#nemo antal

[placesyoucallhome]

Normal boop vs superboop

For reference

[shadesofblades]

maintenance ft. @placesyoucallhome

[placesyoucallhome]

Gently slides you an uno reverse:

Does your OC have a type? Have they ever been surprised by their feelings for someone who doesn't fit this?

and from @yloiseconeillants and @shadesofblades!!!

Physically he does like tall and broad, but aesthetics only go so far, like maybe an ilm, two if scarred. The type that he'll admit to is 'violent and forward', or, happy to get into a fight (with, but not against, Ruhka himself) and is romantically/physically obvious/pushy because hells knows he'd not be able to tell otherwise. Those aren't the sorts that stay very long though.

He starts getting confused when he starts softening for a 'good guy', he can't guess what they think, he doesn't know how to approach it. So usually he just doesn't and is a sulking asshole for a while. After all, it's never worked out before, and what would a good man want with something like him anyways?

He's so little experience in actual romance he doesn't even know what his type would be, would have no way to articulate what he might think about it. He knows he likes taller men? Though that is really not a high bar to set, most that aren't lalafell are. And Takoyaki has to like them, that's non-negotiable.

He does have something of a type though, those that can get under his skin. Teasing, flirting, starting arguments, something that, eventually, will break the cold and placid mask he tries to keep on and get him to open up.

I don't think anyone would be able to get what Yvet thinks is his type out of him either honestly. Maybe, 'Not Adders. Or Wailers.' which is... not really descriptive. He seems to take things as he goes, and it takes him a little while to decide if he wants to be around someone more frequently. Though, might help to be kind, or maybe just someone that needs help, he is a sucker for at least being useful if nothing else.

[placesyoucallhome]

For Q'ruhka - how do you feel about the Twelve? And for Nemo; how do you feel about friendly spars?

Ruhka pulls a face and stops himself from saying more with a drawn out pull from his rum bottle, buying some time to think before he sticks a foot in his mouth instead.

"I. Mm, I'm no' religious. No' a popular stance in most parts." He admits, a sugarcoated version of what he initially wanted to say. "Don' believe in gods. All those eikons were jus' suped up carbuncles, really, from an aetherical standpoint. Prayer ain't much more than another verbal or written component of summoning anything. 'S far as I can tell anyways, and the Twelve ain't even had any of that. No' successfully as I hear it." He shrugs, pausing again to think uncomfortably.

"I ain't so up front with the details usually either, I'm friendly with the tribes, still am, 'specially th' Ixal. But, hard t' rationalize some omnipotent whatevers that apparently choose to not do dick or shit, when you find someone's 'god' in an allagan newspaper clipping about her work on chimerical studies."

"N-no, thank you." Nemo startles, his reply shaky but immediate, "If I'm going to take a risk fighting it's got to make up for risking my health in turn. Sparring... usually doesn't do that." He bites off a huff with a sigh, time tempered indignancy swallowed back to tiredness.

"I-I didn't take up red magic to fight, I can but-- as a last resort." He purses his lips for a moment, fidgeting with his sleeve for a moment before holding his left hand up, gleaming golden brass plates layered on each other in precision joints, an array of six gems on his wrist. "People naturally balance all elements, you can get sick from a build of of one or another, and obviously in extreme cases you cease being a person at all, but most day to day aether is pulled and pushed into a healthy balance before long. I can't, after Cartineau. But red magic can let me do some of it manually, I've built my focus into my hand, so I don't really ever go without it." The explanation seemed practiced, and perhaps simplified, but it was enough he thought, pulling his sleeve back over his prosthetic.

"It doesn't... always work. But it's what I have."

[placesyoucallhome]

ffxivwrite #4- Reticent

Most days were good, so long as he was careful. Never doing too much, straying to long, pushing past the limits he set ‘for his own good’. It was difficult at first, good days few and far between, lost to this sickness that seemed to burn itself into his very being. He learned, he had to. He made due, he had no other choice. He ripped apart his failings to make something new, he made his own control. 

But even still, too much, too much could still defeat him. 

Nemo lay in bed, the shaking stopped for now, but he could barely breathe, much less think. He never liked to talk of these days, downplaying how bad it could get when he had no other choice but to speak of them. The days where he had to crawl down the stairs to find something to eat, or left himself so weak he couldn’t even speak. Everything ached, he only had a rough idea of what time or day it was thanks to the windows he faced. He should eat, Tako needed to eat, but instead the normally energetic pup lay in the hollow of his curled up form, only perking up as Nemo opened his eyes, vision blurred and doubled. His remaining hand shifted, shaking from the effort to raise it, to curl into soft black fur. 

It was days like these he wondered if one of these episodes would ultimately take him, just like this, alone. He only would mourn for Tako, but he was sure the captain would show up once he stopped returning calls. He couldn’t ask someone to be here, with him, what a burden he was. No, he could never tell anyone, he’d let this die with him. 

[placesyoucallhome]

To un-explain the unforgivable Drain all the blood and give the kids a show By streetlight this dark night, a séance down below There's things that I have done You never should ever know

[placesyoucallhome]

Boops? Hello???

[placesyoucallhome]

"N-no I don't have anyone in mind! Go away, I- I have work to do!"