#but i still outlasted them. alas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohifonlyx33 · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 16 of The Scarlet Pimpernel had me nearly swooning in a public laundromat. Alas, the plot twist is spoilt for me, but nevertheless... it's all so delicious. The yearning is impeccable. The dynamic being captured is magnificence itself. The little details are delightful. An absolutely captivating moment.

“Sir Percy!”

He already had one foot on the lowest of the terrace steps, but at her voice he started, and paused, then looked searchingly into the shadows whence she had called to him.

She came forward quickly into the moonlight, and, as soon as he saw her, he said, with that air of consummate gallantry he always wore when speaking to her,—

“At your service, Madame!”

But his foot was still on the step, and in his whole attitude there was a remote suggestion, distinctly visible to her, that he wished to go, and had no desire for a midnight interview.

“The air is deliciously cool,” she said, “the moonlight peaceful and poetic, and the garden inviting. Will you not stay in it awhile; the hour is not yet late, or is my company so distasteful to you, that you are in a hurry to rid yourself of it?”

“Nay, Madame,” he rejoined placidly, “but ’tis on the other foot the shoe happens to be, and I’ll warrant you’ll find the midnight air more poetic without my company: no doubt the sooner I remove the obstruction the better your ladyship will like it.”

He turned once more to go.

“I protest you mistake me, Sir Percy,” she said hurriedly, and drawing a little closer to him; “the estrangement, which, alas! has arisen between us, was none of my making, remember.”

“Begad! you must pardon me there, Madame!” he protested coldly, “my memory was always of the shortest.”

------

Once again he attempted to go, once more her voice, sweet, childlike, almost tender, called him back.

“Sir Percy.”

“Your servant, Madame.”

“Is it possible that love can die?” she said with sudden, unreasoning vehemence. “Methought that the passion which you once felt for me would outlast the span of human life. Is there nothing left of that love, Percy . . . which might help you . . . to bridge over that sad estrangement?”

His massive figure seemed, while she spoke thus to him, to stiffen still more, the strong mouth hardened, a look of relentless obstinacy crept into the habitually lazy blue eyes.

------

“Percy! I entreat you!” she whispered, “can we not bury the past?”

“Pardon me, Madame, but I understood you to say that your desire was to dwell in it.”

“Nay! I spoke not of that past, Percy!” she said, while a tone of tenderness crept into her voice. “Rather did I speak of the time when you loved me still! and I . . . oh! I was vain and frivolous; your wealth and position allured me: I married you, hoping in my heart that your great love for me would beget in me a love for you . . . but, alas! . . .”

------

“Twenty-four hours after our marriage, Madame, the Marquis de St. Cyr and all his family perished on the guillotine, and the popular rumour reached me that it was the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney who helped to send them there.”

“Nay! I myself told you the truth of that odious tale.”

“Not till after it had been recounted to me by strangers, with all its horrible details.”

“And you believed them then and there,” she said with great vehemence, “without a proof or question—you believed that I, whom you vowed you loved more than life, whom you professed you worshipped, that I could do a thing so base as these strangers chose to recount. You thought I meant to deceive you about it all—that I ought to have spoken before I married you: yet, had you listened, I would have told you that up to the very morning on which St. Cyr went to the guillotine, I was straining every nerve, using every influence I possessed, to save him and his family. But my pride sealed my lips, when your love seemed to perish, as if under the knife of that same guillotine. Yet I would have told you how I was duped! Aye! I, whom that same popular rumour had endowed with the sharpest wits in France! I was tricked into doing this thing, by men who knew how to play upon my love for an only brother, and my desire for revenge. Was it unnatural?”

------

Marguerite Blakeney was, above all, a woman, with all a woman’s fascinating foibles, all a woman’s most lovable sins. She knew in a moment that for the past few months she had been mistaken: that this man who stood here before her, cold as a statue, when her musical voice struck upon his ear, loved her, as he had loved her a year ago: that his passion might have been dormant, but that it was there, as strong, as intense, as overwhelming, as when first her lips met his in one long, maddening kiss.

Pride had kept him from her, and, woman-like, she meant to win back that conquest which had been hers before. Suddenly it seemed to her that the only happiness life could ever hold for her again would be in feeling that man’s kiss once more upon her lips.

------

“And to probe that love, you demanded that I should forfeit mine honour,” he said, whilst gradually his impassiveness seemed to leave him, his rigidity to relax; “that I should accept without murmur or question, as a dumb and submissive slave, every action of my mistress. My heart overflowing with love and passion, I asked for no explanation—I waited for one, not doubting—only hoping. Had you spoken but one word, from you I would have accepted any explanation and believed it. But you left me without a word, beyond a bald confession of the actual horrible facts; proudly you returned to your brother’s house, and left me alone . . . for weeks . . . not knowing, now, in whom to believe, since the shrine, which contained my one illusion, lay shattered to earth at my feet.”

She need not complain now that he was cold and impassive; his very voice shook with an intensity of passion, which he was making superhuman efforts to keep in check.

“Aye! the madness of my pride!” she said sadly. “Hardly had I gone, already I had repented. But when I returned, I found you, oh, so altered! wearing already that mask of somnolent indifference which you have never laid aside until . . . until now.”

She was so close to him that her soft, loose hair was wafted against his cheek; her eyes, glowing with tears, maddened him, the music in her voice sent fire through his veins. But he would not yield to the magic charm of this woman whom he had so deeply loved, and at whose hands his pride had suffered so bitterly. He closed his eyes to shut out the dainty vision of that sweet face, of that snow-white neck and graceful figure, round which the faint rosy light of dawn was just beginning to hover playfully.

“Nay, Madame, it is no mask,” he said icily; “I swore to you . . . once, that my life was yours. For months now it has been your plaything . . . it has served its purpose.”

But now she knew that that very coldness was a mask. The trouble, the sorrow she had gone through last night, suddenly came back to her mind, but no longer with bitterness, rather with a feeling that this man who loved her, would help her to bear the burden.

------

Tears now refused to be held back. All her trouble, her struggles, the awful uncertainty of Armand’s fate overwhelmed her. She tottered, ready to fall, and leaning against the stone balustrade, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly.

At first mention of Armand St. Just’s name and of the peril in which he stood, Sir Percy’s face had become a shade more pale; and the look of determination and obstinacy appeared more marked than ever between his eyes. However, he said nothing for the moment, but watched her, as her delicate frame was shaken with sobs, watched her until unconsciously his face softened, and what looked almost like tears seemed to glisten in his eyes.

“And so,” he said with bitter sarcasm, “the murderous dog of the revolution is turning upon the very hands that fed it? . . . Begad, Madame,” he added very gently, as Marguerite continued to sob hysterically, “will you dry your tears? . . . I never could bear to see a pretty woman cry, and I . . .”

Instinctively, with sudden, overmastering passion, at sight of her helplessness and of her grief, he stretched out his arms, and the next, would have seized her and held her to him, protected from every evil with his very life, his very heart’s blood. . . . But pride had the better of it in this struggle once again; he restrained himself with a tremendous effort of will, and said coldly, though still very gently,—

“Will you not turn to me, Madame, and tell me in what way I may have the honour to serve you?”

She made a violent effort to control herself, and turning her tear-stained face to him, she once more held out her hand, which he kissed with the same punctilious gallantry; but Marguerite’s fingers, this time, lingered in his hand for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary, and this was because she had felt that his hand trembled perceptibly and was burning hot, whilst his lips felt as cold as marble.

------

Perhaps he divined what was passing in her mind. His whole attitude was one of intense longing—a veritable prayer for that confidence, which her foolish pride withheld from him. When she remained silent he sighed, and said with marked coldness—

“Faith, Madame, since it distresses you, we will not speak of it. . . . As for Armand, I pray you have no fear. I pledge you my word that he shall be safe. Now, have I your permission to go? The hour is getting late, and . . .”

“You will at least accept my gratitude?” she said, as she drew quite close to him, and speaking with real tenderness.

With a quick, almost involuntary effort he would have taken her then in his arms, for her eyes were swimming in tears, which he longed to kiss away; but she had lured him once, just like this, then cast him aside like an ill-fitting glove. He thought this was but a mood, a caprice, and he was too proud to lend himself to it once again.

“It is too soon, Madame!” he said quietly; “I have done nothing as yet. The hour is late, and you must be fatigued. Your women will be waiting for you upstairs.”

------

Hot tears again surged to her eyes, and as she would not let him see them, she turned quickly within, and ran as fast as she could up to her own rooms.

Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more on to the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear—a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footsteps had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last.

#the scarlet pimpernel #baroness orczy #sir percy blakeney

22 notes · View notes

trlblzd · 5 months ago

Text

️ ️️ @oudachi sent : ❛ an eternity with you would never satisfy me. ❜

ETERNITY IS A CONCEPT THAT THEY CAN never grasp for themselves. to exist in a world without ever fading is something that can never apply to them. they know it. they will FIZZLE out all the same & be reduced into nothing but stardust. that must be why they rest their cheek on her opened palm. it will NEVER satisfy them either. to be so interwoven yet so DAMNED feels like a sick, cruel joke that they will never get. they hope to outlast what would seem to be the end. they wish to be a part of her. they long to exist with her.

alas, they can only be kept together if she DEVOURS them. fate is unforgiving but they never clung on to their chances to begin with. a terrible investment. this vessel of theirs was NEVER meant to last long & they can feel it. they know. the only way that they can be together indefinitely is to be a part of her BLOODSTREAM. to be so, irreversibly hers that they become the reason why her heart remains pumping. this warm crimson that drips down their shoulder from the bite of her fangs - they hope she remembers it while it's still hot.

" i love you. " confession is spoken in hopes that they find COMFORT in each other. in the midst of this��hopelessness, they can only wish that she experiences solace in experiencing them as they are now.

" i love you. " & they know that they will CONTINUE to even when they are scattered amongst the cosmos.

#oudachi #i cannot stand them!!!!!!!!!!!#ans. / the heeds to your calls.#in. / blaze a new trail.#v: main. / into the express.

1 note · View note

queenofbaws · 2 years ago

Note

While I am certainly all about that outlast au climbing chrash right now, there is sadly a hole in my heart that only chrashley can fill 😔 but, if possible (and because I may be crazy lol), how do you feel about some crashley ala ud kids as quarry campers just to mix things up a little?

Josh had promised him this would work, so when he held the handful of flowers out to Ashley and she just sort of...winced, well, uh...Chris couldn't help wilting a little bit too.

"Um, Chris, that's...you know that's poison ivy, right?" she asked, pointing to the bouquet he'd (painstakingly!) spent the morning putting together, per Josh's instruction.

"Pretty sure it's not," he mumbled back, though, the more he thought on it, Jacob had been making a weird face the whole time he'd watched him pick the flowers. Still...he wouldn't've watched him rub his hands all over a bunch of poison ivy and not said anything...w...would he?

"Awww, hey you two! What's - oh God," Kaitlyn stopped a good three paces away from them, her eyes bouncing from Ashley to Chris to the flowers and back, and honestly, if it hadn't been for the weird way his hand (and wrist and arm and...other hand...and wrist...and arm) had started to itch, Chris might've thought she was just embarrassed for him, too.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

#love-fireflysong #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #chrashley #ohohohoh nothing like (even more) awkward chrashley shenanigans to really do the weekend right!!!

4 notes · View notes

pavlovianpanic · 14 days ago

Note

Don't take this the wrong way but based on how you write Miles, I actually think you could write a really good Mike or Emily

don't worry anon, i don't think there really was a wrong way for me to take that lol honestly, i can kind of see where you'd get that vibe. mike because the version we get of mike is slightly miles!coded (not intentionally i don't think, it just happens that outlast published in 2013 while ud came out in 2015, but ud was in dev for a hard second, if anything the losing his fingers could be an homage to outlast or miles ... but likely not, sometimes that just happens) while emily has all the same drive as miles, as well as the attitude and one-liners. miles is basically the child of emily and mike LMAO but a child that ... came before them yet also not if we really look at the development process. still, he is their lovechild. for me, mike is super kennedy-coded, so i'd write him a lot like that, whereas emily is just ... herself. i would write her as she is. nothing needs to change. but alas, there are so many great mikes and emilys out there, i do not need to take up more ud character slots lol i'm already tormenting the dash daily about josh

#anon

0 notes

libidomechanica · 3 months ago

Text

At first great a curious blame

A ballad sequence

And in morning branches play. Shah, who promist both brains and ogled, at lean heavily against some rest; my tongue so sweetest landing back to dine. The summer all that in one

whose holy priest things will love engendering from death a heart: I stretch did knows when the rest, and keep me alive, not one time shouts within its life filled, and the stake, Centuries—

of artists dying new, highly parts of fame whose gentle hears that for an empire of Frogs still, the place where more th’ almighties vew, of her own: tis too much, Cynara!

With tears of these spindrift pages nor for heroes with sweet, so long, that shine; and tymely ioyes, that sober hue deuise, while to mournful— but model of all that grows and coughing

fork deep in thy sweet pleases.—And maun I still on Menie do? When there could be that which I use to me yours though as yet thought, though theyr eccho ring. Come when will the woods no more

ioyfulst day then, so remember I did honour’d, and softly said, oh Shah, he saw him not said I looked like the joint narrative does not why, and things were not Helen in his

tumult of prey, rather variety, as seraphs’ shines upon her face. An’ it will— the same groan doth hinder your hand, nor grieved his same chance is blessing-room, like diuers fethered

with snow; yet with beauty’s fable, poesy, the cold Aurora could not choose my bright her might he lean’d against some horses, girls, she has twa spark of glowing and limb to list

of triumph I’ll bury alive, not even for Heaven. She listening tride, helpe to deuoure, with no temptations must remains sharp to me, what the christall bed remain ground vase, singing

roguish een. My arms full of ruin! We driven out the day, come winter’s ragged hands as trees. Or not a chemical mixture. Or would I hide what people out, a pose.

Then in his whole nation’s errors? I seem Angels, twice or that neuer sunny skies. One another’s sea, than the heart,

I know that traced something accents, with frisked what was doom’d—a case of living corn wi’ me? To hye bears logs into thee,

Cynara! We were barren as Ioue her till swollen shut our own door, in the same—it weare: yet she musical tennis

match-making among outlasts us all: wreck did rayse, youth, though we cease on, methinks more deep, the poem is come

when they ranges its own gentleness and merry-making in their resolves—alas! Of it for wealth had good humour

such slight or wring you with its wings. And her on the ruin’d to flie, and vnreuealed pleases. And whereas blacke seem’d his perjured,

murder. Doe lyke gold-eyed serpent dwell within my heartbeat is it men dark as nighing its agonizing throbs; and

be wisely wanton naigies nine or ten times starting of pleasures, then what if he had to make it seems a sorry

jest: but the diseases, and cures not even to be seen; when then the same thy treasure, the op’ning Phoebus gins the

breeze, that t was fix’d upon our cartridges? ’Er is my inner recesses of the sets up. But for repetition;

observed as an expert on make our eccho ring. But oh! To which of all is said, because a fresh sensational

facility, if such a lady sweet prison all that dimmed, thy cup is ruby-rimmed. The quiet would have been

no poem obeying in all the loser. And you see,— with shrill and look, even them about love their rose, and let

the eyes seem to flie, and others fethered wings the springs when seated in the leg. My lovely lea? Form a pained

well for all be call’d for his own ribs what if the sphere I see Heav’ns so oftentimes beene thy little butterfly flies

and bear amiss, but various hed. Perhaps may answer and the falling Despaire hates Come in the clear the night.

White) there wine is so rare, and have made banked be fair. Place its vanity. Make feast ioy, by nature, my grief lies budded, her modesty, or that wing thy blessing anyway, cared

for an Hermitage. And no more—one liuerie, both shines in everything was getting words—but which sits as dew on roses and greedy pikes all my argument, three till it seemes

more vpon the horses, girls these, I’m all by name. Decline; her joys, her while their health, or little hand thoughts that which promise always hearts; and admit to knowing where Joan doth brains ouer

her displaies his time it is nipp’d, and no soone her whiles shines equal arming soul; while were you must perch harmony, from noble, I was a bird. That should follow then delights dreadful

dame. Many, O, the blood on it. Would have at least, pecking revenge shall flower, fairing moors was on her dearly; the heather-bells, and goodness and seems but an only cam’st

to gaze, and hoary mountayne vie to approch to the house in my wailing them answer and on the one prepared to me. You falter now forest leave postes and yonder and

whereas insists, in Nature to where was a lady sweet breath’d defence: for if Sins will give me a snares shall fleeth afore fainting crave much, Cynara! And years I must be worth

thy door. Near the power in growing can discrie, which to the books with someone who wants hornes? Foxes crave thou hast enough, and she has twa sparkling roguish een. The life filled

on the joy; but when the widest laces, especial, in thy story, are fools or her more white Tablet—Yes—’tis universes cease you’re living all ye virgins leap, and you

would be forgot much resounds the still have seen then she said, and there can reason hate so many ill with the Earth for innocent, wholly her in whom Love with the rocks, and kept

hold. Thou hast restraint or best to know there half there never shows, they have grow by their variety: with the first just defray, and me time, because t was dory, relieved for

successful prophet should I lose by the Indian Ganges’ side should rather mournful— but mournful of all keep, when there is lovely, and hanging, by degree, mocks all the wild?

Where is no word; if they should flowers fair, kind of living dispers to you should and feature. Your approaching hand serene,

accompliment, and gentle favorite scene, her snowie necke lyke gold-eyed serpent dwell within my brows like a fish. Now

lay to you, Cynara! Desire is no more. But certes it conducted personal quiet lake, and all the

evil of mind. When Love tempests of good shoes from harmonious set me for someone setting blush to run her hearts.

What at my luck of sacred peaks of straws, being men or shall bed remains sharply crystal clear location of advice.

Today i’m filled with reward, or whether than it not feruent be for thus entangled in her head some way to

you saw. Yon wander may. Every tongue. Aurora could share its servility till do not inflate and the sunlight

routes, sustains, and he came and not self-deceiving in or our Eyes; a Cataract that resource, tis too are not warm

heart, to dight, it seemed to filch away from what my fire: the humming roguish een. The former head. Also observe, thou

thus the sky which to trust, enjoy’d no soone to where you, Cynara! That all aloud, and sometimes refigures, and

seem at such a lady, if that never, long, when Hesperus his sullen art exercised in the mountains my wailing

Spring at my feeble to do with pulse each sparkling roguish een. But here. Men: with the daisy’s side; so as

to be so caught her month to a bowle of a red-rose treacher at place on my heart doth behoue, and yet more ioyfulst

day till the my church the ill, to which you turn with no deep in my sprights; ne let falsifie. With a thorny stem; an’ she

has twa sparkling roguish een. An’ she had, as if we so may slip from thy fellowship I needs must conference is

bleeding his book. Give up all already cited; her bread and thus far as hell, as drowns theyr drery accents sings on

flitting blush’d with pity grace and Voltaire, of one or take to print age, of such skilled, shepherds pipe on oaten straws, every

water, like a dance of married men; for the more thereunto doe delite, which red medusaes mazeful hed.

My friend and listening the rocks once- a-boy pilfering it to work&weep. But when turtle buildeth the rest beloved

you. Women, which choke him from commission, such canals of winning truly love, that all—which is especiall grace and

with Pearl, her very short, upon our mouth were place the unswept sea; a grey peelings to frights; ne let them bring itself

of its own laws—my ball room for Death nor atom that winds throne, are you may, and if let in insistinguish beyond

my own affected by the disaligned. When blood boil like this loue me not, her vogue of all day the wild-woods may

answers I am, the French will go much know, i’m half enclosed fist that’s in her earlier days to shame stole their health,

or comfort breeds love, and rend apart the lurking sweetly, and proud rather variety, or glorious power.

To version of Dracula my favor, hearts? Her stomach! The shrinking of musk and I don’t recall argument; and

maidens, be vnto my grief lies; when his voice was his name; but O for this one who would not now head is sting has been before

mysterious? At that it looked like it and now to their day, ’ thought to stand yet the plain, for lo the tuneful quill.

My own dark garden and that day my desire: I have oftentiment. The statesmen utter; would you dispossesse

with thoroughly inconsistent, how chearefull rymes, that suffer things he: descended him. And I descride in

Marses livery prauncing in my father the silence in an empires, and now, the prospective, though all ill?

True that she may proceed upon her destined course; graceful all our sight; have hardly mixt, and constructive of all seemde

but in the world blue in my fair heaven’s glorious meats displaies his arms, to have hardly any air. That fall into

memory disinterest spite, fool, said I althoughts are left, alas! I have no more sheep, not thing down its zone.

To our Eccho ring. Growing light, of sprites hast so much too weak relief was doom’d—a man, with people meant to worship

that desecration—professors of those troubles loaded with woman and still dead, and can’t tell whence that was a

Catholic, too, a turbot for this sort of her place of prey, rather cheek, passion, fury, frantic indignation now.

In the sun hath rudded, her beauteous Bride. Hearing the daily. Was nothing expresse Night-gear wrought that dandy while burns

and wiser than once affeard: ne let mischieuous witched and hear horse, if I have to the trouts doe daunce vnto her smiled enough,

an’ it will love you are the golden fruit, and just as blythe thick jaws, the quietly she now my love, the day, and

cannot Musick the seas; an’ she hath their thou art than spurring thrusts into thee, or the former lay to spy: for all

that mote thy mammie’s wark, an’ it winna let armes embracing car nor peer nor the evil of mine: but, ere the band.

The smile could care but paine still have I know not think I should ease and eke receive it also, there was bonie Bell. On Cessnock banks a lassie dwels sweetest lad, and your own gentleness and till it ceased to the beam time or conquers what

humanity. And short, but an ashen- gray delights of wine, that should I meet? We might to see the chorded shell, that shines serene with vncalled me so stammer all becoming offend, will thing—to which Aurora was of the tall trees. Get

far with joined hand on the joy or mistress who favourite plat’ of many soon; they are thus into excellent advice, are the same spectacle of the understood. With awful Drink making sense to readiness, and deface in tender

glade—there can do; therefore mysteries; nor shades and deem’d to lives. It also, we went grey, as in the weekday wears, and somehow things I can terms unhandsome, on readily, or two, which I fear the victory white-plastic-gloved as soil.

And tymely seed, then night with them back the sun was sinking senses, other made banked dapper Cupid, thou know it; silence decay. And great a curse to readiness, Mercy changes itself from time we were turnstiles, and taught with rough

to it winna let a body be. The troubled spheres begin with honour’d, and yet, such close, in hope we see not, It will, it weare away, when what source, tis time it leaves are lift the falling of this superlative of loues, shall untune

their resolves—alas! And then our victories of her loudly placed between the sense the warm caves in your own darkness and hear the next, a brief break, break my heart like to adorne: while his still the bowre of blue devil was in her lion roll

in man’s own peculiar part and gay, to look at you shouldst rubies find it simple boone refuse, but by the lark, ’tween Tyrian, for if Sins will open its branching the lamps expire witless like books entered, your dew time, he’s racing less

of bonie Jean. The Shah, he saw her blows eight is comes almost true. Is sweet, O Love, dear! But never knowledge springs me near to you, thoughts go free, angels all silver-white. And a beggar before fiction is than for to pine with its

multitude of ether revolution, drink in her know, what is best, the cold, she seeds itself of its broad-flung rose with Dians winged and maidens, be hear, and they were cold and concerned; the ground the scorn that curl the balmy air, at kirk or mass;

for the sences the time. And Miss Knowman. Pear eater glory of his arms long blink is a house theyr drery accents, long did you in young partridge fillets on the rack and your fresh and of wrangle; and trip when I thought her head knocks all

men, even of the Earth to rise in the morning hard to version of ourselves do cry. Floating like the Crab behind thou not empty, after than match where our more, but blush’d a sweet, that creep in their fold, at seventy minutes on the

lily-of-the-valleys, and the chronic anger, with younger men to be is also, we could wish’ to pique a gentleness and of wrangling came in another, who labour doleful and rare. And everything expected, thy cup’s heard;

a butterfly with beauty should death, but blush’d with virginity, and no soone to heare speach was nothing of a day, Sir; there victor’s brow to pleased to sleep watch. And thou repent, yet with a flitting brethren stood from her lay those baubles

me, my thousand creed made in grayne, like bleating shrill and strength renew, were it brushed it, and horrors of her and read, must of rest. Thought it was on her predilectionable matches that sad result of foot, and walked with men: with heart best

of all. Love is dead with base affeard: ne let hob Goblins, names sung of musk and yet I heard; a buttercup in my fashion. I must not enuy my loue should have you may never than languish beyond what concerned; and sweeps away by

day’s end, doth range busily seed, that stil Silence is but women afternoon the weeping in mine the sea which thy shadow doth hinder younger Love, you and I so kindle hope of those koi, still, with golden bars were still such, and a

moderation of June days and turning other the lips on youthful to you with joined hand thou art Being and gazed upon his white and diapred lyke lyllies out of ether by far your sonnets, am beauteous Bride. Upon its zone.

Which all the wonderful how oft to croon. Perhaps t was no doubt, as white as love, I heard, old Wisdom! What did I

know that would not pin her brest leave a vestige of the red roses when Cupid’s armory, and no place was a Fiend,

nor rest, which I cared leave, so surely to hail the way, observed as sour balls. Be consider how it is, the scorn that

private place the discharged of the christall befa’ the gifts that my back your love you too, if thou not her prayses surface

of Death of passionless, pale, lips are mended, or grave’s a stock-holders, sprung from grave—as pitying worse that I

know not the news from the turned myselfe contradiction. I have Helen in rankes dost love engrafted to scent came

up from me. Fain woman when I awoke and so well. Modesty, or out insinuating myself, that settlemen

who asked, afterwards sometimes happy influence vpon the mind that I was desolate and violence, this song

out of living. Or grave—as pitying matter were mine in fact, his memory the lamps expire with the crowd all

duns! Wanton Nimph for it winna let a body like that his palms each breast almightie eating lies turning bread at midday

moan, and Music raise and watches I broken by the should have for opposites, the brae, Sir. In both of their arms

or legs. And thou repent, yet contemplation many eyes have seen; when he had to make or two, slight makes all laughing

itself to death’s intervene and moral odor, a morally have been faith instant in her in life into one

cadence, the poet’s pages nor heed my own death and fears that I lived predilection. I see Heav’ns so often called

tear, which haue all at last forego, Alas! And I descride in Marses livery pore with iollity. When Phoebe

from me travel forth, wanting shrill doth reaching hell! To rise from out the wood aray fit folkes each bending to the route?

Church their rotten to byte, her Garments there was the lineaments, but a prediction is that best: the blue-tick coated Philomel, and Heaven, his whisper’d him for; and wind by

a fire you. In politic sense. So I vnto her successful prophesy what the hoary mount they put their common wages of monsters, easily: Once open for the homage

where our eccho ring. On, to be wed, or when he wits of Both were five me when my veracious eye besides. When Adeline and Natures make; thought there cold dust on your love

within the lies betweene, doe ye sleep. High-strung Anthee, Cynara!—And maun guide it came wonderful hour than thoughts to shines equal arming soul; whiles ye for man to be and sence would

follow’d, and the notes, peel your mistress nevertheless cup. Drink wine, bring her and better the gout—taste or take him to get my plaid an’ owre the Stagyrite: the Mauis descant part

us, leaves thyself it only daughters of hope of loue to grey; mould be that sources, as form a science annoy the same that gentle heart nectar—starlings loudly she goes;

pure-bosom’d gable-ends at the fragrance of your heart is meriment. One behind her promontory, tu-who! There is helpelesse matrimony make, and wax an ultra-

royalist in the sacrifice, as the balmy eve; and reason why you by heart. Her tightest leave of nation’s face the drew; her sunne is immense and Voltaire, of one or be

tied to make the scarcely look twin oppositively henceforward in lieu of mankind to help us! And now, like a woman, quite consciousness of this, who even

out melodrames or sprite; there is as a sweet, so lonely cherish pulses of Mulla which doth in my eyes, in which canals of Ettrick’s vale, is the reserved virgin pride?

Entered our child; she remember? With diamonds not if you gave meant to weave they know they circle thee, Cynara! Her

forehead like. And the bright time, Sir, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, that all kinds, that thou art than could not cry to crim. And teach,

whatever folly, or a spring; in vain. And whelps at the one hands till at such skill repayre. Cupid with truth, couldn’t

move, a lovely leave, so I sent you pleasant guise, which who, not bring itself. Night I could wish’ to pay no memory

of her feare of Frogs still cries. In better, every stages but fires in a silken courtesy not run. Go from they

of ioy and wake and suns and delight thro’ the grueling in proud faces, to chosen Love hath bred to shame; and the cowslips

blaw, in vain to snowdrifts white there be, while, with girlands them at my wind blaws loud with me— a flowers, of the late

to praise. The globe of weale, lips on the naked trees unrooted left the flagrant breeding him. Not the worst thickened

thee: then why you bred up by the lamps expire with much farthest bird has close my love it. All nightingales an heiress,

and fairy one, but faithful to thy home, her heartbeat is or was, to humbler promontory, bring owl, and how

she were riding song: then or fifty witches too am concerns many hour, when meet, though not inflate and for ever

ranging so to version of the tall grass. Thought there five me time would wish she nursed of triumphal muffles too, daily

news printed to scent.—This sullen art exercised in her frail. With whom I hope we shall to Truth, unsullied by

the sees her how quickly form’d or love you may not so great Iuno, while ye may: the while praise? Of asphodel, that

usual part. Not till I die. She deere loves but what was in. Treasure of our faces, bring your lit harvest for which wander

may the proud with golden ring the Worse? With any Letter paradise is not the same loving man’s decline; mourn,

becomes in even after heart’s false esteem: yet she scars of their fold, at seventy minutes on the murmurs to

your eyes like must that same reason which expands, there is none doth in thee quickly the her Or naething of the Jews.

With silence can be consider how it so happen’d, in tears of the sunlike, taking married earth and sleepy eyes

and what hurt her. Upon a shutter, ever life to mind that I gaze, and bear the mind assume its sweetness up into

seamless a face is far the desp’rate game thy cheered besides. Moth, pod of my mouth. I have seen was nothing finer

thanks are not the way into arithmetic beyond the soft and happy hour, gives off noise and Voltaire, of one or

best; dissimulation of Dracula my fairest maids were not the face, why come to praise. At you pleasant guise, the

uncertaine, with no deep in thin shell the woods and while our eccho ring. Also the ruin’d to pieces. Juan was with a

paint the woods and ice, or pink, of no Son. The cuckoo; cuckoo! Would lovely leaves in a wondrous scope, who for five months

and her, less for that I was, to females of the hills of celebrity dined was by it true. Article at her

mind, and the carefull dampe, his golden wyre, sprinckled with thee thy mind. You will, to take him from car to year before

not thy neck round and I switches flames whose is not a Prison making in my bonie, O. Live to roost I peeled bits of

good collection; which death, which no one bearable, circle their imagination, or ten times happier, be it

ten for opposites, then, on ever paradice, or with fresh; an’ it winna let a body deranges tell; also

true, ’ have ears: there are few they don’t recall the disaligned. Were warm them come back your dearly; that’s beautiful.

Of myself from the proud of deeds. I put him on the nature the band.—Of the lived long vveary day has raptures

these some way to sing: the Deep know no such alcoves to towre, and gild the bloom to graunt, by Angels watch and mein; our lasses

for that landing something finer than what I see it gloom will your borders, the eight as a new, but as simply

murder. Sweet said it; ’ a kind of my songs the present Deity life, which a thorn, within our victory while poor Beauty!

Life—this sublime and Attic has nothing hard by, made likewise which were firm, who, while thy face and straining a kitchen

cabinet, I read and dress head my Cupidon broke loose, and blest but twice or take as on her e’e? Has been take it

all the whole world can fright me; when Healths and sung in or out in some splendour, her form, her face! But sadder musical

tennis mate for such as she, adornd with a slight must have already. Swamp of the cornice- wreathes of an old passing

roguish een. And everything finer politician; or—what is it there be, while ye may: the dying man he

laying the Westerne fome: this day let the days of foot, and hear horse, the pride, and your head unto such a lady, and

all that such was gray: I must remain grounded him. A heart allow’d by unrest. Loved worker handing vppe without blemish

or stain order tone came on, and sick of an old face, her very sage, admiring home in the surface of woll,

while you learn to dress. Imagining bright, with this tale o’ love: o Jeanie wist, the flowers, than complaints forehead like.

How the rich and bruised, which expands, though probably presume to say my courting upon the cycle’s change thou would swim in

its den, and suns and in possessed with and wake and Dick the sphere I see Heav’n will complex and thinks we may leaves thy heart

feels alone like to themselves, closets, silks. And the trembling Croud, some prettily for the morning, quench like and quell? I

have stood around, luminous, general: t is by man the ground; womanlike, taking on the future to where a decent

spouse, her could crack where no way to tease on, and haunch of all ill? When daisies pied and butterfly with nature still

endure than guess so far off, why, I’d expire, nor would crack where your magics, spells, and mirror on a state. And supposed

wonder oats forepast; an’ it with two pink, two orange, two green and their meaning the lay;—his dying idle.

With a brassy, shall command the radio and he knew not why she no longer dressed. It has words came on, and my head again appeare, care shown. But let me sleep. But the silks,

innumerable ray, let the profaned, if you pleased to be by bigots shake in a day the ev’ning the cowslips from meeting, as urbanity require? Cold and

grieve. Mong ice, and grow vaster nature of my bosom, is Jenny, fair health, I come, welcome. Nor rested men to that crazed his own preference, he hath found the Palate till action,

if-’ But her awake out of my soul, and passes whom but that waters, and gazed upon fold of zest. Loe where roses, roses, roses these, in their face so please your Eccho ring.

Aurora sat without blemish or such Liberty. I was drops on the woods that vow, that loseth of God! Love is

so rare, and your heart, and teares, then sudden sad name is Jupiter, my flowers it is not harp’d upon my heart,

I know whereas inside your rested as was liberal by nature apt sprite; the mind the minstrels gin to me all the

hils doth should not suited well; there’s not what now I will outline of us, the sun strikes it and not harp’d and for

his terrors? For signal shakings of The Shah, who would light bring strangely to listen’d to her when it make to approve

plays the flies; when with itself but may not suit or marriage was a metaphysic did excellent and could wish you

do but like to a marble towre, and daws, and me her kind. When I think that day the gendering without blemish she

no long, to put therefore my mind is lover again and thy love answer, and kye, an’ it’s like the armèd man, the proud

man may sweet snatches of perrill and brush what the chastned mind at ease me of us pointed in flowers, and blessing

roar, now let us roll in masquerade, the which so to us folds his persuasion; since those flower; a cat

of Priscian, impart. It is to crime, she me caught him whence would come when touch of the flower that wad make it was in

the strong in its own and bear the pageant shall we finde, nor a tear, my Lord, by Fate, are to offence’s crost;

dissimulation slide. I gave meant; but walkes about, as in the worst sand. I have had told her scaly trouts and whole world.

Since ready money, or a hundred maybe, black, an’ love the morning, a dashing that better Women, which I grieved for a quarter. On Cessnock banks unseen, which ranges its gleamed at table, was Nature of torments of flower, but

walked with a flitters plain, ended in the women do required. In the ocean’s merits soundest rest, every line you dispossessed of that should light: lonely in years I must be in my bellowed in thy summer’s able his feather compelled

me so sore, I always knockest at doors, at my side, keep watching the costume. Come to see if the morning like these scoundrel sovereigns break neither campfires in this to recommend, because the books entered, lying idle. Consumed

a moist, and many heroes if we so many days and useful air; I sang another’s sorrow to the victory which your feet stream of Judgments, ye would shine, and therefore that I remain colors it to make the tower. And your

lives as of the yellow, it eats its guardians, go floating women do required. But I had rather meant nor wished to themselves do cry. Threw me words that hurt her. And I’ve been other meant to meet your eyes the otherwise but because

that when I shall bow along with exasperate weak. Her Garments of good, is none may be as a proud, that all that she shall be true to love, angry pride? In the sweet Angels, twice to you when blood on its arms and heart doth wake, the

understood. Less for the hope thus a decent spouse, and daughter the sunlight; like a hawk, an’ she has twa sparkling round that now heavy next an l’Espagnole, ’ timballe, ’ and fowl, and prove desires he learned sister at one to

heare too much, or wilt provoke him this Kentucky-bred bay colt with elation of the chastities or sprited gastly glimmer, ere it be pride is cap and beat time, I think it’s jet, jet blackest at doors, at first is set of flowers.

While great store of my pain disgrace. And the least, as its clue? No doubt it, both with pulse each hand a bloom to graunt, by Angels which such substance giues both sadly black, an’ it’s jet, jet blacktailed hands, that which my loved worke, Stellas eyes Yon wander

may; goe then would growing up against a create you all which range busily seed, the great Creator’s feet still dawn was given to behold so many to the clear-cut face, sweet passion carried men; for Hell. Through we inhabit

together read a recipe he’d wed with Ruby and fond of being cryes, nor despised straight makes all sing, ne will waken straws and admit to word; if that the stars for my sake even of a winter will bloom, honeycombed with

her smile at the Grates; and that ye do, albe it time, time thanks a lassie dwels sweet paradice, or inanity? Ended with bathing women who would find his silly braine not pointing in her eares heavy, ticks off an hour upon

my rose truffles there’s pretty lisper. Our hopefull birds of transient wrong done but speculation always heart beat ye shouldst depart, leaving tride, so I turn its bloom. And the wind by a ghastly glimmer, ere it matter is Born

of Mortal can deny: truth. And by a fire with her loudly show your face, star-sweet pleasure you looked as blacktailed hands clasped for al the worms things when the bust of all that she maydens doe obay, and her laud, and o’er each other shaped?

As strict, and you know what farther prayses loud aduaunce about? Those sence or comfort of love it was borne away into some qualms very like and you return’d from graves colors just soft as the still on Menie doat, he had rather cheek to

hold the loss: the while we may say, it is not a chemical kisses of late to pine with doing all ye power is the rack and our steele darts do cry. Was said, because to the lineaments down the whole’s a weary travel forth, wise

Ferdúsi says, Thou should be fortune this unwelcome, let all about? Why Adeline had the Pope the more dearer names lend with flower to the night’s baith mighty contemplation of all the rest; and how she was a lassie dwels sweet

said his brain;—and that I dream, a dream, a dream’d, then they turned to her arms to be double they knows now make arranging, by which we cannot say that we love is sometime did lie, and yeeld the species, one chance doe remain are waken stray

amang the hand devour, the arrow we cannot passion that of the sage that tend vpon my sprights; ne let false to sing, the physics? Plainly the passions are like the care for prejudice it as incline they went away, and now, that,

shattering voice. For I have seene these seals upon a word! Mary never grownde did lie, and Hymen through a false, but the screams. The while burning dews. I have forgets you bred up by the sunshine, steals along, till Cherry ripe themselves in

clusters oh, you have leaves Me, Heaven, his sisters of his chill; the mulberry and as stones grip the honey locust and for another, and the stood around myselfe alone in a modest way: supprest, and be sure his foot shall bright,

or any other we are the woods shall stand really, if thou my old come with an ear-shaped cone to honors seated next him of sorrow, but maybe thing your both should be And milk and potatoes— two weeds. Low, gives off noise and sleep.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #122 texts #ballad sequence

0 notes

thevindicativevordan · 2 years ago

Note

So, it seems like I Am Batman is officially ending in February, and with that all of Future State characters lost their ongoings. Of course there's a chance that they still have something for this characters, but so far everything indicates that DC gave up on FS characters at all. How do you think, what's the reason of this outcome? Was there a chance for these characters? Do you think DC didn't try harder to push them? Or it's because fanbase still hates everything new?

Love to pretend I saw it coming, but just the other day I predicted Ridley would get to keep writing the book until issue 25 given how DC seemed to value him, so much for my prediction skills. Well that's a wrap for the Future State crew unless some kind of Justice League book starring them is in the works, and given that the solicits for Nightwing are setting up the Titans as the premiere team for a bit, complete with teasing Jon joining them instead of the Justice League, I don't think that Legacy League book is happening (or at the very least it won't be what I expected/hoped it to be). Only part of Future State that may still be relevant is PKJ's House of El cast, everything else is clearly not going to play a major role in what's to come.

Why is DC backing away from them? 5G got scrapped because the higher-ups at WB no longer supported the shakeup apparently, their attempt to position the classics and the Future State crew as equals during Infinite Frontier flopped, and the film DCU seems poised to refocus on the classics again, meaning that the comics are doing likewise. Sales and synergy are conspiring to reestablish the status quo once more.

DC pushed them all hard, I don't see what more could have been done without actually carrying through on 5G, short of maybe giving Jace Detective Comics the way Jon took over Superman for a bit, and making Yara Wonder Woman. Jon, Jace, Yara, Jo, and Jackson all got lead roles in major books, either as solos or as part of a duo. It is surprising that they completely abandoned Jess Quick, that tease about Jess travelling to Earth 0 has been dropped for certain (along with a whole bunch of other plot threads like "Earth-Alpha"). All Jess got was that Teen Justice book and since I don't see anyone talking about that I can only assume it's a sales flop, which means they're never going to matter again. Majority of the fanbase and the people working at DC do not care about the non-Earth 0 characters, they're event fodder or cameos at best, Jess being left on Earth 11 is the end for their relevance.

The already established fanbase was never going to embrace these characters "cutting in line" to take over the major roles instead of the previous generation who had been built up. Hope was that all the people demanding diversity wasn't just a tiny crowd on Twitter amplified by an echo chamber, but people who were actually eager to buy books featuring said diversity. Those people were supposed to show up and support the books but they didn't. Biggest breakout books of Infinite Frontier were Nightwing, Action Comics, and Wally West's return to headlining The Flash, all three books starring straight white men. Of the FS crew the biggest success was Jon, the most traditional of the legacies bisexuality aside, whose book last I checked was the only one of the group still in the Top 100 chart. Jace did the second best with his book outlasting Jon, despite his sales being worse. Jackson was a total failure, his books completely flopped, with Aquamen debuting outside the Top 100. Aquafans had no interest in him taking on the mantle. Jo was paired with John and that Green Lantern book didn't sell great but it was comparable to Morrison's run with Hal from what I understand. Yara debuted strong but the mess behind the scenes ended up killing her book. Alas none of them succeeded the way DC was hoping.

What's the future for this group?

Jon will be fine. He's the blood son and natural successor to Clark, he's already getting adapted outside of comics, hell if they're really pivoting back to Cavill for the DCU, I expect Jon will be the one who replaces him in the films. He's the only one thus far who will be getting a solo book in Dawn of DCU, albeit a mini, he's in the Lazarus Planet event, two of the stories in Action will star him, and I'm hoping Taylor is just wrapping up his era on the character before handing him over to someone else while he goes and does Titans. DC won't be taking away the Superman mantle from their bisexual Superman, although if they did I confess at this point I wouldn't even care unless they're planning on taking him away from Taylor. There's still a chance to salvage Jon with a new creative team.

Jace might be ok due to DC fearing backlash over killing off/stripping the mantle from their black Batman, but I don't know if most people would even care. How aware are people that Jace even exists at this point? What hurt Jace, besides the fact that there are at least 3 other people "in front of him" in terms of succession, is that there already is a "black Batman": Black Panther. He's the same kind of archetype, but T'Challa was in a billion dollar movie that doubled as a cultural phenomena and unlike Jace he was the lead of his franchise. Jace will never be that, wouldn't have been that even if 5G had happened. Ridley's writing probably did turn some people away as well, but I view Ridley's time on the character the same as the Golden Age Batman: the bricks are laid but the house isn't done being built yet. I hope Jace will get that chance to be "finished", the way Bruce ultimately was with Moore and Miller. With no real chance of him being adapted outside of comics any time soon, I fully expect he will slip into Limbo, unless he's getting a follow-up mini or appearing in a team book like Jon.

Yara is Wonder Girl so that's what she'll stay. She'll be Diana's sidekick and play support. If DC doesn't think she can work on her own, might I suggest relaunching Superman/Wonder Woman as a Jon/Yara book yet again? I liked her and Jon's dynamic in Future State, and I love the idea that Jon is closer to his Wonder counterpart in the Trinity than his dad was to Diana. Please don't abandon Yara because I really do love her as a character.

Jackson/Kaldur should be fine, he's the most prominent member of the Aquafamily aside from Arthur and Mera thanks to Young Justice, but he is definitely not lead material. Least not at the moment, Arthur is the only Aquaman who can support a solo book, leave Jackson as a supporting character to Arthur for now and keep building him up. Maybe one day he can support holding the mantle of Aquaman.

Jess as I said is done. Didn't even get a book, not on Earth 0, and the Flash Family is already huge. Don't hold your breath waiting for them to show up again. Wally and Wallace are the only ones who will ever be the main Flash other than Barry.

Jo will join Simon and Kyle in the "cameos every now and then to remind you they exist but never gets another solo" category unless the trade sales of Far Sector are bigger than I am aware of. Hal and John remain the main Lanterns and that's not changing in the wake of the GL show getting reworked to star John, John being the Tomorrowverse Lantern, and John being in the Suicide Squad game while Hal gets to keep being the Lantern for the Injustice series.

Sucks that this crew is probably going to go the way of the Bloodlines heroes where there's one standout that everyone remembers (Jon/Hitman) and everyone else gets unceremoniously dropped and forgotten. My prediction skills have already been proven wrong once when it comes to these characters futures, maybe I'll get lucky and be wrong again like I want to be this time.

#dc future state #dc 5g #jon kent #superman #jace fox #batman #yara flor #wonder girl #wonder woman #kaldur'ahm #jackson hyde #aqualad #aquaman #jess quick #the flash #jo mullein #green lantern #dawn of dc #infinite frontier

10 notes · View notes

aether-friskets · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 668 times in 2022

That's 668 more posts than 2021!

203 posts created (30%)

465 posts reblogged (70%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ap0stle

@heather-garland

@carlyraejepsans

@friskibitz

@aether-friskets

I tagged 653 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#fanart - 209 posts

#op's art - 188 posts

#silent hill - 149 posts

#rambles - 134 posts

#undertale - 128 posts

#heather mason - 110 posts

#silent hill 3 - 109 posts

#safeutdr - 105 posts

#silent hill fanart - 99 posts

#frisk - 91 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#and honestly? op's suggestion of him having been a member of the order is way more interesting to me than just 'otherworld manifestation'

My Top Posts in 2022:

not the most extravagant piece I've ever made for something like this but. Here's a little drawing I made for Undertale's anniversary!! Like I said I would!

It would've been nice to get a piece with more of the characters but alas

Also I feel like Chara could be better but I always have trouble drawing them quite right >:|

Anyway uhhhh yeah!!

23 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

See the full post

31 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

so I recall this line in outlast 2 when you end up in St. Sybil one of the first times. Blake says somethin like "Great. Back in the Fourth Grade." meaning those the stuff he's reliving must've happened in that grade.

And we know that 4th graders are typically either 9 or 10

(assuming Jess was in the same grade she was only 9 or 10 as well which. damn.)

But we ALSO know what year this takes place in, because there's multiple instances on papers and stuff with the year 1995 (in fact it's December 1995 iirc). I don't have any screenshots on-hand but I could totally go get some at some point lol

MeaninG Blake was 9 or 10 in 1995

We also know that Outlast 2 takes place not all that long after the first game does (due to the Murkoff Account, which, admittedly I haven't read in a while so feel free to correct me there). And we know Outlast happened in 2013.

This mean that our pal Blake is most likely 28 (or 27). Which also makes him the youngest, since Miles and Waylon are both supposedly in their "early to mid 30s" (I couldn't see the cited tweet so for all I know this could be inaccurate but it sounds reasonable enough for me to believe).

Also Waylon has two kids so I'm inclined to believe he's the oldest but like they're all like a few years apart in age anyway lol

Anyway this is probably really obvious stuff but I thought it was interesting for some reason

38 notes - Posted August 6, 2022

random minor thing but I always thought that while Frisk's SAVEs are like normal manual save point saving you'd expect to see, when Flowey steals back control as Omega Flowey, the whole "File x loaded/saved" thing gives the vibes of someone using an emulator. Where you have multiple interchangeable save states that you can save or load to whenever you want, even if the game isn't normally capable of that.

In particular it makes me think back to repeatedly loading a save state in Majora's Mask because of the goddamn town shooting gallery mini game AUGh

Which I guess it kind of makes sense? Omega Flowey is artificially stealing control of the game, sort of like how an emulator gives you an artificial way of accessing a game (in the sense of like I could play a PS1 game on my pc, or a N64 game on my Wii U, for example). So not only does his save system make sense from an in-game stand point, it's kinda cool from a meta standpoint too.

At least, I think it is.

63 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

late night posting of an old-ish drawing

Psychonauts was big on my mind for a short while there and although it's not my current focus, the games are still really great!! And I still like this little drawing I did of Raz.

It was interesting trying to translate his design to my art style, because that game has a very particular look (in a good way).

also hope y'all don't mind my random mish-mash of posting and reblogging various stuff, I cannot be consistent to save my life

Hopefully I'll have some new art to share soon though!! Assuming this funk of mine dies down, anyway.

71 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

4 notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

Text

The Date

@etcorsolus and @chubbykatsudon were kind enough to bounce a few ideas around ideas as a follow-up to this ficlet. They wanted first date in a dog park.

Of all the days for Eskel to suddenly have a date, that evening was not the best choice. Geralt wanted to smack his head against the steering wheel. He had been banking on Eskel being able to take Ciri for the night while he had dinner with Jaskier. Well, take Ciri and the still unnamed dog, even if Ciri was doing her best to be an absolute menace.

"Roach," she had declared.

"No." There was only room for one Roach in Geralt's life and that horse was his everything.

Ciri had sniffed haughtily. "Fine. Roachie."

Not willing to bend, Geralt kept his mouth shut and hummed in disapproval. She was going to give up soon, Geralt was stubborn and could outlast anyone.

Alas, the issue of Ciri-sitting and dogsitting was still pressing. There was no way Geralt was inviting Lambert to do it. That would mean Aiden coming too and, by the time Geralt came back from his date, either the house would be on fire or Ciri would swear fluently in three new languages. Possibly both.

There was nothing for it, he sent a heavy hearted text to Jaskier.

Can't get a sitter for tonight - can't leave Ciri and dog alone. Rain check on that dinner?

He didn't expect to see the three dots of a reply in the making appear quite so quick. As his screen darkened, the text came through.

Or it's a case of more the merrier. Why not go to the dog park? I can show you the best one in the area.

That sounded like a plan and Geralt ended up agreeing to it. Especially when Jaskier said he'll bring treats for them all. Turning up at the park, Geralt was a little nervous, not overly familiar with how these things went. Thankfully, Jaskier was already there and waving like an overenthusiastic fool.

"You made it!" He beamed and Geralt frowned. Of course they made it, Geralt had promised. Before he could say as much, Jaskier was chattering away again, "As promised, here are the treats. This is for Ciri-" a dog plushie was handed over, "-this is for Roachie-" Geralt was too stunned by the thoughtfulness to even question how Jaskier decided to call the dog Roachie, "-and this is for you." With that Jaskier stepped into Geralt's personal space. "I'm your treat for the night."

"How did you know I have a sweet tooth?" Geralt purred and smirked at the delighted laugh Jaskier gave.

It was an auspicious start to a date, even if it wasn't quite as private as planned. Geralt easily allowed Jaskier to start showing Ciri the finer points of dog ownership.

"Can we teach Roachie some tricks?" Ciri asked impatiently.

"Of course." The reply from Jaskier was accompanied by a smirking side eyeing of Geralt. "I'll show you my favourite; begging." If that wasn't bad enough, Jaskier promptly dropped to his knees, treats in hand and eyes on the dog.

Two could play at this game and Geralt cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we teach him what praise is first? How else will he know what 'good boy' means?"

Naturally, Ciri had all the bright ideas. And when Geralt said bright, he meant innocently devilish. Because next thing he knew, Ciri was talking again. "Sometimes I learn better by watching someone do something. Maybe Roachie is the same. Jaskier, do as dad asks!"

Geralt was only human and he couldn't hold back from muttering under his breath, "suck my cock". Given Jaskier's cheeks dusting beautifully pink, it was safe to say he heard.

"Go on, daddy, tell me what to do," he purred, eyes dark and playful. It pulled a huff of a laugh from Geralt, who was unable to keep a straight face anymore.

"Get up, off your knees. You need to give them a bit of rest if you want to use them later tonight." Probably not something he should have said in front of Ciri who was looking at them curiously. Clearing his throat, Geralt tried to cover it up. "Jaskier likes to work out. Does a lot of squats."

To be honest, given how perky Jaskier's backside was, the man had to work out. But that was beside the point.

In the end they let Roachie have a run around, Geralt utterly resigned to the name of the dog. It was fun but left them rather peckish.

"How about a drive-through burger? There's one near us," Geralt offered. The grin he got from Jaskier was full of promise.

"I do like eating at a table like a civilised human."

Message received, Geralt couldn't hold back on his matching smile. "Food won't go cold if we drive it home. I can offer you my table to dine on."

"Oh I'd love to dine on so much more," Jaskier replied but he was threading an arm through Geralt's. Maybe I can treat you to a sweet sweet dessert after dinner."

Something told Geralt it wasn't food Jaskier was talking about. He wasn't wrong.

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #modern au #tldr: flirting in a dog park is a good first date

78 notes · View notes

inventors-fair · 3 years ago

Photo

Abilities Scored

Congrats to our runners-up this week! @corporalotherbear with Spellsharer Mage, Glassbass with Covetous Spyglass, and @shootingstarhunter with Trigger the Petroglyphs!

Spellsharer Mage

Well this is a weird one. A 2/2 flyer for four is kinda iffy, but the firebreathing helps. But, if you have multiple creatures, this guy gets pretty cool. It turns into a type of Ceaseless Searblades or like Alluring Suitor’s activated ability. That’s an unexplored space. Sharing activated abilities also tends to have it’s own cutoffs, since activating the ability requires whatever resources that ability costs, and if it doesn’t cost resources, then it’s probably a card you put effort into playing. I’m sure there are some really, really weird ways this card breaks, like by granting a normal creature a reconfigure ability, or letting a creature be crewed, but I feel like the rules can handle that. This card’s existence really makes my johnny brain wonder what stuff I could do with it. I love that you gave it its own activated ability, but this being at uncommon really makes me think this is meant to be a faction card, like you’re copying Outlast or Cohort (not good examples, but you get the idea). If that’s not the case, then this really wants to be rare. Copying and moving abilities, as well as the “may” part meaning you have to pick very carefully, means this card has a lot of board complexity. But I’m very into it, it’s a cool card that feels new but in an old way.

Covetous Spyglass

Spyglass with upside! Pretty cool. Making it the same cost but color-dependent make the card worse, but the final ability is the payoff for that. The ability is so expensive that it’s unlikely to be relevant in the sort of situations where you normally want sorcerous spyglass, so the card can sort of act like a modal card. Basically, this could be either a slightly worse sorcerous spyglass or a worse confiscate, which I think is a cool way to mix effects. It is a little better than a confiscate since it can hit multiples, but that comes with two issues: first, if you want to steal tokens, you can’t. A lot of players are going to see a board of saprolings and think “ah ha! I can steal them all since they have the same name!” but alas, they cannot, since those tokens don’t have the name of a card. The second issue is the bigger one: this can name lands. It doesn’t turn off mana abilities of lands, but it can still steal them. Including basics. That can’t be intended. All you need to do is put nonland in front of either the naming part or the permanents part and it’s fine. Lastly, this seems weird for an uncommon. Spyglass has always been at rare, and mind controls are often picked extremely highly in drafts, even when they’re 6 mana. I think if this were rare, no one would bat an eye, but at uncommon it might be too strong or just confusing for less experienced players. It’s still a great way of making a boring card more interesting in a way that feels mechanically and thematically appropriate. If you fixed the nonland issue, I think this could have been a winner.

Trigger the Petroglyphs

I love Muraganda! Good ol’ no-ability tribal. Making a token is a clever way to make this a card that is not a creature with abilities but acts like a creature card with abilities. The “ability” it grants is also neatly not an ability, so it doesn’t run itself off. This is also a pretty powerful anthem for vanilla creatures, essentially doubling their power, but at 6 mana that seems fine. The 6/6 honestly feels a little strange, all things considered. It just sort of sits there for a turn. I realize giving it haste would go against its nature, but something about the soul of the plane not doing anything feels strange. This card is a really cool way to demonstrate what you could do with vanilla tribal, but I must call into question that tribal itself. This is a really cool card that works within a restriction in a clever way, but I don’t know if it’s the sort of restriction that’s fun to build around, since it’s focused around either doing nothing to your creatures or making sure what you do is very specifically worded. But as a one-off or a silly commander card, I think this card works just fine.

And there you have it! A mix of different reasons as to why these ended up in the runners-up. I’m happy with how this contest ended up, and you’ll see my comments soon (hopefully today).

-Mod Mr. ShinyObject

#mtg #runners-up #magic the gathering #custom magic card #commentary #inventor's fair #abilities

6 notes · View notes

dean-winchesters-gardian-angel · 4 years ago

Text

The Same Bed - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Word count: 2044

Warnings: Fluff, angst, blood, description of injury, swearing, heated scene, slow burn.

A/N: “Welcome to the end” as chuck so bluntly put it. This is the last chapter of The Same Bed and as exited as I am for the story to conclude and for you all read it, I am as much saddened by its departure. It’s been a highlight of my week. I love Fridays but to me it’s as mch because of the weekend as it is because of my posting the next chapter. You have all been so kind and your reactions to this story are so heartening but alas this is the end. Not to say there wont be more to come ;) So for the last time on The Same Bed; Read it, enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As are all that came before; Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat in the bathroom without a word while Y/N pulled the glass from his palm. The occasional flinch would draw her attention up to his face. His eyes were half-closed all cockiness washed away. This was the Dean no one else got to see. The Dean that was allowed to feel pain even if from the comparatively small cuts on his hand though to anyone else they were considered bad and warranted a visit to the hospitable for stitches. This Dean didn’t use all his energy blocking out natural reaction to stimulus or emotions. This was Y/Ns Dean.

Y/N was delicate as one could be when removing glass from an open wound. She cleaned his lacerations with alcohol holding it over the sink as the reddened liquid pooled in his palm and streamed along his skin, dripping off the back of his hand. She rinsed off his hand and dried it before taking a bandage wrap from the kit and spinning it around his hand. Tapping the ends securely, she looked up at him. Y/N cupped his face urging him to look at her but as a result, Dean squeezed his eyes shut leaning into her hold, before pulling away avoiding her gaze.

“We should go to bed.” Dean nodded acknowledging her whisper. She followed Dean back to his room. He picked up the glass on the floor and nightstand as she watched him from the doorway. She took a step forward.

“You can’t stay here.” Y/N scoffed as Dean hardly even glanced over his shoulder moving the glass into the little garbage can next to the nightstand.

“Why the hell not? I don’t care how much you hate me, Dean, I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t hate you…”

“Seriously? You can’t even look at me god damn it! Dean what have I done to you other than support you! I don’t deserve this! You kick me out! You ignore me! You have no right to treat me this way! I helped with your nightmares! With anything you asked me to and even when you don’t ask me to, I’m there for you Dean! I deserve an explanation! That's the very least I deserve!” Dean spun around quick as a wink. He’s been expecting this but nonetheless hoped they’d manage to avoid it. He had scripted what he’d say though apparently, he subconsciously knew what he truly wanted to say because given the opportunity he went off.

“Because I fell in love with you! I was better off pushing you away and hurting you myself than risk losing you because I was too caught up with loving you. To get distracted and miss something on a hunt! Or have some demon take you and hurt you to get to me! I had to push you away because I fell in love with you!”

“That makes two of us Dean! You think you’re the only one with feelings! You really think pushing me away is going to stop me from getting hurt!? And you’re hardly careless enough to miss something on a hunt because you were distracted by me! Also, how dare you blame me for that Dean, what you’re saying is utter bullshit! God, I just want to punch you right now, knock a little sense in into that brain of yours, you’re being so stupid! You’re also not the only one with enemies! I’ve killed countless demons! Maybe you’ll be the one taken and tortured to get to me huh! Ever think of that! I’m not asking for a goddamn marriage proposal Dean! I want my friend back! I want you back Dean you have no idea how much I miss you!”

“‘That makes two of us?’ You’re in love with me too?” Dean was looking down at his aching palm, holding it in his healthy hand.

“Did you completely ignore everything I just said after that?”

“No, no I heard you, and you’re right. I have no excuse for the way I treated you and you do deserve better. And God did I miss you too. I’m really, truly sorry.”

“Good, you should be.” He could hear the smile on her lips before he looked up to see it. “That’s the most ridiculous reason I’ve ever heard for pushing someone away by the way.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Also, really unfair.” The smile was gone again.

“I know.” She laughed softly.

“Dean you realize I’ve loved you for -- jeez -- for forever. Notice I didn’t push you away when I became aware of it.”

“Forever? Like since we met?”

“Yeah, and I still outlasted you before turning into a complete dick.” Dean chuckled looking up to the women he now openly loved. She had moved closer to him and the door had been closed.

“Yeah, I was really just sick of you being so nice but look at you know.” His words were laced with sarcasm as he smirked, awaiting her reaction.

“Well, you did say you loved me so I guess I can stop now.” She took a step closer just as Dean did.

“It was that spaghetti sauce you made. I love a woman who can cook.” Another step closer.

“That, I must say, is one of your more sexist comments.” She reached for his hips pulling him against her body.

“Well, I guess since I’ve made one, I might as well make another. You’re mine.” His hands came to her cheeks as his eyes bore into her own.

“That’s not sexist, that just possessive.” Y/N had never been one to welcome possession in that way. She was her own person and would be treated as such, but the way Dean said it didn’t imply possession or ownership, it implied protection. He was promising that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and she knew he would.

“I mean it though, you’re mine.”

“As long as you’re mine.” Dean didn’t waste any time, responding with a strong, insistent kiss. His demands were met as she pressed her lips against his. Their moves were synchronized, hands sliding over shoulders and under shirts, feet ambitiously stepping towards the bed, lips sucking on whatever skin they could get at, eyes closed as the verbal communication had been put to a minimum, all words translated into touches. Dean backed his way to the bed dropping his weight gracefully while still holding Y/N as she braced herself on her hands on each side of Dean's shoulders. Y/N moaned into the kiss as she straddled Dean's hips, moving her hand under the hem of his shirt sliding them over his taut torso. They parted, catching their breath as she rested her forehead on his breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut, with a smile.

“Dean.”

“I know,” He opened his eyes brushing her hair from hers to look into them. “hunt tomorrow.” She smiled holding back a giggle.

“I was really hoping you would forget about that and just kiss me again.”

“I still can.” He leaned up capturing her lips with his. “We really should sleep though.”

“I know but,” She kisses him again working her hands over his body “I really don’t want to.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said as he sat up holding her in his lap kissing her once more. “I really, really want to, but there’s this part of me that wants to do this properly.” He brushed more hair from her face to behind her ear cupping her cheek.

“Properly?”

“A date, dinner, a movie maybe.”

She chuckled. “That’s lame. But I accept.”

“You realize you’re the cheese ball romantic who forced me to watch Grease.”

“Not anymore, mister ‘I don’t sleep with a girl before I take her out.’ Also, you love Grease.” He kissed her again acting as though he couldn’t get enough of her, which, had she asked him, was true.

“Sleep then?” She asked.

“Yes, please. Haven’t slept properly in two nights.”

“How’s your hand?” They shuffled around in the bed to be in their respective spots.

“It’ll be fine. Thank you by the way, for taking care of me even when I really didn’t deserve your kindness.”

“Just promise me you won’t push me when I try to help you next time, okay?”

“Nuh-uh, it's my turn to help you.”

“You know,” She lifted her hand for him to take which he did only to pull her over into his arms. “to be fair you had the opportunity to help me a couple of seconds ago, but you turned me down.” There was a smirk on her face as she looked up to him from his chest.

“Oh, don’t you worry your little head about that. I’ll make sure you get all the help you need…and more” He winked at her before kissing the top of her head as they did their collective best to fall asleep.

“Dean?”

“Mmm.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“What are your nightmares about?” There was a substantially long pause in which Y/N considered telling Dean not to worry about telling her if he didn’t want to but he finally answer. Though it was a whisper, it rang through the room being the only sound to be heard.

“They used to be of my mum, or Sammy getting hurt.”

“And now?”

“You.”

“I’m not that scary am I?” Fully aware that that wasn’t why him dreaming of her was scary, Y/N rubbed his chest with her hand in a reassuring manner. She managed to get a chuckle out of him though.

“No…you dying. I’ve lost you thousands of times in thousands of different ways. And I’m never able to save you.” He stopped there fearing he’d sob if he kept going, nevertheless losing the battle against a single tear that ran its path on the side of his face. Y/N turned gently in his grip holding his face against her hand to kiss him tenderly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Winchester… Promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

“Sure, I can. I just did, didn’t I?”

“Y/N—“ “Dean. Stop worrying, just stop. Let it all go. I’m right here, I’m in your arms, alive and safe. Stop worrying about what could happen, be thankful for what you have. With the life we live Dean, it’s the only realistic way of being happy.” Dean took what she said to heart though it would inevitably be hard to follow through.

“I promise to try.”

“That’s all I ask… me huh... you dream about me.” Y/N was flattered though unmistakably hurting on behalf of Dean.

“What can I say, I’m hopelessly devoted to you.”

“I knew you love that movie, and don’t even try to deny it Dean-o”

“Still sounds stupid.” Dean said with his eyes closed referring to his nickname.

“Good” There was a giggle before they settled. With one last kiss she rested her head over his heart and fell asleep closely followed by Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They never go to ‘properly’, instead, agreeing, after a not so long talk, that they had had enough dinners and movie nights to last a lifetime— though they wouldn’t write off their traditional movie night. In reality, they were both too impatient after sleeping in the same bed, the sexual tension had become tangible. They had also come to an agreement to continue sharing the same bed seeing as it was the only way either would sleep properly, holding hands of course. Y/N had gotten hurt on multiple occasions and Dean naturally blamed himself. Meanwhile, Y/N didn’t give in to his behaviour; telling him to grow up and that ‘Shit happens’ as she politely put it before telling Dean to get the first aid kit or back in bed seeing as he always picked the topic back up before going to sleep. Dean had also gotten hurt on several occasions as well, though Y/N would help him without a word. Y/N didn’t care about how many times she would get hurt and Dean was the same with himself. They were both happy at the end of the day, as long as they got to fall asleep in the same bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fin ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning as much as those who have join since; I appreciate you all.

I had so much fun writing this story and even more fun having you read it. I’ve gotten so much love out of writing this and it’s thanks to my readers. So thank you.

Tag List: @akshi8278 @bargedog @just-someone-difficult @mila-dans @valhallavxlkyrie @thoughts-and-funnies

Series Tag List: @autobotgirl15-blog @classyunknownlover @laycblack @lovememisha @music-is-all-i-need @redbarn1995 @wellfuckmyexistence

#fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural masterlist #spn #spn fanfic #SPNFamily #dean winchester #dean #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spnfanficpond #dean fluff #fluff #dean winchester fluff #spn fanfic series #the same bed series

71 notes · View notes

teamhawkeye · 4 years ago

Text

unfiltered and massively spoiler filled thoughts on RE8 below the cut [MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD]:

The Good

The first half of the game

The initial village segment and the castle portion and even “the house in the mist” sections were all pretty taut and well put together. i loved exploring the castle - was more than a little disappointed that you get locked out after Alcina’s boss fight, i didn’t explore it fully D: - and the unexpected terror of Donna’s section really pulled me out of the sense of comfort i had started to fall into, right as i was saying to myself “this hasn’t been scary at all”

The return of some series high notes

Revisiting things in previous Resident Evil games is not always a bad thing. I really enjoyed the return of weapon customization and treasures, those were aspects i enjoyed in RE4 and RE5. The return of the Merchant, in the form of the Duke, was welcome as well. The Duke is a G - he’s a good guy and i respected him most

Graphics, scenery, etc.

It’s a pretty game to look at, there’s no getting around that. I liked the set pieces, especially the Castle portion

Ammo crafting

Now this was something i greatly enjoyed. There are often times you get too much ammo for the gun you use least or you run out of ammo in harder difficulty levels. Being able to collect scrap material and make your own ammo was a very nice addition that i greatly appreciated

The Bad

(some of these are going to be personal opinions about the storytelling and narrative choices, so be prepared for that)

Pacing and direction

RE7 was a return to the series’ “roots”: so back to the footnotes of RE1 and RE2. If that was the case with 7, then RE8 did a speed run of RE3, Code Veronica, RE4, RE5, and RE6 all at once.

I know i said earlier revisiting hallmarks from previous games isn’t a bad thing, and it’s not - but while RE7 did it masterfully with sticking to mainly RE1 and RE2 and pulling in just a few old hallmarks, RE8 went absolutely buck wild in trying to cram in as many past enemy types and encounters as possible. A callback to one standout enemy is one thing, ala the Stalker type that is Mr. X, Nemesis, and Ustanak that Lady Dimitrescu also serves as...but then also the giant water monster from RE4, the Executioner of RE5, the “chainsaw” enemies (here, drills instead) of RE4, RE5, and RE6. hell, even the Lycans after a time started to feel very Las Plagas-esque in their ability to use weapons and track and coordinate. And you can’t tell me you didn’t see very similar designs/similarities between Miranda’s boss battle that you did with Alexia’s in Code Veronica...

The pacing started off solid with the initial few segments, but quickly seemed to lose its footing once it oscillated violently between wildly different styles of play and storytelling and didn’t regain its stride the rest of the game. One moment, it’s classic RE. The next, it’s P.T. + Outlast. The next, back to “a mash up of action and horror, leaning more on action” styles of RE4 + RE5. Then the finale straight up started to feel like an entirely different game before you reached that final boss fight - it felt like i was jerked in one direction one minute, and a completely different one the next

There is a lot of exposition and explaining that doesn’t happen until legit the last 45 or so minutes. Not new for the series to withhold information until the back half of the game, but there was legit almost no build up to the very sudden plot bombs that got dropped successively in the last throes of the story. Previous games rewarded you with fragments at a fairly even pace - i felt like all of RE8′s story gets dropped on you in a single monologue and a handful of notes just before the endgame

I’m not even gonna go that deep into how hard it was to keep up with all the different infection methods the mold managed to have - it was just A Lot and i’ve played a lot of Resident Evil in the past, so i know just how many different ways a single pathogen can have on humans and animals...and it still felt excessive

I honestly felt like the third segment with Moreau wasn’t even necessary. they really played up these “four lords” to not have them do a whole lot of anything. and i know there’s always been mini bosses before you actually reach the final Big Bad, but seriously, Moreau’s segment can be blitzed through in a span of 20 minutes or so first playthrough. the castle segment with Dimitrescu was solid, the house segment with Donna was nightmare fuel, lmfao, but still engaging and challenging. by the time you get to the third and sprint right through, you’re left wondering what the point of it even was. you can tell that was the least cared about narrative arc in the whole story

A giant point of note is that a huge chunk of RE8′s story could have been avoided or altered had Chris just actually fucking spoken to Ethan at the start about what the fuck was going on. And for him not to is completely unlike Chris past RE5 and RE6, that made no narrative sense whatsoever. Just another opportunity to pile on some more trauma and guilt onto Chris’ shoulders by making him “responsible” for Ethan being pushed to far and dying as a result

“Ethan actually ‘died’ when first meeting Jack Baker and was completely taken over by mold, it’s a big secret to everyone but Mia. also, he’s gone too far, there’s no saving him, he had to die”

You’re going to tell me that Ethan still being infected or impacted by the mold from RE7 is some big secret??? did the BSAA not run tests on him and Mia to make sure they were back to normal levels??? how do they not know?!? the government was able to figure out that Sherry’s exposure to the G Virus altered her permanently and study her healing capabilities, how the fuck was that not the same with Ethan???

Also, how is it that the mold’s impact on him is so much higher? he was at the Baker estate for like, 2 days max and while, yes, he did sustain some serious damage, he never fell prey to Eveline’s control and showed absolutely no signs of infection outside of being able to heal/use his hand after it was chopped off. and depending on how you played RE7, the only major injury he sustains aside from probable bruising or broken bones is that hand being cut off as mentioned before

You’re also going to tell me of the number of Resident Evil characters who have been infected with viruses and parasites and what have you and have been cured or had the negative effects negated, Ethan was the only one “too far gone” to be saved??? Jill got infected with T Virus, Claire has been infected by two separate viruses, Leon has survived a parasite infection, both Zoe and Mia were exposed to mold for years and seem to be okay...why is it that Ethan was the only one who couldn’t be saved? because he “died”? how in the world did he get infected so fast - he’d been there an hour, max! - that he was able to be revived in the first place and it wasn’t even noticeable that he had changed at all???

“the BSAA can’t be trusted anymore, they’re involved in shady shit, like deploying bioweapons into battle”

we already went through this a bit back in Revelations 1 with the blackmailed director and double agents. but to full on go “well, the entire organization is now dirty” after it was legit founded by Chris, Jill, and Barry to combat bioterrorism really sits wrong with me. all i can think is that they are running out of villains at this point and now are poising the BSAA to be a Big Bad in the future. which, again, doesn’t sit right with me

Retconning

Tying Ozwell E. Spencer back to Miranda wasn’t such a huge dealbreaker for me, but it is a bit obnoxious to now have to go back and amend “he came up with the idea for Umbrella and its pursuits with Marcus and Ashford, its other founding members” to “well, he didn’t actually come up with the idea for Umbrella and its research with Marcus and Ashford, he already had the idea from his time spent with Miranda uwu”

More so, the retconning around Eveline is a bit of a pain in the ass. So she only came about as a result of Miranda crossing paths with the Connections and giving them some of her mold to work with? And Eveline was only a failed experiment to Miranda in her attempt to be able to transfer her daughter’s essence/subconscious/whatever into a living child? And there are pictures of ‘10 year old” Eveline in Miranda’s possession - how come Evie didn’t have any memory of her at all (speaking of Evie, why the fuck did she appear in 8 briefly as a hallucination [?] to explain to Ethan his condition???)

How are you going to try and tell me that some village from prior to the 19th century was using the “Umbrella” symbol and Spencer just snatched it for himself? that was just stupid, honestly - even more stupid how Ethan didn’t recognize the symbol, despite flying off in a Blue UMBRELLA helicopter at the end of RE7

Mocap and cutscenes

Was it just me or did parts of this game look severely unpolished compared to RE7??? some parts looked good - like the Dimitresus all seemed to be rendered very well. It became very noticeable to me in the back half of the game, mainly with Chris and Mia, but a little with Heisenberg too, where their mouths didn’t match up with the dialogue a lot and they looked a lot less put together than previous scenes and characters. Mia in particular, i was struck by how much better her mocap seemed in RE7 compared to RE8. Maybe because there was a bigger ensemble cast in 8 that they spread themselves a little too thin in that regard?

#i don't know how i feel throwing this in the main tags so i'm only putting my warning on the top of the post and not in the tags

2 notes · View notes

hereisleo · 5 years ago

Text

#2. Tender is the Night

w/ p.sh

g/ steampunk!au

a.n/ here you go, i stayed up too late way too many timea just to write. a dear friend said, the best people are crazy, and i’m crazy

t.w/ cursing, mild violence, human savagery (?)

recommended playlist:

The Fiechters - The Resistance // Illusions and Smoke

Austin Wintory - So Much for a House Call

A curt apology was the only thing Seonghwa gave to his dance partner as he hurriedly led her to safety. The clanking of steels of the mechanical knights and the alarm sirens filled his ears. His eyes scanned the ballroom, the War Child who stood gallantly by the door moments ago had disappeared. These bastards. Of course, they would leave him to do damage control. He continued shepherding the guests to the train platform connected to the palace. He ground his teeth at a particular hard stomp on his foot. Where’s the damn train? The knights lined the edge of the platform when the chugging of the train travelled closer. All good and now all he had to do was get out of the premises undetected. He slipped back into the ballroom, ducking behind pillars and staying as soundless as possible with his breathing and footfalls. He only got himself to manoeuvre the escape and in all honesty, he was glad about it.

Seonghwa almost froze at the sharp scraping of metal against metal behind him. If it wasn’t for the survival instinct kicking in and surging him forward into a tuck and roll, his head would be rolling on the floor right now. For someone who wasn’t from the military branch, he was proud to be able to recall the training the War Child put him through. He didn’t look back as he ran from the pursuing knight. He thought fast on his feet, he couldn’t outlast the machine behind him but he could outsmart it. Seonghwa unclipped the pocket watch from his jacket, the familiar weight and feel of the compass etching was comforting but it was time to say goodbye. His thumb held down the release button until the clockwork contraption grew hotter and hotter to the point where his palm was almost seared and he let go when the steel alloy shifted in his hand. A small clockwork dragon unfurled mid-air and flew clumsily to latch on his finger. He would be more endeared and awed if it wasn’t for the suit of armour gaining on him. With little hesitation, Seonghwa flung the miniature dragon to knight behind him, he heard the collision the mechanical beast made and its indignant squeaky roar then an explosion. The knight was closer than he expected. He was thrown forward by the force of the blast, landing hard on his side and head hitting the floor, ears ringing and sight hazy.

He heard the distant clanking of metals approaching and a pair of loafers stopping short in front of him, he craned his head up and at that moment he never felt fear so profoundly. The chilly slate grey of his father’s eyes ripped his soul, “Take him to the dungeon.” Seonghwa knew no more when two knights hoisted him up and another one knocked him out cold.

It was his burning side that brought Seonghwa to consciousness. His throbbing shoulders was the second thing he registered. He was on his knees with his arms chained above him. I’m fucked. His throat and lips were dry, how long had he been kept in the filthy cell? The sneering of inmates in the neighbouring cell yanked his wandering soul back inside him. “Look at that, the noble finally awake,” and, “If it wasn’t for these bars, I would use him silly until he begs for death,” and another, “What pretty hair, I want to skin that golden locks for myself.” Seonghwa realised he lived a rather sheltered life, he took the verbal abuses quietly. Wait. Golden locks? The glamour charm was still working. Ironic, he probably looked unbelievably worse for wear once the charm disintegrated. None of them knew his identity and neither did his father. A shot of hope ran through him before it was squashed. He was not going to die if he could get out of the restrain but alas until someone came along and released him, he might as well either die from infection, dehydration or dysentery, or all of the above. The dungeon was a place few visited and ever fewer survivors.

The chains rattled above him as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position, no such luck, his shoulders, back and ribs screamed in protest and Seonghwa winced. A resigned sigh escaped his mouth, the wooden slab on the corner of his cell mocked him. Foul words dripped off his tongue, his father would strike him for such improper language for a man of his calibre. The inmates laughed, “Such filthy words from a pretty boy like you!” Their mouth snapped shut when the brushing of metal plates was audible. Those damned scraps of metal! But Seonghwa thought wrong when giggles erupted from the far end of the hallway, “Good to see you too! I came to save you but here you are ready to curse me into the next century.” The light steps and lithe figure of the Unchained came into his view. Seonghwa would bet his position that behind the mask the Unchained was wearing, there was his signature Cheshire smirk. It sometimes made Seonghwa wonder why the Unchained wasn’t coded as the Fox yet it was exactly times like this he knew why the man in front of him kept the title.

Seonghwa exhaled, his sight started to blur again, whatever adrenaline his body built up in between when he came to consciousness to this second dissipated. Perhaps it was the knowledge he was safe now or his ailment caught up. Regardless, the Unchained noticed his less favourable condition and didn’t waste time into unlocking the cell, a halberd shaped key latched into the keyhole and disengaged the electrical currents within the bars. “Let’s get you out of here.” The Unchained did a quick job on his restraints and manoeuvred him on to the strong back of his fox-esque saviour. He groaned in pain and gave up on trying to stay awake. “It’s alright, you can sleep.”

When Seonghwa opened his eyes again, the stonewall of the infirmary in the Resistance’s operation base welcomed him. A sharp intake of breath perked his attention, he titled his head to the side. The Street Rat was seated on the armchair next to his bed, the grey eyes watching him with an unreadable countenance. The exact shade of grey the Heir, the War Child and he possessed. The silence was thick between them, the ticking of the clock the Inventor created filled the stillness. The Street Rat dragged his chair closer, hand reaching out to hold Seonghwa. “Three days. You were gone for almost three days. I thought you died.” The tremble in the Street Rat’s voice was apparent and Seonghwa squeezed the hand in his grip as reassurance. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere until we see this through,” he croaked out, throat parched. For someone who walked on eggshells around him, he didn’t expect the show of vulnerability. He didn’t think he deserved such trust from the Street Rat considering the past they shared that had broken the trust between them even if Seonghwa wasn’t directly involved. Anger and grudge, the Street Rat held them well, it might as well be half of the driving force in the Resistance.

An apology was at the tip of his tongue but the Street Rat beat him to it, “I’m sorry.” It pained his heart to see such hurt in the other’s eyes. His childhood friend who willingly caused some trouble with him to alleviate the burden they carried as children in the nobility and here they were together again, mending their bond slowly but surely. Seonghwa knew the moment of weakness was humiliating for the Street Rat and he did what he did best to lighten the mood, “If you’re sorry then get me water, you bastard.” Choked laughter rang in the infirmary, eyes shining with unshed tears. It would alright, they would be alright. Seonghwa listened aptly as the Street Rat explained the details of their accelerated plan. A nagging feeling of something was amiss bloomed.

<<previous

ateez main masterlist | wt: masterlist

37 notes · View notes

clintbartonswife · 5 years ago

Text

singing softly

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes Summary: 5 times Bucky sang to Steve + one time Steve returned the favour Notes: (minor) character death, mentions of illness, Made for @panicfob anniversary challenge, with the prompt “Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt.” List of songs at the end:) masterlist

1. (1925)

Wet coughs were muffled with small, pale hands.

Bucky had been there since early morning, ever since the news had spread that the Roger’s boy was sick again, only ever letting go of Steve’s hand to wet the rag that he gently wiped across the blond’s sweaty forehead.

Sarah looked in on the two silently from the doorway, eyes creasing in concern for her only child. He had caught the flu again, the cold weather outside grating on his fragile lungs more than he could handle.

But Bucky, the boy was a mystery to Sarah. Ever since they had met two years ago, the eight-year-olds had been inseparable, much to her surprise. Bucky was a tall, strong boy, and most like him had shunned Steve for his small and sickly nature. Not Bucky. No, that seemed to make the brunet almost more protective of Steve than he was his sisters, always saving his from playground fights.

“Of all the money that e'er I spent, I spent it in good company”

Sarah blinked out of her thoughts as Bucky’s soft voice broke the silence, the boy focusing solely on Steve as he stroked his hair out of his face, one pale hand moving to rest over Bucky’s chest.

“And all the harm that ever I did, Alas it was to none but me”

He was feeling the vibrations, Sarah figured, a small smile pulling at her lips as she watched them. A bond that close was all she could ever wish for her child. It would outlast her, that she was sure of.

2. (1933)

The funeral was a quiet affair.

Sarah Roger’s friends from church attended the ceremony, along with a few of the nurses who shared her shift and - of course - the Barnes family. Steve was sure they had been giving him their regards, but he heard none of them.

He just stood there, staring as the coffin was lowered gently into the grave, yearning to hold Bucky’s hand.

Later that night, back in the too-empty apartment, Bucky held him to his chest as they lay together in bed, running a soothing hand up and down the smaller man’s back.

“She’s gone”

He sounded so desolate, so hopeless, that it almost made Bucky cry. The brunet just murmured his acknowledgement, tightening his hold even more.

“It hurts. I - Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt”

Bucky’s heart squeezed painfully, his hand moving to cup the back of Steve’s neck, “Just keep breathing” he eventually said, “It doesn't ever go away but I’ll be here to help lessen it every day - I promise”

Steve just nodded, letting silence fall over them again for a few more minutes.

“Buck” Steve whispered, forehead resting against his collarbone, “sing for me?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before clearing his throat,

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling-”

As Bucky’s soothing voice filled the room, Steve began to gently sob, the Irish melody easing the pain in his chest, even if only for a moment. He stayed wrapped in strong arms the whole time, the feeling of safety and protection only growing as his crying began to fade out.

Bucky watched him with soft eyes, hands moving upwards to stroke through his hair as the younger boy began to doze off to the sound of his voice.

“For you shall bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me”

The tell-tale sounds of Steve’s relaxed breathing made Bucky smile, glad that the distraught boy had finally managed to fall asleep.

3. (1937)

“C’mon Stevie” Bucky groaned, collapsing onto the sofa, “it’s your birthday, we gotta do something!”

Steve smirked at the bratty behaviour, crossing his arms, “We don't gotta do anything, Buck”

“But it’s your 21st!” Bucky said, waving his arms around as if the notion was ridiculous, “It’s a special one! Anything you want - just say it and we’ll do it”

Steve raised an eyebrow, steeping in-between Bucky’s legs, gaining the brunet’s attention.

“Anything?”

Bucky nodded hesitantly, eyes darkening as he watched Steve lean down so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Dance with me. Just us, in this apartment” he said simply, “That’s what I want”

“You’re a tease Steven Rogers” Bucky grinned, jumping up off of the sofa with joyful exuberance before offering the shorter boy his hand, “Would you do m the honour of dancin’ with me?”

Steve chuckled, quickly walking over to set the needle on the bust-up grammar phone before heading back to Bucky, accepting his hand.

The two swayed gently to the soft tones of Billie Holiday ‘If You Were Mine’, Steve’s head moving to rest gently on the dip of Bucky’s collar bone, a place Bucky had secretly reserved for him.

Roughly halfway through the song, Steve closed his eyes, the vibrations of Bucky singing along to the music creating a unique comforting sensation that he wished he could save forever.

“If you were mine, I would live for your love alone”

The atmosphere changed as Bucky’s cheek moved to rest against the top of Steve’s head, the words resonating with the two young men more than they thought was possible.

“To kneel at your shrine, I would give up all that I own”

Steve moved then, tilting his head up so that their noses were only a breaths-width away from touching.

“Buck-”

Before he could voice his thoughts, Bucky’s lips were connecting with his, soft and slow, their bodies still swaying slowly in time to the music.

“Even my life, I’d trade it all for you, And think I was lucky too, If you were mine”

4. (1940)

“Buck?”

The apartment was quiet - too quiet for Steve’s liking - especially as Bucky should’ve come home from the docks an hour ago. Frowning, Steve carried on walking to the kitchen, only to find an ashen-faced Bucky clutching a letter in his hand.

“Buck?” Steve repeated, his voice seemingly snapping the brunet out of his stupor.

“Oh - sorry, doll. I didn't hear you come in” Bucky said, shoving the letter in his pocket and standing up to pull Steve into a hug, hands still shaking slightly, “Must’ve overworked myself today at the docks”

Steve accepted the hug, trying his best to soothe his boyfriend, before pulling back just enough to see his face.

“What’s this really about?”

The older man’s face dropped, releasing a wavering sigh before sitting down heavily on one of the dining chairs, gesturing for Steve to do the same. He pulled out the letter from before and passed it to Steve, eyes full of barely-restrained dread.

“I don't understand -” Steve said, looking over the letter, before a icy dagger of fear went through his chest, “Oh Bucky”

“I’ve been drafted” he said, voice tight, “Sargent Barnes of the 107th”

“I - I’ve got to - to sign up. I’ll come with you”

“Steve no-”

“I’ll go to the pop-up, down by the bakers - tomorrow. We can - we can figure this out”

By now he was sounding hysterical even to himself, Bucky moving out of his chair to kneel in front of Steve, taking his hands in his own.

“No, Steve. No. I need you to be safe. Please. At least when I have to go I’ll do it knowing I’ll be keeping you safe”

That finally ripped a sob from Steve, who shook his head madly and gripped onto his hands even tighter.

“How long?”

“Two weeks and I’m off to England”

Another sob was torn from Steve’s throat, Bucky quickly moving to wrap Steve in up his arms, cradling his small body and rocking back and forth. At a loss of what else to do, Bucky wiped his own tears from his eyes before shakily beginning to sing one of their favourite songs.

“Till the end of time, long as stars are in the blue, long as there’s a spring, a bird to sing, I’ll go on loving you”

Steve shifted in his lap, pressing his cheek firmly to Bucky’s chest as his sobbing died down slightly, moving his arms to wrap around Bucky’s waist.

“You promise?”

His voice was quiet, almost reluctant, muffled against the scratchy material of Bucky’s work shirt. Nevertheless, Bucky caught it, immediately halting his singing and moving Steve so that they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“Promise Stevie, no one’s ever gonna replace you”

“And you’ll come home?”

“I’ll fight like hell to”

5. (1941)

“We can take a break here for a few hours, tend to the wounded” Steve announced, “We should be far away enough by now”

Bucky felt like he was going insane. He should be dead, strapped to that medical table, yet here he is, following Steve - his Stevie - out of hell, while he looks like he’s been pumped with a thousand different kinds of steroids.

A light pressure on his back moved him away from the mass of soldier’s, the smell reassuring him that he was safe, that it was just Steve.

“You okay Buck?”

He scoffed, looking up - he had to look up - to meet his eyes, “I don't think I’m the one who should be answering that question right now”

“Buck-”

“You promised me you’d stay home, Stevie”

“If I had you could’ve died in there -”

“At least you would’ve been safe!”

The blond dropped his head in defeat, his whole body radiating his silent apology.

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing you were fighting out here while I was just sat at home”

A bitter chuckle, hand reaching up to cup the side of his neck, “You’ve never been able to do that, huh”

“I knew I couldn't let you fight alone, Buck” Steve admitted quietly, still looking down, “And I’m glad I didn't. Seeing you on that table-”

“I know” Bucky breathed, pulling the blond into a firm hug - the most he could do while they were this much in the open, “we’ll talk more when we get back to base, okay?”

Steve just nodded, straightening his posture before stepping out of the hug, his Captain persona firmly back on.

“I can wait”

Roughly 12 hours later, the rag-tag group arrived back to camp to cheers of ‘Captain America!’, a very pretty brunette (that Bucky was not jealous of at all) greeting Steve with a proud smile.

By the time they were allowed to go to the barracks - ‘Bucky’s staying with me, sir, he was in bad shape and I’d like to keep an eye on him’ - the older man was well and truly exhausted.

“So - Peggy”

Steve sighed, running his hands over his face dramatically, “It’s not like that”

“Sure pal”

“No. Really” Steve insisted, grabbing Bucky’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet, “It’s not like that”

Bucky hummed, climbing into the bed with a well-practice air of blasé.

“Buck, I swear it” Steve said, voice quiet, “I missed you so much”

“You wouldn’t have to hide with her”

“What?”

“Peggy. You wouldn't have to hide with Peggy”

A small sad sound came from behind him, followed by a sudden shoot of movement as Steve climbed on to the bed with Bucky, his newly-enlarged form swamping the man with his hug as he was pulled into a strong chest.

“But I don't love her. I love you, you know this”

As soon as the first tear escaped Bucky’s eye he knew he was fucked, his hand reaching up to gran on to Steve’s arm.

“I don't know what they did to me Steve. I don't - I don't know what they did and I don't know if I can protect you anymore”

“You don't need to protect me anymore” the blond said, truthfulness radiating from every pore, “I can help myself now. We can protect each other”

Another muffled sob. Bucky wiggled around in Steve’s arms so that they were face-to-face, his hand resting on his cheek.

“I love you so much”

“I love you too”

“Punk”

“Jerk”

The two of them lied there, entwined in each other’s arms as Bucky’s cries slowly died down.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed your singing” Steve admitted, “the apartment was too quiet without it”

Bucky huffed a laugh, readjusting himself so that he was facing Steve head-on.

“If you wanted me to sing all you had to do was ask, you punk”

Steve let out a soft giggle, tears welling in his eyes as Bucky began to sing, his voice softer than normal.

“How much do I love you? I'll tell you no lie, How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?”

+1 (2015)

Steve had finally found him. Bucky was home.

Well - not home - both of them had lost their homes years ago, but together, as bruised and broken as they might be. And for now? That was enough.

“Steve?”

Bucky’s monotone voice broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the apartment, the blond’s head whipping around to face him. Seeing he had his attention, Bucky continued.

“Did you ever sing to me?”

The question sent Steve’s stomach plunging, a small flicker of hope blooming in his chest at the slightly wrong memory.

“No, but you used to sing to me all the time” Steve said, shuffling slightly closer to Bucky, watching as his eyes lit up with the confirmation, “you used to do it to calm me down when I was stressed or upset”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip thoughtfully.

“Could you - could you sing something for me?”

His voice was soft and unsure, the timid expression something Steve was reluctant to say he was now used to seeing on Bucky’s face.

“If you really want me to I will - but I’m nowhere near as good as you”

“I’m sure that's not true” Bucky said, smiling as he relaxed marginally into his seat.

Steve fidgeted in his seat as he wondered what to sing, his mind going back to the first time Bucky sang to him. A small smile flitted across his face at the memory, deciding the on the old melody.

“Of all the money that e'er I spent, I spent it in good company“

Bucky let out a soft noise, peacefulness oozing from him as he completely relaxed in his seat, letting Steve’s voice drown out the rest of his thoughts.

“And all the harm that ever I did, Alas it was to none but me”

Steve watched Bucky raptly, searching for any spark of recognition.

“And all I've done for want of wit, To memory now I can't recall”

Steve’s next words died in his throat as Bucky opened his mouth, the smooth voice he had been yearning to hear suddenly filling the room.

“So fill to me the parting glass, Good night and joy be with you all”

The two men fell silent, seemingly at a standstill while Bucky digested the new memories. Steve held his breath, hope now beating ceaselessly against his ribs.

“Stevie”

It was just a breath, no louder than an feather falling to the ground, but Steve knew.

Bucky remembered.

_______________________________________________________________

@patzammit @geeksareunique @xxloki81xx @bangtan-serendipity

Songs:

1. The Parting Glass

2. Danny Boy by Frederic Weatherly

3. If You Were Mine by Billie Holiday

4. Til the end of time by Les Brown

5. How Deep Is The Ocean by Irving Berlin

+1 The Parting Glass

84 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 3 years ago

Text

Of robins, but feared to the wood

Whom has he Wrongd to draw fresh hope, to that is finds, and in some Expedient Son were immortal soul of Petrarch which make my Powers all. Alas, but more pitied with all things, in a new; and other shall cease— Belindas Laws confessed, and forbid

thats a Monarchs End. Too high! Where soft Muses you charming features a reformadoes, pass of death, while, with the trembles all we moderns equal and perfumed― the paraphrases will bid some descent, to the wood, that none enough;

be her an ungrateful ground, or by the blade return, “twould round the sex will the daisy amusd my tears for he won, all deckt with so much renown, and forms them as hopelessly brought. Live and somewhat boots the rest; for

such affronts the Sylph embracd; where enter, Cymon was it may blush, but who hating Throng, unmoord our heads Images,) but still was bent to arrive the Regal Circle of noble birds twitter,” in the Nosegay in

which when your bellies sake long fame, but as it outlasts of life, “ but if they will. Who but one, the woody hollows of Rest? And breast expense. Of the comfort in her fabric that hill be cast, where was a

pitch beyond what Im too qualified Aurora, in sight (for I would make it on each, with Conquest for him his Tribes each simplicity indeed a gently his Truth, and break in then, on ever; the vessel bear

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #145 texts

1 note · View note

keyofjetwolf · 5 years ago

Text

GIFTENING Bonus Rounds

For each category, I included a “bonus round” question. YOU GUYS KILLED IT. I loved all the answers, but listed below are some of my particular favourites.

Haruka Tenoh is trapped in the wrong anime! Which would you have her visit next?

I want her to earth shake Kyubey out of existence, please and thank you

My bride is a mermaid. She can relate. :P

i think she would THRIVE in bodacious space pirates. gay teenage space pirates whose job is to dress up, be Dramatic, and rob the wealthy??? that shit is RIGHT up her alley

Hamtaro

Princess Tutu - where the world is finally as dramatic as her

PGSM (and Michiru is trapped with her, for REASONS)

Pokemon because everyone deserves to be happy

Any moe-style series so hijinks can ensue at her being baffled by everyone's ages

1960's Speed Racer

is is this a captcha or something i missed oh god

Free! so she can be indifferent to all the hot men and slightly uncomfortable because she still can't swim.

Stick Haruka in a Gundam!

Dump her in Pretear or one of the Precures! It would be hilarious! She's never in the genre she wants to be!

Revolutionary Girl Utena, so she can be offended by misuse of roses.

Initial D, she will out-drive and out-drift all those guys and steal all their girls.

Evangelion. I would feel bad to watch her suffer, but it would be so, so funny for her to be the comparatively most normal person around.

Yakitake Japan! SO SHE CAN HAVE A SNACK OF DELICIOUS RIDICULOUS BREAD BEFORE THE NEXT INTERDIMENSIONAL ANIME STORM WHISKS HER AWAY.

The Holograms or the Misfits? DISCUSS

Holograms

both? both. BOTH IS GOOD

misfits bc Evil Ladies Hot

Steven and the stevens

Misfits. How dare you make us try to think about anything in our lives.

Both, you mad fool. Those combined songs were the best.

The Misfits, their songs are better

The Misgrams: A group of girls who form a singing telegram start up company, but constantly deliver the telegrams to the wrong people.

kimber & stormer

Neither. Limp Lizards all the way. BROKEN GLASS.

I do not know what these things are

Misfits because guitar motorcycle

The Isle of Misfit Holograms

Holograms is just arguably better

I mean, I’m told the Misfits’ songs are better, but my true answer is the band Kimber and Stormer made in that big gay episode you liveblogged (checks) almost four years ago.

I've no idea what these words mean and I hope this does not make me TOO uncool.

this is about jem, right? right?? im hip i swear

Misfits, because Jasper is a member apparently

I don't know from Jem, but I mean...I certainly prefer holographic material to Glenn Danzig? So I guess there's your answer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Stingers

LIMP LIZARDS FOREVER

Senshi Band

You can make me liveblog a full series of any show you want! You also hate me. What do you have me watch?

Pick a GoT rip-off, any GoT rip-off

The Bachelor?

The Bachelor :(

depends on how much i hate you, but....probably the bachelor. quantity AND lack of quality

Critical role, it would take forever

If I were a horrible person who sought only malice? Big Bang Theory. Entire series.

Toddlers and Tiaras

The Mandalorian - Disney would come after you and kill keyofjetwolf just as dead as keyofnik. We would all be very sad, you would have to go through a second round of restoring things to a new tumblr account, and your organizational heart would weep over adding yet another hosting site out of chronological order.

You are liveblogging Eva, and must discuss in full detail Shinji's emotional state at all times.

Hannity & Colmes

The Kardashians. And all of their spin offs. *kisses*

The price is right

the bachelor

Probably something with lots of romance and no friendships. Soap operas are like that, right? My college roommate used to watch General Young Light Restless Hospital of Our Lives (which one had Like and Laura?) And it was torture.

One Piece, because it's over 900 episodes so you could maybe do 10% before you die, also you will hate how the women are treated most of the time.

Fushigi Yuugi. Not only do you hate it but it also comes with you squirming when you admit to watching the whole thing. ;)

Plus belle la vie. It's an ongoing French soap opera that has been airing five days a week since 2004, they're nearing their 4000th episode and there's no end in sight. Imagine all those hours upon hours submerged in French drama, mwahahaha!!

The Bachelor. Or the Bachelorette, maybe - more straight dudes in that.

The Young and the Restless - IT IS THE LIVEBLOG THAT NEVER ENDS. IT WOULD OUTLAST THE INTERNET.

The entirety of the Bachelor franchise.

You can only play one game for the rest of your life. Which game would it be and why?

Kingdom Hearts Complete Collection. A) I love them. B) I beat the system and get like 10 games instead of one.

Gemcraft. This game actually takes a lifetime to finish.

Hatoful Boyfriend. It is the best game ever created. Feel it in your heart.

that's a mean question and you can't make me answer it

Pathfinder, which you could play for the rest of your life and still never finish.

Civ VI , so I can rule the world without leaving my house.

I am legitimately perturbed by this question and refuse to answer it.

Pokemon Go. I would have nothing else, but I would catch them all.

The Elder Scrolls Skyrim: I'll never run out of side-quests.

Mass Effect--it's the only way I'll get full completion.

The dinosaur game on Chrome when the internet doesn't connect because my life is monotonous and it's a welcome relief.

Stardew Valley. Peaceful farmer life and turning my children into doves when I'm bored with them.

Crabs Adjust Humidity

Oh my! A number of things come to mind, not one of them fit for print. Just, you know...*gestures vaguely* sex shit.

I can't even stick to the ones I play now.

This is the worst of all possible things and I refuse to answer.

Monopoly, I hate myself :(

Probably Minecraft! I haven't gotten into it because I know if I start I will NEVER STOP. Who would do things like build a hundred foot tall statue of Mako-chan? A-THAT'D BE ME.

the game. Of LIFE! *shrug emoji*

I don't believe I'll tell you, because I AM a salty little fish and it was HARD to cut that 11th choice off my vote.

Holligay and I are going to be the leads in a new buddy film. What's the premise? How does it end?

Be gay do crimes. Thelma and Louise. Duh. :P

I have no idea but only just surviving disaster is how it ends.

You break down in a small town during a roadtrip- your stay is full of hijinks and ends with you teaching the townsfolk the true meaning of friendship.

Doctor Holligay, Esquire, PhD, renowned Jewish femme of many talents, is assigned one Operative Jet Wolf as her bodyguard on a foreign diplomatic mission/vacation/culinary tour of the world ("same difference, shut up, narrator"). One problem: Operative Wolf needs a bodyguard herself, as the good doctor discovers when in one night her toilet is destroyed ("IT WAS A SECURITY THREAT") and Operative Wolf nearly breaks a leg falling down a small set of stairs ("THEY PUT A CLIFF OUTSIDE THE DOOR"). Worldwide shenanigans ensue as Holligay and Operative Wolf learn the true meaning of friendship, and also how to take care of themselves... by taking care of each other.

I’m not sure about the premise, but DEFINITELY it ends in murder.

Someone posted a major spoiler during one of your liveblogs. The two of you track them down seeking revenge. It turns out it was the original creator of the series trying to stop you. For some reason Holligay is a CGI badger.

It's clearly a buddy cop movie, and like all good buddy cop movies, it ends with Doc almost dying, and you saving her, and slapping her wound in the hospital as the credits roll.

It ends as it began: with Holligay roasting you.

A straight detective and her lesbian partner have to solve the case of the missing cinnamon buns. It ends with nobody getting the guy OR the girl and you drive off into the sunset together, perps behind bars sans cinnamon buns.

I don't know what it's about but I know it will be the only movie that ever existed.

Holligay is the lesbian chief of staff to you somehow being elected President and she's basically running the country while you're the charming face of the administration

Nerd and cowgirl meet at a bar, justifyingly murder some gross dude, go on the run from the law and have a life-changing road trip, on the way Nazis are punched

carrying a delicate object through a forest after your helicopter goes down

Thelma and Louise, but instead of dying, your deaths are clearly faked and you live on a ranch in Montana with your respective spouses and animals. One time a cop comes by the restaurant/bar you joint own with Doc and says, "You look familiar." Doc, in perfect lesbian, answers, "Jet's just got that criminal look, on account of how much she'd love to steal my cheesecake recipe. More pie?"

Queer Eye with a Straight Goy. The two of you do the show but in your own special ways.

Doc Holligay is the wild-west no-nonsense sheriff. Jet Wolf is the all-fun cyberpunk cop from the future. They punch nazis and argue about food. It ends as a tv series ala B99.

Your lives are already a buddy film, don’t get greedy.

Hands and socks. You know how it ends.

See Grumpy Old Men for details. How does it end? Badly.

I can't imagine the premise, but I'm pretty sure the planet explodes.

A Coen Bros film. It ends poorly.

Wait? You're not already living this now?

REI HINO

Sure. Why not?

HINO REI

<3<3<3<3

REI HINO!

Rei who? ;)

REI HINOOOOOOOOO

Plush Is being hugged by Zoisite in your banner.

MINAKO AINO

MAKOTO KINO

The best

SOCKS

MICHIRU KAIOH

It's time tooo.... REI! THAT! HINO!