#Vapor Hatch

[planetapolilla]

The bottom level of the bunker was filled with water, waist-deep and murky green. Splish. Splish. With every careful step, she felt the urge to turn back. There would be no way to access the lower level until it was drained anyway. Lia thought back to the access hatch in the mountainside, how she'd thought herself so lucky to find it cracked open. All the water must have leaked in over months. "This far as I go for now", she muttered to herself. "Maybe I come back with a bucket."

Something stirred in the water behind her as she turned. A tell-tale white poncho topped with dark lenses on a white mask glared back at her in the flooded tunnel. She hesitated. Pistol? Goggles? Her hand raised her pistol halfway, but the flash of light from the OWL's 10-WINK reached her before she could pull her goggles into place. She was stunned, frozen in place by the 10-WINK's ray, and the thought blindness crashed her brain. As the sound of the pyreband charging cut through her daze, a thought surfaced.

"I wonder if it can vapor water like it can vapor skin."

Lore by @ doom_captain ❤️ (twitter/X)

[benedikwonn]

Starfall | Chapter 01.

♪ — SHE FELL FROM THE SKY.

Invincible!Mark Grayson x Alien!reader

I’m using the name “Zira” instead of YN :O.

fic summary . . . She was supposed to protect a prince. Instead, she ran—across galaxies, into Earth’s orbit, and straight into Mark Grayson’s life. Now Zira, the alien warrior with a language she barely speaks, is hiding from the crown she betrayed… and falling for the boy who sees her anyway.

It was just past noon when the sky tore open above the city.

Mark Grayson had twenty minutes left in his economics class and exactly zero brain cells left to give it. He’d been daydreaming about fries, peace and quiet, maybe catching a late lunch with Amber—when the screaming started.

His head snapped toward the window.

A fireball ripped across the sky, trailing violet smoke and jagged bolts of energy. It didn’t look like any satellite crash or asteroid. No, this was controlled. Desperate. And headed straight for downtown.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath.

Mark was out the door in a blur.

The ship hit the earth hard.

Flaming debris tore a hole through a line of parked cars and carved a deep scar into the pavement of Grant Park. Trees snapped like twigs. Sirens wailed. The crater still smoked as Mark touched down, cape fluttering behind him.

He scanned the wreckage.

The capsule was oval-shaped, sleek and alien—definitely not from Earth. Black metal twisted with veins of glowing teal. A cracked hatch hissed, then burst open with a puff of cold vapor.

A figure stumbled out.

She was tall—not taller than Mark—with smooth, almost metallic skin that shimmered like a night ocean. Her armor was elegant but battered, pieces of it cracked and pulsing faintly. Her hair was silver and long, whipping behind her like it had a will of its own.

She staggered into the sunlight, blinking hard. Dazed.

And completely alone.

Mark raised his hands. “Hey! Are you okay? Can you hear me?��

The girl froze, eyes locking on him. Her irises were bright gold, wide and sharp like a cat’s. She tensed, hand reaching for something at her side—a weapon, maybe? But it wasn’t there.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Mark said quickly. “I’m not here to hurt you. You crash-landed. I saw—”

“Zath’rel? Thiraka!” she snapped, voice sharp and unrecognizable. The words flowed fast and harsh, nothing like English. Or anything else he’d heard.

She pointed at him, then at the city behind him, and barked something that sounded like an order.

Mark blinked. “Cool. So… we’re playing charades now?”

She scowled. “Skava don’ra til vorné!”

“Yup. Definitely not English.”

Mark took a step forward. The alien girl immediately shifted into a defensive stance, one hand raised like she was about to summon a storm.

“Okay! Easy. I’m just—look. I’m Mark. Invincible. Hero, not enemy.”

She didn’t relax. In fact, she looked more confused. The name meant nothing to her.

Behind them, people were gathering. Phones were out. Sirens getting closer.

Mark glanced at her again. She was shivering now, like the atmosphere was burning her from the inside out. Her knees buckled once—but she caught herself, breathing hard.

Mark stepped forward again, slowly, cautiously.

This time, she didn’t stop him.

He reached out a hand. Open. Friendly.

She stared at it. Then at him. Then, with obvious hesitation, she let her hand hover just above his—before collapsing forward into his arms, completely unconscious.

Mark caught her, stunned by how light she was for someone her size.

“…Right,” he muttered, lifting her carefully. “So this is happening now.”

Mark paced outside the observation room, fidgeting in his suit. Through the reinforced glass, he could see her lying on a medical platform, still unconscious. Her armor had begun to dissolve, revealing more of that strange shimmering skin. Her expression was soft now. Peaceful.

He didn’t know who she was or where she came from—but something about her felt… off. Not in a threatening way. Just wrong-place-wrong-time. Like a soldier who had crash-landed into the wrong war.

Cecil’s voice broke the silence.

“She’s not on any galactic registry we’ve accessed,” he said, stepping into the room with a tablet in hand. “Her DNA’s close to humanoid, but there’s significant divergence. And her ship tech? Totally foreign.”

Mark crossed his arms. “She didn’t understand a word I said.”

“She didn’t speak English?”

“Not even close.”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed. “Good. That means she hasn’t been listening in on us. Yet.”

Mark looked through the glass again.

“She was scared. Like… not just disoriented. She looked like she expected to die when she crashed.”

“Maybe she was supposed to,” Cecil muttered.

Mark didn’t like that.

He stayed for hours.

Watching her breathe.

Waiting for her to wake up.

Not knowing that everything—everything—was about to change.

[fifthintheforbidden]

Ecology Entry - Windward Plains - Quematrice

With a grand red crest and blazing tail, a species of brute wyvern roam the Windward Plains for carrion.

Quematrice are aggressive brute wyverns that are obligate scavengers native to the Windward Plains. On their head, a large red crest reminiscent of combs found on some true birds and bird wyverns. It might very well be the same kind of structure as those found in the aforementioned groups, which would suggest it uses this structure for temperature regulation and display. This would make sense for the Quematrice as the Windward Plains is a relatively dry region with high temperatures. Intraspecific competitions have been observed many times between Quematrice individuals.

Quematrice will fight fiercely when encountering one another. It is currently unknown if observed fights have been between just males, females, or between both sexes. I personally theorize these are mostly males competing to hold territory that averages high amounts of carrion. When we look at the Windward Plains, Quematrice tends to stay in the more vegetated areas near the rivers and caves. This is also where species like Ceratonoths and Dalthydons tend to gather, meaning higher potential for deceased individuals. When Quematrice encounter each other, they begin with their dominance displays, which include showing off the combs, vocalizations, and rapid swaying of their massive tails. If this fails to determine a dominant individual, the Quematrice will engage in a duel. Alongside using their bodies and bites, Quematrice will also use a surprising weapon from their tails. A flammable substance, likely an oil, is secreted within the scales of their tough, bushy tails that vaporize quickly. At the same moment of vaporization, the Quematrice will ignite the vapor by dragging their tails against the ground to create a spark. Whatever individual falls is forced to leave the area, and the victor claims the territory as their own. A male Quematrice who lays claim to a richer territory likely attracts more females, claiming both resources and mating rights. Breeding habits and the rearing of young are currently unknown, but my current assumption is that the male will allow the female(s) to nest in his territory and hatch the young. If I were to theorize more deeply about Quematrice chicks, I would say there is likely only one or two hatched and that they are precocial. With limited resources, it is likely better for Quematrice to invest heavily in one or two chicks before and after hatching. This would allow the offspring to split off sooner rather than later from their parents. It's, of course, unknown if Quematrice pairings stay together or split apart after offspring are hatched/raised fully and more observation is needed.

Quematrice dentation is fascinating. Perhaps the most striking part of the mouth is the two caniniform teeth on the mandible. Their teeth fit into depressions on the maxilla of the mouth and stay exposed even when the mouth is closed. These teeth are very robust, perfect for tearing into carrion left out in the heat. The incisiform teeth on the mandible are also quite large and are somewhat exposed when the mouth is closed. This under bite present in all observed Quematrice specimens is perplexing. Perhaps it has been caused by a widespread deficiency in a nutrient like calcium (though with the amount of bones available, I doubt this is why) or high rates of inbreeding. If there is a genetic component to this, a bottle neck some time in the evolutionary history of Quematrice could have occurred where the more pronounced under bite became widespread in the gene pool. Despite this possibility, the Quematrice seem well adapted with their interesting jaw structure, perhaps there is some advantage i have not yet gleamed from this. Other brute wyverns, like Anjanath and Deviljho, come to mind when it comes to odd jaws and dentation, but their reasons seem to be a bit different from Quematrice.

Quematrice is one of the most fascinating monsters I've encountered in the Eastlands, especially in a land brimming with unique non-wyvern large monsters. This brute has carved out a niche that is obviously a very integral part of the Windward Plains ecosystem. I do look forward to when we receive more data and observations regarding how they go about breeding and rearing young.

Per Audacia Ad Ferae

[starhvney]

soooo totally missed the part about not being anonymous😭

mine was the mys dante (coffee/cream/crossiant) :)

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: established relationship, fluff, outdoor winter activity

𝐚/𝐧: no problem!! thank you for clarifying!! your message in your request before was really sweet, so thank you :) <3 and i hope you enjoy!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Quiet giggles carry through the air, the vapor that huffed from your lips visible under the warm streetlights as two pairs of footprints crunched against the undisturbed white sheet of the road. Something about going out late at night for a walk in the snow made you feel like you were rebelling somehow—even though Dante and you were very much adults… and just because no one else was crazy enough to be out this late in the cold, that did not make what you were doing against any sort of rule.

Still, a certain giddiness filled your chest as you walked hand in hand down the neighborhood’s sidewalk, trying to keep quiet like young teenagers trying not to get caught (or in this scenario, wake up your friends and neighbors, earn some scornful glares, and most likely get a stern talking-to from Katelyn). 

Dante suddenly skips ahead of you, spinning around and pointing to a spot near the sidewalk where the snow shifted from its pleasant white color to a not so lovely yellow.

“Look, babe, yellow snow,” he giggles. “I dare you to try it. Ten bucks.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the amusement in them. “Gross. Seriously, how old are you?”

“Sometimes I’m twenty four, sometimes I’m thirteen. Depends on my mood, T-B-H,” he says goofily, before a horrible idea seems to hatch in his head, eyes twinkling in mischief as he slowly inches towards you with outstretched hands. “Hey, come here.”

You narrow your eyes, tilting your head in suspicion and holding your hands forward defensively. “…No, I don’t think I will.”

A rather evil cackle leaves his lips as he lunges forward before you can react, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around before shoving you right towards the discolored powder on the ground. A shriek leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Dante’s laughter intermingled with it interrupts the quiet night, echoing down the street and likely alerting anyone who possibly might still be awake at this hour.

Before you can fully tumble forward you’re pulled back into his chest, but your flailing arms send the two of you teetering off balance, falling in the other direction and into the snow. Flurries puff up into the air, settling a shocked silence between you two as they slowly drift back down and land atop your heads.

He blinks. Once, twice, before that stupid smile spreads across his lips one more time and he snickers.

“Your face is so cute…” he snorts, before giving a poor imitation of a cute shocked expression. “You were like this.”

An embarrassed flush spreads across your cheeks, heart rate still skyrocketed from the scare he just gave you. Deciding not to let him get away with his tomfoolery (again, as you always let him), you purse your lips into a pout, flattening onto your back and turning your face away from him in irritation.

“Aww, baby, come on I was just joking,” he coos, turning onto his elbows to get a better look at your face, not seeming to care about how the snow soaked into his sweater sleeves. “Hey, I really didn’t think you’d get scared. I’m sorry…”

He drags on his words, lips pouting as he tries to get you to make eye contact with him, even pressing a few kisses on your cheek—-to no avail, thanks to your stubbornness.

After a silent moment of contemplation he shuffles up and stands over you, feet on either side of your legs as he leans over to smile at you. You stare at him, wondering what on earth he could have planned next, and how you’d try to ignore it.

“It’s okay, we’re still gonna have fun,” he muses, grabbing both of your wrists and outstretching your arms to either side of your head.

“What—Dante, what the hell are you doing?” You blink, eyebrows furrowing when he starts… dragging your arms along the snow in a wide waving motion. 

“Making a snow angel with my angel, duh,” he says as if it were obvious, giggling and poking your nose with his very cold finger before stepping back to grab your legs and slide them across the ground. “There we go…”

“A snow angel with your angel,” you monotone back, deadpanning at him as he stands straight again, simply nodding his head in return.

You can’t find it in you to be irritated anymore. Not when he pulls you from the snow, smiling proudly at his work while dusting the snow off of your hair and clothes.

“Will some hot chocolate and cuddles make you forgive me?” Dante asks, quickly snapping a picture of the snow angel, sneakily including your incredulous face in the corner of the frame.

You sigh, shivering when a small breeze brushes against your now soaked hair and clothes. He stares at you in anticipation, tilting his head when you take a second longer to respond. “I guess.”

He grins, suddenly bending down to hook his arms under your legs and hoisting you up. His unpredictable action honestly doesn’t phase you, so you simply allow him to carry you bridal style with no fuss, accepting your fate.

This wasn’t the first time he has caught you off guard and kept you on your toes with his spontaneity…and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“...It was kinda funny, though.”

“Dante.”

“Kidding!”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa @luvsymai @yoom-ss

[nils-gold-34]

The Golden Egg Hunt

It began just after sunrise. The city park lay still beneath a pale spring sky, dew clinging to the grass, old oak trees stretching skyward—branches catching the morning light like golden antlers. At the center stood Nils. His golden cleats sank into the soft soil. His shimmering kit glowed, chest proudly marked with the number 34. In his hands was a basket filled with golden eggs, each one smooth, radiant, pulsing with potential. Each egg was different. Some were patterned with paw prints. Others etched with subtle chains. A few bore tiny bowties. The one thing they shared?

A purpose. To spread gold. To transform. To celebrate Easter the Golden Army way: through obedience, unity, and rebirth.

By midday, the park had come alive. Wanderers strolled the grounds curious, playful, drawn by something they didn’t quite understand. The air felt sweeter, heavier, as if spring itself was watching. Nils stood in the shadows, arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

The first egg was soon found one marked with chain links. It cracked open with a soft hiss, golden vapor swirling into the air. The man holding it blinked then froze, as the haze wrapped around him sinking into his skin, coiling into his thoughts. When it cleared he stood reborn. A golden stud in a gleaming tracksuit, a heavy chain against his chest, bunny ears perked with confident sway. He strutted into the crowd, eyes half-lidded and gleaming.

Another vapor burst hissed beside a row of pallets. The golden smoke shimmered and dispersed, revealing a pup crouched in the grass barechested, golden collar snug at his throat, long bunny ears twitching. His eyes sparkled with joy. His tongue lolled. He barked and chased after a stray football. Tail wagging as he barked at the delighted crowd.

One by one, the eggs worked their transformative spell. Some bros stumbled from the haze with golden skin and pumped-up pecs, thoughts soft and slow, vocab reduced to “Bro” and “Duuude.” Others emerged wrapped in black rubber polos, their mouths hidden beneath rubber masks, black bunny ears on top of their heads, glowing eyes blank as they stood awaiting assignment.

The park became a field of gold, every corner echoing with laughter, barking, and bliss. Only one egg remained. And then he found it.

A man, quiet and curious, wandered from the main path, guided by instinct. His fingers brushed the hollow of an old oak. His eyes lit up. He reached inside and pulled the final egg into the sunlight. The egg shimmered softly etched with a delicate bowtie. He smiled, and cracked it open.

The crowd turned toward the glow, silent, watching as the haze curled around him, reshaped him. When it faded, he stood in tight golden slacks, a silky vest hugging his chest, a perfect golden bowtie snug at his throat. Bunny ears flicked gently in the breeze. His lips parted in a serene smile. His eyes glowed faintly from the leftover golden mist. He smiled and walked into the crowd. One of them.

The golden haze is spreading. The eggs have hatched. The transformation has begun. Have you felt the calling? Do you crave the shimmer, the unity, the bliss? Then it’s your turn.

Find your egg. Embrace the Gold. Become one of us.

Join the Golden Army today.

Reach out to our recruiters: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001

[pallysuune]

Summery: Most of the villagers were afraid of Mortarion, but you, one of the people he had saved from his father's grasp, couldn't help but be drawn to him. You grow closer to him, and, after a celebration in town one night, he's curious about a few things he observed, and you're more than happy to indulge him.

Pairing: Mortarion/Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, people treating Morty badly, smut, first times

A/N: I just really love Mortarion, okay? A good part of the beginning is referenced from The Buried Dagger, because why not? XD

Word count: 4314

They shunned him. Maybe too many of them remembered when he had stood alongside the monsters the Overlords sent. Or maybe it was just because he looked different. You could still remember the first moment you saw him, and that made it hard to fear him. 

You'd been foolish, out too far from the town, in a field trying to finish before the night set in. You were gathering ears of corn, and you really didn't want to have to return tomorrow, so you were working later than you should have. Still, you had thought you were safe - until the horse attached to the cart laden down with your harvest started stomping and snorting and making a sound you'd never heard from it before. You hadn't stopped to think, you'd turned to run. But it was already too late. An undead stench washed over you. Claws grabbed you, and you were pulled away. 

You and other captives were put inside some sort of machine, a crawler that inched its way up the mountain, carrying you all to the Overlords for whatever reason. You recognized a few faces among those around you. Elias Wrinn from the farm down the way. Lanie Kren from the bakery. Calas Typhon from the town. People were avoiding the last. Everyone knew him, and everyone knew he was wrong somehow. 

Yet, where everyone else seemed to be despairing, only Calas was looking around with bright, alert eyes. He was thinking, and he was not yet defeated. 

You'd shifted a little closer to him. “Do you have a plan?” You whispered. 

His eyes had darted to you, but he didn't speak. 

But he did have a plan. One that hinged around an old breathing mask, a rusty piece of metal, and Necare’s own attack dog. Mortarion. The reaper. 

It was probably best he hadn't told you his plan. You would have thought he was insane. 

It wasn't long later that he whispered, “Cover your head,” to you. You glanced at him and then did so, tucking your head between your knees and wrapping your arms over it. 

A few heartbeats later, an explosion ripped through the crawler. You were choked by smoke that smelled of gunpowder and sulfur. You covered your face with your hands, coughing, when a breathing mask was shoved into them. You looked up, squinting through the burning smoke, to see Calas, with a mask of his own, shoving on the hatch at the top of the crawler. He slammed it with his shoulder once, twice, three times. It buckled and swung open, clanging. Calas was the first one up and out, and soon enough, everyone else was scrambling out, too. 

As you climbed up and out, you saw a fortress of slick gray stone, and attop the battlements, you saw him. A tall, gaunt young man standing there, staring in shock at you and the other humans. His long black hair clung to his face in the moist vapor of the upper ranges. Calas was already running toward him, shouting. 

You didn't have long to watch Calas, though, as the monsters of the Overlord bore down on you and the other humans. You screamed, dropping your breathing mask. Acidic, poisonous air assaulted your lungs, and you dropped to your knees, coughing and scrambling for the mask in the mist. You found it and pressed it to your face, dragging in hard breaths. 

Everything was a nightmare of screaming and blood and unliving limbs. People died around you. Claws shredded the back of your shirt, but, mercifully, missed your skin. Amid the chaos, there was a gunshot. You looked past the press of bodies and found him, Mortarion, Necare's son, had jumped down into the boggy ground in front of his keep. He was… 

He was killing the golems. 

He was helping you and the other humans. 

The monsters turned toward him, sensing that he was the bigger threat at the moment. You could only stare, your heart pounding in your chest as he and Calas were swamped by the monsters, and yet kept fighting. Mortarion had a chain with a hook on the end that he swung with lethal precision, gutting and ripping and crushing. Beside him, Calas fought with a piece of rusty metal, and a kind of power that only the Overlords used. You could understand now why the others had avoided him for so long, but at the moment, you couldn't help but be thankful for that power. 

Mortarion decimated the monsters, and the few left broken ranks and ran for the denser fog higher up. Sirens howled from the mist and when you looked, you could see the orange bobbing of lantern lights. 

The Overlord was coming. 

“Hey!” Someone called out your name, and your head snapped around. Elias Wrinn was the one hollering for you. He and a few of the humans who had survived were scrambling onto the platform of an intact transport crawler. He was motioning you to follow. You staggered to your feet and hurried over, as the old farmer reached down to help pull you up. 

No sooner were you aboard than the vehicle began to slide back down the mountain side. 

“Wait, what about them?” You asked, twisting to look at the woman at the machine's controls. Calas and Mortarion were both still standing in the bloody field, looking up toward the coming army. 

The woman only set her mouth in a grin line. 

You threw yourself against the side of the crawler, leaning out as far as you dared, even as Elias grabbed at you to keep you in. “Calas!” You cried. 

His head snapped around, followed a moment later by Mortarion's. Both of them just looked at the crawler and you humans, making no efforts to follow. You saw Calas turn to speak to Mortarion, but you were too far to hear what was being said. You tried to cry out again, but neither of them seemed to pay any attention. Soon enough, the crawler had descended a ridge and you couldn't see them anymore. 

You sat back heavily, your heart leaden in your chest. They had saved you, and you all had just left them there. 

But you didn't ask the other survivors to go back, either. You were ashamed, but you wanted to live. Enough to turn your back on them. 

You remembered that feeling hours later when Mortarion and Calas had stumbled into town.

The townspeople had always been a little wary of Calas, and that did not change now. To make it worse, they all knew who Mortarion was. The townspeople argued. Many were afraid that Necare would come and kill all of you now, for rebelling against him. Others wanted Calas and Mortarion out to death. You and the other survivors spoke up on their behalf, though, arguing how they had saved you, how you would all be dead and without them. But most folks still didn't want them in town. In the end, Elias suggested letting them both stay in a rundown stable at the edge of the township, with some firewood and food. 

For days, the whole settlement waited for retribution from the Overlords. You watched day in and day out as Mortarion stood just outside that stable, looking to the mountain, unmoving as a statue. A sentinel of some kind. Waiting like all the rest of you. But nothing happened, and eventually things returned to normal. 

But for you, the memory of running and leaving them behind never left. The guilt pulled at you. There was what drove you to make your way out to the stable with a small basket of bread. You stopped outside the closed door and raised a hand to knock, but before you had the chance, it was already being pulled open. You started and looked up into eyes the pale yellow of the sky at dawn. Mortarion looked down at you, his long hair hanging in front of his face. He was thin and gaunt, and yet there was something about him that was attractive anyway. 

You took a step back, lowering your eyes from his, and held up the basket in your hands. “Um… I brought bread.”

He looked down at the basket in your hands, and then took a step back, letting you step into the stable. 

Calas was sitting next to a fire pit. He looked up at you as he stepped in, a brow arched. He had a distinctly unimpressed look on his face as you stepped closer. “What’s this then?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice soft. You set the basket down, and glanced toward Mortarion as he moved over to the fire again. He peered down into the basket, but didn’t reach for it. “You both saved us. And we repaid you with this.” You glanced around at the stables. 

Calas snorted. “It’s not surprising.”

“No, but it’s still wrong,” you said firmly. 

He opened his mouth to argue with you when Mortarion cut in, “Thank you.”

Calas snorted and reached for a piece of bread. You lingered there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Mortarion sat down at the fire, and they both looked up at you. Calas’ expression turned exasperated. “Well? Sit down, then,” he huffed. 

You hurriedly sat down. Mortarion handed you a bowl of watery stew. 

And that was how you found yourself eating dinner with them. It wasn't the last time, either. More and more, you found yourself venturing out to the stable after your work to eat with them, or just to talk. You realized very quickly that Mortarion, for how dangerous and incredibly intelligent he was, had no idea how to be a person.  He spent a lot of time just watching the townspeople, like he was trying to figure them out. One day, he simply walked out of the stable and began to help in the fields, pulling a huge curved blade from a broken threshing machine to use as a scythe. He didn't ask permission, and no one tried to stop him. He worked so much faster than anyone else, soon enough you, and many of the other workers, were just following behind him, gathering up the wheat he cut down. 

That night, the townspeople celebrated having such a good harvest. The community hall was filled with laughter and music for the first time in so very, very long. Even you joined in, letting yourself relax for a night, safe among the other people, in the firelight that kept the mist and monsters away. You ate and drank, and sang loudly with everyone else. And when the night grew late, and people were paying less attention, you snuck some food that you could take to Mortarion and Calas in the morning. 

You slipped out the back with your stolen treasures, determined to make sure that Mortarion was thanked, as he was the one to make this all possible. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you realized you weren't the only person behind the community building. But the sounds of breathy moans soon reassured you that they weren't paying you any kind. Flushing a little, you hurried back home. 

You were busy the next day, and didn't make it out to the stable until late afternoon. The food you had snuck was still good, so you packed it all up and headed out. You found Mortarion just returning from the field, his hair braided loosely, and a scarf around his lower face and neck. He pulled it down casually as he watched you approach. 

“I brought you some things,” you chirped with a smile up at him, swinging your basket. 

His expression was as guarded as always, but he nodded, stepping inside and holding the door for you. As you came inside, you realized he was alone. 

“Where's Calas?”

“He went to the blacksmith. Some of the tools needed sharpening,” Mortarion answered. His voice was deep and rumbling, and incredibly pleasant to your ears. 

“Well, he can have some when he gets back, then,” you declared. 

You saw Mortarion's expression soften just a fraction as you smiled at him before beginning to unpack what you'd brought. Smoked meats, bread, cheese, and, as a special treat, a loaf of cakey bread with dried fruits in it. 

You and Mortarion sat and ate. After a few moments, he spoke up. “I saw your people celebrating last night.”

“Yeah. We've never had so much of the harvest in so early. It gives us a chance to process it for storage better. It's a huge help to us, and we owe it all to you,” you smiled. 

You thought you caught a pleased look in his eyes before he glanced away. “ I heard something rhythmic and lilting from the hall.”

Pausing, you considered the comment. Lilting? “Do you mean singing? We were singing pretty loudly last night, I guess.”

“Singing,” he repeated the word slowly. 

It struck you like a punch to the jaw, and you found yourself just staring at him. “Do you… do you not know what singing is? What music is?”

He didn't answer. You were aware that he didn't like admitting he didn't know something, but the answer was obvious. He didn't. Singing was one of the few light things you and the other people there had. One of the few things that brought some joy and happiness during long hours in the field. You couldn't imagine living a life without knowing what singing was. It broke your heart to think he had lived such a barren life. 

“Do you… would you like me to sing for you?” You asked softly. Normally you wouldn't, but things were different with him. Your desire to share this part of humanity with him was stronger than your fear of being judged.

He looked over and met your eyes, and nodded. 

It took a second for you to think of a good song. You set down the piece of fruit studded bread, took a breath, and began to sing an old lullaby for him. Mortarion turned his whole attention to you, his eyes focused and bright, as if he was in wonder at what he was hearing. The attention brought more heat to your cheeks. 

When you finished, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. Just long enough for you to begin to get awkward. You were starting to wonder if you should leave when Mortarion cleared his throat and turned to you. 

“There is something I wanted to try, if you don't mind,” he said. 

You offered him a smile. “Of course.” Maybe he has seen the dancing the night before? The thought sent a flutter of warmth through you, bubbling and buzzing. 

But it wasn't a dance he asked for. Instead, he shifted closer to you and, before you could really register what was going on, leaned in and smacked his lips against yours. It was awkward and a little aggressive, as if he was treating it like an attack of some sort.

You were too stunned to respond before he pulled back, a frown pulling at his chapped lips. “That was not as pleasant as it looked,” he said, more to himself than to you. 

A huff of a breath left you roughly as you looked at him incredulously. “O-of course it wasn't! You're not supposed to do it like that!”

His eyes narrowed, and for a second, you remembered why everyone was still so scared of him, even if you pushed aside the question quickly.

“Here, let me…” you trailed off and scooted a little closer to him. 

Gently, you cupped his cheek and leaned in slowly. He tensed slightly, but did not move away. Your lips brushed his, before you pressed them together again, softer this time. Your lips slotted with his, coaxing them into kissing you in return. It took a moment before he finally began to relax, his arms curling around you to draw you close to him. Leaning into his chest, the hand on his cheek slid back to comb your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. 

You had to admit, he was a quick learner. 

It didn't take him long to catch on, adjusting how he kissed you to what you seemed to like most. Though, when your tongue brushed his bottom lip, he did jump slightly, adorably. He mimicked the little lick, and you opened your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside. He gave a low, surprised moan, pressing closer to you. 

He took his time exploring your mouth, and slowly his hands moved over your body, until you were trembling in his lap. His fingers brushed your lower stomach and lingered there. By now, you had a good idea what it was that he'd seen - the same moaning couple you had hurried away from. You had been embarrassed hearing it then, but now you were practically vibrating, waiting to see what he would do.

“There is more,” he breathed against your lips. His fingertips dug into your stomach ever so slightly. 

You nodded breathlessly, your lips ghosting against his with the movement. Your whole body felt hot, a buzzing desire settling in your core. “Go on.”

You pressed forward into another kiss. Mortarion sighed. His fingers slid lower, beneath the waist of your pants and into your underwear. A thick finger brushed over your outer lips slowly, tracing them. A groan left him in a gusty sigh as he felt how wet you were. 

His finger brushed your clit, sending a spark of pleasure through you. You gasped, your hips bucking up against his hand. He pulled back from the kiss, staring at your face in awe as he repeated the motion. You whimpered, your whole expression crumpling with pleasure. He rolled his finger over the bud a third time. Your hand flew down to grab his before he could continue and it got to be too much. He froze the second you touched him, his eyes darting up to yours. 

“Like this,” you murmured, even as your face burned hot, embarrassed and horribly turned on, both. Still, the last thing on your mind was stopping, so you shifted a little closer to him, turning to put your back against his chest, so his arm curled around you. You slid your hand down to cover his,  wiggling your pants down a little lower around your knees to give more room for you both as you spread your legs a little bit. You couldn’t see him with how you were sitting now, but you could still practically feel his eyes on you. 

Your hand pressed gently over his, guiding one of his fingers past your wet folds, sinking into you. He followed your movements diligently, as you  pushed both your finger and his into your pussy, working them in and out of you. You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as you melted back against his chest. He began to take over, controlling the rhythm as you just kept your hand pressed over his, following his every move. 

“Mortarion,” you sighed breathlessly. 

You could literally feel him shiver behind you. 

He leaned down, his cheek pressed to the side of your head, his eyes focused unerringly on where your fingers disappeared into your heat. He began to move faster, and you followed his lead as he pressed a second finger into you, stretching you even more around him with the most delicious sort of pleasure. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet any longer, moans spilling from your lips as he fucked you quickly with his fingers, the palm of his hand pressing against your clit. Your hips bucked, grinding against it, desperate for more friction as you squirmed and trembled in his arms. It felt so good, every thought driven from your mind except the feeling of him around you and inside you. 

Your moans raised to a high whine, desperate, close already to your peak. Mortarion tilted his head slightly, practically nuzzling at your hair. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clit, plunging his fingers deep into your pussy. It all just became too much. You keened as you came around his fingers, shaking in his arms, your sex spasming tight around both your fingers and his, still buried  in you, soaking you both with your release. He kept fingering you through it, drawing it out until you were pulling at his hand, throwing your head from side to side as it began to become too much. 

He slipped his fingers out of you as you slumped in his arms, panting, shivering with the aftermath of your pleasure. He lifted his hand to his lips, licking them curiously, tentatively, before giving a hum and beginning to suck them clean. You tilted your head to watch him, heat coiling through your blood at the sight of how eagerly he sucked your juices from his fingers. Still leaning back against him, you could feel how hard he was, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants and pressing against your ass. 

A shiver ran through you as you registered the feeling. Oh, you wanted him. Badly. 

Managing to marshal your somewhat shaky body, you sat up and turned toward him. His eyes snapped immediately to you, intent and sharp. Not wary, like they usually were, but still very focused. You wet your lips and reached for his pants, untying the laces with trembling fingers. He didn’t stop you, but you heard his breathing pick up as you pulled his pants open. You reached in, your fingers grazing his length. He groaned. His eyes sliding shut. You curled your fingers around him to pull him free. You stroked him, looking down to watch a bead of precum ooze from the tip. You swiped your thumb through it, drawing a shiver from him again. 

Wetting your lips, you used your free hand to pull off your own pants and then climbed onto his lap, guiding his cock to your entrance. He groaned, his hands going to your hips and gripping hard. You rubbed him against your pussy, soaking him in your slick wetness before pressing his cockhead against your entrance and slowly beginning to sink down onto him. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, at the same moment he moaned lowly. 

His arms wound around you, pulling you flush against his chest, holding you there. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin as he panted softly and pulled you slowly down onto him. He was thick, stretching you, filling you impossibly full. His hips rocked up, again and again, in short little thrusts until he was finally balls deep in you. You could swear you felt him all the way in your throat. You were breathless, like his cock didn’t leave any room in your for air. You closed your own eyes, soaking in the intimacy of the position, and the feeling of his body. Your arms wound around his neck, threading through his hair. He lifted you and then thrust up into you again. He shuddered, swore, and then his frayed patience finally broke. 

His arms tightened around you as he surged up, thrusting hard into you, fucking you quickly and roughly. You squealed, scrabbling at his back, clinging to him desperately. It was all you could do as he fucked you. 

Took you. Claimed you. 

Already, you knew nothing would ever match up to this. No one would ever match up to him after everything. 

You threw your head back, keening, bucking your hips back as best you could against his. He breathed your name, curling into you, his lips pressing to your neck. It became a chant, a mantra, the closest thing to a prayer he would ever say as he whispered your name again and again, interspersed with soft pleas and encouraging coos. You were barely able to register the words. The pleasure was too much, your mind driven blank by the feeling of his cock inside you. 

You came around him suddenly, keening, your nails digging into his shoulder. He gave a shuddering groan as he slammed up into you, and then ground deep, savoring the way your pussy squeezed and fluttered around him, letting it drag him over the edge too. Heat flooded you as he came, pumping his seed deep into your. 

Slowly, you both came down from the high of your releases, panting softly. You were trembling in his arms, exhausted, but floating in the lingering pleasure. Mortarion’s breath slowed, but he was not at all inclined to release you, cradling him close to his chest. “Stay here tonight?” he murmured. 

You nodded, snuggling deeper against him. 

It took a few moments before you finally slipped off his lap, prompting twin groans from both of you. You cleaned up as best you could, got dressed again, and settled in his lap once more. 

By the time Calas returned, night had set in, and you were asleep in Mortarion’s lap. He paused in the doorway, looking at the two of you with his brows arched. Mortarion looked up at him, as if challenging him to say anything about it. With a snort, Calas looked away, his eyes landing on the basket of food you’d brought with you earlier. He moved over, nudging it with his toe. “Did you at least leave me some?”

Mortarion’s expression softened slightly, and he shifted you in his lap, curling you close to him as he moved over a little himself, making room at the fire for his friend. “A little.”

There was another snort as he sat down, pulling the basket in front of him and beginning to look through it, as a comfortable, companionable silence fell over the stable. 

[gabbrofan27]

I have GOT to post something outer wilds related, you like ONE drawing of Noelle DeltaRune (first name last name) and your feed is full of deltarune. This is NOT a deltarune blog tumblr you mistaken wench website

anyways, chert with a kangaroo tail bouncing instead of walking, no I need serious post. At time of hatchling launch day, say hatchling is 19-20 when launching, feldspar has been gone seven years. I don’t know how to begin to approach coming up with the reasons they were able to survive for seven years. maybr…

gossan always feared feldspar getting into a crash they couldn’t be rescued from easily, or them getting lost to the void of space with no fuel and no means to track them. so they probably packed a years worth of rations into the ship, fighting with slate the entire time about “carrying capacity” and “worrying too much.”

feldspar is stupid, but they aren’t dumb. They took one look at gossan’s written manual on rationing the rations, saw them say it could only last a year, and took that as a challenge. They needed some heavy initial intake for immediate healing after the crash, so they were able to make it last between 1.5-2 yrs. They got, veery sickly and malnourished, but it worked for a time

we dont see it in game, but if the travelers have all of the means to set up a semi permanent camp, why wouldn’t they also take seeds for trees that can bear fruit? Feldspar got them to grow after some time, and helped after the rations ran out. There wasn’t much nutrition in the soil of the anglerfish skeleton (related: tree fic named Tree Life), so they didn’t last much too long, but probably got them out to year 3-3.5

the water collectors (moisture farm? vapor condenser? Idk a good name but you get the idea) we’re actually very, very effective inside the node. Turns out, having grown from an ice planet, there is a looooot of moisture and water floating in dark bramble. One can tide them over for 2 years, and they have 3

after the fruits are gone and dead, all the soil used up, they probably had to get adventurous again, seemingly out of food at the moment. They have tanks full of jetpack fuel, and all the time in the world, so they go hunting for anglerfish. Of course, they only spear the mini ones, not a chance of anything more grown than a baby, and collect the eggs if they’re feeling reckless enough (and they are bc they’re feldspar). they have plenty of fuel by year 4.5-5, but a near fatal encounter with the anglerfish knocked them down a few pegs, alongside breaking their… speargun, I guess? No, it’s just a piece of pipe sharpened on the anglerfish skeleton with a rope attached to it, and maybe a fishing rod to actually hook the anglers

year 5 is year of the egg and year 6 is year of the bug. they had collected several hundred eggs and prevented them from hatching (shake it fast and hard for a bit), and they stay useable for a long while. Or at least, if they muscle through the myriad of symptoms that eating early eggs gives them, they’re useable for a while. But they run out, and so? Bugs. Yeap, they gotta eat bugs! Nothing much to it to be honest. Maybe they’ve been intermittently eating bugs in place of other items throughout their stay at Dark Bramble Express & Suites, so they don’t immediately use up all of their bugs, but like, bugs throughout get them going to the end of year 6

at year 7, they are running out of bugs. to avoid getting into the more uhh, sourcing of food “from the self” gory aspect of extreme survivalism (although in another post, that is exactly what happens here instead of bugs), I’ll say they’ve been on a grueling regiment of bug and jellyfish rations by the time the hatchling finds them. just in time!

if gossan knew that feldspar kept that drawing they made on the rations manual, gossan’s little scribble of the five founders together, kept it on their body at all times to always remind them of home, I think they would be put at ease just a little bit more, even if felds were to never get back home.

[kaiju-krew]

HELLO KAI!!! First of all, I wanted to wish a great dayyyy!! <333

Okay, now, my question is- if you could make a MVGodzilla anime, but like an AU or something, how would you do it? Yap about your ideas I'm hearing you out.

HI POOKIEEE tysm u too uwu

uhhmmmhmhmhmhmhmm honestly i haven't given this a ton of thought but my immediate instinct is to say something revolving around Miki. She's the goat and i love the idea of having a character that uses her own psychic abilities to like... humanize(?) kaiju more? obviously we've gotten a lot more open characterization of monster chars like kong, and some for others too, but having a human who can basically communicate with kaiju would be neato. (not just the orca static, real communication)

im not picky but if it was an offshoot of the monsterverse....... i feel like the mv vaguely hinted at their version of the shobijin (dr chen and her sister) having some kinda link or attachment to mothra, so it doesn't seem unreasonable to extrapolate off that idea. you could always lean on the excuse that hollow earth spicy air can effect human brains and triggered psychic abilities or something idk

buuuuuut yeah im a sucker for her having a baby gojiran around so im down for whatever kinda godzilla juniour/baby godzilla thing they need to do for her to help raise it up. easiest choice is that they find a dormant egg in HE and it hatches out. perhaps they're worried goji will see it as a threat and will try to vaporize it so they gotta work around that, maybe chat to mothra, etc. hijinks ensue trying to keep a baby goji hidden, blah blah.

maybe it's too silly but i think there's a chance for an emotional core of Miki feeling out of place among humans for her powers, n the baby gojiran being unable to integrate into the 'kaiju balance' until they're sure it can be safe. i think it could be fun and cute with a pinch of angst when needed

[givehimthemedicine]

El traded herself for Max in the void: a timeline switch crack concept

I'm not saying "theory" because I'm not 100% serious but hear me out anyway because there is something here, I'm just not sure what. if nothing else I get to inflict an angsty scenario on you

so you know how Two Days Later El's behavior irt Max is just so weird?

after everything that happened, you'd expect El to already be screaming "IS MAX OKAY?" as the van door is sliding open. instead, she doesn't ask about her at all.

even when Dustin says Lucas is at the hospital, El goes "is he hurt?" as if Max isn't crossing her mind at all as a reason for him to be at the hospital.

Will's casual inquiry of "where's Lucas" is weird in of itself. Will was there when El hatched the whole "Protect Max" plot and literally spoke to El while she was in Max's memories/the void. he knew Max being in danger was the whole thing. he definitely would've asked about Max before he asked about Lucas.

then Lucas says how it was a miracle that Max's heart started beating again, and Mike and Will give El this look. the obvious interpretation being that they assume El is somehow responsible but didn't say a word about it. (classic El behavior)

call me crazy, but doesn't it kinda fit to say that Two Days Later El does not have Void El's memories?

the El who arrives in Hawkins is NOT acting AT ALL like someone who watched her best friend die, brought her back, and ended the interaction with her in a dubiously-alive-critically-injured state.

this El is behaving like one who succeeded in rescuing Max and therefore isn't especially worried about her current status. maybe even a version where Lucas never got beaten up, the tape never got broken, the plan worked. who never told the boys she revived Max, because she didn't.

there's just something about El being all dirty and bloody during Max's death scene and then visiting Max two days later still wearing the same outfit except a still-clean version of it. like none of that happened to this El.

there's just something about Dustin's "oh God, you don't know." maybe this El doesn't! she looks lost af.

there's just something about Mike's "we came as soon as we heard." El was there and saw it all, but you just now heard it from Dustin? I know El is tight lipped but you're really saying she got out of the pizza freezer and into a TWO DAY LONG van ride and the conversation never got around to, like... how the mission went?

yet as of the cabin end scene, suddenly Mike and Will both know stuff that only El could've told them. so.. she did talk in the van? but didn't mention the Max stuff? that's even weirder.

let's talk about Vecna's 4th gate

so gates open on the exact spot of Vecna's victims' bodies, right?

here's where the Max gate starts to open in the UD attic, corresponding to exactly where Max is lying dead in the RU attic.

except that absolutely cannot be.

because they showed us what instantly happens if even a small part of the gate crack passes beneath a person. it looks like this:

so if that gate originated exactly under Max's body, Lucas would not have any warning. the only way he would've found out about it is by seeing at least a section of Max's corpse suddenly get vaporized Jason-style. (if not also his own body!)

instead, Lucas has time to see it starting to form and pull Max to safety. which means it couldn't have started forming exactly under Max.

the forming gate that Lucas is looking at as he drags Max away is actually sorta between Max and the spider shrine.

now look where El was sitting.

what if the 4th sacrifice was El, not Max?

we never actually saw the results of whatever El did when she put her hand over Max's heart. the easiest assumption is she just did magic cpr and started Max's heart again. but what if she was doing something to trade places with Max?

"but wtf are you talking about, because El continues being alive for the rest of the episode?"

for this concept I'm borrowing an idea from @heroesbyler that's had me clawing the walls of my cell lately - in case you missed her recent big brain posts, she pointed out some weird discrepancies in actual vs void versions of scenes throughout the show, suggesting that when El visits the void, she could actually be looking into different timelines. I'd definitely submit the Creel attic as another example.

so when I say what if El traded herself for Max, I'm talking Void El and Void Max.

I'm talking something about Max's death, or revival, or the opening of the gates, throwing some kind of trolley dilemma train tracks switch between timelines. idk there are too many details to iron out before I pitch this in seriousness but idk I just. I swear to you Two Days Later El and Void El aren't lining up.

some discrepancies in the real vs void Creel attic (not all. this could be a whole post itself)

void vs UD:

according to the UD shot, the origin point of the death gate is perfectly centered relative to the rug, and, say, a foot away. here's my hasty approximation of where I'd expect it:

this is why I'm not taking the L about how honestly El's location doesn't perfectly align with the UD origin point - because neither does Max's.

void vs RU:

IRL, Lucas is cradling Max across his lap. his legs are more or less parallel to the spider shrine while Max is angled at, very roughly, 45 degrees to it. the bug lamp is centered on it.

in the void version, the bug light is far towards one end of the table. while Lucas and Max's positions feel fairly consistent, their placement relative to the SS is not.

if you follow the lines of the floorboards in the IRL shot, his butt is aligned nearly with the far right edge of the SS. but here, don't they all seem decidedly further towards the left of it?:

as soon as Max dies, things get differenter. now they're further right again, only Lucas and Max's positions are more spoony, pointed the same direction. she's nearly parallel with the SS now. her feet also seem jacked up at more severe angles.

overhead shot also makes that bug light's off-centeredness very clear.

also you notice how we don't see El hearing Max in the void? I mean, she must have, otherwise she wouldn't reply "No, you're not going", but it's just odd how WE don't see that.

I've talked before about how Max says both "I don't want to die" and "I don't want to go," which are two different concepts in ST universe, and that Lucas and El each get to respond to one of them. so why not show us El hearing the one that's hers?

IRL Max is begging for her life, but when we switch to the void, she's abruptly silent and much more still. El only hears Lucas. back to IRL, Max is still more actively struggling and vocalizing a little before she dies. the energy doesn't match super well.

other bits

on the subject of El's "No. You're not going." if you really wanted to, you could interpret that in a "- because I'm going instead" way. I know, she didn't especially say it with that inflection. but it does have me thinking about how incredibly in character it is for El to be willing to trade herself like that.

it made me think of this moment:

yeah we've all demanded to know what was the reason for having Owens assume Max was a boy. but has anyone talked about how El, in her reply to that very line ("no, do not send your men. send me.") does the same thing? Owens just said "people". El assumes they are men.

there's just something about El saying "do not send your men[?], send me" immediately after Owens referring to Max as a him[?]. it gives kind of a "don't take Max, take me" flavor.

there's also something about how Max wasn't supposed to be the 4th sacrifice anyway.

and by this point El has heard the monologue about how all this time, it's all been about getting to her. so she's definitely feeling that Max is dead in the crossfire because of her. you don't think that if she only could, she would take Max's place and face Vecna directly, whatever that entails? whether it's death or some ambiguous awful fate?

can you tell me this kid

wouldn't trade herself for Max?

also just curious that the very first time they played Running Up That Hill, it actually began on a shot of a distraught El walking down her school hallway before it transitioned to Max walking the opposite way down her school hallway. with the song edited to skip straight from the opening to the chorus about swapping places.

don't worry I'm sure there's no way that means anything 👍

finally, El is distraught not to be able to find Max in the void when she goes looking for her. but it's weird because El has located corpses, flayed people, and inanimate objects in the void before. there's no reason she shouldn't be able to locate Max due to her being in a coma/"trapped".

what if it's not Max who's offline? what if El can't see into that timeline anymore because she's dead in it?

[trek-tracks]

Thanks to this beautiful post from @peridotsarelongterm and @cursedtrekedits, I bring you Mother Horta's disco hit, "No Kill I!"

I’m made of silicon, I am petrified

I will protect the children, I remain right by their side

And I have spent so many nights thinking how you did us wrong

And I grew strong

I learned to vaporize your throng

Because you’re here

From outer space

I just crawled in to find you looting all our pergium in haste

I should have melted all the rock, I should have made sure that you’d flee

If I’d have known for just one second that you’d hurt my kids and me

Go on now, go, walk out the door

Just turn around now

Because I’ll liquidate the floor

Weren’t you the one who broke my eggs and made me cry?

You think I’d crumble

You think I’m just a pizza pie?

Oh no kill I, I must survive

For as long as Horta babies hatch you know I’ll stay alive

I’ve got all my life to live

My digestion’s corrosive

So no kill I

I will survive

Hey, hey

It took all the strength I had when you zapped my hump

After I’d stolen your reactor’s circulation pump

Into the Chamber of the Ages, not to hide myself away

And now you say

That you can cure my rainy day

And you see me

Somebody new

I like your Vulcan ears but I am not in love with you

The end of things cannot begin, tomorrow’s vault contains the key

If you break hundreds of my eggs then of your men I’ll burn fifty

Go on now, go

Walk out the door

Just turn around now

Or I’ll irradiate your core

Weren’t you the one who tried to meld and shouted “pain!”

Think I’m a devil

I’ve got a heart and bigger brain

Oh no kill I, I will survive

You may see a big lasagna, I’ll get pasta you to strive

Got eternity to birth, I’m not questioning my worth

So no kill I

I will survive…

Oh…

Okay, you’ll stay

We’ll make a deal

You’ll take the minerals

That we don’t need to make a meal

I’m dancing even though you cannot see my feet

Now that your doctor 

Healed me with some concrete

You no kill I, I did survive

And we taught a moral lesson through the magic of sci-fi

Differences don’t mean wrong, that’s the Mother Horta’s song

So no kill I

I will survive

No kill I!

[metaphorfordeath]

Watch Where You're Going

Two trans people talk about life while one of them finishes her shift at the local video store. 2k words. Originally published in Olit Magazine. Content warning for discussion and depiction of transphobia.

“I’m not necessarily saying it’s a bad movie, I just think it’s in poor taste.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lake flipped the hatch shut on top of the lightbox and took a step back. Lit from behind, the new poster depicted an image of a shimmering red wave the height of a skyscraper looming over a seaside metropolis. The title, printed in screaming orange block letters, read “HEATWAVE.” Then, in smaller letters near the top: “It’s too late to run.”

“I dunno, doesn't it feel a bit tone-deaf to you? Like, people are dying, dude.”

A few steps back, Freddie picked idly at some flaking plastic on one of the DVD cases. “Or is it timely? It's basically commentary on climate change."

“Climate change commentary should probably have fewer explosions and CGI of people being vaporized.”

“Yeah, I guess. I do think the Rock was really good in it, though. Did you watch any of his marketing interviews? He’s basically an activist at this point.”

“Okay, now you’re antagonizing me on purpose.”

“Am I antagonizing you, or am I winning this argument?”

Lake shot them a look as she rolled up the former occupant of the poster display. “If the Rock wants to be a climate activist, then he can get an environmental science degree like the rest of us. Go pick a movie or I’m gonna make you salt the sidewalks.”

“I literally don’t even work here.”

“All the more reason to go pick the movie.”

The store, as usual, was empty. Muted screens flickered movie trailers over the vast expanse of green low-pile carpet, the rows upon rows of gray shelves packed with plastic anti-theft DVD cases. Plate glass windows at the front of the store looked out onto a desolate parking lot, wet pavement glittering in the light of the towering marquee sign. 

Stowing the rolled-up poster under the front counter, Lake looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. Still an hour and a half before she could close, and no one besides Freddie had walked in the door since eight. Standard traffic for a weeknight—on nights like these, the cash deposits she took to the bank after closing were sometimes less than she got paid to be there. Oh well, she thought. At least my homework gets done.

“How about this,” called Freddie from across the store. Unseen between the high shelves, a hand shot up above them holding a DVD. Lake squinted to make it out.

“No, not that. Don’t pick something that someone would conceivably try to rent while we’re watching it,” said Lake. “I hate when people do that.”

“Okay, something else then. What about…” There was a long pause.

“Hurry up or I’m unmuting the ad reel.” Lake opened the cabinet that housed the DVD player and grabbed the remote. “I’m gonna do it!”

“ALRIGHT, Jesus, I’ll just pick one.” A second later Freddie emerged from the aisles, strode to the front and slapped a movie down on the counter. “Free her.”

With a click, Lake picked the magnetic pin out of the center of the case and removed the disc. “Priscilla,” she said. “Good choice.”

“I’m in the mood for some gay shit. Put it in.”

The movie blinked onto the screens simultaneously, spaced twenty feet apart around the perimeter of the store. While opening credits rolled, Freddie dragged two decorative chairs no one was supposed to sit in up to the registers, and the pair of them sat down.

“You brought snacks?”

“Sure did,” said Freddie, scooting a plastic bag across the carpet with their foot. “It sat in my car overnight so the candy might be a little stiff, but it’s still good. Nothing perishable.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Lake reached inside and fished out a pack of gummy worms. “Want a Code Red or something? We had a bunch that just expired.”

“I’m good, I got coffee before I came. Probably gonna have more when I get to work.”

“When’s your shift start?”

“Eleven, I know that’s when you close so I’ll bounce before you have to lock up.”

“Didn’t you just work earlier?”

Freddie shrugged. “Yeah, noon to eight. Such is the grind.” They plucked a worm from Lake’s lap and chewed thoughtfully. “Days like this are such a bummer. Too short of a break between jobs to go home and sleep, but too long of a break to sit in my car.”

“That’s what I’m for,” said Lake. “I’m like the truck stop of people. Rest your bones, take a shower.”

Freddie just laughed. On the screens, a man in the crowd whips his beer can at Hugo Weaving. He tumbles to the floor, laughter filling the room as he rights himself and staggers away. Backstage, he pulls off his wig and cradles his head in his hand, makeup settling into the somber creases of his face. 

“Did I tell you some guy flicked his cigarette butt at my face the other day,” said Lake, staring up at the screen. “While I was getting gas.”

“Jesus, really? That’s horrible.”

“It’s fine. It’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me. The look on his face hurt more.” She gestured to her own face, drew up her lip to show what she meant. It made her feel ugly to even approximate. “The sneer, you know. You get the sneer.”

“Yeah. My boss at the call center does it to me sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking.” Freddie folded their arms over their chest. “Haven’t told anyone. They’d probably just fire me to save HR the trouble.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They fell silent as the movie filled in the gaps. Headlights flashed at their backs as cars on the road drove past, less and less frequent by the minute. Someone shoved a handful of DVDs through the drop slot with a metallic rattle but didn’t come inside. The gummy worms were depleted, and Freddie started in on a bag of spicy chips. On-screen friendships develop even as homophobic graffiti defaces the film’s titular bus between stops through the outback.

“Do you ever want more?” said Lake after a while.

“I’m good on snacks I think.”

“No, I mean—more from life.” She turned in her seat. Freddie was still looking up at the screen, a film of peach fuzz visible on their face in profile, whiskers turning gold in the light. “Do you ever feel like… I dunno. Like it’s all over?”

“You’re in college. Everyone feels that way in college.”

“Did you feel that way in college?”

Freddie shrugged, wiped red powder from their fingers onto their jeans. “Sure I did.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t really care.”

“Okay. Elaborate on that.”

“Alright.” Freddie licked their fingers and turned to face her. “Here’s the thing: in college, everyone wants something from you. And they expect something from you. And they expect you to want something, and to put effort into going for it. But once you’re out of college, the number of people around you who give a shit about that stuff drops pretty dramatically. Right now you feel like it’s all over, but you haven’t even gone anywhere. Nothing has even started.”

“What if I don’t even know what I want?” Lake thumbed a buttonhole in her cardigan. “I’m getting this degree, but now that I’m almost done, I don’t even know if I want to do anything with it.”

“You see me using my degree? I work nights at a gas station, babe.”

“But do you like that?”

“I like it enough,” said Freddie. “I like that my boss doesn’t care if I sit and draw as long as customers get helped and checklists get done. I like that when I’m done with work I get to go home and make art and play with the cat and no one can tell me what to do. Granted, I don’t like the call center,” they added, “but the money’s fine for now. It’s just a job. As long as I get to make my art and be the most authentic version of myself, then I don’t care what other people think.”

“That doesn’t feel like giving up to you?”

“Not really.” They hesitated. “You know what would feel like giving up? If I stopped making art so I could like, go into marketing. Or if I detransitioned so I could be more hireable. I’m not interested in compromising what I care about so I can want what other people think I should want.” Freddie paused again, rubbed their eye with the heel of their hand. “Or, you know, maybe I’m just a burnout, and I’m only saying that to make myself feel better. I don’t really know.” 

The two of them fell silent for a while. The movie played on. The door alarm dinged and Lake jumped to her feet, Pavlovian customer service response in action. He didn’t need any help, said the customer, and he returned to the register after a few minutes with a copy of some action blockbuster from last year and a porno. She felt his eyes on her as she pulled up his account and rang him up; a long, curious stare, like he was trying to figure something out. 

            Once he’d left, Lake glanced at the time. “You can hang out up here while I do the rest of these returns,” she said, “but you’ll probably want to head out soon. Almost closing time.”

“Already? Damn, I should have picked a shorter movie.”

“It’s cool. We can always watch the ending another time.”

“Definitely.”

Movies were scanned, then re-pinned and restored to their usual locations around the store. While she made the rounds, Lake watched out of the corner of her eye as Freddie tidied up the registers without being asked, even tying off the trash and leaving it by the door for her. When she came back to get Priscilla, she hesitated over the “eject” button, watching as the climax of the movie played out. The heroines climb up the cliffside, sweating and squinting in the sun, red dust coating their boots. At the top, they catch their breath. They are beautiful and tiny against the backdrop of the canyon, drag regalia resplendent in the setting sun. The camera pulls back, and back. 

Click. The screen went black, and the player spat out the disc.

Ten minutes before close, Lake walked Freddie to the door.

“Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“My pleasure. Just doing my part to keep you from dying of boredom.”

“Much appreciated.” Then: “Um, I wanted to say—I don’t think you’re a burnout. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I did.”

“It’s cool. I know you didn’t mean it that way.” They took a deep breath. “Anyway, let me get out of here before I make myself late. Have a good rest of your night, Lake.”

“You too, text me later.”

“Will do. See ya.”

Eleven o’clock came and went. A flurry of snow began to fall outside, downy flakes disappearing on contact with the asphalt. Lights off, alarm set, door locked, and then Lake took the drive to the bank. The cash envelope for the day contained less than forty dollars, snapped up into the overnight drop box with a clank. 

A mile down the road, Lake turned into a different lot, parked near a pump and turned off the engine. Then, in the silent car, she gazed through her windshield at the warm-lit interior of the gas station. Freddie was inside, alone at the register, staring down at the counter. A pencil moved in their hand, cutting broad strokes across a sketchbook page. They didn’t look up, focus falling completely on their work even as Lake watched them through the window. 

The sky was dark and close, snow falling fast like hyperspace stars. There probably isn’t a right answer to anything, she thought, and then it was late, and there was nothing to say. Lake drove home and went to bed, and dreamed she was climbing a mountain.

[efverse]

its funny bc "garchomps basically a part of the family X3" is literally and unfortunately not even true... ditto just dragged this man back into their lives bc she thought he could help eon in some way. when eon himself wouldnt have even accepted(much less OFFERED) the damn job interview to the guy....

and the older kids literally have no idea about any of this shit either. they didnt grow up w him since their parents cut him off right before vapor, jolt and flare hatched. so hes quite literally just some guy from the dragon dept to them...they may have seen him younger in like a photo or two of dittos or something but...

ev was the first one in the family since he started working at the facility that really bothered to like. get to know him(yes. ditto and eon knew him from when they were younger but they havent bothered catching up etc beyond the basics)

(this all changes over time ofc but still😭)

[lunarspiral1127]

*SPOILERS*

Okay, is it weird that the moment Howard and Darcy are having with their egg baby is kinda sweet? Again, weird couple, never would've thought it's a serious thing, but the moment when their holding each other is sweet and sad.

But, they're saved thanks to the power of music and love! I'm not kidding, they sing that KISS song, the egg glows and shoots lighting to protect its parents.....okay I dunno whether to think this is cool, or laugh at how ridiculous this is all becoming.

Oh wait, probably laugh cause the egg hatches and zaps everyone in that crowd, vaporizing them. This is also another time Thanos dies in What If. Only, Fury, Coulson, Loki, his dad, and Zeus survives. Yeah, this is definitely getting ridiculous. And the whole convergence thing was right all along.

[ditzyclown]

Some doodles from oldest to newest of some toh ocs

I might share the lore better once I get the hang at drawing them better but meanwhile just know the archivist (nicknamed vist by the baby titan they are raising who they just call BEBE cuz they are too lazy and bad with names) was once friends with a Titan, left for a bit and when they came back not only couldn't they find their friend nor any other titan and the egg his friend had was still where they had last seen it untouched

They didn't take long to put two and two together and decided to take care of the egg until it hatched. They are still rather childish and hide their tiredness with a smile (and mask) while living in constant worry of the baby accidentally vaporizing him once they get their first powers (he's a drama queen, sleep deprived and knows titans are powerful)

Edit: forgot to mention every single creature they have collected has been turned literally into a plushie. They are a plushie hoarder. "Why would I make them a piece of paper WHEN I CAN CUDDLE THEM" is their philosophy