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lemons3ason · 3 years

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Family (Modern AU)

(Gyomei Himejima x Reader)

Warnings ⚠️: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+, Smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, stomach bulge, overstimulation

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

You always felt strange when you went to pick up Gyomei from work, the children were just so sweet and caring to him. He would be such a wonderful father, he was already a wonderful husband but you just never knew how to bring up the topic to him. Sure you had shared intimate nights together but he’d never actually cum so you thought you weren’t pleasing him, or he just didn’t love you enough to get you pregnant. You arrived today just a little early getting to say goodbye to the last few children that were leaving, they all hugged you and cheered for your presence knowing full well that you were Gyomei’s wife. The light tapping of his white cane against the ground quickly caught your attention, you smiled seeing your husband’s soft smile as he walked towards you.

“Gyomei, I’m here.”, you called gently putting your foot in the way of his cane so he could tell where you were.

His hand reached up to your face waiting to feel your cheek against his palm, “Hello my love.”, he hummed brushing your lips with his thumb before leaning down to steal a kiss from you.

You giggled against his lips and smiled, your took his free hand in yours and lead him to the car before driving home. He spoke about his day to you, telling you about a fight some of the children had over a toy and how it broke so everyone started to cry. You giggled at how stressed he seemed about the situation, he was practically in tears just thinking about it. You giggled as you both finally arrived home to relax and enjoy the rest of your day together. In just half an hour you were sprawled against Gyomei’s chest softly dozing off to sleep but a single thought kept you awake. You wanted to bring up the idea of children to him but would he actually want to try for a child with someone that’s never pleased him?

“(Y/n) is there something on your mind?”, he asked quietly.

You didn’t know how to form your thought into a sentence but you really wanted to tell him, “G-Gyomei...I-I want a baby. I know I’ve never actually pleased you enough to make you cum but I really really really want a baby with you. Please.”, your shy stuttering and plead came out more like a whine then an actual serious conversation like you wanted but unbeknownst to you it did the trick.

Gyomei’s inner beast had been unleashed due to his sweet wife’s demand and he was more then willing to fulfill her desire.

“You want a baby? Are you sure?”, he hummed his voice suddenly grew deep and seductive.

You became shy due to your demand and pressed yourself against his chest to hide, “Y-Yeah I do...I really do but I don’t want a baby if you don’t. I don’t want to force you or anything I know I’ve never pleased you enough before to actually-“

“Beloved every time I’ve be blessed with the chance to be joined with you I’ve been desperately holding back, your cute little hole is always milking me. I’ve wanted to fill your sweet crevice with my seed since we married but I never wanted to do it if you weren’t ready for me. Now that you want a child I can pour every last drop of my fertile seed into your needy womb and impregnate you, and this time I can ravage you the way I’ve wanted to since our wedding night.”, Gyomei’s words were like a drug to your ears, when did he learn to speak like that?

Before you knew it your large husband had you pinned underneath him, “I’ll ask again, are you sure you want me to make you a mother?”, his erection pressed against your clothed core making you moan to the feeling.

“I-I want you. I want this. I want a baby please.”, you begged softly holding his face in your hands to kiss his lips. Gyomei stripped you feverishly, practically ripping off both of your clothes until you were naked. His sudden roughness made your body scream for him and he wasn’t even inside of you yet. He kissed you, his lips sending a jolt of electricity down your spine as his tongue took over your mouth. His thick fingers firmly grasped the soft flesh of your breasts massaging your chest, his hips bucked into your letting his hardened cock rub against your folds. Being man handled by him was such a new form of excitement for you, you never would have guessed that Gyomei was this needy for you.

“In just a few months these cute breasts of yours will be filled with milk, you’ll let me have a taste when they’re swollen with milk right?”, Gyomei whined moving his lips down to one of your pebbled nipple.

You smiled feeling his chapped lips rub against your breasts, his words and actions ignited a fire inside of you and his only physical proof was your lewd slick that started to puddle against the sheets each time his cock head pressed against your folds. You left a wet stain against his boxers that drove Gyomei insane, he quickly removed his stupid article of clothing and tossed it aside thrusting his cock vigorously against your folds despite it never making it into your snug cunt. At this point you were begging for him, for his cock, you wanted all of it.

“Gyomei, pl-please no prep, I don’t need it just please put it in!”, you cried reaching down for his shaft to push it in.

His lips finally left your breasts as he gently slapped away your hand making you cry in annoyance, “Are you sure you can take it? Most of the time you can only take it half way and then you start to whine that it’s too much. Will you suck it up and take me all in? If you want a baby so badly then you’ll have to take it all. Will you do that for me honey?”, Gyomei growled against making your cunt flutter in excitement.

“Yes. Yes I’ll take it all, I want all of you. I want this.”, you whined wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your desperate kiss was so exciting for him, he wrapped his fingers around the head of his cock gently dragging it against your folds until he felt the tip sink into your spongy cunt and slowly pushed into your core until you couldn’t help but whine. The stretch burned but you wanted him so bad you but your tongue to stay quiet until your body trembled from full feeling in your stomach. The veins of his cock were dragging against your gspot making your legs shake wildly, he chuckled when he finally had the full thing in watching your back arch in pleasure as a dry orgasm washed over your body. You were shaking just from taking in his full length but he honestly didn’t mind, his hand pressed softly against your stomach finding the bulge his fat cock left against your small stomach.

“You feel that (Y/n)? That’s my cock all the way inside of you. Somewhere in here I’ll be fucking my cum into your pretty little womb and filling it up until you pass out and no matter what I won’t stop until I know you’re pregnant. I’m gonna move now and even after you pass out I won’t stop.”, Gyomei smirked gently rubbing your clit with his free hand. He started rutting his cock into you, you whined with each thrust feeling the head reach your special spot repeatedly. The high pitched squeals and moans pouring out of your lips were music to Gyomei’s ears, even if he couldn’t see you he knew he was pleasing you from your cries. His heavy balls slapped against your ass, a reminder that you’d be emptying them out soon until they ran dry. Just a few thrusts inside of your tight cunt were enough to pull his first orgasm out of him. This man needed to relieve a bunch of stress and sex was the best way to do it. You just heard his grunts of pleasure as he bottomed out in you and you cried out feeling the warm ropes of cum filling you. You could feel his body tense with each contraction as he filled you with his first load, it felt like forever but in reality it had only last a minute. Gyomei was just getting started, even if you begged him to stop he wouldn’t because this is something he had been waiting for. As he moved his hips he dragged out his seed only to push it back in deeper then it was before, your moans were just so addicting to listen to. The pounding you’d take hurt at first but with his added cum as lube you couldn’t help but curl your toes in pleasure. This man was really going to make your dream come true and you couldn’t wait.

“Harder Gyomei, I can take it. Promise.”, you whined wrapping your legs around his waist.

He did just that, he forced your knees up to the sides of your head and pounded away into your sloppy cunt like nothing. A high pitched cry slipped past your lips with each pierce his cock made into your tiny body, seeing the bulge in your stomach made you far more excited then it should have.

“Yes that’s it (Y/n), take it. Take all of me. We’re not gonna stop until you’re swollen!”, Gyomei hissed against your ear thrusting away into your slicked cunt. The lewd song of skin on skin, moans, and declarations of love filled the small room, the bed creaked under your intense play but neither of you cared.

“I love you Gyomei.”, you sobbed feeling his cock pierce your cervix.

He moaned against your lips quickly stealing another kiss. One arm propped itself over your head to support his weight, his free hand quickly sank down to your clit rubbing your slick into the swollen bundle of nerves. Your toes curled, your whines became higher and your little pussy was squeezing tighter around his cock if that was even possible. Your body shook violently under him as another orgasm washed over your body, but still even as your contracting walls pushed him out Gyomei buried himself deeper then before. You’d get pregnant for sure. You’d be his sweet little swollen wife and he’d cherish you more everyday.

“Eight.”

“Mmm~ W-what?”, you sighed still shaking from your release.

“Eight times is how much I’m going to fill you, my second load is coming so you better take it. Our baby is going to be made tonight and I’ll make sure of it.”

#demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #kny gyomei #gyomei himejima #gyomei x reader #Gyomei x reader smut #Gyomei smut #x reader

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pokemonsoldier · 3 years

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Fantasy Idea

This is an idea I came up with inspired by a fanfic I read and am making into a story, but have condensed the core ideas here, removing the AU it would be, character names, and so on. I personally want input.

The World Three realms exist, being the mundane world (‘Overrealm’, or our life), the benevolent Kingdom of Light (‘Faerealm’), and the wicked Dark Empire (‘Nightrealm’). In the latter two, mystical creatures and beings such as elves, vampires, fairies, etc exist (respectively to their appropriate realm), as does magic. Once united and prosperous, a devastating war between the light and dark destroyed a third of the land, and caused a 3-way split. The two mystical realms went underground, taking all fantastical beings with them, while normal humans were left to rebuilt the earth.

The two realms have been tense for the entire time, while Overrealm is oblivious, save for the occasional story or myth created because of intrusions by the other realms. However, both agree to (mostly) keeps their hands off Overrealm. In all realms, technology is about equal, but the magical ones a slight more fantasy and traditional, as ’magic > electricity’. Thus, Overrealm, having no magic, is the most advanced.

The Plot (very summarized to basic points) In modern times, a human from Overrealm stumbles down a hole that leads them to the magical realms. They explore, wander into Faerealm, get caught, and brought before the monarch. After explaining where they came from, are believed by many of the other realms to be a prophesied hero who is to end the conflict. Despite the numerous conflicting interpretations of this, the monarch deems them good and makes them a guest. Hero then meets the heir to the throne (prince/princess) and they fall in love. Rest is up to you, but eventually heir is captured by the Dark Empire and imprisoned, and the Hero rescues them and defeats the tyrannical Emperor/Empress, killing them.

The Climax Twist Upon killing the Emperor/Empress, it is revealed there is a rule in Nightrealm: should any from Overrealm or Faerealm kill an unarmed, defenseless being within Nightrealm, that being is cursed to remain in Nightrealm. Thus, the hero is doomed to remain in the realm, but learns of another rule: the one who defeats the sitting Dark Regent, has claim to the throne. Thus, the Hero takes the role, and uses their power to end the conflict fully, bringing peace as foretold. In my version, heir is princess, hero is male, and the princess is pregnant with hero’s child. Thus, despite knowing he’ll never meet his child, he is content as he knows the his beloved and child will be safe at last, and wants their child to only be told their absence was due to sacrificing themselves for the good of all.

They swear to never attack unprovoked, and prefers peaceful talks to outright war. They say farewell to their friends and beloved before returning to take the throne, swearing they will rule to help all, especially their family. Unlike is so often, the Hero never becomes a villain and is never consumed by evil. They remain enlightened, improving the lives of all in Nightrealm, and only being ruthless to the likes of corrupt officials, criminals, etc. They end slavery and KEEP it ended. They end subjugation of the commoners at the hands of the corrupt, crime lords, and even military personnel. They improve infrastructure. They improve education. They take up peaceful hobbies. They do become the ‘big bad’ in name only, but are, by actions, still heroic.

Thoughts?

#story prompt #story ideas #story concept #fantasy concept #fantasy ideas #what tropes does the finale fulfill character-wise #writing prompt #writing ideas #prompts #story #fantasy #idk how to tag this #so people can see it

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butterfly-winx · 4 years

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I’d love to know your headcanons for Roxy in your au ?

Sure thing! (Like a fool I typed out a lot for this and then didn’t save or publish it so let’s test how well I remember what I wanted to say yesterday)

- Roxy is three years younger than the Winx when they meet, her being sixteen the other girls 19 mean. She is just finishing her upper secondary school and is procrastinating thinking deeply about which higher education prep direction she should take while working part time at her dad’s beach bar

- (Dumb distinction to make, but in my AU, Bloom and Roxy are from AU Earth and live in a country called Europa. Their native language is Esperanto)

- Her full name is Roxana Birchfeld-Pendragon, which she Never. Ever. Under any circumstances, willingly uses

- Both of her parents are trans! (There is literally no other explanation for her existence.) Morgana left her husband before she got locked up in Tir nan Og and had no idea Roxy was hers until she saw her together with Klaus and connected the dots

- Roxy has the tiniest bit of resentment left for Morgana, because she feels like Morgana slipped out of the responsibility to raise her. She is also reluctant to call her “mom” as they are essentially strangers to each other, but is indirectly very happy to report about her “moma and papa” doing well

- Having all memory of magic erased from Earth impacted Klaus (and other people who had magic spouses and magic kids on the way) especially hard. He has ongoing brain fog and memory issues, of which his inability to remember names is his least worry. Their home is plastered with post-its among all sorts of other assistive technologies reminding Klaus of daily routines and tiny details, like that a light switch exists and maybe he should use it, because the electricity bill will be a bit steep this month again if he leaves them on all night again

- Klaus has been steadily getting better of course with the help of mental training courses and his assigned healthcare worker - he was fit to raise Roxy after all. But still he has been leaning on Roxy a lot and while she was never explicitly his carer, she had to learn how to take care of herself to lessen his burden. She is organised, self-sufficient and mature in a way that has old people coo at her and call her an “old soul” - which is just neurotypical speak for mildly traumatised

- Roxy has always been that “weird kid” and she is more or less fine with that. She grew up crawling in mud and had an innate sense for finding injured and abandoned animals that immediately capture her heart, no matter how gruesome or weird they might look. Other kids were rightfully afraid of her and her rescues

- Her rescue attempts were not thoughtless or unresearched. Roxy poured over book after book on animal care and natural habitats until her local library had no more books for her to read on the topic in the kid’s nature section. She took the information to heart and took great care of her charges. Much to Klaus’ dismay.

- Getting Artu was a compromise actually

- Klaus had to put his foot down somewhere, and that point was at two rabbits, a blackbird, three baby sparrows, someone’s escaped pet chinchilla, various stick insects, a rhino bug (Roxy they are protected, keeping them is forbidden!), about nine moth pupae and four freaking rats(!) strategically “hidden” in strategic spots around Roxy’s room. Klaus may periodically forget things, but his home turning into a zoo was unmissable even for him.

- Roxy was of course inconsolable after the animals had to leave, but Klaus took her to the animal shelter right as her tenth birthday was coming up and the stars to Roxy’s eyes returned immediately. She picked the most hurt and undernourished mutt she could find and nursed him back to health perfectly and lovingly. Artu and her have been inseparable since then

- Artu is her best, and frankly, only friend through secondary schooling. Roxy had no intention to become any less weird than she was before and as kids are.. her peers kinda felt that. It’s not like she has no one to get along with or do group projects with, but she wouldn’t call any of her classmates a close friend and neither would thy call Roxy that

- With the Winx she at least found a social circle that did wonders for her in an otherwise extremely stressful time

- Undigested, Roxy carries a mountain of resentment and fear and trauma about witchers with her. Since she doesn’t brush much with that half of the magic using community, she believes she can keep it all under a lid, but realistically it would be healthier for her to seek mental healing from what happened in a constructive way

- School, Roxy thinks, is just not for her. She has an absolutely awful first year at Alfea. She is awkward, uses an incredibly high level transformation without understanding even the most basicest of basics and it certainly doesn’t help that in every official capacity she keeps getting called “Queen” - (that is her title though, despite Nebula being the regent)

- (Roxy does indeed have Believix in this AU as her first transformation. It is limited by her understanding of magic and her body’s ability to process and transduct the necessary energy, but it is Believix non the less. She gains it as Klaus immediately puts his faith into his daughter, memories coming back to him when he sees her exhibit traces of magic, realising just what she is. His belief in her being much stronger than whatever small magic core Roxy might have had at that point, she unknowingly went for it and unlocked her Believix ahead of time)

- Roxy is not actually very enthusiastic about magic after she already gets out of it what she wants- that being the ability to communicate with her beloved creatures - and she has a hard time to motivate herself to work towards Winx or Alfea mandated goals. As happy as she was about being something special, that joy of novelty wore of fast in organised education

- Not that she is aware of it at that point, but Roxy is actually extraordinarily proficient at handling external sources and cores of magic. It is not just her first transformation being Believix that gives her this penchant, but she also handles the White Circle, her Mythix wand and other high power artefacts that she picks up with surprising ease

- Her shitty streak of social life, the top tier of which so far has been the few summers she hung out with the local goth and alternative kids at the city park who loved to pet Artu, eventually comes to an end. In her second year she gets closer with her dormmates after the Winx rope them all in to help with their current quest (Butterflix). After rescuing the witches from Cloud Tower after the Trix’s renewed takeover, Roxy also gets close to a senior witch called Agatha. They become great friends over the course of their collaboration and maybe also ... you know, more

#asks #roxy #winx roxy #winx club #butterfly fic #there is things I know I left out in the rewrite #like how roxy is very messy her room is a non-artful pigstall #but eh #I added other things instead #angel-of-light-13

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gaaralover55 · 4 years

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I have an Idea for a Winx club fanfic:

This happens During season 7 when they have their Butterflix forms.

A fanfic where the Winx club talks with the specialists about Tecna and how they think she is the weakest among of them. Because of she is the Fairy of technology, that she is least physical of the girls, dosen’t know any hand to hand combat and that she barley is having any Bond with other elements like nature or the sea like the rest of the Winx club. That she is also way to focuse with technology and should have other intress then then that.

So they made the agreement that they would keep Tecna away from battle(even Timmy agreed because he loves her so much and dosen’t want her to get Hurt ever again since the omega dimension).

So they did it. The Winx keep Tecna up through showing her things they liked. Flora took her out and reach her about nature, Musa took her to music stores, Stella made her go shop clothes with her, Aisha took her to dance practice and Bloom teached her more about earthen lives.

When there where attack of the witches or any monsters they ran to the battle while they Left Tecna behind.

Same was it with the specialists as they gave her the baby treatment. Like she was to weak to take care of herself or to even Stand on her own legs.

So they all though they did the right thing and thought everything was good and dandy the were WRONG!

Tecna was shocked how they were treating her, how could the Girls and boys she saw as beloved friends treating her like a stupid weak child. It grew worse when Timmy gave her the same treatment when before he and she talked about the thing they love.

When the shock disspeard she grew cold and angry at her friends.

So when the Girls Left Tecna to fight the trix they fell for a trap and when the specialists tried to save them they were also caught.

Which Left Tecna to save them.

So Tecna located them in a unknown part of the forrest not far away from Alfea so she Left and arrived to be meet by her caught friends.

Her friends were trapped in a giant crystal orb that stopped them from transforming into fairies and to use their powers, while the boys were trapped by shadow orbs.

They saw Tecna and beges her to get out of there But it was to late. The Witches had arrived and laughed as they arrogantly talked down at Tecna.

Tecna transformed into butterflix and fight them on her own. The fairies and specialist still begged her to run away which makes so she can’t concentrate.

The witches mocks her saying that they finally understand why the Winx club left her behind. That she she was weak and should just lay down and accept defeat.

Tecna was suprised, then shocked as she saw her friends and Boyfriend ashamed for their doings. Bloom tried do defend their action by saying that they only were worried about Tecna safety.

Tecna showed nothing and didn’t say anything. That made the trix belive the girl had accepted her fate as Stormy attacked her with a Thunderbolt together with Icy’s Ice shard spell. It was a critical hit as fog was created and No one saw Tecna’s body.

The Winx and specialists were horrified and screamed in sheer pain while the trix just smiled, ready to finish Winx and specialists off.

But they didn’t.

Because out of the fog emerald green lighting flew out and hitted the witches right in the back that nearly fried them. They all were shocked and tried to see who fired such a powerfull electricity spell.

As the fog dissapeard it revealed It was Tecna standing there, But looked way different then before. She was No longer in her butterflix form But a combo looking outfit that looked like a mix between a warrior fairy, body suit and mecha (Think Hyperdimension neptunia CPU outfit).

Her wings were made out of Metal that was shaped as butterfly wings, her hair was longer and in ponytail and in her hand she Held a mechanized crescent blade.

She opened her eyes and looked with cold anger at the witches But also her friends plus boyfriends. Then she Said what shocked everyone to the core.

-”You all treated me like a weak stupid child because you belived I was not able to Stand up in battle!? You all forced me to do things that you liked and never Asked my opinion! You Left me behind and I can’t belive I still Call you all My friends”! Tecna whispered But with a powerfull Voice so everyone could hear what she Said. They all saw electricity crackle round her body as her Eyes now glowed green as she raised her blade.

-”And now after this treatment I Will not hold back anymore! I Will fight to My fullest and not let anyone to look down upon me! Because I am not a helpless child”! As her blade glew green and float up to the sky the Witch feelt for the first time fear for fighting the zenithian Fairy.

-”BECAUSE I AM THE DAUGHTER OF THE GREAT HIVE MIND CRYOS! I AM THE GUARDIAN FAIRY OF TECHNOLOGY! I AM TECNA THE TECH WARRIOR PRINCESS OF ZENITH”! Tecna Shouted as she fired herself like a torpedo against the trix to fight them.

Okay guys this fanfic Idea was born because I love anime with Mecha and robots. I was so pissed that zenith was so Pathetic compared to other anime with mecha theme.

So in this AU Tecna is the daughter of cryos which makes her Princess of zenith, Zenithians are litteral robots that can be very dangerous because they are installed with combat and are super humans compared to the rest of the galaxy, zenith mix Magic with technology and have one of the strongest military in the galaxy.

Why None of the other realms knows about it is because Zenithians have keept it a secret because 1. The other realms would understimate them if war broke out and 2. They don’t give a shit about the other realms lives and well being!

Comment if you want to hear the rest of the story!

#Tecna #winx club #Tecna being a badass #Tecna is the daughter of King cryos #But electronio and magnethia are her uncle anf aunt #tecnology

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toddlazarski · 4 years

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The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown.

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose.

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.”

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town.

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches.

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat.

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa.

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life.

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care.

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect.

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.

8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating.

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken.

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated.

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really, with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck?

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for.

3. Tlayuda - La Costena

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different.

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town.

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument.

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually.

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.

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sabrinaleethings · 5 years

Text

Ten Days of SiMarkus [With Sabrina!]

Check Out Day One: Coffee

Check Out Day Two: Firsts

[A/N: This is an au wherein Markus is a human living on the streets of Detroit after his father died and left him with more debt than his paintings could pay for. Simon is a deviant PL600 domestic home assistant who just wishes to be free. TRIGGER WARNINGS: blood, allusions to violence, and character death.]

Day Three: Human

The wet and heavy snow that dripped from the greying sky above coated Markus and froze him to the core. Crystalline flakes hung precariously on his eyelashes as he pulled his coat tighter around him. His dirty hands shook as the freezing wind seemed to pass right through him.

This was his first winter season on the streets, and it made his heart long for the time when he could wrap himself in his blankets at home, and share a mug of cocoa with his recently departed father.

The human’s boots barely made indents on the covered sidewalk, the wind was unforgiving and blew away any trace of him. He sort of wished it would blow him away too.

It was near sundown, so the man knew he had to seek shelter soon- his temporary home the last few months had since been burned down by some overzealous anti-android protesters.

Markus pulled his hood over his shaven head, praying that the wind and cold would wait until he was safe inside some abandoned building somewhere.

The last place he stayed was an old CyberLife android store, the building abandoned and the goods inside relocated somewhere better for business.

Markus didn’t have an opinion on the whole android versus human debate- Carl had always taught him, that should these beings gain a true consciousness and wish for freedom or in essence, ‘wake up,’ it was their God-given right to do so, plastic casings and all.

Who were they, humans, to decide what was alive and what was obsolete?

The human rubbed his frozen fingers together and the breath that left his nose danced opaque shapes through the darkening world.

“I miss you, dad.” His emerald eyes scanned the buildings as he passed. Some still had lights on, some seemingly occupied, he didn’t dare risk finding out. “You should see me now…”

Less than a year ago, the people of Detroit held a candlelit vigil for beloved artist and father, Carl Manfred. HIs passing was of no surprise to the public, his health had been deteriorating for years until his heart finally tired and stopped while he was sleeping.

Markus being the artist’s only living son, was given full rights to his father’s estate and community affairs, including but not limited to, all of his hidden financial debts that he kept secret. All of the paintings in the world couldn’t have repaid the money he owed for both his hospital bills and loans taken, so Markus’ only option was to sell his father’s estate and everything he owned.

Markus’ eyes glittered in the twilight- the neon lights he passed made his eyes shine with unshed tears.

The human was officially debt free- but also lost without a home.

He’d been able to survive during the summer and fall, employers were hiring anyone they could find off of the streets when hiring available android laborers became sparse. As soon as production rates at CyberLife increased, and the cost of androids went down, more and more humans were laid off. Markus being one of the unlucky few.

The human laughed to himself quietly, not like anyone would hear- the particular street he shuffled down was completely empty. But nonetheless, Markus knew android’s weren’t to blame for the unfortunate circumstances humans found themselves in- it financially made sense to business owners. Why pay more for a human when an android could be perfect in every way and still get the job done in the most time efficient way possible? After all, they didn’t need bathroom breaks or food or any sort of accommodation to do their jobs absolutely perfectly.

Markus rounded another corner as the sun began to eclipse behind a nameless skyscraper- with the sun slowly dying Markus began to lose feeling in his toes.

Twenty degrees fahrenheit outside with a windchill of close to zero degrees, the human began to panic.

The streetlamps that lined the empty road gradually brightened as the sky dimmed. It wasn’t much, but the illumination allowed Markus to see into the decrepit buildings as he continued his way.

Markus’ ears were numb, and his flushed cheeks began to sting as the wind sliced through his hood.

Maybe it was the hypothermia talking, but as he neared the final building on the lane, Markus knew it was either now or never. He’d rather take his chances being shot by a random hostile inhabitant than freezing to death like a lost animal on a forgotten street of downtown Detroit.

“Please please please…” Markus’ voice was lost to the howling wind as he neared the front door.

There was something about this place that screamed ‘hope’ to him. Every window was boarded closed, and the fake wood siding was peeling away with every new gust of wind. A ‘closed for renovations’ sign hung precariously next to the iron knocker.

He raised a knuckle to the wooden door and tapped. If there indeed was someone living inside, surely they’d open the door or yell at him to go away. Better to be yelled at than being shot or arrested for home invasion.

His tapping offered no response. No yelling, no shotgun sounds. Absolute silence.

The whipping wind seemed to usher him inside, and so without a second glance back, Markus turned the doorknob, and released the breath he’d been holding when the knob turned without resistance.

It was like walking into an abyss at first, as Markus closed the door behind him, the darkness inside seemed to swallow him whole.

“Hello? Anybody in here?” His voice was hoarse and static from the cold outside, but his words seemed to bounce off the empty walls and echo back to him.

No one responded.

It was much warmer inside, there was no wind to peel away his skin layer by layer, and his clothes were given the chance to breath seeing as there was no more snow to suffocate them with.

As his human eyes adjusted, the darkness seemed to disappear like mist. The streetlamps outside deemed useful as the white lights bled through the cracks in the windows or reflected off of nameless objects in the room.

Markus shed his winter coat on a nearby chair, and removed his boots and socks next. As a child, he loved to watch survivor shows with his dad Friday nights- some information deemed useful. Having wet clothes while temperatures were below comfortable was a sure fire way to get yourself sick- or worse.

His body was still shivering as he padded through the rest of the main floor of the house- his bare footprints left wet trails on the wooden floor. Markus wrapped his arms around himself as part of him hoped he’d find a spare blanket or forgotten clothes lying around so he could dry off.

The main entrance area was void of anything useful, as was the empty kitchen and long forgotten living room.

Markus clenched his jaw as another wave of chill electrocuted his body- he passed through a hallway and into what seemed to be a dining room when a dim, pulsing red light caught his attention.

There was a door across the room- the slight space between the wooden panel and the floor was just enough to let the red sneak through.

The responsible part of the human debated grabbing his clothes and running away as fast as he could- but the other part of him couldn’t be bothered to worry. It wasn’t as if he’d have been missed anyway.

Despite the cold, Markus’ hands were clammy as nerves and anticipation took control.

The human lightly tapped his knuckles against the door, the hollow sound rang in his ears.

Markus placed an ear to the door, the wood cold against his cheek. His stomach turned leaden when the faint sounds of ragged breathing gripped his heart and froze him in place.

“M-my name is Markus-” He began to turn the handle and crack the door open. “Is there anyone here?”

As the door slowly swung open, Markus’ senses were hit with a wall acid and iron. It was a new scent to him- almost like blood, but almost like a fried electrical outlet.

The red pulsing light began to shine brighter as he stepped into the room- the toilet to the right was covered in cerulean blue, and the bathtub in front of him…

“Please, I don’t mean anyone harm.” The voice that poured from the dirty bathtub was low and soft. “I just wish to left in peace.”

Markus stepped forward and clenched his fists tight enough to draw blood on his palms.

There was an android in the cracked and grimy tub- his eyes were closed as his head rested against the wall.

The once blonde hair was tinted a darker shade of blue, as trails of tears and thirium traced streams down his pallid cheeks.

There were handprints leading up and into the space that was now occupied by a broken android body.

The android’s shirt read “PL600” though Markus had a difficult time reading the letters through the mixture of dirt and thirium.

Bile rose in the human’s throat as he fought the waves of emotion that festered in him. Fear swelled in him, both for the wellbeing of the android, and fear of what this android may have done. Pity, for the human assimilation that was currently bleeding out infront of him. Anger fought against any chill he felt as he imagined who could have done this to another person- granted it was an android, but still someone who was created to serve and protect humans. They did the dirty work no lazy human would want to touch- this android couldn’t have deserved this kind of treatment.

Two emerald eyes traced the outline of the android’s bruised chin, down his swollen neck, and to the open wound in his chest that seemed to cry tears of blue.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Markus knelt down on one knee so he was eye level with the android. “What happened?”

The blonde PL600 chuckled and a half smile cracked across his stained lips. He opened his eyes a sliver, and two crystal blue skies held Markus suspended in time.

“You have already hurt me. I am not afraid of you anymore,” the android’s voice was haunting, there was a hint of static to the edges of his voice, and yet his low tenor seemed to fill the room. “Anything more would be a mercy.”

Markus was speechless, the words he tried to form were caught in his throat as the android’s works sank in.

Humans had done this to him.

“What’s your name?” Markus tried to hide the fear and desperate shaking in his voice. He wanted to help, even if this android didn’t know it.

“Let me die with at least a little dignity. I no longer serve you,” another tear trickled from his ocean eyes, and thirium dripped from his lips. Markus’ chest ached. “I’m free.”

“Please-” The human’s voice cracked, and his body began to shake all over again. This time, it wasn’t the cold that gripped his nervous system, it was sadness and pain. “Let me try and help you.”

Lush grass met a vast sky as their eyes collided. Two separate worlds were colliding into one as an android fought to be freed, and the human fought to be found.

“Why would you help me? I am nothing but an object to be used and disposed of at your nearest convenience.” The hole in the android’s chest hadn’t stopped bleeding, and Markus dared pry his gaze from the android’s face until his eyes settled on the wound. “Humans do terrible things, Markus.” The kneeling man froze, his name on the lips of this stranger seemed to keep him trapped. “You know that as well as I do. Humans abuse us, they murder their own land, and even murder each other for the simplest superficial reasons-” A hot and heavy tear slid down his frozen cheek, and the human was lost in such a trance he couldn't be bothered to wipe it away. All the things the android was saying, was true. It was so painfully true, Markus didn’t have a single good reason to defy it. “So tell me Markus, why are you here?”

“I-” Markus sighed. He couldn’t apologize on behalf of the entire human race, but he sure as hell could speak for himself. “I think you and I are alot alike. Maybe not physically-” Markus felt the android’s angry eyes burn holes in him. His ice blue eyes lit his face on fire. “-but I think we both can agree that humans are shit creatures.” The android sighed, Markus couldn’t decipher it from agitation or understanding, so he continued anyway.

“I am very lost right now. Less than a year ago I lost my father- I lost my whole world.” Markus didn’t know where he was going, but the raw and painful emotion just seemed to pour from his lips and he couldn't stop now, no matter how hard he tried. “Before that, I lost my brother. He had gotten mixed up with the wrong group of humans, and was shot not two blocks from our house.” Markus had never admitted it out loud, not even talked to Carl about it- “I blamed the android medic for months, because he was unable to resuscitate him. Then, my father died. He’d refused a domestic android because he believed that androids were more than just machines, and he died because no one was able to take care of him. I blame myself every damn day that he’s gone.” The blonde android had closed his eyes to listen, the pulsing crimson LED had faded into a yellow pulsing light at some point- Markus didn’t notice until now. He’d lifted his eyes and was staring at the android’s face as he continued.

“I don’t believe either race, neither human nor android are entirely good or entirely evil. I’ve seen androids deviate and murder their own, just as I’ve seen humans to the same. I lost my entire family due to the choices that certain humans made-” The human instinctively ran a hand through his short hair, and released a sigh. Somehow the cage that his heart had been trapped in was finally unlocked, and it finally felt good to breath again. “-I refuse to blame any group of people as a whole, based upon what a select few do.”

The android opened his eyes once more and looked at Markus. The anger behind his plastic features had softened, and his lips traced a soft straight line.

Markus felt weightless, like his body was suspended in the clouds and he was freed from the anger and sadness he’d been festering the past few months.

“I just ask that you do the same.” Markus stood, and hid his hands in his pockets. “I can see you as you, will you try and see me as Markus?”

The prone android in the bathtub stared up at Markus with childish eyes, they were bright and big, lost in wonder and awe.

“My name is Simon.”

Markus hid a laugh- the anxiety he had felt was being deflated with every breath that he took.

“Hello, Simon.” Markus flashed a shy smile and looked down to his purpling toes. He’d just started to gain feeling in his extremities again, and it pulled him back to the present.

“Now, I’m no robot expert, but how about I try and help you out now?”

Markus looked again at Simon, and his smile fell.

The once orange and pulsing LED was now dimming, and barely protruding the darkness that surrounded the android’s body.

Simon’s lips barely moved as he spoke, “I see you, Markus. Thank-you for everything.”

Markus’ blood froze, the thundering in his chest did nothing to help the rest of his freezing body.

“Simon? What’re you-”

Before he could finish, the remaining light from Simon’s LED turned cold and disappeared into the room like a snuffed candle.

A light smile was still frozen on Simon’s lips as the oceans in his eyes turned grey.

Markus couldn’t breathe. He fell back down to his knees and traced a finger over the android’s forehead, pushing the stray blonde and blue hair aside.

“I see you, too.”

Markus would never be able to tell him, but even though the human couldn’t save the android’s life, Simon sure as hell saved the human’s.

Day Three Complete!

>Follow along or catch-up with #TenDaysofSiMarkusWithSabrina ! <

Here’s the Prompt if you wanna join!

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newtafterdark · 4 years

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you did name newton and mention chell vaguely but im curious on whose in bvr specifically

*cracks knuckles*

Be prepared for a huge chunk of text that I have to put under a read-more. :>c

Alright so, the basics first: BVR's original members included Gordon, Newton, and three of their classmates from MIT. As I wrote before, those three moved on from their band past, with two of them getting their doctorates & finding jobs in their respective fields & the third one becoming a tattoo artist (who is the artist behind a good chunk of Newton's tattoos!).

Before I say anything else- need to note: Both Gordon & Newton are fairly young in this AU. Gordon zoomed through his degree & Newton... well, we know about his several doctorates & the fact that he's still fairly young despite the high count of them. He is also 2 years older than Gordon (Newton is born in 1990, Gordon in 1992) & they met when Newton was already working on his third doctorate! :>

The entire band got put on hold when the first Breach happened & Newton started working for the PPDC (& Gordon for Black Mesa), so their band history isn't as far in the past as you'd think! In fact, the pause started in 2016!

Now, imagine, it's 2020.

For Newton (& everyone else on the surface) it's the time after cancelling the Kaiju-related Apocalypse.

Gordon just survived the Resonance Cascade with the Science Team.

Shit's fucked outside, Kaiju-Blue & other alien remains being a massive health hazard. Everyone is honestly just relieved that they made it out of this entire mess alive.

But Gordon & Newton both have something in common- well, multiple things really: ADHD, their love for music, and excitement for chaotic things. So one night Gordon actually manages to get a hold of Newton's email & after some back and forth with the old members, they pretty much decide to re-invent the band with new members.

► While I mentioned Chell before, she isn't actually part of the band. She owns the building they do their band meetups in though! And honestly, she keeps an eye on the idiots so they don't get themselves hurt... too often.

Now, for the actual members-

► On the drums, you have Dr Linksano, aka. Oscar Robert Schlumper. This lad is from the youtube show "Atop The Fourth Wall", and personally one of my favourite mad scientist characters of all time. He gets to be in the band for more than just that reason though.

He has experience with fighting aliens, gods, undead... and the occasional alternate universe version of his boss & friends (... it's... complicated.). He is also a universe/dimension jumper, which makes him a perfect candidate for this group of scientists with wild pasts! Not to mention that his field of science is technomancy - the fusion of magic & science! :D

► Then on the synth is... Vanya/Nathan (either name is fine for him). He is... somewhat from the same universe as Oscar (but again, it's complicated. I will get into his past if asked about it though!). He is, technically, a life-source-draining object. In his case, a ring. Well, he literal ring being his core & the human-like appearance he has is a projection, somewhat similar to the Gems in Steven Universe.

He is also able to shapeshift... mostly into canine-adjacent forms, or a full eldritch nightmare. He hasn't done the latter around anyone in a long while though.

(Benrey 🤝 Vanya = loving to cause problems very much on purpose & for their own amusement.)

►There is another band member, but I need to develop her more, as she is another original character & I do want her to fit in well with the other idiots.

Ronja/Minerva “Minnie” (again, both names are valid, as well as the nickname), does part of the singing when a song demands a more feminine voice. Aside from that, she's on the electric guitar... and occasionally the trombone. :>c

She is a marine biologist with... uhm... well let's just say she enjoys A) creating new specimens in her lab & B) reviving what has been dead for millions of years. Her most beloved creation is her pet mosasaur named "Princess". Thankfully, that one is genetically engineered to not grow bigger than a seal.

. . .

That's all I can tell you about this version of the Black Velvet Rabbits... for now. I hope this info didn’t disappoint! :D

#metalhead gordon AU #hlvrai gordon #newton geiszler #doctor linksano #Black Velvet Rabbits #BVR #metalhead gordon #Anonymous #honestly Vanya started off as an already existing character that i just YOINKED #but he went through so many changed and development #he's pretty much an OC at this point just like Minnie #i am very close to doing the same with Oscar; honestly #ANYWAY #I love this chaotic band!

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bradfink2311011-blog · 6 years

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