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peachiejeongin · 1 month ago

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Decorative Delicateness | Hyunjin

Day 7 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: Painted ornaments and playful moments turn you and Hyunjin's living room into a creative wonderland full of love and memories.

Pairing: bf!Hyunjin x reader

Genre: non-idol!au, fluff!

Warnings: None!

Notice: Hello, darlings! I hope you all enjoy day 7 <3

The snow-dusted evening sky cast a bluish glow over the house, moonlight reflecting gently off of the frost-bitten windows. Inside, the living room radiated with warmth, between soft candles illuminating the room and the faint aroma of peppermint adorning the interior. Hyunjin had transformed the coffee table into an artist's playground, littered with paint tubes, brushes, and blank ceramic ornaments waiting to come to life.

"Y'know, we could've just bought pre-decorated ornaments," you teased settling cross legged in the cushioned-chair beside Hyunjin. A mug of hot cocoa sat half-forgotten in the midst of the artistic wonderland, the marshmallows dissolving slowly into froth swirls as the heat waned.

Hyunjin shots you a look, his lips twitching cheekily upward.

"Pre-decorated ornaments don't have any character." His voice carried that familiar hint of dramatic flair as he dipped a fine-tipped brush into crimson paint and began to outline the petals of a poinsetta on one, glossy ornament.

"My apologies," you replied. "I didn't know our tree needed 'character.'"

Your eyes wandered to his profile - the way his brows kit in concentration, the slight pout of his lips as he worked, and the strand of dark hair that had escaped his messy ponytail to fall across his forehead. Absentmindedly, you reached up to tuck the loose follicle behind his ear.

His brush paused mid-stroke, and he glanced at you, his smile softening into one of quiet appreciation. You hummed, reaching for one of the blank ornaments. Deciding to contribute to the task at hand, you chose bold, darker paints for a rudimentary reindeer; although, your artistic endeavors led to wonky antlers and an enlarged red nose. Hyunjin, ever the art critic, leaned over to inspect it.

"Interesting," he murmured, his lips twitching as if he was trying to suppress a laugh. "I think it's missing something."

"Like what?" you challenged, narrowing your eyes.

Without answering, he grabbed a fine brush and dipped it into metallic gold paint. With quick, elegant strokes, he transformed the questionable antlers into gleaming arcs adorned with tiny stars. He handed the ornament back to you, grinning.

"Now it's perfect."

"You just have to outdo me, huh?" You eyed his handiwork, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"I can't help it. You inspire me," he retaliated, flashing you a wink before returning to his own project - a simple red ornament, complimented by sparkling snowflakes.

As the evening unfolded, the two of you worked side by side, your laughter and playful banter filling the room. Hyunjin's designs grew more intricate with each ornament; he painted delicate holly sprigs, a couple of candy canes, and even a small portrait of Kkami in a Santa hat. You, on the other hand, embraced simplicity with stripes, hearts, and clumsy stars.

At one point, you smudged an ornament while trying to paint a candy cane. Hyunjin noticed immediately.

"Let me see," he commanded, his tone gentle as he reached for the orb. His long fingers steadied as they transformed the streak of white into a cascade of tiny snowflakes. When he handed it back, the smudge had turned into something beautiful.

"Show-off," you muttered in attempts to play angry; however, the admirable sparkle in your eyes gave you away.

"It's a gift," he teased, leaning closer to tap the tip of your nose with a paint-speckled finger. "You're welcome."

The ornaments, once painted, began finding their place on the tree. Hyunjin took charge, carefully selecting the perfect branch for each piece. When he pointed to a high spot for his poinsetta ornament, you raised an eyebrow.

"Unless you've got a stepladder hidden somewhere, this ornament is staying lower."

"I've got something better than a stepladder." Hyunjin's grin turned michevious, and before you could protest, his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly into the air. "There! Now you can reach."

"Hyunnie!" you squealed, clutching onto his shoulders as he steadied you. "Put me down!"

"Not until you hang the ornament."

Laughing, you obliged, carefully hooking the ornament onto the high-up branch. When he finally set you down, his hands lingered on your waist, his dark eyes warm as they met yours. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.

"You're really serious about this whole decorating thing, huh?" you asked, your voice silencing slightly.

"It's special," he nodded, his expression turning shy. "We're making memories."

"You're such a sap," your heart melted at his words.

"And you love it," he countered, pulling you into a sweet kiss before turning to the tangled string of Christmas lights on the floor.

Untangling those turned out to be its own adventure. Hyunjin's solution, at one point, was to drape them around you as if you were a human Christmas tree.

"Perfect!" he declared, stepping back to admire his creation.

"You're ridiculous!" you giggled. "Get me outta this mess!"

By the time the tree was fully decorated, the room had transformed. Ornaments shimmered under the twinkling lights, and the peppermint scent from the candles mingled with an aroma of accomplishment. You and Hyunjin stood back to admire your efforts.

"It's so beautiful," you whispered.

"Just like you," he replied, his voice soft as he pressed a kiss to your temple. His arms circled your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you swayed gently back and forth; no music was playing, but the intimacy was still adoring.

Outside, the snow continued to fall silently and serenely. Inside, wrapped in Hyunjin's arms, the world felt warmer than ever - filled with love, laughter, and Christmas magic.

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myemuisemo · 4 months ago

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Suddenly we're three Letters from Watson into The Valley of Fear. I'm fairly sure I didn't read it during my late-childhood discovery of Sherlock Holmes, so my tabula is more than usually rasa.

In chapter 1, Watson refers to the date as being in the late 1880s. Since the serial started publication in September 1914, and was presumably written not too long before that, this would be like you or I writing a novel set circa 1999. Some of the readers who eagerly awaited their updates, back in the early weeks of World War I, would not have had adult memories of 1889-ish.

The events of chapter 1 appear to hang on Whitaker's Alamanack, which it turns out was in continuous publication until... wait for it... 2021. Here's the site with some information on the final edition. Whitaker's was a compendium of useful facts, updated annually. For Americans like me, the near equivalent would be the World Almanac, which may still be published. Both Whitaker's and the World Almanac started up in 1868, so apparently that year was a cultural moment of feeling that a person needed some handy way to understand an increasingly connected world.

The idea that "everyone" owns the same book, in the same edition, feels absolutely wild now, in 2024. This was true in my childhood for the World Almanac, though, and probably for a couple other books.

For Holmes' era, "Bradshaw" was, of course, the big railway guide. What ended its importance was not the internet, but railroad consolidation, with its influence waning as early as the mid-1920s.

As we get into chapter two, I am quite liking Inspector MacDonald, who is in on the stereotype of the practical, energetic Scotsman.

Jean-Baptiste Greuze was a real French painter in the 18th century, working in a soft, but very nearly photorealistic style (catalog). Per Wikipedia, La jeune fille a l'agneau also exists and sold in 1865 for more than a million pounds. I'm not surprised that Holmes is most interested in one of the "genre" paintings (scenes of everyday life) rather than the portraits of the famous, but it seems like an odd like insight that Professor Moriarty is, too.

I'm having a heck of a time identifying an online pic that is actually, definitely La jeune fille a l'agneau, rather than one of the many copies, reproductions, and pastiches. This raises a question that Holmes and MacDonald do not: could Moriarty's painting be a copy or reproduction? Greuze had multiple legit pupils who at some point copied his style: not only was copying a master's works a standard part of art education, but it would have been a normal practice for pupils to have painted portions of Greuze's works. Heck, if Moriarty is a master criminal, surely he knows a good art forger or two. I do not entirely buy that Holmes could distinguish a forged version from the original -- that's such a specific skillset. I do think Holmes would prefer his art to be originals, and he believes the same of Moriarty.

Master criminal Jonathan Wild is also a real person who was the real head of a crime ring, back in the last days of the reign of Queen Anne. Wild was also a professional thief-taker, recruited by London's Under Marshall (essentially chief policeman), Charles Hitchens. Hitchens was wildly corrupt, and his pals were known as the "Mathematicians"... at which point, honestly, is Moriarty a projection of Holmes' psyche? (I know that's the premise of The Seven Percent Solution, a movie I adore for its train chase. I just... never quite appreciated the fit before.)

Birlstone is the beneficiary (or victim, depending) of the phenomenon that reliable and extensive railroad travel made it possible to live in a quaint rural exurb while still conveniently doing business in London as needed. I feel like Birlstone wants very badly to be East Grinstead, which is about 15 miles from Tunbridge Wells, at the edge of the forest, and possessed of convenient manor houses.

As an aside, East Grinstead is known for the East Grinstead Martyrs, who were burned at stake for heresy in 1556, when (Catholic) Queen Mary I was slaughtering Protestants. I've been dabbling at 16th- and 17th century history a bit lately, mostly to appreciate how much Reign (which I adore for its batshit OTT drama) deliberately got wrong about actual history. I was surprised that although it was Henry VIII who split with Catholicism, it was not until Elizabeth I that English Protestantism was codified with distinct rituals and the Book of Common Prayer. Just not a thing I'd thought about!

We have a manor house with working drawbridge! Also, a suspicious couple, an even more suspicious brand on the mysterious (and dead) American husband, a suspicious friend, a butler, a note in code, and a missing wedding ring.

I started this one not sure how into it I'd be, since I'm not a great fan of the entire idea of Moriarty, but now I'm on tenterhooks to see what we find out about the dead American's past.

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson #the valley of fear #valley of fear

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equixen · 3 months ago

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Looking back at ‘Before You Go’

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Welcome to part 2 of my Narnia fanvid retrospectives which consist of me talking about a specific fanvid I’ve made and how I’ve interpreted the lyrics. This time, I’ll be talking about my second Caspeter fanvid, ‘Before You Go’, which I uploaded almost one and a half years ago now [original post].

Before I get into it, I just wanted to say that this one is especially for @an-angels-fury because she enjoyed my retrospective post for ‘Run To You’ and said that ‘Before You Go’ is her other favourite of my Caspeter fanvids. 😊

Okay, so this one actually has an interesting origin story and that’s because this fanvid was very close to being my first Caspeter fanvid and also very close to never happening at all.

Let me explain… 😊

When I first became obsessed with Caspeter, it wasn’t long till I decided to try making a fanvid about them. I started by going through my music and eventually narrowed it down to two songs. This one and ‘What Hurts the Most’. I liked both songs very much so it was quite possible that ‘Before You Go’ would have been the first one to be edited although I ultimately decided on ‘What Hurts the Most’.

As for why this fanvid was almost never made at all… well that’s because, at the time, I thought Narnia and Caspeter would go the way of many of my other recent fandoms up till that point. That I would do one fanvid, maybe two if I was lucky, but eventually either my interest in that fandom would wane or something new would come along to take its place as my latest obsession. So, I knew that by picking one song over the other, it was quite possible the second one might never have been made.

Well, we all know how that turned out. 🤣 Several more fanvids (and even fanfics) later, Caspeter and Narnia ended up becoming so important to me for various reasons (I’ve written more about this in another post if that’s of interest) which led to Caspeter becoming my OTP of OTPs. ��

Alright, now onto the lyrics. This fanvid is all from Caspian’s POV.

‘I fell by the wayside like everyone else’

I feel like there are a couple of ways this line can be looked at for Caspian. Firstly, it’s Caspian personally feeling like he doesn’t measure up to the High King from Narnia’s golden age. And secondly, that Caspian thinks that Peter sees him as less-than because of his Telmarine heritage. Also, I still really like the visuals I chose for this sequence… of Caspian deferring to the higher status of the Pevensies and hanging back as they enter the How for the first time.

‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I was just kidding myself’

Yep, Peter drives Caspian absolutely crazy in the beginning. Two young men with their own axes to grind and who are out to prove themselves. Caspian both hates how stubborn Peter is during the strategising at the How, but also can’t help seeing beyond that tough exterior that Peter puts up. Someone who is both more and less than what Caspian grew up hearing about in all those stories. Because Peter might not be all that he imagined in terms of the magnificent battle-hardened warrior (at least not at first glance) but he’s also more human and more beautiful and has more heart than Caspian ever could have imagined.

‘Our every moment, I start to replace, 'cause now that they're gone, all I hear are the words that I needed to say’

Despite the connection they share, their time together is over too soon. And once Peter is gone, Caspian can’t help regretting all the things he never told Peter while he had the chance. While I’ve had multiple versions of what Caspian might regret after Peter leaves Narnia in my head for different projects over the last year and a half, when I was editing this fanvid, I was very much imagining this to be that Caspian never told Peter that he loved him.

‘When you hurt under the surface, like troubled water running cold. Well, time can heal but this won't’

I think this was the line that first made me take notice of this song as a potential Caspeter fanvid. The way it reflects their regret over the loss of so many lives after the failed castle raid. It is something that will probably haunt both of them for the rest of their lives. And even though we had no closeup of Caspian’s face when they escape the courtyard, I was rather pleased that I was able to fake one by using a shot of Caspian from the start of the film which I still think works rather well. 😊

‘So, before you go, was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? If only I'd have known you had a storm to weather’

Apart from his siblings—who Peter could never hope to hide anything from—I feel like Peter is the kind of person who’d keep his troubles close to his chest. So, for most of the time that Caspian and Peter would have known each other, there’s so much about Peter that would’ve been a mystery to Caspian. And at the top of that list would be the hardships Peter had faced as a result of being forced back into his old life after living in Narnia for so long. Constantly being underestimated by the adults in his life as well as being bullied and belittled by his peers.

‘So, before you go, was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless’

There are definitely times when Peter feels worthless. But for the first instance of this line, I chose a moment where Peter feels like he’s worth less than others. And what better representation is there than the, “what about your own future?” deleted scene between Caspian and Peter. Caspian learns for the first time just how much Peter is willing to sacrifice for those he loves and for the greater good. Even his own life. That thought alone scares Caspian more than anything so he prompts Peter to think about his own future in the hopes that it will give him something else to fight for.

‘So, before you go, would we be better off by now, if I'd have let my walls come down? Maybe I guess we'll never know, you know, you know’

The moment when it all comes to an end. Caspian has just been crowned King and is looking forward to getting to know Peter away from the hardships of war. Just seeing where these feeling take them. But then Peter drops the bombshell that they’re leaving and Caspian can’t do a thing to stop it. All he has left now is regret. Regret over all those missed opportunities where he could have said how he felt but didn’t as well as wondering what could have been if he had. 😢 And I still rather love that sequence for, “I guess we'll never know, you know, you know,” where it looks like Peter is kicking himself for not being brave enough to say something to Caspian when they’d had a moment upon first entering Cornelius’ office. 😊

‘Before you go, was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? If only I'd have known you had a storm to weather’

When Caspian finds Peter during his and Susan’s talk with Aslan, he can see that something isn’t right with Peter. He wants to help but how can he when he never knew the depths of what Peter, a king to a nation that had been home to him and his siblings for 15 years, had dealt with by being flung back into their own world against his wishes. A loss of self, of purpose and of feeling like he truly belonged.

‘So, before you go, was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless’

And now we come to the second instance of this line where I focus on a moment when Peter feels worthless. Of course, no one is harder on Peter then Peter himself. As the High King, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and he when he messes up, he feels the shame of it in every fibre of his being. After the failed castle raid, and the subsequent run-in with Jadis, Caspian starts to see a side of Peter that he never had before. The side that makes mistakes and, in his darkest moments, doubts his value. And that only makes him feel for Peter all the more and wish he knew the right things to say that would make Peter feel otherwise.

‘So, before you go’

And lastly the ending. What can I saw about the ending that hasn’t already been said. I mean, between Peter’s, “we’re not really needed here anymore,” and Caspian’s, “I will look after it until you return,” has there ever been a scene where two people who love each other have said so much and yet so little at the same time?? They were so close to having it all and now they’re being torn apart as Peter walks out of Caspian’s life, never to return. 😢

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And on that note, I think I’ll leave it there. I’ve had so many feelings about these two over the last year and a half and, with yet more fic/vid ideas percolating in my mind, I don’t think that will be ending anytime soon. 😊

#my fanvids #me talking about my fanvids #my caspeter headcanons #caspeter #caspian x peter #caspian/peter #peter x caspian #peter/caspian #peter pevensie #caspian x #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #tcon #prince caspian #Youtube

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solarmorrigan · 2 years ago

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See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#steve & eleven #steddie #steve harrington #el hopper #eddie munson #stranger things #wanted something wintery before christmas hit #I'm sorry if something about the yarny aspect of this is wrong or awkward #I haven't crocheted in years let me live #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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amiah-fanfic · 2 years ago

Text

Works and Updates

Hello, I'm amiah at ao3. I'm working on Fire Emblem: Three Houses fanfiction. This is my list of current works. Please check here for updates if you like my writing!

FE3H: The Wrong Way to Be a Rival

FE3H: The Three Courts (soon)

See further details about my projects below the break.

12.13.22

To be published soon-ish:

The Three Courts is a dark, modern, urban fantasy au where the Agarthans won the battle for supremacy in the middle ages. The current era, nearly 800 years later, is a cold technocratic government that cares more for its bottom line than the needs of the people.

The Courts of the Moon, Wind, and Flower are what remain of the Goddess' children, their gifts waning much like their relevance. Old money has kept the Crested safe in modern society. This matters little when a simple house call turns into something far darker.

There are few who know the truth, and everyone holds their own piece of the puzzle. For the first time in centuries, the Courts must come together to protect their legacy. Or choose a new path entirely.

The kids are mostly here in an ensemble cast that I'll need a graph to keep track of. Those that haven't... ya know... 🗡 ahem.

BUT! Big feels! Gruesome battles! Sexy times! Rampant murder! A few fluffy flashbacks. And secrets of course.

I needed a reason for Claude to be there. :)

I have a great beta now, but the more the merrier. If you're interested I'm willing to do the same for you!

12.06.22

Chapter 4 of Rivals is up! Yay!

"Chapter 4: Commander of the Resistance

I returned to Garreg Mach after five years, dusty and saddle-sore and met immediately by Byleth. Everyone around him had changed, grown, wore shadows under their eyes. Myself included. He was the same, a demon with a sword and a man of few words.

Yet now, countless others listened for those words. At long tables, in lecture halls, and on the battlefield.

He was no longer responsible for only himself, or a small classroom. The Resistance Forces followed behind the Crest of Flames.

He was finally here, in my sights, yet further away than ever.

Not that I'll ever stop running to meet him."

11.19.22

I am actively working on chapters 4 and 5 of Rivals! I know it hasn't been updated in awhile but I plan to update with Chapter 4 in early December. My readers sweet comments are fuel to me, so thank you!

ALSO: Looking to obtain some PAID fanart of my story. Would love to talk to a reader of my fic or FE3H in general that also does commission work. I have ideas but open to suggestions! Creative direction is totally up to you and I'm excited to see what you'll create. Send me a message if interested.

....

The Wrong Way to be a Rival

Language: English; Words: 17,807; Chapters: 4/6

Last updated: 12.06.22

Rated: T

My Unit | Byleth & Leonie Pinelli, Leonie Pinelli & Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Leonie Pinelli, Jeralt Reus Eisner & Leonie Pinelli. My Unit | Byleth/Leonie Pinelli, Leonie Pinelli, My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Jeralt Reus Eisner, Claude von Riegan. Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem)

"Did you ever notice him like, picking legs off of bugs or anything like that when he was a kid?"

"Goddess, Hilda, NO! He's weird but not in that way."

"So. You have met him before!"

"Yeah. He's Captain Jeralt's son. Of course I have."

"Why don't you ever talk about him then?"

"Well. There's nothing to talk about."

Okay, that was a small lie. There are certainly things to say about Byleth Eisner.

Captain Jeralt is his father, so greatness should run in his son's blood. But the guy barely speaks. He has the presence of a log. And he calls his own dad by his first name! How damn rude can you be? He has a lot of nerve for someone who ran around with a lopsided bowl-cut as a kid.

I just hope we don't bump into each other much over the next year. Thank the Goddess he chose Black Eagles…

A light-hearted FE:3H AU where Leonie did, in fact, know Byleth from childhood and thinks he's the worst. Until she doesn't, of course.

....

The Three Courts

Language: English; Words: 4289; Chapters: 1/?

Last updated: 12.13.22

Rated: M

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Rhea (Fire Emblem), Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth, Hubert von Vestra, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Drama, Romance, Horror, Action/Adventure

The Goddess is dead.

The church is a mockery of Her former glory.

And the ones who once Slithered now perch in high places.

Tales of battle mages and Sacred Beasts lie in dusty books, ancient history to the greater populace. But relics of those times still exist within the dwindling societies of The Three Courts. Some within the Courts still carry the torch of tradition, while others work to see its flame gutter out. And those who merely watch events unfold will soon be forced to take a side. Or create something else entirely.

It is Agarthan Year 788 and war returns to Fódlan once again.

An original modern AU/urban fantasy using the Fire Emblem: Three Houses world and characters. Ensemble cast, multiple POV throughout.

#fe3h #fe3h leonie #fe3h byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe3h fanfic #byleth eisner #leonie pinelli #🧡⚔💚#twwtbar #rivalsao3 #byleth #three houses #fire emblem

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ladyeliot · 4 years ago

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Strawberry shortcake

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

Request: @imerdwarf Ooooh I love your valentine's Day prompts! May I send in a request with dialogue #5 please for Bucky x Reader? I don't mind if you write smut or fluff 💜 thank you so much my dear friend 💜

“I’m your husband; I’m your automatic valentine.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: In a completely alternate universe, you and Bucky are an unusually quirky, but completely happy couple set in the 1940s, but nothing is as it seems.

Warnings: 40s. Parallel Universe, Fluff.

Word count: 2858

A/N: Inspired by WandaVision. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

It is known that some people live in a world of dreams, while others prefer to face reality as it presents itself to us; then there is you, who has turned your own reality into a dream.

A dim flame adorned the room from the centre of the table, making warm lights clash against the shadows. Duke Ellington set the melody to that Friday evening, while a sweet aroma of turkey confit wafted from the little nooks and crannies of the oven, drifting out of the kitchen and into every room. The ticking of the wall clock informed you that time was not standing still and that it was getting closer and closer to your arrival. You had taken your time to organise yourself, there was nothing you were better at and even more so when such an important day was about to arrive. You had bought flowers to welcome her into the hall, her favourite wine from the French vineyards and that perfume for you that you knew would melt as she approached to kiss you.

That day was no ordinary day, a red circle was surrounding that 14th of February and although you still hadn't figured out why, there must have been something special about it, that's why you had put your hands to work so that everything would turn out exquisitely. You knew that your husband would arrive tired from work, that that car company would leave him exhausted at the end of the week, but as a good wife you had been foresighted with everything. You wanted him to leave all the worries and problems behind and for that night to be as special as possible, and for that you had to radiate beauty. But maybe there was something else, to be honest you weren't a housewife like any other, that organisation was your forte didn't mean that you knew how to cook, how to keep a house and you were attentive to the care that a traditional husband needed, because neither you nor Bucky were what they call 'traditional'. But for one day in your life you wanted to try to be.

You had every corner of the kitchen under scrutiny, the orange sauce prepared, the potatoes cooked, the strawberry shortcake in the fridge and the turkey slowly cooking in the oven. You were able to nod to yourself and give yourself a smile of satisfaction that you had managed to complete each of those tasks without having to ask for outside help. You took off your apron, you knew it was the perfect time to do the finishing touches before your husband would be home in half an hour. You went upstairs to put the red lipstick on your lips and treat your earlobes to the earrings Bucky had given you for your birthday, you stood thoughtfully staring at yourself in the mirror, it was strange you could barely remember where you went to celebrate.

A roar from outside brought you out of your thoughts for a moment, you knew that sound, it was the engine of Bucky's car. Time had finally caught up with you, you slipped your slender feet into your high heels and sped down the stairs. His figure was visible through the translucent glass of the front door and when the door opened you raised your arms and gave him one of your broadest smiles, standing in the middle of the stairs.

"Good evening dear," you exclaimed in a sweet melody, continuing to pause on the fifth step. "How was your day?

Unlike you, Bucky's facial expression was rather more subdued, as he just looked at you without any encouragement, closed the door behind him and left the briefcase on the floor. In spite of your attitude your spirits hardly waned, and as you had intended, like a good wife you approached him to take his coat and scarf in your arms and give him the pleasure of kissing your lips.

"Is something the matter?" he frowned, letting himself take off his coat.

"Not at all. I'm just giving my husband the welcome he deserves," you argued, kissing his cheek, making Bucky smile in surprise at your behaviour.

"Interesting," he stood there watching you place his belongings on the coat rack in the hall. "Have you cooked?"

"Exactly," you affirmed, offering him passage to the lounge so he could make himself comfortable in the armchair nearest the fireplace, which was alight. "Turkey confit with orange sauce and strawberry shortcake. A glass of wine?"

"Is this about anything in particular?" he asked again after getting her to take a seat. "Am I forgetting something? Because if so, I beg your pardon, darling."

On the one hand you were surprised that he didn't know what that red circle denoted around the number 14 on the kitchen wall calendar either, but on the other you assumed he must have too much on his mind to focus on it. Still, you set out to celebrate in the most special way that night, so that whatever that mark meant, it would be a success.

"I don't think we have to celebrate anything in particular for me to want to cook dinner and help you get rid of work problems," you offered him the glass of wine and sat on the armrest. "I guess that's what you usually do."

"Then I have nothing more to say," Bucky set the wine glass down on a small table next to the couch and wrapped his arms around you causing you to fall on top of him.

The laughter of the two of you projected through you and crashed against the four walls. You were lying in his lap, which made it easier for your gaze to bring his face close to yours and offer you a warm, soft kiss on your lips, taking in much of the reddish lipstick you had just put on.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered for the millisecond he pulled away from you before returning to kiss you again.

The surroundings helped to create such a homely atmosphere, the Duke Ellington solos from the record player, the lights and shadows coming from the fire in the fireplace, the smell of the turkey confit coming from the oven...

"Shit!" you suddenly broke away from Bucky, trying to get up a little clumsily from the armchair to run towards the kitchen, where a smell of burning was coming from.

"What's going on?" Bucky followed you at high speed, stopping your hand that was going to open the oven to do it himself.

When that door opened a greyish smoke invaded the room, taking over as far as your eyes could see. Your emotions ebbed in that instant, accompanied by an insufferable moan of agony. Bucky took over the opening of the windows, allowing the smoke to fade away. You slumped over the counter, all the work of that afternoon had been for nothing, on the contrary, now you barely had anything for dinner. Light laughter came from inside your husband who stood beside you with his hands on his hips watching you.

"I'm not amused," you said, folding your arms as you stared at her lips stained with her lipstick. "I've been working so hard to make something decent for dinner tonight for when you got home. I had it all prepared, I wanted to surprise you and now it's all gone to waste."

"Sorry dear," Bucky stopped his laughter but a smile was still present on his face. He approached you and took your face in his hands. "I don't want you to do all this for me, but I really appreciate it. You know I'm happy with anything, as long as I share it with you. I don't need any of this."

"I know, but today is a special day and I wanted to do something special," you pointed to the calendar, a place where Bucky's eyes landed without taking his hands away from your face.

"I knew I was forgetting something," he whispered to himself and looked back up at you. "You may want to kill me after this question, but what are we celebrating today?"

You brought your hands to his and caressed them, your mind was really blank, you didn't have an answer to his question. You knew it wasn't either of your birthdays, you didn't really remember what day your birthday was, which was a little unsettling for you, but you knew it wasn't your birthday. It wasn't your anniversary either, nor were you pregnant enough to celebrate, there was no promotion at work, nor had you met anyone for lunch or dinner, as sadly you had just moved to that neighbourhood and had no friends. So what could that mark on the calendar symbolise?

"I don't know!" you exclaimed, completely frustrated at the situation. "I thought you would know, I've been preparing for this day all week and I don't know why. I didn't want to ask you because you would think I would have forgotten something important."

Bucky lowered his hands to your shoulders in an attempt to relax you, while his face wore a thoughtful expression, trying to figure out what day it was.

"Maybe..." he said with a blank stare. "No, I don't remember what we're celebrating today." A groan of exhaustion came from inside you. "But it doesn't matter darling, the important thing is that we're together, we have a delicious strawberry shortcake for us, a bottle of wine and Duke Ellington. What more could we ask for?"

You didn't know how but he always managed to make you feel as if you were the luckiest person in the universe, just having those blue eyes looking at you as if you were his life, made him your life. You stood on tiptoe, reaching up to his lips and trapping them between yours, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

"I love you," you mumbled still with your eyes closed.

"I love you more," he kissed your lips softly again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him tightly and lifting you off the ground. "And now, let's have dinner."

He reached out his right arm, opening the refrigerator door to pull out the homemade strawberry shortcake you had prepared. You had to admit that at first glance it looked very good, you had done a great job in that regard, the problem was that you had tasted it during its preparation and the appearance didn't account for the taste, it had turned out too bland to become the main course. You had hoped that Bucky had lost all appetite with the unsuspecting turkey so he wouldn't want to try the pie, but things hadn't gone as planned.

"It looks great, my dear," he said, slipping a finger inside and popping it into his mouth, you frowned in anticipation of his approval. "And... it's really exquisite."

"Oh, please," you added almost with a chuckle, "it's awful, I know, I've been so dry and clueless. I'm such a mess."

"No!" he exclaimed sticking his finger back into the cake. "It's scrumptious darling, I promise."

You cocked your head to the side watching as Bucky was eating practically the entire cake in front of you, just to please you and make you feel no worse than you already did. That image you knew was going to stick in your memory, your husband with his face covered in strawberry jam, red lipstick around his mouth and his hands all smeared, smiling at you. You couldn't help but laugh, which caused him to pause as he sucked on his fingers.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked with a grin.

"At your face, it's a mess."

"My face?" he pointed to his face and then reached up to march your strawberry jam cheek."Whoops!"

"No!" You exclaimed taking a step backwards in laughter, you reached your hands out towards him, in a vain attempt to stop him, as he counterattacked again. "Buck! Hold still."

"Now who's face is a mess?" he asked cornering you in between the countertop and his body, in an attempt to make a Picasso on your face.

His attempts to turn your face into a work of art stopped and you were able to open your eyes again to watch him, playfully reaching out your tongue to taste the jam that was smeared across his cheek, causing a half smile to take over his features.

"You were really right, it is exquisite," you said, unconsciously biting your lower lip.

"I told you so," he whispered repeating your movement, licking your nose very slowly, and then placing a kiss on your lips.

As if on cue, the front doorbell rang, interrupting the moment of intimacy you had forged in the kitchen and bringing strawberry jam into the room. Strangely you both looked in the direction of the front door, wondering if you were expecting a visit from someone in particular. Bucky broke away from you and turned with the intention of opening the door.

"Honey!" you exclaimed after him, approaching him with extreme speed with a napkin in your hands to clean up the mess you had both created on his face.

"Thank you," he kissed you again and placed his hand on the doorknob to open the door.

The situation was that the gesture he brought was quite peculiar, you were standing next to your husband, flashing your sweetest smile, which was instantly wiped away when that door showed you two figures even more smiling than you.

"Happy Valentine's Day from the Pierces!" exclaimed an ostentatiously dressed woman in a pink dress. "We're sorry to disturb you at this hour, I'm Susan, and this is my husband Alexander. We've organised a small barbecue for the nearest neighbours, and we wanted to invite you to join us for dinner, so we can get to know each other once and for all," she looked you up and down with a tiny giggle. "If you're not busy, of course."

They were a rather peculiar pair at first glance, or so it seemed to you, though seen from the outside at the time you and Bucky weren't exactly the most ordinary thing in the neighbourhood either. Your prejudices marked that Susan looked like the neighbourhood gossipy neighbour who offered a smile to your face but then behind your back criticised any move you made, on the contrary Alexander had a rather funny moustache and seemed to be terrified of his wife, what caught your attention the most was a distinctive pin on his jacket lapel that read 'HYDRA'.

"Of course!" you exclaimed with a slightly unfounded tone. "We'd be delighted to attend, I was just talking to my husband today about how much we were looking forward to meeting the neighbours if only they were half as charming as the neighbourhood."

"You'll see we're all one big family," Susan replied, taking your hand in hers. "Well, I'll see you now. The others will be delighted when I let them know you're coming."

After several comments and a long goodbye, the door closed behind you, causing your features to return to their normal state. Bucky watched you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for a response to the strange attitude you had just maintained a few seconds before, but you only gave him a half-smile.

"So Valentine's Day?" you said, walking into the living room, where the LP had ended but the needle was still spinning. "How could we forget something like that?"

Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and you did the same by wrapping yours around his neck, dancing to the sound of silence.

"Maybe because Valentine's Day is every day for us?" he said moving closer to your lips but not quite touching them.

"Good point," you affirmed, brushing his nose with yours.

But at that moment the discovery that you had forgotten Valentine's Day was a tremendous disappointment inside you, compounded by how disastrous the dinner had turned out.

"So, even though I'm a little late... will you be my valentine?" a wide smile that reminded your husband of childlike innocence fell across your face.

"Darling, I'm your husband; I'm your automatic valentine." he closed the distance to your lips. "And I'll remain so for the rest of your life."

The depth of the kiss deepened, adding gentle brushes between your tongues, rediscovering again and again what your taste was, until Bucky suddenly broke away.

"Wait, do we really have to go to that barbecue?" he whispered in disgust at the thought.

"I think we're in control of our lives," you narrowed your eyes with a smile, "so we can do as we please."

Taglist Open (DM)

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manianart · 4 years ago

Text

Unlikely Allience pt1

Months.

It had been months now since Sheriff had joined the Nexus project and it only took him a week of that to regret his decision. Phobos and Auditor turned out to be real and true psychopaths. They didn’t care to make everything better or to turn reality back to normal.

No. They only cared for power.

Sheriff rubbed a hand down his face. It had been days since the last time he had gotten anything even resembling sleep. His last interaction with Phobos had robbed him of the ability to fall asleep. He had lost a locator chip for one of their deliveries to one of the rebels. And he had paid for it.

Rubbing at his stomach he winced as some of the cuts from that interactions still gave off a sore sting. The door on his “office”, which was honestly more of a broom closet than a true office given to him by Auditor to keep him out of the way, suddenly slammed open, making him jump slightly. Phobos stepped inside, his face scrunched up in anger as always as he glared at Sheriff.

Ph: “You! We got work for you. Come!”

Sheriff held onto his chest, his heart racing at the sudden loud noise, before nodding and rushing after the other man, who had already left. They walked towards the facilities interrogation cells.

Strange.

Those hadn’t been used in a long while. Whenever they found a rebel in the city they usually just shot them. They had tried to interrogate them when they first captured them but they all said the same thing, nothing interesting or important, so at some point they just started to shoot them.

Two guards were waiting outside one of the cells. The doors to the cells were reinforced and thick as a grown mans forearm. Who were they keeping in that room that needed two additional guards?

His questions were clearly showing on his face apparently as Phobos answered them by simply opening the door.

Hank.

Hank J. Wimbleton was sitting at the table in that cell, bound to the chair he had been placed on. Sheriff felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of the other man. A growl made Sheriff tense up and look next to him.

Phobos was looking even angrier now, glaring at Hank before sharply turning his head towards the Sheriff.

Ph: “Normally I’d never give you this job, you are far too incompetent to do this right, but I have no other choice right now! I have to finish an important mission so I can’t do it myself. Just ask him the questions on the paper I left you and DON’T fuck it up, got that?!”

Sheriff flinched a bit at the last sentence, nodding quickly. Phobos huffed out hard, glaring at the other a moment longer before nodding and heading off, taking the guards with him. Sheriff looked after them, worried. Phobos was almost up the stairs, the cells being in the basement, when he sharply turned once more.

Ph: “The alarm is on. No guards needed now.” “You’re disposable” is what Sheriff got from that sentence. He wanted to yell back, anger rising, but as soon as it started to rise Phobos had turned, walked the last few steps back up the stairs and was out of sight.

Sheriffs shoulders slumped again, seeing that he had missed his opportunity. Carefully looking over to where Hank sat he flinched as he met the others stare. Hank was glaring at him, his anger and venom even trumping Phobos. Sheriff started to shiver before quickly looking away towards the table. There it was, the piece of paper Phobos had put some questions on for Sheriff to read out. Uneasiness still making his motions stiff and machine-like he sat down opposite Hank, trying desperately to ignore the others menacing glare stuck on him. He swallowed a few times trying to regain his voice but soon he just sighed, accepting that this wouldn’t be easy.

Slowly looking up he swallowed one more time before starting the questioning.

Half an hour later and it was clear that Hank wasn’t going to answer him, having kept silent with a dead glare the whole time Sheriff asked the questions given to him. Sheriff sighed, his heart really not in it anymore by now. He was tired. Tired and hurting and so so done with this all. Looking up for the first time in 15 minutes he met Hanks eyes. Hanks glare had dulled down to an angry but bored expression. Sheriff must’ve looked pretty damn terrible because he saw the other mans expression shift ever so slightly as he looked up. Why was he even still doing this? This was ridiculous. His heart wasn’t in it anymore and he knew it. He just wanted out. But he knew that his only escape would be death and he really didn’t want to end his own life like that. He wasn’t ready to do that...he was a coward.

An idea suddenly made Sheriff perk up a bit. Hank. He could use Hank for that. Not just to end his own suffering but Hank did want to stop the Nexus project so if he set him free he’d not only help himself but all the other people caught up in this shit.

Sheriff got up fast, nearly tipping over his chair and even getting a questioning look from Hank. Good. On camera it would look like he was just too frustrated to continue. Just to be sure Sheriff mumbled a small “eff this” before leaving the room as fast as he could, slamming the door just for theatrical emphasis.

Once outside he looked around the corridor. No more cameras, great! Rushing over to the room where the recording control panels and the alarm controls were stored he quickly disabled everything. Video, audio and alarm all turned off to really ensure Hank had enough time to get out of the basement. With that done Sheriff swallowed down some of his anxiety about the next part. He slowly got up again, having leaned down over the panels he was now straightening himself out again until he stood tall once more. Or well, as tall as someone could stand that was facing his certain death. Slowly he made his way back over to the interrogation room, a small knife in his hand that he had kept hidden inside his jacket just in case. Once there he opened the door and stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind himself so if any Grunts came by they wouldn’t be interrupted. H: “You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.” Sheriff flinched at the others voice but didn’t really pay any mind to the words that were being said.

He was too focused on his task at hand. Slowly walking over to Hank he made sure the other couldn’t reach out to him too fast. He at least wanted to explain what he was doing.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

H: “WHAT?!” Sh: “With Phobos gone you’ll be able to get out of the building almost effortlessly. Just head up and then left and you’ll be pretty much out already. You can use my key card for the door. I turned off all video and audio recordings around and the alarm is off too. Just… once you are cut loose...make it quick, okay? Please don’t let it hurt too bad when you…” Sheriff swallowed hard.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.” Sheriff exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding before slowly approaching Hank and starting to cut him loose. First the legs then the arms and then the torso. Once his work was done he just let himself fall to his knees, the knife he had been using clattering to the floor and sliding away from him.

It was done. No turning back now.

Hank stood tall, looming over him for a few moments.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

H: “Chair.”

Sheriff furrowed his brows.

Did he just misshear the other? Did Hank say fair and had his mask just muffled his words. Before Sheriff could even fully turn towards the other to ask he felt something hit his head full force and his world went black.

--Hanks POV of all this--

He had cursed himself when he had gotten caught but better him than the others. He could withstand a lot more and he was sure he’d be able to break free at some point eventually.

Once they had brought him to a cell and bound him to a chair that hope had somewhat waned but he hadn’t given his worries away.

Phobos, the one eyed freak, had laughed at him and promised all sorts of ways he’d torture the answers to his questions out of him but in the middle of his rambling he had gotten a message and his twisted smile turned into a scowl to filled with anger it reminded Hank of the time someone tried to take away 2Bs laptop.

He had to snort at the thought of what 2B had done to the person making Phobos turn towards him, almost foaming from his mouth. More yelling but this time anger was the cause. Hank just looked uninterested at that point. Phobos wanted to yell more but got a second message. Hank smiled as the other man left the room, his walking speed indicating his anger. He had hoped he’d get some time to think about how to break out but only 15 minutes later Phobos reappeared at the door.

Hank shot him an angry glare and noticed that he wasn’t alone. The Sheriff was with him. Hank shot a death glare towards the cowardly Sheriff, knowing that the man would flinch and start to show signs of fear. Hank reveled in that fact, being able to strike fear into a man even when he was bound and unable to fight and or kill.

He heard Phobos bark orders towards the Sheriff, making the man flinch again before rushing off. Sheriff looked after the other for a while before sighing and walking over to a chair to sit across from Hank, picking up a piece of paper on a clip board and starting to read out questions.

When did that get there? Oh well, whatever. Hank just kept glaring at the other, completely blanking out his voice.

It must’ve been about half an hour before the other man started to slow and eventually stop his questions all together. Hank saw him deflate as he looked up for the first time in a while to meet his eyes. He looked tired. Tired and...sad? Hank felt his facade fall for a second, feeling almost bad for the other man for some unknown reason.

A minute or two passed before the other man suddenly jumped up from his chair with an “eff this” muttered under his breath. Sheriff stormed out the door, leaving Hank to ponder what the man would do when Phobos found out that he had gotten not a single answer out of him. Sheriff and Phobos didn’t seem to be getting along all that well. Hank wasn’t surprised. The Sheriff was a coward.

Hank had started to think about his escape again when the door was opened again. The Sheriff stood in the door for a moment, a knife in his hand.

H: ““You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.”

Hank wanted the other to leave again to get better equipment. Partially to get him away to have time to think and partially because Hank felt kind of insulted by that ditzy little knife. Seriously, what did the Sheriff think Hank could withstand?

Sheriff started slowly walking over to Hank, making sure Hank couldn’t reach out to him.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

Hank blinked.

Sheriff paused, seeming to swallow a lump in his throat.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.”

Right after that request the Sheriff got to work, slicing through Hanks restraints with the small knife. It only took seconds before Hank could stand up. The first thing he did was stretch, his back popping a few times as he did.

He turned to the other man, who was kneeling on the floor now, looking terribly small.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

Hank gave that a thought. The Sheriff seemed to really be at the end of his wits but...it felt wrong to kill the man now.

H: “Chair.”

Hank grabbed a hold of the chair he had just been bound to seconds before, seeing it was a foldable chair. Walking up to the Sheriff he reeled back and hit the man with the chair, knocking him out cold and leaving him unconscious before he even hit the floor.

What now?

Hank leaned over the Sheriff, grabbing the knife and putting it in his pocket just in case. Looking at the man before him he felt a pang of...something. Did he really want to kill this man? It doesn’t seem like he was even worth killing anymore now. Then again, leaving him here would definitely get him killed either way. Hank gave a long groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose not really believing what he was about to do.

Leaning down again he picked up the other man, surprised at how light he was, and threw him over his shoulder.

Rummaging around in the others pocket beforehand to find the key card the other had mentioned and strolling out the complex the way the other had described.

Soon they were in a small apartment used by the resistance as hideout. Once there Hank tied up the Sheriff, just because the man was pathetic didn’t mean Hank trusted the other to not run and tattle on one of their hideouts.

Now he’d have to wait.

5 hours later Sheriff stirred awake

--original POV--

Sheriff awoke with his head pounding like crazy. Where was he? Wait. He was still alive. Moving around a little he felt something restraining his wrists and ankles. Now he started to breathe faster. This wasn’t good. Had Phobos come back early and intervened?

If that was the case Sheriff wanted nothing of what was to come. Starting to struggle he seized up as a low voice reached his ears.

H: “Stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t wanna waste medical supplies on you just because you decide it’d be fun to be stupid.”

Sheriffs vision was still blurry but it only took him a few seconds to realize that that voice did not belong to Phobos but instead the man he had freed earlier. He looked over, relaxing a bit.

Hank stood from the chair he had been sitting on, a look on his face Sheriff couldn’t place.

Oh no. Did he just bring him along to torture him?

H: “Jeez. What did they do to you in that shit organization of theirs to make you relax when you see the man that tried to and succeeded in killing you before?”

Sheriff blinked a few times at that. His brain was still slow so it took him a while to respond.

Sh: “I-..uhm..where-?”

H: “My hideout. I’ll keep you around just in case. Plus, you might be able to tell me some interesting things about the organization.” Sheriff nodded at that, hoping Hank wouldn’t ask any questions too soon. Because if he did he’d find out that Sheriff too didn’t know that much.

H: “For now I thought of a solution to keep you where you are without having to supervise you 24 / 7”

At that Hank brought up a long chain with a cuff attached to it. Sheriff followed the long chain over to a wall where the second cuff was attached to a heater. The chain was long enough for him to move around the room and maybe even the other two attached rooms but probably not long enough to let him reach the front door.

He sighed. Well, it was better than being dead or getting tortured at least.

Soon the cuff was around his ankle.

H: “I’ll remove the other restraints now. Don’t be stupid!”

Sheriff nodded, holding out his wrists and ankles and waiting patiently for the other to do as he said.

Once free he rubbed his reddened skin a bit to soothe the ache.

Sh: “. . . what now?”

H: “I’m heading to bed. Yours is right over there. DO NOT try anything stupid or I’ll put a bullet in your head faster than you can blink!”

Sheriff gave a quick nod at that, shying away from the other as he loomed over him.

With that and a last warning glare Hank left the room.

Sheriff watched him walk out and close the door behind himself. Looking over to where Hank had pointed he saw a basic bed with a pillow and some sheets. With wobbly legs he got up from the chair he had been in and made his way over to the bed only to collapse onto it and curl into a tight ball.

What was going to happen now? Did he make the right choice? What would Hank do once he found out that Sheriff wasn’t of any use? All these questions slowly faded into the background as Sheriff curled up even more, flinging the blanket that was provided to him over himself and closing his eyes.

He could think about all those things tomorrow. For now all he wanted to do was sleep away the headache and other aches riddling his body.

#madness combat #Madcom #madcom fanart #madcom fanfic #madcom hank #madcom sheriff #hank j. wimbleton #take this

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zenonaa · 4 years ago

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'The conglomerate taught him a dozen languages and how to play as many instruments. They trained him to operate multiple types of aircrafts, earn billions of dollars and not bat an eyelid as a rival company begged for mercy... However, when it came to developing feelings, that was treated in the same way as stabbing a fork into a plug socket, or offering to wash the dishes instead of letting the servants attend to them. It was common sense not to do those things.'

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto Additional Tags: Togafuka Week Summary: Togami tries to prepare himself for his reunion with Fukawa.

Comments: Day 3 for TogaFuka Week! Fantasy/Kiss.

💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗

***

As the helicopter soars above the city, Byakuya visualises skyscrapers reaching toward the sky as if wanting to claim the blue expanse for itself, like that’s its God-given right. The buildings wouldn’t look out of place in a boss battle in a light gun video game. Makoto once compared them to the final level in an old zombie shooter that he played a few times at his local arcade.

Byakuya imagines the futuristic city, teeming with electricity and life, but the image lingers only for a couple of seconds before rusting, wilting, collapsing. In reality, Towa City is an industrial wasteland. Its railroad halo dips and splinters throughout, as if made from thorns, and the ghost of a bullet train explodes into dust that rains down on the city. Buildings have been amputated, leaving only stumps if nothing at all. Squinting, he discerns a car park that is now a graveyard, with graves instead of cars.

They land the helicopter in the concrete clearing behind a rundown hotel, the loud wailing of the rotorcraft’s blades slowing into pops before falling silent. No red carpet awaits them. A staircase unfolds from the helicopter’s doorway to the scarred ground. The sky is a red lipstick stain that fades into purple like a bruise.

And a short distance away from Byakuya stands Touko Fukawa.

Touko bounds toward him. “Byakuya-sama!”

Yes, he thinks, she would still call him that. Her wild mane of aubergine hair writhes with every step. Meanwhile, he glides over. His feet make no sound.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says, stopping in front of him. She breathes in, filling her lungs with air. He brings a finger to her lips.

“Let me speak first.” Byakuya can feel her lips vibrate as words bubble in her mouth. After he lifts his finger off, her mouth hangs ajar but she stays quiet. Now it’s his turn to inhale deeply. “We have been on quite a journey. Before we met, I held the weight of the conglomerate and all the pressures involved, while you...”

The light against her lenses flashes warningly as her brow dips into a furrow.

“... had, and still have, your own,” he finishes. His teeth scrape against his lips. “When I entrusted you with Towa City, do you remember what I said?”

“No matter the distance, I will not feel a thing,” she recites.

“That’s right. You must understand that my creation was a business investment.” He swishes a hand through the air, maintaining eye contact. “Romance goes against my existence. At that time, though I had started opening up to the idea of relying on others, and letting others rely on me... I was not interested in... in romance.”

Her silence provides a clear sky that his voice fills with grey clouds. He coughs into his knuckles.

“Part of me rejected the idea of romance... And yet, to my surprise, during our time apart, where we could only speak in video calls, my heart grew fonder for you.”

Touko’s puzzled squint blooms into a wide-eyed stare. Its intensity burns his cheeks. Still, she doesn’t say a word. What if after she had drawn close enough, without the gleam on the computer screen on his face, she realised he is as cold as a monitor? Is that what is happening now? Aoi sometimes remarked that Touko was too good for him, and when Aoi became annoyed enough with something he did or said, she would add that Touko deserved better.

He used to never doubt himself, but for the first time in his life, he wonders if he is good enough.

It feels like he has taken his first step somewhere damp and mouldy, where the floorboards could give way at any moment. Without moving, his stomach drops as if he’s already falling. Byakuya’s tongue squirms in his mouth, as if trying to reverse the words that it already unleashed, but he can’t take them back.

Instead of trying to articulate his feelings, he decides to demonstrate them to her. He grabs her waist. Her head jolts back in surprise and a moment later, their lips bump together. For several long seconds, they stand stiffly, Byakuya’s hands on her body, Touko’s hands cupping air, until he needs to peel himself away to breathe.

She gazes at him, brow wrinkled, not smiling. Then she opens her mouth and asks, “Are you okay, Togami-kun?”

The voice does not belong to her. Byakuya blinks, fracturing the concrete, the sky, her body, revealing his true surroundings. Opposite him sits Makoto, the two of them seated in a helicopter.

“You zoned out there for a good few minutes,” says Makoto.

Byakuya responds with a grimace.

To bat away the encroaching silence, Makoto chirps, “I can’t believe in an hour, we’ll finally be reunited with Komaru and Fukawa-san.”

In response, Byakuya gives a solitary hum. Makoto’s smile wanes.

“Are you motion sick?” he asks Byakuya.

“No,” Byakuya says more harshly than intended, the syllable cracking the still air like a whip and making Makoto tense. He flattens his tone and adds, “I’m in thought. That’s all.”

“About the reunion?”

Byakuya nods.

“It’ll be fine,” Makoto assures him with conviction that puts Byakuya on the defensive.

“What am I supposed to say to her?”

‘Her’ being Touko, of course. The conglomerate taught him a dozen languages and how to play as many instruments. They trained him to operate multiple types of aircrafts, earn billions of dollars and not bat an eyelid as a rival company begged for mercy. With the matter of future heirs, they instructed him on what to look out for on female applicants’ forms while choosing potential mothers. However, when it came to developing feelings, that was treated in the same way as stabbing a fork into a plug socket, or offering to wash the dishes instead of letting the servants attend to them. It was common sense not to do those things.

And yet here Byakuya was, spending the journey to Towa City mentally rehearsing how he was going to confess to a woman who had gained the power to make his heart swell too big for his chest. The conglomerate could not have prepared him for such a woman. Such an intelligent woman. Such an empathetic woman. Such a loyal woman.

Most of all, a woman who drew strength from what the conglomerate called weakness. Love.

“I mean... you can say hello?” suggests Makoto.

Byakuya’s steely gaze clenches Makoto. “Then what?”

“Like... ‘How are you?’”

“I can’t treat this like a regular meeting, as if we had only last seen each other at the end of work the previous day,” says Byakuya.

“Why not?”

“This one is different.”

As Makoto’s eyes flicker, he drinks in the tension in Byakuya’s shoulders, the tightness in his fists, and says, “Ah. I see.”

Though Makoto must have known for some time now. He and the others had started alluding to Byakuya’s feelings for Touko before Byakuya was even in denial about them, back when Byakuya didn’t know what he was experiencing, or what was making his stomach flutter.

Evening has dyed the sky orange, darkness creeping in at the edges. Byakuya stares at it through the window. His unsmiling reflection leaves a faint imprint on the glass. Silence swirls around them, hanging over their heads like the rotating blades of the helicopter.

“Are you going to tell her?” asks Makoto, and he doesn’t need to elaborate.

“I should,” Byakuya replies.

“You can try a pick-up line.” Without having to look at him, Byakuya can hear the grin seeping into Makoto’s tone. “For example... Do you like raisins? How would you feel about a date?”

Byakuya’s reflection glares as Makoto carries on.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together. Or - ”

“That’s enough,” Byakuya says with a shudder, raising a hand. “I aim for my demeanour to be calm and composed. I do not intend to act like a fool, throwing out hackneyed lines.”

“Sorry, sorry. But if you don’t mind me saying, you’re overthinking it, Togami-kun.”

This earns Makoto a look from Byakuya. The curve of Makoto’s lips is slimmer now, but still holding on.

“In these sorts of situations, it’s best not to use your brain...” Makoto taps himself on the head. “... but to follow your heart.” His hand shifts to his heart and pats there next.

Byakuya tightens his lips and returns his gaze to the window.

“Easy for you to say,” he mutters.

The helicopter lands by the hotel that Touko and Komaru have been living in. If not for the lit windows and neon sign, the dark column would have blended in with the night. Steel bars cage the building, mostly unbent. Byakuya’s attention fixes longest on the sign that flashes ‘TOWA HOTEL’, ‘TOWA HOTEL’, pulsing like his heartbeat, reminding him over and over where he is.

He balls his sweaty hands into fists. He can do this. ‘Follow your heart,’ Makoto had said, and his heart has been caged for so long. It’s time that he freed it.

As in his imagined scenarios, Touko runs over, her arms spread as if about to take. Byakuya tenses, for a moment thinking that he has to catch her before she flies away again.

Fortunately, she stops in front of him, her feet rooted to the ground. “Byakuya-sama!”

Byakuya swears he feels the spray of her spit, but it might just be his sweat. Makoto digs him gently in the ribs, quirks his lips, then walks toward Komaru. At no point does Touko’s eyes stray from Byakuya, who lifts his chin and adjusts his tie. Low laughter simmers in Touko’s mouth.

“I can finally smell you...” She hugs herself. “It has been so long.”

In the past, he would have told her to shut up after saying something like that, but that doesn’t seem appropriate now. Such a comment used to come across as vulgar, and maybe it still does, slightly, but he has grown accustomed to the vines that her existence has curled around him. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he tries to think of a response.

“Well, I can smell you,” he says.

This prompts Touko to shrink back and worry her lip with her teeth. “D-Do I...? I showered earlier today. Argh, did Komaru swap my shampoo for dog p-?”

Touko cuts herself off with a groan and shakes her head. Byakuya reaches a hand toward her.

“I mean you smell good.” He immediately cringes. Good. He said, ‘good.’ Her brow creases, whether it be from confusion or from hearing such a lame adjective, and he adds quickly, “You smell like...”

Byakuya breathes in but finds himself unable to smell her, so he leans toward her so he can. She gasps. He straightens sharply.

Time ticks as Byakuya mentally flips through the scripts he had rehearsed on the helicopter.

“Romance goes against my existence,” he says.

No, wait. He hadn’t meant to say it like that.

“Went against,” he clarifies. “Remember when I said ‘No matter the distance, I will not feel a thing’?”

Touko nods slowly, frowning. His head fills with steam, rendering it practically useless, which leaves him one other organ to depend on. His heart.

“Do you like raisins?” he says. “I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.”

Her troubled expression gives way to concern. “Byakuya-sama...?”

Byakuya lets out a frustrated groan and slaps himself on the forehead. “What I want to say is...”

She springs onto tiptoe and pecks his lips.

In that moment of contact, time stops. No more than a second could have passed, but by the time she returns her heels to the ground, he feels like he has been flung up into the sky before crashing back down again, his head spinning.

While he stands frozen, she wraps her arms around him.

“I understand,” she says muffled into his chest.

He hesitates, then hugs her back, and presses his lips against the top of her head. She smells like strawberries.

#togafuka #togafukaweek #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #danganronpa #dr3 #fanfiction #one shot #makoto naegi

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root-admins · 4 years ago

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SINoALICE x NieR Replicant - Weapon Stories

A complete compilation of all weapon stories from SINoALICE’s NieR Replicant collab... well, the ones that has lore to do with NieR anyways.

Whatever grammar mistakes/translation errors belongs to Pokelabo, and you will tell there are some. Most are stories are pretty self-explanatory tho.

Grimoire Weiss

We fought for what seemed like ages. To kill those things that took a twisted human form. To protect those precious to me, with my own hands. We were deceived for so long. Deceived by people in a land we've never been, whose faces we've never seen Issuing orders from a safe distance. We must have been in love. And despite the fact I couldn't save you, but I never got to thank you for saving me. These fragments glimmering deep in my depths... they seem to be the vague memories of people... the faded remnants of human wisdom... H-hold on! I’ll have you know my name is not “Booky Wooky!” You may call me "Grimoire Weiss" I am a great compendium of ancient wisdom. Treat me with respect!

Grimoire Noir

My name is the Black Book. Are you the king who will lead the world to salvation? Don't be so surprised, Your Majesty. For me, it is a simple matter to speak human words. I sympathize with your distress, Your Majesty. On this occasion, however, we have no choice but to let them deal with your sister. When sorrow overtakes you, you may come to me and speak of your tribulations. Reading is an admirable pursuit. Your Majesty--for me?? I shall peruse this volume if it comes on your recommendation... What is that? You think it odd for a book to read a book? Noir? I would prefer to dispense with this nickname. My name, Your Majesty, is the Black Book. I am a grand tome of human wisdom... thus, to refer to me by such a curious moniker is, dare I say, inappropriate.

Kaine’s Sword

She was slender, with smooth, white skin. The hint of a dark shadow in her expression highlighted her beautiful features. But something about the sword in her hand didn't seem to fit the picture. Anger, sorrow, hatred. When emotions overwhelmed her, she would swing the sword, so there was never a lack of blood to quench its thirst. The problem was that she couldn't put the sword down. A heart and body in constant conflict. No one in the world could understand her. And loneliness was eating her alive. The long war came to an end, and darkness devoured her. But her heart remained at peace. Because she faced fate in the arms of the one she loved.

Halua Head

File_25_10: Update Soon twins will be arriving. There is nothing at all in the white-walled, prison-like room except for a white bed. If only there were something to do in there... File_25_12: Update I went to look in on them, and the girl was kindly encouraging her anxious younger brother. The two of them had heavy expectations to fulfill. The weight of all humanity's hope bore down upon them. File_26_06: Update The day of the experiment, the girl passed me a letter. To the very end, she wanted someone to watch over her brother. Once I agreed, she quickly ran away. Report: Human Weapon Development Things seem to be progressing as expected with Experimental Subject A (Sister), but her condition has changed drastically. In her present state, she seems to have no sense of self. I am urgently beginning work on Experimental Subject B (Brother).

Devola & Popola’s Staff

－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks for that soup recipe! My mom loved it! －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ A note received from a child in the village. Does this mean they are developing a sense of self? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks to the medicine you gave me, I'm feeling a lot better, though I can't leave home yet. Just sending a note to say thanks. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ According to our records, humans wrote their feelings down on pieces of paper, and sent them to others. Where did they learn to do such a thing? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, I like you a lot. Will you be my girlfriend? Waiting to hear back. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ I simply cannot understand the things they have written on these scraps of paper. I feel an unfamiliar feeling, my heart saying “no”… －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but I'm coming home late tonight. Go ahead and sleep if you're tired. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Ah, Devola. No need to worry about me this way. Tee-hee.

Favorite Pot

Yonah, I learned a special recipe! When you eat it, all your injuries will be gone! Oh! I want everyone to feed it to those they care about!

The ingredients are deer meat, sea turtle eggs, fresh veggies and herbs from the garden, and lastly tons of scorpion claws! Next, fill a pot up with all your ingredients, place the top on, and let it simmer overnight! The white steam rising from it is just so mesmerizing. ...Oh! I think it's ready! Smell for a soft scent when you take the lid off. That means it's done! I can't wait to give it to grandpa.

Transience

"Rule 0: You have the right to disband a rule by vote." I am the king's aide and second-in-command. Until now, all rules have be absolute, however, a "Voting Rite" was held where citizens could vote to change rules. Now, let's see what sort of ballots were made...

"Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime." And stated as the reason is: because I like drinking... Because it's anonymous, all these votes are based off selfish desires. We need to improve the system somehow that reflects public opinion.

"Rule 356: Royal inquiries are limited once per day." And stated as the reason is: because I long to be with the King more...? Could this Fyra's vote...? No. Of course not. She's not the type to be interested in love. Moving on...

"Rule 68: The King's aides are to forever serve at his side" Reason being: Thank you for all your hard work. You deserve a break once in awhile... Could this be from the King himself? I'm honored to have stood by your side all these years. And the citizens of this country are proud of your work. There's no doubt of it.

Note: After rigorous deliberation, "Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime", the most voted for rule, was repealed.

Grimoire Weiss ver.1.224

My name is Grimoire Weiss. I am an ancient tome of profound wisdom. After awakening from my long slumber, I traveled the world with my most beloved friends. She was a woman lacking respect for her elders. She'd continuously talk down to me, calling me nothing but paper and even set me aflame. However... Her rash words were also the driving force that moved us all. He was a compassionate and gentle boy who loved his friends. His manor of dress was odd, but his kind words warmed everyone's hearts. This I know to be true. I wonder if he, too had felt any relief from his sins. He was a cheeky guy, but not one you could just leave behind. We've been through a number of rough times together. I'd tell ya about it, but... I'm running out of time. If... If only I had an arm... Then I could have...hugged...him...

Grimoire Rubrum

It's the silk of fate. Knowing you, I shall begin living a life of truth. It's the forbidden fruit. Protecting you, I shall sink into wisdom's abyss. Those are the flames of anxiety. Thinking of you, I shall endure eternity's darkness. That is a reunion of bitter tears. Who are they? Why is it not me who's besides you?

Kaine’s Dual Blades ver.1.224

I craved it. Blind violence and blood-thirsty carnage. And I found it. I finally found it. A vessel stained with anger and hatred, seeking vengeance for the murder of her parents. I possessed that woman and gave her "power." That power turned the woman into a beast. One swing of her blade was enough to cut through stone and her grazes healed in an instant. She began downing every foe before her in the name of vengeance. I was delighted to witness the fruition of my desires. The woman's destruction didn't end there. After having her revenge, she continued to exert her "power" for the sake of her friends. Along her journey, her anger and hatred showed signs of waning, however, I gave it no thought. All I desired was to continue bathing in her bloodshed. Because her body has reached its limit, her power has lost control. Still, in the midst of the clashing of blades, I could feel her desire to protect her friends. Yes, this is the violence and carnage I crave. But why is it deplorable and empty?

Devola & Popola’s Spear

Upon hearing an old lady from the village caught a cold, I immediately collected my medicinal herbs with some boiled water, and rushed out from the library. I nursed her and remained by her side until her symptoms calmed down. She was extremely grateful for it.

I read a picture book to a group of children from the village. It was of an old tale about a brave, courageous man who triumphs over evil. I watched their expressions alternated between joy to sorrow to the story's pacing. I'm glad they enjoyed it.

Devola and I performed a song for the people at the village tavern. In addition to the regulars who drank there, elders and children were part of the audience. At the end of our song, the entire crowd smiled and cheered.

Every day Devola and I have been staying late at the library thinking of a plan to make life easier for the villagers. They're indispensable "vessels" for the project, so we need to do what we can for them.

Letter to the Postman

I was in a dimly lit cabin when I met a kind man. He taught me how to write a letter. What should I write on a blank piece of paper...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Apparently, a letter should start off with the name of the person you want to give it to. Of course, I'd want it to be his. I hope he'll be able to read my sloppy handwriting... ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans ――――――――――――――――――――��―――――――

At the end of the letter should be the name of the person who wrote it. Of course, that would be the name he gave me. Is it odd my chest feels warm writing it...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

And in-between these two names, I'm supposed to write how I feel. And tell him what I want the most. I wonder if he'll be happy to receive this...?

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans, Thank you　Thank you　Thank you Thank you　Thank you　Thank you　Thank you 　Thank you　Thank you. Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

#nier #nier replicant #sinoalice

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seeds-and-sins · 4 years ago

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Stuck in the Bunker

Pairing: John Seed x Reader

Rating: M (SMUT!! & Language)

Note: This particular prompt can be applied to other Seed siblings as well, but only one per Seed for the sake of originality. An Anon requested this to be a smut so here it is.

Description: You were only dating John Seed for a few weeks before you both were shoved into a bunker and forced to live together for seven years.

It had been three long weeks so far. Three weeks ago, you were shoved into a bunker with your boyfriend of a month and expected to survive for the next seven years. Three weeks was already too long, you could feel your sanity slipping and it wasn't because of the environment. The bunker was very nicely stocked, with an array of non-perishable foods that John enjoyed, along with a whole wine cellar. It had a king size bed, a seating area with a television and some movies, running water, electricity, a kitchen and a small side laundry room. You were grateful to be in a comfortable bunker, roomy, the equivalent to a five star suite, but there was one problem: John Seed.

Before the collapse, you would see John every other day, or every two days. The both of you had only been dating for a month so neither of you had really decided on something more serious quite yet. You enjoyed John's company, you were addicted to it, in fact, but then you were shoved into a closed space with him, with nowhere to go. The first few days the both of you tried to reach out to his brothers and members of the project. You both busied yourselves with puzzles, and movies, and well, each other. You cuddled a lot, made out with one another, still yet to have taken the affection elsewhere, but even so you didn't mind the close proximity in the beginning.

Once the puzzles were finished, the movies all watched, contact with the others made, it became extremely boring. John became all too overly affectionate, all too close, never giving you a break, even when you went to bathroom. You weren't sure if it was because that was how he handled his boredom, or if it was because you were starting to grow sick of him, either way the two of you got too close for your comfort.

You had seen each other naked, shared clothes, ate together, slept in the same bed together, talked to each other nonstop. You just wanted one thing that was all your own. It was driving you up the wall. John would read a book one second, then decide the next second he was going to suffocate you in his embrace. His advances towards you were always unpredictable. While you were eating, taking a shower, sitting in meditation, the guy never gave you a second to breathe. You had made some complaints, light ones at that, too afraid to outright tell him that you just didn't want to be in this bunker with him anymore. You would run out into the radioactive apocalypse to evade him, or at least, you were getting to that point.

You figured entering the bunker would change you both, but not quite like this. When John was relaxed and he didn't have Joseph hovering over his shoulder, he was soft and polite and gracious and gentle. While the John you had met before this whole collapse, before even dating him, was insistent, confident, gleaming with pride. That John was gone as soon the only person he had around to judge him was you, especially because he thought you wouldn't judge him. His mask had been lifted, and you were glad that he felt comfortable enough with you to remove it, but he was just TOOO comfy with you. Almost completely forgetting that you still both knew hardly anything about each other aside from minor things like interests and habits and the like.

You sighed in aggravation, hitting another bout of restlessness, as you tried to will yourself asleep. You shifted over, pulling the covers down, almost kicking them to the foot of the bed as you tried to find a more effortless position. You heard a grunt from behind you, and then an arm snaked out over your waist. Your fists clenched as you felt John's breath at your ear, snoring away behind you like it was nothing. Great! Now you were trapped, you grabbed his forearm and roughly tried to pry it from around you.

"John..." You hissed, feeling your patience wane under his heat. It was too much! He was like a furnace and you felt like you were going to explode. "JOHN!" You growled out fiercely, his snores settled and he took a deep breath, lifting his arm off of you sleepily. You jumped up from the bed, and you turned to face him with crazy wide eyes. He rubbed his own tired gaze, propping himself up on an elbow.

"(Y/N), my dove, are you okay?" You started to pace, it must had been quite the sight, considering you were wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and one of his Georgia state t-shirts. It bunched up around your waist as you stormed back and forth.

"I am fucking done, John!" His eyes narrowed, still lethargic from being woken and he sat up fully.

"What are you talking about?" You weaved your fingers through your air, trying to steady your breathes.

"You are always on me, against me, touching me, can't you just fucking stop! And you breath on me, oh my fucking gosh, I can't take it anymore! Just give me some fucking space!" He washed a palm over his face, then threw the covers off and swung his feet over the bed. The tattoos rippling across the slopes of his curves, his muscles, his toned abdomen, creeping down with the growing chest hair under his boxers. At the beginning of this, you wanted to fuck his brains out, especially with no Joseph to tell John ‘no’. Yet still, John practiced Joseph's rules even within the confines of this bunker, so you gave up that wish.

"Sweetheart, I still don't understand. I thought you liked my affections." The broken and tired gaze he sent you, caused your own temper to soften, only slightly.

"John, I just-" You sighed, wishing you didn't have to say it. "Maybe we should designate our own spaces, start giving each other some distance." He stood up, eyebrows furrowing and he stroked one hand through the loose black ungelled strands of hair.

"(Y/N), we live in the same bunker together." He snorted coldly. "We will be for the next seven years, what are you going on about?" You could tell he was starting to get annoyed, a cranky and annoyed John did not bode well for you.

"Did you ever stop to think how I felt about all this?!" You crossed your arms, facing your back to him. "I don't want to be in a bunker with you anymore, John! You are too clingy." You said it, you didn't want to, but it just came out. You were exhausted, oversensitive, you just wanted a breath of fresh air, away from him.

"Well, I am fucking sorry I didn't get the memo. You should be thankful I saved your life." You heard him growl out behind you, he sounded a lot more like the more unhinged side of John before all of this, the side of that John that you didn't want to resurface. You turned around, now moving out of a fury and rage you didn't know existed. You pointed an accusing finger at him, feeling the snarl behind your teeth.

"We hadn't even been together that long before you thought it was a good idea to lock us in a bunker together for seven years!" His expression wrinkled in irritation and he crossed his arms, considering you with a glare. "You're suffocating me."

"Oh please, (Y/N), you are acting like a brat! If you refuse to accept my love, go sleep on the couch!" He pointed to the steel door frame that lead into a hall, crossing out into the living room.

"It's not about accepting, or not accepting, your love, John! You won't stop touching me! I can't do anything without-" He held his hand up at you, halting your words.

You woke up several hours later to the sound of clinking in the kitchen. When you sat up, peaking over the backrest of the couch, it was John moving about in the kitchen. You felt your body ache as you rose up from the cushions, the couch was a lot more uncomfortable than you had originally expected. You dragged your feet into the kitchen and stood against a counter, watching John move around with a droopy and sad gaze. You knew you should apologize for what you said, you could have done a lot better at explaining your feelings and instead you just reached your limit, exploding at the only person you had to confide in.

"I don't want to fucking hear it." He stomped back over to the king size bed, grabbing a pillow on your side and tossing it in your direction. "I am going back to bed!" You caught the pillow, lips opening to word some sort of retort, but you knew the conversation was done. You treaded into the living room, tossing the feather pillow onto the head of the love seat, and dropping down onto the worn leather. You turned to face the ceiling and stared up at it for a moment, before letting the exhaustion droop in your eyes. Sleep came to you, but it was just as unsettling, if not worse, than what you would have had in the bed.

John poured himself a cup of coffee, he then faced you and sipped from its contents. His eyes set in a glare, he was still angry with you. You didn't blame him, you should feel guilty. The two of you were stuck in this bunker with nothing but each other, and you could understand why he'd want to break through that barrier that had always been between you both before.

"Jo-"

"Oatmeal is on the table." He interrupted, then patted around you and into the living room.

"Th-Thank you," And you couldn't help but desperately track him for a moment. He sat on the couch, placed his coffee down, grabbed his book from the table. "Hey John, I just-"

"There is no need, (Y/N)." He said coolly, not looking up to you, now skimming the words on the page he had opened to. "I understand."

"Oh," You weren't sure if you should feel relieved, or concerned. He wasn't giving you the silent treatment, akin to one of his tantrums from before when his men would fuck up. "Well, um, it's just a space thing, ya'know?" He hummed in response, flicking his fingers at the edge of the page as he flipped it. You took a deep breath, then moved back into the kitchen, where your bowl of oatmeal was sitting on the counter. It was kind of him to think of you, even if he was holding onto what you said before. He couldn't be upset with you forever. Or so you thought.

A whole week certainly felt like forever, a whole week of him ignoring you, evading you, sleeping away from you, and basically not even so much as giving you a hug. You were starting to truly see the error of your ways. You missed John, and he was right there in front of you, you could just grab him if you wanted. You tried to crack jokes, he wouldn't so much as smile. You even tried sitting right next to him and cuddling only for him to scoot away. You really hurt him, hurt him more than you could understand. For that whole week, your thoughts on the matter did not pick a side. You were either trying to give yourself a boost in the sense that he was in the wrong. You shouldn't have to give your entire soul to him, jeopardize what made you comfortable, so that he could be happy. On the other hand, you knew your approach to the situation was selfish and unreasonable. You basically snapped at him, all because he wanted to hold you in his arms. If you were in his shoes, you would be upset too.

It was all closing in on you, making you itch inside. Surviving in the bunker physically was no issue in comparison to the mental effects it was forcing on your brain. What were you supposed to do? You couldn't just open the doors and run outside, you couldn't hide in the broom closet. You felt trapped, and now on top of that, you didn't have John to tell you it was going to be okay. You should have been more accepting of the situation, it was much better to have someone than no one. And you did love John, you were just getting a little stir crazy. You didn't know what to do with yourself.

After several hours of parading yourself around, you had found yourself in the wine cellar. John and you rarely went down there. It was a lot mustier than the bunker and neither of you liked the atmosphere so much as to withstand it long enough to grab a bottle or two. Desperate times called for desperate measures though, you needed something to help ease the loneliness, the depression, the anxiety creeping up on you. You carried it into the living room, where you placed it on the table, then shuffled over to the movie box. John was sitting on the couch, reading another new book. You didn't know where the heck he was getting them from, but he must have had a stash. You felt him watch you as you ran through the movies, all of them the both of you had watched, but some good enough to watch again. You picked out Titanic and then popped it into the Blu-ray player, then returned back to the couch.

Why did you have to pick such a sad movie?! You noticed John started watching it to, granted you were the only one drinking from the wine bottle, but at least you weren't watching this alone. Soon, halfway through the movie, halfway through the bottle, halfway through these incessant feelings you were having; you slumped over, bare feet facing John and you started to cry. You knew it was a collection of things, not just the movie, but the fact that John wasn't talking to you, the fact that you were stuck in a bunker, the fact that you were scared out of your mind about what was going to happen next. John placed his hand on your foot, caressing over your calves and back.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, talk to me." His voice was pleading, and when you looked up from your wet and red face being in the leather, he was crying too. Tears were streaming down his cheeks reflecting in what little light shone from the TV screen. You sniffled, wiping the tears on your cheeks away and sitting up, closer to him.

"I am so lost, John. I feel stuck, and..." You were in turmoil. You felt like death would have been a lesser fate, but now you knew it wasn't because of John, it was because you couldn't handle this.

"Shhh, come here, little dove." He held his arms open, and you didn't hesitate in gravitating towards his embrace. You shouldn't have complained, you missed his touch. Your palms splayed out over his chest and you rested your head under his chin. Sobs wracked through you as his fingers caressed through your hair, his lips pressed to your forehead. "It's okay, I'm here."

"Oh, John..." You scooted onto his lap, begging for more, craving all of his affections, all of his attention. You pressed an open mouthed kiss to his lips, taking him by surprise. He grabbed your shoulders to draw you back, a nervous snort floating from him.

"(Y/N), dove..." You shushed him, pushing forward through his protests and pressing your lips to his again. His eyebrows furrowed, eyelids fluttering shut and his hand moved up from your shoulder to your cheek. His lips parted to accept your tongue, beginning a dance of dominance. You could feel him hardening between your legs, and you wanted all of him, more of him, finally. You pushed your pelvis further, your arms settling around his neck, you wanted to be as close to him as possible. John's other hand rested on your hip, grip tightening as you bit his bottom lip. The two of you had found yourselves in this position, many times before since you met. Mainly because both of you were bored, or horny. However, no matter how far the two of you got, you had never had sex. "(Y/N), stop." He muttered in between your intense battle of tongues.

"What?" You breathed out, wiping at your still wet face.

"Enough." He grabbed your hips and tried to lift you off of him.

"No..." You whimpered, "Please, no. I want to stay." He met her gaze, pausing in his movements. You grabbed either side of his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. "Please." His lips parted and he cocked his head, a smirk finding its way to his lips.

"Oh (Y/N), but I thought you didn't want me touching you." He teased, and it sounded like something the charming, cunning John would say. Not lovey dovey, not overly soft, but John being that needy, attention seeking asshole that you loved so much. You couldn't help but return the smugness with your own amused smile, even through the wetness on your face. Your fingers caressed from around his neck to his pectorals.

"I shouldn't have said that." You stated, he released a dark chuckle, then brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

"I might consider forgiving you..." He seductively ground out, then his arms harshly wrapped under your waist and he sat forward. His face was an inch from yours, your eyes wide at the feeling of him against your most sensitive spot. "With some convincing." You were shocked, wondering what he meant. You snapped forward to catch his lips, but his finger caught between you and he sat back again. "Well..." He cleared his throat, grinning like the Cheshire cat who knew all too much. "Convince me." You gulped, lips parting as you processed his words, as the thought of what he was insinuating charged through your mind with vigor.

"D-Do you mean-"

"Oh Darling, I know what I mean. Now get to it." You scrambled down to sit on the floor, his knees parted and your eyes widened at the visible lump showing through his grey sweatpants. "You've done this before, (Y/N). I know your sin, stop acting so innocent." Your jaw dropped open, he hunched forward, his face only an inch from your own. His hand forcefully grabbed your chin and he brought you into an aggressive kiss. He had full control, taking you by surprise, where his tongue slid so smoothly against your own and his teeth bit hard at your bottom lip as he drew away. Your eyelids sank with desire, the sting of his teeth grinding along your lip as he withdrew from you, leaning back lazily into his leather throne. "(Y/N)..." He breathed out, that smirk still sitting on his lips. "Do you want to convince me?" You ran your hands up from his knees towards the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Yes." His breath hitched, smirk falling into a dazed stare as your fingers tenderly swept under the band. He adjusted himself to sit up slightly for you as you shuffled his pants down, gasping when his cock sprung up from beneath the retreating fabric. It was engorged, precum leaking from the top, a red tip, leading down to a nestle of black hair sitting above the base. John's fingers gripped the leather as you eagerly grasped his cock your hands, the desire to have him inside of you growing with your own warmth. It had been so long since you had sex with anyone, and now you were finally about to have sex with your boyfriend. You pressed your thumb over the tip, collecting the precum with the digit and then smiling at the way he breathed out harder from the action.

"Don't think I don't know your sin either, John." You leaned forward, pressing the surface of your lips to the tip. “I see the way you look at me when I am changing...” Your lips parting against his skin, words whispering and teasing at his member. “I know the way you hold me at night, the way you flee in the morning.”

“What can I say, dove? You’re sin.” His teeth clenched with a hiss when your lips fully engulfed his cock, throat relaxing around his length and slowly sliding down. His fingers sunk into your hair subconsciously, grasping at the greasy strands, back nearly arching up with the lift of his hips.

Before entering the bunker, you biggest worry was hygiene, but John and you had no issues taking very good care of yourselves in that regard. His cock tasted slightly salty, but fairly clean, your nose grazing the black nestle of hair above his member as your mouth moved up and down. His hand started to guide you, your jaw already tired from the movement.

After a few more strokes, your tongue languidly laying his member flush to its surface, a suction sound echoed as you pulled your lips away. You were about to dive in again, as enthusiastic as ever, before John stopped you. His eyelids were drooped in a daze, obviously taken aback by your apology thus far. The entire time you could tell he had been struggling to keep quiet, you weren’t sure exactly from what. Perhaps it was to keep you from knowing how good you were doing, but you could already tell. The both of you had been wanting this for a while, and truthfully, Joseph had always been in the way.

“Come here.” His voice was scratchy, deep with arousal. You gulped, the taste of him still on your tongue as you stood. You plopped down onto his hips again, his cock pressing between your legs. He wasted no time drawing you closer, his lips aggressively meeting your own, hands roaming your body down to the hem of your shorts. He twisted you both around and laid you across the couch, lips not leaving yours once as he gyrated his hips into yours. You couldn’t control the moans emanating from you, a burning desire finding itself at your core. His lips traveled downward, across your cheek towards your ear and down your jaw line. Meanwhile, his fingers tucked under the waistband of your shorts, slowly drawing them down. “Oh, the things you do to me, (Y/N).” As he continued to move down your body, your shorts were removed, legs now dangling up as he yanked them off and toss them to the side.

“Don’t stop now, John, please.”

“Shhh,” He hushed as he ducked forward, finger tenderly caressing the bless of your explored thighs. “I am not going anywhere.” His lips rushed to your entrance, and your entire body jolted with pleasure from the warmth of his wet tongue as it flicked at your clit. You knew he had plenty of sexual experience from before he met you, but not quite on this level. Obscene sounds carried through the room, bouncing off the metal walls of the compound. One hand grasped at what you could around you, the other finding itself into his black, slick strands.

“Oh, fuck me.”

“Gladly.” He spoke once before continuing his assault on your center. His mouth was unrelenting, and your mind entirely focused on the pleasure it brought, until you felt the prod of a finger at your entrance. Your jaw dropped open and you couldn’t help but arch up again more fiercely. He sucked harder as he finger worked its way gradually inside of you, stretching you with a second finger after you adjusted. You could feel your orgasm closing in on you, your legs began to shake with the tension and then as quickly as you were there it was gone.

“I was so clo-” You felt like you couldn’t even breath, your chest heaving as he moved up to your lips and drunk you in again. The taste of you sitting on your tongue, mixing with the remaining taste of him. His hands gripped your hips and his own his pressed to yours with intense fervor, his swollen cock dipping itself into your wet folds, but not quite entering you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and drew him closer, meeting his hips half way. His palms slid up from your hips over your navel, your shirt bunching over his wrists as they kept moving upward. You lifted your arms above your head, and he helped shimmy the shirt off completely. He returned his attention to your lips, thumbs now teasing at your nipples, and your feet wrapped around his hips.

For some time, you couldn’t tell how long, the both of you simply gave yourselves to the moment, immersing yourselves into one another, prolonging the touches and the kisses, the intensity and the exchanged breathes. The reminder of why they were here, why they were together, why they were stuck in a bunker. John drew away, forehead pressed tightly to yours, blue eyes imbedding themselves into your soul. He wanted to see into your eyes as he pressed his cock into your entrance, as your pussy swallowed him whole. The both of you moved with graze, with a need for an end, his cock penetrating through you with pleasure and fullness following. He whimpered against your throat, mouthing at your skin, and your nails etched marks into his back as you gave into each other’s desires.

His hips started to move more frantically with each thrust, building you back up towards the orgasm that still lingered from before. Your fingers gripped more tightly, clutching at him to continue.

“Keep going! Please!” You begged, your voice squeaking with the cries for more. John didn’t stop, instead egged on by your pleasure, he moved fasted. One hand creeping between your bodies to flick his thumb at your clit. His words strained as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“Cum for me. Cum around my cock, baby.” You were sent straight over the edge, body reeling into him as you spasmed, loud moans echoing from your lips. You hadn’t had a good orgasm in so long, and his cock gave this to you, he gave this to you. You were in a moment of awe as he continued his brutal pace, skin slapping against skin, body mixing together, the scent of sex floating through the air. John followed shortly after with a groan, lips pressing soft kisses to your flesh as his cum streamed into your pussy, sending pleasurable shivers through you.

The both of you rested there for a few breathes, again, allowing the moment to consume you. You wrapped you arms back around his neck and sighed, his cock softening inside of you.

“I love you.” Neither of you had ever said those three words before. In some fashion, something along the lines of love had been clarified. John probably wouldn’t have brought you to the bunker had he not deeply cared about you and your wellbeing. He parted from your shoulder, gaze meeting yours with an undefined emotion, one you had never seen on the face of the great John Seed. His hand cupped your cheek and a single tear stemmed from the corner of his eye, the gleam of the TV flickering in its clearness, reflecting off of the wet trail it left behind.

“I can’t lose you. You mean so much to me.” His voice cracked as he enunciated those words through a shaky exhale. You sniffled, feeling your own tears rise.

“I am not going anywhere...” You felt the tension pull you both closer. “We are in a bunker remember?” John snorted, lips pressed to yours. You both knew, this wouldn’t be the last time you’d argue and it wouldn’t be the last time of reassurance. With seven years ahead, your relationship would be tested and the two of you were prepared for that.

“I love you too, (Y/N), more than you know.”

Return to Prompts

#john seed x reader #smut #farcry 5 #fluff #emotional #post-apocalyptic #bunker life #bunker #sexy tension #prompt

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darkpinkyreturns · 4 years ago

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I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about this, so here’s a post about my theories and headcanons on Dark Pinky’s telepathy! I’ll talk about where it came from, how it works, and why I think it’s vitally important to his character. Under a cut because this is pretty long.

We know the normal Pinky already has some types of superpowers. There's his telekinesis in "Fly", and his implied limb regeneration in "TV or Not TV". The telekinesis even makes a second appearance in Animaniacs #19.

Personally, I headcanon these powers aren't something he just naturally has, but a result of lab experiments. It's believable enough as a project Acme would undertake. I mean, why not try and give a mouse psychic powers? And that's where the telepathy comes in. Before I talk about Dark Pinky's appearances, there's actually another comic that's relevant here: Animaniacs #45.

If you haven't read it, the plot is that Brain's, well, brain, is expelled from his body and he and Pinky need to find a way to get it back in. Despite his disembodied brain not having any way to speak, they still manage to communicate throughout via telepathy.

It even works at a distance!

Additionally, at one point Pinky has to speak on Brain's behalf, implying that perhaps he's the only one who can communicate with him like this.

I believe that this isn't a power Brain somehow gained after being disembodied. It's all Pinky. This experience, being unable to speak with Brain via voice and needing another way to know what he's thinking, is what awakened his ability to read minds. Neither he nor Brain questions this in the story because they're rather distracted by the bizarre situation they're in, but I believe it's another manifestation of the superhuman (or supermouse?) abilities he's been granted by being experimented on.

My theory is that this story, by unlocking Pinky's telepathy, is the beginning of the Dark Pinky timeline. In the normal timeline, this never happened, that power stayed undeveloped, and he remained the kind, carefree Pinky. He had no idea at the time, but this silly adventure is the beginning of his descent into villainy.

This part is all headcanon, but here is how I think things went after that. Not long after this story, Pinky started hearing other people's thoughts from time to time, both from Brain and anyone else he was near. This time it wasn't anyone intentionally trying to communicate with him, and he picked up all sorts of things. The ability became more and more intense until his head was crowded by other people's thoughts and feelings 24/7 and, not used to this, he hadn't developed any way to control it and had no idea how to turn it off.

Pinky was now stuck in unending sensory overload, and it started taking his toll on him. Too much exposure to the feelings of others made his formerly strong sense of empathy become numb with overuse and he had to stop caring about anyone to endure it. He was perpetually exhausted and becoming more bitter every day.

In terms of his relationship with Brain, it just wasn't the same anymore. They could no longer do their classic "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?" routine because Pinky was pondering what he was pondering, involuntarily, all the time. He now also had a front row seat to all the fallacies in Brain's thinking, all his internalized issues, and the way he constantly made the same mistakes over and over again. Pinky's affection started waning as Brain became boring and annoying to him.

Eventually, Pinky couldn't take the now-agonizing nightly routine anymore and took control of all the plans, relegating Brain to a sidekick he only used for his technical knowledge. With him in charge, they succeeded very quickly and Pinky now ruled the world. Once in power, he reshaped society into a comic book theme because if there's one think about him that didn't change, it's that he still loved comic books.

And yes, here we are at Dark Pinky. At the point we see him, he has gained control of his powers somewhat and as long as he keeps a level head, can push the thoughts of others into the background unless he chooses to focus on them.

And now I have one last thing to talk about: the scene where he reads the normal Pinky's mind.

I don't think this has to be a "Pinky is an idiot so his mind is a madness-inducing void" joke. I have a far more interesting theory. Notice how he gets the idea of making Dark Pinky read his mind right after having a tender moment with Brain. What he intentionally broadcast into Dark Pinky's mind wasn't nothing. It was his love for Brain, which he knew would devastate Dark Pinky, especially after he'd just killed his own Brain. It worked and took him out of commission easily, because he absolutely cannot handle experiencing that love again, for the first time in who knows how many years.

For further evidence towards this, just look at what he says the next time we see him.

He says it himself! Reading Pinky's mind made him desperate to meet Brain again. That incident revived his love for him and his erratic antics in #25 are just him coping with that very poorly.

I hope this was interesting! I’ve got even more thoughts about Dark Pinky because this evil little mouse lives in my brain at this point but I think this is enough for today.

#pinky and the brain #dark pinky #i'm worried this is kind of fake-deep and i'm reading too much into things #but oh well!#i had fun writing it #let me know if you have any questions #my posts

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vegalocity · 4 years ago

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The Red Groom

It seems as though i’m done writing horror for spicynoodles rn because all my brain wants me to do is get some real romance in here lol

SO WHO WANTS A PRINCESS BRIDE AU?

Once upon a time, long long ago, there lived a prince.

This prince was the son of the Demon Bull King and his wife Princess Iron Fan, and as is the wont of royalty he suffered very little in his early years. Red Boy as he was called in his childhood, was a studious boy. Very eager to please his family and often would he train with his magic, his studies, and his weapons. He was a brilliant child, but he lacked kindness. He was loud and opinionated, the boy had a firey temper and had difficulty sitting still, thus he was rarely allowed to sit in as his parents went about the daily business of managing their demon court. He was often sent into the nearby town disguised as a human child to play with others of his similar assumed age.

This treatment continued long after he grew to reign himself in, It continued as he fell out of favor with weapons and began to take up tinkering, it continued as he proved himself the most brilliant student any of his tutors had ever educated, and it continued until he was old enough to change the 'Boy' in his name out for 'Son' as he properly grew into a man.

At this point he'd grown used to the treatment, no matter how many advancements in their way of life the prince now called Red Son had come up with, his parents would still give him little to no respect. However he continued to hold out hope that should he create something great or do something wonderful, his family would finally begin to put him through training to some day inherit the throne. Therefore when sent down into the nearby town he would find himself holing up in a nearby Inn to continue his work.

It was there that he met the Inkeep's son, a bright boy with a sunny grin named Qi Xiaotian.

At first the prince had nothing but derision for the Inkeep's son, referring to him derisively after the dish he would suggest to any who ask for recommendations in the restaurant potion of the Inn, his fathers 'famous' noodle bowl.

So the prince had at first very little opinion of the noodle boy beyond a passing appreciation for his looks and annoyance at his staunch desire to befriend him, he either did not know who the prince was, or he simply didn't care. Neither of which improved the noodle boy's stature in the prince's eyes.

However, one passing annoyance to another began to mount up, and out of a desire for the noodle boy to stop bothering him, the prince struck up a conversation with him, in hopes of talking his ear off about subjects that he was sure would bore him, things that he was interested in yet every time he'd try to speak of, even within his parents court, he'd get about a minute's worth of ranting in before he could see his conversational partner's eyes glaze over as they tuned him out.

But the noodle boy's gaze did not fade or waver. He listened with rapt attention even as the prince tried his luck and got into the nitty gritty of a current experiment. He asked informed questions, asked for him to define a word he used because he'd never heard it before. And once the prince realized he wasn't going to scare the noodle boy away, he'd grown silent and wondered aloud why he cared so much. To which the noodle boy responded that there was a sort of magic in asking people what they're passionate about, and how he loved watching a friend light up as they spoke of what they loved.

The prince hadn't known what to say so he simply asked the noodle boy what HE loved. To which he responded two things, stories, and art, especially stories of the Monkey King. Though the stone monkey was more infamous than famous, there had been whispers of the monkey recently escaping his prison under the Mountain of Five Phases to become Buddhist and escort a reincarnation of Golden Cicada on a quest of some kind, and the noodle boy had been fascinated with his story even before the rumors had made their way to this town. He found himself remembering something his father had told him of in his childhood and mentioned that his family were once allied with the Monkey King, though since his havoc in heaven had ended so tragically his father and the Monkey King's sworn brotherhood had since been made null.

It seemed the noodle boy really HAD not known who he was, as he suddenly was very formal indeed toward the prince. After the one true conversation and scores of attempted ones, the prince found that once it stopped he'd found himself bereft of company. So when he next returned to the inn he struck up conversation with the noodle boy, starting for once, by doing one thing he rarely did outside the palace, ordering something to eat. The noodle boy was flustered, and the only thing he'd been able to get out was a quick squeak of 'as you wish'.

That quickly became a running phrase between the two, the prince asking for the noodle boy to sit with him and tell him of the art pieces he would work on in his down time: 'as you wish', if he'd like to hear the story he'd been able to pry from his father about his time allied with the Monkey King: 'if you wish', if he would mind terribly if he vented his frustrations to him about this or that project that simply was not turning out; 'Do as you wish'

Even as the awkwardness and embarrassment on the noodle boy's part faded it turned from a nervous turn of phrase to an in-joke of sorts. Whenever the prince would ask something of the noodle boy, he'd respond with 'as you wish'. And soon enough the prince and the noodle boy became great friends, and the prince would complain far less about being denied entrance to his parents' political meetings. Oftentimes taking matters into his own hands to go down into the town simply to see the noodle boy and spend a time talking.

Then one day, as the prince was rambling about one of his planned projects that he simply could not wait to start on, he'd glanced sideways toward the noodle boy, simply from the corner of his eye, to check to see if he was even making any sense, only to find something the noodle boy had been holding so close to his chest that he would never have seen if he had thought the prince was watching him.

And it occurred then to the prince that the noodle boy loved him. It took the prince a time to get adjusted to, a time to assess his own growing regard for a peasant boy whom worked in his family's inn, and came to the conclusion that he just may love him back.

So he confronted the noodle boy with his discovery, and under little pressing the noodle boy confessed his own feelings. That he'd been pining from afar long before he'd recognized the prince as who he was, and that in part was why he was so adamant to befriend him. That in his own foolishly pining way every time he'd said 'as you wish' to him he'd really been meaning 'I love you'.

They spent only a single night together, as any more would make the prince's parents suspicious. Their relationship carried on in secret for a time, conversations in the inn carried on innocently, yet letters full of secret truths were slipped between either of them at every meeting. But no secret can last forever, and the noodle boy decided that before the prince's parents found out about the two of them and likely forbade the prince from ever returning to town, that he'd travel afar, gain fame or riches and return with enough of a title or enough gold that his parents would have no qualms with him courting their son the proper way.

So the prince and the noodle boy parted with a promise. A promise that the prince would staunchly keep for three years, even as his faith began to wane that his beloved would return the prince would continue to turn away suitors, claiming that he would not marry someone whom he cannot have a conversation with. Even those whom COULD keep up with him had such a smug arrogance about them that the prince turned them away as well, this had begun to grate on his parents whom had believed him free for too long already and would need to pick a bride soon to ensure an heir.

The prince however had no interest in humoring this train of thought, one of the few times he would hold his ground against his parents, and would often return to the Inn in town to keep his ears open for any news of his love's return. And on one of those trips, the inn's doors were locked. Asking around town the prince received news that none left waiting would ever wish to hear.

His love had been staying for a time in a small village that was housed to a great battle, Where the Monkey King had apparently split ways with his new master and his traveling party to return to his mountain and devour any who dare come near. The entire village was razed to the ground in the Monkey King's wrath, and other than his former traveling party, there were no survivors, ensured by the Monkey King himself.

Qi Xiaotian, his precious noodle boy, was dead.

The prince's despair was so great that he needed to be escorted back to the palace by a kind stranger, wherein he locked himself in his workshop and refused the door for anyone. The sound of the forge long into the night revealing he dared not sleep, and the scarcely touched plates left outside the door around meal times implying he barely ate. His parents, who were informed of the affair by the same stranger whom had escorted the prince to them were furious with their son's secrecy, but below that, were deeply worried for his health.

For three weeks the prince stayed in his workshop, and when he finally emerged he had written down all operational guides for all of his completed projects and set them beside his parent's bedroom door. For another two months the prince didn't say a single word to anyone. Not to the court, not to his former tutors, not to either of his parents. His work began to consume him, as it was understood to be the only thing he could focus on without remembering.

At the end of two months his parents' worry far overshadowed any anger still harbored toward their son, and the prince ended his silence upon one night, the moon was high and the stars were bright, as his mother came into his room to try and coax him into bed properly instead of letting him work himself into collapsing onto the stiff pile of cushions in his workshop once more.

The prince's voice was barely over a whisper, weak and cracking from disuse.

“I will never love again.”

And for the first time since he was very young, his mother wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

Another year passed, as the prince slowly regained his will and strength. Though his voice returned, and his studies picked up once again, the fire and passion that had thrived in him had dimmed. And to many surrounding demon kingdoms that meant nothing but good things. Most notably, that he'd likely be far less antisocial to their suitors that sought out allyship with the Demon Bull Family.

And it was true, though the prince still held no interest in the new swath of suitors that had begun to form his once near offended dismissals had become halfhearted and resigned. The prince had no heart left to give away to another after all, his heart had been burned away in a small village far far away from there.

But the prince and heir to the throne needed to marry SOMEONE, and as another year closed out, it was decided that the prince had spent long enough mourning over a peasant boy he could never have truly been with anyway, and his parents ensured his engagement to another prince from a kingdom far away. The prince put up resistance, as he had no intention on ever finding another to love, but his parents reminded him bluntly that for those in their position, marrying for love was a rare, nigh unattainable gift. But if he was willing to put in the work he could GROW to love this other prince, just as his parents had grown to love eachother before him.

This prince's father was dying due to a curse of some kind and he was slated to be king very soon, so it was decided to send the prince to his palace for their betrothal instead of the other prince coming to his own.

But this other prince had no interest in a union of houses. He had planned for the prince we know to be kidnapped and murdered by a small yet fearsome group of mercenaries while in the territory of an enemy kingdom of his, so when the Demon Bull Family found out of their son's wretched slaughter they would lend their forces to the prince's own and he would be rid of his enemy for good.

But of course, unknowing of this plan, the prince resigned himself to his parents forcing him to betray what little remained of his ashen heart, and prepared himself for the journey. Though there was ONE good thing about it.

The prince you'll remember was gifted in his studies, and part of those studies were in mastering his fire magic. And the path between his family's palace and his betrothed's palace was near a very particular mountain. Perhaps he could move on and accept his betrothal if he were able to avenge the love he lost.

#Spicynoodleshipping #Vega writes stories too #Monkie Kid #Lego Monkie Kid #Qi Xiaotian #MK Red Son #This aint going on AO3 because its a multimedia au #i aleady am storyboarding a comic for the reunion scene bc i knew i couldn't write it out #I hope you guys have SEEN the princess bride else the premise might be a bit confusing lol #Red Groom AU #-insert 'done being evil just wanna be loved' meme here-#The Princess Bride is like SURPISINGLY easy to adapt to a new setting like this

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welcometomy20s · 4 years ago

Text

July 2, 2021

HoloServer Quarterly Report

Usada Constructions - Buy

To understand the current position of UsaKen, we must look to its history. At first, UsaKen was a joke, a riff on Majima Constructions, a potemkin company only existing to serve the whims of the founder and CEO. Pekora’s project was sophisticated and massive, her pranks simply legendary. But out of the blue, Moona enters. The mutual awkwardness worked in their favor, in fact this will be a prevailing theme, what might seem like a highly dysfunctional group, actually turns the whole thing into strength.

The Rabbit and Moon theme didn’t hurt them either, and the idea of Usada Construction as an actual entity enters the public consciousness, especially as a point of comparison to the fledgling Akukin Constructions… although it could be said that Akukin was the remnant of Hololive Resistance in some sense. This led to the initial expansion with the hiring of Coco and Kiara… but again this was more of a joke, a fleeting thought before UsaKen was about to come on its own.

It was the Akukin Relay that really set the ball rolling. Not only did we have the fortuitous event of Kanata accepting a position in UsaKen before finding out she did get a callback from Akukin, it spurred Pekora into focusing on Minecraft, especially her gaming plans were dirtied by corporate pressure. Pekora started small, with her misbehaving cannon and putting out her petty anger onto Noel, but soon Pekora unveiled her grand plan, Pekoland, and immediately set out to organize the company as a whole.

By now, the company was fairly-sized. It added Botan and eventually Towa into the mix, although Botan is still technically an affiliate and Towa first came with revenge, before using the company as an opportunity to learn how to be evil. Now the company measured seven strong, although they were quite disparate, having members from all three branches and across three generations. This was quickly noticed and a discord server was made in response, which led to another group project immediately after Pekoland, which was already a pretty big project. Combined with Coco’s final innovation, the Summer Festival became an even bigger project in the end.

And it would be odd to think this would end soon. There’s an actual structure to things now, people can communicate and build on ideas and the whole thing seems pretty democratic, even with its autocratic start. And Summer Festival brought UsaKen into the center of Hololive narrative. UsaKen is now the de facto face of HoloServer, and perhaps even Hololive itself. People look at the former loner as the master organizer. Things only look up from here, which is worrisome, but there’s enough in UsaKen that I’m less worried than usual. UsaKen will always come out stronger in the end.

Akukin Constructions - Buy

Meanwhile, Akukin completely collapsed. It felt like Aqua would return from her Apex marathon, but it turns out prior and prep for the solo concert meant a month break is what she needed, therefore Akukin was without a leader for one more month.

Lamy and Nene managed with their own projects, but the rest kind of fell apart. But the Summer Festival changed all that. Just as Akukin Relay signalled Pekora a restructuring was needed, Summer Festival meant Akukin had to show up. So, the skit continued. During the Akukin Relay arc, the mysterious yet feisty boss with two second-in-command who actually runs the thing scheming and fretting was a hit, with a hint of blackness in its blasted scaffoldings. Now, the blackness is very much apparent. Aqua cannot let the failing company go, and has become vicious. Considering Marine's past, this works to their favor. Lamy and Nene would be their own thing. Roboco and Mel would pop in now and again. As for Iofi and Aki… well, I’m not sure.

Choco, which I deemed the liaison for Shiranui, which has a contractual relationship with Akukin, now liaisons for Oozora Group as well. Choco might be the next important person just because of that connection factor. Akukin might be a contracting company now, although Aqua would not be happy about where they stand now.

Oozora Group - Hold

I know that Oozora Constructions, now Oozora Group, is not a publicly traded company anymore, but I still suggest holding onto that now-worthless piece of paper. The problem with Oozora Constructions was that its story went nowhere. Korone’s house was interesting, but it rarely had an ending, since it required Korone to cooperate and that’s usually an awkward thing at best. Her other projects were half-baked, and most importantly Subaru never really had that recognition. She wanted to build a company but others laughed at the prospect. So Rushia lost faith and moved to UsaKen. Oozora was tanking before it started to fly. But Matsuri took grace and joined Oozora, at which point it became a group. It’s not like Matsuri and Luna, the other employee, haven’t been together, and Subaru was called Matsuri by Sora, so why not?

In the last report, I said Matsuri is more like a government employee than a free agent, and indeed it seems Oozora Group now acts like a governmental organization, with building a police station being the first undertaking after restructuring. This is actually not bad. Public utilities are dearly needed in HoloServer anyways, and Subaru acting as a public servant removes the desperation in her actions that would make interactions much more friendly and interesting. By falling, Subaru might have turned a corner.

Tangent - Using an extended analogy, when the age of giant reptiles was wiped out by a meteorite, there were small survivors, which we now know as birds. So, it looks like Coco’s legacy would also be held by birds, holotoris to be exact. To explain why, let’s look at the current functional part of Coco. Coco is the bridge that connects East to the West, not just in terms of language, but also in culture and mores. In that way, holotoris nicely distributes this responsibility. Subaru might be the best JP member after Haachama in terms of English comprehension, and she is quite cognizant of recent foreign perspectives as well… so she could be a good future ambassador. For Reine, her Indonesian teaching stream reminds me of Coco’s early streams. And Kiara’s Holotalk has been the counterweight to Coco’s meme review since it started… Not to mention, these three are the most extroverted of their respective branches.

Shiranui-Elite Conglomerate - Hold

SEC is an organization of my own creation, but it’s a useful one, because it fits the current situation well. To sum up, Elite Construction was starting to fall apart as Minecraft activities waned, one of the replacements was GTA V, and the three major players were Miko, Flare and Suisei. Their collab together was probably the highlight of the last quarter and gave us a bright spot during a time of troubles.

As Minecraft activities increased, due to PekoLand and HoloID mall and Mel and Roboco popping in and out, the connection before was starting to bore out in Minecraft. Shiranui was originally a contracting company, working with Akukin for example. Therefore it had a family business type, indeed the only other employee was an honorary one given to Flare’s wife, Noel. But a series of interactions with Polka and Choco led to this master and apprentice relationship, which was a major hit.

Flare, pardon the pun, was always the black sheep of the Hololive Fantasy. While the other four have something to stand out and something to back the flash (Pekora draws with her laughter and manic behavior which is backed up by her earnest shyness, Rushia draws from her yandere metal screams which backed up by her sincerity and fragility, Noel draws with her upper assets and ASMR which is backed up by her erogaki silliness and her charming singing, and Marine draws from her horny nature which is backed up by her wit and almost motherly wiseness), Flare never really landed a character. Indeed, Flare is a straight man through and through. Not quite a tsukkomi like Subaru or Kanata at times, since there is not that retorting arrogance the two can exhibit, as people call, Flare was your comfy older sister...

But the Western audience and this Polka relationship changed that. In the West, the fatherly figure has more of a distinct and prominent role, and Flare can emulate this pretty well. A dad is grounded and serious, but can be silly and childish at times. But the silly and childishness does not undercut his serious nature… and that goes well with Flare (perhaps even more so than Calli, who is on a goofier side of things). Therefore Flare could finally breathe and express herself. And the introduction of Miko and Suisei brings the crew into full focus. They are reminiscent of early UsaKen, except while UsaKen was disparate, SEC most closely resembles… well, a D&D party. With your typical silly arguments and trials leading to growth and so on.

Adding Marine or even Nene might disturb this. Flare is fine with the size and I am too. It’s not like there are any real pickings left anyway. Shiranui-Elite conglomeration have a long journey ahead of them, but a brighter future that goes along with it too.

Haachama Construction - Sell (but buy Watasheep)

It was inevitable. Haachama/Haato thing was not going to be settled soon. Haato barely finished the Coexist arc, getting the Anno disease in the process. It was pretty clear that the Haato/Haachama thing became overblown and unfitting to what Hololive was now.

But this leaves us with Watame, and Watame is in an interesting position. Watame is between a lot of companies now. With Shiranui-Elite, she is part of the four heavenly lords, and as Watasheep, she does the delivery of Menya Botan and KFP, both part of UsaKen, who inadvertently cornered the fast-food business. And she is part of the 4th Gen, who has come much closer due to the departure of Coco.

Watame has always made the safe choice, she revolutionized the server with her excellent Janken machine, but it was Kanata who became the seller. Watame might choose to leave herself out, since her Minecraft streams are kind of meant to be relaxing. The reason she deliberately chose to level her field, instead of building the sign outwards like the rest of the signs. So, perhaps nothing comes of this…

OkaKoro Constructions & Shirakami Forestry - Buy

This wave of HoloServer was so large that even the rarer visitors felt a need to visit. Flare has reached out to Okayu, who has pointed out the reason for her absence was the loss of her basement and Korone has followed interest in the server as well.

Fubuki returned to finish her massive sakura tree, of course she acts alone, but she has been increasingly open to hiring people, but it’s not sure if this will become reality. Perhaps if Akukin finally dissolves, there would be enough workforce…

Kureiji Constructions - Buy

Ollie had a roller coaster of three months… Like a burnt fuse, Ollie has had several physical problems… that didn’t stop her from doing math streams (there are precedents Yashiro and Gwelu being good examples) and returning recently with late contributions to the Summer Festival. Reine has been helping on the side as well…

Free Agents - Sell

There is not much of this category anymore. Anya is the One who does not play Minecraft, in fact her demeanor is quite different from anyone else. Ayame not only has been gone from Minecraft, she has been gone, period. She really just returned to streaming after about three weeks? Risu is the only one remotely available, but she has the gene of OkaKoro, which does not induce work ethics in Minecraft, no matter how skilled she is. (Her roller coaster MLG is still one of my favorite clips)

Overall, 2021 Q2 was the best of times and the worst of times. There was a lot of big progress and a lot of setbacks as well. It’s a deeply uncomfortable but adventurous position, as it always has been for HoloServer and HoloPro as a whole. Next quarter will be further accomplishments and further challenges, and the company and the personalities and the audience will bear it through it all, as they always have.

#hololive #quarterly report #minecraft

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davidmann95 · 4 years ago

Note

Thoughts (if any) on DC's April 2021 solicitations?

Let’s take ‘em in order! I should be able to muster up a comment on just about everything one way or another.

Green Lantern #1: Oh this is gonna be bad. Heard only the worst about Thorne’s Future State: Green Lantern, and I assume Jo Mullein’s DCU debut will be wasted here to either function as some kind of ridiculous ‘popularity contest’ with Teen Lantern for who gets the bigger push, or as a way to put TL over with a few “good work kid, you got a future” comments. Also, and granted I don’t know how Morrison will end or this will begin, is the New Guardians angle being immediately dropped?

Robin #1: Dope suit, art, and premise, but it’s Williamson so I don’t care.

Batman: The Dark Knight #1: I’ll read this and I expect to like it, but between this being Kubert’s first big Batman project since Master Race, the ‘old but not quite retirement age yet’ angle, and the title, I’m concerned the shock ending here is that it’s actually a stealth DKR prequel.

The Next Batman: Second Son #1: So they really are committing here, though weird that this kinda makes Ridley’s Future State book basically a longform teaser for this. And I’ll get it as it comes out since it turns out this won’t be in that John Ridley’s Batman collection after all - sorry Dustin Nguyen, I love your stuff but I won’t buy an entire trade of material I otherwise already own just for one new story by you.

The Batman & Scooby Doo Mysteries #1: I got that whole great-looking Scooby Doo Team-Up run by Fisch for free on Comixology, I should read that sometime and see if this’ll be worth getting too as well, because it sounds like a hoot.

Challenge of the Super Sons #1: Glad people who want it are getting it, I do not care.

RWBY/Justice League #1: WILL BE GETTING A POST ALL ITS OWN

Action Comics #1030: His powers waning definitely won’t help the standard pre-run fuming by a lot of Superman fandom, but it’s an interesting pairing with PKJ apparently doing mainly cosmic Superman adventures so I’m curious where he’ll go with it. That it’s particularly cited as being tied to Death Metal might validate my suspicion that the new ‘everyone remembers their entire mainstream publishing histories’ thing will play into Johnson’s description of Clark really feeling his age at the start of the run. And Janin on covers even before he gets in on the book proper! And that Midnighter description!

Superman #30: This sounds like where Johnson’s gonna start with that worldbuilding he touted, and I’m curious; definitely reads in this instance like him shoving Clark and Jon into some swords-and-sorcery-esque territory he’s familiar with.

American Vampire 1976 #7: Not reading, don’t care.

Batman #107: I assume ‘the events at Arkham Asylum’ are the ‘A-Day’ ominously brought up in Future State solicits. Tynion Batman, Jimenez as the regular artist now, whatever the Unsanity Collective is, all entirely my shit. More importantly than any of that though, GHOSTMAKER BACKUPS. And drawn by Ricardo Lopez Ortiz, artist on Steve Orlando’s excellent The Pull! Dope!

Batman: Black & White #5: Any other issue and ‘Jamal Campbell doing a life story of Nightwing’ would probably be the highlight, but in case you somehow hadn’t heard Gillen/McKelvie are making their DC debut on a Batman vs. Riddler story here, absolutely wild.

Batman: Urban Legends #2: Even more excited for this now that I’m onboard for the Grifter and Outsiders stuff given how much those features pleasantly surprised me in Future State.

Batman/Superman #17: Injecting it isn’t enough anymore, I need to be on some kind of constant IV drip with this book. I was wondering whether it’d take the premise to further generational riffs or follow a history of mass-media Supermen and Batmen, but instead it’s veering off in a direction I never could have guessed and I couldn’t be more excited.

Batman vs. Ra’s Al Ghul #6: NOTHING CAN STOP THE ADAMSVERSE. NONE MAY DARE TRY.

Batman/Catwoman #5: Wondering how this Harley involvement plays in - I don’t imagine it’s quite what it seems given how King’s written her before. And love that Joker by Mann on the cover, major Clown at Midnight vibes.

Catwoman #30: No reason to assume this run won’t continue to rule.

Crime Syndicate #2: Dammit, I don’t think this book is going to be good, but I’m kinda tempted.

Detective Comics #1035: Wouldn’t be psyched, but Dark Detective was another pleasant surprise so I’ll give this a chance.

The Dreaming: Waking Hours #9: Again, not reading.

Far Sector #11: Sucks a little knowing we’ll never see that little ‘Young Animal’ label in the corner again after this wraps. At least it’s going out on its highest note.

The Flash #769: In a vacuum this would sound dope but I have less than no faith in this, and goddamn that’s a terrible cover.

Harley Quinn #2: I’m sure it’ll be fine, no interest.

The Joker #2: I wanna believe Tynion will be able to make this work, he keeps talking like he has more freedom on this than he has some other books, but everything about this reads like the price he has to pay for relative post-Joker War freedom on Batman.

Justice League #60: It’s Bendis/Marquez on Justice League, lots of people will complain but I’ll mostly dig it. More interested in Ram V briefly getting to write the main crew in the JLD backup.

Man-Bat #3: I’d ask why this exists - and as a matter of fact I still do - but checking out some of DC’s digital-first output recently I see Dave Wielgosz has something on the ball, so maybe he’ll be able to make this work? Perhaps I’ll check it out in trade someday if worth-of-mouth is on its side.

Nightwing #79: I maintain, this is gonna be huge. And clever move to make for how to justify Nightwing keeping up his standard way of business after Bruce loses most of his money.

Rorschach #7: A comic I will purchase and let’s continue leaving it at that.

Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? #109: DC’s highest-numbered comic (that hasn’t gone through an interim renumbering), astonishing. Not getting it myself, but respect.

Sensational Wonder Woman #2: Can’t say this sounds like my thing.

Suicide Squad #2: I’ve been swayed into checking out the Future State debut, but that’d have to really blow me away for me to follow into the main book.

Superman: Red & Blue #2: Sadly if unsurprisingly DC’s clearly not stacking this with AAA attention-grabbing names in the same way as this latest version of Batman: Black & White, but there do seem to be some interesting names from outside the usual big two roster here. And the main and Bolland cover may disappoint but holy cow that David Choe variant.

The Swamp Thing #2: I have no doubt it’ll be incredible but time and again I learn I simply don’t have it in me to care about Swamp Thing regardless of the objective quality of the effort put into him.

Sweet Tooth: The Return #6: Another one I’m not interested in.

Titans Academy #2: Oh lord so this is where they stuck Billy Batson.

Truth & Justice #3: I continue to have no idea what if anything the unifying idea of this anthology is supposed to be.

Wonder Woman #771: Wonder Woman as troubleshooter for mythological mishaps isn’t a permanently sustainable or desirable status quo but I’m down for it for as long as it lasts if it’s any good (though that Immortal Wonder Woman preview...concerned me, in spite of Jen Bartel’s jaw-dropping art).

So that’s 19-23 out of 37 I’ll be getting - if DC’s standard for success with Infinite Frontier is the proportion of their line people will be checking out, I guess it’s winning with me.

#DC Comics #DC: Infinite Frontier #Opinion

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