#i should painstakingly go elsewhere

[cowardlycowboys]

[cece693]

mano mažylė (Father! Hannibal Lecter)

Felt like writing something angsty and then combined with my obsession of the Hannibal tv show, I questioned what it would be like for a child to be raised by Hannibal. A tiny snot covered child who is scared of the dark but as they grow up realize their father is a cannibalistic serial killer....or maybe not?

Summary: How would things turn out if Hannibal raised a child on his own? Not that good.

tags: Hannibal is a father, he's a flawed person, mistakes are made, running away, Abigail is still hated by me so she'll be an antagonist, maybe a part 2 is on it's way

The world believed you were God’s favorite, born into privilege as the only child of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. But you knew better. You loathed him. Loathed the man who shared half your DNA while the other half remained a shadow, an enigma lost to time.

It hadn’t always been this way. As a child, you adored him. You wanted his approval, his praise, his love—simple things every child should receive without question. But Hannibal Lecter had never been a good father. Not in the way that mattered.

He excelled at maintaining appearances. Your clothes were immaculate, your education rigorous, your home a work of art. Yet, for all his brilliance and sophistication, Hannibal seemed incapable of the simplest acts of fatherly affection. He never hugged you, not once in your memory. He never showed kindness that didn’t come with calculated precision, and he certainly never sought to enjoy the small, fleeting moments between a father and child.

The small drawings you'd create for him—depictions of the two of you together, your childish hand scrawling smiles and hearts—would be shoved into his desk drawer without a second glance, never hung on the walls or displayed on the fridge like other parents might. When you cried after a particularly bad nightmare, he would send you back to your room with a simple wave of his hand, his attention already elsewhere. No comfort, no embrace, no whispered assurances that it was only a dream.

Nothing you did ever produced an ounce of affection from him. But his place in Baltimore's social circle? That was another matter entirely. He prioritized his social image over the bond you craved. Dinners with influential guests, exquisite banquets, and whispered conversations about art and philosophy filled the house while he'd dismissed you to your room. The door would shut with a firm finality, his deep voice ringing with calm authority: “Go upstairs.��

Even as a child, you felt the sting of that rejection. The lavish dinners he painstakingly prepared were not for you. The carefully cultivated relationships he cherished were more valuable to him than the one he should have been building with you. You were an accessory in his meticulously curated life, a piece of his narrative rather than a person to be loved.

The resentment you buried for years began to boil over when Hannibal brought Abigail Hobbs into your home. For reasons you couldn’t understand, he treated her differently. He gave her his time, his attention—things you had long since stopped hoping for. Hannibal had even invited her into his sacred space—the kitchen. You watched from the doorway, unseen but seething, as he guided her hands on a knife, showing her how to properly julienne vegetables, his voice soft and patient. It was a thing you had only observed from afar, never experienced.

And then came the final blow—the moment that shattered the thin thread holding your heart together. You watched as Hannibal embraced Abigail, his arms wrapping securely around her small frame. One hand cradled the back of her head, his touch tender and protective, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.

Where was this Hannibal when you needed him? Where had this version of him been when you were the child longing for his love?

You couldn’t stay. Not in that house. Not with the reminder of what he was capable of giving but had chosen not to give to you. So, you ran. You left without looking back, vowing to never forgive him for the years of cold detachment, for the love he had withheld, for the way he made you feel like an afterthought in your own life.

For Hannibal, destruction was all he knew. It was an art, a purpose, a calling. But the day he first gazed upon you—his child, swaddled in soft blankets, your tiny hand grasping his shirt—something unfamiliar stirred within him. Adoration. Pride. Perhaps even love, though he would never admit it, not even to himself.

He had never envisioned himself as a father. For all his meticulous planning, the idea of parenthood had been an abstraction, an unthinkable detour from the life he had carefully constructed. Yet, when the mother of his child informed him of your existence, a quiet certainty settled over him: you were his.

He killed her shortly after. It was nothing personal—just necessity. Hannibal Lecter did not share. He would not allow anyone else to claim you, to influence you, to take you from him. You were his blood, his creation, and that meant you belonged to him entirely.

Still, Hannibal recognized his own darkness. He knew the shadows that lingered in his mind, the hunger that defined him, were no place for an innocent child. For all his pride, a part of him hoped you would never become like him. He wanted to preserve your purity, your light, even if it meant keeping a careful distance. So, when he saw you gaining independence—first as an inquisitive toddler, then as a fiercely determined child—he began to step back. Slowly, deliberately.

He ensured you were safe and had everything you needed to prosper. The finest tutors, the best schools, the most luxurious comforts. Yet, he withheld what you truly craved: love, warmth, and connection. He refused to give you what might make you look deeper, what might tempt you to uncover the cracks in his mask. He feared that if you saw the real him, you would recoil in terror. And Hannibal, for all his control and detachment, could not bear the thought of you fearing him.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fond of you. Quite the opposite. Hannibal cherished you in his own way, quietly and from a distance. All the small drawings you made for him as a child—brightly colored stick figures of the two of you, accompanied by phrases like “Me and Daddy!” or “Best Dad in the World!”—he carefully kept. He never displayed them, of course. That would have disrupted the pristine aesthetic of his home. Instead, he tucked them into a leather folder, hidden away in his bedroom.

When you were away at school, he would pull them out. Alone in the quiet of his space, he would trace the lines of your messy handwriting, pausing over the parts where you had clearly erased and rewritten to make it perfect. Those small, clumsy marks filled him with something unnameable—an ache that he would not call regret but might have been close to longing.

It was those words—Best Dad in the World—that kept him firm in his decision. He would not let the innocence in you fade. He would shield you from the world’s horrors and, more importantly, from his own.

But then he brought Abigail Hobbs into their house, and everything crumbled.

Hannibal had known it would stir some jealousy. Abigail was, after all, an interloper in your space, stealing his attention. He imagined it would be a passing irritation, something that could be soothed with time. What he failed to anticipate was how deeply her presence would cut. Abigail was not like you. She wasn’t innocent. Her father’s sins had already tainted her, and that darkness—the one she carried so naturally—was something Hannibal understood, even appreciated.

He allowed himself to envision a future: Abigail as your sister, a young woman who could carry the weight of his world without breaking. He imagined the two of you sitting together at his table, becoming a family that would include his dearest Will Graham. It was a beautiful picture, one he painted with great care in his mind. But Hannibal, so enraptured by this fantasy, failed to detect the resentment growing within you.

Your heart, already heavy with years of neglect, bloomed with fresh anger and hatred. Abigail had taken what little space you had in his world and filled it with her presence, her pain, her dark reflections of the fatherly affection you had longed for.

The breaking point came one evening when dinner was ready, and you failed to appear. Hannibal ascended the stairs, his movements deliberate but heavy with irritation. He thought to find you sulking in your room, perhaps brooding over a perceived slight. But when he opened the door, the truth struck him like a blade.

The dresser drawers were open, several items missing. The window was slightly ajar, letting in a cool breeze that made the curtains flutter softly. Your phone rested on the bedside table, an unspoken declaration that you did not want to be found.

And then he saw it—the note scrawled across your mirror in bold, angry letters.

I hate you.

The black marker lines were thick and uneven, etched with trembling, furious hands. For a moment, Hannibal stood frozen, the words searing into him like fire. It wasn’t just the note. It was the empty space, the absence of your presence, the finality of the choice you had made.

He stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the remnants of you. The room still smelled faintly of your presence, but it was hollow now, like a shell. A part of him wanted to reach out and erase the words, to undo the weight they carried, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, the perfect stillness of his body betraying the storm within.

Hannibal Lecter rarely felt regret. But as he gazed at the angry scrawl on the mirror, the open window, and the phone you had so carefully left behind, he felt something dangerously close to it.

He had wanted to protect you. To shield you. To preserve the light he saw in you. But instead, he had driven you away. And now, the silence of the house felt unbearable. For all his careful planning, for all his control, Hannibal Lecter had made a mistake and there was no correcting it.

[techhasmjolnir]

Dealer's Choice

Plot: You and the guys are enjoying some downtime in between missions, and one night you all decide to kill some time by playing a game. Things quickly take a bawdy turn.

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to @zoeykallus and her wonderful “Truth or Dare” story as the inspiration for me to finally craft a poly Batch tale.

Unlike my other works, there's a general description of the reader as someone that's into body modifications (piercings and tattoos). Additionally, assume the reader has a contraceptive implant. No other description of the reader is implied, nor should it be inferred. This story also assumes that the interest is there between the reader and the boys, but they're not yet in a relationship.

Sit back and set aside some time to read this one, for it comes in with a word count of 14,009.

Important Notes:

This content is strictly for audiences 18+. The roles in this story assume female readers and all members of the Bad Batch. Concepts introduced include: creampie, cum eating, cum swapping, dirty talk, female ejaculation, M & F masturbation, M & F oral (giving & receiving), PiV, toys

A collective sigh of relief comes from you and the men you've spent the past year working with, the specialist troopers of Clone Force 99. After bouncing endlessly between missions, the word is finally given that all of you are to take a standard Galactic month off for much-needed R & R, and to spend time overhauling the Marauder. You look forward to going home to your countryside villa on Naboo, and extend the offer for the guys to stay with you instead of spending their nights on the ship.

“This is some place you've got here, Y/N,” Wrecker says, his head swiveling around to look at the large vestibule into which everyone is gathered.

“This is nothing,” you reply, groaning as you let your heavy backpack slide off your shoulders. “You should see some of the villas out in Lake Country. This place? It's modest, by Naboo standards. I did the best I could hoarding credits away for years during my time as a bounty hunter in order to be able to afford it.”

“Bounty hunter? I suppose that explains how you ended up with us,” Tech chimes in as he pushes his lenses back in place. “Mercenary work is a natural extension of bounty hunting, in terms of a general skill set.”

“You're not wrong about that, Tech. I may not have enhanced tracking abilities like Hunter, but I more than make up for it elsewhere. All right, since all of you are going to be crashing here for the next month, you're more than welcome to occupy any of the spare bedrooms on the second or third floors. It looks like the housekeeper was here just recently, so everything should be cleaned and in full working order. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been dying for a real shower ever since we were holed up in that dump on Tatooine!”

“Don't remind me,” Crosshair remarks. “I think I still have the stench of bantha on me.”

“I thought it was obvious it was their breeding season,” Tech slyly adds, never missing the opportunity to get digs in on Crosshair whenever possible.

“Enough, you two,” Hunter interrupts. “Grab your gear and head upstairs. Y/N's been gracious enough to let us stay here instead of being miserable in the Marauder every night, so let's at least try and act somewhat civil.”

You let out a cackle and painstakingly re-shoulder your backpack. “All right, you guys. Go upstairs and get settled. How about we reconvene in a few hours for something to eat, and maybe start unwinding with a game or two?” You start walking off to your bedroom, stopping to turn around when you hear Echo.

“Where are you going, Y/N?”

“Oh, my quarters are down here. I don't think there's enough room in there for all of us,” you tease.

You disappear down the hall toward your bedroom as the guys start making their way to the second floor, completely out of earshot as Crosshair casually says, “you want to make a bet?”

*****

“All right, guys, the rules are simple. All you have to do is spin the bottle, and whoever it points at is the one who will be asked “truth or dare.” If you pick truth, just answer the question honestly. We're all adults here, so there's no need to be embarrassed about anything. Same goes for dare. The only rule about dares is that you don't have to do them if it violates your personal ethics, or is a violation of whatever you consider to be your hard limits. You can rescind consent at any time and ask for a pass, or change it to truth. I just have a hard time believing you guys have never played this game before...I think almost every culture in this galaxy plays some version!”

“Remember, Y/N, we're from Kamino. “Fun” and “games” are two words that are not in the Kaminoans' language,” Hunter offers. “We did our best to amuse ourselves when we were boys as a means of escape from our harsh reality...but not with anything like this.”

“She doesn't need a trip down your memory lane, Hunter,” Crosshair sighs irritably, shifting his ubiquitous toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Are we doing this, or what?”

You roll your eyes and set an empty wine bottle on the floor. “Since you are my guests, one of you can spin the bottle first. Mmm, Wrecker, you want to do it?”

“Absolutely! Let me at it,” he says cheerily.

“Wrecker, mind your strength,” Tech warns. “We do not need you launching the bottle into the wall, or one of us.”

Wrecker's huge hand closes around the wine bottle and he gives it a deft spin. It slows and comes to a stop, the neck pointing at Crosshair. He chuckles and narrows his good eye as he looks at his brother's seemingly constant sour expression. “Oi, Cross...truth or dare?”

There's an audible crunch as Crosshair snaps the toothpick, hastily plucking the broken pieces out of his mouth. “Do I have to?” he grumbles.

“Do you have to be so disagreeable all the time, Crosshair?” you reply, half jokingly. Quiet laughter from the others ceases when you hold up your hand. “It's a harmless game. Just relax and play along. You might just have fun.”

“All right, fine. Truth,” he says churlishly.

Wrecker's face breaks out into a huge grin, and you have the feeling he's up to something. “Yes or no – do you have a crush on Y/N?”

Crosshair's eyes widen, heat stealing its way up the back of his neck and into his ears. You look around at the others, surprised that Wrecker would lead off with a very revealing question. Hunter is trying not to smile, and Echo and Tech share a knowing glance. You won't be surprised if Crosshair answers yes; it wouldn't be the first time someone admitted they had feelings for you while working closely together. The reactions of the others suggest your prediction is correct.

“Well? Do you?” Wrecker asks again, grinning madly.

Crosshair digs his fingertips into the arms of the chair in which he's sitting, his face slightly reddened. “Yes! Yes, all right? For fuck's sake, Wrecker, did you have to do that?” He turns his head away, not able to look at anyone, especially you.

Uproarious laughter fills the room as everyone finds it hysterical their normally unflappable brother is quite humiliated. The only one not laughing is you, because while you find it fitting that Crosshair is temporarily subdued, you're empathetic. You've always known Crosshair is a very private person, and admitting something like this represents a serious loss of control.

“Guys, please. Crosshair, it's your turn. Spin the bottle,” you say gently.

He sighs softly and turns to look at you, his cheeks tinged red. His dark eyes bore into yours and don't break your gaze as he leans down and forward, speedily grabbing it and setting it in motion. The bottle wobbles for a moment before it stops and points at you. You can hear Tech muttering something to Echo under his breath and for a split second, you have a feeling of apprehension. Crosshair's pride is hurt, and now that means he's unpredictable.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” he sneers, completely evaporating whatever embarrassment he just felt.

Everyone's eyes are on you, keen to see if you'll accept a challenge from him. You look around and grin, chuckling softly. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, boys, but for the first round, I'm going to have to go with truth.”

One look at Crosshair's expression tells you exactly what he plans on doing; he's going to try and retaliate in an effort to fluster you. “Have you ever fantasized about any of us in a sexual way?”

You feel your heart start to race a little and you do your best to stay calm. Heat flows into your cheeks and as your expression softens, a little grin is riddled upon your lips. Ever since you became part of the squad, you've done your best to try and maintain an air of professionalism, but you're only human, and with five handsome men always in close contact with you, you certainly entertained thoughts of what it would be like to be with any one of them.

“Hey, are you in there?” Wrecker asks.

“I'm...thinking,” you reply slowly, the grin becoming a big smile. Finally you end up laughing, rolling your eyes as you speak. “Of course I have. Anyone with eyes would end up fantasizing about a group of incredibly attractive guys like you. There. Are you happy, Crosshair?”

He smirks at you, sitting back in his chair as he taps his cheek idly with his finger. “Not just yet, but give it some time. I think I will be.”

*****

“Are you ever going to accept a dare?” Crosshair complains. “I think you're playing coy on purpose.”

The game has been going on for awhile now, and it's been highly entertaining. The bulk of the racy questions have all been directed at you, and the only reason you've hesitated opting for a dare is because you know the minute you say yes, someone is going to get really creative, which will result in you losing an article of clothing. You're no stranger to being in various states of undress around men out in the field, and the guys are no exception, but you've never been completely naked around them.

“All right, all right! Fine! If you're that keen on it, I'll take a dare. Just make it a good one, Crosshair,” you say, feeling your heart starting to beat a little faster.

Crosshair grins and runs his hand through his hair, pausing briefly before speaking. “I think we've all learned quite a bit of...shall I say...interesting things about you tonight, Kitten.”

“Cross, don't call me that. You know I don't like it,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Where are you going with this?”

“You wanted a good dare? I've been thinking about this all night, and it's something I think we're all going to like,” he says, a disconcerting grin emerging. “As long as you consent, of course.”

It doesn't escape your notice that Hunter flashes him a questioning look, and both Tech and Echo moved forward to the edge of one of the couches they're sitting on, clearly interested as to what could possibly be this good. Wrecker glances over at you, puzzled as to what Crosshair's about to do, and as you look over at him, you shrug. As you look back at Crosshair, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a very hungry look in his eyes.

“I've consented to everything you boys have thrown at me tonight. I can handle whatever you come up with.”

“That's good to know, because you're going to strip down to nothing and stay that way the rest of the night.”

You flash him a look of defiance, momentarily catching him off guard. “Fine by me! I've got nothing to hide, and besides...” You pause and look around at the guys, all of whom have the tiniest of grins on their faces. “The likelihood of all of you not wanting to see me naked is precisely zero.”

Tech clears his throat a little nervously. “I do believe she's got us, there. Statistically speaking...”

“Tech, shut up for a moment, will you?” Crosshair snaps. “Y/N, you accepted the dare, so follow through with it.”

You slowly rise and roll your shoulders as you stretch. Sighing softly, you pull the tie for the lower back of your top, letting the ribbons flutter loosely around your hips. The guys have all gone quiet, watching with you with rapt interest. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back a little as you reach up to loosen the ribbon at your neck, pulling away your top and letting it fall to the floor. You can hear someone's breath hitch in his throat as your chest is on full display. Heavy tattooing spans the area over your breasts and down your sternum, prominent steel rings in your nipples.

You open your eyes and Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker are looking at you completely awestruck. Glancing over your shoulder at Tech and Echo, you wink and flash them a sexy grin, chuckling as you see color beginning to creep into both their faces. “You won't be left out, boys. Just be patient.”

Might as well give them a little show, as long as I'm doing this, you think. Really give them something to get off on, later...

Sliding your thumbs under the waistband of your soft, loose pants, you start to roll your hips in an enticing manner, purposely making eye contact with Crosshair. You slowly begin to slide the material down, the silky shimmer of your black panties coming into view. He stares, completely enamored, shifting uncomfortably in his seat in an effort to disguise the fact he's starting to grow hard. Despite the fact that Tech and Echo are sitting behind you, they're getting as much of a show as the other three, and the moment your muscular ass comes into view, one of them accidentally lets slip a tiny groan. You grin and step out of your pants, casting them aside to join your top.

“Mm, someone's enjoying the view, am I right?” you say, your voice lowering seductively as you turn to look over at Wrecker, who's got his hands in his lap, trying to cover up his growing arousal. “Please, big guy, I'm not stupid. If anything, it's pretty fucking hot.”

You bring a hand to your chest, letting it linger between your breasts, as the other slides down your stomach and lightly grazes your pubic mound. Letting out a content sigh, you hook your index fingers in the band of your panties and begin to lower them almost agonizingly slow, stepping out of them carefully as you drop them with the rest of your clothes. You're careful not to reveal too much of yourself, but you can't help but part your legs just a little so that the ring in the hood of your clit is plainly visible.

“By the Maker...” you hear Tech utter quietly.

You raise your hands above your head and lazily turn yourself around in a full circle so everyone gets a full look at you, coming to a stop in front of Tech and Echo. The two of them can't stop themselves from looking you over head to toe, with Tech's attention turning to your hood piercing. A broad grin crosses your face as you take your index finger and let it rest under his chin, tipping his head up so his golden brown eyes meet yours.

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you laugh. “It's all right. You like what you see. There's no shame in that.” You look at Echo, his normally pale skin now flushed pink with arousal. “I think the same goes for you, too, dear.” You turn around to face Crosshair, a look of smug superiority on your face. “Well? I did it, and I managed to render you speechless. I consider that a rare victory...and I do believe it's my turn to spin the bottle.”

You sit down on the floor, keeping your legs closed and to the side. Giving the bottle a hefty spin, it eventually stops and points to Wrecker. “Truth or dare?” you ask, a little smile on your face. He looks over at you, blinking slowly as he makes up his mind. Heat floods his cheeks as he feels his cock twitch heavily under his hands. “Which one, Wrecker?”

“Truth,” he says hesitantly.

“Hm. If you could have one thing right now, what would it be?”

His mind immediately goes blank trying to think of something plausible, because he's embarrassed to tell you the truth. “A giant bowl of Mantell Mix would hit the spot,” he mumbles.

Crosshair bursts out in derisive laughter. “Wrecker, you're the worst fucking liar. Really? Mantell Mix? You're going to have to do better than that!”

Hunter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, turning to look at Wrecker. “Just tell her the real truth, vod. The smell of it rolling off you is getting to be a bit much.”

Wrecker groans and closes his eyes. “All right, fine. Honestly? I'd love to have you sitting in my lap with my cock buried in you, while I play with your clit.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a mixture of amusement and intrigue on your face. “Well...I certainly wasn't expecting to hear that out of you.” The idea of having him splitting you in half with what is probably quite a thick cock is tantalizing. You feel the stone of arousal forming in the pit of your chest, along with a tiny pulse in your clit.

This gets a rise out of the rest of the guys; they're all laughing quietly and Echo gently pokes Wrecker in the arm playfully with his scomp-link.

“Come on, everyone. If Wrecker is brave enough to say that, then I'm betting the rest of you are having some pretty sexually charged thoughts, too,” you gently chide.

Wrecker takes the bottle from you and a brief look of appreciation passes between the two of you. It spins wildly before ultimately pointing to Hunter. “Truth or dare?” he rumbles.

Hunter's dark eyes lock on yours before he speaks. “Truth.”

“I wanna ask you the same thing Y/N just did. What's the one thing you want most right now?”

“I really want Y/N perched between my knees, letting me fuck those perfect tits of hers,” Hunter replies quietly, shifting just a little so you can see the bulge forming under his blacks.

Now it is abundantly clear to you where the rest of the game is headed. The heat building between your legs is growing stronger, wetness beginning to seep from you. The pulsing in your clit becomes constant as the sensitive flesh begins to swell. There's absolutely no hiding from Hunter that you're fully aroused now, and the look he gives you is one of sheer desire. You wonder if the rest of them are all sporting massive erections by now, but you don't dare to move your head to look around to check, lest you give away your intentions.

“I think you like my idea, Y/N, don't you?” Hunter asks with palpable amusement in his voice.

“She's turned on?” Crosshair murmurs, idly scratching his chin with a fingertip.

“Without a doubt, she is,” Hunter replies, giving the bottle a quick spin. It lands back on you, and your heart starts to race again. “Truth or dare, ad'íka?”

Your mouth goes dry and you manage to keep your voice from quivering with apprehension. “Dare.”

“I'm willing to bet that you've got an absolutely gorgeous little cunt. It's a shame you've kept it hidden away from us for so long. Spread your legs so we can all see.”

You feel your cheeks go hot, but not from shame. Hunter's never used language like this with you before and all it's doing is casting more kindling into the roaring inferno of your arousal. More wetness seeps from you as you carefully unfold your legs and rearrange yourself into a position on the floor where everyone can see you from the front. Slowly, you comply, leaning back on a hand to balance yourself as you part your legs. With your other hand, you take your index and middle fingers, spreading them into a V shape as you spread your outer lips, showing the guys the slickness between your cleft.

“You look so fucking tasty, Kitten...” Crosshair rasps as he slowly starts touching himself through his blacks, already soaked through with pre-cum.

Ignoring Crosshair's use of the epithet, you look at the others to see them all nodding in agreement, their eyes all seemingly darkened with lust. Tech leans over to whisper something to Echo, and the two of them chuckle softly, Echo biting his lower lip for a brief moment. You steal a quick glance at them, and like the others, they're concealing prominent bulges under their blacks. Tech looks over at you with a gentle smile on his face.

“If you are willing, Y/N, would you consider letting us all have a taste?”

It takes you a moment to figure out what Tech means by having a taste, and you realize it goes much further than wanting to eat your pussy. You choose your words carefully, making sure there's no room for any misunderstandings that could end in regret. “I know it's been a really long time since any of us have gotten what we want, or need. If we're going to do this, I want you to know that I trust all of you explicitly, and yes...you may all share me. Let's just have fun, and enjoy each other.”

“Then I believe a modification of the way this game is played is necessary,” Tech declares, pushing his lenses back into place. “Instead of asking truth or dare, we will tell Y/N what we would like to do with her, and she can choose to accept or decline. This way, there will be favorable outcomes for us all. Y/N, is this agreeable?”

You smile at him winningly and nod. “Works for me, everyone.” You exhale forcefully and send the bottle spinning. As it stops on Wrecker, you look and see him grinning like he's won the best prize in the galaxy.

“Can we do that thing I said earlier?” he asks a little shyly. “And will you let me have a little taste of your pussy, too?”

“Absolutely, big guy,” you chuckle as you get to your feet and stop in front of him. Even though you're roughly at his eye level when he's sitting, it still feels like he's towering above you. “How do you want to do this?”

“Climb on my lap, sweetie, and let me do the rest. I'll be gentle, I promise.”

As you straddle his massive lap, one of his huge hands rests on your back and the other comes under the back of your leg, suddenly pulling you off your feet so your legs are slung over his shoulders, your pussy so close to his face you can feel the heat of his breath. You let out a yelp and try to figure out where to put your arms so you're comfortable. Balancing your forearms on his thighs as his hands close on top of your knees, you look up at him, catching him wink at you with his good eye. You've watched people eat you out before, but never from this vantage point.

“Just relax, mésh'la. It's all right,” he reassures you.

You let out a surprised, quiet moan as he lightly kisses your clit and then your outer lips. His warm tongue delicately trails its way through your folds, gathering up all your juices as it makes its way up to your now swollen clit. When he closes his lips over it, you groan and let your head fall back, shutting your eyes as he alternates between suckling lightly and flicking the tip of his tongue along the underside of it, and over your piercing. When your legs start twitching involuntarily with each stroke of his tongue, Wrecker lets out a deep, rumbling moan of his own against you, the vibrations tickling every nerve ending.

His cock twitches against your back and you moan his name softly, thinking about what it's going to be like to have him inside you. Wrecker turns his attention from massaging your clit to slipping his tongue through your outer lips all the way to your entrance. His strong tongue probes deeply as he tastes another flow of your juices, and his grip on your knees tightens.

He starts to gently rock his hips up into your back, silently telling you that he's just about ready for the next step. As he pulls his mouth away, one hand comes back under your back to support you as the other brings one of your legs down. Once you're back in an upright position, you climb off his lap, your legs visibly trembling.

“I hope that was all right, Y/N,” Wrecker says. “Been a long time since I've done that with anyone.”

“All right? I think that was more than just a little all right,” you reply breathlessly, feeling like your legs are going to give out.

He laughs and takes your hand, placing it right over his thick, meaty cock, straining to be let out of his blacks. “That's all for you, mésh'la. Why don't you show everyone how beautiful you look when I've got my cock stuffed inside you?” His hands slip under the waist of his pants, easing them down to his ankles. His cock lies long and straight against his stomach, and as your eyes fall upon it, he flexes it for you, a little bit of pre-cum clinging to the tip. “Come sit and keep it warm, Y/N,” Wrecker coaxes.

You turn around and see the wanton expressions on the others' faces as they patiently wait their turns. Wrecker takes his cock in his hand and starts stroking it gently as he waits for you. As you back up and straddle his lap once more, you let out a loud gasp as you feel the head of his cock slip through your outer lips, positioning right at your entrance. Resting your hands on his thighs for balance, you start to carefully ease yourself down on him, exhaling slowly as you feel him start to stretch you out.

Wrecker wraps an arm loosely around you, resting a hand on one of your breasts, gently thumbing your nipple. “Take all the time you need, Y/N. I know this is an awful lot,” he murmurs.

“Y-yeah, it is,” you reply shakily. “You feel incredible, already...”

You lower yourself down onto him, inch by inch, moaning continually as his girth stretches you to what feels like your absolute maximum. Wrecker buries his face in your hair, groaning loudly the farther you sink. As he bottoms out in you, his strong hands slide under your legs and lift you up just a little so that instead of your hands on his thighs, now your feet rest there. He takes you by the ankles and you take a hold of his forearms as he starts to slowly rock up into you.

“How's it feel, Wrecker?” Hunter asks as he strokes his cock idly through his blacks. “Usually women are scared to death of that thing,” he chuckles.

“So tight...hot...wet,” Wrecker groans through his clenched teeth. “Ride me, mésh'la, please...”

You oblige, and start bouncing on his cock, deep lusty moans springing from you with each successive stroke. He starts bucking up into you a little harder, passing over your sweet spot repeatedly, sending white hot bolts of pleasure through your pussy. One hand leaves your ankle and works its way between your legs, where the flat of his thumb falls upon your rosy pink pearl, swirling in tight little circles. Wrecker is notably dexterous, switching with ease from rubbing your clit to flicking his thumb over it, loving how you're responding to his touch.

Riding him faster, you feel yourself getting closer to your peak, unable to combat the fiery combination of Wrecker's cock ravaging your pussy and the determined stroking of his thumb. Your clit buzzes pleasantly, tiny little contractions starting to multiply, and a deep growl rolls out of Wrecker as he now lays into you, feeling his own orgasm on its ascent. His cock begins to tighten even more with each upward stroke, and the electricity in your clit becomes more concentrated.

“Don't stop, Wreck...I'm so fucking close,” you gasp.

“So 'm I, mésh'la...come for me,” he moans.

A few more well-timed strokes of his thumb against your engorged clit is all it takes before he hears your breath hitch in your throat, his name falling from your lips in tiny gasps. The lightning in your clit spreads quickly through your core, sharp cries of unrestrained bliss spilling from your throat as your walls constrict around him. Wrecker's thrusting becomes erratic as his cock swells to maximum within you. He lets go of your other ankle and you lift yourself off, sinking to the floor on your knees with your back to him, chest heaving wildly.

Closing his hand around his cock soaked with your juices, he strokes himself hard. It's only a few moments before he lets out a choked gasp followed by a deep moan as he comes, painting your back with thick, ropy strands of his seed. He sinks back in his seat, covering his face with a hand, panting heavily. Utterly spent and basking in the afterglow of his long overdue orgasm, Wrecker slowly gets his pants back on. He looks down at you, sitting back on your feet, admiring his handiwork as his spend trickles its way down your back.

“Go clean her up, dí'kut,” Crosshair hisses. “She doesn't deserve to be left a mess.”

Wrecker gets up and heads to the kitchen, returning a short while later with a warm, damp towel. He attentively wipes down your entire back, then takes his hand and ruffles your hair affectionately. “Sorry about that, Y/N...I didn't ask if I could do that,” he says apologetically. “Are you okay?”

You get to your feet and reach for his chin, standing on tiptoe as he bows his head. Your lips meet his for a soft, loving kiss. “I'm fine, big guy. Might be walking funny for the next day or so, but...” The entire room erupts into laughter as Wrecker returns to his seat, blushing slightly. You wait for everyone to calm down before picking up the wine bottle. “All right! Who's next?” you say playfully, giving the bottle a spin. This time the bottle comes to a stop in front of Tech and Echo, pointing at neither. “Hm, well, this is a conundrum, indeed,” you muse.

“If I may, Y/N,” Tech interrupts, “there is a perfectly reasonable solution to what you perceive as a problem. Let us both gratify you, thus eliminating your need to choose. Echo, why don't you show Y/N the modifications to your scomp-link that we made? Perhaps we can also show her that new attachment I created. I am most eager to see it in action.”

“I'm not surprised you two have been up to clandestine operations,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But you've piqued my curiosity, and...I very much want to have both of you.”

“Excellent. I will return shortly, Y/N. Echo, help her get more comfortable on the floor; we will need the extra space,” Tech says as he rises from the couch, purposely readjusting himself so you can get a better sense of what he's got hidden under his blacks. “This will be worth your while, cyar'íka...I promise.”

As Tech heads upstairs to gather all the necessary equipment, Echo takes all the pillows off the couch and lays them on the floor. You walk over and sit next to him, his good arm wrapping around you. Slipping your hand down between his legs, you run your fingers gently over his fully primed cock, loving the little moan that escapes from him. His lips seek out yours as he lightly pushes himself into your hand, moaning once more when your tongue collides with his for an impassioned kiss.

“Oh, mésh'la, if you only knew how long I've dreamed of doing something like this with you...” he whispers hotly against your neck, planting a few open mouthed kisses there.

You let out a soft sigh at the touch of his lips, his kisses working their way down your neck to your collarbone. He lowers you just a little so he has easy access to a breast, his tongue gently licking a nipple, sending shivers down your spine. Echo grins as he closes his mouth around it, sucking lightly, relishing the sounds of your moans. You squeeze his cock firmly in return, his eyes tightly shut as he groans deeply.

“You want me to suck your cock, Echo? I can't wait to see what you have for me,” you purr, feeling the material of his blacks dampen under your fingertips.

“I do not think he wants to wait any longer to show you what he has in store for you,” Tech calls from the entrance to the living room. He's carrying a case and a small drawstring pouch with him. “Y/N, if you please, spread your legs for Echo so he can begin.” He pauses, and you see his brow furrow for a moment. “I...know we already have your consent, but I feel it prudent to ask you regardless...” He stops again and you see one of his hands tremble slightly.

Crosshair snickers as you get up and walk over to Tech. “What, now you lose your nerve, Professor Highbrow? She already said you can take her, so what the hell's your problem? Got limp dick syndrome, or something? You should forfeit your turn and let me –”

You whirl around, fury written all over your face as you approach Crosshair, who looks supremely amused with himself. As you stop in front of him, you grab the collar of his blacks and yank him up until he's a hair's breadth away from you, eyes locked on his. His eyes widen in genuine shock; he's never seen you this angry before. Hunter is about to spring into action to pull the two of you apart, but Wrecker puts a hand on his shoulder, curious to see how this is going to play out.

“Crosshair, shut your fucking mouth! I am so sick of you constantly ripping on Tech, trying to tear him down. Is it really necessary to try and destroy your brother's self-esteem?! You dare...in MY house?!,” you seethe. “Just for that, when it's your turn...I've already decided what you're going to do with me...and you'd better fucking follow through!”

You shove Crosshair back into his seat hard, letting go of his shirt. You look at the others, and they're all staring at you in disbelief, especially Tech, who remains rooted to the spot. Walking back over to him, you reach your hand up to gently cup his face, his eyes seeming larger than ever. “Now, what were you going to ask me?” you ask softly.

“Cyar'íka...” he starts, trying to regain composure and find his voice. “I would very much like it if you would orally pleasure me while Echo takes care of you. Would you also let me take you from behind?”

“For you, Tech, anything. You know...you didn't need to ask me for permission, but I'm happy you did. I just want to enjoy both you and Echo in every way possible.”

You retake your seat on the floor next to Echo, with Tech coming to sit beside you, putting the case and the pouch off to the side. “Spread yourself for me, Y/N, and relax. I think that beautiful pearl of yours needs some more loving,” Echo says as he positions himself between your legs. “This might feel a little strange at first. I'll start with this, then switch over to the new attachment.”

Tech leans down and rests a hand on the back of your neck as his lips graze across your cheek and down to your mouth where your lips meet his for a delicate kiss. Echo lightly rests his scomp-link on the hood of your clit, then activates it. You gasp as you feel gentle vibrations emitting from it, and Echo smiles, glancing up at Tech. “I'm glad you suggested we rewire this thing...I think she likes it!”

Echo swirls the scomp-link around your clit attentively, listening to you moan deeply as he touches every part of it. He can see you beginning to swell and grow harder for him with each pass, the sides of your clit especially sensitive. You lift your hips up into him, craving more stimulation and he obliges, upping the level of vibration. With his good hand, he pulls his blacks down enough to free his cock – thick, hard as durasteel, and craving your attention.

“Please, Y/N,” Echo softly moans. “Touch me...let me come for you,” he pleads.

He shifts a little so you can slip your hand down between his legs, taking his cock to slowly stroke it in an underhanded position. Echo sighs in pleasurable relief as your hand glides over the hot, turgid flesh, taking time to swirl your thumb over the head as more pre-cum steadily seeps from him. Tech, not wanting to be left out, takes your unoccupied hand and you look up at him, his eyes glazed over with arousal. He guides you down between his legs, and as your hand covers the conspicuous bulge, you squeeze gently, making him shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Are you ready for me, cyar'íka?” Tech asks as he takes your hand, kissing your palm as he frees himself from his blacks, revealing the sublime and statuesque curvature of his lengthy cock. “I will let you set the pace,” he reassures you as he lets your hand go, shifting close to your mouth.

Closing your hand around his cock, the tip of your tongue gently trails its way underneath the head, earning you a stifled moan. Slowly, your tongue swirls around its entirety, getting a taste of pre-cum as you slip him into your mouth, letting your tongue glide along his shaft. You expertly corkscrew your hand around him as you find your rhythm, sucking and stroking him with vigor. “If you only knew how many times I imagined doing this with you...” Tech murmurs as he lets his hand rest gently on the back of your head.

The grasp on Echo's cock tightens as you stroke him a little faster, feeling the pulsing in your clit intensify with each pass of the scomp-link. The constant low moaning coming from Echo sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, and you feel your juices seeping out, dampening the pillow you're sitting on. You moan heavily around Tech's cock, the vibrations rewarding you with a hard flex and the sound of him choking back a deep-seated moan of his own. He rests a hand on your cheek, then pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving you feeling strangely empty.

“You're too good at this, cyar'íka...I am already getting closer than I would like,” he pants as he sits back down, blinking heavily as he tries to recompose himself.

Echo's hand covers yours as he pulls himself back from your grasp, breathing hard. “I'm close, too, mésh'la...still want to...show you the best part...”

He takes the scomp-link away from your throbbing clit, taking the case lying next to Tech and opens it, revealing an instrument with two distinct curved parts to it – the larger part is considerably longer and thick, the smaller one much shorter and thin. Echo nimbly unscrews the scomp-link and replaces it with this new creation, holding his arm up so the others can see.

“The larger part goes inside you, and the smaller part stays outside and rests on your clit,” he explains once he catches his breath. “Both parts vibrate, and they also have a small range of movement to them, so they can simultaneously work your sweet spot and clit at the same time.”

Tech picks up the small drawstring pouch and opens it, taking out a bottle. “You may want to use this,” he advises, handing it to Echo. “It will make Y/N's entire experience that much more pleasurable.”

Echo applies a few drops of the lube to the attachment, spreading it evenly. He drips a little bit more onto your clit, letting it run down between your outer lips before he takes a finger and traces it around your entrance. As his fingertip makes its way just inside, a content moan rises from you, and Echo smiles. Satisfied you're ready to accept this new toy, he withdraws his finger and smears the residual wetness on his cock. He carefully nudges the head of the large end up against your entrance and eases it fully inside you. As promised, the head of the smaller end is flush with the underside of your clit – a perfect fit.

“I really want to see you come before Tech fucks you, mésh'la, but if it gets to be too much, tell me and I'll stop immediately.”

“Oh, fuck!” you gasp loudly as Echo activates the toy. “This isn't going to take me long!”

Echo keeps the level of vibration on its lowest to get you used to the feeling, the tip of each segment moving in tiny circles, alternating with a gentle upward massaging movement, perfectly mimicking someone's fingers and tongue. Involuntarily, your walls clench around the toy as it teases your sweet spot. You let out a lusty moan as the outer piece flicks gently under your clit, sending waves of fresh heat through your core.

Your eyes close as Tech's brilliant new toy works its magic, biting your lower lip as your hands come to your breasts, cupping them as you gently pull on your piercings. Echo increases the speed just a little more, a sharp cry coming from you as the pressure increases in your cleft and the buzzing in your clit becomes stronger, drawing you close to your peak. Tech smiles proudly, knowing his little invention works perfectly and is driving you wild.

Echo's hand strays between his legs once more to close around his cock, his arousal at a hair-trigger. He finds his rhythm quickly, his eyes locked on yours as he strokes himself hard, bucking his hips as he goes. Your head drops back against the couch cushion, arching your back and suppressing a small scream as Echo increases the intensity a third time. Tech takes one of your hands in his and squeezes it as your other hand remains on a breast, rolling and pinching your nipple.

Your clit becomes the epicenter of searing heat and electricity as the manipulation of your sweet spot triggers your inner walls to contract around the toy. Your legs begin to tremble, toes curling as you're nearing your climax with everyone watching you in fascination, waiting to see you come. Breath catching in your throat, you manage to utter, “So fucking close, Echo...you're going to make me come...”

“That's it, mésh'la, let it all go,” Echo groans as his cock pulses in his hand. “Come for me, Y/N...”

As your orgasm breaks, his name cascades from your lips in a heaving sob, a riptide of pleasure crashing violently through your body. The walls of your pussy constrict forcefully around the toy as you bear down. Rolling your hips madly, you cover your face with your hands as you keep riding the waves of your high. “No more, Echo, pull out...pull out...pull out!” you wail.

Echo shuts the toy off and removes it, a lewd wet sound following in its wake as a spring of your juices ejects all over his hand and cock. “By the Maker, Y/N,” he says, looking down in disbelief. Using the newfound wetness to his advantage, he strokes himself hard, moaning your name. You watch his balls tighten as he starts to come, spilling a considerable amount of his seed all over your stomach and pubic mound. Chest heaving with exertion, he sits back and gets himself tucked back into his blacks.

“It appears the toy did exactly what I designed it to do,” Tech says with a satisfied grin on his face. “You performed flawlessly, Y/N...how do you feel?”

“I'm...not sure I have the words, Tech. It's been a long time since I've come like that,” you admit sheepishly.

Wrecker passes the damp towel to Echo, who lovingly wipes you clean. His parting gift to you is a gentle kiss between your legs just above your clit, then he leans in to plant another kiss at the corner of your mouth as he lightly strokes your hair. “Thank you for everything, mésh'la...that was extraordinary,” he says, his voice laden with adoration. “I can't wait to watch you with Tech...you're in for a real treat,” he chuckles as he returns to your other side. “She's all yours, ner vod...”

Tech smiles and takes your chin in his hand, turning your head and leaning in to kiss you tenderly. You bring your hands up behind his neck, enticing him to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your throat, all the way to your breasts. One of his hands reaches for a breast, closing over it as he traces his finger over your firm nipple, taking hold of your piercing. You let out a breathy moan as his eager tongue snakes out and flicks quickly over the other, holding the ring in his teeth. As Tech begins to gently pull on your piercings, your arousal renews with strong pulsing in your clit and an insistent fluttering deep in your pussy.

“You are hungry for all our attention tonight, aren't you, cyar'íka?” Tech says as he lets go of you, his silken voice low and sultry. “Get on all fours for me, and I'll share something else with you that is in desperate need of attention.”

As your rise to your knees, Tech pulls away the pillow soaked with your juices and replaces it with a larger one, wanting to maximize your comfort. You get into position for him and he reaches out, tracing his fingers down your spine, making you shiver and lift yourself up toward him as his hand reaches your ass. Taking both cheeks in his strong hands, he kneads them firmly, letting his fingers roam down a little until his thumbs are on either side of your outer lips. He gently parts your folds, looking down upon your entrance, moist with fresh wetness.

“Both Wrecker and Echo did an excellent job preparing you for me,” Tech states casually as he draws his index finger between your glistening lips. “Now we've learned that even something simple as playing with your nipples leaves you a soaking...” He slides his finger into you slowly, grinning as you let out a tiny moan. “...wet mess.”

Tech finds your sweet spot easily, teasing it in short strokes with his fingertip. Your eyes close and you let out a quiet sigh, a hand straying down between your legs to gently touch your clit, still partially swollen and sensitive from the last orgasm . Tech feels your pussy gently contract around his finger and he lets out a small groan as his cock stirs heavily. He pulls his finger out of you and slips it into his mouth, sucking it clean and marveling at the delicate balance of sweetness, salt, and acidity.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N? Will you come as violently for me as you did for Echo?”

You push your ass back toward him and he meets you halfway, letting you rub yourself along the front of his blacks, dampening them with your juices. Tech slides his pants past his knees, guiding his cock through your folds and over your clit, holding back a moan as your hand passes along the underside, your fingertips deftly caressing the tip, feeling a small amount of pre-cum emerge. He withdraws and then aligns himself with your entrance, taking your hips in his hands as he slowly pushes his way in. He's nearly as thick as Wrecker, and as he sinks himself deep into your succulent heat, Tech lets out the moan he's been trying to suppress.

“Fuck me, Tech,” you mewl, swirling your hips around him once he's fully seated within you. “You feel so fucking good...”

Tech feels pleasant heat rush to his face from your praise and he smiles, proud of himself for being able to please you like this. Now he starts to slowly rock his hips fore and aft, watching his cock effortlessly slip in and out of you, listening to your fervid cries growing steadily louder. You reach down to start rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, fingertips dancing lightly over it, making your legs twitch uncontrollably again. A shuddering groan comes from Tech as he feels your walls quiver around him, feeling like tiny kisses all along his cock.

You softly moan as Tech leans over you, propping himself up on one hand as the other comes up from underneath to cup one of your breasts. His long fingers easily manipulate your nipple and piercing, gently rolling and pulling the hardened flesh and its adornment. You feel another strong pulse in your clit and Tech groans quietly in your ear as the contraction that follows makes your walls squeeze against him tightly.

“Cyar'íka, move with me,” he whispers as he begins to sit up, pulling you with him. “Let me show you what you and I have done together in my dreams.”

As the two of you rise, Tech carefully shifts himself back onto his feet, not wanting to slip out of you. One of his arms is slung loosely around your hips with the other around your torso, his hand resting between your breasts. Resting on your knees, you straddle his lap with your hands on his thighs as he pulls you flush against him, the hand on your chest sliding up to gently close around your throat. His mouth comes to your ear and plants a tiny kiss, followed by more along your jaw. A deep moan emanates from your parted lips as Tech's other hand comes down between your legs, his graceful fingers brushing over your hot, swollen clit.

“I always wondered what it would feel like to fuck you while you sit in my lap,” Tech mumbles into your hair as he starts to buck his hips up into you once more. “Granted, I wanted to do this with you while in the cockpit of the Marauder...but this will suffice.”

You start to ride him, timing your descent perfectly with each hard upward thrust. Tech lets go of your throat and lets his hand gravitate down to your chest, cupping a breast as he begins to play with your nipple and piercing again. His fingers skillfully swirl over your clit at the same time, stoking the fires of arousal once more. Tech lets out a muffled moan against your neck as his cock is greeted with renewed wetness.

Your hands dig into his thighs as you bounce on his cock a little faster, the fingers working your clit keeping time. Luscious, tingling heat pools in that tiny singularity, begging for release. Tech turns his attention to your neck, hungrily nibbling and kissing the soft flesh, sending shivers down your spine. You gyrate your hips when he's nestled fully in you and he moans unabashedly as his cock begins to swell.

“That's the way, cyar'íka...such a good girl, letting us fuck you,” Tech says, his voice pouring into your ear like liquid silk.

He lets go of your breast and trails his fingertips up your chest before wrapping his hand lightly around your throat once more, holding your head steady as his hips snap up into you briskly. As you match his pace, you feel him getting tighter as he stretches your insides to their limit. He rubs your clit in tight circles, your moaning constant as he starts to shorten his thrusts, the head of his cock perfectly massaging your sweet spot. Tech squeezes the sides of your neck slowly and you shut your eyes as your breath hitches in your throat, every nerve ending in your clit ready for the ultimate liberation.

“So close, Tech...make me come,” you gasp.

“I thought you'd never ask,” Tech replies flippantly.

He buries himself all the way in you and holds still, his fingers flicking over your clit as you near your peak. His thighs tremble against you as he feels your pussy clutching his cock like a vise, requiring every ounce of his restraint to not release before you do. Tech takes your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the flesh of your hood over it as he strokes firmly, drawing out a few last gasps from you.

As he loosens his grip on your throat, an intense cry bursts from you as the floodgates open and he tips you over the edge, your nails digging into his thighs as the nectar of euphoria flows through you. Writhing your hips madly, Tech wraps his arm around your waist to hold you steady, unable to hold himself back any longer. He swiftly withdraws, then cants his hips up into you, relishing at the obscene wet sounds his cock is making as he drives himself in deeply. Mouth at your ear, Tech's low moaning sends shivers down your spine, knowing he's just about to come.

“May I...” he grunts, and you feel his cock swell and stiffen.

You bring a hand up around the back of his neck and turn your head towards his, pulling him down for an ardent kiss. “Do it,” you command. “Be my good boy and fill my pussy...”

Tech hides his face in your hair as he thrusts hard for a final time, letting his breath out forcefully as his orgasm overtakes him, moaning your name repeatedly. His cock flexes heavily in your cleft, and you whimper as you feel the sudden heat of his seed coating your walls. At long last, Tech releases you. Falling forward onto your hands, he backs out of you, juices steadily dripping between your legs onto the pillow underneath.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Echo asks, reaching out to take you by the shoulder and help you upright.

“Better than fine,” you reply breathlessly as you shift around to face the others. “Here's a little something extra for you, boys. Consider it an encore...”

You part your legs enough so they can clearly see between them, your outer lips swollen and spread wide. Biting your lip as you bear down, everyone watches transfixed as Tech's thick, creamy load slips out of you. You look over at Tech, now sitting back on the couch as he recovers from his high. Unsteadily, you get to your feet and go to him, taking his chin in your hand as you look into his beautiful golden brown eyes. He reaches up to touch your cheek with his finger, a relieved smile on his face.

“That was...extraordinary, cyar'íka. Thank you for letting me –”

You cut him off with a gentle kiss. “No need to thank me, Tech. If anything, I should be thanking you.” You pause for a moment, a grin creeping across your face. “However, I think you and I need to have a chat about an escapade in the Marauder's cockpit sometime...”

Wrecker snorts and bursts out laughing, causing Tech to immediately start blushing. Everyone else joins in as you sigh and shake your head, reaching for the towel to wipe yourself down. You look around for the wine bottle, stopping as your eyes meet Hunter's. He's sitting calmly in his seat, watching your eyes as they travel down toward his groin. As if he's read your mind, he spreads his legs apart for you a little, resting his hand on the mouthwatering bulge under his blacks.

“There's no need, ad'íka. It's my turn,” he says, pulling the waist of his blacks down just a little so the head of his cock is visible. “I'm serious about wanting to have those exquisite tits of yours squeezed around my cock. But first, be a love and let me have your mouth for awhile. Seems to me your pussy needs a break,” he chuckles.

Hunter swings his legs up onto the generous couch on which he's sitting, stretching out as he lies down, sliding a thumb under the waistband of his blacks. Looking over at you, he smiles and starts stroking himself through the material, closing his eyes as he starts thinking about sliding his cock into your mouth, watching your tongue swirl around the tip. You make your way over to him, wedging yourself between his muscular thighs. Curling your hands into his pants, you start sliding them down his hips, your lips curled into a seductive grin.

“Show me what you've got for me, Hunter,” you say as you get his blacks down to his thighs, holding back a moan as his lengthy cock is unveiled, thick with a gentle upward curve. Once you get his blacks off, you lay your palms on his thighs, running them up toward his groin as you lean forward to gently kiss his tip. “Just as beautiful as your brothers,” you murmur.

Starting at the base, your tongue draws its way up his shaft, tenderly swirling along the underside of the head. Hunter moans softly and rests a hand on the back of your head as he spreads his legs wider for you, resting one foot on the floor. Taking his cock in one hand, you bring him to your lips, kissing the tip once more before you guide him into your mouth, sucking lightly on the head. You ease him farther into your mouth as your free hand cups his balls, palming the firm, swollen orbs carefully.

You pull him out of your mouth with a slight pop, licking your lips. “Mm, look how full you are, honey. I bet you want to blow a huge load all over my tits, don't you?” Now you squeeze his balls just a little, a deep groan rolling out of him. “Gotta say, Hunter, I figured you would have wanted my pussy, but your creativity is fucking hot...”

Sliding him back into your mouth, your tongue flattens out along the underside, letting you inch him in slowly. Your eyes meet his, pupils fully dilated and shining brightly with fascination and arousal as he watches his cock disappear around your lips. Taking in as much of him as you can, one hand closes around him again to start stroking, twisting its way along as you hollow out your cheeks, sucking on him hard.

Hunter groans and lifts his hips up into you as you pull away, a long strand of saliva connecting your tongue to the tip. You close your index finger and thumb firmly around his cock, swirling up and over him, taking time to massage the head as your tongue lavishes attention upon his length, flicking over the small slit as a bead of pre-cum oozes its way out. Back into the hot confines of your mouth he goes, this time picking up the pace to stroke him a little faster while you give most of your attention to the heated, swollen flesh.

“Fuck,” he moans softly. “I thought you'd never do this for me, Y/N...”

One of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head once more, and now he begins to gently buck his hips as you let him fuck your mouth, pushing in deeper as you close your hand fully around him. Your other hand returns to give his balls attention, rolling and squeezing them while your index finger strokes the fine, soft flesh of his perineum, evoking a gasp and a choked breath from Hunter.

You can feel his leg starting to tremble against you a little as you draw him closer to his climax, and you chuckle with him in your mouth. The vibrations travel along his shaft, causing him to flex in your hand, and when the head tightens and swells, you exhale sharply through your nose, pulling him out. You're slavering all over his cock, curling the tip of your tongue as you withdraw, showing Hunter just exactly how much you love giving sloppy blowjobs.

You shift yourself back a little, placing a hand on Hunter's thigh as your head dips down, your tongue lovingly passing over his balls. Your other hand comes to rest on his other thigh, and reflexively, Hunter encircles his fingers around yours, while his other hand reaches to take a hold of your hair. Slowly your lips close around one of his balls, sucking a little to pull it into your mouth. Hunter closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he tries to restrain a deep-seated moan of pleasure.

He's so full that you almost can't fit it in your mouth, but as you engulf him completely, you suck on him tenderly, filled with anticipation over how much he's going to come for you. Hunter lets go of your hand and takes his cock, still wet with your saliva. He starts stroking himself, watching you intently as you let him go with a wet smack of your lips. As you take his other testicle in, he comes undone, moaning deeply as you sensually tease him. You can feel him beginning to tighten up in your mouth, and you release him, sitting back on your feet, flashing a sassy grin as you wipe your lips with a finger.

Hunter pulls himself up and you hear a low growl building as he suddenly reaches for your shoulder, pushing you down onto your back. Quickly, he climbs on top of you, his cock pulsating as he gets himself into position. Your heart races with excitement over his powerful show of dominance, but also with curiosity over how it will feel to have him gliding between your breasts. Hunter takes a breast in each hand, massaging them softly as he takes in this new vantage point.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are, Y/N? You're like something out of a wet dream,” he confesses as his thumbs trace over your nipples, mesmerized by the gleaming steel of your piercings. He looks up and over at Tech, holding out his hand. “Gonna need that lube, vod. Throw it over here.”

Tech pitches the small bottle of lube across to Hunter, who catches it easily. He flicks open the cap and drizzles the lube generously onto your sternum. You let him rub the lube between and all over your breasts, groaning happily as he massages your heated flesh. As he finishes, he takes his cock by the base, rapping it firmly on your chest, a wicked grin on his face. You start pushing your breasts together until they're just touching him, a little unsure of how close you should be.

“Always wondered what this would feel like,” he murmurs as he starts to rock his hips slowly, pushing his cock between the cleft, letting out a soft sigh as he easily glides through.

Hunter looks down at you, seeing the enthrallment on your face as he pushes his cock closer to your mouth. Briefly, he pulls himself out and holds himself within reach of your mouth, easing just the tip in a little as you suck on him gently. Back between your breasts he goes, and you push them much closer together this time to create more friction. He teases you, the head of his cock coming close to your chin and mouth, and you let your tongue hang out a little, trying to lick him.

“Tech's right, ad'íka...you're starving tonight...you want me to feed you?” he questions, voice smoky with passion.

“Give me everything you've got, Hunter,” you reply.

Hunter smiles and licks his lips as he continues driving his cock between your breasts, this time adjusting himself so he can push his way into your mouth easily. You take him in and he watches as your gaze meets his, an incredibly arousing sight to see you suck his cock so easily. His heart goes into overdrive as he feels you press yourself tightly around him, and he wonders if your pussy feels anywhere near as good as this.

Faster he begins to thrust, and low moaning progressively becomes heavy as Hunter feels himself rapidly approaching his edge. Your eyes are locked on his and again, you open your mouth to show him your eager tongue. Seeing you so willing and trusting turns him on even more, and he holds his breath when his balls begin to tighten, knowing his orgasm is imminent. You can see his thighs beginning to shake slightly as he comes close and you push your breasts against him as far as they'll go.

“M-mésh'la, hold still, I'm gonna come,” he gasps, surging forward a few more times before you feel his cock flex, watching as he starts to unload.

Hunter moans loudly as thick streams of his hot seed launch all over your chest, neck, and chin before he pulls his cock from between your breasts and strokes it a few more times, sending the rest into your mouth. You swallow every last bit, your tongue slightly tingling as you taste the salty, slightly bitter profile of his spend, momentarily grateful he chose not to come solely in your mouth. He carefully climbs off you and reaches for his pants, tugging them back on before he leans down and kisses you affectionately.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says quietly, moving your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “That was incredible...I would love to do that with you again sometime.”

You take his face between your hands, bringing your lips to his for a few velvety kisses. “Any time, Hunter...never done anything like that before, but it's getting added to the “must do” list,” you laugh.

Hunter gives you one last kiss before excusing himself to the kitchen to get another clean towel. You're sitting propped up on your elbows when he returns, and you close your eyes, letting your head loll back as he cleans you up. The warm dampness of the towel and Hunter's tender ministrations leave you feeling relaxed and perfectly sated. You inhale deeply, collecting your thoughts before you finally finish this game and set Crosshair in his place.

Without opening your eyes, your voice takes on a startling edge. “Crosshair, be my good boy...come over here and kneel before me. Now.”

The chatter among the others stops and Hunter retakes his seat on the couch, his attention fixed on Crosshair, who's looking across the room at you. As you bring your head back up, your eyes slowly open and you turn to look at him, his normally bitter expression erased and replaced by one of uncertainty, his cheeks red with uncharacteristic embarrassment. He's rattled by the glacial look you're giving him, and he swallows hard, looking at his brothers one by one, especially Tech.

“I strongly suggest you comply, Crosshair. It would be unwise to arouse cyar'íka's anger once more,” Tech says with a vein of mirth in his voice, a sly grin on his face.

As you sit up, you move to the edge of the couch, spreading your legs so Crosshair can get a good look at what he's been coveting all night long. The roseate bloom of your pussy lay before him, his longing for you coming to its summit as he sees your glistening folds, his cock throbbing insistently. Resting a hand daintily upon your knee, you reach out and beckon to him, smiling sweetly. But Crosshair is no fool; he sees through your façade, knowing you're up to something.

He gets up out of his chair haltingly and does as he's told, stopping before you and sinking to the floor on his knees. You can see his breathing becoming shallower, his dark eyes shining brightly with deep yearning. You bring a hand under his chin and lift his head up as you lean in, your other hand running through his silver hair. Your lips brush softly over his, and he doesn't bother trying to hold back a small moan. Now your mouth seeks his, tongues sparring as you converge for a fiery kiss.

“That's my boy...” you whisper heatedly. “You're going to learn a little humility and accept the consequences of your earlier transgression...starting by licking my pussy until every trace of Tech is gone.”

A brief look of disgust flashes across his face at your choice of words, but the desire to please you and be praised for it is overwhelming. As you look down at him, your expression softens as his hands make their way up your legs slowly. Crosshair never takes his eyes off yours, his long fingers caressing your silky skin as they rise over your knees and over your inner thighs. The corner of his mouth turns upward into a tiny crooked grin, knowing you're enjoying this.

Crosshair gives pause as he reaches your pubic mound, suddenly not wanting to proceed lest you think of something else to deflate his ego. His eyes search yours pleadingly, looking for the sign that he should continue. He wants nothing more than to touch you, let his tongue work its magic on the tantalizing swell of your pearl, and draw you to another orgasm. Hesitantly, his fingertips stroke the soft flesh of your outer lips, and when you don't stop him, his thumb rests on your piercing before he retracts the hood of your clit.

You let out a pleasurable sigh as you watch him close his eyes and lean in, his mouth closing over your clit. He wastes no time in showing you how skilled he is, sucking firmly while his tongue teases and massages the hypersensitive underside. His index finger makes its way to your slick entrance and slides in with no resistance. It's quickly followed by the middle, and you let out a gasp as he carefully threads in his ring finger, your pussy feeling like it's about to split in two.

Crosshair opens his eyes and looks up at you for signs of discomfort, but sees none. He starts moving his fingers in and out, the wet sounds coming from you are almost profane. He knows exactly where to touch you, curling his fingertips upward to manipulate your sweet spot as he pulls his mouth away, letting his tongue flick expertly across your clit. The divine heat and pulsation start you anew on the path to your climax, and he feels your walls starting to close around him.

“I think someone's hungrier than I am tonight, boys!” you exclaim, exhaling sharply as your needling leads Crosshair to pull out his fingers, coated with both your juices and the remnants of Tech's. “You're desperate, Crosshair. Lick them clean,” you order.

Jeering laughter erupts from Wrecker, clearly enjoying watching his brother being put in his place. “She's got you there, eh, Cross?! About time someone taught you a lesson!”

Crosshair's eyes narrow as heat spreads like wildfire through his face, blushing furiously. He sticks his index finger in his mouth, sucking it clean, the commingling of salt and bitter acidity not as vile as he expected. He licks his middle and ring fingers, watching your face for the sign of approval he aches for. You smile and point down at your pussy, slick with fresh arousal. Choking on a groan, his hands fly to your thighs and grip hard as he buries his head between your legs once more.

He licks a wide path with the flat of his tongue through your slit, gathering up everything he can. You rest your hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to do it again. Moaning softly against your folds, he makes another pass before his lips close around your clit and piercing once more. This time he suckles gently, feeling his cock twitch hard underneath his blacks as you utter his name. He brings a hand down between his legs and feels how damp the material is, badly wanting to sink his cock into you in any way possible.

Crosshair gives your clit a loving kiss and looks to you once more. “Was...that all right?” he asks. You don't answer right away, instead moving in to taste yourself on him, licking at the corner of his mouth before lightly kissing his forehead. “C-cyaré, please...are you satisfied?” he implores.

His words from earlier in the night come back to haunt him as you chuckle softly. “Not just yet...but give it some time. On your feet, Crosshair...show me that cock of yours and let me make fantasy a reality.”

He rests his hands on your knees as he slowly rises, his lithe, muscular body seeming taller than ever as he looks down at you. Your eyes lock on his as your hands slide their way up his thighs, and you feel him tremble slightly in anticipation. You palm his cock through the fabric, feeling how hot and impatient he is as you lean forward, strategically planting ethereal kisses as your hands take the waistband of his blacks and ease them down. The graceful curve of his impressively thick length is unveiled, the head glossy with pre-cum.

Crosshair licks his lips as he watches you take him by the base, your tongue emerging to lightly trace its way over his frenulum before it swirls over the tip, drawing in his wetness. His breath catches in his throat as you take him in your mouth, his level of touch starvation evident as you feel him beginning to swell a little from the most basic attention you're giving him. You suck on him gently for a few moments before withdrawing, and he brings a hand to your face, cupping it tenderly. Closing your eyes, your hand comes up over his, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Cyaré, tell me how to please you,” he begs, inwardly cursing himself for feeling so needy and vulnerable.

You let go of his hand and slip it between his legs, taking him by the balls and squeezing firmly. Crosshair groans and bites his lip, moving his hand to the back of your head as your other hand grasps his cock. “Begging is beneath you, Crosshair,” you coolly reply. “Here's the deal. You're going to blow your load on my face, and then you're going to lick it up.”

Hunter raises an eyebrow in surprise as he looks over at you, and you hear Echo mutter, “oh, Maker,” as Tech covers his face with his hand, desperately trying not to laugh. You look over at Wrecker and he's sitting there silent, mouth agape and eyes wide. Crosshair feels the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his neck and into his ears and face. He didn't expect this from you, and now he finally regrets his egregious behavior.

“Just one more thing, love...don't swallow!”

With that, you release the grip on his balls, rolling them in your palm as the hand on his cock moves it way up his length, closing over the tip to gently massage it. Crosshair moans softly and his fingers wind around your hair as your lips close around him, slowly easing him in. Your hand slides up his shaft, joining your mouth as you move your head to and fro, sucking tenaciously. He can't tear his eyes away from you as more of his cock disappears, chills running down his spine as you moan deeply around him. Cautiously, he starts to thrust into your mouth, curious to see how much of him you can take.

You accommodate him easily at first, your hand controlling the depth of his progress, but he soon starts to push in more aggressively. Tears prick the corner of your eyes unbidden as he moves in too deeply, triggering your gag reflex. You pull back, salivating wildly all over the head of his cock and for a split second, you catch just a hint of smug satisfaction on his face. Squeezing his balls roughly in retaliation, he lets out a hiss as your hand picks up the extra wetness and grips around him tightly, stroking him hard. Crosshair's thighs tense up, his arousal mounting exponentially as he starts bucking his hips toward you, wishing it was your pussy he was fucking instead of your hand.

“That's the way, baby,” you croon gently. “Such a good, obedient boy, wanting to come hard all over his cyaré's face...”

Crosshair moans heatedly at your words, especially the Mando'a term of endearment. He pumps his cock through your skilled hand, groaning deeply as his tip pushes through the tight ring of your fingers. Visions of having you all to himself and feeling how tight your pussy is for him race through his mind, and it's not long before his other hand joins yours, grasping his cock as his thrusting intensifies. You slowly ease your hand off him until he's fully in control, stroking himself vigorously as he chases his climax.

Now with both hands free, you turn your attention to his balls, which are already starting to tighten. You take one in each hand, rolling your thumbs over them, massaging lightly as Crosshair's breathing becomes rapid and shallow. As you squeeze his balls again, this time with care, his free hand gravitates to the top of your head to hold you steady. A low groan builds deeply in his chest as he feels himself drawing close to his orgasm, cock swelling firmly in his hand. He closes his eyes and brings his hand up to start quickly stroking the first few inches, moaning your name ardently.

“So close, ner cyaré... Let me come... Please let me come,” he gasps, legs trembling as he forces himself to hold on until you grant him permission.

You shift back a little to give him space and close your eyes. “I release you, Crosshair!”

He deftly strokes his cock a few more times and feels the coil in his pelvic floor unwind, a deep moan pouring out of him as he begins to come. Hot streams of his seed eject all over your forehead, nose, lips and chin, covering your face like a spectral mask. Breathing hard, Crosshair pulls away from you, hastily pulling his blacks up and tucking himself back in. Not forgetting the other half of your directive, he gathers his courage and sets aside feelings of revulsion, leaning forward and taking you by the shoulders.

He's never tasted himself before now, but curiosity and the driving need to satisfy you get the better of him. His hot tongue starts at your lips, licking them clean with a single pass. Hunter chuckles quietly as he watches Crosshair grimace, the salty bitterness an unpleasant surprise. He returns to your chin, then quickly passes over your nose and forehead, lapping up the remnants of his spend. You open your eyes and see he's pulled away from you, a look of serious aversion on his face as he's fighting the urge to spit out his load.

“Have you learned your lesson, Crosshair?” you say with great merriment. “Judging by that sour face, I'd say you have. Am I correct?” He nods, and you get to your feet, wrapping one arm around his slim waist, the other around his shoulders. He looks down at you and you can see his eyes silently beseeching you to hurry. “Feed me, love...I want to know how you taste.”

You open your mouth, tongue resting on your bottom lip as Crosshair lowers his head, opening his mouth when he's within reach. A quiet moan emanates from you as his tongue touches yours, the creamy pool of his seed passing from him to you. Curling your tongue back into your mouth, you swallow all of it as Crosshair closes his eyes and sighs softly. Your hand trails its way up the back of his neck until you're cradling his head, and you moan faintly into his mouth as his lips connect with yours for an amatory kiss.

“Now...I'm satisfied. See, I knew you would bend to my will. All it took was the proper motivation. Well behaved boys will always be rewarded...miscreants will not. It's that simple.” Your fingertip traces its way along the lines of his tattoo, his eyes meeting yours. “Such a good boy you are, Crosshair. My good boy.”

Crosshair's hand passes down your spine until he reaches your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks firmly as he seeks out your mouth for a passionate kiss. You hold onto him tighter as his tongue and yours meet, his hunger for you not yet slaked as he takes your tongue between his teeth and gently nips at it. You groan softly as you start growing wet again, and you can feel Crosshair's cock stir once more. A soft cough behind you interrupts the moment, and you turn to see Hunter looking at you with a gentle smile of approval.

“Oh...right. Game's over, lads. Everybody wins,” you laugh.

“What, no second round, mésh'la?” Wrecker jokes as he stands up and stretches. “I think I'm ready for another go!”

“No way, big man. Not until I've had another shower and a little sleep...you've all worn me out. So if you'll excuse me, I'll –”

You let out a yelp as Crosshair reaches under your legs and picks you up. “Then let's get you cleaned up and in bed, cyaré...as far as we're concerned, the night is still young,” he says devilishly, turning to walk out of the living room with you.

“Crosshair, wait.” He stops as he gets into the main hallway, and you look over his shoulder. “I don't want to sleep alone tonight, boys. Come on.”

*****

As you exit your bathroom still combing out your hair, you see Crosshair and Tech already under the covers of your gargantuan bed, waiting for you to occupy the space between them. The other three are all sitting at the foot of it half undressed, their shirts slung over the back of a nearby chair. You stop and flash all of them a flirtatious grin, and all of them return it with carnal smiles of their own.

“You said there wasn't room for all of us in here, Y/N,” Echo remarks with amusement.

“I was being facetious, Echo. This bed can support half the Hutt family, and then some!”

“Then we are in no danger of having it collapse,” Tech interjects. “Come to bed, cyar'íka...we all very much would like to continue the bonding process with you.”

He holds up the covers for you, and you see that both he and Crosshair are fully naked and partially aroused. You slip between them, Crosshair pressing himself against your side as he nuzzles your neck contentedly. Tech slings his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek softly. Echo and Wrecker reach for Hunter as they all lie down, settling in the spaces between you and the twins.

Crosshair closes his eyes, laughing quietly. “You owe me 10 credits, Tech. I told you we'd all fit.”

[missmungoe]

I hope you write Shanks' pov more! It's really interesting and great and not just because of the explicit delicious chef's kiss smut. His thoughts and love for Makino is so lovely.

Oh then I have just the thing for you! A peek from the previously mentioned follow-up to Verses Not Fit For Singing in Public (aka the shibari fic), to be posted sometime this weekend once I've polished the edit. Timeskip setting this time, with plenty of (Sh)angst, smut, and Makino<3

He’d been working aloft all afternoon, refitting one of the sails, work that had been easier back when he’d had two hands, but he’d never been discouraged by a challenge, and had re-taught himself the things he’d once known, climbing the shrouds, and the sailor’s knots he’d once been able to do in his sleep, each one painstakingly re-learned with his remaining and non-dominant hand.

The lines flowed between his fingers now, the coarse texture of the ropes scraping his palms, calloused from years of similar work, his voice pitched low, singing under his breath to the rhythm of the motions as he slipped it through and under, looped and noosed and tightened with a decisive tug.

Smiling, his fingers traced the ropes, knotted tightly where he'd rolled up the mended sail, imagining the softer canvas of her skin, and closing his eyes, he sought the well-thumbed memory, recalling her under his hands, her delicate limbs pulled taut by the ropes, straining against the arch of her body where he'd bound her.

A breeze stirred him from the fantasy, the sudden gust carding through his hair and sending the shrouds creaking, and frowning, Shanks turned his eyes towards the horizon. A life on the water had attuned him to even the smallest changes in the weather, and he felt the tell-tale stirring in his gut now, but scanning the horizon found no sign that anything was amiss, only gentle East Blue with her demure sunset blush, as guileless as she’d ever been, but a gentle sea was only reassuring to a captain who didn’t know how quickly that could change.

The grip of unease didn't let go, but finished with the sail, he climbed down from the mast. He’d left his sandals somewhere, and the planks were warm under his bare feet, the deck newly scrubbed and oiled, but then even anchored for weeks, his ship was well-maintained. Pampered, even, the spoiled thing, hearing the pleased purring of her timbers, but then Makino had done more than just mend her sails, noting the fresh coating of oil gleaming along her banisters.

His shirt was soaked through with sweat, clinging to his back. He should probably wash up before heading to the bar, and turning towards his cabin, he spared one last look at the sea, and the water where it sighed over the shore, no more threat in the teasing push than in the breeze, even as he couldn't shake the sense that something was off, as though any second, the gentle tide might pull back to reveal its teeth.

His mind was elsewhere as he walked to his cabin, wondering if he should make a call to his scouts just in case something had slipped under their radar. And he must have been properly lost in thought, because he hadn’t noticed anyone coming aboard, and it wasn’t until he reached the door to his stateroom that he paused.

He didn't know how he'd missed her, but pushing the handle down to let himself inside found Makino seated in the armchair by his desk, the windows of his cabin behind her, and the naked horizon.

Shutting the door behind him, “Hey,” Shanks said, his smile warming at the sight of her. It wasn’t often she played hooky, least of all during her busiest time of day, and with his whole crew in her bar. “I was just going to wash up before coming to join you. Did you finally run out of patience with their baby name suggestions?”

He saw then that she had something in her lap, and recognised one of his logbooks, open and balanced atop her belly.

And he knew which one it was, the page open on his most recent entry, dated right before they’d returned from the New World. And Shanks knew even without reading it what it said, his own hand outlining his concerns regarding the expansion of Blackbeard’s territories, and the World Government’s inaction. The ripples from the war, and the approaching Reverie; all the things that kept him up at night, wondering if he was making the right choices.

“You’re not sleeping,” Makino said, lifting her eyes from the page to his. “I wanted to know why.”

Shanks considered the careful arrangement of her features, the steady weight of her gaze, and the cupid’s bow of her soft mouth, drawn with gentle purpose.

And he wondered why he was surprised that she’d noticed, when few things escaped her observation, or her haki.

The sigh that left him wasn’t quite surrender, but, “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you,” Shanks said, as he moved to stand before the armchair. “I just didn’t want to burden you with it when you’ve already got enough on your plate.”

His gaze lowered to her belly, hidden beneath the logbook; the other thing that occupied his waking hours, thinking of the life that hadn’t even begun yet, and wondering if his choices had already doomed it. That things beyond his control had already decided its fate; the baby who’d have his blood, and all that came with it.

Makino’s eyes were soft; in the warm sunset light of his cabin, they were a rich brandy. He hoped their child's would be the same; that they would be like her, dark-haired with those fine elfin features, and not immediately recogniseable as his, knowing already what that would mean.

“It’s not a burden to know what’s on your mind, Shanks,” Makino said. Then, her chin lifting ever so slightly, “And even if it was, I’d still want it.”

The words settled between them, folding like wings between the salt and the still air. And it wasn’t a demand, even if she could have phrased it that way, when she of all people had the right. It wasn’t even a question, asking him to give what he had vowed to give her, the day they’d bound their lives before a different sunset. In sickness and in health; the good with the bad. No, if it was anything, it was an offer, but then of course it was, because it was her, who had seen him long before she'd known him.

He wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling, the pressure around his chest that made it suddenly hard to breathe, and that he couldn’t tell if was gratitude or guilt, or both.

He felt suddenly out of his depth. And he was usually quick on his feet, situations and opponents analysed in seconds, rarely if ever hesitating when faced with a difficult choice, but then he’d once jokingly claimed that if faced with Scylla and Charybdis, the hardest choice would be which one would make for the better story (Buggy had called him a self-aggrandizing dick; Shanks had just laughed, but hadn’t disagreed).

Makino watched him calmly, waiting for him to speak. And there was no blame for withholding things from her, or even an expectation for him to share it now.

And this wasn’t an opponent facing him in battle, or a challenger come to unseat him, and yet observing her where she sat, he couldn't help the feeling that a challenge had been made all the same.

He looked at the logbook in her lap, and wondered how much she’d read, and what she’d found between the lines. Things he hadn’t told his crew, even his closest circle.

Then, “I dream about it,” Shanks said, meeting her eyes. “The funeral.”

The graves changed. Sometimes it was his old captain, sometimes Buggy, or Rayleigh. Ben and Yasopp and Lucky. Sometimes they weren't graves but his ship, broken on the rocks of that little islet; a monument to his failures. Any captain worth the title went down with his ship, wouldn’t leave as long as there was another soul aboard, but in his dreams, Shanks was always the only one left.

But the worst nightmares were about her. And lately, the one beneath her hands, who hadn’t even drawn breath yet; who didn’t even have a name to etch into a gravestone.

The hurt in her eyes was hard to look at, but he didn't try to hide from it now, only said, “I hope I haven’t been keeping you awake.”

He wasn't sure if he'd meant it as a question, when the fact that she'd noticed said its part, but, “You’re careful,” Makino said. “But I can tell.”

His mouth crooked. “So much for subterfuge. And here I fancied myself a master of stealth.”

Makino didn't smile. And someone else might have accused him of hiding behind his humour, but it wasn’t that simple. If it had been, he’d be better at hiding, but his humour was so tightly entwined with who he was, his grief included, there was no untangling it. It wasn't a mask; was just him, optimistic and cynical, ruthless and tender-hearted, pragmatic to a fault and yet still utterly, inexorably full of hope. A barmaid's husband, and an Emperor of the Sea; Shanks didn't know where the dividing line went, knew only that he was both, and that like the other parts of him, they were so tightly bound that there was no removing one and not the other.

Her eyes swept across him then, taking him in, barefoot with his shirt open, his cloak discarded, but unlike his clothes, there were things he couldn’t take off and leave in his cabin, like the mantle of responsibility, and the still heavier burden of his lineage, which grew heavier every week, as her belly did. And he wondered what she'd found between the lines now, when Makino asked him, “When was the last time you let yourself relax?”

His knee-jerk reaction was instinctive, to tell her he was a certified expert in leisure and relaxation, but what came out instead was the truth.

“I can’t remember,” Shanks said.

Her brows knitted, not in surprise, but as though he’d just confirmed her suspicions. And he was about to tell her she didn’t need to worry, that it was just a bout of insomnia and it would sort itself out, when Makino closed the logbook to put it away, drawing his gaze to her lap.

He stared at the spools of hempen rope; with the logbook open, he hadn't noticed them before, although the reason for their presence didn’t register immediately.

“If you came to help me with the sail, I already fixed it,” Shanks said.

Her eyes hooded a bit, a fey smile lifting her soft mouth, and the beginnings of realisation began to dawn on him, as Makino told him, “I didn’t come for the sail.”

[rockheadcd]

Although not nearly as experienced as other defenders, Stonedge is selected for an operation under Rhodes' contingency contract plans. The operation doesn't entirely go as smoothly as the team liked it to. Takes place before he discovers a certain runaway feline. cw for crush injuries. Just a lil supercut for worldbuilding. :)

"Operator Stonedge?"

"Hey, hey, we're on base, you can call me Roark. No need for formalities here."

The archosaurian looks up from his work, perhaps some of the most agonizing for those unable to sit still, handheld drill with the most precise of bits painstakingly stripping away raw stone from fossilized bones. For someone so loud with his laughter, his cleanroom was eerily quiet when he was working on something in there. The Rhodes associate squints at him through the clear panel—she's not here for casual conversation.

"The Doctor has selected you for a mission. I'm here to brief you."

Ah, that makes a little more sense. Roark switches off the drill and carefully sets aside his tools, peeling off of a rolling stool and eventually coming around to exit his little office, carefully removing and hanging up a mask and gloves in a peg right near the frame. "Sorry, what's up?"

"You'll be assigned under our contingency contract with Leithanien."

Oh. That wasn't expected to hear on this fine, bright midday morning that didn't penetrate this lab. Not even a year in, and he's being picked up for this.. he'd heard from more seasoned operators the kinds of difficulties these operations incurred. They paid well, unsurprisingly, but they had a tendency to push people to their breaking point. Roark vaguely remembered some sage advice from a fellow defender hired on as a merc.

'Don't get yourself killed out there.'

( yeah, no kidding, huh )

"Not a training ground?"

"Nope. We've evaluated overall risk to be nine," she explains, remaining calm in her briefing, but even her thrill of the upcoming operation leaves much to be desired. Her eyes are distracted by the resigned flop in the archosaurian's tail. At least she understood, he figured, continuing on, "Although, it should be fine. You've been recommended for this phase of the contract—fourteen days total. They're mines."

A crack at a joke gets him to scoff. "Ha, ha." Alright, he does appreciate the sentiment here. "I thought that area was cleared, though?"

"It's never empty for long, it's too lucrative of a waypoint for those who don't follow any sole monarch." Alright, that makes sense. She finally waves towards Roark to follow her—better, more precise information was available elsewhere, clearly. Perhaps it did make plenty of sense that it was a caprinae that could provide intel and round up the people about ready to be shipped off to god knows where. "The subcontracts are in other areas of Terra, but this one is the most desirable," she explains, "Unfortunately our reconnaissance has verified there are some very strong creatures patrolling the depths of the mines. They're reminiscent of Sarkaz minions."

Roark gives a hum of thought, following his escort to one of war rooms across the landship. "I thought we hired Mudrock...?"

"You'll see."

"Those constructs have no life to them. They are.. reanimated, on a technical level, but rest assured they do not behave like my friends."

Mudrock's presence is demanding in the war room despite her soft voice, muffled behind mask and voluminous suit. Roark has long gotten used to her manner of reference, having understood with the way he handles bones found with dirt caked between worn joints. Hell, she's probably more attuned to the earth far more than anyone else due to her peculiar methods of witchcraft—but it's fascinating nonetheless. No wonder she managed to attract so many lost souls here. Still, she manages to tower over most of the operators in the room with presence and seniority alone, Roark included, as they sit around a flat table, purely neutral, it's only burden the sprawl of reports that all have to do with this new operation. Roark pouts a little. "So, there have been knock-off constructs around and these ones are also held together by arts, but not necessarily in the same way you were able to imbue them."

"Mm."

"And then, the actual caster has been identified, but doesn't seem to be related to Reunion, but as a local Leithanien?"

"Mm."

Another voice speaks up—a Rhodes Island special op. "With this level of arts, we can narrow down our suspect belonging to the Witch King's Remnants," he adds, and the rest of the team doesn’t seem particularly thrilled. Those of Leithanien roots are especially perturbed. It makes sense why this particular contract was prioritized, and more importantly, why Rhodes was contacted to carry out the operation.

"—So, that leaves us with a unique strategy to handle these constructs, between heavy defenders, and our ranged operators, doesn't it?" Another operator takes the moment to muse aloud, and eventually the entire room begins to chime in on options of how to tackle this interesting repeat that had brought Mudrock and her squad here. In the end, she was a dissenter and wanted the best for the people who found hope in her presence, but in this case, the motives of the new threat in question could easily be presumed as nefarious at best, and downright cataclysmic at worst. Regardless, a unanimous observation noted was the certainty of broken bones, and if someone were to break some bones, it damn well better not be the ranged operators.

Roark finds a little excitement as much as he finds significantly more concern about the very real dangers that exist. The mines themselves offer very little by way of space, limiting the squad to only seven operators, among other variables. This isn't an operation in which they can retreat and try again—it's all or nothing. No leaks, more danger, less space, and a lot of sheer will. Something like this was bound to happen, right? Roark's history in Columbia made this his home turf, abandoned or not. He knew he'd be one of the first choices like the other operators here.

When discussion eventually finalizes, the objective is clear: find and eliminate the caster. Secondary objective? Don't bring the house down with the squad in it, if it comes down to it.

"We depart at oh-seven hundred. Any questions?" The caprinae looks up from her papers and looks around at the assignees. Not a single question remains. "If nothing, then you're all dismissed."

In unison, "Yessir."

The deployment of juggernauts is intentional in this situation, with the limited resources at hand. The sole arts healer that was dispatched with three other ranged operators would prioritize them over both Mudrock and Roark. The latter two's responsibility was to prevent their fellow vanguard from getting squashed from the far more dangerous constructs. The vanguard needed to flush out the spellcaster if they couldn't finish the job alone. With these kinds of limitations, it would have been a much higher risk having a sole executor specialist among the ranks. If something happened, there would be a slim chance anyone could go retrieve them. It just wasn't in the books to lose another head.

Even so, Roark still feels like he's pressed in a sardine can with how close the jagged tunnels come close to his shoulders. It's dark and cold save for the originium lanterns hanging off their belts, but if nothing has collapsed since the recon mission, the layout of the mines should be consistent—there should be some natural clearing ahead of them, where much of the mining had occurred prior to the operation being shut down. It also meant the general surroundings would be large enough for the constructs to patrol about—a caster following the Witch King would never let their guard down ( a smart one, anyway ). A hand signal from Mudrock ushers the team to extinguish the lights, and they soon find themselves in dim surroundings once more, save for some natural lighting ahead.

"The constructs are awake," she says softly, barely heard past her mask. The caster must have been aware. The team presses on.

Most of the team has seen this battlefield, but Roark is not one of them. The earth overhead shows signs of erosion, stalagmites and stalactites share the ground they stood upon, shaken loose over time. The night sky peers through scattered holes along the ceiling, fragile enough to crumble under the weight of a heavy animal, if any remained after wayward catastrophes. Their only light is the moon, but at least their blood gives them a slight advantage, the ranged operators especially. So far, the haphazard masses of stone and debris work as excellent cover and platforms to perch upon.

Roark has been asking himself when shit will hit the fan for the last half an hour.

The constructs are not silent in their footfalls, but they feel so much closer than they really are without line of sight. "When one finds a target, the rest will follow. Stay alert," the Sarkaz advises quietly, and the squadron begins to disperse, the four ranged operators moving to scale the rock face for a vantage point, and the vanguard staying with the other defenders to a pre-negotiated escort point—the intent is to draw the constructs into the same lane of traffic, giving their much faster cohort a clear route to flush out their target, receiving easy aerial cover from one of the rangers. It was a simple plan on paper, aside from the fact it relied on both defenders to survive against the brunt of as many constructs as could fit, and be intuitive enough to know when their landscape will crumble around them.

( phew, you can do this. everyone can do this. quiet breaths. be aware of your surroundings. don't get killed )

"We're in position," comes communication from above, out of sight from the ground floor of this cave. Thankfully, they can hear one another nicely with feeble landmass blocking signal—with how quiet the old mining quarry is, such low volume still sounds as if they never detached at all.

"Roger," the archosaurian replies as quietly as he can. He and Mudrock follow suit, each lane of jagged rock formations and rubble within their sights. It's time to make some noise. "—Begin Operation: Lead Seal."

Overhead, the ranged operators open fire, arts manifesting and flinging through the air inaudibly until they pierce into the constructs, some igniting against the living rubble, others diving into the faux ligaments of dirt and dust that give shape. Out of his peripheral, Roark sees Mudrock's enchanting finish as a shield manifested by her arts bubbles around her. Roark braces himself, hammerpick between his hands and arts conduit activating under his will, encased in the steel and iron of his weapon. The constructs bring their attention to the defenders nearest them, just as planned, and now it's up to them to ward off these giants to exhaust the caster behind them ( and that, he knew, would take much longer than he wanted ).

The construct lunges, three-fingered fist colliding into the flat edge of Roark's hammer with a force that pushes the breath out of him. His arts is rigid, much like Mudrock, but it stays on his person. He pushes his swing forward, parrying stone as it crashes awkwardly into the ground, tremors causing loose gravel to shift and tumble in the neighboring tunnels. ( ah, this will be tougher than anticipated... ) Roark twists his weapon to the spike on the other side, taking the moment to wail on the joints of the construct in the small window of time he has as it recoups itself, signaling the ranged operators to focus on toppling the constructs' balance. The strategy seems to work each time the construct gets up and attempts to reach towards the defenders as they dance out of the way and focus on dismantling as much of the rock armor as possible.

"—I see a core between all of the rocks!" Roark hears one of the operators above from the earpiece clinging to him. Mudrock observes in kind.

"I see.. that must be how the constructs are controlled—it seems my hypothesis was correct. We must break the core to break the enchantment."

"—Seems easy enough, right?" Roark responds, gaze searching for said core and eventually spotting a glint between the plates of stone. "That looks like originium—it's a conduit?"

"This must be how our target can use arts from a distance. We do not know how many they can control at once."

Thundering steps clamor down the aisles of stone, loose dirt dropping to the ground from overhead. Roark finds another colossus racing towards him like a bat out of hell. "—I, uh, at least four of these, apparently." Ah, he's going to be tired after this one, huh. The juggernaut braces himself once more, cracking into the chest cavity of stone for his comrades to remove one of his problems, turning his attention to the other one. He's worried, all things considered—there should have been more, right? If this caster was a follower of the Witch King... there possessed some kind of freakish use of arts, right? If these weren't behaving like Mudrock's own as she so claimed, then where else was all of that concentration going?

Ah.

These colossus were a distraction.

The explosions that occur sound muted to the archosaurian, even as he sees the surrounding rock and dirt crumble, crack, and disperse around him and the team, thud after thud causing tremors in every direction, chunks falling with no resistance from overhead. "A cave-in! MOVE—! Prioritize our vanguard!" Roark shifts his hammerpick's brute force to the shrapnel in a meager attempt to pierce larger obstacles, but other, smaller, faster pieces scrape against his skin and tear at his utility uniform. Others do their best to shield from the blasts around them, faring better than the defenders on the ground.

( ugh... hurts... )

There's always risk in manifesting arts like this, especially as an infected with this level of assimilation. There's a vague thought about the beating he'll get from the medical staff by the time they get out of this—he feels the familiar stiffness, a fist balled around his joints, squeezing. It's the warning sign of over-exertion, but what the hell was he supposed to do? The only way to handle the brunt forces is to hunker down and use his arts on himself! Still, it's only a matter of time before the disarray settles and their target can identify where everyone is. He doesn't need their assassination foiled in the commotion, and when he feels the relief from somewhere behind him, he remembers his objectives. They could make use of all of this, too, couldn't they? "Thanks for the back-up," he huffs out over communications, happy that the medics were okay so far. Nearby, Mudrock is faring better than him, her arts' shield a bubble strong enough to negate much of the projectiles from all around when it shatters. Man, he is so jealous.

"—I'm going in," he hears another voice in his ear, and his head snaps towards the general direction of the planned route that was in no doubt unstable. Shit, that's their vanguard. Really?!

"Texas, you sure? This cave wants to come down!"

"Don't worry. It's only a slight deviation from the route." Calm and collected as always, isn't she?

He's going to worry. Even though she is fully capable, he's going to worry.

Roark holds in a stress sigh.

Alright, well then. With the knowledge of her approximate location, they can make this easier for her in the little time they have to work with in this new labyrinth of theirs. Offshoots inevitably interconnect in this area, there's a good chance this particular room was going to be a proper quarry, but perhaps such a project didn't get that far before major incidents took place. It's not all that different from abandoning the mines back home in Columbia before a catastrophe hit, really.

"—Okay. Diverting attention away from vanguard route. Let that caster know where we are!" Roark hefts himself in the opposite direction of Texas, towards Mudrock's position—a feint to believe they've been cornered ( which, isn't far from the truth, really, he has no idea what exits they have that aren't too high above them ) as the colossi tremble in the wake of resurging arts.

Mudrock seems as if she's squinting behind her mask, looking at the remaining colossi that seemed to have regain vigor despite being simply animated, her posture leaning towards it just a little as if scrutinizing. Roark missed the core on this one after the commotion of all the explosions. "This doll contains a stronger connection to it's host... he was diverting his Arts between all of the explosives, after all."

"He's gonna hit like a whole landship, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"—We found stable ground, we've got you covered, defenders!" comes assurance over the radio, and Roark heaves a breath. This is the most both of them could do—stall.

( don't get yourself killed out there. )

"Alright—we'll take it, then!" Roark finds his vigor, knowing the worst that could happen is if he doesn't give his all and lets this whole cavern swallow the team under all of this rubble. He exhales, mustering up his arts between the conduit and himself—such things accelerated the disease, but he sees it as a necessary risk in order to help his comrades. All they need to do is survive until Texas takes out her target. It'll be fine. The grip on his weapon tightens as the colossi approach, any spare jutting rocks crumbling against the sheer weight as they move closer. The resilience from the arts... it's still intimidating.

"Here they come, Stonedge," Mudrock alerts him, and Roark takes that as he cue to take a stand next to her. "Whatever they do, we must not relent."

"We won't!"

The colossi bring their stone masses together, large, dense boulders as fists, and Roark can only assume the arts is being channeled right into the impending slam—they feel so small under the shadows of this, and even the ranged arts doesn't seem to be affecting the colossi at all.

"Nothing's working! Just get out of there!"

Roark grits his teeth. He's not moving, and neither is his fellow juggernaut.

The colossi throw their entire weight onto them, and the archosaurian's voice strains under the exertion—clipped to his ankle, his oripathy monitor beeps. Joints and muscle strain under the weight as the spikes on his hammerpick lodge themselves into the rock. Mudrock fares no differently, straining under the weight. Roark feels it in his knees the most, and he desperately tries to reinforce his own body, drawing on his own infection to get there. Drawing thoughts is impossible, as it all just sounds like white noise, and anything vocalized is involuntary.

The colossi bear down and he feels no give even as he pushes against it with everything he's got. The fear that his body will give out before it's over is the only thing that he can begin to feel ( of course it's fear, that's the only other real thing isn't it! ), coupled with the adrenaline and refusal to fathom what awaits him if he eases up even for a moment.

"No..!" The half-whine comes out in a struggle, for the caster's arts isn't simply bound by his own body's limits like Roark's is. Such a keen difference is exactly why the oripathy has grown so wildly along his tail, for he has to use more than what he has available. It's another step in an irreversible direction. He strains, pushing and pushing and pushing, arts feeling like joints have grown over, cemented into place. The blood that runs through him ignites, and the burn is inescapable—his monitor whines at the sudden delta in biometric data, and Roark can't bring himself to care—he just knows his arts are working overtime.

God, it feels like wildfire.

The oripathy manifests, he realizes, the burn peeling into splitting pain enough to throw his body into a dissociation—it was instant, the dizzying sensation of being forced out of his body and yet still being just aware of enough of the sensations in his joints, this piercing, splitting, nails puncturing a stream of lava—Roark is barely aware that there's something coming out of his mouth, some kind of noise.

Shit.

This is it. He's overdone it this time. This peeling, burning sensation is at the surface of his skin and he's glad he can't even so much as look. His limbs feel frozen in place and yet they physically ache to move, unresponsive despite the efforts.

( i can't take this anymore i can't— )

The colossus shifts suddenly, as if the tether to it's host is yanked in some direction, disturbing the equal force placed upon the defenders. It shudders, and the distribution is uneven, heavy and biased.

Stonedge screams, knees finally buckling from under him.

What little he acknowledges thereafter is lost for days. Mudrock uses her might and arts to force the colossi back, veering it away from Roark as the core loses the brilliance it once had as a focus. Such dead weight was far too dangerous, but in the wane of impenetrable defenses, the ranged operators' arts pick away at crumbling the heaving masses of stones into smaller pieces, before it eventually crumbles into the heap it once was.

The force upon the archosaurian disappears in seconds, but his body still feels as if the shadow of weight is there, fighting it off despite collapsing against his hammerpick, arms failing and letting the heavy end crush into the ground first. He doesn't even acknowledge the busy communication in his ear, unresponsive aside from the inability to catch his breath and difficulties standing. He remains unaware of the blood that stains around his knees in slowly growing dots that speckle upon his uniform's pants, the medics immediately aware something has gone horribly wrong.

Texas gives the all clear of the objective. Mudrock, even in her exhaustion, scoops Roark over her shoulder while another operator takes his weapon. Mission complete, casualties observed.

"Whatever you do, Stonedge, don't pass out on us, okay?"

"The readings on his tracker aren't going to be good, we need to get out of here, now!"

"Stonedge, say something!"

Roark struggles to find where his body is, and the sensation—rather, lack thereof—feels vaguely familiar. This is not that far from the beginning of his oripathy, when the pain of originium manifesting was new. He fights to curl his fingers, and finds relief when they finally obey, sore, burning. One foot can limply jostle, and the other doesn't feel like it responds. That's... not good. Although his breaths are labored and deep, his chest feels like it's pounding, still.

"I'm here... I'm here," he finally breathes out, "I just... I'm in a bad... bad way."

Mudrock settles her shoulders as they make their way out from the abandoned mines, operators ahead scouting for cave ins and obstacles from the minor quakes brought on by the colossus' attempts. For as long as this cave system has been utilized and constructed, there was much less to worry about. One of the medics examining Roark finally comments on the blood. "Your joints collapsed under the weight when that caster was taken out—if we get out of here in time, we can save your legs. One is worse than the other, but we've tightened up the safety straps to limit the backwash of minerals entering your bloodstream."

Oh.. oh, that would make sense, huh. Roark grimaces, aware of said tightness, even in his daze. The medic speaks up again.

"There's crystals on your elbows... your arts exceeded your body's natural limitations."

"No wonder I'm out of it.."

"Just keep talking to us, our route's clear. And don't look down, either."

"Roger..."

Roark has never been a fan of being incapable of standing on his own two feet, be it figuratively or literally. Yet, what he relies on the most isn't something he was born with, anyway. He didn't ask for it, either, and for a little while, saw it as a mark certain for death—a punishment for caring about others in an uncaring world inside of the borders of an exponentially uncaring nation. When he realized it allowed him to handle the more dangerous work, it became a boon. Understanding the complicated relationship between his own biology and oripathy turned it into a weapon he relied on. Adding layers upon layers of usefulness, in the end, didn't change that it never belonged to him. He was just another patient, another Infected. He could believe he was something more than that if such exposure to these abilities of his made others happy.

Being faced with the damage done now left him a little lost in that regard. There was no way he'd be back in operations anytime soon. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get around at all for the time being, which, is restricting for an active guy like him.

In the end, all he's been trying to do is distract his thoughts from the IV plugged into his forearm and the mess that was the discolored swelling that bellowed at his knees. The bruises that appeared over the few hours of transport evolved into deep purples and more gruesome yellow, saturated enough to display on his darker complexion. To his dismay, much of the blood that had taken the liberty of oozing between ruptured skin was, in fact, the sprouting of oripathy crystals, the same as the tough, obsidian-like crystals that remained along his tail. Sure, he was numbed to the pain as one could reasonably be allowed, but the exhaustion was something else—stressing out the medical staff wasn't his intention, but everything directed at him just felt so delayed. It didn't help that the initial observation was that the muscles around his joints ruptured, painting a very unappetizing visualization while he was stuck in the gurney like a ragdoll.

"You really screwed yourself this time, Roark," quips a fellow archosaurian—Gavial, with clipboard in hand, likely documenting this whole mess and looking mightily unenthusiastic about his most recent decisions. She had been the one to give him his screening when he first boarded Rhodes, one of the few operators with excellent knowledge of archosauria as there weren't many at all. She had also been the primary surgeon for the arduous process of giving him the mobility back in his tail back then as well. He just likes to keep her busy, it seemed. She goes as far as knocking him on the head to get him to react sooner, and he blinks slowly.

"Little bit, eh? How's it look?"

"Like shit."

"...Fair point. I also feel like shit."

"We don't have a lot of time to do this right, but lucky for you, the oripathy's the only reason you're not in anaphylactic shock. Blood's seeping out enough to not poison your body as fast as these injuries normally would. Unfortunately, you still need a blood transfusion."

"But, I'm tired, Gav."

"If you do so much as close your eyes I'll beat a headache into that thick skull of yours so hard that it hurts too much to sleep. Wait 'til it's done, and tell me if you feel something different." Her recording is finished, and she's already fishing up the right tools for the job—whatever that job may be. Roark knows better to protest, even as one of the few operators that aren't terrified of her and her practice. Her efficiency in emergency care is unparalleled, and given they can hold a conversation, perhaps Roark ended up blacking out the worst of the stabilization.

"Maaan—alright, alright. Walk me through this, I'll try to follow."

"First thing's first, our resident vampire's gonna work on all the blood loss you've had on the way back, and cycle out the damage from your crush injury. As for us," Gavial vaguely gestures towards the small team that Roark was unaware even existed, scrubs and all, "We have to extract all of the originium out of your joints, or you're not gonna like it."

And he's gotta stay awake for this? Maybe being unable to feel his limbs makes the anxiety flop in his stomach worse.

"And, you better tell me if you feel anything painful. I mean it."

Considering his knees are the description of what it means to be blown, Roark nods in full compliance.

He tries not to focus too much on the instruments that far too quickly turn a fresh crimson as the team preps according to Gavial's instructions. The main objective here was to extract the new growths, remove any tissue that showed signs of necrosis, examine his joints at the source, suture up his legs back into shape, repeat the process for his elbows, check the rest of his body for signs of crush damage, and all the while, pump and cycle him full of fluids to keep his body from going any further than shock.

Oh, shock. That's probably why he wasn't panicking over the potential chances of losing his limbs, huh. There's the trust in the medical staff at Rhodes, too, of course.. and, maybe the acceptance of the risk. He's not particularly upset at being the only one to sustain any major injuries in such a high risk operation. He was asked to perform, and perform he did.

Roark appears as zoned out as he feels, vaguely aware of Warfarin's presence, hooking a blood bag to the wheeled rod that was carrying a plethora of fluids, labeled with words Roark couldn't even begin to understand the purpose for, much less read at all. Maybe his condition was more serious than he was told, or, maybe he was told and had already forgotten. Ah, well.

He not aware of the time, either, but seeing Gavial take a moment to crack her back and shoulders gives him a vague indication it's probably been a few hours. And then there's the travel time back from the mines. It's been awhile.

"Good news is that he's stabilizing. We might be able to begin surgery after he receives two units," he hears Warfarin report as Gavial and now familiar assistants drop shards of obsidian crystals into a metal bowl, each plink a different signature than the one that came before. Roark lolls his head to one side, trying to keep his arms from moving too much. He's tired.

"Works for me. He looks like he's about to take a nap, anyway. We'll likely need to borrow some donor skin for his joints, but soft tissue loss has been minimized due to the crystallization taking place. The worst of the muscle trauma is partially from being stabbed by his own oripathy." Gavial is the only doctor capable of being surprisingly easy to understand, although he wonders if it's for his benefit. "Skin from the thigh should suffice. His recovery won't be as bad as the initial report, but he's going to need several weeks of PT and making sure he doesn't volunteer himself for anything stupid." She clicks her tongue, another thought coming to mind. "Examine his tail afterwards, his charts need to be updated for an unexpected increase in his originium-cell assimilation. A scan for his spine as well. That's his problem area. Let's prepare for reconstruction surgery. Knock his ass out."

Roark, naturally, doesn't remember anything else after that.

When he comes to, he's no longer in the operating room surrounded by other operators and medical personnel alike—he's alone, bandaged up and stiff and surprisingly relaxed. Well, that simply had to be the intravenous pain medication in his system, considering his joints don't want to cooperate, held back by stitches. After a sigh, Roark settles back, resolved to be stuck only moving his arms by shoulders alone. Lifting his legs is even less practical, and all the interesting things to look at ( that is, all of the wounds ) are dressed in gauze. Damnit.

This is going to be a long recovery, isn't it?

"Ah, Stonedge, you're awake, perfect."

When he looks up, Gavial is there, arms crossed with clipboard in a hand, dangling. "You've been out for a whole day so far, I almost thought we lost you after all."

"Nah, I wouldn't go down that easy," Roark laughs tiredly, "Although I can't really go up at the moment, either."

She nods, a smirk playing on her lips, "Guess you figured that one out by yourself, huh? I need to change your bandages and check those stitches, anyway. We'll give them a bend before wrapping them up again. Otherwise, surgery went smoothly, aside from all those crystals we had to extract. Don't do crazy shit like that again, alright?"

Ah, well... "I didn't really have a choice, but—I'll try! I'll try! Don't hit me with that!"

Gavial just laughs before she grabs a fresh roll of gauze out of the medicine cabinet standard to these rooms. "Your arts do better when you're about to get the crap beaten out of you, anyway. Here, how's your arm when I bend it...?"

Changing bandages allows Roark to finally see just how much damage his oripathy required without completely ruining his mobility—the bruises are the worst he's ever seen, especially on himself. Between the stitches and the muscles crushing under the pressure, he much preferred them to be wrapped up. Thankfully, the worst he feels is soreness, and the stitches don't tug dangerously taut. Still, he can't be throwing himself around until the skin adheres to itself. Being bedridden sounds more boring than anything, and he asks Gavial if she can bring a few books from his labspace, to which she eventually obliges. It's really all he can do between these check-ups, trying to eat small meals, and otherwise being unable to stand for the next couple of weeks while his muscles heal. The process required more mental sanity than Roark had after the operation, and Gavial surprises him with another notice.

"By the way, you're also getting mandatory psych evaluations for the trauma."

"Huh—"

"To prevent phantom pains, or at least to learn to identify them from reality. It's common after experiencing severe pain, and with your track record—" Roark looks a little sheepish, "—you've got a tendency to compartmentalize trauma. We have to make it easier before you're cleared for operations again."

"Oh. Right. That would make sense, wouldn't it."

Gavial sighs and shakes her head. "You defenders are the worst, I swear. Anyway, I'll handle your PT when you have enough strength to stand, but it'll depend on how easily your joints recover from all the extractions. Two meals a day, hydration intravenous. Vitals every two hours. Bandage changes every morning or as needed if sooner. Counseling program will be two weeks, ten sessions. And you will tell us if you need more, understand?"

Roark scratches at his head, trying to keep track of everything, but for the most part, he'll be subjected to whatever the medic on duty will give him. At least he's not completely abandoned. "Yeah, just make sure I can see it somewhere since I can't write it down myself."

"No problem. If something feels off, give us a holler."

"Ah, hold on.. how is my back?"

Gavial's expression flattens some, much to his worry. "The amount of activity required of the originium in your body went beyond what your current suppression was capable of, so the crystals had a spur in your problem areas. That's the other reason why you'll be on mandatory bedrest for a while. Some crystals expressed on your spine, again, and a CT showed growths spawning in your tail, but we were able to do some preventative extractions while you were under. Those will heal sooner than everything else, but your assimilation rate has gone up by three percent. Still moderate, though, since you're not exposed to dust all day."

"Ah, Dad wouldn't be happy to hear that, but, oh well. I guess I gotta take it easy."

"Were you planning to get knocked out?"

"No—!"

"Then you better take it easy."

"I will, I will—"

"Good! That's what I like to hear. I'll see you in a few so I can get you some books." With that, Gavial is already on her way out. Roark can only look at his fresh bandages and sigh.

There's the psych evaluation to consider, he eventually comes to remember—not that he's ever lied through them or anything, it's just... difficult to word things when he's never had a reason to find words for some of the shit he's experienced. But, while he's not allowed in combat, he'll be allowed off the landship eventually as part of his enrichment. Mandatory excavation time... yeah, maybe that sounds nice to do. He'll have to bring it up with Gavial when she comes back then. This was going to be a long few weeks, wasn't it?

The flex in his joints feels more smooth, less taxing and fearful. Where stitches joined his skin together was now several crescent scars, raised and pale against tanned skin. His degree of strength in them still had some months to go, especially now that it was safer to do lighter reps in the training room, but Gavial had ensured he was not going to be completely feeble and unable to hold up his own weight in the meantime. Well, really, she beat his ass in physical therapy, and certainly made sure he hadn't lost an ounce of flexibility required of him against his will.

He could still feel his hamstrings stretched in ways he would remember in nightmares.

But.. all things considered, his body hadn't faltered as much as he had feared, granted, having a fellow archosaurian had helped immensely with the knowledge about their race and what sorts of training responded best. Even the shortcomings were addressed, even if Roark felt like he was about to snap his joints in half at times. The weeks felt like years, but he couldn't deny that Gavial's regimen prevented the muscles around his healing joints from total atrophy. The rest he could maintain on his own, and he was able to walk freely with weight.

"Lucky for you, Roark," Gavial overlooks her notes, incredibly long and detailed, but she skims as if there's no more than a paragraph, "Looks like you're finally cleared to take excursions off the landship. Good timing, too, we'll be in Higashi for about a couple of weeks for onboarding and supplies. You've shown good progress picking up that hammer of yours, and you'll need to work those muscles back for... two months, based on your weekly trend."

Roark looks hopeful, hilarious on a rugged looking alligator like him. "Can I go fossil hunting then?"

Gavial rolls her eyes. "Yes, as long as you don't overdo it. Snap your joints and I'm letting you rot with 'em."

Now, he's beaming. "Hell yeah—! Thanks, Gav!"

"That's Doctor to you." She gets a chuckle in return. "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind. I'm signing off on approval for recreational activities, so you can request whenever you want. You're still not cleared for operations, though."

"I'll take it for now, I'm gonna go digging—" and Roark is taking her words seriously, bounding up and out of her office to go find the nearest administrator to give him his leave notice for the day.

Gavial adds another note to her report.

Patient's mental stability relies heavily on access to hobbies and manual labor. Continue to monitor damaged areas and evaluate oripathy response. Advise as necessary. Patient excels in outdoor activities. Update physical therapy location to the landing strip.

Roark is aware of the way he feels different in carrying himself—emotionally, he recovered far faster with the acceptance of his role, and those in the operation had checked in on him sporadically to ensure he was doing well. Of course, that was consciously. Physically, he wasn't near where he was at prior to the contract, with his endurance temporarily squandered and slow to rebuild. He was getting impatient, and being able to excavate in a completely new territory was too much of an exciting opportunity to give up.

What history did Higashi's lands hold? Was it anything like Columbia? Sargon? The possibilities excite him and it's near agony that he can't carry himself across the landship faster. Ugh, right, he needs to check in with the administrative office to get his leave. Fine, fine. Any faster and his legs will end up too sore from the exertion. Everything is so behind.

( you have time, you have time... ) The reminder drilled into him during his wellness visits repeats over and over, and Roark tries to slow himself down. He can't help it, he argues with himself, all the way down the hallways, through the conversation with a Rhodes Island receptionist, all the way back to his lab, while gathering his equipment, and it finally ceases when he retrieves his weapon from his room. It's heavier than it used to be.

( that's why we're going on an excursion, 'cause this is also part of the tools. this pick has been with him for almost a decade now.. )

He settles the heavy end against his shoulder, easing the strain on his arms. That feels better. Alright. Time to go hunting, then.

[blackrebelphotographyclub]

Fuck your peaceful transfer of power, it’s time to get to work.

The rest of the world has known civil war and it has known fascism and for a lot of us even in the global north this is living memory. We’ve been there. The US doesn’t need to reinvent the wheel. Let us introduce you to the concept of sabotage.

Everyone has their role to play. It’s very important. As you organise:

• do a skills audit of your local group. If your group intends to be cross-states, share safely.

• mind any marginalisation (disability, immigration status, gender identity). You have a duty of care to your comrades. They’re not on the front lines unless they decide they will be of themselves.

• do a risk assessment before any sortie. If one protest / target isn’t what you think you can handle, don’t go. This would distract your comrades and you might be needed elsewhere (broadcast channels, jail support etc).

NON VIOLENT SABOTAGE

everyone, join a union. Don’t do it in January, do it now. Is your workplace not unionized? Then step up and do it. Does your workplace have union-busting practices? Call the national lawyer guild. Here is a handy guide to start a union. https://aflcio.org/formaunion

Collective bargaining has way more power than US civics would want you to think and this is why they don’t want you to unionize. Through union organising, you can train, mobilize, and have access to national networks of likeminded workers. Because the point of sabotage is to bring the country to a standstill.

The fash think they can govern? No. No pasaran.

IF YOU ARE A CIVIL SERVANT

• refuse to enforce any local laws that contravene human rights

• delay any enforcement through extreme use of bureaucracy. You can also switch to obsolete channels such as fax machines or using old photocopiers to mail hard copies instead of scanning a .pdf.

• any change implemented in your department that comes from the top will trigger an immediate negotiation with the union(s).

IF YOU WORK IN CENTRAL GOVERNMENT

• painstakingly delay any tabling of legislation through bureaucracy

• support congresspeople in filibustering every piece of legislation. Protesters and activists should also be ready to demand of every single Democrat lawmaker to filibuster, review and delay every piece of legislation, even the most innocuous one.

• congresspeople should be in regular conversation, through their teams, with human rights organizations monitoring across to civil and human rights. They should also have immediate press contacts in order to broadcast to the world every single detail of the Trump administration. People will need to know. No one will be able to say they didn’t.

IF YOU WORK IN EDUCATION

• organise with likeminded colleagues and attempt to refuse to implement and teach any new curriculum that would rewrite history

• once your classroom door is shut, teach your students even at primary level what you would have taught before curriculum changes. Explain to them, age-appropriately, what is going on outside.

• follow, either individually or with your union, trauma-informed education practices. Some of your students will be in crosshairs. Some of their families might be radicalized. Keeping the peace inside the classroom will mean acknowledging the harm done to children.

• come together with your teacher’s union with a sign - logo, symbol - something on a pin that, without being too public domain, could signal you are a safe person for your students who may or are at risk

• refuse to collaborate with any request made by federal law enforcement about the address or country of origin of one of your students. I have a million links on resisting deportations and Tumblr isn’t letting me post any of them. But it starts with white lies and you need to start being comfortable with it very quickly.

• organise at national level and through unions on implementing safeguarding practices including de-escalation techniques

IF YOU WORK IN HEALTH CARE

• you will be frontline in addressing the consequence of the violence that will inevitably rise. Prepare yourself emotionally and physically. Retain mental health support.

• through your union, provide a refresher on safeguarding roles in health care and look for a symbol to agree upon to signify to your patients you are a safe person.

• link with local grassroots abortion networks. They will need doctors, nurses, orderlies at every level to be able to assist medical abortions and to book a post abortion patient in the event of a difficulty without raising any alarms

• you will need to agree upon ways in which you will have to break the law. You will have to be comfortable with it. You will have to lie to law enforcement and you will have to probably switch medical files around or tamper with a recording system - could be on abortion, could be on medication, could be to help a DV victim escape. Those networks exist already. Find them.

IF YOU WORK IN FACTORY PRODUCTION

• time to drop any McCarthyism on the side because we will need to seize the means of production

• fascists’ point of sell is the ability to lower inflation by restoring manufacturing. Go on strike. No point more complicated than that. The economy has to tank.

• National strikes especially in the automobile and weapons factories sector are paramount. UAW and AFL-CIO should lead the front of the resistance. If nothing gets made, nothing is sold, meaning the sector tanks.

• if you have any issues with tanking the economy, fix them internally quick. Yes, it will suck. Yes, it won’t help the poor. But neither is granting fascism the leverage of economic supremacy. We must prove fascism can’t ever be rewarded. Walk out.

• if for financial reasons long term walkouts are not doable, interlude with extremely slow production. Be as incompetent as you possibly can. Drop elements. Make mistakes. Etc

• unions have strike funds. The rest of us, even if not members of that union, should immediately start donating to strike funds.

IF YOU WORK IN COMMUNICATIONS TECHNOLOGY

• you’re a crucial cog in the machine. Start contacting your local organising groups and offer free workshops / training sessions on operational security (opsec), surveillance laws, and digital safety. The Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) already has a lot of starter packs.

• assist in the connection and facilitation of information for endangered groups. Donate your time and resources as a white hat to secure documents necessary for groups to organise. Regularly run counter-surveillance tests.

• scramble signals.

IF YOU WORK IN JOURNALISM AND IN LAW

• we will be the ones first attacked. We must be silent for the rest to take place.

• lawyers, time to get to work. Most of you already know. Now, resurrect those dead group chats with journalists and let’s all talk about what we see; our cases; the arguments we hear.

• journalists will be under extreme pressure to self-censor if that’s not already the case. We must also share information with overseas news outlets, through wires and websites. Consider applying to be a US correspondent with foreign outlets. They will allow you to print what you can’t at home.

• create and maintain archives. They can be in hard copy or online (a database would have to be secured). Keep any correspondence that interferes with your press freedom. Contact the Committee To Protect Journalists and Index on Censorship.

• create anonymous social media accounts and use them for stories that have been censored. Share information your legal department has vetoed. Create a parallel journalism. Revive the use of FM radios.

• lawyers will need to seek TROs at every level. Nothing should pass or should be heavily delayed. In-house counsel should be ready to contact the OPC and declare any interference with our ethical standards. The ABA will be pressured to grow a spine. The NLG will continue to provide training on law enforcement interaction and arrest support.

That’s only the beginning. Bring this country to a standstill. Be unequivocal and drop any pretense of “healing”. Get to work.

[forestofforever]

🔁 (either surprise me orrrr Benjamin, Wester, or Mary?)

@kxllerblond

Clark held little patience for these sorts-—megalomaniacs, as they were. They served as nagging reminders as to what he could easily slip into becoming if he didn't keep himself in check and their presence alone made him uncomfortable, made him want to grind his teeth and scrunch his face. Still, he regarded the other with that painstakingly practiced flat expression; he did little more than blink slowly and glance elsewhere as if to try and reason with himself as to why he should even bother with a reply and not merely turn tail and leave. ❝ -— Strange how easy it is that gods forget their very existence lends to the existence of the godslayer. Only fools would yearn for such an inevitably toppled position. Power will not remain stagnant and in the hands of one for long and any idiot with a brain would understand that attempting to hold onto it in such a manner is as good as trying to grasp flowing water. ❞ he wouldn't have usually been so direct with his indirect and catty insults, but the other had admittedly offered up the first blow. ❝ I find it easier to gain what I need when I am without so many eyes on me. My ego is well-fed and not so shamefully starved and gluttonous that I require such a pitiful following. So, no. I suppose I do not know what it is like, dear. ❞ He already felt so drained, so tired. He was already such an impatient thing and yet he often willingly assumed the role of the one that attempted to roll with the punches, the nonsense, in order to reach some sort of goal. ❝ I have seen plenty of your sorts, the world has no shortage of them, so if you're quite done peacocking-— may we please actually talk professional affairs? If you just intend to goad me into some sort of power contest, I will ask we reschedule to a later date. I came to speak with another adult about adult things, not threaten some position I have no use in stealing away. ❞

"Now, now. I never claimed to be a god, did I?" His voice remains calm and somewhat amused. If he is insulted, he certainly does not show it. His smile is warm and almost somewhat inviting, though his eyes remain unpleasantly empty, like staring into a mirror.

"A god. No. I am not under any such impression, I do not consider myself as such." Wasn't God usually treated like the sort of individual who liked to remain hands off? Who liked to let his creations roam freely? Benjamin wasn't quite so merciful. Not a god, though perhaps a puppeteer of sorts. The comments on keeping power go unacknowledged. There is no point in arguing with these types, they always think they're right, don't they?

"Of course, let's get to business, shall we?" Always eager to make a deal, though admittedly he fully intended to keep his guard up around the other. His sort was dangerous. Powerful but holding back, still aware of his power though and probably not afraid to utilize it if the situation called for it. That required a careful approach, no impulsive decisions or trying to upstage the other, only trying to regain some sense of control and hopefully the upper hand.

[yingren]

jing yuan is right about one thing. ren already has too many voices in his head to accommodate another, especially one like jing yuan’s, a voice that seems to grate on his nerves effortlessly. the mere thought of making room for jing yuan in his mind is a complexity ren would rather avoid, yet the irony lies in the fact that jing yuan already occupies space there. even on the days when ren painstakingly tries to focus on anything else, jing yuan’s presence lingers, uninvited and unshakable. because the high cloud quintet is as much a part of ren as yingxing, the ghost who refuses to fade, whose flame persists no matter how desperately ren tries to extinguish it.

his arms stay folded tightly across his chest, though the sword that typically rests against him is conspicuously absent. it should be there, always within reach as a constant reassurance should he need it, but it isn’t. and ren knows exactly why. jing yuan isn’t a threat. at least, that’s what some of ren’s memories insist. they call him an old friend, a figure from a past that was once simpler. but other memories aren’t so forgiving. they brand jing yuan a traitor, the one who stood idly by, a silent witness to destruction, doing nothing to stop it. for ren, jing yuan’s greatest sin will always be his inaction - a failure etched deeply into the fabric of their shared history.

“ what an odd hobby you’ve picked up over the years. socializing with criminals ? surely that is frowned upon. ” ren makes no further effort to drive jing yuan away. what he said earlier was true - he doesn’t hate him, and he hopes it hasn’t come across that way. their history is far too tangled, too layered, to unravel with a single question or a fleeting explanation. so, for now, ren lets the matter rest. he can entertain jing yuan’s presence, even his conversation, though no suitable topic springs readily to mind. slowly, his arms fall from their guarded position across his chest, his hands settling at his sides. they feel weighted, burdened with the sorrows and memories that anchor him to this ship, perhaps forever. some things, ren knows, remain unchanging, no matter how many years drift by.

“ infra followed me home, i was going to leave him where i found him. ” a lie. “ he is also not as demanding as your big friends, he’s quite a well-behaved companion. ” now that’s an even worse lie.

ren doesn’t move, his posture resolute, his expression retaining its familiar indifference. yet, there’s a subtle shift, a faint calmness settling in his eyes. when jing yuan speaks again, his words stray into treacherous terrain. ren’s gaze hardens, slicing through the tension hanging in the air, before he finally turns his head away, directing his focus elsewhere. nothing is ever truly dead to ren. life, for better or worse, always persists. whatever he once was to jing yuan hasn’t vanished. he’s aware of that. but it’s changed, undoubtedly. to ren, the general standing before him is no longer the same man he once knew. this jing yuan is someone different now. an echo of an old friend and the weight of a new burden. “ i suppose you came to talk about something other than our cats then. mhm, go on, jing yuan. i am all ears. ”

@yingren bc they're very normal, very demure.

was hate truly a strong word in this situation? they are a divided duo on many aspects, divided by trauma, loss, anger... pain. a friendship burnt to ash because of selfishness, and jing yuan still holds the ashes in his hands to this day. he never looked at the fight the reunion held, he couldn't bear to watch history repeat itself, despite knowing back then it would end that way. foresight is cruel, and jing yuan wields the double-edged sword with one of the blades forever in his heart.

of course ren doesn't hate him, even after everything that happened to him. the mara boiling his veins constantly, that tired look in his eyes, jing yuan wasn't blind to it. he wished he could help, even after everything, ren is apart of the xianzhou and therefore as one of it's leaders, the divine foresight still felt responsible to at least try and help the other, no matter how willing the hunter is accepting of it. it's why he let ren go, let him escape and swept it under every rug without regret. jing yuan may seem heroic to the public, but he isn't afraid to do dirty work for what he feels is right, and ren knew that.

so why is ren not hating him? jing yuan may be one of the most loved and respected figures, but he knows he acts in a way that should warrant hatred, so nonchalant of the world but also so caring, it should be paradoxal if it was a grand power. but it wasn't, it was him coping. so to hear the idea that him asking for hatred is projecting, jing yuan just looks at him, head tilted with that same aloof smile and relaxed look in his eyes.

"now why would i want to project my thoughts onto you, ren? you have enough voices in your head, i couldn't burden you with more." a truth as he catches the paper without hesitation and just clenches it slightly, eventually bringing it to his peripheral and he looks at it and sighs. of course they cannot simply depart from each other's lives now.

"this isn't me being bored, someone has to keep an eye on the wanted criminals of the xianzhou, and since i am free from the endless papers for the day, why not socialise with them?" he chuckles a bit, it wasn't a laughing matter of course, but that's how jing yuan coped with things - laugh away. of course, said laugh wasn't humourous in tone, it was just... a dead laugh. "and no, i didn't get bored of adopting stray cats, not like you can talk with infra. i'm not here to antagonise you, ren... i want to simply talk. we've danced on eggshells for too long, and i know our friendship is dead to you... but that does not mean it is truly dead to me."

[crimeronan]

god i've been having such an Ordeal trying to get my adhd medication today. which started hours ago when i brought my scripts to my usual pharmacy. n the tech looked at them and went "oh we are SO out of these you're Definitely gonna want to bring this elsewhere." so i went home and did research on alternative pharmacies n brought the scripts plus my insurance info to a Different pharmacy with less traffic/demand. and the tech checked and was like "we Do have the meds but we do not take your insurance." i said i could probably pay out of pocket if the price was reasonable, she painstakingly put all my personal and insurance info into their system, and then her face kinda went gray and she was like ".....okay. um. it's going to cost $900." naturally i was like "well. i definitely do not have that i'll uhm. figure something else out sorry thank you so much for trying"

then this incredibly sweet middle-aged lady in line behind me saw that i was getting flustered and pulled me aside like "hey i'm really sorry to have overheard but i have friends on your insurance plan dealing with the Exact same thing right now. here's the place nearby you want to go that takes ur plan and has short lines and medication availability"

so after thanking her profusely i swung by that pharmacy & they DO take my insurance and they DO have half my meds and they SHOULD have the other half later this week. and they are filling them for me tonight and were incredibly nice about it. and i'm gonna cry. the adderall shortage is a nightmare rn but. people are good actually.

[adversaryss]

@abyssmalice:

There's a bit of a ruckus down the way. A ruckus that comprises of just one woman and a familiar little troublemaker, loudly grumbling about something.

At any rate, it doesn't seem Tonia has noticed anything. She continues to sniff and scoff in a most petulant way, arms folded as she talks with the older figure.

"—anything else besides this, though?" The little one whines, cheeks puffing. "Like, I'm sure he has other things he likes that don't have to do with a fight or whatever! And besides, weapons are boring! Besides besides, what sort of weapon would he like that he probably can't get himself?"

"Well, Niashka, I did suggest you could spend some time with him in a way most memorable for the both of you... Why not spend the day fishing with him? Or tell him a few interesting tales? Even that can be a worthwhile present."

"Tosha." She makes a face. "Only him and grandmothers like you would think of that. If I'm going to give Aias a birthday present, it has to be something way better and cooler than that!"

"And you did prepare something to that effect, yes?"

"Yeah, but... It's just a frozen lake..."

The woman giggles, patting the girl on the head. "Which you hope will allow him to indulge in a little bout of ice fishing, despite these warmer climes. I think that is very thoughtful of you." Her head tilts to the side, only a smile visible under the fur-lined hood of her cloak. "And there are a few other things besides that you mentioned in the birthday card you left for him. I am certain that everything you have arranged will be most appreciated."

"Mmm..." Even so, Tonia doesn't look all that convinced. There's a bemused sigh as the other one gives a final pat on her head, her hand moving to gently guide and take the pair elsewhere.

"In any case," her voice starts to drift as they head in the direction of the outskirts, "we should check on the lake. It should still be frozen, but it never hurts to be prudent. And if by some chance the ice has thawed—well, perhaps we can add more interesting fish for him?"

"Like... those weird anglers from the Abyss? The flying ones. He'd probably like to fight those."

"...Perhaps not those..."

The second Aias lays eyes on the doodled scrap of paper on his desk, he knows exactly who left it there. There's not many children that would have unlimited access to his quarters after all, and the quality of the art is definitely childish. He picks it up with an irrepressible fond smile, dull eyes scanning over the stick figure with orange scribbles for hair that most certainly must be him. There's even a rainbow and stars in the background. How charming.

The fold to the paper and the big 'Happy Birthday' lettered on the front gives him the impression that this must be a homemade birthday card of sorts, so he flips it open to see if there's anything written inside. There is. A few sentences that look carefully penned, almost gouged through the paper and with typewriter like consistency, as if his dear sister had written them painstakingly many times before, and then her more natural scrawled rambling filling the rest of the page with a vengeance.

"Haha, I guess I should go see my presents, before she changes her mind," he muses out loud as he folds the card shut and tucks it away inside his uniform jacket. Honestly, he hadn't been expecting anything from her in the first place, so this is quite the pleasant surprise.

And a frozen lake does sound interesting. Maybe they could even do some ice-fishing together!

[lingthusiasm]

Transcript Lingthusiasm Episode 52: Writing is a technology

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 52: Writing is a technology. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 52 show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: I’m Lauren Gawne. Today, we’re getting enthusiastic about writing as a technology. But first, do you wish there was more Lingthusiasm to listen to? Even though this is Episode 52, we have almost a hundred episodes of Lingthusiasm. Some of them exist as bonus episodes over at our Patreon.

Gretchen: If you want to listen to those and have more Lingthusiasm in your earballs, you can go to patron.com/lingthusiasm. This also helps keep the show ad-free. If you like listening to a show without ads, help us keep doing that.

Lauren: The Patreon also fosters this wonderful linguistics enthusiastic community. In fact, we have a Discord server, which is basically just a wonderful chat space for people to talk about linguistics. There are over 350 people on the Lingthusiasm Discord right now.

Gretchen: If you wish you had other lingthusiasts to talk to to share your interesting linguistics anecdotes and memes and general nerdery, and you want more people like that to talk to, you can join the Patreon to also get access to the Discord. We launched the Discord community just a year ago, and it’s been really fun to see it grow and thrive and take on a life of its own since then. If you are already a patron, and you haven’t linked your Patreon and Discord account together, it’s there waiting for you. Feel free to come join us.

Lauren: We have Patreon supporter levels at a range of tiers. Some of them include additional merch. One of my favourite perks is the very scientific Lingthusiasm IPA quiz where we send you a short quiz and then we give you your own custom IPA character which is enshrined on our Wall of Fame.

Gretchen: It’s a fun quiz. We have fun looking at people’s answers.

Lauren: Our most recent bonus episode is a collection of some of our favourite anecdotes from interviews and from other episodes that didn’t quite make it into the original episode. We’re delighted to share those in that bonus episode.

Gretchen: You get to see a bit behind-the-scenes with that episode. Also, do you want more linguistics on your favourite other podcasts?

Lauren: Always.

Gretchen: Constantly. We’re also very happy to do podcast interviews on other shows about various topics. If there’re other podcasts that you like that you wish would do a linguistics episode and interview one of us, you should tell them that! We’re happy to come on. Tag us both or something on social media or tell your favourite podcasts that they could do a linguistics episode because we’d be happy to do that.

[Music]

Lauren: Gretchen, do you remember learning how to read?

Gretchen: Not really. I mean, I remember encountering the alphabet chart in my first year of school, but I already sort of knew the alphabet at that point. I guess there was some point when I didn’t know how to read, and there was some point when I did, but I don’t really have concrete memories of that. Do you remember learning how to read?

Lauren: I feel like I have more memories of learning how to write, just because that’s such a mechanical thing. I remember sitting there writing out a row of As. I definitely wrote the number “five” backward for way longer than I probably should have, which is a really common thing that happens when kids are learning to write because it is a combination of brain skills and fine motor skills. But reading in English is something I feel like I’ve always just been able to do. I mean, I guess in comparison learning to read Nepali, which is written in a different script – it’s written in the Devanagari script – I have more memories of that because I did that in my 20s. Even now, I still feel the real disconnect between being relatively able to chat and really struggling to read and write. I still have to put my finger under the words as I’m going through, whereas with English it just feels like the words are beaming straight into my brain because I learnt to read that language so early in my life.

Gretchen: Yeah, I read at this automatic level. I can’t see a sign that says, “Stop,” on it and not read it in Latin script. But in undergrad I took both Ancient Greek and Arabic. In Greek, I got to the point – because the script is sort of similar enough and I was familiar enough with the letters previously-ish – that I got to the point where I could very slowly sound out words as I was reading them out loud because we had to do a lot of reading aloud in Greek class. But in Arabic, I was very much at that hooked on phonics level where you’re like, /p/-/t/-/k/-/a/. There are a few words that I have as sight words in Arabic. One of them is the word for “and,” which is “waa”, and one of the words for “the,” which is “al”, and one of them is the word for “book” because “kitaab” just shows up all the time. But most of the words I had to painstakingly sound out each letter and then listen to myself as I was saying them. I’d be like, “Oh, it’s that word,” even if I knew it, which is this process that I must’ve gone through in English, but I don’t remember doing it for the Latin script.

Lauren: I think that is one of the things that makes it really hard for people who grow up in highly literate, highly educated societies to tease writing and reading apart from language. But actually, when you step back, you realise that writing is actually super weird.

Gretchen: It’s so weird! It’s this interesting – it really is a technology. It’s a thing you do on top of language to do stuff with language, but it’s not the language itself. There are thousands and possibly millions of languages that have never been written down in the history of humanity. We have no idea. We’ve never met a society of humans, or heard of a society of humans, without language. But those are spoken and signed languages, which are just kind of there. Writing, by contrast, was invented somewhere between 3 and 4 times in the history of humanity.

Lauren: That we know of.

Gretchen: That we know of.

Lauren: There might’ve been a society that did a very ephemeral form of snow writing that we have lost forever. But we have records of 3 or 4 times.

Gretchen: It’s been invented a handful of times. There are a few other cases where there are scripts that haven’t been deciphered by modern humans. Maybe they’re scripts, maybe they’re not – it’s not quite clear. But it’s definitely a handful of number of times. And then once other cultures come in contact with the technology of writing, they’re like, “Oh, this is cool. Let’s adapt this to our linguistic situation,” and it gets borrowed a heck of a lot. But it only got cemented a few times.

Lauren: It’s worth saying that “3 to 4” is a bit squishy because it’s not entirely clear if cuneiform, which is a very pointy form of writing from Babylonia, somehow inspired the Egyptian system that became what we know as the hieroglyphs or if they just happened around the same time by coincidence are something we may never really fully put together. That’s a very contested situation. That’s why we can’t even pin down the number of times we think it was invented.

Gretchen: Cuneiform is the one that’s made with the sharpened reed that you push into your clay tablets or, if you’re some people on the internet, into your gingerbread because there’s some really excellent examples of cuneiform gingerbread tablets people have made, which I just wanna – yeah, it’s really great. The Egyptian hieroglyphs people have seen. But yeah, it’s unclear whether they were in contact with each other and kind of heard of each other in a very loose sense and were inspired by each other because there was some amount of contact between those two areas, or if that was elsewhere. The other two – one is in Mesoamerica, in modern-day Mexico and that area, where they had a writing system there that, again, developed into lots of different scripts as it got borrowed from different areas, of which the best deciphered is the Mayan script from the 3rd Century BCE. There’s also the Olmec script, which is probably the oldest. The Zapotec script is also really old. There’s a bunch of scripts in the modern-day Mexico area that also developed independently.

Lauren: Then the final system arose in China around the Bronze Age a couple of thousand years BCE. Because this script was mostly found in its most earliest forms on oracle bones, it’s known as the “oracle bone” script.

Gretchen: What is an oracle bone?

Lauren: They are turtle bones that are used in divination.

Gretchen: Oh.

Lauren: Yeah.

Gretchen: And, again, the Chinese script, once it developed further, it was also, yeah, influenced a bunch of the other writing systems in the area.

Lauren: I find it super fascinating, with absolutely no historical knowledge or insight to bring to this, that in these three different places that were completely separate and going about their own cultural lives writing arose at a similar time around 3,000 to 4,000 years ago.

Gretchen: Yeah! You wonder what was in the water or something. Well, and it’s partially, I think, that there’s a certain level of writing makes it easier to do things like administrative bureaucracy if you’re trying to keep track of whether people paid their taxes or – it’s a very empire-y thing to have is to develop a writing system.

Lauren: Oh yeah. And it’s absolutely worth stating that it’s not like three people in these three different locations all woke up on the same Tuesday 4,000 years ago and were like, “I’m gonna write a long letter to someone.”

Gretchen: Did they have Tuesdays 4,000 years ago?

Lauren: What you see is this emergence of, “I’m just gonna make a couple of notes so I know how much money you owe me.” Some of the earliest cuneiform tablets we have are just, like, beer supply stock takes.

Gretchen: Like, “Three oxes and this many baskets of grain” or whatever.

Lauren: I feel like it’s very human to be like, “We love writing because it’s poetry, and I can send letters to people I love,” and it’s like, no, it’s actually, “I just wanted to know how much you owe me.”

Gretchen: The king just wants to know if these people have paid their taxes.

Lauren: So, what you get is – although I’m like, “Oh, it all happened within similar millennia,” it is actually centuries of development from just keeping tabs on a few items to a fully fleshed out written system.

Gretchen: What types of things people thought were important to write down – things like legal codes and stuff like that – one of the interesting things that I came across when I was looking this up was that there’s a person named Enheduanna, who is the earliest known poet whose name has been recorded. She was the high priestess of the goddess Inanna and the moon god Nanna in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. There we go. But authorship shows up much later than some anonymous civil servant keeping track of who’s registered which grain or some anonymous priest or something keeping track of who’s made various offerings. This idea of like, “Oh, you’re gonna write poetry,” is a step later.

Lauren: Filing your tax is what is actually one of the best links you have to those ancient civilisations.

Gretchen: There’s this Egyptian named Ptahhotep – that’s “Pta,” P-T, even though I know I’m not pronouncing it that way – he was a vizier in Egypt. He’s also one of the first named writers, the first book in history – or people call him the first book in history – because he wrote these Maxims of Ptahhotep. There may have been people who were writing on more perishable materials that didn’t get recorded and stuff like that. It’s this whole process of, “Okay, I’m going to draw these little diagrams of oxen or something or draw these little diagrams of this plant or this animal or whatever to record what types of things get recorded.” But then in order for it to actually become a writing system, there’s also this step of abstraction that has to happen. This is when you start saying, “Okay, well, the word for this very easily visualisable thing” – so I’m thinking of oxen because the word for “ox” in one of the Semitic languages, I think, was something like /alef/. And so, this “ox’s head” gets transformed into, “Okay, what if this is the sound at the beginning of the word for ‘ox’s head,’” which is /alef/, and it gets transformed into our modern letter A, which is “alpha.” “Alpha” in Greek is just the name of the letter. It’s not “an ox’s head” in Greek anymore because the Greeks borrowed it form the Phoenicians. This level of abstraction that has to go from, “Okay, I’m gonna draw an ox’s head” – if you turn a capital A upside down, it kind of looks like an ox’s head.

Lauren: It’s got its little horns, which are the feet of an A.

Gretchen: Yeah, and there’re all these related languages. You know, Arabic’s got alif at the beginning, even though it doesn’t look like an ox’s head anymore. Hebrew’s got an alef, and Greek’s got an alpha, and all of these alphabets that begin with A. It’s this level of abstraction where you can use this thing to stand for this thing that was associated with an ox.

Lauren: There’re a couple of main different ways that you can relate these abstract images that you’re putting down in writing to the language that you are trying to capture. Of course, being a linguistics podcast, I was gonna bring this straight back to the structure of language.

Gretchen: Well, I think it’s interesting to look at the structure of languages in different areas of the world, and how people reflect those in the writing systems that are developed for those languages. When they borrow a writing system for a language with a very different structure, they end up doing certain adaptations to account for not just like, “Okay, languages have different sounds,” but also those sounds are organised and structured in different ways with relationship to each other. The writing systems often reflect some of that history.

Lauren: The Latin alphabet that both of us are most familiar with has a very approximate correspondence between each character of the writing system and a sound in the language. And I say “approximate” because English spelling is a wonderful historical record of how some of those sound changes have changed over time. I’m just gonna keep this upbeat. You can fall down a giant well of English writing system problems, but to get to a point where the majority of letters have a pretty stable correspondence to sounds that we recognise as phones in the language, and that allows us to write out the words of English.

Gretchen: One of the things that’s true about a lot of the Indo-European languages is that they have a particular ratio between consonants and vowels in the words, where they have a fair bit of consonants in relationship to their vowels but not a ton. You can see this in the writing system because the writing system represents consonants and vowels separately. And yet, when the Greeks were borrowing the alphabet from the Phoenicians – Phoenician is a Semitic language like modern-day Arabic and Hebrew – that alphabet only had consonants in it – letters for consonants – because the vowels were not that important. This is still true of modern-day Semitic languages is they’re often written in writing systems that don’t represent the vowels or kind of optionally represent the short vowels, or sometimes they represent the long vowels, but they’re often written in writing systems where the vowels can be omitted. That’s not really a thing you can do very well in Indo-European languages and still have things understood because the vowels carry enough information that you need to represent them somehow.

Lauren: Even when you have a phonemic script, it’s not necessary to always represent all of the sounds to convey the language.

Gretchen: Right. Then conversely, there are other languages where the vowels are even more important and, in fact, every consonant comes with a vowel or virtually every consonant comes with a vowel. In those, you often get what are called “syllabaries,” where they represent one syllable at a time, because why bother with representing each of these things separately when in every context where you have a consonant there’s gonna be a nearby vowel – or in virtually every context there’s gonna be a nearby vowel – and so you can have a symbol that just represents the whole syllable there. That’s also a structure that doesn’t work very well for Indo-European languages because they don’t have that many vowels. There’s this spot of like they have important enough vowels that you need to represent the vowels somehow but not so important are vowels that you have to represent lots of vowels all the time, whereas languages like Japanese or Hindi – well, Hindi’s Indo-European, but it’s got more vowels, I guess.

Lauren: The Devanagari writing system is inherently focused on the syllable, which is a very different approach to reading. Each character of this writing system, if there’s no vowel specified, it just comes with a bonus vowel. It’s like, “Buy this consonant, get this free letter A sound.”

Gretchen: Right. That’s partly a feature of the writing system, but it can only be a feature of the writing system because it’s already a feature of the language. A similar thing goes for a language like Chinese, where a lot of things are based around a syllable.

Lauren: Then you can go a level of abstraction further where your character in the writing system represents a word-level thing and doesn’t have a direct relationship to the sound correspondence, which is what happens with the Chinese script.

Gretchen: I think it’s important to recognise that there is a phonetic component to Chinese characters. They often make use of – especially for words that are more abstract – it’s not just like, “Oh, here’s a bunch of little pictures that we’ve drawn,” because that’s not capable of conveying abstract concepts like grammatical particles and words for things that don’t come with easy pictures. And so, making use of, “Okay, a lot of our words are one or two syllables long, so here’s a word that’s relatively easy to visualise that sounds very similar to a word that is not as easy to visualise.” We can just add a thing to be like, “It sounds like this, but it’s got a meaning more related to this,” and you can be like, “Oh, it must be this more abstract word.” The classic example, which I’m definitely gonna do the tones wrong on, is that the word for “horse” is /ma/, and the word for mother is also /ma/ with a different tone, and you can add the little horse semantic component with the woman semantic component and be like, “Oh, it’s the word that sounds like ‘horse’ but has to do with something with a woman,” and then you end up with “mother.”

Lauren: This works for languages in China because they tend to be not as long as words in English. We like to add all these extra bits of morphology within our grammar, whereas, again, you get – not a direct rule force – but you get this general tendency where the writing system kind of fits with the vibe of the grammar of the language.

Gretchen: One example of that is in Japanese where they were heavily influenced by the Chinese script, but Japanese actually does have suffixes and other little grammatical words and things you need to change about words. They made some of the Chinese characters that had formerly only had semantic things into just like, “Oh, this makes this sound, and this makes this sound,” because they needed to be able to represent that morphological information that’s not super important in Chinese but is very important in Japanese. You end up adapting a script into something else when it gets borrowed in a different context. Another interesting example here is Farsi or Persian which is an Indo-European language that’s conventionally written with the same script as Arabic except it’s also had a couple of additional letters added because Persian has a P and Arabic doesn’t. They had to create a symbol for the sound P, which is why you get “Farsi” instead of “Parsi” because Arabic doesn’t pronounce that P. So, it makes the P into an F. Sometimes you get people adding additional letters like adding a letter for P. Sometimes you get adapting whole sets of a script.

Lauren: Sometimes you lose letters. English had distinct characters for /θ/ and /ð/ until it was technologically easier to just use the characters in the printing press that English had borrowed. It’s makes me a little bit sad. But also, it makes international people – maybe it’s a little bit easier.

Gretchen: We used to have a thorn for the /ð/ sound, but those early printing presses from continental Europe didn’t have thorns on them. I mean, Icelandic still has thorns. One of the things that I think is more interesting in the closer to modern era – not strictly modern era – is cultures and peoples that are familiar with the idea of writing yet take the idea of writing and say, “We’re gonna make our own homegrown script that actually works really well for our particular language.” One of my favourites is the Cherokee syllabary, which was invented by Sequoyah, who was a Cherokee man who didn’t know how to read in English, but he’d encountered the Latin-based writing system in English. He thought it was cool that the English speakers had this, and so he locked himself in shed for several years and came up with a syllabary for Cherokee. Some of the symbols on the Cherokee syllabary look something like Latin letters, but they stand for completely different things because he wasn’t just learning to read from English. Some of them are completely different. This became hugely popular among the Cherokee in the area. There were newspapers in this in the 1800s. There was very high literacy in Cherokee country. It was really popular. It’s even still found on modern-day computer keyboards and stuff like this. You can get Windows and stuff in Cherokee. It’s this interesting example of that’s one where we can say a particular person was inspired by writing systems but also created his own thing that became very popular.

Lauren: The thing that makes Cherokee so compelling to me is not only did he come up with an incredibly elegant, well thought out, suits the language system, but that he actually got uptake as well – that the community decided to use this as the writing system that they would learn to read and write in, and that it had uptake. It’s very easy to come up with ways of improving the technology of writing but, as I think you’re fond of saying, language is very much an open-source project. You can come up with really elegant solutions, but if no one else is gonna take them up, that’s not gonna be very helpful. So, Sequoyah’s work is doubly amazing for that reason.

Gretchen: People actually made printing presses with the Cherokee symbols and were using those. Another interesting case of this disconnect between a person or people coming up with a system and actual uptake of it is Korean, which has what I think linguists generally agree is just the best writing system.

Lauren: Yeah, we’re like, “Writing as a technology is amazing. All writing systems are equally valid. But Korean is particularly great.”

Gretchen: “But Korean’s really cool.” The thing that’s cool about it from a completely biased linguist perspective is that the writing system of Korean, Hangul, the script, is not just based on individual sounds or phonemes, it’s actually at a more precise level based on the shape of the mouth and how you configure the mouth in order to make those particular sounds. There’s a lot of, okay, here are these closely related sounds – let’s say you make them all with the lips – and you just add an additional stroke to make it this other related sound that you make with the lips. Between P and B and M, which are all made with the lips, those symbols have a similar shape. It’s not an accident. It’s very systematic between that and the same thing with T and D and N. Those have a similar shape because they have this relationship. It’s very technically beautiful from an analysis of language perspective.

Lauren: I love this so much that when we were prototyping a potential script for the Aramteskan language for the Shadowscent books, when I was constructing that language, I also started constructing a script that we never used anywhere, but it was helpful to think about how the characters would write and what writing implements they would use. If you look at the script, you’ll notice that the letter P and B are very similar, but B has an additional stroke. T and D are very similar, but D has an additional stroke. Very much feature driven. And then for the vowels – it’s roughly a quadrant in the writing space – the /i/ vowel is in the top left of the quadrant, the /u/ vowel is in the top right of the quadrant, the /a/ vowel is in the bottom left of the quadrant.

Gretchen: So clever!

Lauren: It was actually just for really selfish reasons that I decided to go with a feature-based system, and that is that it was easier for me to remember if I used the features of the language and made sure that the voiced sound was always identical to the voiceless one but just with an additional stroke. It meant that I only had to remember half the characters.

Gretchen: That’s very elegant. The easy to remember bit is also true about the Hangul script because it’s got so much regularity. The famous quote about Hangul is something like “A wise man can learn it in an afternoon and a foolish man can learn it in a day.”

Lauren: So catchy!

Gretchen: There’s probably a better version of that quote. What’s interesting about it from an adoption perspective is that Hangul was invented by Sejong the Great.

Lauren: Appropriately named.

Gretchen: Who has a national holiday now because of the script. But it was created in 1443. It’s not quite clear whether it was him personally doing everything or whether he had an advisory committee of linguists, but it’s really extremely well-adapted to the linguistic situation of Korean in particular. Even though it’s just also really cool for how it represents the inside of the mouth, but it’s really well adapted for Korean. It was invented in 1443, but it wasn’t popularised in use until several centuries later because for a long time Korean was also using, like Japanese, this adapted version of the Chinese script or adapted version of the Japanese script because of the cultural influences. In the early 20th century, they were doing a much bigger literacy push in Korea to be like, “What want everyone to learn how to read.” And they said, “Okay, we’re gonna have an orthographic reform, and we’re gonna use this script which has this very nice historical pedigree but also is much easier to learn than this complicated thing that we had done that wasn’t really designed for Korean.” It’s got this historical antecedence but also it came back in the modern-day. Now, everything in Korean is written in it. It’s because it’s really easy to learn how to read and write in. The historical uptake wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t during King Sejong’s lifetime where they were like, “Oh, yeah, now we’re all gonna use his script,” people were like, “Okay, king, you’ve got this hobby,” but it wasn’t popularised until later.

Lauren: Even when there is really strong abstraction, humans have this unavoidable tendency to think about the relationship between sounds and other senses. In sound-based writing systems – Suzy Styles, who has been on the podcast before and works on perception across the senses, did an experiment alongside Nora Turoman where they looked at whether people can guess, for writing systems they’re not familiar with, which character was the /u/ sound and which character was the /i/ sound. They found that for a whole variety of scripts there is a much higher than chance – because there’s only two choices. If was completely arbitrary, it would be 50/50. But people do tend, across the evolution of sound-based writing systems, to have /u/ that has a more rounded, bigger sound has properties in the writing system that re-occur. People continue to unavoidably link the sounds of the language to the written properties of the script in a very low-level way. I’ll link to that study. It’s really great.

Gretchen: That’s interesting. It’s not gonna be 100%, but there’s this slightly better than chance relationship.

Lauren: Yeah.

Gretchen: Visual representation of physical information is also something that shows up in ways of writing signed languages.

Lauren: Yeah. Everything we’ve talked about so far, I think, we’ve talked about for spoken languages, but it is possible to write signed languages as well.

Gretchen: There are several different systems in place. Some of them are language-specific like, “Oh, this is the system for writing ASL in particular,” and some of them are kind of like your linguist, International Phonetic Alphabet trying to provide a language-agnostic way of writing signed languages for research purposes but, in a way, that’s sort of impractical, like the IPA for general use. There’s an interesting set of systems. There isn’t as much agreement among representers of signed languages in writing which amounts of information are crucial information that has to be written down and which are optional bits of information that the reader can fill in from their own knowledge of the language and the signer.

Lauren: I think it’s worth flagging that that’s not just a discussion that arises for signed languages. It’s just that those conversations got thrashed out for spoken languages four millennia ago, and we weren’t around when people were arguing about whether intonation had any role in the – or people probably were arguing because it was an emerging thing.

Gretchen: Well, when people were arguing about like, “Do we write vowels or not,” which was a big thing. Do we write vowels? Do we write intonation? And punctuation followed quite a bit after – you know, punctuation wasn’t as much of a thing for several of the early centuries and millennia of writing. They didn’t do punctuation. There’s some level of ongoingness that’s still there. If you think about the internet efforts to try to write tone of voice very precisely and communicate sarcasm and irony and rhetorical questions very precisely, there’s some level of ongoing debate that’s still happening in the spoken language context but not nearly as much as is still happening in the signed language context.

Lauren: Also, just because of the way that signed language communities tend to be embedded within larger spoken language communities, people who sign as a primary language tend to also be educated in the mainstream spoken language, and so literacy gets developed in, say, a language like English.

Gretchen: I think that’s the case for a lot of smaller spoken languages as well where sometimes there’s this imperative of, “Okay, we want to be able to write things to each other” or something, but if there hasn’t been a history of a lot of published literature in that language that you’re trying to read, then it becomes a question of, “Should we teach this in school,” because there isn’t literature there, even though there would be oral literature. It becomes a chicken and egg problem of which comes first, or which do you start teaching first, when you’re constantly comparing stuff against a few very large spoken languages that have this very long writing tradition. It shows up in languages with a newer writing tradition.

Lauren: Education systems have a massive influence there. My grandmother, actually her strongest written language is German. Even though she and her sister speak to each other in Polish, they would write to each other in German because that’s the language they had been educated to write in. Even with people who don’t speak minority languages, the influence of the education system there is so massive.

Gretchen: Reading and writing, they’re separate skills even though they’re often taught together. Sometimes you can read a language that you can’t write or something like that. But it’s a big question. With signed languages, because video technology is now available, if we’d had good audio recording technology 4,000 years ago, the pressure to develop writing systems for spoken languages might not have been as strong – probably wouldn’t have been as strong – even though there are other useful things that writing can do even in the audio-video era. It’s easier to be like, “Well, you can just make a video of the signer,” and then you’d know exactly what they were trying to say and exactly how they wanted to say it. You wouldn’t have this level of abstraction of are you gonna try to write it down in a way that imperfectly represents what a person is gonna do when they’re producing it. It is still interesting looking at some of the signed language writing systems. Some of them, like Stokoe notation and HamNoSys, which stands for “Hamburg Notation System,” they try to very physically represent the characteristics of the signer – where their hands are, where their face is, and things like that. There’s another one that I can’t find the name of that is based on the ASCII alphabet, so you can type it into search engine boxes, which has some advantages as well but represents things more abstractly. It’s got this link with Korean, which was representing this very physical aspect of what the mouth is doing. Several of the signed language writing systems like Stokoe and HamNoSys also have this very physical representation what the body’s doing when it’s being produced. But I think they’re more popular among researchers than they are among actual D/deaf users who tend to use video a lot.

Lauren: I encounter Stokoe and HamNoSys in the gesture and signed linguistics literature. I haven’t really seen them too much outside of that.

Gretchen: I think that it’s easy to conflate a language with its writing system because we’re so used to thinking of English as sort of inextricably linked to the Latin alphabet. But there isn’t a reason, in theory, why you couldn’t write English in the Greek alphabet or in the Arabic alphabet or in a very adapted version of Chinese characters where you’d have to do a lot of adaptation. The same thing is true when you write languages that don’t originally use the Latin alphabet and you have romanisations of them. Writing systems are just as much political and contextual. Some of them have this very tight structural relationship to the properties of the languages they represent and some of them have looser relationships because they’ve been adapted to it later.

Lauren: It’s this slightly looser relationship to language as it’s spoken or signed that means that linguists don’t always include writing systems in, say, an Introduction to Linguistics course. We don’t often talk about writing systems. But when we were putting together the Crash Course series, we ended up making writing the topic of our final episode for the series.

Gretchen: I think partly because people are really interested in it, so why not do something about writing, and also because I think that you can use writing systems as a window into some of the interesting structural features of different languages and how the writing systems represent that. As somebody who’s really interested in internet linguistics and the rise of informal writing and how we represent tone of voice and things like that in modern-day writing, and that’s still a moving target evolutionarily speaking, I think it’s interesting to give that linguistic lens on writing systems even though they are imperfect representations of the languages that they represent.

Lauren: “Writing Systems” is Video 16 of Crash Course linguistics, which is wrapping up this month. If you’ve been holding out to watch all 16 of those episodes, you’ll be able to do so very soon or perhaps even now thanks to the temporal vagueness of podcasts.

Gretchen: Crash Course is the YouTube series that we’ve been working on basically all of 2020. It’s especially popular with high school or undergraduate teaching. If you know people that age, or who teach people that age, that may be a useful thing to send to people. We hope that people find it useful as a resource for self-teaching or for instructing in various capacities.

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, “Not judging your grammar, just analysing it” mugs, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

Gretchen: I can be found as @GretchenAMcC on Twitter, my blog is AllThingsLinguistic.com, and book about internet language is called Because Internet. Have you listened to all the Lingthusiasm episodes and you wish there were more? You can access to 48 bonus episodes to listen to right now at patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Patrons also get access to our Discord chat room to talk with other linguistics fans – like, do you remember learning how to read – and other rewards as well as helping keep the show ad-free. Recent bonus topics include an AMA with a lexicographer and our favourite stories and anecdotes that we just didn’t have time for in some of the earlier episodes. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate it if you could recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone who needs a little more linguistics in their life. And, hey, tell your other favourite podcasts that they could a linguistics episode, and get us on! It’d be fun.

Lauren: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our Senior Producer is Claire Gawne, our Editorial Producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Gretchen: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

[magioftheseas]

An Encounter Among Blossoms

Summary: Haru meets a young man who seems to have an affinity for her gardening neighbor. She's quite eager to scout him out before the two of them meet.

Rating: G

Warnings: Akechi sticks a rabbit in a bag, but the rabbit is fine.

Notes: It’s a Haru fic for Akechi’s birthday which is just a little strange but I really love the idea of her and Akechi as gardening neighbors. It’s super cute. Haru’s super cute. Shuake’s super cute. Cute!

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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It hadn’t been a particularly bright or warm day. The diluted sunshine was still pleasant in its own way, comfortable like room temperature and unassuming. Another fine day, she would think as she headed down the usual path, humming a little tune as she did. The insignificance of the weather preceded the encounter which was anything but.

When Haru rounded around the corner to her garden, there was an unfamiliar young man standing by. It wasn’t unusual for people to pass by, nor was it unusual for them to stop with alarm once they heard the string of colorful curses and irate grumbles. This young man, however, was not frozen in place with alarm. He stared out into her gardening neighbor’s domain and even without seeing his face, Haru knew the young man was transfixed.

“Excuse me,” Haru called out politely, making the young man jump. She wondered what sort of face she expected under that head of messy black curls, but—perhaps she was surprised by how striking this stranger looked.

Yes, this young man had almost delicate features. A smooth jaw and soft lips parted in surprise before pulling into a more neutral line. His eyes were dark like iron—one that held other colors in its embrace rather than swallowed them whole.

“Staring is rude,” Haru said, then, aware that she was staring. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, I...” The young man steps back, ducking his head as if to hide that gaze behind his fringe. A shame, really, Haru almost wanted to comb them back to catch another glimpse.

...but if he had stopped to stare, then it was at...

“I just,” the young man continues, pinching a curl between his long fingers. Elegant if not for how the nails had been bitten short. “I was just...passing by.”

“That’s fine,” Haru said sunnily. “Would you mind helping me out, then?”

“Oh.” This person made a very familiar face. The kind where it’s clear the person finds it difficult to say no. “Is that...alright?”

“I could always use a helper bee,” Haru chirped and when she came close, she murmured to him, “And Goro does as well, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

The young man is silent, but there’s the slightest twitch of a smile at his lips.

“I’m Haru,” she says, blushing now that she realized she hadn’t yet introduced herself.

“Amamiya...Ren.” He nodded politely in return. “It’s nice to meet you, Haru-san.”

“Just Haru is fine, Amamiya-kun.”

“Then just Ren is fine.”

Goodness...he doesn’t know the effect he has on people, does he?

She was almost glad to swoop in before Goro could see or notice.

--

She was especially glad when it turned out Ren was a dutiful helper. He would do anything asked without complaint. Admittedly, he’d be so docile it uncomfortably reminded her of her past self. At the very least, it was less that Ren was eager to please and more that it just—didn’t occur to him to perform half-heartedly.

As he meticulously pulled out weeds, she did notice his posture wasn’t dissimilar to Goro’s.

A hard worker, one who doesn’t complain. With natural charm.

“Ren, ren,” she says in a lilting voice, smiling when he looks up to her attentively. Her smile broadens and she hands him one freshly washed tomato. “They’re ripe today. What do you think?”

Ren does smile mildly before biting into the tomato. He’s quick to lick its juices off his fingers. He nods in approval but is too busy eating to give any verbal compliments.­

“Good enough for Goro?” she asks, watching to see if he chokes. He does not, but he’s quieter. There’s a softer pink on his cheeks. Haru can’t help but grin. “Gather some up when you’re done. We’re going to visit him.”

Ren didn’t work half-heartedly, but it was only now that he worked eagerly and enthusiastically. He diligently picked, and painstakingly washed each one until it was spotless. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t envious.

Ren was a charming young man. Even if she already has a beautiful girlfriend, she wouldn’t mind dating him as well. Only if her girlfriend was into it as well, of course.

Alas, I don’t think he’s interested in me at all.

She’s not too bothered, not when Ren follows her like a puppy and carries the basket of tomatoes with great care. As if he’d do anything to avoid even the slightest bruise. As she crosses the border from her garden into her neighbor’s, it’s not long before she spots that neighbor. Specifically his sunhat and his ponytail. Kneeling down, staring at a squirming sack no doubt with a look of deep consternation.

“Goro, what are you doing?” she asks cheerfully. “Is there a rabbit in that bag?”

“This fucking pest,” he hisses, snapping to attention and spinning on his heel to face her. “Won’t leave my goddamn...ah.” His expression drops the second he sees that someone else is with her. His face scrunches up. “Amamiya? What the hell?”

“Oh!” Haru gasped, looking between them. “You two know each other?”

Ren simply stares at Goro intensely, and Goro’s mouth twitches into a forced smile.

“Goodness, what a surprise,” he says, slipping into a more pleasant front with the elegance of the stepsister shoving her foot into the glass slipper. “Amamiya-kun is the barista of the café I frequent. We’ve played chess a few times. We’re...acquaintances, you can say. I’m quite embarrassed you’ve seen me in such an...improper state.” He even tugs at his sunhat to hide his face. Specifically that cute splatter of freckles that Haru appreciated even if the general populace didn’t. “I apologize greatly.”

He gives a bow.

“Goro,” Haru reprimanded gently. “Enough of that. Ren-kun already saw you cursing out the grass earlier.”

“I sure did,” Ren agreed, and he hands Goro the basket. “Here you are, Akechi.”

“Happy birthday!” Haru exclaimed excitedly and shoved Ren forward for good measure. Ren did yelp, as did Goro, but no one managed to fall. Not yet anyway. “I know you said not to get you anything, but I had...a bootyful harvest! And to top it off, Ren-kun’s just your type!”

“Haru,” Goro hissed, red in the face.

“You look really nice in a ponytail,” Ren offered awkwardly. “But, uh, you’re not going to eat that rabbit, right? Like...the big bad wolf?”

“Goodness, no!” Haru exclaimed. “Goro just catches them and gives them to me to release elsewhere. Although I’m not sure...” She trails off when she sees just how covered in dirt Goro is. “Well. You can at least try not to frighten them so much.”

“For whatever reason this one avoided the usual traps,” Goro huffed, gesturing at the sack as if it were obscene. “I had to personally deal with it.”

“Is it really your birthday?” Ren asks. “I, uh...didn’t know. But if you want, I can treat you to curry and coffee on the house later this afternoon...”

“Doesn’t that sound lovely?” Haru asks, and she goes to gingerly pick up the sack. She does glance inside and yes, it’s quite the energetic black bunny. She wonders if she’d get away with taking it home instead. Probably not. “I’ll take care of this darling.”

“Haru,” Goro warned again. “I-It’s not...”

“Please enjoy your tomatoes and your birthday, Goro! Don’t feel the need to wait on me if you want to go somewhere!”

She’d leave with a skip in her step but she doesn’t want to jostle the rabbit too much. Either way, she ignores Goro calling after her in exasperation and unease. He quiets, and a quick glance back—she sees that Ren is patting Goro’s shoulder as he sullenly bites into a tomato.

--

“Here you are, darling!”

Strangely, the rabbit doesn’t dart away the second Haru releases it. It just sniffs around, grooming its ear, blinking up at her with beady eyes.

“Curious dear, aren’t you,” she cooed. “And mischievous. Should I give you a name? How about Loki?”

The rabbit turns away, seeming disinterested.

“Or Noir!” Haru exclaimed, and laughed. “Either way, caused quite a bit of trouble for Goro, didn’t you? But you must know that his bark is often worse than his bite. Despite that, the flowers he grows are quite beautiful, aren’t they? Do you think under those roses is where he buried our fathers?”

No answer of course, but when it glanced back, she couldn’t help but be reminded of Ren.

...they met already, huh...? Then...I think things will be very interesting from here on out.

She and Goro had been associates for quite some time now. She’d like to think she knew him quite well, and she thought she had scouted Ren out well enough to know that he was Goro’s type.

“He deserves to be happy,” she told the rabbit and left it at that.

--

When she returns, Ren and Goro are already deep in some strange debate. Goro even laughs, but he quickly scowls when Ren points out the juice on his cheek. Ren’s commenting, likely on Goro’s demeanor, and the conversation is serious now.

As curious as she is, it’s improper to eavesdrop. Haru crosses the border once more, returning to her garden. There’s still work to be done.

[lakesandquarries]

Baby Shoes - Chapter 4

Bubby has been a doctor at Black Mesa for 20 years, living there for 50. He’s been bouncing around from project to project, working on whatever needs most help. He doesn’t have any opinions on his work or his coworkers or anything like that, preferring to keep to himself.

Then he meets Black Mesa’s newest project.

AKA: Bubby is Benrey’s dad au.

title from “Baby Shoes” by Bad Books.

AO3 Link

The sound of the door opening jolts Bubby back into awareness - and Benrey too. They have another full body flinch, smacking their head against the concrete wall in their scramble.

Dr. Zeki’s heels click on the floor. “Dr. Bubby,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “This is certainly a strange place to find you.”

Benrey’s halfway off his lap already. He moves them gently so he can stand up to his full height, and their hands cling to his pant leg. “I wanted to try something new.”

“You’re attached,” Zeki says. “I should have known better than to let you on this project. It’s not sentient, Bubby. It’s not a fun little pet. Don’t you ever wonder what happened to Dr. Tipton? I’m sure you remember him.”

He, unfortunately, does. Dr. Tipton had been assigned to Bubby long ago, and he’d been an utter nightmare. No sense of boundaries, plus terrible hygiene.

“I recall him, yes.”

“This little subject you’re so fond of nearly killed him. It bit him and injected some kind of venom. We had to develop an entire new antivenom, in less than two hours, just for Dr. Tipton. He’s got permanent nerve damage and lost a few fingers, but he’s alive. I can only hope I’ll be able to say the same for you.”

Bubby glances down at Benrey. They’re clinging even tighter now, claws making small holes in Bubby’s pants.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Well, in that case.” Her gaze shifts down to Benrey. “You were so interested in its living situation, weren’t you? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if we have it stay with you, then.”

“I don’t, actually.” He folds his arms, leveling his gaze right at Zeki, eyes meeting hers. “You know what, I think that’s a fantastic idea.” 

Zeki smirks at him, unbearably smug. “We’ll have to move you to the Biological Research wing, of course. You can’t be in a regular dorm with it. I’m sure your old room is still available, tube and all.”

Bubby bites the inside of his lip. He’s hated a lot of scientists in his years at Black Mesa, but he’s never had the repeated urge to strangle someone until Dr. Zeki. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can find an empty room that can suit my, and the subject’s, needs.”

There’s a buzz from Zeki’s pocket. “Well, you have until I get out of my last meeting. Good luck, Dr. Bubby.” She gives him a final cold glare, turning on her heel and making sure to slam the door behind her.

“Bitch,” Bubby mutters. He hopes Dekkard broke her stuff while he was wrapping it in tinfoil.

There’s a high pitched noise from Benrey, and when Bubby looks down he sees dark bubbles like shadows. He’s careful not to touch them this time, not wanting a repeat of earlier. He crouches back down, eye level with Benrey again.

“Sorry about that,” he says quietly, reaching an arm out and gently placing it on Benrey’s shoulder. “I think I may have fallen asleep as well.”

“I don’t like her,” Benrey mumbles. “She’s scary.”

“I’m not especially fond of her either,” Bubby says. “But, I think this can actually work in our favor.”

“Huh?”

“She tried to scare me with that story, and she thinks she’s punishing me by inviting me to live here with you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Benrey mumbles, hunching their shoulders. “I just - he kept touching me -”

“I’ve had my fair share of encounters with Dr. Tipton. Whatever you did, I’m sure he had it coming.”

“So you - you actually wanna -” Benrey’s eyes are wide and shiny. 

“If you’re alright with it, yes.”

Benrey nods, frantically, leaning their head against Bubby’s shoulder. They can’t quite reach to hug him, so Bubby moves closer, wrapping his arms around them. “I can’t stay for much longer, though. I need to go find us a good room. But I promise I’ll be back, alright?”

Benrey nods, bright yellow bubbles falling from their mouth. Bubby takes a moment to enjoy the wave of joy that comes with them before he forces himself to get up. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says. 

Benrey’s whole being seems brighter, somehow. Less grey. Their hands tap against the ground. “Bye,” they say, as Bubby shuts the door gently behind him.

He checks Zeki’s office first. Dekkard is nowhere to be seen, but he’s clearly left his mark. Everything - the table, the computer, each individual pencil - has been painstakingly wrapped in tinfoil.

Bubby grins at the sight, taking a moment to knock a few paper weights off the desk.

He checks Dekkard’s desk next. No sign of him there, either, but his slinky is on the desk, so he can’t be too far. 

Sure enough, he’s in the next spot Bubby checks - the break room. He’s standing in front of the vending machine, looking for all the world like a professor stumped by a difficult math question.

“Dekkard!”

He turns and waves. “Oh, hey Bubby. Hey, should I get doritos, or -”

“Nevermind that! I have an important project. I need you to come with me.”

Dekkard raises an eyebrow, turning back to the machine. “Doritos it is.”

Bubby sighs. “Please. Look, this is very time sensitive, I only have until Zeki is done with her last meeting and I’ve already wasted ten minutes looking for you.”

Dekkard reaches into the machine for his bag of chips. “I mean, I’m supposed to be on lunch, but if this is to fuck with her, then I’ll help. Let’s go.”

“I saw your work in her office,” Bubby says as they walk back to Dekkard’s desk. “And I will admit, you did an excellent job.”

Dekkard beams. “Maybe I’m not so underqualified after all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” 

Dekkard slips into his chair. Bubby’s too anxious to sit, instead pacing back and forth as he waits for the computer to boot up. “So, what am I helping you with?”

“Zeki made a proposal. I’m sure she intended it as a threat, but. I need a free room here in Biological Research. Something livable. No tubes or cages or any of that shit.”

Dekkard’s hands pause on the keyboard. He glances back at Bubby, who’s staring over his shoulder, leaning forward to watch. “Are you…moving in here?”

“Yes. Myself and one of the subjects, so make sure it’s big enough for two people.”

Dekkard spins in his chair. “One of the subjects?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” He folds his arms, standing up straight.

“I mean - pretty much every single subject here could kill you, so -”

“I used to be a subject here, if you’ll recall.” 

“Yeah, but - you’re not like them. You’re like, a person.” Dekkard sighs. “Is it the alien?”

“Their name is Benrey.”

“You named it?”

“We are wasting time,” Bubby snarls, stepping forward to grab the mouse from Dekkard’s hand. He holds it up, stretching the wire as far as it can go. 

“Hang on! Look, I’m willing to help, I just -”

“I don’t have time to argue with you! Either help me, or I will do this myself.” 

“Look, Bubby -”

“Dr. Bubby.”

“Dr. Bubby.” Dekkard groans, tipping his head back. “You’re the only tolerable person here, I don’t wanna help you get killed by an alien.”

“Well, luckily for you that’s not what you’re doing. Now are you going to help or not?”

“You’re really set on this, huh?”

It’s a lucky thing Bubby’s control over his pyrokinesis has grown, or Dekkard’s hair would be on fire. “Yes, I’m sure. I - they have them chained up. Like some kind of wild animal. They’re a child, Dekkard. Zeki made the mistake of offering this, and I’m not going to give her the chance to back down.”

Dekkard’s shoulders slump as he spins back to the computer. “I’m not gonna pretend like I understand, but fine. I’ll help.” Bubby takes a step away from the computer to give him a bit of space, not wanting to hover as Dekkard logs into the horribly designed official Black Mesa website. It takes him a minute to pull up a map, but once he does, he waves Bubby back over. “Okay, so. There’s a few empty areas, it looks like. I’m gonna toss these ones immediately -” and here he points to the screen at a cluster of small rooms - “because those are next to whatever the hell it is that screams all night. XEN - uh, Benrey?” He glances up at Bubby who nods approvingly. “Right. Benrey’s over here right now, and I think there’s actually an unused room pretty close? Big one, too.” 

“Just find me something and show me it. I don’t need your entire thought process.”

“Hey, I’m the one helping you.” Dekkard’s quiet after that, though, focusing more on the screen as Bubby paces back and forth, glancing at his pager every few minutes. “Okay, come here, I’ve got a list.”

This is the time-consuming part. Dekkard shows Bubby each of the rooms, laying out the size and shape and what they’re near, and then they spend a few moments debating the pros and cons. Bubby knows they’re on a timer, but his attention is elsewhere, and he does forget to check the time. 

His pager beeps.

“Oh, motherfucker,” he mutters. Zeki’s meeting must have ended, because she’s sent him a message.

Meet me in my office.

“We need to decide right now.”

“Shit, that her?”

“No, it was the president. Yes, it was her!”

Dekkard sighs, scooting his chair closer. “Okay, I know it’s a weird shape, but I think this one’s best. There’s a bathroom nearby and a sink in the room, which is good. Better than the dorms, even. And you can hang up a curtain or something over here and make it like a separate room.”

He’s gesturing at a vaguely L-shaped room close to the offices and break room. Bubby has seen it before. It’s been unused for ages, gathering dust, and will probably be a pain to clean. But Dekkard does have a point, and he’s out of time.

“Fine. Sure. Yes. What’s the room number?”

“B-22.”

“B-22,” Bubby repeats. “B like Bubby. Excellent. Alright, I’m off to go ruin Zeki’s day.”

Dekkard shoots him a grin and a finger gun. “Good working with you.”

“Also, don’t get the doritos. They’re stale.”

Dekkard looks at the bag on his desk. “God damnit. Asshole.”

[sxnnimoon]

Four?

****Hiiiiii! sorry for the short hiatus but I’m back and have so much in store. this is the first of many involving the maruaders/ harry potter universe. I’ve got tons of ideas and can’t wait to share them with you guys.*****

You remember it like it was yesterday. The day you fell for your fiancé. And also the day you met your lifelong friends. You’d all been placed in Gryffindor, instantly connecting with Lily. Soon you’d met Remus then followed along James, Peter, and Sirius. Oh Sirius, you never would admit it til 5th year your love for him. Lily would tell you countless times to just tell him, though who was she to talk about all the times she’d rejected James. The time came on a trip to Hogsmeade. You all started off in a group til you all got separated in the crowd you and Sirius had decided to just walk off talking about any and everything. It’s like you both were thinking the same, because you both confessed at the same time. You both laughed, enjoying the moment,til the group decided to find you both. The first to notice was Lily and boy did she pull you up your dorm when you guys got back.

Once out of Hogwarts you all moved in together before moving your separate ways once James and Lily fell engaged. You’d all figured they’d be the first to marry though you all knew it would be you and Sirius to fall pregnant first. You both couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. But lo and behold the day came that Lily told you she was pregnant. You and Sirius were thrilled the day they asked you two to be the baby's godparents. You both would have loved nothing more. 

You all were gathered at your and Sirius’ place as you both were hosting the Christmas party this year. You were currently sitting on the floor with Lily and a very giddy Harry , the boys were elsewhere talking. 

“I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten!” You said in a high pitch voice grabbing Harry. 

He giggled. 

“Ugh!! The laugh.” You pouted. “I want one.”

Lily chuckled.

“I’m sure Sirius will be more than happy to bless you with one.” She said, looking over at the boys. 

You just rolled your eyes, attention all on Harry. Little did you know a certain someone was listening in. You were currently cleaning up when a pair of arms wrapped around you. 

“Mmhmm, you’re warm.” You said turning to hug Sirius’ torso. 

He just laughed.

“You almost done my love? I do believe our bed calls for you.” He smirked.

Cheeky one he was. You knew what he wanted. 

“You sure it isn’t you Mr.Black that wants me in bed?” You questioned. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He said in a sassy tone. 

You raised a brow smirking. 

“I do believe a certain someone said they wanted a baby. So why should I deprive my love that.” He smirked.

You hit his shoulder. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” You said. 

“Well I did and I’d love nothing more than a child with the one I love.” He said, giving a huge smile. 

The mood in the room changed ever so quickly. The need for one another was strong. You could see it. The look in his eyes filled with lust and looked as though a predator were stalking their prey. He inched closer, pinning you against the counter. He took hold of your waist,bringing you in for a kiss. The kiss was rough and filled with hunger. He craved you, needed you. Hell he’d take you right there. He began taking articles of clothing off you, kissing anywhere he could. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“For Merlin's sake Sirius stop teasing.” You moaned out. 

You’d been so caught in the moment that you didn’t realize you both were nude, til you felt the warmth of his cock on you. Not even hesitating you grabbed it. Pumping it a few times, earning a grunt and moan from Sirius. You were pleased with yourself. 

“Now, pup. You just be patient.” He said. 

You looked up at him with pleading eyes, almost as if to tell him to get on with it. He caught what you meant and put you on the counter, positioning himself at your entrance. He looked at you for approval. Giving a whine, was good enough for him to push into you. You moaned out. He let you adjust not that it helped as he was big. You adjusted best you could waiting for him to move.

“Move my love.” You spoke.

“Anything love.” He kissed you. 

His thrusts began painstakingly slow. He was teasing no doubt. He was doing it on purpose. Thought he’d love nothing more to finish in you. He wanted to take his time and make sure your needs were met. 

“I swear Sirius if you don’t move any faster I will murder you.” You groaned out.

“Now, now. Relax kitten. No need to get worked up. You’ll get what you need.” He said taking his cock out of you.

You whimpered.

He trailed kisses down your body. Starting at the neck kisses to your breasts, sucking on your nipples as he went. 

“For Merlin's sake, do something.” You whined. 

You were extremely needy tonight and he loved every minute teasing you. You continued to complain only for him to hover over the one place you needed him most. You could feel his breath on you. You let out a whine. He licked at your clit causing you to squirm. 

“Sirius.” You moaned out. 

He continued his attack, moaning at the sight of you coming undone. He entered a finger. Licking heavily at you clit. You were a moaning mess. He added another, then a third. You didn’t know how much longer you could last. He knew you were close. 

“I don’t want you finishing til I am inside you love.” He said lining himself back up with your entrance. 

He began a steady pace before picking you up, still inside you he walked you both to the bedroom. He set you down, flipping you so you were on all fours. Knowing this was your favorite position you braced yourself for what was to come. He reentered you, setting a fast pace. Giving you no time to adjust. He gave your ass a few slaps causing you to gasp.

“I’m close.” You moaned out. 

“Me too pup.” He grunted. “You’ll be filled with my seed in no time.” 

“Fill me baby.” You yelled.

“You’re going to look so good filled with my seed all plump.” He smacked your ass. 

You flipped you both, taking control you rode out your orgasm. Sirius not too far behind. You picked up the pace, feeling him fill you up. You collapsed onto his chest. Both gasping trying to relax from the intense orgasm you both just had. 

“That was by far the best sex we’d ever had.” Sirius said, finally catching his breath. 

“I couldn’t agree more.” You smiled leaning in for a kiss. 

A few months later you were crouched down in front of the toilet, Sirius holding your hair as you puked up everything you ate. No doubt you were pregnant. You had an appointment to see a healer that very day. You both arrived, she had confirmed you were in fact 4 months pregnant. Though not showing yet. She also confirmed the gender. 

“A little girl.” she said smiling.

You looked at Sirius who face palmed knowing he’d be having two of you in the world. 

“I'm getting a second coming through.” the healer said. 

You and Sirius looked at each other in shock. Two? No way you were carrying twins.

“A little boy.” she finally said.

You were in tears at this point. You were getting the family you wanted even if it meant having two kids at once. 

[gascon-en-exil]

I suppose you can call me "villain Dimitri anon" now, but I actively dislike Azure Moon for the narrative perks that you and other fans insist it has, but I can't see. What back and forth does Dimitri have with his retainers that aren't confined to supports? There's just Gilbert, Rodrigue, and Byleth ignoring the one-eyed elephant in the room.(1/2)

What support network does Dimitri have? A bunch of badly abused subjects at the end of their rope who don't have the guts to abandon him or give him a wake up call. Dimitri's redemption in the rain makes zero sense as the scene progresses, and outside of some lip service in a support, he's so cured of any trauma that not even getting the truth about Duscur fazes him. What's worse, this redemption is the main idea of the route. (2/3 now)

The back and forth is in reference to how the army in AM feels directionless and disagrees on whether they should liberate the Kingdom or rescue Rhea first. This gets references both in story cutscenes and in the exploration of dialogue of numerous characters, heavily reinforced by many of these same characters remarking on how off-putting Dimitri’s behavior is. This stands in contrast to CF never questioning Edelgard’s actions even as they’re far more systemically terrible with the work of Hubert and the Agarthans behind the scenes; even VW offers a number of scenes and exploration content of characters questioning and critiquing Claude’s actions. Felix’s mini-arc outside his support line with Dimitri is the clearest example, because he’s the loudest voice of opposition and because if you trigger their supports some of the dialogue changes to reflect that, while Rodrigue plays a predictable but workable role as the doomed mentor figure whose death forces Dimitri to confront how his obsession with revenge is hurting the people he loves.  This is all unfortunately somewhat undermined by Byleth’s presence and the need for self-insert romance, with them supplanting Dimitri’s established support network and worst of all leading to Dedue being killed off by default and then never re-integrated properly into the story lest his intimacy with Dimitri pose an obstacle to the expected lord/Avatar romance (that can’t even be pushed in the same way that Edeleth can in all routes, incidentally, because Dimitri can’t S rank m!Byleth). This is a genuine problem in AM, but curiously it’s one that I see brought up almost exclusively by fans of Dimitri and his route rather than those who hate AM and/or rail against Dimidue as an allegedly racist pairing.

None of the other Blue Lions gets a single meaningful word in in the main story cutscenes. You can get some character development for Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix in monastery dialogue and DImitri's supports and that's it. Not to mention, gameplay-wise, dealing with Dimitri is just no fun, and there's no choice to get fed up and leave. With all of Crimson Flower's problems, at least you had to actively choose to go on that route. (3/4 now)

I wouldn’t say that’s all that different from how the other routes handle their chorus of minor characters, especially CF which again minimizes any sort of friction the Eagles might have with Edelgard even when she’s outright lying to them. There’s a reason that SS is sometimes cited as a better characterization showcase for the Eagles other than Edelgard and Hubert, particularly for Ferdinand who actually gets to be the contrarian #3 on that route. Gameplay is more subjective, although I’d rank being unable to instruct Dimitri or have him engage in monastery activities for four calendar months is more than offset by CF being exactly that many months shorter than AM or VW. Also, in terms of building characters Gilbert is far, far less of a pain in the ass than Jeritza, and I say that as someone who’s painstakingly gotten every character in the game to all ranks at S+ and all classes mastered over many NG+ runs. Having to pick CF is also an inconvenience that screws with the flow of Chapter 11 since you need to waste a battle weekend going to Edelgard’s coronation lest you miss out on instruction weeks or later weekends doing it at the start of the month. It’s kind of a moot point to argue about this anyway as the Deer have it the best when it comes to unit development, with neither of these restrictions as well as the longest route and no Part 2 exclusive to worry over.

Crimson Flower had a "big picture" war story, Verdant Wind had good character balance and exposed the truth about the player character. Azure Moon was just all DImitri. Not to mention, my own political philosophy and real-world history interests make me biased against Dimiri and his stance. (And no, I'm no fan of dictators, just not of a fan of Fearghus-style feudalism) (4/5)

I do like redemption stories. But I've seen them done better elsewhere. Dimitri's character is interesting, but his route isn't. All routes on Three Houses have problems that I nitpick about, but as thing stand, I can support Claude and Edelgard in achieving their ideals, i cannot in good conscience support Dimitri as king. Nurse him back to sanity, maybe, but put him in charge of other people's lives? No. (end)

Eh, SS is the route you’re looking for if you want the full story of Byleth’s origins and their connection to Rhea; VW’s endgame exposition dump is more about the true origin of Crests and Relics and general worldbuilding which is why I’d call it the big picture route over CF which kicks one of its major antagonists to an offscreen postgame. I also question why you single out the quasi-feudalism of Faerghus when that’s the established standard for all of FE and for most of the fantasy genre overall. Fire Emblem is notoriously reactionary when it comes to its politics, such that Dimitri’s solo ending suggesting the beginning of a participatory government might be the single most concrete move toward democracy of any lord in the series. Even as tiny a step as that is it’s more than can be said for Edelgard not delivering on her rhetoric of abolishing the nobility and...whatever she plans for the church (since she vacillates on whether she’s fine with the Seiros faith but only takes issue with the church or whether she thinks humanity has no need for gods, and the only CF ending that re-establishes the church has it run by the state which is some prime dystopian stuff). Claude similarly suffers in that his plans remain ongoing at the end of VW and lack any concrete shape beyond opening the borders and forcing people of different nations and cultures to interact and get along - a well-intended idea, but not one that will lead to serious change without a lot of work and oversight. 

Dimitri lacks such grandiose ambitions, and once he’s moved beyond his need for revenge his goals center around alleviating the suffering of the Kingdom and of his loved ones, but on a meta level that’s kind of all he needs to do. One of the reasons that AM’s story structure is more coherent and well-paced than that of the other routes is that it’s extremely well-trod ground for IS: “blue lord takes back invaded homeland from red emperor with the Power of Friendship” is the standard FE plot going back all the way to Marth, and Dimitri’s biggest deviation from that model is the somewhat realistic depiction of his struggles with mental illness. That’s probably why many longtime veterans of the series favor AM, because we know it’s the type of narrative IS excels at and we’re not expecting anything more politically revolutionary. Hell, the proto-democratic ending was as unexpected to me as Dimitri’s strong queer notes...which is why I prefer him over the other two incidentally, not because of his politics which are just fantasy boilerplate of a good king being restored to his throne, and there was much rejoicing, etc. There are gender-based readings of AM that I and others have made, not to mention people who enjoy the homoromantic push and pull of Dedue and Felix on Dimitri and how those relationships develop against one another, and I think it’s telling that those unconventional analyses of Three Houses’s most typical lord and most typical route are still more plausible than all the additional motivation and setup you’d have to throw in to make Dimitri a proper villain, or even just an antagonist for the length of more than one chapter.

[viciousgracearc]

@luxfurem​ sent :  ❛ you saved my life. ❜ minho for jia

PROMPTS & MEMES     /     ALWAYS ACCEPTING

          “I DID,” SHE CONFIRMS, plainly and matter-of-fact. There’s no use in going around it, in presenting it in some other way. He was dying when she found him, back broken on the concrete floor, having fallen from a great height, and bleeding -- bleeding so profusely he painted her hands red. Jia remembers it as though it happened yesterday; how she labored to carry him on her back, how she tore at her own veins with her teeth to feed him her blood in the hopes of hastening his healing. She recalls the panic in her chest, squeezing tight like iron bands, and the silence right after -- bleak and deafening -- interrupted only by the wheezing of his lungs that she miraculously managed to revive. 

          She sat by his bedside during the long days and nights, waiting for him to open his eyes, to say something, anything. It was unlike the Cursed Princess to meddle with other supernatural affairs; her concern lay elsewhere and has never been with the Faceless, but when she saw him tumble down that building ledge, something in her heart cried out in alarm, and before she knew it she was running, running, running down London’s maze of streets, praying to the gods that she wasn’t too late. And they listened, didn’t they? She made it, just barely, arriving in that nick of time it took for him to live or die. A HARBINGER OF DEATH, the legends called her ( Goryeo’s Cursed Princess! ) and yet in that instance, she was a herald of life. 

         Jia exhales an audible breath ( one that she technically has no need for ) and carefully  regards the man she painstakingly coaxed away from the brink of oblivion. “Shall I call your friends?” She asks, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. Perhaps she should have done that from the moment she found him, but she has no idea who to trust, has no idea whose hands were responsible for his near-demise, who he could be in danger from still. “-- or would you prefer me to keep this quiet?” The vampire shrugs, folds her arms across her chest, wanting to appear nonchalant, despite being anything but. “This is your call entirely... Minho.”