yellow-green filled Seal's vision, and he reflexively flared his anima. As Essence blasted outwards from his body his eyes cleared, and he could see that a faint cloud of that color was still hanging in the air, except for what had been blasted away and was now coating the carpet. Des sighed. "It's paint," she said. "You spray it on the walls and it stays there just about forever. I thought you might like to personalize the wall over there." She indicated Brightest Morning Star's shining disgusting face, and Seal grinned.

"Wake up, Star," he said. "Let's commit some fucking art."

+++

They defaced the chapel. They had a mock war in the armory. Seal let Des raid the library for all she could carry, then they built book forts and launched dictionaries across the room (Cascade of Papercut Terror made its debut to thunderous applause). They got scandalously, outrageously, rip-roaringly drunk in the wine cellars, which were full of booze that must have made even a First Age god-king's constitution take pause. They sang extremely rude songs in the courtyard, and did somersaults on every bed in every bedroom. The castle filled with laughter and dust.

Eventually, though, even the most powerful of Exalted wear themselves out. Des found a glory-crystal saga in the library, the dramatization of some First Age romance-battle, and they set up in the great hall to watch. The deathknights bundled themselves up with blankets pilfered from the master room and scarfed down candied berries from the pantry. For something produced in a golden age of magic and science, the reenactment was laughably bad, and they spent a pleasant hour flinging critiques and berries at the projection. "Come on, haven't theshe guysh ever shtabbed anyone in the back?" Star shouted. "Thish ish the worsht fucking form I've ever sheen!"

"Completely horrendous," Des agreed as she popped another berry in her mouth. "But she deserves it. My god, anything to make her shut up for a second."

Seal stretched his arms out and yawned. "She talks more than Shadow fucking does when he's trying to justify his dumb shit as extremely wise fucking shit." He glanced around the room. "Hey, quick question. Where the fuck is Sever?"

Star diverted his gaze to scan the room for a moment. "Guessh he shtepped out for a minute," he said. "Maybe he couldn't shtomach the schitty shpeschial effectsh."

"Seriously, Sculpted Seafoam Eidolon is a Terrestrial spell, would it fucking kill them to put some effort in?"

"I'm gonna go find him," Seal declared, standing up and wobbling momentarily from the Exalted-level alcohol in his system. "Nobody gets to miss this shit."

Des shrugged. "Whatever you say."

+++

Seal found Sever watching the ocean.

The window at the end of the west hall, Seal knew, looked out onto a perpetually stormy sea with grey skies. Seal knew this cause he was pretty sure there was no fucking sea near Siege Perilous, and had been about to smash through the window and check it out before Brightest Morning Star yelled at him not to. He was never sure if it was a portal to some real sea in Creation or just an illusion, or maybe something else entirely.

Sever was curled up in the windowsill, head turned sideways to stare out over the roiling black waves. Seal thought for sure he would hear him coming up, but Sever was so lost in thought that he didn't notice until Seal tapped him on the shoulder. Only Seal's keenly honed battle senses let him notice the instant of reflexive tension before Sever returned to perfect relaxation and turned to face Seal serenely. "Ah, Seal," he said, sounding professional as ever. "How are you enjoying the festivities?"

Seal snorted. "You kidding?" he asked, moving to sit in the opposite end of the windowsill. "This is the best fucking birthday bash I've had in..... uh, ever. So fucking cheers to you." He mimed raising a glass, and Sever smiled faintly.

"Well," he said, rising smoothly, "I won't obstruct you, then. Continue to enjoy your evening --"

"Whoa, whoa, slow the fuck down," Seal said, catching Sever's wrist and feeling again that reflexive tense. "Where the hell are you going?"

Sever waved a hand vaguely. "To clean," he said, not resisting Seal's pull but not giving in. "The kitchen should be scoured, and though I understand the art in the chapel is to be a permanent fixture I'd like to sharpen up the edges and cover some of the more fragile --"

"Hang the fuck on," Seal said, as his brain finally caught up with what Sever was saying. "Was that you earlier, that cleaned up the fucking armory and then ran the fuck away like some kind of freak? What did you do that for? How did you know there was shit in there?" Sever looked like he was trying to answer every question at once, but Seal didn't let him get a word in edgewise. "For fuck's sake, dude, we brought you here to have fun, not to be some weird shadow with a broom. Live a little! Have some fucking fun, man!"

"As a matter of fact, Seal, I am enjoying myself. In my own way." Sever sounded slightly put off by Seal's enthusiasm.

Seal scoffed. "Bull fucking shit you are."

Sever blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said bull fucking shit on a rat's hot cock you're having fun. You think I don't know angst brooding when I see it?" Seal gestured out over the waters. "Dude, I brood here all the time. It's, like, my number three spot in the castle. Stare at the fucking ocean and think about death or whatever. Right?" he demanded.

Sever blinked again, more slowly. ".... something like that," he admitted after a long pause.

"Something fucking like that," Seal agreed. "Well, bullshit to fucking that. I'm not allowed to brood tonight, and neither are fucking you. No more cleaning either. Des can summon some ghosts in the morning."

"But I'm perfectly capable of --"

"-- of sitting your ass down and acting like a human being, you jackass!" Seal was surprised by the force of his own words. "Sol Invictus, it fucking wigs me out sometimes, you know that?" A mixture of emotions crossed beneath the surface of Sever's face. "I know you are, even if you fucking don't. Yeah, you don't know who you fucking are, your soul was eaten or what the fuck ever, big fucking deal. None of us knows a goddamn fucking thing about ourselves, and do you think it's ever stopped me? Come on," he demanded, suddenly rising to his feet and striding down the hall, Sever still in tow.

"Where are we -- I really must protest --"

Seal dragged Sever all the way to the treasury, scooped a shelf-ful of glass figurines into Sever's protesting arms, and then back into the chapel. "Right," he said, taking the figurines from Sever and setting them on the floor in front of him. "Got your sword with you?"

"Unfortunately," Sever said, "I was not allowed to bring Atrumarkinos on this expedition."

Seal rolled his eyes. "Good," he said. "You'd be too good with it anyways. Here," and in a single motion he summoned Glorious First Light and brought it crashing down on the back of the pew.

Sever flinched so hard Seal thought he might actually leave his body. "What are you doing?" he asked, so pointedly that Seal could almost consider it a shout.

"Improvising," Seal answered, pulling at a bar of wood off the back of the pew. He had to stand on it with one foot and wrench it off with both hands, and only Essence saved him from a fistful of splinters, but in the end he was left with a plank about half as tall as Sever was. He handed it to the bemused Day Caste, returned to his spot, and held up a figurine. "Right. What can you tell me about these?"

Sever peered at it from across the room. "First Age artifice is not my forte, but I believe they are similar to a lesser form of yasal crystal. Each imprisons a minor spirit, hardly greater than the god of a grain of rice. I cannot say what purpose such a least spirit could serve. Perhaps simply to retain a memory, and recount it when charged?"

Seal squinted down at the figurine in his hand, a little statuette of Brightest Morning Star with spear overhead. "Really? Huh." Now that Sever mentioned it, there did appear to be a little light flickering in the middle of it. Seal looked back up, tossing it in his hand to gauge its weight. "Well, I guess you're not wrong. But you're also totally wrong. The only fucking thing these things are good for," he said, winding up, “is for smashing.”

Sever flinched a good ten seconds before the figurine smashed against the wall behind him. A wisp of glowing smoke rose up and whispered in a tinny voice before dissipating. "Come on!" Seal shouted. "I know you have Melee, hit it with your fucking thing!"

"I do not believe this is safe, Seal," Sever called with rising urgency as he ducked another figurine.

"Safety is for fucking cowards!" Seal bellowed as he began to throw them with increasing speed. "Stop dodging and break some shit like a man!"

He had to admit, though, that Sever's evasive skills were impressive. Seal was putting some Essence into his throws now, trying to peg Sever in the arm or leg, and normally would have guessed there was no power that could stop him -- but whatever was driving Sever, fear or common sense, animated him like a madman and kept him just slightly faster than Seal's projectiles. A luminescent haze rose from the floor at Sever's feet, miniature gods dissipating into the ether. And then Seal saw the change come over him. To his adrenaline-charged senses, it seemed to happen in slow motion: Sever' feet squared against the stone, back foot braced and front foot pointed. His spine, usually painfully upright, bent like a coiled snake; purpose set his shoulders and tensed his arms. The crack of glass against the wood echoed throughout the chapel, and Seal could have sworn it was the most beautiful sound in the world, just before the spray of glass ricocheted back and stabbed him in the face.

Sever dropped the plank like it was red-hot and hurried over to where Seal was rolling on the floor, hands clutched to his face, making a sound like a dying elephant. "Are you alright?" he asked frantically, trying to hold Seal still long enough to assess the damage. "I'll get Des, maybe she can moliate something --"

Seal grabbed at Sever's shoulders. "That -- was -- fucking -- brilliant!" he shouted, and confusion replaced fear as Sever realized Seal was laughing. Blood dripped down his face, from cuts of glass and from his caste mark. "Yes! That's what I'm fucking talking about! You're a fucking natural!" Seal laughed, pumping a fist in the air with elation.

+++

Des and Star found them another half hour later, the crystal-saga having ended on a cliffhanger. It was the sound that drew them to the chapel: sounds of shattering glass, splintering wood, and laughter -- a laugh they had never heard before. Des rounded the corner first, then threw out an arm to stop Star and backpedaled hurriedly. "Look," she whispered, so Star stuck his head around the corner to look, and what he saw made his jaw drop.

Seal was standing at the far end of the chapel, piles of glass figurines around him. He was hurling the shards overhand at Sever, who was standing with his back to the chapel's entrance, holding.... a broken-off piece of wood? And was, unerringly, smashing every figurine as it sailed towards him, even when he had to jump to catch it or dive before it hit the floor. Unerringly, the spray of glass flew back towards Seal, who appeared to be playing a game of how long he could wait before hiding behind the pulpit. Blood speckled the wall of crystal behind him, though only Star's Essence-enhanced senses could pick that up. But he didn't need Essence to identify the unidentifiable noise.

Both Sever and Seal were laughing.

#sanctuary in black #i wrote this for hgs birthday.... and then missed like the next three birthdays

15 notes · View notes

dabiapologist · 5 years

Text

[My Hero Academia Fanfiction]: Fever Dream

Pairing: Dabihawks, hawksdabi, hotwings, spicywings

Characters: Dabi (My Hero Academia), Hawks (My Hero Academia), Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko, Toga Himiko

Rated T

Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter 1/3

Tags: i've always wanted to write a sick fic, Don't Judge Me, Sick Fic, Fluff, bratty dabi is my favorite dabi, chock full of cliched tropes, and im not sorry, tfw you catch feelings for your annoying villain liaison

Summary:

"Endeavor-san? Quick question."

"What is it? I'm busy right now."

"How do you know if you're sick?"

"...excuse me?"

"Like, how do you know if you're running a fever? Do you even get fevers?"

"Why?"

"Uh, um, just curious?"

On the other end, he hears Endeavor sigh in annoyance. "Of all the things, Hawks, Why would you be curious about that?"

"Well," Hawks chews his lip anxiously as he turns to look back over his shoulder, back at the sizzling bundle of blankets on his couch.

Sizzling.

Oh. That's probably not a good sign.

Read it on || AO3

At a glance, Dabi’s moods and expressions are damn near impossible to tell apart. In the time that they’ve been in contact, Hawks has only really seen Dabi function in three modes: Distant and Aloof, Aggravatingly Smug, and FIRE. And even then, the first and the last tend to blend together most of the time, since Dabi doesn’t think much of using his quirk on others. Hawks finds himself wondering if the novelties of murder and arson and villainy have long since worn off for his scarred cohort.

Even so, Hawks prides himself on his razor sharp skills of observation. You can’t be a hero without some semblance of awareness, let alone a top hero, but Hawks’ skills are a clear cut above the others, thanks in large part to the extraordinary precision required to use his quirk effectively.

And tonight, it is obvious that there is something very… off.

Dabi is quiet normally, usually sticking to one or two word answers. Three, if he's feeling particularly chatty. Unless it's to insult him, of course. For that, Dabi will talk all day long. But as they walk side by side down the dark alleyway, having just completed a deal with a shady fellow who leered at the two of them in a way that makes Hawks desperate for a shower, Hawks feels like Dabi is too quiet. To the point where it's uncomfortable.

Even when Hawks’ foot catches a large pothole and he stumbles and bumps into Dabi, the taller man doesn’t acknowledge it, other than a tired suck of the teeth and an outstretched arm to set Hawks upright. Not that Hawks really needed him to do that; he quickly steadies himself with his wings and manages to keep his balance, but that’s hardly the point.

Not a single word. Not even a “You fucking clumsy idiot,” Which is one of Dabi's default reactions where Hawks is concerned, and one that Hawks had an insult fully prepared for.

But nothing.

Hawks wonders if maybe it’s the weather. Rainy weather is one of the few things, besides him, hero society, and the gross dehydrated vegetables in instant ramen, that Dabi is actually quite vocal about hating. It’s been raining for the past few days, and tonight especially, it’s coming down like it’s the end of days. He’s thankful he had the foresight to wear an extra layer under his coat, though at the moment it’s not really doing much to warm him. It’s only been raining hard for maybe ten minutes at the most, but his hair is already dripping into his eyes and the rain is weighing his feathers down almost to the point of discomfort.

Dabi isn’t faring much better, Hawks notices. Being a fire user, he doesn’t necessarily need any extra layers; the bastard could probably steam himself dry in a few minutes if he wanted to. But as Hawks discreetly eyes him, watching the rain drip down his fringe, plastering his dark hair to his head and face, he thinks it might have been wiser to at least wear a hoodie or something, rather than just his usual overcoat with that thin, dingy shirt underneath.

Thankfully, the storm passes quickly. It lessens back to a light drizzle by the time they clear the alleyway, and Hawks finally has enough space (and reason) to stretch his wings out to their full wingspan. With a few mighty flaps, he shakes all of the excess water from his feathers.

“I hate it when it rains this hard,” He says casually as he folds his wings back, “Weighs my damn wings down.” It’s a relatively inane, pointless comment, one that Dabi would not hesitate to label as such; Hawks is hoping he will, if only to break some of the tension that’s been hanging in the air all night. Because truthfully, it’s a discomfiting silence. One that is slowly driving Hawks crazy. Hell, dare he say it, he would actually take the threatening but oddly playful barbs and bickering the two of them engage in (when Dabi is feeling more talkative) on occasion to this.

But all Dabi gives him in response as they continue on their way is an absent nod and a shrug of the shoulders.

Hawks almost growls at the lack of engagement, but gives up. He knows how to pick his battles, too. And by the way Dabi stares straight ahead, jaw set tight, eyes clouded and distant, this is one perhaps best left alone. He’s clearly got something on his mind tonight, and Hawks decides to let it be. It’s not like it’s his problem, anyway.

At least, that’s how Hawks feels until they turn onto another side street, down to the junction where they usually part ways.

“So, I’ll pass the news along to Shigaraki,” Dabi speaks for the first time since leaving that skeevy dealer’s place, voice even softer than normal, “And then once he gives the… the, uh…” He trails off briefly, eyes pinching shut, letting out a quiet, pained grunt.

Ah, so that’s it, Hawks realizes instantly, he’s just not feeling well.

However, he’s not above taking his jabs at Dabi when the opportunity arises. After all, if their roles were reversed, Dabi would most definitely lay into him without a second thought. They have been, and he has, so Hawks feels no shame or sympathy when he says, “You don’t look too good, Dabi. You alright?”

Finally, a genuine reaction: Dabi’s eyes narrow to slits, in what Hawks’ assumes is annoyance at both his taunt, and at himself for letting Hawks see any weakness. Dabi exhales sharply and straightens up to full his height and squares his shoulders, shaking any semblance of discomfort from his visage.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, inhaling deeply, “Just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hawks nods, though he’s hardly convinced. Now, under the streetlights, he can just barely see that Dabi is a little pale in the face, and, for all of his forced bravado, his shoulders are starting to slump again.

“Tired. Right. Once Shigaraki gives the what now?”

Dabi sucks his teeth, mustering up just enough energy to give Hawks one last scathing look. “Once he gives the okay, I’ll contact you again.”

He doesn’t say another word as he turns to leave, and Hawks doesn’t say anything else either.

But he watches.

He stares at Dabi’s retreating back for a bit, head cocked to the side. When Dabi turned away, he turned just a little too quickly, a little too aggressively, and there was a very noticeable lurch and bob as he righted himself before walking away. The first real, clear sign that Dabi is under the weather he’s had tonight.

It was quick; anyone else would’ve missed it. Hawks, unfortunately, is not one of those people, though he really wishes he was. Because now, he can’t move from this spot until Dabi leaves his sight still an upright and ambulatory sentient mood swing. His conscience just won’t let him budge.

Goddammit. He curses mentally.

And, just for the record, it’s not that Hawks necessarily cares about Dabi’s well-being. If it were up to him, he’d let Dabi rot in that gross, dirty alleyway from before. It’s all the man deserves, frankly. What he does care about, however, is maintaining a (somewhat) reliable communication with the league. And for that, he needs Dabi. Dabi is his way in, --his only way in-- so he’s obligated to care a little.

Besides, he knows for a fact that Dabi’s apartment is a long ways off from here, if only because he’s followed him home before, for surveillance purposes. And hell, it could barely be called an apartment to begin with.

And that piece of knowledge is what finally uproots him from his spot at the stoplight. Dabi rounded the corner a while ago, so Hawks figures it’ll be faster if he takes to the sky. He lands up on the rooftop of the building, and walks along the length of it to the corner.

That’s where he spots Dabi.

Well that didn’t take long, he thinks to himself. letting out a whistle. Dabi must’ve been making one hell of an effort to not let Hawks see just how poorly off he actually was.

“Boy, do I hate being right all the time,”He mutters out loud, but nonetheless he soars back down to ground level.

“Just tired, huh?” He says with a chuckle as he closes the distance between himself and Dabi, “Did you really think you could fool me, Dabi?”

Dabi, who is slumped against the side of the building, his breathing labored between wet coughs, just stares back up at him through narrowed but unfocused eyes. Even in the orange glow of the street lights overhead, the pallor of his skin, the healthy parts, stands in stark contrast to the deep purple scars. Deep down, Hawks can’t help but feel a tiny modicum of respect for the man. How he managed to keep himself together for the duration of the deal is a mystery to him because, to be frank, he looks even more like shit now than before.

Hawks doesn’t hesitate to tell him that, either.

“Fuck off,” Dabi snaps, but it’s hard to be intimidated by him when he slides to the floor, slowly curling into himself and trembling.

Hawks sighs. Damn his conscience.

“Look, I don’t know where you live,” A lie, “But based on what I’m seeing right now,” He says, gesturing to Dabi’s current position and quickly deteriorating condition, “I don’t think you’re gonna make it home, man. Come-”

“I’ll manage,” Dabi cuts him off sharply, pausing for a beat when a wave of nausea passes through him, “I just...need a minute to catch my breath.”

Hawks gives him a look. “The only thing you’ll manage in your state is to stumble into traffic and get hit by a car. That or pass out on some random sidewalk.”

Dabi growls.“I’m fine,” He reiterates, forcing himself to his feet, “I’ve dealt with worse. Just go away.”

He could go away, he should go away. But Hawks doesn’t. Instead, he walks a few paces behind Dabi’s still slouched form, face twisted into a permanent grimace as he watches the other man force himself along at a snail’s pace, using the wall to brace himself. At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before he makes it home.

Assuming he doesn’t pass out face down on the ground before then.

Hawks rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake.

With two flaps of his wings, he lands directly in front of Dabi, forcing him to stop. “Come home with me.”

Oof, could’ve worded that better, he thinks. By the look on Dabi’s face, he clearly agrees.

“My place isn’t far from here,” Hawks continues quickly, “And I can’t, in good conscience, let you go after seeing you like this. Just crash at my place tonight.”

Despite looking and feeling like death warmed up, Dabi still gives him one of his standard sarcastic replies. “Aww, that’s so fuckin’ sweet of you, hero. Now, move. I said I’m fine.” He says caustically as he shoves his way around Hawks’ form...

...and immediately collapses on the ground.

Hawks stares down at his prone form, shaking his head. “Yep, seems about right.”

He walks over and picks Dabi up, bridal style. Despite their height difference, Hawks finds himself barely struggling to hold the other man. Dabi fits in his arms easily after just a bit of manipulation into a more comfortable position. Wow, he’s a lot lighter than he looks, Hawks thinks, eyebrows furrowing as he hefts Dabi up a bit closer to his body, preparing to take flight.

“I guess now you have no choice but to come with me,” He says, watching as Dabi’s head lulls to the side, unconsciously pressing into Hawks' chest, his face contorted with pain. “You’re definitely not going anywhere like this.”

But Dabi is nothing if not persistent. And amazingly stubborn.

“Put me down,” Dabi still manages to croak out, even on the precipice of unconsciousness, “I don’t need your fucking help.”

It would almost be impressive, if Hawks wasn’t so tired and desperate to get to his damn apartment already. Still, he can’t help but laugh out loud at Dabi’s tenacity. He doesn’t know when to give up, does he?

“Dude, you just went down like the goddamn Hindenburg, and you’re still fussing? Just give it up. You’re coming back to my place, and you can sleep this off. I need you alive.”

Dabi grips the front of his jacket weakly. “If you take off, I swear to god I will set the both of us on fire.”

Hawks blinks down at him. Alright. That’s it.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hawks snaps, “Well, if that’s how you’re gonna be, then you leave me no choice.”

“Wha-” Dabi doesn’t get another word in, as Hawks promptly headbutts him into silence.

“What a brat,” Hawks says aloud. With Dabi’s now fully unconscious form hanging in his arms like a limp rag, Hawks has to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of this situation. He really should’ve just let him go.

“I’m sure this is gonna come back to bite me in the ass,” He mutters to himself as he takes flight.

Because after all, no good deed goes unpunished.

#dabihawks #hawksdabi #dabi #hawks #hotwings #spicywings #bnha fic #fanfiction meme #bnha fanfiction

135 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

Note

Im sorry I just want to challenge your awesome mind ;) I'm thinking.... 1 historical 6 bookshop 57 forgotten first meeting 90 unexpected virgin with... Coldwave. I'm sorry thats the otp of otps ♥

Coldwave1 - Historical6 - Bookshop57 - Forgotten First Meeting90 - Unexpected Virgin

It starts, of course, in juvie - or rather, in the workhouse, where orphans and wards of the British state are sent to stay. Mick saves Len’s life from a bunch of assholes who took exception to Len’s mother being black and a former slave, Len wide-eyed and adoring, and they are close as close can be for a few short months before Len’s sentence (he was caught for theft, and the judge was lenient in ordering him to the workhouse for a while to scare him straight rather than imposing a death sentence) is up and he’s taken back away by his dad, while Mick - who has no family left anymore, not after that terrible fire that he didn’t even start but couldn’t move to warn anybody about so everyone blames him anyway, his whole neighborhood gone up in flame - remains behind.

Time passes.

Mick grows up, alone and ostracized, but tough and strong and capable of violence and arson and murder, if need be. He works wherever they need manual labor, in the factories and in construction and in the dockyards. He has a million opportunities to sleep with whores, but he never takes them up on it - he’s uninterested in anyone he doesn’t know well, more attracted to a person’s mind than their body, and the few whores that hang out with him enough for him to develop an attraction towards have already started to see him as a brother by that point, so he just…doesn’t. Even as the years pass and his virginity becomes more awkward, and everyone makes assumptions just from looking at him, big and strong and muscular and tattooed. It’s easier to just - not.

And then the war begins.

Mick was unfortunate enough to be a visibly able-bodied man in the dockyards when it begins, so he gets pressed, of course; a miserable process, and he’s not exactly what one would call a natural sailor - it’s not his element, to say the least - but he figures it out eventually. He gets decent enough at the work of sailing - never particularly great, but who the hell cares when he can wield a bar of iron into men’s skulls when they try to board?

Then, of course, there’s the mutiny, and suddenly Mick’s a pirate now? He wasn’t even involved - slept through the whole thing and woke up to the new status quo - but what the hell, he didn’t care for Britain much anyway.

He likes being a pirate better anyway - they don’t make him do scut work (the new captain prefers Mick to hover intimidatingly over his shoulder as his new enforcer) and he even has time to do some reading in the old captain’s quarters, since the new captain doesn’t give a damn about any of those books. Mick likes reading, even if he’s slow and mixing up the letters, and he discovers that there actually is one aspect of sailing that he’s good at, and it’s navigation. He might not be great at reading, but he can calculate angles in his head like nobody’s business, all the math making perfect intuitive sense to him. So he starts learning up on it, because an enforcer is only as good as their last fight but a navigator is priceless. But there’s only so many books in the captain’s office, and there’s more to learn out there, and Mick’s finally found a career he thinks he can tolerate.

That’s why, the next time they dock in Port-au-Prince, Mick goes to find a bookstore.

And in that bookstore, he finds Len. Len, whose father’s business went bankrupt and they returned to Haiti to live upon his mother’s father’s money for a while - he’d been freed alongside his daughter for some great deed and inherited some measure of property in the process, and when he died he left it all to her, and upon her death it was left to her husband - and when that, too, ran out, Len was kicked out into the streets alongside his half-sister Lisa, the daughter of Lewis’ second wife, a white wife, and now the two of them don’t quite fit in: Lisa white as a daisy except for when her skin darkens to gold, but with Len pale but obviously mixed-race by her side, there’s always questions, and Haiti’s got some issues going on. Still, Lisa could make a good marriage if Len only managed to get her a dowry, so he ends up parlaying some pretty epic heists into running a bookstore, a more stable and respectable career (but for the smuggling operation that makes up most of the back end, but hey, what can you do? If you can’t be a thief, be a fence.).

Mick comes to buy a book, and Len flirts, and they very slowly start to get close - it’s not until the war comes to Haiti, an invasion force intent on destroying the town and burning it all, that Mick saves Len once again and in a moment of sudden realization Len recognizes him as the boy he fell in love with all those years ago. After saving the books, he decides that he shouldn’t be a coward and figures the worst Mick will do will be to say no.

Mick doesn’t say no.

Mick says yes, and means it, because he’s recognized Len too, now, the memories all rushing back to him, and he never thought he’d see Len again, and even if he hadn’t remembered him, he was already feeling things about this beautiful bookkeeper. But when Len tries to pull him into bed he resists for a little, causing Len to doubt himself - at least until Mick confesses the truth…

Len’s more than happy to take care of Mick’s little virginity problem.

Really, it’s a public service.

(And then they sell the bookstore and use up Len’s savings and get their own ship and run around as pirates making a killing for a decade or two before they finally settle in another city somewhere, maybe somewhere in pre-colonial America, somewhere near the center, and now they have their own little fleet of merchant ships because Len manages to parley his bookkeeper past and fencing skills into a pretty decent tradesman career. Lisa decided against entering into a respectable marriage, despite all of Len’s best efforts, and insisted on being a pirate with them, but she does eventually marry a nice Spanish engineer named Francisco Ramon who’s madly in love with her. They all live happily ever after.)

#dccoldwave #goldenvibe #meme #my fic #leonard snart #mick rory #lisa snart #cisco ramon

51 notes · View notes

ithisatanytime · 2 years

Text

men cant get pregnant as a result of forcible intercourse from a woman, the woman might get pregnant, but for most of our evolutionary history, thats her fucking problem at that point, if she stole your seed you can just fuck off, who cares? pregnancy for women however was a massive risk, and the odds of dying during labor were significant, a womans ability to create and nurture life is both a massive fucking privileged and a major risk. the benefit was, women were essentially barred from manual labor, or fighting as it was an unnecessary risk, pregnancy was already a lengthy and risky duty, so essentially everything else was relegated to men. much undo weight has been placed on the “gathering” aspect of hunter gatherer tribes, without the hunting bit, they would have starved, there are no gatherer tribes for a reason, only hunter gatherer. similarly with the advent of agriculture they had household tasks to perform, but literally all of those tasks were shared with the older children, meaning they werent doing anything risky or particularly skilled. thats the realm of men, men evolved to take risks, to compete against each other, and to invent, all with the aim of creating and supporting a family. in other words women didnt fucking evolve for this shit! you know it! i know it! we all damn know it!

none of what im saying is a prescription for how to live as a woman, or a condemnation of career women. god bless and look out for women who have been forced into the jungle with the beasts! this is for young men only, because they are ruled by reason and not emotion. they are the ones as always who will be the agents of change because they are the ones who will fight. dont hate women for filling the mold they were forced into, break the mold and the mold makers.

0 notes

mittensmorgul · 6 years

Note

The thought of Dean stumbling around drunk in the streets (or worse, driving home in that condition) makes me so sad. I mean the whole scenario does; he's 40, so drunk he can't get to the bed, found passed out with a bra wrapped around him and a whiskey bottle. I mean yeesh:-(

Yeah... we know the Clam Diver was “just outside” the town, which implies driving distance and not drunken stumbling distance. If Dean was so drunk that he couldn’t even make himself land on the bed and looked like he was lucky he managed to hit the floor... I mean, he got one shoe off and used it as a pillow.

If he was really that drunk, the bar wouldn’t have let him drive home. They would’ve called him a cab. Not to mention, aside from his tie headband and his shoe pillow, the rest of him looked relatively well put together (buttons buttoned neatly, coat on properly, etc.).

And did he really walk around the rest of the night wearing a pretty pink bra around his neck? Did he wear it to the liquor store where he bought that bottle? Did he wear it walking through the hotel? Because he was too drunk to care about his appearance in a town where he was pretending to be an FBI agent for a case where one boy was missing and another had been rendered mute by his experience?

And if Dean was really so drunk that he didn’t care about any of that, how did he end up in that spot on the floor without waking Sam up? Opening the door in the middle of the night, so drunk that he could barely stand up (and couldn’t even make it to the bed), and yet not so drunk that his stumbling and fumbling woke Sam up?

(here’s the embiggened version)

He was apparently messing with the TV remote as well? How? I mean... how did none of this apparent fumbling around the room not wake Sam up?

It’s like Dean was just tired of Sam pushing at him to just be “okay” again. Because Sam wasn’t really pushing Dean to be okay, he was pushing Dean to perform a specific version of Dean. Not because it would make Dean feel better, but because it would make Sam feel better about how Dean is coping.

Dean: I'm fine.Sam: Look, you're not, Dean. You said you don't believe in anything, and -- and that's not true, that's not you. You do believe in things, you believe in people. That's who you are, that's what you do. I know you're in a dark place and I just want to help.Dean: Okay. Look, I've been down this road before and I fought my way back, I will fight my way back again.Sam: How?Dean: Same way I always do: bullets, bacon, and booze. A lot of booze.

That’s what Sam needed Dean to be, to perform for him. To believe in something again, because yeah, Dean believes in people. He said it in 12.23:

DEAN: Yeah. You know, Cas has faith in this kid.SAM: Mm.DEAN: I hope he's right. But me? I have faith in us. You, me, Mom, Cas. And Crowley. Sometimes.

But within an hour of that, 3/5 of the people Dean believed in were gone. And Sam’s now insisting that Dean just magically be okay with that, just let that go and just transfer all of that belief over to Jack, who Dean directly blames for the loss of the 3/5 people he believed in...

And now that giving Dean the “mission” to help teach Jack (with the hope that Jack might eventually be able to open the rift to fetch Mary again) has failed to help snap Dean out of his funk, Sam is desperate to at least get Dean performing the motions that used to signal his unhealthy coping skills.

Heartily pushing a beer on Dean at breakfast when he just wanted a sandwich, tolerating his music instead of complaining about it, ordering him food he’d normally complain about Dean eating, reading online reviews of a strip club to recommend it to Dean when he typically avoids strip clubs himself, buying Dean hair of the dog. It’s annoying to Dean, but after his display in the motel room, when Sam hands him that bottle, he forgives Sam.

What does he forgive him for? For pushing him to just be okay when he just wanted to be left to grieve in his own way.

Notice Sam doesn’t push him again after that.

Notice also that Dean never drank either breakfast beer.

Sam: You okay?Dean: No. Sam I'm not okay, I'm pretty far from okay. You know my whole life, I always believed that what we do was important. No matter what the cost, no matter who we lost. Whether it was Dad or Bobby or... and I would take the hit. But I kept on fighting because I believed that we were making the world a better place. And now Mom and Cas and I -- I don't know. I don't know.Sam: So you don't believe anymore.Dean: I just need a win. I just need a damn win.

Exactly the mental state Dean had diagnosed Cas with in 12.19. In the past, he’d still had Sam to believe in, the two of them against the world. Just fighting for Sam isn’t enough for him anymore. Something is different this time, and Dean doesn’t feel like he should have to perform the emotional labor to keep up a false front of coping for Sam anymore.

Like twig!Tasha told him in 12.20:

TASHA: Yeah. Family's always complicated. Parents always see smart and strong and perfect. It's only when you grow up that you realize that they're just people.

Sam is finally seeing that Dean is just a person. Not that Sam had ever had illusions about Dean being perfect or whatever, but that act of always believing they could push through anything and come out the other side again isn’t the truth, and has never fully been the truth.

Heck, I’m watching 1.09 in the background while I write this up. And it wasn’t even the truth way back then... Dean kept up the “everything will be fine” act in front of Sam, essentially hid out behind a gas station and made his emotionally charged plea to John for help in the scene we’ve been paralleling to his prayer to God in 13.01.

In 2.04, Sam confronted Dean yet again on how badly he was handling John’s death, after the case they stumbled over while Sam visited Mary’s grave. I mean, THEEEEEMES. Dabb is pulling all of these themes from early seasons, and standing them all on their heads. Because in 2.05, after Dean had spent weeks putting up a front for Sam, the truth is forced out of him by psychic manipulation:

Dean: We hunt demons.Andy: What?Sam: Dean!Dean: Demons and spirits. Things your worst nightmares wouldn't even touch. Sam here, he's my brother...Sam: Dean, shut up!Dean: I'm trying. He's psychic. Kind of like you. Well, not really like you, but see, he thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid that he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And, I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right.

Dean had buried all of this and kept it from Sam, much the same way Sam had buried some things that were pushed out in the open by another psychic manipulation (by a creepy ghost of a psychiatrist at an asylum, conveniently enough)... in 1.10:

Sam: That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you.Dean: So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?Sam: You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.Dean: Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you. Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt. Take it!! You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!

Sam did it. But just like Dean brushing off the confessions Andy pulled out of him after the fact because it had been coercion, Sam brushed off what he’d said in that asylum, too.

Now in s13, Sam is asking-- nay, begging-- Dean to just brush this off again, to fake it ‘til he makes it, and Dean is saying no.

It’s honestly the healthiest damn way they’ve ever reacted in a situation like this.

I have no idea how I turned this ask into actual meta, but here you go.

#spn 13.05 #performing dean #sanitized for sammy #the ghost of john winchester #spn 1.09 #spn 1.08 #spn 1.10 #spn 12.19 #spn 12.20 #spn 12.23 #spn 2.05 #spn 13.01 #winchester family dynamics #breaking the codependency #they still have work to do #Anonymous

192 notes · View notes