#[ I MEAN i dO have a solar panel ]

[a-strawberry-mouse]

And now,

Another towel!

I love the colors of these ones, but goodness they simply don't last as long as older towels do. This one is about 4-5 years old. They get one little tear and get exploded like this.

I have no idea why the color in this picture is more dried out than a tomato eaten by Bunnicula, but I've trimmed off all the bleh bits of threads. Scraggly bits.

Again, no idea what's going on with the color.* I'm not going to spend all evening on it though because supper still needs doing. The repair thread's color is DMC 223, or as I call it, Worm Pink.

*The color problems are because I didn't turn on the light while the sun was going down. Whoops.

This is going to take a hot minute...

I'm watching The Mentalist because something like a decade ago a friend told me I *had* to watch it. It's on in the background and I look up for the important bits. It's definitely a show. I'm not sure if I like it or not.

[every-captain]

Encouraging people from California to conceptualize what peoples lives from outside of California are like should be an Olympic sport.

[muirneach]

algorithms seem to naturally push viewers towards right wing weirdness somehow. as such i’ve gone from interesting nature content to sustainable living and growing food to… ‘homesteading’ and stuff that is definitely almost a cult. anyways i find the idea i see with these people a lot that one must cut ties with ‘government support’ so strange. sorry to the weird progressive in speech but really genuinely a freak in practice who keeps showing up on my explore page, but i like it when i get like. electricity and medical care from the government. but yknow thats me maybe i’m the sheep

[arolesbianism]

If you see me talking abt build plans that won't actually work keep your mouth shut I'm trying to fuck around and find out by myself over here

[lipglossanon]

Urban Legend

shape shifter/wendigo!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, monsterfucking, dirty talk, mentions of cannibalism, threats, CNC, rape fantasy, rape talk, oral (f receiving), impromptu thigh job lol, biting, blood kink, multiple creampies, fingering, overstimulation, belly bulge, cum inflation, breeding kink, double penetration in one hole

not proofread ✌️ it’s all made up and the points don’t matter 😜

I literally had to stop myself from writing so sorry if the ending is sudden/lame 😝

“There’s no way that it’s real,” you scoff into your phone.

“Then why was it in the newspaper, huh?” Your friend’s voice sounds tinny on the other end, letting you know you’ll be out of range soon. 

“To sell them, duh,” you laugh, “hey listen, I’m about to lose service so I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

“Call me if anything happens!” her concern makes you smile to yourself. 

“Will do, bye!”

You lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket. A quick glimpse of a chimney in the treeline lets you know you’re almost to the cabin. It’s just a small little one bed, one bath place deep in the middle of the woods. Your parents moved and left the place to you, so you’re not able to come out as much as you like so it’s a little more rundown than in previous years. 

You have to park at the bottom and make the mile long hike up the mountain in order to reach it. There’s an ATV parked in the shed for any emergencies, but you’ve made the trek all these years without any issues so fingers crossed this will just be another year in the bucket. 

Stepping up onto the small porch, you pull out the spare key and unlock the door. A branch snaps off in the woods and you shoot a look over your shoulder. Your friend’s nervousness seems to be rubbing off on you. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to open the door. 

“There’s no such thing as werewolves anyways,” you mutter under your breath. 

She gave you a quick breakdown of the last several month’s events while you talked to her on your walk. She told you there’s been missing livestock for weeks until suddenly a few local parishioners went missing after service and were found brutally mutilated days later. Attacks have been gradually ramping up, peaking around the full moon especially (which just happens to be the weekend you decided for a mini vacation at the cabin, go figure). 

The locals believe in some old wives tales about a werewolf returning every hundred years. You think it’s kinda cute they hold onto such old superstitions, but it’s more than likely some bobcat or mountain lion that’s come down due to deforestation in the area. 

You let these thoughts wash over you as you bustle around the cabin; you get everything in place and mentally thank your dad for putting up solar panels years ago. Those paired with the propane tank and generator outside means you won’t be without hot running water or lights. 

Once you’re all settled in, you decide to make something quick and simple for dinner before relaxing in front of the fireplace. Stretching out on the beat up couch, you scrunch your toes in the thick fuzzy socks you love to wear this time of year and flip open the book you brought with you. You’ve just found the most comfortable position for reading, becoming more engrossed page by page when a loud thudding knock rings out from your door. You jump at the sound and scowl over at the door. 

Another knock happens and you close your book, making sure your bookmark is securely tucked in the pages, and raise up. Quietly walking to the door, you peek out of the peephole and see an injured man slumped against the porch railing. Your heartbeat quickens and you watch as he raises a tired hand to knock on the door again. Glancing around the area yields nothing but trees and the dusky twilight. 

You tiptoe away and grab the rifle out of the gun safe next to the fireplace. As you walk back over, the man knocks once more. 

“How can I help you?” You call out from your side of the door, gazing back through the peephole. 

The man tilts his face up, fringe falling away for you to make out a strong jawline. 

“I-I was attacked and n-need help,” he winces, arm hugging his middle where you can see blood seeping through his shirt, “some kinda w-wild animal. I just need a phone or a first aid kit. Please, miss.” 

You pause, eyes glancing down to the gun in your hands. On the off chance he’s faking, well he won’t be for long.

“What’s your name?” You call out, pulling your phone from your pocket. 

“Leon. Leon Kennedy,” he grunts, clenching his waist.

You type it out in your notes as well as a text message just to be on the safe side and lock your phone again. Unbolting the heavy door, you pull it open, gun at your side. 

He glances down at the weapon and back up to you, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth before pain pinches his expression. 

“Promise I don’t bite.”

You gesture forward and he takes a staggering step before pausing. 

“Are you coming in or what?”

He grimaces and takes another halting step, “Yeah, just hurts to move.”

You shift on your feet, debating with yourself before setting the gun down and stepping forward. 

“I’ll help you,” you murmur, taking his other arm and placing it over your shoulders. 

You angle him in the doorway first and help him hobble over to a chair near the fire. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out a sigh of relief before groaning, “cut me pretty deep.”

You walk over to pick up the gun and move it back to the safe. Making your way to the bathroom, you pull the first aid pack from under the sink and walk over to your impromptu guest. 

“Can you take your shirt off?”

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first,” he jokes, but stiffly slips his shirt over his head. 

You smile sardonically and snap open the bag, “I usually don’t harbor strange men on my days off, so I guess I don’t quite know the protocol.”

He laughs but it ends in another pained groan, hand pressing against the clawed marks across his ribs. 

“Shit, that might need stitches,” you frown, pulling out the disinfectant. 

Once you clean off the area, you notice it’s not as deep as you thought.

“Luckily we didn’t need to use the quick clot,” you smear antibacterial ointment over the wounds and pull out the gauze. 

He hums but doesn’t say anything; his blue eyes haven’t moved from your face the entire time you’ve been ‘doctoring’ him. 

“Thank you for this, I really thought I was gonna be wandering the woods for hours,” he finally speaks as you tape a bandage across his ribs and wrap it with the gauze (to be on the safe side you murmur to him). 

“Well, tomorrow, we can ride the ATV down and call a friend or the local ranger since you were attacked by an animal,” you zip up the first aid kit and grab all the rubbish to toss in the trash. 

He nods, “Okay.”

“You’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you point to the old upholstered couch in question, “it’s not big but it’s better than the floor.”

His eyes flick from the couch back to you, “I appreciate it. Better than being outside, ya know.”

He quirks a smile at his own words and you give a tight one in response. 

Sitting down in the chair across from him, you give him a quick once over, “Are you okay though? Like I’m not doctor, but I can help you down the mountain to my car if you really need one.”

He shakes his head, a softer smile pulling at his lips, “No, I’m good. Thanks though.”

“What happened?”

“I have a place out here and decided to go for a walk and an asshole jumped out of the bushes and nicked my ribs, knocked me down. I got a little disoriented and wound up over here. I could hear it following me up until I reached your porch.”

You rub your arms and gaze over to the front door, “Did you see what it was?”

“Some kinda wolf I think,” his brows furrow as he thinks back, “big for a wolf though.”

His expression clears as he looks back at you, “You live here?”

Shaking your head, you drop his gaze to look into the fireplace, “No, just a weekend getaway. Shitty job and even shittier neighbors getting on my nerves, so here I am.”

He laughs, “You don’t love your job?”

“No, not really,” a small smile crosses your face turning back to him, “does anyone?”

Leon shrugs before hissing from jostling the wound, “Mine’s not so bad. I work security.”

“Ahh, any place I know?” 

He shakes his head, “It’s local.”

You hum in reply and glance at your watch. 

“Well, I’m going to head to bed,” you stand and make your way back to the gun safe, pulling out the rifle again, “not to be rude, but I don’t know you from Adam so if you need to get my attention, I highly stress knocking and waiting for me to reply.”

His gaze doesn’t move from your face, “Read you loud and clear, miss.”

“Bathrooms through there, kitchen is there,” you point at each in turn, but with the open floor plan it would be hard for Leon to miss any of this, “I’ll probably wake up pretty early and make coffee. Then we’ll head down, okay?”

He nods along with you, “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

You walk over to the bedroom and right before the door snaps shut, Leon calls out to you. 

“Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” you parrot, giving one last look to the stranger now sitting on your couch. 

His eyes seem to reflect the firelight making you shiver. In a blink, everything seems normal making you think you only imagined it. Closing the door all the way, you slide the lock in place and crawl into bed, leaning the rifle next to your nightstand. 

He says he lives nearby but you’ve been coming to this cabin for most of your life and have never heard of any neighbors. It’s one of the reasons why your parents bought this place, the seclusion of not having anyone around for miles. He’s just really suspicious to you, even if he is cute. 

You eventually drift off, eyes trained on the door until they’re slipping shut. A loud jarring sound from the living room wakes you with a jerk. Raising up your hand hovers over your gun. A loud muffled curse makes you deflate a little. Leaving your warm bed, you unlock and open your bedroom door a crack to see Leon kneeling over the chair he must’ve ran into. 

“You okay?” You call out making him jump, head jerking around to the sound of your voice. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I sorta tripped. Sorry to wake you up.”

You shrug and step out, making your way over to the kitchen, “Shit happens.”

Leon watches you as you grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“You seem really interesting,” he tosses out as you drink your water, “it’s kinda refreshing.”

“No offense Leon, but this is super weird for me,” you blatantly state, squinting at him, “in all my time being up here, I’ve never run into anyone else.”

“I was attacked,” he gestures to his ribs, “and I walked around for a while before finding you. It’s not like I was hiding out for you.”

He laughs suggesting it’s a joke, but there’s a ring of truth to his words that makes your hair stand on end. You eye the block of knives to your left. 

Once he realizes you’re not laughing, he tapers off, a queer little smile tugging at his lips. 

“I think I’ve spooked you,” he sighs, placing his chin in his palm as it rests against the chair, “didn’t mean to, miss.”

Using the excuse of sitting your bottle down on the counter, you side step closer to the knives. 

A grin stretches wide across his face, “Those won’t do you any good.”

Your fingernails dig into the soft meat of your palms as you level a flat look at the man in front of you. 

“And why not, Leon?”

He tilts his head, fringe shifting until only one blue eye can be seen, “Because they’re not sharp enough, silly.”

By the time your fingers wrap around the handle of a butcher’s knife, four sharp claws are wrapped around your neck, thumb digging into your jaw to tilt your head up. Your brain stutters, trying to comprehend what you’re even looking at now. 

He’s monstrous, blocking out the light completely, his body towering above your frame by a couple of feet, not including the curled ram horns protruding from his head. From what little you can see, you’re grateful for the dark. He chuckles a low warbling sound that has your heart rate kicking into overdrive. 

“You’re very interesting,” you feel a cold press of something hard and smooth against your ear, “think I’ll keep you for myself.”

He drags you closer to the fire and you catch a flash of an animal skull in place of a face before he turns away and in a blink he looks human as he did earlier tonight. 

He smiles at you, “Gotta remember not to scare you too much.”

With all the insanity that has taken place in the last few minutes, you find yourself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You weren’t even hurt, you asshole. Made me waste my first aid gauze.”

Surprise crosses Leon’s features before he’s smiling again, too wide to be human. You can see his pupils are slitted now, like a cat’s.  

“Yes, very interesting,” he chuckles, facing off against you and blocking any access to the bedroom (and your gun), “and you’re right.”

Under his breath you catch the words, “fucking Chris.”

You purse your lips, “If I go missing, they’re going to come looking for me. They’ll know your name.”

He sits you down on the couch taking a seat next to you. Leon’s excited by your words, eagerly leaning into your space. 

“You’re just full of surprises,” his teeth are longer now, needle sharp as he speaks, “and so clever. I like you already. I don’t plan on killing you.”

You snort, “Sure, and all of those locals just fell down and hurt themselves to death?”

He laughs, a sharp bright sound that makes your chest flutter.

“Oh, well they had it coming to them. Needed to eat,” his eyes reflect in the low light, “you’re such fun.”

He leans forward and breathes in causing goosebumps to race down your arms, “You make me want things. Things I haven’t thought of in a long, long time.”

Confusion pinches your brows together, “How old are you? Wait, is Leon even your real name?”

“You ask such silly questions,” he pouts, “and yes, it is. Why? Think I should have something like Cthulhu?”

You huff a laugh at how offended he sounds but bite down the smile as soon as Leon lights up from your amusement. 

“You’re a tough cookie to crack,” he presses more into your space making your skin prickle, “think I know a way to get you to like me.”

He pulls back and tugs his shirt off and with a small flex of his arms, rips the clothing in half. You can’t help but stare at him. When you patched him up hours ago, you had a fleeting appreciation of his body and now it flares back up as your eyes trace his pecs down to the happy trail disappearing under the band of his jeans. 

After tearing the shirt again, he wraps a torn piece around your wrists and ties it off. You try twisting your arms, but it does nothing except pinch the skin. Embarrassingly, your clit pulses at the feeling of being tied up like this. 

Next, Leon strips you both down quickly; his eyes hungrily raking down your nude body as he removes each piece of clothing.  Feeling self conscious, even in front of a monster, you shift your arms to cover yourself. He grabs your biceps, blue cat eyes flashing with heat, and yanks them back up. 

“Let me have my fill,” he gnashes his teeth, sharp points drawing your eye, “look at how soft you are, all that lovely unmarked skin…”

His voice trails off as he runs his hands down your arms to your breasts. 

“Sweet little nipples that need sucked…”

You shiver as he tweaks your nipples until they’re stiff and sensitive. He runs his hands over your soft stomach and hips. One hand grips the fat of your waist and the other teasingly rubs across your mound. 

“And a fat wet pussy that needs licked.” 

You shudder at those words, thighs subconsciously parting for him as he grins wickedly into your eyes. 

“Yeah that’s what she needs, huh? A sexy cunt that just needs to be stuffed full with a big fat cock.”

A whine slips past your lips and you go hot all over with embarrassment, toes curling against the soft rug. 

“S-shut up, fucking perv.”

He laughs, a distorted chime that reminds you of a bell, and leans forward to nose against your jaw, kissing your cheek. 

“Mmm, I’ll enjoy every second of this. You’re so feisty,” he kisses down to your neck, “which means this pussy is gonna taste so good. Especially when you cum.”

You glare at him but can’t stop the slick leaking down your thighs from his words and touches. It’s your darkest fantasy come true; you’ve gotten off to the thought of someone forcing themselves on you more than you’d like to admit. And now this weird creature is going to have his wicked way with you; it makes your pussy thrum in anticipation. 

His hands distort into claws in front of your eyes; the fingers are multi jointed in the strangest of ways, skin discolored and skeletal with nails long and sharp, digging into your waist roughly making you suck in a breath. His teeth and eyes are still abnormal, but so far that’s the extent. 

“What are you?” you murmur, eyes wide as they move back down to his strange hands. 

He shrugs easily, “I’m me,” grinning mischievously he presses on, “wanna see something?”

Before you can say anything he sticks out his pink tongue. It unfurls from his mouth, long and thick with a rough bumpy texture. He laughs and pulls it back into his mouth. 

“Gonna show you how fun it can be,” he kneels down in the floor, between your parted thighs, “god, you smell fucking fantastic.”

He drools a line of spit down onto the hood of your clit making your cunt throb with arousal. 

“Yeah, you may say you don’t like it, but look how fucking messy this pussy is,” he sighs happily, laying his head onto your thigh to gaze up at you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, little human.”

He kisses your cunt sweetly making your hips jump up. 

“So sensitive,” he growls, eyes luminous as he glances back up to your face, “gonna enjoy this.”

He buries his face into your pussy, slurping and groaning as he licks into your hole. 

“Such a fat pussy,” he grunts, mouth moving up to suckle your clit, “fat little pussy that’s gonna cum all over my tongue.”

You whimper, hooking your legs over his shoulders making him laugh at you. 

“You like that? Like that I wanna eat this sweet pussy until you’re creaming my face?”

“Fuck,” you moan, head tossed back as he dives back into licking and kissing your pussy. 

It should gross you out, turn you off, anything, other than wanting to have this monster eat you out. You blame it on your brain just giving into the craziness that’s happening. Hell, maybe you’ll wake up and this will all have been some kind of fever dream. 

You grind against his mouth and his thick rough tongue fucks up into your clenching hole, fluttering against your walls and stretching your cunt wide like a cock would. Reaching down, your fingers grip into his hair, using it as an anchor as you hump down onto his tongue. 

With a rumbling purr deep within his chest, you feel his hair shift as his horns grow out of his skull. Hesitantly, you move from his silky hair to the rough texture of his horns. You gently wrap your fingers around the base and he humps the air. 

“Grip’em,” he murmurs, eyes bright, sharp teeth nipping the meat of your thigh, “think we’ll both like it.” 

A shuddering whine leaves your lips as you grasp his horns and rock against his greedy mouth. He groans, the vibration thrumming through your cunt making more slick ooze from your hole. He pulls away to lick a broad stripe up your cunt, bumpy tongue lapping slowly at your clit making your thighs shake. 

With a rumbling growl, he buries his face into your pussy lips, tongue pressing into your drippy hole. You shift your wrists as the binding bites into your skin while you grip his horns. He purrs and rubs his head back and forth so his nose rolls across your swollen clit. Whining softly, you buck upward, grinding yourself against his mouth. 

More slick oozes from your cunt and he slips his tongue into your pulsing walls before licking his way up to your pudgy clit. Leon bites your pussy lips, sucking the skin roughly before letting go. He kisses the hood of your clit and across your mound before biting down on where your cunt meets your thigh. 

Letting go, he moves back to running his bumpy tongue through your slick folds. You arch off the couch and into his warm rough mouth as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt until you’re crying out. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you pant, tugging his horns before grasping his hair. 

He hums and sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue licking over the swollen bud as you moan softly. Right on the brink, he pulls his mouth away, sticky strings of saliva connecting to your pussy lips as he denies you your orgasm. 

You narrow your eyes at him as he pulls away, his slitted pupils expanded as they move up from your glistening cunt to your pinched expression. 

He grins and the sharp teeth make your clit throb.  Gripping your arms, he slips your hands over his head to wrap around his neck. Moving up your body, he kisses you messily, tongue licking into your mouth greedily. You whimper to taste yourself on his lips. 

His claws slide down your ribs making your breath stutter, exhaling a gasp as they wrap around your waist. 

“So soft,” he murmurs, “just wanna sink my claws in you over and over.”

He slips his hands underneath your ass and lifts you up, standing to his full height where your head nearly brushes the roof of the cabin. Turning, he sits down on the couch with you in his lap.  

“You seem rather human,” you mutter, eyes taking in his body as you straddle his waist, legs tucked on the outside of his thighs. 

“Easier to enjoy a soft thing like you when I’m like this,” he laughs, clawed hands digging into the meat of your hips.

“It’s just surprising,” you shrug, arms still tied around his neck. 

His eyes gleam white before settling back into their usual blue; he shifts on the couch before a smooth cat like tail slips from behind his body to wrap around your waist. 

“Better?” A smug look crosses his face. 

You hold back the laugh bubbling at the base of your throat; maybe you’ve lost your mind, maybe this is some weird hallucination brought on by whatever you ate, but a monster trying to impress you before fucking your brains out is something you never would have dreamt in your wildest fantasies. 

“What about your face earlier?”

He rolls his eyes, “That’s so boring. Don’t you wanna see if I have two cocks or something?”

This time you do laugh, a small sound that you quickly stifle under his gaze. He jostles you as he pulls you down onto his bulge making your breath hitch from the sheer size of him. 

“The answer is yes by the way,” his grin widens at the same time as your eyes do, tail tightening around your middle in excitement. 

Burying his face in your neck, he mutters, “You seriously smell so good.”

His fingers move down and tease across your swollen clit, parting your pussy lips to drag slick up from your hole all around your bud. He lets go to remove his pants (which you’re not even sure how they’re still on), having you raise up on your knees as he shoves them down and off. 

Once you settle back down on his lap one of his dripping cocks is sandwiched between your pussy lips and the other presses against the front of your mound, uncut head smearing precum on your abdomen, making you clench around nothing. From the looks of this one, both are thick and long, definitely bigger than anything you’ve had before. 

“Eyes are up here,” his snarky tone pulls your attention back up to his face. 

You shake your head, “How—“

“One at a time, silly,” he nips your neck, “then once you’re stretched enough, we can try both.”

His voice drops a lower octave, “But you’ve also got two holes that we can try out, too.”

Your eyes flutter as your cunt oozes slick all over his cock making him laugh.

“You’re really interesting,” he sloppily kisses your neck, “never had someone so excited before. Usually have to rape their little cunts in their sleep.”

You whimper and he raises up to smirk at you. 

“Were you hoping for the same thing? Mmm, all half asleep as I stuff that pussy,” he purrs in your ear, “too tired and weak to push me off as I rape this tiny hole til I’m pulling out and covering you with cum.”

You grind down against his cocks as your nails digs into the back of his neck making him smile into the feeling. 

“You’re such fun,” he tilts his head, eyes glittering, “just for that I’ll give you a little treat.”

Your mouth drops open in shock as he changes between one blink to the next; his entire face morphs to that of a smooth animal skull, bright eyes flaring from the empty eye sockets. He bares his teeth at you in what you hope is a smile. 

“Ta da!” His voice comes out distorted and echoey, octave low and strange. 

A high keen slips past your lips as he eases the head of one of his cocks into your cunt. 

“You’re so wet,” he praises, “god, ‘m so lucky to get a little freak like you.”

You want to argue against him, but it’s hard when this monster is slowly sinking his fat dick into your spasming hole, stretching you out so good. 

He pauses when he’s only halfway inside, holding you still with his huge hands until you’re squirming. 

“Please,” you whisper, frustration making tears bead your lash line. 

“Awww,” he coos at you, “since you’ve been so good, I guess you can have it all.”

And with that, he drops you down on his lap like a stone, cock bullying all the way into your cunt until the fat tip is bruising your cervix making you wail. 

“Too rough?” He smirks. 

You nod and slump against his chest. 

“Must like it,” he mocks, “this pussy is gripping me so tight, don’t know if I can pull out.”

You shudder and drool on his pecs as his cock kicks inside your overly full pussy. His other cock drips precum all over your lower abdomen from where it’s sandwiched between you two. 

“Untie me,” you’re able to slur out, slowly tugging your arms over his head. 

He squints at you (or the skull seems to insinuate squinting) and uses a claw to slice through the tattered shirt binding your wrists. 

Sighing, you rotate your hands before placing them on his chest and dragging them down. You watch as his muscles jump and twitch under your smooth palms. Finally, you cup the base of his other cock and slowly pull down the foreskin. You drool a line of spit down onto the head and precum blurts from the tip of his dick.

He snarls and pulls out only to roughly fuck back into your pussy. Whimpering, you’re only able to loosely grip his second cock as he jackhammers into your soaked cunt. 

“Sensitive, huh,” you murmur, eyes half lidded as they gaze up into his skull face. 

He whines at your words, grinding his tip hard against your cervix making your eyes roll back, “Been so long since a pretty thing wanted to play with me.”

Your hands grip his cock and begin to jerk him off firmly, spitting down on his tip to make it wet and messy. 

His tail, which you forgot about, slips lower down on your waist and lightly teases across your clit. 

“Oh,” your eyes move from his slackened jaw down to watch his soft tail slowly tap and rub across your swollen clit. 

Your cunt squeezes around his cock rhythmically as he teases your bundle of nerves until you’re rocking against him. His claws let go of your hips to wrap around your thighs, spreading you open until he can see his cock pounding into your drippy hole.  

His tail helps you lean back some so he can leverage his hips into rolling thrusts up into your pussy. Your hands shakily keep stroking his other cock,completely  covered in spit and precum. 

His tail smacks across your clit and your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curl and spine arches as your cunt clenches down on his thick cock like a vice, milking him until it must hurt but he only groans in pleasure. Your hands go slack and he grabs them to toss over his broad shoulders. 

He presses his mouth right against your ear, low baritone making your cunt spasm and clench around his fat cock. 

“Gotta pull out, little human,” he chuckles when you whine, “mmm, I’ve got to cause if I cum in you, we’ll be mated. And you wouldn’t want that, would ya?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to pierce his skin and he purrs, “Unless you want me to fill up this sexy little pussy and keep you forever.”

You bounce what little you can down onto his dick, hands moving up to his horns to grab onto them. Feeling cockdrunk and unhinged, you swivel your hips to fuck him harder, wanting everything he has to give.

“Wanna feel it,” you sigh as he sinks his sharp teeth into your shoulder, “fill me up, Leon.”

He growls, a loud inhuman sound that makes your skin crawl and a bolt of fear spike through the arousal. Instead of letting go, you grind down even harder, pussy feeling sore and sensitive. 

“You want me to cum inside you?” He sounds pained and when he tilts back up his skull face has morphed into the one he wore earlier that night.

“Uh huh,” you pant and bring up one of your hands to cradle his jaw, hips swiveling down to prevent him from pulling out, “or are you all talk?”

In a flash, he has your back on the couch as he pins you down in a mating press, legs pressed open wide by his clawed hands. 

He snaps his teeth in your face, “You don’t even know what it means to be bred, do you? I’ll have this fat cunt stuffed so full you’re dripping my seed for days. You’ll beg for it constantly, needing me to breed your cute little hole cause you feel so empty.”

You whine, hands coming up to wrap around his horns again, “Promise?”

He growls low in his throat and smashes your mouths together, his sharp teeth  cutting your bottom lip so the taste of blood flavors your kisses. 

“Promise,” he mutters against your mouth before licking up the blood tinging your lips. 

“Gonna mate you all the time,” he mumbles against you as he pistons his hips deep into your swollen pussy, “have you cumming on my cock until you can’t even think anymore.”

You moan and pull him back in for more sloppy kisses, “Please, please, Leon, cum in my pussy.”

His second cock’s weeping so much precum, your stomach is a sticky mess, but it just makes you squeeze down on the cock inside you even more. Leon has flipped some switch in your brain because you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t spill inside you.

“You promised me both,” you pout, tears clinging to your lashes as his cock presses into your cervix, “promised to stuff me with both.”

He groans brokenly, hips shuddering as he bucks into you one last time, spilling his thick load deep into your cunt at the same time his other cock spurts rope after rope of hot thick cum all over your body, jizz shooting all the up to your chin. 

He groans like an animal you’ve never heard of as he dumps load after load into your pussy until it’s spilling out around his fat cock. 

“Mated,” he sounds happy as he sinks his teeth into your neck making you scream out.

He pulls back with bloody teeth and that’s the last thing you see before passing out. 

~*~*~*~

The warm slant of sunlight from the bedroom window shines into your eyes and you roll over with a grumble. You raise up quickly once you remembered where you were, only to see Leon lounging on the bed next to you eating a bowl of cereal as he watches the small portable tv on the dresser. 

“These movies are so dumb,” he scoffs, digging into your Count Chocula cereal, “they always go overboard on the transformations.” 

Your bleary eyes squint at the small screen and see what looks to be The Thing and you frown at him. Pushing yourself up, you slump against his side, body feeling overly sore (the same as your sensitive cunt). 

“That better not be the last of it,” you mumble against his arm, making him turn his bright eyes over to you. 

“No, but good morning, little mate,” he purrs, setting the bowl down on your nightstand so he can roll over on top of you to pin you down to the bed. 

You whimper and arch up into the soft kisses he presses against your neck. The blanket slips down to his waist as he grinds his cocks against your needy pussy. He eases the head of one of them inside your hole, making you sigh and wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Gotta fill you up again,” he chuckles, “sucking me in like I didn’t spend all night pounding this little pussy.”

“Leon,” you whine, nails scratching red lines down his back and making his hips thrust into you. 

He fucks you slow and soft, rutting into your pussy as his other cock is sandwiched between your thighs. 

“Perfect,” he sighs happily, “can’t wait to give you both.”

Eyes fluttering, you moan and pull him down fully on top of you, his heavy weight squishing you into the mattress. He growls and snaps his hips harder, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass makes you clench down on him. 

“First pussy I’ve ever got to creampie,” he coos against your ear, “so taboo to mate a human, but damn if I don’t love fucking this tight cunt. S’all mine now, I own this tight little pussy.”

His words wring your first orgasm of the day from your sore body, pussy walls fluttering as you cum around his fat cock. He moans low in his throat, hips rabbiting harder against you as he chases his own climax. 

His blunted human teeth bite down on your neck as he buries his cock as deep as he can in your pussy, pumping his load right against your cervix as his other cock spills wet and hot between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, clit pulsing as he stuffs you to the brim and paints your thighs white with his thick cum.  

He pulls away with a grunt and snuggles into your side. With a soft giggle, he nuzzles against the bite mark he left on your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait to show you off. Chris is gonna eat shit,” he crows in your ear before kissing your jaw. 

“Chris?” you tiredly ask, twisting to look at the top of Leon’s head. 

“Yeah he’s the asshole who scratched up my ribs. He’s a part of what you humans would call my pack,” he leans up to kiss you on the lips, “don’t worry, I’ll introduce you after you’re settled in.”

“What?” You frown. 

“I’ve got a place not too far from here,” he gushes, eyes shining excitedly, “you’re gonna love it. It overlooks the river and everything.”

“You have a house?” Your brain feels like it’s lagging behind. 

“Of course, silly,” he kisses your neck again, “you’ll come live with me. I’ll take care of you, never have to worry about a thing.”

“Quit my job and just move out here?”

“It’s not like you liked it anyway,” he rolls his eyes before climbing on top of you, pinning you down again. 

His cocks rub against your cunt making you whimper. 

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he murmurs before kissing you, strange tongue licking into your mouth. 

Whining, you suck on the thick muscle as he rocks against you, cunt oozing creamy slick and cum all over your thighs. 

“Keep you forever,” he groans, pulling back to prop his weight on his forearms, “got me addicted to this little human pussy already. Definitely not letting you go.”

A high pitched moan slips from your lips as he slips the head of both of his cocks into your cunt. 

“Mmm, can’t fit quite yet but we’ll get there,” he laughs, “let me just slip the tips in for now.”

Your thighs tremble as he rocks the first few inches of each cock into your used cunt. He relaxes on top of you, letting your pussy cockwarm his dicks as he bites and kisses at your neck. He moves up to kiss you, all wet and messy, making you whimper and cling to him. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re rocking against him, slowly fucking the heads of his cocks in and out of your stretched pussy.  He sighs and purrs into your kisses as he tongue fucks your mouth. You can feel as his teeth change against your lips, sharp points digging into the sensitive skin. 

He works you for what feels like hours, just slowly sinking inch by inch into your spasming hole. His precum and your slick have soaked your thighs all the way to the bedspread underneath. It’s a wet mess between your thighs, but all you can feel is the pleasurable pain of being too full. 

“Never had someone take both like this,” he rumbles happily, nosing against your jaw, “god, what a perfect fucking pussy. You’re taking me in so well, such a good fucking girl.”

You hiccup a whine at the praise, walls fluttering against the stretch of his dicks. 

“Yeah? Like being my good girl,” he nips at your earlobe, “you’re the best I’ve ever had, so fucking lucky. Can’t believe I own a slut who likes being DP’d.”

Your nails dig harshly into his back as your toes curl, his words making you burn hot all over. 

“Like that?” He mocks, “like that I own you and your pretty pussy?”

His tail slips between your bodies to spank your clit making you cry out and  rock against him harder. 

“Leon,” you slur out, tears slipping from your eyes due to overstimulation.

With a groan, he buries both cocks to the hilt inside of your clenching heat. Your pussy feels stretched to the limit, overwhelmed by the sheer size of both of his dicks. You gasp and mewl, feeling like you can’t breathe from being stuffed so full. 

“Shh, shhh, I’ve got you,” he kisses your cheek, “taking me so well. Tight little cunt just made for me, huh?”

Not able to think, you just babble out nonsensical words, feeling on the edge of another orgasm. It’s not going to take much to make you cum. 

“Aww did I fuck you stupid?” He laughs, “wet little pussy just can’t handle me can she?”

His tail smacks across your pudgy clit and your orgasm slams into you, making you squirt around his cocks, too spread open to clamp down as tight as usual. 

“Oh fuck me,” he hisses, grinding himself deeper, making you wail as you continue to gush around him. 

“Got your cute little pussy to squirt,” he moans excitedly, “fuck, that’s so hot.”

He growls and you watch as his eyes shine before his body shifts into that monstrous form you saw last night. He’s huge, caging you in with his skeletal and strangely jointed body. You whimper and move your hands up from digging into his shoulders to the horns coming out of the skull he’s wearing now. 

He pulls out only to bully his fat cocks back into your well used pussy. Eyes rolling back at the pleasure he’s wringing from your body, you moan and grip his horns tighter making him buck harder into you. A few more thrusts and you’re cumming again with a weak cry, pussy walls fluttering and milking Leon’s dicks. 

“My mate,” his distorted voice rumbles, hips fucking roughly into your spasming hole, “gonna breed your little pussy, fill you up with my hot cum.”

All you can do is mewl and whimper underneath his body, feeling as he fucks harder and harder into your cunt until he’s finally burying himself all the way inside. His tips knock and rub against your cervix which set off fireworks behind your eyes as you cum one last time. 

Hot thick spurts of cum shoot out and quickly stuff your pussy full. Your abdomen looks bloated from how much Leon’s pumping inside your body. He’s snarling against your neck as he humps your pussy, dumping load after load into you until it’s dripping out around his balls. 

You must black out cause the next thing you know, you’re leaning against Leon’s chest in the bath. Whimpering, you weakly grasp onto the hand he has trailing across your stomach. 

“Finally awake,” he chuffs against your hair, “how do you feel?”

“Sore,” you croak out, throat feeling scratchy. 

One of his hands clasps yours while the other slides across your hip to your swollen pussy. 

“Leon,” you whine, “I can’t.”

“Shhh,” he kisses the side of your head, “let me make you feel good, my perfect little mate.”

His fingers quickly tease and rub across your sensitive clit until you’re rocking your hips up with the motion. 

“There we go, good girl,” he sighs, “let me play with that cute pussy. Feels so good to have my fingers on your little clit, huh?”

“Mm hmm,” you arch back into his chest, thighs parted until they’re touching the sides of the bathtub. 

“Want me to slip inside? Want my cocks to stuff you full of cum again?”

Your body feels molten with the arousal pounding through your veins. He shifts and both cocks are pressed against your cunt between your thighs. 

“‘M always so hard around you,” he whines in your ear, “you smell too fucking good, wanna eat you up.”

You shudder as his sharp teeth press against your neck, fingers dipping into your cunt to trail back up and smear slick across your pudgy clit. 

“Come on, I know you can cum for me,” he kisses your neck softly. 

In next to no time, your thighs shake as an orgasm crests and sweeps through your tired body, making you tense all over before going totally limp against Leon’s body. 

“Good girl,” he purrs against your back, hands rubbing at your waist, “can’t wait to take you home.”

Humming, you relax, letting the warm bath lull you into a sleepy state. Leon goes off on a tangent about introducing you to everyone as soon as possible as well as moving you into his house. While you listen to him talk about your new home, you think to yourself that being mated to a monster like Leon isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

divider: @firefly-graphics

[alphajocklover]

I love your stuff bro! Do you think you could help me out? I’m a younger small guy but I’m trying to become a bodybuilder jock. Is there anything you can do to help me grow huge like that? 💪💪

Hm… I’ll admit, I don’t normally do that kind of thing. So far my job has been detailing the stories I find of nerds getting turned into jocks, usually unwillingly or accidentally, by various methods. I warn people of them so that they can avoid them (or seek them out). I’m more of a reporter than anything. I’ve never transformed anyone myself.

But… I have picked up a few methods during my travels. It’s hard not to with all I’ve learned. Now let’s see what I have on hand.

First is a jar filled with the sweat of an Alpha. When I say Alpha I mean Alpha with a capital A. The ones from my earlier story, that can change people with their sheer dominance. Drinking their sweat can give someone their powers, for a short time. But there are some… side effects. Normal people aren’t meant to have Alpha powers, even if the powers are only temporary. Maybe another transformation method will do.

Next is a piece of the Reality Stone. Yes, that reality stone, the one that changed Spider-man into a cocky jock. I had a lot of fun getting it out from between those juicy pecs of his. I didn’t hurt him if that’s what you're worried about. I wasn’t even able to get it entirely out of him so he kept some of those reality altering powers of his. But the fragment I got is enough to make some changes. The only problem is the reality stone is… very powerful. I mean you’ve read the comics right, or at least seen the movies? Even the bit of it I have is powerful enough to be dangerous, so you could accidentally do something very bad with a spare thought. So maybe that’s not the best. I hear Big Pete Parker is having fun with his part though.

How about this smartphone? It has a version of InstaJock downloaded on it. You’re probably wondering how I got one without getting transformed myself, but that’s a whole other story. Use the app and you’ll be a jock. Instantly. Of course if you do that I’ll have to find another phone with the app on it, which would be a pain. How about instead…

Ah. Now this is perfect. The energy of a supernova. A very specific supernova actually. You may recognize it from some of my first stories. Usually the supernova jockifys whoever wishes on it by granting their wish, but it’s less mystical than you might think. I’m not sure how it works, but the star doesn't change reality with magic. The energy from the star is what makes the change. So, with a slightly adjusted solar panel, I was able to make this. It looks like a regular battery, but if you speak your (muscle growth related) wish into it, it will come true. I think this one will work perfectly. No side effects, no danger, and you can customize.

So go ahead, say your wish. I’m sure you’ll-

-whoa. That worked quicker than I thought. You look amazing. Bouncy pecs, killer abs, a good amount of manly hair and stubble. I think you’re even a bit older too. You’re a total bodybuilder jock, through and through. So go, enjoy it!

And make sure to tell your friends. This might have been the first transformation I personally oversaw, but I don’t think it’ll be my last.

[blurban-form]

Future Brisbane

So, at the end of “Surprise”, we get to see future-Brisbane, maybe 25-30 years in the future? A grown-up Bluey brings her child to visit her parents’ house, so her kid can blast Dad with tennis balls like she did.

Compare future Brisbane with current Brisbane

First of all, nice to see the house hasn’t fallen down, Dad and Mum have kept it in good repair (thanks Hammerbarn) and it now has solar panels, as do a number of other homes.

Many things have changed:

An incredible increase in land use density; multiple medium and tall towers (like in downtown) now are common in the suburban area. Assuming this means much more multifamily housing.

Roads much less dominant/conspicuous in the hills

Look how the trees have grown.

The communications towers on the hilltops are less conspicuous.

Three waste/recycling bins (addressing the green waste recycling issue)

Drone transport (for deliveries?)

Some things haven’t changed:

Sky is blue. That’s good.

The whole area hasn’t flooded from rising sea levels…

Adult Bluey drives, or at least is using a private vehicle, rather than something like an on-demand transit service. (Maybe the drone deliveries mean less congestion on the roads but traffic has never been a big issue in Bluey-Brisbane 😉)

Inside the house is not crazy-futuristic, some electronic gadgets, like a Roomba. (I was expecting more high-tech like a Mr. Fusion from “Back to the Future” but that’d probably be by the kitchen or by the garbage wheelie-bins.)

I know my parents still have the same stereo they had 30+ years ago, and much of the same furniture.

Note that 30 years of progress has not improved how Roombas dock with their charging stations.

Some other new tech in the front hall:

Electronic digital picture frames with weird floating connections to the wall.

Wifi router thing on ceiling

Spherical thing (maybe something like an Alexa?)

New comfy chair, replacing the red one.

Density Increase

The increase in land use density in the Brisbane suburbs where the Heelers live is one of those dreams of land use planners; more density in already developed areas is generally considered a plus, assuming the infrastructure can accommodate it. Higher density means more people in a given area making public transit more efficient and reducing costs to serve the homes with utilities.

Is that kind of growth possible in only a few decades? Yes, here’s a North American example… this is where I grew up, in the early 1980s it looked like this in Mississauga, ON around the Square One shopping centre…

…and now it looks like this in the 2020s.

So that’s growth over about 30-40 years, which is a little longer than how much time has apparently elapsed in “Bluey”, but not a lot. It’s possible, and this kind of thing can snowball / accelerate once initial projects get underway.

Public opposition (NIMBY) can prevent this kind of thing from occurring in many cities.

[maybeelse]

She doesn't get a chance to understand before it kills her.

A month later, when her latest iteration wakes inside her latest descendant-clone, she's already cursing when she comes out of the nutrient broth. Technician-dolls cringe away from her fury, unpleasantly aware of how it distorts their witchwork hearts.

"—I should have had it that time! What went wrong? Which of you fucking rags lost hold of their wards?" None of them reply, of course. "Give me the damn readouts, useless things, I'll figure this out myself ..."

The path from the resurrection suite to her office is among the longest and least scenic on the ship, deep below stairs, full of all the unsightly necessities that keep lights on and bellies full. Even so, there's still slimy nutrient residue clinging to her by the end of it, slick-drying-to-sticky. Dolls hurry to clean the trail she left behind.

Her office is cleaner than she left it, a fresh pot of tea waiting on the sideboard. Her own custom blend. It's the best she can do out here in the uneasy void, and her best is very good indeed. Each sip coats her throat with hot honey and drenches her tongue in delicate, creamy flowers. By the end of her third cup it becomes clear that her failure has no easy culprit.

The mass of potential her ship is anchored to, the scar on the void, simply popped her existence like an unwanted pimple. Possibly this was in response to something she did—she's missing the final thirty seconds of telemetry and memory—but if so it would mean that her last iteration went off script. There's no trace of anything else.

She groans in frustration.

As if in response, there is a knock at the door. Tentative, uneasy. No wonder; her foul mood is palpable. "M-mistress?"

"Come in."

The door's hinges don't creak. They used to, in the old house she plucked it from, but somehow that was lost in transition. Perhaps in her absence the dolls have grown over-eager to oil them.

The face that peeks through is one she knows well; after all, she is responsible for most of its more distinctive features. The delicate scarification around its seven eyes, two sets of three packed close together and the last above, splitting its forehead into two smooth panels; the seams where she taught its lips to part further than it ever thought they could. And, most satisfyingly of all, the involuntary flush that creeps into its cheeks when it sees her. Her secretary.

Its body is no less pleasing to her, even hidden under space-ready overalls and behind a large manila folder. Her eyes linger; her crotch twitches. It takes her a moment to focus on what her secretary is saying—her new body's hormone balance must be off. Something to look into.

"... lost one substrate tank to a micrometeorite strike while You were away, but otherwise resource consumption was minimal. Hydroponic and solar arrays are both running at full efficiency, so that's good. The bad news is the ram-scoop malfunction, which this one already mentioned, and contamination in the soul-farm. Not urgent, but attrition will be a problem until it's fixed. Other than that," it trails off, "there's ... miss ...?"

It drifted closer to her desk while it was talking, its many-branched legs twitching almost involuntarily. It always moves like this: incidental, distracted, torso held perfectly steady. In low gravity, its hair slowly drifting around it, the effect is mesmerizing. Heat runs through her body, hundreds of strings plucked and vibrating, converging, focusing. The choice to stand is not wholly her own.

She prefers to be taller than her secretary, though not by much. Standing, its eyes are level with her collarbones; kneeling, its complex legs partially folded under it, it looks up at her from waist-height. She admires its eyes, lidded and dilated; its choice to kneel owes more to rigorous conditioning than conscious thought.

"... miss?"

She steps towards it, the flush in its cheeks deepening as her body's heat and scent envelop it—the chemical-sweet nutrient broth, the milky-sour undertones of fresh-grown flesh, her own tangy musk slowly building as her body makes its needs known. Her secretary's lips part.

"Good. Now, keep your mouth open for me ..."

She takes full advantage of how wide its mouth opens.

Later—much later—she's scrubbing her resurrection's last vestiges out of her hair, massaging the shampoo into her scalp with the same precision she'll soon apply to building a new exploration-craft. Putting her new hands through their motions. Her secretary lies on the tile floor, its body leaking, swollen, and utterly insensate.

This is her fourth attempt to get clean. It's entirely her own fault that her secretary looks so delicious every time it stirs back to life, just as it's entirely her own fault that they have had an intermittent audience of off-duty technician-dolls: when she designed her ship she didn't think to give herself a private bath suite, and the dolls weren't grown with enough sense to give their mistress her privacy.

Probably that's going to cause cultural problems down the line, if she doesn't remember to do something about it.

Another technician-doll freezes in the entrance to the baths, its soft curves already half-freed from its shapelessly utilitarian uniform. Its eyes flicker between her and her secretary; she can feel the way its gaze travels down her body, snapping to her breasts, the curve of her stomach, and her crotch, flushed and oversensitive and demanding no matter how hard she tries to calm it.

The doll's nose twitches; its cheeks flush; and she yells "get out, idiot!" at it just before it's too late. Her entire body twitches with predatory need as she watches it flee; an utterly inappropriate way to feel about a thing that is already hers, that exists only to serve her purposes, that would happily let her break it apart—and why shouldn't she? She vibrates with need, her body taking a single step before she swings back towards her secretary, so perfectly shaped to her desires—

She is starting to think that something went seriously, fundamentally wrong with her resurrection.

She's going to have to figure out how to fix it, soon.

But maybe not yet. Not with her secretary's body right there. She can afford to wear herself out first, just as a precaution. It's fine. And, as she picks up her secretary's limp body, she's careful not to acknowledge that she's not sure if she can stop herself.

[marivoid]

Entry 31

Day 223

This is him. One of the only people that can help me find The Doctor. The Heavy-Body Builder.

One problem: The man is the definition of "Looks scary, is a wet cat of a man." He definitely TRIED to be intimidating, but he failed pretty miserably at it when I met him after being unconscious for 10 days.

(Yes I did a double take. I still can't believe I was out for THAT long)

Picture this: Me walking towards a towering city of collapsing buildings with dust filled air. Eyes focused on the small blinks of light that just barely escape the smog- I'm thinking that I've finally made it! Comparator City!

And then I get absolutely BODIED by a huge hunk of metal. I wish I were kidding. My poor spine! My arm! It got freaking CRUSHED! I was sent flying a decent few feet and ended up crashing into an old light pole (Again. OW.) All that I can remember happening next is that same hunk of metal approaching me and some guy jumping out of it. But then... Well. I was out like a light.

Managed to wake up (after what felt like) a few hours later and oh GOODNESS did it hurt. My back, my right side, my stump of an arm- It all hurt! But there was somebody in the very dim room with me. The same person that crawled out of that hunk of metal.

"Thank goodness you're awake!" He had said when I first gained consciousness. "I was worried that you wouldn't stabilize! You've been unconscious for over a week!"

"I've been WHAT?!" And of course, when I sat up I saw the damage the man had done to me. Machines were strapped all over my body, an IV drip sticking out of my arm (Where he found a clean needle I will not ask.) a whole heart rate monitor- He was stacked! But from the state of everything, he was telling me the truth. "You knocked me unconscious for a week?!"

"Well it's r-really been ten days-"

"TEN DAYS?!"

"Yes- Yes I know it sounds absolutely horrible but! But! You're recovering at an accelerated rate! You should be good to go in a few days? Maybe three? The experimental drug is working great for you!" He had been blabbering and talking so fast that I nearly missed that detail.

"Experimental- I'm sorry, EXPERIMENTAL DRUG?" Of course I had been outraged back then. (Even looking back now I'm still a bit ticked off at being used as a guinea pig for a drug that could have killed me, but hey! I'm alive now!) "You used an EXPERIMENTAL DRUG to heal me."

"Yes! And it worked!" He stepped away from me to grab my prosthetic arm. "And! And I managed to upgrade your arm! It got destroyed- Again I'm so sorry about that- but hey! At least now your map and compass aren't an extra item to carry around!"

"So you fixed the nerve sensors? The solar panels?"

"Uh- No. Unfortunately I don't have access to the receptors or the proper solar panels you need." He had explained while reattaching my arm. "But! But, it works a lot like mine!" He flashed his brass arm, glowing a soft red. "It's powered by redstone! Should last you a solid month before you need to recharge it!"

And there was the main problem. "How in the ever loving hell do I get this 'redstone' stuff? Heck, where could I even get it?"

"Easy! Me!" He flicked on a lever on the backside of my arm and it felt... Nice at the time. Sturdy. Like it wouldn't die on me when I needed it most. "I use the Parrot System, so as long as you can get mail through the Parrots you should be good!"

"... The who?"

You wouldn't believe me if I told you this man began to glow with embarrassment. I mean he LITERALLY glowed. Pointy ears and face turning a bright red that GLOWED.

"Right, uh- The parrots! They're one of the middle tier delivery birds! I'm friends with their Flight Master! I... I take it you have no idea who I'm talking about."

"Not a damn clue."

"First of all, watch your tongue. Second! That's okay! I should have enough in store that should last you about three months- But you really need to find the Flight Masters. They'll help you in the long run."

When he stopped his rambling I focused on the newly upgraded arm. It is always a weird sensation, flexing a limb that's not really there. But the small tug of metal fingers and steel plates listening to one's mind is even weirder. And I mean REALLY weird.

"Who... Exactly are these Flight Masters?" I managed to ask him after a few moments of silence. "How do you... Get under their wing?"

"That-" The man paused and the red glow only grew. "That was a horrible pun-" He has a really nice laugh. Small but breathless.

"But it works! I mean, they have to be Birds of a Feather to Fly together-"

"Stop! Stop, no!"

"When am I going to stop, huh?! Never!" And then I started to laugh. I think it was just my mind needing something to focus on other than the glaring new arm attached to my body.

"Goodness you may be worse than Gri-" His laughter died when he barely mentioned a name. I couldn't get all of it, but it must be the Flight Master.

"Worse than...?"

"Y-You will find out eventually." His tune changed from that point going forward.

He eventually gave me his name (Mumbo) and gave me a quick summary of the three Flight Masters.

The Canary: Flight Master of the small, yellow birds that linger around Comparator City. Used by the residents of said city. Apparently the easiest one to befriend.

The Parrot: Flight Master of the robotic parrots that fly around all over the Crashlands. They're more tricky to get a hold of as they have a whole database on who's a customer and who's not. Need to find the Parrot Flight Master in order to get on the list.

The Crow: Flight Master of the Murders. Every crow I have seen so far apparently belongs to Him. And apparently the only way to find him is a mystery to even Mumbo. All I can do is hope for the best with that one.

That was all the information he was willing to tell me. Apparently I struck a nerve by getting him to almost spill the name of the Parrot Flight Master. I'm still resting in this small room, letting myself recover from being plowed by that big old machine.

I even tried asking him what that THING was that he hit me with! But he just shook his head and said it was a prototype I shouldn't bother myself with.

Things are just getting really overwhelming now. So much information to process. How do I find the Canary? Or hell, the Parrot? I'm not even going to TOUCH the subject of the Crow. What about the Demon? Is he still around? Is he in Comparator City? Will I run out of the weird redstone dust before I find the Parrot?

So many questions.

Too little answers.

I think I'm just going to shut off my mind for a little bit.

MLW

G.U.I.D.E. 67

[solarpunkani]

Ok things I think it would be cool to reuse covered parking garages for

And we are talking about those multi-floor kinda things the ones that look like this

These types. Idk if they’re super common outside of the states but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a city that DOESNT have one of these. They tend to be at least 2 to 4 floors tall, with stairwells and sometimes even elevators in each corner section. They’ve got ramps inside so cars can get from floor to floor, and parking spaces all along the insides too. And lights as well.

In a solarpunk future-world there would be A Lot Less Need for cars. I don’t imagine they’d cease to exist entirely (they’re still important for accessibility) but definitely not as much as would necessitate building or having these behemoth concrete parking garages (or several, as there are TONS in my city esp downtown.) ‘Stop building more of them’ is one thinf, but what could we do with the ones that would remain?

- Tear them down and use the space for something else is teeechnically an option, but could be complicated.

- The top part could be used as an urban solar farm! Honestly I think the tops of parking covers should have solar panels anyways, but yknow.

- Vertical farms! Genuinely didn’t come up with this one, saw it in another post, but I do like it! Put some grow lights in and they could be a nice concentrated place to grow vegetables in little raised beds! You could even dedicate multiple floors to this!

- Market places! Could set up some stalls in there on weekends and have people shop around, while still having some protection from the elements! I’ve seen market places in parks, under bridges, and parking lots—an old parking garage could suit fine for that!

- Skate park? The asphalt might be a bit rough for falls, but it could maybe be fun to add a few extra ramps and rails and make it a skater’s paradise! (Please do note I cannot skate so if any skaters think this would be an Awful Idea by all means let me know)

Let me know if you think of other cool ideas!

[gottalottarocks]

You guys have probably heard that the EPA just set new Maximum Contaminant Levels (MCLs) for the first time in decades for PFAS, which is BIG news in the industry, but not a surprise. I've been in meetings for months hearing about how new PFAS regulations were in the works, and the consensus in the environmental sector is that it's long overdue. But for the rest of you who've never heard of PFAS before I can break down what the big issues are and why they've taken so long to address.

^stolen from pubchem

So PFAS stands for per- and poly- flouroalkyl substances, and it's not one chemical compound, but an entire class of thousands of chemicals that have these chains of Carbon and Flourine atoms. For anybody who doesn't have a chem background fluorine is a nasty atom, it has seven electrons in its valence shell and it will do anything to fill it up to eight, creating incredibly strong bonds.

So you have really strong C-F bonds and these chains of C and F atoms are hydrophobic, which means these compounds are durable and water resistant, which makes them great for all sorts of industrial uses. And we've used them in everything: clothing, fast food wrappers, paints, solar panels, and non-stick pans just to start.

Unfortunately, these wonder chemicals are PBTM- Persistent, Bioaccumulative, Toxic, and Mobile. They don't break down, they build up in the food chain, they have adverse health effects, and even though C-F chains are hydrophobic, additional compounds connected to them can make them soluble in water (so they're in our drinking water). We're starting to realize PFAS can raise cholesterol, inhibit immune response, interfere with your thyroid (part of your hormonal system), cause liver toxicity, is linked to cancer, and more!

At this point you're probably starting to think wtf, how did we allow the continued widespread use of these chemicals? Well, we have phased out quite a few high profile PFAS compounds including PFOA and PFOS, but we still want to regulate and test for them in our drinking water. While PFAS is in many different products, the biggest sources of contamination are industrial runoff, areas where fire fighting foams were tested and used, landfills that leach out PFAS into the surrounding area, and wastewater treatment plants. So don't feel too stressed about eating microwave popcorn or using nail polish.

The reason these regulations took so long to implement was because of how difficult it was to connect such small amounts of PFAS with health hazards. The level of concern for PFAS is extremely low- in the ppt (parts per trillion) range. When I sample for contaminants I'm generally testing in the ppm range and higher, for PFAS we're looking an entire scale lower. We literally did not have the technology before the last few decades to detect PFAS in the ppt range in water, let alone study their effects (you can't just impose massive regulations without any proof to back it up).

States that currently have PFAS limits in drinking water have mostly capped it in the 10-70 ppt range. The new MCLs are 4-10 ppt for the six PFAS compounds the EPA addressed, which are six of the most common and most studied PFAS compounds. Most of the bitching I've seen is about how much this will cost and that the new limits are too low. The conservative take on this is that there isn't enough evidence to support such low MCLs, although most people in the environmental industry feel that more and more research keeps coming out and will keep coming out (remember studying such small amounts of anything is difficult) to support these levels. On the other side of the spectrum, there's the consensus that this is just the beginning and that more and more regulations on PFAS will be needed.

And they're in the works! I saw a proposed rule by the EPA that would ban 12 (already defunct) PFAS substances from pesticides. It wouldn't really affect the current manufacturing of pesticides, but it would be a safeguard from letting them back into the manufacturing process in case of a conservative presidency.

If you're still here I'd like to end on the note that as our science improves, our understanding of how we have impacted the environment and our health will improve. We are constantly going to find out about the adverse effects of new chemicals or things that we may not even produce anymore, and that's a good thing. Over time we are going to make the world a healthier and safer place.

[thehopefuljournalist]

unrelated- what's your favorite news story recently?

Hello, thank you so much for asking!! I've had a hard time because this week was actually full of news stories and I'm working on releasing them all to you guys!

But let me tell you about my favourite one from today :)

As an activist, working within my own country and out especially in climate-related themes, I believe in people-power, fully. I know, of course, that some people have more power and influence than others, but there's no denying that there's strength in numbers.

This recent, huge, protest in New York is such a hopeful turn, I think. I love seeing that I'm not the only one worried, that I'm not alone in my fighting. With numbers, we have a bigger chance of winning over our world leaders, and by doing that, to protect ourselves and our futures.

Well, this is my favourite news story from the past two days.

This past Sunday, 75K climate activists took to New York's streets in a “march to end fossil fuels”

Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez criticized the US continuing to approve fossil fuel projects, something which the Biden administration did earlier this year with the controversial Willow project in Alaska.

“We are all here for one reason: to end fossil fuels around the planet,” Ocasio-Cortez told a rally at the finish of the march, which ended close to the UN headquarters where world leaders will gather this week. “And the way we create urgency is to have people around the world in the streets.”

“The United States continues to be approving a record number of fossil fuel leases and we must send a message, right here today,” adding that despite record profits the support for the fossil fuel industry was “starting to buckle and crack”.

“This is an incredible moment,” said Jean Su of the Center for Biological Diversity, who helped organize the mobilization. “Tens of thousands of people are marching in the streets of New York because they want climate action,"

“This also shows the tremendous grit and fight of the people, especially youth and communities living at the frontlines of fossil fuel violence, to fight back and demand change for the future they have every right to lead,” she said.

The march came during Climate Week, as world leaders gather for this week’s UN general assembly, and a UN climate ambition summit on Wednesday.

On Friday, the national security adviser, Jake Sullivan, said Biden was not currently scheduled to take part in Wednesday’s UN climate summit. Biden has been praised by climate activists for last year passing a historic $369bn climate law but criticized for allowing oil drilling projects and the expansion of gas facilities in the Gulf of Mexico.

A decision for Biden to stay away from the UN climate ambition summit is “unacceptable”, said Su of the Center for Biological Diversity. “The time is now for Biden to lead on the world stage, and show he means it when he calls climate change the existential threat to humanity.”

During the march, the Rev Lennox Yearwood, head of the Hip Hop Caucus, likened today’s climate movement to the US fight for racial justice. 

Youth climate activist Vanessa Nakate, from Uganda, said: “When we say that we want climate justice, we’re not just talking about transitioning to solar panels. We are talking about leaving no one behind when you’re talking about addressing the injustices that come with the climate crisis."

Article published September 17, 2023 - The Gaurdian

Another article, interviewing a young climate activist

[delta-pavonis]

Dreaming Week 2024 Day 3

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 3 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): solarpunk, painting, meet cute, massage

Dreamling || Rated T || 1093 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, passing mention of biological consequences of being tied to chairs for days on end, confessions

Read Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

(In chronological order, Part 2 comes before Part 1 and this comes after Part 1. Mentions events of Part 1 and events discussed in Part 2.)

“When we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”

They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.

Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the building in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin. 

The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time. 

They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are. 

Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.

Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's. 

“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Start back up properly, like old friends might. But we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”

“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, when you walked into the Guildhall while I was trying to convince them to hire me. I can even still hear the swissh-click of your airwalker boots on the wooden floor.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again. 

But it doesn't last.

“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.

No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”

“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”

“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.” 

Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”

He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through. 

They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it. 

Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.

When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-” 

“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”

“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”

That something in Dream breaks.

“I will not leave without my Mate!”

For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.

“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”

Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.”

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

“I wish to see the Inquisitor,” Celestine announced.

The Scions at the entrance glanced at each other, expressions unreadable behind their all-encompassing Omnishield Helms. After a moment, one pressed a hand to the side of his helmet and repeated the request, receiving something inaudible in return.

He looked back at her. “Your presence is not expected.”

“I am aware. I wish to see her anyway.”

Another pause, another garbled vox-communique. “She is working. You can return in a standard cycle.”

There was a murmur from his comm-bead.

Two,” he corrected.

Celestine smiled placidly. “I have been turned away in a similar manner six times already.”

“The Inquisitor is a busy woman.”

“That I do not doubt,” she muttered. She could not help but feel Katarinya was toying with her, a spiteful and grievously petty action she would have hoped beneath one of her grim and solemn mantle. “Are you sure an exception could not be made? I bear word she’ll want to hear.”

“This is the Fortress of the Inquisition,” the other trooper said, as if that was all the answer she needed. “You are requesting access to an Inquisitor’s personal sanctum.”

Celestine tried not feel frustrated. “I am aware of that, but-”

“That you’ve been allowed to be here at all is a courtesy not extended to many, Sister Celestine,” he warned stiffly. “Lady Greyfax’s insistence is the only reason the Inquisitorial Representative did not send you away. I would not extend his patience beyond your means.”

His cooly politeness shocked her, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. After all, Greyfax’s Scions, like Greyfax herself, were men and women from a time before Living Saints. No doubt they too saw her as some deluded, sorcerous heretic.

Celestine shook her head and walked away. “Of course. You have my apologies.”

The Scions said nothing in reply. Celestine thought of the time she granted one of Katarinya’s victims the Emperor’s Mercy despite her protests. She hadn’t bowed to her authority then, she told herself, so why should she now?

Her armored fists clenched. In her heart of hearts she knew it was very different, but she allowed herself to entertain the idea anyway. Yes, Katarinya would take it as a slight, as would the Lord Inquisitor, but, truthfully, it was not like that last one mattered. For all its power, the Inquisition had no true hold on her. They would not kill someone like her, and even if they did, the Emperor’s gifts would see her returned to the moral world unscathed.

As for Katarinya… well, things could hardly be worse than they were now.

She could see it, in her mind’s eye. How she lingered carefully, so very Katarinya-like, waiting until the exact time the guards were due to switch watches to surge past them and into the corridor. They barely had time to turn before she brought her fist down on the activation rune, closing the door behind her and locking it shut.

The vision faded as Celestine winced, the last dregs of wretched whimsy showing her pulling her armored fist out of the shattered panel. She shouldn’t have thought of doing that, even in some fool girlish fantasy. Machines were sacred, if the Mechanicus were meant to be believed, and even if not. To harm one for—she had to face it—for such personal and childish motives was beneath her.

Muttering a quick prayer for forgiveness to the mechanism’s holy machine spirit for her sinning-by-thought, Celestine leant against the wall, crossed her arms, and waited. The two solar cicles the Scion had promised came and went, as did three additional rotations, before Katarinya presumably realized Celestine wasn’t going to go away.

“All clear,” the Scion from earlier barked succinctly in her direction. “You can go in, Sister Celestine.”

Celestine reacted, as always, with nothing but the utmost benevolence as she walked forward, shooting him a smile. “The Emperor smiles on your adherence to your duty.”

He said nothing. Celestine didn’t expect him to.

Crossing the threshold to her Inquisitor’s lair carved no stumbles in her bold gait, but she hesitated at the door to Katarinya’s quarters, armored fist halfway raised to knock.

What if she made things worse? Doubt was an unfamiliar feeling to a creature like her, and she found she didn’t much like it’s sting. What if she finally pushed Katarinya beyond what she was able to compartmentalize and justify?

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous.

Celestine knocked, twice.

The voice that answered her didn’t belong to her inquisitor, but to the witty little man she kept around for his knowledge of the Ecclesiarchy and other subjects. A savant, he was called. Celestine knew his face and title but not his name. “Enter!”

She thumbed the activation rune and the door slid open, revealing a dimly-lit laboratorium. Strange esoteric instruments lined the walls, while unlabeled substances boiled and hissed in glass tubes. An elevated plinth bore a duralloy desk that was half occupied by a heavy-looking bronze cogitator, which took up more than half its surface and sank into the floor beneath.

Greyfax was sitting at the cogitator, her sharp, angular face shadowed under the overhead lumens. She was leaning on her fist with an expression of deliberate concentration. It took Celestine a moment to realize why something about her seemed so unguarded: she was missing her hat, which sat on the desk besides her gauntlets, discarded. As she worked, her savant moved back and forth around her, pulling data-slates and old tomes from the bookshelves scattered around the room for her inspection. It was a scene of such almost-domesticity that Celestine almost regretted interrupting it as she walked inside.

“Katarinya. We must speak, you and I.”

Greyfax said nothing. The savant looked between her and his mistress.

“I will leave the two of you alone,” he said, quickly trying to beat a hasty retreat. He’d not made it two steps before he suddenly froze in place, an invisible grip of pure psychic might yanking him back to his place. Celestine thought of the time a similar attack had saved her from the Despoiler and frowned in sympathy, even though she doubted even Greyfax would exert enough pressure to cause the man any real damage over such a meager offense. “I do not recalling dismissing you, Kyrillos.”

Kyrillos. So that was his name. Celestine stored the information somewhere in the back of her mind. If she meant to walk in closer circles to Katarinya than she had previously, it would not go amiss to know the people who served her within those circles.

“O-Of course, Inquisitor.” The savant bowed his head, droplets of sweat sliding visibly down the crown of his bald head beneath the harsh lumens. “A thousand apologies, truly.”

Greyfax turned back to her work without comment. “What is it, sister? Unlike you, when I am called to Terra, it is not to indulge riotous masses with golden light.”

“You have been avoiding me, Katarinya.”

“I have not. You are merely not entitled to my time.” As if to prove the point, there was a drawn-out bout of tapping at the key runes before she deigned to continue speaking. “Perhaps in your chapels you are accustomed to being waited on for every whim, but I am an inquisitor. It is the height of foolishness to assume I am able to indulge you at all hours of the day, particularly during an active investigation.”

An uncomfortable air settled over the room.

“Though then again,” Greyfax muttered snidely in the quiet, “that is exactly up your alley, isn’t it? Foolishness.”

Celestine took a deep breath. “Katarinya, about last night….”

She hesitated for a moment, ignoring the savant desperately gesturing for her to drop the subject, and pressed on. “I hope you know that if my actions have led you to any discomfort, that that was not the intention behind them.”

“Intention and reaction are curious things, sister,” Greyfax said, typing at her cogitator, the dueling scar on her cheek stretching as her lips curled. “For instance, are you aware that breaking into an inquisitor’s chambers is an offense that carries immediate execution regardless of station in at least seventy thousand registered sectors? I can have Kyrillos name them all if you like.”

“It would be an honor and a pleasure.” The savant quivered when his mistress’ gaze flickered to him. “Er, if the inquisitor deems it necessary, of course,” he added, visibly relaxing when Greyfax’s gaze went back to its earlier position.

So she knew, then. Of course. She’d been foolish to assume her onset of darkness had gone unnoticed. There were probably at least three hidden pict-recorders outside the door, nestled in with all manner of psychic detectors, audio transcribers, vox-interceptors, and probably several other things Celestine couldn’t name, much less pronounce. It was simply how the Inquisition worked.

None in the room, though. She knew that for certain. The knowledge was as much a part of her as her erstwhile guardian halves, after what they had done.

We might have another target for him. When I detected the demonic surge, it did not come from Ophelia VII. One of the other planets or ship, perhaps. I could try to locate the source more closely but my focus… the theo-tangent aurary is spattered across my armor.

She remembered the pause most of all.

Would you be able to use me as a focus?

Celestine smiled. “I do not recall an actual crime being committed.”

“An irrelevant detail to most in my order. Merely thinking about it is reason enough for death.”

Celestine laughed then, deep and bold. “As are most things when it comes to your organization, it seems.”

“Of course.” Greyfax did not deny it. “Our remit is vast as it is merciless.”

“I wonder how much of that is by intent,” she mused. “The Emperor is not a vindictive god.”

Greyfax lifted a brow. “Are you claiming yourself to be above the standing of the Inquisition?”

“I am the God-Emperor’s sword, Katarinya,” Celestine reminded her. “He acts through me. I cannot say the same for many of your compatriots.”

Greyfax’s mouth curled at the mention of what she doubtlessly perceived as some holy delusion, but she nodded curtly. “Nor would I.”

Celestine was surprised. “Truly?”

“Yes. Inquisitors walk the edge of a precipice, staring down sights that would break lesser foes. Many jump in, some willingly. I have killed more than one such deluded soul myself. To claim we’re in some way closer to His guidance than most others is delusion.”

“I have heard you express similar sentiments before, but I am surprised you’d condemn your fellow Inquisitors in such a blanket manner,” Celestine admitted. “Do you truly believe none of your compatriots are led by his light?”

“I do, but not because of some failing within our ranks. I have killed hundreds of zealots who claimed to hear the Emperor’s words in their ears or to be illuminated by him in dreams and visions. In the end they were all charlatans.” She shook her head. “There are only so many frothing madmen you can watch read a grand will from the entrails of disemboweled waterfowl before you realize it is all a lie, sister. We are not guided by the Emperor. No one is. Not even you.”

Celestine sighed. “I’d hoped that, after so long fighting alongside each other, you’d be less eager to doubt my holy purpose.”

“I believe you are an instrument of His will, which I would not have done even a year ago,” Greyfax allowed. “I believe, too, that perhaps there is a force that waters the inmaterial font of your abilities, though whether that force is truly benign remains to be seen. But if I were even to indulge the idea that the Emperor remains cogent of any mortal thought… and that he possesses the means to communicate them in any fashion… it is still a stretch that he would do so in any way that possesses a semblance of coherent direction. If there is a will beyond your ascension, there is little doubt in my mind that it is a one with darker origins.”

“Like the Great Enemy?” Celestine chuckled. “I know you do not share my faith but if you really believed I was tainted you would execute me on the spot. I have not seen you show any compunction about doing so with others you perceive to be a threat-”

“You are tempting me at the moment…” Greyfax muttered.

Celestine laughed. “-So I must assume that you accept me in some fashion.” Her voice grew serious. “I truly wish you would have more faith, Katarinya. If not in me, then in the Emperor.”

“And I wish you would have more prudence. In this and in other things,” Greyfax spat. “Angel or not, you are not above my wishes. Or for that matter, inmune to a bolter.”

Mirth pulled at her lips. “Are you saying you would have slain me if I’d acted upon my impulses?”

“I or my guards.” She looked down at the cogitator, the scar pulling at her cheek. “It would be far from the first time I suffered an attempt on my life from a supposed ally.”

Her smile faded. “I would never wish to slay you, Katarinya. If you were in danger in front of me, I’d endeavor to shield you, never to harm you.”

“An easy claim to make,” she sneered. “I have heard it more than once.”

“From others, perhaps,” she dismissed. “Not from my lips.”

She saw Greyfax’s gaze linger on said lips. “And that makes a difference how?”

“I do not lie when I say it.”

“So you claim.”

“I am serious, Katarinya.”

“They seemed so too. I have not made it as far as I have through naivety.”

“You do not trust me.”

“I do not trust anyone. In the Inquisition, it is how you survive.”

Celestine frowned. “I am not one of your order. You cannot truly believe everyone you meet wishes to see you dead.”

“Spare me another of your lectures, Celestine. I had enough holy ambushes between you and the Ecclesiarch.”

Celestine scowled. “Do not compare me to that vile man. He was a false shepherd, leading the faithful astray for greed and power.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

“Between me and the Ecclesiarch?”

“Between a false shepherd and a true one,” Greyfax snapped. “I have seen the most devout of the Ecclesiarchy’s priests commit atrocities against their own so-called flock, atrocities that dwarf the incident at Ophelia VII. Were these shepherds false or true?”

“If you witnessed them commit these foul acts, and if you found them guilty on the stand as is your right and duty, then they were false.” Celestine’s voice had all the presence of a stormcloud and the directness of a whip. “I do not see where your confusion lies, Katarinya. Such a simple answer surely does not evade one such as you.”

Katarinya shook her head. “If you truly cannot grasp my implication, you’re a bigger fool than I realized.”

Celestine frowned. “I do not hear you enlightening me.”

“Nor will you.”

“Why?” Celestine demanded, climbing one step, then two. “Is it because you have no answer?”

“No. It is because I have too many.”

Celestine took another step, crossing the threshold where she stood at equal height with the seated inquisitor. “I do not hold your faithless ways against you, Katarinya, but you cannot expect me to stay silent when you insult mine.”

“You are a Sororitas.” Greyfax’s irises seemed to be swimming very suddenly. In the corner of the room, her savant took a careful step back. “Not a priest.”

“Yet sworn to the Ecclesiarchy all the same.”

“Was that what you told the Holy Synod after you took the Ecclesiarch’s head?”

“He was false.”

“How do you know?”

“I simply do.”

“Such faith.” From her lips, it sounded like an insult.

Celestine did not rise to her bait. “Indeed.”

A moment passed. Greyfax looked down and took a deep breath. Her eyes cleared, a psychic storm draining from them like so much tension.

“If you had even the most remote grasp of the perils of my station, or even understood my mind a tenth of how you claim, you would never have considered forcing your way into my quarters.”

Celestine set her lips into a thin line. “It has never been my intention to overstep the lines you set for others, Katarinya.”

“And yet you find yourself doing so anyway.”

Celestine took a step forward. “Katarinya, I-” She swallowed. “I have prayed you weren’t hurt by my actions. Long and often.”

“And what did you achieve through these prayers?” Her voice was mocking. “What insights into my psyche did the Emperor grant you after wasting away a day in supplication?”

“None,” she admitted. “And I did not ask Him to. I would not know you beyond what you deign to reveal to me.”

“After my focus, we both know that’s a lie.”

“Those glimpses were given to me incidentally, through actions born of necessity. Actions you agreed to.”

Greyfax called her savant to her with a snap of her fingers and took the data-slate he presented to her without comment. “I am well aware.”

“Then why do you hold them in such contempt?”

“I do not, though they were hardly pleasant. I used them as an example of a simple truth: you already know more about me than you should.”

“Katarinya-”

She was interrupted by a hydraulic hiss from behind her. She turned to see another of Greyfax’s acolytes, an old and heavily augmented man in hooded robes, enter the room. She knew the name of this one, too—Antonius, Greyfax had called him, when she was torturing that cultist—but not his title. A part of her hoped it was Interrogator. She knew little of the Inquisition’s workings, but she knew that title conveyed apprenticeship… a companion, perhaps. If Katarinya did end up refusing her own companionship, she hoped sincerely that she wouldn’t be alone.

“Inquisitor, we have received a vox-communique from Lord Trevaine,” the man said, shooting Celestine a curious look but failing to comment.

Greyfax saw his glance and frowned. “Of passing interest, but not something that merits your interruption.”

“Apologies. He said it was related to the investigation. Would you like me to-”

“No,” Greyfax interrupted, standing and descending the dais. “If it is related to the investigation, then I only hope it’s important. Come, Kyrillos.”

“As you command, Inquisitor,” came the hasty reply, the old savant hurrying after her. Celestine had the feeling he was glad to be beyond the consequences of their conversation.

“Katarinya, wait.” Celestine reached for her shoulder as she passed her, halting her in her tracks. “Allow me to say my piece. I will not burden you beyond that.”

Greyfax was silent for a moment. “Antonius…”

“I will handle it, Inquisitor,” Antonius promised, shooting Celestine another curious look as he turned and left the room.

Greyfax shot her savant a glance out the corner of her eye. “Kyrillos, go with him and transcribe all that is discussed.”

“With pleasure, Inquisitor.” Kyrillos hurried out.

Celestine watched him go. “I am surprised you’d entrust him with such a task.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He is any ally only from convenience,” Greyfax scoffed. “If I could buy him so easily anyone could, and did. I lifted him up from the scum of his people and planted him in the very bosom of the church on Terra and he repaid me with betrayal once already.”

Celestine frowned. “Then why…?”

“Because he knows that his life still hangs by a slender thread only due to his past service,” Greyfax said. “And that I can read his thoughts at a whim. If treachery can be revealed at any time, it is safer not to try. A servant in as delicate a position as him is not a tool easily discarded.”

“That is a very cynical approach.”

“I would call it realistic,” she countered. “I can hardly afford self-deception.”

“Is that what you think faith is? Self-deception?”

Greyfax did not answer. She turned to face her. “You have your wish, Celestine,” she murmured. “We are alone.”

“We are.”

The dim lumens made harsh angles of Greyfax’s face as she strode behind her desk and served them water. The room was silent while she poured. “You tried to kiss me.”

Celestine sat and took her drink with another throaty chuckle. Somehow, everything always felt like the beginning of an interrogation with Katarinya. “So you did notice.”

“I do possess eyes,” Greyfax said flatly. “I would not be an inquisitor if I lacked basic observatory skills.”

“Judging by your tone, I surmise this revelation displeased you.”

“If it did?”

“Then I would leave you be, and never infringe upon your wishes again,” Celestine promised. “It was never my intention to discomfort you. I merely wanted to know.”

“Know what?”

“I admire you, Katarinya,” Celestine admitted. “I have since the moment you challenged the Despoiler to save me, a heretic in your eyes.”

“I have told you already. I struck at another. It is not the same.”

“Or perhaps the Emperor’s hand guided you, as it has guided me.”

“You may believe that if you wish,” she said dismissively. “Regardless, I do not think this was why you took me away from my work.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Celestine took a deep breath. “I do admire you, Katarinya, but part of me also desires you. I desire to hold you close, to embolden you with my faith, to shield you with my body. I have dreamed of you. I have prayed on your behalf. I believe the Emperor has crossed our paths, not just as a test of my faith, but because he loves both you and I and wants us to be happy.”

Greyfax didn’t seem surprised. It was long overdue, she supposed. “You seem very certain we would make each other content.”

“I am.” She tried to smile. “Judging by your tone, I assume you differ.”

Greyfax looked down at the glass in her hand. “I am an Inquisitor. How soon you forget that…”

“I do not see what your profession has to do…”

“It is more than a profession.”

“Still, I hardly…”

“It means,” Greyfax clarified, very primly, “that you are a distraction I can ill afford.”

Celestine chuckled at the sudden realization. “This is not the first time you have had this to do this, is it?”

“…No. It is not.”

“You are very dedicated to your duty. It is commendable,” she said carefully. “If unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?”

“The God-Emperor made us to love and laugh, Katarinya. In the Warp, it is what fuels me.”

She snorted. “What? Love?”

“Hope,” she replied simply. “Hope that one day, things will be better. That there is a future beyond the Xenos and the endless war.”

She scoffed. “You are a naive fool.”

“And you are a cynical and faithless woman,” she smirked, “who I care for very deeply.”

Greyfax shook her head and stood. Celestine tried not to feel disappointed as she turned to follow her out. So that it, then. So be it.

“Come. We should see what Antonius has to show us.”

“Us?” Celestine asked, amused. “I did not know I ranked so highly in your esteem as to be included in your confidential briefings, Katarinya.”

Greyfax made an irritated noise in the back of her threat which made Celestine smile. This was simple, comfortable, and she could at least find some succor falling back into their regular dynamic. “Do not be so damnably smug. While you are here, I may as well make use of you.”

“I am always pleased to be of service.”

[plotandelegy]

Practical and Unique Post-Apocalyptic Shelter Design Ideas for Fantasy Writers

 You've decided to destroy civilization in your fantasy novel? Sucks to be your character. Now let's make their situation a little better or worse but at the least unique, practical, and resourceful. 

Use What's Left Behind: The end of the world doesn't mean the end of human ingenuity. Think of what materials survived your apocalypse and how to reuse them. Crumbling skyscrapers can be reinforced and turned into vertical communities, or broken-down cars can be transformed into steel-tough barricades. Old school buses or train cars? 

The Importance of Defense: Your characters aren't the only ones who have survived. Threats lurk everywhere. Design shelters that have built-in defenses. Your skyscraper community may have drawbridges between floors, or your train car home can be easily detached and sped away in case of danger. Remember the secret exits!

Incorporate the Natural Environment: Trees, caves, and mountains offer robust options for post-apocalyptic shelter. A hollowed-out hillside, for example, provides cover from harsh weather and is easily defensible. Make sure the natural element isn't in a highly radioactive environment. The trunk of a massive, ancient tree could house an entire family. Underwater habitats in the middle of a lake or an ocean? 

Reinvention of Basic Utilities: How will your characters access fresh water, dispose of waste, or maintain a consistent food supply? A river or rainwater could be cleverly directed and filtered, or a salvaged solar panel can provide electricity for a makeshift greenhouse. Composting toilets aren't glamorous, but they get the job done. I may be too used to modern comforts because that last one is a big ew.

Adapting to Your Apocalypse: If you have a nuclear winter scenario, consider shelters with radiation shielding and heat sources. Alien invasion? Consider camouflage or underground dwellings. Zombie outbreak? Elevate your shelters; zombies can't climb! Well, I hope your zombies can't climb. If they do, you may be a sick unhinged person. Keep it up. Makes for better fiction.

Remember, It's Home: This is where your characters will spend a lot of time. Personalize these spaces to reflect the inhabitants. Maybe one character is obsessed with salvaging books, so there's a small library corner. Perhaps another is a mechanic, and there's a well-stocked tool area. Little details will make your post-apocalyptic shelters feel more like home. Or not. A lack of home-related details could add to a sense of impermanence. Having to pull up and run a lot, maybe leaving things behind in your haste, adds to the suspense.

No long ending paragraph today. Have fun writing!

-Indigo

[drconstellation]

Lifting the Veil on the Bentley

Because I’ve been talking about the Bentley being Crowley’s black horse of late, I’ve had a nudge to talk about the number plate. I know it’s explained as an easter egg in relation to Monty Python, but I think we can explore it a bit further than that.

It’s worth having a quick look at this older post from @fuckyeahgoodomens where they explain the inspiration was from an animated scene from Monty Python's Meaning of Life .

The following is from the linked article.

As a nod to Terry Gilliam, who once tried to do a movie version of Good Omens, Gaiman and Mackinnon threw in a little reference to Gilliam’s origins doing animation for Monty Python. “The license plate of Crowley’s Bentley is ‘Curtain’ backwards,” Gaiman said, because of the writing on the mausoleum in the suicidal leaves section of Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. “Curtain backwards, like it’s the final curtain,” Mackinnon explained.

Before I get into all the connotations of “curtains,” there should be two things you notice about the “CURTIN” written on the mausoleum. The first is the spelling itself. It’s shortened to look like the Irish surname Curtin, so the mausoleum appears to belong to a real person. Curtin is an anglicized version of Mac Curtain, which means Son of the Crooked, or Son of the Harp, as the ‘crooked’ refers the hunchback shape of the Irish harp. I wouldn’t read too much into that, its probably more just a way of getting an actual curtain reference into that scene.

The other thing is that is not just backwards, it is mirror-image, as if you are looking at it from the other side of the mirror. So we should ask ourselves – which side are we looking from? And why does this matter?

While director Mackinnon mentions it referring to the “final curtain,” we need to start even further back than that to understand what the final curtain is, because even that has two meanings, even if only in a general sense. But because this is the GOmens AU, you can guarantee we’re going to find out there is more to it than that.

We need to go beyond the veil.

To go “beyond the veil” has become a euphemism for passing into death, or that unknowable place people go once they die. It was originally a figurative reference to the area in a Jewish Temple that was separated from the main body of the Temple by decorative curtains, called veils. The veils were specially woven, often with the image of a Cherubim woven in by a skilled worker; it was not allowed to be sewed on or added later. Each panel of the veil would display a different face of the Cherubim, such as the lion on one side, an eagle on the other, and so on. Only the priests could go past the veil into the most holiest of places. The veil was symbolic of separating men and their sins from the glory of God.  

The word ‘veil’ can be translated into English as ‘curtain,’ so the two words are almost interchangeable in respect of this discussion. I was interested to see that the word veil comes from the Latin word velum, which also means ‘sail,’ as in “to move, to drive a vessel or vehicle forward.” I have previously commented that the Bentley should probably be a “she,” as traditionally all ships were female, and that’s a tradition we still see carried into the modern day, thousands of years after its origin. I’ve even seen modern day space probes – little ships sailing the solar system – referred to as she! But I’ll not be pedantic about it, don’t worry.

Keep your hands off my bitch, bitch.

So the curtain, or veil, is the boundary between life and death. Only – we are seeing it from the other side. And in the GOmens AU this “other side” is very real, and one Aziraphale and Crowley walk through with both ease and without much thought. They are agents of those on the other side of the veil, yet they walk with Humanity in a solid reality on the surface of the Earth. They know the other side is real. When wee Morag complains about Elspeth’s body-snatching activity that the ones she digs up and sell won’t be able to go to Heaven because they will be cut up, Aziraphale tries to tell her it’s not like that, but she's not listening:

WEE MORAG: Aye. Tell that to the poor souls who will not get into heaven 'cause their bodies are all chopped into wee pieces. AZIRAPHALE: Well, that isn't how it actually… CROWLEY: Heaven isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know. WEE MORAG: It's no right. I'm telling you. CROWLEY: Yeah.

For humans, though, there is supposed to be no return once you cross that threshold.

When we, the viewer, see the two worlds meet, it's usually signaled by the presence of fog, mist or smoke. When Lesley the delivery driver meets Death, the fog arrives, as he is no longer in the living world. When Aziraphale and Crowley leave Tadfield Manor, we have smoke telling us we are seeing two different times and places at once - the past and the present are overlaid on one another.

The Bentley must exist in both the Human and subliminal worlds at the same time - how else can it drive like it does? It doesn't really need Crowley's hands on the wheel to guide it. It couldn't have started out like that - it was made by humans, but we all know the Bentley is more than just a car now.

It chooses the music to play on its radio, it refuses to speed when taking Aziraphale to Edinburgh until Crowley yells at it, it tries to follow the angel after he gets out at the end of the journey. How it got like this we will probably never find out, but we figure its become an extension of Crowley by close association, much like Aziraphale tends to influence the world around him without effort as well.

In terms of it being a black horse - well, now we get into some interesting stuff!

Horses have been companions to humans for longer than cars have been around, so there is lots of lore and symbology associated with them. Previous metas around S2 have focused on "dark horses," as they were specifically mentioned twice in the script. But a dark horse is not necessarily a black horse, and vice versa, so lets look at some of the aspects of black horse symbology in particular that could be relevant to the Bentley and it role in traveling between worlds.

Horses were the original vehicle of the ancient world. While Famine was supposed to ride a black horse (the others were white, red and pale green for pestilence,) the black horses could also be messengers of death, a demon bringing death or a guide to the afterlife. In the Illiad, Achilles sacrifices four horses on the funeral pyre to accompany Patroclus to Hades.

[Edit: I've just put myself through the pain of watching S2E6 again, for reasons, and realised why the ethereal lift is in the entrance to the Dirty Donkey - because a black horse is a guide between worlds! Of course!]

They became associated with the Devil during the Middle Ages as the church tried to break the link to old pagan rites. The broomsticks witches ride are supposed to represent horses. And then there is the sexual connection to horses...which leads in a round-about way to the practice of nailing horseshoes up for luck and protection. Although perhaps the burning horseshoe on Jasmine Cottage is more directly linked to the story of St Dunstan tricking the Devil and making him promise he would never cross the threshold of a house that had a horseshoe nailed to the door.

Our favourite Bentley has been beyond veil and returned. Though it was kept valiantly alive through the sheer will of Crowley to escape the unnatural flames of the Sigil of Odegra, it expired at the Tadfield airbase once Crowley arrived and finally released it. It was only appropriate that Crowley took a moment to acknowledge its service.

Then Adam restored it the next day. Resurrected it, one could say.

Time for the "final curtain" to wrap this meta up.

To "face the final curtain" is another euphemism for facing death, or at least an ending. It's the final curtain of a theatre show, after the encores are done. Its the final fall of the curtain at the end of a run. Sometimes we might say its just "curtains" for something or someone, meaning it will be ending, as a shortened form. But both Aziraphale and Crowley knows death isn't the end; its a beginning as well. Its just matter of perspective to them.

I've seen other writers associate this final curtain with the first Armagedon't, and now we appear to maybe be facing the "big one" in S3 - the Second Coming. I think that is too simplistic an association, especially for GO. The reversed side of the veil could be so many things: the final battle, the ability of our ethereal heroes to move between worlds, it could even be Crowley returning from the "death" of being one of the Fallen. As always, the meaning will be need to be considered within the context of the scene, and which side of the curtain we are looking from.