#<- in the spirit of allowing myself to be cringe

[wizardfiend]

we're already coming up with AUs for him here's Hissrad!Padan

#digital art #paint tool sai 2 #dragon age #qunari #padan #10/12/2023 #cringetober 2023 #<- in the spirit of allowing myself to be cringe #2023

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

#suzsblinddatewritingchallenge #targaryenvampireslayer #suz's writing challenge #writing challenge #filthy impetuous souls #jen writes #prompted #enemies to lovers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #curvy!reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan characters #protective!bucky barnes #sniper!reader #winter soldier #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes imagines

[tyrantisterror]

Saw Godzilla Minus One again and yeah, just as good if not better than I felt it was the first time.

But it does have me thinking - well, honestly, I've been thinking about this for a while - about how often critics of this series have bandied the argument that only certain Godzilla movies are "true to the spirit of the original," and others are not and thus are trash. It's always used as a way to not just praise the movie in question the critic is talking about, but to still paint most of the Godzilla movies as disposable garbage - which is really to protect the critic's status as an authority by emphasizing they do not challenge the popular assumption that Godzilla movies are by and large garbage, and instead only think certain Godzilla movies - a rare and specific few - managed to rise above their station as garbage to be worth something.

Godzilla (1985) is the only Godzilla movie to hold true to the spirit of the original.

Shin Godzilla is the only Godzilla movie to hold true to the spirit of the original.

Godzilla Minus One is the only Godzilla movie to hold true to the spirit of the original.

And I have... too many thoughts on this to put in a normal tumblr post, I should probably organize them into, like, an essay (god it's been ages since I actually wrote one of those, nowadays I just let myself ramble with only a thin grasp of a point). But this is bullshit, right? This is a bullshit thing that critics and especially fans, so many Godzilla fans do this. It's so fucking cowardly and pretentious, the act of a person without the bravery to truly stand up for art they love, a person who'd rather cover their own ass than be bold enough to fight for what others have ignorantly deemed trash.

Like, my feelings on Shin Godzilla are not negative - they're lukewarm, a "well it's not really for me but I get what they're going for" feeling. But so many people for so many years have held it up high and said, "Finally, a Godzilla movie that's not trash like all the other sequels, one that FINALLY lives up to the SPIRIT of the first, FLAWLESS, PERFECT FILM!" that I can't help feeling resentment for it, a sort of petty envy at how it is constantly held up so the people praising it can shit down on all the others that preceded it. I think I've been more harshly critical of it than I have most Godzilla movies specifically because so many people feel the need to praise it as flawless while shitting on the Godzilla movies that I like more - as if I need to find flaw in Shin Godzilla to prove my love for the others.

Which is cowardly too, in all honesty. We shouldn't need to burn one movie to praise another.

I love Godzilla Minus One. Objectively (or as objective as any critique I make can be) I think it's the best movie since the original, maybe even surpassing it (unlike the 1954 Godzilla, Godzilla Minus One has not jump cuts or other glaring editing mistakes caused by a rushed production time that didn't allow for proper film coverage). And while it may well be impossible to overcome nostalgia and topple the Holy Trinity of Godzilla sequels in my personal rankings, it might manage to fight its way into my top five Godzilla movies. It's an excellent movie, one of the best for sure.

...but people are ALREADY doing the "It's the first Godzilla movie that's true to the spirit of the original!" bullshit already, and specifically using it to tear Shin Godzilla down. I'm at least a little guilty of it - I mean, it was just an honest expression of my preferences, but still, there wasn't a need for me to express my lukewarm feelings on Shin while praising Minus One - and fuck, man, I already regret that.

It's a coward move. Fight for what you love even if people say you're cringe or uncultured for it. Fuck 'em, be the atomic freak you were born to be. You can't find your monster island if you don't.

[iameatingrocks]

you know I’m a very “fuck cringe culture” kind of person but at the same time I find myself participating in. whenever I realize I’m doing it I feel so bad but I know why I’m doing it now I think.

It’s the fucking autism.

Whenever I engage in cringe culture it’s a form of masking. I’m replicating behaviors that have been inflicted on me about my similar interests.

so in the spirit of fuck cringe culture, here are some things that cringe culture hates that I absolutely love:

-having toys as an adult. I fucking love toys. lps are the cutest motherfuckers ever (except gen4-6, they are so flimsy and poorly made. Not cringe culture just literally poor execution. gen 1-3 & 7 my beloved)

-wonderwall. That song is so fucking good. I don’t care if it’s overdone on guitar. If I learn guitar again I’m learning wonderwall

-twilight. they are not perfect books by any means but my fucking god are they good. I love my shitty romance novels

-enjoying the current and past trends. I don’t need to be quirky or different or a contrarian, I can just enjoy shit.

-Justin Bieber. HIS EARLIER STUFF IS SO GOOD. I just listen to Maria a couple days ago and I stg it’s so so good. He made some absolute BANGERS. Other stuff is not my cup of tea tbh

-boy bands. *stares at trolls 3* you did this to me. THANK YOU TROLLS 3

-speaking of trolls 3, trolls franchise. that shit is SO good. broppy is so fucking cute and branch’s growth is so similar to mine that it hurts a bit. It’s such a good and underrated franchise.

-pop music. ITS NOT AS BAD AS PEOPLE MAKE IT OUT TO BE. It’s fun, it’s catchy, and damnit I like a fun and catchy song

-horse girls. y’all are cool as fuck.

-being different than other people. yes I am not like other girls. and that’s good! Being different is being human, and it’s good to acknowledge your differences

-liking shopping or being pretty. I am hot and I am funny and goddamnit I like to get new clothes

-liking “cringy” artists. Oh nooooo I like this person’s music— oh they’re cringe? I am SOOOOO sorry girl. Womp womp suck it up

-talking about my autism or queerness often. It’s a part of me and I will not ignore it.

-using neopronouns. that shit is SO much fun and so gender affirming

-enjoying “cringy” media and/or fandoms. I need silly media to be able to enjoy life

-enjoying fucking romcoms? I guess? Angst is not epitome of art. It is the gentle mornings, the bright laughter it’s to chaos, its mystery, it’s the intrigue, it’s the pain, it’s the sorrow, and it is the recovery. The epitome of art is being human, and the epitome of being human is being art.

-being overdramatic, philosophical, or deep. I’m allowed to feel deeply and fully and if you can’t handle it then you have some work you need to do

-complimenting myself. I think I’m hot, and I’m funny, and I’m kind, and im smart, and I deserve good things

-more things I can’t think of

#cringe culture #fuck cringe culture #trolls 3 #romcoms #music #art #text post #If there any mistakes in this I’m very sleepy and i desperately needed to get this thought out before i slept #my apologies gay people #actually autistic #actuallyautistic

[dross-the-fish]

Victor and Adam Creating the Bride: part 2

Written from Adam's POV: Warning, some gore. Gets dark towards the end and I incorporated dialogue from the book itself.

....

 I watched her taking shape on the table, forming from loose bone and flesh into a woman under my hands. I had asked Victor to make her hideous as myself but as I carefully worked the needle through her skin, tenderly tightening the seam that extended her mouth I couldn’t help but feel that there was beauty in her features. It did not escape me that my stitches were neater than Victor’s, perhaps because I was unhurried. In the labors of my handiwork, I had newly discovered in myself the virtue of patience and it served me well. I considered that the presence of patience indicated that I still had the capacity to possess fine qualities worthy of the praise of my maker and secretly hoped me might take notice.

To my chagrin, he did not. Victor continued to remain ignorant that I had any virtues at all, every gesture of goodwill I presented was rejected and he scorned my conversation at every turn.

Such was to be expected, I supposed…

Yet still a bitter disappointment it was when the food I set for him went uneaten and I was forced to dispose of it. Rather than see it go to waste I would set it outside for the animals, birds and squirrels gratefully picked at the bread and a fox fed on the meat.

Unable to speak to Victor I spoke to my bride, though I knew she could not hear me I found comfort in our one-sided conversation. In my wandering I had heard couples whispering endearments and I began to refer to her as “my darling” and “my sweetheart” perhaps she would like these little epithets for they sounded very soft to my ears and I wanted so much for her to have softness rather than scorn when she woke.

At night, once Victor slept, I would read poems aloud, just in case there was some sleeping spirit in her flesh that could hear my words. I knew this, perhaps, to merely be wishful thinking on my part but I could not deny myself hope.

There was something beautiful in this, in the process of creation. Mapping every detail of my beloved with careful fingers and handling the joining of her limbs and skin with the utmost care and delicacy. She could not feel pain but I needed to be gentle with my treasured companion. I had never been allowed to show tenderness, to caress and care for another, and despite my resolve that she should be ugly she was growing beautiful in my eyes. There was pride in every seam and love in every crack of her bones as I brought the pieces of her together.

Sometimes Victor seemed careless with her and it took everything in my power not to chide him for handling her roughly. Still, I was glad for his company, even if my maker hated me he still toiled by my side and sometimes I could compel him to speak with me. Once, very briefly, he came very close to smiling before he remember who I was and who he was and the resentment that followed that momentary lapse was greater than it had been before.

Still, after my deprivation even these crumbs had seemed a feast and I took every scrap of joy I could when the moments of peace between us presented themselves. Perhaps that was why I felt no need to hurry, because once we had completed my bride there would be no more of these brief instances.

But I would have her then and I would no longer need Victor. I must be content. I swore that would be content and I would keep my word and retreat from mankind forever.

As we neared the completion of my mate, I sensed Victor growing anxious. His hostility towards me had only increased and my attachment to my mate seemed to upset him for he had begun to snap at me whenever I spoke to my silent bride.

“She cannot hear you! Cease your damnable chattering!”

I had cringed away, though it was not in my nature to be meek I worried that lashing back at him might incite him to renege on his promise to me. Indeed, I had become paranoid that he was searching for a way out of our deal.

I had seen how he looked at his companion, the gentle poetic youth he kept by his side. Henry, he was called, I had seen him watching the sea before we had left for our makeshift laboratory. I considered the benefit of mentioning this to Victor and perhaps indicating that it would be detrimental to his dear one’s health should he go back on our bargain.

I could not describe my feelings for Victor Frankenstein. A longing for his approval and a deep-seated hatred that made me want to hurt him over and over again until he was as broken as I was. My father, though he refused to hear the word uttered from my lips, could not escape his obligations to me.

Even God gave Eve to Adam before he cast them out of his grace.

So too, my father owed this to me and I would not be denied.

The days stretched on until finally she was whole and all that was needed was the spark. The breath of life that would waken her to me. I had been outside, gathering more wood to add to our fire before a storm brought a soaking rain to dampen it too much for use. It was then I chanced to look in the window. Victor was standing over her, his alchemical instruments at the ready as the storm crested above us. Suddenly he looked up from his work and into my face. For the first time he gazed at me and there was an absence of hatred, something almost pitying in his eyes and I felt myself smile at him, wanting to reach for him. Either to comfort or be comforted by him I knew not.

The moment broke.

Something in my face must have frightened him for he recoiled with such panic that I was startled.

Then he grabbed a large, blunt, cleaver from a hook on the wall and before I could scream out in protest, he brought it down on my mate. He chopped at her in a mad frenzy, like a man possessed.

I rushed into the cabin, yanked his arm away and wrenched the cleaver by its blade from his hands, not caring how it bit into my own flesh.

“What are you doing?! Stop this! STOP! YOU PROMISED!” I screamed shaking him so hard that his arm was in danger of dislocating. I dropped him and surveyed the damage, hoping there was something salvageable in the ruin of my mate.

I sobbed when I saw the extent of the destruction. Her head was nearly severed, an arm had become detached, her innards spilled from her split belly and hung, wet and ropey over the edge of the table.

When I turned to confront Victor again, I saw him throw his journal into the fire. It seemed he was determined not only to destroy my bride but to keep from me the method by which I could hope to make another. I shoved him hard, not caring where he landed and reached into the flames to try and salvage the book.

The fire licked at my flesh, so hot I drew back. Bracing myself for the pain I reached in again and pulled the smoldering pages out, smothering the flames with my burnt hands. Futile, the book was scorched beyond use.

I rounded on Victor, not caring that my hands were blackened and still smoking when I reached for his throat. I wanted to kill him, I meant to kill him.

He was maddeningly calm, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back as though he would welcome my lethal embrace at last. My hands stilled on his neck, leaving hot black finger prints on the white of his skin.

No.

No, I would not end this here.

Chest heaving, tears running down my twisted face I withdrew. He meant to desolate me. To render me hopeless and eternally isolated. I would not grant him the merciful reprieve of death. I could not stay here, the sight of him was driving me to madness. If I was to leave him alive, I had to go.

With a howl of anguish, I fled.

I returned some hours later to find him, sitting in the wreckage of our work. He seemed to have been waiting for me.

I railed at him, and he at me, in the heated exchange of our words I grasped him and lifted him so his face was before mine.

“Slave,” I growled, no longer had I the desire to call him father. My teeth were mere inches from his cheek, flecks of my spittle wetting his skin, “I before reasoned with you but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power! You believe yourself miserable but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master-obey!”

He rebuffed me again. He was resolute that he would not return to our work. How infuriating that this sickly little man seemed to find his spine at the most inconvenient moments.

“Shall each man find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection,” I stressed the word and shook him a little, “and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man,” so I consigned him as one of my enemies, no more father, nor maker, nor even Victor, simply man now. His kind had declared war upon me so to would I deliver it back, “you may hate, but beware, your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever.”

I continued with my threats for some time, he trembled a little but did not break under my abuse.

“Man,” I said again in a sharp hiss, the word a curse and a brand upon him, “you shall repent of the injuries you inflict!”

“Devil,” he shot back at me with equal venom, “cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable.”

I dropped him, deriving some small satisfaction in watching him claw for purchase at filthy floor and struggle to his feet. Though my anguish seemed endless his had only begun. As I glanced once more at the sad heap of lifeless flesh and bone that had once borne all that had been my hope to find love in this world, I vowed that my revenge would be tenfold.

The ruin I left in my wake would be of such a magnitude any who heard of it should weep for Victor’s fate. As I turned to leave, I issued one final warning to him.

“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding night…”

#Frankenstein #Fanfic #my writing #adam frankenstein #victor frankenstein

[starmonsterrr]

Introducing: Undertale self-insert #102480125 (Version 1.0)

HELLO HELLO SO I KNOW I HAVE TO CATCH UP WITH INKTOBERTALE BUT SHUSH I NEED TO INTRODUCE IO'S "CREATOR" COUNTERPART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you haven't already read the introduction post of my primary Undertale 'sona' i advice you to do so. here's the link to it

DRRRRRRRRRUMMMROLLLLLLL

NOTE: THE REF NEEDS TO BE UPDATED

THIS THANG TOOK LIKE FOREVER TO FIGURE OUT BUT NOW I AM FREE FROM THE PAIN

Now it's time to explain the physics of this hhh

Aurum doesn't live inside the UTMV, but rather, exists as a creator for it, and lives in the fandom itself. That "fandom" location functions as a realm that allows for creativity from beings living in our world to brew and develop further to then take form in the UTMV itself, and is also where Creators can interact with eachother, no matter the distance.

Aurum cannot interact directly with the UTMV, but, due to being a Creator, is able to craft things and characters that live within it.

To do this, she requires a quill that it takes with itself wherever it goes. It functions as an outlet for her creative abilities.

I've also been thinking of the possibility of its soul being that quill, due to how tightly Aurum is connected to her creativity, but it might take me a bit to figure out the specifics for that.

In addition to creativity, Aurum is also able to spectate the works of other Creators, and of course, interact with said fellow Creators, but it can take her a bit to get out of it's shell.

Aurum tends to add quite an amount of detail to its work. While it has tried various artistic outlets, the one in which she excels the most is drawing, animation and writing, especially the earlier 2, as those are the hobbies it has been practicing since it has memory.

It also happens to be quite the extra-clever being. (extra clever earthbound spirit ghost in the form-)

It struggles with issues from a past fandom she used to mostly create for, and is trying to recover by 'pushing away shame', as it would word it. It also appears to have a particular dislike of what is known as cringe culture.

That scarf it wears? Just as the ref sheet says, it provides safety, but it also helps somewhat at covering up her neck scar that comes from a far older thing that happened. The scar may sometimes bleed when Aurum feels unsafe or as if it has 'slipped up creatively'.

Some bonus trivia:

Aurum's blood is gold! I made it like that because i myself have RH Null blood, which is also known as the....golden blood type.

It's design is inspired by the silver fox because I just recently found out it is one of my kintypes. And also because i have a tendency to represent myself online as a fox.

And the 'draconic' stuff? Dragon kintype, though that is covered by Io.

Speaking of, Aurum is the being that puppeteers Io.

INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL

To add on the thing from above, this thing collects Ink images to survive.

probably has a little room full of simpy stuff

it's like a dragon hoard maybe

Aurum is meant to be in the autistic spectrum, as i myself am autistic!

I got the name Aurum from "Au", which is the periodic table of elements's symbol for gold. And y'know.... AUs! Aurum is a Creator! Doesn't that tie together nicely?

Yes, the scarf that it's wearing is a recreation of Ink's scarf.

Aurum first started as an arctic fox but then started getting covered in ink over time from drawing and drawing and drawing a lot, so it's basically identical to an actual silver fox.

Aurum sometimes stands on 2 legs, usually when interacting with other Creators.

I believe that's all i can think of right now, now off i go to catch up with Inktobertale. I may also do asks for Aurum when i take breaks! (AND I JUST REMEMBERED I MADE A SIDE BLOG TO RP AS IO HHHHH I GOTTA GET IT READY)

Later on i'll make a masterpost with the links to both Io and Aurum's posts

#whenever i do tags for this i feel like i'm walking on eggshells #honestly i think this concept of a “creator living outside the UTMV but still doing things for it” is pretty obscure and unexplored #corv's ocs #corv's aurum #undertale oc #undertale au oc #undertale au oc: creator edition #utmv oc: creator edition #utmv oc #undertale multiverse #utmv #i probably haven't revised this enough but oh well

[nyaagolor]

Werewolf AU

I'm just gonna allow myself to be fully cringe at this point. LFG. It's all under the cut :)

Nemona's family are the descendants of the Paldean emperor, who fell from grace and more or less disappeared after the Treasures Of Ruin + the catastrophe of the Great War with Kalos completely decked the economy and whatnot

The family inherited the king's wealth and political connections, which allowed them to maintain power / status / wealth until the point where they were able to secure themselves as a tech empire within the new capitalist system. Rich people stay rich and whatnot

But being descendants of the king came with extra baggage too-- the king was wildly unpopular and got cursed by basically every witch / mage / merchant / powerful artifact that existed in Paldea at the time. Dude just would not leave the cursed artifacts alone and managed to piss off every magical person and being on the continent so he has a litany of curses

The Treasures of Ruin were sealed and the king died, so a good 98% of the curses and hexes plaguing the king, his family, and Paldea as a whole disappeared. Over time, magic as a practice was mostly forgotten about as Pokemon filled the roles traditionally occupied by witches and warlocks, so everyone forgot about the curses. However, the family still has to deal with a few:

The king once angered a forest spirit by hunting within her woods and was cursed so that his and his bloodline's arrows never find their mark. Tragically this applies to pokeballs as well-- everyone in the family cannot successfully throw a pokeball no matter how hard they try

The king has lousy genetics which has managed to haunt them for centuries. That's not an actual magic thing unless you count being a rich European as a curse

There's also the whole werewolf thing, which is a little more complicated. It doesn't affect everyone in the family, for starters, and only ever affects the wives and daughters. I'm honestly still working on the specifics of the backstory for the whole thing, bc I want it to tie into the AU thematically and also give a reasoning behind who inherits and the curse and whatnot. I will keep yall posted on that one but also am taking ideas bc atm I got nothing

Anyway the curse is related to bloodline, so despite the circumstances for the curse and the mage who did it being ancient history, the curse still afflicts members of the family

It starts when young, and the shifting, because it's mostly driven by emotions, is completely involuntary. It's become family tradition to isolate any werewolf children from the outside world until they can control it / keep their emotions in check, which leads to most of the cursed children feeling lonely because they weren't able to go to school or play with other kids as a child. They do get to interact with anyone in the family though, as they know about the curse and can deal with it, as well as pokemon, who are strong enough to handle it. Don't want ur kid having a tantrum and biting someone with big ol fangs

Speaking of biting bc it's a curse it can't be passed to others by any means so dw about being bit. It'll hurt, sure, but you won't turn into a werewolf

Most cursed kids manage to control the shifting by the time they're around 10, and get to go to school and start playing with other kids around then. By this point they also know enough to not reveal the curse to anyone else

Shifting is dependent on the intensity of emotions like anger and fear so the family suspects it acts a bit like a stress / threat response. It also happens on a spectrum, so there's a pretty wide range of Wolfish-Ness that they can turn to depending on the circumstances. The only non-emotional shifting that can happen is on the full moon-- during the night they shift completely, having lost their minds and acting only on instinct. This is the "lock them in a room you can't reason with them" kinda thing

I see the full moon thing as the equivalent of sleepwalking or being heavily intoxicated. Occasionally there's a vague understanding of what's happening, but all their senses are off the charts and the cocktail of overstimulation, pain from the transformation, and insane bursts of adrenaline makes them unable to be reasoned with. During non-full moon shifting through they have far more control, provided they don't spiral and shift completely

The family does their best to keep anyone cursed out of the public eye and distance PR from them as much as possible, both for fear of their status and power being jeapordized and also because they fear what will happen to the cursed person if people find out

I'll add more later but these are my like. initial thoughts. I feel like the rest of the rival gang doesn't actually know about the curse yet, but roll with it when they do find out-- after realizing your friend's dad got mauled to death by your motorcycle lizard and watched his AI copy time travel I think "werewolves" are pretty low on the weirdness list

#werewolf au #nemona #pokemon sv #mod vex #vex art

[yurissweettooth]

Tired of every single day seeing 29583995 posts about how you are supposed to engage in fandom and how everyone who engages differently is wrong and bad and not allowed to do this and that.

Literally do not understand why people are so pressed about what other people are doing for fun.

Do I find the way people interpret/misinterpret some characters to be annoying and baffling at times? Yes! I think everyone does. But that doesn't mean the person who is over there having a fun time not hurting anyone is at fault for it. You can block them and move on and say nothing.

This was inspired by a screenshot of someone saying something to the tune of "normalize mischaracterizing your comfort characters. I dont care whether or not they would canonically do something." And someone retweeted (to a seemingly large audience) telling them that they must not actually like the character. Which feels pretty mean-spirited to an innocuous post about how someone chooses to engage with something that comforts them.

And I honestly think the original person had a point. Normalizing it does not mean YOU have to do it or YOU have to like people's interpretations, it means that people will be allowed to engage in harmless fun without everyone getting up and arms and making assumptions about them or QRTing their post to thousands of people calling them a fake fan.

Everyone has a different idea of what fun and comfort is and for some people that's making wacky AUs or exaggerating traits and playing dollhouse and for others that meticulously researching and nailing down every canon detail in their works. Some people like tiktok and incorrect quote edits and some like meta and deepdives into and it's all okay and fine!

Someone doesn't HAVE to make an OC. If they want their quick fix of comfort and catharsis by just tacking traits on to a pre-made character that they don't have to expend extra energy on then who cares?

Also lots of neurodivergent people (like myself) and kids get caught in the crossfire as well, but really I think EVERYONE should have the right to do what they want. This feels like another extension if cringe culture which should be dead an buried by now.

And I say all this as a person who PREFERS to engage in fandom in a canon-compliant, lore-friendly way and yet has also been the victim of this.

I have had bad/mean fandom experiences over presenting evidenced, well-sourced, and canon compliant material that just happens to contradict popular fanon. I have also received backlash for putting a character through 10+ years of canon-compliant, well researched, and carefully constructed character development which led them to do things differently in the future than they did in canon.

But I don't always feel like giving a 20+ paragraph disclaimer on every single doodle, edit, or short fic to prove to you exactly how they got here and why it's canon compliant (although I unfortunately DO tend to do this to avoid repeats of past hate :/) because it really shouldn't matter. Blocking me outright or blocking my tags should suffice.

I will never understand this mentality of "Only I do things correctly, everyone else is wrong and bad and ruining everything and I have to shame people doing harmless things so everyone sees how right I am" and I feel like I've been seeing it more and more every day lately and it's frustrating. This is a big part of why I left twitter but it's getting popular here too now.

This is honestly a big part of why I don't post the majority of my fanart and fics anymore. I no longer post meta or silly edits, I no longer reach out to people to discuss ideas, I rarely share my thoughts on any characters publicly, etc.

I live a very stressful life and I engage in fandom to relax and have fun but that has been very difficult for me due to people who always feel the need to be hateful over innocuous things. I feel more and more like I need to walk on eggshells so I do not accidentally incite another ✨️incident✨️ because I dared to post a silly headcanon or edit. And that sort of hate and "umm, actually..." response STILL happens to me, even in recent days because god forbid I post an AU I enjoyed and wished to share with people who might also enjoy it!! It's so frustrating.

And this, of course, is NOT referring to people who try to force/shame others into their interpretations (regardless of if they are compliant or not). This is also NOT about bigoted material. Turning characters into harmful stereotypes (making a black woman who is not sassy sassy, for example), using them to spread hateful messages, and erasing their identities/whitewashed their designs. That is a separate issue. But someone making a character you like say something they wouldn't say in canon? Making them act a little silly? Ignoring parts of canon to make an idea they have work? It's not hurting anyone!!!

#jun rambles #fandom critical #rant #i do not normally post personal stuff but ive seen like 6 posts today on the back of me getting a dumb anon #on my side blog AGAIN and I am just... tired..

[gensokyogarden]

Okay, this is going to be a long post but. I've had a few sets of new ocs existing in my notes and the back of my mind for a bit. So consider this post an opportunity both for me to develop some basic details on them and to advertise them.

The main purpose of this post though, for me, is to gauge interest in different ideas to decide what to focus in on. It's possible I may wind up eventually adding all of these ocs, it may also be that I wind up never taking up any of them. Whatever the case it helps to know what y'all are into most.

Thus at the end of this post there's a poll to vote on who you're most interested in. There's no option on polls to allow folks to vote for more than one but if you're interested in more than one group and have multiple blogs feel free to vote more than once, since I'm looking at the number of votes gotten instead of just percent of votes.

Normally when I do a long post like this I prefer to stick a readmore on it. But polls can be finicky and I'm worried that will break it, so instead I'm going to just make this a long post and hope folks have that feature that reduces the size of long posts until you open 'em. If not, I'm sorry.

Anyways, onto talking about the ocs. I tend to do ocs in groups and that's particularly the case with 2hu ones, so they have been grouped into sections based on that. You don't need to read all of this but please take a look at whatever interests you and then give an answer on the poll please.

Also a disclaimer again: I am not a native Japanese speaker and only half understand Japanese naming conventions so very real possibility these names'll suck and be cringe/culturally inaccurate.

Second disclaimer: They're still in the idea stage so a lot of this, particularly face claims and names, are subject to potential change. In regards to face claims I actually challenged myself to only make use of icons from my collection, though I had to make an exception for the Akali icons since I had no one with a face mask among them.

Train to Gensokyo

Now this one is an idea I've partially talked about in the past. Of which I drummed up one of those posts here, which contains some more info.

The basic gist of this set is the idea of a ghost train from the outside world being brought into Gensokyo. The kind from folklore that travels and travels at midnight, never actually stopping at any stations. Forced to eternally wander. Though their arrival in Gensokyo finally allows them some rest.

Being a vehicle that existed a bit later (this particular train not all trains) than when Gensokyo closed its borders, much of the guests and staff of the train are "youkai" of a little more modern variety. Not exactly the ULoL sense but something similar. With The Ghost Train acting as a home to modern monsters and crytpids, like Teke-Teke.

I imagine that their arrival causes some incident (with Reimu, Marisa, Sakuya, and special guests Mamizou + Lunasa as my little headcanon incident resolvers) but that soon after they integrate into Gensokyo's community, providing a new and quicker form of travel.

Kurashiki (倉敷) Miharu (未時)

Face claim: Chain Sumeragi (Kekkai Sensen)

Ironically Miharu was the first character I envisioned when I started working on this project, not just the train section but those ocs in general, yet I haven't actually determined what kind of youkai she is. Presently, the idea I'm working with is that she is perhaps some form of dead human. The conductor of The Ghost Train before it became a, well, ghost train, that has become a spirit along with it.

Miharu's ability allows her and her train to always arrive on time. Through a tiny bit of time manipulation, The Ghost Train always reaches its destination exactly when it needs to. Though, despite this, Miharu is still quite neurotic about making sure it actually does travel with as few delays as possible. Mostly out of a fear of what may happen if it doesn't.

Other notes on Miharu are: that as a word pun she is a conductor (operates a train) and a conductor (leads an orchestra). With each of the other crew members of The Ghost Train operating some sort of makeshift musical instrument. As well as that, I like to imagine her as having some sort of history with Mamizou. Given Mamizou is also a recent arrival in Gensokyo and Tanuki being the enemies of trains in folklore.

When I created these characters I noted down the reasonings behind most their names, as you will see with the coming ones, but I lost the notes on Miharu and Reiko. What I can say, however, is that Kurashiki comes from Zero Escape: 999, as that happens to be a personal favorite of mine.

In the Ghost Train Incident, Miharu is the Stage six boss.

Zantetsu (斬鉄) Reiko (麗心)

Face Claim: Chise Hatori (Ancient Magus Bride)

Reiko is a teke-teke. A vengeful spirit of a girl killed by a train, split in half, whose upper body now drags itself along the ground. The remains of her lower half making a scratchy teke-teke sound as they scrape against the floor. A scythe wielded in her hand as she seeks out victims to steal their legs.

Of course this teke-teke, as with a lot of youkai in Gensokyo, is a tad bit chiller than how she exists in folklore. As with much of the staff of the Ghost Train, Reiko was once simply a passenger aboard the train. One who chose to take up a role as a crew member. Reiko takes the role of porter, loading and unloading the luggage of the train's rare passenger. This may sound difficult given that she drags along the ground, but remember that basically everyone in Touhou can fly.

Reiko has the ability to protect an object. So long as she is holding it within her hands, an object of her choice cannot be damaged. She uses this to make certain luggage makes it to the proper hub of the train.

In the train's makeshift band, Reiko uses her scythe and lower bones as a set of instruments to scrape along a metal surface.

As I noted above, Reiko is the other one that I lost the notes on the name origin of. But the name Reiko is a reference to the name often given to the girl of the actual Teke Teke legend (Kashima Reiko).

Reiko is the Ghost Train Incident's Stage 1 Midboss.

Hasami (八社宮) Hanako (はなこ)

Face Claim: Akali (League of Legends) [Akali is fine but I mostly chose her because I don't know many characters with masks, so of all the face claims this is the most likely to change]

Hanako is the stewardess of the Ghost Train and a Kuschisake-Onna. A vengeful spirit with a split mouth that gives similar injury to those that she encounters. Of course, just like with Reiko, Hanako is chiller than the average Kuchisake-onna. Working peacefully on the train.

Though, it should be noted, she almost never removes her mask, even around her coworkers. Hanako is actually quite self-conscious about the look. Owing to the fact that the Ksuchisake-onna in legends can be distracted with hard candy, she has a major sweet tooth and sometimes winds up snacking on the candy that passengers order before getting it to them.

Hanako has the ability to duplicate herself within the Ghost Train. Or to put it another way, to exist at multiple points within the train at once. This ability does not function outside of the train (though the original her may be off the train while her duplicates continue to exist within) but allows for a far greater convience of service than what one woman normally could provide.

Family name Hasami is a gag as Hasami (八社宮) is a name but Hasami (はさみ) is the word for scissors. The first name is made of meaningless katakana but contains the first kana of scissors.

Hanako is the Stage 1 boss of the Ghost Train Incident.

Animal House

Alright listen. I like Mafia and Yakuza stories. Be it something like the Godfather (I read the novel for the first time back in highschool), Goodfellas, or the Like a Dragon Franchise, or even the occasional triad story from Hong Kong action films. Suffice to say I've got a real soft spot for crime families.

I also really like Toutetsu Yuuma. Who happens to be the head of an entire criminal alliance in the Animal Realm. One that we've seen no member of besides herself (unless we count the eagle spirits).

Owing to these two facts I wanted to design some underlings for her. To give her more people to bounce off of besides her enemies and to do fun criminal stuff with. Now within the Animal Realm Yuuma's alliance is specifically known for their aerial power. They're also from the Animal Realm, you know for animals. For those reasons I tried to design Youkai that fit two critea:

-Were an animal or something animal themed

-Were a flying creature (granted again everyone in Touhou can fly but I think ya get what I mean).

Given that Yuuma canonically prefers to handle things herself, her underlings have been left sitting on the sidelines during most of the events of canon. But with Yuuka's priorities elsewhere they've now found a bit more responsibility dropped on their shoulders.

And just to get it out of the way lets end this with the note that, because I'm like that, each of the ocs in this group share a surname with a Like A Dragon/Yakuza antagonist. Doesn't necessarily mean they have anything to do with one another.

Mine (峯) Honoka (火佳): Junior Chairwoman of the Gouyouki Alliance

Face claim: KK (Kekkai Sensen)

Ah the mythical Kirin (or Qilin). Just as Yuuma's own beast, a Taotie, has its roots in Chinese monsters so too does her second in command. Now a Kirin is a dragon-deer or unicorn esque mythical beast said to run through the sky by flying. One that's appearance is generally said to mark either the birth or death of a great leader or philospher.

In the case of Honoka she arrived in the Animal Realm shortly before Toutetsu Yuuma herself. Being herald to her own coming to power. The pair have worked together for quite some time since then, with Honoka being an informal second in command of the Gouyoku Alliance. With Yuuma preoccupied with the lake of blood/oil, Honoka has been doing most of the actual management of their family.

Unlike her superior, she is stoic and not one for talking. Preferring listening or action. While Yuuma has a tendency to disarm her opponents with words, talking them into joining her side, Honoka would really prefer to just beat them into submission. Yet, outside of a brawl, she is slow to act. Considering every option for far longer than necessary before making a decision.

Honoka has the ability to call upon Fire and Lightning (or more particularly the elements of fire and air). The most unique application of their abilities is to copy the properties of the others. Flames that arc as lightning does and lightning that creeps up objects like a flame.

The Mine part is, of course, a reference to the character of Yakuza with a Kirin as a tattoo and the best theme in the franchise. Honoka I chose because I just happen to think it's a beautiful name but the kanji of it refers to her fire based abilities.

Goda (郷田) Misora (水天): Chairwoman of the Goda Clan

Faceclaim: Shiro (Deadman Wonderland)

Tentomushi or ladybugs. An insect that I like and happen to think have a really rad name. It just so happens that in all my research I could not find any ladybug youkai, so Misora is just a youkai who was once a ladybug. What I do know is that Ladybugs happen to be symbols of good luck.

This plays into Misora's Ability. She is able to manipulate the luck of those around her in two ways. Taking in the fortune of others, granting herself good fortune and others misfortune or taking in the misfortune of others, granting herself misfortune and others good fortune. Don't put her in a room with Shion and Tenshi, she'll die.

Misora is also prone to violence as a solution but unlike Honoka it is not a matter of choosing violence after much contemplation. She's ready to fight at all times and believes the Gou-Alliance should just stomp out all the other families within the Animal Realm. Her boldness and lack of thought has made her an annoying rival for power within the Alliance. While everyone within it looks up to and respects Yuuma, those beneath her are not so equal. With troops being split between both figures.

Now Yakuza does not have a character with a ladybug tattoo. Instead I just went with the family name of one of my favorite antagonists of the franchise. On the other hand Misora's name contains the kanji for water, meant to denote a rivalry with Honoka.

Katsuya (勝矢) Chidori (千鳥): Chairwoman of the Katsuya family

Face Claim: Medaka (Medaka Box)

Chidori is an Aosagibi. A type of youkai born from a heron that has lived long enough to become a youkai. Their scales fusing together to form a shiny and iridescent armor. Like Honoka and Misora Chidori is also a major figure within the alliance. Unlike the two of them she is aloof and silent. Choosing to simply observe without interaction. This gives her a mysterious air

But the reality is she's just incredibly shy and doesn't know what to say. She's managed to get to this position mostly from a series of flukes and climbing the ranks with time. She really doesn't like talking in front of people, particularly as a leader, and would prefer that the others just manage it on their own. Though their rivals perceive her as some form of cunning trickster.

Chidori has the ability to produce false light. Those that face her in battle are beset by series of strange balls of harmless light that resemble her actual danmaku. Making it difficult to distinguish actual attacks from random tricks.

Katsuya, again, comes from a Yakuza boss. In this case one from 5 who just so happens to have a crane tattoo ... or a heron ... I mix those two birds up. Anyways Chidori, on the other hand, contains the kanji for birds but I also kinda picked it because the attack from Naruto kind of reminds me of how an Aosagibi apparently looks.

The Robot Masters

This idea was partially inspired, I believe, by my friend Sethy when I discussed wanting to create an oc with an interest more vested in science and specifically robotics.

Katsume (勝目) Light

Face Claim: Xan Audupon (Sennen Meikyuu no Nana Ouji)

A blind hag/magician dwelling upon the mountains of Gensokyo. Light has caught glimpses of the outside world and developed a fascination in the field of robotics. Dreaming of being able to create actual automaton and golems within Gensokyo. ... Yet the sad reality is that they have not been able to accomplish this goal, yet.

Much like how Alice relies on magic to puppet her dolls, Light relies on their own magic to control their automatons. Really nothing more than steel or iron puppets with some gears in them at this point. Though Light has partnered with some kappa for the sake of creating real androids their work has, as of yet, been unsuccessful.

They have the ability to percieve the spiritual. Light is blind and unable to see anything within the physical world, however, when they do open them they become able to see that which is spiritual. Be it the aura of those with magical power, magically invisible beings, or those with a spiritual existence such as Mima. This ability can also be used to place a part of their own spirit within an object in order to see spirits through it. Notably their fake automatons for the sake of enhancing their manipulation of it.

The name Katsume contains the kanji for "win" and "eyes" referring to their eye based ability. On the other hand Light is a double reference to the Megaman scientist Doctor Light and to the character of Snake (real name Light) from ZTD.

Kanagawa (銑川) Yusa (優作)

Face Claim: Lee go Seul (Girls of the Wild)

One of the kappa that works with Light. One could almost call her their henchman. Yusa, like most kappa, is great with technology. Specifically iron working and soldering. She works to design the bodies of their false robots. Though the actual programming and wiring are skills she's far less competent with.

When their machines are not being controlled by Light's magic, it is normally Yusa who is controlling them. Mainly through the use of remote control ... controls. Like most kappa, Yusa is rather shy, yet she manages to get along well enough with Light. Having a deep respect for the hag.

Yusa's ability ... I have not figured out yet.

Kangawa has the kanji for iron and the kanji for river. Perfect for a kappa that's working with robotics. Yusa contains the kanji for "Create" and "superior". Originally her name was going to be Sakura (also from create) but I feared it was too close to Sakuya and could get annoying.

The Village People

Alright, now this one is a bit different in that we're not getting youkai. I thought it'd be fun to design some villager ocs. You know to have some fairly normal folks wandering around Gensokyo.

Now, just as a note here, I have given them abilities. My reason for doing so is because just about every named character in Touhou has one, even an "Average" person like Kosuzu. So I thought they'd stand out without them. Also designing weird minor abilities is fun, ya know.

Uruno (沾野) Kaname (火奈芽)

Face Claim: Agatsuma Soubi (Loveless)

Kaname is the current head of the Uruno family. A family within the human village that has farmed and sold tobacco within Gensokyo for the last century and a half now. Establishing their business just slightly before the border was closed. In theory they've grown and sold tobacco for the village but now that a few youkai have started smoking, the Uruno clan may have started setting some aside for other business.

Given their profitable trade, Kaname has been able to get by with a fairly comfortable life. The labor of farming the tobacco is tough but he gets to live in one of the nicer houses of the village without fear of wondering if he'll be able to eat come winter. So all and all he is content with his current lot in life.

... Mostly content. The truth is this all has started to become boring and he's developed somewhat of a wanderlust. A wanderlust that seems to be drawing him more and more to the youkai mountain for their gambling parlor. Not that he'd allow anyone in the village to know that's where he has been slipping off to.

Kaname has the ability to ... become dry. When he or his clothing are wet, he is able to instantly dry either with nothing more than a brief thought. He really doesn't understand how it works but he doesn't mind not knowing.

Uruno contains the kanji for "to wet" and "field" which I thought fit well for a farming family. For the name "Kaname", initially I wanted something with kanji that made reference to smoke. There are ... few names that contain a kanji for that and I was not a fan of any. So I decided to go with fire because where there's smoke. Anyways the first one kanji is fire, the others make reference to a tree sprouting fruit. Not quite tobacco but.

Okita (沖田) Muyumi (武弓) Fujiwara (藤原) no Gin (銀).

Face claim: Touko Hourai

A distant cousin of the more famed Okita Souji and a long time descendant of the Fujiwara clan (making her vaguely related to Mokou), Muyumi is a samurai by birth. Well, wait. You may be noticing. Japan's samurai caste was abolished before Gensokyo was sealed off from the world. Yes, that is true, but this is a detail kept well concealed by Muyumi's ancestors. Who have propagated the idea that noble samurai such as themselves are very much still a thing within Japan.

As a samurai she has been trained in warfare with the bow, sword, and flintlock. A true warrior and defender of the village's noble caste. Well ... except for the fact that the real defenders of Gensokyo are the incident resolvers, which she is notably weaker than. Meaning that Muyumi is really nothing more than a glorified bodyguard for the elite of Gensokyo ... but she's really been trying hard to convince herself that she's not, that she's more than that.

Muyumi has the ability to memorize poetry. Once she has heard or read a poem she will not forget it and she is able to understand the proper rhythm to recite it just from her reading. Though ... she's absolutely horrendous at creating poems herself.

Okita is, obviously given her lore, taken from the famous Shinsegumi. The Okita clan is descended from the historic Fujiwara clan and, much like the much more famous Okita, this is represented in Muyumi's rarely used full name. Fujiwara no Gin (Fujiwara of Silver) is a pun on the actual Okita Souji's Fujiwara no Kaneyoshi (Fujiwara of Gold)

Masamura (正村) Masafumi (将史)

Face Claim: Asaki Minami (Stigmata)

Masamura's clan could be counted among the elite artisans within Gensokyo's human village. Being the only child of the village's doctor and blacksmith of the previous generation, he found an apprenticeship in both thrust upon him. Difficult work but hey doctors used to also be barbers, who said you can't doctor and smith.

The last many years of his life were spend providing both services for the people of the village from his house on the outskirts. Supposedly he's not much of a people's person, hence his dwelling there, though that was not the only reason. Having some sympathy for them, he also offered his medical services to youkai in the dead of the night. After all, he swore to treat the injured, regardless of who they were. A youkai with a horrid cut? That's as much an injury as a human's.

Just ... the thing is that after some time Eirin made her presence known. Eirin, with her ability and centuries of experience, being the notably superior doctor. Though humans did not always wish to trek to see her, and seeing as Reisen only delivered medicine from times to time, Masafumi still had work but it was greatly reduced.

At least he could still blacksmith. A skill that he taught to a sad youkai who seemed without a purpose. Though, she would soon surpass him in ability, providing her services to those that were willing to hire a youkai. Leaving Masafumi again with a reduced amount of customers.

He still can find work, it's not like the poor man is jobless, but with every year in Gensokyo it seems there is less and less for him. As a result he's taken mostly to reading. He has a bit of an interest in old tomes and the study of youkai, meaning he rents books from Kosuzu quite often. Aside from that, however, Masafumi rarely leaves his home anymore. Being something of a hermit (the non magic kind).

He has the ability to hold his breath for an entire 15 minutes.

Masamura uses the kanji of "regular" and "village." The kanji of Masafumi come from the kanji for "lead" and for "book." Which I thought were fitting for a tired but well educated dude. All together they're meant to paint the image of someone plain while also having a fun bit of alliteration.

Sugar Saccharine

Face claim: Clover (Zero Escape Franchise)

Alrigh, the last one, and this one gets a section all to herself. Sugar is a flesh eating youkai just like a certain Rumia. In fact, though I'm cautious on how much I'll say, she and the Rumia of this blog have quite a bit of history together. With Sugar having been the reason for why Rumia is presently stuck in a regenerative weakened state.

Sugar, for her part, has not been around for a long time. Being buried in a sarcophagus beneath the Hill of the Nameless. Something that Medicine has inadvertedly become a perfect guard for. But, you know, when you seal something away in Gensokyo it's only a matter of time before someone does something stupid and lets them out.

... And people have been having strange dreams lately. The kind that make them feel, for some reason, like they need to go to that hill and start digging. But it's probably just a coincidence.

Sugar has the ability to manipulate souls. Well, I wonder what that could mean?

Poll

Alright with all that out of the way (I hope you didn't read all of this it was a lot, but if you did I thank you for putting time in to check out my ideas). Here's a poll to see who you're more interested in. As I said at the top, if you like more than one idea and have more than one blog you're free to vote more than once.

#beyond the border ~ ooc #lis has too many ideas ~ concepts

[a-force-dyad-in-space]

I'm still not allowing myself to be excited for the One Piece live action but after having seen the trailer a few more times I'll say that as long as the pacing is good (bad pacing trips me up so hard) and the show captures the essence and spirit of the story, I won't hate it.

I just hope the rest of the writing is better than that "Not a crew" scene, I'm still not very happy with that. Sure, a lot of the comedy from the manga and the anime doesn't translate very well into live action but they can still bring out the silly parts without relying on the same kind of 0815 quips that are used by every action adventure movie since the beginning of the MCU.

Something I didn't learn until today is that Oda himself was heavily involved in the adaptation, including greenlighting the cast, which I guess gives me a little more confidence that the show won't be a trashfire.

I really like the cast (and now that I know Oda gave his okay for Nami's and Sanji's actors I'm putting my earlier reservations to the side), I like their energy, I highly appreciate their love for the One Piece universe, so I have a feeling they may be my favorite part of the adaptation.

Something that's also been pointed out is that the characters are wearing a lot of outfits from color spreads from the manga, which is really cool, I like that a lot, it gives them realistic costume changes while still staying true to their designs.

As for some of the criticism I've seen float around the tag:

"WHY ISN'T LUFFY WEARING FLIP FLOPS????" I was a little put off by that at first, too, but I honestly doubt that we'll pay a whole lot of attention to his feet when we watch the actual show (and who knows, maybe they'll show up at some point)

"WHERE IS SANJI'S CURLY BROW??????" This is probably completely a Me thing but when I watched the trailer for the first time I didn't even notice that because I was honestly much more worried about his hair before the trailer was released; I totally get that him not having the curly brow is a little disappointing and leaves out some of the greatest bickering between him and Zoro, but it's still possible that they'll bring it into the show some other way, even if he doesn't have it all the time; same goes for the smoking (which, given that it's an American production that is aimed at kids, isn't really surprising, since smoking/tobacco is its own content warning on American TV), we might see him light a cigarette here and there but we were never gonna see him chainsmoke the way he does in the manga/anime

"WHAT ABOUT USOPP'S NOSE????" Okay, let's be real here, had they given Usopp his Pinocchio nose through either CGI or VFX make-up, everyone probably would have complained how stupid and cringe it looks translated into live action; Jacob has a very expressive face that more than makes up for the lack of the Pinocchio nose in my opinion, but maybe that's just me (Jacob was also the first cast member I was fully on board with from the start, so maybe I'm biased, but that's how I feel)

"BUGGY LOOKS TOO SCARY" Guys, we only got one shot of him and we don't know the context for it; maybe this is his introductory shot, maybe this is a special dramatic shot, maybe this is how other people describe him, we just don't know; just wait until the show is out

"THE FOOTAGE IS TOO YELLOW" While it is likely that this is the final color grading, it's also possible that the final color grading wasn't done by the time they put the trailer together (like, some of the shots look like the yellow isn't as strong), they still have more than two months until release, they could still be doing final tweaks until then; and maybe they wanted to emphasize Luffy's sunny personality, who knows, the cinematography probably looks different in emotional scenes

Also, and this is only of interest to my fellow Germans, the German anime voice cast is dubbing the show, so I might actually watch it both in the original version and with the German voices because the nostalgia is reaaaaaaaallll

Be still, my heart, so you won't be disappointed, but be hopeful, be so so hopeful 🥲

#jen's ramblings #one piece live action #some more thoughts on the trailer

[aressida]

My entry: Year 2024. Year of the Discipline. - Aressida. 1.1.24.

For this year, I believe God has given me the next, deeper task to labor diligently and strategically for much longer, revitalizing and reinvigorating my spirit.

Oh, I just love it. As long as I get enough rest beforehand, God will make things work in my favor, so I know what I want and I will get it. Even though I am aware that I am compensated for being myself, I am nevertheless thankful that God loves me so much to allow me to fall into this world. Where my suffering and God's grace collide is in my prayer. And I wanted God to know that there is nothing and no one that I will ever let to stand in the way of my relationship with Him.

There’s been a line in my dreams for a long now that tells me that because I have already been blessed in so many ways, the world will know my name, mine, in the greatest way imaginable. I just need to be ready for it. I can tell because slowly, everything is really coming together and getting closer.

Whatever anybody observes, God is at work. Only a select few witness the revelation of God's Word, but more will. Everyone undervalues the strength and love of God. They realized that they would eventually go where they were valued, so they turned to God. Jesus is the solution; he is not a choice. Because we are nothing without Jesus, that is the truth.

You will see that all of the new age nonsense was powerless and did nothing but draw you away from God. The Law of Attraction and New Age practices are simply facades for the "positive" confession movement, which is part of the "You will be like God" narrative that the adversary has been offering mankind since the dawn of time. I cringe every time someone brings up this kind of insignificance.

People making themselves the center instead of God.

I plan to pray more, study the Bible more, and put my total reliance in God. I acknowledge the significance of this year in my life, and I am willing to embrace anything that helps me attain holiness and move forward. This is my discipline.

#aressida

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology

Compiled and edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Last Jr.

This collection of twenty-six short stories provides an interesting and different look at some issues I have never thought about. In reading through reviews of this work I found that some reviewers  were able to relate to more of the stories than other readers and some readers were unable to relate much at all. Most went into reading believing the stories would be scary, horror stories, or put them on edge – some did, and some didn’t, in my opinion.

The stories that had the biggest impact on me were:

* KASHTUKA by Mathilda Zeller in which a young woman is pushed by her mother to go with someone she doesn’t want to be with to cook and help with a party. A ghost/scary story is told briefly and seems to allow a Kashtuka to materialize and kill a few people – the twist at the end was a grabber indeed.

* WHITE HILLS by Rebecca Roanhorse looks at what a woman might do to maintain a better quality of life than she was raised in. I hated Marissa’s mother-in-law and husband and really questioned the decision she made at the end of the story.

* SNAKES ARE REBORN IN THE DARK by D.H. Trujillo’s story brought in a bit of magic and touch of horror while talking about respecting and honoring ancient wall/cave paintings.

* BEFORE I GO by Norris Black dealt with grief and loss and made me hope I never run into Mother Night.

* DEAD OWLS by Mona Susan Power is a cold story with ghostly encounters that I hope to never experience myself.

* NAVAJOS DON’T WEAR ELK TEETH by Conley Lyons was dark and disturbing with a main character I wanted to shake and tell to spend time with someone else…someone safer, less abusive, and better for him…that had a darker ending too.

* WINGLESS by Marcie R. Rendon dealt with two boys in a foster care situation no child should find themselves in. I cringe thinking about that story and hoped at the end they both found a brighter future somewhere somehow.

There were a LOT of stories and though I couldn’t relate to all of them, the stories above were the ones that stood out the most to me and will linger longer.

Thank you to NetGalley and Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group for the ARC – this is my honest review.

4 Stars

BLURB

A bold, clever, and sublimely sinister collection that dares to ask the question: “Are you ready to be un-settled?” Featuring stories by: Norris Black • Amber Blaeser-Wardzala • Phoenix Boudreau • Cherie Dimaline • Carson Faust • Kelli Jo Ford • Kate Hart • Shane Hawk • Brandon Hobson • Darcie Little Badger • Conley Lyons • Nick Medina • Tiffany Morris • Tommy Orange • Mona Susan Power • Marcie R. Rendon • Waubgeshig Rice • Rebecca Roanhorse • Andrea L. Rogers • Morgan Talty • D.H. Trujillo • Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. • Richard Van Camp • David Heska Wanbli Weiden • Royce Young Wolf • Mathilda ZellerMany Indigenous people believe that one should never whistle at night. This belief takes many forms: for instance, Native Hawaiians believe it summons the Hukai’po, the spirits of ancient warriors, and Native Mexicans say it calls Lechuza, a witch that can transform into an owl. But what all these legends hold in common is the certainty that whistling at night can cause evil spirits to appear—and even follow you home. These wholly original and shiver-inducing tales introduce readers to ghosts, curses, hauntings, monstrous creatures, complex family legacies, desperate deeds, and chilling acts of revenge. Introduced and contextualized by bestselling author Stephen Graham Jones, these stories are a celebration of Indigenous peoples’ survival and imagination, and a glorious reveling in all the things an ill-advised whistle might summon.

#Shane Hawk #Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. #Stephen Graham Jones #Indigenous Authors #Scary Stories #Horror #Thriller #Multicultural Interest #Anthology #NetGalley #Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group

[mywifeleftme]

288: Laura Nyro // Eli and the Thirteenth Confession

Eli and the Thirteenth Confession Laura Nyro 1968, Columbia

There’s an old story that Laura Nyro managed to convince her label to perfume the lyrics insert of her 1968 sophomore album Eli and the Thirteenth Confession so the record would smell of lilacs. I love that. When I picked up a copy about half a year ago on the insistence of a friend, I spent quite a bit of time sniffing the old paper, trying to decide whether I really was detecting some faint memory of floral notes under the decades of vintage shop dust, or whether I just wanted it to be so. Part of the appeal to me of old vinyl records, even as compared to books, is that despite their age this insensate wax can speak aloud to you from out of the past—it’s a simple enough technology, but I still find something magical about that notion. Nyro’s olfactory flourish, and the transfixing portrait on the cover, add flesh to that sense of physically communing with the spirits.

Unfortunately, that’s probably the last nice thing I’m going to say about Nyro in this review, as I kind of hate her lyrics; her ridiculous jive slang; her endless piercing caterwaul. Throughout Eli I often find myself thinking of a passage from a Father John Misty song, which I take no pleasure in being able to quote:

We sang “Silent Night” in three parts which was fun Till she said that she sounds just like Sarah Vaughan I hate that soulful affectation white girls put on Why don't you move to the Delta?

I cannot describe to you the instantaneous cringing sensation I felt on hearing “Luckie” for the first time, Nyro honking up and down on every syllable (“Well, THERe's an AVenUE of DeVil”) in a manner that could be called “brassy” if you consider a bike horn a brass instrument, her bleached hep slang as convincingly Black as Perry Como doing Isaac Hayes. She has the vibe of a white girl who thinks she’s edgy because she jerked it thinking about a Black guy once; she’s Quentin Tarantino doing an interview on BET while sitting at a Steinway.

Nyro’s writing reminds me of the word-stuffed worst of early Springsteen, only at least when Bruce is singing about elephants dancing real funky and midgets licking their fingers and whatnot he’s not doing it in a voice that scrapes at the ear with long red fingernails. Every time I hear her take a deep breath to start swooping again I feel like a chihuahua in the park watching a hawk descend. I wish there was a knob on my stereo that could turn down not just the volume but the witless intensity of her performances, so that those moments when she does strike poetry (as on the nearly lovely Sapphic ode “Emmie”) she could let the lines simply be, allow the words do their work rather than turning them into stinging projectiles hurled by her gusting breaths. Because that’s the other issue: Nyro is certainly loud, and an inventive vocal arranger, but she is not nearly good enough as a singer to be attacking these songs this way. Somewhere, Jeff Mangum is listening to “Lu” and thinking, to the tune of “King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. 2” “THIIIIS ISSS A LITT-LE MUUUUUUUUUUU-UUUU-UUUUUUCH, JEEEESSUUUUS CHRIIIIIIST—.”

288/365

#laura nyro #'60s music #the fifth dimension #bad music #bad reviews #female singer #female musicians #vocal jazz #i hate this

[radian-c]

I am sweet, caring, sensitive, empathetic, strive to be pure, but I am imperfect. I am brutal with my words sometimes.

They say, the truth hurts, but I am honest with myself as well. I talk to myself so critically, I am my own worst critic; only because I want to evolve into my greatest self.

I'm probably seen as cold and uncaring and cut with my words, but it's not my responsibility to shape your perception of me.

I can only do one thing: strive to be 100% real as well as I can.

Do I lie? Yes.

Do I strive not to? Yes.

Am I honest? Yes.

All of the time? No.

Little white lies hide in the black corners of my abandoned thoughts, but I clean house internally, so externally I'm a mess.

I can sit in my mind for hours because there's a whole galaxy in there, so sometimes I ignore the world around me, but I do care and I love deeply.

I love so deep that I purposely say shallow, sarcastic jokes. Why? To protect myself, to guard my vulnerability.

Life excites me, it's an adventure.

The motives of people is what breaks my heart and makes me cringe. I isolate myself because I value my peace. I'll never allow myself to be someone who purposely becomes a block for yours.

Are you exhausted already? I understand, but I cannot stop this philosophical curiosity. I dissect everything. I want to see every possible angle.

You may think you've cleaned the floors, but the cracks between them hold dust that is still unseen. It's all a puzzle, and I am constantly going back and forth between, "I give up" and "keep going."

I'm no chess master, but I'm also no sore loser. Life can teach me along the way.

This need to know, this need to understand, it's like ice cold water for my soul; knowledge and wisdom are like a waterfall where my spirit yearns to stand underneath.

So I can absorb it all, swimming in the fresh stream, that place where God holds mysteries and hidden truths, is where I long to be.

#positive vibrations

[superconductivebean]

#282: Wright hcs - 1?

Because I'm stupid and cringe and it's also too warm for me to sleep soundly, MC HEADCANONS.

In for certified dad jokes;

Free give-aways of Helene Fisher ptsd;

Allergic to Boom Berries;

Hates transfigured wine, wants to distill everything into spirits, low-key on her way to the invention of an ultimate hangover potion;

"Purely for academics, sir, but what one should do with a honobobel?"

"It is a berry, grows in swamps and quagmires. What? No, I am not turning it into a berry-flavoured cider! How can I, a 15 years old, do that without a brewery of my very own!"

Has a brewery under Cladwell&Brewster;

Goes for a pun every now and then;

"Poppy, could you go for another Bombarda? I mean… When you cast it… It sparkles… Yes. Wonderfully so! We need another. Just in case."

collecting goodies "And that's for me! Well thank you, goodness I'm such a magpie!" -> "Professor Fig, I was called a magpie by him, I am absolutely not!" -> "Alright, I am, but -- I am employed for a good record. Thus for nothing but a couple of jokes and the-always-free potion stand in class should I need it during hours and away from the Room. No spooky stories for first years though."

brewed another perfect Draught of Peace "I am dreadfully incompetent and should loose all my rights to sell these things…" "What'll become of your shop when after you're left, Wright?" "I will— I hear what you did here. I am too harsh on myself again, am I." "Now, that's the spirit." "I beg to differ— Stop." "Then beg." atm hates it here but chuckles

Likes to draw;

Has an awful story for each muggle drug and 'potion' and technique she'd ever came across; once scared first years with a story about an unfortunate cut with a knife after a mushroom was cut with it;

Acquired taste for pumpkin pastries;

Belongs in r/DramaticPlants;

Stole a sword from the First Trial, had been lectured by Sharp on its ineffectiveness and crude bluntness, later discovered he has zweihänder the size of him if not longer hanged on the wall, ??? ;

"But sir, I can get you that varnish pre-mixed, I know people that— yes, I need to pay rent, but I am willing to help! I wish there would be Muggle studies professor, I have no idea how to mix the varnish, sir! Alright, I will get everything! Some of it! No, I will not take your galleons. I insist that I will not, just the sickles. No such thing as friendship sale!.. It's my store! My rules. Do treat yourself, good sir, allow that poor single proprietor to enjoy her humble earnings!" 100000 hrs later "I appreciate it. The talk, that is. Financial support isn't on you, though. Wouldn't think of you as of big spender, too." ends up getting the full price anyway "UNBEARABLE."

When at dorms or in ROR, wears a Ravenclaw-coloured tartan shawl;

"Sleep? Alright, what's the day tomorrow? Monday? Do we have Potions at Mondays, no? Goodnight, I'm in for the books then, reading club assignments. Very important." proceeds into moste potente until dawn breaks

"Oh, and what's Fig's awful joke was you ask me, Imelda. Ever heard of the one about pregnant lich?" all dead quiet in the three broomsticks "She forgot her prophylactery."

#днявочка #днявочка: hlegacy #eng tag

[talldarkandroguesome]

28th of Rain’s Hand, Fredas

Just as I was beginning to believe that I shall languish at The Waxing Crescent forever, lest I risk venturing blindly into the wilds, I ran into a strangely familiar face.

Well, I suppose it is more real to say that I heard it first, though I did not expect that it could possibly belong to who I had heard.

Of course, I was stretched upon one of the couches with Nettle, discussing in Bosmeris what our next course of action would be, since we had come upon another failure since I last wrote. I thought we may have found the place, truly, but it soon became clear that it was not the right starting place at all. A roadside shrine stood where there should have been a tall boulder. And it was not a recent addition, either.

So I was rather surprised to hear someone ask if it was me, by name.

I turned, weapons at the ready, to see the smirking face of Grand Chancellor Abnur Tharn. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I simply smiled and gave him a short bow of my head, unsure how much he was hoping to keep his identity a secret.

He took it as an invitation to join me and sat down besides me. Nettle was on edge, I think he worried that this may have been planned, but I waved over the waiter and asked for two more glasses to be brought.

Tharn asked me what I was doing so far across the continent and why I was styling myself some sort of Khajiiti whore. I laughed, nearly choking upon the smoke of my hookah, at his greeting that betrayed his feeling of familiarity. I asked him why he was not being more subtle himself, given that he appeared to have a target upon his handsome, balding head.

He moved farther into my space as I poured him a decent glass of brandy and with a sniff, gave me a nod of approval. He seemed surprised and I assured him that a merchant like myself did not have a reason to bother with the weak, cheap stuff. I would rather enjoy the Empire’s export and be reminded of those good spirits from home.

I particularly enjoyed the suppressed cringing on his face as I called him my dear Abe. He clearly was hiding himself enough not to wish to cause a scene and I relished in making him squirm a bit. Even if it meant he might be a bit prickly later on.

He took my meaning of a cover and asked how my business had been. I gave him a nonsense answer about mostly being well, but having not yet acquired that which I had come to the city for. I asked about his business ventures and he got a look of thought and told me that perhaps he had a proposition that might work well for us both.

Regardless of the way that my guards and Nettle looked at me, I allowed Tharn to lead me away. The young Khajiit who had accompanied him came along also, until Tharn told her to run along and that he would find her later.

I made myself very comfortable upon his sprawling mattress and asked him what use he had thought of for me. It was pushing the boundaries a bit, but what fun would it be if I were not to do so?

Tharn stood at the edge of the mattress and looked at me for a moment, as if deciding if he was more angry at my behavior or more keen to make use of me for his own needs.

He tapped his staff upon the ground and I felt myself raise up from the bed and levitate before him. I smiled and shifted so that my budi slipped off one shoulder.

Tharn rolled his eyes at me and told me I truly was a hungry little tart. I told him I was guilty as charged, but that it did not answer what he wanted of me.

He explained, somewhat exasperated, that I could have been of far more use if I had still been in Morrowind when he had to trek halfway across Stonefalls. I laughed and told him that I resided in Deshaan, in Mournhold, as well he knew. If only he had sent word, I would have made the trek to come and see him. That he was always welcome at my estate.

Tharn put a hand over my mouth, gripping the sides of my face, and explained that he was working on a way to end the Three Banners war.

That certainly was not what I had expected to hear. He said he had found a weapon that would force all sides to take notice and put down arms.

Of course I was horrified. The Empire, as devastated as it was under the civil war, Daedric invasion, and Three Banners War, should not be relying on some incredibly powerful weapon. Knowing that Tharn was ready to work for a Daedric Prince in order to garner power, I knew this must be something of immense power. And it frightened me to think of it in the Empire’s hands.

Tharn asked me to help him finish finding the coordinates to its location. I told him that I had my personal business still to attend to, and it had a time limit. I asked how long this venture may take.

He told me a week at most. I was not sure if I believed him or not.

We agreed that I would speak with my entourage and see if there was not some way to still return to my task. I told him that I had a great distance still to travel and he said that if things went well that perhaps he could be persuaded to use his grand powers, usually reserved for actually important matters, to speed my journey.

It seemed almost too good a deal to be true. There had to be a catch. It was Tharn, there was always a catch.

I needed to speak with Nettle about this. If nothing else, the House should know. It would not be good for the Empire to have this weapon. It would be devastating should any faction get a hold of it, but if I were to divert our course, I would need to let Nettle know why. I could probably sell the House on my working to sabotage the recovery of this weapon. And depending on how it was done, Tharn, as clever as he was, would be none the wiser But it was something I would need assistance with executing. A plan needed to be made.

Of course, it would not be the dynamic we had established if Tharn did not make use of me in the usual way. Honestly, it was a relief when he initiated. It meant that he still thought of me as a useful tool. And it meant he was willing to owe me.

I asked Nettle to get another bottle and we are going to formulate our plan tonight.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls