#halo 5 maps

[halopedia]

Map Monday — Fathom

Deep in Beta Gabriel's oceans, Fathom Station was built to search the wreckages of the UNSC Of Uncommon Courage and the Covenant carrier Splendid Intention. In 2556, the carrier shifted from its resting place, destroying the station.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The biggest, brightest, gaudiest display in all of Indiana

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 5

Prompt: domestic fluff

Rated: G

CW: one slight mention of PTSD

Tags: Post Vecna; everybody lives; pining; Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson; Christmas

It's starting to snow by the time Steve gets home, white flakes floating in the headlights of the beemer like balls of cotton. It crunches under his feet as he sloshes towards the front door. 

Even with Christmas more than two weeks away, they've been swamped with customers lately, the cold wind and unending snowfalls luring people inside. Now, away from the buzz, the world seems quiet. Peaceful, covered under its white blanket. 

Except Steve still hasn't learned to trust that peace. Even after more than a year, even with El assuring them time and again that it's over, they've won, … he still flinches at sounds in the night, looks for escape routes and things to fashion into weapons when entering a room. He isn't sure he'll ever stop.

He shakes his head to chase away the thoughts as he scales the steps to the front porch. He isn’t sure where they're coming from. Probably a combination of stress and the looming depression that always hangs over him at Christmas time, when all of his friends are with their families and he's left in this big, empty house, alone. He’ll take a shower, heat a microwave meal, and see what's on TV, that will-

The front door is unlocked. 

He's certain he turned the key not once, but twice before he left. 

Steve slides into the dark entrance hall on silent feet. He passes the umbrella stand, eyes scanning his surroundings, and his hand finds the hilt of the nail bat. There's a creak from overhead, like feet on floorboards. 

The attic. 

The hatch is gaping open as he creeps upstairs, the foldout ladder down. 

He holds his breath and inches his way upwards, rung by rung, bat clutched in one white-knuckled hand. 

"Hello, Steven," growls a voice, and he abruptly comes face-to-face with a grimace full of too-large teeth. 

Steve yelps, slips on the ladder, and goes sprawling on his ass. The nail bat rolls off into the shadows. 

"Oh, shit!" Another face appears behind the monster. One haloed in a mane of dark curls and crowned by a fuzzy Santa hat. "You okay, man?" 

"Fuck," Steve curses, clambering to his feet and rubbing at his sore butt. "Eddie? What are you doing up there?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and flashes him a toothy grin. It tugs at the scar on his jaw, the one he claims looks totally metal but hides under his hair most of the time. The one that Steve wants to map with his lips.

"Picking up that drill Wayne wanted to borrow. Told you I'd swing by after my shift at the garage." 

Steve settles down on the dusty floorboards and frowns. "Wasn't that at noon or something?" 

Like he doesn’t know. Like he hasn't memorized all of Eddie’s shifts. Only stopped dropping him off and picking him up every day because Eddie told him to stop. No satanic panic mobs left, no need for a bodyguard.

Eddie cocks his head in confusion and glances at his watch. "Why, what time is i- … whoops. Guess I got side-tracked." 

He shakes the monster- which, upon closer inspection, turns out to be a life-sized nutcracker. Its red-cheeked, too-wide smile mocks him and Steve just barely manages to not flip it off. 

Instead, he looks over the cardboard boxes around Eddie, all in various states of unpacked-ness. String lights coiled in thick tangles, dusty elves and reindeer and sugar canes. 

"Dude," Eddie says. He's pulled several colorful baubles from somewhere and is looping the strings over his ears. It looks ridiculous. It looks adorable.  "You never told me you're hiding Santa's village up here." 

"Didn’t even know we still had this," Steve mumbles, pulling the nearest box closer. It contains the huge neon letters spelling MERRY XMAS. "It's been forever since we got them out. Way before-"

He trails off. The words hang unspoken in the stale air. 

"I always wanted this, y’know?" Eddie says. His fingers are tracing Rudolph's shiny nose. "The whole shebang with the lights and the decorations and the music. Only so much you can do at the trailer." 

Steve hums vaguely, watches the way Eddie’s eyes crinkle, how the tip of the Santa hat flops into his face, and represses the urge to brush it back, trace those dimples with the pads of his thumbs. 

Eddie is looking at him with big, expectant cow eyes. 

"Huh?" 

"I said," Eddie repeats, sways into his space. "We should totally do it. Get all this stuff out. The biggest, brightest, gaudiest display in all of Indiana." 

Steve bites back a laugh, ignores how his stomach flutters at Eddie’s huge, excited grin. 

"I dunno. Sounds like a lot of work for just me." 

"Yeah, about that …" Eddie’s smile dims and his gaze drops. "I've been meaning to ask …" 

He starts to pick at his cuticles, so Steve habitually reaches for one of his hands to stop him. 

"Ask what?" 

Eddie sucks in a breath, and the next words rush out on the exhale, all at once. 

"So Wayne sort of took the holiday shifts because a guy got sick, so it'll just be me, and I thought …since you'll also be … alone, y'know, maybe we could …" 

"Eds," Steve says. The flutter in his stomach is turning into a hurricane. "Are you asking if I wanna spend Christmas together?" 

"What? Nah!" Eddie winks at him. "As if you'd deny me, please! I'm asking if we can get your ridiculous light show out." 

Steve snorts a laugh, chest warm and tingly and bright. "What, all of it?" 

"Hell yes, all of it," Eddie throws his head back and cackles, almost losing the hat. "It's gonna be our year, big boy!" 

They stay up in the attic for a long time, bickering and joking and unpacking boxes upon boxes of sparkly decor. Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

Steve hopes they'll get a white Christmas. 

Part 2

All of my holiday drabbles

[cristalconnors]

ALBUMS OF THE YEAR, 2023

Best Songs of 2023 can be found here.

Honorable Mentions (alphabetical): Black Rainbows, Corinne Bailey Rae // Heaven is a Junkyard, Youth Lagoon // Love in Exile, Arooj Aftab, Vijay Iyer, Shahzad Ismaily // New Blue Sun, André 3000 // Radical Romantics, Fever Ray // Rat Saw God, Wednesday // SAVED!!!, Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter // Scaring the Hoes, JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown // This Stupid World, Yo La Tengo // trip9love…???, Tirzah // With a Hammer, Yaeji // WOW, Kate NV

20. *1, RẮN CẠP ĐUÔI

19. GIRL WITH FISH, FEEBLE LITTLE HORSE

18. THE LAND IS INHOSPITABLE AND SO ARE WE, MITSKI

17. ATLAS, LAUREL HALO

16. BURNING DESIRE, MIKE

15. CENSUS DESIGNATED, JANE REMOVER

14. WHY DOES THE EARTH GIVE US PEOPLE TO LOVE?, KARA JACKSON

13. DESIRE, I WANT TO TURN INTO YOU, CAROLINE POLACHEK

12. OH ME OH MY, LONNIE HOLLEY

11. DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE’S A TUNNEL UNDER OCEAN BLVD, LANA DEL REY

10. SUNTUB, ML BUCH

9. PICTURE OF BUNNY RABBIT, ARTHUR RUSSELL

8. SPACE HEAVY, KING KRULE

7. RAVEN, KELELA

6. PRAISE A LORD WHO CHEWS BUT WHICH DOES NOT CONSUME; (OR SIMPLY, HOT BETWEEN WORLDS), YVES TUMOR

5. MY BACK WAS A BRIDGE FOR YOU TO CROSS, ANOHNI AND THE JOHNSONS

4. MAPS, BILLY WOODS & KENNY SEGAL

3. JAVELIN, SUFJAN STEVENS

2. FOUNTAIN BABY, AMAARAE

1. SOFTSCARS, YEULE

[kef-meister]

Metroid Prime .... 4!

While they aren't Star Fox or F-Zero fans (I see you), the fans of the Metroid series have had their patience tested multiple times over the series' lifespan. On June 13th 2017, Metroid Prime 4 was announced to the world. Now, June 18th 2024, Metroid Prime 4 has been given a release window: 2025.

It's been seven very long, very interesting years. But instead of dwelling on that, it's time to go frame-by-frame on the release trailer and give some notes on why that particular part stands out to me. I've gotten so hyped I've gotten analytical. This is what it means to go even further Beyond. ________________ 1. "Cosmic Year 20X9 Galactic Federation Research Facility" Metroid (1986)'s manual states that the Galactic Federation was established "in the year 2000 of the history of the cosmos", and that the original story of Metroid starts in 20X5.

Given that the Prime games are allegedly happening in the story-lines between Metroid and Metroid II … there's a continuity error with the main series, which I'm hoping is addressed rather than hand-waved.

Metroid II: Samus Returns (2017) has a trailer claiming it took place "less than a year" since the previous adventure. So that'd be in either 20X5 or 20X6 - the latter of which would place it in the same year as Metroid Prime: Federation Force. If that's the case, then Super Metroid would take place in 20X6/20X7 … but Prime 4 takes place in 20X9???

That this sequence takes place on a Galactic Federation Research Facility is VERY interesting though, especially considering the Big Reveal later on. 2. Samus' Gunship!!! I've watched this frame-by-frame and I'm convinced that the ship which is landing is pre-rendered, whereas the stationary ship allowing Samus out is the actual model. It's an incredibly clever trick to save on resources.

The ship itself is the Hunter-class gunship from Metroid Prime 3! What stands out here is that Samus is leaving the ship from the TOP panel - where she previously would enter and exit this ship from the bottom lift just behind the cockpit. I think it's also missing the Ship Grapple upgrade. Then there's the recreation of Metroid Prime's intro with Samus' space jump; the music; the zoom-in; HUD turning on ... Uuugggh, 11/10. Give it to me now. Put it into my veins and make me a weird hybrid.

3. Samus' Power Suit! It's Metroid Prime 3's Varia Suit, right down to the missile launcher design. This makes me feel VERY certain this story is going to take place very shortly after Prime 3's conclusion - like how Super Metroid follows up almost immediately after Metroid II.

The Morph Ball seems to behave almost exactly like it does in Prime 1 with its wonky physics. Loving this, seems to suggest the Prime 1 Remaster had a very solid engine ready to re-use. Prime 2/3 remaster when? 4. The Heads-up Display The HUD actually matches Samus' actual visor design! After Prime 1, the visor changed shape but the HUD didn't - now it has the extra notch at the top. It's higher contrast; Energy goes into the top notch, and the Map (now all blue!) has directions on it now.

Missiles take up one of the four slots on the left is weird. Maybe there's less Beams. The HUD doesn't seem to react when Samus switches between Beam and Missiles???

The Combat Visor makes a great distinction between which things are friendly, which are hostile and what you're locked onto on its little mini-map in the top-left.

The Scan Visor isn't intrusive with its overlay - and shows 2D images instead of 3D ones. Seems to make a better distinction between things you have and haven't scanned yet.

Going off of Metroid Prime Remastered, I legitimately think there's a team at Retro Studios doing their best in regards to (visual) accessibility. Love that. 5. Space Pirate Action Scenes! These tube-tastic dipshits keep looking more and more like Halo Elites and it bothers me, but they're here and awful! Blowing up a door!

Around 1:05 there are Galactic Federation humanoids wheeling away a thing. We like things here. We also have some friendlies fighting alongside Samus here, but they're most clear on the minimap.

6. The Big Reveal Later On Holy shit it's Sylux MetroidPrimeHunters. Holy shit, it's about time this fucker showed up instead of being a 'secret ending' cameo. I am absolutely loving the guitar riff in the background for the stinger here.

I'm very convinced those floating jellies are Mochtroids - not Metroids. It'd explain why they aren't latching onto anything. The biggest question is whether Sylux used the egg he stole in Federation Force - or this GF facility has been making Metroids. The GF will never learn. 7. To Go Even Further Beyond Samus has left the building. In this shot she's still in the Varia Suit. These avians on-screen have longer necks and brighter plumage than the 'birds' we've seen on Talon IV; there's no other creatures on-screen.

BONUS: The logo looks like the rendering of a black hole. That's probably not important at all.

Okay thank you for reading. See you next mission!

[thelvadams]

HALO INFINITE SEASON 5 - RECKONING • October 17th

Reckoning offers an all-new Battle Pass featuring Flood-inspired rewards, new maps, a new mode, and a sophisticated AI Toolkit for Forge. Coming later in Season 5, Firefight: King of the Hill offers a refreshing twist on the beloved co-op wave-survival mode.

[cod-dump]

You know what I really liked the MP videogame ask so i want to try again

Multiplayer games and who's banned from them:

Cod zombies: gaz, horangi

Halo coop (campaign firefight spartan ops): roach

New Minecraft server: kronig, roach

Elden ring: ghost

Fallout 76: price, roach

Mario kart: soap

Battlefield: roach, kronig, ghost

For honor: kronig, horangi

Day z: price, gas

War thunder: nikolai, kamarov

Smash bros: laswell, mama mctavish

Horangi has abandoned Gaz and left him to fend for himself so many times while playing Zombies. But if Gaz does it to him he will physically fight him, and he doesn’t care who’s in between them. It’s only with Gaz, for some reason. He’ll help anyone else but Gaz. Gaz returns the favor. Horangi forces them to play Mob of the Dead then screams about it later. Gaz also picks the worst maps to get back at Horangi. They are no longer allowed to play together, especially after the Hell Hound Incident.

“Gaz… No-“

“It’s too late, Hong-Jin. There’s nothing I can do-“

“KYLE-“

“Goodbye, Hong-Jin. You won’t be missed.”

“DON’T LEAVE ME-“

Horangi gets obliterated by hell hounds as Gaz watched. That marked the last time they played together.

___

It’s not that Roach tries to make them fail— He just sucks at the game. He’s not big on shooters and panics when the enemy swarm him. Thankfully there isn’t friendly fire because he has wasted so much ammo on teammates. He has shot Ghost so many times and then screams when the enemy show up. He’s been banned from playing now and cries about being excluded despite knowing he sucks ass at the game.

“GHOST- HOLY SHIT— I’M OUT OF AMMO!”

Ghost ignores him.

“PLEASE THE BRUTE—“

Loud sighing.

“Thank you-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

___

Once more, they allowed Roach to play Minecraft with everyone. No one has said anything about his past crimes so König is unaware of how Roach is when he plays. That’s okay. König is worse. Everyone got together and took over a village and made it their own… and König discovered a Ancient City under it. He had made a massive mine that allowed the Warden to get to the surface relatively easy. Everyone was screaming and discovered all of their loot was misplaced (stolen) and they all had to run and abandon the village. Now both König and Roach are banned from playing. That’s fine, they went a made a server together.

___

Don’t trust Ghost when he says he knows a place while playing Elden Ring because he does know a place. A place where you’ll die without a chance to defend yourself. If he dies to a boss he’ll lure the others to that same boss and watch them die. He has days on this game, way above everyone else, so if he dies to a boss they don’t even have a chance. They don’t play with him anymore.

___

Price enjoys attacking people on Fallout 76. He constantly has a bounty on him. Roach took after him quickly in this game because they both tried to kill each other and failed. Now they team up and hunt everyone else. Since Price has reached the SPECIAL cap and is now using his power for evil, the entire game turned into a manhunt. You can’t bribe either of them to leave you be. You can’t join them either. All you can do is run. Though Ghost has gotten the jump on Roach, he didn’t escape Price. Needless to say they don’t play with them anymore.

“I see you-“

“FUCK OFF NO YOU DON’T!”

Soap gets shot in the head. Roach did in fact see him.

___

Soap is a bitch at Mario Kart. Don’t try to play as Wario. Wario is reserved for Soap and Soap alone. He has a deadly aim with shells and always picks one person to target each game. He’s not even trying to win, he’s just trying to fuck over his chosen victim. He pisses off everyone when he does this and has actually been punched over it before. Only those who don’t know him play with him. The fools.

___

They were all excited for Battlefield 5. Then Roach, König, and Ghost reminded them all why they can’t have nice things. So much screaming and cussing and literal death threats. Roach always chases the closest person. He usually goes after König because he panics and can’t aim worth shit when he panics but sometimes he goes after Ghost… and immediately regrets it. If Roach or König get the drop on Ghost— They’re dead in real life. If the three are on the same team they spend the entire time fucking each other over. Soap hates playing with them because they don’t take the game as seriously as he does.

___

When playing For Honor, König is actually scary good at this game. At first he helped out Horangi but once Horangi showed a tiny bit of skill it was over. König insists that he targets Horangi because he just wants to help him improve. Everyone knows that’s a lie. It doesn’t matter if they’re on the same team or not, König goes after Horangi. He’s nice to everyone else but Horangi gets ‘special treatment’.

“FUCK YOU!” Horangi screams after König team kills him and then refuses to revive him.

“I love you~”

Horangi doesn’t feel loved.

___

Price and Gaz started playing Day Z to have something just for them. After they got a good footing in the game they decided to be nice and invite everyone else to play with them. They helped everyone get started. Helped them get okay gear and weapons… then the betrayal. Everyone was cussing and screaming as Price and Gaz killed them and took their gear.

“Execute Order 66,” muttered Price.

That would be their only warning before all went to hell.

___

War Thunder is normally only played by Nik and Kamarov. It’s their game and they usually play when no one else around, meaning no one had any clue to what they were like. Have you ever been sniped by a tank? No? Don’t worry, Nik will make sure you have a lovely experience. You won’t even see him and you’re dead. There’s a lot of Russian screaming, you have no idea what’s going on, and Kamarov just dived bomb you for the third time in a row. Nik and Kamarov are a deadly team. Price flipped his tank and Nik and Kamarov didn’t kill him but did keep everyone else from helping Price.

___

The one time Laswell was over for game night, Soap’s mom also happened to be there. To be nice they all picked a fun game that the two would be able to enjoy. A game that, normally, none of them rage over. Soap’s mom picked Kirby, gushing over how cute he was, while Laswell picked Toon Link. Soap had forgotten that his mom plays this game with his nieces and nephews and only mentioned it after she kicked everyone’s ass. Only Laswell stood a chance against her. Soap automatically cheered for his mom but quieted down after a murderous glare from Laswell. They all discovered Laswell’s competitive nature and that Soap’s mom was a sore loser that night. They swore to never play Smash Bros again.

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 12

Thank you so much for the love this story has been getting. I love every comment and tag. You guys are the best!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9 Part 10  Part 11

*

“They want us to record a demo?” Jeff asked for the hundredth time since the agent had talked to them.

They were in the garage they used for practice the next day. They still were on the high of suddenly having an agent. Something that they certainly wouldn’t have had without The Queen’s Crown.

“Holy shit!” Gareth said, his voice high from the excitement. “They want us to record a demo.”

“Hell yeah, they do!” Eddie said clapping a poor stunned Brian on the shoulder.

They sat in stunned silence for a couple of minutes.

“This doesn’t mean we’ve made it,” Brian said softly, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Eddie agreed. “But making a demo to shop around to all the labels is a hell of lot closer than we were two weeks ago.”

Gareth let out a shuddering breath. “I thought that song would do it for us, you know. That it would put us on the map.”

“Hey,” Jeff said. “It still might. We just have to knock the recording out of the ballpark too.”

“Think of it as a campaign,” Eddie suggested. “You found the magical item, now you just got to get to the final boss. There’ll be other adventures along the way, but we’ll get there.”

They all nodded.

*

Steve was set to start his painting. Eddie was strewn out on a bed of red satin, his hair a halo around his head, his body beautifully stretched. Steve yearned.

He yearned to press his lips on the indent of Eddie’s collar bone. To taste the line where hip met leg. To run his fingers through those dark locks. To bring a flush to those pale cheeks.

Steve bit down on his lip. He couldn’t fuck this up. Not like what he did last year. He had to paint the whole thing. His face, his thighs, his cock. Steve couldn’t cover anything up or place anything in the frame that cover any part of Eddie.

Everything else? Was completely up to interpretation. He could Lucifer fallen from heaven (if you wanted to torture yourself with painting wings). He could be fair Lysander asleep from Puck’s flower. He could be from any myth, legend or story.

Steve had chosen Eros asleep when Psyche comes to him the first time. Because if there was anyone who fit the god of desire and love, it was Eddie.

He got to work on sketching Eddie’s outline. Choosing the scene carefully. And then when he was home he would work on painting the bed, using an old catalogue as reference for the four poster bed he wanted.  

Every time Joyce walked by when he was painting Eddie, she would nod her approval and walk on.

*

“Fuck, Chrissy!” Eddie cried, burying his face into the throw pillows on her sofa. “The way he looks at me makes it very hard not to get aroused. And I cannot get aroused. I’ve tried thinking of horror movies, cataloguing my band t-shirts in order of when I got them, or even Jeff in a tutu!”

She patted his head gently. “Is this beer, ice cream, or Chinese food freak out?”

Eddie raised his head thoughtfully. “Chinese food.”

Chrissy nodded and went to go make their order. She squeezed onto the sofa between his head and the armrest. She began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you think he’s doing it on purpose? Like to fuck with you?” she asked softly. “Or you think he has the hots for you so bad it’s leaking out all over the place?”

Eddie slowly sat up next to her and put his head on her shoulder. “I want to believe it’s the latter. But we really haven’t done much except grab the occasional coffee. We text and call all the time, but I don’t know what means.”

“Have you told him you’ve had a crush on him for awhile?” Chrissy asked. Her and Pearl spent most of their shifts together complaining about how their best friends were morons that kept making googly eyes at each other.

“No...” Eddie said with a sigh, dragging his hands over face. “Because of the nude thing.”

“What’s up with the nude thing that prevents you from going after what you want?” She shifted on the sofa to prop her head up on her fist, her elbow on the back of the sofa.

“It’s already hard enough keeping everything down,” he gestured vaguely below his waist, “but add actually knowing what he tastes like, knowing what his skin feels like under my hands, my lips, my tongue? It would take all of two fucking seconds of him looking at me with those bedroom eyes and I’d be harder than that god damn concrete floor.”

Chrissy giggled. “Yeah, I could see how that would be a problem. That’s the best part about being a woman, when we get aroused, it’s a lot harder to tell.”

Eddie scoffed. “Which also makes it the worst part about being a woman because then it means the other person is fucking clueless.”

“Mostly guys,” she agreed.

“Are you glad you’re a lesbian?” he teased, going into tickle her sides.

She squealed with laughter and batted him aside. “Knock that off.”

Just then the doorbell rang. “That’s our food. Saved by the bell.”

Chrissy hopped up to get the food and paid. She set their food on the coffee table and began going through the boxes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie said. “I could have at least covered the tip.”

Chrissy laughed. “Babe, you’re working part time as model and getting paid by the gig. Save your money. I get paid $15 an hour plus tips. Believe me when I say, I’ve got this.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’m glad the Queen’s Crown is working out for you, sweetie. You seem so much happier since you’ve started working there.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And Diamond is thinking of hiring a third bartender things are going so well. It used to be that they only needed the one on week days and two on Fridays and Saturdays, which is when Diamond would step in and help. But with how well Garnet and I get on, we have more people coming in on the week days and we’re getting better tips, too. So Diamond wants to bring in a third so that Garnet leaves we’ll still have two at the bar.”

“Wow,” Eddie said. “I’ve been stuck in the same place for so long...” he spread out his hands, “I forgot what freedom was. We’ve been in the studio recording the last couple of weeks working on our demo to be shopped around.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve writing every moment I can. Hell, most of my best lyrics come from me just lying there for three hours. Well...the ones that don’t have Steve in them, anyway.”

Chrissy laughed. “Oh, I’m sure the lyrics that come from those classes are way to risque for radio.”

Eddie blushed and shoved hair in front of his face. “Shit, Chris. I don’t know.”

She ate her food thoughtfully watching Eddie push his food around. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “So what’s the real problem?” He looked up at her confusion. “I know you. There is something else that’s bothering you, love. You’re wound up so tight.”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know.” He set his food down and clasped his hands together, looking down at his feet.

She bumped him again. “You just talked about the freedom to write music, to get the chance to really do something with your life. But I don’t see it in your features, babe.”

“What happens to Steve if I do get a record deal and have to start touring?” he muttered mournfully. “What happens if we’re more than friends when we leave? I just feel torn apart. Having to chose between the life I’ve always dreamed, and my man of my dreams. I don’t know if I would chose touring with the guys if it came down it.” He threw his arms around her. “I would chose Steve every time and that scares me.”

“Oh.” She set her own food on the floor and wrapped her arms him. “Oh, sweetie. That’s why you have to talk to him. Because it sounds to me like those questions have answers only he can give.”

Eddie let out a sob. “What if the answer is that he doesn’t want to try because he doesn’t want to be left behind?”

She kissed the top of his head. “How would you be leaving him behind? Just because he stays in one place while you tour, doesn’t mean you’ve left him behind. It just means you’ve given yourself a home to come back to.”

Eddie looked up at her in awe. “Oh.” He snuggled in close. “You’re the best friend an idiot could ask for.”

She poked his side until he squirmed. “You’re not an idiot, Eddie. Anymore than you were an asshole about Steve. You can only work with the knowledge you have. And yeah, maybe some of your choices were pretty fucked up, you were able to move past it and become friends.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. And then another. “I love you, Chrissy.”

“I know, sweetie,” Chrissy murmured, kissing the top of his head.

*

“You wanted to know who Garnet is,” Jonathan snapped. “So that’s why we’re here.”

Nancy sighed. “Doesn’t this go against the bar’s rules or whatever?”

Jonathan threw his arms in the air. “I don’t care at this point. They all know who I am and I know who they are. Because shit happens outside of work sometimes and it gets revealed.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’ll just go to the bar tonight like Onyx suggested.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “No. Absolutely not. Because if you do, you’ll get upset and if you get upset, you’ll make a scene and if you make a scene Diamond will ban you.”

It was Nancy’s turn to throw her arms in the air. “Can’t you just tell me who it is?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe him,” a warm, gentle voice said behind her.

She whirled around and gasped. “Steve!”

Steve smiled sadly. “Hey, Nance.”

She looked back and forth between Jonathan and Steve in shock. “He’s Garnet?”

Both men nodded.

“Pure coincidence,” Jonathan said. “I had been working at the bar for a year when we needed a new bartender. Steve came in with Robin and they were both hired.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “Robin works there too?”

“Yup!” Steve said with a smile. The smile slowly slid from his face. “Look. I know me turning out to be gay was hard on you. Especially with how it all came out. But just remember, I didn’t come out because I wanted to, it was because I forced to.”

Nancy buried her head in her hands, she looked up at him, anger sparking in her eyes. “If you hadn’t tried to be a hero...”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that it would have been better for a girl to be raped and not realize I’m gay over what I did,” Steve snarled.

She opened her mouth to refute him but no sound would come out.

“I’m sorry it ruined your life, Nancy,” Steve said. “But it wasn’t just your life that was ruined. Do you know long it took for me me to walk down the street without people whispering behind their fingers? How long it took to be able to look at myself in the mirror because of the scars around my neck? I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t trust Jonathan, but fucking hell Nancy, you aren’t as big as the victim you are making yourself out to be.”

Jonathan touched her elbow. “I didn’t know you felt this way. You need to talk to someone, Nance. That was some pretty messed up shit I just heard.”

Her lip began to quiver. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t. Because you’re right, that was so mess up.” She let out a shuddering breath. “The newspaper has someone...I’ll give him a call.”

Steve reached out and held open his arms to her. Nancy wavered a moment, looking to Jonathan. He nodded and she ran for Steve’s arms. He wrapped her up in a fierce hug.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she whispered. “I’ve just been so angry for so long.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got a good boyfriend there, Nance. Take advantage of that, okay?”

Nancy nodded. “Okay.”

He gave her a brief squeeze and let her go. “I’ve got to get to class. But you take care of yourself, you hear?”

She smiled and let Jonathan lead her away.

Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1 @scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @a-little-unsteddie @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @elluminis @tailsfromthecrypt @danili666 @plyerice27 @alittlegreyfish  @n0-1-important @no-upper-limit-to-stupidity @maya-custodios-dionach @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @heaven428 @thedragonsaunt @ceaselessly-watching @imfinereallyy

[roses-bah-garden]

hi! can i request a level 5 masc/male aligned angel alter? thank you!

for sure! here you go :)

a new flower has blossomed! 🌹

masc aligned, angel, creator's choice ... [LVL 5 PACK]

══════════════════

name(s) ;; ezekial, michael, mikael, rafael, lilac, solus

pronouns ;; he/him, wing/wings, eye/eyes, they/them, */*s

age ;; 1000+

species ;; angel

gender(s) ;; angellexic, biblicallexic, AMAB, holybeing

orientation(s) ;; asexual, panromantic

role(s) ;; caretaker, soother

source ;; brainmade / alter packs

sign-off(s) ;; 《🕊》

══════════════════

appearance ;; 5'11", with a muscular build. light skin. curly golden hair. dark brown eyes. freckles forming constellations. large gold halo and white wings. see below for picture.

personality ;; kind and gentle. he is responsible, with excellent leadership qualities. wing can be naively optimistic at times. they are open minded and honest.

══════════════════

likes ;; hot beverages, violin covers, orchestral music, chess

dislikes ;; violence, horror, large dogs

possible front triggers ;; playing chess, taking care of the body

══════════════════

cisid(s) ;; celestial, goldAmian, cisWhite

transid(s) ;; panRacial, raceFluid, transEarthen, transMultipleHalos, transOverprotective

kink/fetish/para(s) ;; MAP (non-sexual)

══════════════════

moodboard ;; found here

playlist ;; "rewrite the stars" - daniel jang / "symphony" - clean bandit + zara larsson / "chasing cars" - milo grande / "a thousand years" - daniel jang / "metropolis of eden" - sparkbird

kinlist ;; aziraphale (good omens) / granmamare (ponyo)

bonus info ;; types with correct grammar and punctuation, making his own angelic language

[thetreestumptherapist]

Red vs blue nostalgia

I consider it a tragedy I only started watching red vs blue after I found out Rooster Teeth was shutting down. I have been finding the episodes on youtube and have compiled a playlist of the entirety of red vs blue, complete with intros, even if some of the seasons have the intros built in. I can't find season 6's intro, and I haven't gotten the intros beyond that. I am currently at season 5 in watching them.

My gift to you all:

I was born in the golden age of gaming, the problem is, I wasn't old enough to experience it. I grew up playing halo, but none of the online stuff that people get nostalgic about. I would love to find a group of people to get online and go through the old maps with, but that will have to be a later event.

Red vs Blue is a master piece. I never watched it at it's peak, but somehow it's still nostalgic and screams "2000's". I first found out about it from seeing a meme of Sarge saying "we've been tricked. We've been backstabbed. And we've been quite possibly bamboozled." I recognized the armor as being from halo and frantically searched for the origin of that saying. I think I did find that it came from red vs blue, but I didn't watch it at that time. And then I saw it again later on prime (don't know how long it was there), but never got to asking my mom if I could watch it. She would never had said yes... The number of inappropriate jokes, references, and comments...

Them: "When you first saw halo red vs blue, were you blinded by it's majesty?" Me: "Blinded? I was in tears at its beauty."

The theme song is perfection. The voices were instantly iconic, and became even more iconic when I found out it was because the actors had to phone in their lines and they decided to keep that tinny/muffled effect instead of rerecording them. That's how you make something memorable. And it all started with a group of friends, an awesome videogame, and a simple yet deep question: "You ever wonder why we're here?"

[definitelynotthedarklord]

It just occurred to me, what if these are the good times for Helldivers 2?

Like I'm sure we've all seen TikToks showing how CoD and Halo lobbies were back in the day, thousands of players, some who became the greatest of friends we made amazing memories with, and then it shows those same lobbies today, empty, "last online 5 years ago," everybody grew up and moved on, but the memories remain, and the whole thing with a sad song playing.

I wonder when it'll happen for HD2, if in a couple years someone will sign on and see the whole galaxy map full of bugs and bots, and Super Earth is gone.

Dammit, I just made myself sad

[simandy]

Express Tutorial: How to fix some weird Dirty Blonde textures made by EA or making Dirty Blonde from any texture ever (for recolors)

Hello, so I was asked questions about how to gradient the 13th swatch of the EAXIS palette for hairs to make the recoloring process easier. Therefore here I am with one more specific-ass thing for you to learn.

This tutorial will teach you: Photoshop Gradients Maping and how to disrespect EA color choices properly

Tutorial under the cut ♥

Ok lesgo

Step 1: Get your weird texture. Mine is this one, from the Island Living EP:

I despise it. ANYWAY, as you can see, the colors are a bit off, the highlights are white and there’s a kind of a “halo” around them that is pretty saturated for no reason. This can make your recolor look weird. So let’s fix that.

Step 2: Open it in Photoshop. Mine is Photoshop CC with a .dds plugin (which makes it easier to work with gradients and not care about the white backgrounds. But if you’re used to the .png files and not flattening your layers, it will work normally.)

Step 3: GRADIENT MAP TIME, BABE. Find it here:

So this nice cute layer will be created for you in some color (will vary depending on what color you have selected at the moment, don’t panic):

Step 4: The Gradient messing up step. So now you have this big window open in your photoshop because you clicked the gradient in the previous step. What now?

Well, now is when the fun begins. You have two sliders there: far left and far right. Far left is your darkest color, the shadows of your hair texture. Far right is the lightest point, the highlights. We still have only two shades, but we will need FOUR. To insert more color shades into your gradient map, simply click somewhere in the map, like this:

Ok, make it to four and you will have this nonsense here:

You can mess up with the slider positions as you please!

Step 5: Colors! So now you have a gradient map ready to use, all you have to do is to change it’s colors to your preferred tones. To change a slider color, you click it’s little box twice and the color selector will open for you. It’s this easy. Keep in mind that left is darker and right is brighter.

I have my values ready so you can copy and paste in the # section to the color selection:

Deep shadows (far left - value 1): 2e1b15 

Shadows (left - value 2): 523830 

Base color (middle - value 3): b08d68 

Highlights (right - value 4): fff3bd

After you put in your values, you will get this:

“But Ellen!!! This is dark as hell and not even close to dirty blonde!!” I know dear, that’s why the sliders are for! You can change their positions so if you bring the lighter colors more to the left, the shadows will get lighter! (Notice the extra tip)

Cleaner dirty blonde!!! Look how soft and pretty it is compared to the EA one:

Step 6: Save it. No for real that’s all! Join the layers for png or flatten for dds (don’t forget the mipmap check) and save it as “base” of you’re here because you use my actions. Here’s a sims4studio comparison:

See how it looks easier on the eye? It’s because now the colors are a perfect gradient of each other and they mix up well!

The best part if this, is that now you can grab any texture and turn it to dirty blonde by messing up with the gradient sliders! This makes everything easier, even recoloring clothes or build mode stuff if you want your favorite hair color palette in other parts of the game, assuming they all use dirty blonde as a base. Here’s an example using the teal hair swatch:

Another tip: Don’t forget to save your new gradient for when you need it again!

♥

That’s about it! Now go on with your recolors! See you in the next tutorial, xoxo

[unclewileys-bahblog]

I saw you guys were filling a vriska in the near future and thought i could try my luck at getting some homestuck folk?

Could we get a consang dave and dirk strider pair? For dirk could he be problematic? a bit jaded and rough around the edges, maybe a demon or demon themed? lots of paras and transids? And for dave could be be a bit like an innocent counterpart? Naive and quiet, transage (younger) with angel theming?

Thank you guys so so much !!

- 🐀💫[If I can claim that tag]

sure. enjoy.

Name: Dirk Strider

Titles: Prince of Heart, timaeusTestified

Age: 17-20

Gender: Trans man, Demongender

Pronouns: He/him, Void/void’s, They/them, Dem/demonic, Devil/devil’s

Sexuality: Gay

Species: Human, Demon

Source: Homestuck

Roles: Overseer, Verbal protector

CisIDs: Older brother, Introvert, SH scars, Cig addict, Rude, Smart, Sly, Manipulative

TransIDS: TransRedEyes, TransImmortal, PermaWorshipped, TransNeonRedBlood, TransAMAB, TransRace (asian), TransAccent (jamaican), TransGroomer, Trans🍇ist, TransAbusive, TransFaith (jewish), PermaFirstPlace, PermaLoved, TransCultLeader, TransNocturnal, TransVampire, TransErosVamp, TransOPositive, TransSharperFangs, TransSharperHorns, TransMurderer, TransSerialKiller

Paraphiles: Minor MAP/MAP, FictoZoo, Omarashi, Menophilia, Somnophilia, AutoMAP, Acrotomophilia, AntiSadism, Masochist, Botanophilia, Plumaphilia, Angelophilia, Pecattiphilia, Prosvolíphilia, Oviphilia, Dacryphilia, Autobiastophilia, Consang, FictoZooSadism, Teratophilia, Poképhilia, Autogratiophilia, Piquerism

Other Labels: Achillean

Appearance: Demon horns, Demon tail, Spiky hair, White hair, White skin, Green eyes, Slender, Tall, Almost always wearing sunglasses, Usually wearing a graphic t-shirt

Aesthetic: Demoncore, Dazecore

Faceclaims:

Name: Dave Strider

Titles: Knight of Time, turntechGodhead

Age: 14-16

Gender: Transfemmasc, Agender

Pronouns: Shi/hir, They/them, He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Species: Angel

Source: Homestuck

Roles: Soother, Gatekeeper, Intrusive thoughts holder

CisIDs: Younger brother, Introvert, Innocent, Naive, Gullible, Shy, Kind, Thoughtful

TransIDS: TransAge (5), TransShota, TransBiggerWings, TransPinkHalo, TransAFAB, TransGroomed, TransAbused, Trans🍇ed, TransFaith (catholic), TransTapeRecorderVoice, TransNonhuman, TransPinkEyes, TransPinkBlood, TransAPositive, Leodiazodia, PermaThirdPlace, PermaDiurnal, TransSeviDysphoria (more)

Paraphiles: Consang, AutoDacryphilia, AutoBiastophilia, Masquephilia, Andromimetophilia, Prosvolíphilia, Pecattiphilia, Plushophilia, Demonophilia

Other Labels: Intersex

Appearance: White angel wings, Blue halo, Soft hair, White hair, White skin, Blue eyes, Almost always wearing sunglasses, Average height, Chubby

Aesthetic: Light academia, Soft grunge

Faceclaims:

enjoy. sorry it took so long. change whatever you want.

- Mod Lexy

[monarchetype]

The Magnus Archives Index Card fan art - The Entities

Check out my first index card drawing for TMA here, from back when I had no clue what was going on.

Descriptions and explanations under the cut.

I actually started this one a few weeks ago when I first listened to Episode 111 (aka the worldbuilding infodump) but I only got around to finishing it today. From left to right, top to bottom:

Row 1 Column 1: Two silver lines reminscent of magnetic tape form a helix of eyes against a black background, which also has smaller, floating eyes. Representing The Eye, of course.

Row 1 Column 2: A purple coffin covered in silver chains, against a blue background. Representing the Buried, with the blue representing the "drowning" and "deep ocean" aspects of it.

Row 1 Column 3: A combat knife cutting a red tear across a gauche pattern of colors that is remiscent of both camouflage and abstract country maps. Representing the Slaughter, both at the personal and larger scales.

Row 1 Column 4: A candle emitting gray smoke against a similarly gray background, with a small pile of black ash at its base. Representing the Desolation.

Row 1 Column 5: A black, unmarked gravestone on bare earth, with skeletal hands reaching towards it from a white void. Representing the End.

Row 2 Column 1: A single claw reaching out from a curtain of leaves, blood dripping from the tip. Representing the Hunt.

Row 2 Column 2: A black spider silhouette on a silver web, against a red background. Representing the Web. Not gonna lie, I thought I was so cool making the background the color of blood, and then I realized it just looked like Spider-Man. Oops.

Row 2 Column 3: A gold comedy mask against a multi-colored striped background reminiscent of a circus's color palette. The mask has two red marks on either side, reminscent of the face paint of the famous clown Grimaldi. Representing the Stranger.

Row 2 Column 4: A spiraling pattern of rectangles color yellow, green, and pink, in a pattern that isn't quite a pattern. The center has a circle that might be a doorknob. Representing the Distortion.

Row 2 Column 5: The dark silhouette of a person's head and shoulders against a grey background, with a black silhouette of a dead tree branch hanging over them. Representing the Lonely.

Row 3 Column 1: The upper half of an open mouth, vaguely human but with sallow orange-y skin, and molars at even distances around the rim. Representing the Flesh.

Row 3 Column 2: A sickly yellow-green and blue hive with silver protusions from the lowermost combs, against a purple background. Representing the Corruption.

Row 3 Column 3: A drawing reminscent of the black hole photo, of a black circle with warm colored clouds surrounding it, but with additional black lines akin to rivers of darkness pouring into the center from space. Representing the Dark.

Row 3 Column 4: A lightning bolt against a gradient that goes from black to blue to white. Representing the Vast.

Row 3 Column 5: A circle vaguely resembling planet Earth, with blue oceans and a grey-green continent, overlaid by an interlocking nuclear hazard symbol and three plastic waterbottles. The planet is haloed in fire. Representing the Extinction.

Some of these I'm more proud of than others; the Dark, the Desolation, and the Lonely in particular I think turned out really well. I'm also really proud of the concept for the Eye and the Distortion, although the execution could've been a bit better. (I was actually trying to go for a regular pattern when coloring in the Distortion and just goofed, but then I realized that actually made more sense. Happy accident!) The Extinction in particular looks sloppy, but hey, I'll do better next time.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH. 5

FLASHBACK TIME: Deepground Part I

screenshots borrowed from @siringadev 💜 💙

Nero’s first memories weren’t of Weiss. They were of fear and pain. Being alone in a terrifying white space, full of noise and chaos. A woman weeping, somewhere he couldn’t see. Aching all over his body, sharp pricks in his skin, tubes sticking out of him everywhere, sickening chemical smells. The whirring and clicking and occasional beeping of machines.

They thought he was blind, at first, because he never looked around or focused on anything. It turned out he was nearly blind, but only in bright light. He had perfect dark-vision. This wasn’t a physical defect, they decided, but a successful result of bio-engineering, and congratulated themselves on their ingenuity.

He never cried, as an infant, and as a toddler, he never smiled or laughed. He was marginally responsive, but avoided eye contact, and was entirely nonverbal. They assumed he was mentally deficient, but he wasn’t broken. He just didn’t work the way they expected. 

The silent, crimson-eyed little boy was actually hyperaware, always absorbing and digesting information, sucking it up like a dry sponge. He just didn’t want to communicate with the people who put a muzzle on him, whenever they took him out of his room, poked and prodded him all over his body, like it was their property, stuck needles and probes into him, pumped his veins full of stuff that burned his insides, and fed him pills that made him vomit.

Rather than asking questions of his tormentors, he sent superfine threads of darkness into people’s heads and examined their thoughts directly.

When he wanted to know what was going on outside his cell, darkness vapor seeped from his palms and fingertips, slipped into the shadows, and wandered the vast, underground complex, taking his perception with it. 

Though he’d hardly ever left his own cell, by the time he was six years old, he knew enough about the Deepground complex's layout, that he could’ve drawn a reasonably accurate map from memory.

One day, his darkness tendrils crept under a door, to find a cell like Nero’s own, only it was bigger and had much nicer furniture. There was a boy there. Snow-white hair and silver eyes, a descended angel in a halo of light, blindingly bright to Nero’s darkness-filtered senses. 

He was definitely a child, but he was a lot bigger than Nero, and he looked fierce and strong. Beautiful and dangerous, like a lion in a picture book.

Nero wanted to reach out and touch him so badly it made his chest ache, but the darkness would only hurt the other boy. So he satisfied himself with watching him, from dark corners and beneath furniture. 

Over time, he grew bolder, and when the beautiful boy was asleep, the darkness would silently coalesce, inky purple-black, into the little demon’s spectral form, and he’d sit there for hours at a time; a creature of the abyss, lurking in the shadows, watching his angel sleep, and listening to the music of his soft, regular breathing.

Then, one night, the unthinkable happened. Those silver eyes opened, and looked right into his face. Nero’s spectral projection should have collapsed and scattered, but it could only stand petrified and stare back at the boy, captivated by his gaze, trembling with something that was akin to fear, but not quite the same.  

“Who are you?” the silver boy’s voice asked, drowsy and thick with sleep.

That broke the spell and Nero’s projection instantly dissipated. As his consciousness returned to his body, he thought he heard the other boy calling out to him. Wait! Come back!

For a long while afterward, he didn’t dare enter that room, or even send his tendrils anywhere too close to it. But eventually, his curiosity and an intense, irresistible compulsion to see that boy again won out, and he went venturing cautiously back.

This time, the silver boy had been waiting for him. He looked asleep and his eyes were closed, but the moment Nero’s specter had fully materialized, he heard a soft voice say, “Please, don’t run away. Please.”

He almost did, but something in the boy’s tone stopped him. His spectral form stood perfectly still, wide-eyed and wary, as the boy sat up in his bed. 

“I dreamed about you,” were the next words out of his mouth. “That you were sitting by my bed, watching over me. I mean, I thought I dreamed it. But…you’re real, aren’t you.”

Nero’s specter gave a tiny nod. 

“What are you?”

Nero stared. 

“Can you talk?”

He shook his spectral head slowly. He could talk, but he would have to touch the other boy with his darkness, and he was afraid that he’d hurt him. He’d seen the tentacles drag people into the miasma to be consumed within mere seconds, before. 

Not that he felt bad about it—they were all big people, and he didn’t care one way or another whether they lived or died—but this boy…he felt instinctively that it would be deeply heartbreaking, if he no longer existed.

“It’s ok, I can ask you yes or no questions,” the silver boy said cheerfully. “Are you alive?”

Nod.

“Do you live here, in Deepground?”

Nod.

“I’ve never seen you before,” the silver boy mused. “But I’ve never seen anyone but adults. They must keep you locked up, too. Are you dangerous, like me?”

Stare.

“Well, you must be, if you can sneak around past security and everything. Hey, have you seen any other kids, here?”

Shake.

“They say my brother is here, too, but I’ve never seen him. They say I can’t, because he’s sick. I don’t even know what he looks like. Probably like me. If you see a kid who looks like me, could you tell me? I just want to know if he’s ok.”

Nero recoiled, at the idea that the silver boy had someone he cared about, already, and would have become morose, only at that moment, booted footsteps came plodding down the hall, outside, accompanied by several adult voices.

“Oh, no!” the silver boy whispered. “They must be doing a surprise inspection! Go, go! Before they catch us! Wait—you’ll come and see me again, won’t you?”

Nero hesitated, then nodded, before his specter vaporized, whirling away into the shadows, leaving no trace of his passing.

LINK TO CH. 6

[alertarchitect]

So, as anyone who has followed me here for a bit and saw one of my rant posts a while back knows, one of my special interests (not calling it a hyperfixation because I have been at least mildly obsessed with this series since I was a kid) is the Halo franchise. I've been reading up on the lore again for fun, and since I've kinda also been getting interested in gun stuff from the specific angle of the visual design, functionality, and the in-universe lore of fictional weapons, I was reading up on the UNSC weaponry featured in the franchise. This lead to me reading something that hurt my soul.

So, for reference, in terms of visual design and the in-lore effectiveness and usefulness of the weapon, my favorite UNSC weapon is the MA-series assault rifles, with my favored designs being the ones used in Halo: Combat Evolved, 3, 3: ODST, 4, and 5, with that general design (though there are some minor differences between the games mentioned) shown here:

So, visually, you can kinda tell why I like it. It's just a clean-looking sci-fi weapon that looks like something that would actually function without issue if you took away the crutch of gameplay / lore necessity making it work, unlike a few other weapon designs I could mention in various sci-fi and fantasy works. However, you've probably noticed that I specifically said that it's my favorite in terms of the design and its function in the lore of the franchise, but not in gameplay. You may be wondering the reason for that. It's simple - due to the Halo series being arena shooters, where you (usually) don't have the luxury of player-made loadouts, a lot of work must be done to keep the gameplay balance. One of these is making it so your main starter weapons aren't too good compared to what you can pick up on the map in a multiplayer game, to incentivize players to actually try and use weapons that aren't just their starter weapons or a power weapon. The problem comes in when you realize that, for most of the games the MA-series rifles are in, this AR is your usual multiplayer starter weapon that tends to fill a specific role in the sandbox of a reliable, but not too good, weapon that you can use at short-to-medium range to take down your opponent's shield before killing them with a quick melee or precision headshot from your other weapon, provided your other weapon is capable of doing so. This generally means that these ARs are fully automatic, best fired in bursts to maintain any level of accuracy when your enemy is more than 10 feet away from you, and tends to have the fastest melee animations in the game to facilitate the "wear down shields, finish off with a melee" gameplay for when your second weapon isn't the best option for finishing off your opponent.

This leads to my problem, a problem I understand is based in a necessary lore/gameplay mismatch to keep up the quality of the series' gameplay. In game, this AR platform is known as the "kinda shit, fairly inaccurate short-to-medium range starter weapons." This is to the degree that its effective range is only about 40 meters. In the lore, however, it is exactly what I wish it could be in gameplay - the default service rifle for the UNSC, with automatic, burst fire, and semi-automatic firing modes, accurate and effective at a range of 500 meters. It just hurts me that a weapon known for its effectiveness and accuracy at basically any range an infantry member will be engaging in has to be nerfed so hard for the gameplay, even though I understand and accept the reasons why.