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thatsbelievable · 1 year
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multimilfs · 1 year
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Chessy x Fem!Reader: Operation 'Chunky Man' 
Summary: Chessy + 150 — “Stop distracting me.” 
Prompts found here!
A/N: This was really fun. My favorite thing about Chessy is just how much she means to the Parker family and how involved she is, so I couldn't write a fic without including Annie and Hallie!! I hope you all enjoy it!
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld
Warning(s): None
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“I have eyes on the target. Over.” 
“Copy that, Big Bear. Can you make contact? Over.” 
“I think I can, Red One. Over.” 
“Red Two, are you in position? Over.” 
“Red Two is in position. Over.” 
“Good. Operation Chunky Man is a go. Big Bear, you are free to make contact with the target. Just keep in contact with the team. Over.” 
“Copy that, Red One.” 
You shove the mini walkie-talkie into your back pocket and saunter in the back door. Chessy looks up from her place in front of the stove and smiles, Sammy laying at her feet. The smell of chili and cornbread lingers in the air around you. 
“Hey, hon. Did you and the girls have a good day?” Chessy asks. 
“We did,” You smile, walking around the island to kiss her cheek, “Hal was a lot more interested in fishing than Annie, but they’re both having fun with the walkie-talkies.”
“I’m glad we let them open them early. They seemed pretty out of it.” 
“I think it’s weird for them to have both Nick and Liz gone, even if it's only for a weekend. How was your day?” 
You see Annie creeping into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. Sammy perks up when he sees her, but you shoo her away when Chessy isn’t looking. She rolls her eyes and backs out of the kitchen again. 
Upon waking up this morning, Annie and Hallie had been far too glum for your tastes. To see both girls lacking their usual mischievous nature felt like a punch in the gut. So with a little persuasion, you convinced Chessy to let them open one of the gifts you’d both gotten them. 
The set of walkie-talkies had been perfect since you were taking them fishing. Being out in the woods, you always felt better having an alternative method of communication. You had even left one with Chessy for the day to be safe. 
“I got a lot done. Sammy here even helped, didn’t you, buddy?” Chessy coos and crouches to scratch the dog all over. He accepts the affection willingly, tail wagging a mile a minute. 
With Chessy’s back turned, you eagerly rush Annie into the kitchen. She patters softly over to the stove and ladles a few scoops of chili into the bowl sitting on the counter. You grin and wink at her stealth. Chessy has no idea. 
Offering a thumbs up back, she quietly begins to walk out of the kitchen, careful not to let the spoons clatter against the side of the bowl. You’re both impressed and concerned at how spy-like she is. Offhandedly, you wonder if Liz ever had any contact with MI6. 
“Hold it right there!” Chessy says and you jump. 
Somewhere in the few seconds you’d been distracted, Chessy turned, catching the girl red-handed. Your eyes widen. Annie looks like a deer in headlights, looking between you and Chessy. 
“We’ve been compromised, go!” You shout and wrap both of your arms around Chessy’s waist. 
Annie takes off through the doors and outside where Hallie waits. You’re grateful she’s running outside; some of the chili sloshes out of the bowl when she’s running down the porch steps. 
“Go get her, Sammy.” Chessy instructs. The dog takes off and outside, you can hear Annie squeal as he catches up with her, “And you—stop distracting me.” 
Chessy turns in your arms and offers up a glare. Unfortunately for her, you can tell there’s nothing behind it, and that she’s holding back a smile of her own. You kiss her cheek. 
“Where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” You ask. 
“The ‘fun in that’ is getting to sleep in our bed instead of on the couch.” 
“Come on,” You bat your eyelashes, “You wouldn’t really send your poor, sweet partner to sleep on the cold, hard couch now would you?” 
“Oh yes I would, Big Bear.” 
Your eyes go wide and you gape at her. Her lips finally pull into a mischievous grin. From the back pocket of her jeans, she fishes out a walkie-talkie of her own. You’d forgotten that you’d left one with her when you and the girls ventured into the woods. She heard everything. 
So caught up in keeping her distracted, it had slipped your mind. Her oversized denim shirt had completely obscured where it rested in her back pocket. 
Clearly beat at your own game, you hold up your hands in defeat. Chessy shakes her head and steals a kiss, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, but pulling back as soon as you try for something more. You pout at the loss. 
She holds the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and presses the button, “Girls, come get cornbread to go with your chili. Over.” 
Several beats of crackling silence come down the line. If you listen hard enough, you swear you can hear Annie and Hallie squealing out on the swings in the backyard. They had clearly forgotten the same information you had. Your time at the lake had wiped all of your memories, it seemed. 
She doesn’t wait for a response and turns back to the stove, ladling out three more bowls; a separate bowl for one of the twins, one for you, and one for herself. You set to work on grabbing drinks and cutting the cornbread. Placing it all neatly on the table, you smile at Chessy’s nod of approval. 
You watch her move around the kitchen and smile wistfully. What a woman. When she comes and sets the bowls down, you catch her waist again, kissing her breathless. It surprises her, though not as much as it used to. Chessy hardly hesitates before melting into you. 
The two of you spring apart when Sammy barks outside and comes bounding in the back door. He comes to a stop in front of you and waits. Laughing, you make sure to fill his bowl and set it near his water dish. 
Chessy is about to summon the twins again when the walkie-talkie crackles and a non-accented voice comes over the channel, “We’re coming now, Chessy. Over.” 
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cakerybakery · 6 months
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My fingers itch for something to do. Smoking is too difficult to do these days and my heart isn’t interested in crafting something. I tend the fire some more instead.
Watching the flames, listening to the crackle as the gases inside the wood burn, warm. I’m glad that I’m on fire tending and not one of the youngsters staring out into the dark, guarding the camp.
I was like them once.
Watchful for danger, listening for intruders, cold. I’m glad at times my eyes are not as good as they once were, that my hearing is going, that my bones ache and stiffen in the cold.
At times like these. When I have done my duty faithfully and now I am rewarded with the easier jobs. Tending the fire throughout the night so it will keep each soldier warm in turn, so the coals will be set for the cook in the morning and he won’t have to waste time to build a fire to make our porridge and biscuits.
The next soldier joins me for his turn on break.
He’s as quiet as the last. We’re too close to the enemy’s border to want to draw more attention than we likely have. This isn’t a stealth mission, there would be no fire to tend if it were. We simply have business near the border. If we stay on our side they’ll stay on theirs.
Curiosity causes wars. 
We stay quiet. They stay quiet. We can pretend the other isn’t there.
I check my watch and ladle the boiling water into a hot water bottle for the soldier to help keep him warm while facing the darkness. He trades me for his now cooled one and goes to relieve the next soldier from duty.
The night drags on the same. Tending fire, boiling water, warming soldiers.
Dawn begins to break and I help the cook put on the pot and watch the biscuits to keep them from burning.
Beyond a copse the enemy readies their camp as well.
My eyes meet the general’s and he nods ever slightly, I return the gesture. We both want the same thing. To survive another day, another night, to die at home with our loved ones and not in a useless skirmish over a few trees and an invisible line.
The day shift eats their fill then relieves the night guards, who eat more than their full to make up for the lack of a real meal during the night. After the last night guard has climbed into the wagon for a well deserved sleep I relieve myself of duty.
My unit is well trained. They can break camp without me and continue down the line as I sleep. By the day’s end we will reach our destination and perhaps we will starve war of the dead once more if we succeed.
War is inevitable when men, whom will never have their own blood spilled on a killing field made of mud and trampled wheat, wish to fill their purses with the wealth of other nations.
Tonight I will personally cut the purse strings before war can be made.
Tonight the king dies.
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redwinterroses · 3 years
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Here's something to lift your mood after what you just wrote
Imagine Impulse feels Really Bad after Pearl gets sick testing the new recipe for iDimpy bars, and he spends the next several days just. Caring for her.
He does research on foods commonly eaten in Australia when sick and does his best to make them for her (whether or not he's successful is up to your imagination)
And the whole scenario is just very soft and fluffy hurt/comfort that's very heavy on the comfort
YES. I had to write this. :D It's not specifically Australian, but chicken soup is practically universal comfort food. <3
LOOK GUYS RED CAN DO FLUFF I SWEAR. XD
_____________________________
“Pearl?”
Impulse tapped hesitantly at the door of Pearl’s upside-down boat. Well. One of the doors. He was pretty sure it was a door.
He heard shuffling from inside and stepped back as the door — not the one he’d knocked on — swung open.
Clutching a blanket around her shoulders, her green-tinted face and swollen eyes pitiful in the early morning sunrise, Pearl blinked at him.
“Mornin’, Impulse,” she said, her voice raspy. “Please don’t say you’ve got another candy for me to try.”
Impulse winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, no — I’m really sorry about that, Pearl. Really. I was just… you know. Checking in on you. Figured I’d see how you were doing.”
She stepped back, wordlessly inviting him inside, and he followed. The door swung shut behind him, and he realized that the inside of the house was almost entirely in darkness.
“My head’s killing me,” Pearl said. She crossed the room and dropped onto her bed, curling up on one side and tugging the blanket over her sock-clad toes. “I dunno what you put in that candy, but it’s some nasty stuff.”
Guilt coiled in Impulse’s gut and he grimaced. “What can I do to help?”
Pearl didn’t answer for a moment, her eyes drifting shut.
“Pearl?”
She blinked up at him. “I dunno, Impulse — I’ll be fine in a day or two. Just… I dunno. I can’t think straight right now.” One hand crept out of the blanket and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Okay. Okay. This is a thing I can deal with. Impulse was no stranger to caring for sick or injured friends — Ender knows he’s played nursemaid to Tango and Zed’s various ailments enough times.
“Listen,” he said, crouching down next to the bed and keeping his voice low and gentle. “I’m gonna go see if Stress has got anything to help. I’ll be back soon, okay? You just sleep, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Pearl offered a weak smile, wrinkling her nose at him. “You better,” she said, already half-asleep. “This is all your fault, you big lug.”
He waited a second, his face creased in concern, until her breathing evened out and a soft snore escaped.
Then, standing, he backed away on tiptoe. He’d fly over the Stress, see if she had any suggestions or spare potions laying around. And if Pearl could keep any food down, he knew he had some golden apples in storage.
“Be right back,” he whispered, letting the door close softly behind him. The bright morning of Boatem was fresh and cool, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it right now. He had a friend to care for.
~*~
Twenty minutes after, he was back, slipping back into Pearl’s house with all the stealth of a Grian on a prank trip. Pearl was still sleeping, so he quietly moved to the kitchen and pulled a saucepan from the cabinet, filling it with water and setting it on to boil.
When Pearl finally stirred an hour or so later, the small house was filled with the warm, comforting smell of chicken broth.
“Impulse?” she pushed herself up in the bed, rubbing at her eyes, her hair askew.
“Hey,” he answered. “You feel like eating something?”
Pearl started to shake her head, and then paused. “Actually,” she said, “That smells really good. Maybe… just a little?”
With a smile, Impulse ladled out a small bowl of the stew: herbs, carrots, chicken, and slices of golden apple swimming in the rich broth. There was also a dash of healing potion in it — not enough to taste, but enough to be helpful. He carried it over to Pearl and let her take the bowl, sinking down to sit on a low stair next to the bed.
Pearl took a ginger sip, and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Impulse!” she said, pulling her head back and looking down at the bowl with brighter eyes. “This is… this is actually really good. Where’d you learn to cook?”
He shrugged. “You pick up a few things,” he said. Then, a bit quieter. “I, ah. Again: I apologize, Pearl. I thought I had the candy bar recipe fixed, but I shouldn’t have asked you to be my guinea pig.”
Pearl took another slurp of the stew with a little hmmm of satisfaction. “Nah,” she said, swallowing. “I could have said no, after all.” She lowered the bowl to her lap and gave him a grin that, though weak, still sparked with mischief. “But,” she said. “When I’m better, you’re definitely going to help me clean up Boatem.”
Impulse winced. “Aw, man…” And then he shrugged. “No, you’re right. Fair is fair.”
Pearl nudged his knee with her foot. “And no more experiments.”
“Ah… I can’t promise that.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. But go after Grian next time. He left a giant G in the side of my castle anyway.”
Impulse laughed — catching himself just in time to keep it quiet for Pearl’s headache. “Done,” he said.
Pearl toasted that with the soup bowl. “Thanks, Impulse,” she said quietly.
He shrugged. “Hey,” he said. “That’s what family’s for.”
She smiled, looking down at the bowl and not actually at him. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Family.”
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aarons-main-blog · 3 years
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I changed my mind, and decided to que this up immediately after posting the first one. I won't be home when you see this because I'm attending a funeral, but tell me what you think of it and I will see you when I get home!
Note: this was made on Google docs mobile, so when I get a chance I will actually use tab instead of just paragraphs.
"Wars, you said you knew the area!"
"I thought I did, but this is sure as hell not the same way I remember! Those ruins we passed back there? Those are completely new to me! This forest? I don't even recognize half of these plants! We should have reached a town hours ago!"
"Hey, stop fighting, you two, or-"
The group Link had been following for the last few hours came to a halt as the one with pink-tipped hair argued with the one with a blue scarf. He couldn't tell if they were a threat yet, they just seemed like lost travelers. Then again, that was the main way the Yiga clan tried to trick him. 
Pinky and Wars kept arguing, until finally the smallest one in rainbow colors seemed to snap. "How about we admit it. We are lost, and just happened to find something that reminded Wars of home. It was NOONE's fault, because we ignored the obvious signs something was wrong. Now, we are lost in the middle of a forest, and unless you have an idea of what we should do, then SHUT UP!"
The group all seemed shocked by his outburst, Link and the rainbow included, and once they all seemed to get over it, the kid apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell."
The oldest one, probably the leader, said, "No, it's ok. Today has been a long day, and everyone seems on edge. Perhaps we should set up camp early, does that sound good to everyone?"
The group nodded collectively, and started to set up in the clearing that could barely fit all of them. The one in a green tunic and no pants volunteered for the night's first watch, and while it wouldn't be for a while, they seemed relaxed a bit more by the fact someone was willing to do it. 
Link, who had been hiding a good distance away from them, stood up. He got a stealth potion that would last him a few hours at least ready, then decided he would investigate that night.
As the sun set, an awful smell enveloped the forest. "Legend, what did you do?!"
"I don't know! It was fine a minute ago!"
"It's smoking! How did you burn SOUP of all things?!"
"I didn't burn it, it just got too hot!"
"Because you ****ed up, Legend! That's literally how things burn up!"
"Wind, watch your mouth."
Link had just come back from following the path the group of strangers had taken, looking to see if they dropped anything interesting, when he heard the commotion. It smelled like burning hair or that one shrine he had found with the awful cook. Maybe they were cousins? 
As Link got closer to get a better look, he saw four people standing around a large cooking pot with a brown/green liquid with chunks in it. Pathetic. Are all of them as bad cooks as that one? Link was amazed they had survived however long they had been traveling. 
Pinkey poked the 'soup' with a wooden ladle. "It's still edible, look, the vegetables seem cooked enough."
 "With all due respect, I don't know if I would want to eat that," the kid in a blue shirt said with a grimace. "I don't know if anyone else would either."
The old one took the ladle and used it to try a small sip of what they were calling a soup, and his face scrunched up immediately. 
"Uh, Time?" The blue kid tapped the man's shoulder. 
The man swallowed the drink, coughed, then said, "It is… certainly better than last time."
A few of the others gave their opinions, from encouraging to neutral, before deciding it was better than nothing. 
None of them looked that happy about it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After what theoretically could have been called dinner, the one in the green tunic, which Link had identified as being named "Hyrule," started circling around the camp, gradually making them larger and larger before returning close and starting again. Near the middle of the third round, Link drank his stealth potion and snuck into the campsite. 
There was a young adult in tan with a tall belt, there was a boy in blue(wind), there was a kid in rainbow, there was a young adult with a wolf pelt on his shoulders, still on in his sleep for some reason, there was one in red with pink hair tips(legend), and then there was the leader. Link got a good look at him. He had a fancy set of armour, a big sword, a bad eye, but the strangest thing was he had familiar markings covering his face. They were almost the same… 
As the ones Link saw in nearly every mirror, looking right back at himself. 
"Time?"
Link turned towards the voice to see the one called Hyrule looking at him. He had to play this right. "Yes?"
"Oh, thank the goddess. What are you up to?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I was going to see if you wanted off early." This was dangerous. If he realized the real Time was sleeping soundly next to him, he would wake up all the others, and then he'd have eight grumpy travelers armed to the teeth on his trail in seconds. 
"You sure that's ok with you?"
"Yes, get some rest."
"Thanks, Time," the boy said with a smile. "I will."
Link somewhat directed Hyrule towards the opposite side of where Time was. He was extremely lucky the fire was ruining the boy's night vision. 
"Time?"
Link stopped and turned his head a bit. "Yeah?"
There was a pause. "Thank you for being here for us."
Link smiled. "You don't have to mention it," mimicking the somewhat fancy way he had heard Time use words. "Goodnight."
Hyrule mumbled it back, seemingly exhausted from the travel. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, Hyrule woke up feeling well rested. The birds were singing a song only they knew, the trees provided shade from the early morning sun, the wind rustled leaves and bushes softly, and a nice smell emanated from the cooking pot. 
Wait, did someone cook something edible? Hyrule shot up, feeling excited to see what had made someone unlock their inner cook. 
"Hey, mornin, Hyrule!" 
"Goodmorning, Wind! What's cooking?"
Wind was grinning like an idiot. "No idea, but none of us made it, that's for sure! Four woke up and saw it cooking, then woke up the rest of us, except for you and sky. Time says you didn't wake him up for his shift, so we thought you could use some re-"
Hyrule was confused. "Wait, what? Run that by me one more time." 
Wind's grin fell just a little bit, before coming back up. "Four woke up first, saw something was cooking, and woke everyone but you and sky because we thought you must have kept watch the whole night. Is that not what happened?"
"Yeah, Time said he couldn't sleep last night, so he took over the watch early for me."
Time, who had been listening in, said "I think I would know my sleep schedule better than you would. You didn't wake me up last night, and I didn't wake myself up, that's for certain."
"Then who-"
Four hit the pot a few times. "Breakfast is ready, guys!"
The questions could wait. Nobody had had a good meal for at least a week or two, so they were excited to try the mysterious meal.
It. Was. Delicious!
After discussion, it was determined to be a mushroom, meat and rice based meal. The meat used was probably venison, and a high quality type at that. It was served with some mushrooms nobody recognized but everybody loved, and a strange rice they couldn't find an exact comparison of.
Idle conversation was of generally positive things and how beautiful the world was. All of their problems seemed far away, and the day promised to be a great one. As the last of the food was eaten up, and the bowl was starting to be wiped as clean as it would get, Twilight brought up the question on everyone's mind. 
"I wonder who made this for us."
"Maybe it was a ghost!" Wind exclaimed.
"Maybe it was a passing traveler?" Four said at the same time.
Legend laughed. "It was not a ghost, you idiot!"
"You don't know that," Wind huffed. "I met a ghost once, she was nice!"
"You did NOT meet a ghost!"
"Yeah I did!"
"Cut it out you two," Time said with his signature 'stop' look. "Whoever did it, they must have been a nice person. Don't argue about things this good, ok?"
"Ok!" Wind said. Legend just scoffed. 
Nobody noticed the person sitting on top of a tree, fiddling a strange ocarina.
I hope this was ok! I will be the first to admit my writing style isn't the best, but I think this is one of my better works at the moment. Comments and criticism is appreciated, and I may edit this if I find stupid things I want to change/fix. I should be home Friday, probably Thursday afternoon. Anyway, see you next time!
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majorxbennyxboy · 3 years
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Ngl i want to see Caleb teaching his friends how to throw axes and/or knives like he does. Just bc it's a valuable skill for survival and also for looking badass.
- Ben kinda sucks at it. Like in an actual life or death situation if his only option was to throw something sharp at somebody he could probably get the job done but it just makes him look like a librarian with anger management issues and he's better off with a sword or gun for looking badass.
- Abe also kinda sucks at it but is more likely to go for throwing sharp things at people outside of it being a last resort. He generally needs more than one throw to hit the target and would honestly rather stealth directly into backstabbing range
- Townsend acts disinterested in learning to throw sharp objects but practices independently and actually gets very proficient at throwing little knives he'll kill you
- Anna is most eager and has already hit Been with a ladle from clear across camp (only small exaggeration) before so it isn't long before she's not only throwing sharp objects but also looking highly badass while doing it, though the general consensus is that the ladle is scarier by far.
- Mary is a little too enthusiastic and Caleb is almost certain she imagines specific targets when practicing.
- Sprout is baby years old nobody's allowed to teach him weapons what's wrong with you
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juroguro · 4 years
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@trifiesta something stupid with both hiyo and sorata 👁 i hope u enjoy!
Hiyori stands in the doorframe, shock and fear painted on her face. Sorata sits in the hallway, staring right back at her. He meows before bolting away and disappearing into the apartment complex, one half of a makeshift leash trailing behind him. The other half hangs in Hiyori’s hand; she’s still too shocked to do anything about it.
Oh no.
Now, her father and Onii-chan had told her that Sorata, an indoor house cat, could definitely not go out on a walk, no matter how much she wanted to do it. To be fair, she did test the twine leash and friendship bracelet collar several times around the house but…
Uh oh. Sora-chan was probably heading for the staircase right about now. There wasn’t any time to spare. Hiyori puts on her game face.
Items: saucepan (trap), ladle (noisemaker/weapon), Ziploc bag of catnip (bait), granola bar (stamina recovery), first aid kit (health recovery), string toy (distraction), can of wet food (bait part 2). Stats: Health 100, Stamina 50, Stealth 10, Creativity 35, Speed 95, Wisdom… looking at today’s events, 0. She’s got this one in the bag.
Hiyori bolts down the hallway in Sorata’s direction, quickly checking the surrounding area for any sign of her cat. Nothing. She turns a corner, taking the bag of catnip out of her satchel. She shakes it as she runs down this hall, other materials clattering against her legs as she speeds by.
“Sora-chan!!” She calls out, turning another corner and nearly colliding with a baby carriage. “Woah!! Sorry miss!” she bows to the mother, still shaking the bag of catnip. “Um, have you seen my cat? He’s black and white and about this big!” she signals the size of an average house cat.
“Oh no!” the mother sympathizes with the girl, “I saw him before when I got out of the elevator, but he ran away from me.”
Hiyori gasps. The elevator!? Oh no! She takes off again, shouting a “Thank you!!” as she heads for the elevator.
“Good luck!”
Finally, Hiyori makes it to the elevator, panting before seeing some random guy playing with Sorata?!?! She shouts, “Stop!! That’s my kitty!!” and brandishes her ladle before thinking of how embarrassing she was being.
The guy puts his hands up, “Sorry!” before heading off to his apartment with a grin on his face.
Now there were two. Hiyori, determined as ever, pulls the saucepan out of its secure attachment (twine again) to her back. “Now I’ve got you!” she laughs defiantly, hovering the saucepan above her cat. She lowers it before Sorata can even think about escaping his fate. Her plan was a success!
Sorata meows, scratching the inside of the pot. ...Now what am I supposed to do?
ao3 | ko-fi | commission me!
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pikapeppa · 5 years
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Fenris/f!Hawke smut: The Night Before
Chapter 25 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!
In which Fenris and Rynne Hawke spend some quality time together the night before the siege on Adamant Fortress. NSFW.
Read on AO3; ~3600 words.
*******************
Fenris trudged up the stairs to the upper level of the Griffon’s Keep. He made his way toward the secluded alcove where Rylen had set up a small tent for him and Hawke, and he managed a small smile and a nod for every soldier who greeted him.
By the time he reached the tent, however, he was more than ready to let the smile drop from his face. He sighed and removed his armour, carefully brushing the sand from every joint before arranging it neatly on a nearby table, then crawled into the tent.
Two bedrolls were already laid out side-by-side, along with a small alchemical lamp. Fenris made a mental note to thank Rylen in the morning, then set about rearranging the bedrolls, laying one out like a pallet and the other like a blanket so he and Hawke could share their bedding and their body heat as they usually did.
He sat heavily on the bedrolls, then closed his eyes and simply breathed. The clank of weapons being cleaned and ladles in cooking pots competed with the lively chatter of soldiers joshing around, and Fenris simply listened for a moment.
The sounds weren’t unusual; weapon maintenance and cooking and conversation were common at any military camp. But the mood tonight was different. It was charged somehow, a few shades too energetic to be called truly relaxed – like dancing on the fine line of excitement and anxiety.
They were marching on Adamant Fortress tomorrow. That was the difference. The Inquisition’s soldiers were a mixture of experienced and new, and when Fenris was walking down among the troops who were camped outside the keep, he’d heard the experienced soldiers pepping up their greener counterparts, reassuring them and passing on advice. He’d seen soldiers praying together, singing lewd songs and making lewd jokes and generally fostering a cheerful atmosphere – as cheerful as could be expected, knowing the risks that would come tomorrow.
It was those risks that weighed on Fenris’s mind now as he sat alone in the tent. He’d shoved those risks to the back of his mind as he wandered through the army camp at Hawke’s side, but there was a writhing worry in his gut that wouldn’t abate.
People would die. There was no getting around that. Every pair of eyes he’d met and every smile he’d returned was a face that he might see tomorrow lying lifeless on the ground.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The irony of the situation was this: Fenris was the leader of the Inquisition. He was the one man who was supposedly in charge of everyone here. But he had never been part of a major organized battle like this before.
Oh, he’d fought in countless battles, certainly; gang fights and scraps galore, and more skirmishes than he could ever possibly remember. But the only major military battle he’d been involved in was the Kirkwall Rebellion, and that battle had been sudden and unexpected.
There had been no preparation time for the battle in Kirkwall. None of them had known that that fight was going to happen until suddenly it was upon them. And aside from that short and torturous period of time when they’d been cloistered in the Gallows with the mages, waiting for the Templars to attack, there had been little to no time for Fenris to ruminate about what could happen.  
The current situation was completely different. The assault on Adamant Fortress was as meticulously planned as possible, thanks to Cullen’s impeccable command. And that meant that Fenris had time to think about what could happen tomorrow – far too much time.
Maybe it was a mistake to escape the noise and activity of the army camp to be alone.
“Fenris?”
He looked up as Hawke poked her head through the tent flap. She smiled at him. “Hey there,” she said softly. “I’m just going to take off my kit and my boots. I think there’s enough sand in them to build a replica of this keep.”
Fenris cleared his throat. “Hopefully not a replica that is to scale,” he joked.
Her laughter floated through the tent flap. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said. A couple of minutes later, she slipped into the tent wearing just her trousers and her cotton undershirt.
She sat beside him. “You did well down there,” she said. “Being the wise and encouraging leader. I think it really cheered them up to see you walking around. You know, because you’re so handsome.” She batted her eyelashes.
He smirked. “I beg to disagree. I believe your beauty is to thank for their boosted morale.”
She laughed. “You smooth talker,” she said happily. She stretched out on her side and propped her cheek on her fist, then coyly patted the bedroll beside her.
Fenris lay on his back beside her, and she shifted closer and slung one leg over his. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
He folded one arm behind his head. “Fine,” he said. He snuck his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and idly stroked the curve of her hip.
She shot him a chiding look. “Fenris. Come on. You can talk to me.”
“About what?” he said.
“About tomorrow,” Hawke said. “You know, this whole huge siege situation we’re going into. I hope it won’t take too long for Cullen’s people to get us through the gates and into the fortress proper. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to crash the blood magic party. ‘Hey demons, better run for your lives – oh wait, most of you haven’t got legs.’” She laughed softly and rubbed the collar of his shirt between her fingers.
She was nervous. It was obvious in her smile and her downcast eyes. This was exactly what Fenris had been trying to ward off.
He smoothed his palm along her back and dredged up a smile. “You’ll have to save the largest pride demons for me. I’ll remove their legs so they cannot run from you.”
She grinned at him briefly, then tilted her head. “You’re humouring me.”
“I am always humouring you,” Fenris said. “You are fairly ridiculous most of the time.”
She laughed again, then pinched his earlobe. “I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t have to put on a show for me. Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
“Are you?” he said.
She shot him another chiding glance at his obvious deflection, then sighed and rested her chin on his chest. “Of course. This is a weird situation. The waiting before the battle…” She grimaced. “I don’t like it. I’d rather go flying in by the seat of my pants than sit around waiting like this. Or, you know, not get involved in any battle at all. Alas, we can’t always get what we want.”
“I agree,” Fenris said quietly.
She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “You do?”
Fenris nodded. “I am unaccustomed to this kind of waiting. I find it unnerving as well.”  
She sat up on her elbows. “Have you never been in a big planned battle before, then?”
He shook his head. “Such waiting is the purview of a soldier, and I have never been that. I trained in combat, but only for Danarius’s protection. And then in a different way with the fog warriors, of course. But even then, the fog warriors are stealth attackers,” he explained. “We knew who we were going to hit and when, but the hits happened swiftly. The goal was always to take lives quickly and leave none behind, and the vast majority of the time, we were successful.”
Hawke nodded slowly. “That’s… very different than tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Fenris said quietly. “Tomorrow…” He hesitated, then sighed. “Many people will die tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Hawke murmured. “Kind of feels like right before the Templars attacked us in the Gallows, doesn’t it?”
He looked at her. That was exactly what he’d been thinking.
She was smiling still, but beneath the lovely mask of her smile, her true feelings were evident in the tilt of her eyebrows: she was scared.
He swallowed hard as his own suppressed fear rose in his belly. “We’ll be all right, Hawke,” he told her quietly. “I will protect you.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “I’ll protect you, remember. I’ve been practicing at casting barriers one right after the other for if we’re separated – one for me, one for you.” She frowned fiercely at him. “You have to let me protect you tomorrow.”
He clenched his jaw against the instinctive refusal that was clamouring at the back of his tongue. Her frown deepened, and finally he sighed.
“All right,” he grunted, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit. “But you must remember to keep a defensive role. Stay back from the worst of the danger. None of your usual bursting into the thick of the battle. Promise me.”
She inhaled, then blew out a gusty breath and nodded.  “All right, I promise,” she said.
They gazed at each other in silence for a long and loaded moment. Then Hawke nervously licked her lips. “Fenris, I’m… I don’t want anything to happen to you.”  
A nearly-painful surge of tenderness closed his throat for a moment. He carefully breathed through it and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “There is nothing that will tear me from your side. You know that.”
She lowered her eyes and didn’t reply, and Fenris gently tilted her chin up until she was forced to meet his gaze. “I will fell anyone or anything that tries to stand between us, Hawke,” he murmured. “That is my promise to you.”
She swallowed hard, then smiled. “I like that plan,” she said. “So full of good murderous plans, you are. That’s why you’re the Inquisitor.”
He scoffed softly as Hawke shifted higher on his body. “I hope that is not why. It’s a poor criterion for choosing a leader.”
She smiled and brushed his nose with hers. “It’s good enough for me,” she whispered, and she kissed him.
He parted his lips for her, and her tongue brushed against his in a soft press of heat. She shifted between his legs, and he slipped his hands inside the back of her shirt to feel the smooth heat of her skin. Her fingers stroked his neck and the tender spot behind his ear, and then she was turning his head to the side and lowering her lips to his neck.
She brushed his ear with her nose and pressed her lips to the pulse at his throat, and Fenris inhaled slowly as a wave of heat rose through his body. Hawke trailed her tongue along the tattoos that marred his skin until she found his collarbone, and he exhaled as her teeth grazed the tendon in his neck.
He gathered her shirt in his hands and tugged. She obeyed his wordless request, sitting up on her knees to pull the shirt over her head, and Fenris propped himself up on his elbows to watch as she divested herself of her breastband as well.
She sat back and shucked her trousers and her smallclothes, and Fenris swallowed before speaking softly. “You don’t have to take it all off,” he rasped, even as his greedy eyes roamed over her naked body. “What if there is an emergency and someone comes…?”
She straddled his fully-clothed body. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I want you to look at me. Maybe I’m hoping to boost your morale.”
Her smile was small but cheeky, and Fenris couldn’t help but smile in return. “Consider it boosted,” he said, and he lifted his hips beneath her.
Her smile became a grin. She arched her back slowly, pressing her chest toward him, and when his predictable gaze fell to her breasts, she took his hands and placed them on her body.
She guided his glowing left palm to her breast. “Touch me,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply; he only obeyed. He brushed his fingers over her nipple, savouring the firm feel of it beneath every fingertip, then grasped her bottom and pulled her closer on his lap.
He lowered his mouth to her breast, and she gasped. Fenris lapped carefully at her nipple until she moaned, then lifted his head to look her in the eye.
“Silence, Hawke,” he whispered. “Remember, your sounds are mine.”
She grinned at him. In the warm glow of the alchemical lamp, her eyes were dark and brilliant with lust. “You’d better give me something to be silent about, then,” she retorted.
Fenris smirked, then wrapped one arm around her waist and rolled so she was flat on her back beneath him. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, but her laughter soon melted into eager panting breaths as Fenris kneeled between her legs and pushed her knees apart.
He smoothed his palms along the buttery-soft skin of her inner thighs and stared at her for a moment. The sounds of the soldiers were apparent still, clanking and crackling fires and laughter, but they were little more than background noise now, a backdrop for the sight of Hawke spread wide before him. He drank her in greedily, watching the way the flickering lamplight highlighted the curves and peaks of her body, and when she started to twist restlessly beneath him, he lowered his lips between her legs.
He pressed his tongue to her swollen little bud, and she eagerly jerked her hips. Fenris lapped at the sweetness that was pooling between her legs, careful to take every fragrant drop on his tongue, and when she was shining from the moisture of his mouth alone, he pressed another ravenous kiss to her heated centre.
She undulated toward him, and Fenris lifted his gaze to watch the desperate rise and fall of her ribs as he caressed her clit with the flat of his tongue. Soon she was rocking against his mouth, meeting his lips and tongue with the same zeal that he was bestowing upon her, and when her thighs went tense beneath his palms, he knew she was close.
Her ecstasy came upon her, heralded by the shuddering of her body as she silently thrust her hips toward his face, and Fenris gave her the firm treatment of his lips and tongue until she settled onto the bedding.
She pulled her hand away from her mouth and reached for him silently, and Fenris rose to his knees and shucked his clothes as swiftly as he could in the confines of the tent. Then he was stretching over her, hooking her leg over his hip and cupping her flushed cheek in his palm, and when he sheathed himself inside of her, he silenced them both with a desperate kiss.
He could feel the vibration of her moan against his tongue, and he moaned in turn as she took him all the way to the hilt. He sank slowly into her warmth, long slow thrusts that brought their bodies flush together, lifting his pleasure higher with every careful draw and pull.
His fingers slid into the tufty hair at her nape. She curled her hips to meet his every thrust, then suddenly she broke from his kiss and clasped his jaw in her fingers.
Fenris wrenched his eyes open and looked at her. Her face was rife with pleasure, her eyebrows lifted and her lips parted and her eyes glowing with heat, and now that he was looking at her beautiful and rapturous face, he couldn’t look away.
He stared at her in silence, and without breaking her gaze, she eagerly nodded her head.
Fenris withdrew slowly, then thrust into her hard, and her lips parted more desperately still. “More,” she whispered – the faintest whisper, so faint that it was practically inaudible: more a movement of her lips than an actual trace of sound.
He nodded, then slammed his hips into hers, and she threw her head back in ecstasy before meeting his eyes once more. Within seconds, they were fucking hard and fast, and her nails were digging into his shoulder while his fingertips gripped the nape of her neck, and still their eyes were desperately locked on each other’s faces as they fucked and breathed as fiercely and quietly as they could.
Hawke’s heated gaze was steady and intense, and her face was full of all the best things: love and desire and sheer unadulterated pleasure, all those glorious and hedonistic things that Fenris only ever remembered enjoying with her. With every forceful thrust, that pleasure was rising higher, spanning from his pelvis to his calves and his chest and his throat, building and rising and pushing higher still until –
Fenris couldn’t stand it anymore. He broke his own rule and gasped aloud. “I love you,” he groaned.
She grabbed his neck and kissed him hard, and he groaned into her mouth as they fucked more desperately still. Then her lips were on his cheekbone, and her breath was ghosting across his ear. “I love you too,” she gasped. “Fenris, I love you, I love you so much–”
“I… Rynne, I love you,” he insisted. His own voice was a desperate guttural whimper, but he didn’t care; they didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, and his words of protection and togetherness were sincere – venhedis, nothing he’d ever said was more sincere than his promises to keep them together and safe.
But anything could happen tomorrow. His promises might only take him so far when blood magic was at play, and when had fate ever really been kind to him?
“Hey,” Hawke murmured. She stroked his cheek. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” he whispered. “I am here.” He focused on her face, her beautiful pleasured face with her soft raspberry lips and her glittering copper eyes, then lowered his lips to hers and redoubled his amorous efforts.
He thrust into her hard and fast, and she gripped his arms and whimpered into his mouth, then she broke away from his lips and told him she loved him, telling him over and over again until her words were a mess of affection and pleasure and longing as she whispered them against his cheekbone. Minutes later they were shuddering together, and his gasping mouth was pressed to her salt-laced neck as she ground her pelvis firmly against him to wring every last drop of pleasure from his body.
They gradually fell still, and Fenris closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance of her skin. Her fingers carded carefully through his hair, and her husky voice floated to his ears.
“This better not have been farewell sex on your part,” she said.
He opened his eyes, then carefully lifted himself onto his elbows to look down at her. She was frowning slightly, and Fenris brushed a thumb over her eyebrow as though to wipe the frown away.
“Of course not,” he told her seriously. “Never.”
Her eyebrows relaxed. “All right,” she said. “It’s just… I know you’re worried. I don’t want you to worry.” She smiled faintly. “And now you don’t have to worry, because this was good luck sex.”
I don’t want you to worry, either, he thought. But he smiled in return. “Only good luck?” he teased softly. “A poor showing on my part, then. I would have called it excellent luck sex.”
She grinned, then fondly pinched his chin. “You fucking smooth talker,” she murmured.
He smiled more widely, but their smiles didn’t last; Fenris watched as Hawke’s face grew serious once more, and he could feel his own face creasing into a frown as well.
He carefully shifted off of her body, and they slid under the covers and curled together. Hawke wrapped her arm around him and tucked her knee between his thighs, and Fenris smoothed her sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead before pulling her closer still.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I am scared, Hawke,” he confessed. “I… I’ve tried to be lighthearted about all of this…”
“I noticed,” she said softly. She squeezed him gently. “That’s why I asked if you were humouring me.”
He gave her a half-hearted smile, then sighed heavily. Her fingers curled and flexed idly against his back in a relaxed sort of scratch, and against all odds, Fenris felt his mind drifting at her soothing touch.
Her quiet voice roused him from his floating reverie. “We’ll protect each other,” she said softly. “That’s all there is to it.”
He nodded. Cullen had planned everything for tomorrow as best he could, but the situation was dire and the risks were high. Even the best-laid plans could be set awry by the simplest of bad intentions, and any number of unpredictable factors could arise to throw their plans into disarray.
In the face of possible chaos, there were only two things Fenris and Hawke could do: stay together and protect each other. He pulled her closer into the shelter of his naked body, and as she wrapped her arm more securely around his waist, he made a silent vow: that he and Hawke would stay together and protect each other, no matter what.
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epic-summaries · 5 years
Text
British LegendsxPokémon
Kings/Gym Leaders Part 3
Psychic Type Leader:
King Urien
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It was hard to figure out what type Urien should master. I decided on Psychic because in the first could of gens it was considered one of the strong types, which is why there are so many Psychic legendaries. Anyway, I always thought of Urien as very powerful and strong, so Psychic.
Okay I’m starting to see a pattern, I like puzzle gyms. Buts it’s Arthuriana, where would we be without a haunted castle? Anyway, Morgana renovated the castle and made into a creepy castle with magic and mystery. There’s rumours that maybe a legendary lives in the castle. In the castle things move by itself (it’s just telekinesis) and you have to find your way to the main hall. In the main hall Urien sits in his chair waiting for the battle.
Metagross’ moves are Zen Headbutt, Meteor Mash, Ice Punch and Earthquake.
Meowstic’s moveset is Light Screen, Psychic, Thunder Wave and Shadow Ball
Oranguru’s moves are Protect, Psychic, Foul Play and Shadow Ball
Sigilyph’s moves are Psyshock, Air Slash, Ice Beam and Cosmic Power.
Alolan Raichu’s moves are Nasty Plot, Sweet Kiss, Psychic and Thunderbolt.
Wobbuffet can only learn four moves, it is its gimmick. The moves are Counter, Mirror Coat, Safeguard and Destiny Bond.
Rock Type Leader:
Lady Laudine
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This one may be a little out there. But hear me out.
Basically the way you get to the gym/castle is the same as the original story. But that’s the route not the gym. To get into the gym you need take the water out of the fountain with a ladle and pour it on the rock. This summons a battle between Tornadus and Thundurus. The two legendaries create an epic storm. When they finish, a black knight comes out and you must battle him. After you win the battle, he lets you into the castle and you can battle the gym leader, Laudine. (She’s Rock because rock is strong against Tornadus and Thundurus and she keeps the two from totally destroying the castle, the people and the surrounding town. Sure she could have been an Ice type leader too but Rock was the weakness that came to mind first.)
Tynanitar’s moves are Stone Edge, Crunch, Aerial Ace and Earthquake.
Lycanroc Midnight Form moveset is Stone Edge, Brick Break, Crunch, Sword Dance and Splintered Stormshards.
Magcargo’s moves are Earth Power, Flamethrower, Amnesia and Light Screen.
Rhyperior’s moves are Earthquake, Stealth Rocker, Fire Punch and Stone Edge.
Alolan Golem’s moves are Rock Slide, Thunder Punch, Mega Punch and Earthquake.
Probopass’ moveset is Stone Edge, Magnet Bomb, Thunder Wave, Power Gem.
Ice Type Leader:
Lord Cilydd
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Why ice? For some unknown reason I personally associate Cilydd’s castle with winter. I have absolutely no reason for this? Maybe the reason that the flower did not grow on his dead wife’s grave is that the Ice Pokémon kept stopping it from growing? Yeah let’s go with that.
When it gets cold, you know you are close. You find this castle made of ice. You slip and slide. Then fall into a room of ice mirrors and you see a person reflected. You must find the real person, battle them and move on to the next mirror room. Eventually you find your way into Cilydd’s room.
Glalie’s moves are Ice Fang, Headbutt, Crunch and Protect.
Mamoswine’s moveset is Earthquake, Ice Fang, Stone Edge and Take Down.
Crabominable’s moveset is Ice Hammer, Close Combat, Scald and Brutal Swing.
Vaniluxe’s moves are Ice Beam, Hail, Blizzard and Mirror Shot.
Glaceon’s moves are Ice Beam, Bite, Toxic, Protect.
Walrein’s moveset is Ice Beam, Surf, Crunch and Body Slam.
Bug Type Leader:
King Mark
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Why bug? Mark is either seen as a total asshole or totally pathetic. I prefer the well meaning but “pathetic” King. And we all know that bug is stereotypically the weak type. In this team maybe Scolipede and Mega Pinsir are good competitively (MAYBE).
Mark’s castle is on the hills and cliffs of Tintangel. You walk the castle, some people will battle you and then you met Mark in the great hall. No gimmicks, just a walk. It’s a popular gym, not just because it’s easy but also doesn’t try to kill you.
Pinsir’s moves are X-Scissor, Swords Dance, Superpower and Stone Edge.
Ribombee’s moves are Bug Buzz, Dazzling Gleam, Quiver Dance and Draining Kiss.
Scolipede’s moves are Megahorn, X-Scissor, Poison Jab and Earthquake.
Vikavolt’s moveset is Bug Buzz, Thunderbolt, Dig and Agility.
Kricketune’s moves are X-Scissor, Sing, Night Slash and Leech Life.
Crustle’s moves are X-Scissor, Rock Slide, Stealth Rock and Slash.
Dragon Type Leader:
King Hoel
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Like Urien, Hoel always felt powerful to me. He’s king of all of Brittany. It’s a large piece of land.
Hoel’s castle is in the forest on a cliff looking at the Channel. There are two ways up, a waterfall or flying. When you go through waterfall, you get stuck in caves behind it where you have to fight trainers. Then you have to have to go back up and there’s another cave. In the cave you have to find Garchomp’s treasure and only then you will be shown the way into Hoel’s great hall for a battle.
Garchomp’s moves are Fire Fang, Dragon Claw, Earthquake and Poison Jab.
Dragonite’s moves are Frie Punch, Surf, Outrage and Fly.
Duddigon’s moveset is Dragon Claw, Crunch, Earthquake and Night Slash.
Alolan Exeggutor’s moveset is Stun Spore, Dragon Hammer, Mega Drain, Flamethrower.
Kingdra’s moves are Ice Beam, Dragon Pulse, Hydro Pump and Flash Cannon.
Dragalge’s moves are Dragon Pulse, Sludge Bomb, Scald, Shadow Claw.
Previous in series: Kings/Gym Leaders Part 2
Next in series: Kings/Gym Leaders Part 4
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randomotakugirl · 5 years
Text
Protective of you
Basically a new au I thought of; Vampires, Weresquids and the normals oh my! 
“Can I at least move, Skull?”
That’s the question Aloha had to ask every night of a full moon. It wasn’t Skull’s fault, Aloha knew that, but there was one small problem. Skull was way too protective of Aloha. Maybe it was because the other two leaders were vampires or because Aloha was a normal inkling, he couldn’t figure it why.
A small whine broke Aloha out of his thoughts as he turned his head to face the weresquid who was resting his head on Aloha’s lap. “I’ll come back Skull. Don’t worry! I just need to check on my teammates to see how they’re holding up.” Aloha reassured Skull, getting a small gruff from him. Aloha let out a small sigh, rolling his eyes as he petted Skull’s head softly. “Alright fine. Do you want to come with me?” That seem to win in Aloha’s favor, as he saw Skull getting up. “I’ll meet you outside, okay? The other two aren’t back from the store so I have to lock up.” Aloha said, opening the window.
Again, it wasn’t Skull’s fault that he was bigger and taller than a normal weresquid. Getting a small nuzzle from Skull, Aloha watched as Skull jump from the window, landing softly on the ground on all four paws, looking up to him. “I’ll be down” Aloha said, closing the window and making sure to lock it. He remembered getting scolded by Army for leaving windows open before as he grabbed his keys, hurrying down the stairs and out the front door, locking it.
The moment Aloha locked the door, he went face to face with Skull. “Geez Skull, don't scare me like that~” Aloha joked, as the two started making their walk to Snorkel’s place. Skull was on guard, Aloha understanding as other vampires and weresquids did the same thing with their normal inkling friends. Even Army and Mask did the same thing whenever they leave during the night with him. After a few minutes they made it to Snorkel’s house, Aloha was tackled down. “Hello to you too, Octoglasses~” Aloha smiled at the pink weresquid on him, before glancing towards Straw. “Hey Straw~ See you still have your form under control.” Straw nodded, twirling a bit. “Yep~ Still got it~!” She replied before jumping on him too. “Hey, leave some room for me too~!” Another voice broke out, Aloha knowing who it was. “Yo Snorkel~!” Aloha waved, getting up once the two got off him. “Heey Aloha~ What is up” Snorkel asked helping Aloha up from the ground. “Not much man~ I came to see ya three~” Aloha replied, his arm wrapping around Snorkel’s waist.
Aloha and Snorkel started talking, laughing with each other as Skull let a watchful eye. Even with the other two bothering him, he kept his gaze on Aloha. “C’moooon Skully~ Let’s play!” Straw said and Octoglasses agreed with a small noise, pushing him with her snout. Aloha noticed this, before sighing looking up to the night sky. “Maaaan. I wonder why Skull acts like this during these nights.”
“Hmm maybe he’s just worried bout you man! I get that way seeing you out super late at night, especially since some vampire inklings and weresquids aren’t the nicest!” Snorkel suggested, patting Aloha’s back. “Yeah? That actually makes a lot sense!” Aloha replied, humming a bit. Aloha turned his head, seeing both Straw and Octoglasses play around Skull, or at least trying to make him join them. After a while of talking,  Snorkel’s stomach growled a bit, Aloha giving him a look. “Really dude? Did you miss it that much?” Aloha laughed, with Snorkel joining in. “It has been a while man! Plus you do smell good~!” He replied, turning to look at Skull.
“Yo Skull! You wouldn’t mind if I-“ Snorkel couldn’t finish his sentence as Skull growled a bit. “Yo chill Skully. Unlike those losers, I don’t take much.” Snorkel replied with a small frown. Skull still growled, before Aloha cupped his face giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine Skull~ You can trust Snorkel!” Aloha petted him, as Straw and Octoglasses came over with smiles. “That’s right Skull! Snorkel would never hurt Aloha at all!” Straw said with a smile, “he has done this a lot before too! So there’s no need to worry if it’s about hurting Aloha.” She added as Octoglasses let out a small noise in agreement. After a while, Skull made a noise, Straw translating he agreed, as Aloha gave a small kiss on his head. “I’ll be fine” Aloha said before going by Snorkel. Skull watched the two, Snorkel seemingly to do something before biting down on Aloha’s neck. He noticed Aloha didn’t flinch at all, the bite only lasting a few seconds before Snorkel pulled away, cleaning the wound. “Yo~ Thanks again man!”
“Anytime buddy~” Aloha smiled before his phone went off, getting a message that Army and Mask will be home soon with groceries. “Oof, we have to leave but it was great seeing you guys again~! We’ll have to do a battle together soon~” Aloha said, first giving Snorkel a hug before giving Octoglasses and Straw one. “See ya soon Aloha~!” Straw waved as Aloha and Skull turned to leave, walking back to the house.
The walk back home was quiet, Aloha knew Skull is probably mad after he let Snorkel drink from him. “Don’t be angry at him Skull. Snorkel is one of  my best friends. Even my parents trusted him, y’know” Aloha spoke, trying to bring Skull’s mood back up. He frowned when it didn’t .
“Is it because what Rider did? You know he can’t really control his form like you and Octoglasses.” This stopped Skull in his tracks, Aloha softly petting him. “It’s neither yours or his fault Skull. No one got hurt either~” Aloha added, as they continued walking. While it wasn’t a lie, Skull did remember everything. Rider had lost control of his weresquid form and it took almost everyone to subdue him. That is until Stealth bit him, knocking him out from sucking too much blood from Rider. It was the fact even Aloha and Goggles were trying to stop him as well, Glasses fearing for Goggles life, and Skull really couldn’t do much of anything without accidentally harming someone else.
After a few minutes, they made it back to the house, where all four of the S4 leaders shared, Aloha quickly unlocking it and hurrying to Skull’s room so he could open the window again. “You ready?” Aloha asked as he moved back, surprised on how fast Skull jumped back in. “Alrighty~” Aloha said, leaning over to close the window, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning~” Aloha said, about to leave the room before being stopped by Skull’s paw. “Skull? What is it now?” Aloha asked, hearing a small huff coming from the other. “Do you want me to stay with you instead?” Aloha sighed, seeing Skull nodded a bit, “Alright.” Aloha took a look outside, before taking off his shoes, getting in Skull’s bed. Skull soon joined after, curling around him with a small noise. “Geez Skull~ I’ll see you in the morning~ Goodnight~” Aloha said, giving him one last pet before sleep took over, Skull falling asleep soon after.
Morning came as Skull rubbed his eyes, glad he was back in his inkling form. Looking to his side he saw Aloha curled up asleep, his tentacles down. The first thing he noticed was the bite mark that was on Aloha’s neck was gone. ‘Snorkel was telling the truth..’  Skull said, remembering the times Army and Mask had bit Aloha. Their bite marks didn’t disappear as quickly as Snorkel’s did, which told him Snorkel didn’t take much as promised. He decided to get out of bed, stretching, and left the room for the other to continue sleeping. Going to the kitchen, he saw Army already up and cooking breakfast. “Morning” Skull said, catching Army’s attention as he turned away from the stove. “Good morning Skull. You’re up early” Army said, turning his attention back to the stove, “Aloha isn’t up yet? I understand Mask, seeing he was playing video games all night long.”
“No, he’s still-“
“I’m up” a voice spoke from behind them. Aloha walked into the kitchen, “I woke up with you got off the bed, Skull.” Army raised his eyebrows, looking between the two. “Being overprotective again Skull?” Army asked, getting a small huff. He understood as he remembered the first time hearing Aloha was neither a vampire or a weresquid but a normal inkling, with speed that could almost match theirs. He was stronger than Army himself, which did surprise him. “Yep~ Took up most of the bed though to the point where it got too hot” Aloha teased, chuckling when he saw Skull’s expression. “It’s alright Skull~ I’m just joking! You didn’t even take up that much space providing that it’s your bed you let me sleep on. Now excuse me while I get Mask up, since he’ll complain again about everyone else getting the better breakfast again~” Aloha said, leaving the kitchen and to the hallway. Voices were soon heard before yelling, as Army sighed. “And now they’re fighting. Great.” Army put down his ladle before turning to Skull. “It’s understandable to be overprotected Skull, though Aloha knows how to take care of himself. For now, do help set up” Army added, getting the plates ready.
Skull silently agreed, grabbing the dishes with food on them, setting them down on the table. He thought about what Army said. It’s true Aloha could take care of himself, though deep down he gets a feeling that won’t last long.
And he hoped his thoughts won’t become a reality.
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anonymous-ivplay · 5 years
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Fictober Day 5: Take What You Need
Eyyyy, thanks @fictober18 for reblogging my stuff! Not gonna lie, I hope this means more people will actually see it lol. Also this definitely means I should put in “Previous/Next” links to make it easier to read them all, but one thing at a time for my lazy ass, please.
Also, yes I’m posting the past few days late. I was on a weekend trip and didn't bring my laptop along, and also my access to Wi-Fi was unpredictable, so it would have been hard to work on these if I did. So my apologies, but I'll be catching up on prompts today.
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“Today’s combat practice is going to be a little different.”
Caitria, who was sitting on the ground polishing her knife, looked up. “Different how?”
The giantess didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring over her hearth. “Up until now you and I have been sparring. And while hand-to-hand combat is crucial, it is not the only skill you must have if you are to lead an army against the Romans. The ability to strategize, to organize a sound plan of attack, is just as important, if not more so.”
Of course, that made sense. Lack of organization was what had been the downfall of the legendary Boudicca, after all. Still, Caitria wrinkled her nose as she thought through the idea. “How will that work, though? There are only the two of us.”
Still concentrating on her pot, Kore smiled. “I have my ways. And we shall not begin with an entire army, in any case. First you must master the art of strategizing for yourself.”
Again, that made sense. She didn’t need to understand how the giantess was able to accomplish what she did, only that it would come to pass. Finishing with her knife, Caitria tucked it into her belt and stood up. “Then what do you have in mind for today?”
“We will begin with a simple stealth operation.”
“Stealth operation?”
“Yes. Your goal will be to infiltrate an encampment that I will create for you without being detected.” She paused as she lifted her stirring ladle to her lips to taste the honeyed porridge. “Mm, but our breakfast is ready. I will explain further details after.”
As was now routine, Caitria dutifully brought over two wooden bowls for Kore to fill—one human-sized, one giant-sized—then carried the steaming servings over to the giantess’s small dining table. Well, it was small for Kore. For Caitria its height came up to her shoulders, and she had to stand in order to use the table surface.
After breakfast, Caitria started for the line of weapons along the cave wall, then stopped. “Wait. If this is a stealth operation, then what sort of weapons do I need?”
“Tools,” Kore corrected, stacking the bowls to wash in the creek later on. “A stealth operation requires tools more than it does weapons. And it so happens that part of your training today is to learn what you will want or prefer. But for now, take what you need.” She chuckled. “Or at least, what you think you will need.”
Caitria knew the giantess’s manner of thinking well enough by now that she decided it would be best not to overthink this. “I shall only take my knife, then. It is the only thing I know for certain I will need, and the rest I will let you teach me.”
Kore nodded in approval. “A wise decision. Now let us begin.”
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anewalternia · 6 years
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it knows its seasons. the waiting. the sudden.
Word Count: 6706 Rating: M/hard R/moderate nsfw. Warnings: loss of bodily autonomy, street sex work, offscreen blackrom gone wrong (physical abuse), slavery, mass murder, undiagnosed PTSD, substance use, and other Alternia-typical shit. Characters: psiioniic, a fantroll (arccos thaeta/whatever she’s calling herself this sweep), a few more fantrolls alluded to. Pairings: psii/fantroll(s), fantrolls/fantrolls Summary: Your name is Alcyon Tensor and you are a bounty hunter. You are rather surprised when you bump into Mituna in District 10, the pleasure district, especially since last Arcsin told you, Mituna was running around with that would-be group of revolutionaries. But that’s just as well. He can help you fulfill your objective. You promise to give him half your bounty if he does. But neither you nor he can anticpate what will happen next.
@psychopyro813 stop encouraging my bad ideas
“This is a perfect fluid, having no age nor hours, surviving scarless, unaltered, loving rest, willing to run forever to find its peace in equal seas in currents of still glass.” - Muriel Rukeyser, The Book of The Dead
Your name is Alcyon Tensor. Or it is, now, at least.
You’re known to most as The Sanguine, anyway.
You get out of your recuperacoon - the slime has been cut down by a third with some kind of shitty, cheaper substitute - and consequently, you haven’t been sleeping as well as you could have been. You devour two energy grubs and contemplate what you must do today.
Another fucking assignment, this one in District 10: the pleasure district.
You wish you were going there to get your bulge serviced, but nope. Not today.
You dress somewhat hemoanonymously - black leggings, black top with the bronze sign of a dead troll on the breast, a slate gray overcoat that covers the sign, and a scarf tied so high around your neck that it conceals your ears. Thankfully.
The only thing that might hint at your hemospectral caste, aside from the sign on your shirt, are your worn, dependable brown boots, which come up to mid-calf. The soles and heel are thin enough that you can operate with a certain degree of stealth.
And then there’s your brown irises, the deadest giveaway. But those are from contact lenses. Ten thousand caegar contact lenses.
You’re still paying for them, much to your chagrin. Fucking interest. Fuck interest with a massive bulge. Only thing you’re interested in at the moment is maybe culling the troll who made the loan in the first place, then you might not have to pay them back.
You make your way to a food vendor in this lowblood district to get your first meal of the night. Tonight it’s some kind of overly salty fish, stewed with tomatoes, rice, some vegetables cut too fine for you to identify, and probably grubloaf. There’s always grubloaf. 
Grubloaf is a universal constant, sort of like death, and the Condesce. And just about as palatable as either.
“That’ll be three caegars, Tensor,” the rustblood, Tiaang, says.
You give him five, and once you finish your first portion, he ladles a second into the bowl.
“It’s good to see a troll that eats,” he says. “So many are too skinny.”
He then proceeds to press a sweet into your hand. 
There’re no quadrant overtones in it; he’s just looking out for you because you look quite a few sweeps younger than you are. You’re seventeen, but you look a little less than half that. This is exceedingly annoying.
Were it a peppermint, you might have thrown up. But no, it’s just a chocolate truffle, wrapped in paper. 
Not exactly your style. 
You briefly think of Pinyix, who would have inhaled it in a second. You wonder how they’re doing. If they’re steadier on their feet now.
No matter. Your assignment waits for no one and nothing. You review what you know about the troll at the center of your objective: Terbel Rukbat, known to most as the the Unstable Thespian. 
He performs for highbloods, and on his off-hours, he enjoys violent one-off black flings with lowblood prostitutes. Now you’re not here to judge how a troll gets their bulges wet, or their freak on, but this troll owes your leader money, and the price on his head is about the same as the price he owes.
Your assignment is simple. Either get the money off Terbel, or cull him.
Either way, his debt will be satisfied. 
You wonder whether you should use the garrote or the daggers. The garrote will kill him faster, but the daggers will spill more blood, and amuse you to a greater degree.
Maybe both.
You have both.
Both is fine.
You get on a communal mass transit vehicle, and really hope none of the trolls on it decide to make any advances on you. Yes, you’re small. Yes, you are obviously female. Yes, most of the people in this vehicle are headed to fucking bucketland. 
That does not mean they need to touch you. Or leer at you.
Would zapping one of them not be a dead giveaway that you are a runaway psion, that is exactly what you would do.
You’re quick to run into a familiar face after you get off the mass transit vehicle, one you haven’t seen in two sweeps. 
He stands outside of one of those disreputable buildings, dressed like... you’d expect a concupiscent hooker to dress, his makeup done to the to the nines, wearing a giant pair of round sunglasses, and clad in a long coat that covers whatever the fuck he’s wearing, assuming he’s even wearing anything under it.
“Mituna?” you ask.
He quirks an eyebrow, but his eyes are alight with recognition. He takes one step back.
“You must be mistaken. I am the Luminary.”
Yeah, okay. You’d recognize those stupid horns, that stupid hair, and that even stupid lisp anywhere. But you’re not the only one who needs to maintain your cover. You won’t slip and call him by his hatchling name again.
“Yeah, whatever, Luminary. Come with me,” you reply. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Whatever you say,” he says, with an affected seductive tone. “Whatever you want.”
What you want to do is punch him. That’s not the point.
You drag him to a fried oinkbeast skin on a stick vendor, all while he protests that you’re losing him customers. He needs calories. You sit Mituna down next to you on the curb, and trolls eye the pair of you curiously, but say nothing.
He won’t confess to being Mituna, but he sits with you willingly.
“Sure you want me to hang out with you? You might be mistaken for one of my clients," not-Mituna says, his pupils blown with soporifics.
"I have better taste in trolls than that."
"You suck, you know that?"
"Not as much as you do, apparently," you deadpan. 
When he gets the joke, he cackles until he nearly chokes on his food. This fool. Has not changed a bit since you last saw him in the flesh. Once he’s finished eating, he decides to play twenty questions.
“So what brings you to the scenic pleasure district?" he wants to know. “Paying someone to stick it in you?”
“Totally, Luminary.” You take a quick look around, to make sure nobody’s listening, and you continue to do that as you explain. “In no way did I get paid a thousand caegars to cull a troll who frequents these parts.” 
Mituna shrugs. 
“What does he look like? Maybe I can help you out.”
You’d ask him why he’d even want to help you out, until you remember that unlike you, Mituna is kind.
You take a bite of your food, chew, and swallow, before you say, “He’s an indigoblood. Tall but not muscular. They call him the Unstable Thespian. Think you’ve seen him before?"
The way Mituna’s eyes go round as water crackers informs you that he has.
"I think that's one of my usual customers. Kind of a dipshit."
He gets up to order more fried oinkbeast skin on a stick. You give him the remainder of yours. You need the information he has as quickly as possible.
"Real specific, Tuna. That's all highbloods.” 
He rolls his eyes. “Apologies, Ar--”
You interrupt him.
“Call me Vector.”
“Whatever.”
You resist the urge to zap him for being a jackass.
“And while you’re at it, describe this regular of yours, so I can figure out if this is the right troll,” you say.
“Yeah, okay, fuck you,” 
Still, he does, in minute detail, giving you his symbol, the width of his horns, their shape, his physique, and his approximate height down to the centimeter. 
You weigh this against what you know, and realize that either this is your guy, or he has an identical twin. Sort of like Arcsin and Arctan. And you, before you developed rumblespheres.
Mituna then adds that your target is a taintchafing fuck. And that the only reason why he pails him on the regular is because he does not want to see another troll subjected to his utter fucking nonsense with respect to kismesissitude, and because said target in question has a tiny ass bulge that has never done, and never will do a thing to stimulate anyone.
You stare at Mituna and laugh so hard that your sides hurt.
You thought Mituna might have grown out of being a vulgar fuck, the way Arcsin did, but apparently that isn’t the case. However, thinking of Arcsin makes you recall something he told you the last time you saw him.
“You know, ‘Sin said you'd run off with a bunch of weirdos who go around preaching hemoequality,” you say, as if you haven’t seen these weirdos in action a few times. “What happened with that? You got bored?"
Mituna’s ability to get bored at the drop of a hat knows no bounds, so...
"Nah, i'm still running around with them. Thing is, revolutions cost money. Food costs money. Lodgings cost money. Disguises cost money. So I told my weirdos that I'd be gone for three days and when I came back, I'd have at least twelve hundred caegars," he explains. “Didn’t tell ‘em how I was gonna get it, and they didn’t ask. Pretty sure they think I’m stealing shit and reselling it. But this thing pays a lot faster.”
Well, then. 
He sounds like quite he’s become quite the expert at it.
You think for a bit, before deciding to make him an offer.
"You help me potentially cull this troll, just occupy him until I can get into position, and I'll give you half my bounty."
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Mituna nods, takes a flask out of his trenchcoat, has a long drink, and returns it to its proper place. You do not even want to know what is in that flask.
“Can I help you after he pays me, so I get his money and your money?" he asks, grinning.
"Deal, Luminary,” you say, extending your hand. You two shake on it. Since he put his flask away, his trenchcoat has become partially open, to expose some of the getup he has on under it. 
Dear Mother. What the fuck? 
“Where on Alternia did you get that yellow eyesore of an outfit?" you want to know.
Mituna chuckles.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Thing about ‘Tuna and his shenanigans is, you probably wouldn’t.
Once your objective has been fulfilled, you make sure to sever the highblood’s horns, to present as an indication that you have culled the requisite troll, and therefore qualify for your bounty.
Mituna watches you on the respite platform in this motel in the pleasure district, still covered in bruises and cuts, and looking faintly sick about the whole ordeal.
“Is this how he usually pails you?” you ask the goldblood,
Mituna, you have to remind yourself. His name is Mituna Captor. 
The moment you start thinking of him in terms of his hemocaste, and not in terms of his hatchling name, you are no better than the highbloods.
“Well, yes, but he also pays quite well for the whole thing,” Tuna replies. “Or, uh, paid.”
Not enough, you think, watching Mituna’s wary eyes take in the scene of carnage before you. Not nearly enough.
You drag him back to your hive with you, a communal hivestem you share with several dozen bronzebloods. The few who linger in the hallway on the first level stare when they notice Mituna’s condition. You drag him up the steps to the fourth level.
And Auriga, a troll with whom you’ve had a on and off pale dalliance with for the last three sweeps, is particularly curious about Mituna.
“What happened to that guy?” he wants to know.
Your eyes flick over to Auriga, who leans against the door leading into his hive, smoking one of his foul-smelling cigarettes. You know your bronze contact lenses haven’t fallen out, but still, you feel oddly seen by him. Maybe because Mituna is with you.
“The situation in question will bother him no more,” you assure Auriga, letting him catch a glimpse of the Unstable Thespian’s horns in the duffle bag slung around your shoulder.
Auriga raises his eyebrows and gives you a small grin of commiseration.
“So that’s where you been last nineteen hours? And why you needed to borrow a hundred caegars and a bone saw from me last time I saw you?”
“I am allowed to come and go as I please, ‘Riga. I am a grown ass adult,” you answer. You remove your coinpurse from your jacket, and count out the sum of money you owe him, along with the cost of the bone saw. “As for your money, here you go.”
“But--”
“Riga, just drink a tall glass of fuck off, for now, alright?” you ask. “And gimme two of your cigs.”
He snorts.
“That’ll be a caegar, Tensor.”
You flick it at him in the practiced way only a psion would, letting it hang in mid-air for a moment before it sails into his hand.
Mituna looks shocked that you would display your power like that, but Auriga’s the only troll awake on this floor, and he already knows about who you used to be, once upon a time. No need for pretenses with him. He can keep his mouth shut where it counts.
“I’m sending you on a quest, Auriga,” you tell him, once you’ve got a cigarette in your mouth, having used your latent pyrokinesis to light it.
“Yeah, Ten? What’s in it for me?”
You give him a twenty caegar coin.
“Two calabashes of pepperpot from the vendor, and you can keep the change afterwards. Tell Tiaang it’s for Alcyon Tensor, he might give you a discount.”
“I live to serve,” he says, taking an exaggerated bow, and then muttering, “I serve to live, Sanguine.”
“Thanks, ‘Riga. Just leave the bowls at the door and knock later.”
“You’re welcome, Ten.” He makes a diamond shape with his pointer fingers and thumbs. “I want to hear this story later.”
“And so you shall,” you answer, before you turn away from him, and chivvy Mituna up to the front door of your hive.
“Who was that?” Tuna asks.
“A friend, of sorts, Luminary,” you answer, still using the title he’s carved out for himself when he ventures into District 10.
You’ll give a more comprehensive explanation once you’re inside your personal space.
You unlock the door with one hand, while you smoke with the other. It’s always strange having trolls you knew from Sigma Block over at your studio hive.
Arctan said you needed to clean the small place that apparently reeked of sweat, cigarettes, and soporifics. He even started cleaning until you stated that you’d have none of that. You quite liked your things where they were, thank you very much.
You make sure to disinfect the clothing and tools you regularly utilize in the makeshift autoclave and portable garment cleaner that Pleaid - a troll who lives below you - happens to own. She asks very few questions about why you need these services so frequently.
Arcsin said your hive looked awesome, definitely less square feet than your respiteblock at Sigma, but then again, you weren’t sharing it with four other trolls. Pinyix surreptitiously availed themself of all the sweets in your nutritionblock, idly using their telekinesis to retrieve them.
You were shocked when you heard that they tested under the cutoff for conscription, but then again, that whole fiasco with Elder Irvaan and corporal punishment had weakened them to the point where most of their psionics were limited to approximating sensation in the lower half of their body, walking like a troll without disability, defensive tactics, and parlor tricks like opening your cabinets and devouring your chocolate.
Velyor didn’t comment on your place except to say that it made a nice place to hide out. Always practical, that troll. During his last visit, you’d sent him to the vendor for a bowl of fish stew, providing two calabashes of your own. When the vendor recognized him as a psion, and figured he was one of your old friends, he gave two bowls of food to him gratis.
Still, Velyor paid the man, and complimented him on his cooking once he tasted it.
You maintain that Tiaang could make even grubloaf palatable. Whatever talent he works in his small kitchen is nothing short of alchemy.
Your ever quiet food vendor, Tiaang, you think to yourself, who even pointed you in the direction of a troll who could provide you with brown contact lenses and remove your psion compound tags when you first reached District 23.
Your ever faithful surrogate ‘rail, Auriga, you think to yourself. The only ‘rail you’ll probably know anymore, given Arctan’s situation.
They know what you are, and choose not to turn you in to subsequently collect the sizable bounty on your head. You’re not sure why.
You will never be sure as to why. Particularly in Tiaang’s case, where, were he to turn you in, he’d have enough caegars to retire on. Never have to sell a bowl of anything ever again.
You’re a runaway from Imperial forces.
Your boss informed you of this when you started working for him, as if you were unaware, stating that you’d have to accomplish a great deal of culling to keep him from reporting you.
So far, as a bounty hunter, you have.
You’re not even a bounty hunter anymore. You’re an assassin, stuck in service to this oliveblood fucker. Highly proficient not only in telekinesis, but in wielding a garrote, and daggers twofold.
Your daggers even have names. The one you use to make your first strike is called Arctan, and the one you use to make the killing strikes is called Arcsin.
You told both trolls about this once, before Arctan left Alternia bedecked in biowires. Arcsin was amused, Arctan concerned.
As for Auriga, well, you know he’s pale for you - you don’t have the energy for a full time moiraillegiance, not after Arctan - and since ‘Riga also specializes in your line of work, he respects your ability.
You take the more difficult cases so he doesn’t have to, because you can use your psionics to stun trolls before you make your kill, and he cannot.
Fuck, given all the highbloods the two of you have eliminated, most of whom were involved with illegal shit, you both deserve Juris Docterrorist designations from the Imperial Academy of Law. Not that you’d ever ask, den of highblood scum that the Academy is.
You prefer to think of yourself as a reverse subjugglator, all things being equal. You terrorize highbloods and hold them in check, keep them afraid that if they step a toe out of line, they may have to reckon with the troll known as either Vector, or the Sanguine.
You wouldn’t let your second name, alias that it might be, touch your line of work. You’ve grown comfortable in that hatchling name.
Alcyon Tensor: a night laborer when she feels like subjecting herself to such indignity, and perhaps something slightly less legal when she actually wants to make more than a double digit of caegars a day.
So, things being what they are, Auriga wouldn’t dare turn you in, unless you’ve either under or overestimated him. Still, even if he did, he’d implicate himself, and you’d ensure that he went down with you in a second.
You’d never drag Tiaang into anything even if you got caught. 
He felt sorry for your ten-sweeps old self, and got you started in a profession that would turn you a profit. You will never forget his loyalty, so long as you live, whether it be five more sweeps, or fifty.
However, as you indulge your odd habit for introspection, Mituna seats himself on your couch. You sigh, and make your way over to him.
“I can patch you up,” you tell him. “As for the injuries Terbel inflicted that cannot be healed easily, I know an auxiliatrix. She’s on our side.”
Mituna rolls his eyes.
“If her name is Porrim Maryam, I have no need for her services.”
Yeah. Sure. As if.
“Not the auxiliatrix you and the mutant have been traveling with,” you go on. “This one works in a medical center as an assistant mediculler. Xhezet Arvien. Ring a bell?”
The look on Mituna’s face informs you that it has. The troll who tended all of you wigglers after the pestilence. The only one who lived. How could any of you misremember that troll after everything?
“I don’t need her help.”
You tap your cigarette ashes out in a nearby glass dish and shrug.
“Whatever, Mituna. Still. If you want the assistance, I can contact her.”
Mituna seems to contemplate this for a while.
“And what do you mean, she’s on our side?” he wants to know.
Just great. You hate explaining things, much less to trolls who should be intelligent enough to know what you’re implying.
“You think your signless mutant is the first troll to advocate for reform or abolishment of the hemospectrum?” you ask. “Think again. Xhezet knows the damage the ‘spec can do. So she’s on the side of any troll seeking to even the score, in small ways, or large.”
“Evening the score,” Mituna repeats, with a small laugh. “That’s hardly what Kankri advocates for.”
You’re aware.
And, oh, so the young mutant fuck has a name.
“I know. Much to his detriment. He’d have many more lowbloods on his side if he did.”
“You think so?” Mituna asks.
And even though Tuna’s still clearly injured from his encounter with the Unstable Thespian - an indigoblood who doesn’t deserve the intimacy of a hatchling name - he finds it within his ability to argue with you.
If it’s an argument Tuna wants while you graciously offer him hiveroom and try to bandage his caliginous wounds, it’s an argument he shall receive.
You scowl, remembering the two or three speeches of the signless mutant that you deigned to hear.
"You know him. What does he mean we could all be equal, that there was a world where we were nearly equal?” you ask, unspooling the gauze. “Hoofbeastshit. He's never had moobeast tags put through his earlobes. He's never been forcibly separated from his lusus. He's never seen his friends get executed by firing squad. He's never faced the distinct possibility of having to be mounted in a helmsblock. So what exactly does this signless mutant know about suffering that you follow him like a servile barkbeast, that you debase yourself in his name to earn caegars for his cause with your blackrom escapades?"
Mituna, having ditched the sunglasses of old, rolls his two-toned eyes at you.
"It’s not like he even knows how I bring in money, he’s too young for that. Like I said, none of them know. I’m not telling them,” he says. “And what would you have him advocate for to have you believe in his cause?"
Oh, you could have him advocate for a great many things. You start with the one that makes you the happiest to imagine.
"Revenge. Revenge on all of the highbloods. Reparations made in blood. Cull them arbitrarily and see how they like it."
That would be a start.
Mituna shakes his head, even as you tend to the wounds that you can treat. You demand that he sit still, and he does. But his mouth still works, unfortunately.
"You'd start a cycle of bloodshed that would leave no troll unscathed."
Yeah, and? If everyone, jadeblood and lower, were to wage class war on the highbloods, you’d have psions and auxiliatrices on your side, seemingly cowed as they might be. They’re just waiting for the right moment to free themselves, and once they’re liberated, your side will win.
You know this to be fact. But Mituna? Unlike yours, his mind has been polluted from being away from Sigma Block for so long.
You haven’t forgotten dead Xhifei, dead Polvui, dead Fianye, dead Alzirr, all of whom recovered from the pestilence, all of whom could have gone without being culled, but who were shot at point blank range.
Just to make matters “neat and clean”.
The list of dead goes ever on, between Chi Block, Phi Block, and Psi Block, and now, Sigma Block. Mituna has tucked this truth away.
"So the highbloods should just get away with their crimes? Is that what you and your signless are suggesting?" you ask, your rage naked and unbounded.
"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that at some point we just have to... wipe the slate of offenses. And let the chips fall where they may. Otherwise we’ll inadvertently cull everyone, even ourselves."
You think this over for a while, contempt surging through your veins like your gold blood that damned you the second you were hatched. Hemoequality, the signless mutant speaks. Not hemoliberation. You elect to hit Mituna where it might hurt most.
"You know, ‘Tuna. Alzirr was a troll of great principles, remember?” you ask. “Sometimes I wonder what she'd have to say about all this. And unfortunately I'm nearly sure she'd agree with this signless troll of yours."
Mituna nods, a small smile on his face.
"Me too. Alzirr was... merciful,” he finally pronounces. “Always unfailingly kind. Levelheaded. Kind to wigglers. Kind to everyone."
And as ‘Tuna says this, he nearly starts to cry.
You hate the message he and his would-be revolutionaries have been espousing, but nevertheless you find it in you to offer him a handkerchief before you continue.
"But i'll never know for certain, ‘Tuna. No one will know for certain, obviously. Because she got culled before she could even turn six.” The dish in which you were tapping out your ashes shatters, a casualty of your fury. “You ask me why I want revenge? That's one reason, and Alzirr wasn't even from Chi Block."
Mituna shakes his head even more emphatically.
"Vector. Alcyon. Tensor. Whatever they call you now,” he murmurs. “You know revenge isn't the answer."
Hoofbeastshit.
"You used to think it was, Luminary,” you say, using the title he’s adopted. That’s all he deserves from you now. “You jumped on the nutrition platform the night before Alhena left and shouted that we were more powerful than our jailers, that we could fight back. Have you forgotten?”
Mituna’s expression is even more resolute for your question.
"Yes, that we could fight for our freedom. Our freedom and nothing else!"
You know seven sweeps old Mituna would have just as well seen all highbloods die en-masse. But he has forgotten. He has forgotten. He has forgotten. His matesprit, your moirail, has been conscripted as a helmsman and somehow he has forgotten everything his fellow psions have endured.
You no longer know the troll sitting before you, and yet you dress his wounds as if he is a friend.
What hoofbeastshit, you think.
The Sanguine needs no friends like this. You decide to forcibly show him the writing on the wall.
"But if we'd escaped and left those highbloods unscathed, they'd just find new psions to conscript. Which is why we have to cull them when the opportunity arises,” you say. “Once they've suffered losses the way we have, or even an approximation of our losses... then I'll call it even. Then we can start talking hemoequality. Then we can wipe the slate."
“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,” he says.
No doubt a maxim from the mutant. You disinfect the last of his wounds, bandage them, and turn away.
“That’s what the establishment wants you to think. That’s what they want you to think so we never realize our true strength,” you insist. “I’ve seen your signless mutant. He has vestigial gills. What’s to say he’s not an Imperial spy, a seadweller brought into the lowblood liberation movement to destablize it by making his own voice the loudest?”
Mituna scoffs at you, and you want to punch him so hard that it’ll knock out several of his fangs.
“If you think that’s what he is, I have no way to stop you,” he says. “But he’s the real deal. Candy red blood. And he called me by my hatchling name before I could give it to him.”
“Information he could easily gain if he were an Imperial spy.”
Mituna nods.
“You might be right about that. But why would an auxiliatrix follow him, then? Why a self-exiled oliveblood? You know they hold no love for the Empress.”
You consider this.
“Maybe the auxiliatrix was in trouble, and this was her way of squaring away her debt. Raise this spy. Then posit him as the leader of a movement that precedes him by a hundred sweeps, the focus no longer on eliminating highbloods, but making peace with them.”
You have no idea why the mutant’s other advocates take to his message with such zeal, Xhezet Arvien included. 
Besides the fact that they’re all deluded as to this troll’s true nature. But you will have them see. Oh, you will have them see, but watch it be too late by the time you do.
“You met Porrim when she needed a recuperacoon for Kankri’s first molt. Did she strike you as being a spy or under Empire influence then?”
She did not, but a good spy covers their tracks. 
You put your hands over your ears before you can rethink the gesture.
You’re not sure what to think anymore. You really are not.
“You really believe your signless mutant is legit?” you ask.
“He’s seen a new Alternia,” Mituna replies. “So beautiful that it isn’t called Alternia anymore. Even Pinyix thought so. That’s part of the reason I left Sigma.”
Pinyix Idcaye, the Foreseer of the future, endorsing this mutant? Really? With and despite all they know of what will come to pass?
You really don’t know what to think, should Mituna’s words on that front bear any truth.
“You can’t make me abandon everything I believe in favor of the words of a nine sweeps old upstart in a cloak, Mituna.”
Mituna nods, his expression solemn.
“I can’t make you do anything,” he says. “But I can ask, can’t I? Make a request while I’m here with you? You know Arctan wouldn’t want you to go on any culling spree crusades in his name.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what my moirail would desire,” you grind out.
“You’re right. That’s not within my purview,” he agrees. “But it’s within it to tell you what my matesprit might think of all this. Alcyon, you could be so much more than an instrument of death.”
You light yet another cigarette, finding a new glass dish to tap out the ashes in. 
You cannot put the old one back together.
That’s always been your problem. You can rend things to shreds, but never fix them afterwards. You never could.
That was Arctan’s thing. He could make a dying seedling come back to life, in a show of power that transcended his telekinesis.
Mituna draws close to you. “Please, Alcyon. If you can’t find it within yourself to believe in Kankri, could you at least believe in me?”
“Fuck you,” you spit, flipping him off, and shoving him away.
And then he kisses you full on, without sparing you the needles of his fangs. 
Oh, the blackrom hooker wants yet another black fling? You can give him that and more.
You shove him up against the wall of your recuperacoon, minding his bandages, and return the gesture.
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck…” you murmur, as you tug down the garment covering his lower half, along with yours. His bulges twine around yours and you nearly weep.
“Fuck you!” you shout.
“Arccos,” he says. As if he has any right to remind you of that, of that name. “Arccos, I swear with all that I believe…”
Your bulges find his nook, and he exhales sharply, letting out a high trill of exhilaration. Mituna the masochist. It fucking figures.
“You swear what?”
“I swear that the mutant with the candy red blood is no enemy of yours, or a traitor to the cause,” he replies. “And neither am I, Arccos. I am your friend.”
You let out a sob that you muffle in his clavicle.
“How do you know?”
“I just do, Arccos.”
Each time he calls you by your hatchling name, he breaks your bloodpusher all over again.
Why are you one triplet in a set of three? Why can’t you be your own individual troll without feeling shattered? Why can’t you escape that?
Arcsin. 
Arctan. 
You three took your first breaths at nearly the same time, you the oldest by mere seconds. You navigated the caverns with them.
Where are they when you need guidance? Where are they when you are a jagged third in search of your missing pieces, pieces that have been scattered to the winds?
In this moment, you are sure of one thing alone.
“I hate you, Mituna.”
He just had to rip away the one thing you had left. Your certainty in your way forward. He had to peel it from you like the skin on a fruit.
He had to leave you vulnerable and trembling, as you sink your bulge into his nook, and he takes every centimeter, willing and laughing, as if this is Sigma Block once more.
“I don’t think you do,” he says, and then, as if he has his own special form of seeing forward, tells you, “But you will, though.”
You bite him hard, right above where the golden post in his earlobe is, where his left tag used to be. Did he get that piece of jewelry from the auxiliatrix known as Porrim?
“Don’t tell me you’re a prescient, too.”
He snorts.
“An unwilling and erratic one, at best. But you’ll see, Arccos.”
You snarl and something else in your hive shatters. Another makeshift ashtray?
“Stop calling me that! I am not that troll anymore!”
You haven’t been Arccos Thaeta in more than five sweeps.
His tone bathed in contempt, he murmurs, “My apologies, Alcyon Tensor, the Sanguine.”
You want to fucking cull him with nothing but claws and teeth - weapons be damned -  but you won’t. You won’t.
You couldn’t. Angry as you are, you really couldn’t.
You never would.
Instead, you just stand there and cry, cry the way you haven’t since you were a wiggler, since the highbloods culled most of the trolls in Chi block, and Arctan had to shoosh you, even while he himself was terrified.
Your slurry hits the hardwood floor, your bulge retracts, and you continue to bawl, gasping for air. 
Mituna wraps one arm around your shoulders.
“Arccos,” he murmurs.
You ignore him.
“Arccos.”
More forcefully now.
You gaze at Mituna, with your eyes running, snot dribbling down the lower half of your face, and no hope of Arctan or even Arcsin to dab it away.
“Why are you here, Mituna?”
“You invited me. You pretty much insisted that I follow you after that shit with Terbel.”
You shake your head.
“Why are you really here?” you want to know, starting to think that running into him was no accident. “Do you want me to join your suicidal little group? Forget what I’ve believed for as long as I knew how to believe?”
He holds you even more tightly.
“I didn’t intend to see you, but I’m glad that I did,” he says. “I’m not asking you to forget anything. I’m asking you, if it were in your power to help trolls who believe in liberation, whatever the shape of that liberation, would you assist them? Would you assist us?”
You wipe your nose.
“That goes without saying, Tuna. Of course I would. I would never turn a lowblood into these inhospitable streets.”
Mituna nods, then.
“That means we’re on the same side, Tensor.”
“Arccos,” you whisper. “You can call me Arccos if you want.���
That name may serve you any longer, but it does not mean you need to entirely forsake it.
“Right, Arccos. I’ll hold you to that promise.”
You don’t even know if you deserve that name anymore. So you continue crying while he holds you close. 
Then, he focuses his the red-blue glow from his psionics to play a light show for you. 
Mituna Captor, he really is luminary. So luminary that it hurts.
You recognize the outlines of trolls he conjures from flickering luminescence, by their horns, by the unique way they have of gesturing.
Xhifei. Polvui. Fianye. Alzirr. Jishui. Alhena. Vasluk. Zhiozo. Arnhue. Culria. Praime. Dienre. Khifos. Hiongo. And more besides.
And Arctan.
Arctan.
You watch the blurry insubstantial outlines dance, move fluidly, and seem to watch you. Fake-Arctan reaches with an intangible hand for your fingertips, as tears course down Mituna’s face.
“I never forgot them, even if you think I did. Not a single one,” he says, voice thick. “I never have.”
You resist the urge to push him from the frame of your recuperacoon, and, moreover, out of your hive.
“Why do you show me this?” you ask.
Mituna gives you a sad smile.
“Porrim says the auxiliatrices used to grieve when one of their own passed on into the arms of the First Mother,” he says. “I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife, or in the Mother. But I believe that…”
He stops talking for a few moments, trying to calm himself down.
“I believe. I believe. I think we were cheated,” he says.
“Finally, you see things from my point of view,” you tell him.
“I think we were cheated out of the right to grieve for all of our friends,” he goes on. “I know Jishui, Arctan, Khifos, Hiongo, and probably Alhena are alive somewhere, but… existence in the helmsblock is no way to live, is it?”
You shake your head.
“Never was. Never will be.”
You recall your ten sweeps old self asking him to cull you with his power, the day you qualified for helmsblock conscription and got your gold and black jumpsuit. How he hid you away in an alcove in the psion compound, and swore to cull you if he couldn’t find another solution, if there was no way that you could escape.
But he found a solution in the end. He did. And you ran with and for it.
“We’ll remember them all,” he says. “We’ll remember. We don’t let the Empire sweep them under the rug. They were trolls. They are trolls. Right?”
Red-blue Hiongo turns his face to you, also a vision conjured by the Luminary. You touch his nonexistent hand, and watch it dematerialize. Khifos stands and seems to rolls her eyes at him, satisfied to wave at you.
Alzirr, Alzirr looking older than six, picks something out of a small piece of conjured wrapping and sticks it into her equally conjured mouth. Forty caegars says it’s a peppermint. Fucking Alzirr. 
She inclines her head toward you and seems to smile. 
She disintegrates before you can reach her.
“So this is what you have to bend me to your side, Mituna?” you ask. “A bunch of false visions?”
“I thought we’ve agreed that we were on the same side. And this is what I have of them when I miss them,” he says. “This is all I have, some days. I thought you might like to see. If not, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it? 
You can play, too.
Still, your yearning, your yearning bubbles forth from your mouth before you can swallow it back down.
“Show me Arctan again,” you say. “Please.”
Mituna obliges. 
Your bloodpusher hammers in your chest.
“I’m sorry, ‘Tan,” you tell the red-blue light with your moirail’s horns and every bit of his unspoken mannerisms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you in the end.”
All the projected figures cease then, their existence blown in an instant. 
Mituna starts to cry in earnest, like an injured two sweeps old. 
This time, you’re the one who ends up holding him. And that’s how you stay for most of the day, until you finally suggest that the two of you squeeze into your recuperacoon.
You open your front door and pick up the calabashes of congealing pepperpot. You borrow some clothes from Auriga so Mituna has something to wear when he returns to his friends. Something aside from his instructor jumpsuit or his blackrom outfit, both of which paint a massive target sign on his back.
You squeeze next to Mituna in the recuperacoon, sighing.
Your name…
Your name is...
Your name is Alcyon Tensor. 
But for now, you’ll be Arccos Thaeta once more. 
If just for a little while.
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nekofantasia · 7 years
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Prompt: Chen's first visit to the Hakurei shrine!
This place sure was quiet, the little one thought.
As the days got warmer, it became easier for the nekomata to play outside her room. She never did well in the cold weather so she was more than glad that she could finally step outside without the aid of a coat or a muffler. Plenty of ideas ran through her mind as she put her shoes on at the entrance. After all, she even went as far as doing her homework and chores early so she could spend the rest of the day outside as much as she wanted.
One could really tell that she was looking forwards to this day for quite a while now.
“I’m leaving!” Chen said in a slightly loud tone. Ran already left the household for her duties and Yukari went to sleep not too long ago, but the nekomata still announced her departure mostly from habit. It was probably easier for her to bid so long regardless of presence or absence in her home. Always remain courteous, even if no one is watching!
Sliding the door open, the young one took a step outside and welcomed the warm day with open warms.
Figuratively of course. Actually doing that would be weird, even if she’s on her own at the moment.
But for a day she was looking forward to, her plans did fall short way sooner than she expected. Her subordinates behaved better today and her friends were busy with other things since they also had the same idea on getting the best of this weather. Great minds think alike, huh? A little amusing, but still disappointed at the lack of people available to play with today.
Eventually, she found herself walking around with no destination in mind. The idea of getting lost was of no concern but she would love to see some unusual place to explore, just a little something to keep herself busy. The nekomata kept her mind open to anything that would catch her attention, there was no point in being picky after all.
A long sigh escaped her lips and looked around her tracks in her never-ending search for something fun to do. A little hum was made when she realized that the path she was currently treading on was an unusual one. Melting snow was scattered around as if no one bothered to clean this area in case of travelers going through. Even if snow wasn’t the issue, the brunette could still find all sorts of branches, leaves, rocks and other things lying around.
It seemed to her that this path was rarely travelled by humans. But there’s gotta be a reason on why such road exists. Where would this lead to? Not being able to contain her anticipation, Chen quickened her pace and rushed towards the end of this unusual path.
Stair after stair after stair, the curious kitty was welcomed by a torii gate which appeared to be in good condition. Although she could tell it reeks of age, which is to be expected from most sacred buildings. As she stepped further, the young one noticed that the grounds were kept neat unlike the path that took her to this place.
She could see a fountain not that far from where she stood and upon taking a closer look on it, the fountain appeared to be abundant with water and several ladles were carefully placed across the borders so the ladles wouldn’t float around the water. Her hands were more than clean so the fountain was of no need for the time being.
Turning away from the fountain, the young one’s eyes took interest in the building before her. Slowly and very lightly, she walked towards it as if she was avoiding to get caught despite not knowing if there’s anyone besides her at all. It was probably a quirk of her own instincts as a cat, but it didn’t kill her to be cautious at unknown territory. As she got closer to the main building, the nekomata could perceive traces of human presence. Not exactly the most prominent human scent she ever sensed but it was hard to dismiss it.
‘So there are people here after all.’ And here she thought this place was pretty much abandoned, like her village. Glad that she took cautions when walking around, now that she knows there’s people living in this place she better not take anything. Not that she was planning to anyway.
At the entrance of said building, a wooden box was neatly found in the middle along with some rope hung to its side. ‘Ah…’ Chen thought to herself. This was a place for offerings, with the fountain and other auxiliary places the nekomata was able to piece her judgement together as she tried to recall the name of such sort of locations.
This place was a shrine, no mistake about that.
If it’s a shrine, then some deity is worshipped in this place right? She couldn’t help but get curious about that. Maybe she could get a hint by examining inside?
Her plan came to a halt when she heard someone approach the shrine’s grounds. A small wave of panic travelled through her body as she took a deep a breath and hid herself in the crown of a nearby tree. In this position, she would be able to see if the person was nothing but a brief visitor…Of the few that actually travel that one neglected road. She had to wonder what kind of devotees come to this place. Maybe that would give her a hint about the deity of this shrine? She had to remain patient and watch closely as the person’s steps became more and more audible upon their arrival.
Her eyes widened as soon as she recognized the “visitor”’s shrine maiden outfit. So this was no visitor after all, huh…Maybe she would be lucky enough to see the shrine maiden perform a ritual? The nekomata thought about it as she watched the shrine maiden go inside. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into…Well, a lot of time.
Seems nothing interesting will happen any soon. Chen sighed as she told herself to drop this whole waiting game. Perhaps she should try again in another day. The nekomata climbed down and took one last glance at the shrine and hummed to herself.
Even though she was a youkai…Was she allowed to do that?
Well, the shrine maiden wasn’t looking so better take advantage of this opportunity.
Chen sneaked towards the box of offerings with the best of her stealth and reached to her pockets, now with a handful of coins enclosed by her hand. Trying not to make a lot of noise, the nekomata figured that she had to drop the money right under the barred top of the donation box.
However, much to her dismay, the box was emptier than she expected and her offerings were welcomed with a rather loud sound that could easily attract the shrine maiden’s attention.
Crap, I have to get out of here!
Panicked once again, the nekomata left the shrine for good. She didn’t want to take any chances had the shrine maiden taken notice of her, even if she came here with no harmful intentions.
But it was fun while it lasted, so at least she was able to thank her for being there to humor her when she was bored to death.
Maybe I should visit again someday, she thought to herself.
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melonlordlive · 7 years
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Under threat of murder, Ignis gives in and says he'll talk- much to Yusaku's shock. Iggy reminds Yusaku that most of his (Ignis's) memories are damaged- then changes his story to them being stolen by Hanoi. This brings about the above.
SERIOUSLY HOW IS AN EYEBALL THIS EXPRESSIVE?!
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sunburned-cyborg · 7 years
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Some of the highlights of my collecting and screenshotting spree! The captions tell what gear I used, as well as the location of the pic :)
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adriansmithcarslove · 7 years
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Woodward Dream Cruise: Cruising With Fiat-Chrysler’s Jeff Gale
Jeff Gale currently serves as chief designer in Jeep’s Exterior studio. He’s worked at Chrysler for 17 years, but the Mopar design blood in his veins runs even deeper than that. His dad just happens to be Motor Trend Car of the Year guest judge and design consultant Tom Gale, who retired after 33 years at Chrysler in 2000—the year Jeff arrived. Jeff graciously agreed to take us cruising on Woodward in his badass baby, a 1970 Plymouth Road Runner he’s owned since 2004. We headed out and asked him to point out everything that he found cool and intriguing. But first we got the full walkaround on his ride.
1970 Plymouth Road Runner
Jeff’s Road Runner is something rather special. The Mopar nerds among you might be wondering what’s up with all the chrome and the lack of racing stripes, as Jeff was when he first went to look at the car. Is this a Road Runnerized Satellite? Nope, the VIN checks out as a natural-born Road Runner. The previous owner reluctantly shared the infamous history of this car. It was special ordered with a décor group that bought the lower rocker trim, a stripe-delete package, and—via pulling some strings at the factory—Satellite chrome trim ringing the rear taillamp panel. Then the dealer receipt shows two more options installed prior to delivery: the accessory wheel-opening chrome and an extra leaf in each rear spring. What? The original owner was reinforcing the rear suspension to shoulder the weight of moonshine and ladling on the chrome to lend some stealth to this muscle runner.
Designers often find it difficult to leave a car completely alone, but Jeff’s mods have been minor and reversible. He’s done some suspension work to improve the handling, and of course he mounted the wider, lower-profile wheels and tires (but the original rally wheels are in storage if he ever takes it to Mopar Nationals). He also restored the metallic argent grille surround himself, starting with a base coat of matte gray cast iron paint then shooting it lightly with silver spray glitter from Michael’s and clear-coating over it all. “It looks exactly like the original finish.”
1971 Plymouth Cuda 440/6 Pack
When Jeff began his Mopar muscle quest, he was searching for an E-body Dodge Challenger or Plymouth Barracuda, but the price lines of those cars started shooting up at a steeper rate than that of the slightly larger B cars Plymouth Belvedere/Satellite/GTX/Road Runner and Dodge Coronet. (The Dukes of Hazard made the Chargers scarce and pricey.)
1932 Ford Roadster Hot Rod “Rolls Powered”
“Hey, that looks like Mark Allen’s car!” Sure enough, we doubled back and parked to confirm that indeed this spectacular roadster was once owned by Jeff’s boss in the Jeep studio, Mark Allen. Mark detailed the engine compartment with a serious sense of humor. The engine is a regulation-issue Chevy small-block, to which Allen managed to attach modified valve covers with Rolls-Royce embossed in them. He also managed to fake a Rolls-Royce engine-casting VIN number. The automatic choke is hidden by a decoy glass fuel bowl that appears to have dead bees sitting in a bit of old fuel. The finishing touch, fake engine mounts that appear to be installed with spring-loaded wing nuts. Very fun indeed.
1960-66 First-Gen Chevy C/K pickup
“Man, those vintage trucks are really getting popular,” Jeff mused as we rolled along near this beauty. Then he conveyed a story about working at one of his pre-Chrysler jobs. He was running just a bit late for a meeting and overheard one of the engineers saying, “We’ll let the design guy say his piece and then we’ll get down to business.” Recalling the anger that inspired, he pointed to the Chevy truck again and said, “My face turned as red as that truck.”
1969 Dodge Dart Swinger
Jeff has a Dodge Dart “not quite as nice as that one” at home awaiting some further ministrations. This one, like hundreds of other recently buffed-up cars parked along Woodward, is for sale.
Rat Rod Pickup
Tom Gale has built a few custom hot rods in his day, so we asked Jeff if he any ambitions to do likewise. “I’d kind of like to build something wild—kind of a lakes racer, but a pickup. I like the irony of building a speed machine but making it a pickup.” Shortly after we had that discussion, this rough facsimile of what he was talking about rolled by.
1953 Ford Crestline Ranch Wagon
It’s no Mopar, but Jeff was loving on this fairly heavily patinaed Ford Crestline Ranch Wagon, built in Ford’s Golden Jubilee year, 1953.
1999-2001 Lamborghini Diablo
“My dad worked on that design. Flew back and forth to Italy to do it. He was even invited back for the recent 50th anniversary of Lamborghini celebrations.” The Nissan 300ZX headlamps give this model away as a late-run 1999–2001 model Diablo.
1973-1980 Volkswagen Type 2 Westfalia Camper
“Who can help but smile when you see one of those?” Not us. This one looks fully outfitted for a weekend at a lakeside state park campground, with curtains, screened side-door windows, and hookups for water.
Ca. 1970s-’80s Jeep CJ5
“Man, you don’t see those hardtop Jeeps around much.” Life was certainly simpler for Jeff’s predecessors in the Jeep design studio back in these days. The left-hand drive rules out a postal service past for this one. The diamond-plate is probably an ex-works upgrade.
1955 Forcury
“That is a tasteful custom.” This 1955 Ford appears to be running Mercury Monterey wagon taillamps, along with side pipes with cutouts, spotlights, a tuck-and-roll interior—you know, the usual.
1965 Ford Mustang
“Those first-gen Mustang fastbacks are pretty classic.” The smoothness and flow to the lines of this original ponycar still impress today’s crop of working designers. Long may it be so …
 The post Woodward Dream Cruise: Cruising With Fiat-Chrysler’s Jeff Gale appeared first on Motor Trend.
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