#I'm feeling good about this one fellers

[hummingjay]

Check it out on Wattpad too. I'll also be posting it on AO3 if my account gets approved! Note: Rabengeiers belong to @sosadraws. Check her post out, it's real good.

Chapter 1

Magazin adjusted her hair, looking into the mirror. She kept it in a ponytail, which was hard at first, seeing as she has rather short hair, but eventually she asked a Eule to teach her how to put it up. The other starlings in the cadre teased her a bit, but she didn’t mind all too much. It was only friendly teasing, and her hair might as well be the only form of individuality she could get. All starlings had the same face, same body, and until a fair bit of time passed, the same personality, with few exceptions. It was rather pretty face, she had to admit, so she found it hard to complain, but still, it was nice to have something other than her designation to define her.

She washed her face, trying to wake up a bit more. She slept in this morning, so going to the cafeteria for coffee would hardly be possible with what time she had. Instead, she used the coldest water the sink would spout and thoroughly rinsed her face, hoping the cold fluid would help awaken her. Truth be told, refreshing as it was, she didn’t feel much better.

Magazin sighed and walked out the bathroom door, striding back into the STAR dorm for her gear. Most of the other starlings were already out and about, some at the cafeteria finishing breakfast, some already on patrol. She nodded at another tired looking starling, Clip, her name was, as she walked in. She just finished the night shift, and looked it too. Clip threw off her armor, tossing it to the side of her bunk, grunting a greeting. “Morning, Magz.”

“Long night?” Magazin asked.

“Every night.”

Clip flopped onto her bunk, tossing her blanket over her tall frame. Magazin knew she meant well, and was always tired in the morning. She’d be much more chipper in the evening, having slept.

Magazin picked up Clip’s discarded armor and hung it on its respective rack. The last thing she needed was another memo from their Adler or some other authority figure about the “near-hazardous living space of the Protektor force.”, as amusing as it was to see the resident Adler scrunch his face in disgust at the sight of empty cans and unmade beds, she’d rather not upset him. Besides, he was rather easy get along with. Though Magazin couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, she did remember a lengthy conversation about fountain pens, and he was much nicer than the other units make him sound.

She donned her own armor, picking her pistol from the safe. She loaded it, making sure the safety was on before she cocked and holstered it. It was protocol to fully unload the gun before putting it in the safe for curfew. Any incidents were severely punished, and rightly so. Getting accidentally shot by a friendly gun was never in anyone’s to-do list, not that getting shot at all was a great idea. After making sure her cap was on right, she headed out the door.

The familiar bustle of the Kitezh Supply and Communications facility, more officially called M-01 Möbius, was an odd yet present comfort. Armed gestalt soldiers quickly strolled through the halls, some wounded, others carrying large crates, presumably food supplies or ammunition. Storches passed the gestalts easily, their speed attributed to their natural longer strides. Every now and then she’d pass a fellow starling, either standing guard or walking to whatever job was tasked onto them. She wasn’t the most popular in the cadre but she certainly wasn’t unpopular either, so she gets nods and even a tip of a hat or two as she walks by.

Magazin eventually reaches her guard post, nodding at the tired-looking starling already standing guard. She gives Magazin a pat on the shoulder, walking towards the dorms.

Magazin stands guard, watching the corridor. It’s the same experience every day, soldiers and Eules and gestalt janitors and repair workers passing by. She didn’t mind, usually. The Eules always brought with them a sort of air of joy, always smiling, sometimes even laughing as they pass by. The gestalts tended to steer clear of her, which ultimately made sense. It was her job to keep them in line, and as a protektor who towered over them, she was intimidating and she knew it. Then of course there were the rabengeiers. Black Vultures. These replikas dealt with potentionally hazardous biowaste, and that meant bodies. And at M-01 Möbius, there were lots of bodies. Acting as one of the main relay points on the frontline, between imperial raids and being the point where bodies are kept before being shipped to whatever their home world is- or was, corpses were common at the facility. Rabengeiers were nice enough, but seeing someone cart a tarp-covered corpse while covered in their white and blue hazmat suits, red eye receptors glinting behind their goggles, it was hard not to be intimidated. On a good day they carted around an intact body under a tarp. On a bad one it was hard to tell the difference between a normal trash bag and whatever mess of limbs was inside the body bag. At least it would be if not for the blood that leaked into the pristine white table. Security was rough but Magazin did not envy them.

Above her, Magazin could hear noises in the ceiling. Not just footsteps from the upper floors, either. It was likely an Ara unit, maybe two, clambering from one end of the vent to the other. The clambering stopped not far from Magazins spot, while more noise furthered on. The vent creaked open, and an Ara unit popped out, upside down, grinning and using one hand to hold her hat to her head, even though she could have buckled it properly.

“Good morning, Magzie”

The Ara unit was at eye level, hanging from the vent. Magazin didn’t even have to look up.

“Kupfer.” She said, greeting her. “What’s today’s haul?”

Kupfer reached into her bag, which she kept firmly clipped onto her belt, pulling out a candy bar.

“Caramel this time.”

For reasons Magazin never did understand, Kupfer had taken a liking to her. An oddity, considering Aras are unsociable most times, and talking to them at all is rare since they’re in the vents the vast majority of the day.

Kupfer passed the bar over, the wrapper crinkling under her fingers. Kupfer was dating one of the kitchen Eules, a rather sweet one named Nelke who worked in the kitchens. She kept Kupfer well stocked with whatever leftovers were there.

Magazin unwrapped the bar, taking a bite. Caramel oozed from the inside of the bar and into her mouth.

“How’d you get your hands on this one?” Magazin asked, covering her mouth with one hand. “The caramels always get sold out so fast.”

“Nelke saved them for me.” Kupfer pulled out her own candy bar and took a bite. How she was comfortable eating upside down was a mystery to her. Kupfer finished the bar in two bites, wiping her mouth with her hand. She managed to wipe away a chocolate crumb and smudge the soot covering her face. For some reason the Ara unit always had soot or some other mechanical excrete on her face. Sometimes oil, sometimes even sawdust, though Aras aren’t even meant to work with wood. Try as Magazin might, Nelke was the only one who could get Kupfer to clean her face off.

“She told me to bring one for you too.”

“That’s really nice of her. I didn’t know she knew about me.”

“Oh, I told her all about you.”

“Really now?”

“Sure.” Kupfer tossed the crumpled wrapper into a trash bin. Admittedly a good throw. “All good things. You’re the only protektkor that actually talks to me.”

“Well, so long as you make me sound cool.”

“Not as cool as me, but pretty close.” Kupfer twisted around, falling from the vent and hanging on with both hands as Magazin finished her bar and pocketed the wrapper. Hanging from the ceiling, the shorter unit was still just about eye level.

“Wanna know what a little birdie told me?” She grinned at Magazin, who raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“You’ve got a mission.”

“Yeah, right. Which birdie told you that?”

“Oh, you know. Little chirps here and there.”The Ara units may be gossips at times but they do have an odd moral of never putting a name to the action. Kupfer wasn’t going to say which bird, though it was probably a Storch.

“It’s true though.” Kupfer continued. “You’re gonna go with two other Starlings, I think. Maybe a Eule and an Ara. Probably gestalts too. Something about communications or whatever.”

“Huh. That’ll be interesting then.”

“For you. I’m going to be bored without you for the next few cycles.”

“Aww, you’re really gonna miss me? You’re a sweet one, Kupfer.”

“Don’t push it, Magz. Nelke already calls me sweet anyway.”

“What else does she call you? Sweetie pie? Pookums? Maybe even Snuggle cub?”

“Nope, nope, and nope! She calls me princess.” Kupfer gave Magazin a grin, before blushing. “Sometimes she does call me Sweetie.”

A beep came from Kupfer’s belt.

“Ugh. I gotta go.” She said as she twisted back into the vent. She poked her head out.

“Hey, don’t die, yeah? It would be a shame to have you shipped back here by the rabengeiers in a plastic bag.”

“I hereby promise to do my best. Now get out of here before you get in trouble for being late.”

Kupfer shot Magazin a grin before shutting the vent with a click.

With Kupfer gone again, guard duty went back to boring. With but a few passing greetings from Eules rushing by, all she could do was stand at attention, looking for disturbances she hoped she’d never see.

Fortunately, guard duty was uneventful as always. She watched as the next guard walked across the hall to take over. Auslösen, everybody called her. She was an odd starling, showing sweetness that could rival a Eule, but the social straightforwardness of an Ara. Auslösen pointed at Magazin’s face.

“You’ve got chocolate on your lip.”

Magazin wiped her face with the back of her hand. The starling shook her head.

“Still there.”

Magazin wiped again. Auslösen pulled a napkin from her pouch.

“Hold still, Magz.”, she said, reaching over. She steadied Magazin’s head with her hand and wiped the leftover candy with the other.

“You still have the wrapper?”

Magazin pulled the plastic from her pocket, which Auslösen swiftly grabbed.

“I’ll throw it out.” She said.

“Thanks, Aus.”

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, go eat something.” Auslösen adjusted Magazin’s hat. “You haven’t eaten anything other than that, candy, have you?”

“I have not, no.”

“You should grab a bite then. Kommandantin told me to let you know you’re on call.”

So Kupfer was right. There is a mission.

“Thanks. You rock, Aus.”

“Of course I do. Now move it to the cafeteria before the Eules close up.”

Magazin saluted and walked off, catching a glimpse of Auslösen tossing the napkin and wrapper into the trash bin. She turned a corner, checking her internal time module. There’s still time left. And-

She walked straight into a Eule. Papers scattered and the poor owl crashed to the floor, while Magazin staggered.

“Shit! Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”

The Eule picked herself up and started gathering her papers.

“No, I’m okay.” She replied. “I wasn’t looking either. Oof, I’m gonna be late. I can’t keep Kommandantin waiting.”

Magazin picked up the papers as well, stacking them neatly and extending a hand to help the Eule up. She could see her marking: EULR-M0156. A medical pack was slung across her shoulder.

“Thank you.” The smaller unit said, getting up. Magazin handed her the paper stack.

“Of course. Sorry again for barging into you like that.”

The Eule smiled. “It’s okay. Just try not to trip over the Kolibris, mm-kay?” Her tone was akin to a song, little lilts in her accent. Magazin smiled back at her.

“I’ll make sure to be more careful.”

The Eule nodded at her and carried on, waking a bit faster.

Magazin watched her walk away, feeling slightly bad. It wasn’t her fault, it was hard at best to see around the corners and Eules are a foot shorter than her. Still, can’t be fun getting hit in the face by someone in rock-hard armor. Magazin purged the thought from her mind and kept walking. She was hungry and she might not get to eat later.

The cafeteria by now was mostly empty. Just a few workers finishing coffee or some other small snack. Magazin herself got a large cup of the caffeinated drink and a ration pack. The coffee was too bitter and the ration was tasteless but food was food and she needed to eat.

The loudspeaker sounded out a ping.

“STAR-M0124, STAR-M0112, STAR-M0102, please report to Hanger 4.”

STAR-M0124. That’s her. As the order repeated Magazin tossed her empty ration pack and cup at the trash and missed entirely. She picked it up and threw the waste again, this time with success.

It only took 3 minutes to reach Hanger 4, it’s not far from the cafeteria. She could already see one of the other Starlings, STAR-M0112, Bolzen. She looked at Magazin, standing straight and arms behind her back, looking more like a general than a security technician. As Magazin got closer, she spotted a Kolibri and a Eule, the Eule obviously a nurse unit with her green medical bag, and the Kolibri…well, she looked like any other Kolibri, Magazin didn’t know her name.

Magazin strolled over, shaking Bolzen’s hand and nodding at the Eule, before saluting the Kolibri. Another Starling walked into the hanger. This one Magazin didn’t know. Judging by the numerous scars where her shell plates were welded back together, she was one of the older starlings. She extended her hand.

“Zwiete.” She said, introducing herself.

“Magazin.” Magazin said. “This is Bolzen.”

The Kolibri nodded.

“KLBR-M0105. This is Tulpe.” She gestured to the Eule. Magazin recognized her now, she was the same Eule she ran into, this time without her papers; she must have dropped them off while Magazin was in the cafeteria. Magazin smiled sheepishly. The Eule smiled right back in full earnest. It made her feel a bit better. The Kolibri continued.

“We’re still waiting on one other. And-“

She was cut off by the slam of a vent opening, then an Ara unit crawled out. Magazin was always shocked by how fluidly they moved, especially in such small spaces. If she was being well and truly honest it was rather creepy, like watching a spider crawl.

“Sorry I’m late. Gas leak took longer than I thought.” The Ara said, pulling off a gas mask. She left her goggles on, her all-familiar Ara hat was still on her head, and unlike Kupfer’s it was strapped onto her chin properly.

The Kolibri nodded, turning towards a small plane at the end of the hangar, gesturing to follow. A Storch unit stood next to the vehicle, arms crossed. Behind her were two gestlalts, pilots by the look of their uniforms. An older man with white hair and large mustache leaning on the frame, smoking a comically large pipe, and a young woman with a snake tattoo on her neck, sitting on a crate.

The Storch looked at them. “Apologies for the sudden assignment. Today’s mission was only deemed important this morning and time is short.” She said. She seemed bitter, as if she wanted the mission accounted for sooner. “You will fly out east, to deliver a message to the 56th attack platoon. We lost communications two days ago but recon shows they’re alive. However, the enemy is setting up artillery and the we have roughly three days before our soldiers die. You are to deliver them news and information on the artillery and the orders of retreat. We believe their vehicles are still functional. Provide any support needed until the platoon arrives back here. Any questions so far?”

Silence.

“Excellent. Likelihood of enemy anti-air is low. Tank presence is possible. If you do go down the mission is not aborted. You have 10 minutes to gather your weapons and board the plane. KLBR-M0105 will lead the assignment. Dismissed.”

The Storch unit saluted and walked away, leaving them. The Kolibri nodded.

“Weapon case is over there. Board the plane when you’re ready." she said, turning to board. The Ara and Tulpe followed her. Magazin and the other starlings turned towards the case put out for them. She was already armed with her pistol, of course. But it would be foolish to not take a more aggressive firearm, especially since it’s rare to be privileged with such firepower. She picked up an assault rifle. The StG-940, chambered in 5.56 caliber rounds. This one had a red dot scope attached and a vertical grip. She picked up extra magazines and tucked them onto her belt.

Magazin looked over. Bolzen had already chosen a large DMR and Zwiete was still inspecting a shorter shotgun. Magazin walked to the plane, nodding at the two pilots as she boarded and sat down. Luckily, the seats were against the wall and facing to the inside of the plane, giving her ample leg room. The Kolibri was still standing, and Tulpe was already sitting down, reading a book she likely borrowed from a Kolibri. The Ara unit was also sitting, her bag between her legs instead of up in the storage bins above the seats.

It was only a minute before Zwiete boarded, followed by the gestalts. The younger one sat in the pilot’s seat while the older man went for the copilot’s. The pilot tapped the microphone.

“This is your captain speaking. I’m Hana and this is Bernhard. Please buckle up and hold tight.” The engines roared to life and the plane began moving. “This is gonna be a smooth ride with clear skies and sand. Like every other day here. Try not to throw up during takeoff and landing. Or at all.”

The plane took off. Such a small plane didn’t have retractable landing gear, and the hum of the engine was loud through the armored walls. Not long after takeoff Bernhard stood up from his seat, walking steadily on what could only be called an unstable floor.

“We’re looking at an hour’s ride, so get comfortable.” He said. He looked at Tulpe, immersed in her book. “Smart lass, she is.” He turned to the Ara unit. “You can take the plant out. Keeping it in a bag can’t be good for it.”

She looked confused, before embarrassedly unzipping her bag and pulling out a potted flower, moving aside her tools, and placing it on the seat next to her. Magazin could see Zweite raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. The Kolibri, for her part, seemed unbothered. She glanced up, grinned, and went back to poring over the map of the area. She probably knew of the contraband from the start. Bernhard smiled and went back to the copilots seat. The Ara unit seemed more happy than anything else now that she could keep her plant out. Magazin stood up, hand on the ceiling to steady herself, walking over to Bernhard.

“How’d you know she had a plant?” She asked.

Bernhard grinned as he flicked a switch.

“I work with Ara units in the hanger a lot. They don’t go far from them, and nobody ever gets them in trouble for bringing ‘em.”

“They always have plants on them?”

“I’ve been in these seats for 40 years and only one Ara left her plant behind. Never did any of the higher-ups mind it either.”

“Huh. Well, I-“

A loud sound interrupted her. She could hear Zwiete shout.

“We’re hit!”

Magazin scrambled over, looking out the window. The wing had a hole in it, a worryingly big one.

“I thought there wasn’t anti-air!” The Kolibri shouted.

“There isn’t!” Hana screamed back. “They have fucking tanks! Buckle the fuck up!”

Magazin went for her seat, but the plane tilted violently and she fell over. She heard Tulpe scream.

Firm hands grabbed her and hauled her into her seat. Zwiete pushed her down as Magazin grappled the buckle shut. A tank round tore through the floor, hitting the ceiling and falling in front of Zwiete. More shots. Metal shards of the plane flew across the space. At this point the plane was shuddering and creaking a hideous cacophony of metal bending as it tried to hold together. What was louder, the metal of the plane screaming as it cracked, the thunder of the tank cannons or the engine trying to function, Magazin couldn’t tell.

Another explosion, louder. The engine on the right side of the plane burst into flame, spitting shards of metal cross the sky and into the plane. Tulpe screamed louder and the Ara’s face was contorted in pain, a piece of the engine imbedded in her arm, blood spurting onto the floor.

Screams. Who was screaming? Zwiete was silent, eyes shut tight. Bolzen? Tulpe? Hana was screaming. The cockpit was on fire. Magazin was screaming too, she realized. The plane wasn’t flying anymore, it was falling. How could she tell? She couldn’t look out the window and her thoughts were a mess. But she knew they were falling now, fast.

More screams, the plane, her, Tulpe, Hana, then more screams still. Then-

Nothing.

[lovelybunn]

"special" request.ㅤ- feat. engineer & gender neutral reader

warning(s): smut (under cut), sucking fixation, praise kink

word count: 1.8k

The engineer was working on one of his many schematics for the team inside his workshop, until you came over to pay him a little visit.

The man was deep in concentration, his eyes focused intently on the blueprints scattered across his workbench. Unexpectedly, the sound of footsteps disrupted his thoughts. “Howdy, partner. How may I help you today, son?” The moment he heard the sound of your familiar laughter, he swiveled around in his chair to face you.

He chuckled in his typical sweet and sultry tone, his soothing voice causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Ah, it's you. Nice to see ya, (Name). What’re you doin’ this late at night? Isn't it past your bedtime, little feller?” To be quite frank, he was right. It was almost two in the morning when you showed up inside his workshop. “Well…” you started, wanting to find the correct phrasing. “I'm gonna ask for a weird favor from you.” you said, watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He burst into a deep, belly laugh at that, shaking his head to himself. “Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, sugar. There's nothing you could ask from me that'll shock me even in the slightest.”

You sighed, taking that as permission. “Engi…Can I touch you?” You asked sheepishly, feeling a bit nervous to approach the issue. The engineer gave you a curious expression, lifting his goggles up to look you dead in the eyes. Before he could process your words, he tilted his head to the side, a hint of confusion playing at his brow. "Touch me?" He repeated, the gears in his head visibly turning as he tried to decipher your words. “What do you mean by that, (Name)? You're bein’ rather vague, kiddo.”

You nervously rubbed the back of your neck, biting your lower lip as you spoke. "Maybe…like, a hug or something? I kind of need one." You felt the heat in your cheeks grow as you stumbled over your words. The engineer took notice as well. Although, instead of laughing at you like half of the other mercenaries might have done, he looked genuinely concerned. “Well, why didn't you say that in the first place, darlin’? If you were having a bad day, you'd know I try and help you. I may only be able to solve practical problems, but I love my friends.” He paused, patting his lap. “Come ere, then. Come give this sleep deprived genius a good ol’ hug, yeah?” He holds out his arms for you to embrace him.

You couldn't help but giggle at the sweet gesture, settling into the man's lap with a soft thump. You noticed how warm and soft he felt against you as you wrapped your arms around his broad, muscular shoulders and buried your head into the crook of his neck. The engineer chuckled softly as he rubbed gentle strokes across your back with his robotic hand, the cold metal sending shivers throughout your body. It was a strangely soothing sensation, the contrast between the cold, hard surface of his hand, and the warmth of your body providing a unique sensation that left you feeling incredibly relaxed… maybe even a bit curious.

To act on that said curiosity, you decided to push a bit further. The engineer patted your back gently as you sat up to lock eyes with him once more. “You feeling better now, (Name)?” You nodded slowly, your eyes heavy from the intense sense of relaxation flowing through you. “Mhm…” He smiled in response, “I'm glad to hear it. Alrighty then, lil bit. You better go get some shut eye before—” His words were abruptly interrupted as you pulled him closer, pressing your lips onto his.

You felt the scruff of his beard against your chin and the warmth of his breath against your lips. The taste of his mouth fills you with a sense of tenderness and desire that makes your heart pound in your chest, a desire that only seemed to grow larger and larger as both his real and robotic hands found their way beneath your shirt. Your skin prickled with anticipation as he chuckled deeply in your ear. He seemed to be enjoying this as much as you were. “Ya seem to want more than just a hug, sweetheart.” He said, the sweet sound of his Southern drawl buzzing in your ears. He paused to kiss you once more. “It's a great thing I agree with you, huh?”

Your eyes lit up in excitement as you asked, “Really? You wanna do this with me?” His voice dropped several octaves as he chuckled, his words making your heart race. “Oh, baby, I've wanted to do this with you for a hot minute.” The engineer grazed the tips of his robotic hand against your soft, pouty lips. “Ain't you a cute little guy?” He hummed, “you like Gunslinger, yeah?” You murmured a small "yes" in response, your attention completely focused on the engineer's subtle, sensual movements.

“(Name),” he said, his tone soft, yet demanding. “Show me how much you like Gunslinger.” A mischievous smirk crept onto the man's lips, the one you'd only ever seen when he was planning to scheme against the other team. “Use that pretty little mouth of yours.” You blushed profusely at the suggestion, “Engi, what did you just say?”

Before there was any more room for questioning, he slid a thick, metallic finger into your mouth. “Suck it, baby. We both know you want to.” Involuntarily, you moan quietly, wrapping your lips around the digits. Your tongue lapped circles in between his fingers in a delicate, slick motion. “That's right, just like that,” the engineer croons. “That tastes good in your mouth now, don't it?” You hum in agreement, tasting the familiar tang on your tongue.

After a few moments, he slipped his Gunslinger out of your wet mouth. The engineer gazed in awe at the state of his hand, now covered in your slick saliva. He let out an audible exhale, his eyes trained on the sight as he spoke. "Good job," he praised, a hint of appreciation in his voice. You smiled eagerly in response, curious to see just how far you could take this venture. The excitement only grew as you watched his eyes shift from his hand to you, a playful glint in them. He chuckled lowly, his normal hand grazing against your skin, down the curve of your neck and across your jawline. Finally, the engineer's thumb circled your lips in a soft, gentle motion, causing you to lean in just a little closer, drawn in by his touch. “I'd reckon there's a lot more you can do.”

You chuckled at his words, your voice laced with desire as you teased, “Oh yeah? Like what?” He found your boldness humoring, letting out deep, full-bodied laughter. “I’ll show you, ‘like what,’” he replied, his tone matching yours. “Could ya stand up for me, (Name)?” Oblivious to his intentions, you obeyed, giving him space. You were a little confused about what he was doing, until you watched as the engineer unlatched the straps of his overalls, letting them fall off his shoulders.

He felt you gawking at him, and smirked. “You like what you see? This is all self-made.” You bit your lip before asking, “What are you planning, Engi?”

“It's simple, really,” he says, his voice even and matter-of-fact. “All you gotta do is get on your knees and open that mouth.” Once again, you did as told without a second thought. Your eyes widened with the realization of just how far you've come.

He let his erect cock out from his boxers, already dripping with precum. He peered down at you, his expression lustful as he drank in the sight of you beneath him. You caressed his member, rubbing the veiny groin against your cheek. You lick at the base of the engineer's cock slowly, daringly. He groans softly in response, the sound alone making your mind spin. You could feel his hand on your head, the warmth of his touch sending a rush of heat through your entire body. “Oh, damn, baby, I didn't have to tell you anything, huh?” He let out another small, contented groan, his words laced with admiration. “You just know exactly what to do.”

The tip of him filled your mouth; your tongue teased at the sensitive spot. You made direct eye contact with the engineer while you pushed him deeper down your throat. He felt so good with you wrapped around him, his breathless, delicious moans reflecting the pleasure you were giving him. His voice was gruff as he spoke, his thick accent returned. "Yeah, that's right," a low growl rises in the engineer's throat, “Just like that, cowboy. Show this good ol’ engineer how much you love him.” One of your free hands took a hold of the base of his cock and stroked it vigorously as you sucked harder and deeper on his cock. The way his head fell back over the chair, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, was enough to tell you he was close. His breathing grew heavier, his body tensing as he moaned your name, “Oh my lord, (Name),” He grabbed a fistful of your hair. “You're gonna make me cum, baby.” And cum he did. The engineer's hot seed flows into your mouth, coating your throat with its white, thick texture.

He laughed breathlessly, combing through your scalp in appreciation. “Good,” he muttered, his voice low and raspy. “That was amazing, darlin’,” he continued, "Now, stick that tongue out for me." His thumb took a hold of your jaw, opening your mouth. He snickered as he looked at the thick puddle of his own cum lathered onto your tongue. “Damn… I didn't realize I had that much in me.” He caressed your cheek before he slowly removed his hand from your face, reaching for a tissue for you. "There you go," he said, cleaning you off. You smiled and swallowed the rest of his cum. “Thanks. That was fun.” You exclaimed hoarsely, your jaw a little sore. You stood back up to sit in his lap once more. The two of you shared a sloppy, yet tender kiss, your bodies leaning into each other in an act of post climactic bliss.

You pull away, a trail of saliva connecting the two of your panting lips together. “I've always wanted to do that, y'know.” You paused, your eyes averted away from him nervously. “I just didn't think you'd be into it.” He kissed your forehead reassuringly. “Well, I've had my eye on you for a while now, (Name). There's not a lot of people quite like you around these parts.” The engineer grazed your spine and leaned closer to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “And you're quite the dirty little thing, aren't you?” You giggled and shrugged. “I guess I am.” He kissed your neck, enjoying watching you sigh at his touch. “I guess we'll have to do this more often, then. I wouldn't mind having someone else hangin’ around with me during the later hours.” He murmured onto the nape of your neck. “I'd like to have an assistant for all my special needs.”

[delulustateofmind]

Happy New Year!

Sum: You met a hot girl at the club? What could possibly go wrong.

Yan!Shokohime x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Drugging, Kidnapping, Obsessive/Possessive actions) Drinking/clubbing scene, Implied future dubcon/noncon, Manipulation, Implied captivity, Utahime might be slightly ooc.

A/n: Not even the lesbians are safe, though I feel like they would be the "kinder" of yandere couples. Stay safe tonight, don't go smooching any strangers at a nightclub (or do I'm not your mom). Seriously though, there are some creepy fellers out there. So be careful pls!

WC: 3.7k

New year, new you. That’s what you’ve always told yourself, especially after another failed relationship. This time, you’ve held back from re-downloading Tinder or even dipping your toes into Hinge—self-control that feels like a small victory. Tonight wasn’t about dating apps or future entanglements, though. Tonight, you were chasing that electric thrill of a New Year’s kiss.

Somewhere across town, Shoko stood in front of a mirror, casually adjusting her scarf with a swift flick of her hand. Her movements were unhurried, almost careless, yet there was a quiet precision in the way she checked her reflection. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she pulled out a cigarette, the small flare of her lighter briefly illuminating her sharp features. She took a slow drag, exhaling a lazy curl of smoke before glancing over her shoulder.

Behind her, Utahime sat at a vanity, carefully patting serum onto her skin. The soft light cast a warm glow over her, emphasizing the delicate focus she gave her nightly routine. She caught Shoko’s gaze in the mirror, her lips curving into a playful smile.

“Do you always have to smoke before going out?” Utahime teased, her tone carrying a mix of affection and mild exasperation.

Shoko chuckled softly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as she leaned against the doorframe. “You love it,” she replied, her smirk widening as Utahime rolled her eyes.

“I tolerate it,” Utahime shot back, though her expression softened as she turned to look at Shoko more directly. Her gaze lingered momentarily, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smaller, knowing smile. “Bring us home a new toy, then,” she added, her voice lighter now, teasing but with a trace of longing, as if she didn't accidentally kill the last one.

Shoko stepped closer, the cigarette dangling between her fingers as she bent down to press a kiss to the top of Utahime’s head. “I’ll bring you something good,” she murmured.

Utahime hummed in response, her hand pausing mid-movement as her cheeks flushed faintly. “You’d better,” she said, her voice quieter now as she turned back to the vanity to continue her routine.

Shoko flicked the ash from her cigarette and grabbed her coat, tossing it over her shoulder. As she headed for the door, she glanced back one last time, her smirk softening. “Don’t wait up for me,” she said lightly, though the warmth in her voice betrayed the casualness of her words.

The faint scent of lavender mingled with the sharp tang of cigarette smoke as Shoko’s boots clicked against the floor, the sound fading as she disappeared into the night.

Back at the club, the music pulsed through your veins, the bass rattling your chest and drowning out coherent thought. The flashing lights painted the crowd in fleeting reds and blues, and you let yourself get swept away in the rhythm, your body moving in time with the beat. The presence behind you was just another stranger, a fleeting moment of connection in a sea of anonymity. For tonight, that was enough.

Her scent reached you before her touch—faintly floral, clean and crisp, but with an underlying sharpness that cut through the thick haze of alcohol and sweat. When her hands slid onto your hips, they were firm but not forceful, her touch deliberate.

At first, her movements mirrored yours casually, almost lazily, like she was simply along for the ride. There was no urgency in her actions, just a quiet confidence that made you aware of her presence without demanding your attention.

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting her gaze for the first time. Her dark eyes glinted under the dim lights, carrying a flicker of amusement, as though she’d caught you in a private joke. Her lips curved into a faint, almost lazy grin, and she tilted her head, studying you with detached curiosity.

She leaned in closer, her breath brushing your ear, warm against the chill of the club’s air conditioning. “You always move like this, or is it just tonight?” she murmured, her tone light and teasing, a spark of playful interest coloring her words.

You offered her a coy smile, shrugging as if to say, why not tonight? Her grin widened at your response, her fingers tightening just slightly on your hips as if testing your reaction.

As the song changed, the rhythm between you shifted. Her movements grew less casual, more deliberate, and the teasing glint in her eyes softened into something sharper, more focused. You could feel her attention narrowing on you, the playful indifference melting away as the seconds ticked by.

She moved closer, her body brushing against yours in a way that felt deliberate, her hand sliding around your waist with ease that sent butterflies to form in your stomach, something you haven't felt in ages. “You’re fun,” she said, her voice lower now, though the playful tone lingered at the edges.

Leaning in, her breath brushed your ear, warm and deliberate, sending a slight chill down your body. “Wanna play a drinking game?” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that promised trouble but was impossible to resist. There was an edge of confidence in her words, one that made it clear she expected you to say yes—like she already knew you would.

You hesitated for a beat, the thrum of the bass and the haze of the moment clouding your better judgment. Her lips were close enough that you could feel the faint vibration of her words..

She pulled back just enough to catch your eyes, her smirk growing wider when she saw your resolve falter. “It’s just a game,” she added, her tone playful, as if teasing a close friend.

There was less than an hour until midnight, and the idea of a game sounded harmless enough. What was the worst that could happen?

“Sure,” you replied, the word barely leaving your lips before her smirk widened. Her hand moved to yours, her hand brushing softly against your skin as her fingers intertwined with yours, firm but easy.

“Good,” she said, straightening and waving for the bartender with an ease that made it seem like this was her world and you were just stepping into it. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

As the minutes ticked by, so did the shots. Shoko had ordered a bottle without hesitation, the amber liquid catching the erratic flashes of the club lights as she poured with practiced precision. Her movements were deliberate, almost too smooth, like someone who had done this a hundred times before and never needed to think about it.

She barely seemed to drink herself, raising the glass to her lips only occasionally, but her attention never wavered from you. Every so often, her eyes flicked up, catching yours with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. They were dark and glinting with something unreadable, her lazy smirk firmly in place as if she were savoring a private joke you weren’t in on.

Her posture was deceptively relaxed, her chin perched on one hand while the other idly toyed with the rim of her glass. Still, there was an underlying tension in the way she leaned in, close enough for you to feel her presence even over the pounding music.

“Still holding up?” she asked, her voice low and teasing, carrying easily over the thrum of bass. The question was rhetorical, her gaze already sweeping over you as though she were assessing the answer for herself.

The alcohol was working its way through you now, a pleasant warmth blooming in your chest and radiating outward. You nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly, and lifted your glass in a half-hearted toast.

Shoko chuckled, the sound soft but sharp, her smirk deepening. “Good,” she murmured, her tone carrying an edge that made your stomach flip, though you couldn’t quite tell if it was from excitement or unease. “I’d hate for you to tap out before the real fun starts.”

Her eyes lingered on yours a moment too long before she poured another round, the sound of liquid filling the glasses almost too loud against the background of the music. As you took the drink she slid toward you, her fingers brushed yours—brief, but electric, leaving behind a tingling sensation that stayed with you even after you lifted the glass to your lips.

Time became slippery, the minutes blending together as you laughed and talked. Shoko was a master of the moment, her words sharp and clever, her laughter soft and intoxicating. Every story she shared, every question she asked, seemed perfectly timed to keep your attention locked on her. Even when others approached—strangers offering drinks, compliments, or invitations—her focus remained on you. It was as if they didn’t exist, as if nothing else mattered but the two of you. The kind of person that makes you feel special. Feel wanted.

As midnight crept closer, she leaned in again, her breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “One more shot, yeah?” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, carrying just enough weight to feel like a suggestion and a command all at once. “To ring in the new year.”

You nodded without hesitation, your thoughts fuzzy from the alcohol and the magnetic pull of her presence. She poured the final drink with the same practiced precision as before, her movements smooth and unhurried. Her hand brushed yours as she slid the glass across the table, the brief contact sending an electric jolt up your arm.

The shot burned less this time, the bitterness barely registering as the warmth spread through your chest. Shoko’s gaze never left you, her smirk sharpening as you placed the empty glass on the table.

“Midnight’s almost here,” she said, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of anticipation. She straightened, holding out her hand.

Her eyes glinted under the dim lights as her fingers curled slightly, beckoning you forward. “Let’s get a better view,” she added keeping it casual. As if she was someone you could trust, like an old friend.

You hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand, the warmth of her touch grounding you even as your surroundings continued to blur. Her grip was firm but not forceful, the presence steady as she guided you through the crowd.

The press of bodies felt overwhelming as Shoko guided you through the crowd of people. All the glitter, the lights, and the noise seemed to all blur together, the environment felt more intoxicating than the alcohol. You followed her without question, the cool air of the balcony hitting your skin like a shock as she led you to the railing overlooking the dance floor.

Shoko stood close—too close—her arm brushing against yours as she leaned casually on the railing. The cool night air wrapped around you both, a sharp contrast to the heat of the club below. She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, her smirk softening into something almost fond, though it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or another layer of her charm.

“You know,” she began, her voice quieter now, nearly lost beneath the muffled thrum of music, “this is my favorite part of the night. The moment right before everything changes.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication, though their meaning was just out of reach. You opened your mouth to ask, confusion flickering across your face, but the crowd below erupted into the familiar rhythm of a countdown.

“Ten!”

Shoko turned to face you fully, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. They no longer held the casual, sultry amusement from earlier but were softer now, filled with something that almost resembled affection. The only thing you could think of was that she was really pretty and that the world seemed to spin.

“Nine!”

She reached up, her fingers brushing against your temple as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was gentle, lingering just long enough to send your pulse racing. When was the last time you felt like this?

“Eight!”

Her smile deepened, the curve of her lips walking the line between comforting and unsettling. There was a flicker of something unspoken behind it, something dangerously close to lovesick.

“Seven!”

“I’m glad I found you tonight,” she murmured, her tone low and intimate, each word dripping with a tenderness that felt out of place. Something felt off but all you could muster was a sweet drunken giggle as you leaned closer.

“Six!”

Her hand shifted, reaching for the table behind her where the final shot sat waiting. She picked up the glass, her movements deliberate yet unhurried. “One last drink,” she said, her tone light, though the glint in her eyes betrayed a deeper intent. She tipped the glass back, the amber liquid vanishing in one smooth motion.

“Five!”

As she set the empty glass down, her free hand slipped into her pocket, her fingers brushing over something unseen. Her smirk returned, sharper now, as her gaze never left yours.

“Four!”

She stepped closer, her proximity almost suffocating. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that you couldn't help but lean into. Maybe you'll get lucky?

“Three!”

“Don’t look so nervous,” she teased softly, her grin widening. Her other hand raised the empty glass, her movements casual but calculated. Unnoticed by you, she slipped something small from her mouth onto her tongue, the motion so fluid it looked like nothing more than playful mischief.

“Two!”

Her fingers tilted your chin upward, forcing your gaze to lock onto hers. Her breath was warm against your lips, the club lights flashing behind her in a chaotic dance of color. The world narrowed to just her, the overwhelming pull of her presence silencing every rational thought.

“One!”

Shoko leaned in, her lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was soft yet commanding, the weight of it impossible to resist. The warmth of her mouth sent a chill down your spine, but there was a faint bitterness on her lips that you dismissed as the aftertaste of alcohol. Her hand tightened ever so slightly on your cheek, anchoring you in the moment as the cheers of the crowd erupted in the background, distant and irrelevant.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, sharper than before, her dark eyes glinting with a satisfaction that sent a chill down your spine.

“Happy New Year,” she whispered, her voice smooth and final, sealing the moment with a sense of inevitability.

You smiled weakly, a giddy warmth spreading through you—until that warmth shifted after a few mere moments, your limbs suddenly feeling heavy. The sounds of the crowd and the fireworks dimmed as your vision blurred slightly, a dizzy haze settling over you.

Shoko’s hand remained steady on your waist, her touch grounding you even as your body betrayed you. “Feeling alright?” she asked, her tone remained casual, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression.

You tried to respond, but the words came out slurred, your legs wobbling beneath you. Shoko clicked her tongue softly, pulling you close against her chest. “Guess that last drink hit a little harder than you thought,” she murmured, her voice smooth and soothing as she gently guided you away from the railing.

The world tilted as Shoko wrapped an arm around you, her grip firm and unyielding. “Don’t worry,” she cooed, her lips brushing against your ear, “I’ve got you now.”

The world outside the club blurred as Shoko supported your increasingly unsteady frame, her arm firmly wrapped around your waist. The cool night air prickled your skin, but the haze in your mind made it hard to care. Shoko hummed softly, her voice low and almost melodic as she guided you down the dimly lit streets.

“Almost there,” she murmured, her tone soothing but laced with something that felt off—a quiet satisfaction you couldn’t quite place.

Your eyelids felt heavy, and your feet dragged against the pavement, but Shoko’s grip didn’t falter. Her strength was surprising, and she moved with an ease that suggested she’d done this before. The sound of her boots clicking against the sidewalk became a steady rhythm, almost hypnotic in your dazed state.

When you finally blinked your eyes open, you found yourself in an unfamiliar apartment. The warm lighting contrasted sharply with the cold street you had just left behind. The scent of lavender and something faintly floral filled the air, calming yet unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

“Oh, Shoko,” the voice rang out, bright and giddy, “you’ve outdone yourself this time. She’s perfect.”

Utahime’s face came into view, her smile wide and gleaming with excitement as she crouched beside you. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that only made your chest tighten.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, tilting her head as she examined you. “She looks so scared.”

Shoko chuckled from somewhere above you, her tone light and unbothered. “She should be. Not everyone gets this lucky. It really is a scary world out there.”

Utahime’s fingers trailed through your hair, the touch almost reverent as she leaned closer. “You’re lucky, you know,” she murmured, her tone soft but with an edge of something unhinged. “Shoko never lets me top, but you’ll let me, won’t you?” Her voice cracked slightly, her excitement spilling over. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

Her words clawed at the edges of your consciousness, and you tried to shake your head, to push her away, but your body refused to obey. Your lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a broken, slurred sound.

Utahime let out a delighted laugh, the sound light and almost musical, though there was an unsettling edge to it. She clapped her hands together softly, her excitement bubbling over as her eyes stayed locked on you. “Oh, listen to her! She’s already perfect. So pliant, so sweet,” she cooed, her voice dripping with affection that felt both maternal and predatory.

She turned to Shoko, her expression bright, her excitement uncontained. “You never disappoint me,” she added, her tone carrying a mix of genuine admiration and playful teasing, as if she were indulging a partner who always exceeded expectations.

Shoko smirked from where she leaned lazily against the couch, her posture relaxed, but her sharp eyes didn’t stray from you. There was something calculating in the way she watched, as if she were cataloging every movement, every reaction.

“Of course I don’t,” she replied simply, her voice low and casual, but there was a possessive undertone in her words that made the air feel heavier. She turned her gaze briefly to Utahime, her smirk softening into something just shy of tender. “Have to keep my girl happy,” she added, the words rolling off her tongue with an easy confidence that left no room for doubt.

Utahime’s smile widened, cheeks flushing faintly as she looked back at you. “Oh, she does,” she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. Her fingers brushed lightly against your arm, her touch gentle but deliberate. You were at least thankful that she kept things PG. “You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you?”

Shoko chuckled softly, the sound low and almost amused as she pushed off the couch. “She doesn’t really have a choice,” she murmured, her tone casual but laced with finality, the weight of her words settling like a stone in your chest.

Utahime returned her focus to you, her fingers brushing another strand of hair from your face with an almost mocking tenderness. Her grin softened into something warm, nearly maternal, though there was an unsettling edge to how she looked at you—like she’d found something fragile and precious to protect or break.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she whispered, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. Her voice was almost too sweet, dripping with the promise of care that felt more like a trap. “You don’t have to think anymore. We’ll take care of everything. You’ll never be alone again.”

A tear slid down your cheek, unbidden and confusing. Was it fear? Resignation? Or the sickly sweetness of her words that sent a wave of despair crashing over you? The emotions tangled together, impossible to separate, impossible to escape.

Utahime caught the tear with her thumb, her expression softening further into what could almost be pity. She sighed softly, tilting her head. “Oh, darling,” she murmured, her voice gentle but threaded with mock sympathy. “Don’t cry. This is the start of something beautiful.”

Her arms wrapped around you, cradling your head against her chest like a child, her hold both suffocating and unrelenting. The warmth of her body contrasted with the icy chill that had settled in your core.

Your chest tightened as the haze from the alcohol—or whatever else was coursing through your system—wrapped around your mind like a fog. Your thoughts slowed, dragged down into the growing void, even as panic screamed at you from somewhere deep inside.

Shoko moved closer, crouching beside you with an easy grace. Her fingers traced along your jawline, her touch grounding you in a way that only deepened your helplessness. You couldn't help the pathetic whine that escaped your throat.

“You can stop fighting now,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing, though her words felt like iron bars snapping shut around you. “It’s not like you can go back.”

The room felt smaller, the warmth suffocating as it closed in around you. Your vision blurred further, edges melting into the background, and the soft hum of their voices became the only thing tethering you to consciousness.

You wanted to move, to run, to pull away, but your body refused to obey. Every attempt at resistance sank beneath the weight of the haze pulling you deeper, trapping you in their grasp.

The last thing you saw was Utahime’s grin, wide and alight with unrestrained joy. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she leaned in close, her words soft but final:

“You’re ours now, darling.”

Darkness closed in, heavy and absolute, but Shoko’s voice sliced through it, smooth and deliberate:

“Happy New Year.”

[seeking-elsewhither]

Currently woozy but guess who watched the Umbara Arc in one sitting

I'm in my Rex feels right now, because Anakin remarks that Rex used to be very uptight like Dogma which implies that it took Rex some time to ease up. And he's the only blonde in the GAR, a cosmetic "defect" sure but he's also a gen 1 clone. He must've struggled so hard to ensure he wouldn't get decommissioned, must have stuck to the rules and followed orders to the letter just so he'd survive.

And here comes Krell demanding about his insubordination. Threatening against it. Don't tell me Rex wasn't thinking of his cadet-hood when Krell called him by his CT number. My man was going through it.

Tangent!

Okay, see, the thing is, when I watch the clones, I can literally see the times their past life on Kamino and their cadet-hood bleed into their present behavior.

Take Hunter, for example, when he's quietly doing as Shand tells him to in s3. I wonder how many times he's had to comply as a cadet for the sake of his brothers' safety.

Take Crosshair on Tantiss, resisting torture at every step of the way. Maybe he was trained for it. Maybe he trained himself for it.

Take Omega on Tantiss, keeping herself busy, never once giving up hope. I wonder if that's how she lived in Nala Se's private lab, always hoping to reunite with her brothers and eagerly waiting for a chance.

Basically, I've always felt like tcw and tbb give us the past of the clones implicitly in their behavior. Or maybe that's just me reading too much into it.

Okay, back to Umbara

@margindoodles2407 from whatever I've seen of Fives so far, your analysis is spot-on.

Even Jesse's far more chill than him.

And HARDCASE MY BELOVED <333

Please, he's such an optimistic feller. He would've loved Hevy, Cutup, and Wrecker.

I was cheering every time Fives got to say a bad word on Krell.

Love how the episode moves from Rex bending under the weight of Krell's nature until he decided he could take it no longer and snapped upright. "It's Captain, sir."

Rex and Fives are such father-son, I swear. Such first and second-in-command, what with all the times Rex pulls Fives away to talk with him.

Okay, so Tup is officially the baby of the 501st, right? And by baby I don't mean he acts like one, I mean he's the vod'ika that every clone will coddle because he's new, even if he does murder in cold-blood.

Rex giving off huge eldest son vibes with his "I have a duty to protect these men."

Hate that Rex had to stoop that low and use the "They're not just clones. They're men!" rhetoric. As someone who firmly believes where you come from should have no effect on your worth as a person, this irked me as much as it must've irked Rex and the other clones.

Petition for Fives to deck Krell.

I mean, yeah Dogma gets him good at the end, but Fives should have got the chance. He knew just what Krell was going to be like from the first moment he saw him. Retribution would've been sweet (neither the Christian nor the Jedi way, but c'mon! we all hate this guy)

What sort of hologram is that? With cubes and stuff? It looks so cool, but why is it like that?

Is tcw just going to constantly test Rex's beliefs the entire time? First Cut, then Fives.

Hardcase and Fives laughing and giggling as they flew in those Umbaran ships and blasted the enemy had me crying because they're so happyyy :')

Sorry but Krell calling Rex by his CT number those first two times is hilarious, how do you keep a straight face and say it like that?

Rex, on the other hand, seemed like he was traumatized on so many levels.

Fives is just. So brave, so bold, so fearless. He stands for what he believes in, he will not bow down or cower in the face of adversities. He's got that touch of recklessness, but there's an air of sternness and cleverness about him. He knows what he's doing. He's the madness to his method.

And he's a poet. No take backsies. Some of the best speeches have been given by him. He literally used the word "ire".

He's like a knight of yore. He's got the chivalry, the nobility, the honor, the courage. He's unflinching, he will look death in the face and slay it with his bare hands.

Even at his end, the speech he gave was not with his life in mind but the lives of his brothers.

You've heard of great men, you've heard of good men. And then there are men of high valor like Fives.

Rex's uncertainty is obviously meant to stem from his awkward stance as the bridge between Jedi and clones, but I can't help but see him thinking of his time when he was another defective clone cadet trying his best to survive.

Hardcase why'd you have to gooooo

That reveal, that tear running down Waxer's face, the little Numa painted on his helmet, I'm gonna cry.

Dang, wouldn't want to cross Tup.

"You sound just like Krell." I'd rather be shot with a blaster than be accused of mirroring that demagolka.

When Krell refuses to call for Kenobi, I just knew Rex felt the sinking feeling that he was going to be on his own.

Krell's freaky because throughout the entire thing he never once shows the signs of being a Seppie. Sure, his hatred for the clones is as clear as day, but otherwise, you never realize it's him.

That's all I have for now. Margin, feel free to add on, because the last time you did, you managed to cover stuff I'd been thinking of but had forgotten.

[seaofolives]

so this is a really random poll (and my first one on this blog!) but it figures now that I've come up with a "good name" I'd be interested to try:

the abstract of the poll/challenge/idea:

1. I'm calling it "torokatober" from トロカト/torokato. no need to apply strict top/bottom dynamics, of course.

2. I do this challenge every year where I write drabbles every day of october for a particular character/ship. this time, 3x4 is my subject of choice

3. anyone who wants to join won't have to be limited by drabbles! that's just me. others can do whatever they want like longer or shorter fics, art, cosplay, model kits, gif sets, amvs, playlists, etc etc etc

4. if the poll gets good traction and interest, I can open a prompt suggestion form just so I won't have to come up with all the prompts myself 😂 but if the poll doesn't get any traction/we don't get enough prompts to fit 31 days, I can just fill it up on my own, dw XD

6. probably gonna use the hashtags #torokatober2024 and #トロカト１０月２０２４年 for collecting works. so even if no one's interested, I'll post the prompts and my own works there 😂

5. this is going to be strictly diy—no mod accounts, no ao3/sqwa collections, zero promotions or pressure, no strict rules, whatsoever. if you answered you'd love to participate but suddenly can't, there's no guilt or penalty. any kind of pairing that involves these two are welcome, any rating or restrictions welcome, etc

7. poll is up for a week! someone also remind me to submit this thing to the central gw accounts bc I'm queueing up this post and don't always check tumblr 😂

8. last random ask! do these two have an "official" emoji pair??? like 🎭🎻? 🤡🎻? 🪈🎻?? 🤸🤺 or 🎪🏜️ or just 3️⃣4️⃣???? or am I just being too much of a feller-kids lmao but I like shippy emojis ok (or should I do another poll)

[izzy-the-chaotic-gremlin]

Hello I have some fellers for y'all to meet

MEET SMG 8 AND SMG 2, cus cuz why not let's add on to this little bandwagon of eights we got :]

This is SMG 8 ⤴️

And this is SMG 2 ⤴️

Rants about them under cut!

Let's do 8 first!

She is extremely short, like 3 ft and a half kinda short

She is extremely energetic and kind of chaotic

She is the meme guardian of animation memes! And yes I'm talking about the kind that we all went through a phase constantly watching when we were seven

Using the ink pen that she has across her back she can draw anything, and those drawings can come to life aka anything she draws becomes reality

She has a pet Smurgle, here I put an image below so you all know what I'm talking about

She is on par with Mario's level of power but she doesn't use said power because she doesn't want to hurt anybody, she she does use her power is to cause chaos with her friends though >:]

She's a regular at SMG3's restaurant

She is extremely creative plus she has ADHD, and combining that she can practically make anything as long as her mind is up to it

She's good friends with Tori and Boopkins

She is surprisingly dirty minded, she's also the one to always initiate the kiss or the one to push her partner up against the wall and kiss them >:] she's also the one to suggest the dirty times in bed *wink wink*

She is a DemiGirl and lesbian

She is biologicaly male, and no she has not had bottom surgery cus she wants to have babies at some point in her life, also because, and I quote this from 8 themself "its makes me more cunty"

Her pod looks like this

oh dear God what am I doing

Hears some extra details

Her hat design ⤴️

The design of her eyes ⤴️

My head cannon relationships that she has with the other 8's

@bear-boi-5 Smg8 : honest to God she views him as an older brother figure / Uncle figure, also I headcanon that she will sit there and stand in front of him jumping on her heels and grabbing at the air a above her saying "up up!" Over and over until he finally snaps and picks her up, oftentimes she'll climb on his shoulders and just kind of ride around

@strange0-0storm Smg8 : honest to God she imprinted upon him like a baby duck, she will literally just follow him around everywhere he goes, what I'm trying to say is she really looks up to him and she just really really likes him in general, he's also a older brother / Uncle figure for her PS he's the funcle aka fun unkle :]

@mrfellsans Smg8 : she just observes him from afar like he's a creature that must be studied for science and research, she does like him though shes just not too sure about him

Ok let's do 2 now!

She's also pretty short like around like 4 ft tall

She is extremely protective of 8, like if you dare lay a finger on it she will make you say nighty night for a couple of days lafmo

Do you surprisingly strong physically, like the girl has flipping abs and everything

She has a black belt in karate

She has multiple tattoos that are unseen the eye, the only ones that you can see are the ones that go up her arm around the back of her shoulders and down to the other arm (aka the snake one)

Her tail works like an extra hand

She usually keeps her eyes closed like Falin for Dungeon Meshie, she does open them though when she is feeling a strong emotion or just surprised angry aor scared

Have yall ever seen The owl House? If you haven't or if you have two's magic works exactly like how that characters in TOH's works! She does the whole circle in the air thing as well (reference photos so you get the idea of it) also pls go watch The Owl House if you haven't seen it, its really good :]

She's the mean guardian of really old and timeless means, like the whole IS THAT THE BIET OF 87? and BUT THATS JUST A THEORY, A GAME THEORY! She also deals with TV show and movie meams like Cursed cat Alastor and this random ass screenshot for movies that get made into memes

She has a heavy Russian accent

She knows fluent Russian, German, and Japanese

She is female and lesbian

She calls 8 親愛なる and 私の愛 (親愛なる translates to my dear and 私の愛 translates to my love)

She has a pet cursed cat Alastor aka this thing

(oh Lord)

She is a year older than SMG 3 and SMG 4

She's also regular at SMG 3's Cafe

She has a crush on SMG 8 :]

She is super sleep deprived due to her staying up and making theories on games and movies, or just staying up all night watching Mat Pat lafmo

Her pod looks like this

Extra details on her (I'll add the rest later in a diff post)

Her eye design ⤴️

My head cannon relationships that she has with the other 8's

@bear-boi-5 Smg8 : she doesn't trust him at all, the only reason that he's allowed around SMG 8 is because 8 likes him too much for 2 to safely take them out, but if 8 dare lay even a finger on SMG 8 SMG 2 will imady make him say nighty night for a couple days

@strange0-0storm Smg8 : eh shes alright with him, I mean she doesn't fully trust him but it's not to the level of Bear-Boi's 8

@mrfellsans Smg8 : she likes him and considers him a good acquaintance :]

[say-hwaet]

High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Previous Chapter Chapter Twelve: Into the Inferno Summary: Arthur and Charles enter the lion's den, ready to face the killer and what he's been planning.

Eliza Bloom steps wearily into her small, cozy house after a long day at work. The weight of exhaustion clings to her like a shroud, making each step feel heavier than the last. She was able to maintain her smile and a quick step when she picked up Isaac, and kept her eyes open as she drove through several intersections, but now that she’s home, it’s all falling away like leaves in autumn. With Isaac gently in her arms, she tries to hold onto her last bit of strength as she uses the heel of her sneaker to close the door behind her. 

Tossing her purse to the floor, she readjusts Isaac in her arms and steps into the living room. 

The room is warm after being drenched in the day’s sun and the temptation to take a nap becomes more overwhelming, but she’s still not done. She can’t feel fully relaxed until she has dinner in the oven and Isaac has had his final treatment for the day. 

Gently, Eliza settles Isaac down on the couch. He’s had a long, fun day with his grandparents and he slept most of the way back. Once his head hits the decorative pillow, he opens his eyes and grimaces. He knows what’s coming. 

"Let me go get your vitamin shots,” Eliza says softly as she rises. 

"Oh, Mom,” the eight-year-old groans. “Do we have to?"

She knows he hates it, and he’s been such a good sport about it until lately. She knows that his father’s absence has something to do with it. Since they’ve been hardly speaking and Arthur has been busier with his job, the game warden hasn’t been around or even stopped by to pick his son up. But Eliza is tired. She struggles to find a reason for him to keep going this time. "Isaac, it is helping you feel so much better. Do you want to quit now?"

Isaac rises as he rubs his eyes, the frown still planted on his face. "Well, no, but I hate the shots."

Eliza sits down next to her son and wipes some dirt from his face. Maybe he had too much fun at Hosea and Bessie's. She chuckles briefly.

What can she do to help motivate him? Something easily done but also exciting. Then it comes to her. She remembers the strange tin box that Arthur had given their son. It had been a peculiar find in the woods, and now it sits on the coffee table, its contents a mystery waiting to be unraveled. How she let it sit there for days is beyond her. Maybe she’s really been that busy. 

She looks back at her son and cards her fingers through his fuzzy hair. "I'll tell you what. We do the shots real quick, and then I will help you open that tin box your daddy gave you."

She notices a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. His excitement is bittersweet, reminding her of the simple joys that are hard to find anymore. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Gosh, does he look like his daddy. "Okay, Mommy."

Eliza returns his smile and pushes her fatigued body off the couch. Going into the linen closet, she retrieves the black bag that they both know all too well. It feels heavier than normal but she turns around and heads back into the living room. Isaac watches her as she sets the bag on the coffee table and eases back onto the couch beside him. As she opens the bag, gets out the kit, and puts on the medical gloves, his body tenses.

“Try to relax, hon,” she says softly. “Would a song help?”

He doesn’t speak, but he nods his head slowly. 

Eliza begins to sing one of his favorites.

I was hangin' 'round town, just spendin' my time Out of a job, not earnin' a dime A feller steps up and he said, "I suppose You're a bronc fighter from looks of your clothes" "you figures me right, I'm a good one" I claim "do you happen to have any bad ones to tame?" Said "he's got one, a bad one to buck At throwin' good riders, he's had lots of luck"

She continues with the song, hitting the notes perfectly in her alto key. Isaac gasps when she injects the needle into the vitamin vile, eyeing the liquid as it fills the syringe. After pushing the air out of it, Eliza pauses her singing. “Okay, you ready?”

Isaac nods. Such a brave kid.  

Eliza continues the song, humming this time, as she pulls back on Isaac’s shorts to expose his thigh just past the knee. Then, pinching up his leg muscle, she quickly inserts the needle. Isaac grimaces but makes no sound. She pushes down on the plunger as quickly as she can manage, then pulls it out. “All done.”

“Bandaid?” Isaac whimpers. 

Of course. After disposing of the needle in the biohazard case, Eliza leans over and picks up a box of assorted band-aids. “Do you want coyotes or the deer ones?”

Isaac thinks it over. “The deer ones.”

Eliza smiles and pulls out a deer-patterned band-aid. “Deer it is, then.” She peels off the backing and then puts the band-aid over the little, red bead that’s bubbled on his skin. She runs a hand over it in a comforting gesture. “There.”

"Mom," Isaac begins, his voice rising in hope, "can we open the box now? Please?"

Eliza's heart aches at her son's plea. With a sigh, she leans from the couch and picks up the tin box, placing it in her lap. “A deal’s a deal.”

Isaac readjusts himself to sit up next to her and leans into her warm body for comfort, still wanting his mama after the ordeal. It is something he will never quite get used to, despite the past couple of years of being pricked and prodded. 

Eliza eyes the lock. “It’s a rotary lock.”

At her words, Isaac’s eyes brighten. “Those ones are easy to get open.”

This surprises Eliza and with a smirk, she looks down at her son, a brow raised. “Since when could you open locks?”

Isaac shrugs. “Daddy taught me. Said I could get out of a scrap that way.”

Eliza isn’t sure how to take that. She knows he was a troubled youth in the system before Bessie and Hosea adopted him, so it’s possible he’s learned a few tricks. He has talked with her about his past, when they’ve laid awake late together at night. They’d talk the hours away until one of them would fall asleep. 

Those were some good times. Good memories. Memories she finds her mind reaching towards, but never fully grasping. 

Isaac reaches out towards the box. “Can I try to open it?”

Eliza blinks, coming out of her reverie, and clears her throat. “Have at it, hon.”

He holds out his hands open-palmed and she places the box in them. With trembling fingers, full of excitement, Isaac brings the box close to his ear. As he listens carefully, he manipulates the rotary lock, the soft clicks filling the air with a sense of anticipation. Finally, the lock gives way, and he lets out a soft gasp. “I did it, Mom!”

"Well! That was quick! Let's see what's inside," Eliza says encouragingly.

Her son nods and carefully lifts the lid, their eyes watching eagerly to see its contents. A small plume of dust comes up and Eliza swats it away. She hopes that wasn’t toxic, but says nothing for fear that it will worry Isaac. 

They eye the first thing that sits in the box. Inside, a folded map, with frayed edges, catches Eliza’s attention. There doesn’t seem to be anything else inside. 

Isaac looks at it, almost disappointed. "This isn't a geocache," he grumbles. “Don’t they have more stuff?”

Yes, they do, but they must be positive. "Well, this map might have something interesting on it,” Eliza offers. “A treasure map?"

Isaac frowns. "Treasure maps are old, Mom. This looks newer than that."

"Not all," she smiles.

Eliza takes the map out of the box and carefully begins to unfold it. It may not be an ancient map, but she still doesn’t want to be careless.

“Careful, Mommy…”

Eliza snorts. “I am, keep your shirt on.”

She can’t blame Isaac for his excitement. Not much doesn’t get him going anymore and it’s becoming contagious. Her heart lurches as it finally comes open and her eyes scan the surface. 

And she recognizes it immediately. It’s a map of High Sierra. 

And it’s distinctly marked. Her breath catches in her throat as she eyes the marked locations. They aren’t just cities or points of interest, they are the same locations where the two bodies had been found. 

And above each marking read the words in red, bold letters:

MEETING

Eliza’s eyes narrow. "What...? What is this box?" Eliza tries to hide the panic in her voice. 

"What's wrong, Mom?"

She shakes her head. Something in the pit of her stomach is telling her this isn’t good. She’s just stepped into something dangerous. What lies in her hands is incriminating evidence. But she can’t let Isaac know. She can’t add more stress and worry into his life. She slowly rises to her feet, folding up the map before Isaac can get a good look at it. "Just...just give me a moment, baby."

Suddenly, her phone vibrates in her pocket. She quickly pulls it out, hoping it is Arthur.

It isn't. It's Edith.

Her heart sinks but still, she answers it. "Hello? Edith?"

"Eliza!" There is fear in the widow’s voice.

"Edith? What's wrong?"

"I remember! I-I-I remember!" Edith hyperventilates.

"Calm down, Edith. Remember what?"

"I remember his name! The man that Thomas spoke to on the phone!"

Eliza's eyes widen and her heart begins to pound in her chest. "Who is it? Tell me...!"

"His name is Micah! Micah Bell! I remember because his name came up on the list of High Sierra's most wanted tonight. They haven't found him yet, and it makes sense now! Thomas was going to go to the police, but he killed him! He killed my husband!"

The realization hits Eliza like a punch in the gut. Whoever was responsible for the killings, the owner of the tin box, and the man Thomas threatened is the same person. He had planned it all as if this is a sick game. Fear claws at her chest. But the fear isn’t for her. 

She has to focus now. She has lives to protect. 

"Edith,” she begins, her voice firm. “You need to call the police. I need to call someone."

Eliza can hear the trembling in Edith’s voice as she speaks. "Eliza, I am scared."

"Don't be. We need to be calm about this. Call the police, and don't leave your house, do you understand?"

"Yes."

Eliza nods, letting her exhale a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. "Okay, I need to go."

"Bye, Eliza."

Eliza quickly hangs up and her fingers shake as she dials Arthur's number.

Isaac, who has been anxiously observing the exchange, gets up from the couch and goes to her, his voice fearful. "Mommy...?"

"It'll be alright, baby. I just need to give your daddy a call, okay? Go to your room and relax for a minute. We can have some popcorn and a movie in a little bit, how does that sound?"

Isaac only nods and walks to his room.

Her phone starts to ring.

And ring. 

And ring. 

She feels a sting in her eyes, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

But there is no answer.

Panic surges within her, threatening to consume her. Who else can she call? Where can he be reached? 

Then she remembers. He had been working with the fire department. Eliza calls the local number, praying that someone will be able to help.

There is a soft click at the pick-up, and a woman's voice answers the phone. “High Sierra Fire, Lieutenant Adler speaking."

That name. Arthur had mentioned he worked with a firefighter named Sadie Adler. This has to be her!

"Lieutenant Adler? Y-you know my...You know Arthur Morgan?"

There is a short pause on the other line. "...Who is this?"

"This is Eliza Bloom," she stammers, her voice filled with urgency. "I can't get a hold of him. Something has happened, and this was the only place that I could think to call. He said he was helping with controlled burns..."

"Yeah, but we aren't doing those right now. What's wrong with Arthur?"

Eliza tries to keep her voice down, lest her boy hear her trembling voice. "I...I don't know...but he...I think he's been investigating two killings…” She hesitates to share anything. Arthur had asked her not to speak of it to anyone, and she was already risking her neck in talking to Edith and digging into these cases on her own. 

But things are different now. Arthur’s life could be on the line. She swallows as she explains, “Those hunting accidents? They weren't accidents."

From the other end, Eliza suddenly hears a siren blaring. Sadie's voice is muffled as she talks to someone, a sense of urgency lining her words. Then, after a pause, her voice becomes clear again. "Ms. Bloom, I'm sorry, but I have to go. We just got a call about a new forest fire, and I can't ignore it. I'll do what I can to help, but for now, keep your phone on your person. You might need to call the police."

This wasn’t what she was hoping for. If Lieutenant Adler doesn’t know where he is, then she’ll have to call the Department of Fish and Wildlife, but that could get him in serious trouble. 

She doesn’t want to keep Sadie waiting so she lets out a puff of air. "Alright."

"Goodbye."

The line goes dead, leaving Eliza staring at the phone in disbelief. Panic wraps its icy tendrils around her heart as she realizes that help is far from reach. Eliza can’t go to the police yet. Something in her gut is telling her to wait, despite the Lieutenant’s advice. 

Hosea. She needs to call Hosea. She hurriedly searches his name in her contacts, presses “call”, and hears the beating of her heart drum louder than the dial tone.

ring

ring

ring

ring

“Hello, you’ve reached Hosea—”

“—And Bessie…!”

“Haha…! We’re not available at the moment, so if you’ll leave your name and number, we will get back to you as soon as we can.”

“You take care now!”

“Happy trails…!”

Click!

No. This can’t be happening. 

In the silence that engulfs her, Eliza can’t shake off the suffocating dread that hangs in the air. Darkness looms on the horizon, threatening everything she holds dear. Uncertainty grips her, and she can only pray that she will see Arthur again.

She continues the rest of the way into the kitchen and into the dining room, sitting down in a chair, waiting for the unknown. 

She doesn’t want to just sit and do nothing, but the despair hangs heavier than her feet can carry. Deep down in her chest, she can’t help but wonder if the truth they have been seeking was worth the price they might pay.

***

The night is thick with darkness, the moon hiding behind a veil of clouds as Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith venture further into the dense forest. Their footsteps are muffled by the moist earth, their senses heightened as they navigate through the towering trees.

All the while, as his boots make every step, Arthur’s instincts are screaming to go back. This is too much. You’re just a game warden. What can you do?

But he feels something. Something deep in his gut that fights that warning. He was born for this. He is a man against the world, against a place that wants nothing more than to bring him down. People doubted him, and thought little of him, but they will see how wrong they were.  

He won’t admit it, but he wants to be a hero. Someone his son can look up to. He wants to be the very opposite of what Lyle Morgan was and is. 

Charles and Arthur hold their guns, fingers poised on the triggers, prepared for any confrontation. The scent of pine needles fills the air, mingling with the undeniable acrid aroma of smoke. 

Smoke. A fire. 

Arthur and Charles share a knowing look. They’re close.

They keep moving and soon the forest is aglow with an eerie light, casting long shadows that move around them.

Suddenly, a gust of wind carries the sound of crackling flames and the sight of flickering orange light brightens. “This way, Charles…!” Arthur calls loud enough for his partner to hear and, crouching slightly, Arthur takes the lead. 

Their hearts pound in unison as they hasten towards the source. Through the thick foliage, they break free, only to come face to face with a raging inferno. 

They can feel the heat singeing their faces, the smoke stinging their eyes. The flames seem to dance, mocking their presence. The forest that Arthur has known so well, the sanctuary he had once found solace in, is now transformed into a treacherous maze.

And before their very eyes fire grows voraciously, consuming everything in its path.

“We have to go around it!” Arthur calls out to Charles behind him. “No doubt Bell is on the other side!”

“I’m with you, Arthur…!”

The fire isn’t going to slow down, so they have to move fast. “Alright, Charles, stay close…!”

Feeling his muscles charged, Arthur breaks into a steady run. The heat of the flames will become unbearable if he can’t find an opening or a way around it. He keeps his eyes moving, searching through the scorching forest for any sign of escape. 

And there, as though an answer to prayer, a dirt path opens itself for them. The flames lick at its sides but it isn’t blocked. Arthur waves on. “Though here!” And he pushes forward. 

He hears Charles close behind. If anything, they need to stick together. If they are separated, he knows their chances of survival will be slim. 

And then, his worst fears materialize before him. A large tree, blackened by the flames, groans and cracks like gunshots. He looks up to see it falling down fast. With only a second to react, Charles and Arthur jump in opposite directions to get out of the way. The tree makes contact with the earth, shaking the ground and jostling Arthur as he tries to rise to his feet. He’s covered in dirt and ash and coughs as smoke fills his lungs. 

He turns around, only to see the large tree blocking the path, and with his partner not in sight. Panic tightens Arthur's chest as he loses sight of Charles in the inferno. "Charles!" he calls.

He can hear a faint call back, but he can't understand him. “That you, Charles?!”

The voice echoes again. “…Fine…! Go…Arth—-…!” 

Thank God. Charles is alive, but the danger still roars around them. Fear still gnaws at Arthur, his training telling him to never abandon his partner. “Charles!”

“Go…! Get that bastard…!”

He needs to press on. He has to find Michael Barnes—Micah Bell—whoever he is, once and for all.

“I’ll come back for you, Charles!” Arthur calls as he turns around. The path is narrower now, the flames consuming the brush and grass that border the dirty path. The smoke is increasing, and he feels like a Mormon for not bringing his respirator. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he dodges the flames that creep up the grass and leaves of the trees, and he breaks into a hard run. He has to find a way out of this torrent of heat and flames. 

And just as the flames nearly lick his boots, he spots a clearing, a spot where Sadie must have done a controlled burn. The ground is old ash, stumps and large rocks clearly rolled out of harm’s way. He can be safe here for a moment to gather his bearings. He jumps over a burning log and runs for it. He makes it, his heart pounding amidst the chaos.

And then, he feels it. A sharp blow to the back of his head, which causes him to drop his weapon. Groaning, he staggers to his feet and turns to face his attacker. 

Micah Bell. But it isn’t any surprise to the game warden. 

The adversary stands before him, a sinister smirk etched across his face. The glow of the fire surrounding them reflects in his eyes, giving him an otherworldly, evil appearance.

"Couldn't stay away, could you, Morgan?" Micah sneers, his voice dripping with malice. "You can't always play the hero and get to walk away."

Despite seeing stars and coughing from all the smoke, anger surges within Arthur like the wildfire surrounding him. He squares his shoulders and pushes through the pain in the back of his skull, his gaze boring into Micah's soul. "You're a monster, Micah. A coward hidin’ behind aliases and lies. You don’t get to kill people and escape the truth."

Micah chuckles, the sound echoing eerily in the midst of the crackling flames. "Truth? There is no truth, just survival. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to survive."

His words ignite a firestorm of rage within Arthur. Every fiber of his being demanding retribution, demanding answers. “So you admit that you killed Mr. Dowes and Leigh Gray."

Micah's smirk falters for a fraction of a second. "Oh, I thought you already knew that, Morgan. But since we’re both here, I will tell you that those fools were just in my way." Micah walks closer to Arthur, but the game warden steels himself, readying himself for any attack. The sting in his eyes persists but he tries to keep his gaze on the approaching murderer. "I needed this land for more important business, and those fools were...expendable!"

And as expected, Micah takes a swing at Arthur. The game warden attempts to dodge it, but is taken by a bout of coughing and Micah manages to hit him in the gut with a clenched fist. 

Arthur wretches and is forced backward. He takes a few extra steps to gain some distance between himself and Micah so he can try to catch his breath. And one single word is brought to the forefront of his thoughts.

Expendable. 

That’s all people are to Micah Bell. Just things in his way. How evil. How cruel. Even with all the thoughts he’s had of his own father, of those who did him wrong, Arthur has never thought of them as “expendable.” This snake called Micah Bell needs to have his head stomped into the ground. 

Arthur exhales sharply, his strength and resolve returning. “And Captain Monroe?” he dares to ask. “He’s in on it, too.”

Micah lets out a loud cackle. “That walking law book? He’s too busy hiding behind his position to actually see its potential. But that’ll be changing soon once I’ve made him look like the fool that he is. And if you’re the only hope for this godforsaken city…” He opens his arms in a proud gesture. “It’s all been working in my favor.” 

How dare he. Even though the captain is naive, the department would crumble with someone more foolish or corrupt. 

Expendable. 

Godforsaken. 

Not High Sierra. Not his home and all who he cares about. Dutch. Hosea. Bessie. John. Abigail. Jack. Eliza. Isaac. 

With a primal yell, Arthur lunges at Micah, and just as he nears him, Micah reaches out to grab him.

But with his strong build and tall stature, Arthur overpowers Micah and pushes him to the ground. He pins him with one hand to his neck and lands two punches in the rat’s smug face. The vermin’s bloodied nose sends adrenaline into Arthur’s system and his desire to finish this only becomes stronger. He had decided to let this fool have his day in court, but it seems more appealing to let him die here. 

He’s felt this rush before, when he used to get into fights at the orphanage and in foster homes. He was threatened with aging out of the system someday, and other boys thought he’d be an easy target. 

But if he learned anything from his old man, it was to fight. And fight he did. And he loved it. He loved seeing his bullies squirm and beg for mercy. 

Then it became anyone who upset him. It took years of love and guidance to learn to do more than speak with his fists. But that instinctual drive has never left him. 

Just as Arthur raises his fist to swing down again, Micah reaches into the earth, grabs a fistful of ash, and throws it in Arthur's face. 

“Ahh…!” Arthur roars and as his grip lessens, Micah kicks him in the groin. Arthur coughs as he rolls away, wiping the ash from his eyes.

Get up, Arthur! Get up! 

He pushes through his pain and rises to his feet, stepping further from where he had grappled Micah to the ground. As he regains his sight, he sees the snake coming at him but meets him head-on.

The two men clash with a loud thud, and the fierce battle of good versus evil begins. , their punches landing with a sickening thud. Each blow encapsulated the years of distrust and enmity between them. As he dodges a swing from Micah, he reaches for his neck and throws him backward. Micah loses his balance but soon gathers his footing and prowls back towards Arthur. 

Like two animals, they take their stances and circle each other. Sweat streams down Arthur's face, and his muscles ache, but his will to fight is an unyielding determination. He lunges without warning, and punches Micah in the face. There is an audible crunch and Micah reels backward, falling hard to the ground.

In the midst of the brutal struggle, the dense smoke has risen, twirling and twining around them. Its toxic tendrils encase them both, suffocating the air from their lungs. 

And just as Arthur begins to think this will soon be over, darkness descends upon him with a relentless grip, threatening to claim him. He feels weak and starts to cough again. He looks up from his bent-over position to see Micah slowly rising to his feet, still willing to fight. Arthur feels his heart sink. He is about to fail.

Hatred burns in Micah's gaze, a twisted smirk curling his lips despite the blood cascading out of his now broken nose. "You're too late, Morgan," he cackles between heaving breaths. "The fire will cleanse this place, erase all traces of our sins." Micah lets out a hiss-like laugh and after finding a thick branch, stalks toward Arthur as he remains bent over and coughs heavily. He can’t seem to catch his breath, his throat burns. How is Micah still fine? What evil possesses him?

I can't die here, he thinks as he casts his head down for a minute. Not today.

He feels Micah drawing closer. 

He hears his son’s voice suddenly in his mind.

We’re partners, Daddy! You and me! ‘Cause I’m gonna be a hero just like you!

Then a softness appears in his memory, a warmth that he instantly recognizes. 

I love you, Arthur. That’s the only truth I know.

With a surge of strength and fury that was almost lost, he lunges at Micah and pins him to the ground once more. He administers several blows to Micah's head and quickly wraps his fingers around Micah's throat. Micah tries to kick at him, but his efforts are futile. He squeezes tightly until Micah passes out.

Not detecting any movement, Arthur gets up slowly, gasping. Even as victory is now in his grasp, the encroaching smoke steals his consciousness.

***

“Keep at it, boys!” Sadie Adler calls out to her team of hotshots. She turns to see Charles frantically looking around as he’s carried away on a gurney. She has seen panic before. In men and women who have lost a loved one during a fire. In her men when the flames have grown too large. Even in the toughest of people, when they’ve misplaced someone of dear importance to them, the look is always the same. 

After hearing the call from a rancher that he could see smoke in forestry lands beyond his property, Sadie Adler led a team of hotshots to the location, to discover one of the largest forest fires they’ve encountered this year. Not letting its intimidating glow deter her, she led her men through the flames as they fought to put the fire out. Through the chaos, their determination unwavering, they navigated the labyrinth of flames, their protective gear a shield against the inferno. That is when they spotted Charles, face smeared with ash and coughing incessantly. 

They immediately set out to get him oxygen, which he initially refused. But Sadie isn’t easily dissuaded from any task. Using her authoritative position, she ordered Charles to take the oxygen and tell her what happened.

When he told her, she then realized that Eliza was right. Arthur was in grave danger.

She holds out a hand to stop the two men that are carrying him out. “Hold on, boys.” Though she rarely ever offers consolation, she reaches toward him and places her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find him, Charles,” she says calmly. and watches him nod once. “You said you and Arthur got separated just ahead?”

Charles speaks as clearly as he can between soft coughs. “find a large, fallen pine tree.” Charles points westward. “It was that way. He kept heading west into the flames.”

She nods and then waves the two men on. After a moment, she turns to the remaining three men with her. “Let’s go. Keep close. We’re looking for a large pine tree.”

One of the hotshots looks disgruntled. “Isn’t this a pine forest?”

Sadie scowls. “You’re lucky I need your sorry hide, otherwise I’d leave you here to mull over your smart remarks. Now, focus up and keep your eyes peeled.”

The team follows Sadie’s lead, their pace quickening against the roar of the engulfing flames. The ground beneath them crackles with every step they take, a symphony of fire that threatens to consume them.

She remains vigilant, Charles wouldn’t have described the tree if it wasn’t significant. Something must stand out about it, something to grab the eyes. This fire isn’t like anything she’s seen before.

“Lieutenant!” a hotshot, large and boarish, calls out to her. “Here!”

She hurries to her left, and there lies the remnants of a fallen tree, its body blackened and cavernous from the flame’s consumption.

This has to be it. “Good work, Williamson, we’re close!” Sadie shouts and begins to run further westward. “This way!”

The deafening sound of splintering trees filled the air as they crashed to the ground around them. Despite the terror and uncertainty gripping the hearts of her men, Sadie remained resolute in her mission to reach her target.

“Maybe we should head back…!” the youngest hotshot cries out.

She looks back and flashes a look hotter than the flames surrounding them. “Not on your life, we aren’t! Come on…!”

Arthur can’t be far now. Every instinct Sadie has is screaming that he is within their reach, just beyond the thick smoke and rising embers that dance around them like malevolent spirits.

The air is acrid, burning their throats with each breath they take, but Sadie pushes forward relentlessly. Each step feels both eternal and fleeting as they penetrate deeper into the heart of the inferno. The world around them is a blur of orange and black, punctuated by the sharp cracks of fire consuming wood.

As thick smoke billows all around, obscuring their view, Sadie's sharp eyes finally catch sight of Arthur's motionless figure on the ground, in the center of what’s left of a safe patch of ash.

And beside him is a man she’s never seen before. Regardless of who he is and how he got here, she needs to get them both to the hospital. She only hopes that she isn’t too late.

“We need to hurry!” With unwavering resolve, she rushes to Arthur’s side, the flames licking at her heels. The heat is unbearable and oppressive, but she refuses to surrender.

Arthur's consciousness flickers like the flames around him; reality seems to blur in and out. As Sadie approaches, he can barely make out her figure through his smoke-stung eyes. She kneels beside him, her voice a soothing but urgent whisper amidst the chaos.

"Arthur! Can you hear me?" she calls, but he is too weak to answer, even if he is able to understand her.

With adrenaline-fueled determination, Sadie and her team work to pull Arthur and the maimed stranger to safety. The heat from the flames threatens to consume them, but they push forward with unwavering strength. Each step feels like a battle won against the fiery inferno that rages around them, and they refuse to give up until their mission is complete.

It is hard work carrying two, full-grown men through a maze of debris and flames, but Sadie encourages her men with barks and tough love.

Despite the danger and chaos, Sadie can’t help but feel a sense of triumph as they emerge victorious from the flames, their resilience and bravery shining through in the face of disaster.

She only considers it safe when her team meets up with the two men that carried Charles out and pulls out her handheld radio. “This is LT-K247. We need a chopper at the edge of Redemption Cavern. We got three needing immediate transportation to the hospital.” After hearing confirmation, she tucks her radio away and turns to her men. “Good work, boys, but we ain’t done yet.”

As they wait for the helicopter, Arthur struggles between consciousness and delirium, his eyes occasionally fluttering open to catch glimpses of Sadie's concerned face hovering above him. Her expression is stern, yet there's a softness in her eyes that belies her tough exterior.

"Stay with me, Arthur," she murmurs in the way she does best. “We’re almost there.”

It is nearly fifteen minutes before the helicopter arrives.

The rotors disrupt the smoky air, stirring up ash and debris as it touches down. Sadie, still hovering like a protective guardian over Arthur, helps to secure him onto the stretcher. Her hands are steady despite the turmoil, her focus unyielding. The medics work quickly, efficiency honed by urgency, but Arthur, Charles, and Micah are loaded into the aircraft.

Sadie turns to her men. “The rest of you make sure that this fire goes out. I’ll be sending more to join you. Williamson, you’re in charge now, don’t go in there without backup.”

They nod and feeling confident in her order, she jumps in the helicopter, sitting directly beside Arthur's stretcher. As the helicopter lifts off, the ground below them becomes a chaotic blend of smoke and lights, but Sadie's attention is fixed firmly on Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes flick open again, pain and confusion warping his features. He tries to speak, his voice a raspy whisper barely audible.

“Don’t speak, Arthur,” Sadie says as she holds him steady once the helicopter lifts and escapes the flames.

With a swift and anxious glance behind her, she catches sight of the raging inferno. The flames dance wildly, fueled by something more than just natural kindling. It had to have been ignited with gasoline, or some other highly flammable substance. She knows she needs to act fast to get it under control, but her priority is making sure these injured men make it to the hospital alive. The heat from the fire prickles at her skin and the acrid smell of smoke, even from this height, fills her nostrils. She will get to the bottom of this, and touch base with the fire chief. But for now, her task is simple.

"Is Arthur alright?" Charles asks weakly, coughing aggressively.

Sadie looks him over and sees Arthur take a breath. As long as there’s breath, there is hope and she feels her voice become filled with resolve. "You're safe now, Arthur. You're safe. I'll get you back to her, I promise."

Tag Requests: @cassietrn @photo1030

Thank you for reading!

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for doubting loyalty to our gang leader?

I (36M) lived with a group under two men that raised me for about twenty years. Recently, the main feller has been rustling up some trouble with others because he believes there's salvation beyond for our gang, full of misfits.

Now, don't get me wrong, I would never betray him. I see him as a dad. But these promises he keeps making and then putting off— no less spurred on by another man of the gang (39) talking in his ear and being a rat bastard snake— is straining even me. I want to see him as I always have still, but these phrases of "just one more mission" or "we need more money/time" over and over are wearing out fast. Not to mention he's slowly becoming the man he told us all NOT to be.

Recently had a moment of clarity after being diagnosed with some real nasty progressive disease, and now that I'm calling him out on his wax wings, he still doesn't want to stop flying closer to the sun– no less, our family, our band of misfits, is slowly breaking apart because of this schism. I know I'm not alone with doubting the leader, but still... it just feels... I don't know. I'm a right fool that's only good for few things, so I guess I gotta turn to an anonymous submissions something-or-other for validation.

Am I the asshole?

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Hiya! Your writing is amazing. I was wondering, despite all the things going on in your life, if you'll still be making time to write when you can?

I feel like it would be a crime if you didn't.

Keep well!

This is an ask that has caused me a lot of thought and personal turmoil, but I appreciate you sending it because it puts into words a lot that has been tormenting me.

The more I think about marriage, the more I feel as if I leave something of myself behind, to be replaced by a stock character in a commedia del'arte--of a "wife" and a "mother". I know doing so will extend my lifespan and perhaps bring me great personal happiness, but rob the essence of me that I hold so dearly and that has made up my personality and sanctuary through so much of my life. If I accept these roles, then I might as well consider my writing career done for. If I do not, I will be in for a great deal of personal misery, yet I will hold on to this deeply significant part of myself that may as well make me "me" and being fulfillment to what I would otherwise seek in the emptiness of my life.

To answer more substantially, I have finished my prison one-shot, Yeller Feller. As of now I'm not ready to resume Appointment in Samarra without a great deal of personal time at hand, but I am working slowly and hesitantly on another oneshot when I have the time.

I'm unsure whether to publish Yeller Feller (along with Ragnatela and my other works) on Amazon as an as of yet unread oneshot, but considering that I am yet STILL not making much progress on the editing of them, I may just publish it on Ao3 and to hell with it. I'm not on good terms with the Comrade this past week, so in these coming weeks, we shall see, I suppose--as well as where my true love lies.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/4/2024: THE CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF

This is a weird movie! A lengthy chain of events causes Oliver Reed to become a wolfman and ravage the most British version of Spain you've ever seen. The long and winding road that leads to the werewolf story is both a blessing and a curse; on the one hand it's perverse to withhold the title character for literal lifetimes within the story, and on the other, not knowing where or when he will appear can make the film sort of riveting.

Having said that, I feel unsure about how to discuss THE CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF. The most important part is that Oliver Reed is a congenital wolfman in a star-crossed relationship with Catherine Feller, whose loving presence can inhibit his transformation. But before we arrive at this likely narrative, we have to examine the class problems of a Spanish hamlet ruled by a sadistic Marques; the upbringing and tragic adulthood of a mute serving girl who is raped in jail by the prisoner she grew up tending to; and the troubled youth of a little boy who looks just like Oliver Reed, so at least you know he must be turning up soon--which he does, around 48 minutes later.

We great the newly-grown up Leon (Reed) as he bids goodbye to the kindly couple who raised him after his werewolf-ravaged mother died in childbirth. Reed is somehow both grossly miscast and the perfect wolfman. His parents' doting condescension accentuates the absurd physical maturity of this "fine young lad" whose robust chest and gut strain his vest, and whose lantern jaw and thick brow flex under a row of childish bangs. Few things seem funnier than the large and virile Reed frolicking and gamboling across the countryside to seek his fortune. The contrast between his appearance and his character recalls something like CABIN BOY, but he couldn't be a more suitable lycanthrope.

Like other wolfmen before him, Leon discovers that only the freely-given love of a good woman can prevent him from transforming into a whore-eating beast, but unfortunately his woman of choice is in an arranged marriage that she can't break for a lowly vineyard boy. There's a thread of class anxiety that runs through this 1961 film by Hammer Horror loyalists Terence Fisher and John Elder, and it makes one wonder about the novel it's based on. Guy Endore's The Werewolf of Paris has been called "the Dracula of werewolves," which is a pretty funny phrase, through I'm sure the book bears it out. Feel free to comment if you have a strong memory for what it's like!

[valyrra]

Ok. I have the need to explain myself due to the recent ask because I like to over-analyze and kinda am just an otherthinker.

TW: rape/suicide/hate/trauma/mental disorders/vent/selfharm/LONG post

TLDR: Morally bad things in fiction should and always will be existing. And you shouldn't tell people to kill themselves - you never know what consequences will be. If you think taking one's REAL life is good who's the villain then? ;)

Why I think fictional(!) rape is better (as a concept) than sending someone words like "you should kill yourself" in REAL life.

To anon: You don't actually can change my mind about this one. I think I've already gotten messages like this and still to anon - godbless you or whatever you believe in. I hope you won't ever be experiencing any of the trauma or just bad things in general. have a good day, sweetheart.

I didn't get to what character you referred to but I'm gonna take my guesses: Micah Bell, Thragg or Homelander perhaps? (with Micah I don't actually think it was stated in-game that he raped someone? if I'm wrong you are free to send me sources, but I think he just said that he threatened girls from the gang with a gun into fucking them but they still didn't/he let them go?)

Rape is bad :) That's it. There's no in-between. Killing is bad. There a lot of things that are bad and morally wrong. What's IMO justifying these things in fiction:

It's fiction. It isn't real

If it's written well - it can be a great story-moving point.

If you are closing your eyes to these problems you are delusional? This is a MORALLY WRONG concept - you SHOULD think about this. You SHOULD think it's morally wrong. Villains should get you icks. They give me icks. Most do.

Not writing morally wrong doings of a villain is your opinion. But idk who can you write that way.

I'm gonna talk about the Invincible comic book for a bit. Here's Thragg. Here's Anissa. I'm sorry but do you often see female r*pists in fiction? I don't think so. Does it make you hate her? Yes. Does it makes you think bad about female r*pists? Yes. Is this problem in society is talked about less in general? Yes. Is this raising the opinions? Yes. Is it going to make ME hate the character from the writing point of view? No. You do you. I like Anissa as a character, not based on her doings, but based on her writing. Same goes to A LOT of characters I like.

LOL remembered this vid about fictional violence:

Opinion about writing/Micah Bell:

I love him honestly. The first time I played the game I didn't put much thought into his character, but second playthrough is what made me appreciate the whole storytelling of the game from the writing position. Micah is an exceptionally amazing antagonist from his Man VS God conflict to the Fathers and Sons narrative that haunts him until his death.

People who write "WELL I THINK MICAH SHOULDNT HAVE EXISTED" I am afraid, didn't get his character. What the fuck did you expect? A wild west story without good written villains? Flowers? Happy endings? Dude, please drop your rose-colored spectacles. You got the amazing storytelling, great DEEP characters and yet you are complaining. You know probably you should hate Micah. Your choice. Probably I'm digging too deep, but I have analyzed this character too much to hate him now.

He's traumatized from childhood and isn't sympathetic to anyone, even himself. Dude's too deep in shit and I feel pity for him. I wouldn't be able to fix him, no one would. And I feel sympathy for most people in this position.

I love Micah Bell's philosophy in life. It's very much twisted but there are a lot of things that my overthinking mind is channeling fucking strength from.

"Listen. What will be - will be. Ain't nothing a feller can do about it. Ain't no one changing nothing. I've got all kinds of crazy in me - ain't nothing I can do about it. Ain't my fault - ain't no one's fault. Just live your goddamn life and when its time - go out shooting!"

Dude isn't making himself a victim. I love that. He gets that the world isn't a happy place, yet he's not going down without a fight :) Very good anti-suicide quote in my opinion ngl.

Man I don't even write bad things here I think...? I mean like about Micah for sure. Yeah, I ship him with my RDR OC just because like... I like his writing, I support women's wrongs IN FICTION. In my own story that won't ever elaborate on Lyra will get even pregnant from him because I think I'd like a certainly strong female character that fucks with a bad bad guy out of spite/he didn't rape her and she like kills and shoots and stabs people while being a woman and pregnant in that historic moment because that for sure would be fun. (plus I want also to integrate another OC Eva in the story which will kinda struggle to live a morally right life despite her both parents are crazy)

You aren't bad for liking bad characters:

Mental health // Here goes the thing that contradicts my own opinion internally // my psyche:

I'm pretty open about my mental health. I'm open about a very stigmatized disorders like for example BPD. There's this thing I never got properly diagnosed with and its OCD. Kinda a self-diagnosed thing is like I "get stuck" on some intrusive things. And this shit is what I struggle with daily. Usually yeah, they are violent but only towards myself (sometimes not violent at all). I have cut myself because I liked Bi-Han (Sub-Zero). You don't know how much time I spent hating myself for getting fixated on morally bad characters. I NEVER blame or shame or would threaten or bully a person for liking a bad character, I do this to myself only. Maybe it's more of a sexual thing? You know how my sweet mutual (@ l3vi4than)'s banner says: "My taste in men is a form of selfharm". With some characters - it's pretty much the case. Like with Thragg mostly I think or whatever idk. Homelander or Adam Smasher. Man, I am a certified monster fucker from like 13 years old when my brain went like: "Hello, Alex Mercer is sexy af with and without his armor ability".

Unfortunately - my brain is very bad and makes me thing I'm the worst human on Earth. But still kinda there are worse kinks than this? I think I've read somewhere that like a very big percentage of women like CNC even if they are feminists / against rape and etc. Well I'm not sure where I was going with that but like even having a kink doesn't make you a bad person? Who tf am I harming except for my own mind?

A lot of reassurance from my mutuals in tumblr helped honestly. I am grateful for people reassuring me that like all human beings I am still deserving of love even if I FIXATE ON certain characters.

fyi:

Research has shown approximately 70 percent of people with borderline personality disorder will attempt suicide at least once in their lifetimes. About 10 percent complete the act. This suicide rate is higher than any other psychiatric disorder and the general population. You never know what people are going through. Don't push people. Suicide isn't a joke. Right now I'm in a right place of mind where I can even write long posts like these but things change quickly. Yesterday while playing DBD I encountered a very cute and friendly Wraith player who is suicidal. In gaming it's kinda cool to be immoral like wishing people to kill themselves especially in session games like idk Dota2,CS,LoL,Valorant,Overwatch etc (these are the games I've played which were kinda toxic). And I was a toxic gamer myself when I was younger. Wrote nasty things, but kinda grew up and realised that this shit is harmful af.

Sorry for this long post just kinda had to get some things out of my mind.

Have a good day and don't be like anon. Feel free if you want to contradict any shit I wrote I'm open for opinions.

[thelastspeecher]

Whoopsie I wrote more Horse Boy Stan AU stuff.

Have fun.

——————————————————————————————

                 Stan idly chewed some feed as Mr. McGucket mucked out the stall next to his. He was still struggling to hold his human form for more than an hour, so had to stay in the stable instead of the house. But thankfully, the McGuckets treated the inhabitants of the stable like royalty.

                 Angie walked through the enormous open stable door. Stan eyed her warily. The youngest McGucket child had yet to warm up to him, even after a week of him on the ranch. She ignored him, instead walking up to her father.

                 "Pa, the farrier is here," she said. Mr. McGucket set aside his shovel.

                 "Already?"

                 "He says he wanted to get an early start, since he's shoein' a horse what ain't fully broken. Give him plenty of time fer misbehavior."

                 "That's fair. I'll go talk to him. Get ready to bring Stan out." Angie nodded. Mr. McGucket walked out of the stable. Stan looked at Angie.

                 "What's a farrier?" he asked. Angie tilted her head, her expression mildly bemused.

                 "The feller what puts horseshoes on," she said. Her tone made it clear that she thought everyone knew this already. More than the others, she seemed to forget that Stan didn’t know as much as she did about horses.

                 Which isn't saying much. Everything I know about horses, I've learned since I turned into one. And that's still not a lot!

                 "Oh." Stan looked down at his hooves. "And, uh, how does he do that?"

                 "With nails."

                 "Nails?!" Stan whinnied. "As in a hammer and nail?"

                 "Yes."

                 "And it goes in-"

                 "-into the hoof, yes," Angie said, nodding. Stan shied away, bumping into the back of his stall.

                 "Uh, I don't need any."

                 "It ain't optional, Stan. It's fer yer health. I mean, there's a reason horseshoes have been used fer centuries."

                 "Nope, I'm good!" Stan neighed. Angie approached his stall, her face now filled with concern, rather than confusion. She leaned on the gate.

                 "Ya don't need to be so scared," she said softly. Her voice was gentler than Stan had ever heard from her before. "It don't hurt."

                 "What makes you say that?"

                 "Well, I've got shoes. All of us do." Angie shrugged. "It's just part of our hygiene as folks what turn to horses." She cocked her head, looking at Stan thoughtfully. After a moment, she clicked her tongue. Without thinking, Stan walked to the front of his stall. Angie stroked his face. "Look, ya won't even feel it," she said gently. "I promise." Angie smiled. "In fact, I'll stay with ya, okay? The entire time."

                 She's got a nice smile. Wish I saw it more. Stan nodded.

                 "Angie, bring him out!" Mr. McGucket's voice called. Angie raised her voice to shout back.

                 "Sure thing, Pa!" She slipped a halter onto Stan and clipped a lead on. "If ya don't try to run away, I'll sneak extra molasses into yer feed tonight."

                 "...Deal."

                 Angie led Stan out of the stable. A man was standing a short distance from the stable, talking to Mr. McGucket. A small trailer was set up by the man, as well as a small table, on which some scary-looking equipment was lined up.  Already, Stan could feel his nerves growing at the sight.  Angie, somehow sensing his anxiety, stroked his neck, making shushing sounds.

                 “Hardtack is a bit nervous,” she said to her father and the farrier.  “I figured I’d stay with him.  Keep him calm.”

                 “Perfectly fine with me,” the farrier said.  He looked at Mr. McGucket.  “That son of yours has a knack fer findin’ diamonds in the rough.”  Angie carefully guided Stan, backing him up so that he was near the trailer but facing away from it.  “It’s just a shame this feller was found roamin’.  He had to have come from a good pedigree.”  Stan felt a tap on one of his back legs.  As he had been taught by the McGuckets, he held up his hoof.  From there, he couldn’t tell what was happening, only that his hoof was being held in place.

                 “He’s got a free spirit,” Mr. McGucket said.  There were some strange noises coming from the farrier.  Stan turned his head, only for Angie to move to his side, obscuring his vision.  He snorted at her.  Angie merely smiled and stroked his face.  “I reckon whoever had him was strugglin’ to break him.  That’s prob’ly why we ain’t heard ‘bout any stallions with his description goin’ missin’.”

                 “Ya can still rent out an unbroken stallion fer stud,” the farrier said.

                 “Ya won’t get as much as ya would if he was broken.  Folks tend to prefer horses what came from a sire and dam what could be trained,” Mr. McGucket replied.  The farrier chuckled.

                 “True enough.  Miss Angie?”

                 “Yes?” Angie said, looking over at the farrier.

                 “How goes breakin’ this feller?”

                 “What makes ya think I’m breakin’ him?” Angie asked.

                 “He seems awful fond of ya.”

                 “Oh, I’m just good with horses, that’s all.”

                 “Yer whole fam’ly’s got a knack I ain’t never seen ‘fore,” the farrier drawled.  “If you ain’t breakin’ him, who is?”

                 “Lute ‘n Pa ‘re workin’ on him.  I’ve been too busy trainin’ fer competition to help.”

                 That’s a lie.  She just doesn’t want anything to do with me.  Stan eyed Angie, who was gently holding his face still, keeping him from looking at whatever scary things the farrier was doing.  But I guess that’s not completely true, either.

                 “Ah.  How goes the breakin’, then, Mearl?” the farrier asked.

                 “Quite well, actually.  Sure, Hardtack here is spirited, but he clearly wants to learn how to take a rider.”

                 “Think you’ll run him in competitions?”

                 “Maybe.  Depends on how well he gets along with our other horses, since he acts like a loner at times.  We’re a bit worried that he might be better off with a fam’ly what only wants one horse.  If that’s the case, we’ll sell him after we break ‘im.”

                 “Smart.  That’ll raise his value.”

                 “Hopefully we’d be able to get more ‘n what he cost,” Mr. McGucket said with a nod.

                 That was the current plan.  To get Stan used to switching between horse and human forms.  Then, once he had it under control, the McGuckets would lie that they sold him because he didn’t fit in with their other horses, so that no one questioned where “Hardtack” went once Stan left town.

                 But with each day that passed, the plan was sitting heavier and heavier in Stan’s stomach.  The McGuckets paid a lot of money to get Stan from the auction, and were spending even more to house and feed him.  At night, when he was trying to fall asleep, Stan could hear Filbrick’s voice in the back of his mind.

                 “You’re still relying on other people to get by.  You cost these people thousands of dollars, and you’re just gonna leave the second you can?  What kind of man are you?”  Stan closed his eyes.  They snapped open as he felt the farrier gently lower his hoof.

                 “One down, three to go,” the farrier said.  He tapped Stan’s other back leg.  Stan obediently lifted his hoof.  “You weren’t wrong, Mearl.  This feller wants to behave proper.  He wants to do right.”  Stan’s head drooped.

                 Yeah, but it’s never worked out, has it?

-----

                 The farrier was gone, along with his torture devices.  After being brought back to his stall by Angie, Stan waited patiently for her to remove his halter and lead.  Once she did, she beamed at him.

                 “I reckon ya behaved better ‘n any of our actual horses,” she said.  Stan stomped his newly shod hooves.

                 “You were right.  I didn’t feel a thing.”

                 “I knew ya wouldn’t.  He’s the best farrier ‘round.”  Angie shrugged.  “Sure, he costs more ‘n some of the other farriers in the area, but it’s worth it.”  The grass Stan had grazed on that morning churned in his stomach.

                 “Yeah…” he mumbled.  Seemingly oblivious to Stan’s shift in mood, Angie leaned forward, her eyes twinkling.

                 “Turn human.”

                 “Huh?” Stan asked, taken aback.  Angie grinned.  It was the same mischievous expression Lute made when he teased Stan.

                 “Just trust me.”

                 “…Okay.”  Stan closed his eyes and concentrated.  His body was overcome by a familiar surge of pain.  When it faded, he opened his eyes.  He was human.

                 But who knows how long it’ll last.

                 “Why’d you want me to turn human?” Stan asked, getting to his feet.  Whenever he switched between forms, he collapsed to the ground from the pain.  The McGuckets didn’t seem to have that problem, but they had years of experience.  Angie’s grin broadened.

                 “Look at yer hands and feet,” she instructed.  Stan looked down.  He frowned.  His fingernails and toenails looked like they were painted with a dark gray, metallic polish.

                 “What the hell?” he muttered.  Angie giggled.  Like her smile, it was nice.

                 “That’s what happens to the shoes when we’re human,” she said giddily.  She held out her hands, splaying her fingers.  Her fingernails had the same appearance as Stan’s.  “It might look like nail polish, but it ain’t.  It’s iron.”

                 “Why do the horseshoes turn into a weird nail thing?” Stan asked, staring at his fingernails.  He gently tapped one.  It felt like metal.  Angie shrugged.

                 “A horse’s hoof is basic’ly a big fingernail.  That’s why ya can’t feel the shoe bein’ put on.”

                 “Wait.”  Stan frowned at Angie.  “Do horses walk on their fingers?”  Angie giggled again.

                 “I prefer to think of it as walkin’ on tip-toes constantly.”

                 “I had no idea.”

                 And I was a horse less than a minute ago.

                 “Yeah, it’s a mite odd.”

                 “But still, the horseshoes aren’t nail polish, so why do they look like it?”

                 “Well…” Angie drawled, “Pa suspects it has somethin’ to do with the shoes ‘n nails bein’ made of iron.  Iron is a weakness of fae, and our gift comes from a fae.  But since we ain’t fae, iron don’t make us sick, it just…acts a bit dif’rent ‘n it might be s’pposed to at times.”

                 “So, you don’t know,” Stan said flatly.  Angie grinned.  Stan clenched his hands into fists a few times, enjoying the frustratingly rare sensation.  “No one in town questions your whole family having painted nails?”

                 “We tell folks that there’s a hereditary defect in our fingernails ‘n toenails, so’s they need a protective coatin’ to keep from breakin’,” Angie replied.

                 “Huh.  That’s smart.”

                 “My grandpappy came up with it.  He was gettin’ sick of wearin’ gloves in public all the time.”

                 “Yeah, I guess that’s not really in style anymore,” Stan mumbled.  His leg suddenly spasmed.  He fell to the ground.  Angie leaned over the gate, looking concerned.  But the spasm was just the beginning of Stan returning to horse form.  Angie stepped back and turned away, giving Stan privacy as he transformed.  When he finished, Stan got to his four feet (or toes) and whinnied.  Angie turned back around.

                 “Eventually, you’ll get the hang of stayin’ human,” she said.  Stan sighed.

                 “I dunno.”

                 “You’ve only been at this fer a week.  It took Lute ‘n I years!”  She winced.  “Not- not that I’m sayin’ you’ll take years.  Lute ‘n I, we just enjoyed bein’ horses a bit much.  And we were younger, too.  I reckon you’ll figure it out in a couple months at most.”  Stan shook his body all over, trying to settle back into being a horse.

              ��  “Fingers crossed.  Or, hooves crossed, I guess,” Stan muttered.  Angie chuckled.  At her laugh, Stan couldn’t help but blurt out what had been bothering him since she brought him to the farrier.  “Why are you being so nice to me?”  Angie cocked her head.

                 "Hmm?"

                 "You've been icing me out the entire time I've been here. But you were nice to me about the shoes.  And just now, you showed me the thing with the fingernails.”  Angie’s lighthearted demeanor evaporated.  Her shoulders sagged slightly.  She stepped away from Stan’s stall.

                 "I don't like what ya did to me," Angie said after a moment.  Her voice was quiet, but unlike before, it wasn’t because she was trying to keep him calm.  She sounded almost mournful.  "It was humiliatin', someone grabbin' me and ridin' off on me when I was in horse form. It- it was also awful scary. I didn't know if ya meant to keep me or not." Angie sighed. "But...ya were so nervous earlier, over somethin' I knew ya didn't need to be worried 'bout.  I wanted to keep ya calm and show ya somethin’ fun to make the experience less negative.”

                  “You didn’t have to do that,” Stan said.  Angie straightened.  She glared at him.

                  “I know that!  I just don’t like seein’ our horses distressed, that’s all,” she snapped.  “I don’t- this don’t mean I like ya, okay?”

                 "Maybe I should get distressed more," Stan said, “if it’ll make you be nice to me.” Angie huffed and crossed her arms.

                 "That just cost ya the extra molasses I promised ya."  She stomped away.  Stan watched her leave, frustrated and saddened to have their dynamic so quickly fall back to normal.

                 One of these days I'll learn my lesson and stop poking people. He sighed. But not today.

[berrypass-de-murdler]

73. Kitschy Kitschy Killing

I wish I was a real part of the murdle fandom fjnwjklfnrklfnkr 😭

ahem

uhhh...

well then

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!

If only this weren’t literally what the restaurant is called. As soon as Logico steps in and takes a whiff, he can tell why Bookie doesn’t want to go here ever - it smells like ACTUAL garbage and there’s grime everywhere. He runs into Shadow plopped at a table.

LOGICO: EXCUSE ME? SHADOW: I was waiting and then I got hungry. LOGICO: How do you even EAT?! SHADOW: … LOGICO: [cough] I’ll get a sandwich or something

On the way to the counter, Logico wanders by unwanted people.

GREY: Hello, dear LOGICO! LOGICO: Please no please no please no- RASPBERRY: WELL HOW Y’DOIN’ LIL’ MAN? Funny seein’ ya here AGAIN! COFFEE: Quite so, quite so, my Logico! How are you?

Logi covers his face from the embarrassment. And then-

AUBERGINE: HEEYYYY, SHORT KING!! [shoves a knife through the counter then violent hug] LOGICO: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? I JUST WANTED A FUCKING SANDWICH- AUBERGINE: HAH! Nope. Sandwich guy’s dead. LOGICO: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Murdle time! Raspberry tears a decaying chunk of metal off the wall. 

RASPBERRY: LOOGIT THIS THING! Silly lil’ feller, I think I’ll call him MYE-KALL! COFFEE! COFFEE LOOK! LEZ GET THIS PARTY STARTED!! COFFEE: Yes yes, my little one, very entertaining. Pass me the poison, will you? GREY: The seating in this place is terrible. [dumps oil over everything and it catches fire]

Despite everyone’s HORRIFICALLY suspicious behavior, it’s pretty obvious who did the crime - the one standing RIGHT next to the body the whole time.

AUBERGINE: All right FINE. He wanted to prepare a toxic blowfish I said you gotta leave the good parts IN. But he said to take them OUT! So I killed him with a spoon, and I bet you’d want to know how. And I’ll do it again! Nobody questions my expertise! ESPECIALLY MEN!!!!

She climbs over the counter and flees. Logico takes a deep breath and… he’s supposed to be caring about revenge, right? He feels so… normal. Like he’s at ease with his memories of Irratino. Almost. Maybe his ghost is wrapped around him.

The end!

I like making stupid scenes with my murdlebucket (what I'm calling gacha now)

God Copper looks so weird why is it easier to make a seahorse than a dog

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[tewwor]

whats your take on common nanami ships and higu ships. ex: gojo & nanami, higuruma & sukuna, etc. basically anything you can think of. like them? hate them? any particular biases or interests? feel free to talk about some of your favorite ships too

a sweet treat! — unprompted

gesp ... anon, i'm hugging you so tightly. thank you for sending this!! not entirely sure what's considered as a rarepair at this point since ... i consider all of these as genuine pairings lel. not going to put this under a readmore but i'll tag it with long post tw

gojo x nanami: i see it! i think there's a lot of meat to their relationship in particular even outside of romance. they attended jjt in the same period, and there's ... only so many of them, y'know? and even past nanami's hiatus from being a sorcerer — it's shown how their dynamic hasn't changed. and i think, if you take into consideration how there's only so many of them left from either class ... yeah, there's a definite bond between the two. even if their mannerisms couldn't be more different. i think they're fun!

higuruma x sukuna: okay, i'm going to be So fr and perhaps controversial. sukuna wasn't ... the most compelling character to me throughout the series :-| BUT my eyes have been opened / i do appreciate him through the depictions from my wonderful mutuals. i understand now. but i do think that they're dynamic is interesting! you have this ancient Big Bad and this middle aged dude that was just turned not normal. and they duke it out???? life or death? not to mention how much potential higu has already? i get it! i get the interest!! and i specifically like to circle around plots that have to do with higu being pushed further. develop new ways and perfect his ct. also, i think it brings out a new level of indulgence and greed from higu? at least, that's how i write him :-)

nanami x haibara: end me :-) i say that with much love and many, many tears. i think it's good. romance aside, they mesh incredibly well. even with what gege said about how they were the only two in that class. it's clear, to me at least, how much they genuinely cared about each other beyond that. they're almost opposites and compliment each other to the nth degree!!

nanami x higuruma: ah … yeah …. just two fellers doing their best in this corporation rat race :-) what's there not to like? sure, they're in different practices in Normal Human Society, but they share the same values. even have similar personalities. and i think that it's especially interesting with how observant both of them are / what they do with the information gleaned from one another. it's a 100/10 for me, but i'm super biased with office workers just figuring out life + anyone else that happens to pile into it.

higuruma x kusakabe: yeah .... they had like only a handful of panels together, but hey — it'll do. again, i'm incredibly biased, but i do think it's a very, very good pairing. they're just another pair of fellers that are living life. and i think it's especially noteworthy how kusakabe's shown how ready he is to lay down his life to protect higu in battle & ( this is highly influenced with my interpretation of higu ) how higu is willing to continue to live life instead of simply ... not. one of my top favs and i can yap for an eternity, thnkx.

nanami x ijichi: okay, i think this one's a rarepair! then again, everything with ijichi sort of is howighaiowg. anyways. i've been thinking about this lately and it makes me realize that ijichi can almost be like a catalyst in genuine healing for nanami. in the sense that they can actually talk about the hardships sorcerers have. how they both care immensely for the students. and while nanami exhibits a great amount of care for his colleagues and students — who cares for him? who holds space for him that's open enough for him to actually talk about more emotionally difficult situations? i think ijichi does/can/will. and ijiachi's often seen as a fretful, soft person but no one can deny how much he cares. and tbh? i think it takes a lot of strength to be able to sit with someone struggling with their mental state / emotions, but also figure out ways that actually benefit them. anyways. love em.

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Astarion's line about not having taken a bath since the abduction has been haunting me today, but I also cannot stop thinking about him and my Durge having the loveliest bath together when they first make it to the Elfsong.

Astarion is fucking f r o t h i n g he has been waiting for this moment since the night Baldur's Gate peeked over the horizon. When he stood beside Mercy at the abandoned post overlooking he city, he just kinda leans against Mercy (who is significantly shorter than him, but he loves to lean on them or drape himself across their shoulders like the little devil in their ear he actually is), and just SO dramatically announces how excited he is to have all the little luxuries they couldn't have on the road.

Like Mercy is standing with their arms cross, all puffed up and squared, they just took down a God and are feeling really fucking powerful. Then this man is just nuzzling his lips against their cheek and they just completely melt while he starts on his little rant like he doesn't know what he's doing.

Literally just sneaking this moment of (private) affection in, kinda puffing up that he can make this Feller of Gods putty beneath him with just a touch, but also he loves every moment of contact...but also the lurking Dread in the back of his mind bc oh Gods this creature he has found him swept up in is precious enough for him to want to protect. He may have helped take down Myrkul, but he's still so consumed by fear and the weight of his entire situation that doesn't see his own strength.

And all of this is going on in the back of his mind, but he brushes it off and is all, "Gods we can't get back to civilization quick enough. I've had enough playing in filth for this century," but there's no real venom to it, he's just being prissy. When he finishes throwing his little fit, Mercy reaches up, scritches his head like a fucking cat, and is just like I was pretty chill with the arrangement now but I'm excited for you.

And this is the moment Astarion it hits him that his darling Durge has no context for how lovely an actual bath is. Like a nice one with good soaps, warm water, and soft cloths. He's just like holy shit I am going to treat you to the best goddamn bath of your entire wretched life and you will finally understand why your current hygiene situation Isn't Doing It for him.

It's his first domestic thought he has (and the only one for a long fucking time), but he's so down bad for this wretched little tiefling, he's like 🥺 I want to wash their hair so good they start wanting to bathe more regularly and then it fucking works

Unfortunately for him, he remains on hair braiding duty for as long Mercy keeps their hair long, and I think he'd like it as it is bc he had to spend some time early on in their adventure begrudgingly braiding it just so they could get a fucking move on

When they finally get that bath, Mercy just soaks in the warm water pressed against Astarion's back and purrs until the water starts to cool and he's the one who insists they get tf out.

[stealingyourbones]

Half-Life anon again. Im so glad you already played portal, that would definitely be next on the list!! DOOM is *also* so so good, between it and HL, it's probably the bigger adrenaline rush, and, at least as far as the classic game go, probably far less mechanically complex than HL! If you want the Full Lore for the classic games (1, 2, and 64) be sure to look up the manuals first, since they do the whole "setting up the story in the manual" thing before just dropping you right into the game.

Modern DOOM (2016 and Eternal) has absolutely nuts gameplay that makes you feel like a total badass no matter what difficulty you play on, and lore is all in the games ok, but... well. You'd be hard pressed to find a fan who doesn't think the story is a hot mess of a dumpster fire (including the ones who like or at least don't mind it, such as myself.) Especially Eternal's dlc has a very "but what ACTUALLY happened was [absolutely bs stupid rule-of-cool lore drop that makes no sense]" feel to it. The current lead writer keeps changing and adding lore three years after the fact, and most of us have decided by now that he's full of shit. But hey! You're a DC comics fan, I'm sure you know what that's like! The games are still good and I still love them anyway.

DOOM 3 is... sort of its own thing, in a weird limbo state. It's not really part of the same continuity as the rest of the games, and it leans a bit more heavily on the horror and suspense themes than the "you're not stuck with them, they're stuck with YOU" theme of the other games, so dont go into it expecting the same feel. It doesn't run quite as fluid as the other games, but it's the first true 3D game, as opposed to the classic 2.5D.

Anyway! That is all for now (again) but if you keep talking about these games, I will happily keep infodumping to you as long as you'll let me. :3

!!! Dude I’m so fuckin down for u to continue infodumping!

Good to know that the 2016 Doom’s storyline is a bit wild. As long as I can throw hands with demons I don’t mind >:D

Both Doom 1 and 2 are so fun dude!!! I also played My House.wad because it sounded cool and oh boy was it cool!!!! House of Leaves is on my reading list so I’m interested to see how the feller that made the .wad was inspired by it.