#Quick Easy Winter Projects

[doink]

Capturing Winter Magic: Subject Masking in Green Screen by DoInk – Stuck in a Snow Globe Lesson

Step into a winter wonderland of creativity with our latest blog post and video tutorial! In this guide, we'll explore the enchanting world of subject masking using Green Screen by DoInk, focusing on the delightful and always popular "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project. Whether you're an educator bringing seasonal magic to your lessons or a content creator looking to add a touch of whimsy to your videos, this step-by-step tutorial is your key to unlocking the magic of subject masking in all time favorite Winter project of being stuck in a snow globe.

What you will learn:

Introduction to the Subject Masking Tool in Green Screen by DoInk

Crafting the "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project from start to finish

Tips for optimal subject masking in various scenarios

Enhancing your project with overlays, animations, and text

Real-world examples for inspiration and application

Empowering your creative storytelling with subject masking

Subject masking in Green Screen by DoInk opens up a world of creative possibilities, and the "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project is just the beginning. Whether you're telling a winter tale or creating festive content, subject masking adds a touch of magic to your storytelling.

Unlock the magic of subject masking and transport your subjects into a winter wonderland. Share your enchanted projects with us, and let the seasonal storytelling begin!

[novlr]

How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

[konigsblog]

Hi! This is my first time asking something :D 

Do you do anything, not nsfw? And if so, what would some random könig headcanons you agree with? Like habits and stuff you’d think he’d do? (does that make sense lmao)

If you just do nsfw you could make them nsfw headcanons.. Or just combine both aha

**HII.. i do write for sfw and fluff, as well as angst it's just not really requested as much as smut :) but here, hope you enjoy this!!! 🌙

silly könig headcannons

⭒ mentions of weed use, fluff.. 🌷🎀

⭒könig who prefers cats over dogs. they're quieter and calmer, has a ginger cat called ‘spice’ that's fiesty to new people. he loves the animal to death, and hands it to his oma when he's on deployment.

⭒i've mentioned this before, but i feel like könig was in a band as a kid, just a school one. he played the drums and was pretty emo in his teenager years...

⭒he sleeps in the weirdest positions. he'll either wake up with his body contorted into different ways, his arms above his head and across his chest with his legs intertwined with eachother.

⭒he's an easily jealous person, always top of his classes and getting 100% on his tests. his mother always wanted the best outcome for her son, so she was shocked when he decided to join the kommando spezialkräfte instead of becoming a doctor or a lawyer.

⭒has 100% attempted to get up but fell because his legs were stuck and tangled in his bedsheets.

⭒gets second hand embarrassment far too easily. he's cringing on the inside when someone does/says something stupid.

⭒absolutely hates the summer. it's horrible; everybody's sweaty and stinks, missions make him want to peal his skin off. definitely prefers autumn/winter.

⭒his favourite food to eat whilst sick is soup, a special homemade soup him and his mother made together while growing up. her own special recipe that he only teaches to his closest of friends.

⭒loves late night conversations. they're so deep and understanding, chatting for hours 'til your jaw hurts and the sun his peaking through the curtains.

⭒either drinks black coffee, really bitter. or drinks the most sugary coffee ever, no in-between. (tell me your opinions)

⭒is a morning person. gets up early and has his breakfast, something quick and easy, like toast or porridge (oatmeal), has a morning shower 'nd everything. (i love adding salt to my porridge/oatmeal)

⭒hates when people say germany and austria are the same. will definitely have a whole rant about the differences 'til you understand fully.

⭒smokes weed a lot, pretty much an addict. he says it's to calm his nerves down but he gradually started doing it more and more often. a stoner fs.

⭒enjoys movies, a lot. he loves sitting down with a blanket beside him, covered in orange cat hair. will probably make a bowl of popcorn to eat whilst watching, but ends up eating it all before he's even 30 minutes in.

big, bear hugs. we all know that the big, brute and towering man gives amazing hugs, but he really wants to lay atop of you, to cage you with his warmth.

⭒has a tendency to over share, rants sometimes while pretending to be confident, finding anything to talk about before feeling a bit uncomfortable with what he'd said.

⭒isn't shy. it's my biggest pet peeve when people make könig out to be someone shy, scared, ect.. he's not shy, he's socially anxious, but that doesn't make him quiet. he either puts on a front and pretends to be confident with a cocky, loud personality.

⭒absolutely adores milk. he drinks like a gallon in two days, that's why he's 6’10.

⭒enjoys mint chocolate chip ice cream, hates strawberry, especially if they have chunks. (self projecting)

⭒enjoys doing the dishes, finds it satisfying. until he touches food and gags.

⭒avid banana hater, the texture to the taste, everything about it makes him feel ill.

⭒listens to music for hours, usually something rock or heavy metal, loud music in his ears and the loud explosions gives him some hearing damage.

⭒usually smells woodsy, fresh cut trees and vanilla.

⭒germaphobe. doesn't like being near people when they're sick and will avoid them, probably because he gets sick too easily, despite having a strong immune system.

⭒isn't a very emotional person, he has sympathy for others but can't express it through tears and emotions. he's cold and aggressive to the recruits, blaming them for his issues because he struggles taking blame and fault for situations and needs a punching bag.

⭒owned a fish when he was around 7, cried because it died. turns out it was alive and he saw it swim down the toilet. never got another fish again, traumatized.

⭒doesn't like being told he's in the wrong, will refuse and deny it 'til he's forced to either apologise or end the friendship.

⭒curly ginger, or wavy ginger, you can't change my mind.

⭒doesn't really understand tiktok that much, or instagram. not really something that he's interested in, but occasionally uses twitter for like 5 minutes.

⭒has anemia, or iron deficiency. takes a couple naps a day because he doesn't like taking his supplements.

these are all i could think off 😵‍💫 tell me your personal headcannons!!

banner credit; @cafekitsune

[strbymacaroon]

Silent Love: Ch. 8 - Epilogue

⊹ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Eight

Previous Chapter: A Lovely Night

Chapter One: New Roommate(s)

Master-List: Here!

.・゜゜・ ｡･ﾟﾟ･ ╰┈➤ Sukuna x Reader

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Sypnosis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Genre:

College/Modern World AU. Multiple parts.

Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Word Count: 1 ,624

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *･ December 14th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Monday

The sound of soft groaning and head banging fills the room, you’re sure you heard someone walk out not too long ago, but not you! You feel relatively confident, so much so, you could probably walk out right now and still pass the final with a good grade in the class. Your eyes skim over the test one more time, ignoring the way Kugisaki is practically crying next to you. 

You nod to yourself, whispering to her, “I finished.” 

Kugisaki passes you an exasperated look, practically dumbfounded at how fast you finished the final. Did you give up on it halfway through? Did you give up after the first question? Which… is honestly what she's about to do. 

You gather all your things, you’re sure not to miss anything, because the moment you walk out those doors, you’re never coming back to this class. Never ever. Hell, you could leave your favorite stuffie behind and still say, ‘Forget about it,’ in a New York accent with no regrets. 

Even though you still have to come to the next semester–that's besides the point! You’re leaving, you’re gone, never to come back. 

You’re close to passing Gojo’s desk, when he stops you. You’re mentally crying, wanting to leave this lecture hall as soon as possible. 

“Your project.” He whispers, a cheshire smile on his lips. “Sukuna?” 

You nod, “Yeah, Sukuna.” You place your hands behind your back, “Is there something wrong with that?” 

Gojo passes you a shit-eating grin, before saying, “Tell him I said hi, yeah?” 

You feel your face flush before turning on your heel, letting out a quick, “Nope.” Slip your lips before pushing the doors of your lecture hall open, a heavy weight finally being lifted off your shoulders with every step. This is heaven. 

Thank god you’re finally on break. 

You pull the collar of your white knitted sweater over your face, collecting your brown plaid scarf with it. The winter of your college biting at your nose. Luckily, you had some white earmuffs to keep your ears warm. 

The moment you’re comfortable outside, an unpleasant shiver shoots down your spine from the cold. Yet, you’re still reaching for your phone, pulling up ‘Favorite person’ contact. About to send him a text when…

“A fucking skirt? In this weather?” Sukuna pushes himself off the wall next to the lecture hall, narrowing his eyes at you. “Didn’t I tell you to wear something warm?” He lectures harshly while his head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “Didn’t I get you something warm?”

You laugh, outstretching your hand to him, “This is warm. I’m wearing two layers of tights.” You look down at your outfit, “And I’m wearing leg warmers! That’s something you wouldn’t catch me wearing in the summer.” You reason. 

Sukuna shakes his head, his finger intertwining with yours. “Dumbass. You’re going to catch something before seeing your parents.” His head dips down, trying to kiss you, but you twist your head away. 

“I don’t get sick.” You keep your face to the side, smiling subtly, “I haven’t gotten sick since high school.”

Sukuna hasn’t been with someone since highschool, but here he is. Times surprisingly change. “Stop being stupid.” He uses his free hand to grab your face, pinching your cheeks and forcing you to kiss him. 

You giggle into his lips, smiling like an idiot. “I’m no’sh colsh.” You mumble against him, closing your eyes and kissing him back. It feels electric to kiss him, his other hand twisting your hand your back so he can pull you closer to him. 

Sukuna pulls away, “Yes, you are. Your cheeks are freezing.” You’re surprised he understands your mumbled words. He starts to walk away from the building, pulling you along with him, “I’m getting your dumbass coffee.” 

You shake your head, cringing as you look away from him. “You know I don’t like coffee...” 

Sukuna pauses for a moment, “I’ll get you hot chocolate.” 

You smile fondly, wrapping your arms around his, pressing your body against his arm. “Thanks, ‘kuna.” You press your head against his arm lovingly. “Love it when you treat me well.” You sing.

“I hate when you call me that.” Sukuna seethes back at you. 

You roll your eyes, a playful thought popping in your head. A way to mess with a guy who likes you a bit too much. “Sure, you “hate” it so much to the point where you practically came when I whispered it—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Sukuna isn’t looking at you, but the tips of his ears are a deep shade of red. Still, he pulls his arm away from your grasp, wrapping it around your shoulder and pulling you close to him. His words are so quiet, you’re sure if you weren’t paying close attention to him, you would’ve missed it. “You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. 

“How did your finals go?” His voice is back to normal, loud and gruff. Intoxicating. He fixes your scarf. 

Good god, you love his voice. “Have I ever told you I love your voice?” There’s practically hearts in your eyes as you tell him that. 

Sukuna smiles cockily to himself, a bit of pride swelling his chest at the thought of you finding something as trivial as his voice attractive. “You didn’t need to.” He recalls when you first moved in, always listening to him jack off or fuck some random nobody. He looks away, “I already know.” 

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. “But, no, my finals went well. I feel like I did good on that last one.” You cocked your head in the direction behind you, referring to the building you just left. 

“Really?” Sukuna asks sarcastically. 

You glare at him, “Yes, really.” 

Sukuna presses his lips together, “Sure.” 

You dramatically gasp, “You know what, I’m uninviting you and myself for Christmas.” You turn your head away from him, “Good luck telling your grandpa our relationship was a big lie.” Even if he already knew. 

Sukuna chuckles, “Is it now?” 

You pause, your feet slowing down. You blink a few times, Sukuna’s hand trailing down your shoulder to your hand, and despite the two of you being a few feet apart, your hands are still connected. “Wait… what?” 

Sukuna tilts his head to the side, he’s glaring at you. “What?” You’re looking at him with a dumbfounded look, your eyes wide and sparkling. He furrows his eyebrows at you, turning his face away. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Use your head.” He isn’t going to wait outside in the freezing cold for a random fuck. 

Sukuna hates how clueless you are sometimes, it’s annoying. 

“I don’t think I understand, I think you have to spell it out for me.” You’re smiling like an idiot now, biting onto your body lip to try to conceal it. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, pulling up his free hand. Pressing his middle and ring finger to his palm, and keeping the rest of his fingers up. 

You part your lips, in a bit of shock, your hand squeezing his for a moment. You move close, standing on your tippy toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You mouth the words against his lips. 

‘I love you, too.’

You’re completely silent when telling him. Sukuna is equally as silent. And, that’s more than enough for you, love doesn’t have to be loud and in anyone’s face. It doesn’t have to be obnoxious. It can be as simple as reading a book with your partner while they watch TV. 

Love can be silent. 

“I think my dad’s been looking for places in the area.” You say softly, “So, I should be out of the house by the time second semester starts.” You poke his chest, “You won’t have to be dealing with me–” 

“You’re still moving out?” Sukuna’s looking at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yeah?” You tilt your head to the side, trying your best to hide the smiling threatening to spill on your lips. “Wasn’t that the deal?” 

Sukuna blinks once, his face blank, before he pulls away from you. “I’m not talking to you.” 

You burst into a fit of laughter, rushing after him, “I’m joking, I’m joking.” You chant, waving off the statement with your hand. “You already know you’re stuck with me.” Although, you weren’t a hundred percent certain that extended to your free housing situation. 

“You’re an idiot.” Sukuna says, “A virgin, loser, too.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re still calling me that.” You say, grabbing his hand, which wraps around yours the moment the two of you touch. Softie. “After everything we’ve–you’ve done to me? Shameful.” 

“Whatever.” 

You’re softly smiling at him as you pull away, finding it cute how his hand follows you. “Okay.” The two of you start moving towards the coffee building again, “Have you been practicing your ASL? It’ll be nice if my mom could talk to my boyfriend.” The word feels foreign, but nice to say. 

“I have.” Sukuna turns his face away from you again. 

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, “Knowing one small phrase isn’t enough. Are you lying to me?” You accuse, “You won’t even look at me, you’re totally lying to me.” You huff, a small cloud of condensation leaving your lips. 

His reply is quick and rude, “I’m not.” Sukuna’s not lying, and he’s sure you’re more than aware of that. However, what you don’t know is that everytime he turns away from you, he’s just trying to hide his stupid smile from you, and you’ll never know that. 

Actually, no, that’s a lie. He’ll tell you in his wedding vows. 

I love you all so much! Thank you for giving me so much joy in writing! I hope you enjoyed my Christmas present to you this year! (Last year... 2023)

I have loved writing this series more than anything! <3 and, the support and love you’ve given me means everything. It’s honestly made writing this series absolutely worth it!🩷 Kept me motivated and eager to known what you thought of each chapter.

Hopefully I’ll see you in another story I write!🩷🥹

Tag(s)!: @openup-yourmind, @sherlock-holmes-jr, @maskedpacific, @gasp-a-homo, @diogodxlot, @beahappyhoeee, @tojimeow, @sukunamylovexoxo, @yoontaedotin, @sukunaloverrr, @lanadelreylover4l, @raininginthemoonlight, @blackjanexx, @ethereally-lyann, @fritzzbitzz, @lanadelreylover4l, @chayunwoo, @madamteller, @mazzd4, @haithamsbb, @c-l-ellis, @samysaha, @pi-crust, @shukiinnkm

[warriorofthought]

Winter

Summary: Even when Bucky is forced back into the Winter Soldier, he protects you, because the Winter Soldier loves you too, not just Bucky.

Word count: 2602

Warning: Mention of injuries and attacks

Winter Soldier x Scientist Reader 

You and Bucky have been together for a few years now. Bucky adores you and after his nightmares he is always searching for your closeness, because your warmth and your smell calm him down and with you he feels safe. You don't belong to the Avengers, but to Shield and you work there as a scientist. As a result, you have very little to do with the missions that Bucky and the Avengers handle on a daily basis. But Bucky loves to come back to you in the normal life.

As you are exploring your newest project, Bucky walks into your lab.

"Y/n, the others said they need your help with something and they want me to get you." 

You nod, quickly pack away the important stuff from your project, and walk along with Bucky to join the others. 

When you get there, Tony explains to you what they need you for and together you start planning. Bucky gives you a quick kiss on the forehead as he and Steve leave the room and then leaves the room satisfied.

In the evening Bucky, Steve, Sam and Clint join you and the rest of the team, they bring with them the food they have ordered. 

You all sit down at a large free table and eat together. Bucky sits next to you and talks to Sam. His hand searches for yours from time to time and his thumb gently rubs your hand. 

You catch Steve, Tony asking how far we've come with plans to stop Hydra's newest technology. Tony tells him that we've made great progress and will be finished by tomorrow morning at the latest, since we need to test it again to see if it works. After all, we got a little copy from the last mission from Natasha and Clint, which is a big help.

If we pull an all-nighter, we'll definitely make it.

Just as we were about to throw out the trash from dinner, Hydra agents suddenly burst into the room with their loaded machine guns and we all have to quickly bend down to protect ourselves from the bullets they are shooting at us. 

All the Avengers manage to grab their weapons that are lying in the room and you hide behind a pillar to avoid being hit by bullets.

By now the shower of bullets has stopped and you watch from your hiding spot how Natasha takes out three Hydra agents at the same time and you are amazed as always how easy she makes it look.

Then you see a Hydra agent coming out of the eye wrap and you try to get away from him but just as he tries to grab you, Bucky comes from the side and throws him against a wall and the agent lies on the ground in a state of dizziness. 

Then Bucky comes up worried.

"Are you ok" "yes" 

"Good let's get you out of here" with these words Bucky grabs your hand with his human hand and leads you safely out of the room to a corridor. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Just when you think you've made it safely out of Shield, a higher ranking Hydra agent shows up. He stops in front of both of you with his bazooka raised.

"Hello Soldier, it's been a long time since you've come back home."

Bucky wants to lead you to the door at the side without the agent noticing, but he fails.

"Well well well, I wouldn't do that or I'll shoot the scientist, we don't want that, do we?" 

Immediately Bucky stills in his movement and pulls you closer to his back by your hand.

Then you see the agent pull a piece of paper out of his pocket and he starts to read.

"Longing. Rusted." With a dark Russian accent, the agent reads the words.

Bucky's trigger words, shoot it into your head.

"No" Bucky shakes his head in horror.

"Y/n you need to get out of here, now!"

He tries to push you toward the door, but you don't move an inch.

"Seventeen. Daybreak."

"Y/n, please, I don't want to hurt you, get out!" he looks desperately into your eyes. 

The agent is getting closer to you and so his voice is getting louder. You see Bucky struggling with himself.

"Furnace"

"Y/n, please!"

You nod and let go of his hand.

"Nine. Benign. Homecoming."

You rush to the door, but it is ripped open and two Hydra agents come in and block your way. One grabs you by the arm and drags you back to Bucky, you don't stand a chance against the agent although you try to break free and push yourself against him.

"One. Freight car." Reads the Hydra Commander from the paper and Bucky went stiff, collapsing as he struggled to hold back the Winter Soldier. He couldn't let you see him like this. He couldn't risk hurting you. But the programming took control, and he lost himself.

"Soldier?" the man asked.

"Ready to comply," came Bucky's cold voice.

"Soldier, I command you to kill the scientist." The man was pointing at you. He crumpled up the note and stuffed it into his pocket, because he didn't need it anymore. Bucky was now under his control.

The Winter Soldier turned to you.

The Hydra agent who was holding you roughly shoves you forward and you fall hard to your knees, even though your hands probably took most of the fall, it hurt like hell.

Then you hear Bucky's metal arm whirring and you look up to see he's already watching you. He's moved a little closer to you.

You straighten up a bit to get a better look at him.

"It's okay Bucky, you can't help it, I'm still going to keep loving you," you say softly, staring into his eyes. As soon as you said his name, something flashed behind his eyes. 

The Winter Soldier looks into your eyes and you can see a soft expression flash in them for a brief moment. 

"Kill her, Soldier," the Commander comments. The Winter Soldier nods.

Before you or anyone else can react, the Winter Soldier pulls out his gun, turns to the Commander, shoots him and then the two agents who are standing behind you, then he puts his gun away and comes to you. 

Surprised, you slide away from him, but you don't get far because he surprisingly gently grabs your wrist and pulls you towards him. Once you're close enough to him, he grabs your face and lifts it up a bit, toward him. 

It seems as if he is looking for something in your face.

"What... what's wrong?"

"Are you hurt?" the words come out of him.

"Uhh... I think so, my hands and knees are scraped up and my wrists hurt, but I don't think it's too serious."

When you say that, he immediately looks at said spots and if the agents weren't already dead, he would certainly do it again, his facial expressions tell you that before he suppresses his emotions again.

He stands up and before you can do the same he lifts you up, his flesh hand under your legs and his metal arm pressing you against him, you wrap your arms around his neck for a better grip and you hold on him firmly.

Then he looks at you again checking.

"Are you afraid of me ?"

"Should I be afraid of you?"

"No"

"Good, as long as you don't give me a reason to be, I'm not, Bucky."

As you say his name, you notice him flinch for a moment. Then he starts to move. 

He walks you out the door to the outside and quickly runs towards a car, as a couple of Hydra agents come towards us, he pushes your head into his neck and kills them. 

Once at the car he puts you in the passenger seat and himself at the wheel and drives off, but before he does he locks the car door so you can't get out on your own. Then he starts the car and speeds off from the Shield grounds. 

"Where are we going, Bucky?"

He ignores your questions. You look at him. Concerned, your eyes roam over his stature.  Tall and tense, with no emotion to read off, his hands hold the steering wheel tightly, but not too tightly. 

"Where are we going, soldier?" This time you get a reaction, you see his right hand tense briefly and then release.

Uncertain, you chew your lip, trying to figure out what he's up to.

"Soldier, what is your mission?" You ask him as soon as he stops at a traffic light.

"My mission?"

"Yes, what is your mission" you nod confirming your answer.

"My mission, Y/n, is to protect you and keep you safe."  As he says this, he looks you in the eye and his voice just drips with seriousness. He wants to protect you. Also, you see that in his eyes is not the gentleness of Bucky, but that of the Winter Soldier, cold but in some way loving and gentle toward you. 

"Protect... me?"

"Yes, you are a top priority, Y/n."

Understanding, you nod and lean back, then gaze out the window. You're sure the Winter Soldier really means it and doesn't want to kill you backhandedly. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________

It has been more than 2 hours now that he is driving. Slowly you are getting impatient.

"Bucky, how long are we going to drive?"

"Winter."

"What?"

"Call me Winter, Bucky isn't here right now"

"Okay, okay Winter, how much longer are we driving?" You look over at him questioningly.

"An hour or more" he mutters in a raspy voice.

Before you or he could have reacted the car is suddenly hit by another car.

The car is thrown to the side and flips over, meanwhile your head hits the window glass, it shatters into thousands pieces and a throbbing pain spreads through your head. When the car comes to a stop, you look over at Bucky. He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls open his dented door and runs over to the car that hit you. You see Hydra agents running towards him and Bucky kills them easily. 

Then a few more cars come to a stop and you see more Hydra agents get out. 

You have to close your eyes for a moment because of the severe pain in your head and when you open them again, the dizziness is gone. 

Then you see that one of the hydra agents runs up to the car you're in and you realize he wants to get to you. 

You need to get out of here. Now.

You let your hands wander to the seatbelt and start to unbuckle it, but the seatbelt is stuck. Panicked, you try to get free, but it doesn't work. You look around with a pounding pain in your head and see that there is a knife on the floor of Bucky's seat. Quickly, you reach out and grab it. Then you try to cut through the seat belt. When you look back out, you see that the Hydra agent is almost there. So you cut the belt faster. Then you've managed to do it, just at that moment the Hydra agent pulls open the door and you jump over into the driver's seat, but he grabs your foot and wants to pull you towards him. Screaming, you fight back and kick him with your other foot.

Your screaming draws Bucky's attention and he sees the trouble you're in. So he wants to help you, but he can't get away because some new Hydra agents have just arrived.

You meanwhile see the Hydra agent who grabbed your foot take a knife out of his side pocket.  

"You shouldn't fight back or I'll have to hurt you." With that, he joyously waves the knife around in his hand.

You continue to push yourself away from him and your hand feels the door handle, quickly you squeeze it and force the door open, then you try to shake your foot out of his clamp grip and stumble out of the car. Then you start running. 

Just away from there. 

You hear the Hydra agent cursing behind you, but you keep running. Then suddenly you feel a terrible pain in your leg and fall down with a cry of pain, you look down and see that there is a knife stuck in your calf. 

Goddamn it

Before you can react, the Hydra agent that just attacked you is in front of you again, he pulls the knife out of your leg and throws you over his shoulder. Scared, you pound on the agent's back. 

"Let go of me!"

"Let go of me!" 

"Please, let me go!" you beg. But the agent doesn't care, instead he grabs your leg right into your wound and you cry out painfully, tears running down your face. 

Then suddenly you land on the ground, not hard but not soft and you hear the Hydra agent who carried you scream in pain before it goes silent. As you rise to your knees, you see Bucky coming towards you.

He grabs your leg and binds it with a piece of cloth, then takes your face in his hand and brushes away your tears.

"It's okay, I'm here, it's going to be okay. Don't cry. I'll take you to safety now!" Nodding, you lean against him. He in turn immediately takes you in his arms and stands up with you on his arm, and then he leaves with you. Looking back, you see that all the Hydra agents are lying motionless on the floor.

_________________________________________________________________________________

When you arrive in a hotel room, Bucky sits you down on the bed. Then he gets stuff to take care of your injury. He bandages your leg after he has cleaned the wound and also the wound on your head before he sticks a plaster on it, then he gives you painkillers.

Your head and leg hurt like hell and you hope the pills will work soon.

"What do we do now?" You look at him with a curious face.

"We'll make sure you're better and then I'll make sure you're in a safe place where Hydra can't get to you so easily."

"What about our friends, Winter?"

"We don't need them, we just need us."

"Just us?"

"Yes"

"Did you actually get hurt, Winter?" worried, you sit back up as you realize your words. Your heart races at the thought he might be injured.

You grab him by his shoulders and pat him gently to see if he's losing blood anywhere. He isn't. With relief, you let your hands wander to his face and take a good look at it, there are no wounds to be found there either. You sigh again in relief and carefully brush a strand of hair from his face.  

As you put your hand back on his cheek, you notice how he slightly leans his head towards you, lightly you smile and look him in the eyes. 

"How are you feeling, y/n?"

"Well, according to the circumstances, in pain, but the pills seem to be kicking in, Winter."

He takes your hands in his and makes sure you lie back down.

"That's good."

"Winter, I'm sleepy," you murmur as you let your head sink back into the pillow. 

He takes off your shoes and covers you properly. Then he gently brushes a string of hair out of your face.

"Sleep, I'm here, nothing will happen to you, I promise."

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 22: Recapture

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

tw: capture, brainwashing, mind control, gunshots, intrusive thoughts

The winter sun offered little warmth as Zach and Jesse made their way to Silvertown, hiding behind houses and cars and avoiding the strange, organic structures that the aliens used to monitor the remnants of human civilization.

Silvertown was one of the aliens' reconstruction projects. No one in the resistance was completely sure what they were doing, especially due to the danger of going near the places the aliens were inhabiting. They were carefully preserving some buildings, while tearing down others to make way for bizarre new structures. With their pieced together knowledge, the resistance figured that they were creating colonies where they could live with their new human pets. The preserved human buildings were likely being left as curiosities for the aliens and amusements to mollify the controlled humans.

Zach didn't have an opinion. His stance had always been that it didn't matter what the aliens were planning for humanity. They were mind-controlling the human population and needed to be stopped, regardless of whether or not their end goal was hellish torture or false paradise.

(And when he'd lived in that false paradise, he'd been enthusiastically in favor of any of the aliens' plans, not that they were shared with a human pet.)

It was the first mission Zach had been on since his capture, and it was a particularly risky one. This close to a reconstruction project, if even one alien saw them, there would be dozens other nearby that they could call on. But despite the danger, Zach was almost enjoying himself. Hiding among the abandoned cars and houses, avoiding alien surveillance, pathing the fastest and quietest routes -- it all made him feel more alive, more human, than he had since that fateful day.

The time he spent in the lab being detoxed and de-brainwashed by the doctors had been uncomfortably like he was still just a pet. He was hardly allowed to talk to people or leave his room, he was subject to intensive treatments, and he spent far too much time just sleeping and waiting. Coupled with the way everyone was treating him with either mistrust or pity, he was more a science project than a man. Going on a mission made him feel like his old self again.

At least, that is, until they spotted a couple of aliens gliding along the road. Zach had caught a quick glimpse of their eyes before concealing himself behind a garage, and for just a moment his old programming itched at the back of his mind.

You don't really want to be free, do you?

Wouldn't everything be so much easier if you went back?

It would be so easy. All you would have to do is go to your superiors and turn yourself in. You'd be home and safe before you know it.

Zach grit his teeth and tried to remember the grounding exercises he'd gone over so many times, trying to push the intrusive thoughts from his mind.

"You okay, Zach?" asked Jessie, who had every right to look as worried as he did.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Let's keep going."

He was all right. He had to be. After all, he'd allowed Jesse to drag himself into this. Not even claiming he'd been captured on purpose and was a traitor to humanity had dissuaded him. Now this mission had to succeed.

But you are a traitor to humanity, aren't you? If you weren't, you wouldn't be so tempted to just surrender.

Give them Jesse too. You'd be rewarded for being a good boy.

Zach's stomach roiled with nausea at the thought of being pet and coddled by the aliens. He'd been as obedient as a well-trained dog, his mind suppressed and slowed. Fetching toys, eating treats from the alien's tentacles, performing little tricks, trotting along behind his master. The thought of being recaptured, of returning to that state -- it haunted him during the day and filled his stress dreams at night.

This mission had to succeed.

At least they were able to make it to the mall without further incident, discreetly blocking one of the surveillance structures in the parking lot with trash so that they could get to the doors, and hoping the aliens didn't notice right away. They were unlikely to be within the mall itself unless they had a reason to be, so they could breathe slightly easier once they'd made it in.

The mall looked a lot like it might any other sunny Tuesday. The only real signs of the ongoing apocalypse were the eerie silence, the dead foliage in the planters, and the shopping bags lying in the aisles where people had dropped them months ago.

Zach and Jesse were headed to the food court, where they hoped to find a stash of non-perishable food. It was a high risk, high reward mission -- the mall was untouched and full of supplies the resistance desperately needed, but it was just on the edge of the reconstruction project in Silvertown. Any day now, it would be subsumed by the aliens' construction and be lost to the resistance for good.

Neither of them could help but gag at the stench in the food court. Spoiled food crammed the trash cans and littered the tables and counters, left behind when the invaders had spirited everyone away. Anything that had been left in the open would be a lost cause, and it wasn't worth opening the refrigerators, but hopefully there would be some canned or preserved food worth taking.

"Oh, here we go." Jesse waved Zach behind the counter of some kind of bowl concept place, where there was a whole shelf of industrial-sized cans of vegetables and beans. Zach began to load up as many cans as he could fit into his sizable pack. They hadn't found a cache of food like this in weeks.

"Save some room in your bag," he said. "I want to stop by the drug store and grab some meds on the way out."

"You'll really be the resistance hero if you can bring back one of those family-sized bottles of ibuprofen." Jesse laughed. "Might grab a bag of chocolate, too. It's good for morale."

Zach wanted to argue that any space should be taken up by more practical options, but found the words sticking in his throat when he thought of the state of the base lately. "Yeah, we might as well. Everyone needs a pick-me-up."

Despite the stench of rotten food surrounding them, the thought of getting to eat decent canned beans was making Zach's stomach rumble. As the aliens expanded their territory and surveillance, scavenged food was becoming harder to find, so they'd all been operating on meager rations. Zach was frequently taunted by daydreams of the endless replicated food he'd had on board the alien ship. The texture was never quite right, but the flavor was there, copied from human memories. Even as he packed cans of beans, he could practically taste juicy fried chicken and piping hot pizza…

"Shit!" It took him far too long to realize that those daydreams weren't his own. There was an alien nearby pushing thoughts into his mind. They knew Zach and Jesse were here.

"You felt it too, huh?" said Jesse quietly, zipping his pack. "It's a big mall. They might not know exactly where we are. We'd better get out of here before…"

His mouth snapped shut, and both of them held their breath. It was the unmistakable sound of an alien's tentacles slapping against the tiles. It was close, and Zach's mind was being crowded with intrusive thoughts of food and sleep and comfort as the alien tried to draw them out.

You'd feel so much better resting in your sleep pod with a full stomach. Just reveal yourself, and you'd be back home in hours.

Zach clenched his fists, trying to counteract the lulling intrusion with his own will. The alien ship wasn't home and never would be, no matter how much they brainwashed him. He was going back to the human resistance as a hero who brought them food, not returning to a pathetic existence as a pet.

Jesse was staring at him with more fear than he usually let slip, and Zach couldn't help but wonder how much of his fear was due to the alien patrol and how much was him wondering if Zach really was a traitor.

More nasty squelching noises. There was more than one of them, and it sounded like they were closing in. As quietly as he could, Zach reached into the side pouch of his bag and pulled out a flash grenade. Jesse nodded in agreement.

Zach took a deep breath, stood up, and tossed the grenade over the counter directly at the group of aliens gathering in the food court. Their psychic pain, radiating out into his mind, gave a clear indication that he'd hit his mark. Jesse sprang to his feet and they both booked it past the suffering enemy and down the corridor, no longer caring for stealth.

"They'll be guarding the entrance," said Zach.

"I've got another flash prepped."

"Good." Zach concentrated on running as fast as he could. Despite being woefully out of shape from his captivity and recovery, running felt better than it had in a long time. It was the first time he'd really tried to run since his superiors had fixed his knee.

The enemy. Not his superiors.

They're waiting at the entrance. They're waiting for you. They're going to take you home.

Don't resist. Don't struggle. Comply.

"God damn it," muttered Zach. They were almost at the department store that held their exit door -- but that's when Zach realized that he couldn't hear Jesse's footsteps.

He whipped around to see --

Jesse's arms and legs were being held fast by one of the enemy, and he was staring straight up into one of their beautiful, dazzling eyes.

Fuck!

At that moment, Zach knew that they weren't getting out. His worst fear was coming true. He'd be taken back and made into a pet, and this time there wouldn't be any rescue. He'd spend the rest of his life serving the creatures who had ended humanity, his own thoughts dimming and dulling until there was nothing left of him. Fading away, just like the rest of the civilization he'd once known. He could practically feel the familiar collar around his neck, the scar on his spine twinging.

But he had to at least try to get Jesse free. It was his fault Jesse was here in the first place. If he hadn't opened his big stupid mouth and spilled his feelings, if he'd let Jesse drag him back to the goddamned lab --

There was no time. He pulled out his pistol and shot wildly at the writing mass of tentacles. Bullets couldn't kill them, of course, but they were a painful distraction. Unfortunately, he didn't hit the alien's eye for fear of missing and shooting Jesse in the head, so even as the tentacles writhed, the alien still had Jesse firmly in its grasp.

Zach drew his knife and charged, slicing into one of the tentacles that gripped Jesse's arm. That all too familiar stench of the aliens' innards filled his nostrils and made him want to gag, but he kept going. Cut his comrade free, just like he'd done so many times before. Don't think about being captured. Don't think about failure. Don't think.

Don't think.

Zach pulled Jesse free, and his friend stumbled backwards, falling onto the ground, dazed from exposure to the neural cascade. Zach knew exactly how that felt.

And when he yelled at Jesse to run, he knew that it wouldn't work. Jesse would be too slow and confused to make it out of there. That's why it was so important to do these missions in squads, because inevitably someone would screw up and get hypnotized and have to be dragged back to base.

But the squads had dwindled in size, even before Zach's capture, and there wasn't a team here now. Just the two of them. And before he could reach Jesse to try to pull him to his feet, a tentacle closed around his waist.

Don't think. Relax. Comply.

He was recaptured. It was over. He was going home. And even before he was turned to stare into his superior's eye, all he could feel was relief.

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

@augusnippets

[paw-prints-vn]

Stumped and searching for the perfect premise, you stumble upon a lone library and the cat people living within.

In Paw Prints you play as an aspiring writer who turns to their dreams for ideas. With only 2 weeks left and a completely blank script, will you make it in time to join the contest and get published?

Paw Prints is a quick and easy read. Enjoy the winter vibes, and embrace the nonsensical yet inspiring nature of your dreaming mind.

~11,000 words

2 endings

3 cat-tastic characters who only want what's best for you

Mad Libs minigame

Your nameable purr-fect pet cat (who also wants to help)

Play it here!

This project was made for Winter Visual Novel Jam 2023

[vampire-meta-knight]

Goth DIY: Altered Clothing part 1

Since some of you crafty goths were interested in seeing the clothing I've altered, I decided to compile it all in one place! I hope I can inspire your creations,give you ideas, and teach you new techniques. This will be a long post, since I've been making alterations to my clothing since high school, which also means some of these projects aren't as polished as others, since they were made when I was newer to DIY and have mistakes I've since learned from, but that's okay! Goth doesn't have to be polished and perfect, and don't let the fear of mistakes stop you from creating!

I've already done posts about the shorts and pants I've gothified, so part 1 will focus on t-shirts, camisoles, and button-up shirts. Part 2 will have sweaters, skirts, and dresses. Some alterations are as easy as adding safety pins or lace trim, and others involve more sewing. Lots of these are very beginner-friendly projects and take less than an hour. All of these items were completely plain when I got them--anything metal, lace, embroidered, or painted that you see was added by me. I'll add more about each garment in the image descriptions. As always, feel free to message me if you want better or more thorough instructions or DIY advice. I'm here to be a resource to my fellow crafters! <3

(Also, please pardon the cat hair and my hair on the clothes--I don't take perfect pictures. A couple pics are also old since those shirts are in storage so I could make room for my winter wardrobe, so you'll notice a change in backdrop and a dirty mirror.)

Let's start with t-shirts and camisoles! Use an old shirt, a thrifted shirt, a shirt from Walmart, etc.! I like to get plain unisex t-shirts from Walmart and paint on them using freezer paper stencils, bleach them, shred them, and/or add safety pins to them. The camis also came from Walmart, and I changed the necklines and added lace trim to make them cuter.

To make a sweetheart neckline on a cami, you can cut it, or you can just pinch the middle and sew it into place (I did that for all of them except the black and white one--that one ended up a little lower-cut than I meant it to, so I decided to stick with the pinching method). The lace trim I used on the black camis isn't stretchy, but still works just fine, as long as you pin it into place while you're wearing the shirt and stretch the shirt a bit as you sew to maintain stretch in those areas. Stretchy lace, like I used on the pink and red camis, works a bit better, but is harder to find. I still like pinning the lace while I'm wearing the shirt to get the placement down, but if you wear a bra, make sure you're wearing the one you plan on wearing with the shirt while placing the lace. I found it doesn't sit right with bras that fit a little differently than the one I based the placement on.

The long-sleeved Emily the Strange shirt has a neat detail, albeit a wonky one because my placement is a bit off sometimes. You'll notice two little striped triangles at the bottom. I cut slits in the shirt and added triangles of striped stretchy fabric, then sewed zippers over top of them to hide the seams and add extra detail. I also sewed the zippers on with red thread for contrast.

My button-ups are a bit more involved. I treat them like how I treat shorts--patches, lace, embroidery, pins, grommet tape, D-rings, charms, chains, oh my! The pink one is my most recent, and I'm so proud of it. All of the patches came from ToothxNail on Etsy, except the Rat King patch, which came from Katiewhittleart on Etsy. The flowers on the collar were buttons that I glued onto flat-back pins from a craft store (I used E6000 glue). Made super quick collar pins that I can remove when washing the shirt or put on something else when I want.

The orange button-up was by far the simplest. I just added lace trim to the cuffs and cropped it (it had been high-low, but I wanted to wear it tucked into a skirt and the long back was annoying me). I also added collar clips with a chain that I got at a craft fair, but that's more like styling an accessory with it than altering it, since I can just un-clip them.

The leather jacket is old and doesn't fit well, so I don't wear it anymore, but I kept it because it was my first leather jacket. Adding the sew-on studs and faux-fur trim on the neck took the longest. You'll also notice that a mouse chewed a hole in the outer shell on the pocket.

Part 2

[freshstitches]

The Winter Wave Hat was a spontaneous project inspired by the arrival of a new family member. I used two 100g skeins of bulky weight yarn in contrasting colors. This project features a simple stacked stitch motif worked in 2 colors in the round. Stacked stitches are a increase and decrease technique used to create wavy color work. Only one color is worked at a time in this project. It's a good starting place for any one new to this technique who wants to practice with a quick and (relatively) easy pattern.

I know it's a strange time of year to publish a hat, but it's still cold enough to wear this today when I arrive in Wisconsin. It's also perfect timing for those of you who live in the southern hemisphere.

🧶

Yarn: BULKY

Small size uses 60g of MC and 30g of CC.

Large size uses 67.5g of CC and 37.5g of CC.

Finished Size: 18" (20") / 46 (51 cm) circumferenceat ribbing, unstretched, to fit 20-23" (23-26") / 53-60 (61-66) cm head.

Needles: Size 8 (5mm), 10 (6mm) 16” (40 cm) circular needle, or size needed to obtain gauge.

Gauge: 14 sts and 19 rows = 4 x 4” square in stockinette stitch on larger size needles.

Find the pattern for sale on my website and on Ravelry.

[twelvroses]

ELIZABETH HWANG was born in Berkeley, California; her father is a music producer working in the United States and her mother is an artist. Elizabeth grew up alternating between dreaming of following in either parent's dream, and at fourteen years old was the only trainee to make it through OHJANG ENTERTAINMENT's LA auditions, whisking her away from her life to Seoul, where she'd train for two years.

Under the stage name LIZZY, Elizabeth first made her debut in 2018, when she was added to the lineup of established girl-group BOUQUET, in which her representative flower was daisies. Although the group enjoyed a middling level of success, Elizabeth's status as a new addition earned her scorn amongst fans, who much preferred the member she replaced. As a result, Elizabeth was subject to hate and scrutiny for the three years she was active as a member of BOUQUET, particularly in thanks to her inexpressive nature; her flat speaking tone and blank resting expression all too easy to project sarcasm or disdain upon.

When the group disbanded in 2021, Elizabeth was quick to pack her bags and get the hell out of her old label, never looking back or publicly mentioning BOUQUET by name again. In 2022, she competed on the fourth season of the survival show nextUP, her last appearance using the name Lizzy, where she finished around the middle of the pack and failed to make a debut. Following the show, Elizabeth seemingly vanished from the public eye, and fans accepted that she'd given up on the idol industry, assuming that she had returned home to America.

However, in 2024, it was announced that Elizabeth had signed to VALENTINE RECORDS; the first and currently only trainee to be accepted since the debut of their three new-gen groups at the beginning of the decade. With her signature long hair chopped to her neck and the firm instruction to call her LIZ, now, the buzz among the few fans still holding a candle for Elizabeth is palpable - by all accounts, she means business this time around.

NAME : Elizabeth 'Liz' Hwang.

BIRTHDAY : June 12 2001.

ZODIAC : Gemini.

NATIONALITY : Korean-American.

HOMETOWN : Berkeley, CA, USA.

FOCUS OF TRAINING : Rap, Vocal.

FC : Kim Minjeong / Winter.

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Social, Cultural, & Political Things to Help Understand Buddy Daddies - Part 2

Hey there, everyone! Since my first post covering topics like these went over so well, and since I found a few more things I can talk about in these first four episodes that involve a social, cultural, and/or political aspect of Japan, I decided to make a second post. 

I type these posts up on my desktop, since that is easier, but after posting, I will go back on mobile and edit in ALT text for the photos. This post is also likely to be very lengthy and image heavy, but I hope you all enjoy the information provided. Also, if anyone has any extra insights, please feel free to share that information. I love learning, and always am learning, so any corrections or further info is always appreciated.

We are going to be starting off with a few simple, quick, and “easy” topics, so to speak. Now, let’s get started!

1. Rock - Paper - Scissors

In Ep.3, we see Kazuki and Rei decide who will go and purchase the sweet potato for Miri. In order to decide this, they use Rock-Paper-Scissors. In Japan, the game is called janken and is used in classrooms to decde everything: which row or group in class will go first? Janken. There is a tie, who will win the game? Janken. A student or students are out of class today so there is some extra food left over, who will get it? Janken.

In many cases, this will be use to decide orders as well (like the winner goes first or last and then it goes in ascending or descending order from there). And it won’t just be between two people, they’ll do huge groups. When I worked as an ALT, I would often just trust my students or the JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) or Homeroom Teacher to figure out who won and lost, because I would always lose track... ^ ^;

Anyway, this way of deciding things is viewed as unbiased and a sort of “third-party” decision maker. A nice way to have a decision made without ruffling any feathers. And, we sometimes see using Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide things within the workplace and business world.

Some examples of this are provided on the website Japan Daily, which will be linked below. The website does lean a bit into Orentialism, imo, but it also has some good history and info on Rock-Paper-Scissors in Japan and these real life examples of it being used in a business/work environment are great:

2. Baked Sweet Potato - Street Food

Baked sweet potato is a very common street food in Japan in the fall and winter months. They are cheap, smell delicious, are delicious, and are a great way to warm up cold hands. Nowadays, many are sold out of small, white vans like the one shown in Buddy Daddies. 

(Image from Asahi Imports).

They are usually eaten plain and the inside tends to be a light, off-set white. Like ice cream trucks, the sweet potato vendors will usually set up shop around playgrounds, school areas, parks, etc. basically any place where a large crowd is likely, and they will usually shout out that they have sweet potatoes. In a similar way to the vendors walking around selling food, drinks, and peanuts at a baseball game or something.

You can read more about this winter time snack over at Asahi Imports, which will be linked below (they also make mention of daigaku imo, which is a dish you’ll see in Japanese school lunches in the fall and winter months, and which is very yummy!).

3. Obake - Ghosts 

I was watching a reaction video to episode 3 of Buddy Daddies, and the reactor was like, “Isn’t she afraid of ghosts?” And, well, that made me think of a very popular song and book in Japan called おばけなんてないさ (Obake Nante Nai sa). It is a very famous children’s song and (later) picture book in Japan. The song was first broadcast on an NHK program called “Minna no Uta” in 1966. This info is from the website Hello Project Lyrics Wiki, and will be linked in the comments below.

When I worked at a Japanese cram school back here in the States, we had a bunch of copies of the books, and all the teachers had the book and song memorized. All the parents were familiar with it too, and it was taught in the youngest class, since the book and song is for the 0 - 2 year old age range.

Here is a Youtube video with the book and the song being sung to it. Warning: This song WILL get stuck in your head. The beat is very simple and easy to remember, so you’ll definitely end up humming it, even if you don’t know the lyrics.

I’ll link to English lyrics that I found for this song in the comments. But the general gist is that there is no such things as ghosts, they aren’t real, but if they were, I (a child) would be afraid of them. So the song goes on to tell of how you can befriend a ghost instead, and not be afraid of them anymore. 

Miri is 4 years old, and can write her name, speak and understand well, and has good coordination skills. So there has been some level of education, so she has likely heard this song before. And therefore probably isn’t afraid of ghosts on a more conceptual level, though she still equates them with “bad guys,” lol. If she hasn’t learned it or heard it yet, she probably will now that she is in daycare.

There are four more issues/aspects that I plan on discussing, so I’ll put those under a Read More due to length and them being slightly less lighthearted.

4. Animal Rights

When I watched reaction videos to the first episode, many people were upset at the cat being returned to the box (and the cat even just being in a box to begin with). I was too, of course, but I also knew where this scene was coming from. For this section, I will be citing the article: Challenging, inadequate animal welfare in Japan, which I will link to below. Though, I also came across the article Why You Shouldn’t Buy a Pet in Japan, which I will also be linking below, since I think it is worth the read. 

Basically, Japan has laws in place, and they get revised every 5 or so years, however, they are very vague and the general public knowledge of animal rights is farther behind than in other industrialized nations. In the other article that I will be linking below, they mention that about 90% of pets in Japan are bought through pet stores, rather than through adoptions or rescues. So, as the other article states, abandonment of pets is rather high, especially because of how trend-based pet ownership is in Japan.

Things like pet cafes can really influence pet trends. I’ve been to two myself, an Owl Cafe in Osaka and a Hedgehog Cafe in Tokyo. 

That was a number of years ago now. And while those experiences were AMAZING! I do think about the ethics of it all and think, if I were to return to Japan some day for a visit, those kinds of cafes wouldn’t be on my To Do list.

However, there are groups and organizations to help fight for animal rights in Japan. Since this section of the post was inspired by the scene with the cat in the box, I’ll highlight the cat based one mentioned in the article:

So that’s good to hear!

5. Parenting Style

Another thing I noticed during reaction videos were the responses to scenes like the above, where Miri is kicking at the back of Rei’s car seat and whining, “I wanna go swing!” As well as to scenes like below, where Miri caused all of Kazuki’s food supplies and materials to spill all over the ground. 

All of them have made mentioned that moments like those require strict discipline. But, Japanese parenting style differs a bit when it comes to things like this. In an article entitled: Japanese Parenting Style - And Differences From the West, which will be linked to below, we get this bit on discipline:

Basically, it is saying that Japan isn’t really big on punishment because Japanese children learn to behave by learning the importance of cooperation and harmony through other social groups like school and sports. This is definitely true. What I’ve seen is that the expectation is that the children still don’t fully understand the ins-and-outs of society yet.

I worked at a Japanese daycare, so our job was to take a gentle parenting approach, to help explain to the child why what they did was hurtful or harmful or dangerous. And one of our goals was to help the children learn how to play amicably with each other. 

That’s not to say that I haven’t seen children be yelled at or anything like that. I have. But it is usually the teachers that take on that mantel, especially at the junior high school level. That’s when you get stuff like students have to practice bowing during an assembly over and over and over again until they get it just right, especially if that assembly is a rehearsal for an important event, like graduation ceremonies.

Bringing this back to Miri though. Now that she is in daycare, she will start to receive this gentle parenting approach to learning how to co-exist with others, which will eventually result in more positive behaviors (or, that is the ultimate goal, anyway). Miss Anna will likely provide a lot of that guidance as the head daycare teacher.

6. Snack Bars

Miri’s mother works at a Snack Bar and, over on the official website, it states that her job is as both the Mama and singer at the Snack Bar and that she is 34 years old. But what is a Snack Bar and what is a Mama?

Snack Bars were started in 1964 to work around government laws that prevented adult entertainment establishments from staying open after midnight, by offering light snacks, that changed the category that they fell under, thus they could stay open. The Mama of the Snack Bar is basically the one in charge of the Snack Bar.

They are similar in ways to Hostess Bars, but on the cheaper side. You can read about more of the details about how they run and what not at the website Metropolis Japan, which I will link to in the comments.

Another thing about Snack Bars is that, while they don’t sell sex, they sell the fantasy and illusion of sex:

They are also a outdated nowadays (with their peak being back in the 80s), so there is a general seedy vibe about them. It may seem like an okay place to take kids from the name alone, but they are very much so adult-only spaces. Also, as we saw with Miri’s mother, likely a place and setting where the exploitation of women happens.

7. Casinos and Gambling in Japan

We saw Kazuki do some gambling in Ep. 1. Something you may have noticed, however, was who lured him in:

And what the outside of the establishment looked like:

Two young and sexy women and a bright, sparkling pink building named “FAIRY LIPS.” You probably guessed that this isn’t a legal gambling establishment. Casinos and gambling are still largely illegal in Japan, with some exceptions like lottery. The ones that are illegal are likely being run by Yakuza. 

However, some changes have gone into affect in more recent years, especially as a way to attract tourists. 

Over on the Wikipedia page about Gambling in Japan (which will be linked below in the comments), it talks about how Japanese lawmakers approved a bill in July 2018 that officially allows casinos in the country. However, they come with a lot of restrictions, such as Japanese locals only being able to visit them three times per week or ten times a month, and Japanese visitors will be charged 6,000 yen entrance fees to discourage addiction. 

And...that’s it for this post! Thank you all for reading this far and for all the love and support you’ve all shown to my previous post (and other meta posts I’ve made). I really and truly appreciate it! I’ll be keeping an eye out for topics like these in future episodes. Though, those posts should be a lot shorter, since I’ll be going on an episode-by-episode basis, instead of in bulk like this.

Until next time! 

[arohawke]

a new (old) plan is put in motion

JACK (as Connadine): As anyone with even a passing familiarity will tell you, we are a principality of spies. Of course-

AUSTIN: There’s a little chuckle [imitates a faint chuckle]

JACK(as Connadine):  We know the extent of that understatement.

[“Adagio” by Jack de Quidt begins playing]

Some five thousand years ago, on our home planet, our predecessors employed one of the most remarkable psychological operations ever undertaken by the Principality. Using the immense future-seeing power of an oracle engine, they generated hundreds of thousands of near-flawless predictions: who would sit in government; the weather on a winter’s day; the right career for the son of a surgeon; the number of toy boats in an ornamental pond, the color of their sails;

These predictions were made in something like a loop in which the Principality’s citizens, whether they recognized it or not, were cast as actors. When two thousand years pass between the overture and the final bows, the exact shape of the play becomes helpfully obscured to anybody but the director. The system of control and surveillance was so comprehensive, so effective, so far-reaching that it cloaked itself in its total obviousness. And I’ve been sent to Palisade to bring this planet on cycle.

Of course, given the loss of the machine that drove the original project, the circumstances are meaningfully different, but Kesh has changed too. We understand, as an old friend of mine once said, that the easiest way to ensure that any tomorrow is a Tuesday is to make sure people believe that today is a Monday. You will have noticed that the workshop’s being constructed, I’m sure. Carpenters and costumers have been brought on the Princept’s orders, prop-makers. We are assembling quite a little paint shop.

We’ve already begun distributing predictions. A star will fall over Carleon. Yes, it will. Our ships are in place to destroy the satellite. A text found in a library in Carmathen will describe a long-forgotten duke returning on a black horse with white fetlocks. We are working on the script.

And we have been given a gift in our alliance of sorts with the existing Fabreal Duchy. A feudal society, constructing themselves around holy days, elaborate quests, and displays. They pass themselves down to their successors in the form of liquid glass – we only need adjust its consistency. There is a unique vector of weakness here. We will come to these lords wearing their own clothes and before long they will raise their cups in a toast that we have constructed, believing in their hearts it is some ancient, beautiful bastion of their own culture.

Now, this process will not be easy, nor will it be quick. I’m under no illusions that what we can accomplish will ever move with the grace and precision of what our ancestors knew. But I hope that we are setting a metronome in motion. Today we might only hear the click as it sets the time. Maybe in a few weeks we will hear a violin join us. In a year, we will start to see the shape of a piece of music. And when we are long dead and our bones lie in spies’ nameless memorials, our successors will look up at the sunset sky of hope and down at the complete score in their hands.

And hear the great, tempestuous rush of a symphony.

[“Adagio” by Jack de Quidt ends]

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

A general problem the MCU has is that while they may be good at bringing up potentially interesting and complex takes on real-world issues or things that could shake up the status quo, they're not good at commitment, and usually have the issues get solved in anticlimactic fashion, whether that be by the end of the same project they were introduced in, or have them get solved offscreen.

Like, with The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, they raise a legitimate issue through bringing up the topic of how immigrants and refugees are treated. Setting aside Karli falling into the same trap as Killmonger of "villains who suddenly kill a bunch of innocent people at random because they were raising too many legitimate points, and we need the audience to not root for the", the issue is resolved through Sam effectively giving a "Do better" speech to the politicians while the deportation issue is solved offscreen.

Setting aside that they come off more like a HYDRA manifesto, the Sokovia Accords could've been the foundation for a discussion about acceptable forms of oversight for superheroes. But it really just amounted to a plot device to allow the airport battle to happen, they're pretty much forgotten once Zemo enters the picture, they're mentioned a few times in Ant-Man and the Wasp and WandaVision, and then Matt Murdock's scenes in She-Hulk: Attorney at Law reveal that the Accords were repealed offscreen.

Secret Invasion seemed to be on track to deconstruct Fury's habit of using superpowered people to help him, by having it reveal that he basically exploited alien refugees. But he doesn't actually solve that issue by the end (in fact, when it comes to defeating Gravik, he exploits G'iah having superpowers and wanting to avenge her parents to utilize her as an assassin).

I very much agree with you.

The MCU likes to bring up certain points of discussion but they seem to believe that either the audience is too stupid to understand complex storylines or they just want something easy to digest that won't upset anybody (mostly the execs).

It comes to show that while in the past the superhero movies were all about celebrating the heroes and their "otherness", nowadays we get organizations like the TVA justified by the narrative, the governments are protected and the blame is deflected towards the heroes like Bucky, or a series that could have made a fantastic story regarding Fury, Shield and their shady missions turns out to say... absolutely nothing at all.

What they did to the Flagsmashers and Karli was so utterly disgusting that I can't even begin to say how mad it made me. Hell, Secret Invasion was dealing with refugees as well (the alien-kind but, still). So why not try to connect the two somehow? We had Nick speak to Talos about racism, much in the way Sam gets to mention some of it especially when he's with Isaiah, but nothing ever comes out of it. They're short lines that can be quoted in tweets and memes but they're pointless when it comes to the story being told in the series.

And maybe that's the problem, it would seem that's all Marvel wants. It's like their "queer rep". They want something quick, short, and ambiguous that won't bother anyone too much. Probably because they're one of those who think "both sides" are equally right and wrong and so they don't want to alienate anybody.

And one of the reasons I hate this is that when it really comes to it... does the existence of heroes really change anything in the MCU universe? When it comes to external threats they're essential, but with internal affairs? They always stop the immediate threat but everything else that made it happen is left as it is (the worst offender is CW, the Accords and that damn Raft. "Oh let me break my teammates out of here but watch as I do nothing to help the other inmates or anybody else that will be sent here in the future". WTF is that?!!).

[grawlix-ness]

The Big Sleet and Dingo Headcanon Post V2!

Bear in mind this is largely a collection of subconscious Notes app ramblings I’ve patched together so I may have made a few grammatical boo-boos or repeated myself here and there. It’s almost 4AM, I’m sure I’ve missed things. I’ll continue to add and edit this post should more ideas come to mind. Questions encouraged!

Cw: light implications of child neglect, mentions of drinking and mutant body horror

🔫 Sleet 🔪

Sleet was raised in the gutter. He knows a fair bit more than the average Lower Mobotropolis street urchin because his mom was an aristocrat until she was slandered by her peers and booted from high society. She taught him the essentials, and he learned everything else from scavenging library books. Presently, his education has all but fallen through the cracks. He tries to avoid reading most of the time. What will Dingo think if he learns he’s not the uber-genius he makes himself out to be? Why does he care what Dingo thinks? When such thoughts arise, they are pushed away and buried.

He has cybernetic implants to aid with frequent aches and muscle strain. In the winter, he struggles due to a lower cold threshold, the result of a fur and skin condition. Dingo knits sweaters for him. They’re oversized and kind of a mess. On particularly glacial nights, Sleet isn't averse to sharing warmth, willing to cuddle up and be the little spoon, so long as Dingo promises not to tell anyone. 

He had no friends growing up and was often picked on. His ailments and interest in science made him an easy target. Some of his peers disliked him on the very principle of him having an ex-aristocrat mother. This made him prickly and distant. While others played kickball or tag, he was tinkering with junkyard machinery or eavesdropping around spacer hangouts, dreaming of someday getting off planet and flying to a world that’d understand him. 

He’s quite good with a needle and thread and tailors his and Dingo’s ball outfits himself. Sleet gets his sewing skills from his mother. She was the personal outfitter and trusted right hand of an important noblewoman. As a pup, he adored listening to his mother’s stories of galas and masquerades. During such fleeting moments of peace, she’d also make costumes for him. He still heavily enjoys fashion, having a closet dedicated to fancy capes. 

Sometime in his tumultuous childhood, Sleet discovered there was an Honor Guard. He admired their outfits and swordsmanship. Most of all he wanted to join so he and his mother could live in the warmth and safety of a castle. He even fashioned a costume out of his mother’s fabric scraps, complete with a sword made from a rusted metal pipe. She was quick to dash those dreams and didn’t take kindly to him borrowing her things, especially not for such a “ridiculous” project. During lonesome, existential nights he wonders how differently things could have turned out if he had become a member of the guard after all. 

When his mother was absent or too volatile to be around, Sleet found company in local mechanics.  He learned how to swindle and cheat with the best of them. One shop owner actually took him under her wing, viewing his perceived weaknesses as strengths. 

Sleet first developed the transmogrifier as a kid. He used it not only to defend himself against the local rabble rousers and humiliate them. It wasn’t a complete success, only partially transforming targets, giving them wings or eyestalks and other unwieldy appendages. Transformations were temporary. No less horrifying however. 

He calls himself a jack of all trades. This title is dubious. Thanks to an enriching education from the school of hard knocks, he does have an approximate knowledge regarding a variety of things, though it’s usually limited to topics relating to self-preservation and chicanery. 

Animals don’t like Sleet and aren’t afraid to let him know. It’s become a standing joke. Dingo teases him for it, despite the fact that, because of his stature, toothy countenance, and tendency to squeeze or pet too hard, he isn’t the best with animals either. 

Sleet is a skilled marksman. He prefers distance, specializing in both handguns and long guns. If the weight class is right and the odds are in his favor, he can hold his own in close quarters using an array of hidden fighting knives and some rudimentary martial arts. Sleet simply won’t hear that his cape is a hindrance, even when this has been proven multiple times. All that being said, Sleet is more of a fleer than a fighter. He is an unabashed coward, not opposed to unning away screaming with his tail between his legs. 

While preferring motorcycles, he’s not half bad at riding animal mounts, thanks to the teachings of cowboy bounty hunter and old flame Fleabyte. It is serendipitous that he’s acquired this ability, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay on as well after zapping Dingo into a beast of burden. The poor brute has heard a lifetime’s worth of ass jokes from his rider. 

He enjoys strategizing and has free time stored away solely for scheming purposes. These lovingly-crafted plans generally go awry due to Dingo’s haphazard, devil-may-care nature and forgetfulness. That’s not to say Sleet would do better in the bounty hunting business on his own. He has the upper body strength of a wet noodle and a predilection for monologues and theatrics. He needs someone to shake him out of these ego trances.

Sleet uses his hands often when talking. Lots of flourishes and waves, tapping his chin as he feigns uncertainty, balling his fists and involuntarily shaking them when incensed. Little itchy, twitchy movements. Dingo finds it most endearing. 

Though tech-savvy and clever, his anger and pride sometimes get the best of him, leading him to make less than wise decisions, such as forcing machines past their breaking points or abandoning plans the moment his buttons are pushed. 

Sleet is not good at maintaining his hygiene, hence the hedgehogs’ odor-themed jabs. He'll polish and shine his armor until it glistens, yet giving the suit an interior deep clean is far from his mind. He's become so dependent on the power high and protection the suit gives him that he rarely takes it off. Dingo found this strange and a little concerning at first, but Sleet has convinced him that a good bounty hunter is always prepared in case of ambush. The thick polluted air of Robotropolis doesn't do any favors for his mangy fur coat either. So if anyone's a flea hotel, it's Sleet, though you’d be hard-pressed to find any fleas that’d give his scrawny hide the time of day.

Underneath that armor, he wears a black one-piece bodysuit  made of a silky, breathable material, more resilient than it appears. Sleet is skin and bones. It’s why he prefers working with a partner. He went through—or rather left for dead—dozens of other partners before finding a suitable match. Dingo’s hardy. Sturdy. Loyal. Revoltingly sweet. He’s an intriguing oddity to him. Dingo could easily kill him and yet he doesn’t. For a time Sleet wondered if he was just too dim to ever consider betrayal. 

He’s not big on displays of affection or people entering his personal bubble. However, when traversing through big crowds, he always presses close to Dingo, sometimes even reaches for his hand. 

Considers himself sophisticated. He’ll generally greet with a low bow and flourish, allies and enemies alike. Has neat freak tendencies, despite the fact he’s a hot mess himself.  In short, rules for thee, but not for me. There’s often a mental tug of war between his debonair self and the mouth-frothing sewer rat that lies deeper beneath. 

Sleet has a bad habit of late night tinkering.  He isn’t actively trying to be a night owl, time gets away from him. If Dingo doesn’t carry him off to bed beforehand, he ends up hunched over and asleep at his study. It does no favors for his already poor posture and eye bags. 

His reputation precedes him. When he freelanced, many bounty hunters steered clear of him because he was a noted cheat that backstabbed his partners. Despite these unsavory exploits, he manages to reel in even the most disconcerting of clients via ingratiation, boasting a nigh supernatural silver tongue. Those who’ve been tricked by him before cite his wordsmithing as being almost hypnotic. 

He tries his damndest not to acknowledge Dingo’s gaga eyes and honey glow cheeks. More times than one would deem platonic, he’s gotten distracted by Dingo’s chest. Though, to his credit, it’s hard not to when your co-pilot’s almost always shirtless and idly flexing his muscles. Even harder when you’re pinned beneath his chest—Dingo could make tripping over his feet a professional sport. 

💪 Dingo 🧬

Dingo has a sizable extended family, a horde of siblings and cousins back home. His destructive tendencies came as no shock to his aunts who raised him, since the family business used to be organized crime. The syndicate disintegrated long before Dingo was born, other groups like the Toad Warriors and Bear Pack Bikers quickly outcompeting them. 

Has no memory of his mother or father and holds no ill-will towards them. He has plenty of wild theories about their disappearance though. Everything from being lost at sea to being flattened by an asteroid. Whatever it was, he’s convinced it must have been legendary.

Of his litter he is the eldest brother. Barring fur color, none of his family look quite like him. His spots and flopped ear are noted recessive traits. His more dramatic features are the result of an understudied mutant gene. Nobody’s sure where in the family tree it came from. So far as Sleet can glean, it’s one in a billion, a title Dingo wears proudly. He isn’t interested in making connections with any long lost relatives, fearing there could be someone out there better than him at all things mutant. 

Dingo grew up in the outback of Trailius, quite some distance away from the hustle and bustle of Mobotropolis. He was a rambunctious, often rude and aggressive child. A typical schoolyard bully. Sometimes he would lament over his appearance and wish other kids invited him to play, but those moments were short-lived. Fortunately for his peers he could be easily tricked or bribed with sweets. 

Whereas Sleet took up inventing and sewing, Dingo loved throwing his weight around and exploring the great outdoors, wrestling every beast he came across and scaring vacationing campers late at night by pretending to be a Mobian-eating monster. 

In pursuit on foot, Dingo is bad at maneuvering sharp turns. His topheaviness and clumsy feet have cost a number of hunts. 

He has a sweet tooth. One thing he appreciates about the aristocracy is their love of extravagant desserts. 

He is very naïve and trusting. It was worse when Sleet wasn’t in the picture to talk him out of things. A country boy in the big city, Dingo was scammed out of a lot of his Mobium when he first arrived in Lower Mobotropolis. The shell game was just too alluring. 

Dingo is not so oblivious that he can’t rebuke Sleet’s gratuitous blaming. He can be sassy. Those who’ve had the displeasure of working with them can attest that, when tensions are high, they have the propensity to bicker like an old married couple. 

For someone who was raised in Trailius, he is unusually afraid of spiders and other crawly arachnids. He doesn’t enjoy turning into insects either, finding the overall sensation, in his words, icky. 

Transformation is typically painless. He tends to be sore after taking on the more abstract forms. If the strain is really bad, he will go to Sleet and ask to be massaged. Sleet used to refuse, but he has since humored him, asserting that he’s only doing it to check for signs of molecular decay. 

Dingo can morph without the assistance of the transmogrifier, though the process is slower. It depends on how distant taxonomically-speaking the chosen form is from his mammalian base. These transformations are not too pleasant visually or audially, so the remote is preferred.

Dingo’s mutant abilities have some drawbacks. Because of his rapid healing, his body will try to stop him from getting tipsy and keep him on his A-game.  He has to drink by the barrel to feel even the slightest buzz. Additionally, being stuck in one form for too long can leave him achy and disoriented, and if he changes too frequently his molecules buckle and unravel. It’s not a pretty sight. Sleet even theorizes that if he’s in a form for over two hours, he will get stuck that way. They have had close calls before, where after finally being turned back from a Mobini, some behavioral traits of the animal lingered.

Before meeting Sleet, Dingo could only morph if he remained focused, and those transformations were generally simple, such as limb multiplication or extension. The transmogrifier effectively glues his molecules together, meaning he doesn’t have to exert his concentration anymore. Colors are still somewhat of a challenge, tinted with his default orange. Nevertheless, he fools the untrained eye. When tasked with disguising as another Mobian, Sleet coaches him and will always supply him with a hidden microphone. 

After an especially big transformation, Dingo becomes so drowsy he can hardly stand. All that molecular stretching and rearranging, it’s draining. When he wakes, he is insatiably hungry. Which is saying a lot because Dingo already packs food away like it’s nothing due to his bulking regime. 

His accelerated metabolism often manifests in odd cravings, such as tuna and peanut butter sandwiches or pickle and pineapple ice cream sundaes. Sleet wishes he’d partake in his experimental cuisine somewhere else. Preferably out of the Red Whiptail’s cockpit—he gets crumbs everywhere. Despite being an extreme omnivore, Dingo cannot handle spicy food.

When he’s not making unusual combinations, and in turn making Sleet’s stomach churn, Dingo’s a decent chef. Messy, but decent. He’s the more culinarily adept of the two and makes dinner when time allows. 

He likes scrapbooking. Dingo has more stationary and cute pens than he knows what to do with. Unfortunately he’s heavy-handed, so many of his supplies are worn with love. He keeps mementos of every successful hunt. Little knick knacks and trinkets, maybe the occasional tooth from a beaten adversary.

Not necessarily a couch potato, though does spend most of his downtime lounging in front of the TV. He enjoys playing video games, although he’s not very good at them on account of his itchy trigger finger skipping past tutorial levels.  As long as he can shoot or smash things or toss chubby penguins off cliffs, he’s happy. He watches mainly big loud action movies, corny rom-coms, and slapstick cartoons. Sleet believes his screen time will rot the little left of his brain, though he has shown some interest in the historical Delmontian dramas Dingo skips past while channel surfing.

Has been known to boast quite the sailor mouth. It doesn’t happen often, the most foul only invoked for particularly painful offenses like stubbing a toe. Sleet doesn’t know what half the Trailian swears mean and at this point he’s afraid to ask.

Dingo does not like shirts. He especially hates the tuxedos and dresses Sleet makes him wear whenever there’s a bounty on an aristocrat. He tries to keep his grumbling to a minimum because dressing up makes Sleet happy. In casual settings, if more than his shorts is outright necessary, he’ll wear a quippy graphic tank top.

When they go out of town, Dingo always hits up a tourist trap or two, no matter how blatantly overpriced or mind-numbing. He’s a big fan of carnivals and amusement parks. Dingo’s demolished many strength tester games and would most assuredly be banned if he wasn't one of Robotnik's hirelings.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed, true, but he is definitely the more emotionally aware of the duo. When it comes to personal matters, he’s a good listener.

He has a twinge of separation anxiety. It’s not super debilitating, he just gets restless if Sleet is away for long. He can be possessive. This proves a problem whenever Sleet goes Casanova Mode to retrieve information from targets. It’s worth noting Sleet has moments of jealousy too when Dingo manages to hit it off with others, though he’d never admit it.

The hedgehog triplets are aware of Dingo’s crush on Sleet. To catch him off guard, they’ll sometimes slyly allude to it, much to a flustered Dingo’s chagrin.

Finds Sleet’s voice very soothing. It’s so soft and muted. He could listen to it all day. Often he does since, while certainly less exuberant than Dingo, Sleet can be a chatterbox when it comes to aristocratic gossip and comparing blaster models.

Despite being certifiably canine, Dingo makes all manner of noises. He snorts and huffs like a bull when upset and can unleash fearsome, leonine roars. When happy, he rumbles. 

Excitable. Liable to break the nearest object in vicinity from pure exuberation. 

Dingo can’t see well without his glasses. Despite the swanky look, they are in fact prescription. If they’re misplaced or knocked off by a meddlesome hedgehog, his clumsiness is increased tenfold. He is gentle when handling them. 

Dingo wears a bracer on his right leg. In a comedy of errors, he injured his leg as a pup while playing with a slingshot. For reasons unknown, his healing factor neglected to kick in. His knee aches at times. Dingo mostly wears it because he finds it cool and fashionable. 

His fighting knowledge is limited to the concept of hitting, hitting hard, and hitting dirty. He has no formal training, relying on instinct and what he’s seen on television to best enemies. His moves are sloppy and unrefined, but no less formidable. As a mutant shapeshifter, he’s also granted a number of potential forms. Even without Sleet’s transmogrifier, his elasticity allows him to grow in size and turn his arms into whipping tentacles or his hands into mallets. He could finish fights before they even start with this power, however Dingo prefers to milk his battles for all their worth. Some Freedom Fighters have reported seeing him actually play with the battered and unconscious like they’re dolls. 

He is actually well-kempt all things considered. Dingo enjoys bubble baths and singing—or caterwauling, as Sleet calls it—in the shower. His fur coat is soft and surprisingly dense, especially in the winter when it grows out. He sheds and has to brush himself fairly often. If he’s in a good mood, Sleet will help. The mastiff-like skin folds around his neck also have to be cleaned regularly. His mane is naturally bristly, akin to that of a wild boar. It softens somewhat after a good shampoo.

Dingo makes the first moves. He is usually the one who initiates. Trouble is, if it doesn’t involve flexing his guns or pulling a smoldering expression, Dingo’s bad at flirting. His word choice is . . . unique. Lummox that he is, his compliments come across more like threats. Turns out Sleet does not in fact appreciate being called small, fragile, and edible among other things. He’s since tried to alleviate this by writing down pick-up lines on his hand. 

Dingo’s definitely the more doggish of the two. He wags his tail, something seen as uncouth in aristocratic social circles and immature in most other places. He’s wounded himself on occasions by wagging so hard. Dingo also barks when he gets too excited or surprised and, due to his muzzle structure, is predisposed to drooling. If Dingo is proving particularly stubborn about going into a death trap or being used as bait, Sleet can convince him with a scritch between the ears. 

Additional Information

Their partnership was bumpy at first. Their differing personalities clashed and sometimes led to physical altercations. Nothing too dramatic of course, they are still cartoon animals after all. Dingo pulled his punches. Sleet might have been a nag, but he didn’t want to see him hurt.

Sleet and Dingo are both bisexual. Dingo has a slight preference towards men and masc folks. Sleet is trans. He performed his top surgery himself. Despite the quality of the tools he had at the time, his scars have healed remarkably well.

The two are very competitive. Before being hired by Robotnik, on particularly uneventful nights they played board games. They’re both cheaters so they went around in circles for hours. Lots of yelling, finger pointing, and eventually falling into a heap on the floor because they stayed awake all night trying to psyche each other out.

When they manage to squeeze any free time out of their schedule, they enjoy going to arcades and stealing prizes from kids. They also like to take potshots at the irradiated wildlife on the outskirts of Robotropolis and do prank calls—the Robotnik Intelligence Agency being a favorite victim.

Dingo believes that Sleet’s love language is mockery. That might not be too far from the truth. Sleet genuinely doesn’t know how to express himself. He doesn’t altogether know if he wants to. Sleet’s trained himself to think the worst of everyone so he’s not disappointed or hurt in the long run. In truth, Sleet appreciates acts of service. Dingo’s love language is considerably more simple, as things regarding Dingo so often are. Dingo’s huggy, nuzzly, altogether physically affectionate.

Sleet snores terribly. It’s not so much the volume as it is the whistling his nose makes. He’ll never admit to it, and gets flustered whenever Dingo tells him. Fortunately the walls of Robotnik’s fortress are thicker than those of their previous abodes, giving Dingo the chance to rest easy.

Dingo doesn’t understand mirrors. Sleet, egotist that he is, rather likes mirrors. He hasn’t owned any since the incident. It’d be a hassle to clean up glass and find a replacement everytime Dingo popped his head into Sleet’s quarters. Sleet has explained how reflections work to him several times before, yet it never seems to stick.

In his default state, Dingo has a strongman build. Sleet is a beanpole. Without his boots and shoulderpads, he’s slightly shorter than Dingo.

As far as affairs of the heart go, their relationship is unspoken. Dingo’s doing all he can, Sleet pretends he doesn’t see it, as on principle he believes love is for fools. There may or may not have been some wild nights where he had too much wine and slurred a few things suggesting otherwise however. He’s softening up to the idea, even if he doesn’t know it yet. In essence, he’s perpetually stuck in a “I Won’t Say (I’m In Love)” loop, because he’s a shitty little tsundere.

[quiverwingquack]

to face unafraid, the plans that we've made

(My giftee for @duckblrsecretsanta2023 was @georgiarose! I hope you like it!)

Gyro and Fenton decide to head home together, and are greeted with the first snow of the season.

The lab is quiet. Manny went home hours ago, and Boyd and Huey took Lil Bulb back to the mansion for some kind of sleepover. That was… four hours ago? Five? Gyro’s been too wrapped up in his latest project to pay much attention to the clock. If he just adjusts this dial, and attaches the wiring to the panels just right, it might work better than last time. And Fenton’s part should be finished tomorrow, so they can start beta tests on this version, so–

“It’s, um, it’s getting late, is all,” Fenton stumbles through his sentences. “I guess–I, um, I just think you should get some rest too. And now would be a good time! I–I mean, if you want to, that is, I–yeah. Sleep?”

Gyro looks up from the gizmo he’s been tinkering with, catching a glimpse of a fading blush on Fenton’s cheek feathers. He hadn’t been listening, but the sight gives him butterflies–why, he doesn’t know, they’ve been together for a few months now–and he puts down his work. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go home and get some rest now, anyway. They’ve had a lot of late nights in the lab lately, one too many projects in progress, and he knows they’ll both do better work when they’re well-rested, anyway.

“That sounds great, Doctor,” he replies, watching that blush blossom across Fenton’s face again. He’s usually not one to tease, at least not so affectionately, but Fenton’s a sweetheart, and he loves to see him flustered. “Maybe I’ll buy us something to eat, on the way.”

“Oh! I, um, yeah. I–yes! Food sounds great!” Fenton smiles like sunshine, lighting up the lab as he turns to leave. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get our coats!”

Gyro watches him go with a smile of his own. Sometimes it feels like they’re still learning how to be in love. He definitely is. But Fenton… he’s easy to love, with his nervous kindness and drive to help everyone he can and excitement for new, unknown experiences–Gyro really doesn’t know how he ever found Fenton annoying before. His boyfriend is everything he’s ever wanted.

When he returns, Fenton’s bundled up in a scarf M’ma insisted he wear and a pair of mittens gifted to him by a grateful citizen, and carrying Gyro’s coat. Ever the chivalrous gentleman, he helps Gyro into his own coat and scarf, and leads the way to the elevator so he can open the doors for them.

Gyro shuts off the lights, each bank of bright white lights turning inky black with a click. Then, he takes Fenton’s hand, and they head for the surface together.

The ground floor is quiet, a single row of lights left on when everyone else went home. Gyro’s used to leaving this late, if he leaves at all—usually he’d end up taking a quick nap in the lab or stay up until dawn without realizing it—but Fenton squeezes his hand nervously. Gyro draws circles with his thumb on the back of Fenton’s hand reassuringly, taking the lead toward the lobby.

The front doors are giant, with equally large windows looking out at the empty parking lot. The sky is gloomy and dark, even for this late hour, and as they approach the exit, it becomes obvious that it’s started to snow. The big windows reveal small snowflakes drifting down to the pavement in a silent, sparkling dance.

“It’s snowing!” Fenton chirps excitedly, pushing open one of the doors. “Gyro, look!”

“It sure is,” he agrees, pulling the collar of his coat up as if to hide from the snowflakes. “First of the season.”

“Yeah!” His partner looks to the sky with wide, wonder-filled eyes, then spins around slowly as he looks up. “It’s beautiful! I hope it sticks, we could wake up tomorrow to a winter wonderland!”

“Yeah, beautiful,” Gyro agrees. But he isn’t looking at the snow—he’s focused on Fenton’s hair, snowflakes clinging to it like glitter. Focused on his boyfriend’s bright eyes and wide smile, and his delight over something as small as the wintery weather. Fenton’s enchanted by the snow, and Gyro… well, he’s enchanted by Fenton.

Science can explain many things, Gyro thinks, watching him twirl a slow circle under a yellow parking lot light. Science can explain the way that light glows, and why the snow is falling slowly and softly, and science can even explain why his heart begins to race, watching Fenton pause and turn to look back at him. It takes Gyro’s breath away, looking at the way he’s standing, with a glowing yellow halo behind him and sparkly snowflakes clinging to his shoulders.

Science can do plenty, but this doesn’t feel scientific at all. Leaning in for a kiss, bathed in golden light and silent snow, it feels… magical, instead. Fenton’s warm hand caresses Gyro’s cold cheek feathers, and the world beyond this quiet, empty parking lot seems to fade away around them. Gyro closes his eyes, leaning into the warm embrace and pulling Fenton a little closer.

This moment is not science, but magic, and Gyro wants to remember this feeling forever.

[matchstixx]

The People We Think We Know

Chapter 2

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

WC: 2,134

CW: Death, mildly graphic description of gore and sickness, mentioned/attempted human trafficking but no actual happenstance

Read on Ao3

[Series Master List]

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This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

The thought is still disconcerting even after repeating it each morning when you wake up and each night before you sleep, for the past five years. Like a piece of your past self’s morality still trying to maintain structure within this world you’ve been thrust into. Beg, barter, steal? You’ve done it all by now in this 5-year-old body. It’s easy enough, since adults don’t expect you–a visible child in their eyes–to have the mind of a 24 year old. And why would they? It’s not like transmigration is a thing here…or maybe it is? You never finished the manga.

Between rent, tuition, food, studying, class, job shifts, and more and more and more, there wasn’t really any time or leftover money to go buy the newest volumes (and the store clerk yelled at you the last time you tried to speed through the pages, telling you to ‘buy it or get out’).

So, catching up on the Naruto series was quickly reduced to streaming it off some sketchy website on your phone while you were studying–rewinding it every couple of minutes when you missed something important. Then quickly morphed into nothing at all when your parents berated you during winter break about your declining grades because of the distraction.

And slowly, you were being crushed. Already two years behind on your 4 year degree, debt adding up, increasing shift hours, piled up homework and projects. It was wake up, eat, survive, sleep, and repeat, again and again and again and AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.

And then, there was the accident.

You’d like to say it was quick, that you hadn’t laid on the concrete for 20 minutes, bleeding out, broken bones pressing up through skin, and collapsed lung straining to inflate with each draw of breath. The EMS responders had been kind, you vaguely recall, a pensive seriousness on their faces and reassurances that ‘everything will be okay, just stay awake for me.’ And for a couple moments, you had believed them.

Death wasn’t that bad. The lead up was–for sure–but actual death? It had really felt about the same as being put under at the dentist’s for your wisdom teeth removal. A heavy lethargy and the vague awareness of the passage of time, but ignorant of how long it’d been since you had closed your eyes in the first place.

And when you had opened your eyes again, it had been to a midwife jostling you about for a reaction in a rustic room; a sweaty, exhausted woman collapsed on what could barely be called a bed in the corner and a grumpy man staring down at you with disappointment and disdain.

It was weird being a baby with the mind and awareness of a grown adult. Weird to have a different name and face and family. You had resisted the mortifying experience of being breastfed for as long as your stomach could take (a whole 6 hours) much to the dissatisfaction and worry of the woman who had become your mother in this world.

(A part of you had almost given in to the guilt after hour 2 when the woman had begun crying, pulling at her hair and smacking her head as she pleaded for you to eat. But working through the realization that you had died and been reborn–while maintaining your adult sentiency as a newborn–had you holding on stubbornly to your own pride.)

It wasn’t until you had turned 3-years-old in this world, when you had realized that you had transmigrated into the world of Naruto.

You had been born into a small village made up of outcasts and wanderers, in the middle-of-nowhere-Land of Fire, to farm hands who had barely even read or heard stories about shinobi, let alone seen or met one. For a while, you had thought that you just had been reborn into one of the historical periods of Japan; with yukatas, kimono, and shoji screen doors.

It was a small Senju unit that had shown up in town demanding room and board that had triggered your realization. A heavily pregnant woman was being escorted by the shinobi group, with a 4-year-old holding one of her hands, a 2-year-old grasping the other, and a 1-year-old strapped to her back with a length of cloth. Your mother had quickly urged you to help her clean the empty room that used to be your ‘grandmother’s’ for the woman, the shinobi taking up residence around the house with severe looks.

She had gone into labor later that night and you were left with her three sons to listen to the screams and sobs happening from the other side of the house. The 4-year-old, a brown-haired boy with a bowl cut, had cried the whole time, curled up with arms crossed over his ears and head. The albino 2-year-old had sat eerily still and silent the entire time, holding his swaddled little brother in his arms firmly as the baby snoozed through the noise. You had simply left them be in their own forms of anguish, quietly serving tea and dry, nearly-stale, crackers; your movements closely scrutinized by the red eyes of the younger boy across from you.

The albino boy only reacted once that night, in the moment right before the house went deadly silent; a furrow to his brow and mouth pinching into a thin line as tears flooded to his eyes but didn’t spill.

The Senju unit left the next day, led by a severe looking man. The two boys from last night silently followed him with bowed heads and a little brother in each of their arms.

There was a new grave mound in the cemetery that morning, the dirt freshly dug and covered in the middle of the night while the boys had been asleep.

—

A year and a half later, your ‘parents’ died in an epidemic in the village. Your ‘father’ was the strong, silent type, upset at having been given a girl for a child. Although, stubborn denial had him dragging you out to the fields and tool shed each day to teach you how to work with your hands, much to the begrudgement of your mother. The whole time he cared for you, he would make the standard, berating commentary at your ‘mother’ about being a ‘good wife’ by giving him a son. She had just gotten pregnant three months before she died to the sickness. Then, barely a month later, husband followed wife.

Part of you had felt bad; a weird kind of grief held for people that were simultaneously your entire world, and yet somehow still strangers. There was no funeral, the mortician/gravedigger/town doctor had died within the first 2 months of the outbreak; the villagers had taken to throwing all of that day’s bodies into large pits and lighting them on fire. They would burn for hours into the night, the smell of burning flesh and blood and puss a nauseating thing that would sometimes keep you up at night, retching off the back porch.

You had quickly packed up a bag after a somewhat appropriate amount of grieving time, spent holed up in the house and eating all of the food in the cabinets growing stale and moldy. It was easy to find Father’s hidden money stash, a large handful of bills that he set aside to spend at the dusty bar a few buildings down. He used to tell Mother that he had ‘worker meetings’ with the other farm hands in town, which was actually just all of the married men going out to drink themselves into a stupor and make perverse commentary about the young women in the village. A part of you knows that Mother was aware of what he was up to as she would spend the time teaching you to read and write–skills that your Father had been adamant about not needing in life–, never commenting on the strong smell of alcohol coming from him when he would get home.

A couple of Mother’s nice-ish kimonos get folded up in the bag, hopefully to be sold when the coins run out, and you cut up a pair of Father’s hakama to use while you travel. Then, you take to the road without a single word to any of the other villagers; they’d probably figure you went and died in the woods out of grief.

You learn to avoid the various clan compounds, unfriendly at best or completely hostile at worst to strangers and outsiders, moreso to those claiming to be unaffiliated. Large villages are also approached with caution, the inhabitants of the nicer streets gazing at your stained and dirty clothes with disgust and refusing you sales. You’re mostly ignored in the more impoverished areas; where you have coin, vendors will sell–regardless of your age and lack of adult supervision.

It’s an attempted kidnapping from a group of human traffickers that leaves you without your bag, discarded in your struggle, and clothes ripped and dirty where you had raced through the dusty back alleys of a town in your haste. When you assess the damage later as you’re trying to clean out the stains and mend the large gashes, you decide to steal a mostly empty rice bag behind one of the houses on the edge of the village. The grains fill you for a week and a half before you turn the empty bag into a makeshift dress to replace the pieces of cloth that are practically sloughing off your bony body at this point.

It’s a long 7 months filled with wandering about to new towns to steal food from. Your stomach is gurgling and clenching around its emptiness when you hear the sound of celebration in the distance. Eventually, you come across the walls of a clan compound, the sentries sparse in their towers and quickly distracted by the stone you throw further into the woods. When they disappear, you squeeze through a crack between two of the large pikes of wood, split open with rot and waterlog, and barely covered by a shrubbery blooming with large flowery petals.

From experience, you make your way to the temple first after you can tell that whatever festival is taking place is set up in the main village area instead. Bowing your head to the statue of the goddess in the temple’s main chamber, you mumble an apology and thanks for the food. A brief glare of sunlight across the gold gilding of the statue almost makes you think that the goddess is granting you permission to the food offerings laid at her feet.

You made it halfway through the plate when the miko finds you with an enraged shout.

The ‘innocent, poor child’ ploy you’ve curated over the years easily slides into place when more adults show up. You crank up the pitiful act when the matriarch, ‘Yoko’, looks upon you with a level of adoration that only a woman who draws happiness from raising kids can manage.

You barely manage to keep the surprise off your face when Yoko calls out to the boy in front of you with a familiar name. He stares at you with a wary distrust, eyes flickering to who you gather is his father in deference. The Uchiha compound. Just your luck to stumble across them of all people.

It’s hard to keep the childish expressions from cracking and revealing the more complex intrigue that flits to the surface as you are brought to the clan head’s house. You pretend to take interest in the architecture, using the time to look at Madara and the other Uchiha sons out of your periphery. Madara stares at you with obvious suspicion while the other three, unmentioned by name in the manga and anime, stare at you with blatant curiosity.

It’s odd, seeing Madara before he succumbed to rage and despair. He has so much personality, lofty and naively unstructured goals, and strong attachments to each of his family members. His facial expressions are comical when compared to the serious version of him you’d seen in fanarts and video clips.

You slink into the futon after you shoo him out of the room, the full brunt of all of the events in your new life and the past 7 months hitting you hard enough to bring you to tears. You bite them back and pull the covers over your head to hide the quiet whimpers that seep out.

The tears eventually dry up as the exhaustion starts to pull you under, your mind churning with plans and next steps. There is no rest for the wicked.

This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

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