#and that it’s stressing ford out WAY too much) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bradshawssugarbaby · 2 months

Text

Girl, You're My Angel - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's a down on his luck first baseman in the MLB, struggling to find his stride in the game he loves so much. A wedding invite from his ex-wife is enough to convince him to go for a drink, trying to forget about everything going on. He wasn't banking on meeting you though.

pairing: baseball!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

warnings/content: baseball au, mentions of divorce, smoking, alcohol, reference to drunk driving, bar fight, mentions of blood, Bradley having a dirty mind.

word count: 3k.

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The booming bass drum of a classic rock song thumped in your head as you gripped the cocktail glass in your hand. The liquid sloshed around in the glass as you danced, swaying to and fro with your best friends, trying your best to enjoy yourself on your girls’ night out. Your finals had just wrapped up, and you were this much closer to earning your masters, the only thing standing between you and getting that embossed sheet of paper, was your grades. To unwind after the cram sessions you’d mustered your way through for the past month, your friends dragged you out to some new amusement bar in the Gaslamp Quarter.

Across the bar, on the other side of the room, stood Bradley Bradshaw, a once promising baseball star who now, had earned himself a reputation as the MLB’s resident asshole - unable to take criticism or a loss without lashing out at someone. His recent stunt involved hurling his baseball bat across the diamond when he struck out in practice, frustrated with his sudden lack of skill, a skill that once came so naturally to him when his mind wasn’t preoccupied.

The invitation had come in the mail two days before the bat throwing incident. His ex-wife, the one who left him two and a half years ago, was remarrying the fucking prick she cheated on Bradley with. The invite had come completely out of the blue, and when Bradley opened it, he felt all of the air leave his lungs as his fingers traced over the gold embossed lettering, donning her name and the name of her new fiancé. He’d never admit it to anyone, but that single piece of cardstock had been enough to reduce him to tears, slumping down the kitchen wall as he hugged his knees to his chest, crying loud enough that it made him thankful he had no neighbours near by.

Bradley had pulled himself together, lit a cigarette from the pack he’d been nursing for the last few months, reserved only for social events and times of pure stress, and got in his vintage Ford Bronco, his first purchase when he signed his first contract. Taking a drag from the cigarette, his brown eyes scanned over San Diego’s downtown core as he cruised past a few of the typical nightlife spots - each one a little too public for what he wanted. All other options exhausted, he pulled up outside of a newer bar that had opened the previous week, neon lights advertising an arcade on one side and drinks on the other.

He figured if nothing else, a couple of rounds of Pac-Man on an old video game after a handful of beers might do him good. He could leave the Bronco parked there and walk to the hotel around the corner, and forget about how his ex-wife’s wedding was coming up in six months, how she’d had the audacity to invite him to see her marrying the guy he’d walked in on her with.

He sidled up to the bar, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks as he ordered himself a beer. Standing across from him was a group of women, not much younger than him, gossiping and giggling together. He sized the group up, thinking to himself that maybe a one-night deal was what he needed to take his mind off his ex.

You were the tallest girl of the group, with bright eyes, and hair brushed back in a sleek, high ponytail, sporting a form-fitting cocktail dress that made Bradley’s heart race when he saw you. He pounded back the rest of his beer, trying to find his confidence in himself once again in the comfort of the drink.

Bradley set his empty bottle down on the bar top before walking his way around the circular counter. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in with a broad smile as you looked in his direction. He offered a polite wave of his hand, chuckling awkwardly as he felt his confidence wavering as he spoke to you.

“Hey, could I buy you a drink? He said simply, his Virginian accent dropping into a thicker drawl than usual.

“I’m good, thanks, still got one,” You held up your half-full glass and shook your head politely, not wanting to reject him too brutally.

Bradley nodded his head once at you, his smile faltering for a second. He quickly regained himself, smiling once again politely before grabbing himself another beer and heading over to the arcade, resolving that a couple of old-school video games might make his night a little better.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to rejection - he’d been turned down almost as often as he’d been accepted, but for some reason, your rejection stung just that little bit more. Maybe it was the wedding invitation still making things sour, or maybe it was the fact that the mere sight of a girl hadn’t been enough to make his heart accelerate like this in a long time. He shook his head once, trying to focus his train of thought once again on something, anything other than what was currently occupying it.

Baseball? Too stressful, his game was starting to slip up on him. Buying a puppy? No, it’d just be one more thing he could let down. Hitting the gym? He already went 6 days a week - if he went any more frequently, he’d have to consider moving his bed in there.

His mind raced as he pressed the buttons on the video game, moving the small yellow circle across the screen, collecting points between sips of beer. Behind him, he heard a couple of guys shouting at a tv screen, the sound of the latest sports highlights blaring out in the background.

“This Bradshaw asshole needs to get his shit together. Twenty-nine and he plays about as well as my ten year old. Drop him down to the minors or get rid of the bastard. He shouldn’t be missing plays like this.” One of the voices shouted at the tv, his friends nodding their heads in silent agreement with his rant.

Bradley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as the insults about his playing continued to spout from this guy’s mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than Bradley was, one of those armchair commentators who probably hadn’t swung a bat since Little League. As the criticism continued, each jab focused directly at Bradley’s game performance, missing one play that cost a game - one that he’d already been feeling pissed off about - it became harder to ignore.

“I bet that hot little piece of ass wife of his left him because she knew he was a dogshit baseball player.”

Bradley spun around on his heels so fast that he swore the room was spinning. He turned to face the group, crowded in a corner in front of the tv, faces all glued to the female commentator. Bradley could practically hear the derogatory thoughts they were having about her and it only fuelled his anger more.

“Hey, man, if you’ve got an issue with how I play the game, I’d like to see you get off your ass and go play nine innings against Boston. Keep my ex-wife’s name out of your mouth.” Bradley scoffed, narrowing his dark brown eyes at the trio.

“You got a problem, jackass?” The other man growled, raising an eyebrow at Bradley as he slammed his drink down on the table. “She probably left you for that rookie because even she knew you weren’t good for anything.”

“That so? Your wife would probably like to go a couple rounds with me though.” Bradley retorted, a devilish smirk forming on his face as he folded his muscular arms across his chest.

Before Bradley had time to blink, the man drew back his arm and landed a hard punch to Bradley’s jaw. Bradley quickly delivered a stronger hit to the man’s face, watching him stumble backwards for a second. Bradley turned around and walked outside, getting ready to light another cigarette as he ran his hand over his jaw, assessing if he had any damage to worry about.

The man returned, practically running outside after Bradley. More heated words were exchanged, insults flying between them both before the man delivered another hit, this time to Bradley’s nose. He shook his hand off and headed off down the street with his friends, disappearing off to the next bar. Bradley held his nose, blood dripping down from his nostrils and onto his hand.

You and your friends had heard the commotion when it unfolded inside, and decided to head out, having enough excitement for one night. As you stepped out, you saw the man who’d hit on you earlier, this time with his nose bleeding onto the pavement under him. You ran over to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do, hit on a girl who had a boyfriend?” You asked playfully as you rooted through your purse for something to help clean his nose.

“Called a guy out for saying my ex-wife was a “hot piece of ass”, actually,” Bradley nodded once, gratefully taking the tissues from you and using them to clean his nose.

“Stick your hand out for a sec,” you instructed, squirting a dollop of scented hand sanitizer into his large palm before raising an eyebrow at him, “You don’t have anything I could catch from helping you without gloves?”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Bradley scoffed, trying to laugh but wincing instead, “And why the fuck does my hand smell like a flower?”

“Lavender hand sanitizer. It’s not as good as washing your hands, but it’ll do while we’re outside. And I’m going to hold the tissues in place while you rub it into your hands, but I don’t want to catch something. I’m just fresh out of latex gloves.”

“Good thing. I’m allergic,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to brave through the pain, “I’m clean. You’re fine. I get drug tested and physicals through work constantly.”

“What kind of a job provides those? Military?”

“Professional athlete.” He nodded as you pinched the tissues to his nose, applying pressure to help with the bleeding. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Your nose is broken, it’s suppose to hurt.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, just wrote my finals for a masters in nursing.”

“Close enough,” Bradley nodded slightly, cringing as you continued to apply pressure to his nose.

You rooted through your purse, laughing softly as you pulled a tampon out of your bag. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you, not quite registering what the item was until you pulled the plastic wrapping off of it, stuffing the garbage back into your purse.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?”

“I need to stick it up your nose on the left side. It’s bleeding more than I’d like to see, and a broken nose should probably be set in a medical setting. This way, you won’t bleed all over my car.”

“Your car? You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a vodka-cran over the span of three hours? I think I’m probably not gonna blow over the limit.”

“You are not sticking that up my nose,” he replied stubbornly, arms folding over his chest like a petulant child.

“Look at your shirt,” you laughed, gesturing to the white floral print button down he was wearing, its collar now tinged with red and pink splotches.

“Fine,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but if anyone finds out about this, I’m denying it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you nodded as you offered him the plastic applicator.

Bradley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pressed the bottom of the applicator, pushing the tampon into the edge of his nose. He looked at you with another dramatic eyeroll and shook his head before walking down the street to a garbage can. He discarded the applicator before turning to face you, sighing.

“I can take myself to a hospital, you know.”

“I’m already here, I may as well come with you. Besides, I feel kinda bad about turning you down.”

“Oh, so you’re taking care of me out of pity?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Even more so with a tampon hanging out of your nose.”

“It’s quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” He laughed softly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a clean white t-shirt.

You unlocked your car, the familiar beep as the doors unlocked causing Bradley to stifle a laugh.

“What is that?!”

“My car,” you responded matter-of-factly, “What does it look like?”

“One of those cars for a Barbie doll that my goddaughter plays with,” he said as he flourished his hand, gesturing to your pink steering wheel cover and coordinating seat cover.

“Listen, I like pink. Now are you getting in, or do I have to make you?”

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, your playful threat of making him get into the car sending his mind into a frenzy again. He eyed you up and down again, and found himself shaking his head as he wondered what colour underwear you had on under your dress. He bet it was probably a coordinating pink set - the kind that Victoria’s Secret mannequins would model in the store window, with delicate little bows or lace or something adorning them.

Focus, Bradley. She doesn’t want to sleep with you. Stop thinking about her.

He sat down in the passenger’s seat, watching as you hopped into the driver’s side. As you pulled away from the curb, he raised an eyebrow at your choice in music as Taylor Swift started blaring from the speaker.

“You can change it if you want to,” you nodded. “You can put on whatever.”

“No, no, It’s fine. I actually like this song.”

“You said you’re a professional athlete? What sport do you play?”

“Baseball,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “my headshot’s on a flag outside of Petco Park.”

“I thought I recognized you, you’re that player everyone always talks about, right?”

“Unfortunately. It’s rarely good things.”

“How come?”

Bradley sighed, raising an eyebrow, “You know they talk about me but not why?”

“I don’t follow baseball, I've actually never even seen a game, live or on tv. I just know my friend does and she told me everyone talks about you. Bradshaw, right? Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Bradley Bradshaw. First baseman, used to have a promising career, then, you know, wife cheats on me with a rookie from a rival team, catch her in a hotel room that I paid for with him, and then, despite me stupidly telling her I forgave her and you know what, I was pissed, but I loved her anyway and I blamed myself for her cheating, she served me divorce papers. Said I was incapable of loving anything but baseball. Says the woman who refused to do anything with me when I tried to be loving and affectionate. My friends swear she only married me for the status and the paycheck. Her new fiancé just signed a multi-million dollar contract that’s being talked about as one of the highest in the league, so it sort of checks out.”

“Jeez,” you whistled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was two and half years ago. I just, I haven’t found my stride again yet, I guess.”

“Is that why you got defensive about her?”

“They said she left me for this other guy because she knew I was a dogshit ball player. I mean, it’s probably not far off. But, I got an invite for her wedding in the mail today, and I was already on edge, so I sort of…snapped.”

“She invited you?!”

“Yeah, like that, huh? She probably thought I have someone new I’m seeing and that we could still be friends or some shit.”

“So you need a date?”

“I’m not going,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? Free drinks for a night, you can wish her well while secretly hoping her husband’s ball career washes out on him in a year or two.”

Bradley chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he gestured his hand towards you, “I like your thinking actually, but I’m not going alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered, shrugging your shoulders, “When is it?”

“In six months, you don’t need to come with me though. I’ll send her some cheap gift and call it a day.”

“No,” you insisted as you pulled into a parking space at the hospital’s urgent care clinic, “I’ll come with you. I love a good revenge story. Besides, it could be fun. I’ve never partied with a bunch of baseball players before.”

“You’re…you’re something else, you know that?”

“You mean, you don’t have dozens of women offering you a tampon to stop your nosebleed, driving you to the hospital and then offering to accompany you to your ex-wife’s wedding date?” you challenged.

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first.”

Bradley couldn’t help his ear to ear grin as he followed you into the hospital. Despite his bloodied, battered nose, which was hurting more than he cared to let on, and his fledging career, falling apart around him as he stood there, he felt genuinely excited. Excited to get to know you better. Excited to see where things went with you. He felt a promising sense in your words - like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to be done with one-night-stands and empty beds in the morning. He felt giddy, like a teenager going on a first date with his high school crush. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his nose or the alcohol talking, but he was almost convinced you were a guardian angel of sorts. Refusing to believe that someone like you could be anything but.

First things first though, he needed to bring you to a baseball game.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

275 notes · View notes

gglitch1dd · 11 months

Text

The Contract - Epilogue

Context: When you broke up with Katsuki, you thought it was the end for you. No marriage. No family. No white picket fence. You had spent so much time on Katsuki and now it all just fell to the wind. But what if a certain green haired hero offered you a contract, offered you the dream life of security and happiness all for the small price of being his wife? Love wasn’t in the plan but maybe it was in the fine print.

Basically: Reader dumps Katsuki and goes for Izuku.

Main Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Warning: Pregnant reader, cravings, katsuki clearly has a kink for reading looking pregnant but he needs to keep that to himself, Mitsuki's sense of humour

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this. Why couldn’t we just stay at home.”

You gave him a pointed look as the two of you drove in the suburban area. Midoriya had his hands on the wheel as he talked to you in a grumpy ton. “Izuku, your mother arranged for this lovely lunch with her friends.” You reminded him, already knowing where you were heading and all the familiar looking houses on the way there.

Your husband glanced over at you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. “Her friends. The Bakugous and the Kirishimas!” He reminded you. “May I remind you, Y/N, that both Kacchan and Eijiro are going to be there too.”

“I’m still upset Harding couldn’t make it.” You spoke with a small pout at the mention of Inko’s new boyfriend that had come into her life and quite literally nearly gave Midoriya a stroke at his very existence.

Midoriya grumbled as he held the steering wheel. “Good, at least I won’t need to keep an eye on him.” He said as he stopped at the red light.

You shook your head as you rest your hands on your lap. “You like him, Izuku. Stop grumbling.” You chastised him. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re gonna have a nice afternoon.” You told him with an optimistic outlook on things. “All that drama was two years ago. I’m sure we can act like civil adults and move on.”

Midoriya glanced at you not convinced as the light turned green and the car went into motion again. You both knew that that was unlikely. As much as the married couple that was Kirishima and Bakugou had effectively stopped reminding you about what had happened (well more like Kirishima had and Bakugou was forced to comply), and even after the close to year that Midoriya had basically gone non-contact with Bakugou (other than work of course), there was still tension between the three men. You had mostly gotten over it, happy with your life with Midoriya, however you still noticed the tension and felt the bitterness from time to time.

Your green haired husband sighed as he tried to take on your optimism. “I really think you don’t need the stress right now.” He reminded you.

You scoffed amusedly. “Me or you?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. Your husband made a disapproving grumbling making you chuckle.

Finally, Midoriya slowed down in front of the three story house. The Bakugou residence, effectively where the lunch was happening. The sight of a large Ford Truck that was suspiciously a whole lot like Kirishima’s was parked outside as well as Bakugou’s infamous black Audi. Midoriya parked the car. The both of you sat in silence for a minute, looking at the house.

“You know, we can always go back home.”

“Izuku!” You gave him a pointed look. You then took his hands and moved them into yours. You squeezed his large scarred hands and looked at him with a serious look. “I understand putting our heads back above water is scary, I know staying under feels safer but we can do this.”

His expression softened at your analogy. He nodded his head as he tightened his hold on your hands. “I know. I’m sorry.” He apologised. He let out a deep breath. “We can do this.” He repeated after you. “Me and you…” He put a hand to the side of your face making you lean against his warm palm with a smile. He then shifted his eyes down. His pupils widened slightly. “And you...” He moved his hand down to your round stomach. “Little sprout.”

You felt a slight shift and a gentle kick to Midoriya’s hand. The action made Midoriya nearly melt in his seat. You giggled. “I still don’t understand why you call him ‘Sprout’.” You tilted your head to the side.

Your husband motioned to himself. “I am tree.” He then motioned to you. “You are soil.” Finally Midoriya motioned down to the growing little baby inside you. “That is Sprout. Simple.”

You paused as you frowned. “Are you calling me dirt?” You asked him as the pregnancy hormones started to kick in. You felt your lip start to wobbly with a pout as your eyes started to burn. You had never cried so much as you did since you found out you were pregnant. Your guess? It was the Midoriya genes.

Immediately Midoriya noticed your state. “No honey.” He shook his head genuinely as he took your hands in his. “I mean that you are literally the reason my life has meaning. You are growing our little Sprout and you are the most sexiest and prettiest woman I know.”

You sniffed as you tried to fight back the tears, not wanting to ruin your makeup. “So I’m very important sexy dirt?”

“Very important and very sexy dirt.”

You nodded your head agreeing with him. “Okay.” You took a moment to calm yourself down. “We can go now.” You assured him as you moved to get out of the car.

Once you were out Midoriya let out a sigh of relief as he slumped back in his seat for a second. Crisis three of the day, averted. The first one had happened when you had effectively tried on a dress and he said you looked like a majestic whale (you cried thinking he was calling you fat), the second one had happened when you saw the little newborn boots in the baby’s room (that one he didn’t know why you were crying there).

With that out of the way, Midoriya got out and gave you his arm as the two of you walked side by side to the front door of the Bakugou residence. Midoriya knocked on the door.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal Bakugou Mitsuki. Her face split into a huge smile. “Y/N! Izuku! Come in, come in! We were wondering where you two were.” She started as she allowed the two of you through.

Midoriya put on his winning smile. “Thanks for having us, Aunt Mitsuki.”

“Its no problem.” She waved him off before noticing your stomach. Her crimson eyes widened before letting out a loud laugh. She put her hands on her hips as she tilted her head, “Well fuck me. Inko wasn’t telling shit.” She let out humorously. “You two work fast.”

You looked up at Midoriya with a pointed glare, although it held no form of malice. He put his hands up in defence with an awkard chuckle. “That was all me.” He confessed.

It only made Mitsuki chuckle as she motioned for the two of you to follow her. “I figured.” It felt almost nostalgic following her through her home. It reminded you of all the times you would be here with Bakugou. Almost bitter sweet. You both followed her towards the back of the house. “Everyone else is outside. Takea and Masaru were just about to take the barbeque off the fire.” She let out a sigh with a roll of her eyes. She glanced back at you. “Kirishimas and their love for meat.” She let out almost annoyed making you giggle. The back sliding door was open allowing you to see the deck where everyone was.

You walked out into the sunlight, watching as Kirishima stood at the grill with another large woman that looked almost identical to him along with Masaru who wore a frilly pink apron. Bakugou stood plating the table along with a redhaired older woman and Inko standing with them holding a can of soda. One of Bakugou’s speakers was playing music at a low volume setting up a rather light mood. You tightened your grip on Midoriya and he reciprocated without hesitation.

“Oi guys! Look who finally made it.” Mitsuki let out with a smile as she motioned to the two of you.

Eyes turned to the two of you. Inko let out a happy shout as she put down her soda can and quickly went over to you. You chuckled as you accepted her into a hug. “Y/N! Look at you!” She let out loudly with giggles. She looked you over with a fond smile. “You look so beautiful. How is he treating you?” She asked putting a hand to your stomach as she stirred you away from Midoriya, not even looking at her son.

Midoriya shrugged as he threw his hands up. “Nice to see you too, Okaasan.” He said sarcastically.

She looked at him with a frown and a shush before turning back to you. You chuckled as you kept a hand over hers. “Very active but so far so good. No complaints but I am crying a lot more than I thought I would.”

“Well, that’s not surprising.” You let out a breath, already knowing the voice. You flicked your gaze to his. Rich bloody crimson looked at you as he stood up straight, folding his large arms over his chest. Surprisingly he looked a bit older than you last saw him but predominantly the same, other than the silver ring on his ring finger. He looked you up and down, not a particular emotion on his face. “Y/N.”

You put on a smile on your face. “Katsuki.”

“Don’t worry,” You turned your attention to the redheaded woman who walked over to you. She had warm golden motherly eyes that instantly made you feel safer around her. “The tears won’t stop.” She told you humorously.

You chuckled. “I don’t doubt that, Yua. It’s great to see you again.” You stated as you gave her a hug. Yua was one of Kirishima’s mothers and a very soft and caring person, although managing to be a very firm person. You admired her a lot and she was such a sweetheart.

“It’s good to see you too. It’s been too-”

“Up we go!” You let out a surprised shout as you were picked up from where you stood. The large black haired woman shook her head with a tsk. “You should be sitting, you shouldn’t be standing, pumpkin.” Takea stated as she strode over to place you down on one of the cushioned seats on the patio.

You chuckled once you were finally down and off the giant woman. You looked up at her with a smile. “Thank you, Takea.”

Kirishima Takea, another one of Kirishima’s mothers and an absolute himbo at heart. She looked like the splitting image of Eijiro other than the fact that she was a woman and her hair wasn’t dyed. She was a bit of a hardass, worked in politics and apparently owned a mining company but you always knew her as Kirishima’s fun mother who was the reason for his manliness code. She folded her arms over her chest as she gave you a sharp smile, ruby eyes glinting. “Wow, pumpkin. You look like…” She tilted her head. “Well a pumpkin. Well actually more like a dumpling. Mh… I want dumplings.” She let out with a hum looking off hungry to the side, making you chuckle. “You need anything, beautiful? I’ll make Eijiro fetch it for you.” She said nonchalantly.

Kirishima turned to Takea with furrowed eyebrows. “Hey! Why me?” He asked putting his arms out in confusion.

Before he could even open his mouth again, a hard swat went to the back of his head, forcing his head down before. Takea had a hard grip on him, as he struggled. Quickly she pulled him into a headlock and used her quirk, her whole arm crystalising into a dark like obsidian, effectively locking her son in her grip. She gave you a gentle smile, ignoring the struggles over her son. “Anything at all.”

You didn’t mind watching the scene in front of you but you put a finger to your chin. “Can I have mint ice-cream, cheese and broccoli?” You asked.

Without asking questions Takea nodded. She let go of her son just in time to allow him to stumble back and onto his ass. “Coming right up.” She assured, before turning to grab Kirishima by the ear, forcing him to stand up again. It was clear that Takea knew what had transpired between you, her son and Bakugou and part of you was now glad for it. She looked at Inko, “You put the ice-cream in the fridge, right?” She asked.

Inko nodded, having already been told by her son what your latest cravings were. “Yes. The broccoli should also be cooling on the table.”

“Great.” She placed a kiss on Inko’s forehead. “You’re great, marshmallow.” Immediately Inko turned as red as a tomato, looking at Takea with large green eyes as Takea dragged her son inside. Midoriya looked at Takea with whiplash, watching her enter the house again, clearly offended on his mother’s behalf.

Masaru walked over and put a hand on Inko’s shoulder to console her, smiling down at her sweetly. “Don’t worry, you know how Takea is. Very…” Masaru hesitated.

“Say it how it is.” Yua let out with a sigh as she folded her arms. “Knows no boundaries,”

“Or shame.” Bakugou let out casually as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Bakugou leaned back in his chair, his crimson gaze moving to Midoriya who stood there nonchalantly, looking and talking to anyone who wasn’t Bakugou Katsuki. The blond male furrowed his eyebrows slightly before letting out a light scoff. “Not greeting me, Izuku?”

Midoriya flicked his emerald eyes to Bakugou. At first he didn’t move and you didn’t know whether Midoriya would commit homicide or not. The green haired man let out a breath. “Leaving the best for last… Katsuki.” He let out. His eyes looked Bakugou up and down. “You look tired.”

“I’m married and it’s a lot of work.” Bakugou answered back automatically. “You look fat.”

“I’m married and I’m happy.” Midoriya shot right back.

You looked between the two men, flicking your gaze between them. You thought maybe it would be best to diffuse some tension. You felt a small kick to your hand making you look down at your stomach. You smiled again. “Masaru,” you spoke up. “The barbeque is smelling great, little sprout seems to agree.”

“Sprout?” Mitsuki and her son both asked with scrunched up expressions, not getting it.

Bakugou looked up at Midoriya with an unimpressed look. “You are naming your first kid… Sprout?” Takea and Kirishima had come back with him holding separate bowls of cheese, ice-cream and broccoli.

Midoriya rolled his eyes. “No, that’s his nickname. We haven’t decided a name yet.” Midoriya walked over to you slowly, deciding to stand next to you, putting a hand to your shoulder. “Since Y/N calls me a ‘tree’, that,” He pointed down to your stomach. “Is a sprout.”

Mitsuki let out a chuckle making Bakugou look over at her concerned at what she was chuckling about. He hummed with a frown. “What are you giggling about, old hag?” he asked.

Mitsuki motioned to you and then to Midoriya. She pat Takea before motioning to the two of you again. “She climbed him like a tree.” Immediately the two women started laughing. You couldn’t but giggle yourself as your husband turned slightly pink in the face.

Bakugou scowled as he let out a groan, covering his face as he wanted to die in embarrassment. Kirishima sent Takea a pointed look that reminded you of Yua. He shook his head before handing you the three separate bowls with a small smile. “Here you go, Y/N.” He spoke softly.

You smiled up at him appreciatively. “Thank you, Eijiro.” You took the broccoli and cheese and put it in the ice-cream bowl immediately making Kirishima’s eyes widen at your actions. He opened his mouth to speak but Yua put a hand on his arm and signalled to him not to question it.

Bakugou looked over to his father. He motioned over to Mitsuki who was still laughing with Takea. “Control your wife!” He voiced loudly.

Masaru sighed as he turned around away from the shenanigans. “She’s your mother.”

“You married her first!”

“I’m not bloodily related to her.”

You sat at the tree swing that was in Bakugou’s backyard. You held onto the ropes, not swinging but just enjoying everything around you. The sun was setting and you and Midoriya would be leaving soon. You looked around the garden for a second, trying to enjoy the scenery and enjoy the moment.

However, it was shortly lived as walking over to you was Bakugou Katsuki. He had his hands in his pockets as he walked over to you. He didn’t say anything at first and instead, leaned against the tree next to you. It reminded you of the times the two of you were dating and you would come out here together whenever you visited his parents. It seemed like something so far away.

You looked up at Bakugou. “You and Eijiro…” Bakugou perked up before looking down at you. His crimson eyes didn’t hold much for you to see but their attention was on you. Whenever you were with him, they were always on you. “Does he make you happy?” You asked him innocently.

Bakugou was silent for a moment, almost thinking of a way to answer that. He let out a breath. He didn’t look at you as he looked up at the leaves of the tree. “He’s always made me happy. The stupid shitty haired idiot honestly is more like a golden retriever than a partner.” He commented making you smile softly. “But…” He sighed as he closed his eyes. He nodded his head. “We’re happy enough.” He spoke quieter.

You smiled gently. “I’m glad.” He looked down at you slightly surprised. “Your mother told me that the two of you are thinking of getting a surrogate.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yah. You and that damn nerd, along with that icy hot bastard and princess have given him baby fever.” He replied simply. Knowing him for so long you knew all the nicknames, knowing that the nerd was your husband, the icy hot bastard was Todoroki and princess would be Momo. You heard him scoff. “I don’t understand why. He knows I’m not the best with kids.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not true, Katsuki. You totally want kids. It was always about your great Dynamight Domination plan.” You said dramatically making him scoff.

“I wanted kids because I knew they would have you.” He answered simply making you pause. You looked up at him as he stared at the house for a second before looking back down at you. “You look good like that, you know.” He let out with a soft smirk on his lips. “I always wondered how you would look… like that.”

“Like a whale?” That made him let out a chuckle as he dropped his head with a laugh. You were happy the two of you were actually talking like people. You flicked your gaze over to your husband that was talking to his mother on the patio about something, her giving him a bundle of you only wished was her katsudon because nothing would taste better than that for you right now. “I saw you talk with Izuku earlier…” You started. “Please…” You flicked your eyes back up to him. “Be civil, Katsuki.” You heard him take in a deep breath and look away from you. “I know its hard, and I know you get really mean when you get upset, but please. As much as I am no longer in your life the way I was, it doesn’t mean we can not at least be friends still.”

Bakugou was silent, not wanting to look at you. “I’ll… I’ll try.” He spoke gently. “But Deku isn’t innocent either.”

“Hm, I bet.” You saw Midoriya look towards you. He motioned to you and you knew it was time to go. You carefully put a hand to your stomach and got back on your own two feet before Bakugou could react to help you. You put a hand up to him, giving him a look. “We both know I ain’t made of glass.” You threw at him making him scoff amusedly. He put his hands up in the air allowing you to waddle back over to Midoriya by yourself.

The two of you said your goodbyes as you headed to the car. Midoriya had opened the door for you allowing you to slide in. You settled into your seat and Midoriya went into the driver’s seat. It was quiet as he started the car and carefully started driving.

You glanced over at him. You shook your head with a chuckle. “You can ask me what we talked about Izuku, you don’t have to be conjuring up fifty thousand different scenarios of how to get it out of me.” You spoke amusedly.

Your husband scoffed, glancing at you. “That is not what I was thinking about.”

You glanced at him with a smirk on your face. “Okay.”

You sat in your seat counting the seconds. He didn’t even last through the first traffic light.

“So hypothetically speaking-” You let out a loud laugh at his words, knowing he would crack. At the sound of your laughter he smiled, glancing at you before shaking his head. “I don’t know how on earth you can always tell what’s on my mind.”

“We’re married, my love.” You reminded him.

He glanced back over to you. He took your one hand and gave it a squeeze, before putting a kiss to your hand. “Always are and always will be.”

-Glitch1d

THE END. This is the LAST chapter of this series. Thank you for all the love and support it got. I am going back on my haitus but all the love meant the world.

oh... and happy birthday Izuku.

Taglist: @cillshot@stxrrielle@doomedengineer@chims-kookies@fabii275@tiniewife@katbug37@kitaakaat@piceous21@vduxx@incredible-walker @moowrites @itzmeme @kodzukenie333 @lovra974 @stevenknightmarc

#mha x y/n #bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #izuku x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daddy izuku #izuku midoriya #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader angst #tw: pregnancy #LAST CHAPTER OF THE CONTRACT

1K notes · View notes

quakearts · 4 months

Text

Random strawhat headcannons because I can:

Luffy: He seems so dumb until you ask him about beetles. He's a bug enthusiast. Thinks Buggy doesn't deserve the name bc actual bugs are WAY cooler. Tone deaf.

Zoro: Genuinely likes to hear about history and culture, he just gets the geography mixed up. I bet he has shoulder pains but just doesn't say anything. Has an appreciation for art, just doesn't feel like putting time towards developing the skill. Also Tone deaf.

Nami: Likes drawing quite a bit, and in her free time she doodles the landscapes she sees. Farsighted but her eyesight isn't too bad.

Usopp: IDGAF what Oda says he's a lefty in my book. Favorite medium is watercolor, but enjoys charcoal drawing too. Wants to get a tattoo to be cool but is too afraid it'll hurt too bad.

Sanji: tone deaf. Cannot hold a tune to save his life.

Chopper: doesn't even bother telling Zoro off about his bad habits anymore. He knows he'll never listen. Wants to learn how to draw (it'll help him with his medical journals), and spends time with Usopp and Nami to learn.

Robin: She enjoys some shenaniganery too. She very easily sneaks up on everyone else to spook them. On top of general history, she also admires architecture. She and Franky nerd out about it.

Franky: how his ginormous hands play an average sized guitar is beyond me, but I bet he has regular jam sessions with Brook.

Brook: You hand this man ANY instrument and he already has previously mastered it, or will in a matter of minutes. The skeleton jokes are a coping mechanism. Enjoys when anyone else joins in on his musical endeavors.

Jinbe: (I'm about to start the Marine Ford arc, I'm in impel down right now, at the part where everyone is trying to escape to go save Ace, so fair warning if he's mischaracterized, I'm going off what I've seen in clips and little in-show material) Gives the best hugs out of anyone else. Amazing at comforting others without sugarcoating much.

BONUS ROUND

Bon Clay: Typically not the violent type until push comes to shove, or until there's a new pair of pointe shoes that need to be broken in. I mean this guy is so violent with the pointe shoes. I know they need to be broken in and fitted right but damn what did the shoe do to you?

Buggy: He starts rehearsing different circus acts when he's stressed out. Like "Captain!" "What?" "What are you doing?" "I'M WALKING A TIGHTROPE THAT'S AS UNSTABLE AS ME RIGHT NOW!"

93 notes · View notes

hotluncheddie · 8 months

Text

🍓🍓

this is honestly kinda random but my part two of the @thefreakandthehair summer fic challenge is done!!! so pretend it’s summer and not halloween, these boys r bring goofy all year round!

prompt: picking berries | cw: none | rated: G | part 2/2 | tags: disaster gays steve& eddie. besties robin & steve. jeff is an angel.

read part 1 here!

‘rob? um. is it gay to take your male friend berry picking’ steve asks while he’s pushing the full returns kart over to the romance section. he feels his eyebrows scrunch as he tries to read the labels on the tapes.

‘uh’ comes robins faint reply from where she’s slumped on the counter.. not helpful.

‘if uh. what if he really likes strawberries. like so so much.’ steve asks, focusing on trying to read the tapes even harder as he feels his neck get warm the longer he hears no reply.

‘no right? no, i don’t think so. it’s like friendly bonding. totally wholesome.’ steve gives up on the tapes. coming around to stare at robin across the counter. he gnaws on his cuticle and stares at her eyeballs so hard he goes cross eyed.

‘what the fuck’ robin whispers ‘it’s 9 in the morning’

‘robinnnnn’ steve whines because she not helping and he needs her to help, like so much, like right now.

‘ok ok! ask me again.’ she demands, finally looking alive and like she’ll actually fulfil her best friend duties like he needs.

steve takes a deep breath. ‘is it gay to…’

‘yes.’ robin interrupts before he can finish.

steve opens and closes his mouth a couple times. his mind is blank. blank except for an image of eddie and an image of a strawberry and an intense need in his gut to have the two connect.

‘shit’ steve rubs his hand down his face.

‘fraid so, it’s super gay and i hate to be the one to break it to ya.’ robin pats him on the shoulder, genuinely looking like she feels sorry for him. until her face shifts into a grin that’s a touch feral. ‘your crush on eddie is officially terminal.’

steve feels the heat on his neck slither up and bite at his cheeks. ‘who, uh, who said it was eddie?’

‘oh come on steve! i’m your best friend i see how you look at him.’ robin laments, rolling her eyes with her whole body, instantly calling his paper thin bluff.

steve groans, pushes away from the counter and starts pacing ‘ugh okay yes fine! i wanna take eddie on a gay strawberry date and make him smile and hold his hand and other stuff and, and im kinda freaking out here rob!’ steve feels frazzled. he cards a hand through his hair and tuggs.

‘okay. okay! it’s fine see, it’s fine.’ robin says, giving steve two big thumbs up and a smile that does nothing to hide the panic in her eyes. steve whines again and goes back to pacing.

‘uhhh okay! is this gay stress or eddie specific stress?’ robin joins him in pacing but she stays behind the counter. ‘because i know we talked about that kid in camp and you had a lot to say about that one guy you saw at a swim meet and then when we watched blade runner you talked over it a lot like normal but also got like really quiet when harrison ford was all kinda sweaty and stuff.’ robin finally takes a breath and turn back to face steve who is gaping at her. he feels like she just dissected his brain like it was a frog.

‘so i feel like we discussed the whole’ robin flails her arms up and down his general being. ‘bi thing. so i’m thinking this is more a like eddie specific freak out and so, like, shut the fuck up actually? hes obsessed with you steve!’ robin finishes, finally.

‘who’s obsessed with steve?’ eddie’s asks. because eddie’s there now. flanked by the three corroded coffin boys, all looking at steve like he’s something to be wary of.

‘uh’ robin and steve say in unison.

‘kieth!’ robin shouts with way too much enthusiasm for their manager who barely does his job. ‘yeah, ha. he’s been doing the schedules so the two of them overlap like, all the time. steve here always figured the guy hated him but, uh, times they do be a changing. yeah, he’s to-totally obsessed.’ robin smiles way too big and steve can only match it. staring at her, trying to make her shut. up. using only his minimal bran power.

‘oooh’ eddie says because he’s an angel who would never make fun of robin even if she’s being super weird.

‘uh, we’re gonna go look at the sci-fi section ed’s.’ Gareth says, his face one of confusion and maybe a little bit of fear.

‘buckley. harrington.’ jeff says nodding his head in acknowledgment of the two before they all wonder off. gareth and (unnamed freak) repeat the motion and follow.

huh. that’s good. eddie’s friends are taking longer than most to thaw to steve. he gets it, but, still, sometimes it stings.

‘cool yeah.’ eddie says watching them slip away. ‘movie day.’ eddie explains, smiling so big his eyes squish into little crescents, bouncing on his toes.

steve feels his actual heart clench. like god himself is reaching into his chest and squeezing it.

‘that’s great man’ steve says, voice coming out breathy but eddie’s smile only brightens further when their eyes lock. so steve has to spend a second remembering to breath in again.

‘you want to join? oh uh. i mean. you can’t. your working.’ eddie babbles, slowly going strawberry red. ‘and like, i know you don’t love horror and stuff and that’s kinda the vibe we’re going for so, maybe um, maybe some other time. a time your not working but when it’s not like alien over and over. uh yeah.’

‘doyouwanttogoberrypicking. with me?’ steve blurts. feeling his whole head heat up and run down his chest. he clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

eddie looks shocked, eyes so big and confused and pretty.

but before steve knows it, the sun peaks over the mountains and the corners of eddie’s mouth curl into a grin that’s so delighted steve’s toes almost curl.

‘yeah. course i would.’ eddie says, so softly, so shyly through his still strawberry red smile..

‘hopeless am i right?’ jeff says as he steps over to the counter next to robin.

they’re both gawking at the two fumbling through making a plan. all pink cheeked and goofy.

‘hopeless.’ robin confirms, rolling her eyes and going back o actually doing her job. she smiles down at the tape in her hand.

#they go on the date and hold hands!!!#lexssummerfanworkschallenge #steddie #hotlunch #stobin #my fic #<3 #it took so long to end this #i hope it’s fun

106 notes · View notes

startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

Note

Starrrrr, my babe! Congrats on your 100 followers, that is amazing! You are amazing! IT'S ALL SO AMAZING! Happy squirrel and fellow CCS here. My request---Bradley (because DUH, it's me!), and a fluffy “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” moment because I'm feral over the idea of this man speaking these words to me. <3

Meer, my darling! Here's the fluffy Bradley Bradshaw fic you requested! Enjoy! This "You’re beautiful, you know that right?" moment is brought to you by the 1966 Ford Bronco MT drove in his first TG:M scene! 🥰 😘

The Mechanic

Cars. You love them. You also hate that you love them as much as you do. You’d taken over your grandfather’s small auto repair shop three years ago when the stress was too much for his body. Since then, you’ve been finding grease in places grease definitely should not be while slowly building your reputation amongst the car collectors in the greater San Diego area. You’re half under a mint-green Chevrolet Bel Air when you hear a car roll up into the shop’s lot. The engine sounds pretty good and you can hear the faint strands of music pouring out of the cab before it stops. Whoever it is will talk to your Grandad first.

Despite his ailing bones, and his trust in your abilities, your Grandad had still wanted to be involved with the shop. So the two of you had compromised. You’d do the work while your Grandad ran the front of the house. That way he could still talk to your customers about their vehicles without stressing himself out by trying to move heavy car parts. And, your grandma had shared in secret a few weeks after the arrangement started, that it got him out of the house and out of her hair!

It helped too, that your Grandad still had all of his contacts in the collectible car community. They were a godsend when you were looking for rare parts. The Bel Air, for instance that you’re under? You’d needed to source and build the entire engine from scratch and restore the exterior. The beautiful car had been rusting away in an old barn for years before the owners unearthed it and decided it needed to be restored. It was finally nearly complete and the engine purred like a kitten now that you’ve gotten it all hooked up. You are completing your final checks on the undercarriage when you feel a knock against your work boot.

You roll out from under the truck to see your Grandad and what has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Hey, kiddo. This here is Bradley Bradshaw. He’s got a 1966 Ford Bronco which he’d like to get fully restored. Bradley, this is my granddaughter. She does the actual hard work around this place.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him. He’s wearing a garish Hawaiian print shirt over a white singlet, slim-fitting jeans and boots. He’s got a pair of aviators hanging from the neck and his arms are crossed against his chest, biceps bulging alluringly. He’s so clean that it has you reaching for the rag scrunched into your pocket so you can wipe as much grease from your hands as possible.

You proffer your slightly cleaner hand at him with a sigh, introducing yourself by name this time.

“It’s nice to meet you. A ‘66 Bronco?” You whistle through your teeth at the thought. “Do you have it here with you? I’d love to take a look under the hood first. Then we can discuss what you’d like restored and how.”

“Sure. I drove it here today.” His voice is smooth and a little raspy. If you weren’t covered in grease and other unmentionable vehicle fluids you’d have swooned into his arms.

“Great! Bring it to the lift to the right. And we’ll get her hooked and take a look.” You’re smiling your best customer service smile and trying your best to hide the way you’re drooling at the sight of his ass when your Grandad elbows you.

“Kiddo. Keep your eyes on the prize. He’s a good man. But only once you’ve fixed the car. You know the first rule.” His voice is gruff and chiding as he squeezes your fingers.

“Yeah, gramps, don’t get distracted by the clients.” Your voice in turn is dismayed and small at the admonishment.

Neither of you can calm your joy when he pulls the car up to the lift, though. It’s a gorgeous machine, cobalt blue paint glistening in the late afternoon sun.

“She’s beautiful, kiddo. Have fun!” Waving over his head, your grandfather retreats to the air conditioned office again.

“He’s right.” Your voice is reverent as you trace the sleek curves of the car. “Can I pop the hood, Bradshaw?”

At his nod, you prop the hood open, and take a look at the engine. It’s in way better repair than you would have expected. There are a few parts here and there which don’t look like originals, but on the whole, your auditory assessment from earlier holds up. This is a well taken care of car.

“Not bad, Bradshaw. Most of this engine is original?” You’re completely in mechanic mode as you grab a clipboard and start jotting down notes.

“Yeah, this car was my dad’s. He bought it before I was born and kept it in mint condition until he died. My mom took over at that point and then when I could drive, I did the same. Obviously she’s needed a couple of replacements and ‘66 Bronco parts in good condition are hard to find.” His face is soft and sad as he looks down at the engine. This car is important to him. You’re already resolved to track down as many parts as you can. And that’s what you and Bradley Bradshaw agree to; you’ll restore the Bronco and track down as many original parts as you can.

It takes you upwards of a year to finish the project. You’ve never felt so connected to a vehicle or its history. It’s become normal for Bradley Bradshaw to pop into the shop on his days off and to just hang out by the Bronco chatting with you as you and your staff work away. It’s harder and harder for you to keep your Grandad’s first rule. But you’re not distracted. You’re falling head over heels for the gorgeous, sweet, bear of a man with such an attachment to an old truck.

Things boil to a fever pitch the day you finally fit in the final part of the car. Bradley Bradshaw has been on a ship for the better part of the past 3 months. Your chats about the Bronco have been taking place over video call and you’re not expecting to see him for two weeks. You’re just about to close the hood and start her up when you hear a voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

“That’s one beautiful car, doll.” You can feel the heat in your face at the endearment as you whip around. Sure enough, it’s Bradley Bradshaw clad in his khaki uniform.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Want to start her up?” Your smile is soft as you see the joy in his face as you toss him the keys. He’s grinning boyish and sweetly at you as he hefts his body into the front seat and turns the key. Your breath is bated as you hear the engine turn over before it finally catches. Your gasp of relief at the purring motor is shadowed only by the whoop of pure glee that pours from his mouth.

“Doll! You did it! My dad’s car! It’s perfect!” You’re smiling too when he bounces up to you and holds his hand out. You can sense an unbridled energy coursing through his veins at the thought of taking the car for a spin. But things are quiet between you as he settles the bill in the office and you go about freeing the car from your work area. It’s not until he’s pulled out into the parking lot that you hear his voice again.

“Hey, doll! Now that I’m no longer a client, I need to tell you something.” His eyes glimmer in the sunlight as he looks at you. “You’re beautiful, you know that right? Let me take you out to dinner?”

“I’m covered in grease right now, Bradshaw! If you think I’m beautiful now, let me know what you think when I’m all cleaned up!” Your voice is teasing as he winks at you.

“I’ll think you’re absolutely beautiful no matter what. The Bronco and I will pick you up on Friday at 6 pm. No grease included. Bye, doll!”

Your smile is giddy and disbelieving as you watch the most gorgeous car you've ever worked on and its owner drive off into the sunset. Friday night is going to be a lot of fun.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #100 follower celebration #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

145 notes · View notes

cheemscakecat · 2 months

Text

Can’t find it, but I saw someone draw Fiddleford erasing Ford’s memory into goo and it gave me pain. Here’s my reasoning for why that didn’t happen/wouldn’t happen.

Fiddleford isn’t nearly as athletic as Ford. Now, there are probably Blind Eye members more capable of chasing after Stanford if they were trying to forcefully erase his memories, but that doesn’t mean they’d be successful. The man may be depriving himself of sleep, but he’s built up enough brute strength and endurance to escape. He made it home after collapsing in a truck stop parking lot, and managed to fight Stanley in the portal room.

The Blind Eye members wouldn’t know the layout of the forest and mountains as well as Ford. He spend years out by himself in nature, trying to drink in every detail. Even the members who know the forest because they grew up there haven’t looked at the forest the same way as him. These are people scared of the supernatural who willingly joined Fiddleford’s memory erasing cult. They aren’t going to be experts in Gravity Falls guerrilla warfare.

The memory gun eventually made the Blind Eye members forget who their founder was, and the forced use on the townsfolk made everyone stupider. The young people like Soos and Wendy haven’t had their minds erased as often, so they aren’t affected like the adult population. While pre-portal journey Ford would be up against the first generation of cultists before they forgot Fiddleford, I still feel like the effects of the memory gun would hamper their efforts to hunt him down. Especially if he goes into the mountains and woods full of creatures these cultists have been trying to forget.

Bill would be annoyed like a bratty toddler if Stanford lost his memories, so he’d oppose it too. Not out of care for the man [shipping them is extremely gross], but because he’s impatient to get that portal running, and takes too much delight in tormenting Ford. Knowing this group of people is afraid of the supernatural, should Ford be captured by the cult somehow, Bill would intimidate them into letting him go. Or beat them up using his body.

5. Ford was becoming aware of Fiddleford’s use of the memory gun before he left the project. He was already getting [rightfully] paranoid about Fidds before the reveal that Bill was evil, but that paranoia only got worse after the fact. He’s no coward about it; the man still went into town and was chasing Blind Eye members to try and find out who they were. But yes, Ford is smart and anxious enough to watch his back in town, in case the Blind Eye tried to get him.

6. Fiddleford wasn’t just the founder of the memory erasing cult, he was also the most addicted to using the machine on himself. Which explains why he lost his mind and became homeless so quickly, while the other members like Ivan are still sane enough to run the cult. Pre-portal journey would also be the time when memories about Bill were the freshest, so it’s safe to assume Fidds was using that ray on himself plenty. Even though both men were in a deteriorating metal state, Stanford was not as unwell or near the point of insanity.

7. Ford was always better at dealing with the stress of dangerous anomaly attacks and horror, which served him well in those thirty years beyond the portal. He also survived for 30 years while an outlaw, homeless, lost, and still at risk of possession [until he met the Oracle]. If it got bad enough in Gravity Falls and the cult was looking for him, Ford could survive in the wilderness just fine. Or escape to another town in Oregon or the surrounding states. But he’s probably return as soon as he thought they had given up to make sure the portal was secure.

8. For Ford to be turned into a shell of himself like in the drawing, he’d have to have something integral to his identity erased. Something like “the supernatural” or “weirdness” itself. But A. That would probably break the memory gun or require an hour’s worth of memory canisters. And B. That would so obviously send the poor guy back to when he was a toddler that Fidds would immediately realize he messed up. Why a toddler? Because he hadn’t met the bullies at school yet, and extended family would find him more cute than weird.

But yeah, if Ford started talking like a 3-4 year old who thought he’d been kidnapped, there’d be no way to argue that he’s okay. They’d have to try to sort through his dense paranormal memories in that pile of canisters, trying to undo the damage.

9. If they did mess up Ford’s mind that badly, Fidds would feel terrible about it and try to fix it. I imagine Stanley would be contacted using Ford’s old mail, and knock some sense into the cultists on his way to revive Stanford’s mind. And the erasure wouldn’t stop Bill from being terrible to Ford, so it would once again prove that Fidds was wrong to erase his mind in no uncertain terms.

10. Even at the height of his cult arc, I doubt Fiddleford would be so full of it/stupid that he erased “the paranormal” from Ford’s mind. They knew each other for years, he should know that it’s something Stanford cherishes, and has ever since he was a child. Which ultimately means there’s a nil chance of Ford getting lobotomies via memory gun, even with Blind Eye Fiddleford on the prowl.

So yeah, TDLR I must not be over that ancient AU where Dipper gets his entire mind wiped and the cult just keeps him like a servant. Kidnapped a 12 year old boy. [Ivan wasn’t that evil bro].

#gravity falls #character analysis #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #Society of the blind eye #Not shipping #BillFord do NOT interact. Touch grass

16 notes · View notes

theageofsims · 3 months

Text

Hey guys, sorry I've been away. I had an ear that was bothering me when I was building that fast food place. Stayed with it for two weeks, then went to the walk-in.

They flushed my ear out (first time had that happen), had no infection either. But my blood pressure was sky high. They checked it 3 times and told me I needed to go to the hospital.

Long story short, today I was diagnosed with High Blood Pressure and Diabetes.

Mentally I'm really struggling to take everything in, but my mother's been a diabetic for 33 years so I know all about it growing up and also living with my mom since my parents divorced (way back then).

Some may know my dad passed away from stomach cancer about a year and a half ago. It's been hard dealing with that, amongst other things in my life, and now I've got more to deal with.

I'll be fine, but sometimes when I get very stressed with stuff in life I end up forgetting to take care of myself the way I should.

I'm still around and all, but I'm afraid of a lot of things. My mom is this strong as hell independent chick since the moment I came into this world 36 years ago -- hell, since she had my brother 43 years ago. Maybe even long before that. She keeps telling me I've got to be strong and I know she's right.

I feel like the older I get the more worried I become about things. Losing my dad didn't make it any better, but I'll manage to handle that as best as I can.

Thankfully (and unfortunately) diabetes for me genetically plays a part, but I also love home cooked meals and healthy foods, I just got carried away with everything else I shouldn't have been eating or drinking and I stopped working where I was for 10 years that kept me on my feet and doing 10,000 steps a day.

I already hate myself or beat myself up for a week already, but I know I shouldn't do that. Anybody can get high blood pressure and/or diabetes no matter if they're a health nut or they aren't. Regardless of how much they way as well.

I really wish I could call my dad up and say hey, dad! Like I normally would. Chat with him about anything and everything, including tech stuff (since he worked as an IT guy for 30 years), or even Harrison Ford being in a new movie since he loved watching him in movies, too -- but I can't. I think a lot of me being afraid is because I haven't got my dad reassuring me when I need it the most.

I'm usually someone who doesn't feel down. I guess I've spent so many years just holding the stress inside or hiding it because I never wanted help or someone to ask me how I was doing -- and there's been a lot of stresses since I was 15 years old.

I'm pretty down now though. I pretty much just wonder how I got where I am and how much of it was my fault and how much wasn't.

Since I left my job two years ago, nothing has gone right in my life. My dad got sick with stomach cancer and then he died within 5 months. I am struggling to make my small handmade business work. There are other family issues going on indirectly to me, but are in my immediate family so I am around the stress and trying to help others deal with it, and now I've got my health to deal with and worry about.

I know I'm not the only one either. I knew what I would be diagnosed with, but I didn't say it. I've been checking my blood pressure and pricking my finger to check my sugar level for a whole week on my mother's machines. But I wanted to wait until after my appointment today with my new PCP who I will be seeing regularly now, which will also hopefully help calm my fear of doctors (I've had every day of my life since birth -- took 5 nurses to hold me down once JUST to get a culture test for strep throat. When I say all my life -- I mean, ALL my life.)

Anyway, I shouldn't be upset and I sure as hell shouldn't cry because Lord knows I've been crying so many tears for awhile now, but right now I've got blurred vision from crying as I write this post and hope the eye doctor I have to go see since I have diabetes, doesn't tell me that I've damaged my eyes for good.

Anyway, if you read this -- thanks for reading this. I know I pretty much stick to Sims stuff all the time sprinkled in with my favorite movies / actors and not things like this, but I guess I just need some support because I never really had any my whole life and never thought I'd need it -- but I'm human like everyone else and I suppose, after all of this, I do need it.

#blurb

24 notes · View notes

man-down-in-hatchet-town · 7 months

Text

Karma Police

IT'S THE MID-SEASON FINALE BEFORE THE HIATUS! As always, spoilers for The Case of the Greater Gatsby episode 14 under the cut!

So, after the information onslaught that was the previous two episodes, "Karma Police" was a little bit of a breather—at least up until the end. Just lots of cannibalism jokes and character moments as both Ford and Fig start to show the strain of the case in their own ways (Ford’s increasingly surfacing anger, Fig’s anxiety and fainting spell). Which means that you guys get a relatively shorter essay after the absolute monster I posted earlier.

To start with, Fig’s line about the stress of working multiple jobs and how they keep you from keeping up with life events? Too real. Really, Fig’s whole unraveling physical and mental state throughout the entirety of this episode was the perfect encapsulation of my experiences over the last couple of months.

Meanwhile, either TD is way smarter and more conniving than we’re giving him credit for (possible; after all we have yet to receive confirmation of his admittedly convincing alibi) or he is innocent. His issues with blood certainly don’t remove him from the suspect list, but if he had known that Fitzgerald didn’t bleed a drop he probably wouldn’t have passed out thinking about it. But then that brings us back to the question of Mo and just who he’s reporting to. If Mo was on the lot telling Mel about Fitzgerald’s death, wouldn’t her husband/assistant know the details? Or did she kick him out? Regardless, I continue to be fascinated by the Hammermeister marriage. I have so many questions I don’t think I actually want the answers to; you know those two have either never taken so much as a sock off in front of each other or else are the kinkiest bastards you could ever possibly meet.

On the Ford side of things, what fun to get Dylan again so soon! But Shipwrecked better not think I didn’t clock Donald not telling Ford where he was on the night of the party. I’m pretty confidant that Donald did not commit the murder—on a meta level he’d just be a strange choice—but his obfuscation and successful derailing of Ford is suspicious, though that might not have even been intentional. After all, he didn’t know that Vivian was about to show up.

Speaking of Vivian, the PHIGHTINGALE OF IT ALL! Ford’s anger at her lies feels deeper and more personal—you can just taste how strongly he resents their inescapable attraction and connection. And Vivian continues to walk all over him. Her story makes good enough sense, I guess, but I’m still not sure she’s telling the truth, as it’s a little too early in the story to conclusively point the finger at Barnaby. Though I suppose he could have shown up without actually being the murderer…. Meanwhile, after a whole episode of being grilled over his use of the word “grill,” Ford learns that Vivian uses it too, and judging by her tone has met many of the same reactions as her favorite employee. I love everything about their toxic, magnetic, inescapable dynamic. It’s noir perfection. Or, as @its-short-for-jackalope put it, “I think Ford & Vivian are actually soulmates 😂.”

Which sucks for Ford, because Viv’s pulled a fast-one over on Bixby! Whatever his other designs with Mel or Fitzgerald’s murder are, this plot against Bixby seems to a major card up Mo’s sleeve. But while I can see why taking over Bixby’s would benefit Mo, but what does Vivian get out of it? Higher pay? Let’s not forget that Mo made up her alibi on the spot for the night that Fitzgerald was killed. Was he protecting her as part of his takeover? Or is blackmailing her with knowledge of the night Fitzgerald died as part of his coup? I have so many questions about these two and why Vivian’s chosen to tango with this cop in particular.

And a moment of applause for Matthew Mercer’s evil laugh at the end of the episode! What a way to go out. Matt is absolutely incredible in everything he does and Greater Gatsby is no exception. I’m so happy that MK’s brought him into the fold.

Well, that’s it for the time being! I hope Fig and Ford come back soon (have they announced how long the hiatus will be?) but in the meantime I will be re-listening and you can bet your ass I will blog any new revelations that come to mind.

This is man-down-in-hatchet-town, reporting from Tinsel Town, signing off (from these responses, not from the blog).

#shipwrecked comedy #the case of the greater gatsby #fig and ford #ford phillips #fig wineshine #vivian nightingale #bixby crane #mo beats #td hammermeister

27 notes · View notes

annieqattheperipheral · 1 year

Text

Kyle. Hi. Wow. Ok. I'm sad. Wow gonna miss u hard.

Ok so the Brendan Shanahan media availability just ended. Wow, he revealed a fair bit and didn't hide that letting Kyle go was his decision and revealed when he changed his mind from fully working on extending his contract, to ok thank you but bye.

The timeline:

Off-season 2022: shanny tells dubas they're going to wait and see how the 22-23 season goes and then decide on whether or not to extend him. Kyle all cool beans super profesh

Season: goes well normal ups n downs. Owners & board & shanny are happy

Trade deadline 2023: shanny is very pleased and now there's not much else for GMs to do rn so tells dubas we want to extend you. Kyle all cool beans i want that too here's my agent's deets y'all figure it out keep me out of it while i focus on the end of season & playoffs

Friday May 12: Leafs nation crashes and burns out of the playoffs in round 2

Saturday day off

Sunday they all come in for team pictures and shanny & dubas chat and he tells dubas you did well this doesn't change anything we still want to extend you. also everyone will be talking to media tmr you don't have to i won't be. Kyle all cool beans but I'm gonna bc the players & coach have to and i should support them

Monday May 15 - Kyle Dubas speaks to media -> he did not confirm yes/no on whether he wanted to stay as GM, answers with this season was v hard on my family and i have to speak w them before i answer in any way at all

Shanny's brain goes all WTF. Yes we've talked extensively at every conversation about how hard this season has been on your family. But like did not expect that response to the media. So then shanny's all driving home that night thinking ok i have to think about the possibility of next season having a different GM

Tuesday - they don't chat

Wednesday - shanny goes to see dubas. They talk about his Monday media availability cuz shanny got questions cuz like wtf. They talk about pressure on family in this industry both as player and management. Kyle says his agent will contact him tmr and shanny all uhh ok but I'm like still so confused girl

Thursday - dubas agent sends shanny a new contract w different financial package expectations. Kyle emails shanny that night i wanna be ur GM boo🫶 but shanny already got the ick factor going and is so not into it anymore

Friday May 19/today - shanny drove to dubas office at ford performance centre and told him we will not be extending ur contract 😭😭😭

Brendan Shanahan speaks to media

If you've got the urge and u really love kyle highly encourage you watch/listen to both of their press conferences. Shanahan speaks highly of Dubas keeps it profesh there is none of the bad blood we heard about

Kyle is so awesome, open, emotional and possibly its the last time we'll hear from him for awhile since he's no longer with MLSE nor any other org. He said in his media that if he were to not be GM with leafs, in no way would we be seeing him signing with another team like next week. His answer didn't have anything to do w having other job offers.

My overall conclusion:

shanny no longer saw the 100% passion and want for the job anymore from dubas during his Monday press conference. And it's ok if that is how kyle is feeling bc he clearly needs to focus on family for a bit now after just a rollicking season & stressful as shit playoffs. Yes Kyle was in a vulnerable state so soon after playoffs elimination and probably shouldn't have been judged for his contract extension based off of that. But workplaces and jobs are like relationships where if the want to work isn't fully there anymore it is going to turn off your coworkers and boss, and his lack of confirmation of wanting to be GM to the press really drove home that he was still on the fence and iffy about going all in on the job despite the horrible 2nd round loss.

Wherever you go kyle, I'm following you, even if you go to one of my hated teams bc i know you'll fix the org & locker room culture like you did at the leafs💙💙💙

#the complete timeline of WHAT HAPPENED WHO QUIT WHO FIRED WHO #kyle dubas #my leafies #toronto maple leafs #brendan shanahan #maple leafs #leafs #tml #annieQ hockey thoughts

45 notes · View notes

femboyhorror · 8 months

Text

trans dipper vent fic - preview/unfinished rough draft

this isn't really my usual sort of posting. mainly b/c it's not art it's writing. a ventfic at that. but i figured maybe some gravity falls fans might follow me and enjoy seeing this unfinished piece. written as a way to vent out some stress i've been feeling, contains some trans!dipper angst.

cw for some menstruation descriptions, cramp descriptions and some implied abuse from the twin's parents.

.｡ ☽ ⋆⍋⍋｡⍋⍋⋆ ☾ ｡.

the bus ride to the forests of oregon was just as long and boring as he remembered it to be. after hours of sitting in the same seat next to his twin he felt a strong need to move his legs and his back was hurting something fierce.

and yet as he watched the scenery in the window slowly change from long wide plains to towering pine trees a sense of comfort made itself known in the boy's heart. a sense of safety that he had sorely missed in the months that dragged by.

once his eyes caught sight of the familiar 'welcome to gravity falls' sign, he felt a smile spread across his face. one that his sister mirrored.

home. they were finally home.

as soon as the bus came to a stop the mystery twin duo practically jumped up out of their seats. ignoring the brief shouts from the bus rider about staying put until the bus was at a complete stop, the twins darted out of the vehicle to meet with the equally as excited faces of their grunkles stan and ford.

"grunke stan! grunkle ford!" the two had greeted in near unison. mabel, ever the far more energetic of the twins, didn't hesitate to jump stan in a hug.

"whoa whoa there kid, you tryin to kill your old man?" the codger had grumbled out in protest, though the way his own face breaks out into a bright smile as he wraps his arms around her show that he missed her just as much.

"welcome back, my boy." ford had cooed as he and dipper embraced in a much calmer hug. emotion swelled in dipper's heart, and he responded through a knot in his throat,

"i'm glad to be back."

'my boy' he thinks. because that's who he was. here in gravity falls, he was no longer some little girl. he was a beloved great nephew, he was a brother, he was dipper pines. the relief behind these thoughts make tears spring to his eyes, and to his relief if ford notices his emotional moment he chooses not to comment on it.

"alright, i don't know about you two but i'm just about ready to have breakfast. and i'm guessing you two dinguses hadn't eaten yet, either?" stan spoke up to which mabel chimed in,

"i mean, duh! we wanted to have a reunion breakfast!" stan let out a faux yawn.

"well, i guess i could make us all some stancakes, but i better not catch you trying to add in some weird candy dinosaur things to the batter, kid!"

~ ~ ~

breakfast between the four of them was nothing less than a lively affair. despite stan's warnings, mabel had naturally managed to turn her own pancakes into what dipper could only described as a rainbow colored death wish of syrup and sprinkles.

and despite his lack of breakfast, dipper himself could barely do more than poke around his own smaller serving of stancakes. between a dull ache in his body and remaining pain of the events from back in california made the concept of eating a wholly unappealing one.

while stan and mabel were too distracted with their own conversation to pay this any mind, dipper sees ford shoot him a brief look of concern which he quietly waves off.

once breakfast had been finished, their grunkles assured the younger twins that they had the dishes taken care of and shooed them upstairs to unpack their things.

"hey, dipper?" mabel's words break through the brief moment of silent unpacking that had taken the two in the attic, her unusually soft tone feeling like a harsh reminder of everything that had happened before their arrival back at the small oregon town. "don't you think we should tell them what ha-"

"no." he cut in harshly before quickly adding, "i just… i don't think i'm ready to relive that whole mess just yet…" he sighs and adds in, under his breath. "i just want to be able to be dipper for a while…"

"you know you'll always be dipper to all of us. stan and ford wouldn't treat you badly for being different." the words 'unlike mom and dad' hang in the air, unsaid but understood by both parties.

dipper looks down at his half unpacked suitcase, the shouts of his parents echoing in his mind as he swallowed down the knot in his throat.

"i will tell them, just…" he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking voice. "…just not yet."

a part of him almost expected mabel to push him to tell them, to say that honesty is the best policy and that he would feel better once he explained everything. however, mabel simply put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

~ ~ ~

the dawn of the first official day of summer began with excrutiating pain in dipper's lower gut signaling an unwelcome crimson visitor.

several days of dull pain made the blood shed that morning not all that surprising, and yet he wants to sob as he cleans himself up in the bathroom. of course. as if his present situation hadn't made his dysphoria bad enough already, mother nature would taunt him further with her wholly unwanted and unwelcome visit.

forcing the added stress and pain to the back of his mind with everything else, he pops some pain pills and tries not to let his agony show as he slowly wanders down the stairs. immediately he's aware of the smell of smoke and he follows it to the kitchen to find the source to be a pan of half burnt eggs. stan seems to be attempting to teach mabel to cook with… mixed results. dipper simply shakes his head and takes a seat at the table where he sees his great uncle ford nursing a cup of coffee, seemingly unbothered by the duo's antics at the stove.

"good morning, my boy." he had greeted dipper before furrowing his brow. "are you feeling alright, you look pale." he added, the boy's pain evidently not being hidden well enough.

"i'm fine, grunkle ford, just… tired is all…" he assured, even taking an apple off the table to eat despite the fact that eating was currently the last thing he wanted to do. robotically he forces himself to take a bite out of the fruit as his great uncle continues speaking.

"well, dipper, i was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me on a walk around the forest, but if you're not feeling well enough than we-"

"nononono! we can go for a walk if you want to." he quickly cut in. despite his current state making him want nothing more than to lay in bed with a good book, dipper really doesn't think he wants to spend the day alone in his room. even if the cramps kill him, he really wants to spend time with his family. ford seems surprised by his answer but quickly recovers.

"oh! alright then, we can go after breakfast if that's alright with you."

"sounds good to me, i'll go grab my shoes!"

the apple would be left forgotten on the table.

~ ~ ~

the gravity falls forest is a beauty to behold. the morning sunlight streams through the canopy of the trees above and the life of the forest around the two of them makes itself known through the chattering of the birds to the gentle trots of the deer to even the little bugs and other odd beings that live in the strange forest.

ahead of dipper, ford is happily going on about the different sorts of flora and fauna in the woods, about the new creatures that seemed to have appeared since the last summer and pointing out anything of interest to his great nephew who tries his best to listen as he trudges alone but it's difficult to focus on much of anything through the haze of pain radiating from his lower gut.

he sees ford stop in place, looking to dipper with barely hidden worry.

"dipper, are you sure you're feeling alright? you know you can tell me if you're hurt, right?" ford had asked, and between the genuine care his great uncle was showing him on top of the pain he was still in it was taking all of dipper's self control to not burst into tears right then and there. he can just barely nod in response. his great uncle doesn't seem to buy it one bit but aside from a tense sigh he doesn't push the issue and continues on their trek.

as he forces himself foward to keep up with ford, the hunger and pain seem to mix into one big blob of bad that seems to seem into dipper's very bones. he doesn't know how long he goes on for until he finds himself leaning against a tree, holding his midsection as the pain felt like knives stabbing into him mercilessly.

"dipper, enough is enough, you need to tell me what's…" his greak uncle's shout of panic trailed of and pure shame filled dipper when he realized why; trails of blood were running down his legs.

dipper, suddenly filled with pure shame, could only look away in embarrassment. inwardly he wished that a hole would open up underneath him. for the earth to swallow him whole so he wouldn't have to face ford after he saw him like this. although dipper had mostly grown out of his hero worship of his mysterious lost grunkle after weirdmageddon, ford was still someone he had a high opinion of. and now that he saw dipper like this… was he disgusted of him? ashamed? would he regret letting dipper come back to visit? the thought finally brings tears to his eyes.

before he can spiral further, however, he feels ford's hand on his shoulder.

"dipper, dipper, can you look at me? …i'm not mad, dipper, i just need to know if you're alright." he briefly looks up and through his tears he sees that ford's expression betrayed no digust or shame or even so much as frustration. his expression was simply that of a caring family member that was deeply worried about him.

"do you want to go back to the shack?" he simply asks. dipper nods, a feeling of guilt settling into his ribs at the thought that he might've ruined their outing.

"dipper, it's alright, we can go on a walk another day." ford, seemingly reading dipper's mind, gently assured him. no other words were exchanged on the way back to the shack, and it wouldn't be until the two were settled back home with dipper able to clean himself up did time come for some explaining. stan and mabel, who quickly seemed to catch onto the quiet mood around the other two, had also chose to be present for it. and despite dipper's humiliation over the whole situation, he was thankful for his twin's added presence of support as he readied himself to come out, desperately hoping for it to go better than it had the last time.

"…my name wasn't always dipper…" he starts after a moment of thought. looking up for a moment, both of his grunkles are attentive and patient, and so he summons the courage to continue. "growing up, i always felt like i wasn't supposed to be a girl. even when my parents told me that all girls feel that way. and i started to realize that maybe i wasn't a girl at all…" he remembers one sleepless night when he discovered the word that would change everything for him. 'transgender'. suddenly he wasn't some broken mess of a person, suddenly he understood himself in a way he never had before.

"when my parents send me and mabel here to gravity falls, i realized it could've been a chance for me to see how it felt to be seen as a boy for the first time. and when i started using my new name, when everyone was calling me a boy i felt so happy. i felt- i felt like i was finally who i really am for the first time in my life." the memories of the first summer in the town he would come to see as his home brought a smile to his face. and despite all the trials he'd gone through in that summer, he truly felt like he had grown into a strong and proud young man by the end of it all. "i'm sorry for not telling you all sooner." from his spot at the table, stan seemed to take this in.

"kid, i kind of figured you were trans…" dipper looked up at this, face flushed with embarrassment once again.

"you knew?!" he squeaked out and stanley put his hands up in mock surrender.

"i was there when you goobers were born, after all. when you two got off the bus that summer and you were introducing yourself as dipper i just kinda put two and two together. s'not like i've never been around trans people before, kid."

"what my brother is trying to say is that we both love and accept you no matter what." dipper feels a weight lifted off his chest at both of his grunkle's kind words.

"see, dipper, i knew our grunkles wouldn't be like mom and dad."

"mabel, what do you mean by that? did your parents not take it well?" the way the younger twin's moods fell at ford's question was an answer in of itself, and not a good one. mabel's expression changed to that of a barely restrained anger and dipper shrinks in on himself.

"i… i hadn't told them much about it before going to gravity falls. i was just trying to figure it all out then, but i guess our parents caught onto me being out during that summer. not long after we came back they had a lot of questions and kind of backed me into a corner."

#mutt's written word #rough draft #ventfic #tw menstruation #trans dipper

17 notes · View notes

detectivechandler · 4 months

Text

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE : Clean, is how someone would first describe it (and he would be completely satisfied with that answer), but if pressed they would start to remember the subtle scents that hover around the nose when in close proximity to Joe. There's the typical underlying smell of soap, though specifics on just what the scent is are hard to pinpoint. Something sharp and clean, like the edge of a table freshly wiped down with antiseptic ... and over it all there's the tickle of camphor and menthol thanks to Joe's liberal use of tiger balm. His suits smell as if they are fresh from the dry cleaners (spoiler alert: they are) and though he does wear eau de parfum (tom ford, and yes the distinction from cologne is important), it is a subtle scent and does not last for more than eight hours. He usually applies it last thing before leaving in the mornings and the smell has more often than not faded by noon. He prefers it this way and believes that its as essential to a good morning as freshly brushed teeth.

HOW THEY SLEEP ( position, schedule, etc. ) : though his sleep schedule can often get interrupted due to long ranging murder cases, he tries his best to stick to something consistent. His ideal schedule involves being in bed no later than midnight and he wakes up at four a.m every morning without fail. He sleeps with one pillow, along with the typical comforter and sheet. Occasionally he will bring out one of the blankets he keeps in a small trunk specifically for the purpose of housing them.

WHAT MUSIC THEY ENJOY : the boy is eclectic as fuck. you wouldn't think it, but he's willing to give anything a chance. he picks and chooses songs rather than specific artists or genres, often gravitating towards lyrics that strike a chord with him or melodies that evoke some sort of emotion.

HOW MUCH THEY SPEND EVERY MORNING GETTING READY : oh god. if joe were anyone else, it would probably take him maybe an hour or a hour and a half tops... but.. alas. As it is, despite not leaving for work until 7:30 every morning, his alarm promptly goes off at 3:30 a.m. He spends half an hour going over the list of things he needs to do in his head, allows himself this breath of time to sort of wake up as he goes about making his bed, folding any used blankets etc. He's in the shower by four a.m (on the dot) and though the amount of time to complete each task can vary depending on how his brain decides to treat him that day ... he gives himself ample time, avoiding the stress that would only trigger more compulsions. Before he walks out that door, his hair is perfect. His shoes are polished. His tie is straight. His vest and trousers and suit coat are perfectly pressed. His briefcase is packed and ready to go.. and his phone has a collection of pictures taken before he walks out the door, things to serve as reminders when he starts to worry about opened windows or things being left on etc later in the day. All in all, a typical morning takes him about 3-4 hours.

FAVORITE THING TO COLLECT : different editions of poetry books.

LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED : right handed. he's always wanted to be able to use both but practicing the letters and the resulting mess he makes of them stresses him out too much. so he stopped trying to learn.

FAVOURITE SPORT(S) : he doesn't really keep up with any sports. he watches wes play football occasionally and he remembers every once in a while to look at cricket scores.

FAVOURITE TOURISTY THING TO DO WHEN TRAVELLING : eat the local food! but its local food that has been given great reviews on google only. no random hole in the walls for him. bonus points if its been featured on television or a prestigious magazine or something.

FAVOURITE KIND OF WEATHER : Overcast, foggy, cool. A gentle breeze while mist drifts off the Thames.

WEIRD / OBSCURE FEAR THEY HAVE : he has big basic/fairly common ones (drowning, germs).. but as for weird/obscure....he would never confess it as a fear, but he is very bothered by the feeling of peanut butter getting stuck onto the roof of his mouth. absolutely fucking hates it. it causes a slight panic (like a, feel like he cant breathe small panic) and he does his best to stay away from anything peanut butter related.

THE CARNIVAL / ARCADE GAME THEY ALWAYS WIN WITHOUT FAIL : he is really good at games of chance like the dime toss game or the guessing booth

tagged by: stole it from my killian blog tagging: @gentlemanstarkey, @senstrike, @volchtsa, @wornkindness, @drdumaurier , @drakonivs , @langdhon , @mysticwrit , @yosukeh+ you!

#headcanon. it's not a disability. it's a gift.#q.

12 notes · View notes

shadow4-1 · 1 year

Text

Philip Graves Headcanons (SFW):

How Does He Smell?:

- When he smells good he smells good. Usually he only smells this great when he's on leave since he has access to his finest collection of colognes. This man spares no expense! He just has to have the newest Creed or Tom Ford scent. He usually sways toward warmer scents like vanilla and cinnamon but is also a sucker for cleaner scents. He starches his dress shirts when he irons them so that scent of fresh laundry always seems to follow him around. He doesn't smoke but will occasionally vape from time to time and so some of the fruity scents he exhales sticks to his jackets. If he moves the right way he just smells sweet and fresh. This man might as well be a dryer sheet!

- When he smells bad he smells bad. To be fair, it does take him a while of physical exertion and/or extended periods of stress to get to that point. After a rough day in the field expect him to smell like sweaty, stale polyester and whatever he's been rolling around in. If you get too close you might catch a whiff of his body odor (which isn't as strong as some of the other guys, P.U.!) but it's acrid in a rotting citrus-y kinda way. He's just a hair's width away from that gross onion smell you'd associate with B.O. but thankfully, either he doesn't have that gene or his love of sweet scents keeps him from reaching that point.

Additional Fact: His socks might as well be a bioweapon, especially after he's been in the field or he's had an intense workout. He's been to a dermatologist, he even uses foot powder, but for some reason his feet just smell. He swears he doesn't have a foot infection but whatever that smell is can't be normal.

What Kind of Deodorant Does He Use?: This guy uses Native brand deodorant. The scent is "Buttercream and French Vanilla". When he gets it he tears the packaging off so that none of his guys know. He's not self-conscious, alright? It's just a secret or else everyone would totally copy him!

What Does He Wear?:

On base, when he's not out in the field, he sticks to a gray t-shirt and black sweats with generic black sneakers. Occasionally he'll wear a beanie if it's cold or a black cap if it's hot but mostly just prefers to wear his sunglasses (even indoors). He's got a different pair every week but he finds he mainly likes polarized sports glasses and aviators. If it gets really cold he'll wear his service boots with his favorite, black pullover. When it comes to his athleisure wear on base he's not as picky compared to his regular wardrobe. As long as there's no holes or tears it's perfect.

At home he dresses to the nines. Whether it's to go to the grocery store or head to his favorite bookstore/coffee shop, he's always dressed up. He prefers a classy look. You can usually catch him outside in slacks, Oxfords, a nice leather belt, and light colored button-downs. He irons everything to a crisp so he can look on point. Depending on how fancy he feels like being, he'll throw on a tie and matching cufflinks. Can't forget the sunglasses either.

Additional Fact: Because he has to wear socks all the time he's got a really stupid foot tan. That doesn't stop him from wearing his sandals during the summer.

To bed he wears what you'd expect for a bachelor to wear. Sweatpants without any boxers underneath. Although, he only really feels comfortable doing that at home. On base he'll wear a gray tank top and some basketball shorts.

For Halloween he'd argue that he's an adult and that dressing up is for children. But! If it was a funny costume idea he'd say yes. He'd be that one guy who shows up to the party in an inflatable t-rex costume with his tactical vest on top. Or he'd wear a completely low effort costume like a t-shirt that says "F.B.I. - Federal Boobie Inspector" with matching sleazy aviators.

Who Is His Favorite Person?: Shadow Company Sergeant Dipaolo. They had gone through so much together. He was one of the only people he could trust.

What Is His Favorite Food?: Salad. He knows its weird but he loves fucking salad. He doesn't care about the toppings or the dressings but his salads have to have fresh lettuce and tomato. He swears he's not a health nut but he knows he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on when he knows he eats like a literal rabbit.

How Does He Sleep?: He tends to sleep on his back but will occasionally sleep on his side. If he has a nightmare he'll curl in on himself into the fetal position. He's a decently heavy sleeper, light noises won't wake him. However, a loud noise or jostle will instantly shock him awake. He sleeps with as many blankets as he can get his hands on because he gets cold very easily. He sleeps better with a partner. Their presence is warmth and safety. He prefers to not sleep entangled in each other because the slight jostling of his partner wakes him up. That doesn't mean he's not a cuddler, he just likes to roll over and slip into sleep after he's gotten his fill. Despite LOVING his super expensive Tempurpedic mattress back at home he can sleep virtually anywhere. He's pretty sure at one point he really did fall asleep standing up during a transport.

Additional Fact: He's used to running on little to no sleep but will get addled and aggressive much more easily. Lack of sleep worsens his mood significantly and makes the likelihood of a breakdown more likely.

Biggest Insecurity: He's got imposter syndrome big time. He totally deserves everything he has! No one in the Shadow Company knows that he's really a fraud who's holding everything together with duct tape and string. He's really nothing special, just your average white guy with a gun but no one else seems to see that. Everyone sees him as a great commander who looks after his own. He had been so much happier as a sergeant, he didn't want to be a commander, but Shepherd pushed him. How could he say no when saying no would've exposed him for the weakling he truly is?

Best Trait: The gift of gab! He could talk anyone's ear off, flatter the bone out of a dog's mouth, you name it he can say it with the grace of a seasoned politician. His mouth has gotten him in so much trouble and yet it's his biggest asset.

Additional Fact: He's had a few singing lessons to perfect his easy cadence. If he's happy or excited (or been drinking) he's not afraid to belt out a few lines from his favorite songs. He's a mega fan of Michael Bublé and tries to imitate his style of singing, but mixed with his southern accent? Yeah...he's not quitting his day job anytime soon.

#cod fanart #cod mwii #mw2 #phillip graves #call of duty #modern warefare 2 #commander graves #cod headcanons #mw2 headcanons

63 notes · View notes

henrypreppy · 1 year

Text

Barrington Estates: Prologue

Barrington Estates is the gem of the tri-county area for gated living communities. It has everything a member of the upper echelons could want: large, beautiful houses; meticulously manicured landscapes; fantastic schools; and the exclusive Barrington Country Club to rub shoulders with the elite that all but govern the southeast from its private rooms and putting greens. Not many make it here without significant contributions to the HOA. Grant and Jennifer Dean, however, were one of the few exceptions.

The Dean family was one of the founding families of the club and community. They had the house on the hill that was envied by everyone. The late Donald Dean, grandfather of Grant Dean, made sure to keep it immaculate. It was a sort of slap in the face to Truman McMaster, the general manager of Barrington Country Club; the house on the hill—the one all the pictures and magazine spreads loved to showcase—was owned by the board member who opposed McMaster at every turn. Rumors abound regarding their feud. Some speculated it was a result of a business deal gone awry, others posited that they needed some form of drama to keep themselves entertained. Only Donald and Truman knew the truth of the matter, and now one half of that truth was buried with Donald.

Grant was not particularly familiar with Barrington Estates, his father, Don Junior, being the prodigal of the family. Junior let his father’s house at eighteen with a large sum to his name and spoke to his father only two years later when it was nearly gone and Grant was on the way. Junior refused to move back in to the estate, but was funneled money from Donald so that Grant may not have to bear the sins of his father. Junior, ever-bent on regaining what he had, drove his wife Therese away when he began selling drugs.

“I don’t care if Grant is at college!” Therese would scream again and again, “I don’t want to have that dangerous business near me or my son!” After many of such arguments, she filed for divorce and cut Junior off.

A year later, Junior’s hand was cut off for stealing five kilos from the wrong cartel. He didn’t die immediately, though he couldn’t clap as his son walked across the stage to graduate. Only a few short months later, his stump turned septic and the infection withered the rest of him away. Had he less pride, perhaps Junior could have lived. Nevertheless, Grant turned to his grandfather for assistance with the funeral costs—which was all-too-high for the all-too-low head count—and moved in with his grandfather, who died all-too-soon from the grief of having failed to save his only son.

Now, upon returning from their hasty honeymoon and keeping with his grandfather’s request to not cohabitate with his college sweetheart, Grant was helping Jennifer move in with him.

Jennifer was a curvy woman, the areas under which she calculated from the nudes she sent Grant in their senior year. She graduated with a degree in physics and landed a job as a teacher in a high school one district away. She was smart, witty, and had green eyes that seemed dull unless they were in the right light; her hair was a wavy dark brown butterfly cut that flowed just past her shoulder blades.

Grant, by contrast, was plain but not unattractive. He kept his black hair in a shaggy mop and had nice cheekbones covered by a short scraggly beard. His gangly appearance frequently made others think of him as a stoner, which seemed fitting for a political science graduate. Though, a stoner could have never kept up with the stress of his internship as an aide to the governor. So far, that was his only achievement of note, outside of getting to marry the nerdy firecracker, Jennifer.

Jennifer didn’t have much of her own to move in; she was barely out of college. Still, a beat pickup truck packed with boxes is bound to look out of place in Barrington. Jennifer barreled up the large circular driveway to the McMansion, the rusted sides of the old Ford a stark contrast to the immaculate ivory-colored pillars she pulled toward.

Grant had already emerged from the house, having heard the beater booming a mile away. The houses were spaced out well enough, but the sights and sounds certainly brought some attention. He glared at the rustled curtains that indicated they were being watched from neighbors’ windows. As Jennifer approached, he waved and jogged toward the truck to open the door for her.

“M’lady,” he snickered with equal parts irony and sincerity as he opened the driver side door.

“M’sir,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. She stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind her. Stepping forward, her mild exasperation faded to a wide smile and then to a kiss for Grant.

Grant embraced her, and his hand drifted from her back to her ass as he attempted to go for more than a gentle peck.

Still smiling, she pushed him away playfully. “Babe, didn’t you say your neighbors are super nosy?”

“Yeah, but what are they going to say? We just got married.” Grant planted a kiss on her cheek before breaking the hug.

Jennifer chuckled lightly. “I’d at least like to wait before hearing them ask about kids, though. I can already hear some old heiress down the street: ‘I saw that hussy from the other side o’ town pull up in a rusted out truck and start trying to make love right on the concrete!’” She said mimicking an elderly raspy voice.

“The neighborhood is not like that. They’re older and they’re traditional, but we’re married. So, it’s fine. Either way, you live here now, and they can’t change that.” He pecked her again on the cheek and began leading her inside by the hand, a middle finger raised to the neighbor’s window with the other hand.

Jennifer gave another signature eye roll and followed Grant. “You’re ridiculous,” she chortled crossed the threshold. The large foyer opened before her, decorated with a combination of farmhouse and mid-century modern decor. “This…” she announced, hearing her own echo, “This is also ridiculous.”

“Yeah, my grandfather was a pretty wealthy dude, but not out of touch. He wasn’t stodgy or anything. Still feels weird with him gone,” Grant trailed off and sighed.

“You okay?” Jennifer asked.

“Things have just been moving too fast. Graduation, a funeral, a wedding, another funeral, and a honeymoon all in like four months.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she assured him. “We’ll get settled in and settle down for a moment.”

“I know. I just want to slow down for a bit. You just mentioned it, but can we hold off on baby talk. I know I’ll hear enough of it from the neighbors.” Grant suppressed a grin.

“There’s a smile. I knew you still had some wit in you,” Jennifer prodded. “Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“First hallway on the left, first door on the left. I’ll start unloading your truck in a moment.”

“Thanks,” she cooed before pecking him on the cheek and rushing briskly around the corner. “This place is huge,” she bellowed back.

“Yeah, just like my—“

Ding dong! The doorbell chimed.

“You’re a child.” Grant heard before a door closed.

“Were get already walking up the fucking driveway?” Grant grumbled to himself. He gathered himself before yanking the door ajar. “Hey!” He said, shifting to a bright chatter. “How can I help you?”

Grant was greeted by a man and woman appearing to be in their late thirties or early forties. The man stood tall and was slightly overweight. His chestnut brown hair was in a generic left-parted business cut. A thick chevron mustache rested above his light smile. He wore a white golf shirt with the country club’s logo—a “B” with two smaller “C”s stacked directly to the right—on the chest, and pleated khaki pants that did little to hide the two huge lumps at the top of either leg. The woman had red hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail. Her cheekbones were high on her slender face, and her makeup was subtle outside the fiery red lipstick. She was dressed more casually in a bright athletic top, black leggings, and neon running shoes.

The man spoke in a low tenor: “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Franklin and this is Jess. We live just next door to you.” He gestured to his right, even though the next house was a good hundred yards away. “We’re the Mullinses.” Franklin continued, extending his hand, and growing his light smile to a bleached Hollywood grin.

“Thanks for the introduction,” Grant offered cautiously but genuinely. “I’m Grant. My wife Jennifer has just started to move in. She stepped off to explore.” He turned around and called back into the house, “Honey! Come meet our neighbors, the Mullinses!” Turning back to the new neighbors, he gestured, “Come in! Come in!” The couple crossed the threshold and was guided toward the kitchen.

“Why, thank you!” Jess said brightly with a slight southern twang. The Mullinses took an extensive look around the house as they walked, noting the decor and size of the house. “Y’all have a lovely home,” Jess continued as they began to settle into the kitchen.

The small talk continued in the kitchen over some coffee and tea. A toilet flush and sink running announced Jennifer’s impending arrival. As her footsteps approached, Grant approached the doorway, made a grand gesture and announced his wife’s less-than-grand entrance: “Introducing, the reason for hastily closed curtains and prying eyes, my lovely wife, Jennifer!”

Jennifer silently walked through the display to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She leaned against the counter, took a small sip, and acknowledged the guests in stark contrast to her husband’s introduction: “Hey. I’m Jennifer.” Her face contorted, suppressing a smile that turned into a chortle.

The stark facade broke after the Mullinses introduced themselves and realized the humorous intention behind her introduction. They actually got along quite well, despite worries of stuffiness from both parties. As it turned out, Franklin was an investor and Jess was close to launching her fashion line of women’s clothing with actual pockets. Grant had to fill in the history of his last four months and his relationship with his late grandfather. Grant himself had only dropped off his things two weeks ago and was still settling in. Jennifer, of course, had just arrived that day; so, her few items from the bachelorette pad were still in the truck.

Mr. and Mrs. Mullins helped them bring in the boxes—only around twelve in total. It was light work, but stomachs grumbled by the end of it. Reading the room, Franklin spoke up, “How would you like to join Jess and I for dinner?”

“Someone finally suggested food!” Jennifer immediately replied. “I’m down. Are you, babe?” She turned to Grant.

“Let’s do it. You a good cook, Jess?” Grant challenged.

“I’m awful, but Franklin is worse,” Jess laughed. “We were going to the club tonight.”

“Ohh! The country club! Excuse me!” Jennifer mocked.

Jess shrugged and smirked. “We make due.”

“My grandfather said just a little about the club before he passed. I’m sure you do,” Grant intuited. “We’ll have to change before we go, though.”

“Of course!” Franklin said. “Jess will have to as well. Just come over to our place in a few and we’ll head down together.”

“Hell yeah! I’m down for some bougie food,” Jennifer announced before hoisting a wardrobe box and hiking upstairs.

Grant walked with the Mullinses to the door. “We’ll be over there in just a few. Next house down the road, right?”

“Yep! 127,” Franklin confirmed. “See you soon!” He called, walking out the door with his wife.

Grant waved after them, watching them walk down the driveway before shutting the door.

Grant changed from his regular streetwear to a pale blue dress shirt and khakis. Jennifer stripped her sweats and was in a day dress within three minutes. It was not long before the Deans were knocking on their neighbors’ door, eager for food. Inside, the sound of hard-soled shoes echoed through the hall like a metronome. The rhythm concluded as the door opened and the tall Mr. Mullins stood before them, having only changed into a pair of black penny loafers.

“Come on in,” he said, ushering the Deans over to a couch. He himself sat in a chair opposite them, legs spread, and abnormally large bulge all the more defined. “Jess should be down in a moment.”

Grant and Jennifer had a hard time not sneaking glances at the pronounced moose knuckle in front of them. Grant blushed as Franklin noticed and locked eye contact with him. Eventually, Grant broke the silence: “So how long have you and Jess lived here?”

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid,” Franklin replied without breaking eye contact.

Heels clacked down the stairs as Grant finally looked away, peaking at the bulge again. His eyes immediately darted back up to see a smile and wink from Franklin.

“Sounds like she’s ready,” Franklin said, rising from his seat. Grant attempted to sneak another glance as the bulge settled into place before rising himself.

Jess reached the bottom of the stairs and announced herself, “Ready to go.” She wore a pale green blouse, black skirt, and black heels. She shook her head, showing off her wavy red hair released from its workout ponytail. She impatiently waved the lot to the door as she proceeded.

Franklin took the opportunity to put his arm around Grant and began walking him out, declaring with a grin: “You’re going to love steakhouse Fridays. They’ve got every cut of meat you could want.”

30 notes · View notes

floatingcatacombs · 1 year

Text

On Playing Caves of Qud For A Month Straight and Developing an RSI

12 Days of Aniblogging 2022, Day 4

With the recent successful commercial launch of Dwarf Fortress, I wanted to take a break from anime and recount my own experiences this year with a keyboard-heavy procedurally generated game with terminal-esque graphics and a high barrier to entry: the one and only Caves of Qud.

It is, in short, incredible. This is my first classic-style roguelike, courtesy of a friend’s gift, and probably the only one I’ll ever need. Calling it expansive is an understatement, as the number of different items, enemies, and biomes should be downright overwhelming. But Qud does an impressive job easing the player into its world, especially with its mix of fully hand-crafted and procedural areas. See, all playthroughs rely on the same world map, so the overall placement of biomes will be the same. A desert to the west, mountains on the edges, a vast jungle in the middle of the continent, a river you have to ford or go the long way around to get to the west half of the map. But each individual screen in the overworld will be procedurally generated, so the places you’re exploring are unique every time. You’ll always start in Joppa, a small farming village in the salt marshes of the southwest of the map. Generally, the further east you travel, the more difficult enemies you’ll face. Joppa feels like a classic RPG first town, serving up “kill this monster” and “go into this cave” quests that will give you a few levels and ultimately point you towards the game’s main quest.

And what a quest it is. As a roguelike, there will be plenty of quick deaths, so each time making it to a new location feels like an incredible victory. Since the places you need to go are the same every time, you can gradually start to get a feel for when it will be safe to tackle the next leg of the journey, and how best to prepare for tackling specific dungeons. The quest structure feels similar to a Fallout game, where you’re tugged in general directions through asking around, but there’s plenty of diversions along the way.

So other than the mix of procedural and handcrafted elements, what does Qud bring to the table? Horns and cryokinesis! While the True Kin offer a more classic roguelike experience, wielding swords and guns and cybernetics that are useful but don’t shake things up too much, choosing to play as a mutant means sacrificing some base stats to become a furry with psychic powers. And let’s face it, that’s always going to be the more fun option. A lot of the mutations, especially the mental ones, feel like you’re getting away with breaking the game at times. Trapping someone behind a force wall and sundering their mind. Throwing yourself into a space-time vortex to escape the jaws of defeat. Beguiling an enemy who can create clones of themselves, giving you a new companion as well as a personal army. There’s plenty of useful physical mutations too, such as an extra set of arms or legs, claws to dig through walls, and three different kinds of stingers. Caves of Qud touts radical body autonomy as a feature, with multiple avenues for the player character to become more, or less, like themselves.

Unfortunately, said radical body autonomy doesn’t extend into the real world, and after falling in deep and logging over 100 hours in a single month, I found myself with a wicked repetitive stress injury from keyboard overuse. After taking a few-weeks break, Elden Ring came out, where I proceeded to do the exact same thing and worsen it. Once it became clear that my fingers weren’t going to feel better from rest alone, I finally dragged myself to a physical therapist, who got me on a regimen of daily hand and shoulder exercises. Instant improvement.

I suppose that’s radical in of itself, huh? After months of dealing with lingering aches and finger pain, someone was able to help me through just a few targeted stretches. I would have never suspected the shoulders otherwise! As it turns out, everything is connected, and exercises further up the body are sometimes what you really need to relieve hand pain. Real-life wizardry, I tell you, especially in contrast to my gastroenterological struggles, where it’s hard for doctors to to even figure out what the problem is, much less how to treat it.

between the orbs and the soup, this spell seems right up tumblr's alley

Getting diseased in Qud is a far more interesting affair. The game plays this great practical joke where the first time you venture into the abandoned factory Golgotha for the main quest, you’re almost certain to ingest black ooze and contract Glotrot. Glotrot is a disease that develops in stages, and ends with your character’s tongue falling off, not to mention puking up half of the water they drink. “I can live without speaking to people,” the player might think, until they realize that turning in the Golgotha quest requires them to talk through a communications panel. And that their puke will fall into the water container that they drank from, quickly contaminating their whole supply unless they take very specific precautions.

It’s such a good intersection of mechanical interactions! And we’re not even done yet. At this point, the player will probably tab out and check the Caves of Qud wiki for how to cure Glotrot. They'll discover there that the cure is made out of different ingredients every run, and said ingredients can only be learned by purchasing a medical book from the ape mayor of a small village in the middle of the jungle. This can be a pretty perilous trek for the player at this point in the game. When they finally make it to Kyakukya, there’s one last sucker punch, as having Glotrot lowers your Ego stat, making bartering for the book more costly. It’s the kind of prolonged side-adventure that will lead the player to try and avoid Glotrot at all costs in future runs, by eating honey and cooking all the disease-resisting meals they can before venturing into Golgotha.

Qud is full of black comedy moments like these, even if few are quite as poignant as catching Glotrot. It encourages carefulness by making deaths a ridiculous conflux of factors that always leave you wondering how you could have done things differently, either throughout the run or in the final turns. Only through expecting that everything will go wrong do you stand a chance of making it through. On the other hand, the more creatively you think, the more you can cheat your way through even the scariest of situations. It’s a blast to learn just how much you can do with your tools, and to swap stories around with other players.

my very first run, where I took "Evil Twin" as a mental defect because it felt on-brand. Who could have predicted such a tragedy

By the way, as something of a wiki connoisseur, Caves of Qud's is excellent! 99% of the technical information you need, as well as the occasional opinion sections on whether certain decisions like mutations and skills are worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a game wiki go as far as citing classes and lines of code in the references section. I’m glad they were able to move from Wikia to independent hosting, it’s for sure paying off.

My final, unorganized thoughts on the game:

It has deertaurs.

My second favorite thing about Qud is how it scales up its setting’s technology the further the player gets. You start out in a relatively primitive farming village, and 15 levels later you’re having shootouts in abandoned industrial ruins, and 15 levels after that you’re locked in psychic wizard battles in the shadow of a massive space elevator. And since this process takes dozens of hours, this evolution feels seamless for how much it is.

Get a numpad! Technically this game is playable with just a laptop set of keys, but you’re going to have a comparatively bad time. You really want simple diagonal character movement and as many keyboard shortcuts as you can get.

You need to take care of yourself! Treat me as a cautionary tale, I had to take a 9-month break from this game and cut back on my gaming in general because I failed to. Do hand stretches every few days now so you don’t need to do them daily to ward off pain later. Google around or hell, just follow the b4nny stretches.

After dying in a particularly gruesome way by freezing solid and getting torn apart by a giant crab, I felt moved to write a short story about my companion who made it out and what she did afterwards. I hadn’t written fiction in nearly a decade, so for Qud to hook itself in my head in such a way that I needed to privately eulogize is really something.

Ask any Caves of Qud player about their most ridiculous solution to a problem in the game. You won’t regret it.

Did I mention it has deertaurs.

me n the homies

#12 days of anime #caves of qud

69 notes · View notes