#they removed the yellow speech thing
Note
>:3 You have found me once again
#Can you believe it guys#they removed the yellow speech thing#Now I’m orange#the battery doctor#text doctor#ask
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Luh Ooo (Baby!r x Kellex)
Request: First time baby!r says I love you. Basically r is nonverbal and like 3, and preath or Kellex tell her they love her, and it’s the first time r speaks, she says it back
Alex and Kelley considered themselves incredibly lucky every time they saw your smiling face. Every time they saw your lips tilt into a grin, or heard a giggle slip past your lips, they counted their lucky stars that they got to whiteness it.
Their teammates liked to tease them that they were a bit over the top when it came to you, but everyone understood why. Everyone agreed that they would probably be the same way if they had been through what you and your moms had been through.
Alex’s pregnancy with you had been suspiciously easy.
Her and Kelley had both been prepared for the worst after both of their sister’s horror stories about morning sickness and pregnancy cravings that had their husbands running out in the middle of the night. But Alex hadn’t experienced them herself.
The morning sickness had been minimal. It hadn’t lasted at all past the first trimester and hadn’t ruined any of her favorite foods, so she considered it a win. Then the few times she did have midnight cravings, they hadn’t been for food-related items, and Kelley had definitely enjoyed waking up for it (the pregnancy sexcapades were absolutely worth the sleep deprivation).
In hindsight, the 9 months of smooth sailing should have tipped them off that something was going to go wrong, but they had been too wrapped up in the excitement of welcoming you into the world to prepare themselves for the other shoe to drop.
It made it so much worse when it finally did.
Kelley would never forget the moment the nurses laid your little form on Alex’s chest. She would never forget how you blinked up at the both of them and for a second, everything felt right in the world.
For a split second, your tiny eyes met hers and she felt her heart grow to accommodate the overwhelming love coursing through her.
And then…
Their world tilted on its head.
Your eyelids fluttered rapidly, and the whole right side of your face drooped, before either of them knew what was happening the nurses had grabbed you and whisked you away, talking very fast.
Kelley had made a move to follow them, to chase after you and figure out what was going on, but before she could the doctor was back, using big words and describing tests and procedures that he thought were necessary.
The only thing she really picked up on was the word stroke and MRI, and then he was gone again, taking the happiness in the room with him.
Alex pulled her into the bed with her, and both of them held each other as they both fell apart.
Arteriovenous Malformation
A word Kelley and Alex hadn’t understood when the doctor returned hours later.
A word that they googled and re-googled, hoping it would change what it meant.
A word that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
The doctor said they were lucky because it was near the surface on the left side of your brain. They were lucky because they could operate and remove the tangle of blood vessels that had caused a clot.
They were lucky because it had been caught early before it could cause too much damage.
They didn’t feel lucky.
Not until they were staring at your tiny form through a little plastic incubator box, a large bandage under the yellow knit cap on your head. Not until they could very carefully run their fingers over your puffy cheeks, or have let your little hand latch onto theirs.
The surgery had saved your life, but it had also damaged the part of your brain involved in speech production.
They wouldn’t learn until later how it would affect your development, and they would thank whatever higher power that existed that the only thing that had been impacted was your ability to create words. They thanked the universe that you were such a happy kid despite that.
You loved running around with your many soccer aunts, kicking balls and clapping for your mamas. Just because you couldn’t talk didn’t mean that you couldn’t communicate.
It wasn’t traditional but sign language and the little noises you could make never failed to show the people around you what you wanted.
And while they thanked their lucky stars(and the universe) for the progress that you had made, they both still longed to hear three little words leave your lips.
So yes, the team understood why they were so overprotective and doting. The team understood why they spent so much time working on the assignments your speech therapist gave them, and why they took every opportunity to try and get you to vocalize.
It was why the team tried to help them as much as they could.
*****
You smiled widely as Kelley very gently kicked a ball toward where you were on the sidelines, pushing off of the little blanket you were sitting on next to Bailey (your trusted babysitter).
You clumsily stopped the ball with your feet, steadying yourself with a hand on Bailey’s shoulder and pointing to your Mommy.
You often spent your time on the sidelines, watching your mama’s practice with rapt attention, chasing after stray balls for your aunts and clapping excitedly when anyone ran past you. You knew you weren’t supposed to go onto the field until practice was over, and that any balls that came to you before it had to be returned to a coach.
Kelley’s lips tilted into an indulgent smile and she nodded in encouragement. “Practice is over kiddo, send it back and we can play for a little while,”
Your eyes lit up in excitement, and you didn’t hesitate to kick the ball back toward her.
It rolled towards Kelley and she easily caught it, for a 4-year-old, you had very good aim, and tapped it gently back to you.
You stumbled as you stuck your foot out to stop it, taking an extra second to regain your balance.
“Great job!” Kelley cheered, clapping.
Stopping the ball was something the team had been working on with you (your motor coordination, something Alex and Kelley were more focused on), and you were very slowly getting better at both.
Lindsey joined in, appearing behind Kelley’s shoulder and gesturing to her foot.
Your head tilted to the side and she gestured to her foot again, wiggling it to Kelley’s left.
“Come on kiddo,” Kelley said, and all of your attention returned to her.
You nodded, and hit the ball as hard as you could, toward Lindsey’s outstretched foot.
Kelley kicked out trying to stop it, but Lindsey was faster, collecting the ball and turning to send it toward Emily with a laugh.
“You little monster,” Kelley huffed indignantly, earning a delighted giggle from you and chuckles from the team fondly watching the interaction. “You’re supposed to be on my team,”
You shrugged, pointing to your foot so Emily would pass it to you.
She did, kicking the ball gently (dangerously close to Kelley) and your mommy “missed” her chance to intercept it, so you could catch it instead.
The team clapped when you did, again taking a second to catch your footing before pausing with your foot on top of the ball as Kelley took up a defensive position in front of you.
Your eyes immediately fell to her feet.
You knocked the ball right and then left before sending it through her legs, copying your Mama’s famous move, brushing past Kelley as you raced after the ball.
Several hands extended in case you tripped, even as the team fell into formation behind you.
“I’m gonna get you,” Kelley called as you passed, collecting the ball with your little feet and charging towards the net.
You squealed as Kelley chased after you, doing your best to keep the ball on track as you got closer to midfield.
“Y/n,” Mal called, joining your run, and gesturing towards the wide open space in front of her as Kelley easily gained on you.
You clumsily passed the ball sideways, just as you heard your mommy’s footsteps behind you.
“Come on, it can’t be 6 vs. 1,” She groaned, sprinting towards Mal instead.
“It’s only 5 and a half versus one,” Emily shrugged, taking up your other side as Mal crossed the ball towards Lindsey. “And Mini Morgan is too cute to play against,”
Kelley threw her head back, arching her run to try and get to Lindsey, but it was already too late. Lindsey pushed the ball, sending it in front of Emily so it landed right in your path.
You wobbled as you collected it, slowing down as you nearly tumbled over the ball.
It gave Kelley the perfect opportunity to gain on you.
“Y/n pass it to your Mama,” Lindsey directed, pointing towards Alex making a run to the box as Kelley got closer.
You hadn’t realized your mama was playing too.
She smiled widely, gesturing towards the giant space in front of her, and you slowed your run just enough to kick the ball mid-stride into Alex’s path.
It went slightly off-target, but Alex had no trouble collecting it and sending it into the back of the net.
“Goalllll,” Lindsey, Emily, and Mal cheered as Kelley finally caught up to you, scooping you up and gently tossing you in the air.
“You’re a little gremlin,” She said, ticking you relentlessly even as she tossed you up and down.
You giggled loudly, reaching for Alex as soon as she was close enough.
Kelley passed you to her with little hesitation, and you patted Alex’s cheek. She was always the calmer of the two women, dancing you around but not nearly as much as Kelley did.
You signed goal several times with your little hands and animatedly rehashed the entire play for them as though they hadn’t been watching it.
They both shared a look and smiled gently at you.
“I love you,” Alex said, leaning in and placing a kiss on your cheek after you finished, your aunts circling up around you.
“Luh ooo,” You repeated, tapping her cheek again.
The team froze.
Yes, they had heard you giggle, and cry and make noises, but nothing had ever come close to sounding like a real word.
“Wait,” Kelley said, stepping closer to you, her hand landing on your back and rubbing circles. “Y/n say love you?”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Luh ooo,”
“Oh my god,” Alex breathed out and Kelley sniffled next to you, trying to hide her tears.
“We love you too baby,” Kelley said, through trembling lips, kissing the side of your head.
“Luh ooo,” You repeated for a third time, frowning because both of your mommies looked sad, leaning up and placing a kiss on Alex’s nose just like she did any time you looked sad.
“We love you more than anything,” Alex added, doing her best to hold the tears at bay.
She had never been more happy to hear 3 little words in her entire life.
It was everything Kelley and Alex had ever wanted.
“And we love you too, short stack,” Emily said, throwing an arm over Kelley’s shoulder and using her other to tickle your tummy, interrupting the tender moment.
You squealed with delight and wiggled widely in Alex’s arm, signaling that you would very much like to be put down, so you could run around with your aunts again.
Alex squeezed you tightly for another long second before she let you down, kissing your forehead one more time before you ran off.
“She said I love you,” Kelley sniffled, tucking her nose against Alex’s neck once she was upright, both women staring at you.
“I know,” Alex said tearfully.
The doctors always said it was a matter of time. Now, they could finally believe them.
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Avedone With All of This
Season 4, Episode 4
💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀
Call of Cthulhu Season Four Masterpost (Coming Soon)
Warning: This campaign is an edited version of a Call of Cthulhu scenario from the Tales of the Crescent City book. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.
GUESS WHO FINALLY SHOWED UP!!!
and also a lot of other stuff happened. I'm sorry, this one is very long because I didn't take notes, and struggle to leave out details when I'm writing from the records instead of the notes.
Art Credit:
@inkdemonapologist : sketching + inking
@inkyvendingmachine : concept + colouring
Somehow Jack’s car, with all its original passengers and no extras, manage to make it back to the studio. Joey immediately rushes into the studio, to go rant at Bendy about everything that happened… and possibly to go fuse with Bendy because he feels utterly helpless now after completely draining himself with panicked magic.
But it’s probably just the first one.
Sammy and Henry arrive as well to find Jack and Peter quietly picking glass out of his broken car in something like shock. Upon getting no responses from Jack about what happened, Sammy storms off to find Joey.
Joey is all too happy to start his entire rant over again for Sammy as he works on fusing with Bendy. They were just following Peter’s leads and driving from location to location and then all of the sudden this ASSHOLE shows up out of nowhere and just stands in front of the car. Busts the car, terrifies poor Jack, and then on top of that tries to break INTO the car and abduct Peter?? It’s a good thing Joey managed to blast him out, but they weren’t even DOING ANYTHING that would have possibly summoned him NOTHING AT ALL... And on top of all that, being an absolute PRICK as he’s doing it!
… Anyways, how was the moooob?
Sammy updates Joey on everything that happened with Johnny Nero, which is pretty much just that he had seen the Yellow sign, that Henry removed it, and that Nero was pretty intent on getting his hands on whatever the Phantom wants first. Which like… yeah, if you wanna solve all our problems and fix this mess, go ahead! But Joey’s pretty sure that’s not going to happen, so he goes back to working on his ritual.
Sammy leaves to go back to Jack, and right as Joey feels ready to start the ritual his phone rings. The special one. And it’s… Avedon??
Avedon immediately starts info dumping on Joey about everything that’s been going on already… like, all the information Joey already knows. A lot of flat “yeah?”s in reply as Avedon rambles on, until he mentions that it’s already gotten to Norman. Wait, what?? But Avedon doesn’t stop, telling Joey to meet him at his hotel room in NYC so they can go over more information. Before Joey manages to get any clarification, he hangs up.
That’s Joey’s thing!!!
Joey is the one who hangs up on others!!!!!!!
Frustrated, Joey does try to call Norman, and… Yeah, Norman is talking in weird riddles and speech that doesn’t fit with the Normal Norman Vibes. That call is also ended with little information gained… but at least it DOES seem like Avedon knows what he’s talking about this time, so Joey’s willing to meet with him, even though he’s also feeling done with him already.
Joey finishes the ritual and merges with Bendy.
On his way downstairs, Sammy is still turning over the car event he just heard about… and the increasing evidence that Peter might actually be the Phantom’s target?? Why else would he be trying to drag him out of the car?
Sammy approaches Peter, who has since started exchanging information with Henry as they all get the last of the glass shards out of the car, and says that he wants to see if Prophet can tell anything about what happened. Sammy looks distracted for a moment, and [lack of surprise because it was actually somewhat communicated beforehand,] Prophet is here!
Prophet concentrates, and with no hesitation, mushes his hands all over Peter's face.
The good news is that, while Prophet can tell that Peter’s been grabbed by the Phantom recently, that’s actually all that he can detect. No additional eldritch stuff, he’s not possessed, he’s not weirdly marked or damaged in a way that can’t normally be seen. Great!
But Prophet can’t tell if Peter is the target or not. For his part, Peter has been muttering that it seemed like the phantom was trying to pull information from Peter on someone else he was looking for, someone who “followed us out”, but there’s nothing Prophet can sense to confirm that… but he realizes he can sense the distortions to reality increasing throughout NYC. They’re in the air, moving about… getting stronger.
Henry can feel it too.
But that’s all the energy Prophet has, and he unfortunately misses Joey showing up and dumping his new plan of action on everyone. He, Henry and Peter are going to go find Avedon’s dumb hotel room and figure out what’s going on with him, while Sammy and Jack are going to go check up on Susie and Norman because Norman is definitely acting weird now and he’s not quite sure if Susie is in over her head or not…
Nobody objects to the plan. And with NYC losing more and more of its reality to the yellow mist rolling in, it seems important that they do something.
Henry, Joey and Peter do make a detour to Henry’s house though to make sure all is well there. The car is gone, the lights are out, things seem as they should if Linda managed to follow through and get the kids out of the city. Peter is concerned when he notices some of Henry’s wards, but don’t worry, those are supposed to be there. Henry checks them over, and they all seem good. Bendy finds a bucket of clay he and Henry's kids had played with before, and brings it along to entertain himself on any following sleepovers, since that is a thing that will probably keep happening. For once, it seems like everything is actually left alone?
Until they look out back and find the treehouse Henry built for his kids is gone. Actually, it’s almost like all the landscaping and such in the area was just… cleared away? Or never happened. Joey meanwhile is tabbing through Henry's photo albums and makes sure everyone is still there, which they are. But the treehouse isn’t. And, perhaps even worse, there’s also an extra guy in the JDS staff photo now? Joey pockets it, since this guy seems to be in the music department according to the photo, but Joey is sure he’s never seen him before. And it’s not Alan. So. Hopefully the music boys can shed some light on this.
Henry grabs some supplies and his gun, and Joey turns him around to fix his outfit and make sure the gun is properly hidden. Avedon is 2 trigger happy, we don’t want to say our hellos by instantly showing off the weapons we brought.
Meanwhile Jack and Sammy’s drive to Norman’s is more fraught than the previous ones. Not only has he moved house again, (though at least this time they have evidence of his new address from the junk mail they took last time) but… many other roads are starting to move too. Also Sammy is driving, so, speed has been cut in the engine department too… don’t need to hit two things in a single day with all this mist building up, and any sort of navigation trouble puts even more delays in.
At least they do manage to find the place and head on in, with hope that also maybe now that Avedon has arrived Norman will stop being so “sticking it out in a house that keeps wandering off apparently.” Things seem kinda fine at first at least, like they’re not immediately shooed out or attacked or have any weird monsters hanging over the house waiting for them to try the door… But upon Sammy questioning Susie while Jack goes to find Norman in the back, the music boys find out that things are very much not fine.
Susie is… very confident with a knife all of a sudden, and very confident that she will be able to just stab the Phantom when given the word to go out and hunt him down. Y’know just… stab the guy who couldn’t be damaged by a 2 ton vehicle slamming square on into him. And when Sammy tries to argue this logic, it just becomes more and more obvious that Susie and Norman are both… in character. Susie’s speech cadence is even reminiscent of when she’s performing rather than talking normally. But they don't seem aware that their actions seem more scripted than decided.
Jack finds Norman in the back, with a hatchet and a very similar plan to Susie’s. But whatever is happening isn’t strong enough to make them completely forget themselves, and with some facts being pointed out and reminders of who they are, the boys manage to get these two actors back to themselves... kind of. There's still some weirdness going on, and this also doesn't answer the question of what could be done to prevent this happening again?
Neither Susie nor Norman really realized when it started to happen, and it took some serious outside convincing to snap them out of it at all… Do they need Henry to expel something to truly get back to themselves again??
ALSO, IF THE PHANTOM CAN’T BE HARMED WITH A CAR, WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO ABOUT THAT TOO?? THAT SEEMS CONCERNING!!!!
Meanwhile, Henry parks near the hotel they were directed to by Avedon, and the trio look upon it in… concern. First of all, it doesn’t even look like a hotel, or look like it belongs in NYC. And the entire place is surrounded by a yellow mist… and while they could wait it out or try to somehow call Avedon and tell him to come out, it just feels like the longer they wait the worse it will get.
Really, it’s starting to feel that way for a lot of things.
But even though everything about this feels bad, they press on and enter the “hotel”. What should be the hotel lobby is abnormally empty, and when they start up the stairs… well, that’s not normal either, the stairs just keep going. Joey is flipping any rugs he finds though to make sure they don’t have stupid destabilization spells underneath them.
After a few rounds of strange rooms, weird hallways, some alien screeching outside the windows, and Henry noticing that NYC is not the city outside said windows, he stops everyone out of worry that they’re walking into a trap… and Joey agrees. But not that this hotel is specifically a trap.
All of New York is a trap.
It doesn’t matter where they go next, the longer they don’t solve this issue, the more of a trap everything will be.
They just gotta press on.
…
Aaaaand start yelling for Avedon because clearly they aren’t gonna be just walking up to his hotel room at this point.
Good news! Avedon replies! Bad news!! Only Henry can hear it for some reason!! And… Avedon can hear Joey but not Henry??
It’s all very confusing. They find Henry’s reading glasses on a table. Those were in his pocket how did they get there excuse me. All of this isn't fine actually.
But after a few rounds of Avedon Polo, they finally stumble across each other in a… garden. In the middle of a hotel. And of course, the first thing Avedon says is that they need to leave immediately. He didn’t know it was going to be like THIS, he just stepped out to get a coffee and suddenly the whole place is weird??? Well, now that they’re here, time to immediately leave because YEAH THAT WAS THE PLAN FROM THE START.
Going through another door leads out into a familiar courtyard, at least familiar to Joey. He had been here a few nights ago, while invading Y’s dream, and indeed, right where he’d expect, he finds the Y twins chatting amongst themselves. Marching up to them, Joey demands to know what they’re doing and what’s going on.
They respond by addressing him as royalty.
✧･ﾟ: *Joey Drew, as Your Highness･ﾟ: *✧
Normally, this would probably inflate Joey’s ego! Currently, it sinks like a stone into his stomach!! He does not want to be part of the play!!!
Unless…
Joey suddenly wonders, because it’s the same courtyard, if they are in a dreamscape of some sort… Does he appear different than himself… and that's why they're addressing him this way?
But no, he looks like Joey, and Henry looks like Henry, and Peter looks like Peter, and Avedon is still here… except Joey also notices some of their hands are starting to turn transparent…………. That's probably fine.
He still doesn’t want to be part of their play.
The Y twins try to get Joey to go somewhere with them, and he makes up a story why they need to not do that rn, so that the group of normal fading humans can attempt once again to leave this place.
Since it's all weird here, Joey tries his little will-what-he-wants-into-reality trick and… well it doesn't work. Instead, he finds a throne room?? and realizes that they aren’t just in Carcosa, they’re in the castle where the Yellow King’s play takes place. And Joey manages to follow his intuition from here to find some kind of portrait hallway, covered with familiar faces… all labeled as characters from the play. Not recognizing all of them, Henry starts drawing them so we have a record of it later.
But there's a few he doesn't have to draw.
One is Alan Leroy, the guy that they're becoming sure is the target of the Pallid Mask. Part of the royal family, apparently. He's a slender man, black hair slicked back, young looking, quite pretty … kinda looks like Joey…
Which makes more sense perhaps when the portrait of the eldest son in the royal family is none other than Joey himself. Guess this is why he was being addressed as royalty… but that means the Y twins are not quite in their right minds, and anything he finds them doing here is probably just play nonsense.
Also Denis is the youngest prince but who cares about that guy.
What they DO care about is the fact they’re getting more and more transparent, so the boys go to find Avedon, who is oh so helpfully knocking shit over and muttering in french, and Joey manages to get his door trick to actually work this time; he opens the door and there’s…
STAIRS!!
Everyone starts running down them, managing not to get turned around when they start making twisty turns, and get to the front door of this stupid castle in a hotel lobby.
They peek outside.
Sure enough, on the side of the building, there’s a shadow shaped suspiciously like nothing they can really identify, so it must be some sort of angel monster or something.
At this point, there’s really only one option they have: try sneaking to the car and hope it’s looking the other way, and if not, run!
Everyone agrees that this is a great plan.
And then they do that.
There’s a bit of fumbling in the middle, but the car was parked outside of the yellow mist for once, so the creature just fades out as soon as it leaves the mist to chase them.
Well! Okay then!! That problem is solved!! Let’s go deliver Avedon to Norman so that he can take responsibility for his mad man and then maybe stop hiding at home or something!
Henry drives off, and things seem fine for now…
Until Joey swivels around in the front seat to question Avedon, and out the back window, sees something flying after them, only visible whenever it passes through the mists…
Problem… not solved.
#call of cthulhu: haunted hijinx#joey drew#henry stein#sammy lawrence#jack fain#susie campbell#norman polk#peter sunstram#the prophet#francois avedon#SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY#We had stuff delaying the cthulhu games and then i forgot to take notes#and then i got delayed by school#we're still going though and boy howdy do we have plenty of fun updates to share still#also sorry it is so long lmao
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Wishes Do Come True
It was like you'd been given as a gift.
Warnings : dubious consent implied, kidnapping, blood mentioned
It really did feel like a Stephen King horror story.
When you'd first been pushed to your knees infront of Joseph and his band of merry psychos, you'd just survived your car being run off the road. The wound on your forehead pulsed but atleast it had stopped weeping. This was supposed to be a calm trip toward the cabin you'd rented, lake view and all but instead you'd been kidnapped and brought to a church in the middle of nowhere.
You'd tried to catch the eye of the people sitting in the pews, but they were too content to stare in awe of the speaker. He held the room at will, a soft voice that had range and a pretty unassuming face, you had a sudden thought of human sacrifice.
His speech turned to sinners when he opened his arms and stepped towards you.
"We must push through, and find our strength in our lord to survive the rapture that is apon us." His stare was intense and focused behind his yellow aviators. "We welcome all the lost into our embrace." At this the crowd rose and cried out their agreement.
Behind the main man stood two others and a woman. Only one mattered though, for he was someone you'd met before, a long time ago when he'd been in need. You felt like you both shared a look but you weren't sure if he'd decide you were worth saving.
Between then and now, you'd been 'baptized', drugged and made to listen to Joseph's nonsense. It was only after three days of never being left alone to escape that Jacob arrived for you.
You'd been placed at the dinning table, made to eat and drink the drugged food and listen while Joseph thanked you for the care you'd given his brother all those years ago. Then the talk started of how long we'd be under ground when all came to a head, how you'd have to repopulate. That's when Joseph told you that you'd be married that evening to a man you hadn't seen in years. A man you'd only spoke to a hand full of times.
Jacobs face didn't tell you much when you looked at him, he was still and watching you back. A steely gaze, the same as it had been in the shelter. You'd asked him if this was what he wanted and he'd smirked.
"You made it clear that you'll have me at my worst," Christ, he made it sound like you'd fucked at some point. "You'll make a decent wife."
You didn't have the strength to argue, your vision was constantly blurring at the edges and Jacobs eyes would change from blue to red everytime you'd blink.
The next thing you remember was the feeling of someone removing your underwear, your arms being moved for a dress to be pulled over your head. Then you were standing back in that same church, right at the front. Jacob stood there too, his brothers and sister at the head once again. The congregation was bigger, people gathered and surrounded by heavy artillery.
You were made to kiss him, you remember the feeling of his beard and the smell of the wax he used on it, and the church bursts into sparkling snow and white fog.
Later you asked Jacob how he could've possibly have remembered you, he told you while tickling the stretched skin of your belly that the night you'd brought him his dinner, it had been the first full meal he'd had in nine months. That you'd looked him in the eye and said nothing, just nodded and let him eat.
He looked into your eyes then and told you that he never forgot the feeling of wishing things had been different, for wishing he'd had a future with someone like you. His lip curled up then.
I appreciate any and all feedback, thank you.
And you knew that down in that bunker, swollen with the child he'd bred you with, that he'd gotten his wish and maybe you were just a little thankful when you thought of what your life would've been like if he hadn't.
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Research Log 1:
Location: East (Barcelos, BR), South (Parque Nacional Serra da Mocidade)
Subject Discovery:
Subject 'Ann' discovered via miscommunication during incentive transfer. Live specimen of 'Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris' lost in transfer. Attempt to recapture failed; Researcher made for adequate substitute. Escape from 'Ann's attempt to eat Researcher successful. Process included calling out, biting, begging and feigning despair. 'Ann' did eventually release.
Observations:
Subject does not understand English or Español. Has minimal communication with local tribes, but understands small vocabulary. Vocal chords likely not completely developed through lack of necessity. Communication conducted via gestures and rudimentary word associations.
Skin shares thin and elastic attributes of Eunectes genus on superior and inferior planes. Subject resorts to armor plating along trunk and head for protection from sun exposure and attacks. Hair is nonexistent on the subject, as are most traits indicative of Homo sapien.
Heat pits sit under the eyes, with possibility that they are connected via the same nerve or very similar ones via separate foreman channel. General eyesight is less than 20/20; the heat pits likely make up for this especially while hunting underwater.
Lower extremity has prehensile capabilities. Distribution percentage between superior and inferior halves proposes predisposition towards ectothermia, possibility to exhibit endothermic qualities up into mesothermic.
Facial creases make expansion of jaw and consumption of large prey possible. Hunting seems to have no particular timeframe. Ambush via the water explains both the additional, transparent lens below the eyelid as well as vertical pupil shape.
Adipose tissue centered around upper rib cage. Extensive research finds the deposits create insulation around section no longer anchored by a sternum. As well it potentially guards against lower temperatures, an attempt to breach exothermic tendencies and further supporting mesothermic regulation.
Research Log 2:
Location: International Coastal Rd 10, West of Cairo, Arab Republic of Egypt.
Subject Discovery:
Subject 'Wedjet' encountered among group of traveling vendors. Wares sold by subject include:
-Sections of shed removed from Subject's lower region
-small vials of yellow liquid, later discovered to be self-extracted venom chemically identical to venom produced by Naja haje.
Observations:
Subject 'Wedjet' seemed to hold reservation against analysis. Incentive offered to provide testimony includes:
- All (4) remaining specimens of shed from subject (3000EGP)
- 3 vials (1.5mL each) subject-extracted venom (4500EGP)
- Massage Therapy administered by Researcher during analysis.
(RESEARCHER NOTE: I think I just got taken for a ride. I'll need to check what the exchange rate typically is for such things. Pretty sure the massage was just to see what she could get away with asking for; at least she let me keep enough cash on me to travel back.)
In contrast to previous Subject, 'Wedjet' is well adapted to life among Homo sapiens. The caravan 'Wedjet' travels with are of no relation. Their discovery of each other is recounted as, quote:
"I was just a snakelet when they found me. They couldn't stop the men that took...them from me. But they found me, left alone in the house, and no one to care for me. That's all in the past now. What happened: happened."
Speech observed to be inhibited while hood is flared. As with Naja haje counterpart, extension of the hood is a conscious effort, only able to sustain position for up to 3 minutes. (Per Subject testimony) Further observation reveals rib structure continuing from trunk section, from vertebrae C7 to C3.
Heat pits follow similar position as Subject 'Ann', with differences in size and count.
'Wedjet' expresses aggressive-style humor; on more than one occasion during testimony alluded to sensations of arousal when none were present. Hypothesis of exploitation expressed on part of the Researcher.
Research Log 3:
Location: West of Bluewater, NM, USA
Subject Discovery:
Researcher was provided local information regarding location. As well provision requirements were noted, namely hiking equipment, personal firearm protection, and guide (RESEARCHER NOTE: 'Guide' being a local from town who can vet that I wasn't there to either steal her cows, invoke Eminent Domain, or capture her for exploitation)
Observations:
Subject 'Cera' is an interesting mix between Subject 'Ann' and 'Wedjet'. She lives close to settlements of homo sapiens, but chooses little to no contact with the wider populous. the only forms of contact seem to be from members of the local Indigenous American tribe. They are explained by 'Cera' as, quote:
"...My Middlemen. I, by most accounts, don't exist. But I ain't [sic] survived this long on coyote meat and bunkin' in barns. I raise the cows they don't have means to raise, I get left alone, and we split whatever we get from market; meat and cash."
Subject has been observed practicing eating habits indicative of homo sapiens, with three consistent-sized meals over the course of the day. This is noted in contrast to other observed subjects who otherwise practice eating habits indicative of ancestry. 'Cera' denotes the reason being that an otherwise conventional Lamia eating-style leaves room for predation of stock.
Venom naturally produced by Subject's venom glands are noted to not be used in day-to-day life. Similar to 'Wedjet', 'Cera' provides venom samples both for medical antivenin production, as well as private sale.
Growths above orbital section speculatively classified as 'horns'. 'Cera' notes they have never shed, but the left one has sustained injury in the past. Quote:
"Sumbitch [sic] had me holed up at least a month. Busted the end off and everything. You can't see it now; this was when I was first startin'. Don't stand behind a steer if you don't want to get kicked. That one made a damn-fine steak."
Research Log 4:
Location: Tokyo, JP
Subject Discovery:
Initial lead discovered via r/Cryptids (Reddit). Post contains 5 second video of Subject, rolling away in similar fashion to above illustration. Contact with poster helped track subject to near Nakano, Tokyo, Japan. Four (4) nights were expended in search of Subject, finally found exiting a local 7-Eleven.
Observation:
Subject 'Chise' describes herself as a "hikikomori" (ひきこもり) a colloquial used to describe individuals experiencing severe social withdrawal (self-imposed and otherwise). Despite this barrier, she does sustain herself using an animated virtual avatar to interact via social media ('VTubing').
'Chise' exhibits higher 'tolerance' for alcohol in comparison to home sapiens. Specific variable that enables this is not yet known, and may require further research.
'Chise' maintains dexterity exhibited in other subjects, despite tail and body lacking similar length. Example provided includes tucking and curling tail into ring formation to assist in locomotion. Speed clocked at 6KPH.
Researcher requested by Subject to maintain communication. Request pending approval. If request denied or slow in turnaround, independent approval will be authorized.
#Trinket's Rattlin' Bones#monster girl#lamia#snake girl#naga#naga oc#lamia oc#northern green anaconda#fantasy research#fake scientific illustration#fantasy anatomy#muscle girl#snake woman#tsuchinoko
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Shame the Academic doesn't like Parabola much. I imagine that's exactly what they'd see in the war against their reflection, right? The one that had the cards. It'd be so sad.
Their eyes are better, brighter. As The Academic stands before something that isn’t quite a lush dinner table, and almost is a looking-glass, the eyes of the person seated across from them are what The Academic notices first. The eyes and the brightness in them.
It’s only after that when they notice the second eye.
The second eye is a vivid green yellow: shapeling arts, no doubt. Such an easy fix, and both are protected behind tinted spectacles. It’s confusing, because the rest of this body does not match the gleam in the gaze. The cheeks are lean; belonging to someone who has been stepped on time and time again. The frame is thinner and the arms have less muscle-the reflection has been skipping meals- and their clothes belong at the university; lab coat stained with ink and whatever they’ve been too absent-minded to clean. This person clearly no longer lives at The Bazaar. They’re back in a townhouse, or-god forbid, some unfashionable remote address.
The reflection’s eyes aren’t meeting The Academic’s; instead, they’re responding with their own appraisal. They take in The Academic’s opulent garments with amazement, and The Academic begins to swell with pride. But as soon as their lip curls and a fang emerges, the reflection blanches; a wholly uncalled for spot of judgementallism. The claws cause them to turn away in disgust; scholarly curiosity sated, the answer repellent.
The hair on the back of The Academic’s neck is standing up, and their clenched throat easily climbs to a high-pitched, inhuman timbre.
“What. Have you suddenly drawn a line in the sand, you hypocrite?�� Fists clench. “Wasn’t there some bit about removing the board from your own eye before commenting on the mote in your neighbor’s?” There’s nobody in this dream but the two Academics, and the feeling is decadence itself, unleashing the Curator voice without the robe.
Lesser beings on the chain can feel the danger standing before them when a Master speaks. Even before the claws and the neddy-men and the aerial attacks, a human body simply cannot argue with their betters-
In the mirror, a gloved hand reaches lips, and those lips laugh, and it’s horrible how beautiful the sound is. It couldn’t be heard when they were speaking timidly, but their voice is low and rich. It’s such an ordinary transformation, so terribly mundane in comparison. One needn’t rearrange organs or grow new ones or defy the chain, and the soft, gentle sound belongs in Veilgarden.
“My apologies.” Their face is far from pure; that’s contempt in the tilt of the brow, the pinching of the cheeks. But there’s a softness too. Pity.
The Academic can feel their chest tightening. Lungs shuddering.
“It really is quite a thing you’ve accomplished.” And there’s no irony, no smirk, just more of that bold-faced speech, as though the thoughts in their head need no massaging(messaging) or preparation before reaching another pair of ears. “I assume it’s not quite done yet, but it really is remarkable.”
The Academic’s knees are locked in place, spine rigid. If they loosened by the slightest fraction, something would give. “Thank you,” they push through gritted teeth, “it has come with lessons. They have been generous.” The push too much, and a vicious grin slips out: “Pages’ collection has been particularly enjoyable to peruse.”
The Academic’s pride is a dirigible, an Obliterator-class, looming and bold and another stifled bit of mirth escapes the lips of the reflection, and the hit explodes the ballonet. Would to god it were a precision strike; but it’s not Veils tittering and choosing an insult meant to chill. It’s not Pages, artfully striking in a way meant to wound and enrage and spur on revenge twofold. It’s just a sorry little human, one who spills anything on their mind, who shares precious truth and intel with the unwashed masses like so much spare change, tossed into an urchin’s sooty mitts.
“Those books must be interesting!” Two eyes, wide with scientific curiosity. “What have you learned about the stars?”
“Why, a fraction of everything, my good fellow!” The Academic grins and adjusts their monocle. “The sailing patterns of wings which catch solar winds! The secret laws of sunlight! The wisdom of minds which stretch back millennia!”
And they are lying, for the answer is nothing. The Academic has learned nothing from their ascent into a new form. The Masters are a bickering cluster of glorified bats, they are outcasts from their kind, the lowest of the low, tricked in turn by immortals and humans alike, turning on one another in desperation. The lessons they teach are vapid and empty and as cheap a payment as legally possible, as befits their spendthrift nature. The future they promise is cold, and however magnificently a human excels among his peers, a runt of a Curator will never, ever be accepted. There is a future with The Masters on their journey home; but once they arrive the loom of fate runs out of thread. It refuses to show another stitch. Perhaps a new exile with an unfamiliar cast of rejects. Will Cards even make it one city before it meets its end? Will it even get a well-burial, or is even that indignity too good for a glorified ape?
What has The Academic learned? They have seen the frozen space between spaces, the precious meaning in the space between meanings and hearts. They have charted portions of the Zee three hundred times over, stood at the very peak, and done battle on the Neath’s roof. They have put their hands on the loom of fate, tasted the futures available to London, and assisted a colleague in breaking the boundaries of the concept of death and fate in one strike.
But none of that required the assistance of The Masters.
“Breathtaking!” If the reflection senses a hint of untruth, there’s no sign of it. “I did want to know what you’d learned.”
The Academic’s hand rises to the clasp around their neck. Via the language of dreams, they could share their self-knowledge with the reflection. They could pass the robe through the mirror. Give the reflection a taste of what it turned down.
To consent, or to deny?
The reflection turns away. Beechwood is standing there, and things click. The Academic is The Academic who became Cards.
The reflection is The Academic who threw The Marvellous. They recognized the limit of The Masters’ abilities, that the buy-in was as more costly than the entire pot. Their eyes were open during that final, fateful(fatal) hand of the match, and rather than be blinded by another chance at victory, the reflection saw the desperate bid from Beechwood. The subtle signs from one brilliant scientist to another, the moment to turn the game around on The Masters, to play a much greater game.
If The Academic were to pass the robe through the glass, would the reflection pass Beechwood though? Would The Academic get to read a thread of fate where that mind had survived?
Hands quivering, they go to unclasp the lock, to step away from the scaffolding-
But the reflection has already turned away. “I did want to know what you’d learned. But I’ve already read those stories, myself.”
And The Academic realizes that they never really had a choice, the reflection is denying them, it was the reflection’s dream, and they return the smallest smile-
Before lunging headlong at the mirror, fists beating again and again onto the surface, shattering it, their reflection multiplying. One who had ascended to the top of the social order, a crown atop their head, and no respect withheld by the masses. Another was studying arctic ice flows, publishing papers on the surface, a vital link between two worlds. One stared The Masters down, paperwork in order. They shook hands with poets in Balmoral, and their Violant pen protected London with red law and legislative fury.
But that first reflection was in facet after facet. A broken glass zoetrope of sated curiosity, to pity, and ultimately, head turned away in indifference.
The Academic couldn’t hear their own voice but they were sure they were screaming, claws raking, straining to render those shards into powder, but something held them back- a hand on their shoulder and a cloying tone. A stovepipe hat and buttons that gleamed like eye- no, eyes that gleamed like buttons- wait, that wasn’t right either- coat flapping in the golden mean and an endless fractal of fingers curling, curling around and around The Academic’s arm-
“D__n!” The Academic swore. Their voice had wandered back, but it still felt far away. “Another reason why I hate this place.”
“Parabola isn’t all bad,” The Manager replied, “why, one meets the most charming people there.”
The Manager gave The Academic a friendly pat on the head, and even though the sun had set, it didn’t quite seem to be ending. They coughed up a volley of cards, the posterboard thwaking out a shuffle as all 54 hit the ground and scattered.
The Academic gave an ineffectual tug with their bound arm. Either the Manager was still holding onto it, or a very impermanent straight-jacket was crawling onto The Academic’s body. If they didn’t stare very closely at it, it was going to eat up The Academic’s hands, and then their arms, and The Royal Beth was a wretched place to go about armless.
Another pat on the head, too many fingers curling around the now ragged locks of hair, gripping and pulling the whole person away, “But we can’t have you harming yourself, now can we? It’s much better to disarm someone, especially when they can cause so much havoc with even one hand.”
#fallen london#the ex-disgraced academic#ocs#fallen London spoilers#had this in the drafts for a while#if I can manage to copy it cleanly maybe I’ll toss it up on AO3#Nightmares have reached 8!#anyway thanks for the prompt anon it’s been on my mind for a while now#parabola#the Royal Bethlehem#the manager of the royal bethlehem hotel
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Good Morning, Sweetheart! ੈ♡˳ Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader
Summary: you were having really good dreams about Eddie and he's going to make them come true.
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, cute sex, dirty talk, morning sex, bad words.
— Eddie... hm... yeah, just like that! — you moaned loudly, feeling your legs go limp as jelly.
He knew very well what he was doing because while he was eating you out, you screamed like crazy and squeezed his hair.
— B-Babe, I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna... — you could barely complete the long-desired sentence and ended up opening your eyes and finding yourself in your room.
The white walls of the room were starting to fill with the yellow-orange sunrise light that woke the entire city. It was very early, but you didn't really care about that, after all it was Saturday and you had the whole day to sleep peacefully with... wait! where's Eddie!?
You squeezed the soft sheets off the bed and you could smell him there but you couldn't see him. Impossible for him to have gotten up earlier. Your eyes wandered around the room in a lost way until they made eye contact with his brown eyes.
Eddie was sitting in an armchair that was near the bedroom door, it was a comfortable and beautiful armchair. There he was, in his black boxers and shirtless with his hair slightly messy while he looked you up and down.
He wasn't wearing rings, obviously because he'd just woken up, but he was still charming. After all, he had beautiful hands. One arm was resting on the armrest of the chair and the other was bent with one hand resting subtly on his chin.
He liked the way your teddy bear babydoll was thin and simple. The blouse was thin and had delicate straps, just as the shorts were thin and short. He liked even more the fact that you were all clumsy, your hair was a mess and your breasts were visible.
— Had sweet dreams, baby? — he questioned in a low voice as he looked at you.
— Y-Yes... I did — you replied shyly. — Why did you get out of bed?
— No particular reason... — he responded by getting up from the armchair and walking over to the bed, where he sat beside you.
You felt your boyfriend's warm, big hand on your thigh, squeezing lightly and leaving a few caresses. Now that he was so close, you could see the erection in his underwear, which was even damp from pre-cum.
— Tell me a little more about those sweet dreams, honey. I'm dying to hear about — his voice was filled with desire, in an unreal way it was so good to hear.
You were already starting to get even more turned on than before because just having Eddie this close to you could make you drip.
Eddie always managed to exert dominance and it left you bewildered and mesmerized by him.
— W-Well, I was here in bed and you were with me and... — you were talking and your speech was interrupted by him who had started to take off your shorts.
As he lowered that piece of light blue fabric, he placed kisses on your thighs until he finally removed it from your body, leaving only your gray panties visible. And a small stain of libido was already present.
— Did I do this in your dream? — he asked teasingly as he threw one of your legs over his shoulder and left soft kisses.
— Yes, you did — a moan accompanied your speech and made him feel satisfied.
You felt his kisses approaching your groin and felt your insides practically on fire. Eddie's kisses consumed your body like flames in a fire. He was torturous and hot at the same time.
A heavenly feeling.
He kissed up your panties until he found the hem of the fabric and hooked his teeth so he could slide down your legs. Taking off your panties with his mouth was something he loved to do and it always surprised you, even if it wasn't the first time.
— Babe... — you moaned as you felt your insides tingle.
— Shhh... Don't say anything, sweetheart. Just guide me...
Shit! Why did he have to be so sexy!?
Eddie always said the right thing at the right time, or did the right thing at the right time. He had no mistake.
He distributed some kisses on your thigh and subtly licked the warm, soft skin. He liked your scent and sniffed it whenever he could, while his fingertips pressed against your flesh with vigor. Feeling him was an incredible feeling, so indescribable.
His lips came dangerously close to your wet, attention-seeking pussy. Even if he had that angelic face, he shouldn't get carried away. He was the type who liked a good teasing and driving you crazy with touches and caresses.
— Did I do this in your dream, baby? — he asked in a soft, smooth voice while licked your clit slowly, enjoying every second.
Your back arched in response to the touches and you clutched the pillow as you were trying not to squeeze his soft brown hair. You swore softly, barely audible. He was dirty and he knew how to tease like no one else, but you loved him.
— I asked you a question, my love... — he brought a hand to your chin and held it subtly, making you look at him. — When I ask you you have to answer, yeah?
His gaze held dominance, and yes, you were already fully under that man's control.
You nodded silently with your gaze directed to his. He lifted your shirt, leaving it above your breasts so that they were fully visible. The fact that your nipples were tightening was already driving him crazy and making the erection in the boxers even bigger and more pulsating.
A sneer formed on his lips as he returned to focus on between your legs. There was no warning, he just started to eat you unhurriedly but without warning.
His warm, soft lips made you want to scream, and that urge increased even more when his tongue kept sliding over your clit and sucking it lightly, making the noise of suction echo through the room.
Your eyes were rolling inside your eye sockets and your hands were squeezing your breasts, stimulating. It made him mad, and more horny.
The saliva lubricating your pussy as his nose nuzzled your clit was already making you delirious, you felt like could collapse at any moment.
Eddie cupped your thighs, pulling you closer and sinking his face even further between your legs in unsteady will. He was hungry for more like a beast.
— And then, baby, did I eat you out like this in the dream? — he smiled against your pussy, a smile of satisfaction.
You could barely form a sentence because you were too busy moaning his name and pushing your hips into his face. He wasted no time either, he was an experienced guy and he knew very well what he was doing, so much so that he squeezed your thighs and pressed his face more against your pussy.
His tongue made incredible moves in your wet insides, you would not hold out for long.
— B-Babe! — you screamed in a desperate attempt to warn him that you were coming.
Obviously he felt rewarded for that and you reached your climax as he rubbed his face against your pussy and sucked your clit fiercely. Your legs went shaky and then limp as jelly, but this was an incredible feeling.
His face was smeared with your cum and he loved it. He loved running his tongue over his lips, tasting you and you were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. Believe it.
He trailed kisses down to your breasts, placing wet kisses here and there and biting gently. Of course he noticed that you had goosebumps and he loved it. Oh, how he loved it!
— What did I do to you now? — softly kissed your neck. — Did I make you come one more time?
— Y-Yes... — you replied shyly.
— Guide me one more time, baby...
You slid your legs over his hips and crossed them, bringing him closer. Surely your arousal must have been wetting his boxers, which were already wet from pre-cum.
He smirked because even though he didn't always show it, Eddie was the kind of guy who could fuck you like a beast but also liked to make love. He was a natural lover of slow sex.
You started making out like always and it feels heavenly. He kissed you with a tenderness and care that seemed to be from another world, it wasn't a soft kiss but it wasn't rough. It was ideal and enough to leave you wanting more.
His soft, warm lips were perfect. Kissing him felt like a dream, it was so delicious.
During the kiss, you could feel him taking off his boxers and his erection coming into contact with your hot skin and you could feel the way it pulsed and was wet with pre-cum. And what turned you on the most: he was like this because of you.
Even as you kissed you moaned and so did he. You for finally being fulfilled as you longed for, and him for feeling you. He loved feeling you, loved you completely.
The way your walls pressed against his cock left him in pure ecstasy.
— You're so tight, baby — you moaned as you felt his hot breath on your neck.
His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your thighs and sliding again to your waist and finally up to your breasts, where he was squeezing subtly as well.
One hand of his was holding the headboard while the other was close to the curve of your neck, placing caresses. That angle gave him the perfect view of your face and also of your breasts that bounced with the back and forth movements.
You held his arm that was close to your neck while you moaned and whimpered. Eddie in turn cursed under his breath and said how hot you were.
There were no words capable of describing the chemistry of the two of you, the synchrony, the fit... nothing could explain.
The bed creaked with Eddie's pace that was slow and passionate but still good.
— Will you come for me again, baby, will you? — he asked, as he took your hand, which had been holding his arm before, and kissed it gently. Sliding soft lips.
His horny voice managed to become a great stimulant. His groans and the sound of his hips were driving you crazy.
Your pussy was already starting to feel even more sensitive than before because of the previous orgasm and also because he was big, so it always gave you maximum pleasure without hurting and still found that "special spot".
You started to feel that knot forming in your belly and soon it would burst.
He hit that special spot over and over again and it made your eyes roll and you squeezed his arm as you bit your bottom lip and threw your head back on the pillow.
— Fuck! Babe, I'm cumming... — you announced.
He then cupped your chin with one hand and made sure you could look into his eyes. His eyes were the color of Belgian chocolate and they made you dizzy.
— I want to look into your eyes while I make you come...
It didn't take long and the knot in your belly snapped. Your legs shook once more and your hips moved a little. Eddie could enjoy your lips parting into a perfect "o" and your pupils dilating.
— You look so hot cumming on my dick, baby... fuck... — he moaned again still reveling in the orgasm he had just witnessed.
He had to confess that this "wet pussy sound" was one of his favorites. Especially after you came, because it got even wetter.
His pace still calm and passionate, until he felt he would come too.
— Did I come inside you in your dream, baby? — he asked in a low voice.
You nodded your head. You could remember dreaming about it clearly, and now that you'd come twice and he kept going back and forth, you were as sensitive as ever and anxious to be filled.
— I'm cumming baby... ah holy shit! — he moaned announcing his orgasm as he closed his eyes and filled you.
You felt that hot liquid filling you and it was perfect. It was even better when he came several times in a row, letting the hot cum run down your thighs.
They were both panting, sweaty and very, very happy. Smiling like two idiots and satisfied. Eddie had to admit: dating you was amazing.
The sexual chemistry between the two of you was otherworldly because it was inexplicable. It was intense, it was delicious, it was well done, it was unforgettable!
— Babe, I loved this morning! — you said excitedly, lying down on his chest.
— I'm so glad you liked it, baby — his fingers went to your hair, running through the soft strands.
— Love you — you whispered to him with a silly little smile on your lips.
— Love you — he whispered back with the same smirk on his face.
You were made for each other, you complemented each other in everything and you nurtured an unconditional love for each other.
[...]
#eddie munson smut#eddie munson.nsfw#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson#eddie x reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x you
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Agatsuma Zenitsu x reader
Warnings: not edited, just raw brain fluff <3
* ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ੈ✩‧₊˚
Pink and yellow flowers swished gently in the summer breeze as birds chirped and crickets cricketed. The blue skies and puffy white clouds stood behind the tall jaded trees, providing a small shield from the scorching sun.
Zenitsu laid in the tall grass, head resting behind his arms as he listened to a far-off tune being sang by a girl he's come to listen to almost every other day.
Her voice and the sound of her gentle heartbeat were the only things that brought him peace after returning from his missions, mind and heart torn by the tragedies that are strewn across the country by rampaging demons.
Although he considered himself a coward, he believed that he could overcome any mission as long as her tune is what greets him upon his every return.
Her voice was smooth, like silk, her melodies joyful, like summer, and her heartbeat as mighty as the the mountains that surrounded them. Hypnotised by her singing, any sort of nervosity evaporated from his body, fleeing into the sky above as his feet carried his body closer and closer each day.
It was courage that he lacked - she was the only girl who'd made him feel so at peace, even if he'd never seen her face.
He didn't have to, it did not matter whether she was pretty or not, he was in love with her spirit. Of course it would be a bonus, in true Agatsuma style, but it wouldn't ever be a weakness.
Whoever she was, she was kind and strong, patient but firm. He'd never heard such a calming heartbeat and voice.
But until he gathers the courage to even see her, he will remain in the luminescent fields, surrounding himself with the harmonious sounds of insects and birds alike, bodies of water and strokes of wind.
The wind caressed his hair as his eyes came to a close, feeling enough peace to allow his body to welcome the feeling of tiredness that overcame him the longer he stayed, gently swaying him away into a deep sleep.
"That's it. I will find her, and I will confess to her," Zenitsu said loudly to his companions - Tanjiro and Inosuke- whilst smacking his fist against his palm, "I will woo her, seduce if I must, but I will not let her go. She's the only woman who's made me feel this way." He stated proudly, chest puffing up as his thoughts began to race, his cheeks burning a bright shade of pink.
"Are you sure that's a good idea? You've never even met her." Tanjiro said softly, eyes worriedly glancing over at his friend as an unsure frown graced his features.
He knew how easily Zenitsu fell in love, and how easily it was to break his fragile heart.
Inosuke only huffed with a shake of his head, legs moving faster as though to mute out the conversation between the two men. He wasn't interested if it wasn't about combat.
Zenitsu looked ahead for a short moment, before turning his attention back to Tanjiro, who's worried eyes were stuck on his own.
His gaze was soft but deep, and Zenitsu feared that it would only dissolve his resolve.
“I know Tanjiro, but I have to. I know you're worried, and you want what's best for me," He paused with a sigh, his thoughts jumbled for a moment too long, before regaining order with a shake of his head, "My heart longs for her, it beats faster at the sound of her own. I've never felt this way, although I believed I've been in love before - this is different." He spoke firmly, his walking coming to a full stop at some point during his short speech, Tanjiro complying to stop.
His hand rose to Zenitsu's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as a small smile grew on Tanjiro's face, "I believe you, and I will support whatever decision you make, just don't rush."
He said softly, removing his hand from his friend's shoulder before continuing to walk, with no other words exchanged between the trio for the rest of their journey.
A couple of weeks had passed since that conversation, and Zenitsu's heart pounded violently against his ribcage as he and his friends approached the Butterfly estate. A gentle breeze swished past him, lifting his spirits somewhat in the summer evening.
The sun was still somewhat high up, but the sky was darkening by the minute, growing orange and pinkish hues which stretched far and wide over sparce clouds.
Birds chirped and hopped around their nests, all communicating together - the sound being pleasing to his ears.
A stream of water nearby ran through a field, one which he'd be climbing later to reach the beautiful voice he'd been missing so much.
His head spun and blood rushed to his cheeks at the thought, his breath hitched with excitement.
His legs had a mind of their own, and soon he separated from his friends whilst heading in the direction of the voice he grew to love. She wasn't singing at this particular time, but he was sure she'd be there, sitting in the grass, maybe braiding flowers together, or maybe enjoying the breeze and the warmth of the sun.
He didn't know yet, but he would soon.
His heart continued to beat rapidly, his mind beginning to think of all the possibilities; would she be freaked out? Confused? Maybe flattered? A stranger admiring your voice for months, without ever actually matching face to voice.
“Bit strange..." Zenitsu muttered to himself, staring daggers at the grass below him, but he trudged on, stomps of determination flattening the ground, arms swinging in effort, and before he knew it, he was standing at the door of a small wooden hut, steam coming out of the top through a chimney, and songs... No. Her voice. It was so beautiful he stood and gawked, hand mid-air, about the knock.
And then the door opened.
#zenitsu fluff#kimetsu zenitsu#demon slayer#zenitsu x reader#rengokukyoujorou#demon slayer tanjiro#inosuke#kimetsu no yaiba#zenitsu agatsuma#anime#demon slayer zenitsu#tengen uzui#tengen#shinobu kocho#muichiro tokito#obanai iguro#giyu tomioka#tomioka giyuu#demon slayer mitsuri
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android is also the local tech expert, so when they start to malfunction they have to talk their human friends through how to repair them, even though the procedure is painful?
OOOOO
"There's a panel-" Speech. Talking. Unexpectedly difficult. Something is wrong. Wrong. Malfunctioned. Glitching. "On my back. On the left side." Left? Process. Repeat. Clarify. "Right side."
"Listen, I don't know about this." Scared. The human is scared. (So am I. Another glitch. Another malfunction. Another failing.) "Maybe we should wait until Frankie gets back."
Frankie Hills. Mechanic. Fifteen. Expert. This human is not an expert. He's new; his name isn't in my database yet. But he's not a mechanic. I know that; he told me. "No time. Glitching. Crashing. Odds of successful repair... Dropping."
This doesn't make him calmer. His hands are shaking, which is bad. Wrong. He's glitching. (But humans don't glitch. They just exist. Why can't I just exist?) I search my database, ignoring the strain on my processor. If I'm not careful, I'll overheat, but he'll never get anywhere without my help.
Comfort words. Excellent. "It will be-be okay." Repeating. Echoing. I'm overloading my system. Audio quality is suffering. "I believe in you."
An odd thing: belief. I don't know what it means. But I know I'm broken, and he's the only one who can fix me. I need him to fix me, before it's too late.
In any case, the words seem to assure him. His features shift. Change. The word comes to my processing center unbidden: Soften. He relaxes, and clears his throat. "Left panel?"
"Right." Then, when he starts to reach, I clarify, "Right panel. Right side. Not correct. Right."
This gives him pause, but only briefly. Then he reaches again, this time for the right (right, correct, direction) panel. When he twists the screwdriver, my sensors burn in protest, and I cannot stop a noise from slipping out. Unfortunate; it frightens him.
"Did I hurt you?"
Hurt: to cause pain. My sensors are not for pain; they serve as alarms for things that pose a threat. They tell me if things are too hot, too cold, subject to cause harm to my hardware or programming. It sends a warning through my wires; I find it unpleasant, but that does not make it pain.
My processor is too close to overheating; I cannot explain all of this. "Yes." It falls within the parameters of truth the Organization has defined for me. "Remove the panel."
"But if it's going to hurt you-"
"It must be removed. There is no other way to repair me."
He makes a noise of his own: a groan, a human sound for pain. But why is he in pain? He isn't; he hurts for me. Hurts because I suffer. Still, though, he sets to work, removing the panel. This time, when noises escape, he does not falter.
"Now what?"
"There are two wires: red and green."
"You have a lot more wires than that back here."
His voice has changed. Taken on a sound: a drawl. So this is sarcasm, then. A human attempt at humor, to make me feel more relaxed (or perhaps, to make him feel more relaxed).
"Those do not matter. Find the red and green wires."
He makes another noise, similar to the grunt, but lighter. Louder. I identify it as laughter; he thinks I've made a joke in turn. Very well.
"Okay, got 'em. What do I do?"
This will be unpleasant. I know this. These wires are not meant to be exposed, so they're connected to powerful sensors. When he does what he must, it will overwhelm my system. But it has to happen.
"Wait until I finish speaking. Disconnect both wires, and insert the yellow drive on the table into the slot behind those wires. Then, reconnect the wires. Make sure you do not cross them."
He waits five seconds-I count-to ensure that I'm done talking. I've encountered droids far less compliant than him. Then, he asks, "What happens if I cross the wires?"
The sensation I experience isn't truly fear; it's simply programming, a jolt of warning, an attempt to preserve data. I'm more useful when I have all of my data, after all. Still, I sound unsteady even to myself when I reply, "System reboot."
Wiping me. Erasing me forever. I would still be here, but not here. Not me. Something else. Someone else. But me. I don't want to think about this; it will definitely overwhelm my processors.
"I'm done speaking," I inform him, because he still hasn't continued the procedure.
"Right, just, uh... Brace yourself." There is nothing to brace myself against; there is nothing to prepare me for this.
"I will not be able to guide you any longer," I warn, and he hesitates. Humans have something called intuition, and I suspect right now that his is activating, inferring from the data I've provided that this will not be a good experience for me. It will, however, be a necessary one.
He knows. Clears his throat. "Okay. Here goes nothing."
A strange thing, something humans often say before things which are most definitely not nothing. A human contradiction; they have many.
Then, all programs running in my mind cease, replaced only with sensor alerts, warnings, jolts- (it hurts-)
Processing fails.
-
I've been recharged. It isn't truly waking up, but that's what humans call it, when I shift from powered down to powered up. All of my sensors are operating at normal levels, not detecting any negative input.
And all of my data is in-tact.
The man is sitting by my charging stall, watching me with an odd look on his face. I run it through my processors (running smoothly now, easily able to take in the new information): It is exhaustion. While I have been recharging, he has not done the same. Curious.
"You require sleep. My calculations indicate that your performance will be diminished by more than-"
"You're okay!" He interrupts me, and-as per my programming-I cease imparting information. Then he stands, reaching over and wrapping his arms around me.
A hug; I don't need to check my database for that. I've observed it before, frequently. It's strange, finally experiencing it. My sensors exist for detecting threats, but the pressure is too light to register as a threat. It does register, though; awareness without warning. It's... Not unpleasant.
"You performed the procedure adequately," I inform him, because my records indicate that moments of embracing call for phrases of sentiment.
He laughs, again. That's not the correct response to sentiment; maybe I didn't do it right. But he hugs me again-more tightly, but still not tight enough to send a warning-before releasing me.
"Thanks for talking me through it," he says.
Odd, to thank me for something that benefitted me more than him. Programming and experience both tell me, however, that there is only one response he's seeking.
"You're welcome."
#.... idk what happened here#answered#thanks for the ask!#whump#android whump#my fics#my writing#mine#salt and light#lurking-latinist#long post
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Medic doesn’t necessarily recognize the face, but he knows the silhouette—the same one that always tends to show up behind the infernal contraptions that tear his teammates to shreds. He’s stocky, hunched, an odd-looking shotgun with a vertical barrel held carefully pointed away from his chest.
When he sees Medic, he smiles, and even though only a good half of his face is visible for dark tinted goggles and a slightly overlarge bright yellow hard hat, what’s visible betrays a powerful jawline, symmetrical features, disturbingly white teeth.
Medic must be getting lonely—his hormones seem to be operating on overdrive. He has to remind himself there is a shotgun pointed at his chest, and that the shotgun is getting closer every few seconds.
“Howdy, partner,” the other team’s Engineer calls, in a thick, relatively unsurprising accent he’s fairly sure is southern-American. Medic watches him carefully, choosing not to respond, so he follows: “I ain’t lookin’ for trouble or nothing.”
What a fascinating and entirely incomprehensible pattern of speech. Medic continues to push the cart, ignoring him, since he doesn't look like the sort to bury a significant amount of shrapnel in his back for lack of attention—though if he did at this point it would be more of a blessing than anything.
“Where’s the rest of y’all’s team?”
“I don’t know,” he calls back, more bitterly than necessary or intended. “Why would they tell me? I really don’t know.”
“Interesting.” He’s walked up close enough that his voice lowers into something deeper, more comfortable-sounding. “Now, uh, my team’s gone too… which is why I was asking.”
“Maybe they all ran off to let the only two useful members of either team handle everything.”
“Well, uh,” the engineer seems to get the implication because he blushes a little bit, “to be fair if I’m supposed to be handling things I think I’m doin’ a pretty bang-up job.”
Hmm. “Is that supposed to mean ‘bad’?”
“Well, what’s implied by the context clues?”
The engineer keeps leaning against a wall, falling behind, and scrambling ahead to lean against another wall. Medic watches him with barely-concealed amusement.
“That you’re standing by and doing nothing while the enemy team captures.”
“Yeah. That’s the point.”
“If it helps, Engineer, from my perspective you’re doing some fantastic work."
"You know, I'll take it."
————
Engineer smiles, and his eyes crinkle even through the goggles, and he sets an experimental hand on the cart.
It grinds to a halt. Medic almost loses his balance since the thing he was pushing suddenly stops moving, though he wrenches his back and narrowly avoids toppling over the thick soles of his boots (though at the cost of whatever makes an extremely disturbing popping noise in his back).
“It’s like the wheels just lock up,” Engineer says. He has a way of making everything he says sound both endlessly fascinated and completely apathetic, like he already knew what was going on. “Well, what’s the point of that?”
“If you could remove your hand from the cart,” Medic says. “I’m trying not to imply to my team—wherever they are—that something may be amiss at the objective.”
He complies, stepping back, leaning against a wall. Medic thinks the amount of tint on his goggles is on purpose—a less observant person might think he was looking away, though the tilt of his head implies his eyes are still very much watching Medic pant and strain to keep the cart rolling. And well—what does Scout always say?—screw him. Medic’s just not sure why he feels so embarrassed.
“Are you seeing anything of interest, Herr Engineer?”
“Well, if you gotta know… a little.” Medic feels the half-wink all the way from there, and is annoyed at how warm his face feels. “But I’m not sure if it’s reciprocal.”
Interesting. “Potentially.” And to douse that general sentiment: “You seem incredibly irritating.”
“Give it a few days.”
#tf2 medic#tf2 engineer#bungus snippets#i have sooo many ideas for this little bit of fic but none of them are coming out.#so here’s this for the time being. since I haven’t posted writing in like a month#tf2#science party#bird brains
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[ID: A digital sketch of Cross Sans in the foreground saying "i am a husk of myself. my purpose has been reduced to that of a pawn. i ruined everything." while XMonster Kid and XChara are in the background dancing to 'Boogie Woogie Woogie' and hovering with a deadpan expression respectively. /End ID.] [ID: A digital sketch of Ink!Sans, Cross!Sans, XMonster Kid and XChara. Ink is sitting on his knees with Broomy behind of his feet, his talking is depicted with black, red and yellow speech bubbles. Cross is looking at him, bored, while XMonster Kid is curled up on Cross' thigh and XChara is sitting with their back on Cross' arm. /End ID.]
some drawings of.. "What If! MK Survived"? "Cross and MK"? not sure what to name the au but the idea was cooked up with @strelitzia-mystery1097 !! im tagging it "Cross & MK" for now
this was how i initially visualized things, the world is wiped out in a similar way to the end of Xtale but MK is still around. thats pretty much it <:] i dont really have any new ideas atm.. just trying to focus on school and stuff even if this is still on my brain
but ! the new idea as it's been discussed is: Xtale's world is still 'empty' but it doesnt become a white void. which most likely removes cross' fear of open white spaces BUT he'd still get some anxiety over being alone with no interaction whatsoever.
i imagine the order of meeting people is more or less the same with Ink introducing the multiverse more thoroughly, Error stealing Cross' soul and/or threatening MK's soul, Nightmare is attracted to Cross' anguish and then things.. continue. not sure HOW but i really want to draw Cross in this ruined Xtale and the horrors that would bring. how cross confronts his multiple lifetimes, the creeping feeling that he's always being watched, how he feels that he cant break down because it would negatively effect MK.
#imagine posting#tooth doodles#ink sans#cross sans#monster kid#xchara#ink!sans#cross!sans#x!monster kid#x!chara#digital sketches#has id#digital illustration#cross & mk#“idk what else i could say about this” then the post looks like this#tooth rambles#long post#queue eu eu eu
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lil red dead drabble inspired by the diagnosis scene (apologies in advance)
——————————————
"Like I said, I'm real sorry." Came the futile concern once more, offering words that did nothing to strengthen the world crumbling beneath Arthur's feet.
Tuberculosis, the Doctor had said. The White Plague. Consumption. A silent killer that, for once, Arthur couldn't scare away with brute force or a spitting gun. His death would be a slow one, lungs slowly rotting away. He felt that familiar-yet-unknown prickling static begin to pound in his mind, an amalgamation of emotions so tangled they became one. Sadness, anger, confusion, self-pity - they had no distinction in his mind. Questions rattled around his head like ricochets, why-me's and why-now's pinging back and forth, as if by bursting out of his mind they would find an answer. There were both too many and too few words to say.
"Yeah, well..." He mumbled instead, pushing himself off the chair with shaky arms. Just as he was about to leave, the doctor grabbed his arm, pushing him back down into the chair. He said something about giving him 'some more energy for the day', as if it would do any good. Despite this, he accepted the shot with a mumbled thank you, stumbling out of the door and into the street.
It was surprisingly empty and the world had taken on a hazy yellow hue. If Arthur didn't know any better he would've thought himself to be in the throes of a dream; though a nightmare seemed more appropriate. Chalking it up the the drugs, Arthur made his way down the street. His feet moved one way whilst his mind drifted the other, trying his damnest to figure out how the Hell he'd gotten himself into this mess.
And Lord, what a mess it was. It seemed unreal that the sturdy, supposedly unfailing foundation he'd built the past 20 years on had unraveled in mere months. But, what comes up must come down.
Arthur remembered the phrase from years gone by; from when Dutch was in the throes of an impassioned speech about civilisation, hands waving at a frantic pace as if trying to pluck back the wayward thoughts that had slipped out his brain. A time when Hosea was still breathing, albeit shakily, still giving Arthur that fondly exasperated look as Dutch prattled on. A time when Arthur wasn't worried about Dutch's scorn- much less at having it directed at him. That, Arthur supposed, was when his life was going up; now was the time for it to come crashing down. Rome wasn't built in a day but it sure did fall quick, Arthur mused with a solemn, half-amused huff.
There was no warning for it. Never was. Or perhaps Arthur was too blinded by loyalty to notice Micah's forked tongue morphing Dutch into something unrecognisable. Something that couldn't be the man who raised him, the man that Arthur devoted his life to. In Arthur's mind, Dutch was the same as always, if a bit more volatile than before. It was just easier to pretend that nothing had changed. To lie to himself.
Lying was second nature to Arthur, always had been. A habit woven into himself so deeply that it became nigh-impossible to remove the tainted threads. He found that the truth was often too frightening to face. Behind all the muscle and gunpowder still lay that eager-to-please child, burying reality under a carefully crafted fantasy. However, if Arthur had learned anything, it was that the world was apathetic towards such things. It had a nasty tendency to tear through fantasies like a bullet through flesh. Harsh, abrupt and often bloody.
Maybe it's a sign, Arthur. Try...try to do the good thing.
And he did – or at least, he thought he did. It was hard to know what the good thing was these days.
Good was such an intangible yet definite thing, simple yet complex. Arthur knew he wasn't a good man, despite what so many had said. But he wasn't a bad man either - he was just...Arthur. A not-quite-good but not-quite-bad man who'd dealt with the set of cards life had given him; a product of both his circumstances and his decisions. The only thing he could do was to try and amend his past mistakes, for whatever good it would do, and shepherd whoever he could down a safer, brighter path than his own.
#rdr2 arthur#arthur morgan rdr2#rdr2#arthur morgan#drabble#fanfic#rdr2 fanfic#fanfiction#red dead redemption 2#red dead fandom#red dead redemption community#red dead redemption fanfiction#arthur morgan fanfiction#my writing#writing
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Rings of Power: Episodes 1 & 2
I honestly couldn’t find it in me to simply sit through it as if I wasn’t compiling a mental checklist of all of the offences. And the offences are many. It’s just my first watch so I’m sure I missed a lot of finer details. It’s hard comparing certain things to anything because it’s all just made up by the showrunners and the timeline is at this point irrelevant because this whole thing is some weird AU.
I also mostly don’t comment on the acting because although it’s of exceptionally inconsistent quality from actor to actor, and it’s obvious that some of them have not managed to get into character, I find more fault with the writing. Had the writing been better I’m sure that the actors’ deliveries would have felt more natural. With that said...
Episode 1:
Even the opening scenes of baby Galadriel playing with other children like a bunch of little gremlins who appear of accurate age to their physical development doesn’t sit right with me.
Elves mature much slower than Humans physically, but develop much faster mentally. According to The Nature of Middle-earth they reach puberty only at over 200 years old. Which means that an Elven child that looks 7 might instead be over 100 years old and has lived for what would be for a Human a whole lifetime or more. To portray Elven children as comparable to Humans in their speech and manners is absurd.
In the first few minutes of the episode Galadriel is portrayed consecutively by two actresses whose accents are cardinally different and it stands out.
The timeline is such a disaster, that much is obvious before the first 10 minutes.
Galadriel’s history lesson in the beginning could have had a much better effect if they took any notes from the prologue to The Fellowship of the Ring. Controlling the pace and emphasis, even modifying Cate Blanchett’s voice achieved an effect that has been carved into our minds permanently. Morfydd Clark’s delivery falls face first into mud. It’s just dull, monotone and unfeeling.
Obvious makeup. Very meh.
I honestly think the use of this weird font to mark location on screen looks really cheap and like as if their graphics department couldn’t find the original font so they just used the papyrus one instead. Like what is that? (I know I’m a design snob but seriously.)
The dialogue is just stiff, awkward and unelegant.
The fight scene with the troll is just terrible. Galadriel singlehandedly takes down a massive troll with almost no help and without a hair out of place. Complete with entirely unnecessary sword flourishes. It’s embarrassing to watch honestly. Seems also like Galadriel’s entire company is purely decorative as she does all the fighting, is always right and does everything on her own while others try to keep up with her. Mary Sue down to a T.
The Harfoots are a travesty. Irish cosplay, but make it primitive.
The moment you take a closer look at their setup it’s hard to believe they’re nomadic. So much seems decorative, rather than functional to them. And that’s before we get to the characters. They’re just made to look pointedly primitive.
They’ve also deisgned the Lindon set without being able to decide whether it’s fall or summer. Because it’s both at the same time. It’s seemingly fall where they walk among yellow trees (canonically there are NO mellyrn outside of Lorien; Gil-Galad had the seeds, but none grew in Lindon) and on layers of fallen, yellowed leaves. At the same time the surrounding hills are in full greenery as are all the other plants surrounding them. Like there’s no biological consistency to the living environment and the result is that Elves almost look removed from nature, rather than in utter harmony with their environment as they’re meant to be.
And what the hell is it with those Roman civic crowns everywhere.
The dialogue is... it’s to Tolkien what Aliexpress is to haute couture.
And speaking of the costumes. Aliexpress sale bin.
They’re importing present-day social issues into Middle-earth as if it didn’t have enough of to go around already. On top of that it feels forced and shoehorned, which it didn’t have to be if they had chosen to make the xenophobia contextually authentic to Middle-earth. Like fear of the unknown peoples and lands, which wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Rather than synthesising anti-Elf racism to show how one black Elf in particular is the victim of this, as if this then wouldn’t apply to all the other Elves somehow. So is it about the ears or is it about his skin color because there are no other black Elves on record and none appear in the series besides him? Make it make sense.
The short hair on Elven men is so weird. WTF is this? The Witcher?
Also the way Galadriel’s memory of her conversation with her brother is overlayed the scene feels terrible because the audio is too similar to those speaking on screen and there’s not enough of an echo or some other sound effct to distinguish it. So it sounds like director’s commentary.
They are all way too unphased by a giant fireball falling from the skies. Plus the way everything is on fire, but somehow his loincloth is unharmed. Right. There would have been so many other ways of dealing with that for the sake of modesty which would have been a lot less laughable.
Episode 2:
The Harfoots are supposed to be way more archaic than their Hobbit descendants. And they are made to look the part visually, but their dialogue has been bothering me since the beginning because it’s way more contemporary than that of Hobbits in LOTR, and it stood out since episode 1. It’s only stylized to the extent of using ‘unrefined’ language so to speak. The manner of speaking doesn’t feel authentic to bygone times. And neither does their acting, manners etc. Which again makes it feel even more like Irish cosplay.
Looking at the set decorations in Eregion reveals that apparently they just went thrift-shopping in Camden market or something. It’s more of an eclectic mix of 19th century European furniture and neo-styles with some accent decorations from Italy and Morocco than anything I’d associate with Elves of any Age. It’s not even Art Nouveau and Arts & Crafts dominant. And I swear one of those lanterns is painted plastic and not even made of metal. WTF is this Disneyland giftshop shit? I’m not seeing the millions in anything but VFX.
All of the Dwarven costumes are a massive downgrade. I feel like all of the effort was put into prosthetic noses and that’s the extent of it. Meanwhile the culture is shown to be brutish above everything else, to the point that it makes me question how they could possibly create such fine things. There’s a major disconnect there.
Plus this one sure feels like Scottish cosplay. Remember groundskeeper Willie from The Simposons. Yeah.
Also I feel like everything to do with Durin is essentially everything criticized about the Hobbit trilogy and more. Plus this domestic scenery (which is pulled out of their asses) completely breaks the decorum characteristic to Tolkien. It’s just awkward to watch.
The breaking of decorum gets its own bulltepoint. Because it’s just that big of an offence. Would Elrond really call a Dwarven princess by her first name even though they just met? Really?
With all the gold, mithril and jewels under the mountains. And they still made Disa’s jewelry out of old hubcaps.
Galadriel still remains a foot too short. She’s towered over by literally everyone and she’s supposed to be the TALLEST WOMAN IN ALL OF ARDA.
#Rings of Power#The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power#Game of Rings#anti Rings of Power#lotrrop#it's basically a lame parody
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Filmi prompts from old and our favourite bollywood songs that can be used for your desi romantic stories or as a cute little idea for your fake scenarios. Kya malum sochte sochte kab manifest hojaye?
1. Neele Neele Ambar Par (Kalaakaar)
-- This summer vacation you are at your nani ghar. The nights provide respite from the scorching heat so you run off to the terrace every night to sit and gaze at the moon until one fine evening, you see a boy opposite to your house wistfully gaze at the moon and scribble something on his notebook. His wavy hair falls gracefully on his eyes, and you can feel your heart melt. It's full moon, and she is right on the top of the terrace, letting her moonbeams fall on this handsome quiet writer. Perhaps, he realized someone's gaze over him. He looks up, and you swear to God that you have never seen such a beautiful boy ever. The boy blushes and continues writing while stealing glances at you.
2. Mitwa (Chandni)
-- It's the last day you both will ever meet in the school premises. Yes, it's farewell today. You are dressed in a yellow chiffon saree. For the first time, your school decided to make the boys wear kurtas instead of the usual suits, and the sight was too pretty for your eyes. Your boyfriend wore the typical black kurta with cuffed sleeves that made your heart go dhak dhak. Loads of fun filled dancing, canteen ka khana, principal ke speech ke baad arrived the time to say goodbyes. School had kept the farewell after board exams so this was literally the last time you all gathered together. After hugging your friends, you go to the school main gate and find him leaning against the adjacent wall.
Hand in hand, both of you walk outside the school. 'Everything is going to change, isn't it?" You ask. He takes a bite of his ice cream, and answers, "Yes. No more school classes, no more sneaking out and we might have a long distance going on, but some things will stay permanent."
"Aur voh kya?"
"Tere mere honthon pe mithe mithe geet mitwa.."
3. Bole Chudiyan (K3G)
-- You are the bride's sister, and that boy is your acadmeic rival at school. However, for now, he is also your jija's dear brother. Today is Sangeet, and you were determined to outperform ladke vale. Both of you were good at academics, but also at dancing. This was a test and a chance to rub defeat on his face.
That was your actual plan until two days ago, your didi jiju decided to have a group combined performance where you and your rival would be the lead dancers to unite both the enemies (you and him). Needles to say, you were mad. There was no way you would dance with his smooth moves and charismatic style. He was mad too. He would never dance with your graceful bollywood moves straight from 90s Saroj Khan choreohgraphy.
Keeping aside snide remarks and your school rivalry, both of you managed to choreograph and coordinate everyone dashed with a little tension that did not go unnoticed by didi jija and cousins. Dressed in a baby pink lehenga, you see him arrive on the stage in a golden white sherwani. He sends a two finger salute to your direction while you roll your eyes.
'Aake meri duniya mein vapas aajana' you pull him gently as per the choreography. He stumbles towards you, not aware of his scarf clinging on to your bracelet. 'Sehra baandh ke mahi tu mere ghar aana...' He twirls you halfway and you notice that his scarf is stuck on your bracelet.
You hate how his stupid handsome smirk is making butterflies fly in your body. After the semi twirl, he turns you over in front, his arm around your bare waist causing you to gasp silently. God knows what came over him. He lightly pecks your cheek in front of everyone and discreetly removes his stuck scarf.
'Oye soni kitti soni aaj tu lagdi ve bas mere sath yeh jodi teri sajdi ve' Didi and jija come in and dance to their assigned part. You run away from him quickly to calm your racing heart.
He is looking at you, a grin gracefully sitting over his pretty lips. You bashfully look up. 'Haan main ho gaya tera sajna.' It's the time for all the boys to come together on the stage. Your rival shoots a smooth wink before going to dance.
4. Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga (1942: A love story)
You accidentally fell from your cycle by speeding over the speed breaker. Obviously you won't cry. You are fifteen now. A girl quickly arrives towards you, and in a soft voice asks, "Hey, you okay? That was a terrible fall. Dhyan kidhar tha?" Wincing, you look up, and see a pretty girl with silver jhumke and white salwar blowing at your wound. She is wearing a multi coloured bandhani dupatta. In two seconds, you forget the blood oozing out of your knee. The only red your eyes are focused on are on the pretty red shade of the girl's lips.
She is about to tear her dupatta to tie it across your wound. Your hand immediately holds her wrist, and you feel electricity jolt in your fingers. "Itna sundar dupatta kharab mat karo. Ghar idhar paas hai. Just help me to reach my gate, please."
Shaking her head, she tears her dupatta while you let out a gasp. "You are bleeding too much, besides I can always buy a new dupatta." She finally looks up at you and smiles. That's when you get a clear picture of her face.
Doe eyes lightly lined with kajal, a small bindi right between her eyebrows, and a small stone nath on her nose. She looks heavenly! You think how in front of such a beautiful girl, you look dust laden after falling off your bicycle.
"Aise mat dekho... tumhe pyaar ho jayega."
*:..｡o○ ○o｡..:**:..｡o○ ○o｡..:**:..｡o○ ○o｡..:*
Okay so the last one was inspired from @morally-gayy series.
There are going to be more. I can make them shorter though if you would want that.
Guys padh lena 🙏
Me forgetting to tag people again: @sanskari-kanya @manujanolavu @ma-douce-souffrance @kaal-naagin @ketchup-jar-ka @arachneofthoughts @irlparvati @krishna-sahacharini @krishna-priyatama
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What an awful day...
Scarlet grumbled. He hadn't been able to make any money today.
He just couldn't seem to find anyone that'd fall for his usual shenanigans.
He was used to their rejections, it came with the territory. But he was beginning to get desperate.
"Ive got bills to pay, dammit!" He mumbled to himself
He recited the script engraved in his head.
"-Come and watch reality twist before your very eyes!"
Although said with much less emotion this time.
Whoever said "there's a sucker born every minute" is one themselves
Losing hope, he was preparing a speech in his head so he didn't end up homeless.
"Just one more week, I'll have the money..."
His hopes pick up once he caught sight of 2 strangers, and strangers were the easiest.
"Hello strangers, do you believe in magic? Things vanishing before your eyes, items shifting into what they aren't, reality itself twisting and warping! Can I interest you in a show?"
He was glad when the taller one looked him over, then nodded.
"Yknow what, I've seen some crazy stuff... you'd better surprise me"
The taller yellow one seemed much more easygoing than the shorter, wider one.
Seemed easier to take from too, with his jacket, gloves...even muffs around his ears.
He was practically asking to get robbed!
The shorter one kept his eyes locked on scarlet. He found himself sweating but stayed cool. He always had an escape plan.
He pulled two cards out.
"See these two cards, right? King of diamonds and a jack of spades."
He flicked the 2 cards, allowing one to smoothly drop down his sleeve.
"See when I flick it once it becomes 1 cards, the king of diamonds."
He flicked the card again, exagerrating the motion to allow the other card to slide back up.
"If I flick them again, they become 2, the king of diamonds and the jack of spades!"
He drew closer.
"Now, see if I rub them together they'll turn into 1 card."
He palms the cards and begins rubbing them, using the momentum to slide them up his right sleeve while simultaneously sliding another one out of his left sleeve.
The card was flipped over, he'd already done the deed. Now was the awe.
"It's one card now, right? Now you're probably wondering which one it is, the king of diamonds or the jack of spades but it's actually-"
He flipped the card over.
"The ace of hearts...isn't that amazing!"
The shorter one blinked in surprise, the taller one held a fascinated look.
"Now gentlemen, if you'll excuse me I must be going!"
He made his exit.
The shorter stick seemed to be thinking of how this could've been possible. The taller one spoke up.
"Heh, that was a pretty cool magic trick... too bad he's a crook that stole my wallet."
The taller one said, smiling.
"Huh?!"
The shorter one grunted in surprise.
"Yeah...almost didn't notice. He's pretty good at it."
He took his muffs off and closed his eyes, listening for the sticks footsteps.
After a moment, he put his muffs back on.
"He went that way."
The taller one started after him.
"Autumn!"
The shorter one hissed, grabbing his shoulder with a steel grip.
Autumn smiled a half smile.
"Relax, rusty. we're not gonna hurt him... just scare a bit of sense into him.
Rusty didn't relent, keeping his concerned gaze focused on Autumn while not removing his hand.
"Don't be that way...besides, it's been a little dull lately, right?"
Autumn said, raising an eyebrow expectedly.
He felt rustys grip soften, and heard him breath a sigh.
He let go of autumn and gestured for him to lead the way.
---------------------------------------------------
@anonymisprincess
For any confusion;
Rusty = normal orange
Autumn = orange bold
Decided to do some retcon on rusty and made another character tied to him with his own story.
I talked it over with nonnie and have a ton of new ideas to share!
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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 41
Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M
Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?
Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.
Author’s note: TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of suicide and life’s general awfulness à la young mentor Haymitch. So, yeah. This lil’ chapter is hella depressing.
Chapter 41
Piece by piece
June wouldn’t look at him – not once – as she tied balloons to a nearby tree. Floating ones of every color, just outside the cream colored party tent. The helium canister stood by her feet. A big cylinder thing, gray as stormy seas. If anything it looked like the bombs that a Capitol hovercraft might drop.
Course, he knew better than to blurt that out.
The party tent was anchored at every corner, accompanied by more of June’s floating balloons. Tethered to the ground and tied up with ribbons. The sidewalls had all been removed, leaving the waterproof ceiling above, just in case of rain.
The garden table was set up with the plump coffee pot and matching china. Pretty glasses with soft yellow napkins. Frog green plastic plates and sippy cups for the birthday kids along with a stack of gifts.
Sitting in a bucket of ice was a bottle of (obviously) alcohol-free apple cider and over by June’s apple tree: Effie’s picnic blanket spread out in the shade – just in case it didn’t rain.
“You did it wonderful out here”, he told the blonde woman’s back. “Sincerely.”
Nothing. Not even a sour: “I didn’t do it for you.” If Annabel’s patience was wearing thin, he was one drunken stupor away from making June an enemy.
Not that he wasn’t used to it. Making enemies.
Her silence. Her body language. He knew it all too well. Used to get it all the time back home. Not so much anymore. Post-rebellion.
“Because you helped put an end to Snow. An end to the Games”, Effie said but that wasn’t it. He hadn’t redeemed himself. The supposed thawing of District 12 toward him was all due to the depressing fact that almost no one survived the fire bombings.
But in the glory days – the hateful glances, the cold shoulders, even confrontations was all part of his everyday life. Took only a few seasons.
For about a second after his Quell, him actually winning breathed a sense of hope into the district. Not only because of Parcel Day - those monthly food packages sent in the first year. It was the fact that Twelve finally, finally had a mentor now. A mentor clever enough to win one of the hardest Games in history. Surely it would make a difference? Surely!
Course, it didn’t take him long to prove them wrong and all that hope and optimism turned cold and bitter as a winter storm. It wasn’t just that they resented him for not doing enough. He was also their living breathing reminder of the Games. Past and future.
And as the dead children under his care accumulated he spent less and less time outside the house, unable to look at the young faces of towners and Seam kids alike, wondering which one was next.
That and their loved ones. Families, friends, sweethearts of the kids he failed to bring home. They shouldn’t have to endure his presence more than absolutely necessary. Not if he could help it.
Like the funerals. Few things on this Earth could compete with his hatred for the reaping but those god awful double funerals were definitely up there.
As the mentor, he was expected to attend. And he did, the first couple of years.
Dandruff wasn’t present of course. You didn’t escort dead children back. It was just him and a handful of mourners, carefully selected. All presided over by an armada of peacekeepers, armed to the teeth.
The Iron Maiden and later old Cray held a speech over the small-sized coffins but it was never really about the dead, or the living. More like … sitting round the table and now let’s all give thanks to our lord and savior president Snow.
You’d think there’d be flowers. White, perfume-reeking roses, reminding you of who ran this show. But of course not. Snow wouldn’t waste a single bloom on something as unimportant as a dead tribute. Not even the local wild rose that Katniss might encounter out in the woods.
The last funeral he ever went to was before she and Peeta were born. Effie must have still been a child.
Dandruff reaped a couple of Seam kids that year, just like she did most seasons. 15 year old Laurel and Douglas – just twelve. None of them made it past the bloodbath.
Their families weren’t to go near the coffins to say a final goodbye or put down a daisy. They were just an audience. A class of school children and like the dutiful crowd they kept their expected distance while the Head Peacekeeper ran their pathetic charade.
Lauren’s parents, her brothers and sisters all sobbed together. Silent ones so as not attract the attention of those rifles. Douglas’s mother seemed in chock. Her eyes stared at nothing, bone dry, while her husband - face sunken, a head shorter than her - cried for the both of them.
Haymitch kept his distance at the scene, like he always did. Out of respect for the families. Their pain. But his eyes had flitted to Douglas‘s father at one point and right in that moment Tucker looked at him.
The coal miner knew the mentor would be there. Or maybe not. The funerals were never aired. Not unless there was a special year, like the Quells. Either way he looked stunned, staggered. Like coming out of a dream.
And then, rage took its place. There was no other word for it. And he left his wife’s side. Elbowed himself right through the crowd. Haymitch knew what was coming. Could have deflected it. Easily. After his time in the arena he had reflexes like a wild rabbit. But he didn’t and Tucker struck him to the ground. His body had barely hit the dirt before the man was all over him.
Hand clenched into a fist he punched his face, over and over. Busted his lip up, his nose, his eyebrow – all the time hollering the same thing.
“Murderer! You murderer! Child-murderer!”
Tucker never got to finish the job. Later that same day, only hours after they buried their son, wails could be heard from the coal miner’s house. Peacekeepers arrived to learn the cause of the racket and found Tucker in the bedroom covered in blood, holding his dead wife’s body.
The realization that her only child was gone must have finally hit her. She’d cut her wrists open with her husband’s shaving knife.
The peacekeepers wanted to retrieve the body but Tucker, mad with grief, wouldn’t let them anywhere near Eliza. Teeth bared he fought their every attempt until they shot him.
Square in the chest.
That night, Haymitch got himself drunk for the first time. The Hob was closed but he found his way into the Seam, guided by whatever moonlight he could make out through his one good eye. Knocked on Ripper’s door. Asked for a bottle of white liquor.
The one-armed woman hesitated, reluctant to sell to someone still so young. But her gaze travelled across his bashed, beat up face. His eye swollen shut. The gashes, the crusts of blood, the red and purple bruises.
Finally she nodded.
The liquor burned just as much as he remembered – from that one time with the butcher’s. A beverage so vile no one with any sense left, or choice, would drink it willingly. But he powered it down.
Every drop.
Sip by sip, mouthful by mouthful – even when he gagged on it, even though he knew he’d puke himself into another nosebleed in just a matter of hours.
He did it anyway. To rid himself off their faces. Their voices. If just for a little while.
Laurel, dead. Douglas, dead. Eliza bleeding out in her husband’s arms. Tucker with a hole in his chest.
Murderer! You murderer! Child-murderer!
That was the last time he ever went to a funeral. They could put him in chains, throw him in a cell, flog him or just shoot him on sight like they did Tucker. He didn’t care.
And as time wore on, he spent less and less of it outside the Victor’s Village. He reckoned there’s where he’d do the least harm. He actively pushed people away, alienated himself from the rest of the community.
Stopped spending any real time with Sae and Hazelle and all the rest. Was rude and hurtful on purpose to keep people at a distance. Like Tessa when she arrived at his door step, wanting to treat his face with her soothing herbs and salves.
He shut her out. Shut them all out.
So they’d be safe.
He drew a deep soundless sigh. Stared at the tiny lady bug crawling up a purple ribbon.
He meant what he told June. And he wanted the twins to have all this. And yet ... the whole thing felt increasingly unreal. Presents, balloons, birthday cake.
Why did he get to be here celebrating his kids growing up when so many good, decent, innocent people were all just bones in the ground?
It wasn’t fair and he didn’t deserve it.
Any of it.
#hayffie#haymitch x effie#the hunger games renaissance#haymitch abernathy#effie trinket#district 11#my fanfiction#post-mockingjay#young haymitch
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