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maandarinee · 4 years ago

Note

what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

#ask #anon #please talk to me about podcasts at all times #podcasts #podcast recommendations

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 5 years ago

Text

Soulmate September - Day 9

Day 9 - When you write something on your own skin it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well. (Pirates and Sirens AU)

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukeceit, Background Romantic Prinxiety

TWs: Swearing, murder mention, Remus being Remus, semi-detailed leg and fin injury

–

Those who ran afoul of The Witch’s Serpent rarely lived to tell the tale. Many a foolish young sea-farer - far too inexperienced and overly cocky - had met their end at the hands of the galleon’s captain long before they could even hope to make their mark on the open seas.

Captain Remus Gaspar was an impulsive, enigma of a man; capable of great feats of bravery and reckless daring do, alongside acts of cold blooded murder and remorseless torture inflicted upon those who crossed him. The sea choked on the bodies of his victims while he and his crew sipped the finest stolen wines with nary a hiccup. The naval officers of the mainland cowered in fear while Remus decimated their trade routes and sent their men to the depths to keep the fish company. In fact, only one man had faced the Captain and lived to see another day, but kept coming back for more.

Commodore Logan Callows.

Remus would have admired him - in all senses - if not for his fanatic loyalty to the crown and it’s laws. Make no mistake, Remus very much wanted Logan’s head for a bow ornament with every fibre of his mortal being, but outside factors forbade Remus from fatally wounding the man. Namely, Logan’s first mate and closest friend was his brother-in-law, Virgil Giordano. Why did Roman’s soulmate have to be a man who could rival any opponent in a knife fight, despite being the sort to panic over the smallest change in weather conditions? Remus had no goddamn idea what fate was playing at, but he knew for certain that killing Logan would result in having to run from Virgil’s swift and immediate crusade for revenge. And if there’s one thing Remus Gaspar refused to do, it wold be spending his life in hiding.

Remus loved his brother dearly but all the familial loyalty in the world wouldn’t save him from Virgil’s wrath. He’d learned that much from his last encounter with Logan’s ship, The Inquisitor. Too many cocky remarks and attempts to stall while his men pillaged the lower decks of the ship in secret had earned him a close encounter with the business end of Virgil’s dagger. Naturally, the Captain had made things worse by uttering a rather salacious remark for which he was gifted a shiny new slash mark along his cheek.

“As a warning.”, his brother in law had hissed.

When forced to retreat, Remus had lamented the size of their haul at first. Not nearly enough sugar and spices as they’d been hoping for, but a small crate of flintlock pistols ripe for sale more than made up for the loss once they’d been discovered among the spoils.

Thus we come to the present moment; Captain Remus, sat upon the docks with a bottle of expensive rum, staring out into the ocean blue. His men had been more than happy to give the Captain his space while they spent their time merrily drinking in the local tavern. Once he was sure he was alone, Remus removed his black leather bracer and rolled his white sleeve to stare at the message written upon it. The Captain had seen many an alphabet in his day - either scrawled upon the foreign exports stolen from trading vessels, or within his memories of home, being tutored alongside his twin as children - but Remus had never laid eyes upon the letters that adorned his skin in a shimmering golden cursive.

Naturally, ever since he’d first been written to, Remus had made an effort to search for the script, but the only ‘lead’ he had been given was an old woman selling wares a couple of ports prior who had raved on and on, claiming it to be the language of the sirens. He’d scoffed at the idea and decided it likely wasn’t worth trying to work out in the first place.

Remus had never been one to buy into this whole soulmates arrangement. Even the day Roman had shown him the violet cursive that had appeared like magic, Remus had rolled his eyes and sworn off taking such a thing seriously. After all, acknowledging that kind of thing brought about some rather unpleasant thoughts he would rather not think about. The fierce Captain liked to play remorseless, but in truth, Remus simply knew that life at sea demanded blood, and it was up to him whether it’d be the blood of his enemies, or his crew and himself. But that didn't stop his mind wandering into territories he wished it would stay out of. How many men lay on the sandy shores of the depths with messages from soulmates unaware of their beloved’s fate? Did severing the connection hurt? Would fate allow those whom he’d unknowingly widowed to love again? Or had he doomed them to a life alone with no one to share such a connection with ever again?

… More rum would be needed it seemed.

A clattering from the nearby rock shoal drew Remus out from his own mind with a couple of curses leaving the Captain as he knocked over the rum bottle and watched a good portion of it pour away before he could right it again.

“Son of a bitch!”, he hissed, corking it and casting a glare towards the rockpool where the clattering had come from. Whoever had just cost him a good amount of rum was in for the brawl of their life. Remus threw on his coat and cursed his inebriated steps over the craggy rock face, swearing once again as he nearly rolled his ankle when his boot sunk into an unseen rockpool. He wrenched his leg free and crested the large flat rock in his way.

The second his eyes could focus, Remus made a mental note to find that old woman on their round trip and apologise.

Sprawled on it’s side nestled in the sand was an honest to god siren. The Captain was mesmerised by the creature; it’s long golden hair flowed over it’s scaled shoulders and torso, complimented by it’s black and yellow streaked fin-like ears that fluttered angrily each time it hissed. It wasn’t hard to work out why it was so angry. The creature’s left leg fin had been hooked in a rather nasty mess of fishing line and barbed hooks. The Captain had seen the technique used before to ensure a plentiful haul, who knew it could catch such a creature of legend so easily?

Perhaps Remus was succumbing to the creature’s charms, or maybe he was just too drunk already to think things through, but he found himself whistling to the creature to catch it’s attention. The way the creature’s panicked, beautiful eyes met his own momentarily knocked the wind from his chest as he wheezed out, “Need help?”

It let out a strangled sound and scrambled backwards, only to let out a cry of pain as it’s injured leg dragged along the sand. The Captain dropped down from his rock perch and made his way over,

“Woah there! Unless you want that fin ripped out you should lemme unhook you-”

Despite the excruciating pain it must’ve been in, it still managed to hiss dangerously at Remus in a voice that felt like a million tiny hands groping around in his brain with every syllable,

“Stay back!”

Remus’ halted momentarily, the voice in his head warning him, “Come any closer and I won’t hesitate to eat you alive!”

In spite of any semblance of common sense, Remus impulsively shot a cocky grin the creature’s way, “Kinky!”

The siren wasn’t amused.

It lunged forward to swipe at Remus, but the Captain caught it’s arm, making sure his grasp wasn’t painful, but firm.

“Watch it, you’re gonna take someone’s eye out! Or maybe these beauties will just gouge a couple chunks outta my face-”

Remus’ rambling was cut short as he saw the siren’s expression shift from a ferocious snarl to one of immediate fear.

“Please don’t kill me-”, it murmured quietly, slapping it’s free hand over its mouth. It tried to change back to a more aggressive persona but Remus refused to be intimidated,

“The last thing I wanna do is hurt you. Now are you gonna be a good lil fishy and let me unhook you?”

The siren scanned his face with those enchanting eyes once again, scrutinising every inch of Remus before it huffed and turned away from his gaze. The Captain took it as a sign of an indignant ‘do whatever you want’ and sat on the sand next to the siren, already beginning to carefully remove the hooks as best he could. Each wince the creature gave was met with an apology until Remus got the hang of it.

“.....What’s your name?”, Remus mused to the surprised siren, “Might as well get to know each other, right?”

The creature mumbled something Remus couldn’t understand under it’s breath but relented reluctantly, “My name is Janus. At least, that's how you humans would pronounce it.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Remus.”, the Captain mumbled, too hyper focused on removing the hooks to see the way Janus’ cheeks flushed a dark ochre colour. Once the last hook had come loose, both of them let out a shared sigh of relief; Remus admired his job well done but grew concerned as Janus went to stand up. “Hey, you’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”, he warned, to which Janus scoffed, attempting to hide his emotions once more.

“I’ll be fine, Remus, I’ll heal quickly-”

“The salt water’s gonna sting like a bitch.”, Remus cut in.

Noting the wince Janus gave in response, he continued, “At least let me take you to my ship so I can bandage you up proper-“

“No!”, Janus declined fiercely, though he softened right after, letting Remus know it was likely a reflexive reaction, “I apologise. I… I’m rather wary of that kind of thing. Please understand.”

Remus sighed and stood up, taking off his coat to place it around Janus’ shoulders. The siren stiffened, though curiosity got the better of him and he softly touched the warm material. Janus inhaled and immediately was hit with the smell of the garment; a mix of body odour, dried blood, sea salt, and countless food-like smells. Not to mention the reek of old alcohol.

“In the name of Uranus, do you never clean this ornate rag!?”

Remus cackled, taking Janus’ hand to lead him to The Witch’s Serpent, noting that his fingers were webbed. Adorable.

“Nope! Not since I hauled it off the guy I ran through to get it!”

Janus’ nose crinkled at that yet the siren kept following Remus towards his ship. With a proper glance in the light of the port, Janus piped up, “Oh. That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“What is?”, Remus questioned, making sure no one was aboard yet so he could lift a flustered Janus on deck despite the embarrassed glare he received from the siren.

“I’ve been following your ship for months.”, Janus elaborated, trying to regain his footing on the decks, “With the scraps and bodies you leave behind in your wake, I rarely have to bother hunting for new prey.”

Ah. Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that yet, simply shrugging, “Good to know you’ve been freeloading this whole time.”.

Once more taking the hand of the siren, Remus led him towards the Captain’s Quarters; the room was just as gilded and ornate as the coat keeping Janus warm, with various trinkets, maps, paintings, and oddities given their own place within the room. Taking the opportunity to snoop around while Remus was rooting around in his desk drawer for bandages, Janus allowed his eyes to lead him on a journey around the room. A telescope, a star map, family photos, animal bones, even a goblet made from a man’s skull connected atop a metal stem, Janus had never seen so many interesting and macabre items. His interest peaked when his gaze landed on a beautiful topaz necklace resting on a book of fairytales.

Janus’ fingers traced the jewellery adoringly. It was rare for such trinkets to end up on the seafloor unless a storm had sent an unfortunate vessel to the depths. Not that Janus was ever lucky enough to get at the spoils; the boisterous captain may be sweet on him, for who knows what reason, but his own kind were never too fond of Janus’ standoffish nature and biting remarks. Of course, Janus didn’t care if he was lonely. He didn’t. Not at all. “You can have it if you want.”

Remus’ voice startled the siren who nearly tripped over the end of the Captain’s large coat. He chuckled and slowly lifted the necklace off the book to carefully let it loop over Janus’ neck.

“It suits you. Really brings out the scales.”, he complimented. Without giving Janus a second to process the act of kindness, Remus led him towards a wooden armchair in front of his desk. He guided Janus to sit down in the chair while Remus sat on the desk itself. To his side was a roll of bandages and a cloth, ‘for the blood trail’ he’d explained, gesturing to the droplets patterning their route. Janus watched the captain remove his bracers and sink to the floor to tend to his wounds. By the gentle way the Captain held and bandaged him, Janus assumed the man had sobered enough for the siren to pose the question,

“Why?”

Remus frowned, looking up to lock eyes with the siren, “Why what?”

“Why’re you...”, being so kind? Treating me so sweetly? Not trying to kill me to sell my skin? “.... treating me like this? You realise I threatened to eat you earlier, right?”

The Captain shrugged, his expression as blank as before, “Yeah. But you didn’t. And you got all fucked up in some moron’s fishing line, so it wasn’t like you posed much of a threat-”

“Exactly.”, Janus interrupted in frustrated confusion in his tone, “My voice is out of practice, if you wanted to, you could’ve slaughtered me for my skin. Any human would be a fool not to. But here you are, treating me like I’m worth more to you alive than dead. Adorning me in such… expensive trinkets.”

Remus’ brow furrowed at that. “For someone who threatened to eat me earlier, I figured you’d practice a little more self preservation.”

The siren scoffed, “I didn’t say I wanted to be slaughtered, I’m merely trying to work out why you wouldn’t take such a chance. Doesn’t your species enjoy monetary gain? Like I said, any human would be a fool to miss such an opportunity- oW!”

Janus fixed Remus a glare as the Captain flicked the abused tip of his leg fin, “First off, yeah, I like money but that's not what I do this shit for. Secondly, most humans think your kind aren’t even real. If I waltzed into town claiming I had siren skin to sell, I’d be run outta town as a conman. Besides, if I’m nice to you, I’ll have an ally in the water, and that's far more valuable to me.”

As he wrapped up the calf area for good, Remus grinned up at the siren, “You’re also really handsome, so that helps.”

Janus’ face crinkled in a flustered surprise, “Remus, I’m part fish-”

“You’re still handsome as fuck.”

“I’m not even using my human glamour-”

“And? You’re hot.”

“I’m literally covered in fish scales-!”

“Still hot!”

Janus couldn’t think of another rebuttal, so Remus counted it as a win for him. He rolled his sleeves to tackle the rest of the injuries when he caught Janus’ eyes tracing the fresh scar on his cheek.

“Wondering how I got this scar?”

“I may be interested.” came the coy reply.

Remus smirked, “You could call it a gift from my brother-in-law. I got a little too up close and personal with his best friend and found up with this beauty. It’s a shame, said bestie’s pretty fun but he’s the biggest pain in my ass since this one time I ate some bad eels-”

“That’s charming,”, Janus interrupted in disgust, “Why don’t you simply dispatch this ‘bestie’ and be done with him?”

“Can’t. If I did that, Virge-”

“Who?”

“My brother-in-law.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“Virge would hunt me down to the ends of the Earth and the last thing I wanna do is trade away my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want.”, he averted his gaze to Janus’ leg and kept bandaging it; whoever had put that line into the ocean had no idea the damage it’d caused to such a beautiful creature. “Besides, if I hurt Virge like that, my brother Roman would be miserable. Even if he probably hates me, some dumb bitch part of me really doesn’t want him to feel like shit just ‘cause I went and upset his soulmate.”

Janus scoffed quietly. It lacked the venom he no doubt intended it to have but the disdain was enough to draw the Captain’s attention. “You humans are far too sentimental. My kind have no qualms treating even close family like scum if we so desire. Even our soulmates it would seem..”

Remus caught the darting glance Janus sent towards his scaled wrist, noting the sigh he suppressed. “.... They’re a damn fool to not want you.”, the Captain murmured thoughtfully as he finally finished the upper shin bandaging. He wiped his brow with the heel of his palm but stopped as he felt smoothe fingers wrap around his wrist. His confusion was answered as the siren bore holes into the sliver of writing on his arm with those mesmerising eyes.

“You’re not the only one having soulmate trouble,”, Remus began answering, “Never really cared much for this shit, but now I got a message, I can’t make heads or tails of it-”

“Help me. I need you.”

Remus locked eyes with Janus, the siren’s own eyes wide with realisation and looking ready to bubble with tears, “That's what it says. It’s in Aquan. I wrote that to my soulmate while I was feeling…. rather vulnerable.”

Unsure of how to react to this turn of events, Remus stood and sat on his desk once more. He was too stunned to reply at first. A million questions swelled and crashed upon the shores of his brain, all fighting to be asked, but Janus beat him to the punch.

“Why did you never write back?”, the hurt in his voice stabbed at the Captain’s heart, “I mean, even if you couldn’t understand me, why didn’t you just...”

Remus wasn’t sure himself. No, that was a lie. He simply never fathomed that the message had been a cry for help.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”, he began, looking to Janus - no, his soulmate, and asking in return, “What happened?”

Janus sucked in a breath through his teeth, “.... It was a moment of weakness but….. My family had cast me out. Not that it was all too surprising, nor could I stand most of them anyway, but… being left alone to wander by yourself is a rather terrifying thought no matter the situation. I’d reached my breaking point. I felt like I’d been abandoned by my kin entirely. I thought perhaps my soulmate would be there for me. I never imagined you were human.”

“Makes sense. I’m sorry your family sucks ass.”. Eloquent as always. But hey, the snicker that got from the siren was worth it in Remus’ eyes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t write back. But I guess it’s good we finally crossed paths.”

Remus gestured for Janus to join him on the desk, to which the siren accepted the offer, being careful not to catch the coat he was still adorned in on anything on the way up. With his soulmate seated by his side, Remus wrapped an arm around the siren and held him close. Janus gave a lop-sided, fond smile, leaning into the act of comfort and gently resting a hand on Remus’ chest.

“What now then, my Captain?”, Janus’ voice was as soft and sweet as a ripe peach. Remus knew it’d require a lot of explanation where his crew was concerned, but he wasn’t about to let Janus slip away from him. He pressed a kiss to the siren’s temple, relishing the blush that spread over Janus’ cheeks. With a grin, Remus cackled,

“Simple, we make good on this alone time we’ve got ‘til my crew get back!”

Sorry this one’s so late TTvTT I miight need some time to finish days 10 and up, but I’ll get things written asap. @tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

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cruddyborderlandstheories · 4 years ago

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Also Nekrotefeyo was criminally underused for the legendary Eridian homeworld like I was expecting like a big abandoned city or a completely decimated apocalyptic place, not a dried up ocean bed (Are they maybe more crustaceans instead (?) of bugs???) with like 2 Eridian buildings on it and also Maliwan for... Some... Reason. Seriously. Dark Maliwan was so clearly cut content and I wanna know wtf that was all about. Also we got Promethea so it isn't like they weren't capable of making a big city area, like the restrictions of the engine wouldn't allow it, they just didn't... Feel like it? Maybe didn't have time to flesh it out given how late nekro is in the game? Seriously it feels empty as fuck, I love exploring the planets, but even as a certified lore lover I just can't bring myself to explore that place more than I have to for quests. It's really empty and boring

Also, I am bet that the big glowing thing we see coming out of the planet as it fragments is related either to the Machine and the souls sacrificed to make it work, or the Guardian soul main storage thingie. Mainly because ghosts and such are real in the bl universe and they're all that same glowing green sort of deal. It also reminds me of Krieg's mind planet projection thing which does add credence to that. That is potentially why Minos Prime 'hatched', it could have been a storage place for other, maybe reject(?) Guardian souls and that's where all the Eridian and Guardian stuff randomly came from that Tannis keeps goddamn repeating every time u play the takedown. FE Minos Prime was a testing site for prototype Guardians and the souls (I don't want to call them mind cores because the mind core we got from the Vault of the Destroyer was solid and not green and don't even get me STARTED on that whole situation because there was cut Overseer dialogue from when you take that thing out of the Vault and why WAS it even in the VAULT OF THE DESTROYER and Hhhhh) were stored in Minos Prime until whoops they got out. And I'm guessing they sacrificed the people of Minos Prime to the Machine (we literally left nobody guarding it sooo) bc Tannis says they just vanished without a trace. Which ALSO adds bonus points to my theory that the Eridians aren't dead and are just chilling elsewhere laughing at us right now.

I still think Lilith brought Elpis to the Eridian Rift on the map Typhon and Leda wrote all over and she's vibing there, too. Maybe it's a sort of stasis place where time doesn't pass so the people of Elpis don't die. Idk how Lilith would know about that but then again given the chest in her room I would honestly not bet against my whole 'Lilith had help from the Watcher and/or the Eridians during/before Bl3 and refused to tell us' which is why she just vanishes at the end of the game and takes Elpis with her.

And also why Sanctuary-III randomly exists when we have never heard of the company that made it before (seriously what is supamax mfg), it's somehow in good enough condition that Moxxi and Ellie could fix it up with their scarce resources, and they found it before any other people did (can probably chalk this one up to Tannis if there were cameras or it was hooked up to the ECHOnet of Pandora, but the other two points stand). I would've been okay with it if it were an Atlas ship Rhys sent over or smth, if it were an old Hyperion ship, if the branding of supamax mfg was Moxxi and Ellie's team effort of making a spaceship company in honor of Scooter- literally if any of these things were explained in-game, but they're NOT. So I am left to go 'what the hell where did this come from what is Supamax MFG' and like, a random company we've never heard of existing is totally fine, we're introduced to the Obsidian Black Block and Hephestus United as well, but it just feels weird that this random supply (?) ship just happened to go to Pandora for some reason and then also crash or was abandoned for some reason. If we could just get a scrap of info on Supamax MFG and why this ship was on Pandora I'd be happy. Their branding is Ships Made Quick so clearly they build ships which is fine.

Did Lilith contact them? If so, cool, could we get an ECHO log of that? Where did she get the money after Sanctuary-II blew tf up? Did she or Moxxi or Ellie have connections that allowed them to get the ship made for cheap or free? Why did they decide to make the ship out in the open when they knew about the rising CoV threat?? Was the ship stolen? Did the Crimson Raiders just kill a bunch of people to get their hands on it? I doubt it, but this shit isn't explained! So yeah when I write theories like 'Hm well maybe this ship was planted here by the Watcher' its not because I'm driven insane by the Eridians it is because we literally have no other reason to go 'maybe not' and with what little information we do get during the game, it could be fuckin possible!!!

Lilith apparently knew more than she was letting on, she was contacted personally by the Watcher during the end of TPS (brick specially had to ASK what the Watcher said to Lilith), so yeah fuck it the ship and everything that wasn't explicitly explained was given to Lilith by the Watcher to help her in her quest for whatever the Big One is in bl4. Bc you KNOW that Bl3 was just the lead up to get the Destroyer to slip out of its chains thru Tyreen's meddling (literally in nyriads log right before the final boss and its not like ty absorbed an entire planet sized monster and was the size of, like, a shortish tree so you know the Destroyer is still in there as it's further confirmed by Scourge when he says shit like you don't even know what you just did blah blah shut up loser- the only thing pointing to the Destroyer ACTUALLY being dead is that the Vault (????) of the Destroyer (???????????????) opened after Tyreen died but then we can make the Vault of the Architects argument that maybe it considered her part of the Destroyer and her dying confused the Vault into opened, iunno. I don't even know why that Vault was there in the first place wtf was its purpose I thought the Vault of the Destroyer was either the other Pandora one (emergency human feeding port to a monster that doesn't need sustenance) or literally Pandora itself in which case killing Tyreen should have destroyed the whole planet by opening it soooooo I guess that Vault exists to circumvent that extremely specific problem only the Eridians would have guessed could happen idk) and to set the Guardians up as villains cuz fuck them that's why (>:( please gearbox don't, make the Eridians the bad guys if someone has to be evil pretty please the Guardians aren't the bad guys they are literally gaining sentience right now give them a chance they gotta figure themselves out and the Eridians fit the whole 'corporations exploiting their workers' vibe with the Guardians being forced to work even after the Eridians are gone so don't let those parallels slip away with shortsighted storytelling) but then it hurts even worse cuz the story could've been so much simpler and just... Sweeter and better than what we got if that's all they had to do was set those two things up. Bro I hate how every time I go to ask questions abt the game it leads me back here. Because it's true!! And it hurts I just wanna sit down with the lore manager of the game and ask them all these questions because I'm genuinely curious, but I'm afraid of the answers or non-answers I'll get. Again, I get the whole 'things have to happen for plot, not everything should be questioned, give the writers some slack to write a story' argument but when EVERYTHING falls under that category and the story didn't even end up being that great, it gets really frustrating because HONESTLY? if we had gotten good lore and explanations to things and actual world building and details and all that? I wouldn't have minded the main story so much. But unfortunately we got neither good lore (I wanna tell Nyriad she was lied to very badly because it's either the Eridians are evil and liars about a lot, or nobody thought twice the implications of giving the Destroyer a feeding port that explicitly calls humans to it) nor good main story (you know.) and it just. Is annoying. That's all.

#Hm. This post derailed real quick #Nekrotefeyo -> supamax mfg speed run #borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3

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achaoticeternal · 5 years ago

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Grow As We Go

STEVE ROGERS X READER

sequel to the weight of words masterlist // taglist

Summary: After a mission directly impacts Steve, you help him pick up the pieces of himself. Being broken doesn’t mean you have to fix each other, just grow together. Word Count: 1.7k A/N: I got so many requests and asks to do a part 2 so here it is!!! Italics indicate earlier events or memories :) Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Steve crying

The communication between Steve and yourself remained just as cold and silent as the first night without him asleep by your side. He missed your warmth. He missed your good morning kisses. He missed making breakfast together. He missed the wedding planning. He missed your movie night. Steve missed you.

And you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him just as much. Both of you had been close, ever since he saved you during the HYDRA takedown in 2014. You both had become so intertwined in each other’s life that both of you felt a piece of you was now missing.

But neither of you could admit that. Neither of you seemed to be able to swallow your pride and apologize or even attempt to speak to one another. And the team noticed.

They noticed how you both threw longing glances at each other from across the dinner table or across the gym. They saw how these past two weeks were tearing the two of you apart. And since Steve had suspended you, this dilemma luckily didn’t impact any missions for now. But you had two days before you were technically clear to return to agent training and mission involvement.

You were relaxing in your room which was a strange feeling without either Steve being around, or with you not spending the night in the Captain’s quarters. It never made sense why he kept your relationship so quiet but still insisted on you staying in with him or holding you just a little to close to be seen as friends in front of the team. But that’s just how Steve was, at least for you. Everything either made perfect sense with him, or it didn’t. He seemed to live life like it was black and white, while you saw the world in shades of grey.

Currently, you typed away on your laptop while sitting on the bar stools in the kitchen, dinner in front of you. It wasn’t anything too much, just a salad with some light dressing. If the others were around then maybe you’d all be enjoying a meal together. But everyone was out on a team mission, except for you.

“We need her on this mission, Rogers. She’s just as good as Natasha and we can get the intel twice as fast with two agents in the computers,” Tony testified for you.

“Absolutely not,” Steve spoke up, shaking his head as he gripped the back of his chair, “She made a choice not to obey orders, she has to face consequences. It’s the same for any other-”

“Cut the shit, Cap,” Tony cut him off, “I know that you love her, that you care for her, that you would do anything for her. I was so happy for you when you told Pepper and me that you were going to propose. Because you would finally get a taste of life outside of this job, something the pair of you desperately need. But she’s not your perfect little housewife, Steve. She’s been through the same shit as you and Barnes. You’ve got to accept who she is and why she chooses to do things. Benching her like a child instead of treating her with the respect she deserves not only hurt the team, but it’s taken a toll on your relationship... Just think about it.”

You overheard them speaking about the upcoming mission which they had left for yesterday around ten in the morning. They were supposed to be home by seven this evening, but that was two hours ago. It wasn’t unusual for a mission to run a little longer or the quinjet to be delayed, but that didn’t stop your concern for your friends and for Steve.

“Mrs. (Y/N), the quinjet will be landing within the next 10 minutes, will you be meeting the team on the airstrip or within the compound?” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice echoed into the kitchen.

A weird feeling in your gut told you it would be better if you met them sooner rather than later, “On the airstrip. I’ll make my way there now, but don’t alert the team.”

- - -

You stood with members of the air division in the hanger for the quinjet. The door lowered itself to reveal the team, your friends, all a little roughed up. But it seemed that Bucky received the worst of it, you knew his girl from the medical division wouldn’t be happy to see this. Bucky seemed to be tripping in and out of consciousness as Steve and Sam held him up. Together, they escorted him to a medical team waiting with Dr. Banner.

Wanda and Tony met you, also watching the men offering any assistance they could provide, “What the hell happened?”

“We met another enhanced individual who seems to be able to put men in a dream-like state. She was able to knock out Steve, Barnes, and Lang. Wanda here was able to stop her though,” Tony explained the situation.

“It easily could have been avoided though, there were warning signs all over the place,” Wanda shook her head, “It’s unlike Steve to be so... out of it. (Y/N), you know him the best. You need to check on him.”

“Wanda, you know he’s just going to push me away. I can’t risk an exten-”

“We found him crying, (Y/N)” Tony interrupted you, “He was calling out your name. I haven’t seen him cry like that since the passing of Agent Carter.”

Wanda took your hand into her and gave you a worried look, “You may be on shaky terms, but he needs assurance from you about whatever he dealt with in his little nightmare.”

- - -

When you finally saw Steve alone, it was 1 a.m in the study. He sat on the leather couch, staring out a window completely lost in thought. You wondered if it was a good time to approach him but from your understanding of Steve. there was never a good moment to really help him through his grief. You just had too.

“Steven,” you called out to him as you stopped in front of the couch, “May I take a seat?”

“Agent now is not the time to be asking about the condition of your suspension. I’ll gladly speak about it with you in my office tomorrow morning-”

“I’m not looking to talk about my suspension from the field with Captain Rogers. I’m here to have a conversation with Steven Grant Rogers, the man that I deeply care for.”

He broke his gaze from the window to look up into your eyes. Pain and guilt tore through him, all was evident in the blue of his eyes. HE could never hide anything from you.

“(Y/N),” your name rolled off his perfect tongue like a prayer.

You took a seat next to him, pulling your legs up onto the couch. You kept your eye contact with him, asking for permission. Once you knew you had it, you climbed on top of his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You proceded to pull his head down to rest in the crook of your next. You felt his breathing falter slightly as hot tears landed on the skin of your neck. He wrapped his arms around you and tugged you closer like he could never be close enough to you.

“Shh, I’m here, Steve. I’m ready to talk whenever you are,” You gently ran your fingers through his hair, “Deep breaths, my love. You’re here, you’re at home with me and nothing can hurt you.”

He lifts his to look into your eyes with his own slightly red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, “But I hurt you.”

You raised your sleeve covered hand to wipe away the tears as they fell from his beautiful blue eyes, “And we can work through that. But first, I need you to tell me what happened on the mission. You know that it helps to get it off your chest. We only do what?”

“We only talk through one issue at a time.”

“That’s right, my love. That’s how we earn to accept and heal ourselves. Take a few breathes and start whenever you're ready.”

His breathing was a shallow, but it helped to still his chest, “I knew it was fake, but it- it felt real, (Y/N). You went back to HYDRA, you exposed me, you exposed the team. You called me your mission. Not your friend, not your lover, not even your fiancee. But I wasn’t mad or angry with you. I was livid with myself for pushing you away, forcing you to return to evil because I made you think of yourself as evil when I know how good your heart it.”

“Steve, HYDRA is almost completely decimated. I could never betray our friends, our family, or you.”

“I know. I trust you, completely. I just- I don’t trust my own heart after everything with Peggy.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, “Then trust me with your heart. Don’t try and cage me or your emotions. We can grow past this together.”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” He takes your hands in his large ones, “For all of it. The suspension, the fight, the distrust, my reaction, the pain I’ve caused, my stupid expectation for you to just take orders like a soldier. The only other woman to push my buttons and pull me through all the shit thrown at me was Peggy. I never would have made it through the war without her, and it can’t make it through this modern world without you. If you still love me, please, let’s move past all of this. Let’s get married, go on a honeymoon anywhere you want, try to start living a life outside of all of this, and- and grow old together.”

At this point, both of you were sobbing, but smiling at each other through the river of tears. You pushed your lips against him and responded quickly with just the same amount of passion. This was love. Broken, defeated, and tired; but still true, human love.

“That sounds like the perfect life, Steve. Let’s do it, together, Mr. Rogers.”

“Together, Mrs. Rogers.”

- - -

TAGLIST:

@melannie77 @heyiamthatbitch @princess-evans-addict @elsasshole @givemebooksorgivemedeath @anhelz @underratedmisfit

#mattie writes #Steve Rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel one shot #Avengers #avengers x reader

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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Anonymous asked: I really enjoy your cultured posts and especially about wine. I never knew that Roger Scruton wrote about wine! You tantalisingly talked in bits and pieces in past posts about your chateau vineyard in France. I understand why you protect your privacy but can you say a bit more. I was also hoping as a wine connoisseur you can explain to me what wine sommeliers in restaurants mean about wine having ‘terroir’? Are they just making stuff up to look down on us poor saps or is there something to it?

Your experience with the sommelier reminded me of the classic British television comedy, ‘Fawlty Towers’, where John Cleese’s perpetually hard pressed hotel owner, Basil Fawlty, says with his usual sarcasm, “I can certainly see that you know your wine. Most of the guests who stay here wouldn’t know the difference between Bordeaux and Claret.”

I’m sorry that you had from what I can surmise bad experiences with sniffy sommeliers when it came to appreciating wine. I have had one or two depressing experiences myself but it’s important to call out such rudeness so that others don’t have their dining experience spoiled. In Paris at least I can honestly say the spectre of the rude sommelier is dying out - and I have eaten in many great restaurants where I’ve had very lovely experience chatting with sommeliers versed in their wines.

These days sommeliers are positively jumping for joy if you show any kind of wine literacy. Don’t forget these men (and women) have worked extremely hard to hone a refined sense of their craft and they just want to share that knowledge and wisdom with you - otherwise it goes to waste.

Everyone likes to be appreciated and so I go out of my way to listen and appreciate their recommendations based on what I like or if I am looking to pair something interesting with the food I have ordered. If I don’t know I just ask. Indeed often I do know but I still ask because I’m curious to know if there is a better choice of wine and also because I want to learn. There is no shame in asking. Remember they are there to guide you to have the best dining experience in their restaurant. So engage with them with kind civility and your palate will thank you. And tip generously (if applicable).

I do indeed have a chateau vineyard in southern France - south of Paris anyway. But it’s not just mine. I invested in a dream that belonged to my two cousins who are the real wine connoisseurs. Out of their request for discretion I don’t talk too much about it here on this blog (they follow my blog). I can say that I admire both my cousins hugely (I get brownie points for saying that) for their hard work, risk taking, passion, and their artisanal flair.

Both my cousins gave up lucrative corporate careers to follow their dream to owning and managing a small vineyard. In this case it was bought from the family of my cousin’s French wife; her very old traditional family had the vineyard for generations. They had fought off French revolutionaries who wanted to burn down their chateau because of their old roots but they managed to prevail and survive. They barely survived the Great French Wine Blight (the Phylloxera infestations) that was a severe blight of the mid-19th century that decimated many of the vineyards across France. But times change. It’s not a romantic business but an unforgiving one. So rather than sell up to rapacious Chinese investors and other outsiders they instead sold it to us.

I have my day job and that keeps me extremely busy. My two cousins (and their French wives) manage the whole vineyard with other hired staff. They make all the decisions and I do the drinking (for quality control purposes, naturally). I help out when I can. This could be from business marketing advice or attending a few wine merchant trade shows. I often go to Shanghai and Hong Kong for my corporate work and my Chinese is passable; and so I help out my cousins who might be out there when I am there too. In fact one of my cousins was out in Shanghai just before the Wuham Covid 19 outbreak in China; thankfully he got out fine and didn’t suffer any symptoms after his trip.

More fun for me is actually spending time on the vineyard. Call me weird but I really do look forward to rolling up my sleeves and getting down in the dirt. It’s incredibly back breaking work - pruning or harvesting - but very rewarding because we’re all in it together. The camaraderie is immense.

I love escaping into the countryside and I just enjoy the easy bonhomie and companionship of my cousins and their French partners for whom wine is a passion and a way of life. Besides learning a lot more about wine, I also get to run, cycle, and hike in the surrounding hills, a world away from crazy city life.

Like many vineyards in France (and indeed vineyards around the world) the Coronavirus has made it an even more challenging environment to produce and sell wine. We did a lot of business in China and now, like many others, we’ve taken a hit. But we’re not down for the count. We’re fortunate that we are more robust with what we have in place. But like everyone else uncertainty of the future with an expected recession means we need to dig in deep and weather the oncoming storms. But we’ll be fine.

So what is this odd French word, ‘terroir’?

The French have this expression they use when it is clear they are tasting a true terroir wine - "un goût de terroir" - a taste of the place.

Terroir is a largely misused term, though the general understanding of the term of terroir is correct that it refers to the place of where the wine is made. Terroir is not something you pick up after tasting a few wines from one vineyard. It's more complicated than that, which of course makes it harder to use. Which is no fun, because people really like saying fancy French words when talking about wine.

A classical definition of terroir would be something along the lines of this: terroir is the aggregate factors that affect the physical vineyard site: geography, geology, weather, and any other relatively unique environmental conditions that might affect the process or final quality of the fruit.

Put simply terroir is the combination of micro-climate, soil, sun exposure, weather conditions and other environmental influences on wine. To Europeans in general and to the French and Italians in particular, terroir is a key indicator of quality in wine.

The best way to understand what what terroir means is to think of terroir as a different accent - an English accent sounds different from a Scottish accent which sounds different from a Welsh accent. Although the English language is the same, these accents have their own sense of place. Once you are fluent in the language of wine these different accents start to become a lot more pronounced. These ‘wine accents’ echo the terroir where the grapes were grown and the wines were made.

So what does this mean in practice? Take the Pinot Noir grape. Pinot Noir is a notoriously difficult grape to grow because it is very fussy with climate. With the grape being so fussy it is remarkable that the grape can be grown in many parts of the world. Its home is in Bourgogne (Burgundy), France, and yet the grape is grown successfully in Germany (where it's called Spatburgunder), Italy, United States, New Zealand and Australia, among others. So while Pinot Noir is a very fussy grape, it can grow in different climates. It's just the the way it expresses itself can be vastly different. This starts with fruit, whereby it will express a wide range from red fruits like cranberry (cooler climates) right through to black fruits like plum (warmer climates).

The key is the soil - and the sweat and blood that goes into cultivating it.

Soils contain a huge array of types of rock, decomposed rock, and organic materials, in a seemingly infinite array of mixes of topsoil, subsoil, and bedrock. Grape vines tend to grow vigorously and this causes a tendency toward better wines emerging from counterintuitive places - places with relatively poor soils. Too many nutrients and too much water near the surface and the vines will not push down deeply into the ground, seeking out what it needs to live. The belief is, if it does so it will find a more complex variety of nutrients that lead to better, more nuanced wines.

Soil, however, is not the only facet that gives us a full sense of what terroir means.

It is not enough to have a great mix of soils. Vines grown for grapes have a range on Earth in which they will ripen. Champagne, for example, is near the northern ripening limit for growing grapes — around the 49th parallel. They usually do not achieve anywhere near full ripeness nor do they want it - they need lots of acidity - so a northern location works well for their purposes. Too far south, however, and relentless sun and warmth will yield over ripened, jammy, sometimes stewed tasting fruit, lacking acidity and possessing searing levels of alcohol, at times. So the parallel on which the vines are planted is important.

Next, prevailing weather patterns in the region, such as adequate, but not typically heavy rain is necessary. The further north the vineyard site, the more that frosts and hail will likely be factors in varietal planting decisions, as well as harvesting. Achieving full ripeness before vinification is generally the goal for winemakers, but in certain climates the likelihood of sudden rain and weather changes which would dilute or damage the fruit, all go into the perception of the terroir.

Where the vines are planted, even within a commune in Burgundy, can prove very important for several of the reasons listed above: a southeast facing slope in the Côtes de Nuits, for example, provides a poor soil (meaning a good soil for wine grapes,) making the roots grow down deep into limestone, searching for nutrients. The top of the slope to the vineyard's back creates a microclimate and gives a small rain shadow effect, potentially dropping a major portion of rain on the western slope away from the quickly-harvesting vignerons on the other side, before their crop becomes diluted or destroyed. Not to say it always works out this way, because it does not. The point here is that the position within the mesoclimate and even microclimate is important.

Further, the angle or aspect toward the sun in our example is tremendously important. In our example, facing southeast gives the grapes a higher average number of hours per day to ripen in the sun, without getting the stronger, sometimes-harsher evening sun directly. When there is rain, rot can be a problem which leads to yet another factor - slope. A well-drained soil is very important, and altitude is a factor, which will lead to variation throughout a vineyard on such a slope.

Finally, a very important factor in terroir that is not always mentioned is the hand of man.

In the local customs for wine growing, winemaking, cuisine around those wines, and traditions sometimes dating back thousands of years, there emerges a tendency to understand what works well in the local soil and climate. Based on those ideas, certain decisions are made in the cellars that nudge the wine in the direction of one style or another. Decisions can be made that completely mask - destroy - the sense of terroir. Yet decisions are made, nonetheless. They do influence the final product.

Two producers owning parts of the same few hectares of land produce products of two wildly different qualities. There are decisions to be made of using wild yeasts or cultivated yeasts, steel tanks or oak barrels, the type(s) of oak, where it is from, the amount of toasting.

A poor vineyard manager can plant vines in impeccable terroir, but fail miserably in their ability to farm the grapes appropriately, even assuming they planted the right grapes for that terroir. Equally, you can give an inexperienced winemaker the best grapes from the best terroir and he is still very likely to make a mediocre wine at best.

Now, this isn't to say that a great winemaker can take substandard grapes from a poor region and turn them into great wine. But it takes a knowledgable and experienced winemaker to make the best of the spectacular grapes that world-class terroir and impeccable farming technique provides.

So all in all, I would say that terroir, vineyard manager and winemaker are equally as important and there can be no weak links in that equation if quality wine is to be produced.

The point is that all of these factors affect the wine. The best winemakers are artisans who work hard to let the land and vines speak. Over time, some places on Earth have been identified as having very high potential to produce outstanding, unique wines that sing with a voice like no other. That is terroir.

Music is like wine. We appreciate different composers and their pieces more as we understand more of the context of each piece.

Most wine drinkers, no matter their level of knowledge and sophistication, are on a similar path of evolving understanding. Each mouthful whose flavours and aromas we drink, each bottle label we unconsciously imprint in our memory, each line-item on a wine list that we select for the evening’s meal is another volume in our own library of experience, and determines how we will experience the next. The more wine we drink and the more we learn, the better context we have to evaluate (or enjoy) every future glass. So wine drinking is not a race nor is there a prize. You go at your own pace. It’s your own journey of self-discovery. Ignore the pretentious twattery that so often hinders the enjoyment of good wine.

May I add wine enjoys companionship. It makes love to fine food and good conversation. Yes, wine can be drunk on its own but it is more than just a balm to the soul. It is best appreciated when shared or paired - as one might with a cigar and a whisky - with good food. In the words of the late Paul Bocuse, who was a celebrated Michelin starred chef and father of French Haute Cuisine, “La véritable cuisine sera toujours celle du terroir. En France le beurre, la crème et le vin en constitueront toujours les bases.”

Thanks for your question

#question #ask #wine #personal #vineyard #drinking #sommelier #wine making #terroir #french #france #grape #culture #food #life #family

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cat-with-a-tie · 6 years ago

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A DenNor analysis of sorts

Hello, sweet chirping crickets! I’ve been shipping this ship for literal years now but have never plucked up the courage to actually interact with anyone or anything, so I’ve no idea why I’m doing it now, in the year of our Lord 2019, but hey, it’s never too late to get dragged back into aph hell.

I plan on posting a series of long ass rants that absolutely no one asked for in which I attempt to discuss the dynamics of DenNor and the Nordic characters in general, drawing mainly on Himaruya’s portrayal, historical facts, and my own headcanons, so welcome to the first installation of Stuff Nobody Really Cares About that I Wrote in a Fit of Boredom and Self-indulgence!

Before we start, if anyone’s reading this at all then please bear in mind that this is mostly just IMHO. And since there’s no correct way to ship a pairing (this cannot be stressed enough), my interpretation is just that—my personal interpretation, and it is by no means impartial because there’s definitely a healthy dose of my own preferences in there. Actually, I haven’t got any mutuals to talk to at the moment, so if my interpretation’s terrible, by all means go on and yell at me, I will love you to death for it.

In this post I’m going to rant about Norway’s personality (or his lack of it, thereof; don’t worry I’ll get to it later), with just a tiny segment on Denmark thrown in the mix, because hey, I do need to sleep.

“Anko” and its implications for Norway’s character

So, as most people probably already know, in the Japanese version Norway calls Denmark “anko”. In the Northeastern dialect he speaks, this is something like a diminutive form of “big brother” or “boss” (yes, Norway calls Denmark big brother!). In East Asian cultures, it is commonplace for younger men to address older ones (related or not) by honorifics ranging from super courteous to super casual, such as “aniki” in Japanese, “hyung” in Korean, and “da-ge” or “ge” in Mandarin. “Anko” also falls under this category, although it is still more casual than the more ubiquitous “aniki”. I struggle to convey its exact denotations in English, but all you need to know is that this is an affectionate way of addressing a man older than you.

But here’s a funny thing: Himaruya once stated that Denmark and Norway are “like classmates” （同級生）. Now, the Japanese term actually has a somewhat different meaning from the English one; “doukyuusei” does not strictly refer to people who are/were in the same class, but to people who belong in the same school year and therefore, in most cases, share the same age. This actually makes sense, because if we consider history, up until the 14th century or so the three Scandinavian kingdoms developed at much the same pace, so it would be reasonable to assume (despite Himaruya’s being abominably vague on nation mechanism) that the characters are of similar ages as well.

Why, then, does Himaruya have Norway refer to Denmark, who should be about the same age as he is, as “anko”? The thing is, aside from denoting age difference, this sort of honorific can also denote a difference in status. Even if someone is not significantly older than you, you may still refer to them with an honorific if you feel their status is above you or wish to pay them respect in an affectionate way.

So, consider this: Norway does not disrespect or look down on Denmark at all, in fact, he respects him enough to call him something akin to “boss” or “older brother”. Bear in mind that this is Norway we’re talking about, Norway of the onii-chan obsession! There’s no doubt that he sees a great deal of significance in this sort of thing, otherwise he wouldn’t be so bent on having Iceland address him as such. And he calls Denmark “big brother”. Just… just take a minute to let that sink in, will ya.

So this brings us to the main subject of my essay, and that is that Norway, for all his sass, is a bit of a doormat.

Now, before anyone starts yelling at me about how his people are perhaps the most fiercely patriotic out of all the Nordic countries, please let me finish my theory. You don’t get independence after centuries of being a glorified trophy bride and not feel the need to vent all that pent up frustration, after all.

First, if you look at strips such as the Denmark vs. Sweden frozen lake fiasco, you’ll see that Norway basically goes along with anything Denmark does, even when he’s actions are outright harebrained (and, to be fair, they often were). He might nag, and he might throw in a word or two of complaints, but at the end of the day Denmark calls the shots, and Norway seems pretty content to let him do so, even when sometime it’s him who has to bear the consequences of Denmark’s brashness (historically, during the many conflicts between Denmark and Sweden, many of which Denmark initiated, Sweden would often bypass Denmark and invade Norway instead, since its lack of military prowess meant that Norway could be used as leverage to force Denmark into accepting all sorts of outrageous conditions; meanwhile, any sort of military action Denmark engaged in was exceptionally taxing—no pun intended—on Norway due to its small population and frequent food shortages).

Also keep in mind that compared to the strips set in modern times, Norway’s treatment of Denmark was considerably milder in the medieval era. My theory is that his attitude towards Denmark only soured after the chain of events that eventually lead to his independence in the 19th century, buuut that’s an essay for another time! Right now I’d like to discuss a personality trait of Norway’s that fascinates me a lot and directly ties into his tendency to be pushed around: his standoffishness.

This is a character inclined to keep on the sidelines and just watch things unfold, even when said events concern his very own person. He doesn’t seem to give a fig when Denmark and Sweden are fighting to the death—hell, not even when they are fighting over him, something that happened a lot in history.

Now, I can think of two main reasons for this passiveness, the first being that Norway, unlike Denmark, probably knows his own limitations to a degree that I believe must have been painful for him at times (not that he shows it, anyway). Although of course being able to see and communicate with magical creatures could result in one being a little less interested in the mortal realm, I find it unlikely that he was always this disengaged. He was once a Viking, after all, and up until the 13th century his kingdom was arguably the most powerful and expansive in all of Scandinavia.

But then, of course, came the Black Death. Norway’s decline in the late Middle Ages was in fact facilitated by a myriad of factors including civil war, incompetent politicians, and either a shortage or a surplus of kings, but having three quarters of its population decimated by the plague was perhaps the heaviest blow of all, and by the time the Kalmar Union took place the prospects of competing with Denmark or Sweden were pretty bleak.

From there on was what 19th century Norwegian nationalist poet Wergeland dubbed the “four hundred years of night”. Although most modern historians agree that Norway was far from destitute under Danish rule and may even have benefitted considerably from it, in terms of Norway’s development as a character, I reckon it could be said that he was, in fact, shrouded in night. The night in question, however, as opposed to being a symbol of Danish tyranny as Wergeland probably intended it to be, would be more of a metaphor for Norway’s own willingness to “fall asleep”, thereby shutting out a world in which he knew he has no say. In this way, he turned a blind eye on Denmark’s ill-fated endeavors, on Sweden’s budding ambition, on the animosity brewing between his two friends, and probably even on Denmark’s mistreatment of him.

During the Kalmar Union, he must have known that he was the weakest of the three kingdoms, and that it was better to just let things take their course instead of joining the fight for hegemony along with Sweden and Denmark. During the union with Denmark, he knew too that life would be far easier if he just went along with things; after all, he knew Denmark, he knew he was stubborn and that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He also knew that Denmark meant well and that, despite everything, he cared a great deal for his family, as shown in the tax raise strip where Norway tells Denmark that “[it’s OK] because you’re trying your best”.

It’s possible that Norway also derived some degree of consolation from Denmark’s affection, in that even though as nations they stood on uneven ground, as friends and as people he could still trust Denmark to have his best interests at heart. Also, by telling himself that he and Denmark were “in this boat together”, Norway could avoid the sense of relative deprivation that arose from being a nation in an unequal union, and subsequently avoid feeling resentment towards Denmark, whom he’s always cared for and perhaps even looked up to despite everything. His referring to Denmark as “anko” despite being roughly the same age as him can perhaps be interpreted as a sign of this (arguably unwarranted) trust.

So in short, a prolonged sense of powerlessness led Norway to become emotionally detached as a form of defense mechanism, while affection for his childhood friend made him reluctant to put his foot down when Denmark’s arrogance and blind optimism threatened to get out of hand. All this serves to expedite the standoffishness I mentioned earlier that is typical of his character.

Thus, if we accept the theory (note the italics) of Denmark once upon a time being abusive, I personally find it plenty believable that Norway would just, well, lie back and take it. In part because he cares deeply for Denmark and is dependent on him in a bit of an unhealthy way (there’s already a wonderfully insightful post right here on tumblr addressing Norway’s shyness and how his trust in Denmark sometimes manifests as crassness, so I’m not gonna go into that here), and in part because he knows being submissive is the path of least resistance. Taking whatever Denmark the person inflicts on him would still be far more ideal than going to war with or losing the support of Denmark the nation. So yeah, lie back and think of yourself, I guess.

In this regard Norway’s mentality is drastically different from that of Denmark and Sweden’s, which is that one should always fight a losing battle if the alternative is being trod on. He acts more according to strategy, while the other two act more according to pride and passion. The upside is that, being more pragmatic and knowing his limits, he knows better where and how to deploy his strengths; the downside is that he can at times come off as a bit of a pushover.

Incidentally, this is why I find WWII history to be so damn interesting in terms of the Nordic’s characterisations, because we get to see the Viking Trio seemingly go against everything that had until then defined their personalities. To be fair, this is way after all that fucked up shit with the treaties of Fredrikshamn and Kiel, which I consider a major turning point (or mental growth spur, if you will) for all five Nordics, so I reckon it all still kind of makes sense because of the wonderful mechanics of character development? But then again, that’s an essay for another time!

A bit on Denmark

I like to think of Denmark’s behaviour during his youth as the result of a misguided desire to “play house”—out of love for his family (arguably for Norway in particular) he wishes to keep them safe, and what better way to do that than keeping them all under his wing? Sure, I’m ready to believe at least some part of him was fueled by bloodlust and a thirst for power, as is often the case with nations, but in general he simply didn’t know better.

In the mean time, Norway’s docile compliance did nothing to curb this misconception; worst case scenario, it only served to fuel it, make Denmark feel like he really was the leader and that it was his obligation to be in charge for the sake of them both. I consider their relationship in this time period to be quite toxic, even though related strips show them to be closer than ever.

For me, a significant part of Denmark’s character development is him realising that the happiness of his loved ones should not have to depend on him, and that one can be loved without being needed (in terms of DenNor, it’s him learning to love Norway as an equal and not just someone to be protected/coddled).

For Norway it’s the opposite—he learns to regain control over his own life, to stand up for himself and to love Denmark without taking any bullshit from him.

#dennor #aph #hetalia #aph nordics #aph norway #aph denmark #rant

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the-roanoke-society · 6 years ago

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What's the story behind the Agents of Sass and Class tag? How did Seraphim and Succubus meet within the society even tho they were from two COMPLETELY different agent circles? P.S I love you, bitch. 💖💖💖

now you did get the initial beginning down pretty square—seraphim had heard, on the periphery, that oh, we had a new necromancer, and man, her origin story was equal parts bizarre and intriguing (with the normal touches of tragedy that seemed to paint the narratives of everyone at the estate from time time—but such is the human and non-human condition of this plane, unfortunately).

let’s talk about it.

between the emotional aftermath of enoch’s abrupt departure, the city in the hills, all on top of routine missions that she was still being handed from lilith, there was a lot that seraphim missed. it wasn’t because of apathy. it was because of exhaustion. (and then there was still the matter of agent whiskey, of statesman. she was… still working on figuring that part out. but jack loved a good chase. and a good fuck.)

a large part of that was succubus’s training and entire initiation. but even as it was, for some reason seraphim couldn’t quite discern, lilith had been very keen on the senior agent being at least a bit aware that she was around.

very keen.

“hey, it’s—clementine. right?”

those were her first words to her. she’d overheard poltergeist a few days ago, talking to wendigo and mothman about his newest recruit. that he’d done the grave test, as he’d done with other field agents in training before her.

seraphim didn’t hate him. not exactly. but he reminded her so much of john who sparked such a deep anger and hurt inside of her that it was difficult for her to physically be around him for long. and it broke her heart to see another person being spiritually shattered in this way.

she’d pivoted abruptly, leaving the lounge before any of the three had seen her. fuming.

we aren’t wild horses. this is all so goddamn unnecessary and exhausting.

it didn’t feel like they were being broken and remade into something better. it just felt like breaking.

looking back, seraphim was grateful that rae had let her carefully lead her to one of the stools by the center island, get her tissues, a wet towel for her face, and food that was actually plated. she was hardly the first person seraphim had seen weeping in an odd place in the manor, although crying in front of an open fridge was a first.

clementine wasn’t clementine for long. soon enough, she was raeanna. then rae. but a lot about her was… guarded. that first conversation in the kitchen that night was very much a weird kind of dance. seraphim had to learn where to press, where not to press. the shapes of what she was willing to share versus what she wasn’t. and succubus, for her part, had only a vague idea of who seraphim even was.

“my name’s morgan. uh, seraphim’s my handle. it’s nice to finally meet you.”

an exorcist, fine, a senior agent of apparent high regard, sure, but succubus didn’t know her and didn’t exactly relish the idea of a sleepover-tier get-to-know-you conversation in the middle of the night with the witch that poltergeist had constantly used as a standard to decimate her confidence.

the closeness and seamlessness they share as a duo on the field wasn’t formed overnight.

but it was engendered in one.

because succubus found that for the life of her, she couldn’t withstand the barrage of kindness.

they ran into each other a few times after that, always in passing. succubus still had her training to finish, and seraphim had her normal fieldwork.

but one day, shortly after succubus had finally graduated out of poltergeist’s authority to become an agent in her own right, lilith called seraphim into her office. all of her usual calm smile and gentle—if not a little suspicious—demeanor.

“morgan! there you are! i see the color’s gotten back into your face since you came home. did mr. daniels have something to do with that? … aaannnddd look, now there’s even more pink there, i’m taking that as a yes.”

“lil, please. look, did you need to ask me something? i’m assuming you called me up here for a reason.” seraphim took a seat in one of the plush armchairs on the other side of lilith’s desk, watching her superior thoughtfully twirl a red apple in the space above an open hand. it had a bite out of it.

“you know me well. i did have something that i wanted to assign you, and agent succubus.”

“agent? oh, she got through training! thank god, i was scared that adam was going to run her off, or worse, and—wait, both of us?” seraphim lifted one brow. it wasn’t that she’d been hit with dread, but she’d never worked with rae afield before. she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“yes, she’s become quite the gifted necromancer under ‘geist’s—particular brand of tutelage. … morgan, would you like an apple, or are you just jealous that you haven’t quite mastered the art of object levitation?”

seraphim sighed. “both, if i’m honest, but joe’s been teaching me energy manipulation.” she caught the apple that lilith tossed to her from a bowl on the small table behind her and eyed the manila folder she slid onto her desk towards her. “granted, it’s not like i have a separate universe at my hands. our magic doesn’t look the same. but it’s…” her voice softened. another sigh. this one was sadder. “… it’s nice to be able to explore what i can do. after everything. you never really stop learning, i guess. not really.” she poked at the folder. “but uh, i’m a little bit more curious about that, ma’am.”

lilith smiled kindly. she’d have to speak with mothman later, see what exactly they’d been up to. “we’ve had—reports,” she began, flipping open the folder. seraphim took a bite out of her apple, reaching forward to touch one of the photographs that was on top of a stack of scanned newspaper clippings. “of something interesting happening around the outsides of las vegas.”

seraphim picked the picture up, frowning at it. “uh—lil, uhm, what, what am i looking at?” she spoke around the apple bits in her mouth. the only distinct shapes she could make out in the photo were the mountains in the distance and a police cruiser. but this black blur in the middle…

whatever it was, it was massive. easily at least ten, twelve feet, comparing it to the car. big, dark, and—were those antlers?

“we’re not a hundred percent sure. but we’re afraid that given the damage its caused and an uptick in insomnia and night terrors around the part of the city where it’s been sighted, it may be something demonic.”

“which is why you’re sending me. okay, i follow you.”

“we also think it might not be completely alive in the traditional sense.”

“… it’s not what now?”

lilith rubbing her hands together. not a good sign. “we don’t think it’s—living. no mundane weapons seem to slow it down, which isn’t necessarily a huge surprise, but other members from the nevada office that were dispatched had similar misfortune. granted, their specializations aren’t quite like yours, or like rae’s, and we’re wondering if maybe we just need an approach with… let’s say a dynamic more like the one you two have.”

“lil…”

“i don’t mean anything as shallow as a game of holy versus unholy. i only mean that both of you are walking different sides of the same road, going the same way. you have a decent handle on being, as luca has said, a ‘light-bringer,’ and rae makes a weapon out of darkness. between the two of you, this thing doesn’t stand a chance, and the vegas mayor will, once again, owe me a debt.”

“uh, once again?” why was it that she consistently left lilith’s office with more questions than answers?

“it’s a long story, i’ll tell you when you get back. now go find rae, please, i’d like to speak with her. take this file with you to review. our dear darling quetzl just got back from visiting his mother, he’ll fly you out tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp.”

“yes ma’am.” seraphim bit down on her apple, holding it in her mouth as she used both hands to shift through the file.

this would make for some interesting afternoon reading, but first, to find succubus…

* * *

“did you eat breakfast?” seraphim asked the next morning, hoping that a pair of dark capris and a light grey button-up wouldn’t end up being too hot for the desert. she couldn’t bring herself to just wear a tank-top. she didn’t like how people looked at her scars.

“… what?” succubus was rubbing sleep out of her eyes, almost tripping up the steps into the jet. almost. “oh shit—uhm, no, i opted to get as much sleep as possible. kind of regretting it.”

“what, sleeping in or not eating anything?” seraphim got up into the plane first, slinging her duffel bag upwards onto the rack over their seats.

the good witch—which seraphim thought was a fuckin’ weird name for a plane—was one of the nicer jets in roanoke’s hangar. the flight from kentucky to nevada wouldn’t be tremendously long, but it’d give them a few hours to rest, and if seraphim had her way, to be better friends.

this would be the first time they’d be stuck together for an extended period, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

succubus laughed, and readily handed her own bag to seraphim’s outstretched hand. “both.”

“then boy do i have a surprise for you two!” seraphim and succubus both jumped at the booming voice of quetzl, who was the most intense morning person seraphim had ever met. all dark eyes, dark smiles and a demeanor that could be likened to a nuclear reactor.

before either of them could quiet react he’d already stuffed pop tarts into their hands—smores flavor into seraphim’s, strawberry into succubus’s. “you’re welcome. now please, go sit down, i’ve got to radio phoenix and get him to open the hangar up for us, but as soon as the gate’s up, we’re outta here!”

and as soon as they sat down: “dude do you want to trade? that one’s my favorite.”

“seriously? hell yeah, that one’s my favorite too.”

okay. off to a good start.

but seraphim closed her eyes as soon as they hit cruising altitude—she’d watched succubus take out a worn copy of carrie, and had to hide her smile—and when she opened them again, it was to the tune of quetzl’s voice over the p.a. system. “ladies! and—other ladies! all of the two ladies on board. we’ll be landing on the airstrip by our nevada compatriots here in like, thirty minutes. we’ll be right on the outskirts of henderson, which means around a thirty minute drive to the site that lilith wanted you to investigate first. so please return your seats to the upright position, do the thing with the tray tables, you’ve been on a plane before, just don’t run around the cabin, that’s literally it. … thank you for your patronage.”

succubus rolled her eyes. “is he always like this?”

seraphim laughed in response. “welcome to air quetzl. never boring, and sometimes just—real fuckin’ annoying.”

“better annoying than boring, though?”

the senior agent hummed, nodding. “i—yeah. better annoying than boring.”

* * *

agent tahoe met them in the hangar. blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and all six feet of her like a ray of sunshine. seraphim thought she was going to bruise her knuckles with the strength of her grip. where the hell does lilith keep finding all these morning people?

“seraphim! good to see you again, look how long your hair’s gotten! and you must be our newest crowned, agent succubus! i’m senior agent tahoe. our ah, staff’s stretched a bit thin at the moment, what with all the monster bullshit, but don’t worry, i’ll be the one making sure you get to where you need to g—“

“emilia! baaaabe! how’s it hangin’?”

“… clark.”

her tone went deadpan and succubus was trying desperately to keep some sense of professionalism.

“oh come on, you’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“if you two will follow me, our ride’s waiting in the garage juuuuust down this corridor here—“

“oh sweet, what did boss man upstairs lend us?”

“i said you two. meaning them. you are going straight inside where someone can keep an eye on you. and don’t touch anything.”

“emilia!”

“go fucking upstairs.” but all the venom in her voice disappeared when she turned back to the team at her shoulders, following close behind her. “in all seriousness, we’re really glad y’all are here. whatever this thing it, it broke jarbridge’s legs, compound fractures, too. i mean, she passed out, which is good, she says she doesn’t even remember it happening, but i’m pretty sure lovelock’s gonna have to take some kind of sabbatical, you know how squeamish he is around blood…”

succubus glanced at seraphim once. her face was a little pale.

but seraphim just put a warm hand on her shoulder, and leaned closer to her. “hey. this asshole hasn’t met us yet. we got this.”

* * *

tahoe was the kind of woman where, if you didn’t make any attempt to steer the conversation, she could talk gore and guts for literal hours (seraphim had heard her do it enough times before).

once they’d gotten into a shiny black falcon coup (that, despite how clean it looked, was straight out of 1975) seraphim watched succubus’s face become more and more drawn.

she’d survived poltergeist. that spoke volumes in and of itself. but even the confidence bred from that firewalking brand of training, well…

seraphim remembered her first mission solo, without enoch at her side. all she had to do was envision that bright yellow doorway on lincoln street and it all came flooding back, visceral but short-lived. the nervousness. the fear. and for her, at least, an acute case of being overwhelmed.

but then… poltergeist hadn’t left.

would it have been so bad if he did leave, really?

seraphim shook her head. “—emilia! emilia. uhm. look, now, you know i love a war story as much as the next agent, but ah, rae looked a little confused as to why you were being so cold to clark, and frankly, i am too, i thought you two had patched things up?”

if there was one thing tahoe liked talking about more than body horror—it was her exes.

succubus didn’t want to let on that her heart was in her throat, and she had her hands balled into fists in her lap so no one could tell they were shaking. what had she gotten herself into? double compound fractures? were her bones about to see the light of day as well? she suppressed a shudder.

she loved bones. she loved her own bones. she loved them most when they were safely under her skin like they were supposed to be.

but succubus also loved gossip, and seraphim, as it turned out, was an excellent enabler.

also turned out that quetzl was just as awful to date as succubus had judged beforehand, according to tahoe. “and okay, i’ll concede that maybe i shouldn’t have been looking through his phone but damnit, rae, it was my own sister! like, both of my sisters! who does that?”

* * *

their arrival point was hardly anything climactic—although ‘cinematic’ was still a word that seraphim would’ve used. in a very regional gothic sort of way. the sun was high by that point, not a cloud in the sky and it was so blue that it hurt her eyes. she could see roaring vegas in the distance as she stood by the front of the coup, taking a drag off of her cigarette. her usual pre-mission ritual these days.

“i didn’t know you smoked,” succubus said quietly, but even as soft as her voice was, seraphim jumped anyway, coughing. “oh shit, sorry, i didn’t mean t—“

“it’s okay! it’s okay. it’s a gross habit. i keep telling lilith i’ll quit, but…” she stared at it in the v of her fingers, shrugged, and then took one long final inhale before flicking upwards, snapping her fingers, and—where the hell did it go? “i don’t know. i don’t have a lot of motivation to stop. and anyway, that’s not why we’re here, we’re here!” with a grand flourish, she turned, motioning to the spread of desert before them. “to catch a monster.”

succubus grinned. “i do like the sound of that.”

“hell yeah you do! we are the fuckin’ veil!” tahoe had a mapped spread out over the car’s hood, covered in various markings. “shit, iiiiii am utter garbage at location work, i wish jarbridge was out of medical already—“ she laughed. “man she’s probably high as a kite right now anyway. she’d be useless. okay, look just—you two come over here.”

seraphim and succumbs watched at her shoulders as she pointed with one black-painted nail to a part of the map marked with three sharpie x’s, all in a triangle and all on the other side of a low, craggy ridge about a mile or so from where the dirt roadside where they’d parked. “based off of all the intel we’ve been able to gather, we think that it’s home base is right around here. now, it’s daytime, and this thing is one nocturnal son of a bitch, so the strategy is to get a jump on him on his home turf. catch him with pants down, or whatever.”

succubus hummed, “oh, now those are my favorite kind of missions—“

tahoe lifted her eyebrows. “remind me to ask you some questions when this is all over and we get celebratory shots on the strip or something. now!” in a few wide strides she was at the trunk, popping the lid with the wave of a hand as she walked. “these are yours.” she handed seraphim her usual pistol, and succubus a standard issue handgun marked by the roanoke insignia and a few sigils she couldn’t quite recognize.

“there’s my baby!”

“uh, morgan, what kinds of babies have you been around…?” but seraphim was too busy taking practice swings with a large wooden bat, embedded with nails, wrapped in barbed wire and prayer beads.

“rae, meet virgil. virgil, rae. most trustworthy man i’ve ever met.”

succubus lifted her eyebrows in approval. “will, uh, i get one of those—?”

seraphim had the audacity to wink. “if you make one yourself. i’ll tell you virgil’s story over all those shots tahoe said she was going to buy us here in a second.”

but tahoe was back studying the map. something about her posture was different. her back straighter, her lips in a tighter line. there was a beat before she lifted her eyes to the agents, sighing. “i wish there was something more i could give you. anything more. but this is it.” another short exhale. “we don’t know what, exactly, this is. but you two are going to be the best crack at it that we’ve taken so far. if things get hairy, just head back here. i’ll stay here with the ride. my office is a button-press away. don’t—“ she swallowed. seraphim felt nervousness tug at the base of her stomach. this wasn’t like emilia. “don’t be scared to bail out. might’ve saved jarbridge her legs. i’ll be here, okay? comm’s on. you’ve got your specs. call me beep me, whatever.”

succubus lifted a hand, reflexively tracing the frames that rested across the bridge of her nose.

“… good luck.”

seraphim had one hand on the top of the holster strapped across her thigh, the other on virgil’s base. he rested easily across the width of her shoulders. she knew where the grooves were to keep the barbs from digging into her work jacket (although a few still did anyway). succubus realized the weird straps of leather stretching across seraphim’s back were just another holster as she took one more swing, then popped the back into the curved sockets. “we won’t let you down, em. rae—stay at my shoulder.”

but she waited until they were a ways down, making their own path through the sand before she kept going: “—but when i say get behind me, get behind me.”

succubus frowned. “what, you think i can’t handle it?”

“rae—“

“no, no, please, enlighten me.” they didn’t stop walking. their path started to descend down, and succubus could see the rocky edge they’d have to hike over to get to the triangle marked on tahoe’s map. she wondered if it’d be like the monster movies she’d watched as a kid; would there be a cave? a dark, yawning maw on a hillside, looking like it’s full of nothing but pitch, like how sophie walked into the cavern in howl’s moving castle?

seraphim didn’t answer immediately, but then: “this is our first time. not to make this sound all euphemistic and shit, but i’d prefer if you didn’t, i don’t know, get a part of your neck bitten out, get your bones broken—y’know. work stuff.”

succubus blew out a breath. “right. … right. i, uh. i’m—“

“don’t.” seraphim smiled. succubus realized how easy it looked, sliding onto her countenance.

it didn’t make sense.

she’d seen this same woman look absolutely haunted when she thought no one was looking.

“i’m here to act as guardian angel. this is a part of your training.” and softer: “… and mine, too.”

“hmm?”

“nothin’. just stay close, okay?”

“‘kay.”

* * *

the rest of the walk was fairly quietly. seraphim kept singing under her breath, but succubus couldn’t make out anything familiar. she thought she heard something like “it’s rainin’ tacos…”

they came up on top of the ridge, and succubus squinted, staring down. it was a sheer drop, and while it wasn’t like they were on top of the grand canyon, she was pretty sure a fall from this height could kill someone. or at least make sure they never walked again. seraphim whistled lowly, motioning off to the left. “looks like there’s a path that goes down.” her voice was soft, but solid. “if i had to guess, we’re probably standing on top of this thing’s house. ten bucks says there’s a cave or something similar down there.”

“deal.”

and as it turned out, there was a cave.

well—‘cave’ might’ve been too kind of a descriptor.

to seraphim it looked more like a giant had straight up just clawed a huge whole into the side of the rock. the entrance was marked by sharpened, jagged stones that looked too much like teeth for her liking.

they approached painfully slowly. as soon as the ground had evened out, seraphim had drawn her pistol, and succubus mimicked the movement. but there was no sound, nothing, save for the wind whistling over the ridge.

“look like about how you expected?”

“with a bit more cacti, yeah. and the police cruiser is a surprise.”

the saguaro looked like they belonged there, but that car did not. seraphim wondered if it was the same one she’d seen in the photo lilith had shown her, but this one had definitely been through the wringer.

all the windows had been shattered. the sun caught the shards of glass that surrounded it, making it look like someone had spilled stars onto the sand. it was covered in dents, the place where the engine was had been hit downward (whatever engine there had been was now probably less engine and more just… car parts scattered underneath the cruiser), but what caught her eye the most was a set of six long lines dug along the length of one side.

claw marks? teeth marks? it was anyone’s guess.

—oh. and we’re about to find out.

succubus suppressed a shiver underneath a full sun. “what do we do?” she whispered. she could see seraphim’s jaw working, brows furrowed.

“should’ve brought a grenade…” a short sigh. “well, too late now, and this isn’t exactly joe’s last d and d campaign. i don’t think charging in there is a good idea. we have no idea of the layout, and ‘strength in numbers’ doesn’t apply to every situation, especially not ones like this.” she lifted a hand and ran it along her chin. “… okay. okay. i have an idea.”

“what’s the idea?”

“you go wait by the cruiser. i’m gonna whistle and try to draw it out.”

“… are you being serious?”

seraphim grinned and it looked borderline maniacal. “sure am. something tells me it might have a weakness to sunlight, hence why we only see it at night. if it is demonic, like lilith thinks, i’ll be able to bind it. and if it’s undead—also like lilith thinks—then you’ll just dispatch it.” she nodded to the handgun at succubus’s hip. “those bullets are holy. should do the trick. now get over there. i’m going to see if i can pull off a tom and jerry, get the jump on it from behind if we can just lure it out.”

so. succubus found herself on her knees behind the front part of the cruiser, sheltering behind the busted metal. she watched as seraphim had walked a far, wide circle, coming back to the ridge face and slowly edging her way along the rock, her spine pressed as flat against the stone as it would go. virgil, abandoned for the moment to make space, leaned against the rock some ways away. succubus was already regretting that decision.

it felt like ages passed as she side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped again.

until finally seraphim was close to the cave’s mouth. but she didn’t draw her gun again, like succubus had expected. it stayed holstered alongside her thigh. but she did roll up her sleeves to reveal—were those tattoos? where had those come from? succubus couldn’t remember seeing them before. had she found time to mark herself somehow?

but she didn’t have enough time to ponder. because seraphim met her eyes, nodded once, and turned her neck.

there it came, a whistle, low, long and, succubus reasoned if she could hear it from all the way behind the police car, loud. seraphim abruptly jerked back, flattening herself again. her palm spread wide against the stone, trying to feel the vibrations of movement, the vibrations of anything.

but an entire minute passed. then two. then five.

seraphim blew some air into her cheeks, and with trembling legs, finally began walking back towards the car. “look, rae, i think maybe the recon team got the wr—“

it came so quickly that seraphim immediately collapsed to her knees. it was a high-pitched banshee wail of a shriek, so cacophonous and blaring that even when succubus jammed the heels of her hands over the shell curves of her ears it did nothing to soften the sound. she screwed her eyes shut, and just as abruptly as it started, it was done. when she opened them, trying to remember how to breathe, how inhaling and exhaling felt, seraphim had collapsed onto her rear on the other end of the cruiser.

succubus swallowed. “what. the fuck. was that.” her voice was quiet. a jet plane would have been quiet in comparison to what they’d just heard.

seraphim had no color in her face and couldn’t immediately answer. “… okay. that’s uh. probably the target. i apologize, i completely gave in to the monkey brain flight-or-fight response there and didn’t pick the right one.”

“i don’t know if i necessarily agree.” they stared at each other for a few beats of silence. both were afraid to move. it wasn’t something either of them were trying to hide that moment. “—what do we do now?”

seraphim took a breath, her mouth moving to answer, but was interrupted by—succubus didn’t know how to describe it, not straight away. it had different parts, all moving and all happening so close together it was hard to pick them apart. the whoosh of air, the clean cut of metal on metal, that short of shink noise that a knife made up against a whetstone. succubus blinked.

she thought she’d seen sparks between them.

literal sparks, as if the side of the car had been hit with something.

her mind was trying to catch up.

… are those claws?

the fingertips—nails, talons, claws, all of them—of a hand (‘hand’ was a generous descriptor in this instance) were sticking out of the side of the car. not opening the door. they were sticking out having gone through the outer frame of the cruiser.

tap. … tap tap.

succubus was going to be sick.

taptaptaptaptaptaptap—

seraphim abruptly fell backwards as the half of the car she’d been leaning against was wrenched back, and she found herself staring upwards, right into the face of the monster of the photograph.

“jesus christ you are so much uglier up close.”

“morgan for fuck’s sake—!“

succubus was reaching, grabbing, trying to grasp her pant leg, something as this thing let out another scream. it threw the chunk of cruiser down where seraphim had been lying in partial shock just seconds earlier. the crash was deafening and before seraphim quite knew what was happening, she was sprinting across the sand with her elbow in a grip that was almost bone-crushing.

“run!”

it didn’t matter that they were armed. it was too close too fast. there was no time. no space. it was on them like–what was it poltergeist had liked to say? white on rice.

that thing didn’t have to make a noise, they could both hear the hoofbeats behind them, could see the too-long, too-prickled shadow catching up to overtake theirs on the desert ground.

“what the fuck! what the fuck! shit!” succubus wasn’t leading them back to tahoe, then there’d be three dead agents instead of just two, and she absolutely believed that there was for sure going to be two.

“—i have another idea!”

“oh fucking great!”

“no no no, this one’ll work i’m positive!”

“isn’t that what you said last time?!”

“if you remember correctly, i said no such thing! trust me, old school always works! let me go on three, okay? one—three!”

succubus hadn’t planned on turning around, but then the—demon? zombie? old forgotten demigod or someone’s bastard offspring? who knew?—started to make a new sound. she ran until its shadow wasn’t touching anything in her sight, ending up back against the ridge. only then did she turn.

… wow.

what she hadn’t seen was seraphim pulling off what she’d honestly considered a hail mary.

they couldn’t outrun it. in the time it would take them to draw their guns, it probably would’ve sliced them open at the elbows. and as any necromancer, or exorcist, or witch, or sorcerer can tell you: it’s very, very difficult to concentrate enough to do anything, let alone put up a decent defense or guard, when you’re actively being chased and doing the opposite of gaining ground.

not for seraphim, anyway.

not yet.

as soon as succubus’s grip released from her arm with a push, seraphim dropped like dead weight onto her back and prayed—prayed very, very hard, and focused, just like she’d been taught.

she forced her elbows to meet, right up to her wrists, as she was very, very narrowly missed being stepped on (which would’ve been lethal—apparently she’d missed the velociraptor feet the first go-around). and as she did so, the marks on her arms made a shape—a circle, decorated with smaller symbols, around and around and around…

a seal.

“a capite ad calcem.”

from head to heel.

freeze, motherfucker.

succubus turned in time to see the target upheld over seraphim, who was flat on her spine against the dirt, directly underneath it. it almost looked like it was being suspended by the thinnest strands of razor wire—succubus kept catching glints as it thrashed, and something black began to ooze out of it.

seraphim had some drip right onto her flushed cheeks, struggling a bit to keep the seal intact.

succubus began to understand why poltergeist had brought her up so often. for a beat, she could only stare.

and with a bit of surprise, she realized she didn’t feel envy, or any kind of spite—because that’s just what adam would have wanted, isn’t it? to break a thing before it got a chance to breathe?—she felt awe.

she felt pride.

which quickly melted into panic as soon as seraphim’s voice cut through her haze, upped a pitch in the chaos. “rae? buddy? a little help? this dude’s—oh shit, no you do not, asshole mcgee—just a smidge stronger than i first thought. show me what you’ve got! deport this fucker!”

every line blazed into a brightness that hurt her to look at for too long, and it suddenly all snapped into place. every single thing poltergeist had taught her, flooding back. perhaps her learning retention was better than she thought.

as another of the monster’s cries echoed against the ridge wall—this one perhaps a bit more pain than rage—she ran closer.

those were petrov lines—which meant that was an azrael seal. azrael was an archangel who had special dominion over retribution; his marks (and succubus understood that oh, those are what seraphim had on her arms, i just couldn’t recognize them in broken pieces—) aided in trapping demonic entities that had manifested onto the physical plane. this was one of the first seals that seraphim had been taught, and for good reason.

okay. so a demon.

but petrov lines, those only appeared for beings that were demonic just in part. something that came from some of the in-between worlds, an underworld that was a hell but not a hell.

something that succubus merely recognized as undead.

fuck, it’s both.

but succubus suddenly felt a surge of confidence at the light of the lines, and she lifted her hands, gun forgotten, darkness already beginning to twine out from her elbows, down to her wrists. she stalked, predatory, and seraphim tried to both watch her partner and keep this thing under control.

she may not have seen succubus’s hand motions, the intricate movements of her fingers in rapid succession followed by a definitive slicing motion.

but she heard her, speaking in the same tongue she had.

“ad initium—asshole!”

seraphim watched as cords of black intertwined with the lightlines, and kept watching as they found the creature’s neck.

it was both forces together that bore themselves down and quite literally razored the being into little chunks. no more black fell on seraphim’s face. it simply dissipated, as if it had turned to ash.

what was it that lilith had said?

walking different sides of the same road.

it took about a minute for it to disappear completely, and when it did, for about as long, neither agent moved. seraphim was exhausted. muscle fatigue manifested as tremors in her arms. she stared up at an empty sky as succubus slowly walked towards her, finally kneeling down by her side.

“… you good?”

“… yeah. you good?”

“yeah.”

“groovy.”

seraphim closed her eyes. she could’ve fallen asleep if she hadn’t started to hear distant yelling: “oh my god what did you two DO?!” tahoe was scrambling down towards them, yelling, looking equal parts horrified and elated. “i heard—oh my god, i—morgan, rae, you’re alive, you’re both alive, hallelujah, and no bones! morgan, what the fuck is all over your face? whose blood is that? is that blood? holy shit i can’t believe you—woah woah!” she caught succubus as she flopped off to the one side, threatening to collapse. “rae. rae, stay away. morgan. … morgan!”

she slapped the exorcist on the bicep, and the exorcist in question swore but in a much more whiney tone than she’d originally meant, to which tahoe just quipped: “oh walk it off you big baby. we’ll have a beta team come out and cleanse this area, it’s still tainted, which means if you’re gonna faint, you can’t do it here. c’mon now, up we go—“

succubus, as a newer recruit, had the luxury of tahoe’s arm around her waist, helping her to stagger to her feet. seraphim had a few false starts before she managed to first roll up onto her knees, then finally, to stand. her first few steps were shaky. but she shook her head, blinked a few times, and glanced over at succubus and tahoe walking back towards the car.

and they grew steadier, as she went.

around thirty minutes later, time found them all sitting at the bar of a classic, neon-tinged greasy spoon diner, complete with black-and-white checkered floors and a jukebox in the corner that apparently knew three songs: rocketman, dancing queen, and under pressure.

not a bad mix, honestly.

“ladies!” tahoe was the first to lift her shot glass. the three of them swirled with some cheap well tequila, given a pink sheen from the lights. “what do we want to toast to?”

“… uhm.” seraphim mumbled, staring at her glass. “weee… should toast toooo…”

“… new friendships?” succubus had spoken so softly that at first, seraphim wasn’t sure she’d heard her. but once she understood, she grinned, broadly.

“to new friendships—and to the first of many victories.” succubus smiled back at her. … i think i could really like it here.

“cheers!”

their glasses clinked to the tune of sir elton john, crooning softly: “and i think it’s gonna be a long long time… and i think it’s gonna be a long long time…”

#the roanoke society #agent succubus #agent seraphim #agents of sass & class #agent quetzl #agent tahoe #agent lovelock #lilith #agent poltergeist #once upon a time in nevada #(what's this? morgan actually created content? the madness!)

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koganeirou · 6 years ago

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Ikemen Revolution - Sirius’s Route

aka me graduating from being a wannabe livebloggering and becoming a wannabe otome reviewer HAHA.

I have a bunch of left over screenshots from Sirius’s route that I never posted so I decided to compile them all into one post + add in my own awful commentary/review. It’s mostly going to be the latter. So yeah enjoy experiencing Sirius’s route filtered through my terribad commentary and me dragging the poor man more than he deserves.

Honestly Sirius’s route is a blur to me at this point. The one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb that I didn’t like was Alice pinning over how ~cool~ and ~mature~ Sirius is while Sirius kept beating around the bushes about his feelings smh. What was even more annoying is that for the first half of the route it’s just Alice trying to help out with the war and Sirius just giving her menial tasks all day to keep Alice busy and avoid her pestering (╬ಠ益ಠ).

Seth is a real bro in this route and actually gives some GOOD ASS ADVICE, TOO BAD NOBODY MAINLY SIRIUS TAKES HIM SERIOUSLY.

Gee I’m trying to romance you; how utterly elated it makes me to know that I remind you of your siblings.

He fucking KISSES HER ON THE FOREHEAD and is all like “it’s just friendly affection!” BITCH WHAT PART OF THAT IS FRIENDLY AFFECTION?

The funniest thing is is that while this disastrous k-drama high school romance is going on as the supposed main focus, THE FLAMES OF WAR ARE RAGING ON IN THE BACKGROUND. Out of the routes I’ve played so far this route is the only route where the armies actually go in an all out war which I thought was pretty cool.

Okay this is less of a war between Red vs Black and more like Edgar vs Black because Lancelot is out of commission while Kyle is pulling his hair out like an old nanny tending to him and idk what the hell the rest of the Red Army dudes are doing. I am not exaggerating when I say that Edgar is the actual backbone of this army. It’s hard to really take this war seriously considering how no one is dying, only “injured” and these battles seem to have minuscule impacts or consequences and the fact that Sirius and Alice have time to be frolicking off with their less than smooth romance.

As usual Seth is the bro of the war too as he runs around spreading underground rumors. Tbh idk how the hell Seth managed to pose as a “reliable source” but I can just imagine him being like V and just knocking some poor Red Army sap tf out and stealing his clothes and running around spreading rumors like a character in Mean Girls spreading rumors about who the heroine is dating.

BIG YIKES AND BIG SWEAT. I think Sirius’s route is the first route to drop Seth’s connection to the Magic Tower, something I’d definitely never suspect. Maybe he’s a mole?? who knows.

But obviously who cares about that mumbo jumbo! We cut back to Sirius and Alice where Alice is drunk mumbling about how much she loves this sexy man, conveniently just while Sirius is in front of her and hears everything! But like the smooth operator he is he....................... doesn’t do anything. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He just completely wipes the love confession clean from his memory and continues on his merry way as if it never happened. Great. A+ romantic development there, game.

Hell even the other boys are lowkey sick of Sirius “what is this feeling in my chest?! Definitely not love!” Oswald so they decide to all be MC’s wingmen because clearly that war you guys are fighting that is potentially killing all your men isn’t important! Sirius, OF COURSE, overhears the entire conversation where Alice admits she loves him and as usual.... HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING.

Is it a sin if I actually agreed with Seth. I MEAN NO OFFENSE TO SIRIUS BUT............

Seth, can I romance you instead? Promise not to sell me out to the Magic Cult in exchange for Amon’s weed stash though.

Oh jesus christ can you just confess your undying love for each other already this is starting to become infuriating. You guys have a GOD DAMN WAR being fought in the background and instead I’m forced to sit through this cat and mouse game between these two mofos. Sirius, I love you, but. god dammit.

Oh right, were we fighting a war? I think we were fighting a war hahaha oops I completely forgot about that! But thank god that King No Fun is here to ruin everyone’s day! As we know, Lancelot has been pretty much incapacitated the entire route due to using too much magic, but nothing stops the King of Hearts. The man deadass drags his delirious corpse out of his bed (cue Kyle screaming in the background) and waltz into the Black Army HQ like he pays rent to whisk our princess away like the friendly neighborhood kidnapper that he is. He knocks her tf out and frolics into the sunset on his horse with Alice’s passed out body.

Sirius being the knight in shining armor that he is catches up to Lance on his horse and demands Lance return Alice, which Lance is like “nah son”. Sirius then proceeds to BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF LANCELOT (╬⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾ Д ⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾) I THOUGHT THIS MAN DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO FIGHT! and starts screaming in Lancelot’s face about how much pain his kokoro is in ever since Lancelot started being a piece of shit. Lancelot’s reaction pretty much just amounts to ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and he gives up on the girl and saunters off.

Sirius proceeds to spill his token tragic backstory to Alice, about how he, Harr and Lance used to be best friends but ever since Harr was exiled and Lance took the title of King of Hearts, their friendship had been strained broken to smithereens considering how Harr LITERALLY tries to kill Lance. Honestly as much as I roast the terribad romance between Alice and Sirius, I really enjoyed learning about Sirius’s history with Harr and Lance and it was by far the most enjoyable part of the route. I appreciate how much Sirius cares about Lance and Harr and it’s definitely the thing I like most about his character.

Anyhoo they return to find the Black Army Headquarters ABSOLUTELY DECIMATED. The magic cult goons completely smashed their headquarters but considering how all the boys have plot armor, no one is hurt so it’s all okay! （‐＾▽＾‐）

Alice realizes that Lancelot kidnapped her to protect her from the attack and that he is most likely being manipulated by someone in the shadows. She convinces Sirius to take her onto the battle field to confront Lancelot once and for all for answers. FINALLY THE PLOT IS GOING SOMEWHERE, and this is like what, part 20 at least?!

The moment they confront Lancelot on the battle field, the real King No Fun aka Amon crashes the party and he’s not a happy camper. He’s sick of Lancelot buying time so decides to just whisk Alice away himself!

aaaaand finally Lancelot’s “I’m the Worst” facade drops as he loses his shit. I find it interesting how it’s the first time he refers to the MC by her name and not Alice. He dives into Amon’s teleportation spell and gets whisked away with them.

Alice awakens to find herself in Amon’s creepy sex dungeon and Amon is like... your stereotypical evil cackling maniac cartoon villain that you’d expect.

He’s even a misogynistic twat as the icing on the cake.

Unfortunately Amon only wanted Alice but he accidentally brought Sirius and Lancelot too as carry on luggage. He leaves Lancelot be since he needs him but Sirius is just a fly in his plan so LIKE THE EVIL CACKLING TOTALLY NOT RIKA VILLAIN THAT HE IS HE PULLS OUT A FUCKING GUN

and shoots Lancelot.

Amon shits bricks over Lancelot protecting Sirius but is ultimately Monokuma level “lmao idgaf” and proceeds to try and kill Sirius but they’re rescued by Harr and Loki who whisks them away back to Red Army Headquarters.

Kyle REALLY FUCKING SHITS BRICKS THIS TIME POOR BOY CAN’T GET A BREAK after seeing Lancelot’s condition and somehow miraculously brings Lance back from the brink of death. Sirius and Alice talk with Lancelot and he finally comes clean with the truth about how Amon’s threatening to destroy Cradle with his weed stash unless Lancelot cooperates. Sirius is all like “aight then let’s go destroy his weed stash” and both armies begin working together to defeat Amon. Great, the climax of the plot is finally here, I’m so excited!

THAT IS UNTIL Alice realizes that the full moon is finally here and thus she must go home! She highkey wants to stay but Sirius is like “nah son you going home”. and proceeds to SHOVE HER ASS DOWN THE GATES OF HELL. But not before making out with her like his life depended on it. What the fuck, he doesn’t even confess his love for her! He just makes out with her and is all like “lul bye” and shoves her down the garden portal.

Welp great, the final battle with Amon is finally starting and I’M NOT EVEN THERE TO SEE IT LMAO! It’s like the writers got too lazy at the end and pulled this bs to avoid showing the climax of the story. Wtf let me kick ass with my man, what is this weak ass underwhelming development.

Alice waits around in Reason for about 3 months before going like “yeah you know what fuck it” and decides to go back to Cradle because a hoe got better things to do then just sitting on her ass waiting for her man who may never come for her!

She goes to the park just in time to see Sirius, who, surprise surprise, actually did come to get her! He tells her how they finally defeated Amon and that Cradle is finally safe! Amazing, it took you three months to find that weed stash; it took Alice and Jonah one evening in Jonah’s route.

She goes back to Cradle with Sirius but it’s already night so they decided to pitch a tent at a nearby inn with only one bed!

just go to sleep...................... just go to fucking sleep.

The next day they return to the Black Army Headquarters, which is now peaceful since Amon is defeated and the war is over. I got Sirius’s dramatic end; Alice and Sirius decide to go over to Sirius’s flower shop, where they run into Lancelot whose finally chilled out with his “I’m the Worst” act now that Amon isn’t breathing down his neck every second like a creepy evil Santa Clause. Lancelot buys an iris flower and proceeds to give it to Alice.

I’M FUCKING CRY HE’S SO SOFT.......... HE SO SOFT...... PLEASE PROTECT HIM AND HIS PRECIOUS SMILE.

The route ends with Alice planting the flower Lancelot gave her in the garden of the Black Army HQ, promising to live her life with Sirius and protect the little things that are important to them (´へωへ`*). and finally, FUCKING FINALLY, SIRIUS FINALLY TELLS HER HE LOVES HER. THAT TOOK YOU LIKE WHAT, THE ENTIRE ROUTE?

but no seriously imagine how awkward it’d be for Alice, after making out and sleeping with him only to be like “oh wait does he even actually love me, he never said he did” derp.

-----

Anyway that was a rundown of my own thoughts of his route + awful commentary. I definitely think his route was one of the weaker ones and it just didn’t feel like Sirius or Alice had any chemistry (｡-人-｡). I hate to admit being disappointed, especially because I was really looking forward to Sirius’s route but alas it is what it is. There were some nice scenes and I liked the friendship dynamic between him, Lance, and Harr but overall it definitely paled in comparison to Jonah’s or even Lancelot’s route. Ohwell, sorry Sirius lmao.

#ellie plays ikerev terribly #ellie plays #ikemen revolution #sirius oswald

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yoonminfiction · 7 years ago

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Hi can you rec me some really good fics that have side Yoonmin? Main otp doesn’t matter! Thank uuuu <3

Oh is this going to be long

Harmless by Untested_Waters (VHopeKook)

Jungkook is fine, really. He doesn’t need Taehyung and Hoseok’s help. Except for the fact that he is absolutely not fine and really, really needs Taehyung and Hoseok’s help. (Rated: M)

Crazy Is Most Definitely Genetic by CaliCocoa (NamJin)

family!au where Jimin’s just trying to survive high school, Taehyung keeps weirding everyone out, Namjoon is an embarrassing dad, Jin is supermom, and Jungkookie’s just along for the ride.

Can I Get Your Dewey Decimal Number? by melecs (NamJin)

Seokjin loved working at the library, but some patrons got on his nerves. Take, for example, the grown man who sat in the corner every day and leeched off of the Wi-Fi. And Seokjin worked in the children’s department.

Hapless by Untested_Waters (NamJin)

Seokjin’s heat comes a little early but Namjoon is still there to help him through it. (Shameful sequel to Helpless) (Rated: M)

Will you be my Forever? by flywithtaetae (kimtaehyungs) (TaeKook)

From the moment Jungkook turned 18, he had been excited to see the numbers appear on his wrist.

762

Just 762 days before he finally meets his soulmate.

524

374

341

And then it stops. (Rated: M)

Of clueless mates and stupid best friends by chihiro (TaeKook)

Taehyung somehow adopts a wolf and finds himself a possessive stalker at the same time.

Jimin is 500% done with everything. (Rated: M)

Comeback Kids by rix (TaeKook)

Taehyung is infuriating and Jungkook’s always been easy to rile up. Which isn’t the best combination, but also isn’t the worst, either.

(or: Taekook as hockey fuckboy rivals) (Rated: M)

I Bloomed For You… by Meanie_Beanie_nim (TaeKook)

Jungkook just barely registered the warm soft skin of Taehyung’s palm, before his whole world changed. His skin prickled almost painfully, and it felt like somebody had sent a great wave of electricity crackling through him. The world went black for barely a second as a strange weight settled in his chest, and then the world came rushing back like a flood.

He looked up with wide eyes at Taehyung - no, at his soulmate - and expected to be met with the same surprised eyes as his own, but Taehyung just looked at him with a carefree smile.

“See you soon, Jungkookie,” he grinned teasingly before releasing Jungkook’s hand and turning around to leave. Jungkook stood there for several minutes, just staring at the spot where Taehyung had disappeared, with only one thought in his head.

Why had his soulmate just left him? (Rated: M)

Hickory by rix (TaeKook)

Jungkook should be focused on winning, but his mind’s stuck on wondering whether or not this Kim Taehyung guy fucks harder than he hits. (Rated: M)

See You Through the Screen by pixelmins (TaeKook)

It started when kookie97 followed kimtaetae, a popular internet blogger and superfan of the famous Korean pop idol Jeon Jeongguk.

Or: Taehyung befriends his favorite singer without even knowing it.

Hustlers by tbz (TaeKook)

Jungkook hadn’t meant to lose nine million.

He certainly hadn’t meant to lose his kidney.

And he hadn’t meant to meet Kim Taehyung. (Rated: M)

Unwanted Butterflies by Lookingathimhurts (TaeKook)

Jungkook and Taehyung hate each other. Except, of course, when they’re having sex. (Rated:M)

Fall Asleep (Fall For You) by drannie (TaeKook)

“They say when you fall in love you can’t fall asleep, but now that I’ve met you I feel like I finally can.”

A University AU where Jungkook and Taehyung become roommates. But Jungkook has insomnia and can’t fall asleep with other people and Taehyung can’t fall asleep alone. (Rated: M)

chong! jojun! balsa! (point! aim! shoot!) by nutaella (TaeKook)

jimjams ㅇㅈㅇ: listen to our parents for once, child

father: you’re a child yourself, jimin.

jimjams ㅇㅈㅇ: *gasps* rUDE

sunflower <3: guys i’m still here

(basically taehyung is the most precious, jeongguk is two hundred percent whipped, yoongi is the best brother, seokjin is the best hyung, jimin is the bestest best friend, namjoon is so done, and hoseok is the meme king)

Empty Spaces (Don’t Talk About It) by officialmaknae (TaeKook)

Jeongguk has the habit of reading too much into things, especially when it comes to Taehyung. He isn’t sure how it came to this - but he knows he’s in too deep. (Rated: M)

Testament of Youth by sugamins (VHope)

Brotherhood [bruhth -er-hoo d] Noun.01. The condition or quality of being a brother or brothers.

As time passes on things change, as is the cycle of life. With the tick of clock fingers and the gradual shift in seasons, nothing is truly set in stone.

But what of friendship?

How deep exactly can the bonds of friendship grow, and how strong? Seven boys that are now young men might have believed they had found the answer to these questions, but they will discover just how wrong they were. Nostalgia and wanderlust, the roads and the distant shore will call once more and they are powerless to resist.

Especially at the behest of a dear friend in need of his brothers.

“Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.”Samuel Ullman (Rated: M)

Blood, sweat and memes by wanderlash (orphan_account) (VHope)

minsugagenius: who has been listening to cypher on repeat for the past two hoursminsugagenius: it’s driving me insane_____________jeonnochu: rudeincludemeincypherpls: ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯_____________mochimin: i’m never texting you again

Swimming With The Stars (Until We Drown) by lethallergic (VHope)

Hoseok is a daydreamer lost in his own world. Taehyung has teeth as sharp as knives, but home in his eyes. (Rated: M)

Really, Baby (I Will Be Just Fine) by lethallergic (VHope)

Hoseok is a lifeguard with a strict diet and workout regime.Taehyung works at Larkburger and eats like a slob. (Rated: M)

Death Of Our Troubled Youth by lulublue1234 (JungHope)

Jungkook doesn’t want to be a plastic person anymore.Hoseok makes him feel real.

Bad boy Hoseok gets a great amount of money to play the boyfriend of a rich kid who wants to show his parents he’s a rebel too (Rated: M)

On My Life (I Swear) by SevenSoulmates (JungHope, very minor YoonMin)

Hoseok had no idea what he got himself into when he befriended a random stranger that day on the street. He hadn’t thought anything of it, even though it kind of was a bit of an unusal circumstance. Still, how was he to know that the boy was the President’s Son, the most hidden and protected person in all of the country? Not until the day he walks into his new job as a bodyguard and gets chained to the boy himself does he realize that things are about to get a little fucked up.

Lost and Found by xxdevilishxx (JungHope)

Sometimes people fall in love after they get married (aka spending your life tied to a stranger is hard, but Jungkook and Hoseok decide to give it a try and stumble across love along the way)

Honey, You’re an Omega by Throne (JinKook)

Statistics show that 1 in every 7 people will be an omega. (Rated: M)

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to be claimed and be claimed in return. by everydayemily (JinKook)

There had been rumors going around for months now. At the time they were just whispers behind closed doors that no one believed would come true. Until they did. Wolf activist leaders had finally came through. Idols would no longer be forced to take suppressants, and most of all they would be able to participate in the Claim.

———————————————————————————————————OrIdols are no longer forced to take suppressants and can finally let their inner wolves out, (letting them have scents, heats, and the abilities to find their mates) (Rated: M)

Of One Sided Crushes by Bookworming (JinKook)

Jeon Jungkook has three questions for the Gods of crushes and one-sided love.One, what are you supposed to do when your crush sees you like their younger brother?Two, what are you supposed to do when your crush who sees you like their brother kisses you?Three, what are you supposed to do when your crush who sees you like their brother is drunk when they kiss you? (Rated: M)

Anon, I hope you like this list. It is long ( and man does it have tons of TaeKook) but enjoy it OK.

#YoonMin #TaeKook #NamJin #JinKook #JungHope #VHope #BTS Fic Rec #YoonMin Fic Rec

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5questions · 6 years ago

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Richard Wehrenberg

Richard Wehrenberg was born in Akron, Ohio and is the author of Abracadabrachrysanthemum (2018), Hands (2015), and River (2014), co-written with Ross Gay. Their work has been published in The Academy of American Poets, Peach Mag, Bad Nudes, Monster House Press, & elsewhere. They are a poet, writer, artist, & designer living in Bloomington, Indiana.

I want to start with the cover. I admire its minimalism but also the way that minimalism allows the title to speak for itself, carrying the reader along as they go to the next page. What are some of your favorite book designs? How has your own design aesthetics changed since you first started designing chapbooks and websites over ten years ago? Do you have any sort of codified process for your design work?

I perceive Text as Image and Image as Text, in a kind of infinite stirring/reworking. My aesthetic/process for design feels necessarily influenced by how my specific body-form perceives/reads the world, via its various miracles and supposed ‘deficiencies’—ie. having one barely-able-to-see (left) eye and one incredibly-over-achieving (right) eye, as well as having benign hand tremors (ie. my hands shake, inexplicably). I understand designing as the praxis of ‘de-signing' (ie. removing the signs from) this Earth/traditions/meanings/images. To quote one of my fav poets, Mahmoud Darwish—“I love your love / freed from itself and its signs,” which to me means: I love you ‘best’ when we shed the layers/masks/images that bury us in stories, when we dwell in our original and base-form—which of course has to be, for me—Love—the desire to see the world as un-riven, as One, despite everything working against the infinite forms love embodies. I feel my design aesthetic as ‘spiritual,’ or at least to me it feels like it springs enigmatically from a spiritual impulse/condition/base. All to say—my style/praxis is mysterious, even to myself, and my design depends on this kind of unknowability/improvisation. For Abracadabrachrysanthemum (and Three Crises by Bella Bravo, which share almost identical design elements), I viewed the circle on the covers to be a kind of gravitational wormhole into the book’s work, like you implied. A simple entranceway that has, like a planet or black hole, its own gravity to pull/cull others in, to merge and connect worlds. As far as design influences—I love love love Quemadura’s work (who you probably know as Wave Books’ designer.) I remember seeing their stark, simple, text-based covers as a younger poet/designer and being moved by space they allow for the text (exterior and interior) to become its own image/meaning apart from other visual suggestions. Also, Mary Austin Speaker’s work—who does design for Milkweed Editions—is always so precise, gorgeous, and enchanting. Outside of the poem-world, I am constantly inspired by fellow Bloomington designers/friends Aaron Denton and Sharnayla. The beauty they channel is astounding. Since I began designing, I feel that I’ve just become better and faster at designing, and my core aesthetic has mostly stayed the same. Being self-taught, you kind of just pick up little preferences, skills, and potentialities randomly along the path of work. I’m in a constant state of knowledge-acquisition re design and thus my process is really just experimentation. One codified process I do have is to meditate on a book’s content, to summon its image by intentionally dwelling on it within an unconscious states of meditation, dream, trance, etc. Usually I can call up a color palette, or image/font/et al that each individual book/design is calling for via these means. I believe in this kind of prayer/listening in my work, and I cite the unconscious as my main source of artistic capacity and production. I’ve also dreamed book covers before. That’s the best.

Many of the poems in this collection have geographic allusion, descriptive precision, and a general sense of place becoming character. This reminds me in many ways of your book RIVER, co-authored with Ross Gay. While that was prose and this is poetry, this is something I have noticed in your writing. How would you describe your aesthetic connection to geography? nature? environment? This book seems to expand beyond America in ways previous writing of yours doesn’t...

I can’t not attempt to constantly locate my Self in this World—can’t not see/feel/attempt to understand where/how/who/why I am in relation to ‘others’—to the land, rivers, oceans, to other animals, to the incredible manifold instantiations of plants, to the water with which without we would vanish, to all the ostensibly separate “I’s” on this shared Earth/consciousness/World surviving, dwelling, praying, creating—Being. I am an empath and embed/imbibe my surroundings almost automatically/unconsciously into myself. I become wherever I am. And thus its violences and gorgeousnesses alike become my own. And thus I speak for them, to them, of them, with them, in service and toward the healing of them/us/I/we. I unbecome my self to reset my churning and lumbering around this planet, to geographize ‘my’ position within this unpositioned House we find our selves. I am also quite of the mind that we are indeed both Here and Not Here. This Not Here is completely devoid of the drama of the body/ego, which we so often encounter and identify with today (and have since arriving on Earth.) My body, it’s specific forms and desires, languages and impulses, with yours, in conflict with theirs, with the scarcity, the low amount, the abundance, the never-ending forsaken nothing-everything, all of it, all the time, ever, ever, never-enough or always-too-much, the never-quite-right. You compared to me, thine in yours with mine of we. In spirit realm, there is no time and ID like we think here. Both Here and Not Here are real/valid places—the corporeal realm and the spirit realm—and I know, at least for now, I live in both places. I realized recently one of my main hopes for my writing is for it to re-embed the divine into the every day, re-pair it with the quotidian—to reunite these worlds-torn. What I mean is: I identify heavily with wherever I am in this 3D reality called life, and also identify heavily with the spirit realm as an (un)geographic place where I also reside. Over-identification with either realm leads to misery/suffering or disassociation/location, to paraphrase A Course In Miracles.

There is a sense of unity between the voice of these poems and everything else in the world, seen best, in my opinion, in “Signifying Brown Bear” wherein a stuffed animal becomes a virtual tunnel into all sorts of real human and existential experiences. Do you think something fundamental has changed in contemporary consumer society from ancient or medieval or even early modern societies, in which we have too many outlets for our emotions and experiences? Maybe too many is good (whatever "good" means)? In this poem, the stuffed bear almost represents your own yearning to connect as fully as you already are with universe around you. It has many of the conceits of a love poem and, at times, a tongue-in-cheek tone. In the end, the poem is what makes us think. You have turned a mirror on the reader. Was this your intention? How do you decide when to write in second-person versus first person etc.? Is any of this interpretation at all on point? In “Signifying Brown Bear,” I am referring to an actual brown bear (ie. Ursus arctos) and the poem is just kind of about how people/entities who I become close with can begin to feel like sweet-tender-almost-cryptozoological-creatures to me and I want to also just be a sweet-tender-almost-cryptozoological-creature—or hell, I’ll settle for even a plant or a rock—back to them. Anything but this warbling, incomplete, stammering-maunderer of a human being! (Exaggeration.) I do not want my humanity at times—my human-being-ing—which has been categorized, documented, and shrink-wrapped for societal use and relation, who is part of the decimation of Earth via capital. I want the freedom (and I’m sure we could say unfreedom) of the brown bear who is in relation to the Sycamore by the river, and the salmon floating above the stones, the water gliding over, ever-thinning rock into sand granules—slowly—and back again—and back. I don’t want to be (and can’t be, is perhaps my thesis) relegated to the realm of signifiers and signs imposed via any of the manifold categorization machines we navigate on the daily to obfuscate these kind of otherworldly, ancient connections I feel as Real. To decimate that last paragraph—I also believe in becoming fully-embodied/present in the form we are in in this life, too. So, it’s confusing, this ever-always-transforming-ing perceptioning. The confusion about what energy/thing I am and what you are is a little about what that poem is about, too. I was reading Agamben’s The Use of Bodies and came across this ancient Greek word, poiesis, which appears in the poem and means, “the activity in which a person brings something into being that did not exist before.” I love that idea, and think it is what we are here to do, in part. So often for me the unprecedented-something we are trying to bring into existence is ourselves and the art/energy we carry in us must be made into song. I want to always make the reader aware of their presence in my writing—to me writing is a collective act and readers are always existent, even if they never ‘read’ your work. The imagined, the dead, the unborn, the spiritually uncanonized, the already-gone-never-was reader, writer, seeker, be-er. I switch between tense often and freely, because in poetry, at least for me, we feel/fall into each word/line we write and there’s less of a need to be ‘coherent’ in the sense of the popular notion of storytelling/fiction, which (I might have another thesis here) feels like a symptom of capitalism, too. Of course it feels really nice to have a coherent story. I love television and pop culture. I want to write for television. I want to be perceived as coherent. But I want to say too: the ‘incoherence’ of poetry is a kind of coherence, a prayer toward a ‘new’ form, if you will, despite being so old itself. Poetry coheres to a perhaps more experimental way of telling a story, a precedentless next-ing, and this variation is vital—these unforeseen forms, stories, ways of being. We are a species that evolves, and because the mouth/mind is the site of evolution now, I am playing accordingly.

What ended up happening with MHP? Why did you decide to stop active involvement in it? What are you doing now in terms of day-to-day life? Monster House Press has evolved through many forms. In 2010, it began, semi-naively, as a collective publisher of zines and chapbooks in the eponymous punk house. It then expanded and evolved into a project I was maintaining, mostly on my own, from 2012-2016 in Bloomington, Indiana. In the summer of 2016, MHP rose again as a officially collective project—an amorphous mass, as we liked to call it—primarily because the workload had become unsustainable for me to do on my own, and we were doing more and more, gaining recognition, et cetera. We decided to lay MHP to rest at the end of the 2018, as many of us involved in keeping it going are moving onto graduate school and/or starting new projects/lives. It felt apt to end this specific instantiation in my career-form of publishing, as I have moved away from the punk/DIY scene from which it was born, and the name itself has too become divorced from its origin and who I/we was/were then. I’m sure I’ll always be editing, publishing, reading, designing and helping steward others’ work in this world, as that impulse is something part and parcel of my being, this collaboration; however, the terms and boundaries within this specific modality as MHP have expired to me. In my day-to-day life, I am a freelance graphic designer, artist, editor, and writer. I usually sit at my house with my dog, working on whatever project I have in my docket at the time, or go out to a coffee or tea house to do work. I also just finished auditing a graduate poetry workshop called Joy & Collaboration with Ross Gay, which was, in a word, divine—and I currently spend my days/time helping out with the growing at a communal greenhouse as well as generally just reading/writing/watching/listening to the Earth/Universe, hoping to be of service, use, and care.

What future projects are you working on? Do you still play music with organized groups? Have you thought of writing long-form fiction?

I’m hoping to start my MFA in Poetry next year. As far as writing projects—I’m writing a collection of sonnets about my alcoholism/being an alcoholic in the United States. (I’ve been sober for 5 years now.) The sonnets are these kind of little, tender love-songs to my alcoholic/former self (who I can never fully extinguish) which—I hope—also reckon with and help shed light on addiction, malevolent masculinity/whiteness, and which also seek to forgive and release—to heal. I also have this big, kind of far off ditty of a dream to open a Poetry Center one day, in the Midwest ideally, kind of a little like Poets House in NYC, where events, workshops, reading, writing, and magic can happen. A hub for poetics/healing/joy/collaboration. There will probably be an herbal/plant element too, somehow, as I love working with/growing plants. And music! I haven’t played music in an organized group in a while, but enjoy being able to play piano and saxophone here and there, when I can, however that happens. I helped transpose, sing, and record a score for a little art movie project, along with Ross Gay and Lauren Harrison, which was super delightful. Music is the literal heart of the world, imo. I listened to 36 days of music this year, ie. for 1/10 of the year I was listening to music, which was kind of staggering and incredible for me to realize. I love writing long and short form fiction, but have found it removes me from the world too intensely, which, I feel I am supposed to stay more rooted/involved in the World in a proactive sense, so I tend to write poetry and other forms over fiction. I am interested in the hybrid essay form—with poetry hidden inside—and creating/seeking new hybridized forms. There’s so much potential for greatness—and so much to come.

#richard wehrenberg #monster house press #hybrid essay #fiction #poetry #ross gay #lauren harrison #music #midwest #mfa #graphic design #wave books #andrew duncan worthington #bloomington #indiana #cleveland #akron

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karitxriki-a · 7 years ago

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“Just because I killed one person, it doesn’t mean I’m about to go on a murder spree!”

Murder Starters | Closed.

“AND WHO ASSURES THAT you’ll never make such a graveerror again, Eri?” – Better yet, whocontrols her? A touch as capable and haunting as her own needs not liberty, butrestriction. The hound who bares its teeth for far too long will soon get muzzled,for if it bites – and certainly, this girl did once bite – it would beput to rest. Death is quiet; a flash of light striking the pupil, and youunderstand it should hurt but it doesn’t, no; it’s a cradle, she cradled that man, turned his cheek so he’d avoid witnessing his own sure demise. It is hard to believe that such awicked power had only captured the life of one – or, perhaps, the life of two; for he himself witnessed a strangedeath soon thereafter. It was not physical, but rather emotional. Spiritual,one would say, if they were filled with optimism and wonder. Her mother’s lifewas ripped away from her own hands. A child born in damnation, plagued with a dementedability only meant to destroy and omit. There is no mercy for her; she has not killed again because he is hermuzzle.

His Death’shands curl surely around her throat in ropes and chains as black as muck androt. She has not killed more because he has conditioned her – trained her bodyand mind and other such factors to shrink back at the sight of a familiar person. Touching is hardly allowed. Intimacy is even worse, and love –why, that is surely most avoidable.She will not. No, she cannot, lestshe wants more ruin to follow in her footsteps, pressing in tightly like weightupon a pile of fresh snow. “You’venever terminated another life because I’ve prevented it from ever occurring again.You’ve abandoned your past of demolition for this life – a better life, in which you’re helping others. This is what you’redesigned to be.”

His eyesare of an animal, pockets of venom saturating his mouth so heavily he nearlythought it’d melt through his flesh. His head cranes slowly, watching the small,fragile girl before him with eyes of liquid gold. The silence unfurling into theroom like poisonous gas is so utterly disturbing that he can nearly hear hisblood course through his veins and tease his ear and he can taste it – taste that venom and rot betwixt shieldedlips. This girl before him is an error.And yet she is also a cure; this flaw in life’salgorithm proves, resiliently, to be useful. But it still carries burden,like now, when little feet and a tremulous voice demand something different, refuseto walk towards the chair that gives them purpose, a meaning for existing otherthan wasting up matter and space and the tired souls of whomever she’s peered upon.

“I know this may seem difficult, but youmust be obedient for me.” And slowly,a gloved hand reaches down to press against the back of her shoulder, beginning to usher the pale girl forward. The same hands which split bodies intwo and mauled, maimed, decimated not just anyone, but her – her. The weapon which kills is drawn, butdoes not attack. Instead, it simply grips onto her like void’s claws sinkingjust beneath the flesh in reminder that they arewhat ends this girl’s life; they are what brings flies and decay and gore, and she’d ought to comply to their demands.

“The less you try to fight back against this, thequicker we can finish. I can’t have you being disobedient again – it was such amess to clean up last time, wasn’t it?” Abeguiling hiss, one hand raising to gesture towards a chilled, metal chairperched a handful of yards away. Searing eyes remain fixed upon her – the subject;his subject, albeit he does not pushher forward. He waits for her to move on her own. Approach the reaper’s cradle, self-guiding towards assuring agony.

“Please, sit.”He stands straight, awaiting the other’s compliance without even a memory ofempathy embedded upon a youthful, spring face. “You were doing so wellthese past few days; there’s no need to ruin that.”

#[ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏғ sᴇʟғ; ᴏʙᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ sᴇʟғ. ] ic.#(v.) ᴍᴀɪɴ.#yunihon #abuse /#[ honestly i just wanted an excuse to use that first icon #it's late and i get rambly when im writing while tired #ERHIDCJKF ]

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damn-daemon · 7 years ago

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Healing and Heartache (Part 3) - Nick Jakoby x Female Reader

See Part 1 here See Part 2 here

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh my gosh, you guys. I am actually super nervous about how this one gets received. I’m not really sure how far into the ‘reader’ background you’re supposed to go, and the writer in me just kinda got really carried away. But personally, I love it and I hope you will too.

Warnings - no smut, language, angst, overuse of sake

Sometimes, happiness is not so hard to believe in.

You lose all track of time in that little restaurant. Admittedly, you had not planned on spending that much time with Nick. With the next day off, you had hoped to find a comfortable position in your bed before the real soreness kicked in, but once Nick got comfortable, you realize his is pretty great company. He can purposely be charming and funny, and damn it’s been a while since you’ve had a good laugh.

“Wait, wait,” you say, hand held up, noddles dangling dangerously between you and the bowl. “You seriously garden?”

Nick nods, mouth full. He offhandedly mentioned earlier how much easier it was eating this way. You thought he meant without the tusks, but he might have meant the chopsticks too. He wielded those things like a pro.

“Compost too.”

“Now you’re shitting me,” you say, feeling your eyebrows comically rise to your hairline. He chuckled deeply, like the sound was emanating from his chest. It was a nice sound.

“I shit you not,” he replied with a grin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Actually, there’s no shit at all. It’s mostly weeds and bad vegetables from my garden.”

For some reason, that line really gets you. It’s just the right amount of nonchalant to make you lose it. You drop your noodles back in their bowl and have to cover your mouth a moment until the laughter subsides.

Nick thinks your laughter sounds wonderful. The fact that it’s directed at what he’s said rather than at him or what’s been done to him makes it all the more beautiful. He had almost started to dislike laughter before you. Now he’s starting to remember that there’s something beyond the petty hate.

“You might be one of the strangest orcs I’ve ever met,” you admit, playing with the remaining food. “But, hey, credit where credit is due. I don’t garden. Can’t keep anything alive to save my life.”

Nick leans in, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, and for a moment you marvel at the different patterns on his skin. You hadn’t thought orcs were capable of indicating anything with their skin color, but you could swear Nick looks slightly flushed. You eyeball the empty glasses at the table. There were a lot more than you remember drinking.

“I hate to tell you this, (Y/N),” he whispers, “but you work in a hospital.”

“Well, if a cucumber comes in with pulmonary edema, they better not give him to me.”

And there you go again, laughing. There are tears in your eyes. It really brings out the color in them, and Nick decides that he likes them. They’re so expressive. Not like his. Orc eyes have evolved for a predatory nature. They didn’t crinkle when he laughed or have this strange ability to twinkle when something was on his mind. Other races thought human eyes weren’t much to marvel at. Nick though they were wrong.

“Ow,” you mumble as your back spasms against so much effort. Your body would be a killjoy.

“Are you okay?” Nick asks, voice all concern. That was more than what you got at the hospital. It was mostly ‘what were you thinings’ and ‘are you crazys’ there.

“Yeah. No. I will be,” you manage to say, stretching your back ever so slightly. “In case you didn’t notice, your race is incredibly strong, and apparently they don’t take well to waking up with strangers on top of them.”

Nick’s ears twitch. “Uh...look, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that.”

You smile. “Not what you think, I promise. This orc came in, not breathing, no pulse, nothing. I did the first thing that came to mind. Hopped right on the gurney and stared administering CPR. Turns out, last time he was conscious, someone was trying to kill him. So, when he sees me applying very uncomfortable pressure to his chest, he’s got no problem forcefully relocating me to the parking lot.”

Taking advantage of the brief silence, you shove more ramen in your mouth, not caring in the slightest that you look like a glutton, mostly because you are one. “Guess I should be grateful he didn’t punch me. I’ve had more black eyes than I can handle. You’re actually getting to see me in relatively good condition.”

You’ve almost finished your bowl when it occurs to you that Nick has been silent the entire time. Slowly, you glance up, and your gaze meets a stare of utter disbelief.

“What?”

“You did all that...for an orc.”

Nick had been enjoying your company, honestly it was probably one of the best experiences he’d had in some time, but he’d be lying if he said he had no doubts about you. There was always a voice in the back of his mind, whispering things. People are only nice because they want something, this is all going to end in a prank, something like that. It was his defense mechanism, that paranoid part of his mind protecting him when everything inevitably went wrong. It can’t hurt as much when he sees it coming.

But right now, that voice has gone completely silent.

“Of course I did,” you say, almost offended by the notion of the answer being anything else. “The people who come through those hospital doors, they aren’t human or orc or dwarf. They are my patients, and I will never do anything short of my damnedest to make sure they get cared for, that they don’t die without every possible avenue being exhausted to save them.”

And just like that, Nick has irrevocably placed all his trust in you. It won’t occur to him until later that night, when he can’t sleep because all this thoughts revolve around this conversation, but in your hands, right now, is more than he has given anyone in a long time.

You take a breath as Nick remains quiet. You’ve done it again; you’ve gone too far.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I, uh, I don’t mean to sound so...extreme. It’s sort of an automatic reaction these days. The number of times I’ve had to explain myself to people over giving a damn about someone who isn’t human is...infuriating really. So, I’m sorry if-”

Nick places his hand on yours across the table. You’re not sure if it’s the touch or that determined spark in his eyes that cuts you off.

“Never apologize for doing what you do,” he says in a stern voice that sounds so unlike him. “Do you have any idea how many humans I know who would defend others races like that, without a moment’s hesitation? I can count them on one hand, and that includes the orcs, dwarves, elves, what have you who would do the same. You have what the world needs to become a better place. Don’t be sorry for that.”

You turn your hand over in his.

“You have it too, you know.”

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

He tries to pull his hand back, but you hold it in place, insisting he meet your gaze again. That determination is gone, you see, because when the subject is about him, there’s always so much doubt. No one has ever given him reason to be confident about himself. Old men in suits would argue he was hired for diversity, not for skill, not for competence even. To them, he was a poster boy for a liberal agenda, not an orc who just wanted to do what he believed was right, despite all the odds.

It was so wrong.

You squeeze his hand. “I do.”

You don’t know it yet, but something has transpired between the two of you, a deeper connection that at some point in your life you had given up on ever knowing.

Some time later, the waitress has placed the bill on the table, a not so subtle hint to hurry up and get out of the restaurant. You snatch the paper away before Nick can get his hand on it, and smile at the slightly annoyed look on his face.

Your eyebrows raise slightly. “How much sake did you drink?”

Nick looks at the table. Most of the glasses had been cleared. He hadn’t meant to drink much, but when you first arrived, his nerves would not calm. It wasn’t until the conversation had really taken off that he had been able to sit back and enjoy himself. However, the sake still flowed and he still drank it. It didn’t seem so bad.

“I didn’t drink that much.”

You bite your lip, reexamining the placement of the decimal point. “Yeah, okay, you stay there, maybe drink a little water, and I’ll go pay the bill.”

But Nick is not about to have that as he moves to stand. “Hey now, I’m an orc, remember? We can handle our alcohol better than hu-”

And there it is. The look. You knew it very well from your college days, that wide-eyed, sudden realization that you clearly should have stopped drinking at least five drinks ago. Sake wasn’t known for being strong, but this sake was, which was why you ate here as much as you did.

Of course, Nick hadn’t known that.

You stand and put a hand on his shoulder as he sways slightly, barely choking out “-mans.”

“Okay, big stuff, sit back down,” you say, pushing lightly on his chest. He practically collapses in the booth. “I’ll come back for you when I’m done.”

One payment (and mental negotiation that you won’t go to the mall this month) later, you and Nick are standing on the sidewalk, squinting at the last light of the day. You herd him slowly to your truck, opening the door for him like the chivalrous woman you are.

Unlike most under the influence guys (and girls) you have dealt with, Nick clearly understands that he is in no position to find his vehicle and drive it home for the evening. That’s a breath of fresh air you hadn’t realized you needed.

You hop in the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys slightly. “Alright, so where do you-”

As soon as the engine turns, orcish music blasts over your speakers.

You hit the power on your radio so fast, you think that maybe Nick didn’t catch it. But you refuse to look over to check.

The brief silence feels like an eternity to you.

“...you listen to orcish music?”

“Well, no, I-”

“I’ve never met a human who liked it. Well, besides the ones who like to hang with the Fogteeth at their clubs.” You glance over at Nick, and he manages to look a little sheepish. “Not that you seem the type.”

You roll your eyes, pulling out onto the street. Nick lamely mumbles his address. The cab is silent.

Guilt starts to eat away at you. He hadn’t meant any harm, and honestly, you can’t blame him for asking.

“It’s...it’s not that I listen to it often, and certainly not them,” you say eventually, referring to the particular band on the radio. “They’re tryhards who think if they say fuck the police every other line, they’ll become some kind of lyrical legends.”

There’s a beat.

You blink and sigh. And there you went and did it. The whole point was to make it look like you didn’t have some strange fascination with orcs. Good going.

There was just something about Nick that made you want to just spill your guts every five minutes.

You aren’t sure if you love or hate that.

Nick leans back in his seat, looking at you and feeling remarkably sober all of a sudden. “Do...do you speak orcish?”

He watches you glance between him and the road multiple times, fighting some mental battle over what to say.

“A little...a lot,” you admit, shrugging. “Look, part of the reason Cedars-Sinai accepted me is because they needed someone fluent in orcish to help them with patient care.”

Nick blinks slowly. “That’s not something they teach in school.”

Not in high school certainly. None of the teens had ever wanted to speak his language. Everyone wanted to learn elvish. In certain colleges, there were courses, but a medical student was hardly the type to add that to their already busy schedule. It was a language that was difficult to learn as it was, and usually hard to pronounce for anyone who wasn’t an orc.

“I didn’t learn it in school,” you say, sighing. “It’s not that I’m...ashamed or anything. It’s just that when people find out, it brings up more questions than I’m willing to answer is all.”

He gets it. Oh, does he get it. Questions were all he got for months as he was trying to become a cop, questions about every aspect of his life that certainly weren’t part of the normal requirements. He liked getting to know people, not being interrogated about what he thought about a particular event and if it made him angry, or why he liked this band and did he know they said terrible things against cops. Of course he knew. He hated that song. It was never ending.

“I won’t ask,” Nick says earnestly. “But, if you ever want to tell me, I’ll listen. People tell me I’m good for that, at least.”

There’s something in the tone of his voice that depresses you, and you can’t help but feel like you owe him the story as your chest starts to tug again. What he said to you back in the restaurant was probably the greatest thing anyone has told you since...well, long before you came to Los Angeles.

“My dad was a farmer,” you start, choosing to focus solely on the road. “He hired only orcs as farmhands. I always assumed it was because they were stronger, made for a faster workday, stuff like that. I, uh...I must have spent hours out there with them, each and every day. Sunrise to sunset, I’d be throwing tiny bales of hay right alongside them. They taught me the language, that way I could listen in as Tommy complained about his wife nagging at him or Walter talked about how he was going to retire in one more week. He never did.”

Nick’s eyes widen slowly as he listens to you confess your childhood to him. He can hear it in your voice, can see it in the way your lower lip quivers ever so slightly. This is something deeply personal, something few people ever got to hear.

And you were telling it to him.

He gulps, the nerves suddenly returning.

Your eyes take on a different look, he sees. The distant, glazed look of a woman caught in a memory.

“One day these punks from town came over. They were the kind of people who were never going anywhere in their lives, you could tell from one look. They started messing with the farmhands, going on about how useless and ugly they were, how they’re taking jobs from good, hardworking humans. But, of course, they don’t fight back. An orc attacks a human, he’s bound to be run out of town like he’s some feral dog.

“And that’s when my dad comes into the field. He was never the most emotional of men. He’d respond to I love you with a grunt. But he steps right in front of those orcs, his guys, and points a shotgun at those boys. And he tells them ‘these are some of the hardest working men I have ever had the privilege of meeting. I can walk away from them and trust that everything will be okay. I can leave my daughter with them and know that she is safe. I can’t do that with the likes of you.’“

Now you’re crying again. You miss your dad so much. He had the emotional range of an old school cowboy, but he never tried to crush your dreams, and he never spoke poorly of anyone who did not deserve it.

“When he died, five orc clans came to his funeral. Five.” You shake your head. “I’ve never seen the likes of it before.”

And then after, your mom fired all the orcs and hired those same punks who dared think they were better, but you don’t mention that to Nick.

The truck falls silent as Nick absorbs everything you said to him. Your father reminded him very much of his, a hardworking, stand up guy who was both respected and hated. It seems they both had died before their time.

He wants to do nothing more than reach for your hand and hold it, to show you he’s here and he cares that you told him, that you opened yourself up to him and bore a part of your soul that you clearly keep so close.

Instead, he just mumbles, “Thank you.”

You finally pull up to his house. It’s small and has only one level, but it’s far better than your cramped apartment. He’s got a yard, a small porch, and...

“Well, there it is,” you say with a small smile. “Your garden.”

There’s something about the look in your eyes, the curve on your lips as you stare almost lovingly at the garden on the side of his house that prompts Nick to say it. Either that or it’s the sake.

“Do you want to do this again some time?” he blurts, slightly unnerved by the sudden confusion on your face. “I mean, maybe not me drinking so much that you need to drive me home, but everything else that is.”

He just wants you to say yes, because suddenly he’s so afraid he won’t see you again after today.

“You mean, like a date?”

Oh.

Oh that was what he asked for, wasn’t it?

A date.

Oh.

OH.

He rubs the back of his head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be that. You and I can just hang out together, somewhere, doing...something.”

Smooth.

You lean in, grinning. “Like a date?”

Nick blinks. “If you want to call it that. Are we calling it that?”

And you laugh, but Nick can tell it’s not at him, not really. There’s a warmth to it, like happiness is bursting out of you and this is the only way you can express it. He finds it calming.

In perfect orcish, you reply, “It’s a date, then.”

Okay, guys, I’m crying. Please be kind.

Tags! @xxdarkdarlingxx @homra-the-red-clan @frankie2902 @littlemessyjessi @ivannesque @isisnicole @notaliteraltoad @cheshagirl @annwoods91 @ever-hungry-aria @robotic-loser

Did I miss you? Do you want to be added? Do you hate my guts? Let me know!

#bright fanfiction #bright #bright netflix #nick jakoby #nick jakoby fanfiction #nick jakoby x reader #jakoby x reader

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kylorengarbagedump · 7 years ago

Text

Unprofessional Services: Chapter 5

Read on AO3. Part 4 here. Part 6 here.

Summary: Everyone has fuck-ups on their job, right?

Words: 2700

Warnings: Mind-fuckery

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello! I so appreciate all of the new comments and patience that y'all are giving me! I cranked this chapter out in a few days as I was working, so, be proud of me, please! I've been feeling more inspired since TLJ came out, and I have a new idea and direction for this story. I have no idea if I can pull it off because I'm still, somewhat, flying by the seat of my pants, but... hey! Wish me luck.

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I love you so much!

If the stuffy atmosphere of the war room hadn’t been enough on its own to paralyze you, the swarm of eyes on you did the rest. Two rows of high-ranking officers swiveled in near-unison to greet you as the blast doors parted, all regarding you like an intruding insect. At the head of the table, General Hux raised a brow. You raised one back. He wasn’t going to intimidate you. Scanning the table, you found no evidence of your client. Kylo Ren hadn’t even arrived yet. But you shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Officers.” You straightened your shoulders, taking one of the open seats at the end of the table. Hux’s eyes hadn’t left you.

“Doctor,” he said. “I assume you have a reason for intruding.”

“I’m not a…” You bit your tongue. “I do. I’m here on the Supreme Leader’s orders, even.” Smiling, you shrugged. “I assume that’s good enough for you.”

The officers turned their collective gaze to Hux. The steel of his stare hardened. He shifted in his seat as if to admonish you, and behind you, the doors parted again. His brow furrowed, and the other officers kept their eyes from lingering. You didn’t have to turn to know it was Kylo Ren.

“Officer.” The sharp edge in Ren’s voice sent a shiver up your spine. “We had a discussion about this.”

You spun in your chair, meeting him with a wide smile. The oppression of his presence almost--almost cracked your facade. “With all due respect, Commander, your authority doesn’t discharge me.”

His head tilted. You wondered how frequently he’d been actually, legitimately challenged. The lightsaber on his hip made you think it wasn’t often.

“She’s right, Ren. Leader Snoke’s orders. You understand, I’m sure.” Hux’s voice was slick and sticky--his delight dripping from his teeth. Amazing how the shared desire to embarrass Kylo Ren could bring you together.

The weight of Ren’s gaze floated from you to the weaselly ginger across the room. His leather gloves squelched, and he brushed past you, taking a seat nearer to the General. You realized, then, with vindictive glee, you’d taken Ren’s spot. Your approach was already working.

Of course, you’d be wrong to deny that the meeting wasn’t drier than the vacuum of space. There was little they said that you cared about or wanted to invest in--strategy this, resources that. What interested you was the way Ren and Hux sniped from only feet away--each of them crafting verbal barbs to spit into the eyes of the other. The inferior officers seemed accustomed to this. Not one of them acknowledged the intermittent spat happening in the room. But to you, it was new. And it was delicious. Folding your fingers together, you leaned forward.

“It’d be just as effective to corner the fleet with a few dreadnaughts, General.”

“The idea that the Resistance would sit still during a full-on assault is ludicrous.”

“Apparently not more ludicrous than the idea of somehow siphoning half their support from the New Republic.”

“The Republic is weak! The First Order can offer--”

“Nothing that the current administration would accept based on loyalties alone.”

Hux reddened, teeth clenched. “Leia Organa’s influence dwindles by the day, Ren.” When the Commander failed to respond, Hux’s lips twisted into a grin. “Or didn’t you read that report?”

Your eyes widened. That was strange. You watched Kylo Ren’s body--he hadn’t moved, either out of restraint or something else. The officers at your side were silent--you weren’t even sure if they had taken a breath. The moment passed, and he cocked his head.

“I fail to see how that changes the impracticality of your suggestion.” He stood, and you blinked, prepared to scramble to your own feet. “Alert me when you identify a solution that doesn’t waste my time.”

With that, Ren marched across the room, and you leapt up, nodding at the officers behind you before you hopped through the door to match his pace. Thoughts raced--you were almost certain that Hux had inadvertently revealed a crack in Ren’s mental armor. Something about the exchanged bugged you--Kylo Ren’s pause, the smarmy little smirk on Hux’s dumb ginger face.Then the fact that he got up and left. That classic avoidance, again. You cleared your throat, but he spoke before you.

“Your presence is a mixture of both irritating and unnecessary.”

“Too bad for you, then.” Your physical endurance was waning next to Kylo Ren’s furious pace. “You’re stuck with whatever I determine is clinically appropriate.”

He didn’t turn, but you swore you heard the static of a scoff. “Clinically appropriate.” His fists were tight. “What clinical application involves you clinging to my every move?”

Huffing, you shrugged. “Whichever one was determined to be most effective at pissing off Commanders of the First Order.”

Ren said nothing. Before you could try and poke at him, your name rang out behind you--a familiar voice. Rue’s. You hesitated, head whipping between your friend and your client. Without an explanation, you knew it looked strange. At the same time, having the conversation about your special assignment in the middle of the hall seemed less than ideal. Best to wrap it up quickly. You spun, waving.

“Hey,” you said, irritated at how out of breath you sounded. “What’s, uh, what’s up?”

Rue raised an eyebrow, looking behind you at the disappearing Commander. “What’s up with that?”

Your fingers twitched in anxiety, and you tossed a half-hearted look over your shoulder. “Huh? With what?”

She laughed, folding her arms. “I mean, what’s up with you running after Kylo Ren?”

“Run--running after Kylo Ren? Me?” You shook your head. “No, way, I wasn’t…” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m, uh, y’know. This is client-stuff.”

Her jaw dropped. “Client-stuff? As in, Kylo Ren being the client? As in, your anti-therapy project is the fucking Commander--”

“Shh!” You looked over your shoulder again and started pedaling back. “We’ll talk later, okay? Later!”

“Uh, okay!” Rue threw her hands up in the air, grinning. “Later!”

You tripped over yourself to catch up with Kylo Ren--he had gotten what seemed to be a mile ahead of you in mere seconds. Grumbling to yourself, you followed him through the halls of the Finalizer to an area you’d never been. You were greeted with entrances to four huge chambers, the hall dead-ending in a pile of decimated droid parts. The damage to the bodies was clean, like they’d been run through by a hot knife. Your eyes landed on Ren’s lightsaber.

He passed his hand in the air and the blast door near the end of the hall opened. You kept to his heels to prevent him from shutting you out--and realized once you entered that this was a conditioning chamber. It was entirely empty. The walls and floors were all black, with not a single window to disrupt the slate appearance. At the ceiling, a massive white light illuminated the room, as if to imitate a sun. Poorly, at that.

“I suppose you expect me to be intimidated.” You crossed your arms.

“No.” Ren’s right hand went to his lightsaber, his left fiddling with the air. Seconds later, the walls opened, several hatches sliding to reveal droid dummies which thrust into the room on metal arms. They twisted and swiveled, their arms flailing, almost taunting. “I expect you to be as ineffective as you always are.”

A raging, terrible crack cut through the air when his lightsaber came to life, and he moved toward the droids, twirling the blade with an arcing, melodic hum.

You supposed you had expected him to be clumsy, somehow, maybe even bullish. But Kylo Ren’s brutal aggression was entrancing. He swung at the first droid, cutting through its body with a short, easy spin, sidestepping the second when it jerked into his path. Like his saber possessed a mind of its own, it whirled in a wide circle before Ren drove it through the droid’s chest. The other droids jostled in agitation, actively pursuing him, now--three, four, five, six, cornering him to the wall. He bent low, extending his arm before slashing through two in a single slice, the top halves of their torsos crashing to the floor. One long leg stepped toward the crowd, his wrist limbering as he clipped one, two, three droids in brilliant red trails of light.

The last one seemed to operate on panic programming, its metal guide flying it high into the air, out of the radius of Ren’s saber. He reached out with his free hand, and for a moment, it was still. Then you could see it: the droid shaking, trembling, as if it were trapped in a quake, its body growing one dent, two dents, three. Your arms fell to your sides, your lips parting--and then the droid imploded in a nova of white sparks. Forgetting your facade, you squealed, shielding your face with your arms and ducking.

But you were only hit by silence.

A moment passed, and you lowered your arms, cheeks red. You’d let him get the better of you. But not for long.

“Really?” you said. “You think that killing a few mindless droids is impressive?” You shrugged. “Starting to see why Hux doubts you so much.”

Ren stepped forward. Noticeably, he hadn’t killed his saber. He didn’t speak, but waved his hand in the air again. The metal arms retreated into the walls, replaced by steel, spherical orbs. You raised a brow. Ren’s fingers twitched, and three of the orbs spat out blue-tinted holograms. There appeared three identical figures, their arms covered in layers of armor, their lower bodies wrapped in flowing fabric. All three possessed a curved double-blade, and all three were faceless, their heads concealed by columnar, domed helmets.

Their images flickered, and they readied their weapons--paused in defense, waiting for Ren’s move.

He spun on his heel, charging them, and they leapt away, noiselessly landing several feet from him. Kylo Ren whirled toward the one on the far left, momentum bringing his saber down with vicious speed, but the projection escaped him, spinning its double blade and slicing toward his head. Ren leaned, dodging the blow, and spun once more, tossing his lightsaber to his left hand and dragging it through the hologram’s waist while he landed on two feet. The projection blinked, then fizzled out.

You realized you’d been watching at this point, entirely hypnotized. It wasn’t just watching a fight--it was the way his body moved. It was mesmerizing. Kylo Ren commanded the room, his ruthlessness seemed choreographed. His breath came, deep and slow, between each effortless movement, vocalized static in the mask. It had never been more clear to you that he was not just an overhyped paperweight. He was, to the core of his being, a trained and precise warrior.

Shaking your head, you cleared your throat. You needed to be doing your job.

“So what happened in the war room?” You stepped back, leaning against the door. “Hux seemed to get under your skin there.”

Ren was silent, switching his saber back to his right hand, limbering his wrist again as he approached the second projection. The hologram jerked back, winding its blade above its head and thrusting at Ren.

“Did something bother you about him insinuating you can’t read, or something?”

Feinting right, Ren stepped left, spinning while he whipped the blade toward the projection. It skated past by centimeters, and Ren twirled, raising the saber above his head and slashing down. Another miss.

“No,” you said. “That couldn’t be it. It was something else he said that bothered you.” Tapping your chin, you recounted Hux’s words. Leia Organa’s influence dwindles by the day…

Growling, Kylo Ren stomped forward, slashing again, and again--the third time, he caught the projection, cutting it straight through the shoulder. Like the one before it, it winked, hissed, and flashed into nothingness.

You pursed your lips. “What about Leia Organa?”

“Quiet.”

You smirked.

The third projection spun its weapon between its hands before rushing Ren--he stepped, leaned, ducked to miss its swings, swiping at it as he did. It hopped on its toes, slicing for his head, the edges of its double blade whizzing by his neck.

“So it is something about Organa,” you said. “Kind of pathetic you can’t talk about it.”

“Quiet,” he huffed, almost mis-stepping straight into the hologram’s blade.

You laughed. This was, for some reason, fun. “Did she hurt your little feelings, Ren?” you said. “Did she make you cry?”

At that, the laser of Ren’s gaze shot straight at you--but the seconds-long distraction was enough to let the hologram stab straight through his chest. He froze, an alarm screeching through the room, and the hologram disappeared.

The shrill whine lingered for several moments before winding down, and Ren remained, stationary. Statuesque. The excitement bubbling in your chest was almost too much to contain. You couldn’t just let him off easy.

“Wow,” you said. “You expect to serve Leader Snoke, but you can’t even take care of a few holograms. What does that--”

Ren rounded on you, his lightsaber still sizzling in the air. “I warned you not to play this game with me.”

You sneered. “I can do whatever I want, Commander.”

“Can you?”

Before you could respond, Kylo Ren released his saber, returning it to his hip, and started moving toward you. The instinct to bolt lit up your brain, but you remained still, thrusting out your chin and crossing your arms. He cleared the room in wide, strong steps, the weight of his stride resonating to the soles of your feet. You swallowed, paralyzed, as he reached up, pushed the locks on his helmet, and, after a quick second, tossed it to the side. Regret plummeted from your throat and through your stomach. Oh, fuck--

His face, much younger than you’d expected, was blessed with a high nose and high cheekbones carved out by what you could only assume would be the Maker (That’s if there was one--Ren was giving you faith). They contrasted with his full, pink lips and hazel eyes. Waves of his dark hair stuck to the sweat on his temples. All of this on top of his massive, powerful frame that threatened to pin you to a corner.

The heat that raced through your blood was, to your horror, refreshing. Kylo Ren’s words echoed in your mind. Release. You want me to give it to you. You steeled your jaw to prevent it from trembling. His eyes were dark with fury. With more. Your hands were sweating. You balled them into fists.

“Still took your helmet off,” you breathed. “Looks like I’m winning.”

Those stupidly beautiful, plush lips curled into a smirk. Your eyes couldn’t leave his stare. He leaned forward, planting a hand next to your skull, the other tracing the line of your jaw, leather catching on the delicate skin. Ren was close. So close, you could count the beauty marks on his face. So close, his breath was warm when met your own. So close, if you shifted in just the right--wrong--way, your mouth would graze his.

In the back of your head, you remembered Fent. In the back of your head, you wished you hadn’t.

“No,” he purred. “You aren’t.”

None of this do you remember: the pull on your skull, the starbright, searing pain ripping the seams from your mind, the lightning strike of emptiness, razed ground in its wake, the crumpling of your limbs, like paper, to the floor, or the time that forgot you, a wilted lump in space.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #unprofessional services #fanfiction problems

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thalassomania · 7 years ago

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so here’s my super-duper belated @danganronpasecretsanta gift for @ofdesperationis. it’s not finished--i’ve been a complete mess for a while now and i’m becoming aware that i may never be able to get this done.

but i wanted to submit what i have because i wrote approx. 14 pages and 8600 words. there was supposed to be more here and maybe there will be at some point but here’s everything i had.

trigger warnings include a lot of unreality, violence, and way too much despair. also spoilers for dr1, sdr2, dr3, and probably ndrv3 but i can’t remember at this point. i’m sorry, agh... i hope this is suitable at best. i can send other plot details too if need be.

main characters: junko enoshima, mukuro ikusaba, izuru kamukura

Junko Enoshima was a queen.

“Princess” was far too childish of a name for her, “empress” was nice but altogether too serious, and “Her Glorious Majesty of Despair” was apparently a mouthful. Being called a queen was precisely what she wanted, and she lived for it.

Any queen of her stature deserved a palace, and Junko was proud of her own. She placed a gloved hand over her forehead like a makeshift visor as she observed the castle's towers, stretching upwards into the sky. Her home was perfect, just as she was; unfortunately, though, her garden was still in need of work.

With a sigh gently carried by the breeze, Junko returned to her task. She turned toward her rose bushes and gingerly trimmed some wayward stems, wielding an oversized pair of rose-gold scissors and humming to herself. She paused occasionally to pluck a rose and place it in her cascade of pinkish-blonde hair, slowly becoming the closest possible approximation to a human bouquet.

As she reached out to pick another flower, her routine was interrupted with a sharp jab into her finger. “Ah!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand back. A thorn had made a minute hole in her pristine white glove, and a droplet of blood had begun to stain the area.

It was so charming that Junko couldn't help herself—she let out a stream of giggles as she held her pricked finger in front of her face. There was something uniquely endearing about it, especially when she considered what would happen if her blood didn't clot. Each time she raised her hand more ichor would fall from it, until anemia got the best of her and she collapsed, as if sleeping, into the garden that had caused her untimely demise.

The despair of the idea—killed by the flowers she loved so dearly—was intoxicating, as was the smell of the roses in her hair. She twirled, her magnificent skirt almost catching on the rose bushes that surrounded her. As her shoes pressed into the grass, she thought of the roots below stretching downward further and further, just as her tendrils of despair had ensnared those who dared stand in her way....

“Shh. Over here!”

Speak of the devil. Junko came to a quick stop and lifted her head in the direction of the noise. The rustling of the leaves couldn't have been more obvious. With her scissors piercing the earth like a sword, she lifted her skirt and began a silent patrol through the garden. There was at least one intruder in her midst—likely two, one speaking to the other—and she wasn't about to let such things slide. She couldn't deny loving the feeling of her personal spaces being soiled, but she loved spreading that despair to others even more.

There were two of them, as it turned out. Two small girls, too young to have wandered off on their own unless parents weren't an issue; good parenting was in short supply, Junko supposed. The taller of the two had countless clovers woven into her twin braids, so long that they reached her ankles and occasionally tangled with various twigs and other such trappings. The shorter ducked under an obscenely large hat, perhaps to shield her pale skin from the glow of the sun. They were smiling and giggling to each other as they wandered through the garden, and Junko smiled to force down an imminent surge of nausea.

“Hey. Hey,” the taller said, grasping the tiny hands of her companion. “This is nice, right? We can still find places to play.”

The other blinked dully, seemingly half-awake. “Uh...uh-huh.”

“There are still some good places.” The taller grinned. “Let's stay hopeful, alright?”

A slow nod. “'Kay.”

Junko could only watch their banter for so long before uncomfortable memories surged in her chest and she found it impossible to restrain herself. Sweeping her hair back behind her shoulders, she rose to her full height and looked down upon her unwanted visitors. “Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing here?”

The taller girl jumped in surprise, immediately looking up to face Junko. Her smaller companion followed suit. “S-So sorry, Miss! We...we were just—”

“Intruding where you don't belong is what you were doing,” Junko corrected, folding her arms across her chest. “You have no idea just how much time I spend in this garden each and every day! I'll have to make you pay for entering my private quarters....”

“Please don't, Miss!” The taller girl's hands curled into fists. “We didn't do anything wrong! We were just looking for a new place to play, ma'am...I mean, Miss...I mean—!”

“Hush, child.” Junko stepped closer, light as a spider's web on the wind, and cupped the girl's chin in her hand. Blood smeared across her skin as Junko's gaze darkened, possessed with an ability far beyond anyone's understanding. “Feel as I feel.”

The briefest of locked gazes was enough to change something in the little girl—the light in her stare faded as her shoulders relaxed, her face devoid of expression.

The other girl fidgeted, lifting the brim of her hat to get a better look at her friend. “Nnah...Tenko, what's wrong?”

A sharp turn caused Junko's fierce eyes to meet hers. What little strength rested in her face melted almost instantly, replaced with an uncanny flatness. “...Ah....”

“That's better, isn't it?” Junko chirped, rising to her feet once more. “Maybe you'll think twice next time you try sticking your noses where they don't belong.”

“...Himiko...” the one called Tenko mumbled, her voice soft, “...what are we doing here?”

“...playin'?” Himiko replied, as if she had forgotten the reason she had gone outside at all.

“This is...no fun.” Tenko reached out to take Himiko's hand, but seized her wrist instead—the motion was sudden and painful for both parties, and she immediately set her free. “Let's go.”

Himiko nodded silently, her hat bobbing as she did, and the two children stumbled back into the woods. Junko felt the heaviness settling over their hearts and sighed happily; after all, girls their age were a breeze to turn. She took a deep gulp of the despair permeating the garden air, letting it fill her lungs and settle inside her like a newfound friend.

“Junko?” A voice from somewhere inside, calling her name. “Junko? Where are you?”

Excitedly, Junko let her head tilt upward—she'd know that voice from anywhere. “Coming!” she trilled, spinning around to fetch her scissors.

As she danced out of her garden and into the castle, a few clouds of greenish mist settled around the woods. Beyond them, all anyone could see was the dilapidated remains of what had once been grand buildings, the sorry chunks of asphalt that had once been streets, and most importantly, an entirely decimated campus that had once been known as Hope's Peak Academy.

♡

The clink of a porcelain teacup against its saucer brought Junko back to awareness. Time ceased flowing in her personal chambers—she had no idea how long she'd tuned out her sister's incessant rambling. Regardless, she cocked her head and tried to pick up at least a few words so she wouldn't get chewed out.

“...and environmental conditions are steadily deteriorating, with at least two surviving species of flowers finally giving in over the past week. Though their loss is unconfirmed, they will be assumed extinct until they are rediscovered somewhere in town.”

“Mm.” Junko sipped her tea, which had gone unpleasantly lukewarm. Despair flooded her thoughts. “How sad.”

“Very.” Mukuro Ikusaba bowed lightly, her hands linked. “Is there anything you'd like me to say to the general public on your behalf?”

“Nah,” Junko replied, casually placing her saucer on the miniature table before her. “Honestly, I couldn't care less.”

Mukuro's cheeks turned a blistering red. “S-Sister...please, listen to me. I've been handling your affairs for months now—the least you could do is respect the effort I'm going through.”

“Respect?” Junko giggled into her palms. “What made you ever think I respected you, or even cared?” With a delighted cackle, she stuck out a leg at just the right angle to kick a teacup off the table.

“Ah, hold on,” Mukuro said, darting forward to pick up the discarded pottery as it landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. “Let me—”

“Oopsie!” Junko sprang to her feet and pressed her shoe onto the teacup. It shattered under the sudden weight, splintered shards littering the area around her ruby-red heels. “Seems as if I took a wrong step...upupu! Still feel like cleaning up after me?”

Mukuro lowered her head, her dark eyes glinting with recognition as she familiarized herself with Junko's latest method of pushing her. “With pleasure, dear sister,” she said as she cupped the pieces in her hands, the off-white color contrasting with the black leather of her gloves.

“That's more like it, mm?” Junko leaned back in her chair, coated in enough overly ornate decorations and fabrics to be called a throne, and grinned. “Finally, a task befitting of someone as lowly as you....”

For a brief moment, Junko could taste her sister's despair on her tongue. In the next moment, Mukuro charged at her and threw the teacup's remains straight into her face like a grenade. “Aieee!” she shrieked, flailing ineffectively. “You got me!”

Mukuro instinctively backed away from the thrashing mass of lace, velvet, and porcelain fragments. “It seems as if I have. Feeling the despair yet?”

“Only in the way you know best,” Junko replied as her body relaxed. “Sadly, you're still a bit too predictable...I daresay I'm feeling a whole new form of despair just watching you struggle.”

Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “Tsk. Fine.”

“I'm growing bored....” Junko stood up, brushing the last of the teacup from her skirt. “I think it's playtime!” With a gleeful twirl, she picked up a large plush rabbit from the foot of her throne and wrapped her arms around it. “Isn't that right, little one?”

“Playtime...?” Mukuro paused, uncertain, before the reality of the situation came to her. “Oh, right. Enjoy yourself, then. I'll be cleaning the kitchen in the meantime.”

“Just because you tell me to do it doesn't mean I will! Hm...maybe you should be the Super High School Level Maid,” Junko called as she left the room, stroking her plush's floppy ears. “All you need is a short dress and some revealing panty-shots.”

Mukuro had an indignant reply prepared, but bit her tongue to stop from embarrassing herself further; after all, Junko had already slammed the tearoom door behind her.

♡

The Despair Castle—a tentative name, but a fitting one at the very least—had more than its fair share of rooms, and Junko had reason to love each and every one. Her bedroom always smelled of incense and allowed her to sleep on the finest of mattresses the world over. Her bathroom gave her a place to bathe in water saturated with rose petals, and she couldn't stop herself from chuckling at her warped reflection in the marble tiling. Even her dining room, which didn't need to be anything more than drab as drab could be, was decorated with flags in garish colors, paintings several feet tall, and custom dinnerware emblazoned with bear-shaped symbols.

Junko's playroom was by far her favorite, though, since it was the one room she didn't have to share with anyone; more accurately, the only room no one else was allowed to enter without her explicit permission. Even Mukuro grew boring after a while, and her toys were always waiting for her when she needed a change of pace. Sitting in the center of the circular room and surrounded by massive pillows and plush dolls, Junko hummed a surreal little tune and ran a brush through her seemingly endless locks of hair.

“Hm...oh, I'm sorry! Do you want a turn?” Junko asked the doll sitting in her lap. She used her free hand to tilt its resin head up and down in a gesture reminiscent of a nod and, with a cheerful smile, began to brush its hair instead of her own. The brush lightly tugged at the doll's pink hair, which ended in graceful little curls at its shoulders—the treatment wasn't doing it any good, but Junko didn't seem to mind. She found a strange sense of comfort in the rhythm of the brush and the way the curls sprang back into place each and every time.

“Feels nice, huh?” Junko asked the doll, moving its ball-joined arms up and down. “Bet you feel pretty silly for having failed me, Ryota.” She turned it around so it faced her, and she found herself earnestly smiling at its lifelike features—the “Ryota” this doll was modeled after had been captured perfectly. She admired the thin lines around the mouth and the faint dark rings underneath the eyes, chuckling even now at the anxiety visible in its features.

“Mhm! Pretty silly,” she repeated to herself as she placed the Ryota doll down beside her. “A panicked mess, too scared to do anything but cry like a baby...I'd be feeling the despair already if I were you. At least you're not alone, right?”

Giggling to herself, she lifted a smaller china doll with a nurse's uniform onto her lap. “That's right!” she said, in a purposely high-pitched voice to imitate this new arrival. “At least you're not alone! We'll never be apart anymore...we can cry together...!”

“You heard the girl!” Junko said to the Ryota doll, placing the nurse next to it. “You and Mikan can be together, okay? It was what you really wanted...or, at least, what she really wanted. I guess you can't really move without some divine intervention, but beggars can't be choosers. Now then...who else wants some special playtime with their queen?”

“Ooh!” Mikan chimed in. “I think Nagito does!” Junko rested on her stomach, now at the doll's “eye” level, and angled her arm so she was pointing to a wall-mounted shelf.

“Oh, really?” Hopping to her feet while trying not to dislodge anything in her pillow fort, Junko grabbed a white-haired porcelain doll and cradled it in her arms. It was well-worn from hours of its owner's brand of play, its hair brittle and paint chipped in places; despite the damages, though, its tired smile remained intact.

“Is she telling the truth?” she asked the doll, stroking its chest through its shirt. “I'd hate for anyone to be lying to me....”

“No liars here!” Junko piped up, in her Mikan voice. “Nagito told me he wants to be with you all day long, and go with you everywhere in the castle! Maybe even...in your bedroom?”

“Is this true, Nagito?” she asked, her pitch lowering at the drop of a hat.

“It's true, milady,” she replied in Nagito's voice—a bit deeper than her own, and just husky enough to sound sick. “I want to be by your side...forever.”

“Forever?” Junko spun around, pressing the doll against her ribcage. “That's a tall order, sir...Just what would we do together for all that time?”

“Well, if we really had an eternity together, I'd let you brush my hair and dress me in any way you like.” She made the Nagito doll's eyelids flutter cutely. “We could take baths together, and eat at the same table...that is, if you'd be willing to put up with garbage like me for that long. If not, I could always eat off the floor with your sister....”

“Even she's better than you,” Junko retorted, poking Nagito's cheek. “I can't put up with your self-hatred and hope bull for that long. Besides, I'm already spoken for! That reminds me....” She dropped the doll, causing it to land on the enlarged stomach of one of her plush bears. “I think I have someone I need to check up on.”

“Please, oh please, don't leave us!” Junko's Ryota voice was wobbly in a comedic sense. “We need you here, miss Junko! It's not the same without you! I'd rather die than spend another moment alone....” The Mikan doll, humorously, fell onto its side.

“Then suffer,” Junko replied to herself, smirking. Her eyes flashed as she pressed her foot into the carpet, just inches away from where the Ryota doll sat. “And who said you were on first-name privileges? I certainly don't remember saying it....”

“Not me, ma'am,” Mikan cut in, still toppled over. “Maybe he's a glutton for punishment.”

“Is that so?” Junko asked, tapping one finger against her chin. “I have a dungeon I need to visit...I simply don't have time to punish you appropriately! All I can say for now is that you certainly didn't deserve to touch the same hairbrush as your one and only Queen of Despair, Junko Enoshima!” A light kick sent the Ryota doll flying across the room, landing in a corner to be neglected for at least a week. When she didn't have time to enact one of her favorite ironic executions, abandonment was always a good second choice: it would leave her victims wondering when she'd return until the hope left them completely and boredom consumed their very souls.

Desiring a punishment was an entirely different can of worms, though...She pondered the idea of someone sitting in the dark for months on end, waiting for her to come back with an execution she'd spent many a night poring over. At first, the thought seemed too easy, but then she reconsidered: what if she came in, prepared to enact a punishment the likes of which had never been seen before...and then ever-so-casually went for a stab in the heart?

As she left the room, Junko clapped her hands and felt her cheeks flush at the thought of sending someone into such pure, unfiltered despair—it was almost too much for her to handle. Behind her, the lights flickered off and the toys were left alone. At some point, she'd have to order Mukuro to come in and clean up after her, but she had more important topics on her mind than her sister wiping dust from Ryota Mitarai's face.

♡

As a child, Junko had never taken time to appreciate the joy and fervor that came with running down spiral staircases; now, as an adult, she was ecstatic to be given the opportunity to set foot on one. The steps leading to her dungeon went downward in a fast and volatile circle, and she often found herself running up and down those steps until her breaths shortened and her heart raced.

Reaching the bottom gave her heart a whole other reason to race. Keeping one arm draped across the banister to steady herself, Junko peered into the darkness of the room before her. The only source of light was the evening sun filtering in from upstairs, its rays teasing against the stone floor. The so-called “dungeon” itself was always chilly—a coat rack near the entrance held two of Junko's favorite winter robes, in case her impromptu exercise routines weren't enough to keep her warm. All she could make out beyond the rack was a hospital bed and a squarish machine hooked up next to it.

Junko took a series of gentle steps into the dark. “I'm back, darling,” she called, cupping a hand around her mouth while using the other to slip a robe over her shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

There was no response from the bed's occupant, though they shifted slightly. Grinning, Junko strutted closer to the person in question—what had once been a well-meaning, if talentless, teenage boy had been transformed into an emaciated, pale-skinned figure unable to leave their resting place. A small cluster of tubes stuck in their arms kept them from moving much at all, seemingly attached to the nearby machine. Junko closed her eyes for a moment to listen to its slow, soft beeping, which quickened as she approached.

“Kamukura,” she breathed, alighting herself on the edge of the bed. “I'm here.”

The figure tilted their head in the direction of her voice, but didn't speak. Their eyes—formerly hazel, now slowly turning red—fluttered open and fixed their gaze on her.

“It's me,” Junko said, taking on a romantic edge. “Don't you remember?”

The figure winced as they struggled to move, eventually lifting a twitching hand to brush their bangs away from their forehead. Though the tips were brown, most of their hair had become a velvet black that made Junko's body pulse with adoration. She was, however, less than impressed with their response, which came out in little more than a dry whisper. “...who?”

“You forgot again?” Junko asked, stretching her legs across the bed and flaunting the shape of her thighs. “I'm Junko Enoshima. I rule the world, in case you weren't aware. You must be one lucky stud, since I'm madly in love with you and all that.” She held a hand out expectantly, her red nail polish glittering in the faint light. “And you are...?”

Their lips parted, emitting a faint wheeze. “...Jun...ko?”

“I'm Junko,” she said as her hand sank. “I'm the only one worthy of such a name.” She laughed sharply, moving some of the tubes to give herself more space to lay down—she stayed cautious, however, so as to cause them as little pain as possible. “And you are Izuru Kamukura...or, you will be, once your brain works again. Don't worry, I'm waiting patiently for that day; well, I am for now.”

Kamukura's eyes sparked with brief recognition, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. “...I...am...?”

“Izuru,” Junko purred, snuggling next to them. She pulled at the collar of their flimsy hospital gown and rested her hand on their exposed shoulder. Their skin was clammy, but she'd grown used to it with time. She was more concerned about the state of the bed—it had gone unwashed for weeks, and even with medical adjustments and catheters, the smell of excrement lingered. In truth, her prisoner-turned-lover looked pathetic, but she was willing to ignore it; or, at least, until she remembered to ask Mukuro to clean the dungeon again.

“I...zuru,” Kamukura breathed, their voice hitching on a syllable.

Junko nodded, cupping Kamukura's face with her free hand. “Good job,” she said as she planted a kiss on their forehead. They flinched, but didn't react otherwise.

A moment of silence passed as Junko cuddled her mildly unresponsive partner. The lack of noise was welcoming, and Junko felt a happy sigh pass through her body—spending time with Kamukura refreshed her more than anything. When they could move on their own again, she'd decided she would take them for a walk in the garden and show them the world she'd taken over. She imagined their hair, which she assumed would be waist-length at that point if not longer, idly tickling the rose petals. A sliver of drool fell from her lips.

“Oops! Upupu,” she said to herself, wiping her face on her sleeve to avoid touching the bedsheets. “Hey, hey.” She reached behind Kamukura and lifted their head, fingers brushing across the nape of their neck. “Izuru. Look at that.”

Kamukura blinked slowly, trying to clear their blurred vision. “Where...?”

“Up there,” Junko said, pointing toward the staircase. “You see that? The light?”

Without waiting for a response, she continued. “That's the outside world. You can see some sunlight now, but it'll fade before too long and you'll be alone in the dark.

“That's what despair is like—every night, you hold onto your hope up there...and it fades away. You keep waiting for something different, but it'll never come. And that's what the world is like too. That light is the last of the old world. B.E.—Before Enoshima, as I like to say,” she said, having never said it before. “Get it?”

“Nn—” Kamukura whined as Junko tugged on errant strands of their hair to keep their attention. She curled them between her fingers, ignorant of Kamukura's obvious pain. Even as they cringed and tried to pull away from her, a light press of her other hand on their chest kept them firmly in place—the wires in their arms, too, prevented them from escaping. Junko's face flushed as she felt their heartbeat under her palm.

“The world you knew is gone; that is, if you can even remember what it was like. What lies beyond this room is my world...and when you're better, it can be ours. We won't have to share it with anyone. Not even my sister has to know—we can lock her up here and have the rest of the world to ourselves. No one will be able to tear the two of us apart.”

“Ah...” Kamukura murmured as Junko let go of them, causing their upper body to thump against the headboard. Their gaze drifted, becoming unfocused. “...that hurt.”

“Did it, darling?” Junko asked dreamily, poking Kamukura's cheek as she snuggled against them. “Maybe you're starting to feel again. That's a step forward, isn't it?”

Kamukura slumped back into bed, already exhausted. With a soft giggle, Junko ran her fingers across their forehead—mildly feverish, might have to get that checked out—and kissed their nose. She figured she would work toward kissing their lips, perhaps when they remembered how to kiss back. She could hear someone moving about upstairs, presumably Mukuro, but left her to her own devices; after all, this was her special alone time with Kamukura and she wouldn't let anyone take that from her.

Kamukura stared at the ceiling as the last of the evening light withered and died, their consciousness melting away with it. Junko, meanwhile, felt a smile form on her face as she rested beside her beloved. The machine beeped faintly as the duo's breaths synchronized—then, with little fanfare, the sun set completely and the darkness took them both.

♡

Not all queens necessarily had to look down upon their subjects, but Junko wasn't willing to skip that aspect of her daily life. She had more thrones throughout the castle than just the one in her tearoom, and her dining room throne was particularly elegant—a hand-carved wooden model that rose several feet above the other chairs around the table. Though it took some effort to climb onto the throne in the first place, Junko appreciated the perfect view it gave her of her rather sour mealtime company.

“Aren't you going to eat, sister?” she called from above. “There are starving children in...well, everywhere! In fact, there's one in the room with us as we speak, so why don't you eat before she sneaks another nibble?”

Mukuro's gaze snapped to the silver-haired child sitting across from her. She was thin and all too pale, her once-pristine outfit smeared with dirt and dried blood. Though she had been addressed, she hadn't raised her head or even made a noise of acknowledgment, seemingly preferring to blend into the metaphorical background. Mukuro knew her sister wouldn't have any of it.

“Come on now, little one,” Junko said, idly swinging her legs back and forth. “Why don't you try to snatch a pea or two? Children should eat their vegetables, right?”

“They are healthy, yes,” Mukuro mumbled, patting her cheek with a napkin. “So why aren't you eating any of them?”

Slowly and almost comically, Junko looked down at her plate of chocolate-strawberry cake. “...Well, I'm already grown up! I don't need to worry so much about eating right anymore.”

“You should worry,” Mukuro commented, delicately cutting her ham into pieces. “You want your reign to last as long as you do, right? You won't be around to rule the world for very long if all you eat is dessert.”

“Hmph!” Junko crossed her arms and huffed. “We'll see about that. You!” She pointed at her guest, who flinched but didn't react otherwise. “What do you think your queen should eat?”

The little girl cautiously raised her head just enough to meet Junko's blue eyes. “Ah...um...I think you should....”

“Go on. Spit it out.” Junko flicked a few cake crumbs in her direction. “Maybe I'll give you something nice if you answer correctly.”

“M-Miss Enoshima should...maybe...consider eating some vegetables when she can.” The girl fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “I-I could provide some for her...I know a few good recipes, a-and if you have the right ingredients, we can—”

Mukuro shot out of her seat to catch the fork Junko had thrown toward the stuttering child. “Junko! Would you really want...would you....” Her features softened as she struggled to find a way to get her sister to stop, while their guest whimpered in fear.

“Would I want what?” Junko asked, pointing a knife in Mukuro's direction. “I certainly wouldn't want to eat any of this runt's horrible cooking!” She laughed harshly, digging the knife straight through the center of her cake. “You're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

The child's face paled further. “...no, but....”

With a flourish, Junko leaped down from her throne—trying not to flinch when her boots hit the carpeted floor—and leaned in close. “But what, little one?”

The girl's muscles tightened as she managed a small, disdainful frown. “Kirumi.”

Junko's face twisted into a grin. “Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it.” Across the table, Mukuro sat perfectly still and ready to launch into battle should the situation go awry.

The girl swallowed and stared straight at Junko, defiance shining through her chalky features and muddied cheeks. “My name is Kirumi.”

“Kirumi...” Junko said, drawing back like a snake. “Hm. I can't say I've heard that name before...and now that you're in my clutches, nobody will hear it again.”

Kirumi's confidence faltered. “Wh-What?”

“Take a look at this.” Junko turned Kirumi's head so it faced Mukuro and began rummaging through her dress. This particular ensemble was outfitted with seven different pockets in various places on the skirt, just in case she needed a secret weapon. “My darling sister and I are going to play a game.”

Mukuro pushed her chair out and got to her feet. “I'm not interested, Junko. Actually, there's something I've needed to talk to you about—”

“Ah-ah-ah! Too late!” Junko exclaimed as she withdrew a small, but needle-sharp dart and threw it straight at Mukuro's neck. With almost inhuman reflexes, she stepped out of its way, only for it to embed itself in the wall. “You have to play...or else, little Kirumi might meet an untimely end.”

Mukuro's pupils shrank. “What are you saying?”

“You win the game, and I might let her live,” Junko explained, twirling another dart between her fingers. “You lose, and...well, the prognosis is grim for our friend.”

“Wh-What is she talking about?” Kirumi asked, her bravado fading as she watched Mukuro dodge two more darts at a speed only Junko could match.

“You know damn well what I'm talking about,” Junko said between heavy breaths. Her body temperature rose as she sprinted across the room, tossing darts to and fro in a makeshift dance. Mukuro had to vault across the table at one point to avoid a particularly expert throw. “I saw her give you food under the table.”

“What?!” Mukuro cried, twirling in midair to save herself yet again. “You said it yourself—she was starving! Do you expect me to let her suffer?!”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Junko said, with a haughty laugh. “Clearly, Kirumi has absolutely no fortitude or strength, since even I could refuse such temptations better than she did.” With no more darts to throw, Junko picked up a plate and lobbed it at her sister. “She had to survive to earn my respect, and you had to maintain your reputation as my despair-inducing sibling. Seems as if you both messed up big-time, hm?”

“Enough!” Mukuro roared as Junko hurled another plate. The sounds of shattering ceramics made Kirumi clap her hands over her ears, though she felt slight relief knowing none of Junko's ammunition had connected.

“I said you had to play,” Junko reminded her, sticking her tongue out in mild irritation. “I guess it doesn't matter, since we're out of time anyway.” She spun on her heel to face Kirumi and threw a steak knife straight toward her. “At least we can have a grand finale!”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat as she made a flying leap in Kirumi's direction, catching the knife in midair and tumbling to the ground. A glass tipped over, red wine staining the tablecloth. Kirumi watched in horror and amazement as Mukuro got to her feet, a bit shaky but alive.

“Ooh, good job!” Junko said, applauding loudly. “Bravo! Bravo, I say!” She reached out to pat Mukuro's shoulder, but she shrank away from her. “Hm. Fair enough.”

“I've been trying to talk to you,” Mukuro said, taking a series of labored breaths. “Something...isn't right around here. It smells like roses everywhere, even when we're inside...haven't you noticed? A-And...and those clouds...aren't they getting thicker?”

Junko paused, as if in thought, but then sighed and folded her hands behind her head. “Nah. To be honest, I don't really care. If something's going wrong, that's your problem, not mine. And speaking of things that are mine....” She lunged forward and grabbed Kirumi, who squealed and flailed in her grasp.

“What are you doing?” Mukuro said, too worn out to put a stop to Junko's misdeeds.

“Finishing this brat off,” Junko replied, as casually as one would talk about the weather. “Why?”

“I...I won the game!” Mukuro spat, reaching for Kirumi. “You said you'd let her live if I won!”

“I said I might,” Junko clarified, squeezing Kirumi's face and pulling it closer to hers. “Besides, you should know by now that I don't play fair.”

“Junko!” Mukuro tried to grab her and knock her to the ground, but the game had left her weakened and exhausted. She slumped to the floor, her knees aching, as Junko's eyes met Kirumi's.

“Do as I do.”

In a matter of seconds, Kirumi's face had gone slack. Her gaze seemed colder, her breaths slower, her body limp in Junko's arms. When she put her down, she immediately stood next to her in a protective manner, looking down upon Mukuro's prone form.

“Now, you...” Junko began, putting her hands on her hips, “...you have no name. You had one at one point, though—and an identity, too. So on the basis of your old life, I'll ask you one more time: you're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

Kirumi sneered at Mukuro. “No, ma'am.”

“No!” Abruptly, Junko brought her foot down on Kirumi's, causing the girl to wail in surprise. “You will address me by name, servant!”

“N-No, miss Junko, ma'am,” Kirumi said, trying to keep her voice stable even with the despair coursing through her veins.

“Much better. Maybe you could take care of this pile of garbage while you're here...that is, if you really want to earn my love.” As Junko strutted out of the room, Kirumi tried to yank Mukuro up from the floor; however, she paused when she smelled something familiar in the air.

“...Roses,” she mumbled to herself, squeezing Mukuro's hand with both of her own. “I may have...enjoyed those, once upon a time.”

Outside, Junko's garden continued to grow, twisting around the castle walls and black iron fences. The world beyond her home seemed more distant than before, as the clouds misting the sky grew ever darker.

♡

“Hm.”

“What? What is it?”

“Hmmm.”

Mukuro stood as still as she could while Junko flitted around her, peering at her silky black dress from all angles. The frilled sleeves itched, and the skirt only reached to her knees—Mukuro's bare legs stuck out beneath, planted firmly in the plush carpeting. She would've changed clothes in a heartbeat if her sister hadn't been so insistent about her participation in today's activity.

Junko tugged on the skirt from behind, and Mukuro cringed. “Hm...I think this one shapes you nicely! If only you had bigger breasts to show off...maybe you could actually take your place beside me on the throne!”

“You wouldn't let me even if I did have them,” Mukuro said through clenched teeth.

“Fair enough,” Junko replied, with a chuckle. “You're not the type I'd share the world with anyway—way too selfish, and no sense of humor.”

“Right,” Mukuro grunted. “Sure.”

Junko stood in front of her sister, hands on her hips. “...You don't really like this dress, do you?”

“N-No,” Mukuro said, trying to maintain her composure.

“That's fair,” Junko replied, with a shrug. “Doesn't really match your complexion anyway.” She turned away, wading through a pile of squishy pillows and dolls she had yet to return to their shelves. “Go on and change. I won't look, just this once.”

With a sigh, Mukuro removed the ensemble. Even taking it off was uncomfortable, the lace making her itch even more as she pulled it over her head. Quietly hanging it up on a rack Junko had wheeled in earlier, she let herself relax for a moment. As she stretched her back, she spoke up again: “Junko? I'm done.”

“Mm?”

Mukuro's eyes narrowed. “I said I'm done.”

“Mm, sure.” Junko faced away from her, fiddling with one of her dolls. “Have you met my little friend, dear sister?”

Mukuro tried to keep her temper down—Junko had already grown bored of her and was looking for a new toy. “My dress, Junko. You said you wanted me to try another dress.”

“Huh? Oh!” Junko whirled around, a pale cloth doll hanging limply from one hand. “Of course! You'll like this one, for sure. It's leather!”

Mukuro's gaze drifted as Junko fiddled with the rack, pulling out a black dress that looked ready to squish Mukuro's spine into an entirely new shape. She watched Junko carry the doll alongside her, unable to tear her eyes away from its sad, unsettling stare. Most of its design was simple, complete with blue yarn hair and mitten-like hands, but its eyes were all too real and uncomfortably glassy.

“Do you like her?” Junko asked, shoving the dress into Mukuro's waiting arms. “This is Miaya. They don't make wheelchairs in her size, so she can't move without her queen helping her get around.” She raised and lowered Miaya's hands, making the red scarf covering most of her face bounce lazily. “Isn't she cute?”

Mukuro sucked in a breath as she tried to pull the dress on. “She seems...sad.”

“You think so?” As Mukuro changed, Junko sifted through the clothes on the rack and pressed a polka-dot ensemble against her body. “Check this out. I look like a cartoon character!”

“Mmph!” Mukuro exclaimed as she struggled to fit herself into the dress. “Y-You do....”

“Aw, is that too tight?” Junko was at her sister's side in an instant, messing with the zipper at the back of the dress. “Maybe we should try another one.”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat. “Another...one?”

“Well, sure!” Junko tossed Miaya at Mukuro with a flourish before ripping the dress off, with extravagant gestures and sudden movements that made Mukuro wail in pain. “Don't you like playing dress-up with me?”

Now clad in nothing but black undergarments, Mukuro felt naked and embarrassed. She couldn't reply honestly—when she considered it, an image of the broken and damaged Kirumi flickered through her mind. “S-Sure,” she forced out, pressing the Miaya doll against her chest.

“You're lying, but that's fine.” Junko threw off her own dress, chuckling at she and her sister's matching lingerie. “You can't really get out of this anyway.”

“Right,” Mukuro mumbled, now burying her face in Miaya's hair. It smelled familiar to her, perhaps like a childhood home...but she only had a few moments to think of it before the doll was yanked from her, and her vision was obscured with another dress thrown over her head.

“My playthings are playing?” Junko chirped, wiggling into a dress of her own. “How cute! Miaya isn't playing dress-up right now, though. She can't move on her own, so I'd have to help her try things on...and this is our fun time! She'll just have to watch.”

Mukuro glanced at the Miaya doll, which was now splayed on top of one of the pillows. She could feel its gaze on her back as she changed, and the more she thought about it the more awkward she felt. She was a child in a fairytale castle, playing dress-up with her sister, but the game had gone on too long and she just wanted to go home.

After what felt like an eternity of trying on clothing, Mukuro finally stood before Junko in a silky black dress with a short skirt. It still had some of Junko's all-too-elegant touches, like white frills and puffy sleeves, but it was generally sleek and comfortable. Mukuro couldn't help herself—she twirled lightly, letting her skirt spin.

“Oh, you like it?” Junko tilted her head back in a fashion model's pose, clad in a similar dress but with pale pink silk and white and black frills. “Glad we finally found something that works.”

“Why didn't we just try these on first?” Mukuro asked, admiring the way her outfit wrapped around her body. “They do match nicely....”

“I guess I just wanted to keep you around,” Junko replied, rummaging through piles of discarded clothing. “Sibling bonding is always fun, don't you think?”

“Sure,” Mukuro said, half-heartedly. Her gaze drifted back to the Miaya doll, sitting in the same place it had before. “Maybe you should invite Kamukura next time.”

“Kamukura?” Junko got to her feet, holding both hands behind her back in a surprisingly graceful fashion. “You'd rather Kamukura take your place here with me?”

“N-Not like that,” Mukuro said quickly. “I just...I have other duties, and....”

“Don't worry! I understand.” Junko giggled. “I'm just glad you reminded me of the finishing touch for today's dress-up game!”

“What are you talking abou—” Mukuro was interrupted with a violent shriek as Junko whipped her hands out, brandishing twin pairs of shears. Laughing loudly, Junko tore into Mukuro's dress and ripped it to shreds in a matter of seconds, leaving a pile of silk and fluff on the carpet.

“Junko!” Mukuro exclaimed, assuming a defensive position to shield her body. “What are you doing?!”

Junko spun around gleefully and tore into her own dress, creating another pile of fabric to join the first. “There's nothing quite like finding that everything I put you through meant nothing, right? It fills me with an all-new form of despair! Upupu!”

Mukuro cringed and shook her head, stepping away from her sister. Her right wrist was starting to itch, and as she looked down at it she realized Junko had nicked her. She pressed her thumb against the tiny wound and gently licked the blood off. Watching her sister's pathetic motions, Junko continued to laugh. “Well?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Feeling the despair yet?”

With no energy to fight, exhaustion settled in quickly. “Y...Yes.”

“Alright!” Junko cheered, jumping in place with excitement. “My test is complete! I can't wait to try this out on our next visitors...maybe they'll like becoming mannequins!”

Mukuro bit her lip and turned away, one hand pressed against her wrist. The Miaya doll sat and stared at her, a piece of a silky black dress covering part of her forehead.

Long after the sisters' foray into trying on clothing together, Mukuro went to sweep the upstairs floors while Junko wandered into her dungeon. The staircase was littered with rose petals, and the bed itself had a few roses scattered across its sheets. Even the machine Kamukura was hooked up to seemed to have roses growing around it, which Junko considered a rather romantic gesture—perhaps Mukuro had prepared it as a surprise for the both of them?

She nestled into bed beside Kamukura, twirling strands of their brown-black hair between her fingers while they reacted with little more than a half-lidded stare. They breathed through their mouth, each exhale sounding more like a dissatisfied sigh.

“You should've seen the look on her face, Izuru,” Junko said, twisting their hair into a small, makeshift braid. “It was simply...dazzling.”

“I...zur...u,” Kamukura mumbled, trying their hardest to lock eyes with Junko. “Yes.”

“Dazzled with despair,” Junko said in a singsong voice, letting go of the braid to press her finger to Kamukura's nose. “She wasn't expecting the scissors at all. I'm so glad I kept that Genocider girl around long enough to master her techniques.”

“Yes.”

“You could probably learn them too, if you wanted.” Junko leaned in close, her lover's bad smell tuned out slightly by the aroma of the roses. “You're capable of anything, after all.”

A slight head tilt. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Junko propped herself up on her elbows, unable to find a comfortable position. “Do you...remember who you are today?”

“I...zuru?” Kamukura asked, softly.

“I-zu-ru Ka-mu-ku-ra,” Junko replied, sounding out the syllables. “Repeat after me, okay?”

“Ka...mu....” They lost track quickly, pain dulling their senses. “...zu-ru.”

“Good enough,” Junko said, plopping down beside them. “You know you're mine, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mine, mine, mine.” Junko pressed her body against theirs, sleep creeping in with the lightest and gentlest of footsteps. “Forever mine.”

As she fell asleep beside them, Kamukura let their gaze turn to the ceiling. The room was pitch-dark and even colder than usual, and something about the roses was off-putting to them. They couldn't think about it for too long before their head began to hurt.

All they could think of doing was vocalizing—or trying to, anyway. So while Junko dreamed her life away beside them, Kamukura continued to mumble to themself. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes....”

♡

“Junko?”

Her Glorious Majesty of Despair stirred in her bed, but didn't wake up.

“Junko. Wake up.”

She kept on sleeping, tangled in her favorite red sheets.

“Junko!”

Finally, her eyes snapped open and she sat up. “What? What is it?” she exclaimed. “Your queen is trying t—ow!” With a wince, she rubbed her back and felt a noticeable ache. “Ouchies...that really smarts....”

“I assumed something was up.” Mukuro stood before her, looking less agitated and more concerned. “You were making weird noises in your sleep.”

“That's what she said,” Junko mumbled in reply, trying to straighten her spine. “Ahh...How did this happen? Nothing feels right...and I just had the strangest dream. I think. I'm already forgetting it...such despair....”

“Junko.” Mukuro spoke sharply, taking her sister's hand in her own. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Ew, what's this about?” Junko yanked her hand away and stuck her tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't touch me, commoner!”

Mukuro sighed in defeat and reconstructed her emotional mask, trying to be as straightforward as possible. “Junko, answer my question.”

Junko stretched her arms, slowly raising them over her head and lowering them back down with practiced motions. “...Hm? What?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Mukuro repeated.

“...I think so?” Genuine confusion rose in Junko's voice as she tilted her head, her hair bouncing with it. “Aside from whatever that dream was, and the ache in my back....”

“You were shrieking,” Mukuro said, her tone grave. “In your sleep, I mean. You'd stopped by the time I got here, but I could hear you from across the hall.”

“Sheesh,” Junko said, flicking stray hairs behind her shoulder. “I'm such a drama queen. Probably just feeling some unfiltered, pulp-free despair!”

“Please take this seriously,” Mukuro said. “I think something is wrong here. You see, when looking outside....”

“I think you're the one who's wrong. Think fast!” Junko shot up in bed and sprang to her feet, preparing to deliver a mighty kick and startle her sister. As she moved, though, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she found her reflexes slightly inhibited. Having just woken up would dull her combat sensibilities under ordinary circumstances, but this was far more obstructive.

Mukuro quickly swept her leg out to stop her, completely on instinct. It connected with Junko's ankle and she tumbled to the carpeted floor, her hair spilling out around her. “Aieee!” she cried, frantically brushing her bangs away from her face. “Ouchies! Ow!”

“S-Sister?” Mukuro rested one knee on the carpet, though she kept her distance in case this was a prank. “What's wrong?”

“This is wrong!” Junko pointed to her ankle, which was already turning slightly purple with the onset of a bruise. “I should have got you that time!”

“Perhaps we're evenly matched,” Mukuro replied, letting herself smirk for the briefest moments. “You can't win them all, you know.”

“Sure, whatever,” Junko mumbled, surprisingly upset over a bruised ankle. “I get it.” She stumbled to her feet, putting all her weight on her non-injured leg. “Sometimes the underdog has to win for the audience's benefit.”

“I'm...not an underdog,” Mukuro said, averting her gaze.

“Whatever,” Junko said with a wave of her hand. “I don't even remember what we were talking about. You're too boring to focus on, anyway.”

“That's a lie.”

“Which part?” Junko spun around, grabbed a pale pink bathrobe resting on top of her closet, and threw it over herself with a flourish. “'Cause you're definitely a bore.”

“You remember what we were talking about,” Mukuro said, standing her ground. “You're clearly just as troubled by it as I am.”

Junko blinked slowly and swallowed. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “I'm not 'troubled' at all.”

“We're sisters, you know.” Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “You can tell me if something's wrong.”

“Forget it,” Junko sang, though she gritted her teeth in secrecy; in truth, she was bothered by her lackluster attempt at a kick. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been a problem—after all, her back was sore and she'd just woken up—but it felt as if time itself had slowed to incapacitate her. She wasn't sure how to tell Mukuro this, or if she even cared enough to tell her, so she kept it to herself.

“...Forget it?”

“Forget it,” Junko echoed, digging through the bathrobe's pockets in search of a leftover snack. “I want something to eat.”

“Wait, what?” Mukuro raised an eyebrow. “You're...sure about that? I need to talk to you first. Please, look at this....” She approached the window at Junko's bedside and threw back the curtains—the world outside was obscured by soupy, greenish mist. Junko could see her garden if she squinted, but most of the Enoshima Estate was covered.

“...Bad weather,” Junko commented, nonchalantly.

“It's more than that,” Mukuro insisted. “Those clouds...they've never been this thick. Your garden's growing much faster, to the point that it's hard to even leave the castle to go hunting. Something isn't right here, and I need you to know that.”

“I need you to know that I don't care.” Junko swung her injured leg back and forth, trying to balance on one foot as she stood before her sister. “I want something to eat.”

“...Are you sure?” Mukuro asked, her gaze discolored.

“Absolutely-tutely,” Junko replied. “I need breakfast. Come on! Chop chop!” She limped away, trying to look as graceful as possible even when restrained by a sprained ankle.

Mukuro followed along behind her, her tone growing desperate. “But—but, Junko, please—”

“I don't care,” Junko said with a sudden firmness. “I can't think on an empty stomach, anyhow. Hurry up! Breakfast time!”

Mukuro lowered her head, absentmindedly running her fingers across the bandages now covering her itching wrist. “...You just had breakfast before your nap,” she murmured.

Junko turned slightly. “Sorry? I didn't know the underdog was speaking.”

Mukuro sighed, wondering if she'd fabricated the memory. “It's nothing,” she lied. “Just...just forget it, right?”

A light, forced chuckle echoed down the hall. “Yup! Forget it.”

#danganronpa #junko enoshima #mukuro ikusaba #izuru kamukura #danganronpa secret santa #russell does stuff #russell writes #super danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #new danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 spoilers #sdr2 spoilers #danganronpa spoilers #ofdesperationis #danganronpasecretsanta

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usashirtstoday · 5 years ago

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Witch Never Let Your Wings Be Stolen From You Colorful T Shirt

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about with all of his business dealing Donald Trump. 3 entertained on you just put lanes pretty easily on this bike without much concernand on the seating position isn’t overly harsh over like a lot of I know more performance focused bikes are great like this yellow strain on your ear rests the you don’t really have a strain arrested it upright enough was a problem on the neonatal when protection I you really forward into the wind just a little bitand so that does mean that you don’t feel like you’re currently holding onto the bars of 70 or 80 miles an hour to stay onand that was there are various windshields available for the bikes so you a lot highway writing speed there’s a way to set upand I personally thought this might be one of the first things I would do is probably exhausted intake I think that’s a very common thing for people to say that on this bike I think that the character the engine in stock form is a little too sedate for the capabilities of the chassis when he met is that I think this chassis would really benefit from a ladder more rambunctious more rent happy motorand there’s many ways to do that with a sportster Odyssey I easily like the college had almost built so that the SR 1200 had in this chassis that motor be a really good fit personality wise for the chassis is not everything else is an upgraded performance lies like the suspensionand the brakes I think that the bike could really use a little bit extra grunt from the from the motor little more sound obviously but also just a little more of a rent happy nature so I just think bike feel that more lightly on the exhaustand intake in a team goes a long way towards axis AI upgrade by a distaste to it some star focus cans so all in all I deathly recommend this for anybody looking for from the performance focused on I classic style bike I it’s is a really good option for that market I knew only hesitation I would have been recommending is if you do a lot of highly writing it does only have 5 feet is not to bug out on the highway provided you stand below 80 miles an hour your final bassinet regularly get about the sap sustained speedand then I say it does have a great healthy so if you’re just starting out it might not be the best bike to start with because it is ISO 5 poundsand is quiet all seat so it’s your first bike MS here called IR falling out I would recommend potentially starting somewhere else like that that’s just one word of caution it is your first bike to bear in mind is a day on the tall side item to see at least with a Harley in the rest of the motorcycle market is not a particularly tall bikes up on I don’t want to scare you away from that but definitely don’t you should check one out I sit on itand make sure that you feel like it’s a comfortable life for you because it is one thing that most of the feeling of sportster’ What’s up guys now laid I hear coming to from Laidlaw’s Harley Davidson LA area’s oldest largestand finest rally condition such a matter of using the on the brainy 20 18th boy Savoie has been an iconic motorcycle in the Huntington lineup for a long time now in my opinion the most iconic motorcycle Newton makes so that the news this yearand sure mostly heard by now Davidson completely revamped the soft tail chassis despite the sample is built on a brand new chassis I have a video that have a that really outlines exactly what was done these new platforms so I’ll put a link to a video in in a car at the end here so infallibly fashion you got these aluminum disk mag wheels here that’s our kind iconic traits about the sap boyand you got an LED day maker headlamp in this all the new Sawtelle said LED really bright headlampsand a sample assassin you’ve got this freight trains down the cell houses this LED light God’s the Harley Davidson fat boy insignia on the side of take care the software is a military tribute bike this because she has a know the star the wings in the USA down there Savoie comes its name comes from a combination toand bombs are dropped in World War II sap manand little boyand accommodationist to give you fat boy this bike you can be even purchase it in a 107 or 114 configuration this is the new Milwaukee eight engine this is the first in Milwaukee has been offered on a bike other than the touring bikes you have an external preload adjustment knob on this bike this is one of the few bikes the small unit comes with this theater to being the breakoutsand that Bob is your oiland the oil is no longer in the pan underneath the sea anymore it’s underneath the transmissions with the oil sump is you have a two piece seat on the spike is one of the cool things are related did this year with this new Sawtelle platform is all there seats are two piece seats so if you want a more comfortable passenger seat instead of having to buy a brand new seating is by the passenger portionand slap it on their new connection that seatsand so both the writerand the pastor can kinda get what they want one of the big things they did this year is a put a huge 240 mm rear tire on the back of this bike can of Walmart to make a lens to the name of the fat boy from you on this thing is the day is from will whit why is it ever put on a motorcycle as well hundred 60 mm front tire to state really is that so use a lot of what they call the satin chrome finishes on the spike on the primary casing there this is a new floorboard design the floorboards are higher social meaning will have to increase on this new software platform is not a shot of the military tribute insignia that has always down the fat boy family first came out in 1990and has pretty much been a staple Harleyand I have ever since then here is your four piston caliper for piston break CalPERSand that the single the single rotor single side single disc brake I should say the fuel tank is a 5 gallon fuel tank one of the things of the fat boys always been a distinguishing trait about the sample he had bullet holes in the the disk mag wheels for those boreholes with their cost now this is a USB port all of the softgels guys have a USB port on the left hand side of bike so you can charge your your phone or whatever electronic device you might have off of that USB ports not just you need to just the fat boy that all the soft tells how that so here’s a close to the display here so you guys sure you’re a speedo in analogand then you have a digital VIP passes switch here is your digital readout of your today it should be of your feel their digitally remaining miles if we run out of fuel you clock in there as welland the nest displays your RPMand the gear urine as well throw down or their cell in analog on your speedometerand then everything else is all digital is far as your your fuel your Ranger clock you tripand should beand anything with the 114 set is comes at ABS this is a decorative cath you guys this is spins offand you can put different decorative caps on the tank used to be the fuel gaugeand impasse mauled the snow I feel gauge all the gas goes in the right hand side here dimension of the 5 gallon fuel tank the Santos coming to sizes either 5 gallon or threeand half gallons of this does have the bigger the twoand there’s your bullet holes there in the center of the tank on the center console so they remove the boreholes from the disk wheelsand put in the center console there immersing the lens to the military tribute at this despite his homage to so all these new Sawtelle’s guys all security to all keyless this key here all it does is lock the forksand aluminum keys now need to mention the key limits is really cookieand the actuation in the 4 o’clock is a lot cleaner a lot smoother now that used to be in years past they used one of the things they do the Santos chassis you guys as they reduce the weights here between 30 to 35 pounds I need to these Sawtelle models they do that by really analyzing every party put on hisand tried to cut away wherever they could use a little number they could set a steel to reduce the weightand that you can doesn’t tell that the weight reduction is there so really sat wheels on the same this bike almost reminds you the bikes it is making Tron is really fat lookand style by through aggressive means styling your combined with that headlamp this is a really cool aggressive meaty muscle type of the styling summit go aheadand fire sing of CSand his sanity engineand can see what it looks like visually as it’s runningand everything so things of notes this know what dates they puts a dual counterbalance are in their the original arcade I was offered a touring bike he is single counterbalance in front of the engine download the oil cooler is no voltage regulator so there’s another flywheel in this version of the Milwaukee that specifically designed for the softgelsand that is between via the crank in the transmission cell gave that you counterbalance is on the spikeand so it’s the primary shaking forces are 100 reduced on this there’s very little vibration in Sawtelle fashionand that day was allotted to also really increase the rigidity of this whole bike from top to bottom the frameand the way the engine is mounted to the frameand all that so this bike is a lot stiffer 90 stiffer than the Diane chassis was in the figure thought is a 65 stiffer than previous model softgelsand it’s definitely noticeable guysand everything from rider input into handlebars to that the way that it’s liensand Excelerator to turn everything is just quickerand the reaction time is a lot better society is not it’s fun to go through this cachet as some of the highlights the suspension on these Sawtelle friends to I should I should add is far superior to the old Sawtelle frames it’s it was kind of the weird thing even call them soft tell anymore my frame because it’s it’s really nothing like the old Sawtelle that all funding Sawtelle about analogy still had hidden suspensions suspensions up underneath the seat his available colors guys the first was bike this is 10 black tempest by campus like a bluish blackish really deep like Pearl Flake color this is called industrial gray is a really cool this car lot in the next here is called Bonneville salt Pearl M Callan either started her day sickle colorand this economy is in the video this is the only could readand twisted Sherry to town here’s an anniversary this is legend blueand visit black the fat boy is the only model to come into different or both of the year anniversary colors to this is the non denim finishand this is the denim finish the call legend blue denimand it’s got a tattoo style graphics on its present we got one of these we sold pretty quickly out of the cool color is a musician stats on this thing here so the 107Q begins bike starts at 18 999 that’s for black wine goes up at 400 from their fear from card into it to town ABS is standard on the spike as well as the security system security system standard on all the soft tells this bike has a course in the walkie eight engine walkie eight gets its name from the four valves per cylinder with a total of eight valves has single camand I spent a lot of time on stats here got to what they call the most machined lake stir wheels to Brandon Willis share of a futuristic type of allele like the that I guess said before the solid disk wheel that they use for me years that they have have a futuristic twist on it unless really goodand after the 114 is 20 209 box so looking at about 1300 charge if you want the 114 which in my opinion it’s pretty well worth it so nobody likes to see the horsepowerand torque figures so let me show you what Harley Davidson publishes in their screaming Eagle section of the catalog here so this is for the 114 to begin stop soft tell by Fisher US stock is there for black dot in line down there soand this is at the rear wheel this is not the crank where everybody next to you write about their power to buy another car the crank that it’s about 85 hp at 4500 RPM on these dikesand this is with the 114and then your torque is about 109 foot pounds of torque at the rear wheeland that’s peeks at 3000 RPM so if you live in the websites I believe they claim hundredand 19 foot pounds of torqueand that’s can be measured at the crankand is number 14and on the 107 version they claim hundredand 9 foot pounds of torque at the crank so they go’s office invasive overall general information on this new Sawtelle frame Iand extremely impressed for you my videos ride probably five or six of the softgels of this pointand this never been able to ride a Harley Davidson harderand more aggressively than the softgels the sauces really are the performance frame in the Harley Davidson world which is kind of funny because before this software frame was probably the worst performing form frame councils from the worst to the best overnight there were frame being on staff really worry about because this new Sawtelle to see how performs no frame hands down are frame the question was is busy ethics are frame yes disliked dominates the ethics are freeand close know that the right is our right SARS for a time the FSR was some guides you to meet people live in the blessingand a curse as he was love their motorcycles for a long time Hill in nature God is the most collectible lifestyle is so many things are ingrained in people with you so that you have romanticized on the way things used to be held at the blessingand curse performanceand handling his overall he is power away everything about these new Sawtelle’s sis is better than the old real soft tell chassis that you kneeled to talk to you about family specifically the way I would best describe as a boy is is a muscle cruiser what I mean is this thing looks great very simplistic linesand futuristic flare headlamp in the wheels was still the classic lines in the rear swing armand everythingand the really set is onand everything this thing is not the best handling Sawtelle there’s other hands also like a low rider warrior Bob are you listening from the wheels in the scene because of an one can notice on this bike is as I was entering turns slowly if you’re on the break all turn this one is for this is like to lean overand take her to a slow way down your turn despite the good switch type of roads in the slow say what is really funny despite Dell is latest day start off dead stop’s role in on his like you get this trash in the rear the huge back thereand all I obey is on sky this thing is really fine stop stop by my is for sure it’s youand the suspension the monitor shock rear suspension training this year will turn right there is a perfect example of this need not be the likely the bike down shape the bikeand return to effect the better way why the shot the monitor shock on this bikeand there’s two rulings on the soft tell chassis is 3 inch travel in this rear shot all the mice had a shot with the exception of the Heritageand Bob for travel guides the suspension of this bike is just far superior to the old softgels in the message describe it as you have more than plan for dealing with the wheelsand tires stay in contact asphalt going over little Thompson was in the road like thatand that’s achieved by is the smallest designand also the seal cartridge design in the front for us since the show will the valve system in the front which was developed in a fight through my 27 three model year so he saw me feeling part beneficial theme of this 8 form being put in these the softgels uses is the cooling system is efficient to display the Oakland system that’s treated toilet on the heads really reduces the heat on these engines significantly seeking a lot less of that heat radiating up on youand is embedded in the different engine components of this bike is really apparent to me that he is reduced significantly on his run at a cooler temperature is based you have the cable auditory mice is the walkie engineand then have hydraulic clutch down south bank of the spikes the deal is okay you want so well here shifted the problem so good Smith still that the distinct feeling shifting here would expect from claimsand the sound to it in place a heavy piece of machinery that also really good analyzer nice is a quarter bar all internally wired really clean bar design nine can save on despite the ways everything is real simplistic styling is from Harley Davidsonand Alex forget the size these these sufferings are pretty small guys cells there is no more room on these were on the old Sawtelle’s immediate classroom 6’6 talland so despite was deathly a Francine position for me I know is probably seen despite Dell which back to 3 inches Jason try that out for me if I wasn’t as tall as I am holy the softgels might purchase big fan that because I do a lot of freeway writing tall like fairy radios in the communication of his remains family go through the small year that’s this boy this is this is for the guy that was down the weekends doing patriot Russell in the the more comfortable see if there be back there for more than 20 minutes or so there are two different sizes on this bike I will say you’re were limited on this bike also putting the breakdown of this bike bolted 240 mm rear tire sale of them were limited on your options for the sissy bar you have the more the below profile that you cannot play toward the back of this bike is a new cooldown came out from the softgels as they made it easier for you toward these bikes however this bikeand the breakoutsand the fact Bob will not accept toward cell this Like into the category of some muscle he a cruiser bike real clean lines you have on this by guys real simplistic risers on this life so you years are somewhat down despite the severe grade bike shoes so really good Blake blank canvas to customize this bike so I can say Wayneand his life for his life for someone that wants a bike to really freak on Felix’s work despite really toward the really fun by roleand also the senior pants customize for you like it wrote the classic lines simplistic engineering styling save things to customize it is the Sawtelle frame chassis of view customization options for seating position Chris floorboards lovers so if you’re guided down the freeway you a lot of long distance to arrive probably not the best bike for you persona really likes to call razor sharp handling not to Best Buy for a slowdowns initiated turn on this they really wide sweeping turns real applicable handling on this thing so looking for a roomand Jane Carver Best Buy I was the breaking on his on the softgels even noticing this break the breaking is really good guy support this helper Stasi price really really well so breaking is great on these things us with the way as well he shows to find people that you know life to this break the low rider anymore I really miss on this bikeand all weather race but the break just fine that way is really cool iconic model that leaves only improved on his lot faster the 114 even when I said sure THE SAME PLANT ONE FOR THE LAWN OR DOES THE FREEWAY I WOULD WANT TO SEEM LIKE ACROSS COUNTRIES LIKE THE WINDOWS DEALING YOU CAN GET A WINDSHIELD DESPITE REGULAR FREEWAY HAS THE RIGHT WINDSHIELD THAT HE WAS GUYS THAT CONCLUSION A REVIEW HERE SO MANY QUESTIONS AS ALWAYS COMMENTS SECTION BELOW YOU WANT TO USE A SITE AREA IS NOTIFY ME See Other related products: Witch Never Let Your Wings Be Stolen From You Colorful T Shirt

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