#The Blue Ox Trail

[wonderlesch]

Amazing Travel Adventures - Minnesota

Amazing Travel Adventures - Minnesota shares travel destination for lovers of hiking, learning, singing and much more. Start planning your next Minnesota getaway. Let's travel Minnesota Style! #newblogpostalert #thingstodoinminnesota #wonderlesch

Hello and welcome to my latest travel destination guide Amazing Travel Adventures – Minnesota. This blog post shares must see and must do adventures Minnesota style. Read on to explore Gooseberry State Park with its upper, middle and lower waterfalls (each waterfall has its own beauty and its own vibe). Learn about Iona’s Singing Beach (I’m a fan of singing beaches, black sand beaches, and well,…

[soapcloth]

Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint

not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.

You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?

Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.

“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”

“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”

The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”

“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.

“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.

Wrong move.

Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”

You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.

John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”

You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“

“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.

He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”

[hihomeghere]

My eyes only | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 500+ (just a little guy) Summary : Arthur thinks you look like a work of art Warnings/tags : Fluff, allusions to smut, nakedness, Arthur being in love, set in Shady Bell.

“You look like one of them paintings.” Arthur said lying next to you. Supporting himself on his arm as he sat up, his blanket hanging low on his hips. The sight offers you the slightest peek at the low v of his pelvis. His arm unconsciously flexed, the muscles of his bicep pulled tight.

“What do you mean?” You chuckled, rolling over to face him. Heat poured off your skin, your hair sticking to the back of your neck as you come down from your high. The only thing covering your nakedness was a flimsy sheet, pulled lazily over your body by Arthur.

“You know, those portraits.” He said, a wicked grin on his face, “The ones that French feller made in Saint Denis.”

“Arthur!” You laughed, hitting him on the chest, a satisfying slap echoing through the room.

“What?” He laughed, deep and heartily. His shoulder shook as he grinned.

“You’re awful.” You said, shaking your head, trying to hide your smile.

“You’re laughin’.”

“Am not!” You chuckled looking up at the rotted ceiling. He rolled over, wrapping his hand around your bare waist. Digging his fingers into the soft skin of your side, you squirmed laughing under him. “Stop! Stop!” You cried, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. The setting sun peeking through the window, illuminating Arthur’s backside like a halo. Although he was anything but an angel at the moment. “I’m gonna pee!” You laughed, your hands planted on his chest as you tried to shove the ox of a man off of you.

“Alright, alright.” He relented, collapsing on top of you. You let out a loud ‘omph’ as he pushed all the air out of your lungs. You rolled your eyes, your fingers drawing mindless patterns along his freckled back.

He picked up his head, smirking up at you. “I’m serious, ya know?” He said softly, his finger trailing down your cheek. The hands of a killer, hands that have beaten and broken the strongest of men. Now lay featherlight touches along your face. “You’re beautiful.” He said, a soft blush covering his cheeks, the scars on his nose and chin a stark white against his skin.

If anyone looked like a work of art it would be Arthur. His body seemed to be carved out of marble, strong and hard. His muscles rippled under his flesh. And those eyes, bright blue pools you often found yourself drowning in.

“I think I should be saying that to you.” You whisper, smiling up at him. He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Nah, ain’t much to look at here ‘cept for you.” He mumbled, laying a kiss on your shoulder. You’d have to disagree, but your words die on your tongue as his lips lay a trail over your collarbone and up your neck.

“Maybe I should ask Mr. Châtenay to paint my likeness, hm?” You tease. His hand, no longer laying dormant next to your body, squeezes your hip.

“Not a chance in hell darlin’.” He said grinning wickedly at you. His other hand that had been moving along your cheek gripped the back of your neck. “You’re for my eyes only.”

[serpentface]

Brakul Red-Dog was a decidedly handsome man, though soft featured and fishbelly pale in complexion. He was tall and thickly muscled, with a heavyset wrestler’s build that spoke to years of bodily conflict between hard labor and good eating. His hair was a striking orange-blonde, which he always kept shorn close to the scalp. His brows, beard and mustache were darker in color, bushy but well-trimmed and fastidiously maintained. He always spoke slowly and with great care, less for Wardi being his second language and more for the gap between his front teeth that would whistle, rather embarrassingly, were he not careful. He was born of the Hill Tribes, specifically a clan of farmers and cattle drivers on the north side of the Erubin river valley. If Brakul's hair and accent wasn't enough, his tattooing made these heathen origins abundantly clear. Trailing down beneath each deep brown eye was a vertical line bordered with four dots apiece. His upper arms were braced with alternating banded patterns of lines, dots, and square whorls. Most eye-catching was on the left of his broad chest, where a figure of a dog seemed to bound majestically over his nipple.  Brakul would often be seized by a nostalgic melancholy in drunkenness and set about explaining his markings to his Wardi compatriots, tracing over his skin and identifying each point in his slow, deep voice. His arms and face, apparently, contained exhaustive detail about his family tree; fathers and grandfathers and brothers and brothers-in-law and uncles and great-uncles and second cousins and so on. The nuances of how some circles and rectangles could do so always eluded Janeys.  The dog was fresher, the ink black where the rest faded blue-gray, and its meaning simpler. It was a bit of a bitter joke, a nod to his war name ‘Red-Dog’. Apparently, his people would tattoo the symbol of their clan's name over the heart upon final initiations into manhood. Brakul never got the chance, given he’d left his brothers, wife, and child for foreign causes and a foreign lad, and as such had been thoroughly disowned. The dog was the only name he had left. Janeys knew of people who oh-so-creatively derided Brakul as ‘Haidamane’s dog’ and chinmachen based on this. These were, of course, absolute fucking morons. Anyone with half a brain and the barest observational skill would know the man was completely and utterly ganmachen, ox-faced by both temperament and birthsign. Hardy in nature, placid and quiet under most circumstances, stubborn to a fault, and dangerous when pressed.  It was Janeys who was born under the dog stars, though this he kept secret, implying himself to be his dear Faiza’s twin when asked. The two of them looked much alike after all, and were born just over a year apart. It took only this small, harmless exaggeration to claim her far more auspicious birthsign as his own, which was well worth the risks of dishonesty. Janeys had enough problems - and more than enough scathing epithets - without the addition of ‘bitch-faced’ to his good name, thank you very much.

Janeys' POV introducing Brakul Red-Dog, himself, and (loosely) the Wardi zodiac system

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

I have spiders on the brain, help (I’m thinking about Driders, lots and LOTS of them) 😭

Drider Johnathan would be so scary, mating season is coming and he’s busy with preparations as he wants everything to be perfect only to be surprised to see a Human! (He’s only ever seen Males) So he begins to quietly stalk until he gets the chance to pounce his next prey!

Only to be surprised that this human is a Woman! (He becomes embarrassed and begins to apologize as he’s never encountered a ‘Young Lady’, showing his gentleman side)

He ignores Darlings struggles as he takes her to his den to make it up to her with some supper and to check to see if he accidentally harmed her (He becomes fascinated by how small and dainty she is compared to him and his kind, as Females are known for being bigger, but he’s an exception since he’s as big as a female *Real Spider Biology, in most species the Females are mainly bigger than the males*)

OR

Darling and Drider Johnathan met when they were children?

Darling got lost in the woods, only to be found by Johnathan (Who was only a bit bigger than her) who wants to help her because he’s trying to become a Gentleman!

Darling was fascinated by his appearance as she’s never met a someone with so many legs! (They’re covered in blue fluff)

Darling and Johnathan became friends during the years, with JoJo getting big and strong as an Ox (Keeping their friendship a secret) as he gifted her many animal pelts during the years as well as offerings of food like meat and berries (As part of a mating ritual)

However when Johnathan learns Darling is engaged and getting married he becomes upset (No doubt thinking she’s being married against her will) so he intends to find the man and get rid of him (Turn him into his dinner) and take Darling away and off into his Burrow (A big cave) where they can start a family together!

I can see Johnathan be a Goliath Birdeater as a Drider (As well as Joseph and Jotaro being Goliath Birdeaters too because of their size)

I’m having another weird idea for a Drider Johnathan or Risotto (I’m picturing Risotto as a Great Huntsman Spider for a Drider)

Oh boy, one thing about. I hate spiders, too many close calls with spiders. And huntsmans, don't even get me started with those bastards who just like to drop right in front of you for no reason.

But I love my monsters!

I can't say much on species as even looking at pictures gives me goosebumps.

Warnings: NSFWish, non con elements, Somnophilia

I like the first idea of him seeing darling in the middle of the forrest. Now I propose a language barrier. He sees that darling has already been injured and takes her back with him. He's trying to calm her down as he takes her back to his den but she doesn't understand a word he's saying and vice versa.

Only when he uses his webbing to close up a big cut does she somewhat understand what's going on. Still she's terrified.

She does through her hiking bag to grab her phone only to find it smashed beyond function. Eventually she offers dried berries to try and gauge his temperament. Unfortunately he takes this as a sign of courtship. He denys them as darling needs them to heal up, but inside he's a giddy mess to have such a cute human propose to him. He's working like crazy on preparing his den for her as well as making sure she's healthy.

Then one night he undresses her and wraps her tightly into his web while she sleeps, something that was customary due to how aggressive female driders could be, not that he was afraid of her hurting him.

He takes his time to trail his hands over her, admiring her form. If any of his kind found out about this he'd be labeled a creep but he didn't care.

[flashyfics]

Summary: Law awaits his first meeting with Luffy, and it goes differently than he expected. Hi, please read me.

I have never read One Piece, and I think I've watched like maybe(?) 10 episodes.

This is a poorly written birthday gift <3

Happy Birthday to my very best friend @chenziee After years of discussing Lawlu with you, here is a fic that is out of character and very inaccurate! (and yes I'm posting it here now to embarrass you even further.)

Read on AO3 above or click keep reading below.

This was it, the meeting of a lifetime. 

And Law Trafalgar didn’t know what to do with himself. 

He laid there, facing the peaceful blue sky with his hands tucked comfortably behind his head. The montsuki he wore was too tight across his chest, falling open instead and revealing the ink that decorated his light skin. He cursed himself for letting the Polar Bear (?????) take his measurements. The fabric, a deep onyx that was thin and breathable, was loose around the hips even with his belt; the damn thing was trying to fall off of him. Polar Bear convinced him to get an obnoxiously bright orange belt for it, insisting that it would pair nicely with the white trim. 

It did not. 

If anything, the belt screamed ‘look at my junk as it blows in the wind!’ 

With his left knee standing, he could feel a refreshing breeze as it made its way under his montsuki, cooling his hot skin as he let the sun shine down on him. 

Nothing made him feel more at peace than the fresh sea air. He sighed and took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and his eyes closing. The morning sun was kind to him, only greeting him with a touch of warmth before another wave of salty air took over. 

Surely, he had time to rest before meeting this other crew. 

“Uh, Law?” 

His eyes flashed open, the sun setting in the distance, the sky which was a calming blue now stared down at him with deep purples and pinks as the stars made their appearance. 

Law sat up quickly, gritting his teeth as he prepared to chew out the Polar Bear for letting him sleep the entire day away–

But beside the bear, stood the man of his dreams. 

Monkey D. Luffy, the captain of the.. Uh Sunny Crew? Wait no, Straw Hat??

The captain's grin was almost contagious, his arms sticking out on either side of him as he announced his presence. 

“I’m Luffy!” the captain declared loudly and oddly out of character. “This Polar Bear was kind enough to lead me to you, it’s great to meet you!” 

Law couldn’t believe it. When he heard the stories of Monkey D. Luffy, Law imagined a man 240cm tall, built like an ox, and with a frown that would be contagious; not a damn smile.

A smile so charming he wanted to claim it for himself. 

Law stared up at him, his tongue tied and his emotions battling inside, uncertainty filling his mind as he considered the words to say. 

Their temporary alliance was a necessity. Law knew he couldn’t stand against his uncle, Flamingo(?) on his own. Try as he might, even he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the man and strangle him with his own boa without an entire army defending him. Or was it marines? Uh.

Luffy titled his head at him, like an adorable little sea pup that doesn’t know what way was up. “Does he not talk?” Luffy asked with a sideways glance to the bear. 

“No, he does, he just uh..” The Polar Bear trailed off, wearing his own ridiculous orange suit which Law now realizes it matches the belt. 

Luffy crouched down, putting his hands on his knees and getting face to face with Law. He could feel his cheeks heat up and hoped that it wasn’t too noticeable. “Oh wow, you’re really handsome!” 

And the blush grew deeper.

How he wished he could run his hands through his soft dark hair, to rest his hands on either side of this man’s face and kiss him with all of the adoration he could muster. To trace his hands over the scar that crossed over his chest, like his own little treasure map that led straight to Luffy’s heart. A treasure that he wanted now more than anything. 

If anyone could hear his inner thoughts, they would think he lost his damn mind. 

“I like your robe, but it looks like it could slip off with a hard breeze!” He smiled again, making Law’s heart beat rapidly, his pulse practically vibrating within him. “It’s nice to meet you," he said again, inching closer.  

And it was nice to meet him too. Which was all Law had to say. Literally anything would be good to say.

He sat there, simply blinking with no reply, he finally said the first thing that he could manage. 

“I will worship you like a god.”  

“Huh?” 

Ah fuck. 

“Law- Trafalgar D. Water Law, that’s my name.” Smooth. 

Luffy sprang up, grabbing Law’s hands and pulling him up with him. “Like Trifle?! I love Trifles!” 

Law nodded, “Exactly, Trafalgar, like a Trifle.” 

“But, Law, that’s not even remotely close–” Polar Bear began, but clamped his mouth shut when Law shot him a deadly glare. 

Luffy took Law’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as they walked together and back to where their boats were docked. 

For the first time, in a long time, Law smiled and let himself indulge in everything that was Luffy. 

But no sex because they’re both Ace. 

The end. 

[theriverspath]

Ineffable May, Day 22: 1941

Rated Teen for spicy tension and one mild language.

Crowley lounged on the little sofa of the dressing room, trying not to listen to the rustle of fabric coming from the other side of the changing screen. When a pair of tan trousers were neatly draped over the top, and the black ones tugged down to disappear behind it, he tried (and failed) to not imagine a half-naked angel sliding socked feet into each leg one at a time.

“You know, you really should go take your seat in the auditorium. It’ll raise suspicion if you aren’t there for the first half of the show. We wouldn’t want anyone else in the audience to realize you’re my, what we call in the business, ‘confederate.’” Crowley heard the quotes around the last word, and cringed at his own reaction. What was it about this fussy, enthusiastic side of Aziraphale that caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in his chest? It had been that way for so long that he’d lost track of when it had begun. In Rome maybe, with the oysters? His mind slid past that, back to that old basement and the ox rib. The butterflies kicked up, threatening to swirl lower down his corporation. Nope. Best not to dwell on that for too long…

“Sure, if that’s what you want, angel. But, maybe I should stick around until you’ve finished changing into your costume? To, er,” Crowley scrambled for a reason to justify his unwillingness to simply saunter out of here, to give up this chance to be in this room alone with Aziraphale, “To have another set of eyes to look over things? Could be useful.” There was a pause in Aziraphale’s movement, and Crowley held his breath. He only let it out when the angel replied.

“Yes, alright.” The words were quieter, a little slower. He didn’t have time to figure out what that meant because the angel stepped out from behind the screen. Crowley stood, suddenly unable to stay still.

“Well, what do you think?” Aziraphale took up the little bit of floor space the cluttered room offered. There was a hopeful, unsure look on his face. He spread his arms a tad, and the sparkling starbursts on his sky-blue cape twinkled in the lights from the vanity. The butterflies in Crowley’s chest settled, replaced by a warm glow.

“Marvelous,” he said, and meant it. Aziraphale smiled, relief flooding in with his happy nervousness.

“Crowley, I can’t thank you enough for this.” Aziraphale took a step forward, and Crowley tried his best to not give in to the temptation to close the rest of the distance between them. “If it weren’t for you…” They both jumped at the loud rapping on the room’s door.

“The show’s starting, Mr. Fell.” A bored voice sounded from the hallway. “You’re on in fifteen.” The speaker didn’t wait for a reply, and they both heard footsteps trail away.

“Well, um. I guess I should…” Crowley gestured past Aziraphale to the door. “Like you said, don’t want to give the game away.”

“Yes, I suppose you should.” Aziraphale nodded, but didn’t move to let Crowley pass. Instead, his eyes remained on the demon’s face. Crowley saw a question in them, and felt his own breath catch. “Before you go, perhaps you could help with my stage makeup? I never can,” Aziraphale cleared his throat and swallowed before continuing. “I never can seem to get the mustache even on both sides.” So quickly it surprised Crowley, he leaned over to the vanity’s desk and snatched up a kohl pencil. Was he imagining it, or did Aziraphale’s hand shake when he offered it to Crowley?

“Er, mmm, uh, yeah, okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll see what I can do.” Crowley mentally kicked himself as he stumbled his way through agreeing to the angel’s request. He took the makeup stick, and his pinkie made contact with Aziraphale’s hand. Sparks flew up his arm, just as they did when he’d handed over the book satchel after the bomb, just as they did when the beaming angel had grabbed his hand in the magic shop. Aziraphale took another step forward so that he was close enough for Crowley to reach. He tilted his face up and closed his eyes, apparently waiting for the demon to start.

Crowley thought his corporation might just spontaneously combust at the sight. He deposited his glasses onto the vanity and took a steadying breath, realizing only too late that Aziraphale could probably feel his exhale. He lifted the pencil and placed it just above the angel’s lip. Slowly, he drew a curved line ending in a little curl. Aziraphale didn’t react, staying perfectly still under the movement. When Crowley tried to start the second side, his hand was too unsteady.

Without really thinking about it, he slid his free hand around the back of Aziraphale’s head to brace himself. He froze at the small gasp of surprise the touch elicited. Pale pink lips parted, and stayed that way. He waited, but Aziraphale didn’t show any signs of wanting him to remove the hand. Unable to look away from the delicate beauty of Aziraphale’s cupid’s bow, Crowley completed his task without knowing if he had achieved the even appearance asked of him.

When he lifted the pencil from Aziraphale’s cheek, he glanced up to find gray-blue eyes looking into his. The question was still in them, and Crowley wanted more than anything to answer it. He felt Aziraphale sway forward, and his fingers gathered the soft curls they had buried themselves into.

“Angel, I…” Crowley’s voice came out as a hoarse plea. He had to know if this was alright, if this was what Aziraphale wanted, too. Did he really see the smallest of nods?

The clomp of heeled shoes and the peal of women’s laughter penetrated the wood of the room’s door. The first number was over, and the dancers were returning to their own rooms to change. Out of instinct, Crowley’s eyes flicked towards the unexpected sound. He felt Aziraphale stiffen in his touch. He looked back down to find the angel blinking, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Thank-” Aziraphale was breathing heavy, like he did when nervous. “Thank you. That was most helpful.” Crowley’s heart sunk. It had been too much, afterall. He released Aziraphale and stepped back. He retrieved his glasses and returned them to his face.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you on stage.” With that, Crowley slithered his way around the angel and slipped out the door. He nearly ran into a human holding a clipboard. The man raised his eyebrows in a knowing look. He even had the audacity to wink at Crowley as he knocked on the door.

“Five minutes, Mr. Fell.” Crowley curled his lip, growling at the human for his puckish impertinence. Unintimidated, the man merely snorted a laugh and walked off down the hallway. Crowley straightened his already impeccably arranged tie, settled his features into an approximation of bored nonchalance, and made his way to the audience. He had better get himself together if he was going to be of any use to Aziraphale in this damned foolish bullet catch trick. 

-------

prompt list

[velarisbynight]

Stone Statues and Viperous Hair

Elain x Ianthe

a/n: this might ruffle some people’s feathers, so please scroll past if you aren’t interested! 🩷🩷

warnings: Ianthe; Elain being a seer

word count: 1.6k~

~~~~

Vanilla and marzipan follows in her wake, diaphanous pink trailing behind the soft-padded footsteps of the female as she passes through the desolate halls of the Spring Court temple. 

Earth-roughened hands lay home-grown flowers to the foot of the altar—pale white lilies, the interior of the narrow, creamy petals speckled with mauve and striped through with a peachy blush. Gentle fingers with clipped nails reorganise the bunch, so they’re laying neatly atop the hard, rectangular cushions, situated to lay one’s knees upon for comfort of praying. 

Ringlets of burnished gold slide forward over full, pale shoulders as the female bows her head, hands resting in her lap, falling to silence. 

~~~~

Ianthe sits comfortable, concealed deep within the interior of her temple. Powdery blue cushions litter the private sanctuary, sheer silk curtains strung from the coned-ceiling, illustrations of the seasons passing around the circumference. Barley and corn are painted in gold, cattle in ox-blood red though the paint is peeling, seeds and shoots glow with lush green, and the sun’s rays stretch like narrow threads to every part of the year, though they wane in winter. Silver chimes hang from the entrance: stars and crescent moons, thin rings and fat drops of metal, a shower of hand-crafted charms dripping down to the cracked tile floor, each one no bigger than the nail of one’s finger. 

The pale blue stone mounted on Ianthe’s brow swirls with iridescence, fading to its dull navy once thick lashes raise from teal eyes, the magic nulled. 

Ianthe had paid little attention to the female visiting at first—had hardly noticed her comings and goings in the dead of night. Just another virtue-signalling visitor, pretending to pray merely because it’s what’s expected in this court. But then she’d begun appearing at night, a supple figured creature creeping into the swirling blue of her priestess’ stone, slipping into Ianthe’s unconscious mind with every night-time visit. Ianthe had considered removing the stone from her brow, but a cold sweat rises to her skin at the mere thought of disobeying the rules instilled into her from a young age, fearing those dagger-tipped fingers.

The temple is empty save for the female whose name alone has a mix of sickness and fury icing and heating her blood in equal parts. Elain Archeron. Archeron. 

The carpals in her ruined hand burn with pain, aches searing through her wrist to her forearm, shooting to her shoulder and burning through her palm. How long has it been seen Ianthe’s ventured to the outside? When was the last time Ianthe breathed air, untouched by dampness and mildew, laced with the fermented burn of ethanol that was mixed with varnish to seal the golden paint in high above?  

Ianthe has no recollection of where her hatred came from, nor her fear; the sweat-slicked terror that sears through her blood, coming from allowing her teal eyes to ponder the pale fullness of exposed shoulders for a moment longer than she should. 

How dare the female visit her temple; seek refuge beneath its high-topped roof; find peace in Ianthe’s prison cell. 

How dare she be the cause of the tempest of swelling desire and anguish that laces her blood. 

How dare she invade her only sanctuary. 

~~~~

Elain raises her head when the air stirs, motes shifting faintly against her skin, senses preternaturally aware. 

A faint prickling of hairs gathers on the righthand side of her body, cocoa eyes remaining still and steady as her pulse spikes. Is someone else here? It should be empty. 

Her throat rolls, gaze set on the lilies while her ears search for noise, sharpening for any sign to flee. Elain despises the idea of anyone witnessing such a private passing of prayer. 

Dust stirs to her right, and without shifting her gaze she can find the figure concealed a few hallways away, through the antechamber with six ionic-carved columns upholding the ceiling. Elain’s brow narrows, finding the female’s eyes closed, the stone contained within her silver circlet shimmering. Priestess robes wrap her body, and her silvery-pale hair hangs like deadened snakes down her torso. 

Through her mind, Elain encroaches further, her conscious floating nearer until she can make out the myriad of opalescent grains twinkling within the whirlpool of blue, a darkness at its centre, not dissimilar from the pupil of one’s—

Teal eyes snap open, the stone pupil closing, and an icy gaze glares throughout the empty chamber. Elain recoils, slamming back into her body, panting faintly in the frigid air of the temple. She’d been caught. 

~~~~

Ianthe trembles in her seat, staring out between the twinkling silver of the charms, the six pillars lining the entrance to the enclosure, practically a pathway to find her, if the female chooses to seek further. A pearl of sweat slides down the pronounced knuckles of Ianthe’s spine, breath misting as it curls in hot tendrils from her lips. The sense of something much larger than herself looms in the background of her recent memory, terror coiling in her chest at the depth of that power, a cauldron frothing over its wrought-iron lip, pale fingers tracing the circumference, eyes as pale as the full moon staring out from behind the thickened mist, piercing right into the Priestess’ sanctuary. 

On shaking calves, Ianthe rises to her bare feet, parting the frozen stream of silver charms to peer out into the empty antechamber. Through that door at the far end, down the hallway and left, along the second hallway, turn to the right, and she’ll find the alter. The female knelt at its base, choosing to lay her skin upon the unforgiving tiles rather than the rectangular cushions provided. 

They’re probably damp by now, anyway. 

~~~~

On hesitant feet, Elain trails through the doorways and hallways, carried by curiosity deeper into the temple to places and rooms she hasn’t ventured before. The air here is as stagnant as it is in the main chamber where she’d come from, except it’s lonelier. Nobody’s come down these hallways in a long while—she can tell.

Two heavy doors lead to the six ionic-carved pillars, and at the far end…the Priestess. 

Elain can see clearly that the robes are far from pristine, heavy and creased around a narrow body. Teal eyes stare out from the darkness, though they’re practically hidden beneath the weight of the large stone sat on her brow, wreathed in a delicate silver circlet.

Elain steps into the antechamber, the air noticeably cooler within the windowless, high-topped cavern. She pauses only a few paces inside, observing the stillness of the priestess’ body, thinking of the ones who take refuge within the library of the Night Court. In as gentle a tone as she can manage, she calls out, “Who are you?”  

Heartbeats pass, thumping into the silence of the chamber until the female inclines her chin, pressing a pale, bare foot to the tiled floor of the temple, stepping out from the darkness. “This is my Temple.” She replies, standing tall and wiry in the dim light of darkness. The crest of teal eyes narrow, sharpening. “And what are you?” 

“I am a seer.” Elain’s tongue swipes across dry, rosey lips. “I felt you watching me.” Despite the distance and darkness, it’s easy to pick out the rigidity that crawls up the priestess’ spine. “This is my Temple,” the priestess repeats, firmer than before. “I oversee it.” 

Elain’s breath hitches, foot inching half a step closer. “You are also a Seer?” 

A pale hand raises to the stone atop her brow, tapping it with the sharpened point of her nail. “I see through my Invoking Stone.” 

So, no. 

Elain can’t help the discouraged slope of her shoulders. But, “I haven’t seen you before. —In the Temple, I mean.” 

A pause, then, “I keep to myself.” 

Spring is still rebuilding itself, even so long after it fell. Elain wonders if the Priestess remained here even throughout the desertion. Did she stay out of a sense of duty, or fear? A mix of both? …she could probably find out, by taking less than a few steps further and gauging how she would react. 

Elain dips her head once. She has her answers—the Priestess was watching over her Temple. Elain can leave, now. But she doesn’t. “Have you seen me before?” 

“No.” 

“I frequent your Temple. You would have seen me before.” 

“Not in person,” the priestess replies, tone icing over. 

“But through your Invoking Stone?” 

A beat, then the swift dip of her head. Elain’s throat bobs. “Then, you’ve seen me pray.” It’s not quite a question. 

“A number of times,” The priestess replies, shifting on her bare feet. “I watch over everyone who enters.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s my Temple.”

There’s a note hidden in that chord, somewhere. A note of emotion Elain can’t quite place, but it sounds like anger. “I didn’t mean to intrude… Temples are open to anyone, aren’t they?” 

Narrow lips purse, nails digging into sunken skin. 

Elain swallows then straightens her spine, inclining her chin. “I’ll leave you to yourself.” She doesn’t want to be watched over during such a private exchange. That someone has been all this time…Elain’s skin crawls, a feeling on contamination spreading through her gut, slimy and cold. 

As Elain turns to leave, however, the priestess calls out. “You can stay.” Her voice tremors. “I haven’t… Hardly anyone else comes by. I won’t look if it’s just you.” 

Cocoa eyes flick over to the other end of the antechamber, but the female has vanished, retreated back behind the thin veil of silver and blue. Charms chiming in her wake. 

[danco110]

“Now, are you sure you want me on lookout duty?”

Bonny Pall restlessly hefted a massive axe over her shoulder while addressing the human lumberjacks at her feet. The other loggers quickly voiced their assent, having to shout to be heard due to their relatively minuscule stature.

“Uh, yep!” chimed one of the loggers, as she attacked a bramble-wreathed thicket. “Just keep keepin an eye out for sandwurms up there!”

“…Are you sure you’re sure? No need to be polite, we’re all pretty salt-of-the-earth, here. And I don’t mind doin the grunt work.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble! You’re helpin us out way more right there!”

“Is it because I might step on you? Cause I’ll be careful. And anyone can fend off sandwurms. Even Beau here can do it!” Bonny chuckled as she pointed over her shoulder with her free hand, to the massive blue ox standing patiently behind her. “C’mon, lemme help.”

A second human logger blanched at Bonny’s claim. “‘Anyone’? You sure you ain’t mixin that up there?”

“Sure I’m sure. Sandwurms are almost completely harmless, unless you get right up on their nests. Otherwise they only ever eat stuff that’s way smaller than…Oh, right.”

Bonny craned her neck down, just in time to see one of the loggers turn away to hide a smirk. She grimaced, and nodded before again turning her attention to the horizon.

“I’ll…keep watch.”

“We promise, we’re grateful! And we’re pretty sure this is the way to do it!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…?”

As if on cue, Bonny spotted a billowing trail of dust in the distance, fast approaching the loggers’ clearing. When the dust trail drew near, and the ground began to tremble, Bonny brought her axe down to shake the ground with tremendous force. A massive sandwurm burst from the earth, hissing and writhing as it fled, realizing she was no easy meal.

“See? You’re helpin!”

“I guess,” Bonny sighed, as she wistfully eyed the steadily shrinking thicket.

[m-tribs]

@finch-farran

Oxford had never been so glad to see the sun. The third day passed without much interest - perhaps there were other fights or actions happening across the Arena. Oxford had done his best to stay hidden, feeling more confident now that his shield from Enna provided him with a bit of a buffer between whatever might come at him. He tried not to think of the previous night, but it was no use: all throughout the day, he could see the face of 2 and Al as they fell to his machete.

He walked gingerly forward, the bruises from his fight with 2 growing deeper by the minute. There was no rhyme or reason to his exploration; he simply wanted to find someplace new that would allow him to hide out from the sun for a while. He found it in the way of an abandoned popcorn stand - the food was inedible, but at least the roof kept the sun off of his back.

Evening fell faster than he would have guessed, and Ox felt the need to hide from the guards. But after the faces flashed across the sky (including Al from Seven, and apparently Quarry Pitts from Two, but notably excluding Farina), the announcement about security that had rang out the past two nights didn't repeat. Instead there was a dull, electronic hiss, and many of the residual lights went out. Darkness - again.

Oxford fell into a fitful sleep. He was cramped in the small stall, and it seemed like movements were everywhere outside. But he couldn't fight his own exhaustion, and he eventually did pass out. The morning sun woke him all too soon, though, and he knew he had to strike out again.

The dull morning sun lit his way forward as he crept from shadow to shadow as best he could. That's when he saw it: the water park. With a short bark of relief, he rushed forward towards the tidal pool.

His approach was halted, though, by the overwhelming chemical smell of the water. It was clearly unfit to drink. That was a disappointment, to be sure, but that wasn't all water was good for. He approached cautiously and dipped a toe in. The water was lukewarm, and he didn't immediately feel any pain. He sunk his whole foot in, and was relieved to find it overwhelmingly welcoming. With a choked sob of gratitude, he dropped his gear, including his shield and bag, at the shallow end of the pool, and waded in up to his knees. He dunked his machete into the water, and watched in fascinated horror as days of blood washed away into the pool. Satisfied that it was clean, he gently tossed the blade back to rest with the rest of his stuff.

He waded out a bit deeper into the water and gently peeled his shirt off over his head. Dried blood cracked and popped as it failed to glue the fabric to his skin, and his bruises screamed at him with the effort, but he was glad to find very little of the blood was his. His arm was still scraped from his fight with Mack, and he could feel his face also bearing the battle wounds, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape.

He dunked the shirt under the water and it, too, created trails of red in the artificial blue. He gently dabbed at his body, cleaning viscera from his arms, his face, his torso. It was such a relief. He took a moment and sat on the bottom of the pool, allowing the water to reach about up to his shoulders, and briefly submerged his head, taking a moment to scrub the past few days out of his hair. The chemicals gently bit into Mack's scratches, but it was almost nice. It felt like healing, in a way.

It was odd, he realized, that the water was so stagnant. He could see from the blue tiling that the pool was meant to have much more water than it currently did. He scanned out over the pool and saw the culprit. A miniscule whirlpool could be seen, slowly turning a massive amount of refuse and greenery. There was a drain there, nearly fully clogged by debris. The pool must have been draining all night, but with the blockage could only drain so much. Oxford wasn't complaining, though. As long as there was water here, he would relish in it.

Ox knew it was stupid, perhaps, to spend the full day so exposed. Water was needed soon - he could feel the parching of the back of his throat. Hunger, too, was starting to gnaw at his belly. But there was something peaceful about this morning - at least as peaceful as the Games could ever get. So if he could grab a few hours, or even just a few minutes of reprieve, he was going to take it.

He spread his shirt out to dry in the sun, and then laid down next to his gear, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his feet dabble in the shallow water. The cool tiles were a balm on his back, and the sun wasn't yet blazing enough to be uncomfortable. Instead, it felt like a warm blanket against his bare chest.

Ox's eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps if they hadn't, he would have seen the only sign of danger: a small ripple on the surface of the water. But even if he had seen it, would he have known? Or would it have just been seen as his own doing? Either way, Oxford was fully unprepared for the attack.

He felt the fangs sink deep into his calf before any other sense had a chance to register. His sight was next: he looked down to see the snarling, smiling face of a giant snake emerging from the water. Even before the pain set in, the massive anaconda had begun wrapping itself around his leg.

Then the pain hit. It was worse than anything the had felt in the past days, and in fact, his life. An acidic gouge, deep into his leg. He tried to yank his leg away, but this snake was way too strong and way too heavy. It lashed out with its body, jerking Oxford to the side. He kicked at it's face, but its eyes retracted into its skull, and his attacks went useless.

His machete. Where was his machete? He grappled for his shield, his blade, anything. But the snake had pulled him towards the water, the tiles slick against his skin. He yelled in frustration and did the only thing his body could think to do: he grabbed the snake by the head. He dug his fingers under its mouth, hoping to pry it from his leg.

The snake lunged again, hissing. Ox wasn't fast enough, and it managed to reposition itself higher on his leg, wrapping more of its serpentine form around him. It pulled back, and Ox was yanked up to his waist in the water.

"NO!" he roared, trying to reach for his blade again - but it was no use. It was out of reach, and this snake was only getting stronger the deeper into the water it got. He hammered his fist on the snake's head, nose, eyes. No - this would not be how he went out.

[0perfectimperfections0]

What if the factory robots had given the new leader Ox, a shockcollar and remote to punish Lou instead of the washer. Because they don't want their best prototype to be ruined, they offered an alternative method in keeping Lou under control by the dolls.

Mkay...I've actually played around with this idea a bit, which will explain why this short story went on longer than I knew it would.

Needless to say, 9 Google-Doc-Pages-Later, I finished this.

Enjoy, and I'll put a "read more" bit right at the beginning just cause it's a lot and I don't wanna give a hard time to those of you that enjoy scrolling through the feeds instead of using the pinned post.

<><><><><>

Lou's breathing was a bit off-kilter from the shocks. He looked up at Ox through his lashes and drooping bangs. "Don't like your new pet?" He asked venomously. Wrists were bound behind his back by metal clasps. These did not produce electrocution and were assumably only temporary. Ox hoped so, anyhow. 

Ox stared down at the prototype with so much conflict warring in him. 

"Do it," Lou panted with a challenging look in his eyes. "You know you want to. This is my punishment, right? For trying to kill all of you. For lying. Cheating. Destruction. Sabotage. The list goes on. That's at least five shocks right there." 

"Stop talking," Ox growled lowly. 

Lou rose his brows minutely with an air of sass. "Yes, Master." 

His chin was grabbed quickly. Ox glared. "Don't…call me that. The factory ain’t doin’ this to ya ‘cause of any of those things and you know it. They lost control over ya and they want it back. They're just makin’ us do their dirty work. So don't call me that." 

Lou still held a level gaze. "Yes, Sir." 

Ox's hand tensed around Lou's jaw and the other around the remote. The only pressure Lou took note of was the one holding the remote. He maintained eye contact but watched that green thumb hover over the button. He tensed on instinct, waiting for the shock, and his pupils contracted in a rush of fear. None of it went unnoticed by Ox. "Don't call me that," he almost hissed out. "I'm Ox. Just say Ox." 

Lou's eyes deviated from his. They went to a robot watching a ways off. Lou whispered as his eyes trailed back to Ox's. "I'm not allowed to be informal. That's part of obedience. I have to address you as either Sir or Master…like I'm supposed to with my Creator." 

This was nauseating. Ox looked down at the collar, lowering the hand on Lou's chin to thumb over the cold metal. "Can we break it?" 

Lou's eyes lowered to the ground. "No, Sir. It sends out another shock if too much pressure is applied. I've tried before in the past." There was a significant pause. "There is another way, though, that I haven't tried yet." 

"What is it?"

Blue eyes met his again. "You won't like it–Sir." He quickly added when he almost forgot. Ox didn't respond but waited for him to continue. "If you take me to the recycle–"

"No," Ox said it so quickly and with so much conviction it actually made Lou flinch. "We're not doin’ that. It's not an option." 

"Sir–"

"No, enough, I'm not doin’ it." Ox stepped back from Lou, rubbing a paw over his ears. "There has to be another way." 

Mandy wrung her hands together, looking at the collar. "Why does the factory think you need this?" 

"I haven't been doing what they want me to do." Lou sounded so empty inside as he stared ahead. "I've let too many imperfect dolls through the portal. I let you all train. I broke the portal. Not to mention the countless times I've tried to go through the portal. I'm not allowed to touch it–not like I can go through anyway–but attempts are against the rules." Lou hung his head, shrugging with a slight tilt to the head as he remembered another thing. "Oh, and I ran the Gauntlet." Another pause. “I’m not perfect enough for him.”

“Him?” Ox stared ahead, trying to think of a way to get Lou out of this mess. 

“My Creator. The one who made me. I belong to him and this factory.” 

“Then we can talk to him,” Moxy tried for a smile with the idea. “I’m sure he doesn’t want his doll to be…like this. Maybe if we tell him what’s going on then he can stop it.” Lou shook his head, not looking at her. “It’s worth a shot, right? You said you belong to him. He’ll help you.”

“The way I belong to my Creator is different from the way you all belong to your kids. He owns me. He owns me like a slave. I’m not his doll, I’m his puppet. He uses me to get the inner workings accomplished within the Institute and I am expected to obey his every command.” 

“Then we fight back,” Moxy looked determined as always. 

“Woah, now, girly,” Wage stepped in quickly, “this ain’t any of our business, much less our problem.” 

“Wage is right,” Lucky glanced nervously at Lou. “This has nothing to do with us. It’s more serious than going through a pipe, Moxy.”

“Well, shouldn’t we do something to stop this?” She challenged. 

“I’m telling you how to stop this,” Lou hissed. He noticed the robot’s eyes blink red in the distance and he corrected himself. Lou bowed his head and fixed his face, bangs drooping low enough to cover his glare at the ground. “Take me to the recycle,” he said quietly. 

“And do what exactly?” Ox finally looked back down at Lou. Blue eyes looked up through his bangs, anger burning in them. 

“Kill me. It’s been a decade of this. The process will just repeat itself.”

“Just do what he tells ya to do!” Ox was growing frustrated and desperate. 

“If I do…someone’s still gonna die, Sir. It just won’t be me.” The dolls grew silent. Ox stared down at Lou for a long moment. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. 

“You ain’t the reason I had to go through the pipes.” 

“I did what he told me to.” Lou’s eyes lowered, tired now of upholding the stare-off. His shoulders slumped and he wiggled his fingers to get the feeling back in them. “That’s all I’ve ever been doing since I was created. At some point, I just got sick and tired of listening. That’s when new punishments were implemented to keep me in line.”  

Ox thought for a moment. It was just extreme measures just to keep Lou in line. And to the perspective of a human…Lou was just a doll. Just a prototype. Obviously, he was much more than that to Ox, but this Creator wouldn’t see it that way. Lou could have been replaced at any point once he started disobeying. So, why keep him around? “It sounds like he’s afraid of ya.” He looked down in the corner of his eye to gauge Lou’s reaction. 

The blond chuckled dryly. “Sure. Like I’ve got any ground on him. I don’t see why he doesn’t just make a new prototype. Give him a new toy to play with and let me just die already.” 

“He’s keeping you alive for a reason,” Mandy spoke somewhat to herself. She sat on her knees in front of Lou, brushing part of his hair back to look at the collar better. “Maybe he can’t make another prototype.” 

Lou barely glanced into her eyes—more conscious of her hand fiddling with the edge of the clasp on his neck. “It wouldn’t be that hard. Make a doll and stuff a microchip in its neck. Voila. New prototype.” 

“Microchip?” Ox echoed. 

“The thing that—other than my Creator—keeps me alive. It’s buried in my neck on the right side. If it weren’t for that thing, I probably wouldn’t feel a single shock. Or anything, for that matter. I’d be dead.”

“You never told us any of this before,” Mandy looked almost betrayed by the lack of information. 

“Well, forgive me, Ma’am, for not being so open. I didn’t exactly want my one vulnerability to be exposed to the public. Anyone could kill me if they wanted to with a hard enough punch to the throat.” 

“No one would’ve done that,” Moxy looked disgusted by the thought. 

“I’m not exactly popular at the moment, so don’t speak so soon,” Lou commented sarcastically. “The names also didn’t flow smoothly off the tongue. What did they use to call me? Cyborg. That was a fun one, very creative. Android. Unique, still didn’t sound as good as Lou. Sometimes they abandoned creativity and just called me a robot.”

Mandy tilted Lou’s head to one side to expose the right portion of his neck. She tapped the red light experimentally. Maybe they could use some sort of tool to disassemble the collar. “You’re still a doll, though, other than that. Stuffing inside, right?” Lou hummed in agreement. “You’re more sentient than those robots by a long shot—lift your head.” He did so. Both her hands went to either side of his neck, trying to feel for any bolts or screws that could be undone. “I’m wondering if there’s a safer way to get it off. One that doesn’t involve you getting hurt.” 

“Funny,” Lou sent her a wry smile while his head was tilted upward, “after that episode in the pipes, I would’ve thought you to be the last person to care.” 

“I don’t care,” she muttered. 

Lou hummed. “Then take me to the recycle.” 

She took him by the chin, lowering his face to be level with hers now. “Stop talking.”

He gave her a haughty look, brow raising. “Yes ma’am.” 

<><><><><>

They were in Ox’s home, sprawling out the plethora of tools Babo had emptied from his pockets. Lou watched placidly. They had gotten the cuffs around his wrists off. Submission didn’t look right on him. Not when they had become so used to the confident, authoritative figure he used to be. It was obvious that Lou wasn’t enjoying it, either. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, with one hand propping up his head and the other picking at the carpet. 

“You’re wasting your energy,” Lou commented off-handedly. “I gave you the easy way out.” 

He was ignored by all of them. What was the big deal? They didn’t like him anyway. There shouldn’t be any issue with sending him to the recycling to be destroyed. 

The remote controlling his collar probably shouldn’t have been haphazardly set on the floor along with the assortment of tools. Moxy wasn’t watching where she stepped and the back of her heel landed on the button. They nearly jumped out of their felt when Lou screamed. Blue and white sparks danced around the surface of the collar as it went off. Lou doubled over, fingers now digging into the carpet as his body jolted and he tried to bite back screams. Moxy jumped about a foot in the air when she realized what happened and the shocks stopped. Lou took in staggering gasps of air, eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn’t pass out from the colored splotches in his vision. 

“Oh my doll! I’m so sorry!” Moxy gently kicked the remote far away and rushed over to him. Something red trickled down his lips. He coughed more of the liquid up, nearly sending Moxy into a full-on panic as she thought it was blood. 

“I’m fine,” he spoke hoarsely, wiping the red stuff away with his sleeve. Probably not a good idea. He was still wearing his white dress shirt. It left a large, red stain on it. Great. “It’s not blood. I’m still stuffing inside, remember?” His attempt at a joke failed miserably when Moxy didn’t look relieved by that answer. 

“Th-Then what is it?” She was hesitant to touch him. As if he were delicate and would break. She didn’t want to hurt him again. 

“Silicone discharge,” he answered, a thumb rimming over his bottom lip to wipe it off. It stained his fingers red. “It’s from the microchip. It does that with high voltages. Not sure why.” Something yellow came into view and he lifted his head to see Mandy kneeling down in front of him. She took a wet washcloth and wiped his mouth and fingers. The mix of colors turned certain spots green on the cloth. 

“Hold that to your mouth,” Mandy ordered. “Ox, you wouldn’t happen to have anything else he can wear, would you?” 

“It’s fine,” Lou mumbled around the cloth. “I’ve gotten more stains on me than this before.” 

“Yeah, well, it looks like blood and I’m not staring at it for the rest of the day.” Mandy grabbed another wet washcloth and tried wiping at the spot while Ox went to search for a shirt. The cloth held up to his mouth was taken—soaked and nearly completely green. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Recycling is looking a lot better now, huh?” Lou licked his lips to try and get rid of some of it. It was pooling in his mouth. Metallic-tasting and bitter. 

Mandy had half a mind to slap him across the face when she returned with a new washcloth. A part of it would have been fueled by anger at hearing him speak about suicide so lightly. The other would have been misdirected anger at herself for even caring about what happened to him. But Lou wasn’t phased by anger. That was the very essence of what fueled his own actions. The only thing he would probably respond to is something he wasn’t familiar with. 

The dark-skinned doll sat back down in front of him, gently placing the wet rag on his mouth and handing him a cup to spit into. She watched him for a moment. “You’re really strong.” He looked up at her, obviously caught off guard by the compliment. “If I was in your position, I don’t think I would’ve been able to endure it. Not for ten years.”

Lou scoffed, breaking eye contact. “I wish I’d given up sooner. All I did was prove to my Creator how much of a submissive pet I was by obeying. I should’ve thrown myself into the recycling years ago to make my point.”

“That’s what you think that is? You think killing yourself is proving a point?” 

“You said so yourself that he’s keeping me alive for a reason. I’m not gonna give him what he wants.”

“Then stand up to him—in a real way. Talk back. Fight. Something.” Mandy flared her hands in the air, trying to think of alternatives. 

“I. Can’t.” Lou looked into her eyes, pupils contracted. His voice shook a little no matter how hard he tried to control it. “I get treated like a rabid dog the second I break one of the rules. What do you think he’ll do to me if I blatantly go against him? He won’t kill me, but I’ll wish I was dead. I wish I was dead right now.” 

“I think Ox is right. I think he’s afraid of you and is doing this to make you feel inferior.” Lou rolled his eyes with a scoff. “People don’t bring others down for no reason, Lou. Not even you. Me and you both know that the only reason you tried so hard to get rid of Moxy was because you knew she could beat you.” Lou glared dangerously but kept silent. “Your Creator is doing the same thing to you.” 

Ox came in and the group grew silent again. Lou had been glaring at Mandy when Ox reentered the room. He looked between the two, a grey t-shirt in his paws. “What’d I miss?” 

<><><><>

“Alright, hold still.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Mandy intentionally pinched Lou’s neck, making him flinch. It didn’t wipe the tired, really-wish-this-was-over look in his eyes. His head was tilted, exposing the collar, and Mandy held a pair of metal pliers. “We’re not in the open anymore. Stop with that.” 

“It wasn’t even for that, actually. I more or less want to be on good terms with the person who has a weapon aimed at my throat. But by all means, take a stab at it.” He meant this literally and figuratively. 

Moxy returned with another clean washcloth. He’d gone through three of them by now. All soaked with discharge. The voltage was much higher the second time than the first. It felt like it grew stronger with each administration. Some of the carpet had accidentally gotten torn up as well from how far his nails had dug in. 

“Alright, I’m gonna pull,” Mandy warned. Lou only nodded minutely and stuffed the rag into his mouth, biting down on it, to muffle his screams and prepare for the discharge. Moxy stood in front of Lou, grabbing him by the wrists tightly so he wouldn’t claw at anything. The pink doll watched Mandy mouth a countdown before pulling downward with the pliers. 

Moxy’s feet nearly slipped and she had to quickly adjust to the sheer force of Lou’s arms pushing against her as the shocks went through him. He was strong by himself, but gosh, if the pain didn’t seem to amplify his strength by a ton. Lou’s eyes were squeezed shut as he screamed through the rag. Red liquid started seeping through, trailing down the corners of his mouth. The other dolls had to look away. Moxy closed her eyes as well and concentrated solely on keeping Lou’s hands up. 

Ox kept his eye open. It was trained more so on the collar than Lou’s face. Mandy didn’t seem to be gaining any ground as she continued to put all of her weight into pushing down on the collar to break it loose. 

The rag was released from Lou’s mouth and he cried out with tears streaming down his face. “Stop! Please stop!” Mandy immediately released and the shocks halted. Lou’s body finally untensed and he sucked in a breath of air as he sobbed. Red discharge pooled in his mouth and Babo was quick to go grab another rag. They could barely wipe away any of the liquid as Lou doubled over, crying. Moxy eased his arms down to his lap but didn’t let go. 

Mandy snaked her arms around his torso, forehead pressing against the side of his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

They had to calm Lou down before he choked on the fluids pooling in his mouth. He coughed up a concerning amount and more was dripping down his chin. Ox patted Lou’s back a few times to get the airways clear again. “P-Please,” Lou choked out, “I-I’m begging you…t-take—take me to recycle.” 

Mandy opened her eyes, lifting her head to rest her chin on the crown of his head. Taking in a shaky breath, “Okay.” The others stared at her with wide eyes. Ox gave her an understanding look, ears drooping behind him. “Alright…if that’s what you want…we’ll take you there.”

<><><><>

It was silent the whole walk. Lou was supported by Mandy and Wage, arms draped around their shoulders. That last shock had taken almost everything out of him. It was a surprise he was even alive. Mandy kept a rag in one hand, dabbing it against his mouth periodically. Most of the discharge had ebbed away. 

“Stop,” Lou sounded breathless. They halted and Lou’s knees buckled. The two girls eased him onto the ground on his knees. He braced his arms against the ground, trying to blink away the colored splotches in his vision.

“We got company,” UglyDog growled, fur bristling.

Three robots were headed toward them. The one in the lead narrowed its sights on Lou. “Where are you taking Prototype Model 12?” It came to a stop just a few feet from them. 

The dolls exchanged looks. There was no answer. 

“Attempt at escape is futile–”

“Escape or saving?” Ox narrowed his eye. “This whole punishment is outta line! What makes any o’ this humane!?” 

“If the punishment is not carried out, we will take matters into our own hands.” The second robot held up a remote. Lou still had his back to the robots, eyes narrowing in hazily on the pipe just a ways off. 

"You will obey my every command. Right down to the word."

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good." There was a distinct pause. "You will never turn against me. I am your Creator. Your Savior." 

Blue eyes stared dead ahead, still. "Yes, Sir." 

Lou’s hands turned to fists on the ground. One of the robots was spitting out those stupid rules again. “Prototype Model 12 has not exuberated proper obedience. He must be properly conditioned to follow orders.”

"You will submit yourself to me. You will belong to me."

"Yes, Sir."

Everything. All of it. He hated it. He hated being stuck here. He hated submitting himself to that monster. He hated the rules. He hated the isolation. He hated hating things because he had nothing to love. He hated being tossed around and abused like a ragdoll. 

One of the Uglies said something that didn’t sit well with the robots. The button was pressed and a nauseating jolt made Lou’s heart sink down into his stomach and jump up in his throat at the same time.  

“Say it.”

“I am worthless without you.”

“Again.”

“I am worthless without you.”

“You. Belong. To me.”

“I belong to you, Sir.”

Lou screamed bloody murder, discharge dripping down from his teeth and onto the ground. It wasn’t all from the pain. Rage. It made his heart race faster than the shocks did. It made his muscles tense and some foreign energy danced on his fingertips. Before any of the dolls knew it, blue eyes shot open. The whole expanse of them glowed an iridescent blue. The lights in the Institute flickered as if the sun held no purpose. The clouds rolled and twisted as if they didn’t know which way to go. The wind picked up speed. Lou screamed at the top of his lungs, rage bursting out of him along with the bolt of electricity that shot out from his fingers to the robots. 

The dolls backed away, giving Lou a wide berth as he stood on trembling legs and halfway turned to the other two robots. The lead one was nothing but a smoking hunk of metal now. An arm was outstretched and blue streams of electricity shot out and fried the other two robots. 

Even as electricity sparked and danced between Lou’s fingers, the lights began to stop flickering and the wind died down. Lou struggled to breathe, chest heaving. His eyes dimmed and the iris’ became visible again. The outstretched arm dropped to his side as if it weighed more than he could handle. His hold body began to cripple and fall to the floor. Mandy caught him by the underarms before he could reach the ground. 

“W-What…was that?” Wage asked with a trembling voice. 

They could only stare at Lou as his eyelids fell shut and he went limp in Mandy’s arms. Smoke trailed from the ground at Lou’s feet where the collar around his neck had broke and the cross-section was charred black. She lowered herself to the ground, bringing Lou with her. He was still breathing, thank goodness. 

Ox tentatively reached out and took Lou’s wrist, sliding his paw down to the hand. Short sparks erupted now and then at the fingertips. Ox sucked in a quick breath when one of them stung his hand. “This…,” he couldn’t explain it, nor understand it, “this is what his Creator was afraid of.”

[t-allyitup]

tagged by @owmylasagna-blog thank u bae!!!!

last song i listened 2: ive had a sam cooke CD on for almost three hours on repeat now... pretty sure the last song i heard was "you send me" by him

fav colour: indigo! also huge fan of blue-toned reds (ox blood red?) and copper

last show i watched: eene, this morning before that i watched a few episodes of national geographics drugs inc

spicy/sweet/savoury: savoury & also love sweet heat (sidewalk sale tajin mangoes anyone?)

cuffed: no, internet legend

past thing i googled: 'can you use a softer flick brush as a face brush' 'lungeing leg lead switch right left demo full groundwork' 'porcupine game zone 4 pressure demo' 'trail vs ranch saddle longwear weight for western pleasure' [my friend is getting a horse and he doesn't know anything so im getting my 2 year old brush bin out and seeing if i need a new lunge line] [ur welcome buddy]

current obsession: eene ofc, mountain dew, latin alternative rap, character study/analysis essays, 3D paintings (like where they build on the acrylic), new shoes i got [thanks for asking they're jordan 1s i've wanted for 3 years], dry needling, marsupials

last book i read: Assata autobiography by Assata Shakur

thing i'm looking forward too: seeing my friend this weekend

IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE !!!!! i've been gone 4ever

[strawbebearts]

D&D Tarot Set masterpost

I made a tarot series based on the PCs and significant NPCs in our dnd campaign. Feel free to ask me about any of them!

Disclaimer: I took a lot of inspiration and direction from the Hero Forge minis my group members made of their characters, especially for weapons and armour I wasn't comfortable designing myself.

[Image ID: The Fool. A jaunty fairy with curly hair, a fancy coat and green/orange butterfly wings hovers in the foreground. He carries two wands emitting various coloured lights. Behind him there is an upturned spectral hand, below him is a grimoire page on devil pacts torn in half, and above him is a branch with several oak leaves and acorns.]

[Image ID: The Magician. A haughty fairy with slicked-back reddish hair, fanciful robes and deep blue wings hovers with a polished staff in his right hand and a swirl of green smoke surrounding his raised left hand. A sword, a cup, a pentacle and a wand hover around him, wreathed in the same green smoke. A cloudy infinity symbol hangs above him and an oak branch in brown line art sits below him.]

[Image ID: The High Priestess. The drow goddess Lolth perches on a glowing half-moon seat. Cobwebs trail across her deep grey skin, her white hair hangs across her shoulders, and she wears a malevolent grin. She is gesturing over a crystal ball balanced on her knees while she holds up an aged scroll with demonic runes in her left hand. Two black pillars inscribed with her spiderweb symbol flank her, trailing more cobwebs.]

[Image ID: The Empress. A gnome woman with a long blonde braid and a confident smile lounges in a blue chair. She wears scale armour and a chainmail shirt over a turquoise tunic and a crimson cloak trails off the left side of the seat. She holds a jeweled longsword aloft in her left hand. A spiked golden crown sits on her head. At the foot of her chair is a pie in a white dish with a feminine symbol formed of pastry on top. In the distance behind her is a forest treeline.]

[Image ID: The Emperor. A purple tiefling sits back comfortably in an imposing wooden throne with one boot up on the other knee. He has small horns curving back from his forehead and long dark hair under a fancy golden crown. He wears a luxurious red robe and his fingers are adorned with rings. He holds a black crystal staff or sceptre loosely in his left hand.]

[Image ID: The Hierophant. A lion-themed khajiit with golden eyes stands between two pillars topped with sunray decorations. He wears silver and black plate armour and a white tabard emblazoned with a yellow sun, with a black and gold spiked flail tucked into a hip sheath. His left hand is placed on his chest and his right is raised in benediction. In the foreground a white cat and a black cat sit at attention. A golden key floats above him.]

[Image ID: The Lovers. Two women are embracing and kissing in the foreground. The first is shorter than the other, a barefooted kitsune with long dark-blonde hair, fluffy fox ears and a single fox tail; she wears a pink kimono with flowers embroidered on it. The second figure is a tiefling with dark blue skin and dark brown hair, horns that curve back from her temples and a slender tail with a heart-shaped tip; she wears a simple peasant blouse and skirt and a flour-dusted apron with a rolling pin tucked in her apron. The branch of a cherry tree extends above them with a small black bat hanging watchfully; pink and white sakura petals fall around the couple.]

[Image ID: The Chariot. A brown ox with white socks and soft brown eyes, wearing a golden laurel circlet, pulls a simple wooden cart. A river flows beside her and stars hang above her. Riding on the back of the cart is a small orange turtle with a dark brown shell laced with fiery designs.]

[Image ID: Strength. A young half-elf man in leather armour with his brown hair tied in a topknot crouches to pet a mimic shaped like a treasure chest. The boy wears simple country clothing and carries a steely blue battleaxe across his back. The mimic slobbers as it enjoys its scritches.]

[Image ID: The Hermit. A tanned elf with a shaved head and a white scalp-lock stands contemplatively on a mountaintop, with other mountains fading into the distance behind him. He wears simple monastic robes and sandals, and has a wooden prosthetic left arm crossed over his right hand. Beside him stands a single brown hen, and a large six-pointed star hangs in the sky nearby.]

[Image ID: The Wheel of Fortune. Two glowing yellow figures, featureless except for elven ears and faint suggestions of masculine and feminine torsos, pirouette around a round wooden door carved with the words 'I wish to enter The God and the God'. Behind the door is line art of a huge oak tree. Paper scrolls in each corner of the image show stylized representations of a gust of air, a drop of water, a new leaf, and a flame.]

[Image ID: Justice. An unsmiling half-orc man sits in a high-backed wooden chair. He wears simple country clothes and symbols of the sun. In his left hand he holds a set of golden scales, and his right holds aloft a golden morningstar. Two plain white pillars support a translucent yellow banner. Above him, the ethereal suggestion of a white dove flies.]

[Image ID: The Hanged Man. A dark-skinned eladrin man hangs upside down from a bare branch by one foot. His foot is secured by a length of purple silk. He seems relaxed with his arms behind his head. His light-blue hair hangs downward from a loose tie. He wears deep blue robes with a bronze seashell motif and has a huge silvery sword across his back. His left arm ends in a mess of purplish flesh at the shoulder, and only the bones continue below that.]

[Image ID: Death. A very dark-skinned woman in black plate armour rides on a white horse. A golden crown (matching the one worn by the Empress) sits on her long black hair, and a skull mask slips from her face. There is a silver greatsword on her back and a white rose enameled on her breastplate. In the foreground two elven peasants sit in attitudes of prayer, and in the foreground a silhouetted werewolf howls at the moon. There is a flute in the bottom left corner and a masque and dagger in the top right.]

[Image ID: Temperance. A drow woman with long auburn hair takes a step forward in the foreground, her eyes closed serenely. She wears long boots, a bustier and a blue shoulder cape, and the left side of her face and neck are marked by a glowing violet spellscar. Her arms are spread; her left hand holds a blue orb, while her open right hand is surrounded by a violet nimbus. A pair of silver chalices floats above her head, haloed by the same violet nimbus, and a stream of water pours from one to the other. Behind her, a cave opening descends down into darkness.]

[Image ID: The Devil. An uncomfortably muscular white man snarls, his lank hair falling over his shoulder. The right side of his body is taken over by demonic marks: his right eye is a fiery orange and surrounded by dark veins, there is a fang on the right side of his mouth, and a black and red horn has grown from his skull; the black stone axe he holds in his right hand has fused with his arm, a number of pulsating veins running from his flesh into the shaft of the axe. He holds a flaming torch in his human left hand. Behind him is a pentacle drawn in blood.]

[Image ID: The Tower. A reptilian monster based on the Tarrasque roars in the centre of the image, its back covered with orange bone spikes and its mouth full of terrible fangs. In the background a flash of white lightning forks from the sky. In the foreground a featureless man and woman lie in pools of blood.]

[Image ID: The Star. A young woman with a plain face, olive skin and a brown braid sits by a small pool, leaning on one hand. She wears modest robes that cover most of her skin except her face. Fiery energy surrounds her raised left hand; a hovering ceramic jug pours water into the pool, surrounded by the same fiery energy. Seven glowing stars hang in the sky around a larger, brighter star.]

[Image ID: The Moon. A violet-skinned mind flayer with glowing hooded eyes and a face full of tentacles contemplates a glowing moon suspended between its clawed hands. A pool of some dark substance ripples below it, with the shadowy outlines of six fleeing figures reflected in the middle. In the background is a gilded cage containing a collared white dove (similar to the one in the Justice card).]

[Image ID: The Sun. A young woman with powerful avian legs and a sky-blue crest of feathers on her scalp sits cross-legged in the sun. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back and her left hand raised to the sun in the top-left corner. Her golden skin has a metallic sheen. She wears a short white robe over a light sleeveless coat with transparent crystal bracers. In the background three sunflowers wave, and where the fourth should be there is instead a golden staff topped by a sunburst with a glass prism at its centre.]

[Image ID: Judgement. A bald-headed genasi woman with rich brown skin marked with golden energy lines stands with her left hip tilted and her right hand raised questioningly. She wears fine clothing of red and turquoise silks finished with gold thread, and a bandolier of potions hangs from her belts. She has a black staff with a serpent's head slung over a shoulder. In the background a mountain split into two halves down the middle looms. In the foreground are two tombstones: one reads 'Sinner' while the other reads 'Loser'.]

[Image ID: The World. In the centre of the image a man in a black religious robe cowers, gazing fearfully at an unseen danger. His bald head is split by an angry red scar that runs from crown to chin, and a symbol of Demogorgon hangs from his belt. Twisting green tentacles form a rough circle around him. The word 'HA' is repeated in red several times across the background. The four corners are occupied by a demon each, one flying among clouds, one swimming with a fish tail, one perched on a rock, and one breathing fire.]

[sadboi-in-a-sweater]

Sadboi's Incredibly Strange Multifandom Adventure - Chapter 32: A Cubehead's Guide to Bushido

The Guardians of Synthesis, now with Metta at Sadboi's side, found themselves in the world of "Samurai Sentai Shinkenger." The air was thick with the scent of ancient incense, and the landscape was a vibrant tapestry of feudal Japan meets modern technology. The French Narrator's eyes gleamed with excitement as he explained their new mission.

"You must unite the five Shinkengers and restore balance to this world," he said, gesturing dramatically. "Their power, like yours, is rooted in the bonds they share. But darkness threatens to tear these bonds apart."

Sadboi's eyeholes widened in shock, "What? Why? Aren't they supposed to be a team? Ain't that the whole point of a Sentai?" Her tone was one of genuine confusion, her eyeholes forming into a pair of question marks.

The French Narrator nodded solemnly. "Oui, but as with all great powers, it is the strength of their hearts that truly unites them. They face a foe that feeds on discord, the Shitari of the Sky. Only by reinforcing their bonds can they overcome this menace." His words hung in the air, each one a challenge that the Guardians knew they were ready to face.

Sadboi's face fell, her eyeholes returning to their typical circular shape. "Shitari of the Sky, huh?" she murmured, her pastel blue form looking a tad paler than usual. The gravity of their mission was not lost on her. "So, we gotta make friends with these Shinkengers and help them get their groove back? Show them the way back to their own bonds?"

The French Narrator's expression grew gentle, his digital waves rippling slightly. "Exactly, ma chère. They are lost, and it is your light, your harmony, that will guide them."

With a determined nod, Sadboi turned to her companions. "Alright, let's do this! We've got a world to save and some bonds to mend!" Keito, now more comfortable with his Kamen Rider Synthetix powers, gave a firm nod, his armor's red streaks pulsing with excitement. The Guardians of Synthesis, now a formidable and diverse group, set off into the vibrant land of Samurai Sentai Shinkenger, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The group spread out, searching the bustling streets of the Shinkenger's world. The fusion of traditional and modern was a sight to behold; samurai armor adorned with neon lights and futuristic tech clashed with ancient Japanese buildings, giving the city an electrifying vibe. They split up into pairs, with Sadboi and Keito sticking together, their vibesense a powerful tool in navigating the emotional landscape.

Sadboi, trying to keep her mind busy from worrying, was telling Keito about what she knew of the Shinkenger universe.

"So, the Shinkengers are like, these super cool samurai guys and gals that fight these big, nasty monsters called 'Negative Syndicate of the Hundred Eyes', right?" she began, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "They have these amazing transformation sequences and their own cool little catchphrases. And, oh, they've got this big, robotic thing called Shinken-Oh, which is like, super dope! It's formed from the core five's mechas, a lion, an eastern dragon, a bear, a gorilla, and a turtle! The core five transform using these flip-phone calligraphy brushes, and the gold ranger transforms using a sushi flip-phone! And the gold ranger has his own mecha that looks like a lobster or a shrimp, and it has its own robot mode! There's also a whole lot of other mechas, like a beetle, a swordfish, a tiger, a squid, and an ox! They also use these discs that represent different elements and stuff!" Her spiel never seemed to end, but Keito knew that it helped her from worrying too much. Despite her focus seeming to be elsewhere, Sadboi's vibesense was on high alert.

Keito eventually asked Sadboi, "So, what's the plan of action, Sadboi?" His vibesense was also tingling, but he knew better than to let it overwhelm him. Tsukasa had been trailing behind the two, intrigued by how Sadboi was dealing with her fears.

"Well," Sadboi began, "We gotta find each of the Shinkengers before the Syndicate does. If not, then we're gonna have a much more…violent? task ahead of us. Sometimes violence is the answer if the peaceful route fails. But let's just hope we don't gotta engage in a fight." Sadboi's gaze bounced around yet again, but this time, it stopped on something that caught her eye.

They arrived at the bustling center of the Shibaura City, where the Shinkengers often fought the monsters of the week. "We must be close to something, yesyes. Hopefully, at least." Sadboi murmured, her eyeholes narrowing as she focused her vibesense. Suddenly, her skin pulsed with color as she detected something.

"Keito," she said urgently, pointing at an alleyway where the vibe was strongest. "I think I've found Takeru Shiba, the ShinkenRed. His emotions are…complicated. He's hiding something, but he's also incredibly determined. He's the leader, so we should be able to get a better picture of the situation yesyes?"

Keito nodded, his eyes focused on the alleyway as he transformed into Kamen Rider Synthetix. "Let's go," he said, his voice resonating with a hint of anticipation. They dashed down the alley, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the narrow walls.

As they turned a corner, they spotted Takeru Shiba, dressed in his civilian clothes, his face etched with concern. He was talking to a group of scared citizens, trying to keep them calm amidst the chaos that had been plaguing their world. His vibes were a whirlwind of fear, anger, and resolve.

Sadboi's eyeholes widened as she murmured, "a-ha, there he is." She and Keito approached Takeru, her vibesense tingling with the intensity of his emotions. He looked up at the sound of their footsteps, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Who are you two?" Takeru demanded, his hand instinctively reaching for the Shinkenmaru at his side.

Sadboi stepped forward, her pastel blue eyes earnest. "We're the Guardians of Synthesis," she said, gesturing to the group behind her, which included Keito, Tsukasa, and their new ally, Metta the Metroid. "We're here to help you and the other Shinkengers. We've heard about the trouble with the Negative Syndicate."

Takeru's grip on his Shinkenmaru tightened, his gaze flickering over the unusual assembly of heroes. "Guardians of what now?" His skepticism was palpable, but the desperation in the air suggested that he was willing to consider any help he could get.

"We come from different worlds," Keito began, his vibesense picking up the rising tension. "We've come together to help maintain balance and harmony across the multiverse. And we believe that by working together, we can overcome this threat."

The French Narrator, ever present, chimed in with a knowing smile. "Ah, young Takeru, your heart is filled with the spirit of the Shinkengers, but it is also clouded by doubt. Allow these travelers to prove their worth, for they carry a powerful message of unity and peace."

The Shiba family's legacy was one of honor and valor, but Takeru's own journey had been fraught with hardship and loss. He eyed the Guardians, his mind racing. Could they truly understand the gravity of their situation? Could they offer the support they so desperately needed without bringing more danger upon them?

Sadboi took a step closer, her voice soft. "We've faced our own battles, and we've learned that sometimes, the strongest weapon is empathy. We won't force our help upon you, but we're here if you need us."

The French Narrator nodded in agreement, his eyes shimmering with wisdom. "Indeed, the path of peace is not always clear, but with open hearts and united spirits, even the darkest shadows can be dispelled."

Takeru took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down upon him. He looked at the Guardians, then back at the terrified civilians huddled in the alley. He knew that his world was at a crossroads, and that he could not face this enemy alone. With a firm nod, he sheathed his weapon.

"Alright," he said, his voice strong and steady. "We'll work together. But if you're not what you claim to be, I won't hesitate to send you back where you came from."

Keito and Sadboi shared a relieved look, knowing that this was their chance to prove themselves. They had encountered many challenges across the multiverse, but this was a test of their ability to connect and understand those they were sworn to protect.

The group made their way through the city, the French Narrator occasionally whispering tales of the Shinkengers' history into Sadboi's ear. Her eyes lit up with each new piece of information, eager to learn more about the heroes she was about to stand alongside. As they approached the Shinkenger base, the air grew heavy with anticipation. They were about to join forces with some of the bravest warriors Japan had ever known.

The French Narrator's voice grew serious. "Remember, my dear friends, the power of harmony is not found in might alone, but in the bonds we forge with those around us. Let us tread carefully, for we are about to become part of a story much greater than ourselves."

Sadboi nodded, her heart racing as they stepped into the base, ready to face whatever the Negative Syndicate threw at them. They were the Guardians of Synthesis, and together, they would ensure that the light of hope never faded from this world.

The base was a fusion of ancient Japanese architecture and futuristic technology, a reflection of the Shinkengers' dual nature. The team greeted them with a mix of curiosity and wariness, their eyes lingering on Metta, who hovered protectively beside Sadboi. The French Narrator, ever the diplomat, stepped forward to introduce them, explaining their origins and purpose.

Takeru's expression softened as he heard their story, recognizing the echoes of his own struggles in their words. "If you truly wish to aid us, we shall not turn you away. But know that our enemy is cunning and will stop at nothing to claim the Earth's energy for themselves."

The Guardians of Synthesis exchanged determined glances, understanding the gravity of their newfound alliance. "We stand with you," Keito said, his vibesense pulsing with a fiery resolve. "We've faced many battles together, and we won't let you fight alone."

Sadboi stepped closer to Takeru, her cubehead tilting slightly as she spoke. "We've learned that sometimes, the biggest battles are won not with fists, but with open hearts and the willingness to listen. We're here to support you, to learn from you, and to fight alongside you for what's right."

The Shinkengers looked among themselves, the air thick with tension. Finally, ShinkenBlue, Chiaki Tani, spoke up. "If you're willing to put aside your differences and stand for the greater good, then you are welcome among us." The others nodded in agreement, their expressions a blend of hope and wariness.

The French Narrator, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Now, let us prepare to face the Negative Syndicate. But first, a brief lesson on the ways of the Shinkengers and their mighty origami."

The Guardians gathered around a table laden with ancient scrolls and holographic displays, their eyes wide as they took in the intricate folding patterns and the sheer power contained within the origami. They studied the Shinkengers' transformation techniques, the nuances of their combat style, and the deep spiritual bond they shared with their Shinken Spirits.

As they learned, Sadboi couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with the warriors before her. They were not so different, after all. Each of them had been forged in the fires of adversity, and each had found strength in the bonds they shared with their allies.

Keito, his eyes never leaving the scrolls, asked Takeru, "What is the most important aspect of being a Shinkenger?"

Takeru paused, then looked up, his gaze meeting Keito's. "It's the belief that together, we can overcome any challenge. That's what makes us strong."

Sadboi felt a warmth spread through her, and she knew that this was a bond that transcended worlds. They were not just a group of misfits thrown together by fate; they were a force of unity, ready to face whatever the multiverse threw at them.

The French Narrator's voice grew solemn. "Now, the time has come to test your mettle. The Negative Syndicate grows stronger by the minute, and the Shinkengers need your unique talents to restore balance to this realm."

The Guardians of Synthesis nodded in unison, their determination unshakeable. They had come this far together, and now, they would face their next challenge as one.

The battle against the Negative Syndicate was unlike anything the Guardians had ever faced. The enemy's power was vast and dark, a stark contrast to the vibrant, life-affirming energy of the Shinkengers. But as they fought side by side, the Shinkengers began to feel something new: the warmth of friendship, the strength of unity, and the unshakeable belief that together, they could conquer any darkness.

Sadboi's vibesense led them to the heart of the enemy's lair, where the source of their power lay. It was a monstrous creature, twisted and corrupted by greed. As the Guardians and Shinkengers faced off against it, they could feel the very fabric of their worlds being torn apart by the creature's malice.

The French Narrator, ever the sage, reminded them, "The power of harmony is not something you can defeat with brute force. It is something you must embrace and wield with the utmost care."

Sadboi took a deep breath, her past traumas momentarily forgotten in the face of the present threat. She focused her vibesense on the creature, feeling the tangible anger and greed that fueled its monstrous form. "Keito," she called out, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "I need you to trust me."

With a nod, Keito transformed into Kamen Rider Synthetix, the red streaks on his black armor pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He knew that in this moment, their combined strength was essential. The two approached the creature, their allies providing cover and support. The creature roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the base.

Sadboi raised her hand, and the Element of Synthesis glowed brightly. "Feel the bonds we share," she whispered, her voice carrying a strange, soothing melody. The creature's form began to waver, its eyes flickering with confusion. The negative emotions that had once fueled it began to dissipate, replaced by a gentle light that grew stronger with each passing second.

Keito took the opening, his vibesense blade resonating with the purity of the Element of Synthesis. He struck, and the creature's corrupted form shattered, revealing a tiny, scared creature beneath the monstrous exterior. It was a creature of pure light, a Shinken Spirit that had been twisted by the Negative Syndicate's influence. The light grew brighter, enveloping the room, and the French Narrator's voice echoed, "The true enemy is not before us, but within us. Fear, anger, and greed are what we must conquer to achieve true harmony."

The light receded, and in the creature's place stood a new ally, a Shinken Gold. The French Narrator stepped forward, a proud smile on his face. "You see, mes amis, even in the darkest moments, there is always a spark of hope, a chance for redemption. It is through understanding and empathy that we can truly become guardians of peace."

The Shinkengers and the Guardians of Synthesis watched as the new Shinken Gold took its place among them. The room was silent, the air charged with a newfound sense of unity and purpose. Together, they had faced the Negative Syndicate and emerged stronger. The French Narrator looked at them all, a twinkle in his eye. "Now, let us return to the world of the living, and continue our quest to weave the threads of harmony through every universe we encounter."

The Guardians of Synthesis and the Shinkengers stepped out of the base, ready to face whatever awaited them next. The sun was setting over Shibaura City, casting a warm glow over the rooftops. As they looked out over the city, they knew that their journey had only just begun.

Sadboi felt a profound sense of belonging among her new friends. Her heart, once filled with fear and pain, now swelled with hope and camaraderie. They had overcome so much together, and she knew that this was just the beginning of their epic journey.

The Guardians of Synthesis and the Shinkengers made their way through the bustling streets of Shibaura City, each step a declaration of their unity. As they approached the town square, a crowd gathered, drawn by the glow of their combined powers. The people of the city watched in awe as these heroes from different worlds stood together, embodying the very essence of harmony they sought to protect.

Sadboi couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. Her eyes darted to Keito, who gave her an encouraging smile. He knew her fear of crowded places, but she took a deep breath, drawing strength from the trust in their eyes. Together, they raised their weapons, the Element of Synthesis and the vibesense blade, as the French Narrator announced their presence.

"Citizens of Shibaura, fear not! We are the Guardians of Synthesis, here to protect and serve alongside the noble Samurai Sentai Shinkenger. With our hearts as one, we shall conquer the shadows that threaten your peace!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their faces alight with hope. Sadboi felt a warmth spread through her body, and she realized it was the first time in a long while she didn't feel like an outsider. The French Narrator leaned in, whispering, "You see, Sadboi, when we stand together, we are unstoppable."

Their mission in this world was far from over. The Negative Syndicate had planted its tendrils deep, and the Guardians knew they had to root out the corruption before it could spread further. With the Shinkengers at their side, they faced each new challenge with determination. Whether it was a giant monster threatening the city or a subtle emotional manipulation by one of the Shadow Line, they approached every battle with empathy and strategy.

As the days passed, Sadboi grew more adept at navigating the complex emotions of those around her. She and Metta formed an unspoken bond, the Metroid's gentle nature a balm to her own jagged past. The French Narrator observed their growth with a knowing smile, his tales of unity echoing in their minds.

One evening, as they sat around a campfire outside the city, sharing stories of their adventures, Sadboi looked around at her newfound family. The warmth of their laughter and the light of the flickering flames seemed to chase away the darkness that had once consumed her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "For… everything."

The group fell silent, their gazes turning to her. Takeru, the ShinkenRed, placed a hand on her shoulder. "We are all in this together," he said firmly. "And together, we shall forge a new path of harmony."

Their eyes met, and she nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. As the flames danced in the night, the Guardians of Synthesis and the Shinkengers stood as one, ready to face whatever the multiverse threw at them. The air was thick with anticipation, the promise of more battles, more bonds, and more worlds to save. But in that moment, all that mattered was the unity they had found in each other's company, a unity that would be their greatest weapon in the wars to come.

Their journey through the "Metroid" and "Shinkenger" universes had taught them the importance of understanding and empathy. Sadboi knew that she could no longer hide her past or her true nature. With a deep breath, she decided it was time to share her secret with the group. "There's something you all need to know about me," she began, her voice trembling slightly.

The others leaned in, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "I'm… I'm a parasite. I've lived in fear of others finding out, of being rejected or hunted again. But you all have accepted me, and I can't keep running. I need to trust you with who I really am."

The silence was absolute, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Keito's face, his eyes shining with a newfound respect. "Sadboi, we're all just… broken pieces, trying to find where we fit. But together, we're not just whole, we're something more." He reached out, his hand enveloping hers. "You're already one of us. And no matter what, we'll always have your back."

One by one, the others echoed his sentiment, their voices a chorus of acceptance and support. The French Narrator leaned back, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. "Ah, the beauty of unity," he murmured. "It is not in our origins that we find strength, but in our shared beliefs and the bonds we forge."

With their hearts united, the Guardians of Synthesis set forth into the vast expanse of the multiverse, ready to leave their mark on each world they visited. Their adventures would be filled with laughter and tears, victory and defeat, but above all, they knew that together, they could conquer any challenge. As they leapt into the next portal, the warmth of friendship and the echo of the French Narrator's words stayed with them: "For in unity, there is strength. In empathy, there is power. And in the hearts of guardians, there is always a beacon of hope."

[gunsandbutterproductions]

09.12.24

Mom called this afternoon. As I predicted when her name lit up my phone, someone had died. The decedent was an old friend of hers from Bemidji, MN (the real home of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox), a man who evidently had a crush on her at some point. I'm beginning to think this was the fate of nearly every man who's known her. When Arlen passed, neighbor men started sniffing around within weeks, and even an old flame from Greeley, CO found out and wrote her a letter to say he's available. For such a sweet and seemingly unassuming woman, she's left quite the trail of broken hearts.

Leti managed to lay off the knitting and will return to work tomorrow. FIngers crossed that the worst of her pain is behind her.

Work was intense toward the end of today's shift, and I'm sleepy as hell tonight. I feel like staying up and chipping away at the Beat Board, but I'm not sure how much longer my eyes will stay open.

[wheretheweirdthingsaree]

The Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox sculptures are iconic landmarks located at the Trees of Mystery in Klamath, California.

These massive statues serve as a tribute to the legendary American folk hero Paul Bunyan and his companion, Babe, a giant blue ox.

Paul Bunyanstands at 49 feet tall and weighs approximately 30,000 pounds.

His measurements include a 52-foot waist and a 66-foot chest, with arms that are 27 feet long and boots that are 10 feet high.

Babe the Blue Ox measures 35 feet from horn tip to horn tip and shares the same weight as Paul.

The original Paul Bunyan statue was constructed in 1946 but was destroyed by rain shortly after.

A series of replacements followed, with the current version being part of a larger tourist attraction that includes various sculptures depicting tales from Bunyan's legendary life.

The sculptures are not only significant for their size but also for their role in promoting tourism in the region.

The Trees of Mystery park features a Trail of Tall Tales, showcasing around 50 chainsaw sculptures that illustrate stories related to Paul Bunyan and his adventures.

Visitors can enjoy interpretive trails through the majestic redwoods, making it a unique blend of folklore and natural beauty.

These sculptures have become beloved symbols of the area, drawing tourists and locals alike to experience the charm of this legendary figure and his faithful companion.