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powdermelonkeg · 3 years

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So, BO2W Breakdown

Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one.

Here we’ve got Ganon’s...energy taking over Link’s arm. Ordinarily, I’d call it Malice, but based on what it turns into, I’m just going to be calling it corruption. We don’t get much information from this scene besides this expression:

Link’s grabbing the corruption with his other hand, and wincing. It looks painful. I personally think it’s for cinematic effect that it was included, but it COULD be a gateway into a Phantom Hourglass sort of mechanic--Link has to function on a time limit, or using the corruption’s power could drain his life.

Next we’ve got a closeup of Ganondorf. F in chat to the rehydration theorists.

And the closeups of his jewelry. The only significant thing I can see is his necklace, which looks like a cross between the Gerudo symbol and a Fleur de Lis:

But what I’M most interested in is this tie on his belt:

For one, it’s WAY bigger than it needs to be, and that’s deliberate. Ganondorf’s got a jewelry aesthetic he’s already hit above; everything else is gold, why not this bit?

Most importantly, you can barely make it out, but the designs either look Sheikah or Zonai--they’ve got that same kind of swirly busy pattern to them. The red tint and tan-ish lines in it makes me think it’s possessed Sheikah tech.

Next, we’re shown Zelda falling. This looks like it happens right after these two caps from the first trailer:

So we reach for her as the ground collapses, and evidently, we fail to pull her back up. So my next question for that scene is going to be what the in-game reason is for us not diving in right after her. Maybe we won’t get one, since the appeal of the original BOTW was that you could fight Ganon whenever you wanted.

Up next, we’ve got a skydiving shot:

The first thing to notice is that Link’s pose while skydiving is just about identical to his pose in Skyward Sword:

Second is that, yes, he’s falling towards a floating island, and that in itself is noteworthy, but he’s FALLING. There’s something either above him that he jumped off of, or a force that carried him high enough TO fall, and I doubt Nintendo’s encouraging magnesis flying.

So, there’s a few options: Loftwings making a return (which is unlikely, but a hope I have), something like Revali’s Gale boosting Link up for a cinematic shot, indicating that the corruption arm has that kind of power, or islands higher than the one shown here.

Now the island itself:

In Skyward Sword, Skyloft looks like this:

And (spoiler alert) we loose this island here over the course of the game:

Now, it’s not a PERFECT 1:1 match, as most things between games aren’t, but a quick rotate and overlay shows it’s got the same kinds of shapes between the two. The same “W” shape along the eastern side, the same tiny island off the northeast point, the same relative edges.

Now, I don’t know what happened to the plaza at South Skyloft, or the Knight’s Academy isle, but it could very easily be drift away from the central island.

The presence of other islands through the clouds seems to support that theory. Now let’s look at Link here:

The outfit is new. We haven’t, to my knowledge, seen one of this design in other games. My gut reaction to this image was “oh, we go back in time and we’re the first hero now!” because it’s vaguely reminiscent of Tapestry Hero.

But upon closer inspection, that theory’s null and void. Under Link’s tunic in the image above, you can see that he’s still wearing the shorts he woke up in in the first game. So either Sheikah boxers haven’t changed in 10,000 years, or it’s taking place in present day. Jokes aside, I’m curious to know if the outfit he’s wearing is modeled after Tapestry Hero.

Next thing to point out is the obvious:

Link’s arm here looks less prosthetic and more...withered, I almost want to say. The corruption here’s made his hand look frailer, and armored them up with Zonai patterns before it fades out at his shoulder. Based on how the tattoos look, I think they’re an artifact of the corruption taking hold.

Also, the belt here:

Aesthetic purposes, or specific function? The presence of the second, smaller one on the side reminds me of Skyward Sword’s adventure pouch, which could be how the new game handles inventory size:

Next we’ve got another flying shot:

It seems like he’s flying towards Ruined Skyloft, and you can see the bottoms of islands above it, possibly meaning that the sky serves as more than just a hub world like it did in Skyward.

Now let’s look at the paraglider he’s using. It’s new.

This is how the paraglider looks in the original BOTW. It looks like we still have the Rito symbol in the center, but other than that, there’s a LOT of changes here.

First off is the color. We’re now blue and gold. The shade of blue makes me think of the Kochi Dye Shop’s navy blue:

So, possibly a dyeable paraglider?

The new pattern surrounding the Rito symbol makes me think that it’s combining the paraglider with Skyward Sword’s sailcloth:

Other than that, there isn’t much else to say about the paraglider besides the handles looking like they’re made of bone. Craftable paragliders? God, I hope not.

Back to Link:

Here we have him in different gear than the last shot. He’s wearing the snow boots, he has a shield with a stylized Eye of Truth looking upwards, and he looks like he’s carrying a traveler’s sword and an unknown bow. The presence of the bow makes me think that the shield here is a lower tier item, rather than this game’s Hylian Shield equivalent.

Now, let’s get a better look at the horizon:

The trees here look a lot like the smaller trees you can find in Akkala, but there’s a distinct lack of red among them.

Then it looks like we’ve got some ruins at the furthest isle.

Whatever the rock formations are over there, they don’t LOOK natural.

Another thing I noticed is the bottoms of the islands.

These look a little too geometric to be natural, too. Now, this one, I’m a little muddy on, because it COULD be a stylistic choice. But it also reminds me of the Shrines if you clip out of bounds:

And a little bit of the dormant Gate of Time from Skyward:

My money’s on the cube-like nature of the islands’ undersides being deliberate, rather than just a far-off render.

And then there’s this thing!

What is it? It doesn’t look broken at all; look how nicely the roof(?) is kept. The ribbing on the sides makes me think it might be a Zonai thing, but the shape makes it difficult to figure out. A giant temple? An airship? A sloped coliseum? This thing haunts and vexes me.

Our next shot is presumably from one of the islands, based on the color. Here we can see that there are definitely ruins all over the place. Link is in the same gear as before, so I won’t touch on him.

This, however, has my interest. The design here has more geometric patterns--Zonai ruins?

We’ve got another one off in the distance here. Sky checkpoints, like Sheikah towers?

Now this guy here. There’s a LOT to look at. First off is the eye design, it’s the same sort of upward looking one that Link has on his shield in the previous shots.

The energy that’s pulling this thing towards its base looks like the same green energy that surrounds the arm holding Gan in place in Trailer One:

This stuff. That, plus the fact that the robot has to be pulled into its base rather than just existing, implies that either A: Link activates it himself, like a trial thing, or B: that the green energy here functions in the same way Malice does in the original BOTW.

This pattern at its base is intriguing, too. I don’t recognize the gold symbol in the center, but the green around it reminds me of the portals from Twilight Princess.

Which, yes, everyone’s already said that the Twilight Princess patterns look like Zonai things. But another thing this weird dial thing reminds me of is from Lanayru Desert:

On top of that, the color palette of this guy looks like that of the Lanayru Robots from Skyward:

BO2W robot on the left, Lanayru robot on the right. Given that Skyward is a lot more vibrant than other non-Toon Zelda games, I think this is a fair enough comparison to draw similarities from.

And then we get a closer view of the sky ruins from the last shot. I don’t know if the geometric pattern in the corner is a deliberate carving, or wear from time, but since the pattern looks ALMOST mirrored around the corner, I’m going to go with the former.

A better shot a few frames later. The robot has HANDS, which I do not like in any way shape or form. However, we get a better look at the sky ruins.

We haven’t seen this style of stairs before, to my knowledge. The pedestal out front looks like a light source, and it has the same floral egg thing the robot above has on each shoulder; the eggs could easily be a power source for Zonai tech. And at the top of the stairs, we see a pedestal, backing up the theory that these ruins function as our new Sheikah towers.

This is our next shot. Which...

Unikoblins. Can we talk about that? UNIKOBLINS.

Anyways, Link is here again in his old clothes. This is a very early game shot, because his right arm isn’t corrupted yet; this means we get to explore Hyrule before we embark on the main quest. Which gives rise to a question: Where’s Zelda?

The hopeful side of me wants to say that she’s a tutorial companion, like Navi or Tatl, at least for the beginning here. The pessimistic side of me thinks that she’s waiting for us at a predetermined location, and this is just part of getting to her.

Now the unikoblin structure itself is built on a Talus, meaning that the dev team at least intends to have more inter-monster interactions. But if you kill the Talus, does that mean that the base falls apart, or does it just drop down as a separate entity?

Also, what are these background ruins? The one on the left looks like it’s a distinctly different style than the one on the right. It looks almost like a giant guardian arm.

Our next shot is Link’s arm getting corrupted. Which, first of all, the effects look beautiful.

Now, we can see a corner of Link’s hip here, and we know that this is his right arm. So Link’s lying down here. Unconscious? Knowing how Zelda games like to start with Link waking up, probably. Although it looks like at least part of his shorts got an update.

We can see what looks like circuits here. It looks a bit like the electricity puzzles you can find in the Divine Beasts and Shrines in the original.

Then we’ve got these strange symbols.

Whatever this circular stone he’s lying on is, it looks a lot like the Zonai puzzle from the “A Fragmented Monument” sidequest.

This one that everyone thought was the Mirror of Twilight for years.

Our next shot is Link using the corruption powers against enemies:

The spike ball itself looks solid; the question is, is this a duplication power, or a visualization of how the spike ball is set into motion?

We see it barreling over a poor Unikoblin or two, but I’d like to turn your attention to the Moblin and the background.

The moblins here have helmets, and the bases, while they carry the same design, look like they have more cause and effect in mind. The left base’s rock, for instance; that’s a lot bigger than the rocks we got to play with in the last game, and it looks like we can barrel anything in the screen over with it.

The helmet, though, concerns me a little bit. It looks natural rather than forged; like it’s the moblin’s horn, just very much deformed. Does it mean a harder enemy, or is it just for flavor?

Our next shot is this strange flower thing. Note that Link’s right arm is perfectly fine in this shot, meaning that it’s still early game.

This is what Link’s flamethrower looks like. And this:

Is Zonai art.

So the question is, what IS the flamethrower? My first thought was that it’s either a new item in its own, or it’s a Sheikah Slate upgrade. The latter might sound a little far fetched, but Link in this game is right-handed, and in BOTW, he always held the slate in his LEFT hand when using it.

We have more of the weird faded designs that we saw on the Sky ruins:

And we’ve got some kind of pedestal or stage behind the ground flower thing:

It looks like it’s either an altar or a grave, from what I can tell. The stairs aren’t the same design as the ones in the sky, and there aren’t any patterns on it.

More importantly, though, is that this place is underground. This could be a part of the game you’re required to go through, in order to get to Raisin Gan.

A few seconds later, though, we get our answer to what the flamethrower is!

It’s a shield!

Off to the left side, we can see pillars with more weird scribblings towards the top. These match the Sky ruins’ pillar shape, with a narrow base and a wider top.

Our next scene is...weird.

We see a puddle splash in reverse. It’s hard to tell if it’s actually water or not, but the design on the ground implies that it’s either been there for a long time, or that that’s a dedicated splash spot. And the quality and zoom makes me think that this is part of a cutscene. Return of the timeshift stones?

We then see Link...surfacing out of the island? I don’t know how else to describe it. However, his arm is changed again, and glowing, meaning that this is a corruption power. And the “water” he rises out of here looks a lot like the puddle in the last clip.

We get a good look at the Zonai Lights:

A Sky ruin that looks like it contains a room:

And a glimpse of other isles’ ruins in the far distance.

And then as the camera zooms out...

We can place a location!

We’re right over Thundra Plateau!

We also get a mildly better look at the back wall of the sky ruin, which looks to be some kind of table:

The next scene is Hyrule Castle:

The ground shakes and it starts to rise up. However, notice that the columns surrounding the castle are now missing.

We’ve also got red sparks in the air, like we would have in a blood moon. However, due to the sky color, we can assume that this is a conscious decision by Gan himself, and that he isn’t drawing power from his surroundings.

We then see that power bleeding out of the ground. It’s MUCH more red than Malice is, which has always been a kind of burnt pink-ish color.

However, even though Ganon lifts the castle up, he doesn’t lift it very high.

The castle’s about triple the height it was. But since we’re talking Skyloft levels of floating islands, this is still pretty ground-level. What’s interesting to me, though, is that in this shot, despite the game now being about sky islands that we should be able to see from ground level...there aren’t any here. This, to me, means that there’s going to be a sudden appearance of the isles in the sky, rather than them simply being accessible now.

And that’s the whole trailer! I have many questions.

My blog! If you have any opnions/questions/theories, feel free to drop an ask!

Part 2 is up! We missed a lot!

#botw #botw2 #bo2w #the breath just got wilder #breakdown #analysis #e3 #trailer #theory #zelda #loz #nintendo

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sweeethinny · 3 years

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Bad news

I mentioned that event in a one shot about Mira x James, where James said that Teddy thought Victoire was pregnant, and how Ginny looked furious during the conversation.

Well, I decided to write this moment, but my headache didn't let me finish in a better way, but I hope you like it anyway - btw, the result was negative

'Gin!' Teddy's loud voice interrupted James' talk with his mom, the two of them cleaning the dishes they used, still sweaty from the race they did. James was getting almost faster than Ginny, but he was still losing when they got to the third lap. For two seconds, he didn't let himself be forgotten. 'Where are you?'

‘Here… James, get that cup in the living room, I don’t know if your brother knows the functionality of the sink.’ He laughed, nodding and going over there, finding a nervous and red Teddy, looking desperate.

'What happened?' James asked.

'The worst.' Teddy really looked desperate, which made James run after him into the kitchen again, curious to know what had happened. 'Gin-Gin, I'm dead.' It was the first thing he said when he finally found the woman.

'What are you saying, Teddy? And hello to you too, I missed you.' Ginny said, still with her back to the door, putting the clean dishes in places.

'Vic is pregnant,' Teddy said, and James was sure that nothing more he said from then on would help his situation. His mother dropped the cup James had reached for her, turning to face Teddy with what James called the eyes of death, which fortunately, he received a few times. But in the times that he had the displeasure of having been the reason for that, he would never forget the fear that froze his blood.

'What?'

‘It was an accident, I don’t even know-’

'Ah, you know how it happened. Or was she alone in bed?' Teddy flushed and James took a step back, thinking that if he laughed now his mother would remember he was there and send him upstairs. And James liked gossip too much to miss that show firsthand. 'Accident? You were walking on the street and she tripped, fell on top of you, and got pregnant? How the hell, Teddy! She just turned 20!’

'I know, Gin, I know, I... My God, I'm terrified.' Teddy started pacing, his hair changing color constantly; green, red, black, gray, blue, black… He stopped, away from Ginny, near the cellar door, finally seeming to notice how irritated the woman looked, her brown eyes hard on him. 'You need to help me.'

'Me? Help you?' She crossed her arms, and James took another step back, just in case. Teddy was lucky that his father wasn't there too, or he would be dead by now. 'With what exactly?'

'To tell Bill.' Teddy spoke as if it were obvious.

'Uncle Bill is going to kill you.' James blurted out, biting his lip to keep from laughing when the two turned to him.

'No, I'm going to do this first.' His mother walked over to Teddy, who looked more frightened than before now, although James understood his dread, he thought he would rather raise a dozen children than face his angry mother. 'How the hell are you going to raise a child? Tell me. Victoire can't even drink at a bar yet, and is she pregnant?! What do you two know about raising, caring, educating another human being?' Teddy looked like he was about to cry, which was funny, because he was so much taller than Ginny, and even so, James thought he looked smaller than Lily now.

'Gin, I don't know. She was going to take the test this afternoon and- ’

'Didn't you go with her?' Oh, James knew that Teddy was screwed as soon as his mother's cheeks turned red, her eyes even bigger. This time it was Teddy who took a step back.

'She said-'

'Whatever the result, should she share it with the walls?!' Her voice didn't sound as loud as Daddy's did when he was angry, Mom spoke more and more softly when things got ugly. Poor Teddy, James thought, it was great to meet him. 'Was she alone when she made her son? Did she collect your sperm and shove it inside, alone?' The two made a disgusted face, but Mom didn't seem to care, because she continued; 'What kind of man are you, to make the child and then run here without even being there to see the result with her? What will you do if the result is positive? Run for the hills like a coward? Why didn't you have all that fear when you decided to get into the girl's legs without any protection? Harry taught you so many protections, that I know, all the wizard and muggle protections, and even taught you how to make the potion for Vic to take. What a shame, Teddy.'

Teddy looked like a boy, very small compared to Ginny, and if James looked closely he might see tears in his eyes. He thought that conversation was the best contraceptive ever.

'Call her through Floo, and send her over here, to do the test here. And if she doesn't want to, go after her.' Ginny didn't wait for an answer, casting a spell on the broken cup on the floor and leaving the kitchen, still looking furious.

'You better do this before she comes back, if she finds you standing here when she gets back, this will probably be our last talk,' James warned, but Teddy seemed to know, because he snorted and walked into the living room, kneeling down in front of the fireplace. Albus and Lily would envy that he was the only one who saw this whole fight.

Vic looked scared when she answered Floo, but promised to be there in less than ten minutes, which, James thought, was enough time for Teddy to start thinking of great excuses for when their mom started talking about unwanted pregnancies again.

'Did you tell her?' Teddy turned to James, who was sitting on the couch, waiting to remain almost invisible in the middle of the fight.

'About what?' He made a fool of himself, not just because he thought his mother wouldn't handle the news well if she overheard Teddy talking, but that James would get involved in the middle of the fight with his mother giving him a lecture about have safe sex.

'You know what.' Teddy raised an eyebrow, looking very much like Harry all of a sudden. ‘She won’t like to know that you’re lying about it.’

'I am not lying, I am omitting, and I would tell her today, but someone thought it was a good day to get my cousin pregnant.' James shrugged. ‘Mira didn’t tell her parents either, anyway.’

‘I hope you learned from my mistake.’

‘Who learned from whose mistake?’ Ginny entered the room again, the eagle eyes shifting from Teddy to James. 'What did you do?'

'Nothing!' James defended himself, glaring at Teddy who seemed to want to laugh, but stopped as soon as his mother shot him with her eyes again.

‘Where’s Vic?’

'Coming in ten minutes.' Teddy became serious again, sitting on the couch next to James, as if the boy was protecting him.

'I tried to call Harry, but he's in a meeting, which I think is great, because he would be a lot more out of control than me.' No doubt, James thought, thinking about how Teddy needed to thank the heavens, that his father was called to the meeting.

The three were silent until the fireplace burst into green flames and Victoire leaped out of the fire, her hair tied up and her clothes a little wrinkled, looking startled by the not-so-warm welcome. 'Sit down, Vic.' Ginny said.

The girl didn't even wait for another order, sitting in the chair opposite Ginny's, away from Teddy, as if she was afraid that at any interaction between the two, the woman would explode in fury. James didn't judge her, he thought they were both lucky that Grandma wasn't there, or worse, Uncle Bill.

'Have you taken the test yet?' Vic denied, looking scared. 'Are you with the? I still have a potion in my bathroom, I just need to warm it up and add some herbs. It's always good to test both ways.' The girl nodded, and James wanted to laugh at the thought of how strange it was that his mother had managed to shut Victoire's mouth. 'We are going to the bathroom to do this soon, then I want to talk to both of them. James, go pick up your brothers at Grandma's, Teddy, come with us.’

It was the end of the line unfortunately, he knew there was no way to follow the three and his mother would probably protect the room, besides, if she opened the door, just to check it out, and caught him at home, James didn't even want to imagine what could happen, given how angry the mother looked.

'Okay.' He gave up, getting up from the couch. 'Good luck, I have my fingers crossed for you.' James smiled at a Teddy who looked like he was about to throw up, watching him follow Vic and his mother up the stairs.

#hinny #harry x ginny #hp next gen #james sirius potter #teddy lupin #teddy x victoire #next gen harry potter

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masterweaverx · 3 years

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Pit Stop

"So you hear about that Ruby transmission?"

Cinnamon chuckled. "It's all anybody's talking about," she said as she handed a plate to him. "We only get spotty transmission out here, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but... still." The customer laughed a little awkwardly. "Atlas being under attack, magic being real, this... Salem person... It's a lot."

Cinnamon nodded, looking around the pub. It wasn't anything too fancy, they were just a village after all, but it was an informal gathering spot for both the villagers themselves and travelers just passing through. Some tables had people clustered around them, while others had but a single customer apiece; it wouldn't have been anything unusual if it weren't for the hushed murmurings and occasional glances northward.

"Well, it's only been about a day, right?" Cinnamon reassured the man. "They're probably still holding out up there."

"...right." The man took his fork and began poking at the food in front of him.

Cinnamon sighed, heading back behind the counter. It was a slow day... which, given what that Ruby girl had said, was only to be expected. The casual vibe of the pub didn't really gel with the tension in the air; even the stress drinkers had just dropped by, bought a bottle or two, and walked out. She could see some of her customers eyeing the kegs.

Just scrub the glasses, she told herself. Scrub the glasses and look calm and relaxed. She wasn't a huntress, but damned if she didn't know the importance of image in keeping negativity down...

They'd get updates, eventually. Probably from some force heading up from Vale. Or... maybe, if things were really horrible, from some Atlesian refugees. No matter what, it would take a few days.

She couldn't help worrying, of course, who wouldn't be worried, but it wasn't like she could make time move faster. It had only been a day, after all.

There was a strange sound from outside, an oddly growling hiss. For a moment Cinnamon gripped her cleaning rag tighter. There would have been shouts from the lookouts if Grimm were approaching, right? Unless they'd been so rattled by the transmission that they forgot to--

--no. Even with that message, they wouldn't have abandoned their posts. They didn't during the fall of Beacon, after all.

"Somebody's just messing with burn Dust," she suggested casually, to nobody in particular. "Probably just a few teens... hopped up on bravery and wanting to go fight monsters in Atlas, you know?"

There were a few chuckles, but they were strained. The sort that were made by obligation--

One of the customers, leaning to peer out a window, jumped back with a yelp. "It's--! There's a Grimm woman!" he gasped. "It's gotta be Salem!"

Another customer rolled her eyes with a nervous chuckle. "Okay, you've probably had a bit too much to drink--"

Twinkli-linki-link...

Cinnamon looked at the door as it swung open, and her breath caught in her throat. The figure that practically glided in was breathtaking, in the same way a Sea Feilong was; tall, elegant, pristine, and as clearly capable of slaughter as any Grimm she could name. Her black dress, lined with red, certainly made her look like one; it was a resemblance only furthered by her bone-white hair and skin. Purplish veins crawled up her arms and under her sleeves, reemerging round her neck to frame a pair of dark eyes--utterly black, save for the rings of red that ross from their shadowy depths.

One hand was wrapped around an ornate golden staff, which was capped with a blue gem. The other, bearing a ring that resembled nothing so much as a beetle, gestured around the room surprisingly gently.

"I see you have a table available."

It took Cinnamon a couple of seconds to process that. She looked to see that, yes, there was an empty table--there were quite a few, in fact. "Ah... so I do," she replied, voice quavering.

"I believe we will take it. If you would be so kind...?"

Cinnamon put down her glass, quickly reemerging from the bar. "Right this way, ma'am," she said automatically.

The tall woman walked past her, and only then did Cinnamon register the second woman following behind her. The gold-embroidered black garb she wore was short but elegant, much like the hair covering her eyepatch. In fact, she almost looked like a freshly graduated huntress; if it weren't for the fact her left arm consisted of Grimm flesh and the way her amber eye produced literal fire, Cinnamon wouldn't have any idea why she'd be smugly trailing after the bone-white woman.

She shared a nervous look with one of the customers, flicking her eyes toward the door. The man's eyes widened, and he nodded subtly, casually walking out as the new pair seated themselves.

"...So." Cinnamon said, forcing her fear out of her voice. "What will it be?"

"Oh, nothing too much," the pale woman assured her. "A small meal will suffice."

The younger woman frowned for a moment, but nodded. "Perhaps... do you have fish and chips?" she asked.

Cinnamon almost said no, out of habit, but cut herself off. "We... have a salmon soup," she offered hesitantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other customers quietly filing out.

"Hmm." The younger woman shakes her head. "I'd prefer something more... solid."

"Would a chicken sandwich do the trick?" Cinnamon offered.

The younger woman nodded. "I think it would, actually."

"And..." Cinnamon turned to the beautiful violation of all she had ever thought she'd known. "What will it be for you, ma'am?"

The Grimm woman smiled wryly. "I don't suppose you serve the souls of the innocent here."

"No ma'am. Innocence is a rare commodity these days."

The younger woman actually smirked at that. "Isn't it though."

"Well... perhaps I shall have the salmon soup," the woman offered.

"Of course." Cinnamon took a quick look around the pub; it was almost empty now, save for one horrified customer staring at the scene. She turned back to the pair. "It might be a minute."

"We have all the time in the world."

Cinnamon nodded, heading around the bar. "Get out of here," she hissed to the last customer as she passed.

"You're just serving them--?"

"The longer they're here the longer you have to get to Vale, now move!"

The customer blinked twice, before her eyes widened. She vacated her table with haste, rushing out the door.

"I'm beginning to think the locals don't like us," the younger woman noted calmly.

Shit.

"Ah, it's nothing too much," Cinnamon assured her as she went behind the counter. "Just a bit nervous about celebrities visiting our little village."

"Celebrities?"

Cinnamon very carefully put the pot of soup on the stove, stirring it slowly. "You didn't catch the transmission?"

"Ah," said the bone-white woman. "So, Ruby Rose's message did reach the outside world."

"Whole world, if I heard right." Cinnamon set aside a plate, carefully putting together a sandwich.

"Wait, what transmission?" The young woman looked from Cinnamon to the other. "Was that what Penny was doing with Amity?"

"It was," the bone-white woman replied. "If I recall, you were unconscious at the time."

The younger woman stiffened... and then bowed her head. "I... yes, master. I made an error in judgment."

"Mmm..." The bone-white woman put a hand on her shoulder. "Not all lessons can be taught gently, Cinder."

Cinnamon checked the soup, subtly activating the recording function on her scroll. "So, yeah. What happened after that anyway?"

The bone-white woman gave her a coy smile. "Now, why do you ask that?"

"I'm just a small village chef," Cinnamon replied, pouring the soup into a bowl. "Can't help but be curious about the outside world."

The younger woman--Cinder--examined her Grimm nails. "It was a very busy day in Atlas, honestly."

Cinnamon assembled the sandwich, taking the bowl and plate out to her customers. "I guess it'd have to be. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I suppose I wouldn't mind a glass of wine," the bone-white woman allowed.

"Just water for me," Cinder added.

"Of course." Cinnamon prepared the drinks, surreptitiously looking out the window. Entire families were loading up tightly in the delivery trucks, rolling out through the gates--

"Is something going on out there?"

"Farmers headed out to bale hay," Cinnamon lied smoothly. "Big deal for us small-town folk."

Cinder gave her a look as she put the glasses down. Cinnamon shrugged, retreating behind the counter.

For a minute or two, the only sounds came from Cinder and the other woman quietly eating. She could see how much Cinder savored every bite. And... the other one, she did seem to enjoy the wine, if the way her eyebrow quirked was anything to go by.

"...Three questions."

Cinnamon looked up, keeping a mask of calm even as her heart pounded.

"You have been an excellent host," the bone-white woman continued, "and you reek of fear. So. Three questions."

"Ah." Cinnamon glanced at her hidden scroll, still recording the entire conversation. "How's Atlas doing, you reckon?"

"Oh, it's flooded," Cinder replied casually. "Entire city."

Cinnamon blinked at her, almost opening her mouth--but, no, three questions. Atlas, flooded... well, it was a floating rock, for one. How could they get water up there? Even with a magic rainstorm... no, it didn't make sense. A city in the sky couldn't...

...unless...

Cinnamon swallowed carefully. "I see... what happened to the survivors?"

Cinder frowned, biting into her sandwich aggressively.

"Apparently miss Rose came up with a scheme to get them all to Vacuo," the bone-white woman replied, sipping at her soup. "Which, of course, means I'll be meeting them again fairly soon."

Her smile was far too soft for such a threat. It almost looked motherly, in a way.

Cinnamon felt her heart beating. She glanced out the window again. She couldn't see anybody.

"...How am I going to die?"

The bone-white woman turned to her, then. "Now that is certainly an interesting question. Especially as I don't have an answer. What do you think, Cinder?"

Cinder finished her sandwich, taking a long draft from her glass.

"I think she has options," she said eventually. "We could lock her in this building, weld the doors shut so she can't escape with the rest of her village. I could burn her to death, or freeze her. You could summon any number of Grimm, or even use magic."

"We might do nothing at all," the other woman mused. "Let nature take its course."

"...we could take her with us," Cinder offered. "Hazel was our primary chef, before... well, before."

The bone-white woman quirked a brow. "And how would we carry her?"

Cinder glanced at the staff. "We're not using that for anything right now. An airship would be easy."

The bone-white woman considered this. Cinnamon felt her hands trembling.

"...I will prepare the airship," the woman finally said, standing up. "You will help our new... associate gather what she needs."

Cinnamon flinched as Cinder stood up, quickly ending the recording and sending it out on broadcast. "I, uh, I'm... it might take me a few tries to get your food like you like it--"

The bone-white woman smiled at her. "Oh, don't worry. I have all the time in the world."

#RWBY #Fanfiction #One Shot #Pit Stop #Salem #Cinder Fall

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tangleweave · 3 years

Text

Crimson Tide (Drabble / RP)

[ @illbringthechaosmagic ]

An anonymous person has been taunting Stephen that a loved one has been taken captive...

Stephen Strange was not a patient man. He didn't like it when things came slowly, but he had learned how to deal with slow processes, as long as he could be assured of rewards down the line. Even less than slow progress did he like things that threw him off his rhythm. To be interrupted in his work was to invite his wrath, and by the Fates, could he be creative with his wrath.

That had been long before the car accident and the Sorcerer Supreme thing.

But now, the odd woman who had come to him to explain to him, in interestingly explicit terminology, that Wanda was being held prisoner... not only was she an interruption, she was an active irritant. An antagonist? No... not for him. To qualify as an antagonist, there were several things that needed to happen, not the least of which being a need to demonstrate a direct threat. So far she had shown him no evidence that she posed any harm whatsoever, and certainly not within the welcoming room for Kamar-Taj, where two other sorcerers stood at polite but firm attention in the corners.

She was seated in the wooden chair dead center of the room, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. Her dusky skin and wavy black hair shone in the sunlight that filtered through the ceiling slats. Her accent indicated she wasn't Nepalese, though she could easily be from India or some other adjacent region. She seemed curiously calm for someone in his presence who knew the things he was capable of.

Fine. If she wanted to play mind games, he could play them too. He moved to a cabinet and withdrew a pair of long yellow leather gloves, the cuffs of which were adorned with delicate sigils of black and gold. He had his back slightly turned as he began to don them.

"What now?" he heard her taunt. "Does the great Doctor Strange mean to get blood on his hands?"

He glanced towards her with eyebrow arched as he slid the second glove on. "Obviously not," he said, "otherwise I wouldn't be gloving up."

She thrust her chin out towards him. "You don't frighten me."

"Of course I do. I'm a doctor. Being attended by one is inherently frightening. It means there's something wrong with you. And there must be something deeply wrong with you, in particular, if you thought you were just going to waltz in here, declare that you're holding a friend and ally prisoner, and then not make any demands in exchange for her release." He held up his hands, palms towards himself. "Hadn't you heard? This is Kamar-Taj, where I had my operation to restore function to my hands. These are examination gloves. We don't have the kind of funds needed for single-use non-latex, so we go for longevity instead. After we're done with a particularly... messy... procedure, we use a sodium hydroxide solution to rinse off the pairs we do have. But don't worry, it shouldn't burn your skin too badly, long as I don't touch you for more than a couple seconds."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are a doctor. Your job is to not harm others."

"Oh, I see." He frowned and tilted his head at her. "Remind me again, what year is it? 2024? That means my medical license lapsed, uh... six years ago. Y'know, shortly after that niggling little part where half the world vanished. And saving all the people that were left over, that was an all-hands-on-deck situation. Things got ugly, if you'll recall. Besides, what do you call it when a surgeon cuts someone open with a scalpel? Surely you would think that was causing harm... but in the pursuit of reducing greater harm, when removing a tumor." He laced his fingers together tightly, securing the gloves about his hands. "Wonder how many you've got." He began slowly stepping towards her.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" she protested, and her legs uncrossed. "I wished to ensure I had your attention before making demands."

"Don't worry, you have it," Stephen assured her. "And you were right about one thing, this doctor doesn't make house calls. So glad to be hosting you today. You're my first patient in months. The last one still hasn't healed up quite right."

"I am no patient!" she said indignantly, shifting in her chair as he continued to advance.

"Then we have something in common, since I'm exactly the opposite of patient," he returned, and he cupped his hands toward each other. A crackling cat's cradle of golden dimensional energy appeared, and when he pulled his hands more broadly apart, it stretched with them. Orange sparks snapped from the strands. Stephen frowned. "Well, what do you know, there's still a little hydroxide solution on the gloves after all." He shrugged. "That's fine, it should all burn off pretty quickly."

She got to her feet. "Your Cauldron of the Cosmos!" she blurted. "It is a relic stolen from the pyramids of Giza--"

Stephen whipped one hand out; the strands of energy wrapped about the woman and sizzled as they touched her, eliciting a shriek. He closed to within inches from her face. "It's an artifact forged by Agamotto the All-Seeing approximately eight thousand years ago. I'd say try again but I don't think your clothes have that kind of time. Where's the submarine?"

A crease formed between the woman's thick eyebrows at the absurd question, but the heat and crackling from the energy whips surrounding her were beginning to convince her of the threat he posed. "I... I don't..."

"Sure, sure, you don't know." He dismissed the whips, then noted the burn scarring on her clothing. "Mmm. That'll be hard to get out. I might know a tailor or two." He gestured at the chair. "Take a seat or that pantsuit's going to look like it went through a king-size waffle iron. And I don't even want to think about what it'll do to your hair."

She glowered at him but did as directed. "What do you mean 'submarine'?" she asked.

"Well, if you don't know where it is, there's not a whole lot of reason for me to explain it to you, is there?" he responded. "Sure makes you look like a schlub, though. Obviously you're not in charge, you're just following directions from whoever it is giving them to you. Whoever they are, they need to up your clothing allowance, and update their K&R policies. It's in my favor, though, they couldn't send an actual professional to negotiate for the Cauldron. I could have given the all-American line... 'I don't negotiate with terrorists.' Definitely what a Sorcerer Supreme dreams of saying to someone." He waved a dismissive hand. "That's fine, though. I've got another movie line I can hand you. 'I've got ways of making you talk.' Impressed?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am no amateur. I have been immunized to truth serums and measures intended to force me to speak truth against my will. Even you cannot coerce me."

He scoffed and gave her a mirthless smile. "Truth? Who said anything about that? I want you to lie your ass off."

She frowned. "What...?"

He brought both hands up, fingers twiddling unsteadily in odd snaking motions, and gleaming neon-blue energy appeared in the air between them. His hands didn't meet -- one wrist hovered above the fingers of the other -- but the energy they conjured twisted unevenly in a warbling circle that settled about the chair. The thick strands of plasma braided around one another, and once the circle was fully enclosed, the space within was consumed with fierce blue light.

"A sorcerer of Kamar-Taj would refer to this as a Ring of Raggadorr. But a Dungeons & Dragons player would call it a Zone of Truth... with a Strange twist to it. While you're within it, you can't refrain from answering my questions, but instead of wasting my time trying to figure out whether you can actually resist a Zone of Truth, I've sealed you within a Zone of Lies. You're completely incapable of uttering the truth. And when I ask you questions, whatever the truthful answer is, you'll be giving me precisely the opposite one, or as close to the opposite as you're able." He flourished with one hand. "So, test question, do you know my name?"

"...no." The woman looked flummoxed at the answer coming from her own mouth.

Stephen smirked. "All right then, progress. Now, you're in charge of this operation, aren't you?"

"...yes."

"Where on the ladder are you?"

"The top."

Stephen chuckled. "Oh, honey. They really don't pay you enough for this gig, do they?"

"I am paid extremely generously."

"Yeah, that much is obvious."

She stood up from her chair and tried to take a step forward. The blue light surrounding her crackled much in the manner of a Star Trek forcefield, and she jumped back as if having been shocked. She cast a look at Stephen. "I wish to remain in this space eternally!"

Now Stephen had to raise a gloved hand to hide his widening smirk. "I'm considering it," he quipped. "This is a lot more fun than I imagined."

"I am also enjoying it immensely!" she shouted.

He poked a finger at her. "Try saying it with a sarcastic bend to it, if you can, I wanna see how deep this spell goes. Does it affect just your words? You're yelling so I can tell you're agitated, at least."

"I am not agitated! I am free to walk out of this enclosure at any time and I do not fear your powers!" She crossed her arms under her chest and glowered at the floor.

"Well, if this isn't a reflection of parenthood, I don't know what is," Stephen remarked. "But while this is entertaining, I have some actual work to do. So let's talk submarines. Your bosses work out of one, don't they?"

"...no."

"I see. And if I looked all over the world for it, there's only one place I would never find it. Where is that place?"

"...the Laurentian Abyss."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you telling me that I can find the submarine in the Laurentian Abyss?"

"No, that is not what I am telling you."

Stephen had to try very hard not to crack a smile. "How very Red October of you. I think the Cauldron of the Cosmos can probably help me along from here... though I'm curious why you would even want it at all. Is there anybody among your employers and co-workers in this little venture that could even use it?"

"To the best of my knowledge, everyone there could. The Cauldron is of no particular fascination or consequence to my employers. They are not at all fascinated by its purported abilities. They would prefer to have Wanda, as a person is far more stable a commodity than an inanimate object. Should you refuse to surrender the Cauldron, my employers are not prepared to brainwash her for their purposes."

He scoffed. "Thought so. You know, you actually make it a lot more convincing now that you can't even say it properly. Should've tried it like this before, you'd have gotten my attention even sooner. Tell you what, you can hang out here while I get this problem sorted out." He turned toward the east hall, which would eventually lead him to the portal door that connected to the New York Sanctum.

"Wait!"

He turned back to her with his eyebrow up again. "Yes, what?"

"I do not wish to know how you knew of the submarine."

This time both eyebrows went up and he rubbed his temple. "Vishanti help me, I'm actually starting to get used to this," he muttered. Then he looked at her more directly. "It's not what you lied about, it's what you told me truthfully. You said straitjacket and shock collar. That's how Wanda was kept secured when she was a prisoner aboard the Raft. The only people who would know that was a successful method are people who saw it in action. But the Raft is stationary. Eventually someone would come knocking. The only way to keep a prisoner like her off the radar is to keep her moving. And aboard an underwater craft, even if she breaks loose, where would she go? Especially as far down as the Laurentian Abyss. So... submarine made the most sense."

The crease in her brow only deepened further. "I understand completely how you were able to make such deductions."

"Yeah, sometimes I even amaze myself." He glanced to the other two sorcerers in the room, then gestured at the woman. "Make her comfortable while she's waiting. But you're welcome to have a little fun with that spell while it's still active."

Without another word, he stalked his way up the hall and found the entrance to the New York Sanctum. A variety of obstacles to the matter at hand pervaded his thought process. If the submarine was indeed in the Laurentian Abyss, it meant that it was so deep, opening a direct portal to its interior would be a death sentence to anyone aboard; the bends would see to that. It needed to be forced to surface, and its own crew made to decompress the interior. He chewed his lower lip in thought. How would he get them to do that?

He was five steps away from the Cauldron when he stopped in place and rolled his eyes. Duh. He'd seen the damn movie. Simulate a radiation leak. It's not as if he was a Master of the Mystic Arts and claimed control over a vast breadth of energies.

"Thank you, Tom Clancy," he murmured as he approached the artifact.

#illbringthechaosmagic #muse: strange

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lorelylantana · 3 years

Text

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 5: Homecoming

First-Previous-Next

Ao3

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

“How did this happen?” she asked, setting the slate down to look at her husband. He looked sheepish.

“It didn’t happen overnight,” Link explained, “After the Sheikah were banished from the Kingdom of Hyrule they came to us for protection after their own military forces were lost, and the other races opted for their own independence. That much is true, and it was for centuries after. The Sheikah don’t really have a desire for leading outside of their own people, so as long as the Zonai reinforced their borders and funded their research they were content to share the fruits of their knowledge.

“We’ve always believed in extending a hand in aid where we could, so on the occasions that the other races reached out for help, we’ve been the first to respond. We built the dam in Zora’s domain and we killed the Lynels haunting the Rito snowfields. When the Gerudo canyon collapsed we’re the ones that cleared the rubble to let them travel safely once again. Bit by bit the other races began to see the benefits of being a unified nation again, so we expanded the railways, the Sheikah streamlined communications, new Wardens were named, and we came whole again.”

“Not completely,” Zelda interjected, oddly defensive. She felt Noodle’s nose bump into her chin, perhaps in response to her racing pulse.

“Not completely,” Link agreed, “But it was a king on Hylia’s throne that fractured the continent in the first place, and the Sheikah have long memories. Even with the countless records locked away, they knew it wasn’t the first time they had been made to vacate Hyrule, so they advised us to keep the royal family in the dark and wait.”

“For what?” Zelda asked. He looked in her eyes.

“For the right Queen.”

Fat chance of that one, considering her uncle sat on the throne and she was the Hollow Daughter of Hylia.

“Tell me more about the Wardens,” Zelda said, uncomfortable at the implied expectation.

Link scooted over, taking the slate in his hand he fiddled with the map settings until Zelda watched the borders she was familiar with reappear. Noodle uncoiled from her spot on Zelda’s wrist to sniff at the screen, her snout tapping on the small region north of Mount Lanayru, if that was indeed it’s name and not another lie told to her people. A box appeared with white text.

The Wellspring

Warden: Dorephan [Contact]

Rising Warden: Mipha [Contact]

“Each region is governed by a Warden,” Link explained, his breath tickling her ear and his arm slipping around her waist, “Dorephan is the current Warden of the Wellspring, but he gave his notice of retirement last year, so Mipha, his daughter is carrying out the majority of his duties until she slays a great beast and takes over his position completely.”

Zelda tapped the harbor their icon was inching towards, highlighting the region that Zelda originally thought to be the entire Zonai nation.

Dragonlands

Warden: Link

Rising Mother: Zelda Lana Hyrule [Contact]

Zelda noticed that the word ‘contact’ was written in green. Curious, she tapped it, expecting the screen to change. Instead there was a chiming from her headdress. Zelda tensed up. Link gave a little chuckle before pinching her translator between his fingers for a moment.

“What was that?” Zelda asked, but he only held up his finger again, shooting her a wink as he got up and left the the observation deck

“Can you hear me?”

Zelda flinched, startled. Her husband’s voice had replaced the mechanical words from her translator.

“Yes,” she responded, walking to the window to see her husband walking into view below. In her ear she could hear the sea breeze until his voice returned.

“A secondary function, though a recent one,” Link said, waving up at her.

Zelda looked at the slate again.

“Why can’t I call you?” she asked, noting the option to contact didn’t appear next to her husband’s name.

“That’s my personal slate, it would be like writing a letter to myself.”

He began walking up the stairs, and she could hear his footsteps, which was a bit disorienting without a stair in sight. They spent the rest of the trip eating their lunch while Link explained the basic functions of a Sheikah Slate. Zelda pressed an icon with a small blue circle, and a glowing blue orb appeared in her hands. Link mumbled something in Zonai that the Zelda’s translator interpreted as a string of curse words that had her ears burning. Link took the orb from her hands, chucked it through a window he’d opened before pressing the ‘cancel’ button right next to the one labeled ‘detonate’.

“That was an explosive,” he said by way of explanation. Zelda’s eyes widened.

“Does everyone else on the continent have access to explosives?” she asked, alarmed. Link shook his head with a laugh.

“Farore above, no. The slates given to Wardens and have greater capabilities than most citizens’. Standard issue slates are much more limited. Identification, communications, and finances only.”

“What does it mean by ‘Rising Mother?” Zelda asked, now holding the slate at arm’s length.

“Being my wife makes you the Mother of the Dragonlands, but since you haven’t officially accepted the title you’re listed as ‘Rising’.”

“How do I accept it?” she asked, Link smiled, bright and relieved.

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

She liked that sentence because of the assumption. There was a warm undertone to the flippant reminder that she had a home here. She was in a foreign country that wasn’t at all like she imagined, but she had a place set aside for her. It was enough to banish the dissatisfaction of her question going unanswered and allowed her to walk hand in hand with her husband with a spring in her step. As they descended onto the dock, she couldn’t help but notice that it was pretty deserted, though she did see a large building at the top of a large cliff. Link led them down into the sand. They came across a strange platform on the ground before Link placed his palm on a screen covered pedestal. After fiddling with the screen Link took out a vial of simmering red liquid she recognized as an elixir and pressed it into her hand. She drank it, savoring the kick that she recognized as a spicy elixir. Link watched as she swallowed it.

“How did I do?” he asked, brow raised. She took another sip.

“It’s a tad overdone,” she admitted, “but effective,”

He nodded, satisfied with her answer. She shook out her limbs, the heat spreading to her fingers and toes like a fever.

“It’s a little warm for a spicy elixir, isn’t it?” she asked, quizzical. He winked at her, resting a palm against the blank screen. After a blue line ran up and down the pedestal chimed and the world faded away.

The world returned in slices, descending bit by bit to create a small alcove tucked in the corner of a much larger room filled with plush chairs and couches facing a strange black rectangle set upon a table. Despite the questions burning through her mind, she found herself transfixed by the opposite wall. Rather than the intricate stonework that made up the majority of the room, the wall they walked along had an almost translucent, iridescent quality to it, orange light shining through that mimicked the sunset outside. She pressed a hand to it and dragged her palm along its smooth, chilled surface, her breath coming out in clouds in front of her. Link showed her a large glass box filled with vegetation and a lamp which, in a notable departure from the standard blue light fixtures around the room, shone with a warm yellow light.

“For Noodle,” Link said by way of explanation, opening the box.

Zelda beamed from ear to ear, reaching into the terrarium to let the serpent climb onto one of the winding branches. She could have sworn she saw some of the blue scales glow, but it was probably a trick of the light.

“Say Noodle again,” she said, tucking her hand into his elbow.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds cute in your accent,” she admitted, cheeks flushing slightly.

He gave her a quizzical look but nonetheless obliged her, “Noodle.”

She giggled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as they walked down the hall to a larger, yet somehow more intimate room.

Zelda stepped forward and turned to examine their bedroom. The walls were carved in hundreds of illustrations of plant and animal life alike, each shape crafted with a myriad of stones that must have been gathered from all corners of Hyrule. A fox made from the rich Eldin rock, wolves shaped from the cool blue of Upland Zora, and pigeons carved from Necluda stone. The lush scenes of the wild were dominated by sprawling depictions of dragons lording over it all. She recognized the serpent she glimpsed on their wedding day coiled protectively over their bed which, while lower to the floor than her own, was far wider than any bed she’d ever scene and stacked with silks and cushions.

After the stress of the day, Zelda was ready to lie down, but her husband had other ideas, taking her hand and pulling her to the corner on her left, where another dragon curled around a bath that looked far too big for just the two of them. Nevertheless, Zelda followed him gratefully, glad that at least one of her preconceived notions of the Zonai held true.

Owlan had told her the Zonai viewed baths an intimate affair, which she had understood. The difference lay in that married couples were supposed to bathe together, and often. This practice was apparently so common that newlyweds were not considered fully united until they blessed their marital home with a bath. Thus, when Link’s hands began to unravel the cloth around her chest, she made no comment, only moving to undo his belt.

When they were both stripped down they stepped over the lip of the massive tub. Link took the lead as the welcoming spouse, turning her around so he could run his hands down her back. Despite the spicy elixir having a good deal of time before it wore off, the water felt cool. Not enough to feel uncomfortable, but impossible to ignore. If her elixir couldn’t hold off the chill, she wondered how frigid it must be. Zelda was dissuaded from asking questions by Link’s touch, warm and steady as they started to rub soap into her back. She sighed and felt her head roll to one side. Zelda let her gaze rest on the luminescent stone of the second dragon. Unlike Farosh, the horn of this creature almost resembled a crown, spikes pointing away from the creature’s face.

“I saw Farosh on our wedding day,” Zelda said idly, her shoulders easing under his touch. He hummed and started to work on her arms.

“The gods approve of our marriage.”

This intimacy in the water was softer than what they shared in their honeymoon, but no less potent. Perhaps this gentle caress was one of the unsung sides of love, often overlooked for that wildfire lust that overtook them so many times. And yet, as Zelda grew warmer under his ministrations a deep sense of peace took root, easing away the emotional strain of the day’s revelations. For all the deceit revealed to her, his growing affection for her felt genuine.

Link pulled her to rest against his chest so he could reach around to her stomach. When she relaxed and let her arms rest back in the water it became clear that the heat wasn’t just from his embrace but from the bath, once so cold it broke through her elixir’s protection.

“What happened to the water?” she asked, dragging a hand through the bathwater. It was heated as a hot spring. “Zonai leaders have always drawn strength from the land, wielding magic both consciously and instinctively.” he explained, washing and rinsing her hair, “This flow is strongest in the springs and other sacred sights, giving us enough protection to render even the harshest weather mild.”

Link turned her around to look her in the eyes as he took her leg into his lap, “We swore to each other before our people,” he explained, massaging her calf as he spoke, “we’ve proven this union to one another in our bed. But only here, alone in holy water atop a sacred mountain, do we verify our marriage before the gods. You are Mother of the Dragonlands, and now all the spirits watching over us recognize you as such, and give their power freely.”

Zelda smiled, security pulsing steady in her chest. The feeling was compounded by small, swirling clusters of energy she could now feel brushing against her skin and shielding her from the unrelenting cold of her new home. After pressing a quick kiss to his lips she urged him to turn around. Relishing in the heated water, she took the cloth from the lip of the tub and lathered it in soap so she could start to scrub his back and arms. She traced some of the paint on his bicep before wiping it off.

“What do the markings mean?” she asked. She had watched him apply the paint several times since their wedding, though never as much as he did the night itself.

“It’s less about design and more about location,” he answered, “The paint makes us stronger. We use it to stimulate the muscles we use most in battle.”

She rubbed his other arm clean before moving on to his chest. He smiled lazily, resting his hands on her hips, his thumbs circling idly.

“How’s it made?”

“I’ll send you the recipe.”

Zelda raised a brow, “Just one?”

“The only one that works.”

Now that was an intriguing prospect. Alas, it would have to wait for another day, as Zelda started to yawn when washing his legs and feet and her eyes had started to close on their own accord when they dried off on the steps leading up to the tub. She heard Link give a low chuckle as he pulled the towel from her hands and began to rub the moisture out of her hair, massaging her scalp in the process. His touch put her at so much ease that she ended up dozing off with her face resting against his thigh. Zelda only stirred when he did, sliding off the lip of the tub to take her in his arms. She didn’t open her eyes when she was rocked in his arms as he crossed the room. She felt the cool, smooth sheet covering the bed before it dipped to accommodate her husband’s weight. Zelda reached for him blindly and was rewarded by his arms wrapping behind her back, pressing their bare chests together. She felt Link’s lips on her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into her hair. She nuzzled his shoulder and kissed what felt like his collarbone.

“Goodnight.”

#zonai link #zonai zelink #zelink #botw zelink #arranged marriage au #botw link #botw zelda

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noyin · 4 years

Text

One Percent

AO3 Here!

[This Is Logan To Ground Control]

Rating: G

Pairing(s): Logicality, Familial Analogical, Background Prinxiety

Tags: Astronaut!Logan, familial analogical, Emotional Hurt, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Alternate Universe, I Know Nothing Of Spaceships, I Know Nothing Of Hospitals, Oneshot, Inspired By: One Percent By Gorillaz

Summary:

Anyone Not anyone of us who is in search Everyone's receiving you...

—

The stars spun ever so slowly. Passed the circular window overhead, the beauty of the galaxy, starry and alone, stretched out for miles. But nothing came close to the beauty of planet Earth, centered in the glass.

Logan could stare at Earth for hours. It wasn't like there was anything else left for him. After all, he could only do so much about the T. Sanders' condition and he had no company. So he'd float there, trying to sleep but never being able to, and he'd look at Earth, round and awe-some, and…

He found that he cried often.

His eyes turned up to Earth as he floated. He suspended in relax, drifting wherever the loss of gravity took him. It was like he was underwater, which was a fitting comparison; sometimes space felt suffocating.

Earth reflected in his teary brown eyes.

"Hello, Patton," Logan said. He sounded as small as he felt. A lone man in space. "It's night now. I know I should be going to sleep, but I can't without telling you that I love you." Logan breathed in a stuttering breath. "I love you."

The fragment of the moon floated in the corner of his peripheral. Logan rubbed his eyes, inhaling again. He hugged himself but it wasn't his own arms he wanted to be in.

"I just wish you were here to hear it."

After a while, jerky became something Logan ate for its texture rather than its taste. Logan was sure he wouldn't ever eat jerky again if he had the choice. But he thought it was best that he remained loyal to routine. It was good to have a constant when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

Throughout Logan's day, he had five constants. The picture in his pocket that he looked at far too often for far too long, the jerky breakfast and marking down his inventory—he had exactly a hundred and fifty days left of meals now—speaking to his electronic log, up-keeping the ship, and falling asleep as he spoke to the company he didn't have, watching Earth in a distance.

As he chewed the jerky, like many times before, he made his way to the computer room and strapped himself down on the chair. He turned on the computer.

"Salutations, computer. It is day two hundred and eighty five, and it is currently- ah, running a little behind today. It is currently zero nine hundred and seven, UTC. This is still flight engineer Logan of the space shuttle, T. Sanders. I believe I am approximately twenty days away from Earth. As happy as this news is, I do have concerns regarding my reentry into Earth's atmosphere and landing without guidance or assistance. Especially with the OMS engine barely on the side of functioning. Given the OMS engine is used specifically for the final deorbital burn...I'm not entirely sure how much strain the system can handle." Logan leaned back a little.

It wasn't like any of it mattered, though. The worst case scenario would be his untimely death, but Logan had been aware of the possibility since the moment he turned the ship around.

With a sigh, he continued, "It will still be a while before I am faced with the terrifying task of reentry. But until then, I will continue to try to make contact with Ground Control and attempt to repair the OMS engine the best I can, but there is very little I can do." With his sign-off, Logan saved his entry and turned off the computer.

He sat there for a moment in complete silence, save for the ever constant whirring that reverberated within the metal of the ship. With a longer, drawn out sigh, Logan set his head in his shaking palms.

He thought of Patton and Virgil and his heart ached. He longed for them, he wanted to kiss his husband's rosy-cheeked face, he wanted to hug his son. He wanted to see them, so much it hurt.

He pressed his palm against his lips, just as the tears rushed from his eyes, as the ever occurring thought returned to him, "I'm never going to see them again," Logan sobbed, muffled.

It felt like the world was crushing around him and it was hard to breathe. Logan did his best to ground himself before the anxiety could take hold of him, but he could tell he was slipping into a breakdown. It was hard to stay grounded when he was so far above the world.

Logan couldn't withhold from bursting into tears. Doubt and fear was festering in Logan's mind more and more, now. Irrational thoughts, human thoughts, and Logan knew that these were made of raw instinct and emotion. He just wanted to return safely to his family.

But as time went on, the more he believed he had already seen their last smiles.

Logan held the picture of Patton and Virgil in his trembling hand. The picture was so worn, with a line going down the middle from how he had folded it and a white splotch over the corner of Patton's cheek where he had brushed his thumb over thousands of times.

He took his time as he chewed through his jerky, appreciating the texture one last time as though it was his last meal.

His heart pounded against his ribcage and he felt alive with anticipation. He would be seeing his family soon.

Logan's eyes drifted to the spacesuit in hung neatly on the wall. And the face of the Earth pressed against the circular window overhead.

The only thing he could hear was the steady pulse of his heart thumping in his ears and the heaviness of his breath.

The presence of Earth was daunting. The adrenaline which flooded his veins made him shakier than usual, and the looming thought that he might not make it home—no, Logan thought, and instead he forced himself to think of Patton's smile.

He pressed the button for the intercom to Ground Control, knowing he would be met with nothing but hoping anyway, as he had done for all of three hundred and five days.

"This is flight engineer Logan to Ground Control," Logan said, forcing his voice to steady, "I am preparing to reenter Earth's atmosphere in approximately t-minus one-eighty seconds. The OMS engine is...operable at best, but not entirely reliable. I don't believe I have any other choice, however." Logan said. He inhaled. "It would be beneficial, I think, to have Ground Control as guidance."

Static. Logan sighed, his hand settled on the control panel.

Despite the anticipation that bubbled inside him restlessly, the universe reflected the opposite. It was always quiet. It was always beautiful. He knew the stars would always hold a spot in his heart. Logan was ready to leave it behind to more beautiful sights.

"T-minus one twenty seconds," Logan spoke to the intercom.

Static.

The whirring of the ship rumbled faintly at his feet, and kept him grounded—his thoughts tended to gravitate towards the clouds, towards the worst possible scenarios. But Logan felt the rumbling at his feet and it reminded him, to shift his focus on the things within the realm of his control.

Easily, he placed his hand over the control stick. He closed his eyes. And took a breath.

Static.

Logan's eyes shot open.

"...Is…ol...o..."

He stared at the intercom for a moment, curious. He pressed the button. "Is- is anyone there? Over."

There was silence for a moment, in which Logan held his breath, and then spoke a voice clouded in static, "This is Ground Control to the T. Sanders. Logan Berry, we are receiving you loud and clear. Everyone is receiving you. Over."

Logan let out a soft cry, overwhelmed by relief and shock. I've made contact with Ground Control.

"Ground Control, this is flight engineer Logan Berry of the T. Sanders, the only remaining crew aboard the T. Sanders," Logan said. It was a struggle to keep his voice clean and even. "I am set to reenter Earth's atmosphere in approximately t-minus fifty seconds. The OMS engine is damaged and I am flying the craft alone. I require your immediate assistance. Over."

"We will guide you through."

In Logan's field of vision, the Earth began to swallow up the darkness of space into a beautiful hue of blue—the color of blue that had always been Patton's favorite. Then followed the tufts of white clouds and miles of green, a sight that filled Logan was an indescribable feeling of euphoria.

That euphoria lasted for a second before sparks of fire began to flash and the turbulence picked up, making the craft shudder. Logan felt his anxiety spike, his focus fading.

And then a thought came to him, clear as day—Breathe in for four seconds, he heard himself say—but he was talking to someone else. Hold for seven seconds. Virgil knelt in front of him, a tense, clammy hand in his own. Out for eight seconds, he heard himself say, and Virgil breathed out.

Four, seven, eight.

Logan's breath began to even and everything returned to focus.

As Ground Control spoke through the intercom and Logan executed each command, and it was, as they say, so far, so good. When it came time to put the OMS engine to use, to reduce his velocity until it was suitable enough for landing, Logan felt his doubt creeping in. But it was either die trying or die not trying at all. And Logan would do anything if it gave him a chance to return to his family.

As soon as Logan began to operate the machine, a warning signal beeped within the craft in time with a flashing red light on the dash. Warning, it read, Overheating.

Logan grit his teeth, yet held his ground.

The craft began to creak and groan, strong vibrations making the ship shiver. It was growing evident that the engine was struggling, as it was growing extremely turbulent and alarmingly warm aboard the flight deck. The beeping continued, drowning out the static of the intercom.

Warning: Overheating.

Logan did not heed the warning yet, though he knew the engine would soon start to give out on him. He just needed enough time, enough time to-

Crash!

Logan jerked in his seat as the spaceship lurched violently, shuddering like a stalling vehicle. Everything felt thrown to disorder, and Logan felt all disoriented, his world spinning in front of him. He could barely hear the blare of the warning, now mixed in with a hissing noise. Not good, Logan thought.

The ground was rapidly approaching. Logan closed his eyes tightly, bracing for impact.

Beep, beep, beep, beep...

The experience was still so vivid to him, even in his dreams. Though everything felt distant. He could remember fire. Heat. The feeling of his body twisting and crushing. He couldn't breathe. Water. He remembered the water before his consciousness gave out on him.

But most importantly, he could still hear the beeping, blaring in warning. In warning that everything could go wrong in the blink of an eye. And that he would be gone, without so much of a goodbye.

Logan could still hear the beeping.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

But this beeping was different. Slowly, the sound of frantic blaring faded into something calm and steady.

Logan opened his eyes and he was immediately greeted by a gentle light. He turned to it, warmth exploding against his face like delicate kisses on Saturday mornings. Sunlight, his mind supplied helpfully, Oh, I've missed the sun.

Wait.

And then the realization hit Logan with full force. He scrambled to sit up, his body protesting every movement and his head throbbing. He was consumed by disbelief—and he needed to know whether or not he was dreaming. Or if he was, maybe, incredibly lucky.

The room was small, pristine, and white, with cabinets and a sink, and a box for sharps. Logan looked down at himself, finding that he was clad in a paper gown. A hospital, Logan quickly deduced. He was at a hospital.

He then turned his focus to the table by his bed, on top of which had a glass of water and a piece of paper beside it. Logan reached for the paper first, its worn edges fitting perfectly in his hand. It was a photograph. He instantly recognized his husband's smile and his son's signature scowl.

Logan covered his mouth, thick tears blurring his vision. Oh. He dropped his face in his trembling hands and began sobbing in overwhelming happiness and relief.

"I'm alive," Logan said, "I'm alive."

It was so difficult to believe that, after everything, after all the odds were against him, after he truly believed returning home wasn't possible, after he had resigned to believing he would die, he would be alone-

After everything, he was wrong.

Logan looked up when he heard footsteps enter his room and hastily made to recompose himself, wiping his eyes free of tears. The nurse who entered stopped by the door with a look of surprise.

"Oh, Mister Berry, you're awake!" he said. He gave Logan a warm smile as he approached with his cart. "I'm Emile and I'm going to be your nurse for today. How are you feeling?"

"Salutations, Emile," Logan said. He paused for a moment. "I'm feeling overwhelmed, I think. I've been in space for nearly a year, after all, and I thought I wouldn't-" Logan said, but he stopped himself. He smiled a little to Emile. "You know, it's nice to be speaking to someone again."

"I can't imagine how you must feel right now. It hard it must've been hard for you," Emile said.

"I don't particularly want to discuss it," Logan said.

"That's completely understandable. When you were admitted, you had several broken ribs and a severe concussion. You just woke up from a medically induced coma," Emile explained, "So, I'm going to check your vitals now, if that's alright with you."

"I want to go home," Logan said instead. It wasn't what he meant to say, but it certainly was what he wanted to say.

Emile paused. "Oh. Well, I'm not sure that would be advisable."

"I know," Logan said, "But if I can be prescribed a medicine to manage pain, I think it would be appropriate enough to discharge me."

"I would have to check with the doctor on that," Emile said. "Let me take your vitals and I'll get into contact with him."

"That is fine," Logan said, "Thank you, Emile."

Maybe it wasn't the most logical thing to leave the hospital against medical advice, but Logan couldn't regret his decision.

He sat nervously in the back of the taxi cab, his precious photograph cradled in his hands in his lap, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at it. He couldn't wait for the moment he wouldn't need the photograph anymore. He would be able to stroke his husband's cheek and hug his son, rather than brush the worn face of the picture and press it close to his chest.

There was nothing that could describe all that he was feeling in that very moment. Especially as familiar sights began to fly by through the cab's window—the cafe on the corner, the local library, the skate park, the flower shop. Logan was getting all antsy with anticipation when the taxi turned into his neighborhood.

It was only a short drive until his home came into view and it looked just as welcoming as he remembered it to be, and Logan felt like bursting into tears upon seeing it. After all this time, he was finally home.

"Alright, babes, here we are. Twenty-four Stokes Lane," said the driver as he pulled up against the curb.

Logan paid the fare, hurried out of the cab and collected his duffle bag of belongings. He stood at the end of the driveway for a second, taking a few recomposing breaths, as he felt like he was going to explode with nerves, he was trembling so much.

He made his way up the driveway and to the front door, his heart beating harder with every step. Finally, he lifted his hand to the door and gave a firm rap. A moment or two passed, and then the door unlocked and swung open.

"Yes, can I help you?"

The person that stood in the doorway wasn't someone he recognized, but rather a young adult with tan skin, fluffy hair and honey colored eyes, clad in a jacket over a set of pajamas. Logan felt his heart sink a little and he frowned.

"I- I'm-" Logan stammered, at a complete loss on what to say. He adjusted his glasses and took in a deep breath. "I'm looking for the Berry residence. Do they still...live here?"

The man smiled brightly. "Oh, yeah! This is the Berry residence," he said, "I'm Roman. Can I help you with anything?"

Logan felt a smile spread across his face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Roman. I'm Logan Berry."

Roman's eyes grew wider than saucers. "You're-"

"Hey, Princey," spoke a third voice, low and grouchy, which Logan recognized immediately. "Who the heck are you talking t-"

As Virgil popped around the door frame, he stopped completely in his tracks, shocked. The three of them stood there in silence for the longest time—Logan was simply too overwhelmed by the sheer joy of seeing his son for the first time in a year, and Virgil looked as if he had died and come back to life. Which, honestly, Logan wouldn't blame him for thinking so.

Virgil clutched Roman's sleeve with white knuckles and buried his face into Roman's arm, and began weeping. He quickly abandoned Roman and stumbled through the doorway into Logan's arms. Logan caught him in an embrace with a teary smile.

"Dad," Virgil cried.

"Virgil. I love you, Virgil," Logan said, his voice all shaky with emotion. "I'm here. I've missed you so much."

"I fuckin' hate you," Virgil said thickly. "I hate you so much."

But Virgil squeezed him tighter, as if he would never let go, and continued to weep against Logan's shoulder. Logan closed his eyes and held him close, and while there were no words exchanged, the hug spoke multitudes. Logan had dreamt about this moment for so long and nothing in the universe compared to what he was feeling. The physical manifestation of absolute happiness and love was right there in Virgil's arms.

"'m sorry," Virgil mumbled, sniffling and wiping his eyes. "I was so angry at you. But I love you so much."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Virgil."

"Wait, shit-" Virgil pulled away from him. "Dad, you have to see papa."

Logan's heart lurched at the thought of Patton and he smiled. "Yes."

Virgil pulled him inside, and Roman closed the door behind them and took Logan's duffle bag. As soon as he stepped in, he was bombarded by warmth, familiarity, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies. He knew he was truly home and that alone felt so overwhelmingly euphoric.

And then he heard the sound of singing coming from the kitchen and he couldn't hold back a smile. He could imagine the scene—Patton, clad in an apron with the words 'Hi Hungry, I'm Dad' printed on it, flour in his hair and his cheeks rosy.

Virgil led him into the kitchen and Logan's breath caught in his throat when he saw his Patton, the love of his life, for the first time in far too long.

Though his attention was towards the oven, as he held a tray of hot cookies in one hand, and fiddling with the oven knob with the other.

"Oh, goodness, we need a new oven," Patton said with a light laugh. Logan's heart fluttered.

"Hey, Papa," Virgil said. He was beaming. "Guess what."

"Yes? What is it?" Patton turned around.

His eyes met with Logan's and if felt like the world stopped spinning. There was a sharp clatter as the tray of cookies slipped from Patton's grasp. Logan could see the slight tremble in his hands as he brought them over his mouth in complete shock. Tears began to spill from his eyes and stream messily down his cheeks.

"Logan?"

"Hello, darling," Logan said, tears also gathering on his lashes.

Patton cried softly, sinking to his knees on the kitchen linoleum. Logan approached and knelt beside him, collecting his husband in his arms. Patton turned into his chest, gripping the face of his shirt and hiding in the crook of his neck.

"I must be dreaming," Patton said through his hiccups. "I missed you, Logan. So much."

"I love you," Logan said.

Patton tittered and sobbed, cupping Logan's cheek in his palm. When he smiled, his eyes shimmered like stars—beautiful and warm, and- nothing like the loneliness of the galaxy.

Patton leaned up to place a teary kiss onto Logan's lips. It felt like a dream to finally be in the arms of his love, to be able to kiss him, and hold him, and smell the chocolate chip that clung to his hair.

"You said you'd be back before I knew it." Patton said.

"I know. I'm so sorry."

Patton smiled softly, however, and kissed him again. "I'm so happy, Logan. I'm so happy you're home. And I love you so much."

"I love you so much, too. And there's nowhere I'd rather be than here. In your arms. With Virgil and Roman," Logan said. He held Patton tighter, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Nowhere in the galaxy."

#lavmochi fics #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logicality #prinxiety #space au #sad hours #sequel #ltgc #one percent

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davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

Thoughts (if any) on DC's April 2021 solicitations?

Let’s take ‘em in order! I should be able to muster up a comment on just about everything one way or another.

Green Lantern #1: Oh this is gonna be bad. Heard only the worst about Thorne’s Future State: Green Lantern, and I assume Jo Mullein’s DCU debut will be wasted here to either function as some kind of ridiculous ‘popularity contest’ with Teen Lantern for who gets the bigger push, or as a way to put TL over with a few “good work kid, you got a future” comments. Also, and granted I don’t know how Morrison will end or this will begin, is the New Guardians angle being immediately dropped?

Robin #1: Dope suit, art, and premise, but it’s Williamson so I don’t care.

Batman: The Dark Knight #1: I’ll read this and I expect to like it, but between this being Kubert’s first big Batman project since Master Race, the ‘old but not quite retirement age yet’ angle, and the title, I’m concerned the shock ending here is that it’s actually a stealth DKR prequel.

The Next Batman: Second Son #1: So they really are committing here, though weird that this kinda makes Ridley’s Future State book basically a longform teaser for this. And I’ll get it as it comes out since it turns out this won’t be in that John Ridley’s Batman collection after all - sorry Dustin Nguyen, I love your stuff but I won’t buy an entire trade of material I otherwise already own just for one new story by you.

The Batman & Scooby Doo Mysteries #1: I got that whole great-looking Scooby Doo Team-Up run by Fisch for free on Comixology, I should read that sometime and see if this’ll be worth getting too as well, because it sounds like a hoot.

Challenge of the Super Sons #1: Glad people who want it are getting it, I do not care.

RWBY/Justice League #1: WILL BE GETTING A POST ALL ITS OWN

Action Comics #1030: His powers waning definitely won’t help the standard pre-run fuming by a lot of Superman fandom, but it’s an interesting pairing with PKJ apparently doing mainly cosmic Superman adventures so I’m curious where he’ll go with it. That it’s particularly cited as being tied to Death Metal might validate my suspicion that the new ‘everyone remembers their entire mainstream publishing histories’ thing will play into Johnson’s description of Clark really feeling his age at the start of the run. And Janin on covers even before he gets in on the book proper! And that Midnighter description!

Superman #30: This sounds like where Johnson’s gonna start with that worldbuilding he touted, and I’m curious; definitely reads in this instance like him shoving Clark and Jon into some swords-and-sorcery-esque territory he’s familiar with.

American Vampire 1976 #7: Not reading, don’t care.

Batman #107: I assume ‘the events at Arkham Asylum’ are the ‘A-Day’ ominously brought up in Future State solicits. Tynion Batman, Jimenez as the regular artist now, whatever the Unsanity Collective is, all entirely my shit. More importantly than any of that though, GHOSTMAKER BACKUPS. And drawn by Ricardo Lopez Ortiz, artist on Steve Orlando’s excellent The Pull! Dope!

Batman: Black & White #5: Any other issue and ‘Jamal Campbell doing a life story of Nightwing’ would probably be the highlight, but in case you somehow hadn’t heard Gillen/McKelvie are making their DC debut on a Batman vs. Riddler story here, absolutely wild.

Batman: Urban Legends #2: Even more excited for this now that I’m onboard for the Grifter and Outsiders stuff given how much those features pleasantly surprised me in Future State.

Batman/Superman #17: Injecting it isn’t enough anymore, I need to be on some kind of constant IV drip with this book. I was wondering whether it’d take the premise to further generational riffs or follow a history of mass-media Supermen and Batmen, but instead it’s veering off in a direction I never could have guessed and I couldn’t be more excited.

Batman vs. Ra’s Al Ghul #6: NOTHING CAN STOP THE ADAMSVERSE. NONE MAY DARE TRY.

Batman/Catwoman #5: Wondering how this Harley involvement plays in - I don’t imagine it’s quite what it seems given how King’s written her before. And love that Joker by Mann on the cover, major Clown at Midnight vibes.

Catwoman #30: No reason to assume this run won’t continue to rule.

Crime Syndicate #2: Dammit, I don’t think this book is going to be good, but I’m kinda tempted.

Detective Comics #1035: Wouldn’t be psyched, but Dark Detective was another pleasant surprise so I’ll give this a chance.

The Dreaming: Waking Hours #9: Again, not reading.

Far Sector #11: Sucks a little knowing we’ll never see that little ‘Young Animal’ label in the corner again after this wraps. At least it’s going out on its highest note.

The Flash #769: In a vacuum this would sound dope but I have less than no faith in this, and goddamn that’s a terrible cover.

Harley Quinn #2: I’m sure it’ll be fine, no interest.

The Joker #2: I wanna believe Tynion will be able to make this work, he keeps talking like he has more freedom on this than he has some other books, but everything about this reads like the price he has to pay for relative post-Joker War freedom on Batman.

Justice League #60: It’s Bendis/Marquez on Justice League, lots of people will complain but I’ll mostly dig it. More interested in Ram V briefly getting to write the main crew in the JLD backup.

Man-Bat #3: I’d ask why this exists - and as a matter of fact I still do - but checking out some of DC’s digital-first output recently I see Dave Wielgosz has something on the ball, so maybe he’ll be able to make this work? Perhaps I’ll check it out in trade someday if worth-of-mouth is on its side.

Nightwing #79: I maintain, this is gonna be huge. And clever move to make for how to justify Nightwing keeping up his standard way of business after Bruce loses most of his money.

Rorschach #7: A comic I will purchase and let’s continue leaving it at that.

Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? #109: DC’s highest-numbered comic (that hasn’t gone through an interim renumbering), astonishing. Not getting it myself, but respect.

Sensational Wonder Woman #2: Can’t say this sounds like my thing.

Suicide Squad #2: I’ve been swayed into checking out the Future State debut, but that’d have to really blow me away for me to follow into the main book.

Superman: Red & Blue #2: Sadly if unsurprisingly DC’s clearly not stacking this with AAA attention-grabbing names in the same way as this latest version of Batman: Black & White, but there do seem to be some interesting names from outside the usual big two roster here. And the main and Bolland cover may disappoint but holy cow that David Choe variant.

The Swamp Thing #2: I have no doubt it’ll be incredible but time and again I learn I simply don’t have it in me to care about Swamp Thing regardless of the objective quality of the effort put into him.

Sweet Tooth: The Return #6: Another one I’m not interested in.

Titans Academy #2: Oh lord so this is where they stuck Billy Batson.

Truth & Justice #3: I continue to have no idea what if anything the unifying idea of this anthology is supposed to be.

Wonder Woman #771: Wonder Woman as troubleshooter for mythological mishaps isn’t a permanently sustainable or desirable status quo but I’m down for it for as long as it lasts if it’s any good (though that Immortal Wonder Woman preview...concerned me, in spite of Jen Bartel’s jaw-dropping art).

So that’s 19-23 out of 37 I’ll be getting - if DC’s standard for success with Infinite Frontier is the proportion of their line people will be checking out, I guess it’s winning with me.

#DC Comics #DC: Infinite Frontier #Opinion

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prairiedust · 4 years

Text

More Last Holiday Musings...

I want to poke at that interdimensional geoscope a little more, because upon reading it over again, I think I splashed it up a little fast and there are a couple of points I’d like to be clearer about. I meant to queue this up to post last night but also want it to be up before Gimme Shelter so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is more blue curtains lit crit with a dash of folklore and an honorable mention for post-structuralism. And we’re talking about Supernatural after all, so this is sort of... well, it’s about endings.

Last Holiday was not a typical “filler” or even a typical MOTW episode. It felt extremely insular, possibly more so than any other episode I can think at any other point in the series. As opposed to the usual crowd of “locals,” a spate of victims, and a couple of red herring suspects, the only other people in this ep besides the Winchesters (including Jack) and Mrs. Butters were the two vampires and Cuthbert Sinclair. There was no “case” as in a usual MOTW-- there was no Chuck Struggle, either, and the lack of mytharc was strange against the lack of “filler” schema. That lack of “MOTW investigation” marked this episode also as being about “curiosity”-- the Winchesters all-too-quickly took Mrs. Butters for granted-- Dean even dismissed her as a “Magic Roomba” and that seemed to settle the matter. Furthermore, the moment that Dean spotted Mrs. B in his room, the stage was set for Antics ™ when she held up his goofy Scooby boxers, and indeed a zaniness, an almost manic energy drove the action forward at a breakneck pace. [Spoiler alert, we do get “investigation” in the next episode, 15x15 Gimme Shelter, as stills and the preview show that Castiel and Jack will be teaming up together, in yet another shake-up of the usual “MOTW” template, almost like we can expect the other side of a coin when Sam and Dean switch places with Cas...] These features set Last Holiday apart as not so much “filler” as “between,” as in there was struggle before, and there will be struggle after, but for a while there was cake. (Contrast this to the usual “peril of the threshold” that usually shrouds liminality if you’d like.)

At the end of Last Holiday, however, we finally get to find out what that old blue telescope really is, and with that name we get confirmation that there are no more alternate universes-- Chuck has burned them all. Viewers are left to come to the conclusion that in retrospect the telescope-thing could have changed the course of season 13 completely. The reveal is played off as darkly funny, but it’s also kind of a gut-wrenching moment, too. All the heartbreak of the last two and a half years, reviewed now through the lens of “if only.” If only they’d known about Mrs. Butters from the time they found the bunker, “none of this would have happened”… they’d have had monster radar, they’d have had the geoscope, they would have had supernatural help of a completely different level.

The temptation to read Last Holiday as a Chuck-free episode is strong, but fraught-- the threat of Chuck’s involvement has been established by a pattern this season (well the pattern is woven throughout the whole series really but Dabb has deliberately structured these last three seasons with an exponentially increasing frequency.) I feel like we’ve been conditioned this season in particular to hold ourselves in a perpetual flinch, to be afraid of what we’ll learn “in retrospect.” That geoscope was really_good_subtext, and it is entirely possible, even encouraged, at this point in the plot to take information we’ve learned from the naming of the object, examine our own conditioned response to this episode, and apply both things to the structure of the season so far and make a prediction as to what might happen in the main plot. That’s what I mean about subtext getting loud. We’ve been given the green-light to make a prediction about The Struggle and march forward with it, and see if we will be correct by extrapolating the pattern, or if that expectation will be subverted (the twist is set up to run either way, so either outcome is satisfying.) It is Melville-esque architecture of the highest degree;I could write another thousand words just about that. So I have a prediction that I’m hanging on to, because of what we’ve learned from the geoscope, and what kinds of clues were hung up in Last Holiday, and I’m super excited to either have my hunch confirmed or be frightfully and delightedly surprised. I mean, where the fuck did Jeremy Adams even come from? He’s like our own Mrs. Butters, showing up in the last quarter to run a couple game-changing balls into the end zone, it’s bonkers. I mean, I know writing mysteries is hard and requires still AND cunning, but damn, son.

But anyway, back to the geoscope…

I’m perplexed, from a very “lit crit” perspective, but this is where I’m at and why I referenced blue curtains-- if you shine too bright a light on subtext, does it evaporate-- like looking through an interdimensional geoscope and not seeing anything-- or is “subtext” sometimes not some ephemeral fever-dream that we as viewers conjure up through our experiential interlocution with the text but something a writer has steeped into the narrative as part of their craft? Or when you’re talking about an evolving iteration of writers, is it possible that one picks up a thread that another wove in for something else, repurposing or amplifying it? And, when perhaps is something deliberately instilled in the text in order to become “text” at just the right time? In Moby Dick, [spoiler alert lol] Quequeg’s coffin-- formerly one of many symbolic vehicles used to foreshadow the doom of the Pequod-- is repurposed as a life buoy and becomes the actual object that saves Ishmael’s life, transforming it from a portent of disaster to a symbol of salvation and then to one of Ishmael’s guilt for surviving Ahab’s madness-- the guilt that had been made text by the very opening line of the book, “Call me Ishmael.” In retrospect, the connotations of wandering, exile and salvation behind the name that the narrator gives himself become crystal clear. The problem that the post-structuralist model of “reading” as simultaneously “creating the text” has manufactured is that the idea that “subtext” can often be discounted as something dreamed up wholecloth by the reader, and thus inferior, imaginary, even delusional (and I use that last word knowing what a loaded term that is in the spn fandom, but this is not about a ship, even) where once it was considered to be a valid and measurable part of the text itself, like that dang coffin. It was the basement, the underpinnings, the catacombs below the opera house sure, but it helped to hold up the structure. And for some reason, putting subtext into a piece of media has become passe, or cringe? Anyway, not to be bitter on main but it didn’t used to be this way, at least not in the heady early days of postmodernism. So that green light? Critical hit against blue curtains. And while yes, some readings are going to be better supported than others, and the wild variety of checklists in this fandom mean that some conclusions have been drawn which can’t pan out, if you’re paying attention to the structure, the subtexts, the alchemical/psychoanalytical/postmodern themata, the ending will be very satisfying.

So. What was once speculated to be a symbol for emotional lows or turning points (among other things) in the bunker was textually hit with a bright green light, then Dean got curious about it in text, and we were told-- in text-- that oh it’s just a fancy spyglass, and now that the other worlds are gone, it has no purpose…. that’s what I mean about the geoscope now being “pure”-- it wasn’t clear whether the telescope ever had any function, subtetxtual or not, and now that it’s certain what it’s “function” was, it’s now freed up as a “symbol”-- unless like in Moby Dick it’s new “purpose” is revealed later, but right now it’s caught in this liminal place of not-quite-clue and not-quite-metaphor...

However, and I didn’t put this in my first post because I was trying to be fast and not a wet blanket, but I felt like finally naming the geoscope was an ending.

This is literally Singer, Dabb, and Co tidying up the house before locking it behind them.

I think when Dean said he didn’t see anything through the “telescope thing,” that we’re to understand that maybe this was the last hurrah of the cute, zany, campy “subtext” or even “metatext” if you’d rather that so many of us have been parsing and which has gotten so weird and bright since season 12/13. I think I said in one of the folklore posts that writing about some of the things I write about feels like making daisy chains in the endzone during the big game. Which is fun, that’s how I personally got through having to be in AYSO soccer for four years, by looking for four leafed clovers and eating orange quarters. And we got a wood nymph in this episode, textually even, so I could easily check the “folklore” box on this one. But the sheer euphoria of Last Holiday and all the sparkles it brought into the story aren’t meant to last. When you look back on fifteen years of text, a lot of it is bleak, miserable stuff. That’s not to say that episodes like Yellow Fever and Hunteri Heroici and Fan Fiction et al shouldn’t be celebrated. But I think from here on out, things are going to be less “golly gee, three birthdays!” and more “There she blows! --there she blows! A hump like a snowhill!”

This episode was a gift in many ways, not just for the sense of glee it transmitted-- it also did so much work and there are things I want to yell about in the way language was hit, the red versus green lighting, the way the backwards holidays worked, the projector as a metaphor for Mrs. B projecting her regrets and fears onto Jack, the amount of food that was created and consumed, how that smoothie was also an echo of “fairy food” or an underworld pact if you squint-- but the stakes are so high now. We haven’t been shown the next valley-- there was no final scene of Chuck rubbing his hands together like the villain from a melodrama, for example-- but the last image we got was Jack blowing out a candle. After the candle is blown out, the cake is dismantled and consumed. Once the story is over, all the themes that are so hard to grapple in a text like a television show can be gathered up and analyzed. (IS that all, though? After all, Dean made his own cake later, which, like, echoes of the “oh two cakes” comic lol...)

Since I really never want to leave anything I toss out on this blog on a last note of doom and gloom, however, I do want to say that I too understand what that last image meant. It meant, as Sam said, make a wish. Think of the future, think of free will, and hope for something wonderful to happen. (or do like me and wonder what the hell Jack wished for with dread and anticipation ha ha ha.)

#the poststructuralism of supernatural #the folklore of supernatural #no more tags right now #tag later

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chubby-dragon13 · 3 years

Text

An Unexpected Visit

Welp It’s been a century since I’ve written anything on this blog. My current hyperfixation fandom now is League of legends though there is literally no WG stories for this fandom at all and the only ones ive seen are for the same females so ive just decided to write somthing for myself with my favorite ship, the two ninja masters Shen and Zed.

I WILL MAKE THIS AS OBVIOUS AS POSSIBLE. THIS IS A WEIGHT GAIN STORY SO IF YOU DONT LIKE IT JUST KEEP ON SCROLLING OK! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ANY HATE OK? THANKS.

He knew he was going to get caught. That was the plan after all. Did Shen wail on him a bit harder then he expected. Just a bit. It was honestly more surprising that he was alive if he really had to think about it. Like his father though Shen had that odd mercy that he never did understand and had him shipped to Tuula Prison where he was purged, rather painfully, of his shadow magic and left in a cell alone. Now he sits on his simple, slightly ratty bed and finishes his lunch for the day, just as he does everyday. He places the plate to the side and places his hand on his stomach. Looking down he flinches slightly at the new doughy softness that has made it’s self known slowly but surely in his time in this cell. Never being allowed to leave his cell much and eating more then he normally would has certainly taken its toll. The master of shadow never really ate much if at all most days and now to suddenly eat three meals a day and not move around much had added plushness he never thought he’d ever see on himself. He grimaces at the taught peasant tunic he’s wearing. It had been getting tighter recently. This would be the forth time he’d need a new shirt. A deep sigh escapes his lips as his hand moves over his distended stomach down to his thickened thighs. It was the oddest sensation to be so…big. Along with this size also came the weight. His movements were slow and and clunky compared to how they used to be because of it. Even walking has changed. From the smooth quick strides to an odd slow sway as his thighs push each other to move forward. Seeing what he’s become from what he was will never cease being embarrassing. Not that he can do much about it anymore. He lays back on the bed and winces as the bed frame creaks. Nothing to do now but lament what once was.

Shen isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing as he walks into the prison. For months now his mind has been filled with the thought of his childhood best friend since he was caught. Of course he pushed duty first above all else. He was caught and now paying for his crime. There should be nothing more to this story. It’s done and over with. At least it should be. His heart and mind seem to be telling him otherwise and was now dragging the Eye of Twilight to Tuula prison to see him. Perhaps if he sees him one more time he’ll finally get over this attachment. The guards are quick to let him in and don’t ask questions when he asks to be left alone with Usan. He’s informed where his cell is and makes a bee line there. As he gets closer though he slows and begins to second guess himself a bit. Why is he doing this again? What was the point? Usan was gone only Zed remained. Yet why did he keep thinking there was a bit of him that he loved still left in this albino man? No. He had to do this. Closer was the only way to truly move on. He’s walking pace renewed he quickly made it to what was supposed to be Zed’s cell but as he peers in he doesn’t see the slender pale figure he was expecting to see. In its place was still a pale form but it was much, much larger then he remembered. Quietly he takes a couple unsure steps forward towards the large man and experimentally calls out to them.

“Usan? Zed? Is that you?” The figure suddenly goes completely still like it was flash frozen and now a statue. Burgundy eyes look back at him with a wide surprised expression. He knew those eyes. This was most definitely Zed. Shen enters his cell and watches as Zed rolls his newly rotund body upright with a couple soft grunts. The albino puffs a bit and takes in a breath as he sits on the bed.

“Shen. What brings you here? I’m sure you’ve heard I am incapable of causing trouble without my powers.” The ginger looks down at the pudgy man with a raised eyebrow. Despite his shock of seeing Zed like this he keeps his voice in his usual calm monotone.

“I am certain the lack of power is a smaller reason for you not causing trouble.” The former Master of Shadows glares up at him. Ah, so there is still some fire in him. That’s oddly nice to see.

“Glad to see your eyes are still functioning.” Zed snaps back at him. Shen sighs.

“I did not come here to fight with you.” The huff that comes from the seated male tells him that he does not believe him.

“Then do tell. Why are you here?” A simple enough question to ask. Not so simple to answer. He supposes being truthful and blunt should be the way to go. Like pulling out a thorn.

“I came here to see you.” The expression of disbelief on Zed’s face tells him he’s still untrusting. Zed knows Shen does not lie but he couldn’t be here for such a simple reason.

“You came here. To see me? Why?” Shen breaks eye contact and lets his blue tinted eyes roam down towards Zed’s new acquisition. The bulging mass sitting heavily in his lap, taking up so much space on those larger thighs that are spread wide on the bed. He is completely transfixed on this new plump form. Every curve and bulge unique and begging him to reach out and explore the tattooed pale mass underneath that strained tunic that seems to be struggling to hold back the, what he assumes to be, slowly growing belly underneath. He clearly was going to need a new shirt soon and possibly new pants as well to hold all of him in. The normally stone face of Zed has gained a hint of red as the Eyes of Kinkou Master roam his body. He clears his throat to try to regain Shen’s attention and those glowing blue eyes look back up at his cherubic face.

“Well? Now that you’ve looked me over enough answer the question. Why are you here?” Shen coughs into his hand and is obviously trying to shove his awkwardness down.

“I told you, I came here to see you. I am not sure why either. You have…been on my mind a lot recently and I thought perhaps if I saw you again I could move on.” The truth has been revealed and a slightly uncomfortable silence fills the air.

“I see. Well, you’ve seen me. Can you move on now?” The slight sadness in Zed’s voice as he says that is not lost on Shen.

“No.” He says bluntly. It was true as well. Seeing Zed, and his new form, again has only increased his heart and mind’s desire to be close to the one he loved, loves, once more. A deep inhale and a couple large strides is the only warning Zed gets as Shen closes the space between them and crouches down to embrace him fully. The albino man goes completely still in shock. Oh. He was not expecting this at all. The embrace was so warm and strong. Large hands squeezing his soft, yielding flesh.Defined jaw and cheekbones pushed against pudgy, round cheeks. Muscular torso against plush belly and breasts. Contrasts so stark but so oddly pleasant against each other. It takes Zed a few moments to fully sink into the hug and return it with his own plush arms. They stay like this for a good while before one of the large hands moves to the front and gives the large fatty mass a gentle squeeze. This brings a sudden small gasp from the shorter man.

“So forward are we?” The assailant lets out a soft, short laugh, hand working the swollen fat slightly.

“I would be lying if I said I was not a bit curious to feel what your body felt like now.” A small strange shiver runs down Zed’s spine. Curious was he? Maybe he should indulge in Shen’s curiosity. He pushes Shen back a bit and lifts the tunic up and off him, letting the restrained tattooed fat flood forward.

“Oh.” Is all the Eye of Twilight can muster as his vision is filled with jiggling paleness. His mouth going a bit dry at the sight of so much ample fat. He can’t remember ever being attracted to larger men but there is just something about the way Zed wears all of this that just seems so nice. A pudgy hand rubs softly at the bulging stomach ever so tauntingly.

“Well, you want a feel?” Yes. Yes he does. Shen wastes no time in letting his hands sink deeply into the blubbery mound on Zed’s lap. It was so warm and lush so perfect for holding. He squeezes his way down to the marked underbelly and lifts the full mass slightly and lets it fall into place. Blue eyes locked in and completely mesmerized by the wobbling it does. A chuckle breaks his concentration.

“I did not take you for someone so interested in this?” Zed gestures to his bloated frame. Shen smiles slightly.

“Neither did I. I suppose I just can not resist you no matter what you look like.” Red flashes across ivory skin.

“Ah. Ever the one for flattery hm?” A surprising tender kiss lands and presses against his belly. The smile widening a bit more.

“No. I just speak truth. You have always been lovely and I still mean it.” A gentle push that is so reminiscent from when they were young lands on Shen’s face. It seems he has managed to fluster the once cold shadow master. He watches in amusement as the albino squirms slightly and is red faced from embarrassment. Cute. His hand goes up to cup his soft cheek and rubs it tenderly. Getting up he continues to stroke Zed’s cheek. Light blue and burgundy eyes meet before closing. Lips meet with passion that had been pent up for so long. Hands eagerly taking as much of each other as they can until the stronger of the two pushes them down onto the bed. The hefty round frame is quickly straddled. Big plump belly pressed against hardened abs. The kiss breaks when they run out of breath and Shen is looking down at the panting face underneath and can’t help but dip down to kiss the thick layer of fat that has given Zed a second chin. A small laugh comes out of the pale man.

“Having fun?” A hand lands on the center of the tattooed girth and wobbles it a little playfully.

“Yes. How could I not?” Shen lays himself down next to Zed on the bed and holds him close. The hand has not left the shadow masters portly stomach and starts rubbing circles into it. A quiet groan escapes the bloated man. That feels so wonderful. A chuckle comes out of the ginger and he leans in to kiss the others cheek.

“Is that nice?” The white haired man nods and presses himself more into him. So desperate for the touch of one another. So much time has past. So much time wasted. Now they will waste no more time. No more what if’s or wondering what could have been. Living in the past no longer when the future holds something worth thinking about. The blue clad ninja squeezes him tightly, fingers caressing down the side and takes a large handful of a ripe love handle. The tattooed man in his arms holds on to one of his powerful biceps and rests his head underneath his chin. A position they have not had in many years. Calm, comfortable silence befalls them until a faint rumble disturbs the quiet. A dark eyebrow raises up and blue eyes cast down at the tint of red against alabaster cheeks.

“Hungry?” The sound returns to answer for the question. The albino in his arms grumbles as he tries to hide his face from the spirit eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes then. I suppose I’ll have to remember to bring something for you to eat next time I visit.” A half hearted smack to his arm causes him to laugh faintly.

“As if I need more food.” Zed complains. His belly betraying his declaration with an audible rumble. A kiss makes its way onto his head.

“Well it isn’t like you are going anywhere and whats the harm of having something a little special when I visit?” Dark red eyes look up at him slightly narrowed in suspicion.

“If I didn’t know better I would be assuming you like me like this?” He emphasizes “this” by grabbing a hand full of his plush middle. A war worn callous hand grabs the pale pudgy one and runs a thumb across it.

“Usan, I will like you no matter your form. I will admit your new softness is pleasant but it’s you I adore more then anything.” The ever obvious blush that casts upon Zed’s face brings Shen a deep joy. Those dark ruby eyes cast down a bit as their owner musters up his voice.

“You are just flattering me.” The voice says softly. A finger and thumb come up to take the fat under Zed’s chin and lift his head up to meet loving blue eyes.

“We both know that I am not lying to you. I love you as much as you love me my Heartlight. No amount of weight will change that.” The kiss that comes after is filled with love that makes the once cold shadow master’s heart flutter like when he was young. Parting leaves them wanting a bit more and dip back in for a quick peck before they gain tender smiles on their faces.

“I know you do not lie. That has always been something I have done but not you. You’ve always been so blunt and to the point.” This brings a chortle out of Shen.

“I have no reason to lie and don’t always care for small talk when there is a matter at hand. Like what I should bring you. “ He says a bit cheekily. The large hand returns to its new favorite place upon the large engorged stomach and gives it a playful pinch. An equally playful swat comes down on the cheeky hand. The rarest of broad smiles appears upon the normally stoic face of the Eye of Twilight.

“Ass.” Is the only response he gets from the slightly pouty albino. The ginger decides in that moment would be a good moment to play dumb and reaches further back to pinch at the large behind of the Master of Shadows which prompts a quicker, slightly harder swat. Shen pretends to be confused and looks at him innocently.

“What? You said ass? I assumed that is where you wanted me to touch you?” Those deep red eyes narrow and a plump hand comes forth to squeeze at one of the blue coated large pecs. This in turn makes the cheeky ninja take in a sharp breath. A smirk is plastered on Zed’s face as it was now Shen’s turn to be dusted with red across his face.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Oh so two can play at the pretending to be dumb game. Light blue eyes take their turn to narrow and the hand holding the wide doughy behind squeeze firmly making Zed gasp slightly. A tan face is quick to use the small distraction and worm its way to the side of Zed’s neck and bury itself. An assault of light kisses there follows and he can feel the blubbery body under him trembling and wobbling from the need to laugh and squirm. Stubborn, still is the shadow master and trying so desperately to maintain his composer in a losing battle. It’s not long before he’s laughing sparaticly and trying to wiggle out of the very strong grasp. Damn Shen and his ridiculous strength! The onslaught continues and the albino is helpless until Shen feels some mercy to let Zed breath. A pleased smile clear on his face.

“I hate you.” Is the response he gives to the man next to him. There is no malice in his voice at all as he says this and the spirit seer knows this.

“I love you too Zed.” That statement is punctuated with a kiss and a huff from the white haired man. He was grumpy it seems.

“My poor Heartlight. Did that upset you? Would you feel a little better if I bring you those dumplings I know you like the next time I visit?” The sudden stillness from Zed tells Shen all he needs to know. He still remembers fondly the times they would go and get them together and even the times Zed had snuck off to get some by himself. They were delicious and he could not blame his love for liking them so much.

“I’ll take that as a yes and perhaps I should bring you some larger clothing as well? Im sure these garbs won’t last much longer and I would hate for you to be so uncomfortable. Maybe even a couple sizes bigger so you have a little room to grow into.” A much deeper red spreads across those chubby white cheeks. Shen tugs curiously on the hem of Zed’s pants. There was not much give there and the stitching down towards those thick thighs were becoming quite strained. The larger body clearly needed room to breath, and grow. The blushing man was oddly quiet which in Shen’s experience means that he is right in his assumption.

“You think I will get bigger?” An uncertain voice says. Blue eyes soften at the question. He muscular man sighs and caresses a warm cheek.

“I do not know but I will love you none the less. I am serious though. I would like to make sure you are comfortable.” The slightly concerned expression turns into questioning.

“I am in prison. I am not supposed to be comfortable” Ah, there he goes starting to push away his love slightly again. Shen will not let him do that again this time non again. A warm soft hand is placed upon his firm jaw draws his attention.

“I know that face. It seems you are determined to make me as comfortable as possible and I can not do much about it can I?” A low chuckle comes out from the blue ninja.

“No, you can’t do anything about it. I will love you and let it be known to you in any way I can.” He says confidently. A pleasant smile grows on Zeds’s face.

“I should have expected nothing less. I love you too My Heartlight.” The albino ends that sentence with a full hug, unifying them once more. They sigh in blissful comfort and time seem to stand still. The world feels so distant from this moment and neither of them wish to return to reality. Unfortunately time does pass and eventually Shen’s visit must come to an end. When the Eye of Twilight shifts to get up Zed knows his blissful time with him is tragically over. Fully sitting up he watches his love stand and stretch before offering him a hand to get up himself.

“Guide me to the door?” A dry short laugh leaves Zed. The door was only a couple steps behind Shen but it would be rude not to see him out. He takes the offered hand and heaves himself up to his feet. All that fat he is carrying drops down and bounces a bit. Standing up he follows the same route that Shen did and stretches a bit leaving his belly open for a couple hands to cup the bulging fat. His own hands meet the strong firm ones as he smiles up at the owner.

“I will miss you.” The master of shadows says honestly. He does not know how long his beloved will be gone but even now before he has even left his heart already aches for him to return. One of the hands moves up to stroke his cheek. A strong, hard abdomen pushes into his lush belly. Those eyes still full of affection he long since thought he would never see again. The lips he longs to kiss over and over part to speak.

“And I will miss you as well. So much. I will try to visit you as much as I can. Perhaps one day when you will be released we can try to have a normal life. As normal as we could have it.” A hopeful dream. Zed would normally crush those dreams as soon as they arise but this time there just seemed to be so much mirth and hope in this one that he just did not have the heart to break it. He would love to try and start life over with Shen once more. Fat or not he would have his love and that is all that mattered now to him. The order would survive with Kayn, it was not like he could do much in this state anyway. Why not try to be happy for once in his life?

“I would adore that, My Heartlight.” The taller man smiles warmly before leaning down to ensnare his plump love in a deep final kiss. Their arms wrapping tightly around one another as if they would never see each other again. Who knew how long it would be before they would see each other again. The kiss breaks with slight panting and immeasurable amounts of fondness. They are stalling for the inevitable departure, they know it, but it is hard to say goodbye after just fully reconnecting.

“Please…be safe.” Is the one request that comes from the shorter man. A hand squeezes his plump upper arm reassuringly.

“I will. For you. In turn I expect you to behave. If you seem like you’ve change it could make it easer to have you released from here.” A hand gestures to the surrounding cell. A short chortle leaves the prisoner.

“By the time I’m allowed to leave I am sure I will be as wide as the doorway.” Zed says sarcastically. Shen glances behind him to look at the aforementioned doorway. It was quite wide. At least double the width Zed was now. A small flash of thought fills the gingers mind for a moment. The thought of Zed being that large made his insides unusually warm. He keeps his stoic face and doesn’t show a hint of what he was currently thinking about.

“As I said and will continue to say. That will not bother me in the slightest. As long as it is you, you may look however you wish. I will always love you.” The heartfelt sentiment is reciprocated with a quick kiss to the jaw from the shadow master.

“I know. I suppose this is where you leave?” Those burgundy eyes glint with a touch of sorrow. Shen breathes heavily with equal amounts of gloom.

“Unfortunately. I will send letters to you between my visits. If we cannot see each other frequently then we can at least write.” The forlorn feeling in the room lessens slightly at that proclamation.

“I would like that. Very much. Goodbye My Heartlight.” Zed says softly.

“Goodbye, My Love.” Their departure is marked with the actual final embrace and deep passionate kiss. How they wish they did not wish to part but alas it can not be for now. They had waited years for each other with their dispute what is a few more with pleasant visits and and ever growing love.

#my fanfiction #long story #weight gain #male weight gain #weight gain story #League stuff #I dont have the nerve to put the actual league tag lol #weight gain kink

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

Text

Ch. 5

Characters: Sophia, Fenrir, Kyle, and Luka

Pairing: Sophia Emerson x Fenrir Godspeed

Tagging: @plumpblueberry

“Ain’t the records office closed at this hour?” Fenrir asked, refusing to leave the newest member alone. He cast a glance at the large clock that’s hand moved ever closer to the morning hour of three. Meetings could run extremely late, and as such, on more than one occasion had an officer been sent to retrieve a worker if Blanc weren’t present.

Sophia stuffed her hand into the bag barely clinging to her shoulder, shuffling around the contents until the cool brass ring touched her fingers. “We keep patient records here and have to be able to access them at any time. Only a select few have these.” The door blocking their path easily bypassed with the ring of keys.

The crystals flickered ominously before lighting the room. A layer dust sat upon the lids of the boxes of labeled files stacked too high for their weight. The doctor winded around them, finding the stack that held what she needed. Sliding them down one by one, placing them carefully on the ground, pale blue eyes widened at the hand swiping across the top, sending dust specks up into the air. “Don’t—” Sophia gave a sigh, giving up on the warning since it hardly mattered.

“Do ya not like dust?” A question asked by someone so innocent.

How different the two of them were.

Biting the inside of her lip, Sophia shook her head. “It’s nothing.” It would be careless of her to leave the hidden notes here now. There were many places available to keep them safe. The meaty file tucked close to her chest; she asked the Ace of Spades to put the boxes back in order.

She absently wondered how long he would continue to tag along. Long nights were more common than well-rested ones in her line of work. The time of night didn’t show on his features, a bright smile on his lips when their gazes met as they silently left the Civic Center. “Shouldn’t you be returning to headquarters?”

“Shouldn’t you? You work there now too!” Fenrir clapped his hand on her shoulder as if he were the sole member of her welcoming party. His demeanor friendly and emotions openly worn on his features. A genuinely honest man, just as… he had been.

The ache in her chest impossibly tight.

“It would be waste of valuable time. I have a loft in town.” Dwelling on memories of time that would never be returned to her would only cause more pain. Instead, Sophia intended to focus on this strange case. Her steps quieter than the boots of the army boy strolling beside her without a care. He seemed to latch onto her quickly but held no ill intent.

Simply, he was curious about her.

What better way to glean information than visit her home?

Fenrir stretched out his hand in front of her, stopping the doctor from climbing the final stair to the entrance of the loft. A quick hop over it to the landing, he bent slightly, fingers tracing over the broken frame. “Someone didn’t have a key.” His gun tugged from the holster as he pushed open the door.

The entire apartment had been ransacked but the Ace found no one still inside. He returned to the office space with a frown on his features. “You should check to see if anything is missing. I’ll find a soldier to report this to headquarters.”

“Do not report this.”

The crease between his brows deepened, not understanding their newest member at all. Her home had been broken into, trashed, and she stood there as if it were a natural occurrence. A civilian would be shaken up by this. “We need to find the culprit. You ain’t safe here.”

Sophia set the file she’d taken from the Civic Center on the messy desk, tapping her finger against it. “Nothing is missing. This is what they were after.” It made perfect sense, and the picture was getting ever so clearer to her. The mess simply a countermeasure to make it seem like a random break in.

“How can ya know that?”

How indeed. She didn’t want to prematurely bring up a hunch, so she fed small details. “This case is about drugs. Whoever is behind the production must be keeping tabs on the armies. They stole my notes from the clinic and must have known I kept copies.” Glossing over the how, Sophia began to stack the papers scattered across the desk. “Can you clean up the living room?”

“And they came here to find ‘em.” For the time being, it appeared that Fenrir wasn’t going to dig deeply into the missing details. Scratching the back of his neck, he gave a nod. “You got it.” He retreated like a scolded puppy.

Sophia holed up in the office. The state of it not as concerning as the single sheet of paper holding her findings for the patient. Something about the symptoms reminded her of something but it escaped her as to what. The tiredness falling over her required a strong cup of coffee.

She paused on her way to the kitchen, finding the Ace of Spades snoozing away on her couch. He’d done a decent job at cleaning and then made himself at home. What a strange man. He could sleep soundly in a stranger’s home, as if they were close friends or lovers.

She needed to distance herself from him.

******

The following morning, Fenrir passed her off to the Jack of Spades with a bright grin and pat on the shoulder. With a hungover Kyle, the three took a carriage into Black Territory. The wheels rumbled over the dirt road, tossing the carriage roughly whenever it hit a stray rock.

“And he ate an entire bag of that candy for breakfast. It’s like he can’t survive without sugar at every meal,” Kyle complained, rubbing his temples as if it would soothe his splitting headache. His distaste for sweets never changing.

Sophia crossed her legs, previously uninterested in the conversation between Luka and Kyle tossed the other doctor a pointed glare. “At least he’ll have a functioning liver by the time he’s thirty-five.” He’d likely drink himself to death.

Kyle muttered a ‘shut up’ before slumping against the side of the carriage to rest a bit more. Left alone together, Luka shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t understand the relationship between the two doctors nor her relationship with his friend. He couldn’t recall ever meeting her in school.

“We had a few classes together in medical school.”

“Oh. You were there at the same time?” His quizzical gaze shifting between the two of them, trying to puzzle out the age difference.

Sophia turned her gaze out the window, watching the scenery pass them by. “I’m twenty-seven. Kyle started medical school at a much younger age than me, but I had training at home from a relative that was a doctor.” She’d been born with the purpose of becoming a doctor, although the intension wasn’t to heal.

Luka was silent for a moment, mulling over the information and trying to make sense of it. “I don’t remember you at the boarding school, but Ed – the Jack of Hearts – he said—” His comment lost at the annoyed expression that crossed the doctor’s features.

“Whatever Edgar said should be regarded with caution. He enjoys entertaining himself at the expense of anyone else that crosses his path.” And he was quite dangerous. As a Clemence, surely, he’d heard the rumors floating around about the Bright family. Most of the time, it was written off as simply hearsay, but her own family had plenty of evidence to prove otherwise.

“He’s not a bad person.”

“I never said he was,” Sophia replied, the first to rise from the bench seat when the carriage came to a stop. Stepping down onto the dirt road, pale blue eyes scanned the small cottage. “He’s only at the mercy of his family obligations, like most of the old families in Red Territory.” That didn’t excuse the way he toyed with others, but she understood all too well what those obligations could make one do. She gave no time for the younger officer to reply, instead walking ahead to their destination.

There was little around the house but weeds. Paint peeling away from the wood, showing how little it was cared for. Kyle rapped his knuckles against the door, rubbing his tired face with his other hand. He only perked up when it swung open, Alex’s wife questioning their sudden appearance. “We’d like to ask Alex a few follow up questions.”

The woman hugged the door close, warily eyeing all three army officers. Her gaze settled on Sophia. “You’re that doctor from the clinic. I-I didn’t know you were in the Black Army.”

“I was not when I treated your husband. May I see him for a follow up exam?” The woman’s hesitation evident as her eyes were focused on Luka, likely eyeing the large sword strapped to his back. “They’ll wait here, if you’re more comfortable.”

“I guess that would be alright—”

Although neither Kyle nor Luka looked pleased with the plan of her going in alone, Sophia went anyways with a suggestion of the woman explaining to Kyle how her husband has been. They could interview both of them that way.

She followed the given directions, up the creaky staircase and down the short hall to the last room on the left. The cold doorknob taking a bit of jiggling to access the bedroom. He was in worse condition than she expected. The shell of a man stretched out on the small cot. “Mr. Marshall, I’m doctor Emerson. I treated you at the clinic in Central Quarter.”

He was little more than a skeleton. “I remember.” His voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. With her help, bony hands icy cold in hers, Alex managed to sit up on the edge. “My legs have completely stopped working.”

Partial paralysis. Not unheard of after drug abuse.

Sophia crouched down, testing his reflexes to confirm. “How long have you not had feeling?” He should have come in immediately, but she refrained from saying so. The deterioration of his body too severe to have resulted from the previous overdose. He was likely still dosing every now and then.

“A few weeks.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “But doc, you didn’t come here for a checkup. Being in the army, I’m gonna guess you are here about the drugs.”

Unusually honest.

“Yes. We’re investigating a dangerous drug affecting the whole of Cradle. You are the only user who hadn’t died.” It wouldn’t be much longer until he joined that statistic. Whatever he’d taken, it was infecting his muscles and nervous system.

“It’s like being able to see the world without a filter.”

Sophia tilted her head in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Taking Wonderland. It opens up the truth of the world to be revealed. I saw so many beautiful things that are hidden.”

Hallucinations.

Rising to her feet, Sophia resisted the urge to dispel his fantasies. It wouldn’t do any good to shatter the dying man’s delusion. “Where do you get it from?” Even in this poor state, he should be able to remember the location.

“Oh, the red door —”

BANG! BANG!

A rain of bullets pierced through the window next to the bed.

Sophia ducked down, reaching out to jerk Alex down into the floor with her. Warm blood coated her hands. Multiple bullets embedded into his chest and one perfectly drilled through his skull. The biggest lead they had was dead before she’d even had a chance to save him. Out of habit, she pressed two fingers against his neck for a pulse, finding none.

As quickly as it had started, it ended. An eerie silence set in. Only the wind lamented the passing of the troubled man.

“Sophia!” Kyle shouted from downstairs, cursing to himself.

“I’m fine. Alex is dead.”

“So is his wife. I’ve only got a graze. The Jack of Spades went after the culprits.”

Culprits? Multiple?

Sophia glanced around. All of the stray bullets were lodged deeply into the walls or floor, none easy to access for examination. She knelt beside the deceased, taking out a scalpel from her bag to remove one single bullet. Although it was covered in blood, the blue tip still showed through. A signature too unique to ignore.

A white flower starkly contrasted the destroyed room. It couldn’t be more than a day old as it didn’t have any wilt to it. Sophia folded it into a handkerchief and carefully placed it into her medical bag. It was becoming far too clear to her.

“Someone doesn’t want us investigating,” Luka said, meeting the two the doctors out in front of the house. He clutched his shoulder with a crimson hand, out of breath and pale. He hadn’t been able to detain any of the shooters.

“None of the other houses were targeted of any known overdose victims,” Kyle added.

“That’s because none of them were alive to give up the dealer. Alex and his wife were threats.” Not quite the truth but all of it that she was willing to give. Taking out a pen, she scribed some numbers on a torn piece of paper.

Golden eyes swept over her again, looking for any possible injury. “Are you sure that you aren’t injured?”

Her head nodded in response. “Yes, I’m sure. Give this to Edgar. He’ll know what it means.” Sophia held out the scrap until Kyle reluctantly accepted it. It would mean absolutely nothing to anyone except the Jack of Hearts. There was absolutely no need to check herself for injuries.

“How can you possibly know that?”

Sophia tugged the door to the carriage open, mulling over what her steps should be. Putting together all the evidence to present to Ray, she supposed. It would be best to do it sooner rather than later, but privately, nonetheless. Pale blue irises were void of much emotion when they turned back on her two companions.

“They weren’t aiming for me.”

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #fenrir godspeed #kyle ash #luka clemence #sophia emerson #ikemen revolution fanfiction #etched in blood #soon we will get into the mafia part of this story #just more angst to come

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~5200

note. THIS GETS REAL NON-PG-13 REAL QUICK. I'M SORRY.

chapter 6.

You don't think you'll ever get used to it. The kisses pressed to your crown, over your eyelids, coaxing sandman's dust from your lashes. The saccharine laughter muddled by sleep and swept into messy sheets, threaded into stitches and saved for another day. His hands and his warmth, all over and everywhere and yet never enough. He was like a straight shot of adrenaline and you were a junkie, desperate for the thrill.

Every day was like some wonderful dream - some quietly whispered wish come to life.

And it was all thanks to Taehyung.

Since that first night, you'd fallen into an easy routine. Good morning texts and on occasion, more, his deep drawl acting as a lullaby rather than a wake-up call. Flowers at your doorstep when he knew you didn't have class; a coffee and boxy smile ready when he'd meet you after your last. Date nights every Tuesday, because your lectures ran late and you didn't have time to cook on those days. Your favourite meal from the nearby mom-and-pop shop memorized as easily as his own name.

He was so good to you. Too good to you, you insisted, only for him to brush you off.

Because he'd swept into your life like spring rain and where there'd once been monotony - pretty but boring shades of grey - there was now colour that blinded you. Swaths of red and blue and yellow you'd never seen. Some kind of King Midas, you thought.

"Are you hungry yet?" You're partially inclined to believe he's speaking to someone else - whoever's on the other side of his voice chat - but fail to realize he's behind you, broad frame curled around you as he traps you beneath him. His arms span either side of you, palms planted firmly on the tabletop where you've made a bit of a mess. There are notebooks and loose papers, a textbook with dogeared pages that looks like it's on its last legs. There's even a half-eaten stick of Pocky sticking out from its container, lonely and forgotten.

You turn and peer up at him, trying to focus despite your swimming vision. You've been working on the same composition for the better part of three days and it's been hell. No matter what you do, it doesn't come out right.

When you almost go cross-eyed in your vain attempt to reconcile the two figures in your line of sight, he's slipping your thin gold-rimmed glasses over your ears and off your face, setting them down gently beside your pencil case. You think he's frustrated - you would be, too, if you'd been invited over only to be ignored all night - when his hands find your jaw. You know he isn't by how gentle he is, pad of his thumb pressing soothingly over your bottom lip.

"Take a break, okay?" It's a demand dressed as a request, seducing in its tenderness. You know he's not going to take no for an answer.

You hesitate nonetheless, ready to present your first, second, and third excuses. He silences them before they can see the light of day, coaxing them back into their hiding spots with the sweetest graze of his mouth. Cheater.

Before you know it, you've forgotten yourself and all the reasons why you'd been so ready to return to work, fingers curling over the backs of his hands. It's a makeshift handhold, your way of finding balance after being swept up in the storm that is Taehyung. "Not fair," you chide, not unhappily. You draw his hands to your lap, ignoring the awkward way his body shifts to accommodate the movement.

"I'm just looking out for you," he responds, like that's a good enough reason. You huff. He rolls his eyes but there's no venom behind it.

"What do you want to eat then? I think we have some kimbap leftover from yesterday."

"I ate that earlier when you were having a mini breakdown." You ignore the teasing in his tone because there's adoring understanding too, and a hint of concern. He's not part of your world but he's trying to be. You appreciate that.

Unfortunately, your gratitude doesn't fill hungry stomachs. "How about jjapaguri?"

Taehyung's brow quirks and you know he's going to make some bad joke before it leaves his lips. You recognize the tell-tale signs in the little twitch of his mouth, the way his cheeks tighten and release as if he can't hold back the absolute genius that is he. It's only been a few weeks but you can already read him like a book. (Also, he's a really easy book, like Goodnight Moon.) "Are you trying to tell me you're hiding your husband in the basement?"

"Damn, you got me." You're as deadpan as possible. There's more tonal variety in dry toast.

You stare at each other for half an eternity and then you're both giggling. The sound curls out of your mouth and flits into the air, dragging weight from your shoulders as it ascends.

"You're the silliest." It's meant to be a compliment as much as a rebuff. Darling Taehyung takes it as only the former, beaming proudly. He pulls gently at your hands, coaxing you to straighten with him. He's got you where he wants you now, cradled to his chest like porcelain, and you can't help but relax into the welcoming embrace, cheek pressed to the velveteen cotton of his Celine shirt. When you speak again, it's muffled. "Thank you."

You feel more than hear his laughter, his shoulders reverberating with the motion. "Nothing to thank me for, jagi."

When he uses the term of endearment, poppy red sprouts across your skin, blooms prettily from the tip of your nose to your temples. You still weren't used to it and you're grateful for the cover of your hair, the expanse of his chest that you're burrowed against. "I'll go make food. You stay here."

Then you're gone, scurrying from your bedroom before he can say another word.

Your setup is perfect. From your chair - functional yet pretty, you'd boasted the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom - to the custom-built aluminum keyboard with cat paw esc key, it's a gamer's paradise. Your mouse has all the sensitivity he's used to and it shifts dreamily through the colours of the rainbow, moulded grip lightweight in his palm. (He wishes it were a little bigger, but that's a him problem.) Even the tri-monitor display soothes his secret nerdy itch, filling the void of being away from home with it's insane resolution. The fact that there's thousands of dollars worth of studio equipment in and around it doesn't even deter him. He appreciates that you trust him enough to be seated here.

Pulling your headphones over his ears, he aimlessly reaches for the attached microphone before remembering it doesn't exist. That was something he was still getting used to. He's not really sure where or how the sound is being picked up - maybe by one of the two microphones positioned strategically on either side of your desk, though he can't bother to figure out which - only that it is, and it's good enough for him.

"Ready?" He prompts, watching as his user tag lights up to indicate his question.

JKMKNAE lights up below him. "To kick some ass? Yeah."

Overwatch loads, the FINDING GAME screen sliding into view. The timer rolls on, seconds dragging, and he makes small talk over voice chat while he waits. No one else is on yet - their usual group of near and far online friends still showing offline on Discord - so it's just the two of them.

"Are you going to that party?" He's referring to the little get-together being thrown by Hoseok's new girlfriend. Honestly, he can't remember her name - Gahyeon? Dohyeon? She was nice enough and his friend was clearly smitten, but given that he'd met her in passing only once, he hadn't committed it to memory. He'd learn it before Friday, though. Maybe. H'd have to, if he planned on introducing you.

Couldn't really say 'Jiyeon, meet Hoseok's unnamed girlfriend.'

"Don't know." The response comes indistinct and he imagines Jungkook is shovelling ramyeon into his mouth - can practically hear the slurp slurp slurp through your state of the art earphones - while they queue up. It makes his stomach growl. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Slurp. Swallow. Response. "It sounded like a freaking animal."

Had Jungkook heard his stomach? No way. "That was me."

This seems to surprise the maknae, who takes a moment to cease his endless eating noises. Thank god - Taehyung had been worried the call was about to turn into a full-blown ASMR session, complete with smacking lips and clinking chopsticks. It wouldn't have been the first time. "Did you get a new headset?"

"Uh, no," comes his response after a beat. It's enough for his friend to latch onto, bowl of noodles long forgotten in favour of the unravelling string of his hesitation.

"You do sound clearer actually. Which did you get? Sennheiser?"

"I didn't get a new headset." Taehyung sounds a little as if he's frustrated with having to explain himself and that only makes the other all the more curious. He should've known. Since they'd been teenagers, Jungkook had been like this. Endlessly curious, tripping over his own feet to be included in whatever news their friend group had to share. It was almost always endearing.

"Then are you wearing a mic taped to your stomach?"

Another pause, punctuated by a sharp exhale.

It's only been a few weeks - three as of this weekend, in fact - and Taehyung's still not sure where you stand. Even when you were opening yourself up to him, there was always another layer. You were an enigma. An enigma wrapped inside a burrito. He chuckles at the thought and reminds himself to use the comparison later. He's sure you'd laugh and he loved the sound - like it was the most beautiful song in the world.

When Jungkook doesn't get an immediate response, Taehyung can practically feel the chagrin rolling through the chat. As much as the youngest liked to tease his hyungs - and he did it often, whether with words or action - he'd never purposely upset anyone. He didn't have a bad bone in his body.

Before he can apologize, Taehyung's cutting him off with a rush of words, like it's the greatest secret ever spoken into existence. "I'm at Jiyeon's."

He'd expected some sort of excitement or downright bro-like congratulations. It was how Jungkook operated, his bravado presented for all to see. Anything to hide that big soft heart of his. (He was different like that - hiding his sensitivity whereas Taehyung and Jimin paraded it around, shouted it from rooftops.)

Instead, there's silence. Because what he doesn't see is Jungkook looking like he's been sucker punched, dealt a straight shot to the gut that he hadn't expected. And why hadn't he expected it? He'd known you were seeing Taehyung, heard about your frequent dates from his friend himself. He'd had to smile along, offering congratulations like the mere thought wasn't burning him from the inside out, like battery acid hadn't replaced the blood in his veins.

"That's great, hyung." It sounds off to Taehyung's ears, cutting over the connection. For a moment, he wonders if he's jostled a cable. You'll kill him if he has. Then there's a bang, an ear-splittingly loud crash. "Shit! I have to clean this up."

Then there's the sound of a participant exiting the channel and he's left to queue all on his own.

"Four packages was two packages too many." You're groaning into your hands, your arms, anywhere you can bury your face. The cold glass of your coffee table is soothing against your cheek, your heated breath forming condensation across the surface.

Above your head, somewhere on the couch behind you, Taehyung laughs, the sound punctuated by chewing. "I could've told you that."

You're not sure how he's still eating, diligently working through his bowl of noodles when you feel like you might explode like some scene out of Alien. It's hard to breathe - in fact, you think you can feel the tail end of a noodle at the top of your throat - and you bite back a gag, shoulders shaking a little with the exertion.

You're being overdramatic, you know.

"I thought I was hungry! I thought you were hungry!" A hand is flying up, wrist weaving bonelessly through the air as if it'll help you drive your very poor point home.

"I am hungry." More laughter. You reach behind you, flailing wildly in the direction you know his legs are, and huff in triumph when your knuckles collide with the sharp bone of his shin. You ignore the fact that you've somehow hurt yourself, too. "You probably haven't eaten today so your stomach is the size of Po's."

As if on cue, the feline sweeps into the room, sniffing curiously at your prone figure before flouncing off to the kitchen in search of more interesting things.

"Why are you so reasonable?" You croak like a dying woman or a frog.

Somehow, against all odds, Taehyung still finds you adorable. He sets his bowl down on the side table, careful to place the chopsticks neatly across the rim, and bends at the waist to fix his hands under your armpits. You can already feel the upward momentum but whine nonetheless, the sound tipping out of your mouth like some sort of Dickensian street urchin.

"No! Stoooop."

"Come here," your not-boyfriend boyfriend coos, dragging you onto the couch. You slump against the cushions when he releases you, rather than falling into his side, eliciting another crinkly-eyed smile from him. It's hard to resist when he's like this, playful and enticing. Still, you try. You pretend like it's nothing, curling your arms around your middle as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't feel good." It's a statement that demands payment.

Taehyung happily gives it, peppering kisses over the delicate bones of your face, his broad chest encompassing your frame. He locks his arms around you, sliding them into place around your own, and holds you recklessly close. You don't think you could run if you tried. Whether it's from the noodles you've all but inhaled or the hazy desire that blooms beneath each of his kisses, you're not sure. Maybe both.

"I can make you feel good," he purrs, his mouth feather-light and teasing. He's focused on the sensitive dip by your ear, right where your pulse throbs, and you swear you hear him chuckle before you lose all sense of your surroundings.

The flat of his tongue presses against that sweet spot, laving hungrily at the skin like he might be able to taste the copper that sings beneath it. You whine, louder and higher than you'd meant to, desperate even to your muffled ears. You hear his laughter more clearly this time, breath hot against the outer shell of your ear, and you're not sure whether you're burning up on the outside or just internally.

"See, aren't you feeling better already?" Every word from his mouth is honeyed and intoxicating. You chase the sound, turning your face just in time to feel his lips against yours, more forceful than you'd anticipated. As much as he teased you, he was a kind and forgiving lover, bending to your will as easily you did his.

"You're terrible." You mean it like an insult but, in true fashion, he accepts it like the greatest compliment he's ever received. He preens with it, tossing his head back, causing his hair to fall prettily over his eyes.

Eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you'd let them. They're so dark, the ring of his iris all but engulfed by the desire that presents itself in the void of his pupils.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your breath catches, hitches and careens into a gasp. Somewhere, just beyond the realm of comprehension, you recognize a familiar fluttering in your core. He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen and he wants to bang - hang - you on the wall, where you belong.

"Do you want me to stop?" Despite whatever war wages in his mind and the thrum of want that skitters up his bones, he's genuine in his delivery. He wants you to want this as bad as he does. He won't hold it against you if you don't.

You owe it to him to be honest. "I'm not sure."

You don't miss the way his expression slips, fall just an inch. He's so careful to retain his composure, offering you the most heartfelt smile you could ever hope for. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, despite his best efforts. You feel awful. Worse then awful. Like you'd shut the sun out.

You reach for him all at once, long fingers framing the edges of his face, thumb sweeping just beneath his eye. He blinks once, twice, and says nothing.

"I want you," you start. It's not clear where you're going with this but you hope you find it along the way - for both of your sake's. "I like you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes sparkle when you say his full name and you want to give up this conversation and smother him in kisses instead. "I really, really like you. But I'm also scared." You say it out loud, though you're certain he already knows.

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb that's drifted and found a rhythm in soothing circles at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm an assa." You don't seek pity or understanding. You'd chosen this; you liked it this way. "I don't let people in often. Those I do, I trust explicitly." Your hand slides to his chest, palm flat down the column of his throat to the expanse hidden just beneath his shirt. You settle there, over his heart, and tap experimentally. "I don't want to ruin this - whatever it is - because I expect too much. We deserve to be on the same page. I don't want to ask for more than you can give."

Where the words have come from isn't clear but they spill forth, settling like lead into your veins. He's only been good to you, accepting all of your quirks and flaws in stride. From the first time you'd lashed out - irritable after a long night of rearranging notes - to the time he'd found you half-asleep in front of the fridge at 3 AM, he's accepted you without hesitation. Time and time again, he'd proven his capacity for kindness, for giving you everything and asking nothing in return.

But you can't help the little voice in your head, the same one that demands love in the same breath it rebuffs it.

"I'm right here with you." As if to drive his point home, Taehyung's hand finds yours and squeezes. He's so heartbreakingly handsome like this, unwavering in his sincerity. "But even if I weren't," he indulges your worries, because he knows he needs to face these demons with you, lest they steal you away, "we'd still be reading the same book. You'd just be a few chapters ahead and that's okay."

Not for the first time, you're reminded of how overwhelmingly good he is. It makes your heart swell ten sizes and you crash your lips to his because you want to and he wants it, too.

"You're so poetic," you muse, withdrawing just enough that your words don't get lost.

He grins and does that same toss of his head, chin cocked as his tongue swipes over the soft pillow of his bottom lip. "O, Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?" He's inching closer, like it's a game, and you're nearly stumbling back, though you have nowhere to go. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name." There's mischief in this expression, setting his smile aglow. "Take all of me."

You only manage to get your taunting response out, a snarky "that's not how that goes" before he's upon you, devouring you whole.

Despite the hunger in his kiss, the way his mouth slants over yours in a demand, it's anything but rushed. He takes his time in coaxing your mouth open, seeking out the warmth with tentative passes of his tongue. You hum appreciatively when he chases yours with his own, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as some sort of punishment for getting away. You think you could do this forever.

So you pout when he withdraws, out of breath and delirious. You think you must look the same, can see it reflected in his blown out pupils.

As if to sooth your ache - it's not enough - he caresses your jaw, the delicate line of your neck, capable hands running the gamut of hot and heavy and soft and searing. He's sprinkling weak kisses where his hands go, following the paths they carve over your exposed skin. When he dips his tongue into the dainty turn of your collar bone, you keen, chasing the sensation when he exhales cold breath over it.

"We have lots of time," he parrots with a grin so smug, so salacious, you want to cry.

You're pouting, fingers curling into the silk at his nape, tugging none-too-gently on the hairs there.

He seems to find that funny, his nose brushing the collar of your shirt, the valley of your chest that he aches to explore. "Patience is a virtue."

"Who says I'm virtuous?"

You're meeting his surprised stare with big doe eyes, a coy smile playing over your kiss-swollen lips. Taehyung almost considers giving in. Almost.

Instead, he returns to the task at hand, trailing open-mouth kisses across the front of your shirt. He's grateful for the flimsy cotton, the way it drapes over you like wrapping paper begging to be torn apart. You're reclined against the cushions but it's not enough - there's no more space for him to nose past your rib cage. He stops; you whine.

"Tell me we can keep going." The words are nearly lost into your skin. He's holding you so intimately, the curve of his cheek pressed to the underside of your breast. He can feel the scalloped trim of your bra. It's not nearly enough. He wants what's underneath, exhales his need in a throaty moan, lips seeking out his hidden treasure.

You don't immediately respond and his head snaps up, a little concerned. But you're not looking at him, lost to the ceiling above and the heavens beyond. You look so hot. He feels his cock twitch and he has to remind himself to wait, to hold out for your breathless yes.

The moment it comes, you're in his arms and your eyes snap to his face, bewildered. He's an anomaly beneath you, equal parts hard and soft. The planes of his stomach are taut but comfortable; he's lean muscle beneath a yielding layer. You've never been this close, body pressed recklessly against his as he carries you to your bedroom. Your ankles lock around him, heel of your bare feet digging into the expanse of his lower back. He says nothing, simply nuzzles into your softness of your neck and smothers you with affection.

"What was wrong with the couch?" It's meant to be mocking but it loses its edge when Taehyung releases you atop your bed, eagerly slotting himself between your knees when your hold on him releases.

His hands are driven, making quick work of your tee shirt, and then he's feasting like a man-starved, taking in every line of your body like he can commit it to memory. "You're so beautiful," he says in response, diving into your skin that begs to be touched, soft as silk and unblemished. He hums happily against your throat, licking a wet stripe from your clavicle to your ear, pausing to bite thoughtfully on the lobe. The sounds you make should be illegal. He wants to hear them forever, until the day he dies.

The strap of your flimsy bra - pretty periwinkle lace, he notes with a quirked brow - twists around his finger and he can feel you staring at him, expectant. When he lets it fall and you huff, he wants to laugh. He doesn't, though, choosing to drop his head to follow the trail of his hands over the swell of your chest. Thumb and then mouth catch, teeth nipping at your nipple in a way that makes your back arch. He flicks his tongue out, circling the pebbled bud with precision, and he thinks he might be stealing the breath right out of your lungs by the way you're coming undone beneath him.

"Sensitive?" He drags the edge of lace down between his teeth until the fabric is caught beneath your tits, showcasing them proudly. He leans back on his calves, catching your wrists with ease when you try to cover up. You're so pretty like this, head thrown back, body on display. Like a piece of art.

He wishes he had his camera.

"You're a tease, Kim Taehyung." You don't know how much he loves it when you say his name like this, a little authoritative and full of want.

Your own personal Adonis settles over you once again, kissing you as if his life depends on it. He swallows you whole, taking all of your moans and pleas like they're prayers and he's your deity. Maybe he is. "Patience, jagiya." You can feel him grinning against you, sweet as sin. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging the edges of your teeth over the sensitive petal.

Now it's his turn to whimper, hand fisting into your hair before relaxing, fingers soothing the roots he'd just pulled.

"I said patience," he repeats. You don't have time to test him again, suddenly encompassed by the feeling of his warmth pulling away, drifting lower. You miss the weight of him, his chest pressed to yours.

But you like this, too, his hot breath fanning over your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You like it even more when he licks a strip down the valley of your cleavage, inhaling your scent. You're sure you're coloured like a neon Christmas sign, rouge blossoming over your skin where you want more - need more.

"I'm going to be so good to you."

How he manages to be so unrelentingly sweet, even while mouthing sloppy kisses over your bare abdomen, you're not sure. He does it so well, like this side of him is only for you. It makes you see stars. They flicker brightly in your vision, sparked to life with each pass of his lips, each concentrated glide of his hands.

"Look at me." It seems almost impossible that his voice has dropped even further, the lower octave simultaneously exciting and surprising. It sinks like weights in your stomach, forcing your eyes to his face. He's at the edge of the bed, his head ducked against the swell of your bare thigh - when had that happened? - eyes half-lidded as if swept up in dreams. You know he's paying attention when he nips gently at the sensitive flesh, manipulating your softness with firm, unyielding hands. "Do you know how crazy you drive me?"

You thought you'd had a clue - had spied it in the way he kissed you in the morning, held your hand in his - but you were wrong. You realize that now, watching him watching you.

"Show me," you all but whisper. An appeal, a wish, a begging demand.

When he looks at you, it's as if your words are the keys to his heart. He smiles that blindingly handsome smile and dips forward, shifting your calf over his shoulder. You think you might die from the sight alone but you're sure you do - heart stopped and all - when you feel his breath at the juncture of your legs.

He inhales deeply and you blush scarlet, the desire to clamp your thighs shut twitching your limbs. As if he can sense your sudden shame, he redirects your attention with the tip of his tongue. You nearly buck at the sensation, somehow already wound so tight that the feeling is a harsh constriction of the coil in your stomach. You need him. "Tae, please." The sound is a garbled whine, half bitten into the pillows you're buried in.

Luckily, he needs this just as much as you do. He's generous with his love, spreading you wide open and nearly groaning at the sight. You're already dripping, inviting him to sink his tongue into you. He alternates between long, languid strokes along your slit and teasing, penetrating delves of his tongue into your hole. He dutifully ignores your clit. You writhe beneath him and he mimics the motion, grinding his straining erection into the bed. He feels a little bad when the motion jostles you but he thinks you don't care, too far gone in your own blissful heaven to notice.

"Tae," his name barely registers, so caught up in the taste of you and the way you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin. "Tae. Baby. Please." You're keening, teetering dangerously on the edge of ecstasy. You hadn't known how badly you needed this and now it's eating you alive, burning you from both ends until you're left in ashes.

"What, jagi?" Taehyung's the devil in disguise, pausing his ministrations to suck a wet kiss into your thigh. Wet from his own mouth or your juices, he's not sure.

"I need more," you whine, the neediest he's ever seen you. He's so turned on. He curses his choice of pants, the soft cotton too inconsequential against him and his useless rutting. He needs a zipper or your hands or better yet, your mouth. But this isn't about him.

This is about you. He'd come later. Literally.

"Is this more?" The last word disappears, a shot in the dark as he wraps his lips around your aching clit and sucks, simultaneously sinking his middle finger into your feverish core. He groans when your hips undulate with the pressure, seeking out more like the greedy kitten you are. He pumps into you once, then three more times for good measure, before adding his ring finger, endlessly proud of the way you take him to the knuckles without an ounce of hesitation. "You're doing so good," he praises you as if he knows you need it, laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting attention.

He can feel it before you're able to verbalize the words, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your plea careening off your tongue. "Please don't stop. I'm so, so close." A hiccup. Your voice is wet. "Tae, please."

So he doesn't, instead twisting until he finds that spongy spot at the front of your pelvic wall. He rocks against it, fingers tapping with brutal precision. It's what sends you over the edge into an Earth-shatteringly strong orgasm that he fucks you through with tender care, rolling your clit over his tongue and basking in the feel of you soaking his hand (and face and chest).

Your head's still in the clouds when he pops up, triumphant. Even in your fucked-out bliss, you recognize he's drenched. If he didn't look so proud, you think you'd be mortified.

"Well, that's a first."

notes. as @fortunexkookie and @taehyungforreal (two of my main reasons for writing, tbh, and people i fangirl over from afar) once said, kim taehyung remains the reigning king of lovemaking. i hope i did him justice. xo

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dumplingsspookysweeties · 4 years

Text

Blaster info

Here is the info for our Blaster bitties!

cut below for length

snoozer (tale!Sans blaster bitty):

*acts similar to a Sansy bitty, but in dog form.

*Will trill and coo at you if you’re giving him attention or praise.

*wonderful caretaker for younger or more timid bitties

jumpy (tale!Papyrus blaster bitty):

*again, similar to a Papy, but on four legs.

*vocalizes a lot, and will be very active

*will try and organize small objects like paperclips for you

coolio (swap!papyrus blaster bitty):

* lil’ bro blaster

*very quiet, rarely ever vocalizes unless to comfort others

* will let you move him around without any objection, even when sleeping.

diligent (swap!Sans blaster bitty):

*baby blue blaster

*makes small sounds often and is usually curious

*will wake you up bright and early at the same time every morning, no matter what day it is.

President (Fell!Papyrus blaster bitty):

*Boss blaster

*will vocalize only if displeased, but purrs on occasion when pet

*will become leader of your other blaster bitties if you have them

dynamo (fell!Sans blaster bitty)

*edgy blaster

*vocalizes often and will use his voice to try and sweet talk you despite his lack of language.

*tendency to eat non-food items. these can easily be retrieved by relaxing his magic cohesion with tummy rubs and then gently swiping out the object once the membrane is sufficiently goopy.

Jitters (fellswap!Sans bitty)

* Redberry blaster

* vocalizes loudly often

* will make hidden nests and retreat to them when he does not get his way

Caramel (fellswap!Papyrus bitty)

*Maple blaster

*never vocalizes, only purring - if you hear a strange vocalization it means he is calling for help or yelling - something is VERY wrong

* adores all stuffed animals and will nest in them if allowed to

Tanin (swapfell!Sans bitty)

*Vinyard blaster

*vocalizes at varying volumes often

*does best if paired with a more responsible bitty to keep his impulsive nature corralled

Schiester (swapfell!Papyrus bitty)

*Conner blaster

* vocalizes melodically to entice others to spoil him

*does best if paired with a no-nonsense sort of bitty to keep his cons from escalating

Tinder - (horrorfell Sans blaster)

makes hyena-like giggles, hisses if angry, generally quiet and well mannered. A nervous boy, but loyal

Fog - (horrorfell Papyrus blaster)

likes to make stacks of things, will attempt to organize your paperclips by color if you have different ones. very helpful with decorating and home repair projects. Protective boy

Cart - (horror Sans blaster)

moves things out of habit. will find a dark corner or hidey-hole and live in it. nests compulsively when given a younger blaster to care for. Otherwise, a very prank-loving, sarcastic boy

Score - (horror Papyrus blaster)

large and energetic. takes no time to love his new owner. will happily play all the time. good boy

Smith - (horrorswap Sans blaster)

would like to have something to cover his open ribs. will make his own thing if you don’t give him something. likes to jump around.

Forge (horrorswap Papyrus blaster)

likes lazing around. bad eye sight. will playfully nibble at your feet. happy to be a lap bitty. tends to bite first if feeling threatened

Rust (underworld Sans blaster)

not much for moving, needs braces and medicine to be fully functional. tends to purr when warm and happy.

Oil (underworld Papyrus blaster)

can eat normally, but is messy. prosthetic front legs and heads provided in starter kit, but not necessary for happiness or health. does best when adopted with a Rust or Kitty blaster companion.

Tread (underworld swap Papyrus blaster)

tendency to overeat, so careful portioning is recommended. skittish before bonding with owners, patience is needed with these puppies. Keep his joints warm and clean his jaw hinges regularly

Roll (underworld swap Sans blaster)

messy eater but eats very little. Tends to be too busy to remember things like eating and putting on his (included in starter kit) prosthesis. will eagerly fetch things for you if asked.

Rock (undertomb Sans):

*big boy, size of a bulldog

* likes to rub his face on people’s legs

*doesn’t realize he has such big teeth, so carry bandages

Spider ( undertomb Papyrus blaster)

*spindly johnny

*very cautious and jumpy

*likes to chew on table legs

Chalk - they have speckles and lines of ink in their bones, and tend to happily make pawprint cards and use pencils to do cool things while you’re out! Fingerpaints are recommended so they can safely (and washably) indulge their artistic flare.

Red Ring - he can be surly and distant to begin with, but will be loyal to a fault. He tends to observe for a month or so before becoming comfortable enough to sit closer. This is different if he’s bonded with another of your bitties beforehand, as he will follow his friend everywhere and trust their judgement mostly. He likes anything you give him, but prefers cocoa and other chocolaty treats.

Fancy and Image - a sweet pair, these puppies will help your pets! They both get on well with animals, and Fancy calms anxious pets while Image is good for defusing situations where your pets are afraid. This effect is also seen in other bitties, so they’re great ideas for a permanent addition to a bitty foster home or rescue center.

Dark Image: the only dark nightmare bitty who will not become instantly hostile. Instead he will grow the tendrils and lose all energy. He won’t comfort or defuse bad situations anymore, and the tendrils may actually CREATE such situations by sending off hostile magical signals. These tendrils act like an infection, and will slowly change his bones from white to black over a week. He’ll then become hostile to touch and snap at anyone who attempts to handle him. If brought into the clinic before the infection is complete, there is a vaccine that will drive it back, but once fully converted, his bones will always be black, and there will always be a hostility in his actions, even if the tendrils recede after the vaccine is given. They never become dangerous enough to be deemed unsafe.

Kitty (original bitty):

*rare feline blaster

*loving and excited vocalizations

*enjoys playing with technology

#bitty info #blaster bitties

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nightfuryobsessed · 4 years

Text

The Past and Present

(a little story I’ve been thinking about, how many parts this will end up being, idk, we’ll find out together)

Summary: An old face comes home after years of being alone. When he learns about the new threats, how will he help?

__________________

There was a soft sound of a key sliding into a lock. The young ego and father jumped before standing up and grabbed a nearby knife, holding it with shaking hands as he watched the door open after hearing the lock click open.

There stood a man, looking like him but much younger, maybe twenty at most. He was dressed in a large, brown fur-lined coat over a simple black t-shirt. His pants were beige cargo pants and he had a large backpack full of mystery items as well as a belt with a machete and holster for said machete.

There was one large scar over the man’s left eye, and what seemed like a claw mark on his other eye, four thick and shakey lines going over his eyebrow and onto his cheek. There was a small scar on the brown themed male’s nose, left cheek, and right corner of his mouth.

“Yer new,” he mutters, a thick Australian accent covering his words and making Chase uneasy. Accents meant that something bad was going to happen.

“W-who are you,” he asks, holding his knife out as an attempt to scare the other male. Given his raised eye-brow, it wasn’t working.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt ya. Just wanted to check on the others. But, given that yer here, I don’t think they’re here. What’s yer name kid,” the younger male asks, walking up to Chase before gently grabbing the knife from his hands and walked back to the kitchen, seeming to know where he was going.

“H-hey,” Chase yells, stepping back as he watched the other man through the kitchen ‘window’. He watched him put the knife away then wash his hands and look up at him with his slightly green eyes.

“Name’s Angus. Survival ‘unter, one of the first egos for Sean, next to Bing, JackGlitch, and a few others. Given that you’re here, I’d say the others either faded, o’ had to run. ‘Gain, yer name?”

Chase was quiet for a moment before shaking his head and looked over at the entranceway of the house.

“Ch-Chase...h-how...how do you know this place? H-how do you have a k-key,” Chase asks worriedly. There was only one way that this place would let someone in, or give them a functioning key. They had to be an ego, or someone Sean trusted very well like Robin or Evelin.

“Kid, I already told ya, ‘M one o’ the first egos here. Let’s see, DOB...roughly April 3...twenty-thirteen. Given how little yer...let’s say moved, I’d say yer made roughly twenty...sixteen, seventeen. Much younger but old enough t’ be a father. I’d say the fans loved that part of your story.

“Given the size o’ the house now, I’d say there’s ‘bout five o’ ya. One’s a docta’ given the scalpels,” he says, walking through the house, making sure to stay close to the living room for Chase’s comfort.

“Someone dabbles in either magic o’ witchcraft, ‘ard for me ta tell the difference between the two...obviously you live ‘ere, that’s two, maybe three so far...given the different communities, there’s gotta be at least one evil ego, but given the tension ya have, they don’t live here. Otherwise, ya wouldn’t have had that little knife in your hands. I’d advice a taze’, or pepper spray. Those are hard ta fight against if ya land the shot.”

Chase stared at the other male with a curious and confused face. What was this guy going on about? And how could he tell all of this without actually being in the house? Was he that good at looking around?

“Wait, wait, wait, just, hold on,” Chase says shaking his head and waving his hands around, making Angus go quiet as he looked down at the other male.

“How do you know all this? And why are you here?”

Angus was quiet for a while before sighing and pulled out his machete from his holster and sat in one of the couch chairs.

“I had a bad feelin’ recently. Somethin’ in the house is tryin’ to warn everyone ‘bout somethin’. I don’t want ta lose more of my family just ‘cause I want ta go for an adventure. Ye’ll need trainin’, and who bette’ than someone who’s had ta fight animals to survive?”

Chase was quiet for a moment before hearing the door open again, jumping up before seeing Jackie, who had now gone still as he looked at Angus and Chase. Before he could say anything, Jackie was on Angus, his arm against his throat and his fist raised, his powers surrounding it as he readied himself for a counter-attack.

“Who the fuck are you? I swear to God if you fucking hurt Chase-”“-I didn’t do shit supe’ero, just came by ta see how the house and our family’s doin’,” Angus interrupts. He managed to push Jackie off of him before standing up and put his weapon back in its holster.

“Ey Chase, ya ever need somethin’, just go to the woods. I’ll find ya one way or another. I’ll make sure yer safe the’. See ya ‘round kid. Oh, and I wish yer doctor and witch luck. One needs ta get real sleep, not rely on coffee, and the othe’ needs all the help they can get with their magic. The walls don’t look like they’re too stable near that doo’,” the adventurer says pointing to the wall of Marvin’s room which had some small cracks and leaves trying to breakthrough.

Jackie watched the adventurer leave before turning to look at Chase.

“What the hell was that,” he asks, raising a brow at the man who silently watched the oldest ego walk away. Despite how odd he seemed, Angus had shown that he was safe. He hadn’t tried to harm Chase, he was only observant, and he seemed to want to help him.

“He’s...one of the oldest of us. Jackie, do you know anyone named Angus? From any records or anything,” Chase asks softly, looking up at his red, blue, and green-themed brother.

#my stuff #text post #Chase Brody #Jackieboy Man #Angus the Survival Hunter #my story #JSE egos #Jacksepticeye

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thedeviljudges · 5 years

Note

What are harringrove mpreg headcanons? Who would get pregnant? How many babies? How would they react? I too require Harringrove mpreg like fuckin water

godddd okay, so truth be told, i don’t care who’s pregnant? i’ll take either because i’m such a sucker for it. as far as kids, i really think they’d stick with one and then wait while?? in any given situation, i can’t imagine this is thoroughly planned, and i also think i like the aspect of a surprise, lmao.

but hcs!!!!!!!!

when steve’s pregnant:

they’d both freak out for sure. steve because his life isn’t exactly planned out to a T like he thought it’d be and adding a baby to the mix just fucks with everything. not that there’s much to fuck with but steve doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life and holy fuck, what the fuck???

he tells billy first because that’s how this works, and billy’s like, deathly silent?? they just sit in silence in steve’s living room for quite some time until steve crawls into billy’s lap, tucks his head into the crook of his neck.

he asks if billy wants it. out of the two of them, billy had plans. be it chicago or california or somewhere that wasn’t indiana—billy had plans and was going places and steve would follow him to the moon and back but now??

“do you not want it?” billy asks, voice rough. when steve pulls back, billy’s eyes might be a little shiny, and he knows what that means. that billy has an opinion but he’s scared cuz he’s never really been allowed to have one before. so steve asks him again, “what do you want, babe?” and billy kisses steve and tells him he’d like to keep their baby.

billy’s a really protective asshole. steve’s known this since they first started dating, but he thinks it grows twice fold after billy acts like he’s fragile. steve nips that in the bud real quick because he may be pregnant, but he can still function like a human being.

except for the crying. that’s kind of a thing that happens when he’s sad or happy or just when someone’s nice???

steve sings a lot more, quietly under his breath to the baby.

definitely a nester, too. he already looks after the kids and makes sure they’re taken care of and have what they need as if their parents aren’t around to do it for them. that only extends to his baby.

steve’s tummy rounds a little earlier than expected. not that he’s disappointed per se, but he’d really been hoping for another week or two before it became visibly notable.

billy’s smart. reads a lot of books in his down time around steve and when steve’s not there. is often found at the library reading books about babies. also uses that time to convince himself he won’t be like neil and how he has to be so much better.

steve notices the stress on billy first, the overtime he’s doing at work, the way he gets a little high strung and snappy. he only acts that way when something is bothering him, and steve knows better than to make him talk before he’s ready. steve’s taken to settling them onto the couch to watch tv, takes billy’s hand and helps him trace shapes across his rounded tummy. a few minutes in, steve starts a conversation, bored of whatever’s on tv. he asks billy what he thinks their kid will look like. soft blond curls and deep chesnutt waves. blue or brown eyes. billy tells steve that he hopes their baby looks like him, hates to think he’d look anything like his side of the family, look anything like neil’s side of the family.

they don’t talk about gender. not because they’re not curious and not because they decided it shouldn’t be talked about, but steve’s really excited and billy’s also excited that it’s never the main focus unlike choosing a name and a middle name. steve keeps a list on the fridge. thinks it’s easier not to dwell so much on it and that anytime they pass through, they can write down whatever they think is best. a collection of names that come to mind without sitting down and thinking about it. it’s like when creativity hits in the shower.

steve absolutely gets sensitive. comes so easily with just a few tugs of his cock, makes billy grin and lap up the mess he makes all over himself because of it.

definitely gets stretch marks. doesn’t matter how much lotion he puts on. those pink lines show up underneath his belly, and steve doesn’t want to think about how he’ll look after the baby is here, no matter what billy says about not caring.

billy’s at work when the baby decides it’s time to come. steve felt unusual that morning, told billy but reassured him that he was fine. so even while worried, billy left because that trust is something they built. they both know steve knows his limitations. steve’s already at the hospital by the time billy shows up, a bit messy, a smear of oil on his face and overalls sticky with sweat. he’s not entirely clean, and they let him shower while steve focuses on breathing.

when steve’s red in the face, and he’s holding billy’s hand, he lets him kiss across his face and mumble sweet words across his temple. they both look over when their baby cries. can’t see much aside from little tufts of hair until a nurse brings him over, a little goopy and smeared with blood. they set him on steve’s chest, and billy carefully runs a finger over ten toes and ten fingers and kisses steve breathless.

later when steve is dozing, billy’s holding a tightly swaddled baby in his arms, can’t take his eyes off of him. he’s so tiny, and his face is smushed, but billy can already see he’ll have brown hair and little doe eyes that’ll mimic steve. billy already knows how much he’s a sucker for steve, so this will be so much worse for him in the future.

steve wakes up to feed their baby, and billy holds his hand, rubs his thumb across the back and tells steve he can’t wait to go home with him. he really can’t wait to be a dad.

but with billy:

when billy’s pregnant:

fucking terrified. like, shit. what the fuck is he supposed to do with that? he can’t tell neil, and steve would freak the fuck out. so he keeps it to himself for as long as he thinks he can. but max. max notices something is off. unlike steve, billy gets morning sickness, and it’s a bitch. he can’t hide that from max so he doesn’t. max is the first to know, and the first to tell him that he needs to tell steve so that he’s not alone.

billy get himself into a situation where he asks steve what he thinks about kids. and it’s the classic “not right now, but maybe one day” which completely shuts down billy’s ability to tell steve.

he’s careful, more than he’s ever been before. can’t risk neil finding out, and he sure as shit can’t take another beating. he thinks about it. thinks about finding a clinic and keep this secret to himself, but the guilt sets in because he can see steve’s face, and he can see the unshed tears.

so he tells him. he gets defensive, tells steve he can fuck off out of hawkins if he wants to. he doesn’t have to stay or anything like that, but steve tells him he’s not going anywhere.

it’s difficult for billy to accept help. steve wants to take care of him, but billy’s just a stubborn asshole who think he’s fine and is the same person he was before he found out about their baby.

until billy starts showing, and that’s definitely not good. twists his self-image, makes him careful to choose his outfits so that they’re loose and baggy.

neil does hit him, eventually. it’s inevitable because billy knows he’s a fuckup, and it’s gonna happy. there’s no placating neil. and when steve finds out, it’s an ultimatum. it’s hopper or him that’s gonna knock neil out, “he’s not gonna lay a hand on my baby,” steve says with venom. it’s not the first time billy’s seen steve angry, but it’s the first time he thinks he’s seen him willing to commit murder.

billy ends up at hopper’s because of course he does. he moves out and stays at the cabin because steve’s parents, even if they aren’t home most of the time, would notice, and this is something that steve knows they won’t be thrilled about it, but they’ll get over it.

billy’s always resting his hand on his tummy, especially as it gets bigger. force of habit and maybe a subconscious act of security.

steve’s always smiling, always touching billy, always proud. talks to the baby even though billy thinks he looks stupid as fuck.

also, his nipples are extremely sensitive. like, just a brash across his chest as him hissing, and steve takes full advantage of that fact. likes the way billy goes lax the moment steve’s got his tongue on the nubs.

he knows that shit goes wrong for him all the time, and it’s one of his biggest fears that something will happen to the baby. shit does go sideways, and while steve tries to make jokes about billy being dramatic as they make their way to the hospital, billy’s vision is fading, and steve’s patting his face to keep him awake.

when billy wakes up next, there’s a small bed next to his, a tiny bundle wrapped up tight and a sleeping steve curled up in an uncomfortable looking chair. billy just watches. knows his stomach is flat and realizes he missed an important moment. that doesn’t keep steve from waking up though, the quiet too much. he shuffles onto his feet, picks up the wiggling bundle and carefully hands him over for billy to hold. curling around billy’s side, steve watches as billy meets their baby for the first time, press gentle kisses across the baby’s face, little fingers and toes, and watches with a soft, loving smile.

#harringrove #mpreg #cheekysmagic #x #answered #IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG #godddd i had a lot to think about with this

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griffinsandpeacocks · 4 years

Text

Get Up And Write Week 3: “Truth is we’re messed up and we like it.” I’m Fakin, Sabrina Carpenter

Adam watched Hades fond now. They’d started to date since the night Adam had been taken home both of them drunk. Since then they’ve taken to staying in Hades’ house. He enjoys the antics Hades gets up to though he realizes the man mostly stayed home and wasn’t much of a social butterfly. Hell, Adam avoided social parties if he could. Though this one he couldn’t. It was a business party and he’d have to go.

“Hades, I have a party I need to go to, I can bring a plus one, will you go with me?” Adam asks and Hades stops scribbling away in his book and looks up and takes of his glasses.

“Can, but not need?” He asks and Adam wonders if he should have asked at all given Hades’ tone.

“You don’t have to come, but I’d rather go with someone than be stuck there alone.” Adam explains and Hades tilts his head and watches Adam. He isn’t sure he wants to go as he dislikes social events too alike to home for him. The only reason he threw the one party was it was a small collection of people he knew. That and they’d promised to be good given he was in an area outside of a magical community. Yet that went sideways really quick.

“I... I’m not a fan of parties either but sure.” Hades sighs and Adam sighs in relief. As the day comes up Hades has gone through painstaking detail in picking out an outfit that will match and complement Adam’s. Who was wearing a lovely golden button up with a deep blue over coat and pants. It was a simple suit he was wearing but Hades wanted to make sure his own attire wasn’t going to overshadow Adam let alone cause them to garner more attention than they’d no doubt receive anyway.

Hades pulled on the pale blue button up fastened the dark gray tie in place then pulled on the dark blue jacket and pants. He glanced at the mirror and placed the pin on the laple of the jacket grinning as he knows the pin will draw attention from fans of his books and he’s curious if anyone will have the balls to talk about his raunchy literature in the party.

“Ready?” Adam asks a small gold pin that looks a bit like a lion with horns and he paused blinking at it. It’s a pretty and simple thing.

“What’s that?” Hades asks moving closer and Adam’s used to Hades being so ADHD so glanced at his pin.

“Something Belle made me to remind me that even a beast can be beautiful.” He answers shrugging he wears it because he’s always worn it when he goes to these functions.

“Interesting... Yeah, let’s go. Shall we take my ride or yours?” He asks and Adam chuckles.

“You want to roll up on your bike and ruin the effort we both put into our hair?” He asks and Hades smirks.

“I put none into mine, though when you go that extra bit you clean up really well.” Hades teased jumping out of range as Adam swats at him with a playful growl. Hades grins and they go to Adam’s sleek black car and take off. It’s a function at his work and he waves at the guard who watches them with a perplexed look as they go in. Everyone seems shocked when they walk in. The Big Boss by the looks of them walks over smiling though clearly intrigued.

“Adam! Glad you came, you brought along a new face, unusual... You haven’t brought anyone with you in a long while.” He’s tactful enough not to mention why but Hades sees the slight twitch in Adam’s jaw line that speaks volumes of how much he hates the current scenario.

“I haven’t. This is Aidoneus, he moved in a while back and we became friends since.” Adam says glancing to Hades as he isn’t sure if Hades wants to be public, walking through their neighborhood talking and sitting at parks was one thing, telling his coworkers he was now dating a man was... Different. Hades glances at him and smiles.

“Ah, so nothing new in your life?” The man asks and at that Adam looks to Hades silently questioning if he should or shouldn’t. Hades is reluctant. He’s used to good things getting taken away from him if they make him happy. He shrugs and gestures Adam to go ahead. Adam looks back at his boss.

“Recently I got into a relationship.” He says and the Boss looks between the two.

“Ah, really who’s the lucky girl?” He asks and Adam looks pointedly at Hades.

“Not a girl, couldn’t, Belle was it for me as far as women go.” Adam says and his boss glances between them.

“Glad to hear you’re happy, you’ve been sulking far too long.” He says and excuses himself to go off to talk with another high up and Adam leads them over to the refreshments grabbing a brandy for himself and looking at Hades.

“What would you prefer?” He asks and Hades sees a dark red and grabs a glass. He enjoyed wine, it was a good nostalgia he got from it.

“I like my red wines.” Hades smirks and Adam nods and they find a nice quite corner and mingle when they’re pushed to by randoms walking up to chit chat. Adam cuts an imposing figure and Hades looks like a cat leaning against the wall looking casual while looking more professional than he typically likes but he looks good and knows it. Adam nurses the one brandy through the night while Hades goes through several glasses as he likes whatever one they’d brought in.

“This party is boring.” Hades sighs and Adam looks over chuckling.

“No one’s been spiked yet, I’d call it good.” He teases and Hades sighs and looks at the broadly built man. he pats him on the chest and kisses his cheek.

“Touche.” He sighs. They stay for a while Hades steadily growing more and more agitated and in need of something to do. His fingers were itching to cause some kind of scene or to write, and Adam could see it. He sighs and decides they’ve been there long enough he drags the bubbly writer after him as he goes to leave several woman stopping them to ask Hades where he got the pin and if he read the books and Hades is smirking as Adam blushed. The women and Hades giggle as they start asking Adam about what book he’s read. Adam had been careful to make sure Hades didn’t find the book he’d bought.

“Ah... I know the books haven’t read any.” He says bright pink and only getting worse as Hades chats with them some more and Adam feels embarrassed as they discuss the particular book he’s reading. He’s almost finished it. He winced as they go to talk about the end and Hades sees it a shark like grin in place as he says he hasn’t finished it and the girls squeal softly telling him it’s spectacular and they won’t spoil it.

As they’re driving home Hades is smirking but hasn’t said a word. Adam is dying on the inside.

“So, what part are you on?” Hades asks and Adam smirks now as he has an idea.

“How about I show you?” He asks pulling the other closer by his tie enjoying the collar and leash aspect at the least he can make Hades follow him if not sit and stay. Hades smirks.

“Go ahead big boy, show me.” He agrees eye alight with mischief. Adam smirks as he tugs the man up to his bedroom.

#decendants hades #descendants fanfiction #adam x hades #get up and write!#get up and write! challenge #Live action Adam

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