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illumwriting · 11 months ago

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Secret Santa for @bruisepristine! How To Entirely Muck Up A Good Thing (A Guide By Lalna Jones)

semi-canon compliant, references Voltz Episodes 16-18, liberties taken with how everything is made/slight order of events content warning for light descriptions of infection, slightly more detailed removal of an arm 4,019 words! Cross posted to AO3 as well <3 Preview: Lalna spends far too long chasing the chicken around. His aim is suffering, and he tries to play it off with laughs as Xephos' voice from the base drifts out sharply at him to "Just aim!" when the relentless barrage of blasts makes the bunker shake despite the lack of environmental damage. Lalna checks behind his shoulder to make sure no one is watching as he switches to his sword to take the blasted thing out. His arm feels heavy, weak, and itchy.

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Lalna had planned for building the power arm. Tireless trips to the Nether with Honeydew's apprehensive help to gather the materials, leaving Xephos to work on the base and its machines on his own.

They had suffered a series of comedic mishaps recently, especially with the uranium cells. They had been needed after the events that led to the treaty and the rumors floating around of even more weapons stockpiled in their immediate neighbor's base. Lalna had taken the brunt of the deaths and poisoning, with an easy laugh and the brushing off of any more protection besides the rubber of his gloves between him and the radioactive material. Truth be told, the side effects soothed the aches in his bones and left his head clear to think. Not something he would admit to the others.

Spreading the components across his workspace, Lalna makes a low hum of satisfaction. The metal glints without a trace of the recycled dulled parts that had been melted down for it. The core is cradled gently in stasis, rotating slowly with little light blue sparks that skittered across the surface.

He pulls on a fresh set of his gloves, lowers his goggles that help to sharpen his nearsighted vision- officially, on record he didn't need glasses. Snapping the parts together is assisted by the modifications installed on this world, making it as easy as following the blueprint that had come in the manual. He clips an additional ground wire to himself, erring on the side of caution. The core had been expensive to create. There's a soft hiss as he opens the chamber and reaches in to cradle the core in his fingertips and transfers it to the lined compartment. It makes a crackling sound as it arcs out and attaches to the nodes around it before settling into a steady green glow. Lalna takes a wide step backwards from it, his breath holding as he waits out any possible secondary reaction. When none occurs, he exhales and closes the cover, twisting the bolts into the corners with his screwdrivers to hold it in place. He unclips himself and shucks the gloves off onto the table to run his hand along the arm. He can feel a slight warmth coming from it. He trembles only a little with excitement as he hefts the arm off the table and fits it over himself.

He's glad he sized it to the largest on the specifications. It's still snug around his forearm. He flexes and lets the grin spread across his face at how responsive it is. The fingers curl just like his own despite the added width and the strength contained in them is dangerous. He can hear Honeydew and Xephos' voices filtering up through the confines of their base, and he quickly scoots outside to test it.

The brilliant flare makes him glad to still have his goggles lowered, and he takes half-assed aim at a nearby mob and sends it flying. In the wake of the explosion, a small crater in the earth remains, along with the mob, chunked down to almost dead.

Delighted, Lalna doesn't bother with even turning it off as he rushes inside to show Xephos. The spaceman is streaked with grime and sweat, his thick eyebrows knotted together in annoyed worry as Lalna chatters and starts to form a sphere of energy in his palm, ignoring all the delicate machinery that lines the walls.

Lalna only really realizes his mistake as Xephos is shoving him outside with a firm chiding. Lalna corners Honeydew instead, dragging him outside and fiddling with the dials and firing off blast after blast in the dark of night, the glow even more entrancing with nothing to dim it. Lalna barely notices the tired that has seeped into his companion's voices, the resignation in Honeydew's that all the dangerous trips to the Nether had been for a personal toy, the lingering frustration from Xephos that he'd been left alone to handle the frequently unstable components and repetitive crafting processes that were needed to create a power source for the base that wouldn't be rapidly consumed.

No, Lalna only knew a heady delight as he ran back inside on low health, his head spinning with after-images from the flashes of light and the dizziness that tried to warn him to drink or eat something healing. He leaves Honeydew and Xephos without a second thought, retreating to his workbench to fine tune the arm and dodging Honeydew's baffled question of "What're you gonna be able to do with it, now?"

They humor his strings of unhinged laughter and destruction of the land around them, Honeydew even brushing off the floor of his farming hut being broken into bits. They tease him about it, calling him a maniac when he attracts the attention of too many mobs and winds up dead with his items scattered across the ground. They care about him enough that Honeydew lingers outside to watch Lalna's stuff until he gets back.

Days later, they finally get Lalna's focus back again. It had been sparsely gained, to assist with power cabling, but then lost again to the giddy glee and attachment Lalna felt for his newest creation. Xephos and Honeydew had discussed it briefly, while Lalna was well out of earshot and the humming of the fusion reactor was loud enough to obscure their voices. "Didn't even really build it himself." Honeydew grumbles, still sore about being dragged into the heat of the Nether. Xephos sighs. "We didn't really build this either." He slots another part into the reactor, the turbine making a soft click sound to affirm the correct placement, and reaches down to Honeydew to take the next from him. "The shininess of it will wear off, eventually."

Honeydew mumbles it under his breath. "Can't come soon enough."

True to Xephos' words, Lalna had slunk back in like he hadn't been devoting every scrap of time to his power glove. He tries to make up for it by hovering close, insisting on helping with every little thing. Normally his overcompensation wouldn't rub the other two the wrong way, but Lalna's oddly frantic about it, sweat plastering his hair down as he carries the cells and parts from the chest into the reactor room. He's relying on his new arm to lift the additional weight that Honeydew could easily handle unassisted, and Xephos quietly notes the whine that comes from the stressed joints.

The first time of switching the reactor on goes poorly- Lalna distracted by his intermittently firing toy, Honeydew corralling him away from the more fragile sections. It melts down, and Xephos makes a distressed sound as he and Honeydew rush to put out the fires that stem from it and survey the damage. Luck is on their side, and the missed bit of enclosing glass only costs them the neighboring panes.

The next morning, after a long night, Xephos drags them down to the room again to show off the corrections. Lalna sheepishly passes over a smaller model of his glove to Honeydew for digging the tunnel Xephos needs. Honeydew grouses at first, but eventually mutters to himself as it cleaves through the rock easily that he can see the appeal in it.

The reactor is rebuilt, and only with a small mishap that Lalna is not privy to, only hears the shouting between Xephos and Honeydew and sees the aftermath of shattered glass and fusion cores as he takes himself outside for fresh air. He catches sight of a chicken, and with a deep inhale, he sets his sights to it. Easy dinner.

Lalna spends far too long chasing the chicken around. His aim is suffering, and he tries to play it off with laughs as Xephos' voice from the base drifts out sharply at him to "Just /aim/!" when the relentless barrage of blasts makes the bunker shake despite the lack of environmental damage. Lalna checks behind his shoulder to make sure no one is watching as he switches to his sword to take the blasted thing out. His arm feels heavy, weak, and itchy.

He has to wait until night and soft breaths of his companions to steal away to his workbench. He detaches the power arm and hisses at the unexpected stab of pain that comes as he pulls it off. In the lack of clear light, he can see that his skin is peeling, welted… and darker. He steadies himself against the table and clicks the lamp on.

It's awful. The green has snaked in unnatural patterns into veins and muscle, tinting his arm up to the elbow. The light catching on the lines creates a glowing effect that mocks him, and the pink wristband he'd made to help the arm stay in place stands out sharply. Lalna prods with his gloved hand, and furrows his brow. He can't feel the sensation anywhere along his forearm or hand. He wonders how long it's been like this. Days, probably, with how he pushed off any sort of warning signs on a typical day when he'd worked himself into exhaustion.

A shudder passes through him as he thinks it through. The radiation and chemicals, crawling past the barrier of his gloves, into the sweat and his pores, and then festering inside the glove. Intensified by the constant warmth of the power glove's core- a perfect petri dish to form an infection without him noticing. Everything he tried to avoid.

He considers his options. The easiest solution would be to send himself through respawn without the glove. He'd avoided death since the first night he'd worn the glove, so without it on, his body should reset itself. He resolutely pushes his stool back and stands, shedding his items into the nearby chest. There were plenty of mobs outside, and he makes sure that the ire of the skeletons ends him swiftly. His bed catches him, and he holds back the sharp wheeze that always afflicted him when the rush of life came back. He can't see well enough, doesn't want to look here, not even touch the arm. He'd left his lamp on, and immediately he understands that this problem is going to take more than that to correct. His arm hasn't improved at all.

Lalna sinks down onto the stool. Runs his good hand through his hair and furiously whispers to himself. Sure, he could crawl to the others on the world to ask for help, but battle lines had been drawn that made it impossible. No reason to involve Xephos or Honeydew either- they would only fret over him and suggest the route of talking to Ridge.

The lamp bounces as Lalna slams his fist against the table and then furtively glances to make sure it hadn't woken anyone up. "Fuck." he whispers, and hits the table again with more restraint. "Fuck."

He can't put the glove back on. Even thinking about it makes him nauseous. He tests how well he might be able to pass it off with a regular glove over it, but on their own, his fingers struggle to even grip a pencil with the strength needed to write. The peeling skin sticks to his glove as he removes it, and he nearly pukes then and there. His chest feels tight, and there's nowhere safe to escape to. He's trapped, in this little box that is his workspace, between his dying flesh and his worst fears. The gears whirr in his mind, scraping against each other roughly and then clattering out of track. He has the best and worst idea all at once, and only thoughts after that are the how.

Even weakened, two hands are better than one. He stumbles in a haze through their base, supporting himself against the wall as he rifles frantically through the chests for the supplies he needs. His inventory barely holds it all, and he has a few close calls as dropped chest lids and metal scraping against metal almost wake Xephos up.

He sorts it into neat piles back at his workspace, and glances at the clock. 4 scant hours until sunrise and Honeydew's internal alarm clock going off to get up and make breakfast.

First, the smaller arm he'd made for Honeydew. Requisitioned, and only smelling slightly like him. Lalna purges the thing with alcohol and works additional wiring into it, along with one of the control panels and some padding meant for his power suit's helmet. He tries to blend the changes into it but without an underlying blueprint, it looks chunked together and not nearly as smooth and seamless. A leather strap to go over his shoulder is added, to help support the weight and keep it flush.

Second, the matter of his arm. He tears into the fabric of an old rag, and ties it off just above where the infection seems to end at his elbow. He replays every show he'd watched where someone's arm had been removed, and is grateful that he can't feel anything there right now. He slots a bit of leather between his teeth, lowers his goggles, and flips on the handheld laser they'd used to cut sheets of metal.

Nothing could make this better. The smell hits first, acrid. Then the sound- bubbling and searing. Then the pain. He makes it past his epidermis and then everything explodes in white light behind his eyeballs, a harsh pounding that screams at him to stop. The laser clatters from his hand onto the table, automatically switching off, and Lalna sobs into the leather and tastes blood where his teeth had caught the corner of his tongue. He fumbles the laser back into his hand, shakily thumbs it back on. He feels like he's floating just behind himself, guiding the beam to cut into himself. It shatters everything inside of him, disgust and horror twisting into some sort of fascination as he's split open and apart. The very last of his nerves send shocks up his arm and into his brain- if they weren't so rotted, his arm would be twitching and spasming wildly. The intense heat of the cauterization is a blissful relief and reminds him of the heat of the radiation that had rotted him from the inside out while making him feel on top of the world.

The thud of his arm hitting the table and oozing out greenish-reddish-turned brown fluid from the not quite closed spots is what finally tips him over the edge. He throws up into the trashcan until he's dry heaving, clutching the stump of his arm with firm pressure until the rags come away sharp red instead of brackish. He feels faint, but he forces himself through it- making sure that the small wounds on the stump- it has to be the stump, he cannot think of it as his- are closing and not where the new arm will attach. They aren't. He wrenches the arm on, and has to stab an additional hole in the repurposed belt to cinch it properly close. He is drenched in sweat, his face streaked with tears as he sniffles back a runny nose. The glove on his right is ripped off by the cuff using his teeth and joins the mess in the trash. He holds his breath as he flicks the small switch on the underside of the arm and thinks move. The fingers seize into a closed fist. He whimpers, stares despondently and begs the machine with barely moving lips to work. He's coming down from the high of it all and everything hurts. He could pass out then and there, but he has to clean up, and haul himself back into bed. The arm twitches. He focuses again. "C'mon, you." He whispers, stroking his remaining fingers over the warmed metal.

It works. The fingers uncurl, then curl again, and the arm lifts off the table. It's enough. Lalna fumbles his way through cleaning up, and manages to not puke again when he has to deposit the remains of everything in their lava pit. Some strange part of him, the delirium, probably, says "Goodbye, arm!" as he watches it be consumed. The pink wristband is in his pocket, along with a mental note that the neon green and pink had looked good together. With that, he staggers back to his bed and passes out.

They let him sleep. He'd smelled of alcohol and vomit, and they assume that he'd had a few too many late night drinks. Not the first time, but odd, since they'd not found any bottles anywhere. He wakes up in late afternoon, groggy. It's not until he splashes his face with water and feels the slight delay of his left arm's movements and then metal that he realizes that it had not been some sort of nightmare. The day rolls by easily, with Xephos only insisting that Lalna drink more water and Honeydew making him a strong cup of tea that is bitter, but soothes the headache that was biting into the back of his skull.

Lalna keeps care of this arm better. The firing capabilities had been reduced to allow for the connection to him, but he's steadily learning that with the direct attachment, he can treat it more like his actual hand. The glove had been an extension, sometimes unwieldly and too large. As the surreal feeling fades, it is replaced by his usual giddy curiosity. He tinkers with the arm, ironing out little problems like the random spasms that would cause him to snap or crush whatever he was holding.

Just when it's become second nature to him, Honeydew notices. Lalna isn't sure how long Honeydew had noticed for, with his sharp eye for things out of place when it came to his companions, but he'd been polite enough to at least wait until Lalna no longer looked like death warmed over. "So." Honeydew starts, as they're both alone in the resources room and Xephos is below them, tending to his reactor. Honeydew's tone is simply conversational, and he nods at Lalna's arm. "where's the rest of ya?"

Lalna freezes. He swallows hard and turns slightly to catch Honeydew in the corner of his eye. Honeydew's face is neutral as can be. "I… It's… Erm…" Lalna stammers, so Honeydew keeps talking.

"Cause' unless you suddenly shrunk your arm down, and my power thing-a-ma-jiggy turns back up… well." Honeydew straightens from the chest, and leans against it to pin Lalna down with his direct attention.

Lalna doesn't know what to do. He should tell the whole truth, but he loathes being scolded by Honeydew more than Xephos. Of course, Honeydew could give him sympathy instead, which always left Lalna even more unsure and stiffly awkward.

*"You don't gotta say anything. Just roll your sleeve up."

That he can do. Lalna folds the loose arm of his lab coat up, to the point above his elbow that he had been avoiding raising it to, even though it was where he preferred it to be. The skin around the connection is still slightly reddened as it adjusts to the daily wear, but there's no trace of the infection.

"Huh." is all Honeydew says, before he hollars down the hole to Xephos. "Lalna cut his bloody arm off!!"

"WHAT?" Xephos yells back, and there's the sounds of annoyance as Xephos puts down whatever he's working on and climbs the stairs up. "Lalna cut what?" He repeats when he's just around the corner and stepping through the gap between the trophy room and where they are.

"Arm." Lalna supplies weakly. He's standing with his arms limp by his sides, gaze flicking nervously between the two of them as a laugh forms in the back of his throat.

"Goddamnit." Xephos puts out a hand to steady himself on the same chest Honeydew is leaning on, looking about as ill as Lalna had felt that night. "For fun… or?"

"Erm. Infection."

"Uh-huh." That's Honeydew, eyebrows raised in judgement. "Any particular reason you didn't wanna share that with us before lopping the thing off?"

"Yeah." Xephos echoes the sentiment, staring at Lalna like he's a madman. It's worse than when they call him a maniac.

"….. I needed to fix it. I did fix it." Lalna gets defensive, moves his hand up in front of him to flex the metal fingers. "See?"

Xephos blinks. "Your. Arm. Is. Gone."

"Yeah, and? This is way better." Lalna giggles, mostly unintentionally. He wants this topic to be over. They have things to build! People to bomb!

Honeydew opens his mouth to say something far less kind than he should, and only Xephos' light touch to his back stops him. "Whatever." is what comes out instead, but still just as irritated. The rest of the thought remains unsaid as Honeydew turns and pushes past Xephos to retreat to his tunnel. The stomp of his feet on the stairs makes Xephos sigh.

"Lalna. You have to tell us things like this, before…. before you take drastic measures. We could have-"

"gone to Ridge!" Lalna's tone lilts mocking as he interrupts and glares at Xephos. "Don't wanna. Besides, I fixed it."

Xephos turns and leaves without another word. Still, Lalna can hear his voice as he descends, soft frustrated words. "Not the point."

The tension hangs in the air between them all for a while. Lalna is more than fine to pretend it never happened, while Xephos and Honeydew talk it out between themselves and come up empty-handed on what to even do about it, except to let Lalna continue with whatever this was.

It's Honeydew, again, who extends an olive branch. Lalna is getting frustrated with his arm, one of the panels he hadn't been able to bolt down flush catching on "every blasted thing around me!!" Lalna is red-faced and yelling, looking like he might either throw something or break into tears. Likely both.

"I can fix that, y'know." Honeydew says calmly from across the room, back to Lalna. Lalna punches the wall. Honeydew repeats himself, louder.

"What?"

"I said, I can fix that. The panel." He waves the spanner in his hand in the air in a friendly manner, and feels Lalna approach him cautiously and step to his side.

"You would?" There's relief and hope in Lalna's voice, and he almost chatters on about all the other things that could use fixing, but Honeydew stops that before he starts.

"If you say sorry."

Lalna pouts. "For what?"

"For- blimey, Lalna, you cut your arm off overnight and didn't even think to wake me up!"

"You would have stopped me!"

"Maybe!!! Maybe I woulda made sure it fit you better! You dunno, cause' you /didn't/ say anything!"

Lalna considers it. It takes him a minute, and the fingers on his metal hand flex unconsciously as his mind works on other things. "I… I guess I coulda." He finally admits, then plunks the arm down on the table in front of Honeydew, and draws out the ask with his typical whine. "Please, can you fix it?"

Honeydew grunts, and set down the spanner to run his hands over the metal. "Sure. But you have to tell me exactly what happened."

Lalna does.

Xephos comes up partway through, and joins them, dragging over a chair and then promptly excusing himself again as Lalna begins to go into far more detail than needed about the removal. Lalna blusters out that he's… "sorry, I guess-" when Xephos returns again, and that earns him a pat on the shoulder and the insistence that he take the arm off to let Xephos look at the remains of his arm.

Despite the lingering frustrations between them- the half-finished projects, the things that had led to this, Lalna finally feels like he can breathe easier with his companions voices taking up the space around him. Even if they were chiding him. Even if they were telling him that he was a moron for doing this. He feels safe.

He still thinks the arm is cool, though. Eventually he'll get Xephos and Honeydew to agree. Eventually.

#yogscast #yogfic #lalna #xephos #honeydew #swyogs #my art

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illumwriting · 27 days ago

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Words: 4,643. Explict. Tags: Omorashi, Piss Kink, Watersports, Werewolves, Rutting, Masturbation, References to Off-Screen Characters, There is minimal fishing but they totally caught at least one, Beer Preview: He earns an eyebrow raise for that, Ridge drawing one leg up out of the water to rest his head on his knee in a vague mirror to Prince's position. The other one still swings idly as he looks at Prince with his own glint in his eyes. "That is a woefully vague statement there, my friend~" He says, voice lilting as a small laugh accompanies it, "You said so yourself that this is a broad topic, care to clarify?"

Prince, to his credit, doesn't flush or waver under Ridgedog's gaze. Just admires the water that rolls down his bare lower leg and the way Ridge looks so at ease right now. "There's two sides to it. I'd suggest if you wanna understand your partner's desires more, we start with somethin' more familiar to you...." He hums through slightly parted lips as he recalls. "Desperation, right?"

"So, watersports."

Prince chokes on his beer, coughing as he wipes his mouth with the cuff of his flannel. He looks over at Ridge, who is relaxing against nothing at all. His feet in the water that laps at the edge of the dock, just like Prince’s are.

"Yeah?" Prince's tail wags, just a bit, but it's fine. Ridgedog had known it was the full moon when he came over. "What’cha want to know?"

With a grin only a little sheepish, and his fingers drumming on the glass that holds the same beer Prince had- one carefully brewed on his farm in large batches- Ridge continues, "Yeah, some of my friends are apparently into this, and they keep saying I might like it. I'm not sure I agree with them. But, uh, what's it like?"

Prince's paw makes ripples in the water, "Depends on what’cha doin' with it." He sits there, considers for a moment, before settling on the most likely thing, "Let me guess, they want you to piss on 'em?"

The flush gives him away, and Ridge glances to the side before looking back. "Yeah, it's... it's a degradation thing for one of them, at least. Probably both, if I'm honest. And I just... I just know part of the reason they want me to do it is... y'know." He gestures up to the latter half of his nameplate, "Just feels... reductive to me, I guess?" His voice edges into something resembling lighthearted sarcasm. "Oh boy! I'm a dog, so I gotta piss on things to mark my territory, yay!!"

"Have ya told your partners that?" Prince tries not to outright laugh before responding, but ah, those two. Ridgedog had talked about them before, a pair of blonde-haired freaks that were outright obsessed with him. "Maybe they're bein' clouded with lust and not realizin' they're being that way. If they're wantin' you to do it, y'know, from a place of assertion and ownership, then they're not even thinkin' about the other side." Prince sighs, "But I getcha. I get clients all the time who just want that big, hunky werewolf from their A-B-O novels- I ain't got a problem playin' to that, but it gets real tirin'."

Ridge’s eyebrows furrow and he smacks his free hand over his face and groans. "Fuck- I haven't.” He glances over to Prince, “Sorry, not you, it’s a recurring thing that I just assume other people have the same knowledge as I do sometimes. So if I knew it felt reductive, clearly they knew it too."

Prince shrugs, probably more laissez-faire than he should be with his next remark. "Immortality. Happens. Do they just want that, or is there more?"

Ridgedog's flush deepens, and he makes a quiet, airy half-growl sort of sound as he glances to the side. "Well, they said... said they'd like it if I... took control of their ability to relieve themselves. I’ve thought about it, and it’s not that I wouldn't like it! I guess I just…” He thinks about it for a moment further now, and something in his voice changes, “Kinda don't get the point? I suppose it's different for mortals, though."

"Well, yeah." Prince sips at his drink, taps a claw against the glass pointedly, "It's an urge you get, something that's just part of being alive. Makin' that into a case of powerplay is only natural. Feels good, too."

The quiet of the woods and lake sits for a second, and then Prince grins. "You wanna find out?"

Ridge startles from his thoughts, backtracks to the last thing Prince knew he was thinking. His mouth opens, closes. He fidgets in place. "I’m, yeah, I'm curious." He admits, shifts how he's leaning to look better at Prince, "It's just-"

Prince waves a hand at him. "If ya didn't have the latter half of your nameplate, would ya still have the same qualms about meetin' your partners' desires to be pissed on?"

"Ugh, yeah. I think I would. It's just, not something I want to do, y'know?" Ridge leans back a little, glancing down at his own crotch for nothing more than contemplation, and frowns slightly. "Probably doesn't help that the first one to ask me fuckin'- I said no, he dropped to his goddamn knees and started begging. And I think the rest of that... interaction started getting him off about as much as me actually doing it would've. It was weird." He sighs, tipping his head back and fixing Prince with something of a weary look. "Plus, I give them a lot. One of them- sweet little freak- can convince me into just about anything. Still a good few things I've put my foot down on, but I go out of my comfort zone for her already!" Ridge's hand reaches for a cravat that's not there, instead settling for winding the strings of his shirt between his fingers. "Other one, I've known him for longer, it’s a complicated relationship that you know I don’t wanna get into- but I know what he likes, and I like a lot of it too. So, I'll play to that... ugh-" He groans again, kicks his feet in the water, and scratches out the rest of his explanation, "Immortality."

"Yup," Prince drawls, "and the woes of a man who is naturally dominant, and good at it." Teasing aside, he runs his tongue along his teeth in thought, wetting his lips before speaking. "So, a glutton for punishment and denial, paired with someone who wants the world and more- and they both want this fetish from you despite your no?" He laughs, deep from his chest, "My friend, forget the complications of emotions and relationships for a moment- that's just two subs who are over the moon for you and can't see farther than their own desires, like I said! …And I don't mean to make light of it, of course. Repeatedly pressurin' a dom into somethin' does not a good relationship make." He shifts too, shores up his back against the post of the dock and pulls one leg out of the water to rest his elbow on. "So, it's just the act of pissin' on 'em you don't care for? Or the fetish as a broad whole?"

"God they're… They certainly have an infatuation with me, that's for sure. Both of them get turned on by my damn laugh sometimes, even." There's a slight grin on Ridgedog's face, and he scoffs. It's an amused and appreciative noise- he clearly doesn't mind that. Then he shrugs, "Nah, I can certainly see aspects of the thing as a broad whole. Like, you already know I like to make people break for me. Make them give up or give in, get that desperate. I'm sure you can imagine how that would translate nicely to some things we just discussed. I just- I just don't want to piss on them!" Ridge half-gestures into the air with his glass for that last sentence, before untangling his fingers from his shirt strings and taking another sip of his drink with a laugh.

"Then don't!" Prince laughs out in return, "Make 'em play by your rules. It’s your right, even if they're gonna to be dramatic about it." He shifts a bit at Ridge's words about what he likes- not overtly horny or even making it the other man’s problem, just a small shift to maintain his comfort as his body is inclined to agree with Ridge and his observations. Prince raises an eyebrow, curious, "Unless you're seriously considerin' their request to revisit it."

"Oh, they're gonna be sooooooo dramatic about it~!" Ridge grins, swinging his feet in the water again as he imagines his two little weirdos whining and pleading with him and looking oh-so-sad about it. "They're cute little bastards- and I'm only really thinking about it because one of them brought it up again recently to ask me to reconsider. I think she made the other one talk about it, and it intrigued her. I'm still gonna say no, but it's been floating around the fringes of my mind. I got that killer sense of curiosity, y'know? Can't leave well enough alone, so that request ain't leaving me alone even if I know my answer."

"Wait, wait-" Prince holds up his hand, "I wanna make sure I'm gettin' their proposal right here. Miss 'I wanna see your dick' is askin' you on behalf of him after forcin' him to tell her about... him begging you to do it and getting told no?" He snickers and shakes his fluffy head. "You've got a comedy act there."

"NO, IT'S WORSE THAN THAT, I THINK SHE ACTUALLY WANTS IT WITH HERSELF NOW TOO!!" The heightened voice is a mere exaggeration of both the emotion behind his words and his body language as he giggles. "But yeah, and it's pretty goddamn funny if I think about it from an outside perspective."

"Fuckin' shit, man." Prince lets out one of his signature woofing-laughs, airy and deep. It takes him a moment to get through it, and when he fixes Ridgedog with his gaze again, there's genuine curiosity there. "So, what about it makes it keep floating in your head?"

"Hm, well," Ridge makes an effort to lessen his giggling so he can speak, and it's moderately effective, "It's kinda funny to me that it’s even a thing they want. No offense meant to you, of course. And I guess I'm also curious if one of them especially would actually like it in practice. She has a habit of not realizing what she's asking for until she gets it." He looks back at Prince, and sticks his tongue out at him, ever silly. "Why do you ask?"

Prince gives an easy shrug at the ‘no offense’, a silent 'none taken', and laughs a little again at the idea of Ridge's funny girl getting a real surprise when she experiences it. He runs his tongue over his teeth, wets his lips again, and gives Ridgedog a wry smile. "Oh, y'know. Wonderin' if the big guy wants my professional assistance with satin' that curiosity."

He earns an eyebrow raise for that, Ridge drawing one leg up out of the water to rest his head on his knee in a vague mirror to Prince's position. The other one still swings idly as he looks at Prince with his own glint in his eyes. "That is a woefully vague statement there, my friend~" He says, voice lilting as a small laugh accompanies it, "You said so yourself that this is a broad topic, care to clarify?"

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It's the day after, and one just as fine for fishing as the last was. Something about summer just made it easy, to idle away on the dock with a rod and home-brewed beers and lazy conversation. Getting up late, well after 10am, well-rested after the long night of instincts running their course.

Today was just a little different than most. An hour, then two, then three. Ridgedog's drinks have piled up to their normal amount, and he shifts on the wood of the dock; a growing discomfort in his every action. "Uh, be right back." He eventually says, somewhat stiffly. He makes sure his fishing rod is secure, then hops up, his feet leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him as he heads for the woods. There's only a touch of a misstep, bravely hidden.

Prince acknowledges him with a nod of his head, and once Ridge's back is turned, he grins, rolling his shoulders. The scent of Ridge wafts to him easily, and he waits until the sound of walking is gone, and the scent is almost faint. "Comin' for ya." Prince growls to himself, securing his own rod and following his nose.

He knows Ridge's hands are fast, so he moves quickly. It's funny, what he finds. Ridgedog has his back to him. His belt buckle already undone, fingers on his fly, and legs trembling with the unfamiliar need he’s allowed himself to feel as he tries to work out a suitable and appropriate spot to relieve himself.

"Hey." Prince lets Ridge know he's there, a courtesy even though he knows Ridgedog could scent him coming just as easily. He gets in front, between Ridge and the tree, and brings his hand up to Ridge's jawline.

"I- I need to- c'monnnnn" Ridge starts, the latter half of his sentence disappearing into a whine as his hands fall to his sides. He glances away and then back to Prince, nervous. Ridge is nowhere near tipsy, but the feeling and urge is one he's kept turned off for ages. It only takes a moment more, and it's with a sagging huff that he lets his legs give way into the patch of leaf litter and soft soil. "Fuck, Rudi-" He whines, the edge of uncertainty clear.

Rudi, amused and thrilled at the dropping of his professional nickname, lets him take his time, the hand on Ridge's jaw nothing more than kind reassurance and steadying, a direction of Ridgedog's face upwards so that Rudi can study the expressions he makes. "Go ahead, big guy." The permission he doesn't need, given in the form of gentle praise.

Ridgedog's look of need is plain. He squirms, hands drifting over his thighs, legs spread. Unsure how to start. Rudi nudges his boot up against the curve of Ridge's crotch, just under. A push. Prince is just helping, as Ridge makes a series of sounds, slightly confused, slightly pleasured, slightly embarrassed- his cheeks reddening and the start of a wibbly frown entering his expression. "C'mon, I- I don't need help..." Ridge says in a firm half-whisper. The blush firmly settles over his cheeks and his eyebrows twist, as his hands similarly settle on quivering thighs, gripping slightly into the fabric of his pants, and he doesn't push Prince away.

When Ridge's sounds even into a whine, Prince lets his face go with a last slide of his thumb over Ridge's facial hair, to let him focus. The tree’s near enough behind him, so Prince steadies himself on it with one arm as he adjusts his boot to press down over Ridge's cock instead. A firm and solid downward movement that also pressures his belt buckle into that sweet spot over his bladder... well, assuming he'd copied human anatomy that is.

Ridge had, and he makes a punched out sound in response, pressing his face against Prince's leg and bringing his hands up off his thighs to hold on. Rudi smiles, presses a little harder, feels Ridge's hips twitch in the new combination of his need to piss and the stirring of his cock to hardness. "Fuck-" Ridgedog breathes again, before shakily whining his way into an obscene sound of relief as his bladder finally begins to relax.

Ridge raises himself up against the boot in his lap, not meaning to, as he feels the warmth soak his pants and a different kind of heat coil in to replace the fullness. He digs his nails into Prince's jeans and through them to skin like a knife into butter, an easy tell that Ridge was focused on this. Enough to forget his own strength a bit. He whimpers pitifully, the shaking in his legs easing as the near-painful ache fades into a steady stream of liquid.

Prince keeps his hands off Ridgedog now, palming at his own crotch as he watches the man kneeling before him work his way through the experience, relishing in the whimpers and panting coming from Ridgedog as his hips start to rock. It's impressive, how long Ridge had managed to put this off. How much drink he had consumed before deciding it was too much, and impressive even more how much there was- spreading out and soaking his trousers well outside of where Prince's boot was. There’s steam faintly rising from around his foot, and Prince feels his cock twitch as he takes notice of Ridge's piss being abnormally hot, just like the rest of his bodily fluids. "Good job." He growls lowly, and Ridgedog's face is so, so reddened as he pants out "F-fuck you-" in response, so sweetly embarrassed by this basal, mortal urge.

Prince chuckles, shifts his boot again to better facilitate Ridgedog's rutting against it, and growls at the feeling of Ridge's nails sliding down his leg. Ridge is trying to pull Prince closer to rut harder- and Prince’s noise is matched by Ridge's own soft snarl. It’s funny, Ridge isn't even that worked up yet, just embarrassed and a bit frustrated as he feels himself get hard from it. But he'd agreed to let his curiosity get the better of him, so he follows through, pushing the side of his face against Prince's thigh and panting. There's a soft huff of amusement from him as he feels Prince having to brace himself against tree more firmly from how strong Ridge is, but that feeling quickly replaced by another wash of arousal.

Prince pauses and shifts his hand from himself onto Ridge's hot cheek. He strokes it gently, "C'mon, big guy. There's still another reward to be had."

Ridgedog growls again, more meaningless fronting as he tries to ignore the very obvious and starting-to-cool wet feeling on his crotch. "Rudi-" He whines out, plaintiveness taking hold, in time with the rock of his hips. The heat from his arousal makes it bearable, the shame he feels making it twist tighter. It was embarrassing, how easily the flow of relief from relieving himself had slid into the want to come. And how good it had all felt.

"Doin' real good, Ridge-" Rudi, his fellow wolf friend, Rudi, not the dom for hire, Prince, reassures him from above, strokes his thumb across Ridge's cheek, "Real good." There's no hiding how turned on he sounds, and Ridge appreciates it.

Through his half-lidded eyes, Ridgedog can see how Rudi is admiring the way he is, desperate and needy. Can see the clear outline of Rudi's hard cock, so politely ignored to focus on giving Ridge the best experience possible. He lets out another high-pitched whimper and pushes his face harder into Rudi's leg, squeezing his eyes shut as his mouth trembles into a wiggly line of frustration. Ridge keeps squeezing and digging his nails in as he ruts with all the shameful need that had washed over him as soon as his cock had been touched by Rudi’s boot.

Above him, Rudi just admires, runs his thumb along Ridge's jawline. Just rewarding the guy for opening himself up to this. His cock aches to be touched, but right now, the show takes precedent over simple pleasures. Ridgedog is wonderfully handsome, his fluffy hair going askew as he huffs, pants, and whines his way towards orgasm. The shame is keeping him from letting himself tip over, though, and Rudi catches him slowing when he’s getting close. He lets Ridge do it twice, before he growls softly and tightens his grip on Ridge's jaw as he notices his shoulders start to shake once again. Ridgedog's coal-black eyes snap up to him, full of want. His hips are still trying to pull back in his self-induced edging. Rudi pushes his boot down firmly and Ridge whimpers, nails biting deep into Rudi's leg. "Not like you, leavin' somethin' half done."

"Don't- don't wanna, is'stupid-" Is what Ridgedog pants out, pushing his hips forward against Rudi's boot in spite of his protests, the force of it pushes Rudi back against the tree. Ridge's thighs have begun to quiver again.

"It's feelin’ good." Rudi chuckles just a little, as Ridge pushes hard enough that the bark of the tree Prince is leaning on bites into his arm and leaves a rough scrape. He has to sink his own nails into it to keep from being knocked off-balance, "Nothin' stupid about that, I think." And gods above, he's being so selfish right now, wanting to see Ridge finish like this, damp and shaking, rutting up into the tread of his boot.

"M'mmnn'm-" Ridge's face scrunches again, and his lip trembles as he nods in agreement, noses against Rudi's thigh and mumbles nothing, all tinged with how badly he needs to come.

Rudi presses. Ridge gasps and drags his nails down Rudi's leg again from where they'd drifted up. Rudi growls in the back of his throat at the feeling, and the sound from above him is enough to make the damn break. Ridgedog makes an almost-cry noise as he feels himself add another layer of stains to his pants and briefs. But God, it feels good. He shudders, turns his face out of Rudi's hand to press the front of it fully against his leg, somewhat hiding from him. Rudi can see how flushed he still is though- even his ears are red. His hips keep rocking as he rides it out, and Rudi's firm hand is at the nape of his neck, encouraging it.

As Ridge pants and twitches his hips with the last of his orgasm, one thought is on repeat through his mind. "Don't look at me..." He says quietly, muffled, ashamed, as his words come back to him.

Rudi chuckles, "N' miss the show?" He pets the back of Ridgedog's head, just once, and Ridge can hear the satisfaction in Rudi's voice. It warms him on the inside, that he'd done it... done it well, even. The praise is accompanied by the shift of Rudi's body above him, gently pushing off the tree to attend to his own cock. Ridge lets himself breathe for a moment, the soft sounds of Rudi's low grunts filling the space and reassuring Ridgedog with the familiarity of them.

"Shit, was that from me too?" Ridge has finally looked up, and there's a long scrape on the arm that Rudi is currently palming at himself with. He wiggles, wondering if Rudi will let him up.

"Yup!" Rudi's grin is toothy and sharp, and his hand shifts back around to Ridge's jaw, trying to dig only a little of his claw in as Ridgedog tries to squirm out from under his boot. "Hold up there, big guy." He says, and he's clearly admiring the mess beneath his boot as he strokes himself.

Ridge leans into it, rests his chin against Rudi's leg and lets himself sigh almost fondly. His hands take to wandering over the gashes he'd left in Rudi's leg, up to his ass and back down again. The flush is retreating, his embarrassment fading to a lazy curiosity and amusement as he avoids looking at himself, knowing that it would only bring back the shame. He can't help the wiggling though, and he quickly notices that at each squirm he does, Rudi's cock twitches and his movements get more frantic.

"Oh, that was so good, that was really fucking great, what a fuckin’ treat, yeah-" Rudi is muttering, and Ridge's grin is slow and syrupy as Rudi's dirty talk spills out of him and his voice gets breathy and snarly. He feels Rudi's thigh tense beneath his grasp, and he returns the earlier favor by holding Rudi up as he starts to shake.

"Easy there, bud...." Ridge has one hand on his waist, the other, unable to resist, feeling up his thigh still, and Rudi's face flushes as he comes. Ridge's gentle teasing tone and the sight and feel of the other man below him accentuates the closeness, especially as Ridgedog turns his head slightly to look at how Rudi is frantically palming himself through two layers of fabric.

"T-Thanks-" Rudi's nostrils flare, a sign he's taking in all the scents more than normal- the musky scents of piss and come, of warm sunlight, of the smell of something otherworldly and yet just as wolfy as himself.

"Ridgedog..." Rudi groans, growls the end of it. His hand slips from Ridge's face to grip his shoulder with a strength that on anyone else would break skin just as easily as Ridge had done to Rudi. Ridgedog chuckles in response- yeah, he feels bad for scratching his skin and leaving gashes in his jeans, but it still amuses him how Rudi can't even dent him.

"Wanna piss on you." Rudi mumbles suddenly, unbidden, and Ridge's mouth flattens into a thin line.

"Do not." He growls, soft and low. He knows Rudi's just talking to himself, but it's a gut reaction.

"Fuck, s-sorry, handsome." Rudi is quick to breathe out the apology, and Ridgedog accepts it just as quickly.

"Thanks!" Ridge is grinning again. Rudi's cock had twitched at his tone, and Ridge makes note of that- they'd flirted in that direction a few times, so maybe he'd follow up on that... later.

For now, Rudi is leaning over him- onto him, really, and working his hand over himself in a way that seems like it would just be easier to undo his pants instead. But Rudi is an odd guy, and Ridge knows there's something about the constraining pressure that Rudi enjoys... and maybe the pressure of his pants was more than just pressure, maybe it's a reminder that he's only allowed to come, nothing else. Maybe later that night, Ridge will catch him fidgeting, put two and two together and make Rudi mess himself in a different way, chide him in that low tone for what he's done and-

Prince's mind is easily full of fantasies about this, the cloying smell of Ridgedog's dampness heavy beneath him. He groans, ruts harder into his own hand, grips Ridge's shoulder tight and finally finishes, held up by Ridge's hands as his knees buckle and he doubles in on himself. Ridge's hands are all over him, gripping him, supporting him, on his inner thigh and his waist and there's the softest chuckle as Rudi looks right into the lopsided, amused, grinning face of Ridgedog and growls through his orgasm.

Even as he's huffing through the aftershocks, the glowy haze still on him, Rudi removes his boot from Ridge and steadies himself on two legs again. "Thanks for humorin' me."

"Course." Ridge leans back, and then groans in slight frustration as he looks down and sees how large of a mess he's made, and how dry it was by now- harder to clean out, even with his magic. He feels his cheeks start to heat up again at the sight, and he quickly has to look up. Rudi is still leaned against the tree. Then he’s sliding down it to sit across from Ridge with his knees up. "Hey~" Ridge says when Rudi is at eye level with him. And it's with a slight lick of his lips, a grin, a laugh and a very obvious look over Ridge's now uncovered lower half that Rudi replies, "Hey!"

Ridgedog taps at his own thigh, attempting a cleaning spell that barely scratches the surface of what he’s done, and sigh-groans in annoyance. "Dammit, been too long..." He reaches forward, determined to at least heal up the damage he'd done to Rudi.

Rudi lets him, letting out a long sigh as the soothing magic sinks in, tipping his head back against the tree. "Figured we'd make a mess. You can wash em' at the house and borrow my stuff til' - OH."

Ridge is stripping his pants- well, his entire lower half’s worth of clothing off. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine like this. We can go back to fishing!"

Rudi half-rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Works for me."

#ddkmhorrorweek #ridgedog #yogshipping #yogsmut #swyogs #ridge/oc #my fic #Prince #yogspost

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illumwriting · 4 months ago

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i am firing a warning shot/placing down a lit beacon depending on who you are. fic tomorrow. explict smut. non con. mutilation. yogs genderbend. ridge in it of course. it's ~5700 words.

#.#/#swyogs #text #mention #yogsmut #ridgedog

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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#ridgedog #my art #yogscast art #yogspost #yogs #yogscast #swyogs #art #gamemaster #mspaint my beloved #once again shoutout to you know who for infesting my head with this mental image #shame i cant draw the fucking bulge in his jeans but please fucking picture this funny guys [redacted size and words]#that one mcdonalds

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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82 (for the song + associated character one)

Happy- Robert Delong:

youtube

(warning for blood, drinking, cult shit) https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/robertdelong/happy.html well first of, my dude robert delong used microsoft Sounds to make the songs on this album, so the melody is so FUN and really is a great example of electronica mixed with traditional instruments. also it has layering of vocals, which always slaps. this is SUCH a parvis/ridge song to me. parvis is an imbiber, a partier, someone who sleeps in late to the day, spends his nights awake until the run rises and then heads to bed. he seeks out ridge to annoy him, to converse, to tease, to hang out- no true reason needed. even if he knows it might not be the best time, parvis doesn't care. Parv's personality and mannerisms are naturally buzzing with energy, and his magic just makes that more intense. He comes to Ridge for blood magic, for the heat and burn that Ridge can offer him. And Ridge? Ridge IS that Sun God, the whose cycles tend to oppose Parvis's schedule, so the moments they have together are infrequent and brief in nature. Ridge uses his own powers, his own magic to change this- he can slow or stop time from the whole server to single chunks or spaces around him, keep the server clock from ticking forward, keep the sun still in the sky, even the seasons are at his fingertips in this world. Parvis gets more attention and "teaching" from him this way, and hell, sometimes it feels like Ridge pulls back time just to re-live the moment. It's just a bonus that they get more work done.

Sometimes, they find themselves on the same insomniac rythm together. Despite all this power between the two of them, both of them feel disconnected from their feelings. They are fucked up, flawed people who have killed and killed and lost themselves to magic and strife. They have a slew of problems that follows them no matter how many new worlds or new players there are. Humor covers up so much for both of them. They have physical intimacy, but it's nothing romantic, nothing but passion and heat in the moment. They will not fall for each other. Feeling that is for others in their lives, who have worked hard to coax it from them. And for Ridge, the worst of it is watching Parvis grow older, even slowed as it is. Feeling the pressure of the space around them as this world and this time closes in on him, again. Knowing that he's got all the time, but he cannot do a damn thing to keep Parvis or any of these moments still and unchanged, perfectly preserved like himself. He literally sees his life- the storylines, the sequences of events- from a third-party point of view when he uses his powers and hen it comes to relationship of this level of intimacy with his players- he doesn't know how to feel about it. Parvis struggles too, the glimpses blood magic gives him into the other side, the looming threat of suffering and destruction that breathes down his neck and tempts him. He's well aware of this, chases his carefree and chaotic life with reckless abandon. Looks back on his life with the mindset of it's just a game. He should probably be feeling something about that. But the title of this song is Happy. Ridge and Parvis get enjoyment from their time together. They are silly, comedic guys with a dark streak to their humor. They share a common interest in mischief and power. Getting their hands dirty isn't something they mind, and the hours spent working hard laced with innuendos and passes at each other are enjoyable to end in rough intimacy.

#yogslash #parvdog #ridgeparv #ridgevis #what the HELL is their ship name #parvis #ridgedog #yogspost #text #SWyogs #parvidge

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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going off-script

yogtober day 2!! stone.

ridgedog/bebopvox, mention of VerbalProcessing. bebopdog aka ridgevox. ideas for off screen events leading into canon, canon-compliant. use of canon dialogue. ridgedog tells bebop he's been on the moon and that his crown is a space helmet when he shows up for modded madness: how much of that was true?

((an exploration of a demigod and his robot who plays along so well, and ridgedog's own bad habits.))

SFW! 2,078 words. now on A03! Preview: "Well you need these to breathe on the moon! Look at- Look at my uh, oxi-packs." Ridge turns around to show off the nothing on his back and Bebop wants to absolutely punch this guy. In the mouth. With his mouth.

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The moon had loved him.

Ridgedog had built himself three bases on the moon by now, having taken off from his home several years ago, entrusting his coat and watch to Bebop until his return. To his delight, the moon had been inhabited, and Ridgedog, with his bevvy of supplies and other-worldly knowledge was quickly well known to them all.

They were no more than moon villagers, really. Denizens that could be traded with, used for various magics, and even produced their own line of interesting goodies.

It wasn't until months later that Ridgedog realized the creatures had actually been observing him in any form of intelligent manner, and months more until he had found notes on himself in the local language.

They considered him lots of things that all fell on the side of /good/. A staple of trade that could only be found in specific locations was the prevailing opinion, which was the truth. However, Ridgedog also found that there was a small sect that considered him a word that he could not read, but that spoke of him in tones of respect and used alongside other terms that referred to guidance.

That interested him. He paid visits to these authors, who all received him with lavish gifts of polished moonstones made into jewelry and gave him a note- We will back you.

He knew their concepts of royalty and religion were weak, at best. But Ridgedog was an intelligent being, and understood that he could bring those concepts to them with simple nudges in the right direction. Their clear want to make him some sort of leader was amusing.

After all, he was almost done up here anyways. The resources beneath the ground being funneled into his bases, the novelty of the place wearing off as he had nothing left to work on.

And Ridgedog //did// love to play.

It was so easy to take over the various towns and villages. Easier still to amass that power to the single source of himself, to teach the creatures the ideas of true fealty and worship. It was like playing with a set of dolls that were semi-intelligent.

He had them all charmed, to the point where they made him a crown of his choice. Golden, and inlaid with a large moonstone in the front.

What Ridgedog did not plan for, nor care to worry about, was the effect of him stripping the moon of materials. The residents did not notice until it was far too late to stop him, and he had taught them well that bargaining with him was a one-sided affair.

So they lashed out. Ridgedog found his bases vandalized at first, then broken into. He took measures each time, aggressive and deadly. Then they came from below the surface of the moon itself, through the veins drained by- and unintentionally turned into perfect pathways back to- him.

He spent months fighting a war on his own, but the things here were useless to make anything like a bomb, and he had used up his overworld supplies long ago. It was not worth using his powers for this place, and the creatures had all but stripped him of his wealth and control over them.

So, with his pockets (not quite) empty, his stashed rocket, some bread he had absolutely stolen on his way out through a village, and the civilization behind him descending into chaos- he goes home. ------------------------------------------------------------------

Ridgedog crash lands several miles out, not too far from where he wanted to be. A small way to fly, and he could see his next stage waiting. Bebopvox and his ideas. A robot with more life, spunk, and heart than any human (or moon creature). He lowers himself straight down onto the ground just before the lip of the hill, so he can at least pretend to walk up to it. He makes it to the edge of the dropdown into Bebop's home- //their home// and stands there for a moment, to survey it.

Bebop's voice floats up.

"Wha's that?? Who is that? Hellooo~!"

Ridge perks up, turning into a big goofball immediately. Waves his arm at Bebop and dances back and forth for a moment, and he can see Bebop's visor light up with laughter as he speaks to his ever-rapt audience. He knows to wait until Bebop has turned his back to hop off the edge and fly down- lands just close enough to Bebop's fancy pool for plausible deniability.

"-this convenient staircase here-" comes Bebop's voice as he waits for Ridge patiently. The guy knew how to set a good Verbal (hah!) bait himself.

"I landed in your pool." Ridge says, lacing his voice with the hint of an innuendo.

Bebop spins around, and he is //delighted//. "Oh HEYYYYYY, RIDGEDOG!" He hollers, and peeks over at the pool for extra effect as he giggles. Any other time he would have tackled the demi-god, but right now, they were on camera. Acting.

"It was one hell of a jump," Ridge adds on, glancing back at the pool, judging the distance. He spots a zombie, and lures it in.

"Where the /hell/ did you come from?" Bebop says, looking up at the moon, blackened and ringed with a strange glow- "HELP ME. HELP! I don't know what's happening-" Ridge is yelping and running for cover behind him all of a sudden, and Bebop grins, leaping from the staircase to defend his partner.

"Oh- I /guess/ I should." The audience is left to question whether Bebop's dry and amused tone is because of Bebop's sword through the zombie, or if it’s an answer to Ridge. His chuckles squeak up as he catches sight of Ridge and the thing on his head again.

"I've been in cryostasis on the moon for a few months, and I just got back! And everything is Different."

Bebop looks up at the moon again. /You think, Ridgedog? Jeez!/ He wants to say- but Ridge legitimately has nothing on him except the glowy… crown. Oh boy.

"Ohhh. Well-" Bebop tries not to start into another laughing fit. He knew -exactly- what Ridgedog had gotten himself into, a silly demi-god who couldn't resist starting shenanigans with the local population. A nearly fatal flaw, were it not for the convenient immortality. "It- it is." He’s gotta mention it. Ridge HAS to know he still has the damn thing on- has to be teasing Bebop with it at this point. "That's a f-" shit. He almost says fancy crown, almost hits on Ridge. Catches himself. "I like that hat. They have those on the moon."

"What?"

//Oh my /god/,// Bebop thinks fondly, //he really did forget he had it on.//

It vanishes quickly from sight while Ridgedog stammers out a way to explain it. "Oh, this is a golden helmet under, uh, a moon hat. Yeah."

"Now I wanna go to the moon! Just for that hat." Bebop's not going to let this go anytime soon, and Ridge knows that.

"Well you need these to breathe on the moon! Look at- Look at my uh, oxi-packs." Ridge turns around to show off the nothing on his back and Bebop wants to absolutely punch this guy. In the mouth. With his mouth.

"I had to get back cause m-" Ridge is yapping now, forced to have to watch his own words as Bebop circles him- "-cause everything was destroyed! The only thing I had left was a rocket in my inventory. and some bread. A coupla tools, but that's it~."

Sure, Ridgedog. Bebop knows for sure now Ridgedog had brought him back something /fun/. For later.

Bebop clears his vocal box, tapping the side of his head. "Actually, /I/ don't see any of your stuff."

Ridge blinks at him with all the thought ability of a large lapdog. "What?" He looks away, and Bebop knows he is rifling through the last few sentences in his perfect memory to see what he said that might have ruined it-

"I don't see any of it." Bebop repeats, to help him, hearing Ridge start to stammer again out of embarrassment. Bebop quickly cuts him off. "I think-" he says, still sees Ridge's lips moving and speaks louder. "I think-" He's STILL going. "I THINK I need to relog." He laughs at the flush on Ridge's face, looks at the ground quickly to avoid letting anyone see, and cuts his screen out briefly.

It's only a few minutes of privacy, but Bebop finally crushes Ridge into a fond hug as Ridge is stood there, still flustered from earlier. "I can't believe you forgot you had it on!" Bebop teases, and Ridgedog makes a whining sound as he returns the hug and buries his face against Bebop's shoulder. "Shut up, Bebop." He mutters.

When the camera flicks back on, Ridge is center frame. There's clearly still no "oxi-packs" on Ridge's back as he faces away from Bebop and spins ‘round in a funny circle, checking every side of him, straining his neck to try to look behind him. "Uh, I had it because I used to be able to see better with it, but it doesn't appear to do anything different-" he's saying, and Bebop pokes him in the shoulder to get him to focus.

"So you -literally- just came out of cryostasis, ended up here now, annnd uhhhh- you have-" Bebop breathes a short laugh. "-absolutely nothing."

"Well, I've got a couple of items," Ridge starts in on his mentally practiced line, starts to stammer again and Bebop looks away, back up at the moon. "I've got a tag-" He gets out.

Bebop lets that sit for a moment, then looks back at Ridge, who is avoiding eye contact. "A tag?" He invades Ridge's space with a single step, treating the audience to a glimpse down Ridge's shirt as he leans over his shoulder to look at the mob tag that Ridge is holding. "That's not gonna help you."

Ridge shrugs him off and Bebop smirks as Ridge tries to sidestep Bebop getting back in his personal space. "Was that your dog tag?" Bebop mocks, watches Ridge try to hide another rise of color to his cheeks and giggles. "When they kicked you out of cryostasis?"

"NO!" Ridge protests, bapping Bebop over the head lightly and chuckling as Bebop desperately tries to keep Ridge from derailing his own origin story again. "I just helio-dropped, right." Ridge says clearly over Bebop's mumbled "That they put you in."

"I have a singular torch," Ridge continues, as Bebop dances backwards out of reach of another bap and Ridge follows. "I have a hoe,"

Bebop predictably snickers, and Ridge tosses it out for Bebop to grab. "Hahah, what?" Bebop questions, confirming that it literally was just a stone hoe, of all things. "You don't need those on the /moon/!" He teases, jumping up on his front stairs again out of Ridge's reach as he laughs.

"Yeah you do!" Ridge takes a threatening step towards Bebop, his eyes glinting playfully. "You can do crops on the moon. Crawps!"

"This is so, so f-" Bebop almost says ‘fucked’, remembers he can't swear just yet, and readjusts, "So- it's a fancy moon base you were at apparently." He will keep this narrative on track. "Well, it was Moonquest, which was like, a hundred bajilion episodes-" Bebop continues, referencing a completely different moon, a different world Ridgedog had administrated.

"I was doin' alright for myself up there-" Ridgedog pulls out the stolen bread. Eating while he talked always helped him focus, kept his tall tales with the hints of truth straight. "But then everything changed. I went to sleep one night, woke up, and it was all gone."

He swallows, seeing Bebop giving him a look of disgust and frustration before throwing the double-dropped zombie's brains from earlier at him.

"Ohhh, wow-" Ridgedog snarks, having to quickly swap the bread away to catch both of them in his hands, looking at them with half real interest.

"I'll give you brains." Bebop successfully riles Ridge up, as Ridge looks at him out of the corner of his eye and goes "You-" --------------------------------------------------------------

The moon had loved him, but Bebop was the only one who was an unmovable stone in Ridge's life. His pillar of support to fall back on when everything else might not go as planned. It was a relief to be back on solid ground with someone who didn't just love him, but kept him in check.

END.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #bebopvox #bebopdog #ridgevox #yogslash #yogpost #SWyogs

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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Negotiations

yogtober day 4. Science. Ridgedog, Lalna, Nanosounds. NanoCoffee/Lividsounds and LividDog/Ridgecoffee SFW. 4,092 words.

Nano arranges a meeting between her past mentor, Ridgedog, and her current one, Lalna. To smooth their pasts over and come to an agreement. Canon divergent, relies on general fandom headcanons about Lalna/Yoglabs/Ridge and Lalna attempting to literally dissect the demigod. On A03. Co-written with an anonymous friend. Preview:

Ridge swallows heavily and digs the nails of one hand into his palm, leaving crescent-marks welling with gold just underneath the surface, but not having actually broken the skin. He's very clearly thinking hard about this. About what he's willing to let go of for the sake of making peace with Lalna. What control of himself he's willing to lose.

"No… no tissue samples." Is what he finally gets out, followed by, "But yeah if, if you keep them out, and agree to let me destroy what you took, I'll allow you to take samples of some things."

Lalna doesn't speak for a moment. Sits in actual stunned silence, drowns it by grabbing his coffee and draining his cup. His eyes finally stop being fixed on somewhere past Ridge, and -really- actually look at and over him curiously and optimistically. A combination of feelings Ridge has perhaps only felt come from Lalna at the same time a very, very small handful of moments.

It wasn't hard to get Ridge to come to their base. Nano has simply pinged the admin, told him that she needed a favor, greeted him outside the building, and guided him in. Making sure to avoid walking past Lalna's lab.

And it was easy enough to get Lalna in the breakroom, tempting him with a fresh pack of Jaffa Cakes if he met her there. She'd made sure she had the keys to the one door in and out.

"Nano, what the 'ell!"

That would be Lalna.

"…I did /not/ agree to this, Miss Nanosounds."

That would be Ridgedog.

Nano points vehemently to the three chairs at the break table, and hands Lalna his promised sweets.

"Sit, both of you."

Ridge looks at Nano, looks at the chair with mild disinterest, looks back to her. He had already started to rise up slightly off the ground when he’d seen Lalna. "Can I just? Sit in the a-"

"Boots on the ground. You know the rules, Ridgedog." Nano has yet to stop pointing.

He groans and taps back down, but still doesn't take the chair.

"I'm not doing it." Lalna grouses, mouth half full, cup of coffee in hand. "You've been trying to get us to apologize for years, and I'm saying no."

"For once, I agree with him." Ridgedog is casting looks at the door, and finally he sighs. "But you've locked us in here, haven’t you."

"Yup!" Nano pulls out a notebook and pen, "You two can make good in whatever words you want, but I'm tired of the bullshit back and forth while you all but ask each other to touch again. You're going to set boundaries. Here. Now. So //sit//."

Sheepishly, and with a second, heavier sigh from Ridge, the two men noisily drag the chairs out and dump themselves into them. Coffee cup and pot are placed on the table, along with the snacks. Lalna slouches down in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him; while Ridge sits neatly with his hands clasped between his knees, leaning forward.

They stare at each other in cold silence, Ridgedog stony-faced and Lalna looking more and more uncomfortable, until Nano is done settling into her chair, a mediator between them, ready to take notes. "This is going to be an exchange. Ridge, you give a boundary, then Lalna gives one. If one of you runs out before the other, then so be it. Just keep going."

"Why-" Lalna's verging on sounding like a child, "Does HE get to go first?"

"Because you're going to whine that you can't think of anything, and he's gonna say that you're the one who kidnapped and dissected him first."

Ridge huffs out a laugh through his nose and yanks his leg back to avoid a kick from Lalna. Alright, that’s as good a cue to start as any. "You… know my basic boundary already,” He says, “No samples. Ever."

And Lalna is already scowling. He crosses his arms in front of him and a snap of tense laughter rolls from him. "You're in the laboratory of a scientist, saying he can go fuck himself with his entire hobby and profession, while being a demigod who can shift at will and can play at being whatever he wants."

His tone is sharp because he really does not know how else to talk.

"I want samples. I'm willing to meet halfway somewhere. No ichor, no organs, no whatever the fuck. Only taken willingly, since I have to say it. Skin, hair, other fluids, I'd like."

Ridgedog flinches. The reminder of what he is, of where he is. That he’d been tricked to be here. In the lab. He turns his head away, tucking his chin into the collar of his coat, sitting up slightly.

"I never said that." Ridge mumbles, directly referring to Lalna saying 'You said I can go fuck myself.'

"Doctor Lalna, I don't want you to examine me in the lens of your profession. I want you to examine me for /fun./"

His eyebrows knit together in worry, that these negotiations would stop before they start.

"I have two absolute boundaries. And 'No samples' is one of them. I cannot compromise on this, I'm sorry."

Lalna seems to flare in place, keeping his arms held tightly against him, an on-and-off sneer flitting into place for moments of cruel thoughts and sliding away as Lalna struggles to remain civil and open.

"You're still asking for the process of examining to be left incomplete and unfinished because of your deep paranoia about myself being able to draw logical conclusions about you in any manner in which you do not perfectly control me! Examining leads to questions, questions need research, and samples allow me to do so humanely and efficiently."

Lalna makes a slightly strangled sound, and that scowl etches deep into his face and eyes as he -bites- his own tongue literally and figuratively, forces his phrasing to be less combative.

"What… What if I can take samples of allowed things. While you are present. They stay in sight. You can destroy them yourself at the end of each… session."

"No… no tissue samples." Is what he finally gets out, followed by, "But yeah if, if you keep them out, and agree to let me destroy what you took, I'll allow you to take samples of some things."

"Do clarify what your non-scientific brain classifies as tissue? I already am very aware of your regenerative capabilities, and am going to assume briefly, to speed this discussion up, that you are worried what I might do if I figure that out. It's the key to killing /a god/, to speak plainly. "

Lalna is -not- being malicious. it is the -softest- irritated tone. it is -informative- and -inquiring-.

"If I killed you, Ridgedog, what would I have left to pursue and study? If I put your skin and muscle and organ tissue under a microscope any more than I already have, what do you have to fear if you believe us mortals cannot comprehend the thing that gives you that spark of divinity?"

He’s getting… some sort of strange, affectionate passion in his words. It's certainly still a man who wants to rip Ridgedog apart in a cruel manner for the thrill of it but- These words almost sound… /Reverent./ Lalna has sat up, leaned forward; but the chair under him creaks and he seems to startle out of it.

"…Sorry. Carried away. Ahem. Definition of tissue, please?"

That was… certainly interesting to hear. Ridge isn't sure how to feel about how Lalna just acted. He's, frankly, ignoring all that stuff about 'your tissue samples contain the key to killing you, right?'- instead focusing on what was said after the words 'what would I have left-'

And thoughts are echoing in his mind, of other humans who have expressed obsession with him.

Parvis.

And Ridgedog is really, really damn close to just losing himself in his own thinking again. Lalna leans forward, the chair creaks. Ridge comes back to reality.

He realizes he started staring at some point during Lalna's speech, and averts his gaze again. The fabric weave on the shoulder of his coat is so much more soothing.

"Uh, my… my definition of tissue is one that excludes hair and nails, basically. I will also allow you to take samples of the outer layers of my skin. Full list of things you're allowed is- skin, hair, nails."

"That's agreeable to me." Lalna is back to being awkward, almost defensive as he realizes the ball is in his court, as he realizes it is his turn to set one of these boundaries.

"I have to say something now, huh…"

It -really- shouldn't take him this long to think of something, right? But any action he can think of that he does not want has stemmed directly from something he has done to Ridge first- anything that he might ask for, something that he does not deserve- His expression has shifted, pained and hurt and lost and so uncertain.

He realizes too late that he’s putting all those emotions out there for Ridge to see. Slams back down the shutter to them, tries to collect his scattered thoughts and put something out there that doesn't sound utterly /pathetic/.

"My life. I want this to stay out of my personal life. Nano, Ryth, Xephos- all my relationships. This… whatever we're negotiating here, has to stay in the sterile space of my lab or… //your// homeworld. No one else involved unless we both agree to it. No mention of it outside of this group that is here, present in the building, now."

Oh good! That's a quick, complete answer for Ridge to give.

"I promise. We involve nothing and no-one except for your lab or my world. And if we want someone else besides Nanosounds to have knowledge of this, we have to discuss it. And we both have to agree."

He looks a little more at ease now, slouching forward, back to his previous position. Hands clasped between his knees. His turn.

"I'm sure you can imagine me placing down this line as well, but you will not touch my heart. At any point."

Lalna's not sure why he feels such a wave of relief when Ridge agrees. Maybe it was his brain, instinctively thinking about how Ridge had brought up Lalna's research papers in the past and fearing that Ridge still wanted revenge for those-

Revenge. He should say something about that. In a minute.

"Yeah, no- don't worry. What exactly does that mean for you, so I don't have to suffer through giving another asinine apology after a vicious beating?"

There's a small laugh from Ridge. Not mocking anyone either. Just, laughing at how poorly-planned this whole thing was, how quickly Lalna admits that their past was rife with bullshit.

"Let's see, okay. If you have my chest cavity open and you brush against it with your hand or a tool or something? That's fine! It happens. However, if a hand or tool /rests/ there, for any length of time longer than, let's say, two seconds? /That/ is not allowed. Is that agreeable to you? If I think you touched my heart with actual /intent/, I will react. And this will partially be an instinctual reaction, and for that I apologize."

"Oh, I can work with that." Lalna sounds delighted, being given such wiggle room around something off-limits that he was sure to -brush- the edges of. Ridge's heart was always like that for him, a temptation that sits there and leads him astray down the path away from factual and perhaps actually useful science, into bizarre desire and immorality. Into Mad Science.

It was one of his favorite things about Ridgedog.

"Hopefully keeping our mood light-” He’s settling, actually settling now into how he can be when he's chilled out. "My second boundary is this- No provoking of me like… back then, and certainly -no- things like that. Ever. Mostly for Nano's sake, more than my own."

He's tiptoeing around the words of harsh violence and quite frankly vile details of their actions against each other for the sake of Nano, but Ridge would know -exactly- the lines they had both crossed. Even though they might have previously agreed to, or silently just stopped, or even like just now, are working to deal with it- It worries Lalna enough that he needs this in writing.

A nod from Ridge. Small, short. But an agreement.

"What I do on absolute instinct aside, I will not ever try to… harken back to things like /that./ Neither of us are like that anymore."

He huffs, thinking his words through, "Reacting because you put your hand on my heart for too long is okay; either of us doing /those/ things again, is not."

"But yes, I agree. I will not feed into that part of us. To the best of my ability. Is that agreeable to you?"

This was an important one for both of them, Ridge could tell; and he wanted to give Lalna a chance to refute or amend his statement.

Lalna considers this for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek and lips quirking in the way of ‘I thought of something snarky’. He takes a moment to adjust it-

"Seems we can both only guarantee to /try/. Which is fine, yes. My introspections indicate that if… this particular rule is broken, any resulting consequences would be better handled and doled out by Nano." He looks at her, and she gives them both an even look and a nod.

"You both almost done?" She chirps, taking that moment to roll her wrist and check on them both. They'd been talking for some time now, and Lalna's coffee pot was nearing empty.

"Almost, I have several more actually." Ridge says, unclasping his hands for a moment to adjust his cravat, "But they're things I'm much more open to negotiating. Not hard boundaries like those other two."

"I'd need you to ask me every time you want to do these, Doctor, and not try to spring it on me. And I'd need to give my explicit permission before you continue. Don't cut me open, or attempt to view my insides in general, without getting the OK from me."

His hands are back where they were, and he's looking at Lalna's forehead, as opposed to trying to make eye contact. He's feeling more confident, but it seemed to make Lalna uncomfortable last time he tried looking the other man in the eyes. So he doesn't.

Lalna rolls his eyes, and this time the snark slips. "Ugh, really? Do you not know by now I want to cut you open every time you set foot in this building?"

He winces after it comes out- slouches down even further in his chair.

"I mean. Yeah. Sure. I'll ask. You need to ask then too, if you feel like stomping all over me to get your emotions out or doing some awful thing back to mimic what I've done to you. You always go overboard on it."

Well, Ridgedog is no longer looking at Lalna. Time to look at the floor again! A small start passes through his body when he hears Lalna's admission. He may have been aware of the scientist's pervasive desire to cut him open, but it was another thing for Ridge to hear it directly from the man himself. He swallows heavily before speaking.

"Th- Thanks. And yeah, I'll absolutely ask if I'm thinking about doing that. Uh, sorry for 'going overboard' in the past. I know my… reactions can sometimes be disproportionate to the offense."

"And I'm certainly not without blame for getting carried away and forgetting to view you with some semblance of… humanity. On my end."

Lalna taps his foot, a sign he'd like to perhaps not dwell on it.

"Well, that was technically one of mine piggy-backing off yours. Go again."

Ridge looks relieved, finally hearing Lalna apologize for something. It had been irking him, how he’d come in here and been forced to compromise- to find halfway ground for something that Lalna had started, all because of his former apprentices' insistence that they work it out. "The next thing is kinda related to the last one? It's just that, if you write anything down, I want to know that you're doing so."

"Ridge." Oh. Wonderful. Lalna sounds so -whiny-. And he’s absolutely doing it on purpose- using it to cover up the fact that he's saying antagonizing things and making himself seem like a victim here. Never can let Ridge have a moment of peace. "Do you want me to tell you when I piss? What is this?" Lalna waves his hand around the room as if to indicate the thought of his lab littered with notebooks on tables, lined with shelves that house notebooks, waves at the book that Nano is holding- "Here's what I don't write down: the things that don't mean shit to me. If you care that badly, be my guest and read my notes after, but no destroying. You've already made sure that my good name in science is ruined; I haven't been able to publish anything since then."

Ridge’s head tilts slightly at the way Lalna says his name.

"And this is /my/ body we're talking about, Doctor. I will leave your notes intact, but I want to know what you're writing about me."

He leans back a little bit, his arms moving to cross over his chest, and he raises an eyebrow. There is no smile on his face. "Have you considered writing about something that /isn't/ me, actually?"

Nano can't help but -snrk- at that, as Lalna goes back to looking at anywhere but Ridgedog, and a flush works its way across his complexion.

"…No-maybe-no." He whines, "You're my star subject! Everything else is dull, uninspired! There’s a thousand and one things in this universe, and somehow they all can be connected to you-"

"You're doing it again, Lal." Nano taps him lightly on the leg with her pen.

"-A-h--." Lalna hides his face with one hand. "Forget I said anything. You can read my notes, yeah. Go again so I can think of less stupid things to say."

The characteristic eyebrow is raised further, and an amused smile appears on Ridge's face. A noise, probably a laugh of some kind, almost escapes his mouth at the scientist's apparent embarrassment, but he holds it back. His face falls back into something more neutral, and he crosses one leg over the other. "Got it, moving on! Now, these next things aren't so much /boundaries;/ as they are me stating what you are /allowed/ to do. If I am in the lab room, for a session, you are absolutely allowed to study and touch the outside of my body."

"Oh?" Lalna perks up eagerly. Unslouches, just a touch, moves his hand back down to rest on his thigh where Nano had tapped him. "What do you mean, a session? That sounds like the same bullshit as not taking notes. If you're in my lab, you're in my lab."

“You're the one who used the word Session first, Doctor." Ridge takes a breath, a moment to recall Lalna's exact words from earlier. "'-They stay in sight. You can destroy them yourself at the end of each… session.-' That's what I mean. Like, don't bring out the magnifying glass while I'm having a snack in your break room, y’know?" He tries not to think too hard about the way Lalna phrased his last sentence.

"Oh. Right. Lab Session is what I was saying there - if I were cutting you open." Lalna laughs slightly at what sounds like Ridgedog making a joke and talks with his right hand, motioning. "Here, let me make it clear. This building is the base. It's mine and Nano's. Down the hall-" a point to his left. "Are the labs. Mine is labeled, and has several rooms. I can promise your safety outside of there unless you give me the go ahead."

Ridge follows his gestures, nodding faintly. It still makes him wildly uneasy, to know what Lalna does and does not count as his Lab. And that Lalna is using the phrase 'his safety' to refer to not being allowed to touch him. "And I'm drawing a difference between me just existing in your lab, and me agreeing to a session or examination. You may always observe me, though."

"Observations and existing, like now. Exams and sessions like you've seen-" Lalna nods to Nano- "-her do. I can agree to that. I may never go to your world, but similar immunity would be preferred then." He looks into the bottom of an empty cup and at an empty pot and lets out a little sigh. "Personally, I don't have any further limitations that I wish to propose… Easier to work around whatever the test subject wants and play off of that."

"Immunity will be granted. And actually, I just thought of one more thing I'd /really/ prefer if you did." See, Ridge had grimaced slightly at some of Lalna's wording just then. Frankly, a lot of wording he'd been letting slip had made him uncomfortable. But he was willing to ignore them!

Not that one.

"Can you at least not /verbally/ refer to me as 'Test Subject'? That's just rude."

Lalna blinks, has to think for a minute back on his own sentence. "Huh. Sorry. Slipped out, didn't mean it in a derogatory sense just then, so don't get pissed at me. I'll keep that to sessions too." He's starting to get antsy. "Anything else? I really, really need to start a pot of friggin' coffee again. Soon."

"Thanks Lal-/na/." he sighs back, his body language relaxing again. But not too much, as he hopes Lalna doesn't notice how stilted the second syllable of his name had been just then. How almost tacked-on it seemed. How Ridge had almost just called him 'Lal'. Like he would have done before. When they were friends. "And no, that's it really. I can't think of anything else off the top of my head."

Lalna does notice. Softens. Blames the massive amount of talking they've been doing for his next words. "Lal is fine. I was just angry at you still when I told you that couldn't call me that." A long pause. "Sorry, Ridge. Thanks for giving me another shot."

A soft, genuine smile is on Ridge's face now. It's something Lalna has seen a few times before, but not often. "Thanks Lal, for giving me one too."

Lalna lets the niceness sit between the both of them. Tries to meet Ridge's eyes and realizes that the -pleasant- feeling that attempts to wash over him is something he's not quite ready for yet. Stands abruptly, grabs the pot, and beelines to his coffee maker.

"Ok, that's enough sappy bullshit. Ridge, fuck you and your stupid sense of goodwill. Nano, fuck you for bullying me into this. Open the damn door and get out." He's not really that angry, but he needs to let the vitriol out with his back turned as he dumps an excessive amount of grounds into a filter.

Ridge is about to retort, but Nano snaps her notebook shut. "Alright, you heard him. Out you go." The keys jingle as she rises and unlocks the break room door, holding it open it for Ridge and then following him out.

As she escorts him back to the entrance, Ridge is complaining. "That was so stressful, and I /still/ had to fucking compromise on my two biggest, simplest boundaries and-"

Nano puts both hands on her old mentor's back, shoves him lightly over the threshold of the base. "Yeah, but Lalna's happy, and you know he'll stick by his words. Maybe next time you stop by, you two can even manage to hold hands!"

He pulls an unhappy, but friendly face at her, sticks his tongue out. "Sorry, he's your romantic problem now. Just don't -ever- trick me like that again, ok?"

"Never promising! Go home, you big, stupid goofball. Think about all the progress we've made today." They pause, and both look at each for a long moment, a small, silent sadness hanging in the air.

"I'll get him back." Nano breaks it fiercely. "Lal's still in there. Your friend. Don't forget that."

"I don't ever." Ridge gives her a smile, one weighed down with all the things he'd been through, and a small, two-finger salute. "Good day, Miss Nanosounds. Take care." (Of Lal, he doesn't say.)

"Take care." (Of yourself, she doesn't say.)

And then he's gone, and Nano is locking the doors.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #lividcoffe #nanosounds #nanocoffee #lividsounds #ridgecoffee #lividdog #yogslash #yogfic #SWyogs

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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dog and snake (and ram)

yogtober day 3, magic. ridgedog, davechaos, mentions of kirindave. early era of transition between chaosville and yogscast- canon based. no shipping. one demi-god visits an equally powerful being to complain about a new player on his server. SFW. 525 words. Preview: "Right. Kirin! Kirindave, actually. Hah! Funny that you're both /Daves/, isn't it." A pretty good recovery, if he did say so. Treats himself to a wide grin for it.

Taking trips to visit other's worlds wasn't hard, as long as you had the right address. Ridgedog does, and he doesn't need an admin watch to travel there.

So it's with frustration that he finds himself having to rap on the metaphysical wall of Davechaos' homeworld. "Dave?" He calls out. It's cold here in the void between places, even for someone made of light. "Ugh. C'mon, dude! Let me in!" Another hard rap of his knuckles on the translucent-blue thing keeping him from entering. Below, he can see a vast expanse of land, the one loosely inhabited by Dave's small group of friends.

He's drawing back a boot to kick at the barrier, when Dave shimmers into view on the other side of it.

"Oh- uh!" Ridgedog suddenly acts like he had been kicking up both legs at the knees to float in one of his characteristic silly poses, and folds his arms behind his back, "Hi!!"

Dave simply stares at him.

"I- uhhhh-" Ridge is grasping at straws. He knew why he had come here. But like always, in the moment of pressure, it slips from him and makes him seem foolish and absentminded. "Right. Kirin! Kirindave, actually. Hah! Funny that you're both /Daves/, isn't it." A pretty good recovery, if he did say so. Treats himself to a wide grin for it. "Can I come in?"

Dave shakes his head.

"It's -important-," Ridge presses, "He says he's from your world, while he meddles with mine."

"Oh, does he now." Dave seems at least mildly interested in that, and he pulls up an invisible chair in the air that he then sits on backwards, legs straddling the back and arms folded across the top.

"Yes." Ridgedog tries to keep the irritation from his voice. He feels like Dave is looking at him like the animals he catches and keeps, a feral creature behind glass. "It's causing… problems."

"Be specific." "He's bringing strange magic in. Something else also followed him from this world, and it's not good, whatever it is. My worlds are destabilizing faster, my players are becoming more reckless from interacting with him, and now he's saying he can add a whole new freakin’ dimension to the place."

"And?"

"And what, Dave??? He's /your/ player! There are rules, you know that damn well-"

Ridge's rising, angry tone of voice is cut off as Dave stands smoothly, approaches the barrier, and looks Ridgedog over from toe to head, smiling thinly at him.

"Ridgedog."

Ridge realizes he's flared up golden-bright all over, and there are black cracks visible on his cheeks. He growls in the back of his throat, wills himself to simmer down, and the glow dims slightly.

"You appear to be having more than just simple ‘problems’. Kirindave is slowly wresting control from you, isn't he?"

"Yeah." Ridge grits out.

"He was never mine. I removed him from my world after he harmed another player irreparably. I suggest you do the same."

Davechaos tips his hat to Ridge, the only sign of respect so far, and vanishes leaving Ridgedog in the cold void with burning questions, and an entirely new sense of unease.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #davechaos #yogfic #SWyogs #my fic #text #kirindave

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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red poppies ((won't grow down here))

drabble yogtober october 1st: beginning

parvis/ridgedog, a dash of strife to start, blood magic, alternate starts, based off canon, hints at proper parvdog <3 sfw! 853 words.

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It's an inspiring thing, to know the youth were still interested in the old ways. Ridgedog smiled to himself as Parvis chattered on to Strife, the pair oblivious to Ridgedog floating in spectator mode as they passed beneath his boots.

He tails them through the woods, eavesdropping.

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He tails them through the woods, eavesdropping. "So why's can’t I do it?"

"Because, Parvis." Strife sounds so irritated, the -I said so- not worth wasting more breath on.

"C'mon! You haven't given me a single good reason." Parvis' feet work a neat dance around the ground so that he is in front of Strife, walking backwards now. His right hand clasps his left wrist behind his back, and he is bent at the waist to reduce his height and make it so that he can look up at Strife, peer up beneath the guy's sunglasses.

"I have given you -several-. One of them being that it is /dangerous/, much like your current actions." Strife keeps moving forward, steps to the left, and turns slightly to avoid the tumbling body of Parvis that is sent sprawling out with a yelp as the ground rises behind him and his heel catches.

Ridgedog giggles.

The scene below him carries on, Parvis making quick excuses for his clumsiness and distracting from the original topic of their talk. Strife entertaining him and similarly directing the conversation away from the thing that Parvis had been asking for- ---------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, here's your place, Parvis. Are you sure you don't want to rent a bed at Strife Solutions? It's much safer."

"Awww, you're all worried about lil ole me. Naw. Thanks for the offer though, Strifey. See you next week!"

With Strife taken to the air and almost out of sight, Parvis turns to enter his own base- and yells, arms flailing up in front of him, one leg coming off the ground and drawing in.

"Fuck, dude!" Parvis snaps at Ridge, who has appeared out of thin air and is floating so that his knees are at Parvis' eye level.

"Hahaha- hey, Parv!" Ridge is grinning, arms crossed in front of him. "Do you have a minute? I have something I'd like to show you." ----------------------------------------------------------------------

A snap of Ridge's fingers later, they are in a cobblestone basement somewhere. The room is lit with the dull glow of redstone torches and in the center of it sits the very thing Parvis had been hounding Strife about.

"Woah! Is that the real thing?" Parvis never waits for any sort of permission, and he's already on the steps of the blood altar, scuffing his sneakers carelessly across runes.

"As real as you or me." Ridgedog is still flying, but touches down next to Parvis as the young man reaches the top of the altar and peers into the well of it. "Would you like this one?"

"Would I ever!" Hands skim across the edge, his head cocks and he pouts. "But-"

"Ohh, but Strife! But it's dangerous! But he said so!" Ridgedog mocks Parvis' voice, delights in how easily readable and open Parvis is with his expressions that flick from indignant to questioning and the furrowing of his eyebrows together. "Don't worry about it, my friend," A smoothing over of all concerns, and Ridge lays an arm and hand across Parvis's back and onto his shoulder. "I have everything you need."

Parvis's mouth opens. Closes. His fingertips are still lingering on the cool stone, and he swears he sees the deep, blacks shaded emptiness of the well in front of him wink. "Ok. Yeah. Let's do it!" After all, Ridge was the world's admin and had been here longer. He knew better, right?

A knife appears in Ridge's other hand and is passed to Parvis, who fidgets with a sense of uncertainty as he holds the handle. "Prick your finger." There's amusement in Ridge's command.

Parvis obeys, hisses in a sharp breath as it hurts more than whatever faint idea he’d had of how it might feel. The swell of blood takes it’s time in sliding down, and he gives his hand a little shake to get it to splatter off into the well.

//At least he knew where it went.// Ridge thinks, as his firm grip on Parvis' shoulder becomes the only thing holding the newly minted blood mage up straight. Parvis' dead weight is more than Ridge cares to try to keep using one arm for and he settles his other hand on the other shoulder and steps behind him. Luckily, it's only a moments before Parvis gasps back into existence.

"Wha- the-" Parvis gets out. He blinks. The room seems brighter now, the red in particular glimmering and attractive. "So that's it? I see funny shapes and then what? I don't feel any more powerful." He doesn't register that Ridge had moved, so when the man's voice comes from right next to his ear, he startles.

"You will," Ridge says. Parvis realizes now too that Ridge is warm, pressed up against Parvis- or had Parvis pressed back against him- either way, Ridge's left hand is moving down along Parvis' bare arm to grip his wrist. "This is just the beginning."

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #parvis #parvdog #yogscast fanfiction #yogslash #yogspost #SWyogs

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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not.

yogtober, day 5. voice. ridgedog. mention of lalna. a self reflection on being isolated. SFW. 385 words.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- -You're not human.-

Ridgedog has heard those words a thousand and one times. He's heard them in countless tones and contexts- from fear to adoration, from confusion to accusations. They've been used to try to hurt, to praise, and to beg. Those words had always come from sources that he could just ignore. Nothing that would make him question himself- after all, he agreed. He wasn't human. Ridge understood these words too, that it was just mortals expressing their discontent at him.

But when Lalna levels a shaky finger at Ridge and his immaculate, immortal body? Shaking because Lalna's mechanics are failing and his other arm is limp and bloody at his side, and in equally unsteady voice says: "You're -just- a demi-god, not human."

Ridge feels something… break inside of him. And he finds himself fleeing from the confrontation by teleporting away without another word. Sinks down to the ground and puts a hand to the side of his head, curls the fingers of his other one deep into the dirt. Surely, he shouldn't be this affected by what a mortal did. He's above them, right?

But Ridge never /wanted/ to be. He wanted to be a companion, a friend. And he can never forget what they, mortals, do to him. What ideas they have, what desires he invokes. Can never forget the imposing image and feeling of Lalna over him with a scalpel in gloved hand, as fear and paralysis held Ridgedog down while Lalna cut into him. Every time Lalna cocks his head at him, takes a certain -interested- tone, Ridge feels that scalpel slicing down and into his skin all over again in perfect, vivid detail.

He shudders. Just a demi-god. Supposedly unfeeling, right? Immune to everything mortals are vulnerable to, including trauma. Their minds as unmarred as their flesh. Right?

That's what Lalna thinks.

And Ridgedog is alone because of it. Because his best friend had been driven mad with the desire to know how Ridge worked, thanks to that damn red matter bomb. To hunt down an explanation for that fleeting, -burning- spark that had been momentarily placed in Lalna’s chest to fix it. Because no-one cared about what anything they did to him might make him feel. Because apologies were to be made to humans.

Not to demi-gods.

#ridgedog #yogfic #SWyogs #yogtober2022

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illumwriting · 2 years ago

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live hard, die young (revised)

a little thing that got way out of hand. based on sparxflame’s lovely responses. huge warnings for character death, blood, violence. heavy references to shatsome. 2,850 words.

They dump a twitching and barely conscious Strife on Kirin’s back doorstep, wrapped in a ragged blanket and peel out of the alley in Smith’s car of the month, faces drawn. “Guys, just let them take me-” Smith starts, and Trott snarls no so fast Smith doesn’t try to argue.

Sips greets them at the door, his smile wide as ever and the smell of half burnt pizza coming from the kitchen. His face falls as he sees Smith’s pale face, and the terror flitting behind Trott’s eyes.

“Ross?” Sips asks slowly as he lets them in and locks the door behind them, watches Ross’s stony form shake almost imperceptibly. Smith has fled to the upstairs and Sips can hear things being thrown, punctuated by gritted shouts of profanity. Trott meets Ross’s eyes and nods, and Ross runs up after Smith, the banging slowly fading.

“We need to go, Sips.” Trott’s voice is raw, and his hands are still stained from the mix of redstone and blood he’d tried to wipe off Strife’s face.

“Trotty-” Sips protests, but the deadness in Trott’s face makes Sips realize this is no game. “Am I gonna need anything?” Trott glances around their shared home, his face drawn. “Your warmest jacket. Any weapon. You have about 10 minutes.”

There’s another crash from overhead and a raw cry of anger, Sips can’t tell who. He just nods and starts digging in the front closet for anything that might fit him as his head spins with the possibilities of what might have happened. Smiffy not speaking, even Ross frightened. The boys had just gone out for a jaunt with Strife…

Oh, fuck.

Trott wrings his hands together and drags his skin slowly off the back of the couch, slinging it over his shoulders with a labored sigh. Ross and Smith thunder down the stairs, an angry light of self-hatred in Smith’s eyes and a pained resignation in Ross’s.

“I don’t know when they’ll start looking for us.” Trott says as they gather in the entryway, Ross handing a thick strip of leather to Sips who takes it with a questioning look. “As soon as they come, I’ll lead them to the water.”

Smith dips his head in a nod. His lips are pressed together thinly.

“But-” Ross starts to protest, and Trott stares him down, eyes full of sorrow and the thought of loss. “Protect Sips.” Trott mandates, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Smith utters a cry of frustrated anguish and rips open the door.

They’re still in Smith’s car when the horns sound, not even a full hour outside of the city yet. Sips knows what’s going on now, and hates the way he can see it eat at his court. “C’mon guys!” he says from the backseat where he sits with Ross. “We’ll make sunrise, I know it.”

No-one says anything back and Smith jams his foot down harder on the pedal as if it will make the car go past its limits.

“We’re sorry.” Ross murmurs in Sips’ ear as the car starts to sputter and they hear the pounding on the road that’s been following for at least the past mile now start to grow louder. “We were supposed to protect you-” Sips stops him, running a hand across the ridges on Ross’s neck.

Smith suddenly swerves off the road, banking the car harshly down the edge and onto the mud by the river, no care for the way the branches scratch it.

“I’m gonna miss you idiots.” Sips says when the car stops bouncing, and then Trott is yanking them both out of the backseat.

“We need to go, now.” Trott hisses. “Ross, you fly, far as you can ahead. The old shack, by the river. Stay there, they don’t know about it.”

Smith is dropping dark red boxes into the car, and Sips feels the sickness in his stomach well. The pounding is getting closer. Trott stands before Sips, head bowed in one last act of love and subservice to his king. “I’m sorry.” He says.

Sips kisses the top of his head. Feels the softness of his lovely servant's hair one more time. “Go.” He releases Trott, and thinks he sees tears past the hardened resolution in Trott’s face as the selkie takes off on foot towards the water and the pounding follows him.

“Come and get me, you bastards!” Trott screams, and Sips weakly smiles at the silhouetted middle fingers Trott holds high.

“Come on.” Smith whispers softly as soon as the murderous mob passes. “Get on my back, before the fuses burn out.”

“What?” Sips says, and Smith just huffs and reaches into Sips’ pocket and pulls out the leather strip, hanging it around his neck so the ends trail down is back and kneels on the ground, facing away from Sips.

“Grab it and hold the fuck on.” Smith urges him as Trott’s whooping fades out in the distance. Sips obeys, and suddenly Smith is shifting, wet and wild as he becomes a steed for their king.

“Woah.” Sips says, and the rest of his words are lost to the wind as Smith gallops into the tree line and away from the rocking explosion behind them.

————

“Fuck you.” Trott spits out the sand in his mouth onto the ground, mucky and stained with blood. They’d caught him with an aggravating ease thanks to modern weapons, shot at him with harpoons and arrows and double-barreled shotguns, hauled him out of the water and ripped his skin from him with searing magic. He’s without clothes now and bleeding from his side where the broken remains of a spear still stick out, on his knees in front of Kirin- Kirin, the fae lord of the whole city. His hunting party holds Trott’s pelt, ready to desecrate it.

“Burn it.” Kirin says, never taking his eyes off Trott. Trott doesn’t falter from his disrespectful manners, even though he knows what’s coming. “Where are they, selkie?”

“I hope you rot in the witch’s domain.” Trott flashes his teeth, bloodstained from ripping enemies to bits in the water before his face contorts into sharp pain as the fae light his skin on fire.

“Harsh words.” Kirin muses, gripping Trott’s chin. “And you sacrificed yourself for nothing.” Trott spits again in his agony, right into Kirin’s face even as he can feel himself burning alive from the inside out.

Kirin drops Trott back to the sand of the beach, wiping his face off with disgust and watches the selkie writhe until his seal skin is almost all burnt to ash before driving his sword through Trott’s heart to the fae’s cries of “No Mercy!”

———————

They hear the cheering float all the way down the river, clinging to each other in the ruins of a house where Smith first stole Ross away. They all feel it, like a hot iron to their souls. “Fuck!” Smith's voice cracks sharply as he sobs. His hair hangs wet in front of his face, his clothes rendered useless and waterlogged.

They’re not quite sure what to do then, as they hear the rhythmic pounding of the pack on the Hunt again, and Sips curls his fist in the hem of Ross’s shirt.

“Go.” Ross says quietly, and Smith and Sips stare at him as the gargoyle disentangles himself and stands. Smith opens to his mouth to protest, and Ross cuts him off. “Smith, go. Take Sips and get as far away as you can, don’t stop. You know you can’t carry us both on your back.”

“Come here.” Sips says gruffly, standing too and pulling Ross in towards him, hugging Ross tightly and breathing in the scent of fresh paved roads and dust and the hint of saltwater that came from Trott that still lingers on Ross’s clothes.

Smith presses the last of the explosives and a remote detonator into Ross’s hands and kisses him. “Thank you for stealing me.” Ross says, and then watches as Smith and Sips disappear into the night, sweeping over the few human tracks Sips leaves.

“Hey assholes!” Ross booms into the night when the two have gotten well away, and hears the pounding swerve to draw close to him.

————

Ross goes out in a blaze, like the church he was once bound to. Rigs the shack with explosives and gets as many as he can to come in, stabbing with his tail and shredding with his claws until the ratty couch where he and Smith had bound themselves to each other is surrounded by the downed corpses.

He tires all too soon, made of stone almost as old as Kirin and of borrowed fragments that were never truly meant to be a part of him. They jump him, pin him down and take delight in ripping the gems from his body that Honeydew had given him to repair himself with. He waits until he hears Kirin come up the stairs and then whaps his tail onto the button he’d kept hidden under the couch.

Kirin finds him in the rubble, burnt and charred fae around him, his right arm broken off into concrete dust and the rest of him trapped under rubble.

“You were my favorite.” Kirin says softly, kneeling beside Ross, who coughs ash from his mouth and looks weakly at Kirin with blue eyes that are fading to dull grey.

“Eat shit.” Ross grinds out, his voice raspy and he coughs again, trying to free himself from the smoldering beams on top of him. Kirins tsks at him, and holds a scrap of-

Oh stars above- Ross thinks-

fur in front of his face. “Trott decided to go the hard way out.”

Ross grits his teeth, exhales slowly even though he knows he doesn’t need to breathe at all. “The witch will use your bones for fertilizer.”

Kirin sighs and shake his head at the stubbornness. He cleanly puts his sword through Ross's heart, watching the gargoyle break apart into shards, leaving behind a pair of ripped jeans and shirt that burn quickly in the spreading fire of the shack’s remains. ———————————————-

They’re in a thick forest- it all looks the same to Sips as the trees whip past and he presses himself close to Smith’s mane to keep his face safe from the foliage they crash through.

He can feel Smith falter beneath as they draw out of range of the water, and he can hear the labored breaths as Smith’s form starts to fail him after so much exertion.

“Stop.” Sips whispers into Smith’s ear, and the horse pays no mind, running on. The ground is damp behind them, an easy trail to follow. There is no pounding, no shouting to be heard.

“Smiffy, stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Sips begs again when he feels Smith stumble, hard, and finally Smith stops, and sips slides off his back, letting Smith turn back to human. He’s covered in sweat and his eyes are wild as he gasps for air.

“They got them, oh fuck- Ross is dead, mate-” Smith whimpers, holding his arm where he’d bound himself to Ross and Sips knows Smith isn’t lying with the creeping coldness he feels too.

“We gotta hide.” Sips says, his own voice shaky, and drags Smith after him into the brush, holding the trembling kelpie’s head in his lap.

The night is cold, and the hunters are relentless. It’s just after midnight- or as far as Sips can tell, when the pounding jolts him from his sleep and he shakes Smith awake with a hissed “Shhhh.” Smith sits up and rubs at his tear stained face, staring with wide eyes out into the dark at the lights drawing near.

They stay silent, curled up to each other, Sips drenched by the water and tears that haven't stopped dripping off of Smiffy. The pounding gets close, the wild whoops of creatures who have gone so long without a hunt like this and the roaring noise that sounds like Smith’s cars yet distinctly primeval. Sips shudders, and feels Smith tense against him.

It goes dead quiet, and the lights hold still. Smith bares his teeth at whatever lies outside the brush, a defiant shout growing in the back of his throat. Sips holds Smith’s arm tight and reins him back.

The brush atop of them parts, and Kirin looks down at them. He’s got blood smeared across his beard and he smells thickly of ash and fire. “Found you.” He says and Smith lunges from Sips’ hands, a broken cry rattling out of his throat as he goes straight for Kirin’s neck with a thin blade Sips had carried for him.

Sips stares, helpless and mortal as Smith and Kirin grapple, water spraying around them as Smith drives the knife into Kirin’s upper arm over and over and Kirin wraps his wide hand around Smith’s throat and squeezes until Smith is choking and can’t hold the knife anymore, driving the point of the blade one last time into Kirin’s arm and then trying to pry the fingers from around his throat as he’s shoved to his knees.

“Sips.” Kirin’s voice is commanding, and Sips stands up from the brush slowly, noting the circle that the hunting party has formed around them. “Come here.”

Sips stands his ground, hands shoved in his pockets and slouching. He blames his shaking on the cold air and his soaked jeans and sweatshirt. His cap was long gone to the forest, leaving him feeling exposed. “Let Smiffy breathe.” He drawls, tries to keep the fear out of his voice. He meets Smith’s eyes and Smiffy looks as terrified and angry as Sips feels.

Kirin tosses Smith to the left of him into a tree, hard. “Consider that your dying request.” Kirin says as Smith wheezes and gasps for air. The fae descend on Smith and bind him to the tree with iron rope and Smith wails in pain. Sips shrugs and steps closer, never taking his hands out of his pockets.

“So nice of you.” Sips says flatly. He feels the weight of the small gun in his pocket, the cold metal against his palm. He’s only got one shot.

“Your court harmed my property, severely.” Kirin crosses his arms. There’s just a few feet between the two rulers, despite the power difference.

“Yeah. I’d say you, uh, harmed my property pretty severely too.” Sips tries to laugh, but he feels broken inside. He’s never getting them back.

Kirin reaches into a pocket and holds out his hand. Sips can see a scrap of fur and the glint of something blue. Smith strains at his bindings and wails another outraged cry that is stifled as fabric is stuffed into his mouth.

“If you rescind all ties with them, you’re free to go.” Kirin’s teeth flash unnaturally white as he offers the remnants of Sips’ court to him. “No mercy!” shouts a group of fae and Kirin’s tail lashes in irritation. They fall silent, but Sips finds it in him to sneer at Kirin.

“You fuckin’ think I’m still just a mortal they kidnapped?” Sips tightens his hand around the gun, sees a space between the armor that Kirin wears. “Play by your own rules or don’t play at all.”

He sees Smith out of the corner of his eye, straining, looking angry and proud of his king as Sips whips the little pistol out and shoots. Sips stumbles backwards with the force of the magic-imbued shot, landing on his ass in the muddy grass and watches Kirin stumble backwards too, the fur and shard falling from his hand. The fae shout and Smith struggles to break free in the clamor. Sips stares as Kirin rights himself, and smiles a wide grin and traces over the dent in his armor.

“Bring me the kelpie.” Kirin unsheathes his sword as he stares down Sips with malice, and Sips feels frozen in place as Smith is dragged and forced on his knees in front of Kirin, facing Sips, prone. “Smiffy-” Sips breathes and Smith gives him a tired smile around the gag.

Kirin grabs a handful of Smith’s hair and drags it back until Smith’s neck is bared. Sips feels the fae closing in around him but not touching him, not yet.

“No mercy.” Kirin spits and drives the sword home, through Smith’s back and out through his heart.

Sips stares at the blood on the iron blade, at Smiffy’s face frozen in hatred and hears dimly the sounds of chanting fae as Kirin drops Smith’s body to the ground ands pulls his sword out.

“Last words?” Kirin asks him, and Sips blinks out of his haze, staring up at the fae lord.

“Yeah.” Sips says and sneers again. It's started to rain, and the drops are cool on his skin. He’ll see the others soon, wherever dead assholes like them end up. “Smiffy says the witch is comin, and I say the witch is gonna win. Also, fuck you.”

Kirin slams the blade down into Sips’ heart with no hesitance, and then pulls it out, lifting it high.

The Hunt is over.

#hatfic #yogfic #urban magic yogs #the garbage court #rewrite #sparxflame #swyogs

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