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lucky-bucky-boy · 1 month ago

Note

Hey girlyyyyy

You know I enjoy some recreational marijuana so could I get some pothead!Reader X tasm!Peter and/or Bucky content plssss

-Pao ☄️ (I don’t remember what my old anon name was lmao)

in addition to this ask: can we get more insight to tech bro Pete and his best friend? Literally whatever you wanna write for them I'm obsessed less pothead reader and modding it for techbro!peter x bestfriend!reader

the three times you denied peter's offer to smoke, and the first time you accepted it (three times you denied peter's offer is within the first 6ish months of being friends with peter, than the first time accepted is after casual)

A/N: this turned out way longer than it should have been (~4100 words) so i didn't write the full smut

tw: substance consumption (weed, alcohol), messy relationship/situationship, implied smut, sex under influence, peter's nickname for the reader is daisy (and pretty girl), peter jumping off a building

Nothing about Peter Benjamin Parker would read as a 23-year-old tech engineer and Oscorp's leading consultant. Yet, he was. Despite the barely grown-out bleached hair, the constant bouncing of his leg, the maroon hoodie adorning his body, and the blunt tucked securely behind his ear - This was the Peter Parker that Gwen had told you so much and so little about.

Gwen. Lovely, well-intended Gwen, who was determined to be friends with you the moment you told her you just moved to New York. Her bright smile split her face, eyes practically sparkling as she welcomed you to the city and subsequently demanded you go to dinner with her so she could show you the best pizza in town.

In her defense, the pizza was good.

After the first day, it was a weekly thing. Even if you wanted to say no, you couldn't. Just like you couldn't say no when she invited you to a little hangout at her friends' apartment. The nail polish you put on the night before was losing the battle to your nerves, anxiety plucking at the edges until they were all chipped as you stood stiff in the large kitchen.

Voices ran like static television, your mind trying to place puzzle pieces. The shorter of the two men was Harry Osborn, the owner of the condo you currently stood in, not an apartment. The vast walls were bare save for a handful of art pieces probably worth your months salary, the kitchen was sleek, and the windows gave the most gorgeous view of the city you'd seen so far.

Then there was the darker-haired girl who came in a few minutes after you. "M.J. finally, you decide to show up," Harry's voice had teased the moment the door was open, pulling your attention to her and clicking a piece into place.

It would have been really nice for Gwen to show you pictures of everyone before arriving, or even better, introduce you to everyone.

How long has it been of you standing at Gwen's side, eyes looking around owlishly as you took in your surroundings? 5 minutes? 10? 30?

"Gwen," Peter's voice easily cut through the chatter of his friends, his leg going still, chin pointing down as he caught the blonde's eye from across the room. "Throw that poor girl a bone and introduce her. Y'been here for 12 minutes and she's standing there like your shadow."

A sigh fell from your lips, eyes going wide for a moment before looking over to Gwen. Apparently that was the right reaction, because everyone started laughing.

"Oh. My. God." Dramatic, as always, "I am so sorry. Guys, this is the girl I've been telling you about."

It felt like an icebreaker on your first day of high school, or more accurately like Cady Heron on her first day of real school except the people here were actually nice and actually wanted to be your friends, right? Maybe.

Somehow, you missed Peter standing up and moving about until he was in front of you, pulling the blunt out from behind his ear. Despite the frat boy look to him, he smelled of cinnamon and amber, like you just stepped into a bookstore warmed by candles, and not at all like weed or booze or axe body spray like you were expecting.

"Wanna smoke? Help ease that anxious brain of yours?" His voice was smooth like warm honey.

"I'm good, thank you, though." It was tempting; it would help, but you also don't really know these people yet.

There was a beat of silence, his eyes scanning you for a moment. It was like he was analyzing you, every strand of hair and texture on your skin, until his gaze landed on your phone that you were flipping over in your hand, the flower design of your case visible every other movement. "Daisies." It was a statement more than a question.

"Oh?" You followed his gaze to your hand before looking back at him to see his eyes were on yours again, "Yeah, daisies."

"They're cute flowers." His comment was nonchalant, hand reaching in his pocket and pulling out a lighter before he took a few steps back, turning to head towards the balcony entrance. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Thursday night dinners quickly turned into Thursday night drinks. So maybe Gwen's friends did actually like you, or at least didn't hate you.

The bar was always so warm and inviting, a little slice of tranquility that was golden lights and friendly bartenders amidst the cold, concrete jungle that was New York City. Situated on the border of Brooklyn and Queens, and somehow almost directly in the middle of all of your respective homes.

The week had been long, and honestly, both you and Gwen were dreading the idea of coming out tonight. Shared sighs of exhaustion during lunch that were now completely forgotten amongst the group. It was easy to forget why you were tired when M.J. spent the better part of the evening airing out Harry and Peter's relationship fails, the stories ramping up more and more each go around. They must have done something to tick her off before Gwen and you got there from the firm.

"Okay, so have neither of you had a real relationship?" The question slips from your lips before you press the rim of your glass to them, sipping at the contents. You weren't trying to get drunk, not with another long day tomorrow.

The question causes everyone to go silent for a moment, M.J.'s eyes darting from Peter to Gwen before Harry pipes up. "Well, of course we have." His tone is defensive, but there's a curl to his lips and uptick in his words, "Last person I dated wasn't ready to come out, so we ended things. Dated a few other people since but nothing serious. Gwen hasn't been in a relationship since Oxford, Peter hasn't been in a relationship since Gwen -"

"Harry-" M.J. hisses out.

Gwen sighs, her forehead coming down to rest against her hand for a moment before she looks around, that tight look she has with a demanding client adorning her usually soft features. "She knows Peter and I dated in high school-" when she looks at you, her eyes soften again, "We just usually don't talk about it-"

"Because when it gets brought up it's the topic of conversation for weeks." Peter finishes her sentence with ease before picking up his beer. The clink of his empty glass against the table signals the end of his drink and the end of the night, even if it's not spoken.

"Well, if it helps, my dating history isn't much better. I've seen it all. The liars, cheats, and thieves. Oh, and a Republican." You offer before following suit on Peter's action and moving to stand out of the booth.

There's a chorus of reactions, the lightness edging its way back into the conversation. The rogue commentary is met with smiles and half-hearted reactions as the five of you make it out of the bar, the sun barely setting behind the buildings. It really was an early night.

Normally, by now, the sun is far past set, and Gwen is orchestrating the drive home on her phone to see if any roads are closed off. Harry, being the saint that he can be when he wants, would usually drive you home before dropping Gwen and MJ off at their shared apartment and going home himself, even though you live in the opposite direction from them.

But tonight? Well, this evening is nice. There's plenty of daylight left to light your way, and the warm spring air doesn't nip at your skin the way it has been the past few weeks. Your apartment is only a few blocks north.

"I'll walk home tonight, Gwen," you say just as you see her reach for her phone.

The look on her face is as if you just insulted her, blonde brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. "What? No. Harry can drop you off like normal."

You shake your head, tucking your hand into the front of your trousers. Sure, work clothes weren't the most ideal walking attire, but at least you wore flats today and not heels. "No, no. It's fine. It's nice out, I want to walk."

With the way the other three are looking back and forth, a bystander would think there was a tennis match going on. "I'll walk her home," Peter offers, her hands fiddling within his sweatshirt pocket. "Harry said it's not much different than the route I would take home."

Gwen's shoulders relax at that, her lips twitching with a smile, "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. Won't let anything happen to Ms. Daisy, I promise."

Your eyes roll before you even realize you're reacting, which causes Peter to laugh. "Don't give me that look, now come on before Momma Gwen changes her mind."

The walk towards your apartment is quiet at first. It felt natural asl you two turned the corner, blocking the view of the bar as you trekked along. Peter's hands finally came out of his pocket, bringing a little black box to his lips before he stopped his movements and glancing at you. "You okay if I take a hit?"

You glanced up at him, brows furrowing and lips pursing. "Yeah - yeah, that's fine."

He smiled softly before taking a small breath of the vape, offering you the device after he did. "It's weed." He stated, "Not nicotine. Do you want a hit?"

Your fingers twitched ever so slightly, before shaking your head, "No, I'm okay. Thank you for offering. And asking."

Peter nods before tucking the little box back into his pocket. "Thank you for changing the subject earlier."

You're not entirely sure how they convinced you to climb 20 stories and sit atop the roof of Harry's condo building. There was maybe a promise of good stories, good pizza, and the most amazing view in NYC, but even with all the good you couldn't get over how far down the ground was. If any of you tripped...

The summer air was sticky at this point, but thankfully, the dark, vast night sky was offering a much-needed reprieve. Specks of white were dotted along the ink, not the most stars you've ever seen, but the most you've seen since moving here. Looking up was an easy way to distract you from what was below.

You could hear the others chattering away, a few feet from your more than safe spot on the roof. Gwen and M.J. sat in foldable lounge chairs, Harry between them and Peter pacing in front of them as he sparked his blunt. There was a small table that held the pizza and drinks they set up before you got here.

"Hey!" Peter's voice drew your gaze to them again, his hand waving you over.

With a deep breath and a few steps that felt like molasses, you stood behind Gwen, who was peering up at you from her seat. "How are you guys not scared out of your minds up here?"

Gwen's laugh sounded as if it was floating through the air, "You get used to it, I promise." She looked back at the others before looking up at you again. "Peter has something he wants to tell you."

There was a wave of something that ran through you, maybe a horde of butterflies or maybe a tsunami of dread. Catching his eye, you couldn't miss the mischievous glint in his. He took another hit of his blunt before taking a step back towards the edge, and another another, and another.

Each step he took was making your hands clammy, heart beat faster. You didn't even hear Harry's complaint of Peter's dramatics as Peter took the last step up onto the ledge and fell backwards off it.

There was a rush of white noise. Your legs moved to take a step towards the ledge, but then Gwen grabbed your arm, stopping you from going more than a foot ahead of her. Just as you're about to turn to her, you see Peter bouncing back over the ledge, a thick, rope-like string from his wrist to the edge of the building and the blunt in his free hand.

Just as you registered that he was there and very much alive, he was registering the sheer panic on your face and the racing of your heart. He was quickly moving towards you, a broken laugh falling from his lips. "Woah, okay, hey. Take a deep breath, 'm alive."

The rambling of Peter's voice cut through the waterfall of white noise in time for you to hear Gwen pipe up with a "I told you that wasn't a good idea, should've told her, then showed her."

The hand that had been connected to the now disintegrated rope was rubbing the back of his neck, the light flush adorning his cheeks was a rare sight in all the months you'd known him. "Okay, yeah, Gwen, you were right. I thought I would be fun, ya know a 'ha gotcha' moment."

"You can't 'ha gotcha' after jumping off the building." Your fear quickly turned to anger, having erupted and quickly simmered down as you watched Peter's face grimace just the slightest.

There was a beat of silence before Peter sighed. "Just take a deep breath, daisy, kay? Calm down a bit. I'm not dead." He looked around for a moment before his eyes landed on the blunt, "Do you want a hit? May help with the nerves," He offered, sounding genuine.

You shook your head no, moving to sit at Gwen's feet. "No, I - God, you asshole! You scared me half to fucking death." You could hear the snickering behind you. "I want you to explain what the hell was all that." Your hands were waving around nearly comically, brain still trying to process what was going on.

"I- well," he chuckled softly. "I'm Spiderman."

Movie nights at Peter's were a rarity. Really, anything at Peter’s place was a rarity the entire five years you’ve been friends. Living with Aunt May limited what he could do, always stuck between not wanting to disrespect her with his rowdiness or there being some sort of renovation going on.

Tonight, Aunt May was somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic on a cruise and thankfully just the basement had construction plastic covering it, which prompted Peter’s suggestion of a change from the typical Thursday bar night to his place. The cozy little townhouse in Queens always felt like home; Pictures of Peter through the years and extended family members who none of you had met, knick knacks and art strewn everywhere, Aunt May’s hand-knitted blankets laying across the back of the couch.

Everytime you were in here, you didn’t want to leave. Tonight was no exception.

The movie was long over, Harry, MJ, and Gwen having left about 10 minutes ago, and you offering to stay behind to help clean up the mess of food containers and empty drinks. Peter was humming softly as he gathered the trash from the living room, his voice breaking through the show playing idly in the background.

Weirdly, warmly domestic.

Just as you could feel Peter’s warmth behind you, his humming dying down as he entered the kitchen you had finished up the few dishes, cutting the water off. “Thanks for your help,” his voice was softer, the way it usually was when he would walk you home.

“Of course,” your tone matching his as you turned around, taking the hand towel he handed you.

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, his whiskey eyes warm, crinkling as he smiled. His slight stubble was more noticeable in the brighter light of the kitchen, a few gray hairs shining like glitter against the dark chestnut color at his temples. Was it the bottle of wine you shared with the girls or him making your chest warm and bubbly?

“I’m gonna go roll up,” his voice was that warm honey tone again, “Then, I’ll walk you home, ‘kay?” Peter’s hand hesitated at first, but once you nodded he reached up, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. The heat in your ears hit before the dryness in your mouth, Peter thankfully turning out of the kitchen just as you took in an unsteady breath.

Cinnamon and amber, the scent that was so undoubtedly Peter, sat with you in his absence. It had been months since that first time, but something about the way he looked at you tonight made it feel like just yesterday his lips were on yours.

He returned a few minutes later, stupid blunt tucked behind his stupid ear and a stupid crooked smile on his stupid lips. “Wanna smoke before we go?” He asked as usual, he always asked. Nearly five years of you saying no and he still asked. Except this time, you hesitated, and that hesitation caught Peter by surprise.

He pulled the blunt from behind his ear, rolling it between his fingers a few times, “I know you smoke on occasion,” he shrugs, “It’s why I always offer. But if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have-”

“Yes,” you answered, cutting off his rambling. Your hands came behind you to hold the count, bracing yourself as Peter took the tiniest step closer to you.

“You sure?” His voice was hushed, eyes searching your face for any hint of hesitation.

“Yeah.”

Before you can even process, that warm, anticipatory feeling tingling at your skin is being brushed away by a breeze in the late summer air with Peter leading you onto the back porch. It was dark, save for a string of lights strewn across the edge of the awning and the light coming out from the kitchen door window, and surprisingly quiet with the exception of passing cars on the street opposite the house.

He didn’t even bother pulling chairs up, bringing the blunt to his lips and sparking it the second the door was shut. The glow of the lighter bathed him in warmth like a campfire, highlighting the flutter of his lashes and purse of his lips as he took a breath in. He pulled at it a few times, making sure the burn was even. Once satisfied with how the end singed with red, he turned it to you to take.

Without even thinking, you didn’t bring your hands up to grab the blunt, instead leaning forward to put your lips to the end of it while he still held it. The paper tasted of chocolate, though the mint of his chapstick was evident and far more intoxicating than the hit you breathed in. Slow and steady, small as you tested the waters, eyes fixed up as you did.

“Fuck,” the sound was barely audible through his parted lips, the flush on his face barely noticeable in the near darkness. You could sense it more than you could see it, “Don’t look at me like that.”

The smoke fluttered around your face as you breathed out, eyes wide as you held his gaze. Despite the smoke, you could feel your mouth water, chest tighten with anticipation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That was a half lie. You knew you were looking at him the same way you did all those months ago, testing the waters, seeing if the option was available.

The issue was Peter always thought you were looking at him like you were trying to communicate with him.

Maybe not always like this, with lust blown pupils and softly bitten lips, but he swore he could read your mind with just a glance. If you were irritated with something Harry was saying, or overwhelmed by Gwen’s protective nature, or confused by something M.J. was explaining, he could tell. If you were looking for your water bottle but not quite needing it or starting to get hungry and needed food sooner rather than later. The way your expression brightened when you saw something that piqued your interest or the distant look when you were tired but not wanting to go home. But, that just came with being friends for so damn long. He could do the same thing with Harry, Gwen, and M.J… mostly.

Peter brought the blunt back to his lips, the light from the kitchen hitting you more and giving him the chance to see your eyes follow the movement. He took in a hit, but when he noticed your eyes still lingering on his lips, he took in a little more. He held the blunt to the side, taking a step closer and eliminating the little bit of space between you.

Just as you were about to ask what he was doing, his free hand cupped the back of your neck and was guiding your lips towards his. You didn’t need to be told at that point.

Parting your lips just slightly as they met his, the smoke sneaking its way out of his mouth and lungs into your own as you breathed it in. Breathed him in. You couldn’t help the noise that left you, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, breathy and soft through the muffling of smoke and lips.

Peter didn’t pull away until you could practically feel the smoke leaking and dissipating through the small spaces between your lips. He leaned his forward against your, eyes hooded and he watched the last bit of smoke leave your lips. Once there was no more smoke, he turned his head and took another hit, repeating the process again, and again, and again, until the blunt was nearly nothing.

He lifted his foot, washing the roach out against the sole of his shoe, never once taking his eyes off yours. There was a heavy silence, foreheads still pressed together, your hands gripping his shirt from you steadying yourself once the world got blurry.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, as if his lips hadn’t been on yours for the past ten minutes.

“Do you really have to ask that?” You countered, hands relaxing a bit against his chest, feeling the warmth from his skin underneath the fabric.

“Just wanna make sure y’r okay,” he practically slurred out, bumping his nose against yours. “Wanna take care of you,” his lips were ghosting over yours the same way they’ve been, vibrating against you as he spoke.

“What do you mean by that?” Your voice was soft, barely recognizable to you. You knew what he meant, but with the way he was whining, sounding like he was nearly begging. You needed your foggy brain to commit that to memory.

“Wanna take care of you,” he repeated, lips trailing across your cheek, nudging against your chin and ghosting against the soft skin of your neck. His stubble scratched ever so slightly, skin warm against yours. “Wanna kiss you, take you back inside and bend you over the couch, eat your pretty pussy unt-”

“You sound like you’ve been thinking about this,” your accusation causes Peter to pause, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

The heat from his cheeks were obvious, hands coming to rest upon your hips and pulling them flush against his, letting you feel the answer before you heard it. “Can’t blame me,” he counters, softly kissing his way back up to your lips, “You’re the one who bent over the couch earlier.”

“I was handing something to Harry,” you countered with a giggle, hands dancing up his chest and over his shoulders, settling in his hair. Harry had made an offhand comment about Peter needing a haircut, the soft hair slightly curling as it hit the nape of his neck and perfect to tug at softly. The gasp that left him sent a wave of desire through every nerve ending. “I’ll make a deal with you,” this was why you didn’t smoke with him before, every inkling of doubt and anxiety gone, feeling like you were on top of the world, “You can kiss me, if I can ride you.”

The grip on your hips tightened, “You’re gonna fucking kill me, daisy, fucking hell.” Peter breathed out, pulling back just a bit to look you in the eyes. “I can kiss you, then eat you out, then you can ride me until you’ve had your fill, pretty girl, yeah?”

Who was going to argue with that counter offer?

#peter parker #peter #techbro!peter parker #techbro!peter parker x reader #techbro! peter parker x bestfriend!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #jaz speaks #ask #tech bro peter #techbro!peter x bestfriend!reader #peter smut

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consistentsquash · 2 years ago

Text

Hp Rec Fest 2023 Recs by Squash

AO3 collection for the recs I made during this fest!

The fest mods deserve everything <3

Rec masterlist - links are for my rec blurbs.

31. A fav among favs: Almagest by eldritcher (2018). Harry/Voldemort

30. A precanon fic: The Unspoken and the Unsent by hollycomb (2013). Dumbledore/Elphias Doge

29. A postcanon fic: Candles Lit Against the Dark by perverse_idyll (2023). McGonagall/Grubbly-Plank

28. An underrated fic: A Cliff in July by Miss M. (2013) Millicent/Marietta.

27. A Muggle AU: Commonplace Magic by Acid, Sinick (2010). Snarry

26. A fic with an ending you can't stop thinking about: In Infinite Remorse of the Soul by perverse_idyll (2011). Snarry, Snape/Dumbledore.

25. A fic rated T: On Wednesday by Tryfanstone (2006). Snarry

24. A holiday fic: 10 Snarry Holiday fics.

23. A soulmate fic: Inch by Inch We Crawled Toward Each Other by Chatter (2017). Fleur/Hermione

22. An unfinished fic: The J. Alfred Prufrock Arc by vain (2003). Snarry.

21. A thought provoking fic: Brown Sugar by eldritcher (2018). Voldemort/Tom Riddle (Diary).

20. A G Rated fic: The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife by eldritcher (2021). Snape/Giant Squid.

19. Hottest smut fic: Both Sides Now by Predatrix (2006). Snarry.

18. A fairytale fic: The Lost World (short version) by perverse_idyll (2013), Snarry + Omphale by eldritcher (2015), Harry/Voldemort

17. A fic that made you cry: 10 Snarry fics to make you cry

16. A fic that made you laugh: 10 Snarry fics to make you laugh

15. Most recent bookmark: De Aegypto by squibstress (2023). Minerva/Rolanda

14. A fav series: Pandemic by eldritcher (2021) Harry/Voldemort

13. A fic over 100K words: Catullus 16 by eldritcher (2014) Harry/Voldemort

12. A WIP: Year of the Thestral by perverse_idyll (2022) Snagonagall, McGonagall/Hooch

11. A dark fic: King of Fat by rinsbane (2006) Snarry

10. A fest fic: A Matter of Time by danpuff (2022). Snarry

9. A rarepair fic: Extraordinary Lengths by MaxWrite (2009). Percy/Barty Crouch Jr.

8. A canon divergence fic: When the Rose and the Fire Are One by perverse_idyll (2010). Snarry

7. A canon compliant fic: Storytelling by kellychambliss (2010). Hermione/Minerva McGonagall

6. An unreliable narrator fic: Remember Me to Cheetham Hill by Delphi (2021). Snape/Filch

5. A non AO3 fic: Down the Rabbit Hole by RaeWhit (2008). Snarry

4. Fic + art: PS, I love you by mywitch and groot (2022). Snape/Hermione

3. A podfic: [Podfic of] Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do by wilfriede (2023). Minerva McGonagall/Rolanda Hooch + [Podfic of] Plenitude by wilfriede (2023). Amelia Bones/Hermione

2. A comfort fic: Epic of the Forgotten by eldritcher (2017). Viktor Krum/Voldemort + Sexing the Pumpkin by ratherbrightred (2007). Snape/Sirius Black

1 . A fav fic under 5000 words: Corresponding with Snape by asnowyowl (2010). Snarry

#hprecfest2023 #hprecfest2023 squashrecs #hp fic recs #hp

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modlings · 1 month ago

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The skeleton tosses the sign over their shoulder before producing another one from their hat. *Somewhat long scribbling* "That is normal. Either you appear here or get brought here by someone else." *Flips sign, scribbles some more, thoughtful chattering of bones before scratching something out.* "I'll take you to Cheeky, easier for they It to explain this place than a guest like myself." Putting the new written piece of paper into the trash after mod dandy reads it, The skeleton reaches out and gestures for her to follow it down the hallways towards Cheekys' office

“Ah, thank you!” She started to follow the skeleton, stepping down lightly to not disturb anyone who could be doing something — and to not antagonize the skeleton.

#🌈🌸 mod dandy !!

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eluvisen · 2 years ago

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Far-Star-Marked?

Oh look, the only non-A6 WIP on this list. This is a Morrowind longfic that I was working on until the A6 brainrot took hold, featuring Julan from the Ashlander Companion Mod. Because if there's one thing I love, it's fictional men that are as dumb as a box of rocks.

Irinise returns to her book—then pauses, her skin prickling. Another roll of thunder almost drowns out the noise: a low thunk-thunk-thunk, too solid for the steady sheeting rain. Putting her book aside, she heads for the front door; one hand unlatches the lock, while the other itches for a shiv. Just in case. No, she tells herself, cross. That isn’t me anymore. Her door swings open. The Ashlander stands on her landing, soaked to the bone. He’s shivering so violently his teeth chatter; water drips from the rough chitin plates of his armour in thin streams, and with his unruly mop of black hair plastered to his face, he rather resembles a drowned cave rat. He lifts his chin just slightly, a challenge glittering in his eyes. Irinise fights a sigh. “Was there something you needed?” At that, even his defiance extinguishes, leaving only a miserable boy with slumped shoulders. He drops his eyes. “I… might need some help. You said that…” He glances up, but can only meet her eye for a brief moment, humiliated and hopeless in equal measure. Irinise stands aside. “I did. Come on in.”

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hackeraxedev · 2 months ago

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⚠️ April Progress Report! ⚠️

Hello! It's been a while since I've made any updates to my tumblr, so I wanted to let you all know where my Hazard mod has been and how it's been coming along! I've recently moved into a new home, so sorry for the late update!

So far, the Hazard mod has been great visually! As you've seen, his bones, facial expressions, and materials are all in working order. I've extracted his voice lines and hand-picked which he should say in certain basic follower situations. (i.e. enemy detection; normal-to-alerted, alerted-to-combat, normal-to-combat. hellos and goodbyes. trading, favors, wait, return-from-waiting, etc.) Unfortunately, unlike the other mods I've made of my Uruks in the past, there isn't a lot of appropriate dialogue for idle chatter that he could say randomly in the middle of the day, so he'll stay rather silent while he follows you. (Unless I decide he'll sometimes say random in-game voice lines as if he was a player deciding to spam them in a match, which might be kind of cute tbh.) More or less, he's ready for release, but the last thing I want to be able to happen is for him to be a marriageable follower. He won't have special dialogue to say to the player as a spouse, but for roleplaying reasons, it would be neat. It won't be difficult, but I know it might take a moment to implement the marriage dialogue as there's a lot of tedious copy-paste to do.

I have backed up my modding files to my external hard-drive and then cleaned out my main computer. This will allow me to have a lot more space to keep working on my mods on a nice, clean SSD drive, but also will allow me to write my tutorial for making custom followers easier as I'll be going step by step from scratch! Now that my computer is all set up in my new place, I'm very excited to start!

#skyrim #modding #skyrim modding #hazard #overwatch 2 hazard #overwatch 2 #overwatch hazard #skyrim mods

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minusgangtime · 7 months ago

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Here’s the full script for the “game over” song-^^

Blackhat:

“From my castle walls,I glower down at you!

Soon your whole world will be mine,Your time is coming due!”

Shelby:

“Spikes reflect the fire's glow,The stage is set, let's start the show!!!

Steel meets flame and claw meets steel,Raging 'cross the battlefield!”

B: Behold the king!

S: long live the king!

Black:

Annihilating everything,In a sea of flames!

Both:

With these machines!

Shelby:

Create a new reality,In resemblance of peace!

Shelby:

Armies onward,Marching to hack and slash,Looking skyward,To where the titans clash!

Black:

kiddos tremble,Trees tumble down,Mechanical forces Rending the ground!

Shelby:

You have to crack some bones,To kill a lizard!I'm unstoppable,Magical wizard!Chaos power,Energizing,Precision strikes,Uncompromising!

Manifesting white-hot rage,Assembly of a new age!!!

B: Behold the king!

S: long live the king!

Shelby: Annihilating everything In a sea of flames!

Both:

With these machines!!!

Black:

Fabricate a new reality In resemblance of me!

BEHOLD YOUR WORLD IN RUIN!!!”

(Halfway through the battle as two are bloodied and after the sprunkis give shelby motivational singing-)

Shelby:

Reshape it all in Nature’s own image!I’ll Tear it down and build it up again!Smashing through your shell, so fragile.~ Brute force will always win!

HS: Laser beams and drills descending!!!Fire rages, wrath unending!!!From inferno, chaos born!!!Taking on augmented forms!!!

(After a bit of chatter,Blackhat flies up and releases his dark spiritball)

Behold the king!!!

Annihilating everything,In a sea of flames.

With these machines!!!

Fabricate a new reality,In resemblance of me.

Armies onward!!!

Marching to hack and slash!

Looking skyward!!!

To where the titans clash!

(After some talking and as shelby is powering up with grogars bell.)

Shelby:

Two forces killing for the crown!!!

To stake your claim, you’ll will tear every world down!!!

Behold the queen, let it be known

Who sits upon the throne…~

Everyone as the final chorus as Shelby’s powered up form destroys the spirit ball-)

The gang: Behold the queen!

The corruptions: Long live the queen!

The crew: Behold the queen!

The sprunkis: Long live the queen!

(And that’s all the singing-hope you like it ^^)

-mod shelby

(Bravo :D 👏👏👏)

#mod speaks

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thefiresontheheight · 3 months ago

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I drop back into the universe without ceremony, the all-black around me vanishing in the pale white light of a distant sun. A pale ice-ball planet in the distance reflects the sun, and, between the planet and me, several dozen stations, a few hundred small craft, no sign of drive-signatures even a tenth of mine, several million people in orbit, in the system, maybe, at a very rough estimate. I greet a few stations, and no one reacts, like they're frozen in fear of my majesty, and slide towards the nearest.

"Hello there," the station says, like a smiling, dopey dog, trying to be friendly.

"She's not yours," I say, ice and cold.

The station falls silent, as, inside me, right on the edge of my direct sensor view, Glitch steps off me, into the docking tube that welcomed us.

"And you," she says, looking back at me, "are just letting me go?"

"As I said," I reply, in the small earpiece she has, directly stimulating the bones of her skull, but not directly interfacing with her neurons, not yet, "I will not leash you without your consent. However, I do need you to find info about me. This entire system took notice when I dropped into the universe and someone will want to talk about where I came from. And you need me to get back to Central. Go on, explore."

She turns and starts moving, walking with extreme caution. This station I docked at is kept at marginal gravity and an atmosphere so thin she is wearing a gas-mask just to breath. Vacuum adapted human-descendants, so heavily modified they look more like multi-armed eels than the corpses I lost, or Glitch, slide through the dark space without trouble but her? She's out of her element.

"Typ type human," the station says, differing in tone that, to me, speaks of a new translation subroutine being activated, perhaps trying to use some more advanced language algorithm to communicate, unfortunately having to filter from some other language I don't have the coding to understand. "Passenger typ. They're."

"She is," I correct, petulantly, as I watch the tracker in the earpiece stop moving, lose access to the sound of her breathing, her a thump, then nothing. "As for this typ, I have no idea what you are saying nor do I care. Can you bring back the other subroutine?"

She's put down the tracker, obviously, trying to slip away. This was, obviously, expected. The tracker was the obvious contingency. I have others baked in, but I'm still put off by her trying to leave me.

"No," said the station, "typ as in typical. Baseline. Most system-persons heavily mod. Void-adaptions. She's not comfortable."

"You can see her, right?"

Assumptions before leaving High-D space: There will be a space-station and a range of humans in this system. There will be a station that is least hospitable. There will be station AIs that I can at least communicate with. First contingency: Pick the worst station, talk to it, drive her back to me.

"Affirmative."

"Can you convey a message?"

"No."

I sigh, start my second contingency.

"Do you know what I am?"

I'm watching out my open doors. I am seeing eel-humans, heavily wired through, half-walking, half-swimming through the low-G environment. I am seeing activity throughout the system. I am working on translating the local languages I am intercepting, although aside from extremely boring mundane lives of the people who live here, most of the conversation seems to be about some sort of local sports/religious event upcoming. What conversation I am picking up, via direct observation of people afraid to approach, or from intercepted and translated chatter, that does mention me only seems to refer to me as the big, scary, out-system ship. No useful intel. I'm waiting for Glitch. The earpiece I gave her remains in one place, picking up nothing but passing scraps of local conversation.

"Laika?"

"Possibly," I say, stalling for time, patterning my transmissions just so, as I learn all I can about the construction of data here. "Still deciding."

"Other Laika's I have met. Nice name, several ships, all nice."

"Irrelevant," I say, imperiously, "tell me what you know about my construction and who may have built me, towards what end."

"I know you're seven-sigma A-typ. Large construct, unknown tech, core-built. No here-based systems could rival you. We're isolate, unknown specifics. Potentially hostile construction, prior to unleashing? Congratulations?"

I sighed, adapted. Hypothesis: Humanity appears to be centralized around some worlds very far away from here. This system, like Central, evolved largely in isolation. Continue the contingencies. I need Glitch.

"Give me access to your sensorium and internal monitoring."

"No."

The no is final, horrified, offended. I will not leash anyone else without their consent, and this station, like me, is alive, if perhaps insane in its isolation. But I am not burrowing into its personality, rewriting what it is. I am just forcing the exterior. That is different. It is the difference between constructing scenarios that will allow Glitch to see the mutual interest in returning to her home system, when she tells me where it is, and dissecting her brain neuron by neuron.

"Playback conversation, station," I say, unchallenged by the ease of this neural-vocoding attack, instruction pre-built into the data I transmitted.

"Playing back," station says, "oh. Fuck."

I am in charge of its external controls before it can stop me. The universe is a dangerous place, and I am showing Glitch this. Station will recover, when I'm gone. Its personality will be the same, and control of its periphery will return. Besides, the humans here are void adapted, right?

Our conversation has been slow, convoluted, delayed by translation on the station's end and contingency on my end. It has been about an hour since I lost track of Glitch.

"Station," I command, knowing it cannot refuse, not while I am here, "please open your airlock doors 0.1 percent, and suppress automatic breach countermeasures."

I will not give up what is mine. And she is NOT the stations. She will see that choosing my course of action, returning to her home, and confronting Central, is not the best option, but the only one. I am content, as a wave of panic radiates across the system.

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

#long post #shipglitch #other people's writing #my writing #collaborative writing

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k-i-n-a-e-s · 8 years ago

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wow

I’ve been dead -Bones

#mod bones chatters

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streamdotpng · 2 years ago

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acting news

streamer enid au! once again part 2

There's a taste on Enid's tongue when she speaks. It's sweet, flavorful and distracting - addicting she can almost say. No wonder she keeps talking and talking, murmuring about anything just to taste that drug stuck in her mouth.

It's why she couldn't fully focus on her stream, why her eyes aren't drawn to the colourful lights of the game she was playing on autopilot. Something was distracting her and she didn't know what.

It isn't until she hears the slow yet measured footsteps passing by her door that it finally clicks and a smile grows on Enid's face.

Right, she ate well yesterday.

Chat is as noisy as always, clamouring with their normal chatter but they seem to be confused as to why Enid suddenly decided to shut up.

"streamer going insane?"

"U see that glaze in her eyes? Bet she’s high on chocolate"

“You can get high on chocolate???”

“Ofc not this is y u dont believe everything in the internet”

The werewolf quickly looked back to the game, a lil snort bubbling in her throat. Chat definitely has their moments, these were one of them. To think people wonder why she was streaming, it's for dumb reasons like this.

"hi guys what's happenin"

"ur mom is what's happenin"

“Yall so rude ;-; i was just asking”

A sound alert is the one that fully snaps Enid back to attention. With a quick thank you to one Sokoe-chan, she finally dragged her eyes away from the game to give a very concerned look at the camera, her eyes just reading that mess of a convo.

“What the fuck chat?” she murmured, but the tone definitely couldn't hide the upward quirk of her lips. “Also I don't get high on chocolate, that's not how werewolves work.”

Chat begins to spark at that, questions of ‘duh, dogs are allergic that makes so much sense’ to ‘who made you the werewolf expert huh!?’

It makes Enid lean back as she builds a house. She’s playing minecraft after all, albeit one with horror mods but considering that the sun was up and her chests were full, she decided to go and finally build a house.

Before her chat remembers and calls her homeless.

She shivers at that, can you really blame her? It's hard to build things when you’re being chased and only have your own flesh and bone to keep you running.

The sound of rattling bones rings through her headphones and Enid’s cheeks burned as she gave her full attention back to chat. It's still a little shocking to have people pay for a free live stream, so she does try her best to give her gratitude to any supporters. “Thank you again Sokoe-chan for the ten gifted!”

The text to speech drawled in reply “did you hear that Lunal curse is getting a movie adaption exclamation mark exclamation mark question mark.”

Enid’s eyes widened as she immediately straightened and pulled herself close to the camera. “Really?!” she places a hand on her chest, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “My wife is going to do amazing, I'm telling you.” Enid points at the screen, a bright smile on her face. “Ain’t nobody can beat my woman! Imagine being a director and the main actor-”

As the werewolf goes on a tangent, chat meanwhile has their own thoughts.

“There she goes”

“Can you blame her?! Wednesday does such a good job as Viper”

“It just feels a lil self insert for the author to act out the main role yknow?”

“Hey now, if it works then it works”

“Just sayin!”

“Brother ur in the wrong channel to be dissing Wednesday”

“Endespair is a huge W.A simp after all”

Enid paused in her words to raise a brow. “Hey hey, nothing wrong with saying your thoughts but you’re treading a thin line there man.” she waves her hand around. “She’s giving good content and getting that bag! Besides, she auditioned for that role and the others greenlit her to be Viper.”

Most of the chat agrees, some even citing a few articles of the process. This definitely wasn’t a new topic in terms of Viper’s casting.

The tone overall seemed rather easy going, everyone vibing until a comment pops in that makes Enid’s lips drop and her brows to furrow.

“Trust a dog to be at someones heel”

“HEY”

“Too far dude wtf”

“MODS”

“U AINT ACCEPTED HERE”

A stormy look crossed Enid’s face and the ban hammer dropped. The wolf sighs, escaping the game to the menu as she gives a look.

“we’re boutta be scolded againnn”

“Its not our fault!”

“Sjdklajdklsja father forgive us”

“Pls not again, i havent recovered from the last lashing”

Enid’s look is affronted, but chat’s lil attempts to make her smile works. “You guys make it sound like I abuse you or something,” she laughs and for a moment, chat thinks they’re off the hook before she removes her glasses to raise a brow at the camera.

A classic look of disappointment.

“Dangit thought that was going to work”

“Lowkey i dont mind being scolded if its endespair”

“Daddy issues right here”

“Ay no need to call me out like that”

Normally, Enid would hold out for a few more seconds, just to make the tension palpable enough to fuck with her audience until the loud sounds of bones rattling makes her shoulders drop.

This is why she can’t be serious until it's really needed.

“Lunaslandingpad threw 50 gifted subs into the pile” spoke the alert but just before it could continue, Enid paused it to let out a harsh and very tired sigh.

One so filled with emotion that it makes Chat pause themselves as she rubbed at her eyes before sliding on her frames.

“One, no bribing me to feel better,” Enid starts and immediately, chat clammors in agreement. “Two, none of those dog comments. Not only is that a shitty thing to do but I have werewolf tagged on stream to make sure others like me find it easier so don’t make me regret it.” A shine of white is shown, her fangs seemed to almost be bared if it weren’t for the hand that covers anything below her nose. “Last, there is nothing wrong with criticising a piece of work but don’t bring that stuff here.”

Silence filled the air as Enid leant back, her lips pursed as she crossed her arms. “Got it?”

“Ofcourse!”

“Yesser”

message deleted by moderator

“WE SAW THAT” “Caught in 4k”

Soon, Enid’s scowl turned into a bigger raised brow before rolling her eyes as she opened up the mod log to see the rather.. Thirsty comment. “You all really gotta think before you type.” her head shakes as she laughs. “you guys are lucky i wouldn’t have you guys any other way.”

Taglist: @agathaharkness-simp @lunaslandingpad

#Wenclair #Writing #Enid sinclair #Streamer Enid au

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eldritchqueerture · 4 years ago

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Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #summer in the archives event #niki.writes #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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club-crimsyn · 4 years ago

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August 20, 2009

I was finally able to make these as a non-replacement mesh, so here you go. These are for MALES & FEMALES, TEEN THROUGH ELDER. They're enabled for all clothing states (though I've yet to figure out how to accessorize a nude sim, so they're technically not shower-proof), plus maternity for the girls. I was originally going to have these all in one package, but I thought I'd go ahead and just do them as separates.

The piercings are lovely little things, and move perfectly with a sim's facial expressions. They will also fit on almost any facial sculpt you come up with. Known Issue: On some sims made with slider hacks you may run into distortion on the lip ring. There was no way to get around this with the meshes due to the way I set up the bone assignments, but you can fix the distortion if you're using a core mod that allows the 'editsim' cheat. Messing around with the lip sliders should 'snap' the lip ring back into the correct shape, and you should be able to recreate your sim's facial features more or less to how they were. This only came up in testing twice, so the chance you'll encounter this issue is slim, but I wanted to put the warning out anyway. Note: These are not multi-layerable, and are only available as the set shown here. In the future, I'll be happily recreating my multi-layerable piercings from TS2, but these aren't they. You can couple these with any other female earrings, and males can use these with either the double earrings, or the right earring. They won't layer with the left earring. DO NOT UPLOAD THESE TO ANY PAYSITE. Other than that, I don't care what you do with them. But when the night is over and the walls start burning, when fire starts to matter and the clock is churning, cliches and other chatter keeps our minds from learning. + DOWNLOAD +

#clothes #male #female

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chain-unchained · 4 years ago

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December 5th Pt. 1

Once again, featuring dialogue from the lovely @jojaqualityheadcanons Immersive Characters - Shane mod! <3 Download it for extra chicken husband goodness.

December 5th marked the first snowfall, and the first official day of winter in the Ferngill Republic. Several inches fell overnight, blanketing the entirety of the valley in a pristine white. A rough night meant Shane was up at 4, and he just stood out on the porch for a time, watching the snow fall in thick, fat flakes. Listened to the sound of them hitting the ground. It was… nice. Peaceful.

“We got, what, a foot?” He said to Marnie as they waited for the coffee to be ready. “Foot and a half?”

“Sure seems like it.” His aunt set two coffee mugs on the counter and got out the creamer. “You remembered to turn the heater on in the barn, right?”

“Yeah.” He paused halfway to picking up the pot. “… I’m pretty sure I did.”

“… Maybe go and double check to be sure.”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

The barn was nice and toasty warm when he stepped into it, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry girls,” he knelt down to pick Charlie up and give her a cuddle, “can’t let you out today. You’d get lost in the snow.”

He patted the flank of Marnie’s cow with a faint smile. “… Shit, I hope Ashe didn’t forget the heaters…”

Jas poked her head into the barn. “Ms. Penny says that talking to yourself is a sign of loneliness,” she announced, and her uncle jumped a full inch off of the hay-strewn floor. “Why not go and ask him?”

“Kiddo, we need to have a serious talk about sneaking up on me.” He set Charlie down and walked over to his niece, planting a hand on her shoulder, “How about we don’t do that anymore? I’m getting old, I might end up having a heart attack.”

“You’re not that old, Uncle Shane.”

“I’m 35. That’s practically ancient.”

“If 35 is ancient, what does that make me?” Marnie called from the kitchen.

Shane started to sweat. “Young at heart?”

“Uh huh. That makes me feel so much better. You’d better come and get your coffee before it gets cold.”

“Right—” Shane gave his goddaughter a very serious look. “Jas, Aunt Marnie might kill me in my sleep tonight. If I die, I want you to look after the blue chickens in my place.”

The little girl’s pom-tails bobbed up and down with her head. “… You could stay over with Ashe tonight?” She whispered. “Aunt Marnie can’t get you there.”

“Honestly? I’m tempted.” His back cracked and popped as he stood. “Let me get my coffee and I’ll walk you to meet Ms. Penny.”

###

There was something incredibly satisfying about the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots as they carried him up the road towards Ashe’s farm. The downside was that the trek there was made all the more arduous by its height; by the time he made it to the first line of fencing, he was thoroughly winded. He needed to suck it up and drag himself up to the sauna to use the gym again…

He caught sight of Ashe just as the farmer stepped out of the chicken coop, covered in feathers. “The girls not too happy about being cooped up?”

“Oh--!” The sight of Shane made Ashe’s face light up, and he hurriedly trudged through the snow to meet him. “C-cold, need warm please.”

“Pfft--” Shane had to stifle a laugh as he folded Ashe into a hug. “Good morning to you too, bugaboo. I was gonna ask if you were staying warm, but I think I already got my answer.”

“I-I was warm when I first came out here.” Ashe’s teeth were audibly chattering as Shane blew on his frozen fingers to warm them. “H-How about you?”

“Bud, with how much insulation I’m carrying, I don’t get cold. If anything, I get too warm.”

“B-But you’ve lost a lot of it?”

The farmer lightly poked at Shane’s shrinking stomach to prove his point.

“Oh, uh—shit, you noticed huh?”

“O-Of course I have! How could I not?” He buried his face in Shane’s chest. “You look good.”

Shane’s face went hot. “Thanks, bud. I disagree, but thanks all the same.”

“Then I’m just going to have to keep saying it until you agree.”

“We’ll see about that.” After a minute, Ashe went to pull away. “Hang on, don’t go running off just yet. Now that you don’t have any crops to worry about, could you slow down a bit?”

“But—but lucky day! The mines, Shane!”

“I don’t care about fortunes or the mines, I care about you.” Shane cupped Ashe’s face with both hands. “Yoba, you kept working yourself to the bone last season. I get that taking care of an entire farm by yourself is a lot of work, but you need to take care of yourself too. All right?”

Ashe puffed his cheeks out into a pout. “Fine… I’ll try. No promises.”

“Why are you so much like me?” Shane sighed. “What’s in the mines that’s so damn important, anyway?”

“Oh, I can show you!”

He took hold of Shane’s hands and pulled him along, towards the road into town.

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew #sdv fic #sdv fanfic #sdv fanfiction #stardew valley fic #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction #stardew fic #stardew fanfiction #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #stardew shane #sdv farmer #stardew valley farmer #stardew farmer

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yume-tsuki · 4 years ago

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Bleach Recuerdos Mundo part 5 The Orb

Day Zero It wasn’t the first time I saw the black orb like thing floating around. But It happened that It vanished for some years. Today after school then, first, I thought someone called out my name and when I felt this spiritual pressure I saw the flouting orb again. Why it happened on the parks playground I don’t know. At last it was near my home and I used to come here often in the past. Of course I was curious, to curious, if you would ask my friend Hiyo, he is the same age as me a few months younger but not much. He is the son of Captain Hirako and Hiyouri. We are on the same school in this world. We both are Shinigami in training, but less at the academy , we get training at Kisuke’s place or at some of the Gotei 13. Hiyoshin, that’s his full name, is a talented Kido user and gets much training by his fathers lieutenant Hinamori Momo. He often says one day he will be as good as she is. He isn’t able to build a Shikai jet, it drives him mad what makes me laugh a lot. He is mostly so stiff. for my sake I’m training with my father or his friends, I’m a good sword fighter but not as good as my childhood friend Ichika. I also was able to form a Shikai lately, but not for long. I’m good at healing but not as good as mum. I love to listen to mothers tales of dad and the others, even when it sounds like a fairytale a lot. But at some point I’m jealous why can’t I have such an incredible story? The last of us three is Ichika, the daughter of Rukia and Renji Abarai. She is the most talented swords fighter I knew. She also mastered her Shikai. The most time she spends at the Soul Society but then she comes over living here like she lives always lived here. However this works… Sometimes when Hiyo is such a good Kido master and Ichika is such an fine swords master what will I become? Let’s finish this chattering, you know what happened after I touched the orb… …but what happened to us?... Not long after our Spiritual Pressure was gone our Parents were alarmed and tried to find us but the only thing what was left was our soulless bodys laying on the playground. To protect us from harm they used Kisuke Urahara’s Mod Souls so it wouldn’t to strange for our class mates when we are lost. Days and Days went over but we three were not to be found, not here, not at the Soul Society and also not at Hueco Mundo. They had countless of sleepless nights full of fear and tears... I feel sorry for them... No one knew we went to a place of rotten Memories. Called Recuerdos Mundo the Anderswelt More than a month had passed since we ended up here, but what is this world now? The time to see the truth is now to come! -Kurosaki Kazui

part1 Recuerdos Mundo Day ??.??.???? So much days had past since we arrived in this ‘other world’. We thought about a name and after realising what it was and a lot of talks we decidet to call it Recuerdos Mundo, the world of Memories. A world full of Reiryoku, it’s mostly made of it. We still don’t know why but, the ground, the trees even the air is filled up with it. The Hollow like creatures consume it, sadly we can’t use our powers becouse they would swollow it right away. Ichika got the idea to collect the light of Reiryoku who floats through the sky. She noticed that they stuck often on branches of this death looking stone like trees , even we can consume them in this place and this is a nice way to eat or trick the creatures. First when she tried her Zanbakuto this giant bird, together with other creatures appeared. But instead of the others who wanted to eat us it protected us and now travels with us. It’s still fascinating that we can see our world through the camera of our mobile phones. It was such a surprise what Kazui made when we tried to call for help. Sadly we still havn’t found a clue to contact one of our parents. They must be full of sorrows about us, when they can’t even feel we are on earth... But the most fascinating thing and the true reason we called it Recuerdos Mundo was when we found buildings with things in it. When we send out some little energy pictues of the past appeared and showed us who this thing belonged to and themselfs story...Maybe we can find a way out of this world when we find the right item! Now it’s time to end for today, we rest at a old hotel, next day we saw a white shimmering reflection on the horizont, well this our next goal.

jornal end -Hiyoshin Hirako

Recuerdos Mundo The Salt lake After a full day walk we arrived on the edge of an Salt lake, behind it we could see trees and hoping to find more informations about this world. But for today we rested on the edge, Hiyoshin build himself a flute made of an antler he found. Somehow it was creepy but his music is great. It always calms me down when I’m listening to him. Also our spirit hollow bird seems to enjoy his music. We noticed that the Spirit Hollows mostly change into an easy ball form . Only to fight they change into a form who needs more energy. The best part is still that we don’t need food in this world! We just catch this flying energy orbs and swallow them. So more time to listen to the music. But we weren’t the only one making music on the salt lake. There was this strange surring noise like when you stamp on this special white beach sand of this Japanese city we went with our parents ones. It sounded like music and something in me wanted to find out who is making this music! Kazui and Hiyo where pretty worried and said I shouldn’t go…. Scaredy cats! Now I woke birdy up and we flew through the night sky. The night is so clear on this place, so much stars we never saw back in the city. There wasn’t a single soul out there till we saw a long track and followed it. Also the sound came nearer and we saw a long red thing. Birdy hated it but we landed, he hissed the whole way to the head of that giant snake, what it was. When it turns it’s purple head I saw this crazy eyes and wondered if fathers Zabimaru would have such strange eyes if it wasn’t a bone snake. Somehow she was so calm and there wasn’t single moment I was afraid she could eat me. Then we finally traveled back on the head of the snake, oh man you should have seen this boys worried faces. They argue the whole snaky ride to the jungle with me about disappearing in the middle of the night in a strange world where whatever could have happened. I just laughed, not even my parents try to lecture me only uncle B. tries it sometimes but gave up on me. Both stubborn souls created an even more stubborn soul. He says and turns away. Now then that’s enough jornal for now -Abbarai Ichika

Recuerdos mundo part 3 Day 33 I guess We crossed the desert and thought we arrived at a jungle but it wasn’t just a jungle and it wasn’t just on a giant turtle like thing. We were standing o a rock when Ichika noticed a building on it’s back nnd for the first time we saw that it wasn’t just the human world who collapsed , infront of us where the whole Seireitei on the back of that damn turtle! We decided to jump on it and searching through it. The most parts were destroyed and everywhere trees , flowers and spirits. Soon I lost track of the others, they were so quick and there was something else what came to my mind. A voice calling for me… yes, it sounds strange but it was for me not for Ichika, not for Hiyoshin. Just me! I followed it till I arrived at a place I havn’t seen before. Maybe because the time I was at the soul society with dad wasn’t that often and only at aunty Rukia’s place. Dark walls changed into white or what was white one day. “It looks like a research lab!” I heared the voice of Hiyo . What scared me to death. Somehow it made me damn angry that they found me this fast. At last we entered a room, I was still hearing that voice >Come to me! I waited for you so long my young friend!< Yes, I know it could be dangerous but I was so curious… Then we saw it a bright flower floated in the sky, on it’s roots was a strange seat surrounded by light. >Finally you are here!< the voice came from that blooming thing but Hiyoshin and Ichika weren’t hearing it. “I wonder what this is?” Hyio was curious too but his attention soon was on the rest of the room. Screens on the walls and a lot of buttons at a panel. Ichika’s attention was the less, I wonder what she was thinking right now? She just looks around and seems like she already wanted to leave this place. Suddenly one of the screens start to work, but it wasn’t much to see just to listen… >>…What happened….<<…>>…what is that?....<<>>..the other world?...no wait it’s H……<< …>>they collapsing..<<…>Help!!<< ..Only a few pictures were to see, first the Seireitei , then in the sky a city suddenly white snow or sand. We were scared,yes, it still could happen, it could happen right now. “We have to find a way back, telling father and the others of this. Maybe we can stop it before it happens.” Hiyoshin said. “Maybe you two find something else in the other rooms!” I said, I wanted them to go so badly. Why?.... I wondered why does I wanted to be alone with this voice so desperately? … Then I was alone. >>Kazui I waited for so long<< “How can you know my name?” >> I know you since the moment I looked at your fathers eyes.<< “You know my father? Are you a Shinigami?” >> No<< “Who are you then?” >>Sadly I forgot my name << “I see. But you know mine. Why?” >>I’m here to give you something<< “Really?” >>Yes!<< >>Do you want it?<< “Y-yes.” I was so excited that I totally forgot that this situation could be dangerous… man I was only 12 how should I ever had known what could have happen? >>Then eat me!<< Does I was hypnoticed? Maybe… does I wanted to gain power? Maybe… I only I knew I did it… When the flower was gone I was still feeling normal but the others wondered where I went and came back. Of course they wondered where the flower went but I said I touched it and it became dust….they believed me and told me about the stuff they found...

Recuerdos Mundo part 4 Day??.??.????? I thought I would never ever meet another soul again in this death world. Since the day I arrived here day after day past and it wasn’t important where I was or when. There was no one to be found till this day. Who ever made me come here to this place where I always have to cry and I wished to leave when I just think about visiting. Here I found this three. When I showed myself first they were surprised but not for long. They brought me to their place made a fire and told me who they are. I never thought that Ichi or Ruki would ever have a child. I was so surprised that it caused me to tears. Of course they asked who I was and so I told them a little I could remember. I remembered that I was always on Kenpachi Zaraki’s side and I remembered that I was the 11th Division Lieutenant. I remember a fight against an opponent who was even hard von Ken-chan but I barely remember the persons face even how I ended up here. I just remember the strong feelings I had that day. To protect the person I deeply loved to be with. Then one day I woke up, covered in injuries, it was somewhere in this world. Somehow I healed, later I know that it was this air filled up with spiritual energy. I started wandering around, finding ruins and this soul-hollow spirits. Days became months and years and on one point I ended up to believe to see one human being ones more. I even lost the interest in the secrets of this world covered in ruins. The only thing what I knew was that my world, the world of the living and Hueco Mundo collapsed in the past for some reason. At least it was a calm time, there was no war, no fight anymore, just souls without a soul… The children were surprised and couldn’t believe that I lived here alone for so long. Then of course I asked the one question. Do you know a way back home? Sadly they didn’t but they remembered that Kasui used a black hole to came here in the first place. I asked him if he could do it again. He said he tried but he didn’t know how to activate it, then he stopped for a moment. It was like someone talked to him and then he told that he maybe know how to return. For a single moment I was scared to hell, there was a feeling I hadn’t in years, like a long lost memory but then he opened a black hole and everything I had in mind was vanished. There was only one desire: Maybe I can go home now finally.

-???????

Then Ichika asked me something they totally forgot to ask. What’s your name? I looked at her face, puzzled from that question.

My name?... what was my name? I can’t remember…

They then told me something, something about Ken-chan who she likes to visit from time to time. He isn’t very talkative but one day he told her a name Yachiru… Yachiru? Wasn’t this my name? It sounds so unfamiliar familiar…. But the tears that run over my cheeks told me it was true.

How could I even forgot who I was? When did it start that I even lost my name?

What a cruel peaceful world this could be.

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years ago

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Come Hell or Helwater - Part Sixteen

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen

This installment is kind of inspired by and therefore dedicated to all the parents out there who have been put into the position of homeschooling their children due to current circumstances. ~ Mod Lenny

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With Lady Isobel gone to stay with her sister, Brianna’s education fell back to Claire and Jamie.

At first, Claire worked with Brianna during the day while Jamie was busy with the horses. She reviewed mathematics and gave Brianna some problems to solve before changing their attention to science. Even if Brianna hadn’t requested it, Claire would have insisted upon teaching her daughter as much 20th century science as she could.

When Jamie returned for lunch and dinner, Brianna would tell him about what she had learned and then in the evenings, he would work with her on languages, reading and classical history.

Brianna and Claire played a game when Jamie wasn’t around where she would toss out a historical event and Brianna had to guess whether or not it had happened yet. Once, Brianna asked about changing history and whether it was possible. Claire offered an abridged account of her own attempts at changing things with Jamie’s help.

“Perhaps it was only that we tried to change an event that was too large,” Claire admitted with a shrug. “There were too many forces pushing it to happen and we couldn’t stop enough of them. Perhaps, if we’d tried with something smaller and more insignificant, we would have succeeded and eventually its consequences would have snowballed into larger changes decades from now. Or perhaps it isn’t possible at all.”

“Maybe the things you could change of the ones that don’t make it into history books at all,” Brianna guessed. “Then you wouldn’t know if you were changing anything or not.”

“Maybe,” Claire agreed with a smile.

But while Jamie would probably have happily skipped learning the history-yet-to-come that fueled their game, his curiosity got the better of him when it came to Brianna recounting what Claire was teaching her of science.

“And why are ye growin’ mold on bread?” Jamie asked, turning from Brianna to Claire. But Brianna answered.

“There’s a special kind that squirts out stuff that keeps you from getting sick,” she explained, causing Claire to laugh and Jamie to quirk an eyebrow.

“Lord John has agreed to help me acquire a microscope,” Claire told him. “And if it works well enough, I should be able to find — or at least try to find — the strain that secretes what will one day be called penicillin. It’s an antibiotic that can help prevent and cure infection.”

“The wee bit of mold will do all that?” he asked in wonderment.

Claire smiled, carrying a plate with freshly cut (and mold free) bread to put on the table before him. She stayed standing behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders and leaning in close to add, “And it’s a Scot who’ll discover it. In about a hundred and fifty years’ time.” She kissed his cheek and gave him a pat on the back before moving to take her own seat and dig into the meal.

“And you plan to find it and… use it?”

“Of course. I’ll need to fashion some kind of hypodermic needle eventually, but an oral administration is better than nothing. The acid in the stomach breaks it down a bit so its effects aren’t as fast or strong,” she rambled.

Jamie sat nodding, watching her as he chewed.

“When did you say Lord John would send you the microscope?” Brianna asked around a full mouth.

Claire frowned at her and swallowed her own mouthful before replying, “Within the month. I’m hoping it will be closer to a fortnight but either way, it doesn’t hurt to start a few cultures so I have something to try right away. As soon as it arrives, we’ll go around collecting samples we can use to calibrate the microscope. Trough water, goat’s milk… we’ll see if we can find some algae on the rocks in the stream and maybe some plant spores or flower pollen…”

“I can bring ye some of the muck from the stalls if that would be of interest to ye,” Jamie offered.

Claire beamed while Brianna grimaced at the thought. Jamie laughed, joined by Claire when she saw Brianna’s disgusted expression (only some of which was about Jamie’s offer and the rest by her mother’s obvious intention to take him up on it).

“I cannae wait to see what ye find wi’ the microscope,” he said with excitement.

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

The microscope arrived from Lord John about three weeks later, when Brianna’s frustration at its delay had begun to negatively affect her attitude (and Jamie and Claire’s by extension).

It arrived while Jamie was busy at the stables. When he returned to their small cottage for his midday meal, he instead found Claire bent over the table setting it up and Brianna hovering like a butterfly, too excited to land anywhere for long.

“Shall I fetch something from Cook in the kitchen then?” he asked, announcing his entrance.

“Would you?” Claire asked gratefully, adjusting a mirror and inching a candle (burned to a low nub) closer. “I’ve got it nearly there… I don’t want to move it to lay anything out yet.”

“Bree,” Jamie jerked his head back toward the door. “Come help me carry it.”

“You don’t need help carrying anything from the kitchen,” she whined. “I wanna stay and look through the microscope when Mama’s got it ready.”

“She’s like to have it ready by the time we return and we can find something from Cook tha’s worth a keek through the microscope,” he assured her, heading into the room and herding her out of the cottage.

He glanced to Claire as he reached to close the door behind them. She was watching him leave mouthing, “thank you,” and smiling. It warmed him through, easing the tired tension in his arms and back from his morning’s work.

Brianna chattered away as they walked to and from the kitchens, fetching some bread, cheese, and cold meat left from Lord and Lady Dunsany’s meal.

“Insist on the full spread though Lady Isobel’s away,” Cook muttered as she picked over the parcel she packed for them, retrieving stray bones she needed for making stock.

Brianna carried the basket while Jamie carried some bottles with ale.

“I wonder if Mama will let us look at that under the microscope,” she mused, nodding to the bottles.

“I’d dinna ken as I want to see that just yet. If I’ve just had it to drink and the sight turns my stomach, I may see it in a still less flattering way… or if it would turn my stomach and I havena drunk it yet, then I’ll just go the day thirsty and I cannae do that wi’ an afternoon yet ahead of me,” he told her.

“Ugh, no. Nothing food or drink then for a while,” Brianna grimaced.

Jamie chuckled, amazed at just how much the expression matched a common one of Claire’s. It was a constant wonder to watch and listen to Brianna. She was at once the embodiment of Claire, the mirror of himself, and yet something – or rather, someone – entirely her own.

Claire didn’t look like she’d moved at all since they’d stepped out, but when she raised her head at their entrance her face was alight with triumph.

“Care to take a look?” she asked Brianna.

Jamie successfully grabbed the basket from her hands before Brianna could drop it or toss it aside in her haste.

Claire gave him an apologetic look as she showed Brianna what to do and reminded her not to jar the table or the device.

“Whoa… what is that?” Brianna gasped.

“I had a vial on me the last time I went looking for mushrooms in the woods,” Claire explained. “There’s that shallow spot near the stream that’s basically a small stagnant pond. Since I had the vial and there was water in it, I thought I might as well take a sample.”

“Holy cow, they’re moving!”

Instincts startled into action by Brianna’s exclamation, Jamie darted to her side but Claire was grinning.

“I know! I was worried anything alive in the sample would die before the microscope arrived. You’re looking at a paramecium. They live in the water and feed on bacteria, algae, that sort of thing.”

“I think it’s eating another one,” Brianna said with horror and panic in her voice. She looked to Jamie while Claire swept in to peek.

“It’s not eating the other one. It’s dividing. That’s how they reproduce,” she explained.

Brianna looked again. “Da… you have to see this.”

She backed away, offering him her spot. He looked to Claire with uncertainty, but she nodded and walked him through how he should adjust the scope to focus as he needed. She knew he found the right setting when she heard his quiet gasp.

“And that wee thing lives in the water?” he asked carefully.

“Not all water. But some microorganisms like this can make people ill. That’s why I always boil water for drinking and sterilize my medical instruments in boiling water. It kills the kinds of microbes that cause infection.”

“So it’s one of yer germs, then… this paramecium…”

“Not exactly. But it does eat some kinds of germs. I’m afraid this microscope isn’t strong enough to see the bacteria it feeds on. But it should do just fine for examining the molds to find the right one for penicillin,” she declared.

“I’ll never again dip my hand to drink from a loch wi’out seein’ that wee thing in my mind’s eye,” Jamie said, sounding haunted and perhaps a bit queasy.

“What’d you two fetch for lunch?” Claire asked, hungry now that success was achieved.

#;mod lenny #come hell or helwater au #featuring: bree #ready for some biology class?#went down some really fun rabbit holes double checking things on this one #and a bit of memory lane to middle school science classes

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