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lilac-5ky · 10 months

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Roommates from Hell, pt.3 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 3: Eat ✓ Pray ✕ Love ?

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests

A/N: TOJI POV TOJI POV TOJI POV last chapter dedicated to the same day, I promise!

Warning: Sexual imagery and slight angst.

If Toji knew that the tradeoff for forfeiting his hold on you involved wearing an apron three sizes too small and one shade too pink, he could and certainly would have refused.

But Toji was never good at placing bets, let alone winning them, and when you handed him a bouquet of bushy carrots demanding they be diced-not sliced, he found himself wielding a knife of a different kind than the ones he’d been used to carrying.

Carrot peels, he came to realize, cling to fingers with more persistence than blood. His frequent visitations to the sink were timed with fleeting glances at the chirpy whirlwind that zoomed by him, your stare and grip too focused on beating a bowl of eggs into submission to pay heed to the butchered vegetables on his side of the counter or the enamored gleam that sparked in his eyes. Intentional and raw.

Before meeting you, he could count the times he’d eaten a homemade meal actually meant for him on the fingers of one hand. At the Zen’in household, whatever chewed up and spat out leftover remained of his parents or brother’s meals ended up on his plate. On a good day, there’d be a chunk of meat to sate his hunger, but on the bad days… Well, those definitely outnumbered the good ones.

Even the pesky whining guard dogs his uncle kept around had the privilege of stuffing their bellies with specially imported Scandinavian canned food. Not him. He didn’t know the taste of real food until you forced your way into his unordinary worthless life, making all the soggy french fries his intestine had suffered through in the name of waiting out your shift’s end worth it.

Without you, he would have starved a long time ago, both literally and figuratively, as the sight of you doing what you loved the most fed into his hungry eyes. You loved cooking and he loved watching you cook, and he couldn’t wait until the two of you cut down on excess subjects coming in between. He wanted the reason for your smile to be him, not some stupid free-range egg deal you’d gotten from the farmer’s market.

“You done with the carrots?”

Your question faded into a sour statement after facing the carnage of snipped carrot greens and what was left of their orange counterparts, closer to a pulp than a usable ingredient. You probably expected to hear an “I’m sorry,” or at least an “Oops,” but that was far from what he had in mind.

You look like a fucking housewife.

With your little apron -snatched straight from your workplace’s greasy kitchen- hugging your perfect waist perfectly. With your messy hair pulled in a meatball-shaped bun, a wooden chopstick piecing it together. With your feet defying their weary state from working overtime, just so he could enjoy himself a plate of warm food—

All those little things filled his scattered brain with all sorts of ideas. He could hoist you up so easily. Loop his arms around your hips and spin you round and round the tiny space, not a single complaint escaping your lips before they are made his. You’d be pressed flush between his body and the cabinets with nowhere to go, your thighs welcoming him with the spot he longed to call home, and only then would he let his mouth run off to describe the tantalizing details of all the fantasies he’d ever had watching you in that apron, the vilest of all that you one day wore it as his wife.

“Toji…?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

Your fingers tapped at your sides, elbows angled into triangles, and nose scrunching up. Shit. He remembered your lips moving, though he had no real recollection of what you’d just said to him. More like asked of him, judging by your irritable tone.

He shook his head unceremoniously and tossed whatever edible of the carrots inside a bowl, scrapping the peels and leaves into the trash and then he gave it up for inspection. Had you scolded him, he might’ve pretended to care, but you didn’t. Instead, you juggled a handful of onions that he caught mid-air, and he prepped his knife for the second round of calamity.

This time he’d do good, Toji inaudibly promised. He’d show you just how good he was with his hands, even if the task was so menial a fourth grader could pull it off.

Soon enough, a mountain of flawlessly chopped onions, sliced mushrooms, and cubed ham stacked up on his cutting board, their executioner impatient to receive your seal of approval. You worked with your back against him, cold air tingling the short hair at the base of his neck whenever the refrigerator opened to reveal the next ingredient. Namely something in a bowl, something in a bottle, and something in a Tupperware container. That’s as far as he could tell, his view of you narrowed down to your skirt flowing in and out of his eye’s range.

But what his eyes failed to discern, his ears made out just fine, the somewhat familiar tune you hummed gaining lyrics in his brain. It wasn’t the worst song, and as far as Toji was concerned, he wasn’t the world’s worst singer either. He could pitch in right where the chorus began, though decided against it at the very last minute. His rougher voice would stifle rather than compliment your own.

And so, he let his chance at a duet be snatched, first by the oil sizzling in the pan, and then twice again by the exhaust hood’s mortifying buzz. The song changed to one he didn’t recognize, and he was left in the awkward spot of having absolutely nothing to do other than stare at your profile and scowl at the lack of acknowledgment.

You didn’t bat an eye when you reaped the seeds of his hard work— didn’t pay a single compliment before tossing them into the fire.

Stingy ass bitch. Words cost nothing to spare.

He decided to hold onto his childish grudge for a while longer and retired against the wall nearest to the stove, a light thud echoing from where his head hit the cabinet.

Toji did love watching you in your element, but at the same time, he was so terribly… bored. You bossed him around like a dog and lacked the common decency to throw him a damn bone. Worst of all? You ignored him. His little huffs and frowns and carrots— okay, maybe he did fuck up when it came to the carrots, but what was your excuse for giving him less attention than you gave that stupid pan?

Luckily, there were plenty of ways to turn this around, especially with how unguarded the curves of your waist and shoulder were, both perfect fits for his arms to wrap and chin to nuzzle. The rest would be history. You could call him a bastard and flip his dinner over his head (oh, what a terrible waste of ingredients) after he scratched that itch.

“Are you plotting my demise?” Your voice nipped a string of indecent thoughts right in the bud. “You’ve barely said two words since we started. Makes me think either there’s a cut-off tongue in here,” you pointed at the rice, giving it a thorough stir “or that you’re scheming my assassination.”

If only you knew, he smirked, drawing away from the wall.

“Who’d ever pay to assassinate ya?” rephrased to “Who’d ever wanna assassinate a B-tier waitress,” as if to mellow the sting of his first statement, both sounding equally hideous to your ears.

“Didn’t know waitresses have tiers,” your grip on the ladle tightened, voice gaining a sudden edge.

“Course they do, dummy. Waitresses who toss in extra ketchup packets automatically rise to C-tier. Then,” Toji grinned, “there are those who wear nothin’ under their little skirts and flaunt their asses over your face for extra tips— now, those are A-tier.”

He could tell you were holding back more than the groan you let out, two of your fingers hiking up your nose and pinching at the bridge.

“What about B-tier, mister diner-expert?” you faked a smile, teeth trembling beneath pursed lips.

It was so easy to get under your skin. Shame he couldn’t say the same about your panties.

“A mix of A and C. They give ya bonus ketchup and let their ‘assets’ dangle for free, but—”

The savory aroma of oyster sauce flooded his senses, distracting his thoughts and diverting his attention from the threat your ladle posed until it batted his hand away from the pan with a vicious swing.

“—Slap ya before you can whip out your wallet,” he growled.

“As if your wallet contains anything other than soapland cards and betting slips from ‘98.”

Green eyes darted to the ceiling, a soundless whistle between his puckered lips.

“You don’t have a wallet, do you?” you said as if it was the greatest revelation of the century.

“Don’t need one,” he glared.

You sighed. “There seem to be a lot of things you don’t need.” The ladle tapped against the pan’s side for the excess grains to drop. “Or at least things you claim you don’t.”

“Need? Nah. Want, though?” Toji quickly bounced back, mischief beaming in every aspect of his expression while he rubbed his palms together like some pesky housefly.

“I can think of a few, roomie.”

“Gonna keep it up with that nickname?” you tutted.

“Don’t like it?” You shook your head. “Alright, pitch in some ideas, ‘m all ears.”

“What kind of pretentious asswipe picks their own nickname?” You shoved past him to fetch another container from the fridge, a hint of green glinting underneath the transparent lid. Uh-oh.

“The kind who refuses what others call ‘em.” His neck craned forward as he propped himself against the counter.

The view was much better from that angle. He was able to notice details he previously missed, such as the drops that’d gathered on your forehead from working over heat for so long, how your lips twitched to find the perfect comeback, or the loose strand of hair that dangled dangerously close to his eyes, inspiring him to play with it like a cat mindlessly yanked on a ball of unraveled yarn.

“I have a name, you know.” You caught onto his staring and tucked the hair behind your ear. Tsk.

“Boring,” he yawned.

“Did you just call my name boring?”

“Nah, called you boring, smarty pants.” Toji cocked his head. “Oops. Couldn’t help it.”

It was your turn to scowl, and he’d be damned if the way your fingers clutched onto the counter didn’t bring a stretch to his lips. More so than aspiring to be the one who made you smile, he took pride in being the only one who could annoy you to such great extents.

“Won’t be able to help if your tongue ends in your plate either,” you snarled.

The Tupperware opened to reveal a sea of disgusting green beads, confirming Toji’s worst fears as you stuffed your hand inside and began pouring them into the pan. Although he was nothing short of an omnivore, he never hid his distaste for the healthier nutrients of vegetables and legumes— peas included. You always tried to sneak them here and there, typically in his fried rice or curry, and every single time he’d leave the plate with enough pearls to string a necklace.

You were about to add in a second handful when the way his far more menacing green orbs drilled holes into your skull became apparent.

“Right—”

Your closed fist emptied the peas back into their container— or so would have happened, if it weren’t for the unforeseen snare around your wrist.

“What are you doin’ ?” Toji snapped.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered. “Forgot how much you hate that ‘stinky green shit’.”

“Well, they are stinky and green and taste like absolute horseshit,” he affirmed. “But you still like that shit, don’tcha?”

“I do, but-”

He dragged your hand above the fire, ushering your fingers open, while you stared at him in utter disbelief. “I’ll just spit ‘em out.”

A short breath hitched up your throat and you peeled your eyes off him, the words “How convenient” washed away once you escaped his grip and neared the sink, scrubbing your hands with soap and water.

Toji lingered around the stove a bit longer, sprinkling some more peas and a lot more ham into the pan to even things out. After all, ham was better than peas.

“And by the way,” he rubbed the greasiness against his apron. “There are better ways to shut me up.”

“Hmm?” you missed his voice under the running faucet. “What was that?”

“Said,” he moved closer, plucking the towel from the handle where it hang, and offering it to you with his most charming (read: sleazy) smile. “Could always shut me up yourself if ya wanted to.”

Reluctantly, you accepted the towel, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. He awaited your next outburst of “creative cursing” in about three seconds, but the longer you maintained eye contact, the thinner his patience wore. A million great things about you, but none of them made you any less of a pussy.

And he would have called you out on your one fatal flaw if a sequence of scenes in slow motion didn’t begin to unfold before his awestruck eyes: You beckoning him to come closer; Your slippers tipping forward and your fingers reaching out; A delicate stroke against the crown of his head, followed by another, and then another; Languid circles that didn’t comb so much as ruffled his hair; A tinge of oblivious red on his cheeks, and a conscious pink on yours; The affectionate warmth your voice basked in as you praised him, telling him he’d done well— and heavens, if he was asked what noble deed deserves such praise, he’d have no real answer to give.

And lastly, the shit-eating grin that plagued your lips as you seized victory. “See? Shut you up so easily.”

The part of him that urged to bite your hand in return for treating him like a damn puppy must have been neutered, considering the only conceivable thought that was left in his brain was to give you a reward befitting of a winner. An action more than a thought, and a reality more than imagery.

Without warning, his lips brushed over your skin, landing on your cheek in the gentlest way imaginable. Fleeting enough to convince him it didn’t register until he pulled away and saw your expression shift to that of a sore loser.

“W-what the h-hell was that?” you fumbled with your own words as if they were shoelaces bound together by some despicable bully— in that case, him.

And like every self-respecting bully, Toji enjoyed nothing more than watching his victims shudder. Your brows knitted and knees trembled at the slightest touch, making him wonder just what kind of reaction a kiss on the lips would elicit. Smirking at the notion, he knelt before you to lift the towel you’d dropped, and with a rapid flinch, he settled it on his shoulder.

“Warned ya.” He ignored your attempts at extracting further information as he walked over to the stove and pinched a pea straight from the pot, cringing as soon as it grazed his tongue.

“Stinky green shit.”

The next frame in your newly-assembled album of domestic bliss depicted a trope far too common for those familiar with 1950s movies. The spent husband who’d returned home after a tiresome day at work sprawling his limbs on the nearest kitchen chair available, fingers laced behind his head and biceps flexing in accordance, while the dutiful wife served him dinner with an extraordinarily loving smile carved on her dolled-up face. They’d sit together, laugh at how fortunate their one-dimensional lives were, and name each other “Honey”, if not “Dearest”. And of course, there would be pie for dessert!

But after the film had dried and all the smoke and mirrors were dispelled, what was left were the remnants of a reverie.

The only truth about the husband lay in how he’d spilled over your kitchen’s sole chair -the second of the set standing limp somewhere in the corner- and as for the wife, one could claim it was a honed habit, rather than blinded subservience that’d led her to the table with a most splendid dish in hand. This was as far as similarities went, for you were no husband and wife, and had no intention to break into chortles over your shared misfortunes. Besides, there was no cherry pie to justify such a crude act.

“About time.”

The last traces of pseudo-romanticism dispersed at the sight of Toji’s feet weighing down the table, the audacity in his tone tempting you to ask for a tip. This was no different than working overtime at Sakurai’s, except that old geezer, rotten as he were, always paid your extra hours. Toji, in all his unpredictability, wouldn’t waste the chance to suggest a tip of a different kind.

Casting his feet on the floor, Toji made room for you to drop his plate, and when you finally presented the finished product in all its glory —tomato-flavored fried rice tucked below a blanket of sheer gold and garnished with fine strings of ketchup— the small appreciative dimple etched on the left side of his lip felt like a privilege.

“Gonna keep loomin’ over my head like a vulture?” he gestured with his spoon.

You glanced at your own plate, and then at the broken down chair whose prayers to be fixed were never answered, and decided to dine alone in the living room. Some drama was bound to have its rerun on NHK, but before you could so much as round the table, an arm raised forward like a traffic barrier.

“There’s nowhere—”

“Here.” His other hand patted a seat on his thigh. “Don’t wanna kick ya out your own kitchen.”

“Are you serious?” You were doubtful of his invitation even as he dragged you onto his lap, your omurice all but growing wings and flying in the air.

“Dead serious,” he smirked, his knee parting your thighs while his non-dominant hand wrapped around your hip. “All nice and comfy, aren’t we?”

This is the opposite of nice and comfy, you meant to object.

You could feel everything. Every peak, every crevice, every bulging muscle of a body that was trained against its will to be hardened and rough, impenetrable to any weakness. And when you squirmed around to meet his gaze, they were the unreadable eyes of someone who’d played this game far too many times to keep count of his winnings— the bored eyes of someone who knew scoring another victory was merely a matter of minutes.

“You better not try anything weird, or I’m out,” you mumbled with less conviction than intended.

His thumb rubbed a languid circle against your hip bone as if to remind you of its presence. A battle of wits could go either way, but when it came down to raw physical strength, there was no slinking away unless he decided to let go first.

“Relax,” Toji assured with voice smooth as silk. “Just want us to eat together, that’s all.”

You had a hard time believing that was indeed all, and you were right not to, because no more than five bites into your ham-laden omurice, his knee bounced, and your legs were slung over his lap so effortlessly as though you’d moved them on your own. And in this new position, where his arm engulfed your waist from one end to the other and his fingers slyly cascaded down your skirt’s seams to brush against your bare skin— that was really all he did.

“We need new furniture,” you quavered.

“Nonsense,” he shrugged undisturbed, stuffing a spoonful in his mouth. “What did ya do with the money I gave ya?” he asked once he’d swallowed.

But you hadn’t.

“Hmph, Hmphight!” you grunted, quickly downing your bite with a chug of water. “Oh, right!” you rephrased. “Was gonna return what was left at lunch, but then you dropped the bomb on me and I forgot.”

“No need. Gave it so the kid spends it however he wants.”

“Kenzo is only eight, Toji. If I gave him the money, he’d spend it all on a mountain of cotton candy and umaibo. Got him a nice car-racing set and that was it.”

“Lame,” he sneered, your body involuntarily bending forward as he reached for his glass.

You were compelled to watch the rise and fall in his throat, lips glistening with clear droplets that dribbled to his chin. Some, he wiped with the back of his palm, while others, his tongue licked clean, and you silently wondered if there was a right and wrong way to do something this trivial, because if that was the case, then Toji’s way could only be right.

He made drinking water seem entrancing.

The next dive was imminent, but this time you were prepared. You curled closer to his chest and trusted in his arms that deliberately dipped lower than needed, cradling you even after he’d let go of his plate. You were pleased to find a single-digit number of peas remaining.

You are growing as a person, Zen’in Toji.

His gravelly voice snapped you from your thoughts. “Then, you keep the rest.”

“Well, we could use the rest to buy some extra furniture, such as a bed, a sofa, or… a chair,” you emphasized the last beat.

“Aren’t ya the sensible one?”

His fingers crept under your skirt to bestow a light squeeze on your thigh, a haughty smile spreading to his lips. It baffled you how he acted on every single impulse without hesitance. Just pure action and reaction. Zero contemplation whatsoever.

You interjected before he could get any funnier ideas and peeled his hand off— or at least dragged it to a less risque area of your body.

“And as the sensible one, I get to call the shots,” you declared. “We are goin’ tomorrow.”

A few murmurs of protest buzzed in your ears though none significant enough to defy you. He agreed to drive you wherever as long as you paid for gas, and it was fair, considering he was paying for everything else. And when you recited the list of chores around the house that were postponed due to either lack of height, strength, or sheer laziness, and he inaudibly acquiesced, you thought that this just might work.

“So, you’re crashing the couch tonight?”

No answer.

“Toji?”

“You smell nice,” he blurted seemingly out of the blue, with a strand of your hair wrapped around his forefinger and held near his nose.

“Not letting you use my shampoo,” you scoffed.

“That’s not what I meant, idiot.”

He released your hair with a not-so-gentle yank, coaxing a high-pitched squeal.

What an asshole.

“You’d smell nice too if you ever used something with fragrance,” you said.

“Suggestin’ I reek?” Toji glared.

Much to his dismay, a snort preceded your answer. “That’s not what I meant either, idiot. All I’m saying is you have no real smell. Every self-respecting playboy oughta ‘t least smell like cheap hotel and drugstore cologne, or smoke, or you know. Something sleazy that screams ‘I’ll hump and dump you.’”

His expression remained sour, almost defensive. You should’ve just taken the compliment. A grumpy Toji could turn insufferable in minutes.

“Hey, I-”

“Work calls for it,” He cocked his head. “Can’t be invisible if I leave a trail of peaches and jasmine back.”

“It’s gardenia, actually,” you smiled.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

Even as he faced away from you, his fingers refused to unlatch from your waist—and truthfully, you wouldn’t mind staying like this a while longer. On a typical Friday night, you’d be stuck in front of the TV with a cup of Nissin Noodles, too tired from your shift to consider going through your contacts for some cheap company, and too prideful to hit him up only to have some bimbo answer his phone instead. But he was there now and you felt relieved you didn’t have to stay awake in a cold bed, wondering what color handbag his newest conquest carried and whether it matched her five-inch heels— but most of all, you were relieved that bickering in his arms felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You like your job, Toji?”

You brushed up a question you’d asked far too many times throughout the years and whose answer remained quizzically the same; “Dunno.”

“Don’t you ever want to quit?” you pressed on. “Shower yourself with an absurd amount of perfume, or go ‘round stomping your feet really loudly?”

“Are those supposed to be your arguments for me to quit?” His eyes rolled to the back of his skull while he leaned against his chair. “I’ll raise ya this. Easy cash and double-digit annual workload, versus however many hours you work at that rathole for breadcrumbs. That settles it?”

“Money has nothing to do with enjoyment,” you said.

His tongue clicked into a sharp sigh. “It’s the one thing I can do.”

“That’s not true. There’s plenty you can do!”

You punched his shoulder playfully, and he couldn’t be less thrilled to find what you’d come up with.

“You really showed those carrots who’s the boss," you chuckled. "And, you’re not half as bad as a human chair. Got a bright future ahead of you.”

“You want me to quit?”

His sudden question threw away whatever light-hearted atmosphere and tossed it in the trash, voice cutting with the sharpness of a hundred razors.

“It’s not my place to tell you whether you should or shouldn't quit, Toji.”

“I’ll quit if you ask me to.”

The silence felt… weird. Like a forced cliffhanger in the middle of an episode, your answer gaining more weight than it ought to. However long you postponed, the commercial break never came, and you were left staring into a pair of eyes that flickered back and forth between a state of narrowness and wideness. Of patience and demand. Of sincerity and uncertainty. Of trust and distrust.

Even for a second, he’d put his fate in your hands, and you held onto it so scarcely as if the wrong kind of shake would break it— would break him.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” you confessed, warmth spreading from your voice to where your fingers found purchase on his cheeks, soft thumbs rolling unhurriedly against flushed skin. Because you are precious to me.

“If you got another scar,” you continued “it’d be as if you are permanently frowning. Or,” You nudged the left corner of his mouth upward, “smiling.”

And what was about to come next, you should’ve been able to predict because all the signs were there— His absolute compliance and relish for the slow, kneading motions of your fingers; The intensity in his stare waning past heavy eyelids; The hand that moved higher up your back and the one that wrapped behind your neck to reel you in; His lips eagerly parting before they even had the chance to meet with yours.

The incoming storm gathered one dark cloud at a time, though it took the first drop of rain for you to heed the warnings of your bleary conscience.

“Don’t,” you whispered one breath away from sharing his.

Toji was all but disheartened, his eyes focusing solely on your mouth and ignoring what came out of it. “Let me kiss you.”

The softness in his tone kept you from turning around until the last minute, your aversion rousing spite in him. “I said, let me fucking kiss you.”

And while his hand moved patiently the first two times, it forcefully pushed you onto him the third, your last line of defense being your fingers as they were caught in the crossfire of his lips.

“We shouldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?” he hissed.

“Because…”

Because we can’t— an all-time classic.

Because we are friends— an excuse.

Because I don’t want to— a lie.

Because it won’t end at just a kiss— a truth.

And finally, the real reason; Because I love you.

Tears threaded your eyelashes, your vision of Toji turning watery, yet not blurry enough to drown the cadence of emotions in his eyes. Confusion, hurt, and anger. So much anger that it stifled all potential answers and seared your fingertips which were still attached to his lips, and as shallow as it sounds, you were ecstatic to find the one spot that was utterly soft in his slanted scar.

If a scar is evidence of pain, what is evidence of heartbreak? If scars are healed pain, what becomes of a pain that never heals?

Your thumbs slid across his jaw and returned to your sides, the lump in your throat dissolving into a broken sigh as you attempted to dismount from his lap.

“Because new rule: no kissing your roommate unless their life depends on it.”

“Like hell, I agreed to this,” Toji grunted, his grip -desperate now- bruising your waist.

Just when you thought your self-hatred reached its peak, you shoved his hands off your body and jolted up, legs slightly numb from balancing on his for so long.

“Agreed or not, my house, my rules. If you can’t respect that, there’s the door” you snapped, sending whatever desire might have sparked straight to the guillotine.

“So what’s it gonna be?”

His fingers wove through raven hair, his palm concealing the blown pupils as they reached their crescendo; fury.

A pang echoed against the hollow table, followed by the slight reverberation of the cutlery in the plates, his fist the sole culprit. He scoffed, muttering to himself something about blue balls and rules that were meant to be broken, profanities that could make even a sailor’s ears turn red spilling left and right until he gritted his teeth and locked in his final answer.

“Better brace yourself then, because I’m getting that kiss, be it in life, or in death.”

tags: @absoluteindulgence , @evansuvamp , @sarwhorius , @liluvtojineteyam

Anyone else, comment so I can tag your @.

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baby-jaguar · 6 months

Text

John Price; Drop Everything Now.

Part 2

CW: PTSD, Songfic inspired by "Sparks Fly" (Not in a cringe way I promise)

GN!Reader who is a sergeant on TF141. WC: 2,262

AN: I needed to post this before I completely tore it apart (again) and decided to scrap it. LMK if you'd like a part two because I have a good chunk of it but unsure if I'd like to continue this since I want the PTSD to linger and not be just diminished because reader is love of his life (I'd like to at least try to have some realism, rip). This was actually created for a test run of writing PTSD so I am happy to take any constructive criticism or tips for writing it. Hope you enjoy!

Being stationed in the Middle East meant that you weren't used to much besides the hot sun baring down on every activity you did and dust storms that would blow over, which effectively made you shut your mouth to not breathe in the dirt. However, that didn’t mean that Mother Nature would not bless the dry lands with an ounce of rain every once in a while.

You wouldn’t know about the rain usually unless you were outside training or on a mission when the dark clouds would roll in, giving you a rare break from the sun. Other times, the clouds would cover the stars and moon in the night sky, but you wouldn't be able to tell just what kind of clouds they were.

And that, unfortunately, is how tonight is going without your knowledge.

The rain was never an issue on base, its greatest hindrance being the lack of vision, the annoyance of getting wet, and the general time it would take to wait it out. However, there was always the unspoken thought of the thunderstorms that could arise.

You’ve served two years within TF141 as a sergeant, having been recruited and transferred to be on base under Price’s command. Now having some experience under your belt, you’ve seen a thing or two- but nothing compared to your superiors.

From an external point of view and reflection on yourself, it brings a possibility that your mind has yet to realize if the memories are getting trapped within yourself. Your nervous system may have gotten stuck in the past at a few points in time, but while you remain living in the action, your biggest symptom is nightmares and anxiety that you brush off each time.

The same can’t be said for your Captain.

Price, with his two decades of service, has lived through more than you could ever imagine and things he wishes to not recall. He plays the classic tough guy act, brushing his emotions off as something he can deal with when he’s home and not deployed- nor does he want to even believe they are necessary to process, his ways still being a bit old-fashioned.

When you were recruited, his viewpoint shifted a bit. Price wasn’t sure that you would be a good fit within the team, and debated putting you on a platoon further down the branch that he still oversaw from time to time. Yet, during your grace period, he would check up on you- being sure to debrief with you after long days of training exercises or drills that were getting harder and harder. When you had proven your worth to him and the team, an unspoken agreement between you two was formed. You would casually reside in his presence but keep it under the notion of him offering guidance to the rookie. This often resulted in you filling out reports or paperwork on your laptop in his office while he worked at his desk.

Price was not a sharer of his inner turmoil. But, sometimes, you would confide in him and he would allow a sliver of a softer man to peak out in the late hours of the night.

That's how the deeper part of your relationship worked with him. Hard-ass by day, and a mildly reserved man by late night. You’re close with the entirety of the team, but you’ve always had an attraction to Price, classically never trying to show it or verbalize it to anyone. Yet, you had a good hunch that he already knew from your softened behavior towards him when the veil of superior and subordinate came down to friends in the dark glow of his office.

You knew it was a bad idea to ever indulge yourself in having his attention and reciprocating it, but now you over-indulged for the last year and find yourself with a cavity at the sweetness you suck from his words. Your mind is always left in a trance on any touch he unknowingly spoiled you with; a hand to the small of your back, adjusting your elbows if you were using a heavier loadout during training, or a pat on the head after a job well done.

Tonight, the storm rolls in with thunder chasing right behind it.

It's late in the evening as you stand in the common room, having had dinner late, and washing the dishes while quietly humming to yourself. The subconscious part of your mind notices the flashes of lightning and deep thunder that penetrate the barriers of the base but leaving it as a non-threat. You wash your dinner plate, moving the sponge around, but before you can put the plate down to dry, your phone rings with a call from Price.

It's not unusual for him to call when he decides he’d like your presence while completing paperwork, yet your eyebrows furrow as you see the time to be later in the night than his usual request.

Before you can even speak into the phone after answering, your ear is polluted with the sound of his ragged breaths; the sound of rain hitting the ground is amplified more than what you hear while being inside. It sends a roll of skin-prickling anxiety down your spine as your eyes widen. “Price?” You ask after a blink, trying to understand what this call could be.

You hear it when he speaks, a tremor in the back of his throat and you can imagine the adrenaline-crazed look on his face. The sound of your name is called from him, and it almost sounds questioning, as if he isn't sure it's you, even though he called.

“I- I don’t know where I am…” He pants out, sounding choked up, trying to swallow air and the lack of saliva in his throat while in the pouring rain.

Drop everything now

Without a second thought, you drop the plate, the clatter of it breaking once hitting the ground echoes in the common room and snaps everyone's attention on you. Not having any need for apologies or reason, your body is already supplying the adrenaline needed to set into a dead sprint out of the common room as you weave past the other bodies to push through the hallway and enter the stairwell with the clamor of the metal doors swinging open.

“John, where are you- tell me what you see.” You call out as your body gets set on autopilot, practically flying down the stairs of the barracks and onto the ground floor moving into the hallways. “Do you see the training yard or do you see a road?” You pant out while pushing to find the exit door of the base.

It's here and now, that you now actively recognize the roll and clap of thunder as if it's taunting you to hurry up and find Price before it does.

But it seems it already has.

Each door, person, and corner you pass feels like a deliberate obstacle, frustrating you as you try to get outside faster.

“I- I see a road and the-” He’s interrupted by a bright flash, a strong shake of thunder following right after, and you hear him grunt in aggravation at the sound he lacks control over. With a call of your name, he makes a quiet plea. “Please, I need you here. Now.” He manages to ground out with a sharp breath, causing you to almost second guess yourself at what he said.

You bank a hard left, towards the East entrance, finding the door to take you outside towards the main road that leads to the base's entrance. Shouldering the large door, you grit your teeth while taking the metal harshly against yourself, but almost come to a halt when you feel the pouring rain pelt on your body.

Meet me in the pouring rain

“Please.” His voice shakes again through the phone, and the rasp from his panting re-escalates the adrenaline through your body.

It breaks your heart to hear him sound like this as if he’s succumbing to his demons. “John, I’m gonna find you but you need to help me, ok?” You ask as your legs begin to burn from the force that you run through the damp earth with. “-you see the flag pole? ” You bark out while another flash of lightning crosses the sky, closing your eyes as you wince. “Hey- listen to me, focus on me.” You command, praying that he isn’t locked inside his memories.

After a moment, “Y- Yes, I see it. The- the rains comin’ down hard- won't fucking stop.”

The shake in his voice is back; he’s shivering and his irritability is beginning to build up faster as it makes itself evident the longer he stays held within the turmoil of his nervous system.

Running and finally entering the main yard after having had to cut through the detached buildings to make it to the front, you place your free hand over your eyes to try and gain some semblance of visibility while the flashes of lightning aid for a moment.

“Meet me there. It’ll be just you and me, only us.” You pleaded with a hint of firmness, needing to direct him as you move with haste towards the lit flagpole, the light being a beacon through the pelting rain.

While running in the dark and wet ground, you lose footing and slide your foot into loose gravel; your right elbow is now scraped while you clatter to the ground with a “Fuck-” Your voice breaks through the night air, as your yelp of pain staccatos out in the silence between the flash of light and complimenting rumble of thunder.

In a moment before you can stand up, you hear your name being yelled out, whipping your head up in response. The raw tenacity of his voice through the thrumming of rainfall hits when there is no other force of the storm that can distract either of you.

Your gazes find each other; he looks frozen for a moment, then immediately runs to you.

“John-“ falls past your lips in a cry when you spot him. His fatigues stick to his body, his hair wet and bucket hat long gone. Making his way hurriedly, his body slows with unexpected grace as he helps you to your feet. Almost as if in a hurried frenzy, you latch onto him by his arms, blinking through the falling rain as you look up and search his face.

The expression he wears, as he makes sure you’re alright, contradicts the voice he had just seconds earlier; his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he checks over you, quickly placing his large hands on your ribs to stand you upright as if you are a toddler who has just taken a tumble.

“Bloody- You alrigh’ sweetheart?” He asks as the warmth of his panting breath fans across your face while pulling you up against him.

“I’m ok, I just slipped from the rain. Thank you.” You speak while still holding him tight, latching onto him. Your heart aches at seeing him care for you no matter where his mind places him, always putting others before himself.

John nods, letting out a small sigh. The feeling of your warmth against his chest brings him back down as he looks over you, trying to blink the anxiety and rain from his eyes. The feeling of his hands, cold and now gentle, glides up to move the wet hair from your eyes. It surprises you for a moment as he stays completely silent besides the tremoring breaths he takes.

At the silence, you let a small huff of laughter escape before closing your eyes and giving a smile in relief at having him in your sight and arms, before fluttering your eyes open to gaze up at him.

You return the gesture when you move your hand to wipe his hair off of his forehead, the rain having matted it down to his skin. “With me as I’m with you. Always with you, John.” The lull of your voice surprises both of you as it can be heard perfectly in the rain, with no sign of thunder or lightning interrupting your words.

John cups the base of your skull, looking at the raindrops that fall in small splashes and trails along your face. His eyes dilate when focused on you, the sight of him this close and his icy blue eyes keep steadfast on you, leaving a haunting mark on your memory and heart.

He moves his head down to meet yours; pausing for a moment as if he isn't sure this is real- he isn’t sure that this isn’t a dream and his mind is granting him a wish. Is this a true trick of his mind? This can't be a memory, surely-

He looks as if he’s in pain, so you take the last leap of faith for him.

The new and added warmth of his lips on yours is tender. It contrasts the rough environment of where you stand, the life you both live and the constant battles faced within. Your arms and his alike move to wrap around each other in a harsh and tight embrace.

As the raindrops fall all over both your faces, you feel as if you’re in a movie and the climax has just hit when the lovers are united.

You both are soaking wet, but neither of you seems to mind. He pulls you back into him, deepening the kiss with a determined and desperate force.

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain.

#task force 141 #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain jonathan price #jonathan price #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #captain price x reader #captain price mw2 #cod price #price x reader #captain price #141

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my-writings-and-musings · 1 year

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Mer!Rodimus x Reader

In light of Mermay and a recent ask I wrote a little something with Rodimus meeting the reader, I hope you enjoy!

If you like my writing style, you can always commission me, and please reblog to help spread my work! Thank you!

The last thought you'd had before the wave had smashed your boat was whether or not drowning would be painful, but a chunk of debris cracking into your head had plunged your mind into darkness before you could find out. You'd have expected to wake up dead, or rather not at all, but when consciousness did finally return you found yourself feeling less than grateful for the good fortune.

Crashing waves and the song of seabirds would have made for a gentle awakening on any other occasion, but they were hard to appreciate when your body ached from head to toe, the agonizing epicenter throbbing in your ribs as you tried to take your first waking breath. Tasting a nauseating abundance of seawater, you gagged and coughed despite the pain, opening your eyes only to snap them shut against what felt like blinding light.

Tenderly cradling your ribs, which were definitely bruised and probably cracked, if not broken, you curled up on what you realized was stone before a cold, salty spray on your face compelled you to slowly open your eyes once more. Though the light didn't help your aching head, you powered through it and adjusted to the brightness, finding yourself in the mouth of a cave and facing a brilliant pink and orange sunrise over the sea. The storm was gone, much like your boat, and for the life of you, you couldn't figure out how you weren't at the bottom of the ocean.

Your answer came when you turned your head to find a massive red being curled about you on the rocks.

"Hey, you're alive!" he said delightfully, startling you so badly your broken body managed half a jump before the pain once more rooted you to the spot. As you hissed and cradled your aching side, there came a flurry of apologies, and while you couldn't have run even if you'd wanted they still sounded sincere enough to quell the immediate urge to flee. "Sorry! Scrap, sorry! I should have figured that would scare you!"

Painfully catching your breath, you raised your heavy head for your first clear look at the massive being, able to discern what exactly he was now that the two of you were facing each other. A metallic carapace combined with a long, powerful tail made his identity clear even to your lagging brain. You met his bright blue optics as you croaked out the only words you could think of. "You're a merformer..."

To your continued surprise, the mech actually huffed in offense at your words, tapping his tailfin against the rock as he rested his helm in the palm of his servo. The sarcasm in his voice made you feel more than a touch of guilt. "I prefer Rodimus."

"Rodimus. I'm Y/N." you replied automatically, your manners taking over and almost compelling a "nice to meet you" past your lips before the absurdity of the situation stopped you. Everything was still so hard to make sense of you could have sworn your tired eyes saw him brighten once he learned your name. Lying back on your side, you winced at a fresh bout of pain from your head, hissing and gingerly feeling out the bruises and tiny cuts criss crossing your skin. Though you had vague memories of your boat and a storm, it was far too blurry to make sense of, and certainly didn't explain why you were here in a cave with a merformer and not at the bottom of the ocean. You remembered enough of the pounding rain and raging waves to know you shouldn't be alive, and so you turned to Rodimus in hope of answers. "What happened? I was on my boat, and I couldn't get it back to shore. I remember an... explosion?"

"Big wave, but basically the same effect." he explained, stretching out his long tail and resting on his belly in a much more casual posture. The words reminded you of the final rush of water that had slammed into your body, and the abrupt blackness that had overtaken you immediately afterwards. Your eyes went wide as you finally put it all together. After the wave had smashed your boat and you'd been tossed about with the debris, Rodimus must have saved you from the raging sea, bringing you to this cave so that you could rest and recover. The pride in his expression made it clear he was quite pleased with the accomplishment. "I figured that little thing wouldn't be up for the challenge."

"You saved me." you said weakly, trying to process how near you'd been to dying. It had been close enough that you'd more or less accepted it, believing there was nothing that could have saved you as your ship was battered by the sudden and inescapable storm... Yet here you were, injured but alive, all thanks to this mech. With the less than ideal treatment merformers got from humans, you were especially grateful for his selfless act, and allowed the emotions to read openly on your face as you looked back up to him. "Thank you. Really. I thought I was going to die out there-"

An attempt to crawl his way to take his hand sent a fresh spasm of pain through your body, cutting you off with a sharp hiss as you reflexively curled in on yourself. Rodimus pushed himself forward on his tail the second you expressed distress, his own expression gaining a dash of panic and his hands hovering helplessly over you before he spoke up quickly.

"You might still die here, I don't really know how to patch humans up, sorry." he apologized as you looked back up to him. Perhaps you'd just suffered a concussion and it was taking hold, but in the soft pink light Rodimus was undeniably handsome, his bright colors framing the pleasant angles of his face in a way you couldn't deny was appealing. It didn't hurt that his concern was fully appreciated, especially with the amount of pain making you quite certain you were indeed in need of medical attention. Looking beyond the cave, he went quiet for a moment, optics distant in deep thought before he made up his mind on something and let out a small sigh. His heavier tone implied whatever he'd decided on to be quite important. "There's a beach nearby that's usually full of people, I can take you there if you promise to be cool."

"Be cool?" you repeated in confusion.

"Don't scream for them to shoot me." he replied simply, pushing off the ground to maneuver right over you and out the cave's entrance. Dropping himself down the short distance to the ocean below, he splashed into the waves before bringing his upper half right back up, resting his arms against the mouth of the cave to speak at eye level. The new angle made the conversation feel far more equal, and you found yourself briefly lost in the brilliant blue depths of his optics before he spoke again. "I'll drop you off on an old boat dock, and you can handle the rest from there, yeah?"

Though it took you a moment to process, your nod of agreement seemed to make him happy, and you found yourself smiling in return despite your current condition.

"You look pretty light. I'll carry you there if you don't mind getting wet again." he offered, balancing on his tail so he could offer his arms. The gesture surprised you considerably, the whole situation moving so fast you'd have struggled to keep up even without a head injury. Not only were you not dead, but you owed your life to a merformer, a species your own had been on tense terms with at best for much longer than you'd been alive. You'd never even met one before Rodimus, yet here he was offering to literally carry you to safety after saving your life... Even if you'd never believed the rumors about all members of his species despising humans, his actions still surprised you. Admittedly though, having no other options did make the decision to trust him even easier.

It took some work to get you in his arms, but Rodimus was as careful as he was patient, fully supporting your weight as he allowed you to lay across his arms as slowly as you needed not to jostle your injuries. The mild pain was well worth getting even closer, your tired body finding a small measure of comfort from being held against his chassis thanks to a mysterious hum from within that soothed your aches and compelled you to relax. When you were secured bridal style in his grasp, Rodimus pushed away from the cave and into more open waters, dipping just low enough for your soiled clothes to once again turn soaked. You hardly minded for a multitude of reasons.

"Why are you still helping me?" you asked suddenly, looking up at him and squinting against the bright light reflecting off the waves. It seemed like he'd just been passing by when your boat had been smashed, and you could believe he'd simply jumped in to save you on a whim, it didn't make much sense for him to risk all this now that he could swim off and leave you to figure things out. Most humans probably wouldn't have helped him in an emergency, and even now he was risking the reactive bigotry of your species just to get you help more expediently.

"I'm pretty invested at this point. I don't want all my hard work to go to waste." he replied in a mostly playful tone after a second of silence. The logic was somewhat sound, and as the waves lapped at your body you almost felt like you understood before he threw a fresh bit of confusion your way with a wink. "Plus, once you don't look like something the sea spat up, you might actually be kinda cute."

The answer briefly stunned you into silence, but as he quickly rounded the shore and you started to spot signs of human habitation, you found yourself panicking at the idea you might soon be saying goodbye. Rodimus had saved your life, and all of your confusing feelings aside, you felt that deserved a proper thanks you couldn't currently give. Desperation to have that chance leaked into your words as they tumbled out. "Can I see you again?"

Rodimus went wide-opticed, his frame wobbling in the water as one would if they'd just stumbled over their own feet on land. "Well, I don't normally hang around in one place for long, but..." he faded out as he briefly tread water, tail undulating to keep him and you upright. Something passed between the two of you as he met your gaze again, and you almost found yourself grateful for the boat crash as you looked into the depths of his optics and got him to smile, his arms holding you a tad bit more closely as he answered. "If you can make it back to this cave in the next few weeks, we'll see what happens."

"I'll make it happen." you promised, determined to find him the second you were well enough to do so. It didn't matter if you had to rent a rowboat and paddle your way there, you were going to see him again. Judging by how he perked up at your vow and the obvious protective nature of his grip, you were certain he was willing to do just as much, if not more, to ensure the two of you got the chance to meet again.

#transformers #maccadam #idw #mtmte #lost light #tf #human reader #rodimus x reader #rodimus prime #merformers #merformers x reader #transformers x reader #x reader #mermay #self insert

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royal-songbird · 4 months

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The Origins of Etho's Dishwasher

Hello all !! I got bored so. i decided to write out this silly little drabble of grian first discovering his magma cube, ethos dishwasher, in my secret life apocalypse au :D i wrote this for fun, so ignore any mistakes or whatever

Word count: 508

Grian has terrible impulse control. He’s quite good at pretending he actually does have good control over every little thought pinging around in his skull, and only indulges in them for the bit, but in all honesty, it's almost abysmal how little he’s in charge of his own thoughts.

Of course, in general, this isn’t much of a problem. The worst that comes out of his incredibly impulsive nature are months-long prank wars, but those usually end on a good note, with everyone pitching in on the cleanup. In fact, Grian would even argue that his prank wars help bring everyone together, no matter how much the others may insist otherwise.

But that is not the point of this observation. What brought Grian to this unsurprising realization is the little glob of hell sitting at his feet, blinking innocently up at him, as if it's done no wrong.

And, one might ask, ‘glob of hell? Isn’t that a bit dramatic?’, and no, no it is not. The creature in front of Grian seems to be made up of actual lava, its eyes a burning orange, chunks of the molten rock swirling beneath its dark, hardened exterior. Grian’s wearing pants, but he can still feel the heat radiating from the thing, like standing too close to a campfire.

Now, that brings another question around- Why is Grian with a glob of hell in the first place? Well, that’s where his impulsivity plays in. He’d been out looting, as one does in the middle of a world-end apocalypse, when he had stumbled directly into the ‘corrupted’ part of the city. It had been long since overtaken by a strange, other-worldly growth with towering, basalt spikes and strange red trees and vines, pools of lava seeping through fissures in the streets. Basically, a walking death pit.

But, Grian being- well- Grian, did not retreat like a normal, logical person would do. No, instead, he headed deeper into the city, ignoring any scrap of self-preservation he might’ve had. Look, he had thought there would be more untouched supplies there- he hadn’t once seen a single survivor go in there, so logically, there had to be some things leftover. In the end, his brave exploration did not yield much, aside from the glob of hell now following him around.

He had run into it after narrowly avoiding death from a giant, floating octopus-like creature that shot fireballs, and it just…hadn’t left his side since. Grian tried getting rid of it, he really did, but the thing refused to leave. And now, against his better judgment, Grian has gotten… a tiny bit attached to it.

In his defense, the creature is quite cute, if he looks past the made-from-lava part. And sure, there’s an apocalypse going on right now, and taking in a pet is probably not the best idea, but is that really such a big deal?

Grian frowns as he looks at the magma cube. It blinks back, letting out a gurgling noise, lava bubbles popping inside it.

Yeah, this is fine.

#sl!apocalypse au #secret life smp #secret life #mcyt #grian #secret life grian #secret life fanfic #mcyt fanfic #grian fanfic #finch does stuff

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monocle-teacup · 1 month

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Guess what, it's time for Mandroid and a Cat Part 3! Here's links to Part 1 and 2.

Tagging @sveene, @yayoineko, and @vihattu-thethoroughbredofsin because Mandroid content

Stephen’s plan of taking the cat to the groomer went accordingly. Since he didn’t have a carrier, he constructed one with scraps he had lying around his lab. When the feline was returned to him, it looked as if it went through a harrowing experience.

“I trimmed the nails, too.” the groomer said. “Good thing I did because I’d be bleeding right now.”

“Thank you.” the scientist replied.

“Poor thing is so skinny. You should hit the pet store on your way home.”

He said nothing to that and left.

It had been a few months since he last entered Witwicky. The only locations he was concerned with were places to get food and household items. The thought occurred to him that he could leave the cat in the town square since it was so populated. However, he couldn’t go through with it during the day due to the likelihood that someone would catch him in the act. He didn’t have any intention of wandering around town for hours so he decided to return to his lab.

On his way, he happened to look up and see the pet store the groomer mentioned earlier. Apparently he had bypassed it multiple times in his previous trips to town but never realized it.

He stared at the sign and then the cat.

“I suppose I should at least give you something after the ordeal you went through.” he commented. He was answered by a frosty glare.

As soon as he entered the building, he immediately went to the cat section. He was totally out of his element and as much as he tried to hide that fact, it wasn’t long before a female employee came to assist him.

“Can I help you sir?” she asked.

“What food would you recommend for a stray?”

She bent down to inspect the carrier. “Aww! What a cute kitty! You look so skinny though.” Straightening, she stared at the shelf. “Hmm… Since the cat doesn’t look like it needs to gain too much weight, you should be able to get away with regular food.” She lifted a bag. “This is the most popular brand since most kitties love it. They also have wet food and treats.”

“I’ll just take the bag for now.” He made eye contact with the cat. “Actually, I’ll take a can of food as well.”

“Great! I’ll take these to the front for you.” She walked away.

“I hope this is an acceptable peace offering.” He tried ignoring how a small part of him was happy when the cat let out a “Mrr”.

He started making his way to the checkout when he realized he didn’t have anything to put the food in. None of the dishware he had at the lab was suitable. He glanced at the shop’s selection of bowls and grabbed the cheapest metal ones they had.

As he paid for the food, he spotted a blue feather toy and noticed how interested the animal was. Without a word, he placed it on the counter.

“Are you interested in signing up for our rewards program?” the employee inquired. “You can receive discounts and free bags of food.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“All right, then.” She handed him the bag. “Have a great day!”

When Stephen returned to the lab, he read the feeding instructions on the bag. The cat sat on the floor nearby, curious as to what he was doing.

“I think the wet food is the better choice this time.” he said. When he popped the tab, the feline perked up with a squeak he never heard it make before. “So, someone appears to have been feeding you.” Its cries grew louder the longer it took for him to place the can on the ground. “Patience.”

The cat happily ate the food. A good way to describe its behavior was gorging itself. He picked up the can, causing the animal to meow in protest.

“I’m not an expert on caring for a cat, but if you eat too quickly you’ll vomit.” It headbutted his leg. “Hmm… I should probably scoop out a small amount so you don’t eat too much at once.” Thankfully he had plastic spoons in the kitchen which was a short distance away.

The cat complained while following him. He placed a chunk in one of the bowls he bought and put it on the floor.

As the animal resumed eating, he went over to his desk to continue perfecting schematics for an energon draining device. It was a logical step in dealing with the Cybertronian threat. He didn’t have any test subjects at the moment, but it wouldn’t be difficult to obtain some.

Time passed as he poured over details. Once again, he had no idea the cat was on his lap until he heard a meow. He looked down.

“Out of all possible spots in the lab, why do you keep choosing my lap?” The feline made no response and gazed at him. “Perhaps I should’ve bought a bed… Wait, I already spent enough on you and your stay here is temporary.” There was a blink followed by the animal shifting to get more comfortable. He sighed. “I suppose my lap is better than you knocking things off my desk again.”

#tf #tfe #transformers #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #earthspark #fic #fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #dr. meridian #mandroid #earthspark mandroid #tfe mandroid

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legitalicat · 9 hours

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Appalachian!Sihtric proposes to you.

AN: I may be having too much fun with this.

Collection masterlist here!

CW: Language, tooth rotting fluff

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x reader!

Sihtric had decided when you first talked about the idea of being married that he would need to wait until he bought your first actual house.

He was grateful for the fact you guys had a solid start, of course.

But he thought you deserved the world.

And so he may have...gotten the foreman job a while before he told you about it.

With the pay difference and the longer hours, that you chalked up to getting more work which you were grateful for, he was able to save a down payment for most any house for sale in the area without you realizing.

He started asking you what you envisioned your house being.

Eventually this lead to you finding local house listings and sending them to him.

Your favorite?

One that had a massive chunk of land with it and a four car garage.

You deemed it perfect. The nearby woods made for a time riding on four-wheelers or dirt bikes.

All the land meant you would have room for animals and even a garden and your future kids would play there.

The garage would be good for his project cars and dirt bikes.

So he managed to get through the process of buying the house, including the loan and inspections and all that, all in secret.

He put just as much time into picking your ring.

He originally wanted to give you his grandma's ring, but you had told him once you were too worried about ever losing it. So he scrapped that idea.

Your trips to the mall, he now started letting the sparkling jewelry store distract you. You pointed out your ideal cut, your ideal stone, all of it.

Until finally he was able to go to the store and three others to get you the perfect ring.

Buying the house meant he couldn't adhere to the 3 months rule for buying one, but he figured you'd be okay with it.

He asked your dad's blessing.

It was a bit old fashioned, you knew, but it was a big part of his values to make sure your father's opinions got heard even if he chose to ignore him.

Surprisingly, your father couldn't imagine a reason to say no.

He knew Sihtric loved you more than anything. He knew that he had protected you from the moment you laid eyes on each other and that the boy would probably keep swinging his fists in your defense until he was 90.

With your dad's blessing, he planned carefully.

He was signing the final paperwork on a Tuesday morning. He would propose that same evening.

He reached out to your boss and explained the situation. Thankfully you had a cool boss who was willing to schedule you off that day and the following.

Sihtric asked your mom to treat you to a girl's day. Get manicures. Go shopping. Lunch. All his treat. Just bring you back so you would be here at dusk.

He stayed at the house all day, waiting for the utilities to get turned on. He packed you both an overnight bag and brought the air mattress so you both could spend this night in your new home.

He lined the gravel driveway with tea light candles. Wrapped the banister on the front porch in fairy lights. Got you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

And then, dressed in his finest clothes (which were really just the only clothes that wasn't stained from oil and grass) and the ring in one hand, flowers in the other, he waited.

You didn't know where your momma was taking you, or why you had picked your dad up from work. You just watched the scenery pass by as you drove just out of town.

When you pulled up, you were staring in awe. You got out of the car, wearing a dress you had gotten that day with your nails freshly done.

Sihtric swore you had never looked more beautiful. Although, he said that for every moment he deemed significant.

"What are you doing?" You asked him, not quite putting together what was going on.

He could only chuckle, having always appreciated the fact that you were so good at seeing small details but couldn't always put them together for the bigger picture.

"Baby, you know I love you, right?"

"Of course, Sihtric, and I love you too. But what does that have to do with anything? Whose house is this?"

"Ours."

You stopped talking instantly. You stared at him with your jaw hung open.

When you finally could pull your gaze away from him, you frantically looked around and realized this was the house from the listing you had fallen in love with.

He explained everything to you. How he got the promotion, getting paid more, knowing that as long as you both weren't struggling you would be okay without his extra income at your disposal and that he always made sure you guys were taken care of through this process.

He handed you the flowers before he got on one knee.

"Baby, I love you so much. I would tear apart the mountains and sky if you asked me."

"Sihtric."

You realized then what was happening. This house was yours.

He promised a house, a marriage, kids, life, love, grandkids, and old age too you. In that order.

This house was your perfect house. It had everything you could ever ask for or need.

You already felt he maybe had planned for you two to get some animals this weekend.

Maybe a dog or a cat.

Definitely some chickens.

And you looked at the flowers, the ring, the house, him.

It was all overwhelming you in the best way. Tears flew into your eyes as you say the flowers carefully on the ground.

"I have wanted you ask you since we we were eighteen but I made you promises."

"I know."

"And baby I can't promise I'll be perfect. Fuck you know I ain't. But I love you. I love you enough that I would fight all the gods in the universe to keep you by my side."

"I know."

"You are my everything. The one I was made for. And I'll bring home every trinket you want, every little stone to add to your penguin pebbles."

"Damn it Sihtric, ask me so I can answer!"

"Will you marry me?"

You all but tackled him to the ground, kissing every inch of his face. Muttering the same word over and over again.

"Yes."

Taglist: @foxyanon

#appalachian sihtric #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #au

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bluegekk0 · 11 months

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Hello there, curious lil goblin here, I was wondering what started your Feral PK au?? As in, what was your first post regarding the au and if you’ve figured out how he ends up “feral” ??

hello! hope you're having a good day!

it's a bit of a story. it first started with the random idea i had for pk returning after the game's ending, but since i didn't want to think of a bullshit reason for him to come back to life, i thought to myself "hey what if he was in some kind of coma or hibernating, and the knight hitting him was what woke him up?", which was inspired by the fact that his body disappears when you return to the throne room afterwards. the hibernation itself i thought would be an interesting way for him to deal with being completely mentally broken down after the infection returned, and would work as kind of a reset that would allow him to function again

then i thought it would be interesting if his powers were gone as a result, which funnily enough was inspired by my pc drive dying twice. i thought "what if the hibernation being interrupted messed up his brain and thus ended up stripping him of his powers, similar to how you risk losing valuable data if you power off your computer while it's processing it?". so he ended up without powers, which i later expanded on with his backstory. basically, he was never born an actual god, and was a weak runt among his siblings, so the god-like powers were quite frankly just him finding ancient writings from other gods and deciphering them in order to learn the spells and have a chance to defend himself (and later to create a prospering kingdom, as he had a fascination with mortals). and because the hibernation's final goal was to essentially reset his brain, he ended up losing a chunk of his memories, particularly the distant ones, which included his knowledge of spells

one of those spells was the ability to sustain himself with soul rather than eating actual food. he had two reasons to do that. first, while he was still a giant wyrm, it was so he wouldn't have to eat anyone. difficult to start a kingdom if you eat all of the mortals, isn't it? then, after changing forms and creating the kingdom, he continued doing it. why? being born a runt that had to fight for scraps for most of his life, it was coded in his brain to eat fast and sloppily, and get defensive over your meal. that part never left him, and thus whenever he eats, he acts like a wild beast and he can't control it, no matter how hard he tries. so he continued sustaining himself with soul to avoid grossing out his wife, the retainers and everyone else, and out of fear of hypocrisy (as he was the main voice behind the "rise above beast" mindset)

the unfortunate side effect of him barely eating actual food was that, while on the outside it seemed normal, it was slowly killing him. the lack of proper nutrition made his body weak and sickly, he would end up in a constant cycle of being sick, healing himself with soul so that no one can tell, and then falling ill again and so on. he hid it from everyone, even his wife, and pretended that it was fine and there was nothing to be worried about. i like to think that this connects to the fact that, outside of his natural immortality, he was never a god. his body was built to eat and digest, he couldn't change that. the soul was just a temporary solution that he decided to cling onto out of fear of being rejected

and because he lost those powers, after waking up from hibernation, he was forced to eat to survive. it was a clear situation. eat, or you'll die, no tricks this time. so he did, and over time grew more comfortable with doing it, as there was no one around to judge or fear him for it, and he "failed the kingdom anyway. so what's the point of acting all proper and kingly now"

he would run around hallownest doing that for weeks before hornet found him and took him to dirtmouth. he was afraid that he would be rejected for his more feral instincts, but to his surprise most bugs in there did not particularly care. as long as he did not do it out in the open and didn't hurt anyone (which was an extremely important rule for him anyway. only hunt animals, never other sentient bugs), they didn't really judge him for it. moreover, he reunited with grimm, who very much supported the idea of fpk just being himself and finding happiness in doing that. so he never stopped hunting and eating animals. it was a part of him, and grimm was right, rejecting it did nothing but hurt him. both mentally and physically

as a little fun side story. the actual idea for him being a bit of a feral little beast and eating raw meat was lowkey inspired by a fanfic i read. i can never remember the title, but essentially the part in which he was attacked by xero and ended up killing him with his own teeth and claws was what got me thinking. i thought it would be fun to see this great king of hallownest chasing and eating bugs like tiktiks or vengeflies like a feral animal. a little bit of hypocrisy for that extra spice. also, it carried over to my idea of how the whole xero deal went in my au. it is a bit similar to what happened in the fic, with pk protecting baby hornet, except here he ends up not only blacking out and killing him with his jaws, but also begins to eat him in a blind feral and ravenous state, before he collects himself and runs back to the palace with hornet. i think it's not only a cool mental image, but also gives him a reason to 1. be more afraid of embracing his instinct while he was a king and 2. be extremely careful not to hurt other sapient bugs during his hunts after he lost his powers

but yeah, hope this answers your question! and sorry if it's a bit long, i have so many thoughts about him and i had to restrain myself from going all crazy about it hahaha

#ask stuff #feral pk au

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raineandsky · 11 months

Text

#36

This is quite possibly the best day of the villain’s life.

The hero had walked directly into one of his traps, one of his most obvious, and gotten picked up by a couple of the villain’s henchmen. She’s currently downstairs, one of the henchmen has told him, and he’s been pacing for the last hour figuring out his victory speech. He wasn’t really expecting to catch anyone yet, so he’s a little unprepared.

He eventually decides to make his way down, carefully rehearsing what he’s going to say. God, he can’t believe his luck. He has blackmail, ransom, and an endless pit of information all rolled into one.

The hero has been left on her own—he’ll be talking to someone about that later—with several layers of thick rope holding her in place. Her hands have been tied behind her, and he kind of wishes they hadn’t done that. God knows what she’s holding.

“Oh, thank god,” is what she opens with, which is decidedly not the emotion he was hoping to evoke.

“Good afternoon, [Hero],” the villain opens coolly, and the hero actually smiles at him. She doesn’t look particularly bothered at all, in fact. That’s annoying. “I see you’ve played fool enough to let yourself get caught by me.”

“Yeah,” she says brightly.

“Your stay here will make you rethink every moment of your life that led you here,” he continues, pointedly ignoring the eager grin on her face. “I’ll make you regret being born.”

“Sweet. So, what's the deal?” She glances around the room for ideas. “Lasers? Some kind of giant blade? Oh, no, a contraption! You’re always doing those.”

The hero’s guesses are met with confused silence. The victory of getting her here is fizzling out humblingly fast. “I thought you’d be… more upset to be here.”

“Oh god, no.” She laughs—actually laughs. She’s in the villain’s domain and it feels like she’s making fun of him. “Agency’s been really messed up recently. Been shooting heroes down left right and centre. Nothing you do could ever be worse than what they’ve done to me.”

That is somehow an insult. “What, so this is just a holiday to you? A nice bit of time off?”

“Kind of. Was hoping for something a bit more permanent, away from the agency. Thought you might like going down as the guy who took out a hero.” Her grin widens, hopeful. “Figured you’d be more inclined to talk to me if you didn’t think I was going to dropkick you into next week.”

So she’d walked straight into one of his traps. Of course she had. This is definitely a setup.

“I could just, you know, actually kill you,” he points out, and she hums thoughtfully.

“You could, but god, the payout for a dead hero is huge. You could get in on that if I’m still alive.” Clearly the idea of being murdered like this hasn’t particularly fazed her. “You help me evade the agency, and I’ll make sure you get a chunk of that money.”

His inventions have been a little lackluster recently—most of them are made from scraps he found in the local junkyard. A bit of cash wouldn’t hurt.

He pulls a small knife from his belt, leaning down to get to work on the abysmal twists of rope securing the hero down. He can’t believe he’s agreeing to this. “I want at least half.”

The hero snorts amusedly. “Leave some for my family, man. A quarter.”

“A third.”

She smiles as the rope falls loose, and she gets to her feet with a sigh. “Deal.”

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writblr #heroes and villains #this is the second story im ending with someone securing a deal. dont worry bout it #anyways. this uk heatwave right #i think the heat made me ill i was feelin all nice n sorry for myself today #our house is so hot tho man i feel like im in a slow cooker rn

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rainy-circle · 5 days

Note

2, 11 & 28 for the writing asks!

2. a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

Oh King Dorephan! I basically realized that the first half of this chapter could be made so much more concise by just telling it all from his point of view so that's what I'm doing! I love Dorephan a lot - he's lost so much but in both BotW and TotK he's just so. genuinely friendly and kind ; ;

11. a WIP you’d like to finish someday

SOBS ANY OF THEM??????? I will cheat and say... THREE

the Stranger Things season 4 fix-it fic because I have made so many friends via the Hellcheer ship but have not written anything for them aside from some Spotify Wrapped drabbles that probably weren't even that good slfjeslkjes I know it's dumb but I just feel like I owe them for being so COOL!!! and NICE. ; ; and also I've been wanted to try my hand at some form of "the plot of the show still happens but fuck u everyone lives" AU for this show for years now

Sunshine Serenade because it is. 1000% for me. HAHAHAHA I've had it fully planned out in my head for years now and I just. need to write it. Writing is so hard y'all

the Gravity Falls retelling AU that, like the ST fic, is still only in planning stages. I have so many GIGANTIC AUs for so many different fandoms that I'll probably never write, but this is like. the single one that I have started planning in earnest. and actually I do have... a chunk of the first "episode" written I think? somewhere in my scraps

28. your least favorite part of the writing process

Ughhhhhh probably like. the entire first draft. battling that empty page while all the different pieces of writing advice you've ever heard wrestle each other in your mind. it used to be so much easier for me as a teenager and now I think I overthink everything haha

#thank you for asking sun!!!!#blows kisses #{ writerly things }

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aurathian · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday!

creator warnings: peatrice x groose

Link raised a brow and set down his chisel. “What do you mean?”

Groose swept a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m having feelings.”

“About…?” Now Link’s full attention was on Groose, having abandoned the carving he was working on the second he walked in.

“It’s embarrassing to even say,” he mumbled. For the first time ever, Groose seemed small, shy, timid. “I don’t know, you’ll just make fun of me.”

“I won’t. I never have.”

“Link,” he groaned. He dragged his hand across his face. “I like someone.” Link didn’t know what to say. His jaw dropped, eyes wide. He knew it was possible for Groose to like someone, given all his childhood years in Skyloft had been spent pining after Zelda, but this… this was different. When he liked Zelda, he was loud, boisterous, and mean. But now, he seemed so nervous.

Oh my Goddesses, Link thought. This is serious.

“Who…?” It was a tentative question. Link almost didn’t want to know.

“Well, y’know, it’s someone. In the village. On the surface with us. Around here, just about. Works right next door, actually.”

Link was sure he’d catch flies in his mouth at this rate. He knew immediately who it was.

“Peatrice?!” he exclaimed louder than he meant, and Groose rapidly shushed him, shooting up from his chair and slamming the door shut.

“Someone’s gonna hear!”

“I’m sorry, I just– Peatrice?”

Groose nodded, face almost as red as his hair. “Link, I know you and her had a thing going on–”

“We did not have a thing going on. I was being polite and she… took it the wrong way, I guess.”

“Anyway, I don’t know. I think I really like her. I visit her every day to deposit some stupid scrap or whatever, but it’s just an excuse to talk to her. Sometimes I have Gondo talk to her and ask her what she thinks of me and stuff.”

Link said nothing.

“Look, I need your help. I don’t know how to tell her because what if she thinks I’m a weirdo? Or a freak? The hair is an acquired taste, I know, but–”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be fine. I know it for a fact. You just need to work up the courage and tell her.”

“Easier said than done, bigshot. You have a whole world-saving adventure behind your back. I have, what, Grooseland? And that’s not even the real name because you guys are no fun.”

Link did know it for a fact, though, because one night Zelda came home from Peatrice’s Item Check and wouldn’t stop giggling to herself, so he’d asked her what had put her in such a good mood. Before she could stop herself, she blurted it out.

“Peatrice likes Groose!” And then she giggled some more. “Can you believe that?”

No, he couldn’t. In fact, it had almost made him cringe remembering Peatrice’s fondness with him during his own journey.

But now, part of him wanted to help in the matchmaking process. He knew what Zelda had been up to the whole time she’d asked Groose about Peatrice–if he liked her, what he thought of her, if he thought she was pretty–and that she was entirely in on the game.

“I can be your wingman,” Link offered. “I know Pipit did that for Fledge once.”

“That didn’t work out,” Groose said with a roll of his eyes.

“Right, sorry.”

“And it would be weird for you to be my wingman since she used to like you. Maybe I’ll just bring Gondo along, like I always do.”

“Good idea.” Link turned around and took his chisel back up, starting to work away at the wood again.

Groose sighed and held his head in his hands. “I’m going to the Item Check,” he said finally. Link bit back a chuckle and instead took off a larger chunk of wood than he meant to.

#zelda #loz #link #legend of zelda #skyward sword #wip wednesday #peatrice #groose #groose x peatrice #i am hereby coining the name: poose #thank u to my enablers

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sundayswiththeilluminati · 1 year

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So this week’s story has raised a big question for me; just WHAT tools does Rasputin have at his disposal? Because even if we limit ourselves to the idea Rasputin ONLY has options that would technically tithe to Xivu, there’s a whole ladder of escalation beyond what we’re currently doing and below playing into Xivu’s hand. I feel like we’ve only ever seen the top (Warsats go BRRRRRR) and bottom (Give Guardians guns) of that ladder.

Short answer: Destiny's writers deliberately keep the extent of Rasputin's arsenal ambiguous, but I think he scrapped everything midrange a long time ago and was hoping to just nuke the Wrathborn from orbit.

Long answer: I said in an earlier post that Rasputin's four roles in the Destiny narrative are mystery, tragedy, power, and humanity. You're getting at the angle of both power and mystery. What arrows are in Rasputin's megaton quiver? We don't know. He has the warsats, of course, we know about those; we've also heard about fun toys like caedometric cannons and antimatter warheads under his control during the Golden Age. But then we also get hints at hidden and hibernating assets or secret projects - enough to bolster Rasputin's air of power and mystery and make it plausible when the narrative requires he pull something extra-spicy out of the closet.

Red probably did have more assets between "hand cannon" and "planetary defense cannon," but he lost an enormous chunk of matériel fighting the Pyramid Fleet the first go-round. Everything midrange would have either gotten scrapped for resources or bodged together into something bigger, and post-Collapse he had no incentive to rebuild those assets. He's been piecing together some defensive stuff that will hopefully mean less babysitting his facilities - his frames carry weapons and those perimeter defense towers pack a punch - but it hasn't been a priority.

But remember one of Rasputin's strengths is his adaptability, and not just his decentralized processing network. He's very good at taking what's on hand and turning it into what he needs. He fabricated the supercharged Valkyrie to use against Xol more or less on the fly, and scrambled long-disused assets into a brand-new artillery battery to take down the Almighty in a matter of weeks. The IKELOS weapons have that rapid-prototype look for a reason. Sleeper's hacked together from old Golden-Age weapon designs*. Red had serious manufacturing complexes in Hellas Basin at his disposal and, while we still don't know what Seraph energy is, it seems like he can fold it into matter on demand. So asking "what tools does Rasputin have" is a little like asking a chef with a pantry full of ingredients "what's for dinner."

*I like to think it's a miniaturized warsat cannon, but a friend of mine has a great theory that Sleeper's a vehicle-mounted weapon Rasputin made Guardian-portable by stripping off all that pesky radiation shielding.

In the specific case of the Wrathborn, though, I think Rasputin was hoping to get it all over with at once. He doesn't have the resources for a long campaign, and he risks contamination by Xivu Arath. Rasputin would rather go for major overkill than deploy too little up front and have to sustain and escalate. He's kind of a glass cannon right now, while the Hive can hold their own against Cabal attrition campaigns, and there's no attrition like Cabal attrition. And there's the additional threat of Hive corruption, which, we've never gotten an answer on whether Omnigul could have poisoned him, but neither he nor the Vanguard wanted to find out. We've already seen Wrathborn contamination subvert mechanical systems. And I've talked before about how he doesn't actually like combat that much; he has no concept of "fair play" or a proportional response. No, Red wanted to deliver one quick hammer-blow so massive he didn't have to deliver another, and it looks like he's not going to get that.

#Destiny 2 #the Warmind Rasputin #Season of the Seraph #BUNGO TELL ME ABOUT SERAPH ENERGY ALREADY #I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS #you ever think about the kind of manufacturing base needed to sustain Golden Age technology and how it's related to Glimmer production #sometimes I think about that #Rasputin: glass cannon? a bit #anyway back to working on the bow catalyst #output generated #this is the wager of existence

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zhnnveuxpasdrmir · 15 days

Text

I really should have gone to sleep, but, I regret to inform you, the Fallout show is really fucking good. Ironic as hell to have it on the Vault Tec channel.

There are callouts and references from New Vegas and the Commonwealth. There's not exactly easter eggs, they're the bedrock of the plot. Fallout logic applies. Every conceit that has to explain why the nonsense of Fallout exists is an integral part of the story flow in the show. Better done than in FO4, tbh!

Familiarity with the games will for sure give you lots of background information on who's who and what they're doing. That was cool I thought. I couldn't help but wonder if any of the artists got any kind of remuneration at all for having their work copied down to the millimeter. They said that Bethesda was "in the room" on art direction and stuff but I don't know what that means, really. I stopped thinking of any of those companies as anything but little Vault Tecs themselves years ago.

On reddit people's complaints are all highly logical - fucking triflers. This is Fallout. "Why didn't they XYZ? How did the dwellers know about ABC?" if it made a whole bunch of sense it wouldn't be a Todd Howard story. But yeah visually thematically and textually it is Fallout, to a T. I'm actually annoyed at how fucking entertained I was. Todd Howard will be insufferable forever after this, and assume all his ideas are good. Psh.

random spoilery theories and observations:

That first ep was frustrating in that my Vault dwellers would've eaten those bullshit raiders up in seconds. Scars? Tattoos???? oh no no. Instant chunks. My vault is no-nonsense. If any of them had made it past that first security checkpoint, it would've just been to get gaussed into several pieces by Ethel or mowed down by Big Dave's minigun. Anyway.

I also kept wishing someone would scrap. Not fight: pick stuff up. It just kept occurring to me because everything was so exactly game-perfect in appearance. That's 2 Steel and an Adhesive, Lucy! cmon grab it for your backpack! Get that machete!!! free machete! 1 Copper in every bulb on that crate, move it into a safe container! until nobody turns red in your reticle! Get with it!

When Lucy talks Maximus into their alliance and they do the warrior's handshake, the Battle Hymn of the Republic played loud in the score out of nowhere, never to return in season 1. Is Max going to found the Minutemen? I don't really know the timeline well enough to know how that fits together - but it sure was emphatic.

The Ghoul is a crit banker! Ha! Lucy seems to have Chem Resistant, Maximus is climbing the Power Armor tree… nice. LOVED how other-Dogmeat used the right tactics on the Gulper, they have that same weakness in Far Harbor, sensitive lil arms, tag'em for instant stagger.

I was glad they held back on directly showing Deathclaws yet, but set up the promise of them for the future, giving exposition for those who didn't bother to read terminal entries on their playthroughs.

I was thinking that the Vault 31 mystery was going to reveal synths, but it went more to the plot lines that you find in the environmental storytelling - Vault Tec's nefarious technocratic scheme that you piece together from terminal entries on side quests. Interesting. Is the Enclave a BOS thing? I never played a fash character & I can't take orders so I don't know that quest tree too well.

I loved that all the armor pieces were game standards, made it super easy to figure out who was who in battle scenes. I would definitely be a Leather Right Shoulder guy. Some like the Sack Hood with Hoses / Metal Chest Piece thing; I get that. It works. Personally I would not go with the red eye shadow because everyone would assume I was a cannibal but you do you.

New Vegas is up next! There's no way this doesn't get its three seasons at least.

#spoilers #fallout #stoned uncle recommends

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 1 year

Text

Dismantled Chapter 5

AO3

i rewrote this chapter probably six different times but I can finally say I'm satisfied with it yippee

Trigger Warnings: mentions of neglect. self deprecation, stalking, implied suicidal ideation, blood and injury, infantilization, and overall creepy whimper. Y'all know the drill.

2559 words

With his newfound movement, Donnie had plenty of time to pace the confines of the room, memorizing every inch of the space.

The door, obviously, was locked. He’d given up on the concept of tunneling through the walls already, because as fun as that sounded, it wasn’t like he had his drill. Or anything that could get the job done, for that matter.

He’d attempted to kick the door in exactly once. Unsuccessfully, he might add. It had been… a good reminder that he wasn’t the strong one.

It made him so stupidly angry that he couldn’t so much as break down a door when he had no doubt that his brothers wouldn’t struggle with something like that. The only thing that had ever made Donnie strong was his mind, and he couldn’t even think up a way out of this room.

He wondered what Splinter would say to do. He wondered if Splinter would say a thing to him at all.

Rage flooded his body, overwhelming his senses. He stood up abruptly from his defeated slouch on the mattress, grumbling to himself. He hated Splinter. He really, really hated him. He’d wanted nothing more than a little attention as a kid (ha, like he wasn’t still a kid), and it had taken fourteen years to get a single shred of it. How many years would he have to wait until he got any more than scraps?

Splinter probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. Even if he had, he likely wouldn’t care. The only worth Donnie had ever provided to him was through his admittedly brilliant mind. And even that had only been used to fix a television set. Ugh.

Desperate for an outlet, he snatched a book off of the bookcase and hurled it against the wall.

Unsatisfied, he grabbed another, and then another, throwing them as hard as he could, each thunk against the wall only making him more and more upset. He picked up another, flipping it open and grabbing a handful of pages, attempting to rip them out. Instead, he only succeeded in crumpling them, as they stayed stubbornly attached to the spine.

He pulled harder, but apparently he was just too weak to tear a couple pieces of paper. He slammed that one against the floor with every ounce of strength in his bones, glaring at it from above.

He sat down with a huff, picking up the offending book again. He opened it to page one, very deliberately tearing it out. He’d take this stupid thing apart one page at a time if he needed to.

And so he did. He sat there, ripping pages and balling them up, throwing them around his prison until he’d ripped decent chunks out of several of the books, now utterly destroyed. Good. They deserved to be ruined.

He picked a fresh one off the bottom shelf, his anger so elevated it had boiled over into a confusing sort of calm. His eyes lazily traced over the cover. It looked like — he scoffed, nearly even chuckled — of all things, a book on computer engineering. By the looks of it, it had been authored and published by yokai. He hadn’t even known yokai had computers.

He took stock of the others he’d wrecked, actually taking the time to examine them now. He hadn’t recognized it at first, but a good portion of them appeared to be focused on science and engineering. Many by yokai-kind, if he wasn’t mistaken, but some by humans, too. And they weren’t… kid books. They were high level.

He furrowed his brow, flipping through the few he hadn’t completely demolished. He felt a little stupid about that now. They were his one source of entertainment, and from the looks of it, he actually would have enjoyed them wholeheartedly.

It made him a little sick. Clearly, this guy had been stalking him for longer than Donnie had initially assumed, considering the detail that had gone into picking books specifically tailored to his interests. It was entirely unnecessary. It was almost… nice.

He began to clean up, collecting the various crumpled pages. One by one, he smoothed them out, matching them to their respective book and ordering them by page number.

Finally, he slid them back into place, despite having no real way of securing them. Mikey had once had a bookbinding phase, maybe he could — oh. Right. He’d nearly forgotten.

He groaned, slumping into the carpet. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It might even mimic the way his brothers could slink into their shells. That sounded nice. Comforting, even. Like a baby wrapped in a blanket.

The knock on his door came as it always did. He didn’t bother moving, face pressed deeply into the carpet. Maybe if he pressed a little harder he wouldn’t have to worry about breathing at all.

“It’s time for dinner,” came the gratingly soft voice of his captor. “Come on, up up.”

Donnie lifted his head just enough that his words would be more than gibberish. “I’m not hungry.”

There was a beat of silence, and he settled in again, assuming that the dude had actually taken the hint. But then came—

“You don’t want out of your room?”

He snapped his head up fully, incredulous. He was going to be let out of this room? Just like that? What was the catch?

With working legs this time, he could actually get out the door. He could get home, where he wouldn’t be smothered in some sick imitation of fatherly affection — not that he had much to compare it to — where — wait. Argh, he was getting in his head. Just because Splinter kind of sucked as a parent didn’t make this guy good. Correlation doth not equal causation, hello Donatello.

He hadn’t answered yet, nor had he moved. Still, he was waiting patiently above him, watching with what looked like an amused grin from Donnie’s peripheral vision.

Slowly, he pushed himself onto his elbows, then to his feet. He gestured to the doorway, indicating that Donnie would exist first. What was this guy’s game? Surely he was walking into some sort of trap…

The room was at the mouth of a short hallway that spilled into a humble living room. Beyond that, a fairly standard looking kitchen, and… egad. There was the fabled front door.

“I’m sorry for not allowing you out until now,” his captor was saying, “I wanted to give you time to settle in.”

Donnie hummed a general acknowledgement, not really listening as he eyed the front door, ever so slightly edging himself in that direction.

“How are you enjoying your books?”

He paused. Would he be in trouble for admitting he’d ruined them? Worse, would this guy think his sick plan was working if he admitted that — “They look interesting.”

He didn’t particularly want to unpack what it was that compelled him to answer. He was too afraid of what he might find if he did.

The man before him smiled wide, eyes shining with — “I hope they are! I’ve never understood science much, but I thought you would like them. You’re such a smart kid, you know. I’m really proud.”

Proud. That shouldn’t have sent a burst of dopamine rushing through his body like it did. It nearly made him dizzy. It was so incredibly rare that he heard something like that from… a parent-aged adult.

Someone was proud of him, really proud of him, just for wanting to read a book? Would he be proud of his inventions? His concepts? His theories?

It took the soft scrape of a chair against the floor to snap him out of stupor. He was just… standing there, in the middle of the room. The door was right there, why hadn’t he…?

Maybe it was the scientist in him. Maybe he kind of just wanted to see what would happen. Maybe he was really, really hungry. He couldn’t very well escape on an empty stomach, after all.

Hesitance slowly fizzled out as he sat at the table, fading away to make room for the meltingly warm feeling of proud.

Sitting in front of him was an actual, honest to god sandwich. Not just — blended mush that left him gagging on its bitterly grimy texture. It looked more than edible, it actually looked good.

Sneaking a glance at… him, he slowly peeled the top slice of bread off, taking a savoring bite of the flavor of actual food. It was heavenly. He’d take bread and water for the rest of his life if it tasted like this.

He’d just begun gnawing on the slice of cheese next in the tower of sandwich when his counterpart cleared his throat.

Caught off guard, Donnie looked up, chewing awkwardly on his slice of swiss. Each movement of his mouth felt suddenly a little too big for his liking.

“How are you liking your room?”

He took a moment to swallow, lest he choke and end up back at square baby food. “It’s fine,” he shrugged, unable to help mumbling a snarky continuation. “It’d be nicer if it wasn’t literally a cell.”

“A cell?” He repeated, like he was truly confused about it. “It’s not a prison, little one, it’s a protection.”

“Okay, so if I go out that door,” he said with a jagged gesture at it, “I’m good to go?”

“To go be a child soldier again? If that’s your choice.”

Scoff, child soldier. That was so incredibly off base it was absurd! That would be… well, that would entail… ugh, it was different. It was he and his brothers’ duty to protect the people of New York. They had tech, and training, and… magic.

Of course he would rather go home, not to be a soldier, but to be…

His bones ached in memory of the Shredder.

Not a soldier. Not a soldier. A hero.

Of course he would prefer the lair to this. Who needed a warm, cozy house when he had a dirty, chaotic… sewer?

“If you’re so content to let me ‘make my own choice,’” he said, finger quotes accompanying his sarcasm, “then why keep me locked up at all? And why just let me out after all that?”

The man regarded him for a moment, sighing and folding his hands together. “If I’d given you the option to leave immediately, you never would have considered anything else.”

“Obviously.”

“I wanted you to spend a few days understanding what it’s like to be a real child and not—”

“Yeah, yeah, a soldier, I get it.”

“How can you choose if you don’t know your options?”

“Oh, yeah, being stuck in a baby swaddle for a couple days, who wouldn’t wanna live like that?”

“You would have hurt yourself. It was a precaution.”

“Yeah, okay,” he scowled, pushing his chair back and ignoring the sensory hell of it screeching across the floor. “So anyway, fuck this. I’m leaving.”

Screw science, he was done. He spun on his heel, knocking the chair over in his haste (and definitely not because he’d tripped over it a little). He recovered quickly, striding away and refusing to allow the psycho seated behind him the satisfaction of any further acknowledgement.

It was eerily quiet as he went, no footsteps or anything in a last ditch effort to keep him here. Scoff, of course he wasn’t going to go after him. No adults had ever cared about him before, and he’d be an idiot to think that was changing now.

And then, suddenly, it all came crashing down. Literally. He tripped over — over nothing, over thin air, over his own two feet, over his massively inflated ego — and his face collided directly with the painfully accurately named hardwood.

At first, all he could hear was a violent ringing from somewhere above his head. Or inside his skull. Whichever was more likely to feel like his brain was melting, because it felt like he was dipping his head into fresh magma.

He could feel blood begin to dribble from his nose, warm and sticky. For some reason, the only thought he could coherently make out was if it would stain the floor, like the time Leo had knocked over an entire bottle of Mikey’s paint.

“Oh goodness, you’re hurt!” his captor exclaimed, somehow beside him already. How’d he get over here so fast? “You poor thing, oh no… can you sit up? No, no, don’t move, let me get some ice!”

“Don’t,” Donnie protested weakly, but it was for naught. He groaned, allowing his cheek to press flush to the relievingly cool surface of the floor. His eyes hazily traced over the area, searching for what he could have fallen over. There was nothing. Not a single thing where he’d been standing, just clear, empty floor. Had he always been so clumsy? How had he ever made it through a fight before? He’d known he was reliant on his tech, but…

The ice was a hugely welcome relief. It didn’t alleviate the pain, but it was nice to have someone — uh… it was nice to have.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, biting down a pained hiss as he adjusted the cold pack on his face.

“Of course.”

Carefully, slowly, he helped Donnie stumble to his feet. He didn’t immediately guide him anywhere, just… let him lean on him for a moment.

He was so close to the door. Somehow, he suspected he wouldn’t be stopped if he still lunged for it.

But he just… couldn’t.

Sure, it was nice to be hurt and have an adult actually give a — er, care, but… just accepting all this? Living without the constant anxiety of death wielding its scythe overhead? Being an actual child with a dad that actually cared… it all sounded so… it would just be so easy.

He’d never been one to opt for easy. He was a supergenius.

…maybe that was part of the problem. All he could contribute to the team was his mind, his tech. But he couldn’t do anything that couldn’t be done quicker and better by the universe's mystic forces.

Maybe — maybe he deserved easy. Maybe he really, desperately craved easy. He was only 14, that was nothing. He was nothing. Just a tiny amalgamation of atoms in a greater universe that didn’t need him to keep spinning, not really.

And wouldn’t that make him so selfish? To take the bait being dangled just in front of him, well within arms reach? To abandon his family in search of really being nurtured?

God, he was a horrible person. Who would even consider something like that? Who would accept a situation like this?

But it sounded so nice. And it would be better than nothing, wouldn’t it? Already, this guy had given him more attention than he’d gotten in his entire life from his real Papa.

He’d been wrong: it wasn’t bait. It was a silver platter.

To an oblivious fish like him, what was the real difference?

Donnie nudged towards the couch, sitting down and pulling the bunched ice away from his face to inspect the damage. It wasn’t bleeding too badly anymore, now just a trickle, but it still ached. It would be fine. He knew it would be. He knew, if nothing else, that dad would make sure it was fine.

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a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats · 3 months

Text

so I was playing cataclysm dark days ahead recently and after going through the starting hullabaloo I realized that they had actually removed the ability to make primitive knives. This is a big deal because you need a knife to craft basically anything in the game, including a crude bow which is what I was trying to make, silent ranged combat is a big deal when fighting zombies, and I almost immediately lost my motivation to play the game. The start I knew was gone, and it was gone for what seemed like a very arbitrary change, namely the fact that you can't get chunks of steel from breaking down lockers in your starting survival shelter anymore. You used to be able to craft the knife from scrap metal, but you need steel now. I naturally took to reddit to see if anyone else also got mad about it and found that apparently in recent years the cataclysm DDA developers were developing a bit of a renegade faction of people that did not care for what they were doing in the slightest. There was a whole group of people that were taking to the streets about how the pursuit of realism in the game was ruining it. In the moment, I agreed, because I was salty.

But… then I got to thinking. Cataclysm DDA is a sim game, a simulation of a zombie apocalypse, one of those weird little genres that people have latched onto and honestly probably gotten a little too invested in. So certainly, it makes sense that the developers, pursuing their vision, making the game they want to make instead of caving to outside pressure, something that everyone seems to mostly agree is Good Creative Practice, would…

one - make steel knives required, steel is one of the only modern tool appropriate materials especially for long term use. two - remove steel chunks from lockers; the taller then wide lockers depicted in the tile are not very thick and probably wouldn't create enough steel to create a solid knife out of without smithing work. Though they are made of steel if you're curious, I did look that up.

So why are people so mad about it if they're Doing It Right? Some people don't care about creative integrity and just want the product. Fair enough, if it was a project you Had to pay for. I don't think it means it's an unalienable right, even if you're paying for it, but I understand. Some people were okay with the simulation accuracy changes up until it effected something broad spanning like the start that they pursue. I fell into this. I don't mind changes until something interupts how I establish my foothold, then I get mad. Fair, but, doesn't really have a lot of backing. I'm not paying for it and it's the dev's game. Some people obviously liked what they were doing. And finally, some people didn't like the simulation aspects at all and made long winded arguments about how simulationism ruins games and strict adherence to accuracy is usually a detriment to how a game is played and developed. What? Isn't that the… point of a sim? It is, if you ask me. And I do agree with the point in basically any other genre.

And this happens to a lot of sim games; I've noticed a lot of people play it when they start development, when the simulation is rough and it's not super accurate, and as it develops the simulation becomes more refined and this group of people gets mad, because they didn't play it because it was a sim game, they played it because it was a cool zombie survival game. One of the genres had essentially cannibalized the other.

This is sort've a recurring issue in the like, hobbyist ascii roguelike development circle, because ascii roguelikes tend to attract very devoted people that have years of experience in the genre. They are very opinionated and tend to start throwing things when a game they like starts going down that heathen development path of simulationism or whatever. This is also a part of why the roguelike genre to this day does not have a solid set of rules for development, and by extension why you couldn't talk about roguelite vs roguelike as seperate genres on the internet without getting into a baby fight about it for a while there.

This also works in the other direction, games sometimes go too far into the mechanical side of things according to some. I played Dungeon Crawl Stone Soup for a long time, and one fine evening, during the development of 0.10, the developers decided to remove Mountain Dwarves as a playable race. People got Mad. It's probably the closest thing to an internet riot I've seen. Nearly every avenue of discussion about this game; this was before discord so like, forum threads essentially, nobody was talking about dungeon crawl stone soup on social media in those days except me and I can assure you it was getting no attention; was On Fire about how they Took Out The Dwarves. Part of this was, despite what I said earlier, mechanical. Mountain dwarves were a commonly suggested starter race for a very difficult game. DCSS was a roguelike and a pretty brutal one. I played it for years and never beat it, only got into zot once. A removal of such a simple and easy to use race would hurt accessibility and make it harder for people to get their friends into the game. But… there were other races of a similar nature. High orcs and Minotaurs basically were the same thing as mountain dwarves and this is why the mountain dwarves were removed. Minotaurs were more exotic, and they didn't want those generic dwarves in their game. This was the real reason people got mad. People just really wanted to be a generic fantasy dwarf. The fallout from this event, I imagine, can still be felt to this day. I don't really see DCSS threads anywhere anymore, and they're not nearly as populated when I do. The website is still active, so I can only assume the core fanbase remains, mostly. I wouldn't know, I don't play it anymore. I wanted to be a dwarf.

This sort've segues into my next point; Dwarf Fortress hasn't really had this problem. I suspect because it focuses more on the macro simulation elements then the micro, and also because it's been in "early dev" for basically its entire life. Sure, you get some old hands that grumble about 2D dwarf fortress vs 3D dwarf fortress, but it's pretty uncommon these days.And Dwarf Fortress was probably the source of the previous problem and arguably, in a roundabout way, the one before that. DF was, I suspect, the entry point to ascii roguelikes and ascii roguelike adjacents for a lot of people I think. A lot of people were interested in base building and mining and logistics and not really interested in engaging with the video game equivelent of an extremely ugly person that will slap your hands with a ruler if you don't do a laundry list of mundane tasks in the exact way that they say. As a result a lot of people that got into ASCII roguelikes around that time period were really into dwarves, because they fucking Loved dwarf fortress. As a result a lot of the dwarf fortress migrants to DCSS were very upset when the dwarves were removed, and there were a lot of them. A lot more then anyone expected, I suspect. Similarly,dwarf fortress was the source of a lot of the more simulation flavor ASCII games, in fact I'm pretty sure C:DDA had its start on the Bay12forums. If it didn't it was certainly bolstered by the Bay12 forums A Lot, where it would eventually float up into the more mainstream cool kid forums, gain a small fanbase there, where it would eventually spread out through the rest of the internet. Where the more traditional roguelike players started playing it early in development. Which is where we came in, ultimately.

I'm not gonna claim to know A Solution for this; I think anything that comes down to an individual's opinion is naturally going to be very difficult to resolve in general. But after a bit of thinking that's where I got.

I did go back to C:DDA, incidentally, after I cooled down and tried again with a more daring start; a venom mob protege (pseudo magical martial arts) that started in a city rather then in a shelter; more access to raw materials, more zombies, more combat oriented. Most of those starts got gimped right away because I was surrounded by zombies, some of them died to me being unfamiliar with the game after so long, and I ultimately bailed. Though that's not to insult the game, obviously, I think I've just drifted away from it. Also I'm coming to hate tap combat. Hitting an arrow 30 times to kill one enemy is something I've steadily lost tolerance for. A problem that dwarf fortress Also does not have, even in adventure mode, I note.

Just sayin.

#bats writes #and there's the writing I did over my little break

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