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after-witch · 4 years ago

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White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more?

For request: Anonymous said: i love the way you write overhaul!! may i request more of him, please? what would he do if reader develops stockholm syndrome and wants to do the things which normal couples do, even wants to marry him or have kids? thank you!

Word count: 2200-ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You should really ask Kai to get a new sofa for his office. His current one, the leather one which used to be shiny and pristine and rather intimidating for someone used to sitting on ratty chairs pilfered from curbs, has definitely seen better days.

The seats are lumpier, now that you've spent years--3 years, one month, 3 days, but who's counting--in his life, sprawling on the sofa. Reading, napping, doing endless hobbies. Snuggling, when he was in the mood. An endless parade of legs and limbs, pillows and books, growing tiny scratches etched with your fingernails that you sit on to cover them up.

His entire office has your touches, now. The blanket you asked for last Christmas, a big fluffy bright purple affair, is draped over the back of the couch. He keeps your framed embroidered pieces on his desk, because--you assume, but he won't confirm, because he thinks it will hurt your feelings (it won't!)--he can easily stow them away when he has meetings to hold. You don't embroider much, anymore, but it was fun to take on a new hobby.

Kai is kind like that, to give you new hobbies to do. He doesn’t even mind when you get bored of them and move on to something else.

Your books are not as easy to stow away in case of guests, you think. They're scattered here, there, everywhere. In stacks, on shelves. You know there's one stuck under the sofa but you didn't really like the first book in the series and you've decided it should stay put as a result.

Bookmarks, some handmade, others handed over by Kai as a gift for this or that, sticking out of the well-worn pages. Once, you snuck on YouTube during your highly limited, highly precious tablet time (earned, as it were, over the past 2 years) and stumbled on a DIY for making resin bookmarks stuffed with trinkets, glitter, flowers, ink. You’ve yet to broach the subject with Kai, because one, it would mean admitting you snuck on YouTube but two, you don’t think he’ll let you work with resin. But, still. The seed has been planted and when it sprouts, you’ll get the nerve to ask him.

Your sleeping bag is in the laundry, wherever the laundry happens to be, but on colder days you like to spread it on the floor and have reading or hobby marathons while he works. It's childish, but he humors you. He always (mm, no--usually--he did shoot down requests for the dog, the cat, the fish, the rabbit, and the lizard) humors you. You appreciate that about him.

And you appreciate this moment, right now. You're curled up on the sofa, half of the soft blanket in your lap to keep you warm. A book is in your hand, something new from the best-seller list that Kai brought home in a tidy store bag. He brings lots of gifts, and you appreciate every one of them. Although Kai does make you declutter every month. If you didn’t, your room would be simply stuffed with gifts. You don’t begrudge him this, since he lets you keep anything that’s especially precious to you. It’s a fair trade--you’re precious to him and he keeps you, after all.

He's typing away on his laptop, the sound so familiar that it's practically white noise, and you sit on the couch and read. It's quiet. It's comforting. It's... domestic, really.

And it makes you sad.

Lately, sitting in Kai’s office--these quiet moments, these nice moments, just make you sad. You don't know why. Things are good right now, but you just feel weighted down, heavy. Lost and bored and aimless.

But it shouldn’t make you sad that you’re enjoying a new book. Maybe you’re sad about something else. You can’t remember having a bad dream. The outfit Kai picked out for you this morning was cute enough. You didn’t stub your toe getting into the tub. Kai didn’t tug on your hair when brushing out the knots. So… what’s wrong?

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to shake the feeling, shake the obtrusive thoughts that sometimes find their way to the surface now and then. But the words don't want to leap off the page, weaving a story in your mind that takes you into someone else's life and narrative and world for a few precious hours.

And here, again--you don’t know what’s wrong. It’s an interesting enough book, as books go. It's a domestic novel about domestic squabbles, a husband and wife who are 15 years and 3 children into their marriage; living in the pristine suburbs, tired of working and parenting and painted fences and tired of each other.

Maybe the book isn't clicking because you can't really relate. You would never get tired of such things, you think. To have a fence! Oh, to have a yard. Or maybe even have little children, with lives to manage and nurture. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You don't have those things. No--you can't have those things, can you? Your world has been shrunk down to a few rooms. Your bedroom. The bathroom. Kai's office. The clinic. You've made those rooms cozy and comforting. With things and time. But how could you have a toddler, a fence, a dog that barks too much in these limited walls, in this limited life?

And… how could you have any children running around when Kai has never expressed an interest in that sort of life with you. Oh, you've kissed. A few times. The memory of them makes your cheeks hot and you squirm, just a little, on the couch. You like to take those kisses with you at night, under the covers. But it's never been more than kisses, than light touches, than holding hands or feather-light strokes of your neck.

He's never gone further, never so much as asked. You also take this realization with you at night, though by morning the thoughts are gone. Now, in the daylight, they hit you hard and you can’t sleep to make them go fuzzy and grey.

Does he not want you in that way? You're not a virgin, and you don't know if he is, or isn't. But you thought you were attractive enough to... want. You kissed, he did kiss you, he does still kiss you now and then, but why not something more?

Maybe you were ugly. Maybe he felt pity for you. Maybe the kisses were just to keep you from going stir-crazy inside these walls and this life that never went anywhere. He was never going to want anything more than occasional touches, was he? And this was going to be your life, embroidering and reading and fussing about sleeping bags until you were old and grey and useless. A life wasted, a life slipped through the cracks. Your chest hurts and you wish you could fall asleep to make yourself stop thinking.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" Kai asks, keyboard silent, laptop humming.

Oh. You've been staring ahead this entire time. You feel cool tears wet on your cheeks. You do this sometimes, drift and stare and cry, and never seem to realize it. So you wipe your cheeks, and you smile. You don't want to worry him. He has so many things to worry about, things he won't tell you, because he knows best--you couldn't hope to understand his work. You are too naïve and kind, and he's got what your 90s-era self help books (you had a phase for reading them last January) call "street smarts."

When he doesn't resume his work, you try again. "It's nothing," you say, light and airy. "I was just thinking about a book."

Instead of typing, he shuts the laptop and your stomach immediately feels like it's going to float away. No, no, no, you've distracted him. He said he had a lot to do today, he said that! Why couldn't you just read your book and be good. Now he'll be upset and distracted and worried and it's all your fault.

You instinctively move over to make room as he sits down on the couch. You don't want to look at him, but you don’t want to not look at him. So you force yourself to smile, force yourself to look--not too happy, but, pleasant, and keep your eyes focused on his shoulders. He rests his hand on top of yours. You look up at his face--it’s only polite, it’s only kind--and the instance your gazes meet you immediately crumble. You cry. Ugly cry, the kind of crying you really hate to do. His look of surprised concern makes your heart twist. You really are bothering him.

But you have to know.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Your voice is soft and hoarse and aching. Through your tears you see his look of genuine confusion, surprise--and even something sadder, something akin to hurt.

You want to explain. You want to explain how you've just realized that you'll never have kids and a nice big yard and he'll never come home from work to a good meal and kids running on hardwood floors to greet him. You'll never have a wedding with a fancy dress and tasteful invitations. You'll never argue with neighbors about your dog getting into their yard.

You'll never learn to cook anything more than the shitty microwave meals you ate before you met him, because you've never even seen a kitchen in this place despite being here for years. You’ll never have any of it, except what you read about it books. How do you explain that you’re jealous of a bitter, old married couple because at least they had a life together?

The hand resting on top of yours squeezes and you finally feel the blustery courage to let it all spill out. The words come tumbling fast and thick and laced with a froggy hoarseness.

"Why can't we have a normal... a normal life? I can't have," you swallow, and take a shuddering breath. You're open, you've learned so many lessons to be open with Kai, but expressing these thoughts makes you feel queasy. What if he gets mad?

“I can't have kids and a big yard and a dog that the neighbors don't like, because I'm here, in these little--these little walls and little rooms, and how can we have kids if we're not married, and how can we be married if you've only kissed me a few times? Why don't you want to be with me? What's wrong with me?"

You're hyperventilating now, and there's an old tingle that you've suppressed, the fear and rage and helplessness that once made you scream and throw and punch walls. You think about the book under the sofa and hate it so much for being there. You think about your embroidery sitting prettily on Kai’s desk and you want to rip out every single thread.

You think you really break open, about to grab something and just destroy it, when suddenly Kai’s gloved hands are on your cheeks and his mask is gone and oh, his lips are on yours and is that tongue you feel--it is, it definitely is--and he’s never kissed you like this, deep and warm and soft and wet.

He pulls away and you’re dumbfounded and you must look dumb, too, because Kai wipes away a stubborn line of drool on your bottom lip and chuckles, low and light. He leaves the ugly, thick tears that have stained your cheeks.

“Do you really think I don’t want to be with you?” His thumb strokes your lips and the seam of the glove tickles and sends a hot thrill shooting down your stomach. “Do you think I haven’t imagined our… future?”

His touch is soft and his words are soft and his gaze is familiar and comfortable; the look that makes your stomach do fumbles, the look he gives you when he’s letting you know that you’re being silly again.

“I… I don’t know,” you say, your shaky breath ghosting over his thumb. “It’s just--”

He presses his thumb on your lips and you quiet down, and you listen.

“I’m waiting until you’re ready. You know that I know what’s best for us, what’s best for you, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Then you know that we will have all those things--” you ignore the voice inside you, so small and silly now, that’s insisting you-won’t-you-won’t-you-won’t--- “but only when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and you smile, because you know that he’s right. You wipe away your own tears and grin, sheepish and feeling so ridiculous for having a fit right in the middle of the day like this.

You let yourself be tucked in, let Kai drape the soft blanket over your legs. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips tingle with envy. You watch as he goes back to his desk and sits down, as he replaces his gloves and his mask. All is well, all is back to normal.

Kai starts typing, and you let the white noise soothe you as you pick up your book and flip open to your bookmark. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask about the resin.

#yandere overhaul #yandere #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #he is SUCh... an asshole

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sorcerersofnyc · 4 years ago

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The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 8/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Eight: Zemo has to say goodbye.

Suicidal ideation, Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

He doesn’t know how to tell you goodbye. He doesn’t want to tell you goodbye. So lingers at the doorframe of his bedroom with a heavy heart and troubled eyes.

Your spot on the bed is empty, the blankets still unmade as steam from the shower hovers thinly in the air.

The sound of running water stops just before he passes the archway that leads into the master bath. The glass door opens and shuts on the other side. He hears you shuffle around and, after a moment, sees you peek around the wall.

You gasp.

Drops of water slide down your shoulders, vanishing beneath the fluffy towel wrapped around your breasts.

"Helmut!" You retreat behind the wall quickly. “I thought you were still downstairs!”

“My apologies,” He smirks. “I had no intention of intruding.” Helmut turns around for the sake of your modesty.

You hesitate for just a moment before approaching him, your footsteps growing closer, more confident as you near him from behind.

“You should have woke me,” you scold, entering his periphery. He twists his neck just enough to watch you bend over and take something from the drawer.

“I felt it would be wise to let you sleep.”

He watches you disappear behind the wall once more, curious to see what it was you took from his drawer. Was it an article of clothing? Did he have anything that suited you? He ponders every possibility.

So when you finally return, Helmut drinks in the sight of you, checking you out from head to toe.

“Stop staring at me like that.” There’s a slight waver in your voice as you look at him, as you take notice of the wicked smile on his face.

“My apologies again, Драга,” he places special emphasizes the word, “I was merely enjoying the view.” Your clothing is your own, except for the socks.

“We shouldn’t linger,” Helmut imagines you fighting back a blush as you ignore his words. “The last thing I want is those two running around my house. What if they find all Anežka’s guns?” You move to step around him, to walk out into the hall, but Helmut takes your hand into his own and pulls you into his arms.

“Wait,” he instructs you, his voice leveled and controlled. You look up at him, confused—perhaps a little intrigued—by the sudden force of his actions. You brace your hands against his chest.

“Yes?” You still, but gaze shifts from his eyes to his mouth, down his jaw, and back up again.

Cрањеg, he thinks, because it would be so easy to kiss you, so easy to do anything with you as Sam and James wait downstairs. (They could take notes if they heard them.)

He pulls you in a little closer, lessening the space between your chests. It would have been so easy—but Helmut won’t start something he can’t finish. He has to leave and he could never leave you wanting him, not when he knows he’ll never see you again.

“There’s something I must tell you first,” he insists, breaking your intimate gaze.

“What is it?” Your voice is a breathless whisper, so sweet he nearly falters.

“I’m sorry but I must leave you again.”

“Oh.” The simple phrase hung in the air.

“I'm truly sorry, I believed—”

“No, it’s—I mean, we both knew we wouldn’t have much time together…” The world grew quiet around him, as though all the birds and the sun in the sky shared in his agony. “When will you leave?”

“We have but a few hours left together.”

“Where are you going?”

“Riga.” He brings a hand to the curve of your cheek.

“We have a place there, right?” You take a step backward, releasing yourself from his hold, and brush past him quickly. “I’ll call someone to have it ready for you.”

He wants to call you back to him, hold you in his arms, memorize your every curve and feature—but instead, he watches you go.

***

Before enacting his ‘diabolical scheme,’ as the media so kindly put it, he arranged for Oeznik to send regular updates about you.

The first broke his heart completely.

When Oeznik tried to deliver the paperwork he had for you, you sent him back with a very colorful message detailing exactly what Helmut could do with his money. You didn’t want it. In fact, you found the idea to be insulting.

“If he wanted me to be his partner, he should have stayed instead of treating our relationship like some sort of business transaction!”

Unwilling to stay in the Italian estate for any longer than strictly necessary, you called a taxi in the middle of the night and made the arduous journey to the nearest city. Eventually, you arrived in Venice where you stayed an entire week.

You booked travel west and spent another few days in Milan.

Oeznik had an easy time monitoring you, and Helmut suspected he enjoyed the chance to visit a few quiet cities with little urgency. But it seemed two weeks was where his patience ran thin.

After another few days of meandering, Oeznik, who you had been more than a little surprised to see, managed to sit you down and convince you to overlook the paperwork.

Helmut wasn’t sure what he could have said to make you agree—likely something to do with taking the money, if only out of spite or something more sentimental, invoking your fondness for Carl and Heike—but you agreed.

When you finally returned home and Oeznik reported you intended to remain there, Helmut hired Anežka, Oeznik’s great-niece, to keep you company. She was a sweet-tempered young woman who once shot a bullet between the eyes of a rampaging boar somewhere east of Siberia—allegedly.

Nevertheless, he trusted her to watch over you and focused fully on his mission.

News of the Avengers causing havoc in Lagos broke out and you weren’t there to discuss the headline or the harsher implications of their actions. (‘Think about the demographics of the area,’ he imagined you would say. ‘Of course they think they can just waltz in and do what they want. It’s like Johannesburg all over again.’)

He found Vasily Karpov in a sleepy suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, and traveled there to find him. You weren't there to greet him upon his return.

He booked a room in Vienna. You weren't there to eat breakfast beside him.

He enacted his scheme. You weren't there to intervene.

When it was over and he was caught, the joint terrorism task force transferred Helmut to a high-security prison in Berlin, where he toiled in boredom and misery.

He deserved it, of course, but the hell of sitting with his memories and reflecting on his regrets was unbelievably tiring.

He’d been in prison for nearly a week before he received any communication from the world outside.

It was a money transfer notice.

Eigengeld, the notice said, showing that the money was transferred to a private funds account.

He received the same notification two weeks later.

Helmut used his money to purchase books, deciding to brush up on his Russian by reading classic poetry. He then obtained a small radio and other odds and ends meant to make his cell more accommodating.

Every two weeks he received the same notice, nothing more and nothing less.

Every month he received a letter from Oeznik, though they functioned more as simple reports about your welling, the status of his assets, observations on the world, and such.

Then, after about a month and a half of imprisonment, he received a parcel in the mail; a thick book sent directly from a local seller about Anger and Grief.

He recognized the title; you had the same book, albeit an earlier edition, on your desk in your bedroom. It was easy for him to imagine you there, sitting on your bed, doing the work to unpack all your feelings—you wanted him to do the work too.

You hadn’t given up on him; you didn’t think he was too far gone.

He opened up to the table of contents.

He received a second parcel three weeks later.

This time you sent him a treatise on Contemporary Arts and a book about Rococo Architecture.

He understood the intent of the first one well enough; you wanted him to develop a greater appreciation for contemporary art. But the second? You were clearly just teasing him. He hated Rococo Architecture.

A third parcel came three weeks after that and it contained a book more aligned with his tastes, Fortuna ist ein reissender Fluß, Fortune is a River. He assumed it was an apology for the two before.

And so it went on; every few weeks he received something new—but then one day you sent him a letter:

‘Dear Helmut,’

Oeznik, Anežka, and I visited the Sokovian memorial together. I laid flowers for you, Carl, Heike, and Heinrich. I laid them right beside the flowers I brought for Dominik and my father-in-law...’

You told him that the land was set to be divided by neighboring countries, cannibalized before it was even clear of rubble. You mentioned donating money to charity, visiting his other estates at Oeznik’s behest, and working on art.

You drew a sketch of the memorial on the back of the letter but never mentioned what happened between you, only that you're well and wished for him the same.

He wrote you back, thanking you for laying flowers for his family, and didn’t expect to hear from you again.

So when the next parcel you sent was accompanied by another letter.

You asked about the books and his thoughts about them.

Your tone was perfectly cordial, perfectly polite, but there was clearly a sense of distance there. You told him of a book you read by a man named Garth Risk Hallberg. You complained it was about 400 pages too long but something about it stuck out to you, a quotes:

'And why love things you were destined to lose? Why let yourself feel things if the feelings were doomed to die?'

Helmut was far too smart to trick himself into believing your words weren’t meant to stir something within his heart, that they weren’t a clever admission of your true feelings. However, he was also too cautious to remark recklessly.

So in his reply, he mentioned a book as well, Il Principe, and he quoted Machiavelli's view of love:

‘...love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage.’

You shouldn't love him, he thought, not after he broke your heart to achieve his own ends. You disagreed.

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom." You wrote, followed by a snippy, 'Shakespeare had a better view of love than Machiavelli.’

The quote was from Sonnet 116. (You sent him a book of sonnets shortly after that.)

The sonnet spoke of what love was, what it meant to love a partner for who they were, accepting their changes and their flaws, and welcoming all the obstacles of love.

Helmut wasn't presumptuous enough to believe you could ever come to love him so fully, but wasn't love at all a start?

Neither of you wrote 'I love you,' at least not directly. Had he said it, he knew something, that thing inside of him, that thing that always held him back from you, would finally break.

But little by little you opened up to him again, using your shared love of literature to express your true feelings.

Oeznik continued to send his reports as well—one every month—to check up and keep him informed.

Roughly two years after his sentencing, something changed. News reported some sort of invasion in New York City, then another similar incident over Wakandan Airspace. And then, suddenly, there was a panic in the prison. People turned to dust and vanish all over the world.

And he worried.

Mail delivery was in complete and utter disarray. It took about eight weeks to receive word from you. For eight weeks he was alone, trapped in a vicious cycle of fear and doubt, just like the days he spent digging for his family in the rubble of his father’s home.

He contemplated an escape, planned for every contingency, and wondered what he'd do if he found your house cold and empty. Could he handle that pain? Could he stand to lose whatever shred of hope he had left?

And what if you came looking for him? What if you came, and he wasn’t there?

He contemplated all of those things and as he did so, your letters came.

When the guard appeared before his cell, they handed him a bundle of them, each more desperate and hasty than the last.

You survived the decimation. You were alright. But Anežka and Oeznik were gone. You were so sorry, so scared.

Captain America made a speech on television that assured everyone that no one else would disappear, but you didn’t believe him. You didn’t even know if your letters would reach him; you didn’t know if he was gone too but you would keep writing until someone told you otherwise.

You attempted to call the prison; you visited the gate; you did everything in your power to see him and the moment you received news that he, too, had survived, you cried.

The emotions he felt were bittersweet.

You were alive and well; he hadn’t lost you—but Oeznik was gone.

He wasn't misguided, Helmut knew that it would come to happen eventually, but he never expected it to be so sudden, didn’t expect it to happen like this. The old man had plenty of years left in him—he should have lived to reach 100 at least.

But with him gone, he’d lost his most loyal companion and confidant. With him gone, you were truly all he had left in the world.

As his next of kin, you tried to make an appeal for him to attend a memorial, but apparently, the death of 'a butler,’ as the officials described, wasn't an adequate reason to allow for prison leave.

He was simply too dangerous a criminal.

You shared a little poem with him in one of your letters, something about being still and staying in place. You didn’t want him to escape his prison cell. With the world in such disarray, so many places descended into martial law. If anyone saw him, they’d likely shoot on sight. You didn’t want to risk that, and he wouldn’t make you worry.

You encouraged him to open up about his feelings, so in his grief, he turned to you.

Time passed.

All his time alone gave him the chance to work through his grief, come to peace with what happened to his family, and reconcile his feelings. The rage was still there. It hadn’t gone away, but it was less of a bullet and more of an ache.

He still worried for you, of course, but life moved on and you coped; You wanted to help, wanted to ease the devastation left in the decimation’s wake.

‘I feel like nothing I do is enough,’ You wrote. And you felt as though you were living through the fall of Sokovia all over again. He suggested you try a change of scenery, to go somewhere new to gain a better understanding of how the world was now shaped.

So you visited New York City. Your letters took more time to arrive when you were away, but you mentioned having met a young journalist there, a man with an interest in art. He had a friend who you claimed looked exactly like him.

'If you grew a beard,' you wrote, 'you'd be twins.' He highly doubted that.

Despite your insistence that he was simply a friendly acquaintance, Helmut assumed you developed a liking toward the man.

He tried not to let the idea bother him—you deserved to live a life of happiness, a life not shackled to him—but he loved you, and you loved him.

He may not have had a name for what you were to each other, but when you reported having returned home without incident (or new romantic prospects) he felt relieved.

Years went by.

Your bond grew stronger.

And then the world changed once again one day.

You were making tea in the kitchen when Anežka appeared right before your eyes.

'It was as though her body pieced itself back together.' You described. 'She doesn't remember what happened, neither does Oeznik. It's like time didn't pass for them at all.’

They called what happened ‘The Blip’ to describe the experience. Helmut thought it was a ridiculous name.

But the sudden reappearance of the people that vanished threw the world into chaos once again. There was so much chaos, in fact, that James Buchanan Barnes appeared before him a few much later.

(Apparently, he thought with some resentment, those affiliated with the Avengers could visit him but not his next-of-kin.)

Helmut’s last letter wasn't quite a letter at all.

He arranged for a parcel to be sent to you: waffles and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He then asked Oeznik to send you a message.

He was coming home to see you, to be with you at last.

***

When Oeznik calls to tell him that the car is ready, you’re standing in the kitchen engrossed in a lively conversation with Sam.

You decided it would be nice to send them off with snacks, which somehow lead to a deeper conversation about your love of Beignets, the connection between food and culture, and the ingredients needed for Crawfish Étouffée.

Helmut isn’t sure he likes how funny you think Sam is, but he ignores that part of himself as he stands beside you, tracing circles into the palm of your hand.

James stands behind Sam, looking as sullen as a cat in the rain, but Helmut made the conscious choice to ignore that as well.

“It seems our car has arrived,” he cuts in, gently squeezing your hand. James stands at full attention and Sam nods his head. They’re ready to return to the mission.

“Helmut,” you turn your attention to him fully, “Could you hang back a minute. I promise it won’t take long.” You look between Sam and James. “I just need to give him something.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, gesturing James toward the door. “Thanks for everything and hey—if ever you’re in the neighborhood come down to the restaurant, we’ll set you up straight.”

You wave him off with a smile, agreeing to do just that as James gives you a polite nod of acknowledgment

“Thanks.”

“Adiós,” you call to them, waiting for the two to shut the door.

“I’m almost sad to see them leave…”

“Really?” He raised a brow.

“Almost,” you repeat, taking both his hands in yours. “But I’m glad I got to see you again, Helmut — even if it was just for a while.”

“As am I.” You stare at each other, allowing the moment to settle around you. There was so much left to say and so little time to say it.

"I...I have something for you. Not...not a present but something I want you to keep." You slide your hands away from his take a folded envelope from your pocket. The paper inside is worn, but the letter is addressed to him, dating back to the spring of 2016.

"It's the first letter I was going to send to you but...I couldn’t. But I want you to have it now—just don't read it until you're gone."

"Thank you," He says after a moment. "I'll treasure it." And he would. He’d keep your words close to his heart.

"I wanted you to know I understood what you thought you had to do...that I forgave you and…" Your voice waivers but you continue, desperately trying to hold yourself together. "I just wish we had more time."

"I know." Helmut wrapped you in his arms and you remained there, your face buried in his shoulder.

“I must go now,” he tells you. You don’t let him go. You won’t.

Helmut presses a kiss to the top of your head with a chuckle. “Come now драга, it’ll be alright.” He pulls you back by the shoulders, looks into your eyes. “You’ve been so wonderful to me. I can’t envision a better friend.” Helmut leans forward, presses his forehead against your own, and enjoys one last moment of tender affection. It was a moment where words felt insufficient, where nothing else needed to be said except for maybe, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You whisper, and your words fill his heart with a strange new light.

But then someone—probably James—knocks on the door three times. A muffled argument between his companions begins outside the door, and Helmut sighs.

It’ll be a long trip to Latvia.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell him, “and don’t make any more trouble.”

“Trouble?” He asks innocently enough, as though he would never dream of doing such a thing. You roll your eyes and follow him to the door.

For a moment he considers running. Of taking your hand and leading you out through the back door. He could run away with you—but then he would never achieve his mission. And he couldn’t allow Super Soldiers to exist.

So he steeled his resolve and reached toward the door.

“Wait!” You reach for his hand.

He didn’t want to make this harder than it had to be, but he needed to listen to what you had to say.

“What is it?”

You take a breath as if to prepare yourself for something. “... Can I... Can we... Can I kiss you?” His heart aches. Helmut struggles to find an answer. But perhaps he was simply overthinking it. Perhaps there was nothing left to say.

So he nods. You take a step closer.

You move as though you’ve thought of this before; you place your hands on his chest, tilt your face upward, and press your lips against his gently.

It was a chaste kiss, a quick one that evoked the feeling of finding shelter in the rain.

You pull away, no doubt prepared to say something, but Helmut takes hold of your waist and pulls your body against him. The love between you grows into a burning flame as he kisses you, again and again, to help quench it.

Your lips part, your tongues meet, you run your fingers through his hair, but it only makes him hotter, hungrier, burning for something more. “Thank you for taking care of me, Helmut.” Your breath is heavy, and it mingles with his own when you part from him.

“I want you to be happy, драга,” Helmut confesses, voice low, accent thicker. “I am sorry to have caused you distress-”

“Stop it.” You cup his face between your hands. “You gave me everything you could.”

He kisses you again, and it’s fervent and zealous, it’s desperate in the way all final things are.

Another knock sounds unkindly at the door.

There’s no more time to be together—but you share another kiss anyway.

“Goodbye, my love.” He whispers on your lips because he knows that this is the end, that he may never see you again.

“Goodbye.” You step back, releasing your hold at last.

You open the door and he steps outside.

“Gentleman,” Helmut greets the others nonchalantly, as though he weren’t moments away from delaying the mission in favor of sharing something even more personal with you.

The sun is high in the sky, but the weather is deceptively chilly.

“What were you doing in there?” James asks, his voice full of unfounded accusations.

“Come on, Buck.” Sam shakes his head. He lets out a loud, exasperated sigh and starts toward the car.

“What?” James follows Sam toward the car, annoyed he must defend himself from some implied accusation.

“I was merely bidding farewell to my dear companion, of course,” Helmut answers truthfully, sending a mischievous little wink your way.

"Cuídate!" You call after them. Take care.

Helmut takes a last look at the home you once shared, one last look at you as you watch him from the doorway.

He loves you, which is the reason he has to leave. He would put an end to Karli and her acolytes to make the world a safer place. No one, not the Avengers or these ‘Flag Smashers’ endanger the world once again. He would put a bullet to each of them himself if it meant keeping you safe.

#Zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #mcu zemo #zemo x reader #these chapters just keep getting longer and longer

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da-at-ass · 4 years ago

Note

Hey there,I've been a reader of you other blog, the Merkavah Party Van for a while and I did have a magical practice started in 2014. But now, I find the need to get back to basics, and am looking for advice on how to get started with: Daemonolatry (I have the book by S Connolly), Qlippoth (I have the book by Thomas Karlsson) and working with Saturn (the only publication I have is Saturn Rising by JT Kirkbride). Anything a sort of beginner should know?

The most important thing is that recent texts don't really have an edge on older texts that are able to be gotten for free. (Secret Symbols of the Rosicrucians, any "Key of Solomon" type books, Grimorium Verum--all of these are far out of copyright and you can find translations online for free or kindle editions that are cheap. Whereas recent books will often go for $25-50 because that's where the modern book market is.) Many recent texts by recent scholars are still using, at its core, traditional alchemical systems that assume we've only discovered the planets up to Saturn--they haven't added the planetary bodies past that. But it's not really hard to do that, since astrology's already added in meanings for the newly discovered planets and asteroids. Some of this work you can even see scholars in the 1900s starting to do around the turn of the century, but i think the work was abandoned too early.

What I find is that because of this, there's a TON of books out there, on ebay, on abebooks, etc, that cover psychic/mental work under parapsychology, spiritism, animal magnestism... there's so many diverse terms for it before the 50s even came around. So I've been able to find beautiful, hardcover, very useful and, to be honest, more scientifically accurate than 1600s books, by looking in the discount places for stuff you wouldn't believe was on discount, because people don't recognize the authors anymore.

Also, old magazines have a lot of interesting things in them, even weird pulps like "FATE" magazine have very interesting articles and ads in them that can be followed up. I've found letters and private estate ephemera via ebay sellers by just keeping an eye out for stuff others were missing. Let's see, biggest thing... if you see a book that interests you, but you're a bit confused as to why you want it, probably your future intuition is telling you that you'd like the book. I've gotten such oddball works on a hunch lately that have really paid off.

Oh! Builders of the Adytum, and The Brotherhood of Light. They have a lot of materials out there in this early 1900s time period which is easy to nab. Builders of the Adytum did a little pamphlet called Highlights of Tarot that has a lot of great insight into the Majors and hermeticism--the copy I ordered had a card tucked in for correspondences to a "Cube of Space" ritual that makes the majors and court cards into a sacred space that one can use for meditation and inter-planar travel. My phone is almost dead right now--I'll add a photo later. It's like solving a Rubik's Cube in 4 dimensions with Tarot Cards as the squares.

You caught me at a good time apparently! That's what I can think of at the moment. I've been doing a lot of research and book collecting over the past year and really haven't had a chance to report on findings yet, thanks for asking!

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itsclydebitches · 6 years ago

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Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first:

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense.

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go.

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish.

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it.

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit.

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

****************************************************************************

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #guess who spent 48 hours doing nothing but writing and formatting #can I get a wahoo

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kingofdirtandnothing · 4 years ago

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@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Two

With the odd little redhead sorted, James sends him off to get them coffee and pastries. It’s a ploy, and a blatant one at that. But M’Baku has never been one to turn down the opportunity to go to Bag End Bakery.

The place was a wonderland of sights and smells, the big glass case in the center of the room dominating the space and drawing the eye. Inside, there were gold cut outs laid in neat rows, doilies on top of them to display whatever delicacies that Bilbo has come up with.

And the smell. God, don’t get him started about the smell of the place. It was like walking past the gates of Heaven itself and taking a whiff. Sugar and cinnamon hung lightly in the air and still found the way to tickle your nose and stick to your tongue. The smell of freshly roasted coffee was a strong noted counterpart. It made you want to sit down and stay awhile.

Then again, the place could have legos all over the floor and the most uncomfortable, flimsy metal chairs and M’Baku would still want to stay.

Love made fools of us all.

He steps inside, ducking a little so he doesn’t knock his forehead against the bell hanging there, and breathes in deep. Yes, this was as close to Heaven as he was going to get. As evidenced by the angel behind the show case who was smiling at him as he wiped the flour from his hands and onto his apron.

“Hello.” Bilbo has a lovely, smooth voice. Like heavy cream. He steps up to the counter, and M’Baku can see the way he’s fighting the smile at his lips. Fools of us all, indeed. “What can I get for you today?”

M’Baku didn’t have a regular order. There were too many delicious looking delicacies in that case to settle for any one of them, no matter how delicious they were. Now his coffee? That was the same every single time. An easy order, too. A medium roast, with cream and two sugars. Though sometimes the holidays got the best of him and he’d order something with pumpkin or peppermint.

But at the moment, M’Baku wasn’t thinking about his coffee order (or James’. Sorry, brother.) or even the wide array of sweets laid out under bright lights that were calling to his grumbling stomach. No, M’Baku was thinking about a book he’d picked up in the store last night when they were cleaning up.

It had been left out on the edge of the shelf, one of the pages inside dog eared. The dust jacket had been lost since before they had ownership of it, as evidenced by the price sticker right against the cover of the book. 3.99. Not exactly a best seller.

They got a few loiterers, but neither M’Baku nor James had ever gotten the urge to run anyone off. Hell, they had two overstuffed leather chairs that were kept in front of the big frosted glass front window of the shop. The lighting was fantastic there. So long as people left their coffees from Bilbo’s on the table or the windowsill, they could sit and read for as long as they wanted.

But this book had caught M’Baku’s eye. Because the person reading it hadn’t made themselves comfortable in a chair in the sunshine. They’d stayed behind a book shelf to read. Clandestine. What sort of fantastic smut had they found in a bargain bin book on a back shelf?

So he did exactly what his mystery reader did. M’Baku stood right there in the aisle and went to the dog eared page to see what all the fuss was about. But what he found wasn’t old white woman smut, or even the strange kind of bondage that seemed to be all the literary rage these days.

No, M’Baku found a story in the throes of love and passion, a woman drawing her husband’s bored eyes to her again by bringing him into the kitchen. With an array of fresh fruit and melted chocolate.

He must have read the line about the woman watching her husband bite into a luscious, white chocolate covered strawberry a dozen times. And then he slipped a fiver into the cash register and put the book into his bag to take home.

What can I get for you today? M’Baku blinks back to the present and away from the thought of sweet fruit juce spilling on a willing tongue. “Well.” His laughter is a quiet thing, and a sheepish thing. James would be doubled over with laughter if he knew what M’Baku was about to do. Like the kind of laughter that would make your stomach muscles hurt for a few hours afterwards.

James could laugh all he wanted. M’Baku was a man on a mission.

The little redhead was what switched this thought from fantasy to reality. If she could walk into their shop, see a picture of John Luther on the wall and decide she wanted him enough to make a deal, then M’Baku could take a walk down their little cobble stone street to his friend’s bakery and make a play for what he wanted.

“Do you work with chocolate much?” That’s probably a stupid question. And the confused smile Bilbo gives him just confirms it. There are drizzles of chocolate across a few of the pastries in the case, right at M’Baku’s eye level. This was off to a great start.

“When I have the time.” It takes M’Baku a second to realize that Bilbo isn’t laughing at him. He’s laughing at himself. (It helped, knowing he wasn’t the only nervous one here.) “I’m no chocolatier by any stretch of the imagination, but I do like to try new things.”

Well. A man couldn’t get a better opening than that, now could he? “Could you show me how to dip fruit in chocolate?” He’s very particular about how he asks. Because M’Baku doesn’t just want to buy chocolate dipped fruit from Bilbo. He wants to be a part of the process.

Bilbo looks at him for a long moment, thinking it over. M’Baku watches in pleased surprise as he puts the ‘back in an hour’ sign on top of the glass case and gestures him behind the counter with a crooked finger. “We can put a little something together. It won’t be especially, fancy but you’ll get the gist of it.”

“That’s all I need.” M’Baku steps behind the counter, and follows Bilbo over to the sink, standing shoulder to...top of the head next to Bilbo as they wash their hands beneath the warm torrent of water, bubbles swirling around the basin of the sink before they slip down into the drain. He forgets sometimes, how small Bilbo actually is. There was something about being on the other side of the counter that made him seem larger. Like his authority was some kind of a step stool.

“Right.” Bilbo claps his hands together with a quick burst of sound, looking down at the ingredients laid out on the counter top between them. There were two metal bowls, a pot, a cutting board with chocolate and a massive knife sitting on top of it, and then a green plastic basket of strawberries. “The first thing we need to do is to chop the chocolate. It doesn’t need to be nice or neat, but we want the pieces relatively the same size. If some are bigger than the others, they’ll take longer to melt and we can risk scalding the chocolate on the bottom.”

M’Baku looks from Bilbo, to the massive knife and back again. “And you want me to do that?” That huff of breath that might just be a laugh feels like a victory. Bilbo nudges him out of the way with an elbow against the ribs and starts chopping the chocolate with his knife, as easy as breathing.

There was a grace to the way that he moved, like it was ingrained in him. Bilbo rocks the knife against the well worn and scoured cutting board, the chocolate coming apart in crisp snaps beneath the motion. And in what feels like a matter of seconds, there’s a neat mountain of chocolate debris. Bilbo gathers it up onto the flat side of his knife, letting it rain down into the first metal bowl. “Now.” For a man who didn’t want to be in charge of anyone, Bilbo was very good at it. “Have you ever heard of using a double boiler?”

M’Baku hums. “Bowl over boiling water?” He holds his hands, one stacked on top of the other. He’s watched a Youtube cooking show or two in his time. Even if he’s never put any of it to practice. They were soothing to watch when you wanted to sleep. Especially the Japanese ones with their subtitles and their tiny cakes that always looked like something other than cake.

Bilbo’s smile is quick, and bright. “Right. It helps us control the temperature so we melt our chocolate evenly.” The pot is filled with water from the sink and put onto the big range above the row of ovens. Bilbo waits, checking his watch before he looks to water for the roiling bubbles of a boil. “Alright, bring the chocolate.”

M’Baku puts the bowl on top of the pot of boiling water, and takes the whisk that is handed to him. “You want to wisk gently, but constantly.” Pale fingers curl over M’Baku’s hold on the whisk, and his heart leaps right up into his throat. When Bilbo pulls away, M’Baku is careful to keep the same slow, easy strokes in a circle around the bowl.

And though it gives him something to do with his hands, it does little to stop the running commentary of his thoughts, like a hamster in a wheel. Bilbo’s hands were softer than expected. M’Baku had assumed they would be callused and dry, after all the hard work he put in every day, and dealing with things fresh out of the oven. But his hands were soft. It made the touch between them, no matter how short, feel that much more intimate.

“Coconut oil. The not so secret ingredient.” Bilbo’s voice is playfully low as he spoons a big blob of white into the mixture, the darkness of the chocolate becoming a richer, warmer color as they coalesce together into something whole. “It helps the chocolate set against the fruit. And it gives it a nice shine.”

M’Baku raises the whisk from the mixture, watching the chocolate fall in silken ribbons back into the bowl. It was almost hypnotic to watch, slithering back down to become one with the rest of the chocolate still in the bowl.

“Now. We’re not on an especially quick time frame with the chocolate, but we do need to move before it begins to set. Though if it gets too hard, we can warm it again on the double boiler. That’s why we keep it simmering while we work.” Bilbo lifts the first strawberry, holding the green strem between his thumb and forefinger. Gracefully, he dips it into the chocolate and gives it two swift turns, cutting off the tail of chocolate that dribbles from the tip.

The strawberry is placed on the piece of parchment that Bilbo laid out on a cooking sheet. “You make that look easy.” And sure enough, when M’Baku lifts his strawberry from the gooey bowl, two twists leaves him with nothing but a lumpy, lopsided strawberry. When he lays it beside Bilbo’s, all M’Baku can do is laugh. “Definitely harder than it looks.”

“That’s alright. You just need a little more practice, that’s all.” Bilbo’s smile is warm, and private. It feels like something that belongs to M’Baku and M’Baku alone. And if their fingers touch when Bilbo hands him the next strawberry, well...who’s to say?

M’Baku dips the next strawberry into the chocolate.

“I could get used to this.”

#ch: mbaku #polyfacetious | bilbo #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

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eddiemilkman · 4 years ago

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- Random Writing Prompt #1 -

Hey there! I’m pretty new to this platform and just trying to find my way around it for now, but I do wanna make a quick low quality post just to fill up a bit of space. I went on this website https://www.servicescape.com/writing-prompt-generator (This one here) and decided a fun thing to do when entering this cite was one of those funky prompts. So I did! And here's a portion of it. It’s late and I have a test tomorrow so I don't wanna stay up too long, but here’s a bit of writing to get a feel of what I’m all about. Hope you enjoy. (Also an important thing to note: I’m not a huge spelling or grammar buff so there’s probably mistakes and I’m sorry.)

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #862: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ᴘᴏᴏʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ; ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ-ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ. ʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ (1/??) ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀꜱ

When we were young, my mother told me Gary was going to be a total tool. And I didn’t believe her at all. Gary was my friend so I couldn't imagine him growing older and not being good ole Gary. The Gary you could laugh and pig out with. The Gary who would holler and bark so loudly in class, the teacher would have to put him out in the hallway with nothing but his worksheet and pencil bag. He never acted like he was better than anyone else. When the washing machine would run busted, he would flip his shirt and wear it the next school day just like all of the rest of us.

That's why when he was accepted into that fancy-schmancy college for scarf wearers and coffee drinkers, it knocked me straight on my ass. I was happy, and everyone strung up a plastic smile at his going away party, but when he left everything was so...colorless. I wouldn’t deem it tool behavior, but it did solidify my mother's suspicion of him one day up and ditching me. He was my other half and then just dipped out on me for prestigious people who read Shakespeare and go to those cafes where there's wifi. He didn't even know those people! He left his comfortable little river to swim out through the mouth into an ocean of unfamiliar specimens. Sharks and dolphins, all aggressively fighting for a reward neither of us would daydream of.

We both sort of assumed we’d be stuck sweeping the Quick Mart or selling rolled joints to middle schoolers until the end of time. Middle schoolers would never stop loving the abuse of weak drugs and the Quick mart floors would never not have puddles of vomit and booze. That sounds more like a secure job than something you can go to college for. You can turn around one day and boom, the stock market or something crashed (?) I don't know much about business. Anyways yeah, you get my point. Pickle chips and fake cheese the color of a school bus will never go out of style. Stupid businesses that make those fancy indoor bike things will. What if everyone one day woke up and said “wow, I can always just run outside…”. Then what would happen? Those who went to college and got that stinky degree would be thrown out on the street, eating away their stress by scarfing down pickle chips!

I never thought of Gary as a pickle chip eater rather than a pickle chip seller. I mean when we would scribble down our future on printer paper it was incredibly detailed and surprisingly dull for children. The fortune we manifested during a game of M.A.S.H read to us as a mere fantasy. When we reached middle school it was clear we weren't going to live a life of golf courses and acceptable day drinking. We sort of realized this a few weeks into middle school, when we would be lined up against a brick wall while tall beefy police officers with their beastly dogs raided lockers for weed and patted us down for pocket knives. We were treated like deadbeats so we sort of expected it from ourselves and assumed the only way out was if one of us won the Powerball or….if the other one won the Powerball. I thought that was the plan… Man, being a failure alone sort of sucks come to think of it.

I wouldn't call myself a loser, just not a massive winner-ly type. I’m a goal-getter and I'll give myself that. I did land that job at Quick Mart restocking shelves, which is a little bittersweet now.

Gary always popped into my head every other week. I guess I’m just hung up on the stuff I never got to say. Why didn’t he suggest we attend the same college? Why when it came to our future planning was he loud, but in reality, disappeared so quietly?

“CHAS!” A voice echoed behind me. So sharp and stern, mean and crippling. Ugh...Lester. “You’ve been sweeping that corner for 5 minutes! Quit bleeding the clock and go do some actual work!”

I grip the handle of the broom and grunt. Fucking Lester. If there's anyone from high school I didn't want to land a job with, it's that joker. He was scrawny in size but a huge talker. It's crazy how the smallest of people always squawk the loudest. I do what he says because he’s a loudmouth and will probably rant and rave about me to the boss about how I leave all of the work on his tiny frame and he needs someone “competent”. Well, I need someone who doesn't act like a total ass-hat, but my needs haven't been accommodated yet so neither will his. I began toying around with some boxes of wafers on the shelf, just straightening them for no good reason. Sedated by boredom, I find my mind slowly drifting into other places. Where was he? Was he skipping around a college campus, holding onto his textbooks that he had to pay for?! Who pays for his pencils and books and highlighters? I bet he has that little bottle of white paint you slap over pen mistakes because your assignment is just too important for there to be scribbles on.

“GET THE HELL OUTTA 'HERE!”

My body suddenly jolts at the commotion from over near the cash register. Lester was using his thin little arms to violently push a grey round figure into the glass door. The man stumbled over his torn sneakers and gripped the doorframe. Lester used his small fist to pound on his fingers while simultaneously kicking him in the thigh. Once the man let go, Lester used the collar of his worn bomber jacket to throw him out onto the sidewalk. He shuffled from the door with hesitation, breathing like a wolf.

“Damn” I whimper meekly through the gaps of the shelves.

“That’s it, we’re closed.”

“Uh, Larry’s not gonna-”

“That meth head is gonna freak the hell out again. That joker comes in high as a plane every other day, and asks me if he can use his ‘coupons’ which I’ve told him a trillion times are fake and obviously printed out on a home computer-”

“Let him have it”, I squeak “he’s probably just really hungry”

“An iced tea, Slim Jim, and a loaf of bread should fill him up just fine! He treats shopping here like its extreme couponing. The worst part isn't the fake-y coupons, but when he wigs the hell out on me when I deny him. You weren't here when he sprayed me with fake cheese?”

“I think I was late that day”

Lester rolled his eyes.

“‘Course you were. God forbid your 6-foot ass came and protected me from crazy meth addicts.”

“Can we give him the spoils in the back?” I ask as I make my move over to the back room. The pile of “spoiled” food had built up to a mountain of American waste. I was ready to cut a slice into my unofficial take-home pay to get a hungry guy some food. I mean at least he was crafty and wasn't trying to come to rob the place.

“He’s gonna come in here with a gun one of these days.” I from the back room. “And get sent to the joint for a 3 dollar slim jim and pack of Oreos?” Lester strolls in behind me.

“3 square meals a day...” I mutter. Prison never sounded so bad. Free food, chess, television if you’re good. I was a good guy. I'd probably be on kitchen duty or do something fun.

“Well, I wouldn't put it past him...that crazy weirdo”

*Yah so this is the basic rundown of how I write and what maybe most of my posts will look like. As you can see its a umm....*ahem* easy read? I’m not that artistic with my writing sorry. Maybe ill improve one day.*

#writing prop #writing #writing prompt #fiction #short story #writing promp #why did i say prop oh my lord

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earthbovndmisfit · 4 years ago

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I hope this isn't too weird of a message to send, but doesn't it seem like Jonawagon doujinshi are pretty uncommon? I've only seen maybe 3 posted online & I have a copy of a SpeedJona doujin but aside from those I haven't come across any. Is it like a rare pairing or something? I thought they were fairly popular

It isn’t weird at all, anon! All the opposite actually, cause I love getting asks even if i'm not always around or it sometimes takes me a hot minute to get to them gfjhkjh

This is gonna be long and probs gonna have bits that might sound rant-ish to some, but I hope that’s alright! :'D

For starters, sadly, jonawagon/jonaspeed/speedjona or however you call the ship is quite an underrated ship. This has to do partly with the wrong perceptions some folks have built around it and around the characters as well (that them both and the couple itself are the epitome of "purity" and "innocence", sometimes even labelling them as "boring" as a result even though both characters are far from that, that "it could only be a one-sided thing" on Spw's end despite both showing and sharing a certain bond/closeness towards each other -closeness that sometimes Jonathan didn't show towards anyone else-, etc), partly because of the many timeskips in PB and all the scenes the anime cut out and people wrongly assuming that the main events happened in the span of a few days and thus people dropping the ball on the ship/characters when Jonathan and Speedwagon actually knew each other for as long -sometimes even longer- than other more popular characters/ships in jjba did, partly because neither Jonathan or Speedwagon are as popular as other characters in the franchise as a whole, and also partly because, as sad as it is to say this, the ship lacks a LOT of support, especially from it's own fanbase. While jonawagon is a popular and well liked ship overall (in the sense that even general fans who don't care much about shipping, or those who are still on the fence about mlm ships, or those who just don't actively ship jonawagon actually like and support the ship or the idea of it upon seeing the actual dynamics between the characters and their potential and the fact that the ship can actually coexist with jonaeri without altering the characters/making them ooc, nor altering the story and so on), it still lacks a lot of support from it's fans. I often see most other ships/characters get lots of reblogs and exposure from their fans on literally any and all platforms, helping those ships/characters reach new audiences and gaining more popularity and drawing interest from potential new fans, while jonawagon stuff as well as solo Jonathan or Speedwagon stuff usually only get likes and a few reblogs at most from their fans, which is nice and all, but it doesn't give the artists/writers any exposure nor get those works or the ship any farther than that and just keeps them within part of the already existing fanbase at best, which often times makes the artists/content creators lose interest in continuing to create stuff for the ship/characters. This is also why I always strongly ask -almost beg at this point ngl- for people to support the artists/writers/etc via reblogs!! The ship having a bunch of different names also might have an impact on all of this, as it's not always as 'easy' to tag/find contents if you don't know how to tag/search for it. Jonawagon (normally used in the western parts of the fandom), JonaSpeed/SpeedJona (Western version of the ship's most popular names in Japanese: ジョナスピ/スピジョナ or JonaSupi/SupiJona respectively], SpeedStar (a name that became a bit more popular more recently after a mini jonawagon event in 2019), being the most common ones afaik, asides from the standard JonathanxSpeedwagon/SpeedwagonxJonathan ie and others. In short, Jonathan and Speedwagon as well as jonawagon are quite well liked and even popular to an extent, but they lack a massive amount of support from the fans, which also usually translates into artists and content creators for this ship losing interest in continuing to create new material for it and thus end up not making any more contents.

In regards to doujinshi more specifically, I’m a bit disconnected when it comes to Jojo doujinshi in general, but it seems to be a bit like that for most of the non "crazy popular" Jojo ships if you ask me, which is kinda normal considering the massive amount of characters in the whole series. Putting my experience as example, if it helps, I used to collect doujinshi from one of my previous fandoms, which had a shit ton of them for plenty of it’s ships and it was somewhat easy to acquire hard copies of despite it being an “old anime” basically while most Jojo doujinshi (especially anything that is not parts 3, 4 and 5) seems to be a bit hard to come across regardless of the ship(s) in them, even in auction sites or places like pixiv that sell digital copies if the author puts them up on sale, which is understandable since the aforementioned parts are some of the most popular parts in Japan, where most doujinshi is created, and thus take most of the fandom's interest -authors’ and readers’ alike-, as well as the hype for parts like Phantom Blood being long dead (with it being dead/dormant since the original airing of the anime ended in 2013, and it coming back ocassionally whenever there's a 'special' re-airing of PB in Japan or when events such as the Joestar Radio take place), so maybe my parameters on the whole subject are somewhat disproportionate?

This is also gonna sound all boomer-like, but I’ve also noticed, or it seems to me at least (still in comparison to the doujinshi from my previous fandom), that doujinshi books as we knew them aren’t /as/ common nowadays as they used to be a while back. Even the works themselves don’t seem to be much that way either. For example, doujinshi anthologies used to be a big thing a while back and, while they still exist, they don’t seem to be too common anymore (these worked as "promo books" of sorts for all the artists featured and they also helped lesser known/popular artists and ships to get some exposure to newer audiences). Nowadays such thing still exists, and I actually recall seeing a Jonaspeed/Speedjona anthology being made “recently” (recently as in 2019, if I’m not mistaken? it was published and sold during the mini Jonaspeed event they held at a Jojo con in Japan that year), but they aren’t nearly as common as they used to be, since now most artists can post any samples they want (much more reduced tho, cause you normally get a few pages instead of a full mini story) in places like Twitter or Pixiv. And it’s kinda the same with regular doujinshi. Before, most doujinkas had to publish a book in order to get their stuff out and get some exposure, so they were always working on new stories and making new books to sell and promoing their stuff, sometimes one after the other and even creating multi-volume stories in some cases. Now, thanks to how "easy" it is to get some exposure on social media, it’s much more common to see doujinkas for any ships/characters making short stories (1-4 pages, sometimes more) or just 1 page illustrations instead and posting them on their social media every now and then as a promo for their works. They also still make and sell their books (a few jonawagon artists on twitter do, at least), and these short stories/illustrations serve to boost their works instead, which is not a complain at all cause I think it's amazing tbqh! But this also translates into less stories/doujinshi being created as many of these artists often opt for leaving those stories that years ago would have been their own book or a mini story in a book as a prompt or a short story only.

As for actual jonawagon doujinshi, while it is not as common as say pt 3 doujinshi, there is quite a bunch of it. Some date from 2012-2013 (when the PB anime was originally aired), some are much older than that and some others are much more recent (as there are still some active jonawagon doujinkas around). There are also "fanfic books" that are also considered doujinshi and that seem to be a thing sometimes, but these contain little to no art at all and are usually written 100% in Japanese. The problem here is that not many of them have been scanlated/translated yet, sometimes because they aren't easy to find on sale online, sometimes because re-sellers who do have them set high prices for them plus shipping costs, sometimes because the artists/online shops won't sell stuff overseas, sometimes because those who do own doujinshi copies don't always know how to properly share them (since scanning a doujinshi in high or decent quality without destroying the book can be hard af) among other reasons.

All that said, there is a bunch of jonawagon doujinshi that has been scanned and is available online! but it can be tricky to get sometimes due to the different names this ship can go by and because of the "translations" of said names into different languages (as some doujinshi can only be found in Chinese sites, or Russian ones, and so on for example, so it can take some serious time to figure that out and have a successful search).

In all honesty, anon, I'm a dumdum and I had never thought about doing so in a more public manner until now, since I've already shared my entire jonawagon collection (pics, doujins, etc) with friends who have requested it more privately, but I can upload the doujins I have scans of if anyone's interested?? (I’d post the links where I found most of them but since my hd is pretty much dead and I can’t access Windows or my windows/mozilla profile, I’ve p much lost all my old bookmarks). They were only like... 8 last time I checked (9/10 if you count the Japanese and English versions of the "Joestarsaaaaan" one), but it's something :D Just be aware that some of them are nsfw! and that a couple are either part of a book that has stories from other ships in them (I only have the jonawagon parts tho) or contain other ships implied or openly shown in the jonawagon story.

I also have about 4 more, but the scanlator of one of them openly requested for the file to not be reuploaded, so Idk if it'd be alright to share it? (and they also deactivated their blog, so there's no way to ask them for permission). The other 3 are scans a friend sent to me of their own doujinshi copies, so I also don't know if it would be okay for me to post them?? (i haven't seen this friend in over a year so idk gfhgjkjlkñ). 2 of those 3 are nsfw.

#long post #super long actually oof #sorry about that #i tried to make this shorter #i swear #orz #anonymous

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vincentbriggs · 5 years ago

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I'd love to hear more about the learning curve with your new embroidery frame. I've been considering possibly investing in one myself eventually and I'd love to hear what you think the pros and cons are.

Sure! I haven’t had it for long, but here’s everything I can think of so far.

Pros:

Very good for big projects, as it hold the fabric neatly and there’s none of the awkward scrunching and pinning of huge edge bits that I found myself doing when I did big things in a small hoop. My frame can hold things up to a meter wide, so it’s big enough to accommodate any project I foresee myself doing.

It spares one the terrible hand cramps you get if you hold an embroidery hoop for too long.

Much much better for working on silk taffeta or other crisp fabrics because it doesn’t leave any creases like a hoop can. It also spares your work the potential damage of being squished in a hoop. (Those cheap wooden ones can be splintery and rough.)

Some stuff (like metal embroidery) can only be done in a frame because a hoop would horribly, irreparably mangle it. I intend to try metal embroidery sometime in the next year or so, so I’m very excited about this!

No need to constantly take the work in and out of a hoop, and your tension is much more even. There’s some fussing with the tension when you first lace your fabric in, but after that you only need to move the rollers along occasionally to get to the next section.

It probably won’t get dirty either, like stuff in a hoop can when you handle it constantly. I put a thin white cotton dropcloth over it when I’m not working on it to make sure no dust and dirt gets on it.

You can use both hands if you want! I’m gradually getting the hang of this, and it seems to be more efficient. Passing the needle back and fourth between both hands saves you the time of moving your arm between the front and back all the time. Dominant hand goes underneath, since it knows what it’s doing and needs less supervision.

Cons:

It’s huge, and therefore takes up rather a lot of space. The rollers on mine are 1 meter wide and the frame itself extends a further 11cm on either side of them. I’m about to move out of my parents house and into a small apartment, so we’ll see how that goes. This frame (and all my other sewing stuff) is very high priority and definitely coming, but my workspace will likely be cramped. However, I know smaller frames exist, including tabletop ones, so it depends on what you need for your particular sort of work.

Being huge, it can’t be taken on public transportation, into waiting rooms, or any of those other boring situations that are so good for embroidery.

Nowhere to rest your arm, so I’m going to have to build up some embroidery muscles.

It wobbles a bit if you nudge it - hardly surprising as a wooden frame would need to be very chunky in order to not do this. I find if I gently brace one or both wrists against the rollers it keeps it steady. I presume squishing it in between two other pieces of furniture would help too, and will keep that in mind when moving stuff into my new room.

Rather more awkward to look at the underside of your work. I can tie off my threads without looking at the underside, but I like to bury the tails under the stitching on the backside before I cut them off, so I twist myself around to look at the underside while doing that. I think one could discreetly do this on the front side though.

It’s expensive but, as you say, it’s an investment.

Edit: hwaemelec suggested resting it on two trestles, which would make it easy to lift up to see the bottom, give you a place to rest your arm, and most likely stop the wobbling! Nice! I must do this and report back.

All things considered, I think the pros far outweigh the cons and am very very glad I invested in this frame. I think it’s an excellent fit for what I’ll be doing with it, which is large pieces of embroidery for 18th century menswear. Mostly on crisp silk, and with silk or metal threads.

I got the frame from this etsy seller (There was only one listed when I bought it, and now it’s back, so I’m assuming she just keeps one in stock at a time) but I believe this is the manufacturers site.

#vampirecatprince #ask #embroidery

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thestraggletag · 5 years ago

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Indulgence AU, Part 2

AKA the Fuck Anon ‘verse. An AU where Jefferson never reaches Gold in time to tell him about Belle meeting Jones by herself. First part here. Also guys I need a proper name for this! Any ideas?

Prompts filled:

Wouldn't Mal visit Belle in the hospital? Just saying, there's a prompt there somewhere.

Need. More. Starbucks. Angst. Please. Please. Please. PLEASE.

F*ckAnon!Prompt: "I'm sorry Mr. Gold, we can only allow ICU visitors to family."

Fuck Anon prompt, Mal visits Belle in the hospital. Gold's there... there's a fight. A loud one at that.

Need. More. Fuck. Anon. Fic.

For Fuck Anon/Indulgence AU, Mal comes to visit at the hospital.

I'm not super creative but I hope theres an angsty Starbucks prompt out there!

It was surprising how easy it was to get used to the sound of heart monitors and the constant intrusion of hospital staff. After a while it became easy to tune all the noise out, to focus on Belle and any minute change in her complexion or expression, anything that would indicate whether she was in pain, or nearer to waking. He was determined she would not do so alone. He’d be here to comfort and reassure her.

Three nurses, a security guard and two doctors had already tried to talk to him about visiting hours and protocol, but a phone call to the head of the hospital’s finance department had stopped all that. He was a regular donor for both Children of Bellevue and The Bellevue Association, which put him outside hospital staff reach. It didn’t particularly endear him to them, especially the nurses- he could feel them glare and glower every time they had to side-step his chair to check on an IV drip- but he did not particularly care.

When the police showed up he wasn’t surprised to hear they wanted to take his statement. After his rather heated conversation with Hatter he understood fully what had happened and had had time to spin the narrative in such a way that would leave Maurice French out of it. A pity, since it meant also getting Regina off the hook, but he consoled himself with the notion that he would deal with her at a later date.

He told them about his prior relationship with Jones, who they already knew as a low-level hustler and sometimes drug-seller. Told him of his stupid fixation with the idea he was somehow to blame for his ex-wife’s death and how he’d vowed revenge. He told them about him stalking Belle, and eventually extorting her for money in exchange for him leaving her alone.

“It was obviously a rouse to get her to meet him at a deserted location, of course. I assume he planned on… getting even with me.”

He could not bring himself to spell it out, but he knew. Knew Belle’s stab wounds had narrowly missed vital organs, that she had gotten lucky and likely had fought like hell to prevent him from accomplishing his goal. He could see defensive wounds, slashes on her arms and bandaged knuckles. She’d clearly hit him and more than once. The doctor had told him, when he had gathered the courage to ask, that the rape kit had been negative, though there were slash marks on her lower abdomen that he guessed were clumsy attempts at cutting her pants open.

The policemen were gentler with him that he would have given them credit for, and told him all the necessary resources were being utilised to try and track down Jones. Nick tried to appear as if he cared, as if he hadn’t set in motion his own plans regarding the Irishman.

He was anxious to go back to Belle’s room so he was relieved when the policemen finished their questioning, clearly happy with the information he had provided and seeming to be convinced he did not know where Jones was nor had the means to procure such information. Good.

As much as he wished to return to Belle’s room he forced himself to go to the entrance of the hospital, where he met Dove. He had a change of clothes with him, as well as food. He took the later outside to one of the benches scattered around the hospital’s small gardens and wolfed it down, feeling the reprobing gaze of Dove as he did so. He was a lover of good food, he knew, and surely disapproved of not giving a good wagyu beef sandwich the time and attention it deserved.

He was on his way back inside when he practically smacked into Mallory, looking sleek and pissed in an Hermés dress and coat and apparently making enemies out of the entire nursing staff at the hospital. When she turned around and spotted him she smiled, looking strangely feral.

“Oh look who it is! Belle’s doting fiancé. Congrats on the engagement you lying piece of shit.”

The later part was hissed at him, though her expression made it look like they were a couple of old friends discussing the weather. How the fuck did she do that? Reluctantly he managed to drag her to an empty waiting area. It was getting late, which meant the hospital was emptying of visitors and ambulatory patients. In harsh, clipped tones he told her about his talk with the hospital’s financial department, and how he had managed to pull some strings to bypass the rules regarding visitors in the ICU.

“Besides, being my fiancé will guarantee Belle the best of care. I don’t doubt you can put the fear of God into these people, dearie, but money talks even louder, and I happen to be one of the hospital’s main donors. Being engaged to me makes things not only easier but better for Belle.”

“What neat bit of bullshit you managed to sell yourself, darling, but I’m not buying it. You never do something for nothing.”

“It’s different with Belle. Surely you know that.”

The businesswoman snorted.

“Could’ve fooled me, given what the past few weeks have been like. And given the fact that it was your association with you that landed her in here in the first place.”

It was a low blow, but an effective one.

“Don’t you fucking go there, Mal. Don’t you fucking dare.”

He clenched his fists, angry that any display of violence would likely mean the police being called and he being unable to return to Belle’s room until tomorrow at the earliest.

“And why shouldn’t I? It’s the truth. You got into a fight with her, left her alone to fend for herself against an old acquaintance of yours who wanted revenge- probably just the first in a long line of many- and now here you are, sitting by her bedside, making her medical decisions and making false claims on her person. Taking titles that you don’t deserve.”

“I know!” Somehow anger had given way to pain, to what he had kept mostly locked away ever since he had received the call from the hospital. “It’s my fault she’s in here, don’t you think I fucking know that? I fucked up. I should’ve realised, should’ve kept tabs on Jones, should’ve… forced her to talk to me. Something was wrong and I jumped to the conclusion that was most familiar to me, most comfortable. Let myself wallow in self-pity. Belle didn’t deserve that. But I’m trying-” His voice broke and he looked away, grateful that Mallory was also likely to be uncomfortable with his display of emotion and would not push him. “I’m trying to make it right.”

“Do you think that’s what Belle would want?”

“She didn’t remove me as her emergency contact, or revoke my medical power of attorney. I have to think that means she’d want me here with her.”

It gave him a perverse sort of pleasure to see the Englishwoman so patently uncomfortable at the sight of his reddened eyes and the sound of his wobbly voice. She considered for a few more minutes, as if trying to ascertain the honesty of his words, and then nodded.

“I expect you to keep me in the know at all times. If she wakes up, you call me. If the doctors tell you something new, you call me. If she fucking sneezes you call me. And for God’s sake, when her father gets here from Australia you let him sit with her for a while and go take a damn shower. Get some sleep. You’re all Belle has until she gets out of the ICU. Hopefully that will be soon. And then she can decide what to do with you.”

She walked out into the hallway, people around her moving out of her way. She turned around just as she was about to reach the front doors, as if she’d remembered something.

“And I want to see her tomorrow morning. So I expect you to make a phone call and make it happen. Good night, Nick.”

Well, fuck.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Indulgence AU #Thestraggletag fanfiction #starbucks series

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 5 years ago

Text

Lost and Found

Case: 0120606

Name: Andre Ramao Subject: A series of misplaced objects lost over the course of three months Date: June 6th, 2012 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Thank you for lending me your pen. I thanked you when you handed it to me, but I don’t know if you’ll remember. I wonder, will you... forget you lent it to me and believe that it was my pen all along? Maybe instead you’ll forget that I ever had one to begin with, and think of me as an idiot who turned up to give a statement without a pen, so you had to lend me yours. My own fault for putting it down, really. Assuming I did ever have one. I’ll try to keep a slightly closer hold on this one.

I’ve been in the antiques business for a long time. It’s not what it used to be.

[Nervous chuckle]

I’m sorry, I know. I always did that, try to make myself feel more comfortable with jokes. There’s a follow up to that one, you know. Something along the lines of the joke being so old only an antiques dealer would be able to sell it. I love that one; I think it’s clever, but in my whole life it’s only ever gotten a laugh once. That’s why I remember buying the vase so clearly. I remember that the seller laughed.

In the old days, I never would have considered buying wares from the likes of Mikaele Salesa. He has a good reputation for quality, but a... bad reputation for legality, as it were. I’ve had more than one acquaintance sell on a particularly valuable find they got from him, only to discover that it didn’t have proper import papers, or that it had been reported stolen years before. Charlie Miller even did some jail time over a Georgian brooch he bought off him, so as a general rule I’d have given Salesa’s stuff a wide berth, but... Well, the antiques business isn’t what it used to be. That isn’t a joke. I had to close up my shop a few years ago, you see. Actual antiques don’t sell to the mass market anymore. Oh, young people will snap up vintage clothes or have any number of cheap faux-antique replicas strewn about their living rooms, but as soon as they get a look at the price tag for the real thing? They’re out of there like a shot.

So I went the same way as a lot of my peers. Lose the premises, start selling only high-margin goods direct to specific clients who can afford them, or shift a few guaranteed sellers on the auction. It’s the only real way to stay afloat in the business nowadays, but the competition is intense, and getting the calibre of artefact you need has become a more cutthroat affair. I’m not the only one in the business to recently soften their attitude towards buying from people like Mikaele Salesa.

It was my first meeting with him, back in March, and I was nervous, so I told my joke. Just off- hand, almost a reflex. I didn’t expect any reaction, really, I... I certainly didn’t expect him to laugh. But he did, this sudden, deep, throaty laugh that seemed to come out of nowhere. He didn’t say anything afterwards, just continued discussing business. But it stayed with me. There was nothing particularly strange about the laugh, not really. Why do I remember it so clearly?

Salesa was taking me through his ‘showroom’. There was a fancy-looking sign above the door, but it didn’t do much to hide the fact that it was basically a warehouse. More of the antiques were still in their packing crates, and I couldn’t help making a note of how quick and easy it would be for him to pack everything down and disappear if he needed to. Still, I’d made a few good purchases already and was cautiously optimistic. I’d bought a pair of cavalry sabres from the Revolutionary War, absolutely excellent condition, and a British artilleryman’s tunic from World War I, a few other bits and pieces as well. I recall I felt a moment of relief that I didn’t deal in books, as I caught sight of several crates packed to the brim with heavy-looking volumes. I was looking for something big, though. Something that would make an actual dent in the mountain of debt I’d been piling up.

I found it in that old Chinese pot. From the Jiajing period, so Salesa said, and the construction seemed to back him up. The glaze and the workmanship fitted with mid-to-late Ming dynasty, but there was something... off about the actual design. Instead of the pictures or scenes common to the ceramics of the period, the blue glaze was painted on in crisp, thin geometric lines. They repeated perfectly and seemed to get smaller and more intricate the closer I looked, but the shapes they formed never lost any of the precision, seeming to continue on however closely I looked. The effect was disorientating, and made the vase seem smaller than it actually was. It made my head hurt a bit when I looked at it for too long. It was amazing.

When he saw me staring, Salesa clapped me on the back and named a price that almost made me choke. We haggled a bit, and eventually reached a price I considered only a little bit unreasonable. I hurried my purchases home, feeling slightly soiled by my visit to the warehouse, and very much hoping it would be a good few months, if not years, before I was in such dire straits that I needed to go again. I got home, had a shower and some food and immediately started to look into finding a buyer for my latest acquisitions. I remember I was planning to make a few calls, but my headache got so bad that I had to have an early night.

The problems started soon after. It was little things at first. Like my shoes. I’m not a particularly fashion-conscious man at the best of times, so I have three pairs of shoes. Comfortable loafers for everyday use, a pair of walking boots for hiking, and some well-shined, polished, leather brogues for fancier events. Well, I had a rather upmarket auction that I needed to attend, so I went to put on my nice shoes, but they were nowhere to be found. Not the shoes, not the box I kept them in. Instead there was bag containing two shirts that I know for a fact I threw away the year before. When I asked my husband, David, about it, he told me point blank that I had never had any such shoes. Claimed I always wore my loafers when I went to auctions or parties.

I know that compared to some of the ghost stories you must hear in this place, a pair of misplaced shoes seems perfectly trivial, but something felt so... wrong about the whole situation. In the end I did go in my loafers. I don’t remember if anyone at the auction noticed.

It was about a week later that I got the invoice from Salesa. It was a pleasant surprise, far less than I thought we’d agreed on. That feeling lasted until I looked through the itemised list and realised why the cost was so low. He hadn’t charged me for the Ming. I’ll admit that I was somewhat conflicted over whether to raise the issue, but in the end I decided that even if Mikaele Salesa did work with thieves, I was not going to be counted among them. So I phoned him to try and explain the mistake.

He seemed to be in a fine mood when he answered the phone, and asked me if I’d had a chance to try out the sabres yet, which I’m pretty sure was a joke. I told him that there was an item he’d missed off the invoice, and he said that no, everything had been double-checked and was correct. I was getting suspicious at this point, and thought he might be trying to pull a fast one of some sort with me, maybe get me to take the blame for some illicit scheme gone wrong. I told him so in no uncertain terms, and described our encounter and the vase in minute detail. He was quiet for a few seconds, and then asked me if I could send him a photo of the pot. His tone was different, and he sounded oddly wary when he made the request. I was very on edge by this point, but could come up with no good reason not to agree, so I took a few pictures with my phone and sent them through to him.

It was a long time before he spoke again, and when he did he sounded... different. Almost scared, I thought. He told me that I could keep it. No charge. I began to protest again, but he ignored it. I remember his exact words: “I do not remember having that thing, which means it belongs to you.” Then he hung up.

This was all very strange, of course, but even then I wasn’t worried. Not like I should have been.

It was my book next. A signed copy of Catch-22, my favourite book. Vanished from its place on my bookshelf, leaving only an empty space behind. David just gave me another blank stare when I asked him about it. I admit I almost lost it at him then. Shoes were one thing, but that book meant a lot to me. I accused him of playing some stupid joke, and tried to remind him what I’d gone through to get it, flying over to America for Joseph Heller’s last book tour, queuing for hours and then that dreadful evening I thought that sudden rainstorm had ruined it all. By the end he was looking... very alarmed indeed and started to ask me how I was feeling. He wanted to know if I’d been under a lot of stress at work, if there was anything I wanted to talk about. I left.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I am crazy. It makes a lot more sense, doesn’t it? It would make it neat. Except no. No, I would need to have gone mad a long, long time before this for the idea of it being in my head to hold up. My perceptions are the only ones I can trust. Maybe. I don’t know.

This went on for months. The tie I got for my last birthday, my grandfather’s teapot, the tunic I bought from Salesa, things just kept going missing, and every time David would tell me that whatever it was didn’t exist. Or it wasn’t mine. Or I was misremembering. For a while I thought he was actually trying to gaslight me, make me think I was losing my mind, but when the tunic went missing I called Salesa again. This time he laughed when he told me that he didn’t remember selling any World War I items to me on my visit. I checked the invoice, and it was no longer listed there. Just empty, accusing paper where the words had been.

I know these things were real. I know they existed. Why won’t anyone just believe me?

This is where I started to come undone a bit. To be honest I don’t think anyone would do much better in my situation. I hadn’t made any connection between the old Chinese pot and the disappearances. I mean, why would I? But I also hadn’t been able to sell it. Whenever I tried, something would get in the way. The other person would forget to send through a crucial email, or they’d stop responding. Once I managed to get it as far as posting it out to a buyer, but it was returned immediately with a note asking why it had been sent to her. Gradually, I began to get suspicious of the thing. Sitting there, with its cascading, maddening patterns in that vile cobalt blue. Trying to tell me that I things didn’t exist, that they hadn’t vanished when I know they have.

I took to watching it. I wasn’t getting much sleep and David was worried sick about me. I know he was talking to various doctors about getting me help. There were certainly a couple of points I was worried about him having me sectioned. None of it helps in the end.

It was about a month ago. I had placed the vase in the centre of the table, and was sat staring at it. Keeping an eye on it. Checking for... god knows what. This had been my ritual for the previous week, keeping my vigil into the small hours, but that night... that night I fell asleep in front of it. I don’t remember my dream. Running, maybe? I know I woke with a start sometime around 2 in the morning. As I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, I heard a sound from the table in front of me. It was the dull thump of a heavy book hitting the tabletop. I looked and, sure enough, there was my copy of Catch-22, just lying there in front of that strange ceramic thing. And not just my book, there was a small pile of objects around the base. My shoes, a tie, things I don’t even remember losing. One by one they rose up out of the mouth of the vase and tumbled to the table. It didn’t matter how big they were, they all seemed to fit.

And then came the moment when everything had been disgorged. I saw all the things that I had lost, and I thought it must be over. It must be done. What else could possibly come of there? And I saw the pale shapes of long, thin fingertips begin to creep above the lip of the pot. I remember thinking that it couldn’t be a normal person living in that pot, because the fingernails were too dirty. Isn’t that an odd thing to think at a time like that?

I ran, of course. Turned around and sprinted out of the door and into the street and didn’t return until morning. Maybe I should have called the police, but I was in no state to do much of anything except shiver under a tree for hours. David was gone. I allowed myself some brief hope that maybe he’d just left me, maybe he’d escape with just a divorce. But no. One call to the housing association confirmed that, as far as they were concerned, I’d always lived alone.

I want to smash that thing. I want to dash its maddening patterns to the ground and stomp on it until there is nothing left but powder. But it’s also disappeared, of course. I can’t find it anywhere. It’s still taking things, though. Sorry about your pen.

Archivist Notes:

Before I dig too deeply into the background of this statement, I feel I should mention something that puts much of it in a slightly different light. Tim actually managed to find a copy of Mr. Ramao’s marriage licence. It exists, is signed, dated and official, and half of it is blank. Only Mr. Ramao’s details are on the document, and if it wasn’t for the context of this statement, it would appear he was married to nobody. But he was married.

This is not the first time Mikaele Salesa’s name has come to the attention of the Institute. Even discounting the incidental role he played in case #0112905, he appears to have something of a knack for locating objects displaying more... disconcerting phenomena. I believe some of the more bizarre things in the Artefact Storage area were purchased from him. It has been something of a—

[Urgh. Urgh.

[SOUND OF CHAIR SCRAPING]

I see you...

[THUMP... THEN SOUND OF COLLAPSING SHELVES] [NOISES OF EXCLAMATION] [DOOR OPENS]

Sasha: Alright?

Archivist: Ah... Yeah. A... spider.

Sasha: A spider?

Archivist: Yeah. I tried to kill it.... the shelf collapsed.

Sasha: I swear, cheap shelves are... Did you get it?

Archivist: Ah... I hope so. Thinks so. Nasty, bulbous looking thing.

Sasha: [Chuckles] Well, I won’t tell Martin.

Archivist: Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem.

[SHUFFLING NOISES]

What?

Sasha: Look.

Archivist: Oh... uh... Got dented when the shelf collapsed, I guess.

Sasha: No, it, it goes right through. I, I thought this was an exterior wall?

Archivist: It should be.

Sasha: Hmm. I, I think it’s just plasterboard.

[LOW NOISES OF DEBRIS]

Do you see anything?

[QUIET, BUILDING SOUND OF WET WRIGGLING]

Archivist: No, I don’t think so, it...

[WORM SOUND INTENSIFIES]

Sasha, run. RU—]

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG38 #MAG 38 #LostAndFound #Lost and Found #Statement #Mikaele Salesa #The Spiral #The Distortion #The Twisting Deceit

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comicteaparty · 5 years ago

Text

July 6th-July 12th, 2020 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from July 6th, 2020 to July 12th, 2020. The chat focused on Challenge of the Zodiac by Rachel Green.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

Comic Tea Party

BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Challenge of the Zodiac by Rachel Green~! (https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/challenge-of-the-zodiac/list?title_no=36377)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace until July 12th, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Discussions are freeform, but we do offer discussion prompts in the pins for those who’d like to have them. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic! Whether you finish the comic or can only read a few pages, everyone is welcome to join and chat with us!

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 1

1. What did you like about the beginning of the comic?

2. What has been your favorite moment in the comic (so far)?

3. Who is your favorite character?

4. Which characters do like seeing interact the most?

5. What is something you like about the art? If you have a favorite illustration, please share it!

6. What is a theme you like that the comic explores?

7. What do you like about the comic’s story or overall related content?

8. Overall, what do you think the comic’s strengths are?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

One thing I really like about the comic so far is how... passive the worldbuilding is? Like we had to be told what the challenge is early on, but, like, it's left up to the reader to figure out which races correspond with which sign, what prejudices this world has, etc. My favorite character is Elder Rion. It's interesting how he seems to walk on two legs too, yet even members of the higher ups are prejudiced against Fay. Like, do people refuse to throw ceremonies for him too?

rajmews

It's interesting how a lot of the countries in this world have a history of war and it seems like it's very on the edge of maybe falling into war again (but maybe I'm just reading into it too much? it's still early on in the story) yet they're coming together for this trail. Like an Olympic Games of sorts.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

Yeah that is interesting, and I'm wondering how that will play out as the champions travel across the continent. Like, to a certain extent, the champions will probably be respected, but I get the feeling some countries will be way more hostile than others...

MissGreenie

Hey guys, I’m the author of Zodiac! I’m really enjoying hearing your feedback so far as I would like to continue making the comic. Ever since quarantine happened, I lost the drive to start drawing the other chapters I’ve scripted out. Looking forward to seeing more as the week progresses : )

RebelVampire

What I like about the beginning of the comic was just kind of the no fuss about the world and, as @snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights) termed it, the passive worldbuilding. I like that this comic kind of leaves me to my own devices to figure everything out and lets me gather information sheerly from how everyone in the world interacts and talks about things. My favorite moment in the comic so far was actually the bandit situation when Fay tried to rescue Elle. I kind of liked the attitude that Elle and Fay both had about it, plus I liked this mystery it opened up with Elle. Since it was pretty clear Elle was gonna come back, and now all I want to know is what Elle was up to and why come 180 that travel destination. Insofar, my favorite character is Leonard. I like Leonard's general personality just cause it's a lot warmer in contrast to a lot of the other characters. He's the sort of character I just want to give a big hug to, basically. As for characters interacting though, probably Fay and Elder Rion. I'm really interested to see how Elder Rion is gonna mentor Fay and I just overall like the respect that exists there despite them both being rather opposite. So I think it just makes for interesting interactions I can't quite predict. As for the art, I really like the overall style. It's simple and sometimes the lines purposefully wiggle, and I think that it gives the story a lot of character and emotion. In terms of themes, I really like this comic is exploring rich vs. poor with Leonard. Sometimes it's easy to just blame someone rich for everything, but just cause someone comes from a rich family doesn't mean they're magically responsible for everything bad. Even further, though, the comic also still leaves that door open for whether Leonard is obligated to do more because of his class privelege. So I'm interested to see where this all goes.

For the comic's overall story/content, again, the world-building. I just that it's this gradual thing as there's a good balance between stuff I don't understand but stuff I do. So I can always find a grounding element even when I want to know more. Which I do think this is the comic's strength since it let's you get right into the narrative without zounds of exposition.

Comic Tea Party

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 2

9. Given the comic’s themes of discrimination, stereotyping, and more, which moment stood out to you the most? How do you think these themes will continue to affect the characters, and how might they grow from them (if at all)?

10. Do you think Fay’s team will learn to cooperate as they work towards a common goal? Also, why do you think Leonard and Elle are personally participating? How might this change how Fay sees them?

11. What do you think some of the other challengers are like? In what ways will they challenge Fay and her team? Alternatively, in what ways might gaps be healed and everyone bond?

12. Do you think Fay’s team will ultimately succeed and move to the final round? If so, how will that change things? Also, how would winning change Fay’s life, and would it be all she dreamed of?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

yeah it's interesting how much of this story focuses on people making assumptions about others as soon as they meet them. even down to the initial challenge - everyone assumed that elder rion was looking for something shiny & gold because he's an important guy, but it turned out that the old slingshot was the real key. something i'm intrigued by is that Fay, our protagonist, also falls into this, despite being a victim of stereotyping herself. like she assumed things about leonard, she guessed that the ring seller was a scammer at first glance, and she didn't even intentionally pick the correct item for elder rion's trial. it really shows that nobody is immune to biases.

RebelVampire

I liked that too about Fay, @snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights) . That despite it all, she also is just as willing to participate in the culture of discrimination. The moment that stood out to me the most was when whoever that dude was said they weren't going to celebrate Fay being chosen. Cause there's discrimination...and then there's super jackass discrimination. And that was the latter. It also stood out to me cause of the contrast with a later scene, where Fay is told she can't participate in an archery thing because she's from a group of what's considered to be natural archers. And I think that kind of really captures the fact that not all flavors of discrimination are the same. I think all the character will learn that individuals are not their stereotype, and that in some ways they'll all come out better for it. I think Fay's team will cooperate eventually. I do think someone will need to slap Fay and remind her sabotaging them is sabotaging herself. So even if there's bitterness, they'll at least aim for that similar goal. As for why Leonard and Elle are participating, Leonard at least I think is trying to prove something to himself and/or his family. As for Elle, I think Elle is after power in order to find something. I think in some ways this will flip how Fay sees them now, wherein she'll think more of Leonard and less of Elle. As for the other challengers, I want to assume somewhere between Team Fire and Team Water. In that they aren't there to be jerks but aren't there to lose either. I do think one team will instantly be able to cooperate though. But I think regardless of what they're like the interactions will make them all rethink that perhaps what they've heard about each group is not entirely accurate. I think Fay's team will succeed to the final round, if not just for the fact they're the protagonists. I do think winning won't be everything Fay wanted it to be though, mostly because I don't think Fay has the best grasp on what she wants.

mathtans

So, first thing I want to do here is just offer a thumbs up of encouragement. It can be tough when real life stuff kind of takes over. Graduation, moving, job, then the whole pandemic thing... kinda sucks. But I like to think I get it. I've been writing a time travel story since, like, 2001 (when I graduated University) and I'm still poking away at it in my very rare spare time. The story wants to be told. So, we find something in ourselves to keep at it. It's nice that you returned.

And don't necessarily let art pages not being at some standard get in the way. Like I'm one to talk since my drawing skill is way poor, but anyway.

1. The beginning framing was very clever, I thought, with the classroom. Allows for exposition (somewhat subverted there), we see our protagonist is older, and is trying to improve herself despite having trouble making ends meet, which also comes up.

2. Favourite moment is probably back in Chapter 3, page 19. The exchange of "That could have been me back there"; "But it wasn't, let's keep moving". There's an echo there to whatever happened in Fay's past some panels earlier, when she came home (perhaps a point when she wished it hadn't been her) and the idea that you have to keep moving forwards.

Then the point was echoed again when talking to Elder Rion, about her picking the slingshot, and he told her not to dwell on what "could have been" (or words to that effect, sorry, not going to look up exact phrasing). I think it's a good message.

There's also the fact that the other Sags clearly are going to dwell on this with the cancellation. I feel like there's layers. Anyway.

3. I think I'll have to echo snuffy in Elder Rion as favourite character. He's just so anti-establishment, like "don't worry about my title" and "I'm not picking some gold trinket" and "the last challenger was so boring". But at the same time he knows he has a role in this and spoke of the gift giving to be well regarded in the Circle. This guy's seen a lot and knows things.

4. For character interaction, I'd say Fay and Elle. Fay's pretty headstrong, it's easy to push her buttons, and Elle has been acting as a pretty good calming influence. But at the same time she knows when an intervention might be needed like with Castor. I could also see Fay being a bit of a lightning rod, drawing attention away from Elle, which feels like it's in her interests... idk.

That said, runner up is what we've seen of Castor and Kukah. Like the latter is kind of an open book, and Castor's almost got to remind him who he's supposed to be rooting for. Some of Castor's reaction expressions were quite funny.

5. Art is really not my forte. >.< One thing that struck me looking back is there weren't massively detailed backgrounds, and yet I didn't even really notice that. It's got the focus in the right places, is what I think I'm trying to say. (So maybe a bit like what Rebel said already?) I also did notice improvement through the last few pages.

6. Related to the previous moment above, one theme might be soldiering on even against overwhelming odds. Sometimes, you just get lucky (and sometimes, like with capturing the thief by dropping the pot, you can make some of your own luck). But I think there's a deeper one about race here too.

Namely the whole 'half breed' thing. For one thing, if only one of Fay's parents were a Sag, what does that make the other? And what made her identify as a Sag, rather than the other sign? (Is the other sign Aquarius, which would have made her a slave, is that it? Wondering based on Fay's recent reaction.) It certainly doesn't seem to be appearance that was the main deciding factor in her choice, which of course is largely why she's being so shunned (she looks different). It could have been marksmanship.

(Random aside, it's interesting how the "item selection" process really was more up to the Gods versus some sort of skill based process. I mean, I could see it as a method for narrowing the pool but I'm surprised it resulted in the choice outright.)

I mean, there's also the possibility that the choice wasn't up to Fay at all, and it was chosen by her parents. It IS interesting how you can just say "I identify as a xxxx" and people are cool with that, not asking to see birth certificate records or anything. Does that make aspects of their society more tolerant? Or does it simply make it easier to single someone out?

7. Regarding story and related content... I was immediately curious about what happened 12 years earlier when that was brought up (the 'greed' thing), and it was neat to see the 'Lore' page startup after that to provide a bit of information (without giving up the whole game too). There was also the bit with Jupiter... and, like, did they conquor Uranus? It's the only planet I'm not noticing on the map. (And there could be an obvious zodiac connection to why, I'm not an expert.) I guess what I'm saying is there are definite questions out there that keep you wondering but that don't interfere with the story itself. So that's clever.

8. In terms of strength I think there's a relatable protagonist with an interesting world that you know has a lot more to it than you're seeing. I'll come back to deal with other questions late tonight or tomorrow.

MissGreenie

Jupiter conquered Uranus, yes, it no longer exists and that’s why most Aquarians are enslaved. There’s really no Zodiac connection to that, I just wanted there to be some tension between two countries and to show that Leos/Jupiter are more or less the powerhouse of the world

Also I don’t remembered if this has been explicitly stated yet, (it’s hard to remember my own story LOL) but Aquarians are very strong, can lift pretty heavy stuff, so they’re seen as kind of the perfect servants

Comic Tea Party

DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 3

13. What are you most looking forward to seeing in regards to the comic?

14. Any final words of encouragement for the comic?

Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!

mathtans

That makes sense. And I don't think it was explicitly stated, but it was at least implicitly, in terms of Leonard's description of the other person living there and Fay jumping to the conclusion that it meant an Aquarian.

9. One moment that stood out to me in terms of discrimination was when the Sagitarrius guy cancelled the dinner. Like, I get that they're not thrilled but seems like there would be implications for outright cancelling (not sure what Elder Rion would say about it for one). Yet the guy was all, screw it, we're cancelling, like not even worried about that. So much for the thought that Fay would begin to gain some respect among peers for being chosen.

Though I also wonder a bit about Fay's latest reaction. Like, she was willing to go along with Leonard (even given him embellishing stories) until she saw he was rich, now she's stereotyping him in with the rest of the Leos. If the prejudice runs that deep, wouldn't it have come up before? But then maybe she saw him as like someone in her position. In any event it will be interesting to see Fay coming to grips with her own issues there.

I suppose I've echoed Rebel a bit there. Interesting point about the archery thing later, like she kind of can't exist in either world.

10. I think Fay's team has already cooperated to an extent in how they handled Castor. They're better at coming together when there's an external influence; they don't know enough about each other yet to work internally. So they might blunder a bit into a solution but I think they'll stay on track. Elle, it might also have something to do with her appearance (I don't think we've seen her without the cloak), Leonard might be trying to prove himself given how I don't think he's the stereotypical type for his sign. I think Fay may have to put her foot in her mouth to change her initial preconceptions (just because she's pretty impulsive) but will get there. Or as Rebel said, maybe someone else will have to point it out explicitly.

Hadn't considered the flip from Elle to Leonard, that's interesting, Rebel.

11. We've mostly only seen the fire group so far, and that's an interesting dynamic. (Marena has good facial expressions too.) Maybe one of the groups will cheat, and be called out for it, related to what happened 12 years ago? It might be interesting too if there's a round where two groups have to work together against the other two groups.

And then there's that whole "sign form" thing, which is apparently not legal in towns. Nice hinting there... maybe that's how a group will cheat, or maybe someone does a sign form to save someone else so they get a pass (or do-over) even though they didn't achieve some goal? Don't even know what it means yet, of course.

12. I feel like they will get to the final round, but it might be because one of the other teams gets disqualified or something, like they didn't necessarily do it all on their own merits. And then of course they'll have to go against each other (I presume) in order to pick the top sign, and that's where things could really change, depending on how much they've revealed about themselves. Will Fay will overall? If she does, I don't think it will really be what she wants, whereas if she doesn't, I think it will be because she's found what she wanted. Again Rebel made a good point there, she's a bit directionless.

Though I also think she's simply so used to being taken advantage of, and looked down on, and ignored, that the whole "you win the thing" is not something she knows how to handle, even at this stage. (She "won" the coin purse and used it to pay off her debts, but that was more a result of actions she took.) Then there's whatever happened in her past when she "failed" and came home, which probably hooks in somehow.

I'll return for Part 3 likely tomorrow...

RebelVampire

I am most looking forward to just seeing the actual challenge starting since that will really speak on how the team dynamics will be and so forth. And I think it'll be good to find out which each character is bringing to the table in terms of skills, which can lead to interesting speculation for the future. My final words are this is a truly interesting world, so I hope to see it continue and learn more about it.

mathtans

13. Hoping to see... well, there's a couple things. Character wise I'm wondering about whether Elder Rion would have anything to say about Fay's opinions about Leonard, in part since he'll be a teammate. Also wondering about the rest of the teams (nice move in the colour coding during the introduction) though I can wait longer on that since the Water/Fire dynamic has been set up well to play out.

Then plot-wise I'm wondering about the "sign form" thing. Both what it is and how it's regulated, particularly during the tournament. And maybe it has a connection to the events of 12 years ago? But maybe not. Also there's Fay's history (which I feel will be plot relevant) in terms of what happened that time she came home and why she's opted to go Sagitarrius rather than the sign of her other parent. But maybe that's character too.

14. Encouragement probably echos back what I said at the start. It can be tough, when you've had to take a hiatus because of life and stuff. And then you just start to get going and life goes crazy again. But it sounds like you've got a lot of the story roughed out, so see what you can do with it, if you're able! And don't necessary worry if art doesn't feel like it's at a particular standard, there will always be improvements we want to do, it all comes with time. But something has to be out there in order to see the progression. Best with it!

(Oh yeah... and there hasn't really been any talk of shipping... should we ship Fay and Elle? Is that a thing we can do? Someone else feel free to chime in with a better choice.)

rajmews

For final words of encouragement I just want to say it's a really neat world, and I can see that the author put a lot of time in making it--with the maps and the different cultures and all their histories. I know that things have been nuts lately so it's hard to create, but thank you for making what you've done so far, to give us a cool world to explore for a little while.

Comic Tea Party

BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Challenge of the Zodiac this week! Please also give a special thank you to Rachel Green for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Challenge of the Zodiac, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/challenge-of-the-zodiac/list?title_no=36377

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Rachel’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/rachelgreenart

#ctparchive #webcomics #indie comics #comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #challenge of the zodiac #rachel green

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goddessofthundathighs · 6 years ago

Text

II. ON THE EDGE

O’Shea rushed home, eager to try out the toy Dr. Stevens had all but shoved into her vagina himself. She weaved through traffic, pushing her Porsche as fast as it would go until she reached the driveway of her beachside condo. She clutched the toy box tight in her left hand as she fumbled with her key with the right. She had barely crossed the threshold before she was stripping out of her duster and heading to the bathroom. The way Dr. Stevens had described the toy and its functions had Bennie jumping at the chance to put it to use. After reading the packaging and learning that her new toy was waterproof, O’Shea ran herself a hot bath and dropped in one of the bath bomb melts Skylar had gotten her from LUSH. Her favorite so far was the golden egg which left her skin glowing a beautiful golden bronze and smelling like toffee. She turned off all the lights and lit vanilla scented candles before stripping and submerging herself into the bath.

“Alexa, play the Créme de La Pénis playlist.” The device whirred to life and soon the sounds of Imagination by Eric Bellinger filled the space.

Girl come through and let’s do what we do in your imagination

When I’m gone show me how you pretend

How do you bend your knees

How do you arch your back

How do you scream my name when we’re in your imagination

O’Shea rubbed the warm water all over her skin, admiring the golden glitter shimmer the bath melt gave her skin. Her nipples perked at the sensation of the water running down her body and it was then that she unwrapped her toy. She brought it up to her face and threatened it, letting it know that it had better work because the good doctor swore by it and that it had been almost 6 months since her last real orgasm. She squirted a generous amount of the special lube over the tip of the toy before using a hand to massage it in in a firm, stroking motion. For a split second, she could’ve sworn she felt it throb in her palm.

“Get a grip, Shea, it’s just a dildo,” she told herself before lowering it to her center. She teased her clit slowly, rubbing the toy back and forth before finally flipping it to its first setting and slipping it in. The moan she let out was almost animalistic. The way the toy pulsed and throbbed in her wetness was unlike any other toy she had ever used. True to the good doctor’s word, 20 seconds in and she could feel her orgasm building.

“Oh.. OH! This just… might.. Yes.. YES!” she moaned louder as her she neared her peak. And just as quickly as the sensation started, it stopped.

“Wait, what?” O’Shea’s eyes bucked in confusion as she pulled the device from her center only to find that it had turned itself off.

“What the fuck?” she asked angrily, shaking the device vigorously before turning it back on. Once the humming began again, she returned it to her core, only for it to turn off once again as she neared her peak. Frustrated, she finished her bath, and took the device to her bedroom.

“Maybe it needs batteries,” she thought aloud as she rummaged through her toy drawer. She always kept a fresh pack of Energizers for just such an occasion. She removed the battery cap and replaced the old batteries with the new ones. After coating her skin with her homemade whipped shea butter, she repeated the actions from her bath, coating the device with the lube before plunging it back into her core. Her eyes fell closed as she rocked her hips back and forth, feeling the vibrations surge through her whole body.

“Oh, fuck yes!” She screamed as euphoria coursed through her veins. “Yes.. yes.. Right there,” she pleaded as she inched closer and closer to Nirvana and then --

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Patience, young one,” Erik chuckled from his spot behind his desk. He had been watching the camera on the inside of the device since she began using it just to see if what Shuri had said about the device was true. Sure enough, within 30 seconds of use, she was almost to the finish line.. That is until he pressed the button in his left hand.

“You’ll cum when I want you to, Ms. Powell, and trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.”

The following morning began like many for O’Shea. She woke, got dressed, grabbed a coffee from Starbucks and made her way to the toy store. She found Skylar in her office in the middle of a FaceTime call with Dr. Stevens.

“Let me call you back, she just walked in,” Skylar said before ending the call. She looked up at O’Shea with a wide smile that wasn’t returned before delving into what had been burning in the back of her mind.

“Sooooo, how did it go?”

“First of all bitch, fuck you for not telling me that man was that fine. I almost came just looking at him.”

“Yeah, he tends to have that effect on women.”

“Second of all, he called me a little.. Mmm.. I can’t even finish it ‘cuz it doesn’t sound the same coming from anyone else anymore. That man is sex on legs. How in the hell have you not tapped that?”

“Because for one, Erik is my best friend and business partner. Sex would only complicate things, and for two, I’m not really for male consumption.” Oh well that makes sense. Shea had always wondered why she never saw her boss with a male companion or why she never seemed to drool over Erik the way every other woman tended to, but never felt compelled to ask.

“Third of all, he recommended me this contraption, claiming that it was gonna make me cum in 30 seconds, but every time I got close the stupid thing turned off!” She angrily threw the toy onto Sky’s desk before flopping down in one of the desk chairs in defeat. Sky took the time to examine the device before bursting out unto a soul-touching laugh.

“That sneaky bastard,” she said between her giggles.

“Care to let me in on the joke?” O’Shea asked, irritation painted on her face as she failed to find the humor in her current situation.

“I take it you didn’t read the packaging before using this.”

“No, why?”

“This device is one of our biggest sellers among BDSM couples. It’s remote controlled and designed for edging.” O’Shea stood dumbfounded as Skylar continued her explanation.

“How long did it take for it to turn off?”

“30 seconds.”

“And you just assumed an inanimate toy would know the exact patterns to get you off in 30 seconds? Come on now, Shea, you’re smarter than that.”

“So how exactly did it know to turn off?”

“That can be answered in two ways: either the timer was set or someone had the remote.”

“Remote?!” O’Shea asked, sounding like a female Soulja Boy.

“Yes, remote. This is why we read packages and instructions. I bet you didn't know there was a camera built into the toy. Says so right here on the box. Implanted right in the shaft, see?” O’Shea was pissed. She let that fine ass man seduce his way into putting a camera in her vagina and control her orgasms. There had to be some sort of law against that. Can she go off on her doctor? Does it really matter?

“I’ma kill him.”

“No you aren’t. That toy was for research purposes and you signed a waiver stating your willingness to be a subject of testing. Bet you didn't read that either.” O’Shea vaguely remembered the details of the NDA as she thought back to the previous day in Dr. Stevens office.

“I can’t believe you, Sky. He invaded my privacy and you’re defending him?!”

“He didn’t invade anything, you just didn’t read. And whose fault is that?” O’Shea looked down at the floor as Sky continued scolding her.

“At least I know now if I want to hide something from you to put it in print and let Erik present it to you.”

“So what am I supposed to do now, go back?”

“Ummm, yes. Last time I checked, you still can’t cum.”

“I'd be pussy deep in my own Tropicana juices if he hadn't rigged my toy so what are you saying? I think I just might cuss him out. Yes, he needs to hear my mouth as a frustrated test subject.”

“And I guarantee you that by the time you’re done, your mouth is gonna be full of his dick.”

O'Shea hesitated. “Maybe so,” she pouted as she walked back to the front of the store, Erik’s number on the display of her phone.

“Maybe my ass,” Skylar countered as she watched with a smirk.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Powell. I was awaiting your call.”

“I bet you were Dr. Nigga. Did I truly consent to cameras in my pussy? Oh, and do you think it's cute, edging your patients all damn night? You sick, sadistic man.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but edging and voyeurism are both on your long list of kinks, are they not?”

Did she truly mind? She wasn't sure. O'Shea felt the heat of her near-orgasms returning. She had been left wanting and this man was hitting all of the right buttons. She had the mind to make a trip and confront him face to face. Bennie was of that same mind.

“You mad, huh? You wanna come to my office so you can voice your frustrations face to face, don’t you?” He was doing it again, dropping his voice to that panty-wetting octave that made her mind foggy.

“Words, O’Shea,” he scolded.

“I'm booking an appointment.”

“No need, I’ll clear my schedule just for you, Princess.” Fuck. He wasn’t making this easy and once again, he had O’Shea right where he wanted her.

“I’m on my way,” she said in a rush. This situation of hers was getting handled one way or another.

——————————

@ledouxange7 @vikkidc @bartierbakarimobisson @raysunshine78 @amethyst1993 @trevantesbrat @kaykay0829 @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @forbeautyandlife @tntnv @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @madamslayyy @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @thehomierobbstark @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @yaachtynoboat711 @blowmymbackout @youreadthatright @beaut1fulone-blog @bugngiz @amirra88 @chefjessypooh @post-woke @theogbadbitch @im5ftbutmythroat66 @queengodiva619 @blackpinup22 @love-me122 @princessstevens

#vanity writes #my shit #Erik Stevens #killmonger smut #daddy erik #killmonger fic #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black oc

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slusheeduck · 5 years ago

Text

Fun fact: I have a character that I do RP in ESO with named Aelanne “Smiteface” Bertault who’s a thief and a member of a Daedric cult/guild as a Harbinger of Nocturnal and I love her a lot so I wrote a thing with her that takes place about 30 years after current events.

So it’s below the cut along with a picture one of my guildmates comissioned that I am IN LOVE with.

^das her, and the artist is @lucyxbreeze on twitter and I’ve linked you to her commission page so you should ABSOLUTELY HIT HER UP.

Trial By Shade

Garikh was running out of money.

He hadn’t had all that much to begin with, but the travel, the inns, and the coins slipped around for information were starting to add up. And after running all over Tamriel, he might just have to go back to Abah’s Landing with his tail between his legs and hope that he wasn’t mocked too viciously.

Well, at least no more than he was before he left.

He shifted his pack as he walked into Camlorn, already certain that he’d been given some wrong information. This was hardly a town, much less a central hub, and he was pretty sure there wasn’t even an outlaw’s refuge here. The Breton who’d given him a lift here said that there’d been some sort of massive werewolf uprising or something twenty years back that they were still recovering from. Certainly wasn’t the sort of place where he’d find her.

But the sun was setting, and he was exhausted. He might as well spend the night, and thanks to that Breton’s chattering, he’d be able to pay for that once he sold the fine abacus in his pack. He’d be able to pick up another, after all, it wasn’t like they were rare.

Now he just hoped he’d be able to sell it without a fence.

He walked around the town, trying his best not to attract attention to himself, which was easier said than done as an Orc nearly a head taller than anyone else in the town. There, that looked like a shop. He slipped in as best he could, just barely keeping from slamming his head against the doorframe.

“And what can I do for you, f’lah?”

Garikh looked up, confused at the endearment, to see a Dunmer woman sitting behind the counter and staring at him. Well, he assumed she was staring at him; it was hard to tell with the tinted lenses she wore.

“Are you the shopkeeper?”

“I am. Bertault and Associates, at your service.” She stayed seated, but sent a big smile his way. Cautiously, Garikh made his way forward.

“Who are the associates?”

“Well, people like you, looking to buy and sell.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin resting in her hands. “So, which one are you?”

“I’m a seller,” he said quickly, pulling the abacus out from his bag. “How much can I get for this?”

The Dunmer’s eyebrows rose, and she tossed her gray-streaked braid over her shoulder before taking it. Despite the dark glasses, she seemed to be looking it over intently.

“This is Breton work. Makes sense, of course, but you don’t seem very local.”

Garikh swallowed hard. “I…I picked it up in Daggerfell. Thought I’d need it, turns out I didn’t. I…give me a second and I’ll think of the shop name and…” He stopped as the Dunmer held up her hand.

“I don’t care where you got it from,” she said. “What I care is if I can sell it to someone. Which, given how there’s no personalization, I can.” She set the abacus down. “Truth be told, it’s not worth much, but I like to give a bonus for first sales. How’s thirty gold sound?”

Garikh blinked a few times, then smiled. “That sounds perfect!” He coughed. “I mean…I think I can work with that.” As she opened her till, he shifted back and forth. “Could…you tell me where the inn is?”

“Straight back past my shop. Their mead is garbage, but their stew makes up for it.” She smiled as she held out the gold. “And this will more than cover that and a room.”

Garikh smiled back as he took the coin, then shifted it in his hands. “It’s, uh, I wasn’t expecting to see a Dunmer here. Doesn’t seem like the place.”

“Well, doesn’t seem like the place for an Orc, either, but here we both are.” Behind the dark glass lenses, he could just barely catch a wink. “Sometimes you’ve got to make a place for yourself, f’lah. Better you learn that now than later.” She waved him off. “Now, unless you’re looking to buy something, go on out. I’ve got dinner to put on, and you look fit to drop. Any longer and you won’t even make it to the inn’s door.”

Garikh gave her a quick thanks, then made his way out. Well, still a failure of a trip, but at least he’d be able to report a new fence back to the others.

The shopkeeper had been right about the stew, and the room wasn’t too bad, either. It even locked, which Garikh was sure to take advantage of before getting into bed. Even if he couldn’t sneak to save his life, he’d heard countless stories from the others in the guild of how easy it was to rob a sleeping guest blind.

He dropped to sleep without a problem, and he couldn’t quite say what it was that woke him up. But the light sound of a throat being cleared was enough to make him bolt up in bed. In the dark room, he could hardly see anything; and if it weren’t for the two glints of silver in the corner of the room, he might not have known that anyone was there until it was too late.

“St-stay back!” he said, edging toward the side of the bed, hand flailing to the bedside table. “Or I’ll, I’ll…”

“Gonna be hard to threaten me without this, friend,” the shadow in the corner said, holding up the dagger he’d been looking for. “Besides, it’s rude to threaten visitors. You should know better than that.” The shadow—it was a woman, if the voice was any indication—made her way to the desk in the other corner, tossing the dagger onto it before perching on it herself. “By the way, don’t trust inn locks. They are the easiest things in the world to pick.”

Garikh swallowed, blinking a few times as his eyes finally adjusted. The shadow was definitely a person, though her dark clothes and mask made her practically melt into the darkness. But the silver eyes…no. No, it couldn’t be this easy. And yet…

“It’s you,” he said breathlessly. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for.”

“I’m aware. You’ve left a trail about a mile wide behind you,” the shadow said wryly, stretching her arms over her head. “That’s why I figured I had to find you before you found me.” Her head tilted curiously. “But why work so hard?”

“Why…I mean, you’re the Dark Lady!” Garikh pulled himself up to his knees, barely able to keep his voice down in his excitement. “The shadow with stars for eyes, the most well-known unknown figure in Tamriel! Some people even say you’re…you’re an aspect of Nocturnal!”

She let out an irritated noise. “Do they? No wonder my luck’s been rotten lately. She’s awfully touchy about that.”

Garikh swallowed, heart pounding in his chest, and he quickly got out of the bed, nearly stumbling as he went on his knees in front of her. “Please. I’ve traveled all this way, so please, please take me as your apprentice.”

“Oh, don’t do that. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I don’t take even apprentices.” Garikh looked up to see the Dark Lady wave her hand dismissively. “Surely you’ve got a friend in the Thieves Guild you can shadow or something.” She laughed at her unintentional joke, but sobered as Garikh stayed put on the ground. “I know you’re in the guild, your leathers are in the bag.”

“That’s the thing. I am in the guild, but…I’m hardly a thief. I’m too big, too clumsy. They really just use me as…as a bodyguard when they go somewhere dangerous. But I know I can be better. But I need help.” He swallowed hard, staring up into the two silver eyes fixed curiously on him. “I need you, and I need Nocturnal.”

The Dark Lady stared at him silently for several long moments. There was no expression for him to read, but the air was thoughtful.

“I can’t help you,” she finally said.

“Yes, you can. I…” He stopped as she held up a hand, but he kept his gaze fixed on her, whole body tense.

“Nocturnal doesn’t work like most Princes,” she said, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Proclaiming your devotion to her and offering a life of service could fall on deaf ears if she’s not interested. She chooses you. That’s what’s happened to me.”

“But…the stories say you commune with her.”

“Funny way of putting it, but I’m her Harbinger, so of course I talk to her. Provided she feels like it, obviously.”

“Then could you convince her?”

To his surprise, the Dark Lady laughed—a full, head-thrown-back laugh that didn’t match any of the stories about her.

“Me? I couldn’t convince Nocturnal to do anything!” She giggled again, pulling up her legs to cross them and resting her hands on her knees. “Ah, you’re doing marvelous things to my ego, friend, so I’ll humor you. Tell me about your first theft.”

Garikh blinked, then thought back. “It was…shortly after I left my fortress. I found myself in some little town and I…I didn’t know what to do. I applied for work but no one was hiring, and eventually I got so desperate, I just…I was at an inn, and I saw this beautiful sculpture. It was small enough to hide in my pack, and no one was even looking at it. And something in me just told me to take it.”

The Dark Lady tilted her head. “And did you?”

“I did.”

“And were you caught?”

“No. Carried it around for a bit, then the merchant I tried to sell it to pointed me toward an outlaw’s refuge. It was so easy, I just…I kept doing it.”

It was hard to tell, but he thought the Lady was smiling at him.

“You were supernaturally lucky,” she mused.

“I was. And then I joined the Thieves Guild, but…they act like there’s no place for an Orc there. And I try. I try so hard. But I can’t sneak, and I’m not small, and…” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “I thought, if I had help from Nocturnal, I could be the thief I want to be.”

The Lady sighed, shutting her eyes. “It won’t be so easy,” she said, nearly sounding weary. “Nocturnal doesn’t work like that. You have to improve yourself, or she won’t waste her time.” She hopped off of the desk, stretching again. “But it sounds like the guild might not be the place for you.”

“Are you saying I should quit?” Garikh hated the way his voice cracked as he spoke, but he couldn’t help it. All this trouble, just for the Dark Lady to tell him he was no good?

“I mean, you could. But me personally, I never liked the guild all that much. Too much beaurocracy, too many blurred lines, too strict for my taste.” She put her hands on her hips. “Once I was out, I taught myself. There’s more to thieving than sneaking and picking locks.” Her head tilted again. “Why did you leave home?”

Garikh swallowed. “I didn’t fit in. I’ve never liked fighting or grandstanding.” He half-smiled. “The Forge-wife blamed my mother’s weakness, what with dying so soon.”

The Dark Lady sighed and shook her head. “It’s always the motherless with her,” she mumbled to herself, then looked back at Garikh. There was determination in the sliver of her face he could see, and her eyes blazed like silver fire. “I told you, I can’t help you with Nocturnal, and I don’t take apprentices. But here’s what I can tell you: make your home in the shadows. Find comfort in the darkness, and she’ll find you and welcome you home.” The fire in her eyes softened, and she shrugged. “And that’s all I can offer you, friend.”

“Wait!” Garikh scrambled to his feet even as she sighed.

“I can’t wait. It’ll be dawn soon, and I do better in the darkness.”

“But…is there any way I can convince you to train me? Even a bit? I-I have coin! Not much, but…” He trailed off as she turned back around, arms crossed and eyes stern.

“What I have can’t be bought. Mostly because you left your coin purse out like a fool.” From practically out of nowhere, she pulled out his coin purse. He gaped, just barely able to catch it when she tossed it to him. “But changing my mind won’t be easy. If you think you can prove yourself, then your first task will be finding me again. And next time, Garikh, I won’t help.”

“How did you…”

“Hide your tracks better. Otherwise this will be the only time we ever meet.” She gave him a quick salute, then practically melted into the shadows. By the time he blinked, she was gone.

Garikh stayed still for a very long time, until the darkness outside began to lighten to gray. On one hand, he’d found her. But on the other, he’d still failed. His grip tightened around his coin purse.

A step was a step. If he found her once, he could find her again.

And, if Nocturnal wanted hard work, then he’d give her every ounce of effort he could to be the best thief in Tamriel.

#eso #elder scrolls #fanfic #i just wanted to dump this somewhere tbh #I have a lot of feelings about Aelanne and one day I'll give a full backstory for her #But I got other stuff I gotta do today

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paperclipninja · 6 years ago

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Younger post-ep ramble 6x03

This week’s episode of Younger, ‘The Unusual Suspect’, was a big one. No scenes felt wasted, each one moving the story along and it all felt very purposeful. Despite some capital H hotness and really light and funny moments being scattered throughout, mostly thanks to fave (and only) NYC agent Redmond and the resurrection of some truly classic Diana Trout, there was definitely the sense of tension on the rise. It’s been simmering since the end of this season’s first episode and I feel like this week we have hit an apex.

We open with brunch at Maggie’s and what one can only assume is a time jump (either that or Clare has recovered remarkably well from birthing a baby the size of a four month old) and right away an overarching theme for this episode is established, as Lauren enters raving about the latest hit podcast, Exonerated. I’m gonna come straight out and say that I am so into this premise. The excitement around the table sounded like the break room in my office most days, they definitely nailed the trend of true crime fixation. It immediately allowed for Maggie’s quip about white women loving murder, a delightful array of OTT facial expressions from Liza and Kelsey dropping in that Millennial will be meeting with Audrey Colbert, subject of the podcast, to nab her book before anyone else does. Of course the other big news is that Josh and Clare appear to be happily family-ing it up (though mommy wipes, daddy dipes = vom in my mouth a little bit) and Maggie is dealing with unresolved BoUBT (Back of Uber Birth Trauma). Lauren’s vow to help get Maggie back on the ‘h for hunt’ once again epitomises why I love her character so and I want to record her sympathetic ‘oh Divaaa’ as my ringtone. I just love that Maggie, of all characters, is the one who seems like she should be the most pragmatic when it comes to something like birth yet her coping level is zero here.

You know who else wasn’t coping? Me and my Liza and Charles loving heart as Liza suddenly up and left the brunch because she ‘was late for a thing’, cue the scene that was released as a sneak peek last week that I have definitely only watched a normal number of times *cough*. The set up for The Rubin Museum from the opening conversation was fab and the fact that Charles and Liza are using the podcast to frame up a role play situation is just too much. Obviously I had seen the scene prior to the ep and while it is certainly *insert flames here*, I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like not to have expected it (actual combustion probable). I mean regardless, I will never think about a trip to the museum in the same way again. The voice-over narrating what we were seeing was such a great device that is really different to anything the show has done before, it built the anticipation of what was playing out and it felt like a scene from a movie. The moment when Charles turned and came face to face with Liza was a great reminder of how electric the chemistry between these two can be (actual lightening bolts were sighted) and quite frankly, seeing these characters being adventurous and lustful in their relationship is a yes on all fronts. I think the fact it all took place in a place of intellect and culture was extra fitting, it somehow kept the whole thing true to the characters and I am here for the #nerdlove.

The office drama was amped this whole ep and that of course was largely due to the ever growing reign of our season 6 villain, Quinn. With the time jump since last episode confirmed by the fact that Quinn’s book is both published and sitting on the best seller list, Kelsey and Diana’s first encounter with Quinn as she uses the WiFi for a conference call included a) Diana saying goodbye in Mandarin, which was yet another lovely tidbit to add to this character while also setting up the classic Diana we got throughout this ep and; b) some of the best fashion and hairstyles all in one scene (and episode as a whole) ever. I mean the fashion on this show is always next level but this episode in particular took it up a notch: Diana’s high-neck printed electric blue top and Kelsey’s hair/makeup/outfit in the conference room were so stunning I was actually distracted by them.

Kelsey’s office refurb was also noted, loved Liza’s ‘set it (Claw) on fire’ comment and of course, Diana telling Kelsey that now she is publisher, maybe she should stop speaking like a trucker was D. Trout golden line no.1 for this episode. Even better was seeing Kelsey, Diana and Liza settling into this new way of working. I adore the dynamic between these three and the way we’re seeing Diana adjust to her former assistant now being a peer without a fuss is why this show is so wonderful. It would have been easy to have Diana trying to assert herself and maintain some sort of authority, but to see her just want to get on with the work and do the best job she can gives a great credibility to the notion that this character is the best in the industry. I could pretty much write out every Diana Trout line from ‘The Unusual Suspect’ and leave this entire ramble at that (’why is everybody in this country obsessed with true crime? Actual people have died and they’re selling branded beanies on Etsy’ LOLLLLL) but I would then need to do that for Redmond because the fave one and only agent in NYC was back this week and as always, he was in fine form.

The pitch of Audrey Colbert’s book is up there with the funniest scenes of this series, from the creepy af Audrey (A+ casting of Willa Fitzgerald) to Liza and Kelsey trying to play it cool while being hella freaked out to Redmond’s attempt to present a compelling pitch being railroaded by Audrey’s ‘crippling lack of media training’, it was Younger writing and delivery at its finest from start to finish. Seeing Redmond so unnerved by Audrey was unnerving in itself and really, I am so happy with the amount of Michael Urie in this episode. Our next encounter was of course when Kelsey and Liza interrupt his infrared sauna treatment (again, so many hilarious lines, I really feel that a transcript of the entire episode is about the only way to do it justice but may be problematic to pass off as a recap/review…or would it?) and discover that Audrey’s book is being shopped around thanks to the dagger next to Claw on the bestseller list, which = bulk sales = dodgy business = Chinese bots tweeting = Quinn is the worst (math doesn’t lie) = Audrey doesn’t want to be associated with anything suspicious on account of the fact she’s been accused of murdering two ppl (fair). I do want to back this truck up a little though to the way Kelsey and Liza discovered their next big hit was being pitched to half the major publishing houses around town.

Diana Trout hobbling into the office on crutches before dropping the bomb that her injury was the result of being so frazzled upon hearing the news re: Audrey going elsewhere, that she got caught up in her reformer (just go and re-watch this scene, you will not be sorry) is everything I never knew I wanted to see. The reference to Jackie Dunn, who you may remember has been a longstanding nemesis of sorts of Diana’s, was such an utter delight as a long time fan and once again, seeing Kelsey, Liza and Diana all equally vexed by the news was so great and continued to solidify them as a team. I promise no more direct quotes* (*this is a very loose promise), but ‘postpone the power-trip Kelsey, I am handicapped’ in response to Kelsey’s stunned expression upon Diana’s request for espresso, is so outrageously funny and makes this whole scene an absolute stand out on account of its hilarity.

I missed Lauren and Diana interacting this week, however I appreciated seeing Lauren be the wonderful friend she is to Maggie and Josh. Taking Maggie to the support group obviously allowed us to meet Beth, who Maggie engaged for some one on one tutoring (looking forward to seeing where that goes this season) after returning to the store to apologise for running out during the group session. While Maggie was lining up her ongoing therapy, Lauren and Josh shared a sweet and heartfelt moment that highlights why their friendship is such a lovely one on this show. Obviously Josh had told Lauren that he and Clare had a moment that made him think, ‘maybe we should make this relationship work’ and Lauren is following up to see where his head and heart are at.

I absolutely loved said scene between Clare and Josh, when he had finally settled the baby, asks Clare if she wants to go to her bed and then joins her on the floor when she says she sleeps where she can now. There was such a sense of unity and care and it made my heart swell. So in his discussion with Lauren we also find out the baby is named Gemma (last name TBC, for both father and daughter) and when pressed about what he actually wants, Josh reveals that he doesn’t think he and Clare are right for each other. I have said it before, but for all the wacky that Lauren can be, she is the most incredible friend who only wants the best for those around her in such a relentless and genuine way and this scene really highlighted that once again (the line about her dad having such a little bottom though brought us straight back to Lauren light in the best possible way).

The divorce proposal was such a great scene and while I was hoping that perhaps Clare and Josh could work things out, I am thrilled to see that the writers put both these characters on the same page right from the get go. I love that this show constantly bucks stereotypes and expectations of how certain characters and relationships will play out, so to see two adults who have an agreed desire to put their child first but know they need to do so outside a romantic relationship is something really unique on television. I have always enjoyed Josh and Clare’s dynamic and I hope we get to see a real, loving co-parenting arrangement play out.

Kelsey’s interaction with Zane when she is buying a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate scoring Audrey’s book (eek!) is my favourite interaction of theirs this season. Their banter was really effortless, Zane’s, ‘you’re not listening’, as he pulled out the cash to pay for the one remaining bottle smooth and a little bit over confident, but really played up that he has something in the works that is legit. I especially love that we later discover both are buying champagne to celebrate the same win. I feel like we also need to stop and appreciate that they were about to drop $400 between them on two bottles of bubbles like it was no big deal. What is this life? How do I get it?

Though admittedly Kelsey deserves a nice glass of something this ep considering all that she is dealing with. I have made no secret that I have struggled with Kelsey’s character these past couple of seasons and no one is more surprised than me at how much I am getting on board with her this season. Kelsey calling out Quinn point blank that she faked her best seller was so good to watch and seeing Liza backing her up and standing her own ground made this extra satisfying. Gah, I just LOVE how Laura Benanti plays Quinn and her stating that ‘the money is real, what else do you need?’ is so cold and matter-of-fact. What I love most about this whole confrontation is that it immediately made me think back to the first time we met Quinn - her whole presentation was about the fact that no one wants your success more than you do and that women helping women is actually holding women back. That right there should’ve been the red flag that her “helping” Liza and Kelsey was not legit.

And so her true motivation for investing in Empirical becomes evident. It had nothing to do with saving an ailing publishing house, it was to ensure her book would be published, she could have some control over how big it would become and be seen to have the support of a reputable publishing house, all in order to gain name recognition so she could successfully run for Senate. In her mind, Kelsey and Liza benefit from the whole thing financially so it’s a win win but she also holds the power so feels like she has the upper hand. Which is why the scene at The Cut (which is so fab, the looks Quinn shoots Kelsey are searing), when audience members question the dagger next to her book, is so damn satisfying. Kelsey’s move to announce Quinn’s run for Senate is so bold, I am very on board and boy oh boy Kels, I think you’ve got yourself quite the adversary. I was very much Liza watching this all unfold, shocked, impressed and a little bit scared for and of Kelsey and what this all means.

Now Liza was late to the event because she was living out the next chapter of the podcast at the Brownstone which we need to discuss, however I first owe some of you an apology. At the end of last week’s ramble I suggested you may need a fire blanket at the ready after seeing the museum scene sneak peek to you know, contain the flames. I fear some of you may have deployed it prematurely (this is not a euphemism though I am very aware it sounds like one) in response to how damn hot that scene was, but I was not to know that we were going to get this later scene, in which Liza just wanders into the townhouse BECAUSE SHE HAS A FREAKING KEY (suspected ep 2, confirmed ep 3, appreciated always) and decides to have a good old snoop at her bf’s mail. Similar to the museum scene, this set up felt more like a movie than a typical Younger episode. There was an ominous weight to it; the music, the lighting, the Charles padding silently up behind her (barefoot again?) and the tension was palpable.

Liza asks Charles about what’s going on, he provides a vague answer about moving some things around before asking her if she’s listened to chapter 7 of Exonerated, which conveniently mirrors almost exactly what just occurred, with Audrey’s ex finding her going through his things. Ok, so this is where it gets tricky for me. This entire exchange, from the way these two fall into that speaking in third person and wrapping a narrative around themselves, the way Charles wraps his arms around her, the way they look at each other, I mean, this whole thing makes my heart spontaneously combust because it is sexy and flirty, dripping with desire and just really really hot *reaches for backup fire blanket*. But then Liza is clearly distracted by that letter and Charles’ deflection and part of me is wondering why on Earth she isn’t pressing him harder for an answer or following up, I mean, we saw how open they were with one another last season, but then the other part of me looks at Liza and thinks, you are a person who has eyes and that whole situation is right there in front of you so I get it, go with it and worry about it later.

I am aware of how long this ramble already is, but I am going to do something a little different here and digress slightly away from the episode itself and put out some conjecture on my part. It could well be completely over-analysing (lol, I’m neck deep into a freaking novella about a 25 min episode of TV, I think that’s a given) but I know that there is concern about Charles behaving secretively and I have seen some people expressing disappointment in this season so far.

For what it’s worth, my take on it is that it might seem as though some of the characters are behaving a little out of character but I feel that actually, the characters are behaving in ways we haven’t seen before because they’re in situations we haven’t seen them in before. As invested viewers we feel like we know these characters as whole people in every aspect of their lives when in fact, we’ve not seen Liza at the top of her game in her career or Josh as a parent or Charles in a romantic relationship or away from the office. So while the way they behave might not be the way we imagined it, to me it isn’t so much out of character as seeing a new dimension of the character. Also, the addition of flaws does not necessarily equate to destroying a character, it builds them out and makes them more real, if anything.

In relation to Charles and Liza’s relationship and the ‘Charles is being shady’ concern, IMO the key purpose of that is to create tension and you can FEEL it building. As crazy as it may sound, I think the Liza/Charles dynamic thrives in the build and resolution of tension and that’s why their moments in this episode felt so electric and hot, it’s like those unspoken, unresolved tension points charge their chemistry. As much as I think I would love to have Charles and Liza sitting around blissfully happy (I mean, I would obvs), the reality is, it’s not that fun to watch. I believe the tension is building towards a resolution of sorts that will actually put them in a better place and move the relationship forward. (*Full disclosure: since writing this I listened to the podcast from ATX fest and Joe Murphy, one of the writers for Younger, said very similar things so if you listened to that podcast I promise I have not just taken what Joe said and pretended they’re my thoughts, I legit had this written and then heard (ngl, I may be feeling a little smug as a result). I’m putting it down to us both being Australian because clearly that is a thing that makes sense).

I also think there is an unsettled feeling this season because the entire premise of this show, the roles these characters played, the interactions we have grown accustomed to week after week, has been completely flipped upside down. As viewers we garner comfort from the routine of watching a show but also from knowing where the players are positioned, how they will behave and what it looks and feels like. I think the writers know exactly what they’re doing and are achieving exactly what they would’ve hoped (apologies writers if this is wildly inaccurate and I’m just assuming things incorrectly left, right and centre) - everyone is sitting in discomfort and it’s largely due to the unfamiliarity of it all. The set up, the way we’re seeing characters etc, it reflects what the characters themselves are experiencing on our screens, which is all kinds of meta and actually pretty cool. But the further you push that discomfort and make viewers sit in it, the greater the impact and more satisfying the resolution. It’s like waiting for a beat to drop in a song, the build up can become almost unbearable but damn it’s good when it lands. That’s how I feel this is all going to go.

That is what I meant by this episode feeling like an apex, it feels as though there’s a limit to how far an audience can be taken in a state of flux without some resolve somewhere. And the writers know this, it’s what they do, it’s WHY we tune in. I’m not suggesting that everything is going to go back to the way it was, the evolution of a show like Younger is exciting and part of the fun is seeing where it goes, but we are three episodes in to a twelve episode season and while we consume it week to week, it ultimately has to make narrative sense across the whole season. It’s as though we’re at the end of an ‘establishing’ phase right now. So I am reserving any judgement until I see how it all comes together, but have no doubt there will be many resolutions and many new points of tension throughout.

Right now, I am thoroughly enjoying all that we’re getting and I think the writing this season has been excellent so far, with moments like the final scene of ‘The Unusual Suspect’ providing us with the first true cliffhanger of the season. Our last bit of Redmond for the ep was peak Redmond (I love that he dashed off to a better table uptown), and of course the big Mercury reveal, YESSS. That moment of realisation washing over Liza’s face, props to Sutton Foster, and I cannot WAIT to see how this all goes down. The prospect of inter-generational team ups of Kelsey/Liza vs. Zane/Charles while members of each team are in relationships with one another is the kind of set up I live for in a TV show. Is it July 10th yet?

#original post #incorrect spelling in link

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