#it all seems to blend together but the only two screenshots that come at the same place in the story is the jmn house moment! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilmisssona · 2 months ago

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꥟˚｡Love Unexpected ꥟˚｡

꥟˚｡Pairing - Lee Know × Fem Reader

꥟˚｡Plot - Two years after a horrible accident, YN is left paralyzed but secretly finds purpose in a quiet job. The stranger who saved her life reappears unexpectedly at her workplace, stirring emotions and memories she thought were buried. Their fateful encounter raises questions about second chances and unspoken connections.

꥟˚｡Genre - Angst, Trauma, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff

꥟˚｡Warnings - Mention of accident, blood, trauma, paralysis, anxiety, insecurities of yn, mention of the word gore, hurt to comfort, au, non idol au, Strangers to lovers au

꥟˚｡Word Count - 10.8 K ꥟˚｡Screenshot Count - 4

꥟˚｡A/N - Staymas Episode 2 is here! Dive into Y/N’s emotional journey of healing and rediscovery after life-altering events, and witness how Minho’s unwavering love and support become her guiding light. A story of resilience, love, and finding hope again. ( Inspired by Japan's Dawn Robo Cafe for disabled workers ) It's just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂‍↕️

꥟˚｡SKZ Masterlist ꥟˚｡Staymas Masterlist

The neon lights of Tokyo stretched endlessly, their vibrant colors blending together in the misty evening air. As you hurried down the crowded sidewalk, your breath formed small clouds, visible in the crisp chill of early winter. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, creating mirrors that reflected the glow of countless shop signs, vending machines, and the steady stream of passing cars. The city felt alive, buzzing with energy, but all you could focus on was the time ticking away. You were late…again.

“They’re going to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the straps of your bag like a lifeline. You had promised to be on time for the movie night, yet here you were, rushing through the streets twenty minutes after it had already started. The culprit? A last-minute customer at the café, who wanted all of the last stock left for the puddings.

Your phone vibrated incessantly in your pocket, no doubt another flurry of teasing texts from your friends. They loved to give you a hard time for always being late, and this would only add to their ammunition. You didn’t dare check the messages yet; it would only slow you down.

The crosswalk ahead blinked green just as you reached it. A small blessing. Without hesitation, you broke into a jog, your footsteps echoing faintly against the damp asphalt. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest as your mind scrambled to come up with a plan.

"Should I bring snacks to make up for it?" you thought, already considering a detour to the nearest convenience store. "Maybe that’ll soften the blow. But what if they’re already too annoyed to let me in?"

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly typed out a message to your friends, asking if they wanted anything specific. Your thumb hovered over the send button when a sharp, blaring horn shattered your concentration.

The world seemed to freeze.

Your head snapped up, and your eyes locked onto a truck barreling toward you, its headlights glaring like twin suns cutting through the darkness. Time moved in slow motion as panic gripped your entire body. Instinctively, your legs pushed you forward, trying desperately to cross the street, but it was too late.

This can’t be happening.

The impact came like a thunderclap, a brutal force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain exploded through your body as you were flung backward. The world spun wildly,a chaotic blur of neon lights, muffled screams, and the distant screech of tires. When your body finally hit the ground, the cold, unforgiving pavement sent a jolt through you.

You tried to breathe, but each inhale was shallow and sharp, like your ribs were made of glass. Every part of you ached, your arms, your chest, your head. But what terrified you most was the eerie numbness in your lower body.

Your legs.

You tried to move them, but they wouldn’t respond. Panic clawed at your throat as the realization sank in. Something was horribly wrong.

Before your mind could spiral further, you felt a pair of strong arms scoop you up from the pavement. Warmth flooded over you as your cheek pressed against someone’s chest.

His scent-woodsy, clean, and faintly familiar,calmed you in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice deep and steady, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion.

You squinted, trying to focus on his face, but the pounding in your skull blurred your vision. All you could make out was the faint outline of his jaw and the shadows of his features against the streetlights. It seemed like you've seen him before, but where ?

“Who… who are you?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with pain and fear.

“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle but urgent. He shifted you slightly in his arms, cradling you as if you were made of glass.

“My… my legs,” you stammered, tears spilling over as you struggled to get the words out. “I can’t… feel them.”

His grip on you tightened just slightly, a quiet curse escaping under his breath. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”

The sound of approaching sirens grew louder, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Each step he took was deliberate and steady, as if he was determined to keep you safe no matter what.

Your vision blurred as the voices of the paramedics grew louder, their words a distant hum against the roaring chaos of your mind. The relentless pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed you, lulling you into a deep, heavy sleep. The darkness took hold, pulling you further away from reality.

The last sensation you felt before slipping into unconsciousness was his hand,warm, firm, and undeniably reassuring, gently squeezing yours. His voice followed, low and steady, like a lifeline in the storm.

"You're going to be okay."

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Two years had passed since that fateful evening.

Minho stepped off the bustling train platform in Tokyo, the city’s vibrant energy hitting him like a wave. It was a stark contrast to the quieter streets of Seoul, where he'd spent the last couple of years, working tirelessly to climb the ranks at his job. And now, he was back in Tokyo, taking on a new position. Not even two weeks into the job, and already, he found himself buried in meetings and overwhelmed by tight deadlines, leaving him exhausted.

One evening, with no work to occupy his mind, Minho decided to take a stroll around the city to clear his thoughts. The cold December air hit him sharply as he stepped out of his apartment, but there was something in the atmosphere that urged him to walk. Whistling a soft tune, he wandered through his neighborhood, which, to his surprise, was unusually quiet even in the early evening hues of 6 pm. Of course, people were likely busy, either shopping for the holidays, nestled in the warmth of their homes, or working, just as he had done for most of his days.

After hours of aimless walking, he found himself on a street that seemed strangely familiar. At first, he couldn’t place the memory, but as the traffic light turned green and he crossed the street, it hit him like a truck. This was the same street where the accident had occurred,the one where he had saved that woman….

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Two years ago, Minho's friends were having a get-together, and he had one simple task: bring dessert. Yet, as always, he had forgotten. Panic set in as he rushed through the streets, desperately searching for any café or restaurant still open that evening. Unfortunately, the city seemed to have shut down after 8 PM. He ran through neighborhood after neighborhood, street after street, but every café he passed was dark and locked up tight.

Finally, in the last neighborhood, feeling defeated, he was about to turn back when a soft glow from an establishment caught the corner of his eye. It looked like a café from a distance. His legs moved automatically in that direction, hoping, praying they still had any desserts left. Huffing and puffing, he pushed through the door, the sudden entrance startling the woman who was packing up some boxes for closing.

"Sorry," Minho said, breathless as he approached the counter.

"We’re about to close, sir," she replied, her voice distant, her attention still on the boxes.

"I’m so sorry for barging in last minute," he blurted out in a rush. "I completely forgot to bring dessert to a get-together with my friends, and every café in the neighborhood seems to be closed. If it’s possible, could you sell me any puddings you have left? I’ll take them all and be on my way."

He spoke so quickly that he almost didn’t pause for a breath, but still, she didn’t look up. The sincerity in his voice, however, seemed to reach her, and she paused her work, glancing up at him. She walked over to the counter, her gaze softening as she met his eyes.

"We’re closing, sir. I don’t think it’s possible," she said gently, though there was a hint of regret in her voice.

Minho felt a pang of disappointment but couldn’t help but notice how sweet her voice was, like honey. He blushed, and the warmth spread across his cheeks as he looked back at her. "I’m so sorry, I humbly request just a couple. I’ll pay, and I’ll be out of your way, I promise. It won’t take long."

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From the woman’s perspective:

The man in front of her looked to be about the same age, his face a perfect mix of soft features and a sharp jawline. Even in a basic hoodie, sweat dripping from his face from his rush, there was an undeniable handsomeness about him. She felt a sudden catch in her throat, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.

"Is that okay?" he asked again, his voice pulling her out of her daze.

"Y... yeah," she stammered, shaking herself from the shock. "We have a couple of puddings left. How many do you need?"

"Thank you," Minho replied, a grateful smile lighting up his face. "Could you pack 20, please?"

She nodded, quickly starting to pack a box full of puddings. Under her breath, she cursed as she glanced at the clock, she was running late.

End of her POV.

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Half an hour had since passed and Minho was rushing back to his friend's apartment when the scene unfolded in front of him. A truck barreled down the street, and there she was-the same woman from the café-standing frozen in its path. His heart dropped as he realized what was about to happen. Panic set in as he scrambled to help her, dropping the box of puddings he was carrying. But it was already too late. The truck struck her with full force, throwing her into the air. Her body slammed into the cold pavement with a sickening thud, and a pool of blood began to spread from beneath her head.

Minho didn't hesitate. He ran to her side, desperately trying to scoop her up. His phone was in his hand, but when he tried to call an ambulance, no one picked up. The nearest hospital was ten minutes away, and he knew carrying her was the only chance he had to save her. Adrenaline surged through him as he lifted her into his arms and began running, each step feeling like a race against time.

He spoke soothingly to her, trying to keep her awake. " Stay with me! She stirred beneath his touch, murmuring softly, "Who are you?"

Minho felt a rush of relief when he saw that she was still conscious. His voice, though gentle, carried a trace of urgency as he asked, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” His words, meant to comfort, felt hollow, as if they couldn’t reach the depth of his fear. Panic surged through him once more when she whispered that she couldn’t feel her legs.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”

Even as fear twisted in his chest, Minho forced himself to believe in the calm he was trying to project. He spoke with more confidence, hoping that the reassurance would reach her, and that it would somehow settle his own racing heart.

When Minho reached the hospital, the building seemed eerily quiet, almost deserted. Panic clung to him like a second skin as he rushed inside. Before he could make it to the emergency room, the paramedics arrived and took over. They moved quickly, whisking her through the double doors, their voices urgent but steady. Minho stood frozen at the entrance, unable to do more than hold her hand one last time. Giving it a soft squeeze, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay,” his voice trembling with determination, even as fear gnawed at him.

As the paramedics disappeared into the depths of the hospital with her, Minho finally released a shaky breath. His hands were still trembling, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared at the now-empty hallway. Moments later, the quiet was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices. A group of people burst through the hospital doors, their faces etched with panic and fear.

“Y/N! Y/N, please wake up! You’re going to be okay! Just stay with us!” a young woman cried, her voice breaking as she rushed toward the direction the stretcher had gone. Her desperation was palpable, raw, and it hit Minho like a wave.

Minho, still standing at the door, desperate to be of any help, quickly picked up on her name. Y/N. It echoed in his mind, anchoring him in the chaos. “Y/N, hang in there,” he whispered softly, as if somehow his words could reach her through the walls.

Turning to the young woman, her sister, he realized.Minho tried to offer what little comfort he could. “I was there,” he said gently, his voice low but steady. “I saw the truck coming. It swerved out of nowhere. I… I got her out of the way just in time.” His voice faltered as the memory replayed in his mind. “But the impact… I’m so sorry.”

Her sister’s tears streamed freely as she listened, clinging to every word. She nodded, her voice trembling as she whispered, “You saved her. You saved my sister.”

When Y/N was finally wheeled into the operating theater, her sister turned to Minho, her face streaked with tears, her eyes glistening with gratitude and heartbreak. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re her guardian angel. I don’t even want to imagine what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

Minho nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. He couldn’t find the right response, couldn’t process the mix of emotions swirling inside him,the relief of knowing he’d done what he could, the fear of what might come next, and the raw ache of seeing a family on the verge of losing someone they loved.

As the night stretched on, Minho stood outside the hospital, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights. A strange mixture of hope and helplessness washed over him. Her name, Y/N, echoed in his mind, repeated like a lifeline, tethering him to the present moment

Even after the chaos subsided and he returned home...

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Minho's throat ran dry as he recalled the scene unfolding in front of him that day.Her face remained etched in his mind. He often wondered if she had fully recovered, if her life had returned to normal after the tragedy…

"Focus," Minho murmured to himself. The past was just that, the past. He couldn’t change it, and now, his craving for something sweet tugged at him. Even though he had tried to forget her, a persistent voice in his head urged him to seek out the café she once worked at. He never had the chance to taste her desserts after he’d accidentally dropped them to save her. The memory lingered, but he couldn’t quite shake the need to return to that place, to experience what he missed.

As he wandered through the winding backstreets, he found himself standing at the corner where the café had stood two years ago. But instead of the familiar cozy spot, there was only a pharmacy now. The café was gone,nothing more than a distant memory. His heart sank in disappointment, and he sighed, deciding to head home. The chill in the air was becoming sharper by the minute.

Taking a shortcut through a narrow alley, he walked into a quieter street, the contrast to the bustling lanes he had passed earlier striking. It was much calmer here, with the glow of a few lit shops casting soft, warm lights onto the pavement. As he neared the corner, a café sign caught his attention. The bold letters “Open” gleamed back at him, and curiosity bubbled inside him.

He approached and stepped inside, greeted by a rush of warmth. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, the soft hum of machinery a backdrop to the quiet atmosphere. A curious name adorned the café’s front: Twilight Robo Café. Minho raised an eyebrow. The name intrigued him.

The interior of the café was unlike any he had seen before. Robots, sleek and small, glided around with surprising grace. They served drinks, delivered snacks, and interacted with customers in a way that blurred the lines between technology and humanity. Their screens displayed animated avatars, mimicking emotions with perfect accuracy. It was futuristic, yet oddly comforting.

Minho chose a seat by the window, gazing out at the winter landscape as snowflakes began to fall, casting a soft veil over the world outside. He could feel the warmth of the café against the chill creeping into his bones. He exhaled, content for the moment.

Moments later, a small robot wheeled up to his table and stopped in front of him.

"Welcome to Twilight Robo Café!" the voice chirped brightly, warm and inviting. "What can I get for you today?"

Minho froze. There was something about the voice, something unnervingly familiar. His mind raced, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.

"Sir?" The robot’s voice broke his train of thought.

Minho blinked, shaking himself from his stupor. "Uh, I’ll take a pudding... and a black coffee, please."

“May I know whose name it’s going for?” the robot voice asked.

“Minho,” he replied.

“A pudding and a black coffee for Minho, coming right up!” The screen flashed a wide smile before the robot zipped away.

Minho stared at the empty space where the robot had been, confusion clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice belonged to someone he knew, or at least someone he had once met.

Minutes passed, and soon enough, the robot returned, carefully placing his coffee and pudding on the table. "There you go! Anything else I can do for you?" it asked, the screen flashing another bright, animated grin.

Minho leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Um, this might sound strange, but your voice... do you choose it yourself?”

The robot's head tilted in a quizzical way, that made it seem almost human. Behind the screen, you were controlling it, your fingers hesitating on the joystick as your heart skipped a beat. There he was, he was here. The man who had rushed to your aid that night, the one you had tried to forget, yet never could. The same man who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart. You hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone hear his voice now.

Sitting in your dimly lit apartment, you blinked twice, your eyes wide in disbelief. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be him... but it was. The man from that day. The one you had barely spoken to but had thought about constantly since then. How was it possible that he remembered your voice? That day, your words had been barely audible, lost in the chaos of the accident. Your voice had been raw and broken. You had been a mess…scattered emotions and fear. And after everything, after your accident, your life had changed so drastically.

You had become a shadow of the person you once were, paralyzed from the waist down, the scars marking your body and face a constant reminder of everything you had lost. The woman you once were, vibrant, full of life, running the café you owned, with ease and a warm smile, was no longer. Now, you hid behind the screen of a robot, controlling its every movement, its every expression from the confines of your small apartment. It was the only way you could still interact with the world, without the fear of frightening people with your appearance. The very face that had once greeted customers with warmth now carried the weight of painful memories, and you couldn't bear to see the looks of pity or fear in the eyes of those who might recognize you. So, you stayed behind the safety of the screen, crafting your persona through the robotic avatar, a small semblance of the woman you used to be, but never fully seen.

But there he was, still as handsome as you remembered. His smile hadn’t changed, and it made your heart ache. You hadn’t expected him to recognize your voice, yet here he was, doing just that.

Minho knocked gently on the screen, as though checking if the robot was malfunctioning. The action snapped you back to the present, your palms suddenly clammy. You quickly moved the controls, realizing you’d left the robot on idle for too long.

"I certainly do," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, keeping your voice light. "It just... your voice sounds oddly familiar. Like I’ve heard it before."

Minho’s brows furrowed as he tried to place the voice. "Maybe I just have one of those voices," you deflected, not wanting to reveal too much.

"Maybe?" Minho murmured, taking a sip of his coffee and watching the world outside with a contemplative look on his face.

For the next several minutes, Minho continued asking questions, trying to get to know the person behind the robot. Each answer you gave was carefully measured, trying your best to keep your emotions in check. You couldn’t risk revealing your identity, not yet.

"So," Minho asked, setting his coffee down and leaning forward, "how does this work? Are you controlling it remotely?"

"Yes," you replied, trying to keep your tone even. "I control it from home. Everything you see, the movements, the voice, the expressions, it’s all me, just through a robot."

"That’s amazing," Minho said, his lips curling into an impressed smile. "Does it feel weird... interacting with customers like this?"

"Not really," you answered. "At first, it was awkward. But after a while, you get used to it. And maybe it’s a nice way to interact with people in ways I couldn’t before."

Minho nodded, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "Do customers ever forget there’s a person behind the robot?"

You laughed softly, a genuine chuckle that escaped without you meaning to.

"Of course! You’d be surprised how many people forget and just say things like, ‘This robot has great customer service.’ Like it’s some kind of AI program," you giggled. "It’s fun, though."

"Yeah, seems like you enjoy your workplace," Minho replied with a grin, taking a bite of the pudding. His eyes lit up as the sweetness of the caramel and the creamy texture hit him. It was the perfect balance of flavors, nothing too overwhelming. He closed his eyes for a moment in pure satisfaction. Behind the screen, you couldn’t help but smile, warmed by his enjoyment.

"Miss, may I know who made this?" he asked eagerly.

You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "It’s my family’s recipe. I just control the robot to make it perfect here. After a couple of trial and errors, we finally got it just right."

"It’s delicious!" Minho exclaimed, his smile widening.

"Thank you," you said, pleased to see him enjoying it.

The conversation continued to flow naturally, the lighthearted exchanges easing some of the tension you’d felt earlier. But then Minho asked a question that made your heart stutter.

"Did your family own a café?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost said too much. You froze, but then tried to cover up the slip.

"Yes... they did, but I did, too. It was just around the... " You stopped yourself mid-sentence. The words you almost let out were too dangerous.

Minho looked at you, confused. You quickly recovered, the warmth on your face barely hiding the panic you felt. "I mean, yes, it was a family recipe turned into a business... but not anymore," you added awkwardly, forcing a smile.

Minho nodded, his attention returning to the pudding. "That explains the taste."

Minho leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the robot, as though he were studying it for answers. "So, do you get a lot of people like me? The ones who ask too many questions?"

You laughed more genuinely this time, the sound like music in the quiet café. "You’d be surprised. So many of them treat me like a therapist, venting about their day and asking for advice. Others just make small talk about the weather."

Minho chuckled at one of your stories, the conversation feeling more relaxed. It almost felt like you could breathe again.

But then he asked something that made your heart race once more.

"Do you think we’ve met before? I can’t help but think your voice reminds me of someone."

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze, not sure how to respond.

"Maybe I just have one of those voices?" you said, your voice light and carefully measured.

"Maybe?" Minho replied, though his tone carried a hint of doubt. "But I can't shake the feeling that that's not it... The way you talk, it's just too personal."

Minho tilted his head slightly, studying the robot as though the answer might be hidden there, etched into its smooth surface.

Your grip on the controls tightened, and your pulse raced in your ears. A wave of heat flushed over you, making it feel like you were trapped in a sauna. Every part of you screamed to deny it all, to retreat, but your heart, oh, your heart, yearned for him to remember you.

"Well," you said, forcing a light smile, "It's a small world. Maybe we've crossed paths before?"

Minho’s gaze narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "You think so? Tokyo's a big city. Anything's possible."

Your voice softened as you responded, "Maybe."

Minho’s next question caught you completely off guard. "Do you ever wish you could meet the person you're talking to? In person, I mean?"

You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you processed his words. "Sometimes," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But it's complicated."

Minho didn’t interrupt. He just kept looking at you with that same, unwavering curiosity, as though he could see beyond the surface, searching for the truth that you had buried deep within.

"I believe it's easier for people to connect when they don’t see the messier parts of someone's life," you said quietly. "The robots, they make things simple. No judgment. No awkwardness. And I'd like to keep it that way."

Minho frowned. "That's not fair, though. Everyone has a messy past. That's what makes us human."

You were left at a loss for words once again. How could he say such things so easily? The very reason you applied for this job was to avoid letting anyone see who you really were. They couldn’t see you like this, not when you were too broke to even afford to hide the scars on your face. Not when going outside felt more like a monumental task. It was exhausting, living without the use of your legs.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly. You had no answer for him. The silence between you felt deafening.

"It’s just..." you finally managed to croak, "Not everyone thinks like you."

Minho tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe they should..."

He smiled gently. "I’d like to meet the wonderful lady behind this voice as well."

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It was almost 10 p.m., closing time for the café. Minho was disappointed when another robot politely told him it was time to leave. The robot he'd spent so much time talking to was now busy attending to another customer. Maybe it was his questions. Maybe he had overstepped or overwhelmed her.

She had excused herself to tend to others, and Minho was left standing there, contemplating the conversation. As the clock ticked closer to 10, a thought struck him,one that seemed silly but lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but he wanted to know more. It had felt nice talking to her.

Before he left, he handed the next robot worker a note addressed to the wonderful robo Missy.

‘It was nice talking to you. I’m really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need to vent.”

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"It was nice talking to you. I'm really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need someone to talk to or vent."

You stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, the words dancing in front of your eyes but never quite sinking in. Weeks had passed since your last encounter with Minho, yet you couldn’t stop replaying that moment over and over. He had wanted to meet you, to know you, but you had been frozen in place, unable to say a word. You had scrambled for an exit, seizing the first opportunity; A last-minute customer ordering takeout. You had apologized to him, your voice a strained whisper, as you quickly steered your robot towards the new customer. You avoided his gaze, his eyes, still burning into your back, full of something you couldn’t quite read.

And now, you were holding this in your hand, a simple note with his number scrawled across the bottom, an apology for something Minho didn’t even know he had done. He had respected your boundaries, your silence, even when everything in you had screamed for him to see you, to understand you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up, to make it clear that you were not just the voice behind the screen.

Yesterday had been one of those days, the kind that chipped away at you slowly, piece by piece, until you were left wondering how much more you could take. The café was bustling as usual, but the warmth that typically filled the air had been replaced with an unsettling, tense energy.

A group of rude customers had strolled in, their voices cutting through the usual hum of the café like a razor. At first, it was subtle. They made snide remarks about the novelty of the robot café, their laughter sharp and mocking. But soon, their jabs became more pointed, their words carrying an edge that sliced deeper than you wanted to admit.

One of them leaned in close to your screen, his sneer almost palpable. "Oh, how lucky you are to be working from home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as if your reality were some kind of twisted privilege.

Another chimed in, her tone laced with venom. "Really? Don’t you think you’re being ungrateful? Life handed you a golden opportunity, and you’re complaining?"

Their words stung far more than they should have. Because they didn’t see you. Not truly. They didn’t know the reality behind the screen. The daily battles you fought, the pain of waking up in a body that no longer obeyed your will. They didn’t know how exhausting it was to perform even the smallest tasks, how something as simple as getting dressed could feel like scaling a mountain. They didn’t know the humiliation of needing help for the most basic functions, or the way the world seemed so much larger, harsher, and more inaccessible now.

They didn’t know about your sister, your fiercely loyal, stubborn sister, who had taken on the role of caregiver without hesitation, even when you begged her not to. You had pleaded with her to chase her dreams, to live her life without the shadow of your limitations hanging over her. But she refused. And every time you saw her push her own happiness aside for your sake, guilt gnawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.

Life before the accident felt like another lifetime, a fleeting memory of who you used to be. Back when you were independent, whole, and full of possibilities. That person felt like a stranger now, someone you’d never quite find your way back to. And days like today only widened the chasm between who you were and who you had become.

Their cruel words echoed long after they had left, bouncing around in your head like a relentless reminder of everything you had lost. You had kept your voice steady, your responses professional, but inside, you were crumbling. The mask you wore was cracking, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it together.

Later that night, as the silence of your apartment pressed down on you, your eyes landed on the letter Minho had left at the café. His handwriting was neat and careful, but the words… they were like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of a storm. An invitation, a chance to connect, to be seen. You had read it over and over, the lines blurring as doubt crept in.

What if he didn’t mean it? What if he had only written it out of politeness or guilt? The idea clawed at you, feeding the insecurities that always lingered just below the surface. But another thought followed, quieter and far more dangerous. What if he truly meant it? What if he actually wanted to know you, not out of pity, but because he cared? Because he saw something in you worth knowing?

That thought scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t the same person he had saved two years ago. That version of you had been whole, bright, and full of potential. Now, you were a patchwork of scars and insecurities, trying desperately to hold yourself together. Would he even recognize you? Would he still care if he knew how much you had changed?

You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, caught between fear and hope. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your chest, and the idea of reaching out felt impossibly daunting. But something in Minho’s words lingered, a warmth, a sincerity that made you want to believe, even just for a moment, that someone might see you for who you were now, not who you used to be.

Finally, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room,

"What if?”

You wiped a tear from your cheek, your hand trembling as you stared at the number Minho had written at the bottom of the page. It had been days of battling conflicting thoughts, of wondering whether you should even try to reach out.

Part of you wanted to hear his voice again, to feel that connection, but another part of you warned against it. What if you burdened him with your pain? What if he thought you were just being dramatic, that you were too much to handle?

The weight of yesterday pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. Every word, every sneer from the café replayed in your mind like a broken record. Tonight, the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, the silence too loud to bear.

With trembling fingers, you found yourself reaching for your phone. You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even allowed yourself to consider it. But now, your hand moved as if it had a will of its own. You scrolled through your contacts until you found his name. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the call button, doubt creeping in. What if this was a mistake? But before you could overthink it, you pressed down, the ringing filling the void.

It felt endless. Each tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity, echoing in your ears and amplifying the pounding of your heart. With every ring, a fresh wave of nerves rolled over you, making you question what you’d even say if he picked up.

And then…voicemail.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, a mix of disappointment and relief. The automated message played, his voice absent, replaced by a mechanical tone inviting you to leave a message. You hesitated, the silence on the other end daring you to speak. But the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with fear and uncertainty

"Of course," you whispered to yourself. "He’s probably busy. Why would he want to hear from me?"

You set the phone down, shaking your head at your foolishness. He had saved your life that day, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the mess your life had become. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, ready to crawl into bed and let the darkness of sleep take over.

Just as you settled beneath the covers, your phone buzzed in your hand. The soft vibration startled you, and when you glanced at the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Minho. His name, glowing in the dim light of your room, sent a wave of panic and excitement through you.

For a moment, you froze, staring at the screen as if it might disappear. Should you answer? Could you? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this was just a courtesy call, and he’d forgotten everything? Doubts swirled in your mind, threatening to paralyze you. But before you could overthink any further, your fingers moved on their own, and you pressed the green button.

“H-Hello?” you stammered, your voice shaky with nerves.

There was a pause on the other end, one that felt like an eternity, before a familiar voice filled the line. “Who is this?”

The breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. “I… I’m the robot voice you talked to the other day,” you finally managed to say.

“Oh, yes, Robo Café Missy!” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his tone instantly melting some of your anxiety. “You really rushed off that day. I barely got a chance to say goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “My manager was giving me this concerned look for talking to a customer so long.”

“Sorry about that,” Minho said, a note of humor in his voice. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“It’s alright,” you said quickly, your nerves easing slightly. “I just… I got your letter, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I was having a bad day, and… I thought I’d call. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

His tone softened immediately. “You’re not bothering me, Robo Missy,” he said gently. “But before we dive into your day, how about we properly introduce ourselves?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. Sharing more of yourself felt terrifying, like peeling back a layer of armor you’d grown so used to. But there was something about Minho’s voice, its warmth, its sincerity,that made you want to take the leap.

“I’m… Y/N L/N,” you whispered, barely audible.

There was a brief silence on the other end, as if he was processing the name. Then, he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Y/N? That’s a crazy coincidence. Someone I used to know had the same name as you.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.

This was it

“Minho… it’s not a coincidence.”

The silence that followed was heavier this time, charged with anticipation. You could almost feel the shock on the other end of the line.

“I… I’m Y/N,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s me.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a stunned, “Wait… what? Y/N? That Y/N?”

“Yes,” you confirmed with a hesitant laugh. “That’s me.”

The line went quiet for a beat, and then Minho exclaimed, “Oh my God, Y/N! It’s you! I can’t believe this!”

You chuckled nervously, the sound more of a release of tension than amusement. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for saving me that day, Minho. I never got the chance to properly thank you.”

“I’m just relieved you’re alright,” he said earnestly. “You made a full recovery, right? Everything’s fine now?”

Your smile faltered, and you took a shaky breath. “Umm… about that…”

Minho’s voice softened instantly, his concern palpable. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But then, with a deep breath, you began telling him everything. You told him about the accident, the surgeries, the endless therapy, and the long, grueling days of learning to live in a body that no longer worked the way it once did. You told him about the guilt you felt watching your sister sacrifice so much to help you, about the nights spent crying in frustration and pain, and about the fear that you’d never be seen as anything but broken.

Through it all, Minho listened silently, not once interrupting. His quiet attention was steady, grounding, as though every word you said mattered deeply to him.

When you finally finished, your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “I… I didn’t want to tell you all this. I didn’t want to bother you or make you feel sorry for me. But today was just….”

“Y/N,” Minho cut in, his voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You’re not bothering me. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just… I’m glad you called. I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

“No, thank you,” Minho said softly. “For calling me. And for being honest. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

You smiled faintly, clutching the phone tightly to your ear. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to.

And thus began your connection with Minho...

----------------------------------------------------

Your fingers hovered over the video call button, trembling slightly. Since that phone call last Christmas eve, Minho had become an undeniable presence in your life. Whether it was his casual phone calls, random texts checking in on you, or the silly messages that always made you laugh, he was there, ensuring you never felt completely alone.

But last week, something changed.

“Why don’t we have a movie night?” he had texted casually. “We can video call while watching.”

You froze at the suggestion, your immediate response a firm, resounding no.

"Come on,” he coaxed gently. “It’ll be fun. I want to see you.”

And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to see you.

The thought of showing your face made your stomach churn. What if he was disappointed? What if he looked at you differently after seeing what the accident had done? You tried every excuse you could think of, but Minho’s quiet persistence was hard to ignore.

“I won’t push you,” he finally said, his tone soft yet resolute. “But I don’t care what you think you look like. You’re Y/N, and nothing will ever change that for me.”

His words lingered all week, pulling at the corners of your mind whenever your insecurities screamed louder than your hope.

And now, here you were, sitting in front of your phone, staring at the glowing call notification. Your heart raced, your palms damp as you adjusted your hair for the fifth time. Every buried doubt clawed its way to the surface.

Don’t do this. He’ll regret staying in touch, your mind hissed.

But another voice, softer yet stronger, whispered, He cares. He won’t leave.

With a shaky breath, you pressed the button. The camera flickered on, and you quickly angled it so only the top of your head was visible.

“Y/N?” Minho’s voice came through, soft and cheerful.

“Y-Yeah, it’s me,” you stammered, still too afraid to tilt the camera lower.

“I can’t see you,” he teased lightly. “What, are you hiding from me?”

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the "end call" button. But something in his tone....so patient, so warm...nudged you forward. Slowly, you lowered the camera, revealing your face.

“There you are,” Minho said softly, a smile spreading across his face.

You braced yourself for disgust, disappointment, anything that would confirm your worst fears. But his reaction wasn’t what you expected. His expression didn’t falter, his smile didn’t waver, and his eyes held nothing but warmth.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.

Tears stung your eyes as you looked away. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I mean it,” he replied firmly. “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. You’re Y/N, and you’re beautiful to me. Always have been, always will be.”

His words chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself. He wasn’t looking at you with pity or discomfort, he was just looking at you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you, Minho,” you murmured.

“Now,” he said, his tone shifting to playful. “Are we watching this movie, or are you going to keep hiding from me?”

You chuckled softly, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Alright, alright. Let’s watch.”

As the movie began, the tension in your chest slowly eased. Minho’s occasional sarcastic comments or soft laughter warmed you in ways you didn’t fully understand. The awkwardness that had gripped you at the start of the call melted away, replaced by a rhythm that felt natural.

During a quieter part of the movie, Minho spoke, his voice cutting through the momentary silence. “This feels nice.”

“What does?” you asked, glancing at the screen.

“Being able to see you while we talk. It feels... more real.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. “I guess,” you mumbled.

“Don’t downplay it,” he chided gently. “You don’t realize how much I’ve missed this, just spending time with you.”

Your heart thudded at his words. “Minho, you barely knew me before the accident…”

“And yet,” he interrupted, his tone soft but unwavering, “I’ve always felt like I knew you. The way you smiled at the hospital, even through the pain. The way your sister shared pieces of your life with me that day, the struggles you faced, in the hospital. You left an impression, Y/N. And no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t forget you.”

His confession left you speechless. You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

Minho smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

The movie ended, but neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, your favorite foods, places you’d love to visit, funny childhood stories. You found yourself laughing, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, how intently he listened to every little thing you said.

When the clock struck midnight, you yawned, trying to stifle it.

“Am I keeping you up?” Minho teased.

“No, I’m fine,” you lied, but your sleepy tone betrayed you.

“You need to rest,” he said with a soft laugh. “But… can I call you again tomorrow? Or, you know, whenever you’re free?”

The warmth in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “I’d like that,” you admitted quietly.

“Good,” he said, his smile evident even through the screen. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Minho,” you replied, ending the call and setting your phone aside.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night replayed in your mind. For the first time in years, you felt a little lighter. A little less alone.

You didn’t know where this connection with Minho would lead, but tonight, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he saw you, not just your struggles, but you.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

-------------------------------------------------------

Over the next few months, Minho became your lifeline. What started as casual conversations and video calls grew into something deeper. He was patient, funny, and warm,someone who made you feel seen, heard, and cherished. For the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe again. It wasn’t something you could pinpoint, a singular moment where your feelings for Minho shifted from gratitude to something deeper. It happened slowly, quietly, like the way the first hints of dawn creep into the night sky.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing more than admiration. Minho had saved your life, after all. When you woke up in the hospital, groggy and disoriented, the nurses told you about the stranger who stayed by your side, ensuring you received the care you needed. That alone had been enough to etch his name into your mind.

Months later, when you heard his voice again at the robot café, your heart stumbled. It was almost embarrassing how much his presence, even through the robot’s camera and speakers, stirred something inside you. He spoke to you with such warmth, such genuine interest, that it felt like you were more than just a disembodied voice behind a screen.

But it wasn’t until the letter he left for you that the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart began to crack.

You read it so many times that the edges were worn from your fingertips. His words weren’t overly flowery or poetic, but they were sincere, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t just write about how thankful he was bout the customer service, he wrote about you. That you can call or text him anytime you wanted to vent.

From that point on, every phone call, every text, chipped away at the fears you’d held so tightly. At first, you were careful, guarded. You kept your responses light, your conversations surface-level. But Minho had a way of disarming you without even trying. He’d slip in questions about your favorite childhood memories or tease you until you laughed. And before you realized it, you were sharing pieces of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone in years.

And then came the video call.

You almost didn’t do it. The idea of letting him see your face, the scars that made you feel like a stranger every time you looked in the mirror, was too much. But Minho had been gentle in his persistence, assuring you that he just wanted to watch a movie with you, nothing more.

When you finally turned on the camera, your hands were trembling, and you could barely meet his eyes on the screen. You braced yourself for the shift, for the flicker of discomfort or pity that you were so used to seeing.

But it never came.

Instead, Minho smiled, his gaze soft as if he were looking at something beautiful. “Hi,” he said, his tone light and full of warmth, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

And in that moment, something inside you shifted. The fear that had kept you isolated for so long began to loosen its grip, replaced by something warmer, brighter.

He made you feel normal. He made you feel seen. And over time, you realized it wasn’t just gratitude or admiration anymore.

You were falling for him.

You tried to fight it at first, convincing yourself it was foolish. Someone like Minho...a man who could light up a room with just his presence....could have anyone. Why would he choose someone like you, with your scars and limitations?

But then he’d call you late at night, just to ask how your day went. Or he’d send you pictures of stray cats he’d found, knowing how much you loved them, just like he did. Or he’d make you laugh so hard you’d forget, even for a moment, about all the things you thought made you unworthy.

And then, over the course of the next few weeks, something unexpected started to take root inside you. At first, you brushed it off as fleeting, an echo of loneliness mistaken for something else. But it grew, steady and undeniable, a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest every time Minho’s name lit up your phone.

You found yourself lingering on his texts longer than you should, re-reading them late at night when the world was silent. His words, simple and casual, had a way of making your heart race. And those calls? They were becoming the best part of your day. It wasn’t just his voice....it was the way he laughed, the way he said your name, like it held a special place in his vocabulary.

He looked different to you now, too. Or maybe you were just seeing him for the first time. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe it. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that made him seem untouchable, yet he was so real with you. So patient, so kind.

And that’s when the panic set in.

Because how could you fall for him?

It wasn’t fair. Not to him. Minho was everything you weren’t: free, whole, untethered. He could have anyone he wanted, someone who could walk beside him in the park without needing a wheelchair, someone who could dance with him instead of watching from the sidelines.

You hadn’t left the house in years. The thought of facing the world outside, with its prying eyes and unspoken judgments, made your stomach churn. How could you expect someone like Minho to accept that? To accept you, when even you struggled to accept yourself?

Your scars felt like barriers, visible proof of the life you used to have and the one you were forced to live now. You’d lost the power in your legs, and sometimes it felt like you’d lost the power to dream, to hope for something better.

And yet, Minho made you hope.

It terrified you, this fragile thing blooming in your chest. Because if you allowed yourself to fall for him, truly fall, what would happen if he didn’t catch you? Could you handle the heartbreak? Could you bear to see pity in his eyes where kindness now shone?

You tried to push the feelings down, bury them beneath the weight of your fears. But they wouldn’t stay hidden. Every text, every call, every laugh chipped away at your resolve until you were left raw and vulnerable, clinging to a question you were too afraid to answer. Will Minho even accept you?

------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------

That evening during the video call, Minho dropped a bombshell.

“Y/N, let’s meet,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You froze, blinking at the screen. “What?”

“I want to see you,” he repeated, smiling. “In person. How about a café date and a stroll in the park? I know a quiet spot, not too crowded.”

Panic surged through you. You hadn’t left your house in years....not since the accident. The thought of people staring at you, noticing your scars, filled you with dread. You opened your mouth to protest, but Minho’s gentle expression stopped you.

“Take your time,” he said softly. “You don’t have to decide now. But I’d really like to spend time with you, Y/N. No pressure.”

Minho ended the call with a hopeful smile on his end when you told him you'd think about it.

For the next few days, you agonized over his request. Part of you wanted to see him, to feel the sun on your face and experience the world outside your walls again. But the fear of judgment and rejection was overwhelming. Finally, with a shaky breath, you agreed.

------------------------------------------------------

Minho had never been the type to hesitate when it came to the people he cared about. But with Y/N, everything felt different....delicate, like holding something precious in his hands that could shatter if he pushed too hard. The past month of video calls and late-night texts had been like a breath of fresh air for him. He loved how she spoke, how her voice softened when she was relaxed or brightened when she talked about something that brought her joy. But he could also sense the walls she’d built around herself, her hesitations woven into every interaction. It didn’t matter to him, though. He’d seen enough in her to know she was worth the patience. The idea to meet her in person had been bubbling in his mind for weeks. He missed being able to see her face beyond the tiny camera frame, to hear her laugh without the digital lag of a call. And more than anything, he wanted her to know she didn’t have to hide anymore...not from him, not from anyone.

When she’d finally agreed, he’d been careful not to show just how thrilled he was. He knew it wasn’t an easy decision for her, and he didn’t want to add to the weight she was carrying. Instead, he spent the days leading up to their meeting planning every detail, choosing a quiet café and a serene park where she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.

The day of the date, he arrived early, checking his reflection in the café window to make sure he looked okay. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted Y/N to feel comfortable.

---------------------------------------------------

Whereas you, on the other hand, were on a completely different wavelength altogether.

The days leading up to this moment had been an emotional tug-of-war within yourself. A part of you longed to experience something new, something outside the prison of your four walls. But the other part...the one that whispered cruel reminders of your scars, your limitations, and the judgment of others...fought to hold you back.

The night before the date, you barely slept. You paced your room, questioning everything. Why would Minho even want to be seen with me? He’s kind, patient, and could easily find someone who isn’t a mess like me. What if people stare? What if I embarrass him?

You looked at yourself in the mirror that morning, pulling your favourite hoodie over your head and adjusting it. The scars that stretched across your temple and cheekbone felt like they screamed at the world, a constant reminder of the accident and how different you were now. You sighed deeply, pushing down the lump in your throat. You can’t back out now. He’ll think you don’t trust him.

When your sister wheeled you to the café and you saw Minho waiting, his face lighting up the second he spotted you, something in your chest softened. You weren’t used to people looking at you like that...as if you weren’t just enough, but more than enough.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice full of warmth, “you look beautiful.”

Beautiful? The word echoed in your mind, foreign and almost laughable. You glanced away, unable to accept the compliment, but his sincerity made it impossible to dismiss.

The café was quiet, the conversation light and easy. Yet, no matter how much you tried to relax, the anxiety simmered under your skin. Every time someone walked by or glanced your way, your fingers twitched, wanting to pull your hood further down. They’re staring. They’re judging. They’re wondering why someone like him would bother with someone like me. Minho noticed the anxiety in your face. He squeezed your trembling hand, comforting you. Nodding silently, as if to tell you it’s okay.

You calmed down a little and asked him if you could leave early. He agreed and suggested a walk in the park. You hesitated but eventually agreed. The park was peaceful, the fresh air soothing, but the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t let you rest. You kept your hood pulled tight, your eyes darting to every person who passed. They’re all looking. They can see right through me.

And then, it happened.

A strong gust of wind swept through the park, catching your hood and pulling it back. You gasped, immediately reaching to fix it, but your trembling hands froze as you noticed the stares. Strangers’ eyes lingered, their expressions unreadable, but in your mind, you could hear their judgment loud and clear.

Hide. Cover your face. Run. You don’t belong here.

Your breathing quickened, panic rising in your chest. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.

“I....I can’t do this,” you choked out, barely able to form the words.

Before you could spiral further, Minho was by your side. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, grounding you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise in your head. “Look at me.”

You hesitated, but his calm, steady presence drew your eyes to his. The world seemed to fade, leaving only his warm gaze and the reassurance in his expression.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “I’m here. Forget about them. Just focus on me.”

“But they’re staring,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They’re looking at my face… at my scars…”

“Let them stare,” Minho said firmly, his hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “What they think doesn’t matter. What matters is you. And you’re perfect just the way you are.”

His words pierced through the storm in your mind, and for a moment, you could breathe again. He guided you to a nearby bench, sitting beside you and giving you time to calm down.

As your breathing steadied, Minho knelt in front of you, his gaze unwavering.

“Y/N,” he began, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, steady, and grounding. “I know this is hard for you. I know you’re scared, and I know you think you’re not enough. But you need to hear this.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with an unshakable sincerity that made your chest tighten.

“It’s always been you,” he said softly. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special.”

“Min, what are you...?” you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

“Let me finish, Ynnie,” he interrupted, a small smile tugging at his lips. The tenderness in his tone silenced your protest, and your breath hitched as he continued, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Your strength, your kindness, your heart....those are the things that matter to me. Not your scars, not your disability. Just you. And I still can’t believe it… how someone so intelligent, so beautiful, and so powerful came into my life. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

He paused, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly as if grounding himself.

“You brought color to my mundane life, Ynnie,” he said, his voice trembling now. “And I love you. I love you so much.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as his words settled into your heart, breaking through every wall you had built. But once again, a part of you wanted to retreat from this. Minho deserved someone better. Not you.

And so, with a heavy heart, you asked, “Why me?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “You could have someone better. Someone who isn’t… disabled or disfigured. Someone who could give you more.”

His grip on your hands tightened as he shook his head. “No one could ever be better than you. No one else is you. And I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Scars, fears, everything. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You were at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice and the love in his eyes.

“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice softening, “will you let me stay by your side? Will you be my girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the insecurities tried to creep back in. But then you looked at him...truly looked...and saw nothing but love and acceptance.

With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yes.”

“I love you too, Min!”

“So much!” Happy tears spilled down your cheeks.

A bright, almost boyish smile spread across his face as he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed you softly, a tender, lingering touch that made your heart flutter. The moment was quiet, but it felt like the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in this space of peace and understanding. As he pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapped around you, warm and steady...like a shield that protected you from everything outside of this moment.

For the first time in years, you let go of the fears and doubts that had held you captive. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were worthy of love. His embrace was a reminder that you didn’t have to hide or be afraid anymore. In Minho’s arms, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving only the soft warmth of his love surrounding you, filling you with hope that, no matter what, you were never alone again.

As he held you, you realized that this moment was everything you had been longing for. It wasn’t just the comfort of his touch, but the genuine care in his heart, the way he made you feel beautiful...scars and all. It was a love that didn’t ask for perfection, only for you to be yourself. And in that truth, you found the strength to believe in the future, to believe in the love that was growing between you.

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꥟˚｡ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!

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fiiniaofficial · 4 months ago

Text

Grekiska templet vid vårt gamla hem

The sketch itself is quite old now, and minor changes were made to it. I decided to not put in the flowers and removed the hanging leaves. Those were drawn in, but I liked it more without.

Thought colouring in those lilypads were going to be the end of me.

During this entire part I did not realize that the colours would look vastly different between my screens. The blue and purple hues looked so much brighter on the other screens.

When it finally came to colouring her, I was stuck on whether I wanted to keep the original idea or to change it up.

Did I want to keep the warmth in the middle so the focus would be on her? Or did I want to keep the colours fairly same all over the drawing instead, to make it all blend together?

Since the focus was the main point of everything, I kept it. During the time of the process I felt like I was doing the wrong choice, but the closer I got to the finish; the more I knew I chose right in the end.

Cue a little shading

Cue being stuck on neutral or warm tones

The biggest reason that I got stuck on this choice, is that the colours varied far too much between all screens. The warm tones looked good on the tablet, the neutral tones on my discord/roll20 screen and... both kind of looked bad on my main monitor for series and games.

So naturally I made it from two choices to four.

But hey! The lines went from black to coloured at least!

I had not drawn fairies in such a long time, so it felt a little off. When it comes to fairies I like making them flowing little stars, so that you can leave their looks up to your own imagination.

Cute enough to seem magical with those little stars.

Not too overly attention grabbing, but not too boring either.

I think that in the end, I liked them more when they only had one shade to them. But I didn't want them all to catch too much attention from her, just the one she was looking at since it's closer to her who is meant to be in focus.

I don't have a lot of screenshots of the process of this one, I ended up colouring most of this on separate discord streams. So comparing it from the start to finish...

My brother ended up helping me choose which of these four would be the main one to be posted everywhere.

There isn't much to be said about this honestly. This is a gift to a friend long gone, to you whom loved to draw

Girls with short hair and long dresses

Nature and water

Fairies and lilypads

I finished this much earlier than I had thought I would, so it is a little bit before your birthday still. Happy early birthday old pal. The memories we made by the lilypad river in the "magical forest" will forever be cherished.

In hindsight, maybe I should've drawn the eyes covered... You never did draw the eyes. "I haven't figured out how to draw those yet."

#artists on tumblr #digital art #oc #drawing #art #anime #poster #swamp #fairies #fairy #aesthetic #illustration #fantasy illustration #cel shaded #original character #lily pads #river

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blakeswritingimagines · 18 days ago

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Yandere Spawn With A Mentally Insane Darling

As a yandere, Spawn becomes extremely possessive and protective. He would constantly monitor you, often showing up unannounced and claiming to want to keep an eye on you. He would display extreme jealousy and anger if you even looked in the direction of another person, making possessive remarks and threats to anyone who crossed him.

If you tried to get away or break ties, he would use manipulative tactics to keep you tethered to him, guilt-tripping and emotionally blackmailing you. In his yandere state, Spawn would become highly volatile and even abusive if he felt threatened.

Spawn would become extremely meticulous and determined in monitoring his darling. He would often pay attention to every single detail about his darling's routines and habits, tracking your movements and whereabouts. He would sometimes hire people to discreetly follow you, keeping tabs on your daily activities and interactions.

He would secretly monitor your social media and messaging apps, taking screenshots of any intimate exchanges with friends or acquaintances, always keeping a watchful eye to ensure no one got too close to his darling.

Additionally, Spawn would often show up unannounced and unexpected at his darling's residence, using the guise of "just wanting to check in" or "stopping by to say hi."

He would have come up with various excuses to visit, whether it's to deliver something, return a favor, or just simply to be close to his darling. In his mind, being nearby is a way to ensure he can keep an eye on his darling and prevent any potential threats from getting too close.

It all began with a fateful encounter. There was a dark, brooding figure, dressed in attire that hinted at a past steeped in death and betrayal. He was Spawn, the Hellspawn, his eyes cold and calculating. Then you seemed to appear out of nowhere in his life, a younger someone with an unhinged mind, your eyes filled with a manic gleam. You had a twisted devotion to Spawn, and your love for him was beyond obsession. "Oh, there's my darling," you hissed, your voice laced with a dangerous affection. "You have been away for too long, my love. Your absence has left my heart feeling empty." The man known as Spawn did not reply, his expression remaining stoic, but there was a hint of acknowledgment in his eyes. He was used to your possessive nature, but he knew deep down that your love bordered on obsession the same as his own. The relationship was an intriguing clash of two worlds. Spawn, a warrior fighting against forces of heaven and hell, and your twisted adoration. The darkness that surrounded you both only seemed to fuel your obsession further.

The atmosphere was heavy with the tension of a silent exchange. Spawn's gaze fixated on your face, his eyes taking in the manic gleam in your own. Despite the intensity of your emotions, there was a certain comfort in knowing that he was yours, and you were his alone. "Darling, you appear troubled," Spawn finally spoke, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He stepped closer, reaching out a hand to gently caress your cheek. "Tell me what is on your mind." Your eyes flickered with a mixture of relief and possessiveness as Spawn stepped closer. The caress of his hand was both soothing and exciting, making your heart race. "You have been away for too long," you repeated, the words tinged with a hint of petulance. "You must never leave me again, my love. I can't bear the thought of you being with anyone else. You are mine, and I cannot bear the thought of losing you." The words slipped out before you could fully register them, your love and possessiveness blending together in a twisted desire to keep him all to yourself.

Spawn let out a low, amused chuckle at your possessive declaration. He had grown accustomed to your fiery, obsessive nature, and though he wouldn't admit it, there was a part of him that secretly relished in it. "My darling," he murmured, his thumb tracing the contour of your jawline, "you know I am yours, body and soul. There is no one else for me but you." He pulled you closer, his touch firm yet tender. "But I have important tasks to attend to, as you well know." The touch of Spawn's fingertips against your skin sent a shiver through your body. You knew he had important tasks to attend to, but the thought of him being away from you, even for a brief moment, filled you with unease. "I know, but that doesn't mean you have to be away for so long," you retorted, your voice tinged with a hint of petulance. "Can't you bring me with you?" The thought of being separated from him for an extended period was almost unbearable.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Spawn's mouth at your petulant tone. He knew that your possessiveness only grew stronger the longer he was away from you. "Bring you with me, you say?" he echoed, his hand moving from your cheek to wrap around your waist. "And what exactly would you do, darling? Sit and wait patiently while I fought? Or perhaps try to distract me with your… persuasive ways?" The suggestion was said with a hint of amusement, his eyes glinting. A coy smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the mention of your persuasive ways. "Perhaps it would be a bit of both," you replied, your body pressing closer to his as your hands curled around his arms. "I have my… unique talents. Though I must say, I would take great pleasure in sitting back and watching you in action." A hint of hunger flickered in your gaze as you tilted your head, your body pressed against his. "And then distracting you afterwards, of course." Your voice lowered, a promise and a tease. A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he took in your words. He was fully aware of the effect you had on him, and he had to admit, the thought of you watching him in action sent a thrill through his veins. "Distracting me afterwards, you said?" he echoed, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "You know I cannot resist your… talents, darling. But you also know that my work often requires focus and precision. I can't afford to be distracted, especially not by a temptress such as yourself."

Your chest vibrated with a soft laugh at his words. You knew he was struggling to maintain a façade of control, but you relished in the fact that you could easily break it with just a few words. "Ah, but we both know you're weak when it comes to me," you replied, your hands tracing small circles on his chest. "You act all stoic and serious, but we both know that when we're alone, you can hardly keep your hands off me. And as for focus, well, you seem to accomplish your tasks just fine when I'm around, don't you, darling?" A low, deep rumble escaped his lips as you continued to gently tease him. He couldn't deny that you knew him too well, and that you had the ability to disarm him with just a few words. "You have a wicked tongue, my darling," he murmured, his head dropping forward to nuzzle against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "And you know just how to push all the right buttons." He let out a shaky exhale, his arms wrapping tighter around your back as he fought to keep his composure.

#spawn #spawn x reader #spawn x you #spawn x yn #hellspawn #hellspawn x reader #hellspawn x you #hellspawn x yn #yandere spawn #yandere spawn x reader #yandere spawn x you #yandere hellspawn #yandere hellspawn x reader

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inlovewithhisblueeyes · 3 years ago

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The Caffeine Solution

I received this ask a while back but it got shoved down in my inbox. When I went to save part of my response as a draft, it disappeared and is not in my drafts. Luckily I had a screenshot saved so I still answer it.

As an agent, August sometimes had to rely on coffee to help keep him awake during long missions. Even when he began to assume his alter ego of John Lark and run the apostles, August would be coordinating with followers all over the world. He needed a little boost to get him through the late nights of editing his manifesto and making sure all of the pieces were in place for his great plan to be enacted.

The bewhiskered man was almost in disbelief when he heard your suggestion the first time. Even though the two of you were in hiding, he still liked to spend his night monitoring the dark web to make sure nothing was coming your way. However, when you repeated your suggestion of switching to tea instead so sweetly, August couldn’t help but agree. He saw the happiness light up yours as you excitedly discussed how you would be doing this together and how you’d finally get to introduce him to all your favorite blends.

Giving up coffee after 6 pm didn’t seem so bad after all. He’d do anything to keep that smile on your face.

When the retired special forces captain and you had finally decided to turn your shared breeding kink into a reality, the first thing that your doctor recommended was to curb your caffeine consumption. The dash of displeasure on your face was luckily caught your mountain of man. As he sat in the doctor's office, a plan came to his mind and Syverson was quick to enact it.

A few days later your mood still carried a tinge of sourness, but the last pieces of his plan had finally arrived. Sy drew you a bath so he would have time to set up his surprise. He had decided to join you in cutting back caffeine, ordered new matching mugs, and a range of teas with benefits such a good night's sleep and helping one's fertility. He even decided to hide the tempting coffee machine in garage for the time being.

By the time you padded downstairs and show what he had done, happy tears had sprung to the corners of your eyes.

"Oh Sy. You shouldn't have," you whispered hugging your man tightly.

"It's only fair, sugar butt. I love you," he murmured against your hair, "You know I'd do anything to see you smile."

The mugs he bought

Walter had only been able to get a few hours of sleep before he needed to head back to the station. He blearily made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee pot. You had come to join him while he tried to banish the final dregs of sleep from his body. The detective had a long night ahead of him and he would need all the caffeine he could.

You were gently rubbing his back while he sat at the counter and sipped his coffee. You were speaking but the words weren't fully processing in his brain just yet. When the words no coffee passed your lips, Walter was shaken from his sleepy haze.

He only gave one word as his answer and that was gruff "No". He glanced at the oven clock, quickly polished off his mug, before puttering over to the sink to wash his dirty mug. The grumpy bear of man gave you a quick kiss on the forehead as he wished you goodbye.

It wasn't until 3 am when he was making his fourth cup of coffee that he realized you had not sent your usual goodnight text. Normally you would text him what you had for dinner or told him about the show you were watching, but instead, he had just received a single word: goodnight. Walter had messed up when you were only trying to help him.

By the time you woke up the next morning and made your way to the kitchen, you found your bear sitting with a gift basket of teas from your favorite shop next to him.

"I'm sorry my love. You are right about my needing to cut back on coffee. I'd happily drink all the tea you want," He acquiesced and the smile that lit up your face was one he never wanted to go without again.

Mike had holed himself up in the bedroom ever since he got home from class earlier today. He had finally been able to snag a copy of Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos and since he was off work and had no impending assignments due had decided to spend his weekend playing to his heart's content. Mike had stocked up on his favorite junk foods and all the Monster he could ever drink.

He was so invested in the game and hyped on caffeine that he hadn't noticed that the sun had gone down and his girlfriend had come home. Two hands had settled on his shoulders and it surprised him to the point he had almost fallen out of his chair.

You had laughed at his reaction before seeing how the small trash under the computer desk was filled with empty cans.

"Baby, you're not going to be able to sleep at all if you keep drinking these," You cooed as you carded your hands through his hair.

"But my game--"

"I know you're excited but how about you drink some water, we can get some real food, and maybe I'll do that thing you like if you're good."

His jaw dropped as he glanced back and forth between you and the monitor. Mike quickly saved his game before swooping you over his shoulder and carrying you out the door. You giggled at his antics but were glad that maybe you could convince him to cut down on his caffeine usage after all.

#henry cavill #august walker #captain syverson #walter marshall #mike #mike hellraiser #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #the cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fic #hellraiser hellworld #mission impossible fallout #sand castle #night hunter #night hunter fanfiction #mission impossible #sand castle fanfiction #hellraiser

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ayuuria · 4 years ago

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Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine February 2021 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Regarding the Boy Whose True Colors Are Unknown

Riku, the mysterious person with a good smile and speaking words with profound meaning. He enshrouds not only Towa and the others of course, but also the viewers in smoke. Is he actually the Yashahime’s enemy? Ally?

The boy who proclaims to be “A pirate come ashore”, Riku. The figure of him showing a kind smile and talking quickly makes him seem like your typical nice guy at a glance. However, his speech has every bit of shadiness mixed in it.

The first sign was when he called the apple he received from Towa a “Forbidden fruit” (translator’s note: this was written in English). Most likely, he likened it to the story of the Adam and Eve written in the Old Testament; but why does he know about it when he lives in the Feudal Era? Also, the part where it seemed that Kyuuki of the Four Perils and Riku knew each other is of interest. Then above all, there is the dangerous statement he made to Shikabaneya Jyuubee, “I will take care of the Yashahimes, who hold three of the Rainbow Pearls, myself”. What exactly is the reason for him to go so far for the Rainbow Pearls…?

While leaving a strong discomfort, it seems that Riku will be on the move again in episode 14 after disappearing from the center stage for some time. What is the expression Riku shows before the evil mountain god, Homura, who’s heart has been stolen by a human girl? Even continuing into episode 15 which according to Riku’s voice actor, Fukuyama Jun, will be “A pretty big episode”. There is no mistake that Riku’s existence holds the key to the story of “Hanyō no Yashahime”. The strict prohibition on his words down to the details cannot be overlooked.

Character Bios

Riku The person who requested the subjugation of the Four Perils to the corpse shop. He is gathering the Rainbow Pearls and after Kyuuki’s death, he retrieved the purple Rainbow Pearl that she held.

Shikabaneya Jyuubee The owner of the “Corpse Shop” that deals in demon bounties. He lends money to Moroha and has her slay demons as repayment. He possesses the green Rainbow Pearl.

Takechiyo He can transform into a giant and fly the sky, so he runs around a lot as a means of transportation for Towa and the others. Miroku seems to be involved behind why Takechiyo works at the corpse shop.

Towa She has a kind personality, but she does lose her sense of reason when her little sister, Setsuna, is in danger. As she is a half-demon, she loses her demonic powers and turns into a human at the start of the lunar month (new moon).

Setsuna Normally, her “seething demonic blood” is sealed with Miroku’s Buddhist powers. In episode 13, the seal is released, and she repels Tōtetsu of the Four Perils. Unlike Towa, she does not turn into a human at the start of the lunar month.

Moroha A bounty hunter. Lately, she has been unable to retrieve the heads of the demons she defeats and collect bounties which has been the source of her worries. Just like Setsuna, she does not transform into a human at the start of the lunar month.

The Corpse Shop’s Big Client

Riku, who puts a large bounty on the Four Perils’ heads, is a “special client” to Jyuubee. To Riku, Jyuubee is someone who he told “I only kill those I love” and revealed part of his thoughts to. It appears that the green Rainbow Pearl that Jyuubee possesses also has something to do with Riku. We are curious about the two’s past!

Darling Yashahime…?

Riku and Towa met when a lost Riku asked her for directions. Then he introduced himself to Setsuna and Moroha after they fought Kyuuki. According to what Riku told Jyuubee, since he loves the Yashahimes, he is thinking of finishing them off himself. What is the reason…?

Hatred Towards the Four Perils

Riku’s prejudice against the Four Perils is to the point that he bluntly says “This is why I don’t like you” to the dying Kyuuki. He says the reason is because “(They are) unrefined”. On the other hand, Kyuuki knew Riku’s name and it appears that Riku and the Four Perils are acquainted with each other. Does he also have some sort of connection to Kirinmaru who controls the Four Perils?

The Evil God Who Loves a Human

In episode 14, Riku gets involved with Tamano, an extraordinarily beautiful human girl, and the evil god who loves her but has an excessively burning jealousy, Homura. A human and an evil god. When Riku sees a love that goes beyond race, he shows an expression different from what he’s shown Towa and Co, Jyuubee, and the Four Perils so don’t miss it.

Riku Knows Everything?! The Voice of Riku, Fukuyama Jun

Forbidden from revealing anything, even to his fellow voice actors?! The young man full of mystery, Riku

— From the beginning, what sort of impression did you have of the work “Inuyasha”?

Fukuyama: It was a show that started around the time I started receiving roles in animation work as a voice actor. At the time, it was a long series by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei that came after “Ranma ½” so from the start, it was getting a lot of attention when it began serialization. There were even talks of an anime adaptation. I remember there was chatting among the young people like “Who exactly is going to do the voicing?” “It can’t be anyone other than Yamaguchi Kappei-san?”. The work continued for many years and many of my fellow voice actors took part. I myself did not make an appearance but I had the impression that it was a “far away but familiar work”.

— This time, did you audition for the role of Riku?

Fukuyama: I did not. It was a discussion that happened suddenly, but I received a direct inquiry. It was right about the time when my schedule was a mess because of the COVID crisis, and I remember the correspondence being like “Are you able to take part in the recording schedule?”. For roles without auditions, generally there are multiple candidates so it’s normal to wait a while until the decision is made. However, this time I got the role soon after I received the inquiry, so I was a little surprised. Then, about the same time, the production of “Hanyō no Yashahime” was announced. After that, I started looking for the work that it was based off, but it didn’t exist. I became doubly surprised like “Oh, this is an original work!?”

— Riku is a character with a lot mysteries, but exactly how much do you know about Riku’s back bone?

Fukuyama: The information is to a level that I can’t say anything at this time. They explained to me his position within the work and what would happen to him before hand at the recording studio. Using that as the standard, during the first recording, I had a feeling they told me detailed points. Riku can appear to be androgynous when he doesn’t say anything, but when he actually speaks, he addresses himself as “Oira”, purposely says expressions in a tone of voice that’s almost like a fool, and knows words that he shouldn’t know. The biggest impression I got from him was that he could be considered a major supporting character and I felt that moving in secret isn’t quite what his position is. On top of that, after finding out additional information that I can’t say yet, he’s a more important character than I thought. The staff have told me “Please don’t say anything about Riku to the other cast members.” “We want them to enjoy this too” (laughs)

— That is amazing! It seems Riku’s mystery has a connection to the core of the story.

Fukuyama: Please look forward to finding out (laughs). In the first place as of right now, not only do we not know what intentions Sesshōmaru had behind his actions, but it’ll be a little while longer before we know the full story of the drama that is being spun. To viewers, I think this aspect will make them excited, uncertain, and anxious.

By Being Outwardly Suspicious, His True Intensions Are Wrapped in Smoke

— In contrast to Riku’s Edo-like phrases, you somehow feel a sense of refinement from him. Do you take care in that aspect when playing him?

Fukuyama: When reading the script, I wanted to effectively capitalize on the foolish tone of voice. As I continued to act like that, I think I started leaning towards the feel of an Edo person. However, you can blend the “impression felt from the script” and the “impression created from the image” in animation, so as a result from matching up the length of the lines to the image of the story, that may have become the impression that TV viewers got. Now that recording has progressed, when I think back, I’m glad I didn’t stick with the impression I got from the first script. The expression he shows Towa and the others, the Four Perils, and to other people are subtly different from each other so if I had completely contrasted those, his character image would probably have either changed or become blurred. When I first started, I was glad the image kept me in check.

�� So Riku’s character comes together from combining the voice acting and the image acting.

Fukuyama: Yes. In today’s recording (the day of the interview), different from the way he speaks to Towa and the others, he showed an expression that he hasn’t really shown until now. In terms of what’s being broadcasted soon, Riku’s way of speaking breaks the 4th wall in episode 15. He’s a person who shows a lot of different faces so until we reach the heart (of the story), I want him to remain a character that’s hard to grasp.

— In terms of acting, do you receive any instructions from the staff?

Fukuyama: I was given the following order “We want you to bring out more shadiness than what’s depicted”. In terms of Riku’s position, as a way for me to show the character, I moved in a way that made it difficult to figure out what he is as much as possible. If you can visually see that he’s up to something, I would make it not show with my words more than necessary. However, I also thought “There’s no point hiding that he’s obviously acting shady, so I actually want viewers to really understand that”. By doing that, his intentions instead become less obscure as result is what I’ve come to understand as I play him.

— He certainly seemed like a good person but also felt shady when he made his first appearance in episode 7. It was completely suspicious for him to call the apple a “Forbidden Fruit”.

Fukuyama: In beginning, I thought I wouldn’t show any suspiciousness in front of Towa. While the base of the character is the same, I didn’t want Towa to harbor any sort of suspicion. However, with that line, I was told “You can bring out his shadiness”. In order to wrap the story in smoke, I think they’re going to show everything in that way.

Riku Seems Like He Can Obtain Things That Modern People Cannot Have

— It seems that recording is done with only a few people, so who do you record with?

Fukuyama: It’s quite spread out. We record with people we interact with the most in that episode so the group changes with each time. The first time, I was with Hosoya (Yoshimasa) who plays the role of Kirinmaru and then after that I was with Koyama-san (Tsuyoshi) who plays the role of Shikabaneya Jyuubee. On top of that, there was a time when I was with members of “Inuyasha”… By the way, today I was with Fairouz Ai (the role of Takechiyo). This work is the first time that I’m co-acting with her but man she’s a lively young person (laughs). You can tell she’s really enjoying the work, so it makes things easier.

— Please tell us if you have any memorable moments in the recording studio.

Fukuyama: When I’m with the cast of “Hanyō no Yashahime”, I get the impression of “This is a new show”. Around the time when Riku debuted in episode 7, there was a nervousness like you’ve only just started running. However, when I was with the “Inuyasha” team, it felt like a class reunion. The air between Yukino Satsuki-san (the role of Higurashi Kagome) and Kappei-san (the role of Inuyasha) felt like they’ve been working together for a long time and I thought “Oh, so this is “Inuyasha”!” The “level” of difference between each of the recording (groups) is what I found interesting.

— Among the episodes that have already aired, which scene was especially memorable for you?

Fukuyama: The episode where Riku debuted left a big impression on me. His aura when he’s moving behind the scenes and his aura of “No no, he’s shady but he doesn’t seem to be two faced” when he met Towa. The difference in his behavior was fun to act out. Like when he spoiled that Kikujuumonji was something he stole right after giving it to Towa or when he suspended the river water, drank it, and said “Anyone can do it if you focus your mind”. For a first appearance he had a lot of information, so viewers were probably confused. Towa being Towa, she didn’t seem bothered at all and it’s like “At least be a little cautious!” (laughs). I think you will understand the back and forth (between them) better if you rewatch it after watching more (of the story). With the expression “Pirate come ashore”, you’d probably think “Then isn’t he a bandit?” but there’s probably a fixation to that. That expression is also important.

— Now then, what are the highlights going forward?

Fukuyama: In due time, I think you’ll understand that “Riku knew everything”. However, on one hand if he’s an enemy, it would be contradictory and if he’s an ally, there’s a lot of things off. You’ll end up coming back to “Then what’s his objective?”. With that, I would like everyone to enjoy imagining what his position and future development will be. Among the latest upcoming episodes, episode 15 is a big one. While many mysteries will be revealed, instead of feeling refreshed, I think you’ll end up wondering what’s going to happen from there on. Once again, I feel it’s a very elaborate screen play. Also, in episode 17, Riku is going to move a little differently than he has up until now and in episode 18, Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru will be making extensive appearances. I think this is going to be a very satisfying episode for “Inuyasha” fans so please look forward to it.

— We would love if you could comment on this month’s illustration (P. 37~)

Fukuyama: I see it’s an illustration of Takechiyo telling the reader “Your head’s too high!”. But in actuality I don’t think Takechiyo really knows who Riku is. I’m sure Takechiyo most likely sensed that he’s someone that you can’t reveal his actions to other people but in the end, Riku is a client. Riku’s immeasurable aura is properly expressed in this illustration. Boy does he have the nerve to show this attitude in front of people (laughs).

— Going forward, could you tell us an illustration scenario you would like to see?

Fukuyama: I’m sure “Inuyasha” fans will want to see “Sesshōmaru comforting a newborn Towa and Setsuna” right? Maybe Jaken getting his body pulled all over the place by the two babies is something that might appear in the main story. However, I have a feeling we won’t get to see Sesshōmaru protecting the kids. Thinking with Riku… How about something like Riku holding a PS5 (Play Station 5). Riku seems like he would have things that even we modern era people can’t get our hands on (laughs).

— (laughs) Now lastly, please give a message to our readers.

Fukuyama: I can’t say yet what sort of actions Riku will be taking from here on, but by the time all of you are reading this, I think you’ll have figured out his stance somewhat. I’ll be happy if you’re able to anticipate what’s to come while imagining it, but probably at this stage, I think what you can image so far will be different from the direction that the story is going (laughs). I will also be looking forward to what will happen to not only Riku but to Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru as I attend recordings. It would be great if you can fully enjoy it until the end.

Q. Who’s Your Favorite Character?

“I like Homura who appears in episode 14. How do I say it, he feels like a person who’s true to his desires. The result that awaited him afterwards was impressionable. Also in episode 2, there’s the cameo appearance of the hoodlums from “Urusei Yatsura” that looked old fashioned, which was great. Then there’s Kagome’s younger brother, Souta! Though he knew about the existence of demons and time travel from his childhood days, it feels like he’s someone who has transcended (laughs)”

Q. What Is Your Impression of the Three Girls?

“I interacted with Towa in episode 7, but regarding Setsuna and Moroha, I heard their voices for the first time on air. I watched without gaining information beforehand, so I felt moved in a sort of refreshing way. The cast is either 12 years or younger than me, but I could feel the world of “Inuyasha” begin continued in their acting. They made me interested in “what will it feel like recording together with them?”. Including Fairouz-san, I’m happy that there are so many talented female voice actors.”

#Yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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precuredaily · 4 years ago

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Precure Day 206

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! 08 - “Syrup and the Mysterious Letter" Date watched: 7 April 2021 Original air date: 23 March 2008 Screenshots Transformation Gallery Project info and master list of posts

this is not important

How do you follow up that epic trip to the Palmier Kingdom? With some shenanigans and a mystery. Let's take a look.

The Plot

Syrup has a nightmare that he's trapped in a dark room, with only one doorway to the outside that's closing and a hand is keeping him from getting out. He screams that he doesn't want to be alone. He screams aloud in his sleep as well, and then the bell of the clock tower strikes six o'clock and then Syrup and Mailpo both dart awake. A startled Mailpo then spouts out a letter for the Precures. Meanwhile, Scorp surveys the city from on high and notes that the clock tower is a part of the collection. He decides to capture it to keep some clout within Eternal after his failures in retrieving the Rose Pact.

Later that day, at school, the girls are hanging out at Otaka's restaurant. Nozomi, Urara, and even Rin are wolfing down hotcakes (etymology note: depending on the region, hotcakes may be different from pancakes) when Syrup walks up to deliver the letter. They open it and discover, rather than a written note, it contains a piece of a flier, a flower shoot, and a piece of hotcake.

They are all perplexed by the contents. Rin identifies the shoot as coming from a tokeiso (lit. clock grass, known as a blue passion flower in English), and Nozomi takes this to mean that someone wants them to go to Rin's flower shop and eat hotcakes. Instead, they all gather at Natts House after school and continue to pore over their clues. Komachi notices the items each have a V-shaped imprint on them and thinks it might be a code, but none of the v-words they come up with make sense. Suddenly Nozomi, in her own Nozomi way, identifies that the piece of paper smells like crepes and she leads them to the new crepe shop that just opened up, called Clock Tower Crepes. They grab a flier and wouldn't you know, it matches their piece. At this point Karen notices a theme, between the clock tower restaurant and clock grass flower, so they suspect the mysterious messenger is telling them about the clock tower. A bird flies by as Syrup comments that he hasn't seen anyone here, and then Scorp shows up and informs the sextet that the clock tower's bell is in the collection, so he's taking the whole thing for Eternal and he turns a nearby fire hydrant into a giant Hoshiina.

and I do mean giant

The girls transform but this time, the Hoshiina isn't really interested in them. It's mostly focused on tackling the clock tower and it only swats the Precures away as they try to attack it. At the same time, a bird attacks Scorp, who similarly flicks it away, and the girls notice a bird's nest high in the tower, threatened by falling rubble and just outright falling. Mint surmises that the bird sent the letter as a request to protect their nest. Scorp mocks the girls for protecting the tower for some birds and they retort that his idea of what's valuable doesn't matter. Then Scorp turns his attention to Syrup, telling him to come back and work for Eternal again, marking the first time this is mentioned. However, Dream butts in and says that he can come to the Cure Rose Garden with the Precures and be much happier than going with Scorp, and he obviously sides with them. After rescuing the bird nest, she hands it to Syrup and then performs Shooting Star on the Hoshiina, destroying it.

Afterwards, in a beautifully lit twilight scene, the girls place a protective cage around the nest, and comment on how unexpected it was that the bird sent the letter. Komachi, Karen, Rin, and Urara are still unsure how the piece of hotcake fit in, though, and Nozomi thinks for a minute before concluding that "hotcake" has "tokei" (clock) in it, the same as the other two clues. Rin is spectacularly unamused.

As the girls admire their work and note how happy the birds seem, Syrup decides to open up to them a little bit. While leaning over the railing, looking out into the sunset, he admits that he sometimes has nightmares about being alone in the darkness, trapped and unable to escape. Nozomi tells him to send her a letter whenever that happens and no matter where, when, or what, she'll come into his dream to rescue him. Despite his protests she insists she'll respond earnestly to his feelings. At that moment, Mailpo unleashes a torrent of letters from Milk, some of which come open to reveal their contents, and the girls notice a picture of Milk watering a glowing blue sprout. They decide to all deliver the letters to Coco and Nuts together and the episode closes on a still frame of everyone rushing along with arms full of letters.

The Analysis

Stuff like this is why I love Nozomi as a character. She's goofy and isn't quite on the same page as the other girls, but she's trying her hardest to solve the mystery, and her unique experiences and knowledge help them find the answer. She wants to help the birds and protect the clock tower from Eternal, but she also doesn't miss a beat emotionally supporting Syrup when he opens up about his troubles. It's not her strongest showing, it's not quite the Nozomi we get during major plot episodes, but she's earnest and heartfelt and I like that. And that's a good description of this episode overall: it's not as strong as a major plot episode but it's earnest and heartfelt. It is on the upper end of middle-of-the-road, and that's fine. The only thread of character development here is Syrup opening up to the Nozomi a bit, which is a plot largely ignored until after the fight. The rest is mostly filler and doesn't contribute to the ongoing plots and mysteries surrounding Syrup's past, his connection to Eternal, the hunt for the Four Monarchs, Coco and Nuts developing as kings, the Blue Rose, or the Cure Rose Garden.

Looking at the here and now though, this episode is satisfying, well-paced, and has lots of gags. Nozomi repeatedly acts the fool, causing the other girls to react a lot.

She's very gung-ho about finding the sender and addressing their problem, and the other girls have to struggle to keep up with her. Coco and Nuts talk to Syrup about this as well, admitting that Nozomi is the type to act first and think later, but that aspect of her has saved them in the past and they're indebted to her enthusiasm. I talk about Nozomi being central to this and in hindsight she is, but when watching the episode it feels more balanced. I guess it's the illusion of words vs actions. Everyone talks a lot but Nozomi is the one that figures out two of the three clues, and the one who takes the lead in defending the birds once they recognize them. She's the one that suggests Syrup should stay at Natts House and the one that encourages Syrup at the end. Rin contributes information about the flower, Komachi and Karen speculate about the imprinted symbol, and Urara...... doesn't really have anything meaningful to add now that I think about it, other than some exasperated faces (see above).

As I said though, there's some good gags along the way. My favorite is them mistaking the impression left by the bird's beak as a "V" and trying to figure out words that start with "V" that it might represent.

(if you’re not familiar, b and v are phonetically similar to begin with and basically blend together in Japanese, hence this mistake)

There was also a funny gag at the start with Rin acting so shocked that Nozomi and Urara were eating hotcakes after lunch..... only for the camera to show her eating them as well. Komachi and Karen’s reactions were priceless. And the first half of the episode has much of this jollity, it’s pretty upbeat. The second half is more serious, as they deal with the threat against the clock tower and the birds’ nest, but it doesn’t get weighty until the end.

Syrup is still kind of an enigma up to this point. All we really know is that he's a delivery boy who wants to visit the Cure Rose Garden, and he's got a strained relationship with most of the other fairies. He mostly keeps to himself, considering Mailpo as his only friend, and just floats between spaces delivering letters and putting up kind of a stand-offish front to keep people away. However, his nightmare sheds a lot of insight on his situation. This time we learn that he's haunted by dreams of being trapped alone in the darkness. He's younger in his dreams, which is a visualization of vulnerability. The force restraining him is a claw, and based on what we learn later about his time working for Eternal, this dream could be a representation of that period, compounded with his ongoing sense of loneliness and his lack of belonging. Even the fact that he sleeps in the clock tower is because he doesn't have a proper home and he doesn't trust other people enough to provide him one. However, he's been getting to know the girls over the last several episodes, seeing what drives them and what kind of people they are, and he's beginning to feel like he can trust them, so he opens up about some of his fears to Nozomi at the end. She understands that he's afraid and alone, and promises she'll rescue him in his dreams if he asks her to, because she cares. The practicality of this doesn't matter, Syrup is her friend and she'll protect him, that's all there is to it in her mind.

Minor note, the significance of two out of three of the clues actually gets lost in translation. The common thread is that they all have “tokei” in the name, which means “clock”. The clock tower is pretty self-explanatory. The plant called “tokeiso” in Japanese is called a blue luster in English, losing the descriptivism of its Japanese name that describes its clock hand-shaped sprouts (Google it, it’s very pretty). Lastly, although the Japanese word for the pastry they’re eating is “hottoke-ki”, derived from hotcakes, and there is technically a difference between pancakes and hotcakes (and flatcakes and flapjacks) English speakers are most familiar with the term “pancakes” and that’s what the subtitles translate it as.

Lastly I want to remark on the art. This is a good art episode... mostly. Scenes of the Hoshiina notwithstanding, because for some reason they really dropped the ball on that. The art isn’t amazing or anything, but they play with proportions for comedy in a way that makes it fun, cute, and endearing.

look at this goof

I’ve commented before on reused music I think, well in this episode I picked up on a villain cue from way back in FWPC. It’s by no means a bad thing, but I primarily associate reused music with the period from Fresh through Smile, and now I’ve noticed some in the Star Twinkle-Tropical-Rouge period. It’s nice to demonstrate to myself that this has been happening all along and isn’t a phenomenon exclusive to on part of the series.

Full disclosure: when I first watched GoGo back in 2013 or 2014, I skipped this episode (and the next one) by accident, due to a naming bug.

disclaimer: those are not the files I’m using now, these are. Only the best.

Due to the way people came and went from this project, the filenames changed a lot, so by a quirk episodes 8-9 happened to be alphabetized between episode 40 and 41. I had my player set to auto-play the next episode and I was working on a project at the time and not giving the binge my full attention, so after episode 7, the next file in the folder was 10. I bring this up to theorize that skipping these two episodes initially may have influenced my opinion on their relevance. I jumped straight from the Palmier Kingdom to Milky Rose's introduction and didn't wind up watching the episodes that bridged this gap until well after the fact. I may never know what impact this had on my overall response, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but as I view these two episodes as kind of filler or padding to get to Milky Rose, it’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I only dismiss them because I experienced it without them first.

I know this review is all over the place, so to summarize my thoughts, it’s a solid episode with some genuine moments, but overall it feels like padding or filler, since I know what’s coming in a few episodes. That isn’t a bad thing but it doesn’t do much for the characters or their relationships with each other, except for Syrup as he’s new around here. Coco and Nuts, surprisingly, are barely in this episode. It is not bad, but it’s not one of the better episodes the show has to offer. And that’s fine.

Next time on Precure Daily, there’s another mystery to solve, and this time Komachi goes full detective to find the cake caper. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 2 Kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 Go Go!#YPC5GG08 #PCD206

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theoriesontheory · 4 years ago

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Can Your Heart Be on Your Sleeve while Your Tongue is In Your Cheek?

Irony, Sincerity and the Internet

In their video essay “David Foster Wallace – The Problem with Irony” Schoder breaks down David Foster Wallace’s views on the downfall of entertainment, namely tv due to a saturation of irony. (2016) After introducing the problem of an overly ironic, snake devouring itself, media landscape, the solution seems to be proposed, a tonal shift towards sincerity. (ibid) Shows like The Office and Community and Parks and Recreation in some cases maintain post-modern traits in order to subvert them but more and more, mainstream media is focusing less on the deconstruction of the meta narrative and more focused on the micro-relationships. (ibid.)

youtube

In August of 2017 Kirin J. Callinan uploaded the music video for his latest single “Big Enough” featuring Alex Cameron, Molly Lewis and Jimmy Barnes. In September of 2017 a tumblr page posted a clip from the video, which was later uploaded to youtube and went viral as “Screaming Cowboy” (knowyourmeme, 2018)

youtube

The remixes and overdubs spread like wildfire and to this day, through apps like tik tok and Instagram the song and meme is heard around the world by listeners who potentially could never have heard anything else the artists have done or anything beyond the 43 second clip. In interviews on the piece featured artist Alex Cameron explains that the piece came out of the idea that people would constantly compare himself and Callinan in the relatively small Sydney Pop scene and thinking about how the world is so often divided. They wanted to remind people that everything wasn’t all about conflict but there can be unity. (Fluffy, 2018) Callinan himself describes the song as “sincere.” (Gaca, 2017) Beyond being a song about unity, represented by the two artists coming together but it also represents a deconstruction of genre boundaries for the artist. When first experimenting with making EDM, a genre he did not care for Callinan describes making something “aesthetically displeasing and pretty unexciting as an idea,” with “a euphoria that’s just infectious.” (ibid.) He continues, detailing how after hearing Sweedish House Mafia’s ‘Don’t You Worry Child’ that he was able to get past his own preconceived and taught notions of genre and boundaries between high and low art and understand that the heart of the work was important. (ibid.) This is immediately shown in this piece, bringing together the unique blend of two underground pop artists from Sydney, a world famous whistler and an Australian Rock icon. This song is the perfect representation of the idea of synthesis, it feels like a creative artist having fun while telling a sincere and genuine story about unity, not only in the lyrics but in the production of the song and the incorporation of a diverse range of cultural touchstones, the work is an intellectual masterpiece!

… But it’s still a meme and I didn’t actually listen to the whole song until around two years after it came out when I finally heard it through a bad Bluetooth speaker in a backyard somewhere. The question then stands, does the fact that something is a meme make it any less valuable as art? Looking back at the Schoder video, the first wave thinking of post modern media, the thinking that spawned shows like Seinfeld and Always Sunny, (2016) would say that this song was brilliant and funny. It’s a deconstruction of the notions of pop and using all kinds of semiotic messages that are understood by the knowledgeable and reference soaked internet generation, it did exactly what it was meant to do clearly, it’s making fun of the entertainment industry. And while it is all of those things I don’t think that is all the song is. I think this song is an example of an Office type TV show as described by Schoder. (2016) this song and the video does all of those things but still feels very human and genuine. It doesn’t stop at the deconstruction but also works on focusing to the right thing, connection and community.

Despite this wholesome message at the song’s core, some argue that the last refrain takes the song into parody

Image: Screenshot of Lyrics to ‘Big Enough’ from Genius.com

But if you think about songs that have called for peace and unity before,

Image: Screenshot of Lyrics to ‘Imagine’ from Genius.com

I think that ‘gen z’ who was raised in cynicism would see both sentiments as equally as realistic. Meaning the only differences between the two songs are the choice of instrumentation and who’s singing it. Toward the end of the Gaca interview Callinan says, “I’d like to write more songs that are emotional and real and not full of so much fucking bullshit. But at the same time, it’s the bullshit that makes it fun. No one’s interested in listening to an acoustic singer-songwriter.” And I think that this song is a move in that direction for him.

To insert some of my own romantic thinking, in a way the fact that this song is being shared to so many different people in so many different contexts as humour, shows that the message of unity is being spread through comedy.

While the internet took this song and video and gave them a life of their own, at their core still stands an artist with a message. While a majority of people might know the song as humour, Callinan was able to achieve his artistic goal and make a song that he enjoys, as well as collaborating with a friend in Alex Cameron, an interesting and unique person in Molly Lewis and a childhood hero in Jimmy Barnes. It was funny, it was serious, it was entertaining, it is art.

youtube

References:

Gaca, A. (2017, November 8). What Exactly Is Going On With Kirin J. Callinan? Spin. https://www.spin.com/featured/kirin-j-callinan-bravado-interview/

Fluffy. (2018, January 18). Interview: Alex Cameron Talks Style and Substance. Under the Radar. https://www.undertheradar.co.nz/news/13758/Interview-Alex-Cameron-Talks-Style-And-Substance.utr

Knowyourmeme, (2018). Big Enough. https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/big-enough

Schoder, W. [Will Schoder]. (2016 October 7). David Foster Wallace – The Problem With Irony [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2doZROwdte4

Other media in order:

Kirin J Callinan. (2017 August 17). Kirin J Callinan - Big Enough (Official Video) ft. Alex Cameron, Molly Lewis, Jimmy Barnes [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvrZJ5C_Nwg

CarrierBK (2017 September 9) AHHHHH [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBLdQ1a4-JI

Image: Screenshot of Lyrics to ‘Big Enough’ from Genius.com Captured 07/07/2021 https://genius.com/Kirin-j-callinan-big-enough-lyrics

Image: Screenshot of Lyrics to ‘Imagine’ from Genius.com Captured 07/07/21 https://genius.com/John-lennon-imagine-lyrics

Red Lama (2017 October 5) Dank Meme Compilation – Big Enough [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWc-7Q8NbVA

#critical theory #critical theories #CIM402.1 #Big Enough #Alex Cameron #Krin J. Callinan #Jimmy Barnes #Molly Lewis #Post modern #pop culture

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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ancient names, pt. xix

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xix: messy hearts

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~11.2k

Rating: Explicit; they bang it out.

Warnings: mentions/depictions of murder-suicides(though none very graphic, only mentioned in passing and after the fact, if that changes anything). Unreliable narrators abound. I think that's all, but if there's anything I missed please let me know.

Notes: I'm going to keep these notes brief just because the chapter is quite a hefty one! We finally get some plot movement, a look into how Elliot got her mantra to Keep Going Anyway mantra, and boy howdy if you thought things were bad before just fucking wait.

I have so many people to thank and I just don't know how to express my gratitude. @shallow-gravy, you are a pure angel and I just adore you so much. Thank you for being so wonderful and for cheering my girl on always, no matter what! @lilwritingraven ilysm!!! You are so sweet and I just don't think this chapter would have happened without you.

And of course, absolutely none of this fic would be possible without @starcrier's unending love and support. The amount of MEMES, the amount of screenshots and meltdowns and in general just fuckery she puts up with nonstop is remarkable and I honestly believe that without her support we wouldn't have gotten where we are today!!!

I anticipate there is, perhaps, one or two chapters left of Ancient Names. Thank you everyone who has supported, even by a single like or kudos or comment; this community is so incredible and I am so so so grateful for every friend I have made. <3

The U.S. Marshal arrives ahead of schedule.

That is to say, nobody is ready for him. Everyone seems a little nervous. He’s familiar with the area—“Familiar enough,” Whitehorse says, and Elliot thinks she can sense a bit of disdain in his voice; people don’t take well to outsiders traipsing around like they own the place, and Cameron Burke certainly carries himself with an amount of confidence that might come off as arrogant.

“Hey,” he says, when she passes him in the hallway, “you’re the rookie, huh?”

She’s already tired of being called rookie—Rook is fine, she supposes, because she likes the way it makes her sound like the chess-piece, the bull-dozer, straightforward and brutal—but she nods, clearing her throat and holding out her hand. “Elliot.”

Burke shakes her hand. There’s a bright, easy grin on his face. “Yeah, I read about you, Honeysett,” he tells her, and for a second her stomach drops; the shame rises up in her throat like a second wave of exhaustion, but he plunges on, “you fuckin’ killed it at the Academy. Flying colors, everyone tells me.”

Relief floods her system. “Tried, anyway,” she says, unaccustomed to compliments regarding her work and more accustomed to dodging questions about why Whitehorse had to think twice about letting her on. “It was—I like the work. Of training, I mean. School. I’ve always liked school.” Fuck, she’s rambling and she can tell—she’s rambling because she’s nervous he’s going to ask, but Burke watches her for a moment.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says after a brief pause. “This place could use some new blood. Kinda dusty, don’tcha think?”

Elliot nods. It’s hard not to smile when he’s flashing his teeth boyishly, when he sticks a toothpick in his mouth and winks at her before he sets off. It is kind of dusty, in Hope County, she thinks—and she likes it, this little stretch and slice of home, but it does need new blood. Once they clear the cultists out, it’ll be like new; and then her life will really begin.

She’ll really start over.

Joey doesn’t like him much. “Sounds like a prick,” she says that night over takeout, her legs draped across Elliot’s lap.

“I like him,” she says, fishing her chopsticks around in Joey’s takeout box for a spare bite of broccoli. “He was... Nice. To me.”

“Oh?” Joey cocks a brow at her. “You had a little chat with our friend the U.S. Marshal?”

“Just in the hallway,” Elliot replies quickly, “on my way out today, I passed him. He said he read my file.”

Joey isn’t staring at her, but she doesn’t need to be for Elliot to know that she’s listening. She’s digging around in her noodles for something when she makes a low, quiet noise of inquisition, as though to say, is that so?, because she knows what that usually entails.

“He just mentioned I got good marks,” she murmurs after a moment. “At the Academy.”

“Well, you did,” Joey says. Elliot huffs out a short little laugh and smiles.

“I know. Just nice to be recognized for my greatness.” She crinkles her nose. “Whitehorse just kind of looks at me like he’s worried I’ll fire off.”

“Oh, Elliot! So strong, so smart, so fast, so capable of shooting a man on foot or by vehicle!” Joey wails dramatically. “Your hand in marriage, I beg it of thee!”

Elliot rolls her eyes and shoves Joey’s legs off of her lap, stretching and coming to a stand. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you.”

“Not before marriage, though,” her friend intones somberly. “Joseph “The Father” Seed wouldn’t have any pre-marital fucking in his domain.”

“I don’t think he’s as stiff on that as everyone thinks he is.” Elliot walks into the kitchen and uncorks the bottle of wine, pouring herself a new glass. “Aren’t cults supposed to be weird about that kind of thing?”

She can hear Joey scoff in the living room. “You’re going to be with us tomorrow. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Oh, great idea! ‘Hi, The Father? Do you fuck, or nah?’ He won’t be expecting that at all.”

“Perfect. See how Burke feels about that pro-strategy.”

Elliot laughs and settles herself back on the couch, holding the glass of wine in both of her hands; the fragrance of it swims in her head pleasantly. Tomorrow they take the U.S. Marshal down to the compound and finally root the Seeds out of here. For good.

She says lightly, “Anyway, I want to get tomorrow done as fast as possible.” A little sigh escapes her.

“Things will finally get back to normal.”

Burke’s hands are around her throat and he slams her up against the wall with a vicious noise.

And then he sees her—really sees her—and he drops his hands from her neck to grip her shoulders instead as he says, “Fucking Christ—Rook, I’m so sorry, fuck, I thought—”

Elliot coughs. Her lungs strain with each movement; every bone in her body feels bruised, and something slimy crawls up and down her spine when she thinks about the way Joseph leaned in close to her in the helicopter and said, no one is coming to save you.

“Burke,” she manages out, her voice hoarse, “they took Joey—they f-fucking—”

“This shit is all fucked,” Burke says. “I had no idea. We had—”

Everything in her is vibrating with a strange kind of hunger. It’s like she’s itching for something, but she can’t quite figure out what it is—movement, maybe, or a purpose, a task. It had been one thing to crawl her way out of the helicopter and start running blindly, but now she’s stationary, and in a trailer, and Joey is gone and she almost can’t think straight.

“Rookie,” Burke says firmly, but not unkindly, “with me.”

Her lashes flutter and she realizes she’s been zoning out. “Y—Yeah, I’m—here—I’m—”

And then she’s gasping, heaving for a lungful of air. All of a sudden, the ability to take a breath is gone. Her body’s normal functions have flown out the window. Her vision fuzzes around the edges and she thinks, fuck fuck fuck, don’t fucking do this, please, fuck, not right now, get it together.

No one is coming to save you.

Burke grabs her hand and plants it right on the side of his neck. His pulse beats—fast, but steady, in the complete opposite of the stuttering arrhythmia of her own heart. He’s breathing hard, but his eyes are clear and his movements assured.

“With me?” This time it’s a question, and she’s taking breaths at the same time he is so she nods.

“Yeah,” she replies, “yeah.”

“Good.” He pulls away from her and gestures for her to follow as he heads further in. “Check the room.”

She does. It’s empty. Eden’s Gate scripture decorates the walls, photos of the Seed family staring at her unflinchingly from behind glass panes of photo frames.

“Clear,” she reports, when she remembers to, and finds Burke standing in what appears to be the main living room of the trailer. The lines of his face are hard, unforgiving, and she can feel the urgency radiating off of him as he scrambles to pull together a plan.

“We’re gonna put these fucking psychos behind bars, Rook,” he says, pointing at a picture frame sporting a portrait taken of the Seeds. Elliot can’t stand to look at them. To think that she’d met John in a bar and—even considered—

“Every single one of them,” the Marshal reiterates as he rips the photo frame off of the wall and drops it on the floor, crushing the glass beneath his boot on his way over to the window. “We’re gonna—”

There are voices outside. Dread crawls up her spine; she can feel it latching on, sinking its teeth into her, gripping.

Burke shoves an automatic rifle in her hands.

“Eyes,” he barks out, back to business as he creeps toward the door of the trailer. “There’s a truck out there. You ready to fuckin’ rumble?”

She grips the cold metal. She wants to say, I don’t know if this is a good idea, because the edges of her are bleeding and blending in with everything else, and she’s having a hard time thinking about anything other than the texture of the carpet under her booted feet, but it helps to have something to hold onto.

Burke turns to her, crouched by the door, and his hand drops on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “we're gonna bolt for that truck and hope it starts. Cover me."

"There's hardly any ammo in this thing," Elliot tells him, a note of panic rising in her voice as more people can be heard gathering outside, shouting to check the trailer. "What happens when—"

"I told you, kid, I read up on you. I know you were that small-town, All-American girl hitting soft lobs in the batting cage once," Burke tells her. "You'll figure out a use for the gun if you run out. And Rook?”

Elliot waits, and grips the cold metal slowly going lukewarm under her hands, flicking the safety off. “Yeah?”

The Marshal gives her shoulder a squeeze. “The second you think you can’t anymore,” he says, “you dig and keep going anyway. No matter what. Give ‘em your teeth if you have to. Got it?”

She nods without thinking about it, because the words feel good—if you can’t, keep going anyway. Dig dig dig. It reminds her of a poem she had read once.

What do we do with grief? Lug it; lug it.

“Good.” Burke drops his hand from her shoulder and gets ready to push the door open. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

There’s not a lot of detail to recall of the next few moments. She’s aware of voices, and gunfire, and the rhythmic, steady movements that she falls into. Aim, fire, drop, reload, aim, fire, rinse and repeat, until the torturous drag of time has her hauling herself into the truck while bullets whizz and clink off of the metal. The second she’s sitting, and not moving, and not breathing, her muscles start screaming; pain blooms behind her eyes.

Burke sends the tires shrieking as he speeds down the highway. He says something, but it’s hard to hear over the rush of wind from the open window, over the shouts of voices and sounds of gunfire echoing in the still, dark night. Elliot falls into a rhythm again—lean, aim, fire, pull back, reload, and again and again—while the Marshal drives over barricades and nearly throws her out of the truck.

“Nice fuckin’ shot, kid!” he says over the noise, just as the sound of an airplane rattling above them makes him lean over the steering wheel as he drives. “Fucking—you’re telling me they have God damn air support? Fuck!”

“Burke,” Elliot says, because they’re rapidly approaching a bridge with a truck ahead of them and the airplane hasn’t let up, “Burke—the bridge—”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ see it,” he grits out, fingers gripping the wheel. “Hold on, Rook.”

He punches it. He’s going to try and get around the truck and across the bridge. But it’s not enough; the truck ahead of them swerves, stops him from being able to speed past and keeping them trapped.

Gunfire from the sky rains down on them. The bridge goes up in flames; the truck is plunged straight into the water; and for a second, Elliot thinks, oh, thank fucking God, I’m done.

But she’s not, unfortunately. As she holds her breath around the water she’d swallowed upon the impact, she struggles out through the open window of the truck and fights her way to the surface. Everything inside of her wants to quit—everything says, we could just close our eyes, we could just be done, and then she remembers.

The second you think you can’t go anymore, you dig and keep going anyway. No matter what.

Her hands find soil. She hauls herself out of the water, coughing, lungs straining for air. Her vision blurs black and fuzzes, fizzing and popping in and out of existence as she considers the logistics of letting herself die. Just for a second. She can die for a second, right?

“No! Get off me! I am a United States Federal Marshal!”

It’s Burke. She can see the glimmer of flashlights on a distant bank, closer to the bridge. The dull, wet impact of something against skin quiets him; as Elliot lays back against the bank with her eyes flickering shut, she feels fingers grip the front of her shirt and haul her upwards.

“My children...”

The voice drones out of speakers—the sound speckles in and out, crackling in her head, distant but sickening.

“S—” Her voice slurs as she tries to say something; she’s being carried, and she doesn’t know to where, or by who. “W—Wait—”

“We must give thanks to God. The day I have prophesied to you has arrived.”

Elliot tries to force her eyes open. She can’t. She can’t, and she’s going to let Burke down, because she can’t dig anymore. How is she supposed to dig if her nails are scraping the bottom of the barrel?

“Everything I’ve told you has come true... The authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of my Family... save for one.”

She’s going to be sick. She’s going to be sick, and she wants to die, and she thinks that fucking psycho is talking about her.

“But the Wayward Soul will be found. They will be punished...”

She can see stairs. Concrete stairs, as the man carrying her hauls her down, down down down. Vaguely, hazily, she thinks, belly of the beast, now? and she wonders if she will ever feel normal again. Her vision fuzzes black, but she’s not dead and she’s not asleep; it’s unfortunate.

“And in the end, they will see our glorious purpose.”

Metal clinks against metal. Cold from the concrete floor seeps through her soaked clothes. Elliot lifts her head lazily, feeling the tug and strain of handcuffs around her wrists, and when she opens her eyes she can see she’s—somewhere. Somewhere, and handcuffed to a bed, while an older man stands at the radio. Joseph’s voice rattled on through it.

“I am your Father. You are my Children. And together, we will march too—”

The man turns the radio off. The air hangs hazy around him with smoke; something burns in the ashtray, and she thinks, fuck, I’d kill for a goddamn cigarette right about now.

“You know what that shit means?” the man asks, turning to look at her. She blinks at him blearily, and when she doesn’t answer, he plants himself in a chair in front of her.

Joey, and maybe Pratt—Burke, Whitehorse? They’re all gone, or dead, or something somewhere, and now it feels less like this was her chance to really start over and more like a set of trials and tribulations to make her suffer.

Her gaze flickers to meet the man’s, and she shakes her head uncertainly. The words won’t come out, even if she thinks there’s even a chance she’d have the strength.

“It means the roads have all been closed.”

No one is coming to save you.

“It means the phone lines have been cut.”

What do we do with grief?

“It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley.”

Give ‘em your teeth if you have to.

Elliot feels her stomach churn violently, nauseated. She wishes this man would have left her to die—or sleep, or whatever it was her body had been trying to get her to do on that riverbank.

“But mostly,” he finishes, leaning in to look at her with a hard, flinty gaze, “it means we’re all fucked.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A loud knock at the door echoed in the dim, stinging heat of the bath. For a moment, she felt a jolt of instinctive fear pound through her body—where was she? Was she drowning again? Had she not made it out of the river, had she—

Burke, and Joseph, and Joey getting dragged away, and Dutch, and—

But then Elliot remembered: she was at her mother’s house, and she’d run herself a bath in the big clawfoot off from the master with a vodka soda, and John Seed was here, too, and her lungs burned because she’d been sitting under the water. The sharp, splintering pain in her chest was grief, the memory of Joey's laugh and smile freshly remembered.

Breaking the surface and steadying the breath that wanted to gasp out of her through her nose, Elliot pushed any stray bubbles from her face and eyes and waited again to see if the sound was real.

Another knock came. “El?” John called from outside the bathroom, and his voice hinged on something else—something strange and foreign, and it gave her a tiny little thrill through the pit of her stomach to know she was making him feel like that. She blinked a few times, straightening up in the bathtub as the now-lukewarm water splashed around her. It had been a long time since she’d fallen asleep like that, without sporting a metric fuckton of exhaustion for days. It was probably the alcohol.

“I’m here,” she replied, feeling hollowed out and trying not to let it show in her voice, “come in. What is it?”

The door clicked open. John glanced around curiously at the bathroom—her mother had never let her use this bathroom for anything, not even to get ready for a high school dance or her graduation, and she thought maybe that made the room all the more special—all of her mother’s glittering compacts and colored perfume bottles, carefully-maintained hanging plants, the big French windows and gauzy white curtains; they all spoke to a woman who had created for herself a safe space.

She only thought, I hate that she never let me enjoy this safe space, too.

“We should be going back soon,” he said lightly, crossing the marbled floor to drag the stool from the vanity up to the side of the tub. With one arm leaned up against the porcelain, he reached the other hand out and tilted her chin; like this, covered only by the rose-scented bubble bath foaming up around the hollow of her chest, she was sure that she looked gnarly—mottled with bruises the size of Kian’s fingerprints, all over her neck and shoulders and chest, dousing her in a faded red-wine color that made her skin prickle in faint pain when John traced the slope of her collarbone.

Kian was dead, but he was still there—lingering just below her skin, a bone-deep ache and grief that she would never be rid of because no matter how dead he was, Joey was much more dead.

“—you’re thinking about,” John murmured, his eyes flickering over her face, and she leaned back against the head of the tub.

“Come again?” Elliot reached out of the tub, snagging the half-drained glass of vodka soda and downing the rest of it with a grimace that only partially cleared out the fog of grief.

“I said,” he continued lightly, fingers smoothing over bruisy skin below her collarbone, “tell me what you’re thinking about.”

I’m thinking about Joey, and your fucking cultists dragging her out of the helicopter and taking her away from me. There was no venom in the passing voice as she closed her eyes, damp hair sticking to the nape of her neck and her mother’s bath oils filling up her senses; John was touching the spot he’d once threatened to mark her with her sin. Wrath.

I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Maybe just over your heart.

It wasn’t enough to wear it on her skin, anymore. It didn’t feel like enough, anyway. It was inside of her; a poison that she couldn’t sweat out, embedded in the sinew of her tissue now.

“I can hear those little gears turning, hellcat.”

“What do we have to do?” Elliot asked after a moment, opening her eyes, as John’s fingers traced the shape of a letter beneath her collarbone. W... R... A...

“Do?”

T...

“For the baptism,” she clarified, as the blunt drag of his nail finished the final touch of an H. “What do we have to do?”

John watched her for a moment, gaze flickering over the quickly-fading red marks he’d left on her sternum. She knew that look on his face—he was hungry for it, this thing he had been trying to get from her all along. Even after it all, he still itched to carve it out of her.

And maybe she did, too; maybe it would feel like a penance, a purging, a catharsis, a—

That’s how, she thought after a moment. That’s how they get people.

“We’ll cleanse you...” His voice trailed off and his eyes flickered back up to hers. “And then reveal your sin.”

“Cut it out of me,” Elliot supplied, exhaling a little out of her mouth.

John’s mouth twisted around a smile when her eyes traced the exposed Sloth scar she had memorized the feel of. “Real courage.”

She wondered, briefly, if it would feel the same as when she had done it before. The scar would certainly look different—no fine gossamer wisps, ghosting across her abdomen and hips and the inside of her thighs. Those were ghosts. This one—this scar John wanted to give her—would be a neon sign flashing over her head.

Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?

Could she have a life after this? Would it matter if she and John even left? Regardless of where they went—if they did—they would be a pair, matching in scars and matching in sin and matching matching matching until they were the same, just as much blood on her hands as there was on his.

“Then,” he continued, dipping his hand into the fragrant water before drawing it up across her bruise-mottled shoulder, “you’ll be clean.”

I liked it, she thought through the haze of alcohol and perfumed air, killing Kian. I liked it.

His fingers came up to her jaw, and he leaned against the edge of the porcelain tub and kissed her; long and luxurious, not punishing or bruising but drawn-out enough to elicit in her a pleasant, dull ache.

“Okay,” Elliot murmured, speaking the words into his mouth, into his kiss.

John paused, but did not pull away. She could taste the dredges of what swallows he’d gotten of her drink in his breath. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” She reached up and dragged him the tiny distance back in for another kiss. “I want to.” She thought, if it’s what will convince Joseph, if it’s what’ll make it so I can leave, if it means you’ll go with me, if it means I won't have to be alone, but none of those words came. It had never been her strong suit, talking about her feelings.

John exhaled, like the acquiescence—the relenting—was enough to drive him to nirvana. She could feel his smile against her mouth.

“El,” he rumbled against her mouth, fingers skimming along the slope of her jaw, “I’m gonna give you everything you want.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Slow down.”

They’d only been driving through Fall’s End for about five minutes—not that it took too long; you could probably drive five minutes in just about any direction and hit the edge of town—when the blonde barked out the order. It was a strange juxtaposition, to have her biting out words like that when the smell of roses wafted off of her like a perfume, filling the cab from the oils in the bath.

Elliot’s voice was sharp when she spoke; her eyes were fixed on something out past her window, evening having sunk heavy and dark over the town of Fall’s End. It was a ghost town, now, but the urgency in her voice had him hitting the brake more fervently than he intended, and the truck lurched to stop.

“What is it?” John asked, and when he did Boomer growling low and angry behind him. He eyed the Heeler before he realized even the dog was looking elsewhere.

The blonde didn’t answer. She leaned forward instead, as though straining to see in the dark. Over her head, he could see the front of the Spread Eagle where they had been only a few days ago; now it was decorated with blossoms, and at its base sat two darkly-clothed figures. This far away, John couldn’t see if they were asleep or awake.

And then he did see. He saw the arterial spray against the dark wood, flickering under neon lights that buzzed in the stillness of the night; he saw the bouquet clutched between their hands; he saw the open, glassy eyes and slack jaws, and the glint of metal sitting on the ground beside each body.

Above them, written in dark, oxidized red-brown: WRATH, DO YOU WANT TO BLOOM IN ME?

“Sorry fucks,” Elliot said, her voice flinty and steeled as she leaned back into her seat. In the cab of the truck, the perfume of the bath oils radiated off of her in gentle waves, the heady, floral scent almost dizzying this concentrated and close.

John let the truck roll forward a little, scanning warily; he didn’t see any dark shapes moving behind windows, or in the distant treeline, which was what actually worried him—the presence of more, live enemies, not the suicide love-birds.

But if it bothered Elliot, if it made her feel any type of way to see these dead bodies cradling life in one last embrace, he couldn’t see it on her face. He pressed on the accelerator and glanced at her expression through the corner of his eyes; there was a steeliness there. Not empty, not as though she had stopped processing, but as though she had, and it didn’t mean anything to her.

Good, he thought. That’s how it needs to be.

The rest of the drive back was quiet. There were an unsettling amount of coupled-bodies on the drive home—propped against trees and patches of highway railings or the occasional clifface, hands interlocked as they cradled blossoms, some more intricately decorated than others. But the basis of it was always the same: a couple, slumped and glassy-eyed. Some had the words written around them, some did not. It didn’t seem to hold any pattern that he could tell.

Elliot closed her eyes and drifted in and out of sleep until they got back to the compound, the flickering fluorescents stirring her awake. As they were pulling in, Jacob was getting a truck ready to go; it was late into the evening now, almost midnight, and a sting of apprehension skittered up John’s spine at the sight of his eldest brother loading a rifle into a truck.

As soon as she had opened the door, letting Boomer out first and then following suit, Elliot looked at Jacob and said, “Where are you going?”

“Not your fuckin’ business,” Jacob replied serenely.

“Everything,” Elliot said flatly, “is my business.”

“It’s cute that you care.” Jacob flashed her a half-cocked smile. “But don’t worry, deputy, I’m a big boy.”

John slid out from the driver’s seat, watching the exchange with some apprehension. But it seemed to fizzle and die out right then and there, like Jacob and Elliot had come to some silent truce about the matter without his intervention; Elliot rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath, heading for the bunkhouse without waiting for John.

Which was fine, because John lingered. He swung the truck keys around his finger and said, “So where are you going?”

Jacob glanced back at him over his shoulder. The redhead regarded John for a moment before he looked to make sure Elliot had closed the door behind her and said, “Couple of ours say they spotted Burke wandering around down by the Henbane.”

Oh, John thought, the words both giving him a jolt of excitement and a little of dread. Burke being missing was a problem, that was to be sure—but if they could find him? Get rid of him without ever bringing him back into contact with Elliot? The less time for conspirators to put silly ideas in her head about getting out and moving on from Hope County, the easier it was going to be to convince her of what a bad idea that was in the end.

“You’re going to go get him?” John prompted.

“Yep,” Jacob drawled, “dead or alive.”

“Preferably dead.”

The corners of Jacob’s mouth ticked upward, and he flashed his teeth. “That a request, little brother?”

Stifling his own smile, John replied lightly, “I just think it’ll solve a lot of problems if the Marshal becomes permanently lost. And if it makes my job a little easier in the process, then—”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jacob interrupted, waving his hand. I’ll see what I can do was about as good as an anything you want if it was coming from Jacob, John knew; so when he said that, and clapped John on the shoulder as he passed, it felt like an assurance more than a cautionary ‘maybe’.

John nodded, and then said, “We saw the Family.”

His eldest brother paused in his movements, and then hauled himself into the truck, looking at John expectantly.

“They’re killing themselves,” he elaborated. “At least the ones we saw. You’ll probably…”

John’s voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat and said, “It’ll be hard to miss them.”

Jacob gave one short, brief nod, slamming the door of the truck and starting it with a rattling rumble. “Sorry fucks,” he said, his words unintentionally mirroring Elliot’s words, and it was all John could do not to tell him he sounded exactly like her.

John headed for the chapel, moving with a new and reinvigorated purpose. For once—finally—things were beginning to fall into place. With Burke out of the picture, the last of the resistance having evacuated Hope County, and Elliot’s agreement to the baptism, he thought this could only indicate smooth sailing from here on out.

Well, mostly smooth. There was still the matter of their marriage, which Elliot didn’t know about—and it was a big deal, probably, for her to know that her last name was changed. As far as the law would be concerned, however, everything would check out and be perfectly binding, and when he told her she would understand that he had done it for them, that he had done it because they needed that extra measure of protection in the instance that—

Don’t, he thought to himself, pushing the door open. We are not considering the idea that the End isn’t coming.

“John,” Joseph greeted him, sounding surprised. It looked like he had just been walking towards the doors himself to leave. His brother's gaze flickered over him inquisitively. “It’s late.”

“Elliot wants to do the baptism,” he said, trying to quell his delight at the gentle lifting of Joseph’s brows at the news. “I’ll do it as soon as you want, Joseph.”

The man paused. He seemed to roll the announcement around in his head for a while, the white leather-bound bible tucked under his arm as his eyes flickered absently over the wooden flooring.

“She’s agreed to it,” John tried again. “To the—”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, “I understand.”

Another moment of silence stretched. John kept waiting for it—the happiness, the pride that Joseph should feel at him having accomplished this last great feat. Anything, John thought, I’d take anything, if you just gave me something to work with.

“Tomorrow,” he said finally, and reached out, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He squeezed, and a bit of relief flooded John’s system. “You baptize our deputy tomorrow—”

My deputy.

“—and then we will prepare to retreat for the End,” he finished. “Yes?”

John nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Joseph regarded him for a moment, and then, at last, a little smile quirked the edges of his lips. “You’ve done well, John.”

He felt his shoulders sag a little in relief. “Thank you,” he said, “Joseph, I—”

“And I will forgive you the transgression of your lust,” Joseph continued mildly, “as you will make sure that Elliot joins us completely and wholly. Isn’t that right?”

The dread returned. Just a little; it was how Joseph operated the most effectively. Tiny, light dosings of dread, just to remind you who was in control, who it was that ran things around here. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve already,” John began, “confessed to those which—”

Joseph’s hand came to the back of his neck. “You have been fixated on our deputy since the moment she started taking things from us. You can re-commit an offense,” he said, his words echoing Jacob’s, and for a moment John felt a spike of anger—that they had been talking about him when he wasn’t around. “You’re not so wrathful as to go to such lengths to bring her to heel for that alone. And even if you were,” Joseph added, “it wouldn’t matter, as you had already given in to your sin.”

“She’s my wife,” John insisted, and his words were coming out angrier than he wanted; as always, Joseph could slide right under his skin like it was nothing, like it was second nature to him.

“A fact she remains, as of yet, unaware of. Regardless, you lusted after her far before that, and acted on it before then, as well. I’ve let it go because of our unusual circumstances, but you understand,” his brother replied, his words a blunt-force-trauma slap to John’s exhausted brain. A moment of silence stretched between them as John worked the words around in his mouth—I actually don’t understand, nothing about that changed how I treated her in my care, I did everything you asked of me and I shouldn’t have to pay—but Joseph said, “At any rate, all will be forgiven once we are awaiting the End." And then, pointedly, "All of us.”

John swallowed. He opened his mouth to say something, any of the thoughts running around in his brain, but Joseph dropped his hand and brushed past him, humming lightly under his breath.

“Goodnight, John.”

He stood there for a little while longer after Joseph had left, turning the words around in his brain. Once again, he felt very far away from Joseph; but all this time, he had been working hard to do exactly what his brother had asked of him. Elliot might have already been converted to their cause if he’d been allowed to break her in the way he’d wanted to before. But it was Joseph who had insisted on a more merciful route, Joseph who had reiterated step by step that to do so by mercy was the way it needed to be done for the deputy.

And now, it was Joseph criticizing the steps he’d taken, in adverse conditions, to give him what he wanted.

John pushed the troubling thoughts out of his brain. Another place, another time, he might wallow on them a little more—perhaps a time when he could drink his way through them, come back to reconciliation about the fear that Joseph somehow managed to strike in him with ease, deal with it then.

When he finally walked himself to the bunkhouse, he found Elliot sitting with Faith outside the door, smoking a cigarette while they exchanged quiet words. Faith flashed a radiant smile at John as he approached, her eyes glimmering playfully.

“Ladies,” John greeted, trying to shake his last conversation with Joseph. “Nice evening for an outside chat?”

“Fucking cold,” Elliot replied, taking a drag of her cigarette and blowing the smoke out and away from Faith.

“I was just telling El how happy I am that she’s here,” Faith told him, coming to a stand. Her very casual and nonchalant use of the nickname El was enough to spike a little suspicion in John, but when she spoke, Elliot’s eyes flickered like she was trying not to smile, like the words meant something to her and she was trying to remain stoic.

Elliot said, not remarking on the nickname and tapping the ash from the end of her cigarette, “That’s two out of four siblings that like me. Think I can go for a full house?”

Three, John thought absently, but he didn’t say; the words would have shredded his mouth on the way out.

“Well,” his sister continued lightly, “I’m exhausted. Goodnight, you two.”

“Night,” John replied, keeping his voice idle as she left. He extended a hand down to Elliot, and she took it, hauling herself to her feet; he snagged the cigarette out of her hand and said, “Speaking of sleep, how about we don’t cram it on that twin bunk tonight?”

Elliot watched him smoke her cigarette down, her gaze flickering back up to his. “It’s cute how you think I’m just automatically going to let you sleep with me all the time.”

“It’s cute how you act like you don’t like it,” he replied, pitching his voice low, “especially when we aren’t sleeping in bed.”

She took her cigarette back, finishing it and dropping it to the ground to stamp it out with her shoe. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind not having you breathing down my neck all night.”

“Oh? You suppose?”

“I’m losing the motivation to continue this conversation,” Elliot cautioned in a murmur, even as he leaned in and kissed her, his hand instinctively coming up to the back of her neck to keep her there. She didn’t pull away, or even try to; instead, after he’d kissed her breathless, she continued, “Are you going to take me or what, Slick?”

He laughed, the sound billowing out of his mouth at her little country-drawl come peeking through.

You will baptize our deputy tomorrow.

His fingers curling into the semi-dry hair at the nape of her neck, and he kissed her again—harder, now, open-mouthed and hungry, until he could feel her fingers knotting into the front of his shirt.

“Tomorrow,” he said into the kiss, “tomorrow we’ll do it. A new cleansing, revealing your sin.”

“Fast,” she murmured.

“So Joseph has decreed.”

Elliot pulled back to look at him; he wanted to lean in, chase her mouth with another kiss, but she said, “Do you always do what your brother says? I thought pre-marital fucking was a big no.”

The words twisted hot and traitorous in his stomach. He wanted to say, technically, we’ve only done that once, but he knew better. After her little display back at her mother’s house, he knew better.

He swallowed back the venom and said, carefully articulating his words, “If we could refrain from ruining a perfectly good moment—”

“By talking,” Elliot deadpanned.

“By criticizing,” he clarified, “that would be wonderful.”

She regarded him amusedly, one brow arching upward loftily. She was clearly thinking about something, working it around in her brain in a place that he couldn’t reach—still, parts of her remained locked away from him, parts of her that he desperately wanted to get his hands on and hadn’t yet.

“Well,” she relented at last, “I’d hate to ruin a moment. Show me where this luxurious bed is, huh?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot could tell that her acquiescence unsettled John. She could tell that he had been expecting more of a fight out of her; she was so tired of fighting, though. She was so tired, and she was so worn out, and sometimes she could feel her brain switching off in the middle of something happening, like a greater cosmic power was consistently turning her Do Not Disturb sign on.

She’d feel better in the morning, maybe. It helped that she hadn’t looked at the photos littering her mother’s house for too long, and that she’d drank through most of her time there to keep the memories at bay. Elliot didn’t want to linger on thoughts of running barefoot through the house, shrieking with laughter as her mother called out for her to slow down; she didn’t want to think about how many times she and Joey had curled up on the same couch that John Seed had kissed her on, eating lemon bars and flipping through teen magazines while her mother drank and hummed in the kitchen.

There were good memories there. There were memories of a time when Elliot felt like the entire world was within her reach—she could go anywhere, be anything, become anyone she wanted back then.

Things had changed.

She had changed. And even though John’s promise wavered, even though it still lingered in her chest uncertainly like a beast of its own, she thought maybe he meant it. She had seen the tension between John and Joseph as of late. Something about their interactions was waning thin, worried and worn between them, and that meant that when John said he wanted those things with her—a home, a life—that maybe she could trust him.

Isn’t that a pretty thought? A wicked part of her intoned, vicious. The man who’s lied and lied and lied to you, being truthful for the first time.

But she was tired, and she was different, and being different took work and energy and she didn’t want to think about that. What else could she think, anyway? She could operate off of nothing else.

Admittedly, not trying to fit both of their bodies on a twin bed was doing wonders for her mood. John had led her to another small building within the compound; it was laid out much like the other bunkhouse had been, with a bathroom and a small table, but the bed was queen-sized and pushed up against the far wall, tucked into a corner. With Boomer having taken off with his nose to the ground—likely chasing a scent—Elliot had stripped out of her jeans and crawled into the bed with a laborious sigh that only partially revealed the relief she felt.

“I have never,” John said amusedly as she pulled the blankets up, “seen you more relaxed.”

“You did interfere with my life at an inopportune time. My bed is king-sized at home, you know; nothing like sleeping diagonally on a giant bed.”

He laughed; as he shed his own clothes—his belt, jeans, shirt—he watched her like he was trying to figure out why it was she had become so agreeable and so quickly, why she hadn’t picked another fight with him.

Blissfully, he didn’t ask. John crawled into the bed next to her, and already he was reaching to wind his arm around her waist; when he pulled her close to him, she felt that pleasant little coil of dopamine hit her brain, and she thought, what a time, that John’s hands on me make it feel like I’m not drifting away.

She thought to say it, for just a moment; she thought maybe she could give John that, because she’d been taking and taking and taking and she didn’t think she was giving him anything.

The words didn’t come so easily to her, so instead of saying them, Elliot reached up and dragged him down to kiss him. I’m gonna give you everything you want, he’d said, and just remembering those words made her feel too-warm. She’d never, ever had anyone devoted to her—not like this, not in the way that John was, dragging his mouth reverently down her neck and sliding his hand along the back of her thigh.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” John said, murmuring the words into the skin of her neck. His mouth skimmed lower, dragging down her sternum; his hands pushed up the hem of her tank top and she felt the slick, hot flicker of his tongue against the part of her that she knew was scarred, ghosting and intent.

“Can’t,” she managed out, trying to steady her breathing, “when you’re—”

“You can.” He nudged her legs apart, glancing up at her inquisitively, the blankets dragging down with him. “Tell me.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, open-mouthed, and she felt her breath shallow a little.

“I’m thinking about—what you said, back at the house,” she managed out, as John’s breath fanned across her skin.

John’s eyes fixed on hers again. His fingers skimmed beneath the hem of her underwear; he was waiting for her to tell him to stop. When she didn’t, he tugged the fabric down, sliding it completely out of the way and discarding it somewhere on the floor.

The apprehension curled up, high and hot, in her throat. Still, forced herself to relax, to think about John’s hands gripping her hips and his eyes and his mouth and—

“When you said,” Elliot continued, “you’re going to give me everything I want, and that you wanted—”

He pressed his mouth to her; she felt the sound he made into the gesture, her vibrating straight through her and short-circuiting her brain. Instinctively, her fingers went to his hair and knotted. She didn’t know if she was trying to ground herself again or if she was trying to keep John there, but the intention didn’t matter—as soon as she pulled, even a little, she felt John’s tongue slide sly and wicked against her and she moaned without thinking about it, the sound as involuntary as breathing.

It felt too raw, too vulnerable, and she tried to think is this too much? Am I feeling too much right now?, but the pervasive thought in her brain was: yes yes yes, this is what we need, this is what we want. To be loved, to be touched, to be worshipped.

“Can't get enough of you.” John's voice was rich and dark against her skin. “So sweet for me, hellcat.”

“John, we—you don’t—” Elliot started breathlessly, but the words were strangled in her throat by a half-sighed whimper when John’s mouth returned to where he wanted her the most and he groaned, like he was starved for her, like he could barely stand the thought of not having his mouth on her right that instant.

“Fuck, I wanted this so bad,” he murmured huskily, reverent as he planted kisses along the slope of her hip. “Wanted those sounds you make, and the way you’re looking at me—knew you’d make the prettiest fucking noises when I got my mouth on you—”

Another desperate sound came out of her, just loud enough that John's response was to drag his teeth along the dip and curve of her hip bone. He sighed dreamily and leaned in to flatten his tongue against the neediest part of her; the gesture served only to make Elliot moan and squirm, and her hips instinctively arched upward to try and garner some friction—any friction—but John's hands held her down against the bed.

“Love when you’re desperate for me,” he rumbled against her, breathing the words against her skin and making her breath stutter out of her in an uneven exhale. He pressed his mouth back down, tongue flicking and dragging wet, hot pleasure against her, his gaze half-lidded and not once straying from Elliot’s.

It was almost too much, the whole lot of it; John, saying filthy things against her while he ate her out, his eyes hungry and his mouth hungrier and the way that he dug his fingers into her hips and—

“F-Fucking—tease,” she managed out, but he shook his head, rumbling against her and drawing another spiral of heat straight into her stomach, sharp and unforgiving.

“Don’t you like it when I take my time with you? You certainly seem like you’re enjoying yourself.” He hooked his arms underneath her legs and tugged her down against him. She squirmed, her lashes fluttering when he let his breath fan across her. “Thinking about how I promised you whatever you wanted. Are you going to tell me, then? What you want?”

Elliot could tell that he loved saying that, I’ll give you whatever you want, because he knew what it did to her; that it thrilled her, this shred of power that he gave her, offered to her. John dragged his tongue against her, his gaze heated and nearly blown-black with want, and stayed exactly there between her legs.

“John,” Elliot moaned, “I—want you to fuck me—” And then, in an effort to feel a little like she was in control: “Please.”

The word had its desired effect; she could feel the tension radiating off of him, straining against his carefully-manicured veneer of being in charge. And then John groaned at her words, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as though her words were enough to make him need a moment before he opened them again. He pulled back from her, sitting up so that he could press his fingers into her, and fuck if it didn’t make all the more delicious to have John watching her while he did.

He said, his voice hoarse with want, “El, you’re so fucking—God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this—asking so nicely for me—”

“Fuck me,” Elliot insisted, her voice verging dangerously close to a wail as he changed the pace of his fingers very little. She thought if John kept looking at her like that, if he kept saying those things, she might finish just like this—and she didn’t want to. “Stop teasing me and f—fuck me like I know you want to—like we both want—”

It was enough. Or maybe it was the thing John had been waiting to hear from her, because it prompted him to shed what little clothing remained between them and sidle back between her legs. Reaching down to cradle her face with his hand as he kissed her, she could taste herself on his mouth; she could feel the heady, intoxicating drag of him against her and God he was taking his fucking time.

“Want this to last,” he moaned, burying his face into her neck, “fuck, so good for me, baby, so wet already and I just can’t fucking… Can’t fucking get my fill of you.”

Elliot keened her agreement breathlessly. Yes, she wanted to say, yes, I’m so good for you, now please hurry up and fuck me, the thought driving a wedge of heat straight down her spine. As soon as John slid inside of her, he was panting into her skin, biting out swears as he tried to keep himself from snapping into her.

“J-John,” she whimpered. Her brain felt muggy, hazy with want; like she wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else except for him, and that was exactly what she wanted. Not to think. “So—feels so good—”

“Yeah,” he gritted out, moving slowly, too slowly, “fuck yeah, this is what you needed, huh? Needed me to fuck you like this—nice and slow, make you feel me every—single—time—I—”

It felt good to give him this. She hadn’t lied, when she’d said that before—that she liked giving him what he wanted, that it made her feel in-control and desired and loved and maybe that was the worst part of it all, that her brain might have been making those things up as a way to justify this. But it didn’t matter in that moment; all she could think about was the feeling of him rocking into her, hips slotted perfectly against hers and his mouth on her neck and the faded scent of his cologne mixing with the floral scent of her own remaining perfume.

Elliot sighed, “Yes, John,” in agreement, and pulled him up for a kiss; his movements hitched just a little, the delicious drag of the uneven pacing almost sending her right over the edge. So close so close, her body said, so she knotted her fingers into his hair tight and said it again; “Yes, yes, yes,” against his mouth, moaning it, until John was grinding out swear between his teeth.

“Not yet,” the brunette moaned, almost frantic with desire. “I want you to come, I want to feel you get fucking wet for me, baby—”

She knew that she could make him beg, that she could make him come undone if she really wanted to. But for this moment, Elliot thought she liked this; she liked letting him take control, liked squirming and shifting underneath him until each cant of his hips against hers had sparks of pleasure flickering behind her eyes.

John’s mouth went to her neck. His teeth dragged, and then he bit down harder than he had before; the pain bloomed wet and hot, and she moaned, her lashes fluttering as it sent her sprinting sprinting sprinting right over that edge.

“Yes,” he ground out, “yes, fuck yes, so fucking good for me, El, s-so—good.”

Elliot kissed him hard when he came, his fingers reigniting old bruises on her hips and her own high still cruising, careening prettily down; the surrender was almost better, the act of giving in and giving John what he wanted nearly as intoxicating as the idea that he was hers.

Mine, she thought dreamily as he dragged his tongue over the bite mark on her neck, the word one that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her but which hadn’t occurred to her in this context before. For that suspended moment in time, nothing else could matter to her; there was no space in her brain to worry about anything except the weight of his body against hers and the wicked, delicious aftershocks radiating throughout her body.

All she could think about was how nice it felt to not be so alone.

It feels good for him to be mine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When he awoke the next morning, there were three soft knocks at the door. John blinked, forcing himself to work through the tired haze of his mind, sitting up and reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed and—

And of Elliot, curled up against him, stirring from her sleep.

“John?” It was Faith, mild-tempered and shy; like she knew exactly what she was going to find if she opened the door and she was trying not to let him know. It wasn’t that it bothered her; it was that Faith was exceptionally good at keeping herself in-check, so any time her tone deviated from serene was a red flag.

“I’m awake,” he called back, and even he could hear how hoarse his voice was coming out of him, rough with sleep.

There was a pause, and then Faith said sweetly, “Joseph says we need to begin soon.”

The blonde beside him rolled onto her other side, hauling the blankets up to her chin. “Fuck off.”

“We’ll be ready in thirty,” John called back.

“He said that he wants me to get Elliot ready,” she continued, and there it was; that sly little curl in her voice, the one that reminded him exactly of why it was Joseph kept her around.

John passed a hand over his face tiredly, rubbing his eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat and climbed out of bed. “Sure, alright, Faith, just—give me a minute—”

“Take your time.”

The implication hung there—that she would politely wait until he was done getting dressed, but that she wouldn’t be leaving to wait, so that anything he wanted to say to Elliot was going to have to be saved for later. Haphazardly pulling some clean clothes out of the dresser and onto his body, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Elliot sitting up in bed; she cradled the blanket against her chest and blinked tiredly at him.

“It’s time,” John said. “For the—”

“Yeah, I heard.” Elliot carded her fingers through her hair and slid out from under the blankets. Like this—in various arrays of undress—John could see the purpled bruising along her sternum and neck and shoulder, a few of them on her legs, beginning to fade into a wine color and even lighter still around the edges.

I’ll have to be careful when I’m writing her sin, he thought absently as he buttoned his shirt. As Elliot muddled her way through pulling on last night’s clothes, he closed the distance between them and reached for her; she let him, though maybe only because she was still half-asleep, with the daylight still fresh and new and the outside mostly still dark.

John cradled her face and leaned down to kiss her. “You and me,” he said against her mouth, “right, hellcat?”

It’s not a lie, he reasoned when she kissed him back. It’s not a lie to say that.

“You and me,” Elliot agreed. Her voice sounded thick, like he’d said the exact thing she wanted to hear and it had caught her off guard, and he felt a little thrill of victory in his chest.

Once she was mostly-dressed, he made his way to the door and nudged it open. True to her word, Faith had waited patiently; a swath of dark fabric was draped over her arm, silken, and as she stepped past John she said, “Okay, John, girls only now.”

Obediently, he stepped out of the building, turning and looking at Elliot over his shoulder. The eye contact only lasted for a minute before Faith beamed at him and shut the door. Inside, he could hear Faith saying something to Elliot; making out the words, however, was near impossible.

“Right,” he said under his breath. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

It was the first time he’d said it to himself, in a long time, and it felt true.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“It’s so fucking cold,” Elliot said, shivering. The silk slip of a dress that Faith had told her she needed to wear for the “baptism” barely did anything against the early-morning chill. Dawn had nearly crept all the way over the distant mountains, and as they picked their way down to the water, she wished they’d just let her wear the clothes that she had brought. Naturally, Eden’s Gate—and Joseph, by proxy—were completely incapable of doing anything reasonably.

“I know,” Faith replied sympathetically, their fingers intertwined as they picked their way down the path. “But at least it’s only for a little while. In and out of the water, and then you can change again.” And then, as though it were meant to comfort her, she added, “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot grimaced. Blue was John’s color. “Yeah,” she agreed dryly, “it matches well with my bruises, don’t you think?”

The woman laughed, giving her hand a little squeeze, and for a brief second in time Elliot felt a twinge of regret. There wasn’t too much time to think about it; by the time she was opening her mouth to apologize—an action which Faith seemed to elicit in her quite easily, when overall apologizing was not something that came so naturally to her—they had broken the treeline and all thoughts went sweeping out of her brain.

Joseph stood at the edge of the shore, but she barely thought of him; she barely thought of anything except for John, standing nearly waist-deep in the water, the Book of Joseph held open in one hand and his eyes fixed on her. It sent a little flurry of aches through her, reminding her that once, what felt like a thousand years ago, she had wanted to kill him. Spit in his face. Leave her mark on him and throw his entire fucking family behind bars.

But maybe Joseph had been right, when he asked if she really thought she was going to be accepted by the people she had done all of this to protect.

John's gaze swept over her as they came near; a grin split his face, and with his empty hand he reached for her. She was vaguely aware of Joseph saying something, light and tranquil, but the words didn't register in her brain. She was only barely aware of Faith letting go of her. With that same hand, she took John’s outstretched one, and he tugged lightly, guiding her into the chilly Autumnal waters; where it barely reached John’s waist, the water just crested above her belly button, and she felt the goosebumps spreading.

John cleared his throat. His eyes swept over the page in the book, before he closed it and held it out for Joseph. When the man took it, standing just at the edge of the water, he turned back to Elliot and murmured, low and barely above the sound of the water lapping around them, “You and me?”

Her stomach twisted and lurched uncomfortably, but she nodded. She’d had barely an opportunity to reconcile this moment with herself. She thought, maybe, if she made it a rebirth for herself—if she let Joseph think that it was for him, but in her mind and in the marrow of her bones it was for her, that would be what mattered. But it was hard to think that way when John started reciting the words from the book, words that sparked in her memories of the last time this had been happening.

Hands, gripping her shirt, plunging her under the water over and over and over again. The “scripture” bleeding into her head, into her heart, muffled occasionally by the water. John’s voice, slick with venom, when he said, “This one’s not clean.”

When John finished speaking, he reached up; still stuck in the waking nightmare-memory, Elliot’s hand reached up to grip his arm where the sleeve had been rolled up.

John, plunging her under the water. Holding her. Dark dark dark, and her voice rolling the word weak around as she fought for air and struggled to break the surface—

But now, his hands cradled against the pillar of her neck; now, he looked at her reverently, like she was something to be worshipped.

“Here,” the brunette said, his voice low and soft, and somewhere in the back of her mind his words overlapped with a memory that at once felt both too sharp and too foggy to recall; “with me.”

“Okay,” she whispered. He smoothed his hand along her back, between her shoulder blades, and then pulled her under.

It took every ounce of her self-control not to fight it. Every fucking ounce of it, and she still caught herself tensing like she was ready to. John kept her there, one hand between her shoulders and one hand on her sternum, the light pressure digging a little into the remaining bruises.

And he kept her there. And kept her there. And—

Above the water, somewhere out there, she heard the sound of John saying something; more voices echoed back, more than just Joseph and Faith. He pulled her up out of the water abruptly; the sudden movement had her gasping for air, her nails digging into his forearm, and she thought, he was going to let me, he was going to let me fucking drown, I—

“I’ve got you,” John said, steadying her; certainly he could feel the rapid pulse of her heart. There was something strange about his tone—it was hard, tense and tight, and she saw it in his face, too.

Shivering ferociously, Elliot kept her hand gripping his arm. She started, “John, why did you—”

“Rookie?”

The familiar voice had her head jerking back to the shoreline. There were more people there, now. There was Joseph with Faith beside him, and just at the edge of the water and staring at her, was Cameron Burke.

Behind him, Jacob flashed his teeth in a wolfish grin.

“See?” Jacob said, slapping his hand onto Burke's back like an old friend playing too rough. “Told you she was just fine.”

The Marshal’s hands and feet were unbound, but he swayed on his feet, and Elliot saw that his pupils were blown wide and dark—he reeked of a sickly-sweet floral scent that felt familiar, tingled somewhere in the back of her mind—

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t think about any of that; her brain felt like its competency had been completely reduced, that the strain of focusing on more than one thing at a time had become too much. And here, now, Burke was staring at her, and when he said it again—when he said, “Rook, is that you?”—his voice broke, hoarse and wretched.

“B—” Elliot’s throat closed tight. The air had been sucked out of her lungs; she felt the ache in her chest bloom fresh and hot and new, and it was grief—grief and shame, reopening old wounds that she had hoped would be long-since healed over.

With me? Burke’s pulse, steadfast and firm, under her fingertips.

The man’s expression crumpled. She let go of John’s arm and went to wade through the water; his hand caught her elbow and held her fast.

When she looked back at him, his expression was unreadable. He said, “El,” but that was all he said, and she heard the strain of something close to desperation in his voice. Don’t, it said, without saying it at all. Don’t do this.

With her teeth chattering and a violent spike of anger racing through her, Elliot jerked her arm out of his grip and stumbled her way up onto the bank; Burke reached for her almost immediately, catching her arms and pulling her up out of the frigid water and to him. His body felt feverishly hot, even though the cotton of his shirt, his vest long-since discarded.

You dig and keep going anyway. No matter what.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he managed out as he gripped her, and she felt his eyes sweeping over the exposed bruising, like war paint on her skin.

“Burke,” Elliot said, her voice breaking, and oh, she thought, oh, there it is; the release, the catharsis, because she was crying at the overwhelming sense of shame and relief in equal amounts at the sight of the man who had walked her through her first real firefight; big, gasping, grieving sobs, hiccuping in her chest violently because she kept thinking about Burke—she kept thinking about him grabbing her hand and saying, we’re getting out of here, and how he was here now. Now that she was—

This.

“God, what the fuck did they do to you?” Burke asked, his voice barely breaking the sound-barrier of a whisper. He pulled her forward, closer, protectively. “I’m so—I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I—”

“Found him wandering out by the old prison,” Jacob explained, presumably to the others and not to her, “having a nice little trip. Weren’t you, Burke?”

The shame washed up in her again, a nauseating cocktail that reminded her of all the things she had done. All of the awful things she had done, while Burke was out there, alone, wandering and confused and tripping on Bliss overloads and now he was here. Now he was here, and she kept thinking, what have I done?

“Hey,” Burke said against the top of her hair as she clutched at him, “I got you, Rook, I’m sorry, I’m here.”

I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm ruined now.

“Well,” Joseph said, his voice tightly-controlled and forcibly serene, “I suppose we should give the deputy and her Marshal a moment to catch up, shouldn’t we?”

#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed x deputy #john seed x original female character #ch: elliot honeysett #fic: ancient names #people can pry burke from my cold dead hands #we stan one (1) man who actually treats elliot like a capable person #also i wish i could say sorry about the smut but u know what?#im not #i'm only sorry this shit is so long and nearly incomprehensible #anyway not to get sappy in the tags but!!!!!!#THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU everyone who reads #i literally get emotional thinking about how i never thought i was going to fit in to this fandom #anyway that's all go back to regularly scheduled tumblr feed

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importantlovecolor · 4 years ago

Text

Zoids Saga Fuzors

Go to the Zoids Research Facility, and take the Core Active Ion Small from the left Chest, and the Hellcat Data from the right Chest. Go to the Item and Weapon Shop, and take the Emergency Retreat.

Zoids Saga

Zoids Saga Fuzors

Watch Zoids Fuzors

Zoids Saga Fuzors for Nintendo Gameboy Advance/GBA is a RPG game published by Tomy.

Game Boy Advance Zoids Saga: Fuzors. Tags: Zoids View.

Zoids Saga III: Fuzors (sometimes just 'Zoids Saga III' or 'Zoids Saga: Fuzors'), is set in the Zoids: Fuzors fictional world, and follows the actions of 'Will'. A good portion of the storyline parallels the Zoids: Fuzors anime. Similar to Zoids Saga there is one city (Blue City) which the player returns to after each segment of the story.

Zoids Saga

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Zoids Saga Fuzors Info:

Release Date: February 23, 2005 Genre : RPG Publisher: Tomy Region : USA Languages: English Platform : Gameboy Advance Rom Type: .GBA

Download Links: Size – (4MB) ———————————————————— Direct

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Zoids Saga Fuzors

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Status:Eps Seen: / 26Your Score:Add Detailed Info

Alternative Titles

English: Zoids Fuzors

Information

Type:TV

Status: Finished Airing

Premiered:Fall 2004

Producers:Tokyo Kids

Studios: None found, add some

Genres:AdventureAdventure, MechaMecha, Sci-FiSci-Fi, ShounenShounen

Rating: PG-13 - Teens 13 or older

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Ranked: #61362

2 based on the top anime page. Please note that 'Not yet aired' and 'R18+' titles are excluded.

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26 of 26 episodes seen

slax(All reviews)

21 people found this review helpful

Overall1Story1Animation1Sound1Character1Enjoyment1

Ok, I'm a big Zoids fan, and as such, this review focuses on the differences between the styles of this and the preceding series, rather than an more general overview (I won't use Genesis as an example since that is of a vastly different style). Unfortunately, it is very negative. Firstly, let me start with the Story: Fuzors basically has no story whatsoever for the vast majority of the series. In the final few episodes, a backstory gets fleshed out and some continuity established, but as this only happens very late-on, it feels more like a justification for why the series occurred in the way it did, rather than an actual plot that naturally developed. Furthermore, the story it does eventually manage to establish is rushed, this, along with the generally poor translations, makes it difficult to draw any praise from the story. Now, this brings me to draw parallels with Zoids Zero, which also had a very skimpy plot at best. However, the biggest difference with the two series is that Zero is built around battles and comedy, and as such tries to give the viewer fluid fights and funny lines rather than a deep plot. Fuzors does not, and as such has no excuse for the lack of story. To continue with the story theme, I'll next discuss the Characters: While Zoids shows are not renowned for their characters, the development of the cast is not handled well in Fuzors at all. For instance, in the first episode, the character 'Amy' walks in to Mach Storm's headquarters and appears to anger some of the main characters. What the show doesn't tell you is that Amy is actually a member of Mach Storm herself. This fact makes it very confusing (to say the least) when she shows up unannounced in later episodes. This is probably the best way of describing the problem with the characters in Fuzors, it simply assumes you know who/what everyone/thing is -rather than actually take the time introduce them. This is especially true for the Zoids themselves. Many of the Zoids, such as Arosaurers and Gorhecks are totally new Zoids that fans of the previous series would not know anything about -and yet they appear on screen without any kind of introduction at all. To make matters worse, old Zoids that fans would be familiar with from other series are changed abruptly and without reason. For example, the Blade Liger is depicted in the other series as a very rare (if not unique) Zoid. In the first episode of Fuzors, three of them are shown. Another prominent example is the Fuzors variant of Gunsniper, which are all customised to be the same as Leena's heavily modified (and thus unique) Zoid featured in Zero. No explanation for either of these is ever given. This kind of 'thrust the viewer into the show' serves to confuse new watchers and disenfranchise fans, and is a great detriment to the series. Toward the end of the series, some of the cast's backstory is explained, however this is done in a very rushed manner and fails to justify the terrible job done in the first three-quarters of the series. Next up is the artwork. Well, the most important aspect of a Zoids show is the Zoids themselves, so I'll start with them. The models are all done in 3D, but the style is different to the previous series. The models themselves are very detailed, and try to stick closely to the real toy range, with small things like feathers and antennae being included. While such attention to detail may sound good, this is actually a detriment, as it severs to clutter the screen with needless 'wriggly bits' that only serve to distract the viewer. Furthermore, the models are all done in a very bland color scheme, with everything appearing 'cloudy' and dull when compared to the crisp, bright, colors of the previous series. Compounding this is the fact that most of these included features are simply never used. For example, the Liger Zero Phoenix never fires the bomb or guns that it has on it's back, instead RD usually uses his claws to attack from a distance, which is a big departure from the realism the highly detailed models try to emulate. While this might be excusable if everything in the series were done in the same style of graphics, this is simply not the case. Bullets and explosions are done in conventional anime style and as such stick out like a sore thumb. They just do not blend at all with the Zoids they are fired from or hit. But the most noticeable feature of the animation is the movement of the Zoids. The Zoids move in a very awkward and robotic fashion. All of the Zoids featured are extremely rigid and inflexible, thus their movements seem entirely unnatural and unrealistic. This is especially prevalent when the Zoids 'fall over', wherein they appear to do a backflip on the spot rather than actually collapse or stagger. This is easily the biggest complaint I have with the series, especially when comparing with the extraordinarily fluid animations of Zero. The backgrounds are bland and uninteresting, with very little stand-out features, and as such, the only positive thing I have to say about Fuzor's artwork is the character's design. However, considering that the characters are very unimportant (as they are usually obscured from view inside Zoids) this is largely a moot point. Finally, is the sound. Almost all weapons have high-pitched sounds, regardless of what they are actually shooting. As any mech fan could well appreciate, it sounds a bit ridiculous when super-heavy artillery makes a 'pew' sound. Furthermore, RD's voice actor has a very high-pitched voice, as do most of the supporting cast (such as Sigma and Sweet). As the viewer's ears are bombarded constantly by all these high-pitched sounds, it honestly gets annoying. Other: Well, there is no section for this, but the quality of translation is very poor. The names of Zoids are often mispronounced or downright wrong. Overall: Quite simply Fuzors is a very poorly made anime when taken from the viewpoint of a Zoids fan. The animation is awkward, robotic and dull, the sound effects are annoying and inappropriate, the translations are poor and the story only picks up toward the end of the series, but this simply come along far too late to salvage the series.

26 of 26 episodes seen

sylvanelite(All reviews)

11 people found this review helpful

Overall1Story1Animation1Sound1Character1Enjoyment1

This might sound like a harsh thing to say, but this is one of the worst series I've ever seen. The plot is terrible, and the voice actors are outstandingly bad. The fights are poorly strung together and are terrible to look at. This series was cancelled from US airways for good reason. Although it does get better in the latter half, it's not enough to recover from the terrible first half.

26 of 26 episodes seen

Daniel_mugen25(All reviews)

7 people found this review helpful

Overall7Story7Animation7Sound6Character6Enjoyment7

Zoids fuzors, just like Zoids new century, have teams who uses Zoids to battle each other for entertainment purposes in my opinion. It has been a good series especially when their Zoids combine with each other. Unfortunately, the story is a bit cliche. Teams battling each other for no explained reason(I might have missed it in the series though). I have only watched the English dub so far and the voice actors are good. Animation is a bit different from previous Zoids series but then impressive when they combine. All in all, it was a good series.

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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Tubi Adds In This Corner of the World, Liz and the Blue Bird, and More

Screenshot via Eleven Arts

Tubi continues to grow its anime offerings, following the recent deal inked with Toei Animation to add episodes of shows like One Piece and Dr. Slump. The latest has Fox's free streaming service teaming up with Shout! Factory to stream a handful of acclaimed titles, including In This Corner of the World, Millennium Actress, Liz and the Blue Bird, Penguin Highway, and more.

The free additions will be available both subbed and dubbed starting April 8. In This Corner of the World will join the Tubi lineup in 2022. Here's an overview of everything that's on the way:

Millennium Actress

Winner of Tokyo Anime Award and nominated for multiple Annie awards, this gorgeous new restoration is what many believe to be Satoshi Kon's (Perfect Blue, Paprika) greatest work. When the legendary Ginei Studios shuts down, filmmaker Genya Tachibana and his assistant are tasked with interviewing its reclusive star, Chiyoko Fujiwara, who had retired from the spotlight 30 years prior. As Chiyoko recounts her career, Genya and his crew are literally pulled into her memories where they witness her chance encounter with a mysterious man on the run from the police. Despite never knowing his name or his face, Chiyoko relentlessly pursues that man in a seamless blend of reality and memory that only Satoshi Kon could deliver. The film also garnered the Grand Prize in the Japan Agency of Cultural Affairs Media Arts Festival.

Liz and the Blue Bird

Directed by Naoko Yamada, students and best friends Mizore Yoroizuka and Nozomi Kasaki prepare to play a complex musical duet, "Liz and the Blue Bird," for oboe and flute. Though they play beautifully together and have been friends since childhood, Mizore and Nozomi find that with graduation looming and the duet proving difficult, their friendship begins to buckle under the pressure. Interspersed with their story is the fantasy tale of Liz, drawn like a storybook, contrasting with the crisp realism of the school. These two distinct styles weave with stirring music to tell an intimate coming-of-age story. The film was nominated for Best Film at the Crunchyroll Awards.

Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms

Though only 15, Maquia knows she will live for centuries without aging past adolescence. She belongs to the Iorph, a clan of ageless beings just like her. Maquia's elders warn her not to fall in love with anyone outside their realm. But fate pushes Maquia out into the mortal world one night when an invading territory separates her from the clan. There she discovers an orphaned baby, Arial, and takes him in as her own child. From this point, Maquia will suffer extreme heartbreak in the name of motherhood, as she watches Arial grow and seeks to reconnect with her lost Iorph friends, all torn apart by the cruel world of Mesate.

Penguin Highway

Budding genius Aoyama is only in the 4th grade, but already lives his life like a scientist. When penguins start appearing in his sleepy suburb, hundreds of miles from the sea, Aoyama vows to solve the mystery. When he discovers that the arrival of the penguins is somehow related to a mysterious young woman from his dentist’s office, they team up for an unforgettable summer adventure! The film was nominated for Best Animated Film at the Japanese Academy Awards.

The Wonderland

On the day before her birthday, young Akane meets the mysterious alchemist Hippocrates who brings her through a basement and into a fantastical world full of magic and color. Though things seem peaceful on the surface, he reveals this world is in danger and as the destined Goddess of the Green Wind, it is Akane's responsibility to bring back the rain and save this world from the terror known as Zan Gu. Joining Akane on her journey is Pipo, an alchemist in training, and her adventurous Aunt Chii. The only problem? Akane just wants to go home. The film is directed by Keiichi Hara.

Sound! Euphonium: The Movie – Welcome To The Kitauji High School Concert Band

Sound! Euphonium: The Movie – May The Melody Reach You

Sound! Euphonium: The Movie – Our Promise: A Brand New Day

Based on the manga and television series, the Sound! Euphonium movies follow Kumiko, a young girl at Kitauji High School who plays euphonium in her school’s orchestra. Follow the band on their mission to reach Nationals while juggling romance and adolescence.

Haikara-San: Here Comes Miss Modern Parts 1 & 2

Adapted from Waki Yamato's popular manga, Kazuhiro Furuhashi’s Haikara-San is a heartfelt, and sometimes comical, tale of love surviving through the perils of war and separation.

Donten: Laughing Under the Clouds Gaiden

One Year After the Battle, The Tragedy of Fuuma Ninja Tribe, and Conspiracy of the Military

It's been a year since brothers and shrine guardians, Tenka, Soramaru, and Chutaro, have defeated the legendary giant snake that threatened to destroy humanity. However, their lives are thrown into upheaval when they discover a plot to revive the evil serpent.

In This Corner of the World

Based on the award-winning manga by Fumiyo Kouno and brought to life by acclaimed filmmaker Sunao Katabuchi (Mai Mai Miracle) and producer Taro Maki, In This Corner of The World tells the emotional story of Suzu, a young girl from Hiroshima, who's just become a bride in the nearby city of Kure during World War II. Living with her husband's family, Suzu has to adjust to her new life, which is made especially difficult by regular air raids. But life must go on, and Suzu — through the help of her new family and neighbors — begins to discover the joys of everyday life in Kure. Much is gained in Kure, but with war, many things cherished are also lost. In This Corner of The World is brought to life, in stunning animation, by acclaimed filmmaker Sunao Katabuchi (Mai Mai Miracle) and producer Taro Maki. The film was also nominated for Best Film at the Annie awards, among several other wins and nominations.

Source: Press release

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Joseph Luster is the Games and Web editor at Otaku USA Magazine. You can read his comics at subhumanzoids. Follow him on Twitter @Moldilox.

By: Joseph Luster

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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vexvamp · 5 years ago

Photo

'Cause every night I lie in bed The brightest colors fill my head A million dreams are keeping me awake I think of what the world could be A vision of the one I see A million dreams is all it's gonna take A million dreams for the world we're gonna make

-----

This art was made to go with my Lion Guard fan theory, which you can read below. Kion was drawn by me, but the background is made up of screenshots from the show.

The following is my fan theory/AU/headcanon, which I came up with to fit the Lion Guard show into the universe of the films. Extra info can be found in the description here . ----- Kiara and Kion were born to King Simba and Queen Nala, shortly after the death of their elder brother, Kopa, and the subsequent exile of Zira and her Outlanders. Though born from the same litter, the two of them couldn't have been more different. While feisty Kiara grew strong and healthy, little Kion struggled just to stay alive. He was weak, grew slowly, and was quick to fall ill. Kion was suffering from something the Pride Lander's called the Fading Sickness, which we know instead as an immunodeficiency disorder. No amount of Rafiki's healing mixtures could cure it, and Simba and Nala prayed to the Great Kings that their son would not go to join his grandfather among the stars. Kion's illness persisted from infancy to cubhood. He was smaller than his sister, underdeveloped, and spent most his time confined to Pride Rock. While Kiara began to explore the Pride Lands, Kion was rarely allowed outside for fear that he would catch sickness or overexert himself. Tensions grew between him and his sister, as Kiara secretly wished that she had a sibling who she could actually play with, while Kion resented the fact that she had all the freedoms he didn't. This would eventually culminate in Kiara wondering into the Outlands and meeting Kovu, and this was enough to shock Simba into action. He asked Nala's brother, Mheetu and his mate to move closer to Pride Rock with their two daughters, so that Kiara would have other cubs her age to play with. Kiara found her cousins, Tiifu and Zuri, a bit hard to relate to, but it was still a better alternative to playing by herself. Kion, on the other hand, usually found himself alone. His parents tried their best to spend time with him, but fear of causing him stress combined with the previous loss of Kopa meant that they often treated him as though he was made of glass. This would create a rift in their relationship and make Kion feel as though he couldn't really connect with them. The isolation, and the fact that he was often too tired to even walk the length of the cave, were wearing away at Kion's mind. The young cub was slowly slipping into a deep depression. It was Rafiki, the healer who was often called to help Kion when he fell ill, that began to tell Kion stories. Legends of the Pride Lands, stories of Kion's ancient ancestors, and tales of all the creatures he never got to see in the outside world. Among those stories were those of the Lion Guard, the band of lions which patrolled the Pride Lands and helped protect the Circle of Life. It was hoped that Kion himself might one day lead them, but his illness was making this seem less and less likely. Still, it gave Kion cause to dream. He fantasized about it as he stared at the paintings Rafiki drew for him on the walls of the cave, and through these fantasies he found an escape. He made friends from the characters on the walls, and envisioned himself as their leader. The birthmark on his shoulder became the Mark of the Guard, and his weak, fragile body was forgotten as he fantasized about his imagined power, the Roar of the Elders. The Roar was part of the legend of the first Guard and their leader, who was said to have a roar so powerful that it was as if all the lions of days past roared with him. Kion turned this legend into something fantastical and grand, imagining himself possessing a power so great it wouldn't matter that he was smaller and weaker than other cubs. These daydreams occupied him, his imaginary friends filling the blank spaces in his life, and he spent his days lost in fantasy as the powerful lion he could never be in the real world. Kion's health had its ups and downs over the years, but as he approached adolescence, he suddenly contracted an illness that he couldn't seem to recover from. His body raged with fever, and the young lion slipped into a near comatose state, lost somewhere between sleep and waking, with the illness pulling him ever closer towards oblivion. In this state his fantasies grew violent, with visions of fiery demons in volcanoes and a scar which corrupted his soul. As Kion's condition worsened, it was decided that he would be taken to Rafiki's tree, closer to the store of healing herbs and away from other lions that might transmit further infection. In his brief moments of consciousness, Kion pulled bits of the real world into his tumultuous fever dreams. Rafiki's tree became the Tree of Life, and paintings on the walls became part of his adventure to reach it. Through Rafiki's treatments, Kion would eventually be saved, but he was still confined to the tree when Kiara first reunited with Kovu, and during the final battle with Zira. He wasn't there to see his sister's wedding, but Kiara and Kovu came to visit him afterwards. Kion tried to be gracious, but couldn't help but feel envious of the happy life his sister was living. He was small, sick, and weak. With only a scrap of mane, he looked much younger than he really was. What lioness would have him? So once again he retreated into his fantasies, crafting a love interest for himself and imagining a happy ending to his story. Kion would return to Pride Rock shortly afterwards, unsure of where his place was in this new, blended pride. Worst of all was what came next, when Kovu's sister, Vitani approached Simba and Nala about the Lion Guard. The current Guard had no formal leader, and was made up of lions who were growing older and getting ready to retire. It was a Guard only in name, without the deep-seated traditions of those led by the relatives of the royal family. As the sister of the new Prince Consort, Vitani put forward that she could lead a new Lion Guard. After the death of her mother, she had found herself feeling a bit hopeless and lost, and thought perhaps this could be her new purpose in life. After all, Kion was far too sickly and weak to have any hope of forming his own Guard, so why not her? Simba said he would think about it, and Nala said that they should talk it over with their son. The king and queen saw sense in what Vitani was saying, thinking it might be a chance to really cement the Outlander's loyalty, but Kion was horrified by the suggestion. Although he knew his health made it unlikely, Kion had always dreamed of leading the Guard someday, and now Vitani wanted to take that away from him. Simba pled for him to see sense, and Nala assured him that he would always have a place in the pride, as a prince and as their son. After some persuading, Kion reluctantly agreed to think it over. In his fantasies he imagined Vitani's 'Guard' trying to challenge him and the imaginary partners he had fought alongside for so long. He drew further back into his dreams, fantasizing about a reality where he was loved and wanted and had a place as the ruler and protector of his own world. In the real world, Vitani seethed with frustration, knowing full well that Kion had no chance of leading the Guard, and angry at having her progress hindered by him. Why did he have to take this away from her? Her mother was gone. Nuka was gone. Her pride was scattered. This was all she had. It was only when Kiara came to her and explained all that Kion had gone through, admitting to her own undesirable feelings of resentment towards her brother, that Vitani began to think differently. Kion had spent his entire life locked away in that cave, with his fantasies about the Lion Guard as his only means of escape. Without the hope that he might one day recover and truly lead the Guard, what was left? What purpose did he have? Perhaps he and Vitani had more in common than she had first thought. Vitani went to Kion and confessed how lost she had felt since her mother died, how everything she thought she knew had crumbled, and she was just trying to find a place for herself in this new world. She said that she knew she couldn't replace Kion as the rightful leader of the Guard, but she would feel honored if he could help her become a leader the Guard could be proud of. Kion was struck by this. So often he had been coddled and treated as though he was too fragile to upset, with his family often reluctant to truly acknowledge his condition and what it meant for him. Something about Vitani's honesty struck a cord with him. He was forced to come to terms with the painful truth, but in so doing he found a sense of clarity. In his heart he knew what he needed to do. Kion agreed to help Vitani put together the new Lion Guard, with her as their leader. But even as leader Vitani came to Kion for advice and for guidance, and through this Kion finally found a sense of purpose. As time passed, Kion began to grow stronger. His maturing immune system gave him greater resistance to sickness and more energy to actually leave the cave which had been his prison for so long. Although he would still have occasional bouts of sickness, he was far more resilient than he had been in cubhood, and could use preventative measures to keep his health in check. He even found he now had the strength to accompany the Guard on the occasional mission, though he was primarily restricted to observation and instruction rather than any sort of physically demanding work. He would never be entirely rid of his condition, but he found a place in his family, in the Pride Lands, and in the Lion Guard.

#The Lion Guard #The Lion King #TLK #TLG #Lion Guard #Lion King #Fan Theory #AU #Alternate Universe #Theory #Fan Art #Kion #Show #Movie #Animated #Cartoon #Series #My Art #VexVamp

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guerilla935 · 5 years ago

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My Favorite Games That Made Me Care About How I Looked

I’m very self conscious about the way I look in video games. Not only is it normally very easy to change an outfit or get a haircut in a video game it also says something about how I’d like to be perceived, especially in an online game. There are a lot of games that allow their players to express themselves in a lot of really fun and unique ways and I think that it’s really special when you get to celebrate a style that you would never get to portray in real life. These games that I am about to talk about are all games where I was able to look at my character and feel some ounce of pride at something that I had created. Some full disclosure for these images, I pulled them from official gaming outlets and developer blogs but none of these that you are seeing are my original characters. If anyone would like to request to see any of my characters from these games (or any other games!) I would be happy to go and grab screenshots of those characters.

Grand Theft Auto Online

This is a pretty easy choice for most people. I chose specifically GTA Online over any GTA game or Red Dead game because I think the really special part about this is its setting. Your image is not only your character and your outfit in GTA Online but also your car, your house, and your business. There are a lot of different places to choose to call home and there are a lot of things to get “invested” into. For example, my good friend mojo5 runs a night club and wears suits and spends a lot of time gambling at the casino. That’s a character that would be different than mine who dresses and acts like a street racer. It gives your character a kind of personality and back story that is hard to achieve in other games. I have always kind of considered Grand Theft Auto Online to be a modern MMO of sorts, a playground. And as much as it is a huge lobby where you wait to start activities, it is also a sprawling city-space where you can essential live, make money, create this fun fictional life for yourself. And as far as fashion goes, the outfits, the cars, and the real estate help you shape that fantasy. Basically, I can tell you that I spent way more time customizing my character than I spent in actual activities in Grand Theft Auto Online.

Saint’s Row Series

I love Saint’s Row. It is very similar to the last entry in this article but has this unique and goofy style that makes a lot of things okay that I would never do to my GTA character. In Saint’s Row I can have a neon blue Mohawk wielding a 10 foot melee weapon that is designed to look like something extremely unmentionable while driving a night rider space car that is also a tank and it’s totally fine because in the next cut scene you are about to fight Roddy Piper in Keith Davids nightmares. The games are incredibly wild and I love how I can let loose with a lot of different styles, and in the same way that I feel like I am creating my gritty street racer in GTA, I can make my goofy crime lord super hero secret agent in Saint’s Row. I think specifically in Saint’s Row 2 I took it a little more seriously because the tone of the game is a little more serious than the other entries however I have a specially place in my heart for how wacky each game allows me to be.

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

You knew we couldn’t just not talk about Animal Crossing: New Horizons. With the current situation, the Animal Crossing community is insanely huge. I cannot avoid the heap of Animal Crossing videos and screenshots all over social media. On my island of Sandover Village, I am patiently awaiting the Able Sisters to set up shop so that I am able to put in codes from everyone else’s custom designs that I’m seeing on twitter. That is because I have on my phone a stockpile of sweatshirts, sweaters, robes, and hats that I am actually really excited to show off in game. I tried to create some of my own but I am not one of the gifted seamstress’s that there seems to exist on the internet. I am not very far into Animal Crossing but by looking at other peoples games I know that I have only scratched the surface of my options in the game. I have to commend Nintendo on the amount of individualization that the design pro feature gives to its players. I have never seen a game give players the option to design their own clothing and it makes the social experience of the game feel so fresh.

Dark Souls III

One of the most badass games that I have ever played as far as character design is concerned is Dark Souls III. When I put on a new set of armor I sit in awe of how it looks because I can see each tiny tear in the cape, every dent in the helmet, and the wear and weight of the armor. I was dragged through this game by some friends (because I could never in a thousand years have the patience to beat it by myself) and I followed them to every cursed swamp and death crypt because I wanted to see every weapon and every armor set. You look absolutely ghoulish in every armor set and I love it to death. This game allows so much in the way of customization and I think it helps that almost every gear set is good enough to get you through the entire game and that allows you to play with a lot of different looks and game play styles. This game is tough, really really tough, but you look really good even when you die.

Splatoon 2

Splatoon 2 is a really special online shooter. I think in the month that I played this game religiously the thing that kept me playing was coming back to the stores to see what kind of clothes were in stock and what kind of items I could steal off the players in the lobby. I think that the developers of Splatoon 2 knew that the players were in it for the threads because every reward for playing the game was most likely a piece of clothing. The clothing options kind of vary from academy prep to Patagonia camp wear to skater outfits. And it comes together in this very hipster overall aesthetic that blends really naturally. The game features a mechanic that I really like wear you can walk up to anyone in the online lobby and look at what their wearing and order it. By the time I logged on the next day I had (a noticeably weaker version of) the exact same item but it really makes you feel like anything you see, you have access too which is really cool. And the ordering of the items kept me coming back to play every day.

Final Fantasy XIV Online

I’ve heard it said many times that the real end game content of Final Fantasy XIV Online was the glamor and housing systems, and for most people they aren’t wrong. I will never stop being surprised at the outfits that players can put together in this game. I have seen millions of players in my 750 hours in Eorzea and I have not seen two characters look the same. The customization options are really limitless and I truly believe that. I played a healer mage and in my time at max level I had outfits that made me look like a cowboy, a thief, a fox spirit, a grim reaper, and even one that made me appear like a real healer mage. The clothing options throw a Final Fantasy twist on every kind of style that they set to replicate. So even though all the outfits can be wacky they never feel out of place in the world. If you want a game that you can make almost 50% just about customizing your character and taking it out to the town to show it off or in big raids to flaunt your style then this might be your game.

Pokemon Sword And Shield

Pokemon is still trying to get it right but Sword and Shield is Game Freaks best attempt at trainer customization. The clothing options in the game are very European, well, they have always been that way but they are ESPECIALLY European in this one. Probably the greatest customization offered is the hair which in the world of anime characters is the most important one. I loved designing my character in this game but it was just so brief because shopping in this game is so boring as most clothes in the actual stores are very samey which makes the act of shopping pretty boring most of the time. I would roll up to a new town really excited to see what kind of stuff they had in the shop but it was just new colors for the same weird duffel bag that your character had already. Note that the game is mostly about the Pokemon so they really didn’t have to put any trainer customization in the game to make it a good game but they did a half decent job putting this much customization in the game and I feel like it’s going to keep getting steadily better the more times they implement this feature into their games. Big plus, you can design your trading card in the game and it is the most adorable thing and feels like a huge payoff to have a cool card if you’ve put a lot of effort into your trainer.

Soul Calibur VI

So I haven’t actually played Soul Calibur VI, I bought the game and went immediately into character creation and started making my own roster of fighters that I ended up using maybe once or twice and moving on from. The character creator in this fighting game is really special. So the idea is that you choose a character that already exists and you keep their move set and fighting style but change how they look and immediately the things that came out of the community were hilarious. Some are kind of terrifying but they come shockingly close to being somewhat recognizable. For me it almost comes down to that being someone who is unfamiliar with the cast of Soul Calibur VI I cannot tell the difference between actual characters from the game and characters frakensteined together in the character creator. As on of the most fun character creators I’ve ever used I think it’s at least worth googling what other people have created.

God of War (2018)

The newest God of War introduced something that we never got in the older games and that was the ability to change out what Kratos was wearing. While it was important in the game to maximize his stats, it also made you look cooler and cooler as the game went on. I wouldn’t say that you have a lot of options of things to wear in this game but I always felt bummed when I picked up something with relatively low stats that looked amazing. Later on the armor sets become more like trophies for completing hard tasks. The design of each piece of armor is really intricate and amazing to look at and while you can’t just pick whatever you want, I really wish that you could.

Diablo III: Reaper of Souls

In the Reaper of Souls expansion pack a new vendor was added to Diablo III that changed the way that I looted in the game. The vendor was called the mystic and she would make a piece of gear look like any other piece of gear of the same type. This meant that I could look amazing all the time without sacrificing strength. The way that the database of appearances you could pick from expands over time gave so many options that I couldn’t decide at some points. The coolest armor in the game was now accessible at any time. And the armor in Diablo III looks tight, sometimes I would argue that unless you pick some unique stuff it doesn’t make that big of a difference because of the isometric point of view in the game but it is really fun to have an added layer of customization in Diablo.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

So this is actually a section dedicated to Nexus Mod Manager because Skyrim in itself doesn’t actually have a whole lot of variations in the ways you can dress. But with the powers of modding you can now do absolutely anything and there are a whole group of 3D modelers out there getting you immersive and lore friendly items that make you look a whole lot cooler. The wonderful world of modding can turn kind of creepy very fast, a lot of very suggestive mods are out there and a lot of very inappropriate things so you know, a fair warning. It’s incredible when you can make it work and keep it from getting to the level of ultimate Skyrim. You can change and add clothes and weapons, add hair styles, and even add entire races into the game. Sometimes though I really believe that I like browsing mods a lot more than I like actually playing with them but I found that it is really satisfying to download a mod like Immersive Armors and see just how much it changes how diverse the selection of armors that not only you but everyone in the game now wears can be.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

So I believe that some other previous Zelda titles had the ability to change Links outfit but never to this extent. What I think is the coolest part about the clothing system in this game is that you wear certain clothes to survive certain climates but you can also forget all that and make a yummy meal instead that lets you be warm wearing the desert clothes in the snow. The amount of armors that you can amass in this game starts off kind of underwhelming but becomes really fun and interesting and serves all sorts of fun fan service for fans of the series. This game doesn’t have the versatility and variety of some of the other games in the series but any game that lets you cross dress to sneak into a city of warrior women is credited for its costume design in my book.

League of Legends

I have spent a shameful amount of money on skins. I hate League of Legends and I hate most of the business practices of Riot Games but their skins just look good. I can appreciate when someone I don’t like makes something good and they consistently pump out awesome looking skins that are frankly worth the money if you play the game regularly. Back when I played this game daily I put up way too much money, even I think about 18$ just on a skin that changed colors when you typed a specific command. Anyways that’s really all I have, there aren’t a lot of games where I like the skins, especially the fact that they are mostly behind pay walls but League gets a pass I suppose.

Destiny Series

I used to be really into playing a specific game mode in Destiny named Iron Banner. I played a lot of it in Destiny and a good portion of them in Destiny 2. When you played enough Iron Banner in a year you were able to collect an armor set to commemorate the achievement. Almost all the cool armor in Destiny has purpose to it. Not only do you get to decide how you look but it also is you showing off the fact that you completed a raid, were really good at sparrow racing, or kicked major ass in the crucible. Each armor was recognizable and everyone knew what it meant. I think that is what makes the customization in Destiny so rewarding, its that it is in itself an actual reward for completing hard tasks that not everyone will be able to complete.

Code Vein

Out of all the anime games I’ve played I think what stands out to me the most is that their character creators have all been really bad. This is where Code Vein really shined. Code Vein has this dystopian vampire aesthetic that is really unique and allows for a lot of ways to make cool characters that fit into the look of the game. I don’t think that what they’ve done here is completely new but they have this style that is exciting to play with. Making a revenant is fun and builds this anticipation for the rest of the game. I also respect the games decision to allow you to make modifications to your character after the game has started which is not something that most games would allow. Code Vein has these cape’s that you can wear to gain abilities and those are cool to add onto your outfit but I don’t think that it outshines what the character creator has done here. It’s a niche thing I guess but if you have always wanted to make your own anime vampire then this is it.

A Persona

I really like making characters for a reason. I think a lot of the escapism of video games hinges on me placing myself into the character on the screen. That’s why I love what you can do in games like Animal Crossing that is all about creating exactly what you want and Final Fantasy XIV Online where you get to exist and share in a world as a persona of sorts. Being able to customize a character in a video game does not make that game good or bad, but I think that when you are given the option the developer is given an opportunity to make it a very special experience and allow you to be unique within a community of people online. And the internet has made that sharing of characters really special, allowing everyone to see how unique of an experience you can have with a game by beating it with “your character”.

Special Shout Outs For Stylish Games And Characters

SSX series being dripping in 90s style

Also NBA Street Vol. 2 for the same reason

Persona 5 for being the most stylish game ever

Halo because space marines rock extra style points

Katana Zero for being badass and 80s neon will always be in style

Specifically Graffiti Mario in Super Mario Sunshine he had flair

Samurai Legend Musashi for having a stylish game case but being a horrible game

Devil May Cry just for existing

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awhitehead17 · 5 years ago

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Can You Quit Life?

Tim & Jason, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is a good brother, Stress, Burn Out, Break Downs, Brotherly Love, General Rating.

Summary: He quits everything, actually he just quits life. Was that allowed? To quit life? Was it even possible? Tim’s not sure but with the way he’s going, he’ll find a way to make it possible.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

He’s done. That’s it he gives up.

There’s so much to do but it’s like he has no energy left to do it. As he goes to do one of his many tasks he gets a few minutes into it and instantly wants to give up. One look at the screen where the document was just wants to make him tear his hair out. He’s now gotten to the point where there’s so much to do that he doesn’t want to do any it.

He wants to cry. He wants scream, shout, whack something. There’s too many emotions running through his head and its messing with him. There’s so many things that are demanding his attention, there’s so much that he’s trying to juggle around in his life and it’s all just stressing him out.

He doesn’t know what to do any more.

Currently he’s sat at his desk in his room at the Manor, working on his laptop trying to do corrections on an essay for school. Well that was one task he was attempting to do, the other was a report for a recent Titan’s mission he had just finished.

The essay was frustrating him in many ways. The teacher had left comments on where he needs to expand his explanation, how he needed to add more screenshots and go into further depth with his analysis. He gets what he needs to do but how was he supposed to do it? It wasn’t clear on how much more detail he needed to go into, he’s pretty sure there’s no way he can explain his point any more than what he already has done.

Then there’s the report which was bugging him. As he tries to work on his essay all he could think about was the report, but then when he worked on the report all he could think about was the goddamn essay!

That’s of course not mentioning everything else on his mind and plate that he’s trying to deal with, these just happen to be the two current things.

The report was driving him mad because whenever he would type something it wouldn’t make sense. Then once he got further into the report the order and timings of things didn’t make sense, it was like all of his thoughts were just scattered on the page with no structure. Nothing made sense! He couldn’t give Cyborg a crappy report like that! It needed to be right, it needed to be perfect, it need to be exactly parallel to what happened on the mission.

He was ready to call it quits. After flicking between the two documents for the last three hours Tim was ready to cry and just give up.

Those two things were just start of the list. He also had the lingering weekly patrol report to write up which was hovering in the background, include that with all of his school work, then trying to fit in his social life (one that barely exists), then the training, patrol and even the time for himself. It was just too much and Tim was done with everything.

How do people do it? How do they manage to juggle so much around. Like working a full time job, then going home and looking after a family, they gotta go shopping at some point and they can still meet up with friends. How do they do it? Because Tim was struggling, he knows he was struggling. At this point he’s just on the verge of some sort of mental break down and burnout.

But it’s not like he could tell anyone about this. He couldn’t go to his family, they struggle enough with their own problems, they don’t need Tim’s grief added to their plates. It’s the same with his friends. They’re all busy with their own shit, they don’t need Tim complaining about his life to them when they have much bigger problems.

He leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath before letting it out. Okay, one thing at a time. That’s how it’s done right? He looks back at his computer screen and finds the report currently open, he scrolls to the top and plans on reading it through, maybe even just re-writing it and starting from scratch.

He only gets a couple of paragraphs in before he wants to smash his computer because of how frustrated he is with it. Tim reaches up and grips his hair and lets out a long agitated noise before thumping his head down onto his desk with a loud bang.

He doesn’t register the pain that spikes through his forehead at contact. All he could think about was why it wasn’t working. What was he doing wrong?

The next noise Tim lets out was close to a pathetic whimper. He was done. That’s it, he quits.

He quits everything, actually he just quits life. Was that allowed? To quit life? Was it even possible? Tim’s not sure but with the way he’s going, he’ll find a way to make it possible.

The sudden knock at his door gets his attention. Just as it begins to open Tim bolts upright in his chair. He spins around and watches as Jason strolls casually into his room, a smile was on his face and he was holding something in his hands.

“Hey Timbers, I was wondering – you okay?”

Jason changes his sentence halfway through once he looks at Tim. Tim watches as his older brother looks him over. The expression on his face must have given him away or something so Tim tries to make it go blank as possible.

He’s just as annoyed as he is relieved at Jason’s appearance. His brother was now offering a distraction from his work but at the same time he kinda interrupted Tim’s early mid-life crises and has put a hold on his breakdown. There was no way Tim was going to break down in front of his brother, in front of Jason of all people.

Tim shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, “Nothings wrong. I’m fine. What’s up?”

Jason wasn’t buying his act. Tim could tell by the way his brother stares at him with narrowed eyes and the way his lips press tightly together.

Tim finds his patience was suddenly running low. He sends the older a glare, “Was there something you wanted Jason or not. I’m busy, so…” He trails off hoping to prompt the man into sharing.

It’s a few moments before he answers. Tim watches as Jason looks at him before glancing down at the object in his hands. After what seems like a mental debate, Jason tucks the object into his jacket pocket before taking a seat on the edge of Tim’s bed facing him.

“You know what,” Jason says leaning back onto his elbows, pinning him with a look, “It doesn’t matter. How are you Tim? It’s been a while since we had a catch up.”

Tim stares at him trying to understand what just happened. Jason was now lying on his bed, looking at him expectantly and Tim just had to somehow accept that? His brother does have a point, it has been a while since they had a catch up, but now wasn’t the time to do that. As Tim was stressing about just minutes ago, he was busy, he didn’t need to deal with Jason’s games at that moment, nor was he in the mood for it.

He takes a breath and lets it out, “Jason, what do you want? I know you didn’t just come up here for a chat. I’m busy so can we have this conversation later on, please.”

“Uhhhh, na.” His leg comes up and kicks Tim’s chair, “What’s got you so busy that you can’t talk to your own brother?”

Everything.

Tim slaps his foot away and glares at him, “Just a school report that I need to get done.”

No, that wasn’t it. It was a school essay and a Titan’s report. Great, now Tim can’t even tell the difference between them. God he needs a break.

Jason makes a humming sound, “Oh yeah? Is it interesting? Can I help at all?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Tim snaps at him, having had enough. This wasn’t helping his situation at all, he was no closer to finishing both documents than what he was three hours ago.

Something in his tone must have finally snapped Jason out of his game because his brother was giving him a concerned look. “Hey, don’t get all snappy with me Tim. I was just asking. You seem off, is there anything you want to talk about?”

Tim grits his teeth to stop himself from snapping a second time. “I told you, I’m fine. Just busy.”

He could feel all of his emotions stirring once again, maybe stronger than before. The stress and the frustration blending into one where it’s becoming overwhelming. Tim could feel it building up inside of his chest. His breathing was getting faster and he had to start blinking to try and keep the tears at bay. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to break down.

Jason pushes himself up and perches on the end of Tim’s bed facing him, he laces his hands together and rests his arms on his knees as he leans forward. Concern and worry crossing over his features as he quietly talks, any sense of humour or annoyance completely gone.

“Tim you’re not okay. I can see it dude. You’re struggling, trying to keep yourself together even when it all gets too much. Talk to me Tim, tell what’s going on.”

Tim takes a shaky breath trying to keep the last bit of control of his emotions he can, it was right in his chest, a pressure just waiting to burst, he could also feel it behind his eyes wanting to come out in waves of tears.

He looks away from Jason and swallows thickly, “There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice was rough and thick with emotion. At this point it was taking all of Tim’s willpower in stopping himself from breaking.

“Timmy,” Jason sighs, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s okay to ask for help, you’re allowed to say you’re struggling, that you’re stressed or that you need a break. It’s okay to talk to someone.”

Tim shakes his head in refusal and the first few tears escape his eyes as his breath hitches. He clenches his eyes tight and refuses to look at Jason. It’s not okay, it’ll never be okay.

“I know we haven’t had the best relationship in the past Timbo, so it doesn’t have to be me you talk to. It can be anyone. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass one of your Titan buddies. Anyone you feel comfortable with Tim.”

Tim shakes his head again, “I can’t Jason!” He chokes out. “I just can’t!”

“You can Tim. It’s okay. I promise, keeping it locked inside you like this doesn’t help.”

The tears were staring to fall down his face more freely and Tim couldn’t stop them this time. He swipes ferociously at his eyes in a poor attempt to keep Jason from seeing them. It was too late though. The pressure that was building inside of his chest was too much to ignore, he found it hard to breathe as every time he tried his breath would hitch with a sob.

“C’mere Timmy.”

Before he knew what was happening, Jason was there grabbing one of his shaking hands and pulling him up to his feet. Without any second thoughts Jason pulls Tim into a hug. His brother’s arms wrap around him and hold him close.

Unable to resist Tim buries his face into Jason’s chest, letting his arms wrap around the man and cling tightly to him as everything he had been feeling finally breaks free as the dam collapses. He sobs into Jason chest, letting out pitiful cries as he does. All the stress, frustration, anger and annoyance he had been feeling finally comes out in one big messy, snotty break down.

Tim feels Jason’s arms around him as they hold him tightly. One hand was resting on his head, the man’s fingers gently going through his hair while the other rubs down his back and sides. Doesn’t that just make him cry more? Why was Jason allowing this? Wasn’t he just wasting the man’s time, uselessly sobbing into him, having an inevitable break down that’s finally caught up to him.

Tim didn’t understand, but all he could do in that moment was cry.

It was a while until he was able to calm down and get control of himself. Even when the tears finally stop he keeps his head tucked in Jason’s chest, a lame attempt to avoid making eye contact with his brother after all of that. His head was hurting now too, a throbbing going on inside of his skull from where he had been crying.

Didn’t he say that he wasn’t going to break down? Well apparently his body didn’t get the memo and what makes it worse is that he broke in front of Jason off all people.

Even after his crying tampers off Jason stays there holding him, stroking his back and head with comfortingly. Tim didn’t want to face his brother because of the embarrassment but also because this was nice. Now that his head was sort of cleared, he could appreciate the gesture even as embarrassing as it was.

Several more moments go by and soon enough Jason stops his actions, his arms release Tim from the hold. Tim doesn’t fight it as he’s gently pushed away from Jason’s body but he doesn’t exactly co-operate either. He refuses to look up at his brother.

Jason seems to have a different tactic however, he moves them around and pushes Tim down onto the edge of his bed while he settles in a crouch just in front of him. Tim adverts his eyes to stop himself looking at the man, how was he supposed to face Jason after that meltdown?

“How do you feel now?” Jason asks quietly, reaching up to brush a thumb underneath his eyes where there were now tear stains on his cheeks.

Tim swallows and responds, “I feel fine.” His voice was thick and sounded wrecked when he spoke,

At his answer Jason huffs and smacks him on the back of the head. Tim squawks at the treatment and snaps his eyes to his brother in a mild glare, “Hey! What was that for?”

The hands move so they’re now cupping his face, Tim finds himself unable to look away from his brother now. It’s only then that he realises that Jason played him. Annoyed as he was with the action Tim has to admit that was a good move.

“’I feel fine’ is not an answer Tim. I’m going to ask you again and if you say ‘fine’ or anything similar to that word you’re going to get more than just a light smack on the back of the head, you understand.” Jason doesn’t wait for him to respond, he quickly moves onto asking his question. “How do you feel now?”

Tim stares at him, biting down the instinctive response of saying he was fine. Why was Jason doing this? Why was his brother putting so much effort and time into making him talk and seeing how he was? Tim didn’t get it. As for his own emotions and feelings… well he didn’t really know those either.

He was of course confused, confused by Jason’s current behaviour. But inside, maybe lighter? He didn’t feel like he couldn’t breathe anymore, that pressure that was building in his chest was now completely gone, allowing him the room to breathe easily once again.

“Lighter,” he says eventually. “The pressure isn’t in my chest anymore.”

Jason smiles, “That’s good.” He let’s go of Tim’s face and pulls away slightly, making room between them. “I’m not going to ask you anymore on feelings because I know that you’ll just end up recoiling, so instead I’m going to ask, what made you get into this state? Obviously it’s all been building up but what pushed you over the edge Tim?”

Tim swallows and glances over at his desk where his laptop was, the screen now dark from where it’s clearly gone to sleep. He’s glad Jason didn’t ask about his feelings because he’s not entirely sure he could put into words what he was feeling.

He moves his focus back to Jason, “My work I guess. It was just stressing me out and then you came in and started questioning me on it and I got overwhelmed I guess and then boom, it exploded.” He makes a small explosion gesture with his hands as he talks

Jason studies him for a moment before he’s nodding, “Okay, you know what I have a plan.”

Tim frowns at hearing that, “Your plans usually suck.”

His brother makes a noise in protest and smacks his knee, “I’ll have you know I can come up with good plans, occasionally, this being one of those times.” At Tim’s sceptical look he rolls his eyes and explains his plan. “What we’re going to do is right now, absolutely nothing. We’ll set up shop in the media room and chill out watching a couple of movies before calling it a night.”

Tim opens his mouth to protest but Jason cuts him off with a stern look and a raised finger, “Then tomorrow you and I are going to go through one of your projects and get that completed. After that we’ll take a break and depending on the time we’ll start your second project.”

Tim stares at him in disbelief. Why was Jason planning this? Surely his brother had more important things to do than spend his time with Tim helping him on his projects.

“We’ll go through your work together, work out what’s getting you agitated and work through the problem together. It’ll help having someone talking you through on what you can write and in what order.”

Tim was still staring at him. Of course what he was saying makes sense but Tim couldn’t get over what his brother was offering. All he could get out was a quiet, “Thank you Jason.”

Seeming to know what he was thinking Jason stands up, stretches his legs and looks down at him, “Tim I care about you. That’s why I want to help. You clearly need it and this way you won’t be getting smothered by the Golden Boy or Daddy Bats. We’ll take it slow and together we’ll get through this, you’ll get through this alright.”

Swallowing again, Tim nods, “Sure. thank you, I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for breaking down on you like that. I really wasn’t meant to.”

“Don’t be an idiot Timbo. It was clearly long overdue but now it’s happened lets work on not letting it happen again yeah?” He holds out a hand to Tim to help him up, “Now come on, it’s movie time. I’ll even let you pick.”

Tim takes his hand and together they make their way down to the media room and Tim can say he feels lighter than before. He knows that it’s still going to be stressful when he goes back to the work but he thinks having Jason there to help guide him on what to do will be a major help. Both with his work and keeping his emotions under control.

He can do this, he can get through this. Well hopefully. He figures he’ll just have to take it day by day and now Jason will be there to help him through it, he thinks it may be possible after all.

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #big brother jason #Jason is a good brother #hurt and comfort #stress #break downs #burn out #Brotherly Love #general rating #fanfiction #insecurities

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