#is his corrosion cool or what

[snippity]

pendant of nostalgia

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One of Rock Star Eddie and Baker Steve wrong number AU

Link to Part Two

Eddie's got dubious history with picture messages. Only a very small group of people have his number, considering he's the front man of a multimillion best selling metal band, he doesn't ever want his number to be public knowledge.

So yeah, picture message from and unknown number? Dubious.

Eddie's had enough dick and...vag...pics in his time that he, honestly, doesn't really want another. But when the picture is followed by a message, "were you thinking something like this?"

Well, Eddie's a curious guy. So, committing himself to the idea that this might be new number time, again, he opens the message.

To be confronted with a cake. A really fucking cool cake actually, it's got a car dashing around a muddy track on top with a big '5' in the middle. All of it looks edible, made out of...cake stuff. Eddie has no idea what it is, but it looks delicious.

"One layer chocolate, one layer red velvet? I can do any combination of flavours you want."

Well. Eddie isn't anything but impulsive and he was trying to figure out what the fuck to do for the 'quiet' celebration they were planning for going platinum. Again.

"I think you have the wrong number'" Eddie types, "but I definitely want to order a cake from you."

"Oh my god I'm so sorry, unsolicited cake pics are the worst 😉"

And Eddie can't help it, he laughs, and types back, "if I told you I wanted three tiers of the darkest, spookiest, cherry chocolate what would you come up with?"

It takes a couple of minutes, but Eddie's phone pings twice in quick succession, the first picture is of a spooky orange cake clearly Halloween themed, covered in ghosts and skeletons and stuff. The second is jet black and has a coffin on top that looks like it's leaking green corrosive stuff and Eddie nearly throws his phone in excitement. "That! The second one!"

"🤣 that's an old pic, I was just starting out then, but everything is edible, the green slime is made out of jello"

"Where are you based and can you make it for the 15th? I'll get a courier to collect."

"Sure thing, how many portions? And I need a deposit up front. I'll do chocolate ganache and cherry filling."

"Errr...like, 150? Maybe?"

Eddie sits and watches as the dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, and then there's a pic.

It's a selfie of the most beautiful man he's ever seen. And he's standing in a kitchen, holding a cake pan. Suddenly Eddie's phone is ringing in his hand and he is panicking because beautiful man is calling him. "Hello?"

"Hey, man, it's Steve, the cake guy?". Eddie assumes he makes an affirmative noise because Steve keeps talking, "anyway, that cake pan I'm holding is literally the largest one I own, even if I did three tiers, no way will it cater that many, I'm a small business, you know, it's just me. I can recommend you some companies I know would do a great job."

But then, Eddie will never get to talk to beautiful man ever again, "what if you made like, three cakes?". He asks desperately.

There's a long beat of silence on the phone, "I mean, in theory, I mean, it might cost you more than-"

"I'll pay it. I'll pay double, for, inconvenience, or whatever-"

And oh no, beautiful man has the most beautiful laugh too. Eddie's fucked. He's so fucked.

"I'll raise you, two cakes and fifty muffins?" Steve laughs again, and Eddie laughs right along with him.

Steve grabs his phone when it pings, hoping for Eddie. It is Eddie. It's a selfie from the neck down, like always, Steve still doesn't know what the guy looks like, but Eddie's wearing a deep red shirt that he's clearly just dumped a whole cup of coffee down, "hope your days going better than mine, sweetheart,"

Steve sends back a selfie with a lump of uncooperative modelling fondant in the background, "that depends, can you tell what this is supposed to be?"

Steve's pretty sure it's wierd to talk to a customer every day, but he's started to find he's looking forward to Eddie's messages. Even when they turn flirty. Especially when they turn flirty, maybe.

And maybe it's not exactly professional that Steve's found a lot of reasons to call Eddie. He just, needs to get this right, and if Eddie wants chocolate covered cherries on the cupcakes, well, Steve needs to call him and check, right? Right.

Steve heads out into the lounge with flour on his nose and a mixing bowl under his arm, Dustin, Lucas and Max are sprawled on the couch, El lying on the floor. He can hear Mike and Will fucking around outside. He spoons up some cherry mixture, "hey will you try-"

"Shhhhhhhh!"

Well. Rude. Steve looks to the interview they're watching on the TV. It's some metal band Steve vaguely recognises, and when the lead guy speaks...Steve has to sit down. Because that sounds a lot like-

"So, Eddie," the show host guy starts, and Steve's knees would go weak of he wasn't already sitting down. He's certain his stomach has left the building. "Seeing anyone?"

Eddie laughs, says no, but the band mate next to him makes a show of nudging Eddie and sharing a look.

The host picks up on it immediately, "so there is someone," Eddie's still shaking his head, but he's got a shy smile on his face that makes Steve feel like he's melting. "Come on Eddie, give us something."

"It's not a thing," Eddie flaps his hands, "don't make it a thing."

"Oh it's a thing alright," the audience laugh, "come on, give us something!"

Eddie looks uncomfortable for a second before shrugging, "they, uhm, they make the most amazing cakes you've ever seen."

[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit? Part 2

“For me?” The annoying red-clad giant of a man who was all sunshine and diabetes-inducing puppies bounced around. He played with the communicator Batman handed to him as if it were a shiny new toy.

“I can’t believe I’m in the Justice League!” The Herculean man-child squealed, grinning like an imbecile. “Somebody, kick me. Show me I’m not dreaming!” 

Guy Gardner was too happy to oblige. 

“My pleasure.”

His signature kick - a brutal, no-holds-barred move - would send a seasoned fighter flying across the floor. Guy delivered one of his specialties to Captain Whitebread.

Crack!

“My leg!” 

Agony ripped from his foot, up his leg, as he felt his bones shatter upon impact with that brick wall of a man.

“I broke my leg!” He hopped to the nearest seat, clutching his foot, hoping to earn sympathy points with Ice. 

The cold beauty looked away.

Instead, the Big Red Cheese hovered towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” The overgrown baby - who was made of concrete - had the audacity to offer him a hand. 

“Can I help you?”

“Nah, Guy’s just being Guy,” Hal pulled Justice League’s newest recruit away. “You must see our recreation rooms!”

Superman, one of the Big Three, intercepted them. 

“Wait, Cap,” he dangled a set of keys in front of Captain Whitebread. 

“You get the room beside mine,” Superman grinned as the big blue boy scout wrapped his arm around the cheesy red boy scout. 

He behaved as if Cap was his twin brother. “I’ll show you your private quarters!”

Guy’s jaw dropped as he turned as green as his ring.

While every member of the Justice League had a private room in the Watchtower, a cluster of four rooms were considered prime estate. Three of the four prestigious rooms were taken by the Big Three - Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. 

Captain Whitebread gets the fourth? 

It is as good as telling the hero community that the dolt is one of the Big Four.

Guy knew he deserved that honour far more than that joke of a hero.

 *

“Holy Moley!” Captain Marvel’s gawked at his private quarters. “Is this for me?”

“All yours,” Superman grinned, spreading out his arms. 

His fellow Kryptonian’s childlike wonder was a welcome change from the jaded cynicism, or even worse, the self-important grandeur of some heroes.

“Can this room handle lightning strikes?” Captain Marvel ran his hand over a wall.

“Well,” Superman rock on the back of his heels. 

“We are in space, so there is no lightning out here. But it can withstand intense heat, radiation, corrosive environments and physical stress, so I’d imagine it can handle a regular thunderstorm.”

Marvel frowned, in thought. “Can it handle over a billion volts at more than 30,000 degrees Celsius?”

“I’m not sure if anything can handle that,” Superman replied.

“May not be an issue if….” Captain Marvel’s face lit up with a dazzling grin. 

“Never mind. I know what to do.” He chuckled. 

“Wisdom of Solomon,” he tapped his head.

Cap’s eyes bugged out at the fully stocked mini-fridge and pantry. He picked up a can of beer. “I’m sure you must be a certain age to drink these,” he frowned.

Superman wasn’t a fan of alcohol either. It had no effect on his Kryptonian physiology. He didn’t fancy the taste. 

“I don’t like beer or alcohol either. It might be a Kryptonian thing,” he beamed, more certain than ever that he was no longer the last of his kind. “I had mine swapped for milk,” he grinned. “I can arrange that for you too.”

“That would be cool!” Cap looked delighted. “Can I have chocolate milk?”

Cap behaved like a kid let loose in a toy shop as Superman showed him the room’s features.

“The bed and walls are reinforced, but cannot withstand our strength, if you toss and turn in your sleep,” Superman warned. “Do you sleepwalk?”

“No,” Cap pursed his lips. “I’ll power down before bed so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Power down? Does Marvel have portable red sun lamps? 

That’s a brilliant idea he could adopt.”

For the rest of the morning, Superman had the pleasure of showing his new brother the rest of the Watchtower.

“Superman, this place is awesome!” Cap remarked

“Call me Kal,” Superman replied. 

“Okay Kal. You were saying you have Polar Bears in your Fortress of Solitude. Can I play with them?” Marvel pleaded with large, puppy eyes.

“Sure, Will-em,” Kal replied. 

Cap cringed. “I rather you call me Billy. William sounds so… old.”

“Bill, then?” Kal asked.

“Bill is good,” Billy replied.

Marvel prefers his civilian Earth name. 

He probably was raised on Earth too.

So civilian Earth name it is.

“Then call me Clark.”

Bill preferred flying to using the zeta tubes. He had a point. One can never tire of the magnificent view, flying on your power from the space station to earth.

“You keep your key where everyone can see?” Bill’s eyes widened at the large golden key outside Superman’s ice fortress.

“It’s made of dwarf star material and weighs millions of tons,” Clark smirked. “It’s not like anyone can pick it up and let themselves in.” He fitted the massive key into the keyhole.

“I bet I can,” Bill smirked. 

“Kryptonians can,” Clark replied. “But we’re almost extinct.” He handed the key to Marvel, who returned it to its place where it doubled up as an aircraft navigation marker.

“Holy Moley!” Bill’s jaw dropped lower as they walked into the fortress. “Are those your parents?” He pointed up at the statues Kal had created in memory of his birth parents.

“Yes. Jor-el and Lara Lor-Van,” Clark replied. “I was a baby when they sent me away. I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Oh,” Bill squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Clark assured him. “Ma and Pa Kent took me in when I landed on earth as a baby. They raised me as their own son.”

“That’s cool. I don’t have parents. I lost mine when I was five,” Bill’s eyes glistened with tears. 

“I can still remember them, though the memories are getting fuzzy.”He dropped his smile.

“You can always visit me and my family at the farm,” Superman patted his back.

“Farm?” Cap’s eyes widened. “You grew up in a farm?”

“Raised there. My folks live there,” he chuckled as he led Bill through the fortress' many chambers. “Talking about families, there’s a polar bear family I want you to meet.”

He opened a door that led into a natural cave just outside the Fortress of Solitude.

“My neighbours,” Clark gestured at a family of polar bears. 

The father and mother bears nodded at the men and chuffed their greeting.

Bill chuffed back. 

Then he whimpered like a playful bear cub.

Curious cubs approached Cap with their heads up and ears forward.

The biggest baby bear swatted the air in a playful mock attack. 

Captain Marvel pawed back as younger cubs rolled around. 

Their mother walked slowly towards Cap, and sniffed at him. 

The babies followed suit. 

Between the cuffs, whines and whimpers, the bears seemed to be having some sort of conversation with the man.

“Do you understand what they are saying?” Clark walked up to them, getting a growl in response.

“Oh sorry,” Bill replied. “I keep forgetting we aren’t speaking English.”

“Huh?” Clark frowned. Confused.

“Sasha here was telling me about your noisy machines driving their fish away,” Bill added. “She asks you to be a good neighbour and keep the noise down.”

Apparently, the mother bear was Sasha, the father bear was Phil.

“I’m hardly here,” Clark replied.

Bill chuffed at the mother bear, getting a series of growls in return.

“She says, you may not be here, but your machines still make too much noise. These two days, the sounds are more frequent and worse,” Bill explained.

Sasha chuffed some more.

“Then there are the newcomers in shiny suits that came through this week,” translated Bill.

“That’s not possible,” Clark had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

Phil roared. 

Sasha herded the cubs away.

“They are coming again. The bears smell them,” Clark translated for Bill. 

“Sasha is asking you to tell your guests to be more considerate.”

“What guests?” 

A sudden pain stabbed through Clark’s entire body. 

Kryptonite.

He searched for the source, but his super-vision failed him. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard.

“Are you okay, Clark,” Bill caught him before he hit the ground.

“Kryptonite,” his vision turned blurry as an armoured figure bearing a large chunk of Kryptonite stalked past the bears, towards him.

“I got this.” 

Bill’s voice was the last thing Clark heard before he blacked out.

*

“Batman! Superman’s poisoned!” Captain Marvel strode into the Watchtower carrying a limp, green-faced Superman.

“What happened?” Batman led Marvel to The Infirmary.

“Kryptonite bomb exploded in our faces,” Marvel grimaced. “Shards of Green K pierced his skin. I removed as much as I could but I don’t have X-ray vision, but I think he breathed particles of Kryptonite, so can you check his lungs?”

“Hmmph,” Batman scrutinised Marvel. “Why aren’t you affected?”

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me,” Marvel replied. “We were attacked in the Arctic. Who do I hand the culprits over to?”

“Bring them here for interrogation,” Batman replied. If these guys infiltrated Superman’s fortress, he wanted to find out more. “Local authorities don’t have the facilities or security to store technology that is advanced enough to take down Superman. Bring everything here for safekeeping.”

“Yes, sir!” Marvel did a chipper salute and disappeared in a red blur.

So, Captain Marvel is immune to Kryptonite. He doesn’t have X-ray vision either. The man is clearly not a Kryptonian.

As he applied the ultrasonic vibratory device to Superman’s chest to loosen the kryptonite particles in his lungs, Batman pondered on the new information that Marvel had revealed about himself.  

Marvel may not be a Kryptonian, but he could be a Daxamite. 

These are descendants of Kryptonians who left Krypton to explore space. They have the same powers as Kryptonians but do not have x-ray vision. 

Although they are not affected by Kryptonite, Daxamites have a fatal sensitivity to lead.

Batman set up the portable lung lavage system to wash out Superman’s lungs. 

Then he headed to his private quarters where he kept his contingencies against every member of the Justice League.

He removed the Kryptonite from Marvel’s box and replaced it with lead bullets. 

[tiredfox64]

hallo Hallo! I would like to make an request of female reader and Syzoth c:

So,I’ve seen and read many fanfic where the reader is clueless thus doesn’t understand the nature of the Zatteran. Which pisses me off. Let’s change that,Shall we? :3

An female who has bearded dragon pet thus *completely* understands the Zatteran’s nature. In what he eats,how he behaves,the shedding,mating season and such. Syzoth’s greatful for finding someone who gets him and they’re one perfect power couple >:D 💪🏻 I would like mostly be fluff. But if you wanna slip in some smut of mating season,Go ahead. ;3

Small reminder; you’re amazing and don’t forget to drink water to stay hydrated! <3

How to Care for a Zatteran

Yip notes: No YOU’RE AMAZING. You are speaking my language. I’d be happy to give my man what he needs.

Pairing: Syzoth x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, biting, you get two for the price of one ayyyyyyy (what do you think I mean?)

Syzoth believed being in Earthrealm would be difficult for him. It is not a realm that has large lizards walking around. According to Johnny and Kenshi, if people did see a large lizard walking around there would be an uproar of conspiracy theories. The government might hunt him down thinking he was an alien that escaped Area 51.

No wonder Syzoth wasn’t too keen on getting to know other humans…except for you. You are like the sun to him. You are needed in his life. If you are not with him then what is left in his life? You get him on so many levels.

You have a great understanding of reptile behavior. You grew up with a love for all kinds of reptiles from colorful geckos to strong snakes and even tortoises that had to wear balloons to allow you to keep an eye on them. You sure know your stuff. You knew what was best for them when it came to environment and diet. That means you knew what was best for Syzoth.

If Johnny didn’t ask you to bring him crickets for Syzoth when he invited him to his mansion you wouldn’t have met your reptilian boyfriend. Because Syzoth couldn’t stand human food the only other option that Johnny could think of was bugs. He knew you had an abundance of bugs to feed your pet bearded dragon, Blondi. And boy was Syzoth happy to see you come towards him with a handful of dead crickets. His tail came out and curled up as his split tongue scooped up the crickets. You were amazed by his tail, not a hint of fear in your voice as you squealed about how cool it was. He was so excited by your enthusiasm that he presented his true form. The rest was history.

You adored him in both forms. He was a handsome human and a cute-faced giant lizard. He was glad to find someone who didn’t see him as a monster or even a freak for who he truly was. Though your bearded dragon was not a big fan of him. The first time Syzoth walked into your home, Blondi was tapping on the glass trying to pick a fight with him. He was bobbing his head like a rockstar, trying to tell your boyfriend that this was his territory. He didn’t back down when Syzoth went into his natural form. Your little guy was ready to put up a fight for you. Or he was ready to fight for his food. He can sense Syzoth is just as hungry as he is.

You did have delicious bugs in your home at all times. Crickets, mealworms, grasshoppers, hornworms, and more. You made him feel better about eating bugs in front of you once you told him that humans also eat bugs. He didn’t believe you at first since everyone he has come across has given him weird looks but you reassured him that it was true. Many cultures eat bugs and there are even some candies that have bugs inside of them. You brought out a bag of chapulines that were coated in lemon juice, chili, and garlic. He watched as you took some from the bag and popped them into your mouth. He got curious and wanted to try some for himself. It was fine for him to try since he isn’t a regular bearded dragon and he has a stomach full of corrosive acid. The chili would not end his existence.

He loved the chapulines so much that you started putting them in the salads you would make him. Syzoth wasn’t used to eating greens that often but seeing how Blondi ate it up he thought it would be good for him. After taking his first bite of that fresh mixture of cabbage, kale, zucchini, and bell peppers he was eating it up quickly. He startled Blondi who was trying to eat his mixture of bugs and vegetables on the same table. Geez and you thought Blondi was a messy eater. Syzoth was messier but at least he licked up his mess.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use a fork?” You asked as you scooted a fork closer to him.

His head popped up from the bowl with his tongue still wrapped around a bunch of cabbage and kale. His eyes looked between the fork and the bowl. His hand slowly crept towards the fork and swiped it off the table before diving his head back into the bowl. The loud sound of crunching continued until he was finished.

The love went beyond a good diet. You made shedding season easier on him.

Shedding in his natural form is never pleasant. It’s unpleasant for every reptile. So you did your best to ease his discomfort and complete the process faster. You went out and bought a kiddie pool that was just big enough to fit his giant lizard self. You bought a bunch of bottles of shedding aid to hydrate his skin and get the old skin off. A nice spray of mist from your garden hose and he was in heaven. The old skin didn’t feel so tight on him anymore. Syzoth was grateful for everything you did for him. You must have spent a lot on the shedding aid to ensure it would work on him.

It was all worth it once you saw how he relaxed. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly opened, showing off his sharp teeth. He was able to rid himself of old skin before deciding to eat it. What? He doesn’t want to leave a mess for you to clean up.

The only issue Syzoth has is with Blondi. He tried being nice and showing that he meant no harm. He waved so many times yet Blondi kept bobbing his head and tapping against his glass enclosure. He did not like sharing you with Syzoth. It would result in Blondi running towards Syzoth to give him a good fight. You would have to swoop him up and go into another room so you could peacefully handle your little guy.

Once you were done with one lizard you had to go to the other. Syzoth needed handling too even though he was larger than you. He liked resting his body against yours, using your chest as a pillow for him. Sometimes he would be in his human form and others he would be in his natural form. You preferred the human form just because it didn’t feel like he was crushing you. You took it like a champ in the end. You would run your hand from his neck and down his back. He wouldn’t let you go even when you begged him to.

Now that’s all fun and stuff, having basically another pet lizard who is also a person who you could talk to. Syzoth is loyal to you and adores you. The fact that you understood what he needed as a Zatteran brought him closer to you. You’re the only one who understands him. You understood him better than his own people did.

Tell me, lizard girl, what do you think happens when a man gets really invested in a woman? That’s right! He wants to mate!

You saw this coming from a mile away you can’t lie. It didn’t matter if his habits were more human or lizard he was still getting riled up by you. What man wouldn’t want a kind and caring woman who feeds him well and shows him unconditional love? It was only natural that Syzoth wanted to show you his love. He wanted to give you his children and protect you till his very last breath. But he understands that humans don’t work the same way. Your “mating rituals” are more complex while his could be seen as too animalistic even for you.

Is that gonna stop his natural instincts from kicking in? Fuck no. Nature is an unstoppable force and when it’s go time, it’s freaking go time.

You noticed the change in Syzoth. He was putting in a lot of effort to let you know he was attracted to you even though you knew that beforehand. The pheromones he produced in his natural form would not work on you so you had to go off of visual clues. While in his human form, he bobbed his head a lot and stomped the ground, causing things to shake. It caught your attention and you would stare at him while wondering if that was necessary. His green eyes would stare at you, waiting to see if you would run away or move into a certain position.

“It’s mating season already? Gosh, I should check on Blondi.” You teased Syzoth, acting like you wouldn’t help him before you got up from the couch.

Because you walked away, he took that as you playing hard to get. He gave chase. You were barely down the hallway before you felt his arm wrap around your waist. He put all his weight against your body, causing you to go down. He wasn’t forcing you down on the ground but he was aware that he was using his size to his advantage. You didn’t think he could hold this primal aggression inside of him.

Your chest was pressed against the floor as you felt him grind against you. He whined before saying,

“Now…now…I want you now.”

Syzoth sounded so desperate you wondered if it’s been a long time since he last mated with a woman. That might be why he was more aggressive than you imagined.

“Alright…we can do it now. Do you want to go-“

You were going to ask if he wanted to move this to your bedroom but he was already tearing off your clothes. He didn’t need all of them off he just needed yours and his pants off. He was back to pressing his body against you and you could feel his cock…cocks? Well, guess that answers that question you’ve had in the back of your mind.

One of his cocks pressed against your wet folds while the other rubbed against your clit. Your anatomies aren’t correct but he will make this work. He began pushing his cock inside of you, stretching you out with its thick size. You let out a gasp as your nails clawed at the hardwood floors. Syzoth saw your reaction and thought you might pull away. He decided to pull your shirt to the side and bite down on your shoulder to prevent you from running away. You let out a pained moan as you felt his teeth sink into your flesh. It wasn’t enough to break your skin but it would keep you in place.

His rhythm was constant yet primal. He never took a moment to cool down or take a breather. He kept going in and out as his other cock rubbed your clit. Precum dripped from the tip which landed on the floor. His saliva dripped down your shoulder as his hot breath heated your skin. He let out grunts and groans as he continued fucking you. You were so glad you didn’t have neighbors nearby because you could not handle the noise you were producing.

You knew Syzoth was no regular man but he still managed to blow your mind…and your back out. You didn’t realize that you were drooling and continuously scratching the floor. Your brain was mush from how good Syzoth was making you feel. You could never receive this love from any ordinary man. The only one who could make you a drooling mess and get your full permission to breed you is Syzoth.

His breath grew hotter and quicker. His thrusts grew sloppier. You knew he was close and so were you. You decided to give him a helping hand, literally, and used one of your hands to stroke his other cock. You felt him twitch and groan more before he started going rougher. He was fucking into you while also fucking your hand. He made you cum with him when his last thrust hit your g-spot and you both came. This hot wave ripped through you as your shoulder burned with pain. Syzoth tightened his hold on your waist to keep you in place as he came inside of you. It sure was a lot of cum based on the fact that your hand was covered in it. It still managed to make a mess of the floor.

You both were panting and sweating like you just finished a fight. Syzoth finally let go of your shoulder and licked the teeth marks to soothe your pain.

“You just couldn’t wait, could you?” You teased him.

“You knew what would happen once you walked away. You know me so well, I would think you would be smart enough to not play hard to get.” He teased back.

“I was messing with you, but it seems like that charade didn't last long.”

You both laughed before you tried to get up. Syzoth didn’t allow that. He kept all his weight on you while his arms were still wrapped around your waist. He didn’t pull out.

“Uh…I thought you were supposed to let me go right after we finished.”

“My love, I am more than just an animal. I still need attention. We will stay in this position for a long time.” He snuggled up to you with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Could we at least move this cuddle session to my bedroom?”

“No! Blondi shouldn’t know about this.”

Syzoth, what the fuck is the little lizard gonna do? The lizard doesn’t even understand the concept of dating.

Yap notes: I'm losing motivation again. I'm puffin.

[quietstormxr]

You'll Survive

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Angst/Violence

Again breaking my heart here, just Garrick this time, as requested.

Summary: Garrick leaves for War Games and you are determined to forget him.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/n: Mentions of Tourture/some swearing, some Iron Flames spoilers

Should we have our angry bad ass girl give Garrick an ass kicking in a part 2?

The anger turned in to absolute despair. How could things have gotten so bad? The last words you exchanged with him were in anger and now you’d never be able to take them back. You’d never know if you really meant anything to him or not. At the same time, you couldn’t decide if you cared or not.

The anger that rotted in your core the entire time you were away was rooted farther than anything you’d ever felt before. He wouldn’t fight for you to join him, but there was Imogen, looking at you with a smug look on her face. You couldn’t help the way your face hardened, and a steely glare settled across your features.

You had seen the way she looked at him when you weren’t around and knew there had to be something there. Whether or not he still felt something, you were unsure. But the minute he turned his back to you and walked towards Imogen for War Games, you felt there was more there than he ever led on. 

You thought back to the last words that you exchanged and couldn’t help the regret that filled every part of your body. 

“So that’s it, huh?” You breathe as Garrick walks towards you. “You won’t even try to convince Xaden to take me?”

“You’re a first year, there’s no reason for you to be with the Wingleader’s headquarters squad.” He said back a calm determination on his face.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Especially given the fact that he’s taking two other first years.” You snapped back viciously. 

“You’re to go with the rest of your squad. You’ll survive without me for a few days.” He says nonchalantly.

After that statement, you couldn’t control the raging inferno that coated your veins and made a home in your stomach. Hot and corrosive, you couldn’t help the way you wanted to punch him straight in the face.

“I see.” You say as you look past Garrick at Imogen still smirking at you smugly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your trip with your girl, because it certainly isn’t me.” You spit as you turn sharply and mount your dragon. 

‘Let’s go Diomat.’ You demand as you refuse to look back down at the infuriating man before you.

‘With pleasure, Bold One.’ Diomat confirms and immediately lifts into the air, but not before issuing a warning growl to your Section Leader.

You refuse to look back and see what emotion Garrick could possibly have on his face. Was he even hurt at what you said or was he smirking that you would ever dare to think he’d want you?

You fly for Eltuval and let the cold wind try to cool the flames that seem to lick underneath your skin. You refuse to let that man be the reason you lose your focus. You let the anger simmer in the hours it takes for you to get to your outpost. 

As soon as you feel Diomat begin her descent, you take a deep breath closing your eyes and try to let the anger filter out of your body. You walk forward to the outpost and listen to the directions of your squad leader and senior leadership. 

Everything seemed to be going according to leaderships plan, until you find yourself slightly farther from the outpost than you anticipated. You’re unsure why, but you were sent to the northwestern most part of region your squad was to be patrolling. You hear a roar that sounds like a dragon and you turn in your seat and look, only to see what appears to be a grey dragon. 

You furrow your brow in confusion as you notice it only has two legs and then watch as it spits blue fire. 

‘Diomat, is there another dragon breed we aren’t taught about?’ You ask with fear starting to lace your mental voice.

‘That is no dragon.’ Diomat replies fiercely.

‘Well, are you going to tell me what it is if it isn’t a dragon?’

‘I believe your leadership may have forced us into a situation we weren’t expecting.’ Diomat snarls. ‘Those abominations are wyvern. I believe you know the stories about them and their creators.’

Your eyes widen and dart between your dragon and the grey wyvern that is flying into the neighboring Poromish town.

‘Wh-Wha-What?’ Even your thoughts begin to stammer as you try to puzzle the pieces together. ‘Why would they send us out here if they knew about this? What are we supposed to do Diomat?’

Your thoughs are a jumble and you can’t seem to process anything. Within the few seconds that were spent hovering in the air to examine the creature, it has now set its sights on you.

“SHIT!” You say as the large grey mass starts barreling towards you at untenable speeds. 

‘Hold on.’ Diomat commands as she begins climbing above the cover of the trees.

‘Is there a way to kill this thing?’ You question in a panic, hoping beyond hope that there’s a solution to this.

‘Do you still have the dagger the Section Leader gave to you?’

You furrow your brows while you pull the runed dagger from the sheath at your calf. You pull it out and your eyes blow wide. Where there was just a normal dagger before, now the hilt is glowing a soft blue color and you can feel the magic thrum through your fingers. 

‘This can kill them?’ 

‘Yes, do you remember what venin look like? Can you transform into what you remember from the descriptions of your book? If so, you may be able to drop down and kill it.’ Diomat explains as we continue to dip, dive, and weave through heavy tree coverage.

‘You want me to get on the back of the wyvern?!?’ You ask incredulously at the plan your dragon has just drawn in your mind.

‘Yes, because you are more than capable of doing this. You are a powerful rider. My rider. And I know that you can do this.’ Diomat says with a tone of absolute conviction.

If only your mind was as certain in your abilities as Diomat’s mind is. 

‘You will need to aim for the chest that should be the weakest part.’ Diomat confirms before you notice her slowing down. 

You turn your head and watch as blue flames continue to blow directly behind your dragon gaining on you second by second. Diomat begins to dip down even further while you begin to float through the memories of the stories of the venin. 

You remember the billowing robes, the red veins, the color of their eyes reflecting their bloodlust for power and finally the veins that mar their tarnished skin. You settle on a full picture in the art gallery in your mind and take a deep breath reaching for Diomat’s power. When you look down at yourself next, your clothes are no longer riding leathers, but a purple robe that looks tattered and moth eaten. You continue to look down at your hands and can’t help the panic that flares to life in your chest when you see the red veins coating every inch of your fingers. 

‘You are still you, Bold One. I would not let you tarnish yourself.’ Diomat consoles as you feel pride radiating from your bond.

‘Okay, Diomat. Let’s take down this thing.’ You think back closing away all the insecurities plaguing your mind. 

Soon enough Diomat is slowing down but lifting you both to the clouds. As you burst through the tree line, you watch as the wyvern continues flying towards where it thought you still were. Slowly you begin to descend and rise from the seat of your dragon and walk towards her front left leg. 

‘This is why I have not been going easy on you, Bold One. I will not leave my rider unprepared, even if the Section Leader wanted to keep this from you.’

As Diomat begins to descend, you look up to the sky and pray to Zinhal that this plan will work. After that one thought, you close your eyes for just a second and let yourself free fall. 

You land with a smack onto a rough grey surface, and you lock every muscle in your body tight. 

Is this why Garrick was always disappearing for hours on end?

You shake your head trying to waft off any other thoughts of the Section Leader when you are trying to kill the beast below you. You cautiously make your way up to the neck scales, until you look up and realize, those aren’t scales, they are feather razors.

You crouch down next to the neck and plunge the dagger you have down as hard as you possibly can. Not expecting the bounce back, you end up being bucked against the razor mane on the neck of the wyvern as the beast bucks and writhes trying to dislodge your dagger. 

You pull yourself forward and wrap both hands around the blade and jump in front of its wing. 

‘Catch me Diomat.’ You think as you feel yourself falling while your dagger peels through the rough skin of the wyvern. 

Your dagger finally breaks free, and you are free falling towards the line of trees.

‘DIOMAT!’

‘Coming, Bold One!’ You hear Diomat’s voice break causing you to let fear take over as you fall faster and faster. 

Your pull on your power lessens and you watch as the robes become your leathers again. You try to bring your leg up and sheath the dagger back at your calf. The next thing you feel is your head hitting branches and your vision swims momentarily. You feel your emotions tugging at you that this is the end, and you will meet Malek today.

‘No, you are destined for great things, Y/N. You will not die today.’ Diomat says authoritatively. 

As if on command at that statement, you finally feel yourself crash into bumpy scales. It takes all the effort you can muster to grab for Diomat’s pommel to stop your own acceleration. You can feel your arms protesting the amount of strength it’s taking to say on while your back screams from the lashes of the wyverns razored feathers. 

Diomat continues to try and stop both your acceleration and keep pace back towards the outpost. You grunt in response to the effort and try to pull yourself back into the seat. Everything in your body is telling you to give in to the sweet call of sleep, but you know you need to wait until you get back to the outpost. 

As you fly closer to Eltuval, you can’t help but feel like something is wrong. You look around at the field where your squad’s dragons had been landing the last four days and see them all gone. 

‘Where did the squad go?’

‘Nokass just confirmed that all Basgiath squads have headed back to the Citadel.’

At that you perk up and your body goes rigid. Did they set you up and leave you to die? Didn’t anyone else see what had happened?

‘Did Nokass give us any orders?’

‘We are to land and debrief with the cadre here. Besides Bold One, you need to have your wounds tended to.’ Diomat says with a hint of trepidation in her voice.

‘Should I tell them about the wyvern?’

‘No. Tell them you fell off when we were accelerating while practicing flight maneuvers.’

You send your understanding back through the bond and dismount Diomat. You don’t make it far before you are escorted by two lieutenants that met you at the flight field. You enter the infirmary there and lay down. 

Soon enough your wounds are tended to, and the mender confirms you need to rest. You fall into a fitful sleep that focuses on wyvern, venin, and a certain dark-haired Section Leader that seems to have been keeping more from you than you ever realized. 

You wake in a sweat and look around confused before realizing where you are. It’s another two days before you are given clearance to leave, which luckily the senior cadre of the outpost seemed to have bought the story that Diomat told you to spin. 

You are given orders to return to Basgiath and a note confirming the reason for your absence. 

Hours later, you are flying on Diomat with the wind battering your new scars and broken thoughts. How much had he been hiding from you this entire time? What did he really know? Were you just a little plaything for him?

As you watch the sun rise, you set your jaw and take a deep breath. You know at this point there is no need in worrying. Graduation is done, and he has most likely been sent to his outpost. You try to let yourself settle at the realization that you’ll never see him again.

When you land in the flight field, you are surprised to see a green dragon seemingly just returning from a flight with their rider. You look over and realize who it is. 

Bodhi. 

As you draw closer with Diomat, you watch as he turns his head and looks back before whipping it back around with wide surprised eyes. 

‘Apparently there was miscommunication. Your squad and the Section Leader were told your name was reported for the death rolls.’ Diomat relays with irritation.

Your eyebrows fly up and eyes widen in surprise. Did none of Basgiath cadre know that you’d been in the infirmary at Eltuval? Why would you have been reported for the death rolls before confirmation would’ve been sent from the outpost? 

You clutch harder to the orders that you were given as you dismount. You trip forward slightly as your blood rushes back into your legs, your body protesting every movement as everything is still tight from your body needing additional recovery.  You slowly stand to your feet and as you look up you are met by surprised brown eyes.

“Wha – How?” You watch as Bodhi sputters. “We were told you were dead. Your name was to be read on the death rolls tomorrow.”

You look at him with a dead panned expression and say in a flat voice. “Well obviously someone got their information wrong.”

You go to turn and walk away, ready to dispel the myths about your apparent demise before you feel Bodhi’s hand on your elbow.

“You need to write to Garrick. He’s an absolute mess.” He says and you can see the sorrow reflected in his gaze for his brother.

“I don’t need to do anything.” You say back coldly, the lies and the way he didn’t fight for you taking forefront in your mind. 

“And you won’t be telling him either.” You warn. “He made his choices. Those things don’t change just because I happen to be alive.”

You watch as a grimace crosses Bodhi’s face clearly remembering the way that you departed for War Games. 

“Besides,” you whisper as you step into Bodhi’s space bringing your mouth to his ear. “I was too busy fighting off and killing a wyvern to worry about writing.”

You relish the way Bodhi’s eyes flash with realization that not only did Garrick leave you behind, but you also now know what he was trying to keep hidden. 

“How about this.” You pull back and add with a challenging tone. “How about you and the rest of your marked friends keep my secret and I’ll keep yours? Hmm.”

You watch as Bodhi seems to weigh his options before nodding in defeat, his head falling forward. 

“Good. Pleasure doing business with you Durran.” You purr venomously. 

You fully turn now and walk purposefully towards the Commandant’s office looking to clear yourself. You will not let Garrick’s feelings over your supposed death completely erase the way he left you behind and apparently never trusted you in the first place.

As you stride through the halls of the Rider’s Quadrant, you begin to relish the looks of shock from everyone around you. You briefly wonder if you’re the only person who was seemingly resurrected after War Games, but the thought is fleeting when you feel a body run straight into you, tearing the breath out of you.

“Gods. How are you alive? Where have you been?” You look up to realize that you’ve been engulfed in a hug by your best friend and squad mate and crack the first smile you’ve had in days.

“Let’s just say the front gave Diomat and I some personal surprises on our patrol. Ones that landed me in Eltuval’s Infirmary for two days after you all left.” You say while trying to evade the full answer to the question. 

“I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to kill you.” His answer causes a laugh to bubble out of you involuntarily.

“Come on, I have to go deliver this to Pancheck before everyone really thinks I’m dead.” You pull him along and head towards the Commandant’s headquarters.

Weeks pass and you get back to normal or whatever can possibly pass as your new normal. You can’t help the way you notice those that were in Resson are being targeted for what you assume is the same knowledge you now have. However, for whatever reason the cadre seems to have bought your story, at least for now. 

You’ve also been avoiding the dirty looks Imogen gives you any time you happen to be in the same room. Why the hell can’t she just leave you alone? She got what she wanted, so you can’t understand what her issue is. Though luckily for you, your deal with Bodhi makes sure you don’t have to worry about her little obsession worrying over you. 

You’ve avoided Violet like the absolute plague ever since returning and was lucky enough to be shuffled into a squad with no marked ones after the disaster that was parapet. 

You’ve heard people talking about Riorson coming back to Basgiath, but you’ve so far been lucky to avoid him. Until one day in the rotunda you’re walking to your next class and you’re unfortunate enough to see him standing not far away talking to Bodhi. 

You watch as he looks up and directly at you and then whip his heads around again towards you before blinking several times and rubbing his eyes. Fortunately for you, practicing with your signet has you ready for this unfortunate meeting. As soon as you see him, you immediately change your hair and eye color, along with angling out your features more. 

You look towards your squad mate to your right and smirk as his features slacken slightly at your change in appearance.

“Stop gawking or Riorson is going to get suspicious.” You tell him lowly. 

He shakes his head and moves his eyes to back in front of you. You both continue to walk on your way to your next class and enter the door taking a seat.

“Since when can you do that?” He asks now looking at you with open fascination.

“Since about right before we left for War Games last year. Diomat and I practiced while everyone else was too busy getting drunk before the Reunification Day party. Just haven’t had the reason to show off my skills.” You recount. 

“I can change pretty much my entire appearance.” You relay as you begin to smirk again and completely transform yourself into looking like your friend in front of you.

“Well godsdamn. I look absolutely fabulous.” He quips. 

With that you break down and start laughing uncontrollably. With that loss of fine control, you morph back into your own form. You watch as suddenly his face turns serious.

“Have you really not written or heard from Tavis?” He asks a hint of trepidation at the topic hitting his voice.

“No.” You sigh before replying. “I convinced Durran that he had to keep the secret of my existence to himself and the rest of his marked friends here in exchange for a favor to them as well. So, my secret is safe with me, which is why I didn’t want Riorson to see me. He’s unaware of his cousin’s deal.”

Your friend shakes his head in comprehension and you both face forward as the professor comes into the class. 

Weeks continue to fly by in a whir of classes and idiotic RSC challenges. At this point, you don’t even know what the class is even worth. They aren’t truly giving anyone the whole story and battle brief continues to be a joke. 

You have started training with Diomat after classes hoping to get better at flight maneuvers so that you’re truly prepared for the upcoming war. It’s after a grueling training session with her that you are taken by surprise while walking back to your room. 

Before you can react to protect yourself, you feel something blunt slam into the back of your head and your vision swims before you fall to a heap on the ground. 

As you slowly wake up, you can’t seem to stop the incessant pounding in your head. Your head rolls back and forth as you try to shake off the haze. When your eyes open, you are met with a dirt ceiling that looks like it has been carved in the underground. 

You try to move your arms and feel the sharp bite of iron around your wrists and biceps. You sit up straight just to find yourself strapped to a wooden chair. You shake your head again and look around searching for your squad mates like you would normally find for the special torture that is RSC.

Unfortunately for you, there isn’t anyone else here. You hear footsteps from outside the door and draw in a quick breath stealing yourself for whatever horror is coming your way.

As the door opens you smell the sour stench of body odor and hair oil that permeates the air. As you take in the man before you confusion knits your brow. 

Why would Varrish be here? You hadn’t done anything to draw attention to yourself since returning from War Games. Did Bodhi or one of the marked ones sell you out?

You have little more time to think about what is happening before you feel a hand connect with your cheek. You let out a grunt as your head whips to the side and pain bursts across your mouth. 

“Seems fitting after all of your lies to be sitting in this chair, doesn’t it?” He croons as he slowly walks around the chair you are strapped to. 

“I don’t know what lies you speak of Vice Commandant.” You spit. The last thing you will do is break to this disgusting husk of a man. 

“Oh, I believe you do.” He sneers. “You and Sorrengail will be instrumental in getting Riorson and Tavis to spill everything they know.”

You can’t help the sarcastic huff that leaves you. The bitter taste of anger and betrayal still whirring inside you.

“You’ll find that you are wrong about Tavis.” You protest vehemently. “His affections lie elsewhere. You are wasting your time with me.”

A sickening sneer of a smile crosses Varrish’s face and you know that nothing you will say will change his mind.

“Oh, I’m aware he may think you’re dead. But that doesn’t mean when he arrives you won’t be bait for him.” He whispers as he leans in close where the stench of him is almost enough to make you sick. 

He then rears back, and head butts you in the face and you hear a sickening crunch before the blood starts pouring from your nose. You try to hold in your scream, but it’s no use. You know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants from you. 

“Just give me some information and you can have your connection to your dragon back and you can go back to class, no one the wiser.”

You lift your chin in defiance at the vile man in front of you and let the blood from your broken nose into your mouth before spitting it right in his face. There’s no doubt in your mind that you will not risk your dragon or anyone else’s life to save your own. 

It takes a few hours before you realize that this torture will be never ending. Immediately after you think he is finished; he calls in Nolon to mend your body multiple times a day.

“Is it really worth keeping their secrets?” Nolon asks a note of sympathy and regret in his eyes as he mends your broken collarbone. 

“I will give my life for anyone’s. Secrets or no.” You spit at the man you had once seen as a kind and gentle soul. 

Nolon shakes his head and continues his work as you try to push away the pain of mending and focus on anything else. 

It’s about the eighth time that Nolon has come in to mend you before you start to feel like giving up may be the only option. 

“Can’t you just let me die already?” You viciously call back to the man healing you just so you can be broken again. 

“I’m sorry cadet, but this can all stop when you answer the Vice Commandant’s questions.” 

You turn your head away from him, not wanting to give him any more attention and let your body slip into unconsciousness. 

What seems like eternities later, you hear commotion outside the door that you’ve been holed up in. As you fade in and out from pain, you hear voices but you’re unsure of who they belong to. A strong crack in the rocks of the cell makes you jolt conscious, but you’re still unsure of what’s going on. 

“Wait.” You hear a male voice call. “Vi wasn’t the only one down here.”

“What are you talking about Aetos?” You hear a gruff voice call back. Your foggy mind wants to say it’s Garrick, but you know that must be impossible.

The next thing you know, the lock of the door is clicking open, and you turn your head to see what your next form of torture will be. 

As you look up, you meet warm brown eyes that shine with concern. 

“I didn’t realize you gave a damn about anyone but Violet, Aetos.” You rasp back, your voice disjointed from the amount of screaming you’d done and the number of times you’d been almost choked to death. 

“Luckily for you I knew that they took someone besides just Violet.” He says rushing to the chair. “Do you think you’ll be able to stand?”

You try and shrug your shoulders, but everything in your body seems to weigh ten times the amount it normally does. Aetos continues to unhook the restraints around your body and soon enough is trying to help lift you. 

Your broken tibia screams in protest, but the action of moving on your own two feet is not something you’re willing to give up. As you slowly make your way out of the cell, you both turn and look up. Staring back at you are a pair of stunned hazel eyes.

You watch as Garrick’s eyes widen to the point of concern, and he falls to his knees seeming to not believe what he’s seeing. As you stare at him, you watch as tears begin to swim in his eyes. The anger and helplessness you’ve been feeling curls around you and you close your eyes in anguish.

“You were right.” You rasp slowly with a thoughtful pause. 

“I guess I did survive.” You say before your overwhelming feelings and pain draws you under.

[sunnydbeam]

What materials is Biohazard made of? I guess not everything resists radiation

Indeed! No material is totally resistant to radiation; it always depends on the amount of radiation and the exposure time.

Let me get a little nerdy

I clarify and repeat: I'm not an expert on the subject. I did research for this AU in general and thus determined the right materials for the construction of Biohazard. I may be wrong. But this is sci-fi, and some things are improbable but intentional, like Biohazard's melting rays!

Endoskeleton and joints: titanium alloys, stainless steel, and aluminum reinforced with carbon fiber.

Internal components:

Microchips and components: specifically designed to withstand high doses of radiation and encased in a dense layer of ceramic material within a tungsten protective box.

Sensors made with materials resistant to radiation and high temperatures. Integrated into the endoskeleton and protected by a dense covering material.

Actuators: electric or hydraulic motors made with corrosion- and wear-resistant materials. Located within the joints and protected by the endoskeleton.

Metallic lithium-Ion batteries specially designed to operate in extreme environments, housed in a tungsten protective box, away from sensitive components.

Cooling system: copper tubes and non-flammable, radiation-resistant cooling fluids integrated into the endoskeleton to dissipate heat generated by electronic components and shielding.

Protection systems:

Primary shielding: lead sheets and boron-based composite materials, 1.5 centimeters thick.

Secondary/Exterior shielding: tungsten sheets, 1 cm thick.

Biohazard has numerous limbs and components functioning as redundant systems. In the event of a failure, he can continue operating with backups.

He used to integrate cameras and sensors for remote monitoring and data collection. These are no longer operational.

Being made of very dense materials, he's extremely robust and heavy! You practically couldn't lift one of his arms if he were off!

He was very, very expensive to manufacture as well. The frustration was very great when the project "didn't work".

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 21

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence, sex explicit, voyeurism.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

My restless fingers wouldn’t stop drumming on the wooden bar table for even a minute. Everyone around me was dividing their time between laughter and more shots of tequila, but since I arrived, I’d only watched the ice melt in my glass, barely touching my water, so inert in agonizing thoughts that boiled my brain like a cauldron.

“Did you hear what I said, Noah?” Ruffilo nudged my arm, snapping me out of it and reminding me to release my lips from between my teeth.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.

“Forget it.” He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the others. “It seems like your mind’s somewhere else.”

And it definitely was, though I didn’t think it was so obvious.

“Sorry.”

“Man, we just won three major awards for the band, and even in a moment like this, you can’t relax and enjoy it with us. When was the last time we did something together?” he protested, grabbing my attention again. “You don’t even remember, since you can barely stay in the same room with us for more than five minutes.”

Having this kind of conversation while I couldn’t even focus on the general topic at the table seemed ridiculous. Every mental path led me back to her—how she was dressed, how her perfume filled my senses when she moved near me, how she teased me with her tone of voice. She could be anywhere in this damned city, and I needed desperately to find her.

“Give me the car keys,” I demanded, snapping out of my trance, clenching my fingers tightly in the palm of my hand. Ruffilo stared at me, flexing his lips with mild disappointment at my lack of attention to his earlier speech, but I just couldn’t help it.

I felt on the brink of collapse, my body temperature fluctuating wildly, and my breathing failing miserably. If I didn’t see her now, I might explode.

“Noah, you’re not well.”

“Give me the keys now!” I growled, clenching my fists so tightly I heard a bone crack.

Shaking his head slowly, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to me. I stood up promptly, hearing murmurs behind me—questions about where I was going. Ruffilo spared himself the trouble of extending the conversation and shifted the topic as soon as I walked out of the bar.

The cold night air hit me, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning inside me. My heart felt like it was about to burst through my skin, every muscle in my body tense and rigid, as though bracing for a fight. I started the car with a rush that barely made sense, my hands slipping on the steering wheel from the sweat.

I had no plan. No idea where she could be. But I had to find her. It was as if something greater than myself was pushing me forward. It wasn’t just a need; it was like a fever, a corrosive sensation that refused to relent.

I drove through the city like a madman, hitting the speed limit, passing every bar, every corner, every damned place I knew she might be. My eyes darted frantically from one point to another, hungry, desperate. The steering wheel groaned under the pressure of my grip, but I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t calm down.

Every detail about her was etched into me like a curse. Her scent, her laughter, the way she played with her hair. Even now, it all seemed ingrained in my brain, mocking me, calling me to keep searching.

I stopped at a red light, the engine humming as I tapped my fingers impatiently on the dashboard. My reflection stared back at me from the rearview mirror: red eyes, clenched jaw, an almost unhinged expression. What the hell was happening to me?

When the light turned green, I sped off, ignoring the speed limit sign. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except her. Every street seemed longer than it should have been; every bar where she wasn’t left an unbearable void. The collar of my shirt felt suffocating.

Finally, I turned onto a narrow side street that seemed to lead nowhere. I parked carelessly and stepped out of the car, body tense, breathing heavy. My eyes scanned the area as if she might appear at any moment.

I could end this madness now and go home, but I heard a distant sound, as if coming from a few streets away. The beat of the music reminded me of live industrial metal. Maybe she was there.

The bar, with no visible name thanks to a broken, unlit sign, was a well-known biker club in the city. I’d looked it up on the way and found out that big MCs gathered there daily to drink and listen to old-school rock. The place reeked of beer, the music was deafening, and the brick walls were covered with band posters. It didn’t take much to realize I completely stood out among the bearded patrons in leather vests and gold teeth.

The entire time I wandered around, there was no sign of her. Restlessness settled at the top of my throat as I sat down at a table, overheating while my head filled with scattered thoughts.

She was fucking hot, and five seconds in this place would be enough to attract every pair of eyes to her and her body exposed by that sheer dress.

“Noah?” A friendly voice cut through my thoughts, making me look up at the waitress smiling as she placed a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the table. “It’s from the lady over there.”

I turned my head slowly to the other side of the bar, and there she was—the devil herself.

Smiling, sitting cross-legged on a pool table, just having won a game against the men gathered around her. She waved at me with wicked mockery, raising her glass in a toast, clearly reading the furious expression on my face as I saw each of them ogling her body—my body—with hungry eyes and malicious smiles.

The ease with which she received those admiring looks disturbed me beyond reason, because I was as bewitched as they were. I couldn't see anything else around me; I was drowning in how stupidly beautiful she looked with her hair swept to the side and her bright eyes lined with dark makeup, making them look like a cat's.

Our sips of whiskey were synchronized, and we watched each other through the glass of our drinks. Judging by her bold demeanor, I figured this wasn’t her first round. The music grew louder, and if my attention weren’t entirely locked on her, I might have known more about who the singer was. But I felt an overwhelming need to monitor her every move, fighting the urge to choke anyone who tilted their head to watch her pass.

Her body on the pool table moved sensually to the music, every motion seemingly calculated to set my sanity on fire. From behind the table, I watched helplessly—just as she wanted. My bottle was already half-empty, and I gripped my glass so tightly it was on the verge of shattering in my hands, while the filthy expressions on the guys' faces grew more intense as they slipped notes at her feet.

Her hips swayed slowly from side to side, rising and falling effortlessly as she glanced at me over her shoulder, intensifying the pressure in my pants and the urge to gouge out my own eyes with every second of this torment.

I lost focus for more than two seconds, running my restless hand over my face, and when I looked back at her, some guy was sliding his hand along her leg. The fun of the game ended when I downed the last sip of my drink, emptied the bottle, and slammed the glass onto the table.

I rose abruptly from my chair and stormed toward the distracted girl, her eyes closed, yanking her off the pool table with a swift, violent motion. Grabbing her body with my free hand, I threw her over my shoulder.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled as I carried her toward the back of the bar. She beat her hands against my back, and I felt my ribs vibrate with the effort she was putting in, but my rage was greater.

Once we were far enough from the noise of the bar, in the bathroom corridor, I set her back on the floor, but not without cornering her against the wall to prevent her escape.

“Every time you act crazy, I’ll act insane. That’s how you like to play, isn’t it?” I snarled, gripping her chin and pressing our noses together. “Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me, damn it?”

It felt as if the last shred of sanity I had had turned to dust. Her eyes opened, surprised, for a few seconds. She saw something in my face that made her shoulders slowly relax, her breathing uneven.

“So you found me…” she said innocently, her fingertips teasingly tracing the line of my arm. Her voice was hoarse, alluring, and suggestive.

“You could’ve hidden on the other side of the world, and I still would’ve sniffed you out like a damn animal until I found you,” I assured her, brushing our faces together slowly. “I always find you.”

“Looks like you’ve won this round.”

“Want to watch me win the next?”

I used a near-whispering tone, carving my words into her skin with my lips as punctuation. Her chest rose and fell subtly; she didn’t want to give in easily, but her body told another story.

“Are you willing to wager the biggest bet at the table, sir?”

She challenged me with a sharp smile on her rosy lips.

“What’s your price?”

“All-in.”

“All my chips?” I raised an eyebrow at her audacity.

“Playing fair doesn’t suit us, Noah…”

My hand slid from her face to the back of her neck, gripping her hair and tilting her head upward. I traced the tip of my nose from her shoulder to her neck, inhaling her scent as if I needed it to keep living. Truth be told, I did.

“That’s the price to have me as yours for one hour.”

Our gazes locked, and within her dilated pupils, I saw the reason for my downfall. She was hell in the form of a woman, my sickness, my torment, my damn contradiction, and the reason I wanted to become worse each day, just to be someone worthy of her.

But I had never felt more alive than when I had her in my arms.

She was mine.

My answer was to press our lips together in a hungry, voracious kiss. My body burned with urgency to have her again, desperate, famished, willing to do anything not to ruin this again. The taste of her lips, still the same green apple flavor, seemed better, warmer, just like the friction of our bodies as I pressed her against the wall, lifting the fabric of her dress.

Our steps tangled as we entered the bar bathroom, leaving the sound of the music as an echo in the background. I used the momentum to sit her on the counter, fitting my body between her legs as her nimble hands wasted no time ripping my shirt open, buttons flying everywhere.

My lips struggled to leave hers, even for a few seconds, and with a disbelieving smile, she realized my free hand and teeth had joined forces to tear the thin fabric of her dress in two, exposing her perfect body, goosebumps forming from the breeze sneaking through the vent.

I pulled a joint from my pocket and placed it between my lips as she flicked the lighter to ignite it. After a few drags, the bathroom was nothing but smoke, camouflaging the pair of men leaning against a stall, watching us.

We shared the smoke as I exhaled it over her lips, passing the joint to her. With every puff, my lips trailed down the length of her body, making her arch her back when I alternated kisses with bites that left marks on her skin. The heat between her legs revealed my approach, and as I positioned one of them over my shoulder, I traced a path, marking from her thigh to her groin.

Her scent was the finest antidote. She was so aroused that her wetness seeped through the sides of her thin panties, which I pushed aside with the help of my finger. The gasps escaping her lips, mixed with the smoke, fused with the sighs of her attentive eyes watching my tongue slowly trace along her inner thigh, getting acquainted with the area as it brushed against her labia.

With one hand, I pressed her down further, pinning her against my face while dragging my tongue slowly upward, my fingers digging into the side of her body before sliding over her ass. I explored the surroundings, deliberately avoiding her clit, torturing her with the slow rhythm of my teasing tongue. Using my free hand, I spread her legs further, moving my fingers to stimulate the narrow space between her first and second entrances.

Applying pressure, I palmed her ass to keep her from squirming under the urging of my fingers and dove headfirst into the well of arousal her pussy carried. I alternated between soft suction and hungry licks, dragging my lips side to side.

I spared her nothing; I wanted to feel everything. From the intoxicating scent she exuded as her excitement grew under the assault of my tongue exploring every corner of her hot, wet pussy, to the sound of her moans, urgent and pleading under the slow rhythm of my fingers.

My eyes were fixed on her, on the effort she made to keep control as my finger slid toward her second entrance, forcing it in while she muffled her moan with another drag from the joint. I captured her clit with a suck and began to swirl my tongue over it, pressing deeper inside her with my finger.

I had to pin her body to the stone counter with the hand gripping her waist, her visible restlessness betraying her as I started to fuck her ass with my finger, all while keeping my tongue swirling relentlessly on her clit.

“Fuck, Noah…” she sobbed, trying to close her legs.

The escalating moans fueled my desperation to devour her more frantically. I buried my face in the fresh pool of juice forming around her, sucking and drinking her liquid while holding my finger steady at the peak of her excitement. Her back stiffened, and her legs around my shoulders spasmed, her moans growing louder and more erratic as I added another finger inside her pussy, fucking both entrances at once.

The only sounds, aside from her nails scratching the firm material of the counter, were the breaths of the men watching us from the shadows.

We didn’t care about being watched; I dare say we might have even liked it. I wanted them to see that everything before them belonged to me. That moan was mine, that body was mine, that pussy dripping onto my lips was mine, and this damn woman was mine, too.

Like the good girl she was, she avoided eye contact with them, focusing all her attention on me. But deep down, she enjoyed being worshiped—and she deserved it.

The rhythm followed the tension in her body, and the closer she got to her climax, the more pressure I applied with my fingers, teasing her with deliberate halts at the crest. Hearing her whimper was like music to my ears. I reversed the swirl of my tongue, smirking as her head tilted back as if pleading with the heavens.

I wasn’t ready to let her come just yet, so I pulled away from her clit as I withdrew my fingers from inside her. I licked my lips, savoring her taste, corrupting the remaining shred of sanity I had left. The growl I heard from her betrayed her frustration; she wanted more. I didn’t let that feeling linger as I dragged her off the counter by her legs and turned her around.

Facing our reflections simultaneously in the mirror, I let my hands roam her body, pressing my face against her skin until she tilted her head to the side. As I kissed her shoulder, I opened my eyes and noticed something different. I quickly dismissed the thought, moving my lips up to her neck, guiding her forward by gripping her hair at the nape.

With my free hand, I spread her legs apart, lifting one onto the counter until she was fully exposed to me. My cock throbbed against the fabric of my jeans as I stroked it and slowly pressed the tip against her entrance, eliciting a soft gasp.

My lips grazed the side of her face as I held the base of her hair tightly, my desire-crazed gaze locked onto her reflection.

“Look at your reflection in the mirror. What does it tell you?” I whispered so only she could hear.

I teased her by pushing the tip of my cock into her entrance, then pulling it out just as quickly, smirking at the sound of her disappointed moan.

“That you’re mine, mine, mine, mine. And no decree from heaven or hell will change that. I don’t need to go all-in for what already belongs to me. Do you know why?”

“Because you can,” she declared, her voice a breathy whisper.

"I can," I ground out, my words wrenching a loud moan from her lips as I drove into her all at once.

Our bodies were fused as one with the long thrust I held for a few seconds, savoring her sob of agony. The hand gripping the roots of her hair dragged her sweaty face to brush against mine while my hips drove into hers. I stifled her moan with a desperate kiss, devouring her swollen, tender lips, slightly bruised from bites.

All control slipped from me as I felt her grinding on my cock, turning the back-and-forth into a dance synchronized with the rhythm of our united bodies, evolving gradually as she threw me that deranged look while halting the head of my cock at her tight entrance. Her teasing drew a ragged breath from me, echoing into her ear, urging her to continue. Her body was completely exposed over the mirror, yet her shimmering gaze remained locked on mine. In the edge of my peripheral vision, I noticed her fingers moving to her pussy, stimulating her clit as she took my thrusts.

"I hate the devil who sculpted your body," I declared hoarsely. "I thank him for the blessing of having created you, but I hate him for having touched you."

"He made me intentionally to corrupt the purest of heaven. I see no goodness left in you, Noah," she said in a soft tone of denial. "I warned you I’d taint your soul by being the first and last woman of your life."

I explored her body with my hand, leaving no place untouched. I traced the texture of her thigh, ridged with deep scars. I warmed myself in the heat she emitted as my hand traveled up her abdomen, cupping her full, firm breast that spilled over the sides of my fingers.

"The thing is, I was never a good man. I’m just a dirty player," I murmured, trailing the path from her neck to her ear with my wet lips. "Like you."

"Then tell me, what will you do to the eyes that watch the woman who’s yours once this game is over?"

The unique scent of her skin made me transcend.

Transcend directly into hell.

For a moment, I had forgotten about the two guys watching us silently, leaning against the bathroom tiles not far away. Through the mirror's reflection, I saw their eyes alternating between us, but something began to heat the back of my neck as I noticed their focus lingering on her and the motion of her fingers.

"I’ll kill them."

Her pussy grew even slicker at the icy tone of my voice, her rising body temperature giving her exactly what she wanted at her feet.

A strange feeling gnawed at me—something that burned like hatred and cut like jealousy. Possession clouded my vision, reducing everything to a dark blur as I lost control of the force driving my cock into her pussy. My pounding thrusts arched her back, her head leaning onto my chest, but even her moans didn’t break the trance hardening every muscle in my body.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm as I pinned her side to our hips, I tilted her body further down. Her sharp nails clawed into my skin, and as my lips traveled across her shoulders, I sank my teeth in, channeling the strength of my relentless thrusts slamming into her womb.

Her moans were precise and sweetly pained but muffled by the tiles and the tiny window that barely ventilated the cramped room. Our attention met in the corner of her eyes, smudged with dark makeup. She gasped, her chest heaving erratically, her trembling legs barely holding under the strain.

I was close to exploding too, though I couldn’t tell if it was from lust, rage, or both.

Without pulling out, I shifted her body to face me. She quickly locked her legs around me, burying her fingers in my hair, pulling away slightly to use the momentum to slam her body against mine as I plunged in and out under her command. My hands palmed her ass in the air, taking control of her movements to deepen each thrust until the sound of our sweaty skin slapping against each other filled the room as I forced myself deeper into her.

The walls of her pussy clenched so tightly around me that I stared at the wooden ceiling for a few seconds while she tilted my head back, halting the motion to grind on the head of my cock, bouncing on it. My breath hitched as her lips alternated between wet kisses and sucking, trailing from my neck to my tense jawline, locking our eyes again.

The reddish hue in her eyes from the lingering haze only enhanced the brilliance of her black tourmaline gaze. The deeper I went, against the tight pressure of her pussy gripping me involuntarily, slamming her back against the sink’s edge, the more her eyes widened, amplifying the sound of her moans.

From the exaggerated digging of her nails into my back, she was on the verge of collapse, her legs losing strength under the tremors wracking her. The agonizing tension in her body made her press our faces together, seeking any spark as she whimpered, clinging even tighter to me.

My muscles grew even more rigid every time I drove into her, and with one swift motion, I grabbed her nape with one hand and took her lips to stifle her cries with my tongue amidst the relentless thrusts. The shifts in rhythm made her retaliate against my skin and lips, but the sting of her nails tearing into my shoulder only fueled my determination to keep pulsing inside her.

Our lips parted, and her eyes, now with dilated pupils, locked onto mine. Her breathing started to steady as her body softened.

She sighed in relief, playing with the tip of my nose.

"What are you doing?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow as I felt her pull me out of her.

"Your time is up and I'm done."

"But not me!"

"That sounds like your problem, but jerking off should solve it."

Damn her.

Just like that, she treated me like a prostitute—and not even the expensive kind executives shell out big bucks for. She paid me with a spiked whiskey, fucked me, grabbed my jacket from the sink, put it on before hopping down, and flipped me off through the mirror as she backed toward the exit.

"Enjoyed watching me win this round, Noah?" she teased. "Bye, boys."

Our score was tied, and that wasn’t going to stand.

I took a deep breath, keeping my head low and hands pressed against the edge of the sink. An unearthly rage settled in my gut, spreading through my body as I caught the muttering of the two guys behind me. I dragged my fingers across the marble, thinking fast and forcing myself to adjust my expression while straightening my clothes.

With a seductive sideways smile and slow steps, I clasped my hands behind me for show, reclaiming the lewd gazes from the bar’s patrons.

"Did you like the show, boys?"

The two exchanged glances, perhaps seeing an opportunity, their sly grins widening. The older one ran his fingers through his red beard while the other scratched his goatee, their eyes darting between me and each other.

Luckily for me, they were short—no match for someone towering over them like I was.

"The girl’s got skills, but you—"

I had to fight the urge to let the drink churn back up from my stomach. Before the redhead could take a step forward, I held them in place, running my hands slowly through their hair, alternating a gentle gaze between the two like a damn tease.

"I’m glad you liked it, because that’s the last thing you’ll ever see."

I didn’t give myself time to worry about their puzzled expressions as I used the momentum to smash their heads simultaneously into the water valve behind them, leaving them slumped on the floor with a streak of blood smeared on the wall.

"Bye, boys," I waved with a smile that narrowed my eyes.

I left the bar clutching my right arm, the pain now unbearable as my adrenaline cooled. Digging through my pocket for my phone, I noticed something was missing. As I rummaged through the fabric, realization hit—my wallet was gone.

She swiped my wallet as she passed me.

I dialed the three numbers as fast as my steps toward the car and held the phone against my shoulder, running my hands through my hair when I saw my car wasn’t where I had parked it.

"Hello, is this the police?" I huffed the words, my face hot with anger. "I’d like to report a stolen car from a biker bar. No, the vehicle doesn’t have plates; the thief ripped them off before taking off."

"Can you provide a description?"

"Tall, tattooed, dark-haired, lips swollen from artificial fillers, and definitely pushing the speed limit with that Joker face all smeared with makeup," I described, plopping down on the curb and blowing stray hair from my face.

"Of the car, sir."

"Oh, it’s a graphite-colored Jaguar."

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff

[evilminji]

Back at it again with the BNHA crossover Ponderings!

Nedzu is LITERALLY one of THE smartest beings on the planet, right? Like... he's probably on some internationally recognized list of Top Planetary IQs? Which is why Japan let's him get away with so much?

Cause they REALLY fucked him over, he has the power to leave, and that would be really, REALLY bad Brain Drain wise/politically for the Japanese Government? (Also pls don't become a Supervillian we literally can not afford that, Mr. Nedzu Sir? Etc etc)

You think he has... like? Chats? With the OTHER top intellects? Some kid in Siberia with the New Super Intelligence Quirk his parents can't begin to even handle, gets put in history's WEIRDEST group chat? I like to think so.

But the REASON I ask this?

What hero do you call? For Weird Shit in international waters?

Suspicious, floating, weirdly two dimensional and HIGHLY radioactive... corrosive... green goop? Rings? Orbs? CAN it be an orb if it's two dimensional? It certainly LOOKS like there is depth to it... somehow...

A THING. In the sky.

Shouldn't be there, man. This is a shipping lane. It's scaring the people on passing ships. No one knows what Quirk could have made this. Might be a trafficking victim's call for help. Might be a first Quirk Use mishap. They need to know what it IS and how to get rid of it.

They go the normal routes first. Doesn't work. Okay, call in some professionals. Kinda pricey, but no big. Right? Doesn't work. Okaaaay, call in a SPECIALIST. REAL pricey, but this thing is holding up international trade, making people in fancy ass suit all Nervous(TM).

Doesn't Work.

Specialist tells um to not to bother with calling anyone else on their normal list. Is looking at the green goo like it spat on his mother and called his dog a whore. They would prefer he NOT make that facial expression. That is a facial expression that will get them yelled at by their bosses. Fuck(TM).

Now Politics(TM) are involved. People want to STUDY the green goo. Harness it for dubious and unknown green goo experiments. Poke it with their Quirk to see what'll happen. There's fuckin REPORTER with no concept of self-preservation, trying to get CLOSER to the RADIOACTIVE POISON GOO.

Fuckin Heros have shown up.

Why are you bastards even HERE. What? Are you peacocks gonna PUNCH it? Get off their rig! Stop posing in front of the GOO!

Then? Oh thank GOD. The SMART people show up. Certified, highest grade, triple refined, PREMIUM Nerds(TM). The WAY above our pay grade folks. We're SAVED! Can we PLEASE go home now? We are just ocean cleaners! Our job is debris! Not weird GOO!

Enter, stage Super Cool Helicopters? The Elite Nerds of Earth. Of which Nedzu is one. Since Japan is closest. And it's a school weekend! He had some time.

And?

Ha ha... Thanks, he hates it! Nedzu's stoat brain is SCREAMING and he wants NOTHING to do with...? What he is somehow CERTAIN is a floating pit of Death! Interesting effect. Anyone getting that or just him?

Then? Some hot head on loan to Korea from the states? Spots something. SomeONE. And does he TELL the newly arrived professionals? So they may do a risk assessment? Figure out a way to rescue this individual SAFELY? Of course not!

Said hot head has supposedly indescribable chains! So he just flings them rights on in! Grabbing the boy from the center of the portal, pulling him free, and in the process? Immediately destabilizing it. Causing it to collapse down towards everyone bellow.

He also then proceeds to DROP the young lad, in his alarm at this entirely predictable outcome.

Right. Into. The Ocean.

A boy, who is dressed in filthy medical scrubs, haunting familiar in a way nothing should EVER be again, and entirely unconscious. Plunge down into the briny deeps and bitter cold. Alone. Abandoned. Death, thick and viscous, losing form and raining down like bile.

Everyone saving themselves.

Ah, he rather liked this suit.

The salt water ruins it. The droplets of Green, burn like molten glass each time they touch him. He will likely have at least a few new scars, after today. Assuming this is not the end of him. But he swims fast. The boy sinking slower then his size would suggest he should. He grabs hold and arcs, dragging them both from beneath the fallout of yet another humans hubris.

He does not stop swimming. Not until he knows he is near the helicopter. He is thankful, that he dragged Aizawa along. The man takes one look at his serious expression, the state of his rescued young friend, and merely hauls them both out of the water and into the machine.

Time to go.

They saw nothing, it seems. And there is nothing to be found.

The boy does not wake. Not for quite a while. Long enough, that Nedzu, perhaps unwisely, has grown attached. Is considering adoption. If only too terrorize a few goverment bodies. And... well... the boy will need some who UNDERSTANDS. And the scars paint a very specific sort of tale. But first, the most important question, when beginning these things...

"Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?"

@the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter @hdgnj

[time-is-restored]

do you guys every think abt death vs immortality as a thoroughline in like. literally all of the mechs albums.

old king cole is explicitly warped by immortality (never to forgive he would eternal live, his hands dyed red by gore - can be read a few ways depending on where u place the emphasis, but at the very least communicates that his wrath is facilitated By his immortality), and the olympians commit attrocities in order to hold onto their wealth and the immortality that it grants them (murdering arachne, yanking heracles' chain the second he tries to go freelance, having a monopoly on the acheron etc). the value they put on immortality and living forever, and the fear they have of ever possibly losing it, has completely warped their morals and priorities.

and while it comes up less in tbi, there's still significant emphasis placed on how odin has been in power for a century (both thor + the narrator bring it up, and there's also an emphasis on how long ago the bifrost project was started, and how 'no one left living' can explain its science). her villain monologue in rangarok iv places the extinction of asgard as an honour - a ruin that no one can possibly rebuild from is called 'apotheosis'. and as she says at the end, the idea that no one can possibly outlive her is a key draw for odin. asgard dies with her.

in hnoc, the only really immortal character is brian (and we only really know that bc of knowledge we get from outside the album), but the axis of life and death as a privilege vs a curse is still very present. 'mordred's gift to Arthur could be love in his own eyes / fating him alone to keep the life to which he clings', not only posits that the gift of survival isn't inherently good + kind (which the audience would immediately recognise as love, not possibly love), but places emphasis on the fact that arthur is now utterly alone. the station's death at the hands of mordred is hardly a happy one ('Its people damned, doomed by a man who's lost all his regrets'), but arthur's fate is arguably worse. severed from the finality and closure of death, what does he become? [insert that one cool theory abt hnoc arthur becoming old king cole here]

it's like. on a meta level, the reason we as fans don't put much emphasis on the depravity + cruelty of the mechs is bc the people portraying the mechs are all charismatic + skilled performers. in live gigs they're all portraying the fun side of their characters - roasting each other, bantering with the audience, making fun of the characters they're singing about, referencing off-screen violence - bc if they portrayed their lore too literally they'd be comitting felonies LMAOOO

but narratively, its like. literally every album is a meditation on the ways that the glorification of immortality can ruin civilisations - can ruin galaxies. whether its rooted in the fear of you specifically dying, or of being outlived, or overpowered or forgotten, or if its done for the sake of someone else's survival... it's all corrosive. if u refuse to accept the indisputable impermanence of life, you lose the ability to value it, and u numb urself to the reality of just how fucked up it is to cut another person's life short for any reason.

like. i do think some of the mechs started as good people, and some of them even might still have ethical standards, but i REALLY cannot stop thinking about how fucking. fascinating it is that this group of immortals who are KNOWN for basically considering nothing but how fun and/or violent any given activity will be, have basically filled their entire discography with songs about how their continued existence is corrosive and brings tragedy + ruin wherever they go.

so how self-aware are they? do you think those old morals + ethics still linger in their mind, when they're writing down these tragedies? they willingly self identify as liars + thieves + bastards, etc etc, and they seem to have no trouble identifying the 'bad guys' in the various albums (ie: humanising snow + cinders + rose, but not king cole), but do those concepts actually mean anything emotionally, or even theoretically, for them all beyond their dramatic potential? do they remember their lives before they were mechanised as it actually happened, or do they remember it as lyrics to a song? is it possible to be entirely self aware abt ur own capacity for violence (as jonny in paticular claims to be), if you no longer relate to violence as anything other than a narrative device - a means to an end, whether comedic or dramatic?

[aloysiavirgata]

Fisher King prompt: dark crescendoing to light. Daniel Waterson and his baggage come back into her now-married life; maybe by way of the autopsy table. A dark case comes across Mulder’s desk. You pick. A happy surprise at the end to bring them both out of it?

Thanks, lady.

It is the dead nurse that catches his attention. Two days back from his honeymoon, attaboys and filthy jokes and cigars and a stack of manila folders on his dust-rimed desk.

Pendrell whistles when he sees Mulder, makes a predictable playing-doctor joke. He leers as though it obscures the soulful puppy wetness of his face. As though he hasn’t noticed Dana at crime scenes before, the autumn bonfire of her hair. Her tourmaline eyes.

Mulder thumbs the band on his left ring finger, spins it a little in the cool morning light. Flips them all off with good-natured grouchiness as he makes his way to the elevator. He thinks it might be fun to be an old man, to listen to the slap of his bedroom slippers on the grocery store linoleum.

The air in his office smells like cardboard boxes, like ghosts of lo mein and forgotten pizza. Copier toner. Pencil shavings.

His wife says, “Honestly, Mulder,” and makes chicken sandwiches from dinner leftovers, makes him salads with salmon and almonds and avocados and says he needs to gain eight pounds. He’s taken to her demands like a stray cat adjusting to life indoors. He’s growing glossy and sleek, full of essential amino acids.

Full of life.

***

There is no congestion in any of the organs. No petechiae in her eyes, no blood clots in the fragile slices of brain. Lips, mouth, esophagus free of corrosion, not an aneurysm the size of a poppy seed. The bruises and claw marks on her gray throat are her own doing. There are over a dozen witnesses.

Her nails are clotted with her own crumpled skin.

Dana pokes her finger into the aorta, sniffs the dead, butcher-shop air of Ludovica’s mouth. She prods at the lungs and hunts for lesions and surfactant. The nurse’s stomach contains a half-digested bagel and tuna salad. The muscular walls are in the very pink of health. She has lungs like freshly chewed bubblegum.

Dana huffs a strand of hair off her lip. She does not want to call him.

***

“What killed her?” Mulder asks, around a mouthful leftover quiche. God it’s good. She caramelized the onions, used two semesters of organic chemistry on the pastry and can declaim on the Maillard Reaction in a voice fit for Showtime.

“I’m working on it,” his wife says, brisk. “Thus far it seems to be nothing, which is a bit of a problem, medically speaking.”

“How embarrassing,” Mulder says, hunting around for another chunk of broccoli. “To die of nothing. You talk to this Waterston chappie yet?

Silence.

“Dr. Scully?”

A sigh.

Mulder’s brow furrows. “Dana Katherine, what gives?”

She sighs again. “You remember that med school professor I told you about? Funny story…”

***

He gazes at her the way tourists gawp at the Mona Lisa; not with a particular appreciation, just a bit awed that they can check it off their bucket lists.

Twice, for Daniel. A certain chumminess. A hint of inside jokes and favorite restaurants and that-lovely-inn-we-stayed-at. Of possessiveness. Territoriality.

Mulder shakes his head, just a twitch. Just enough to clear Daniel’s smug carnal knowledge of his wife away. Mulder’s fucked people’s daughters as well. People’s wives. There was one at Oxford, Honora, her husband a full professor and he -

Mulder doesn’t say this. He doesn’t say anything as Daniel stares at his Rossetti wife, undoubtedly thinks about the determined twitch of her twenty-one year old ponytail and her scuffed Keds and her slipshod Navy brat graces and her body like Artemis bathing by moonlight.

But Daniel’s alone and Mulder isn’t.

Dana isn’t alone either because, against all reason and karma, she’s married him, married Fox Mulder, like it was an absolutely sane thing to do, and her family simply went along with it.

“Tell me what you saw,” says Mulder, with the gentle absolution of a priest. “No judgement here,” he lies. She was hardly more than a girl, she was an innocent, she trusted you, you fucking asshole, you predator, you-

Daniel looks at Dana. Looks down at his surgeon’s hands. No ring on any of his fingers.

Daniel closes his eyes and looks at nothing.

“We began a midline sternotomy, absolutely routine, Suddenly Ludovica - Nurse Giordano - grabbed her throat and said she couldn’t breathe. She…she screamed Diavola! Said there was sulfur, said it was mustard gas, but none of the rest of us smelled a damn thing. But she was thrashing on the floor of the OR and our patient was-“

He looks around then, catches Dana’s eye, shyness in his expression. Shyness in his fatherly face. Dana had looked up at it for approval, no doubt. In what she probably thought was passion. Maybe even love.

Dana nods encouragingly and Mulder feels it then, the weight of years. He understands in that moment that time really is the fourth dimension; that it has a hot, heavy plasticity into which you can sink. He understands the realness of an event horizon, that they are all being pulled towards the unfinished thing between Daniel and his wife, Ludovica Giordano’s corpse included.

His wife was a physics major, his wife rewrote Einstein with the ebullient narcissism of the young.

He understands that his wife and Daniel speak the same primal, arcane language of science. He is a lowly psychologist, the major you pick when you can’t get into dental school but still want to Help Others.

Kepler’s Third Law tells us that intensity equals the inverse of the square of the distance from the source.

And he’s brought Daniel back into her orbit.

***

“I can’t believe you fucked him,” Mulder gasps into her tender seashell ear. An inch from her extraordinary brain.

“I was a child,” she hisses back. “Essentially. Don’t stop, Christ, don’t - I was a child, I-“

She was, she was, she was Eos newly born, she was radiant and young, she was Persephone to Daniel’s Hades, she was fresh milk at Ostara, and a sunrise over the Atlantic.

“Did you love him?”

Her thighs so taut and pale and quivering. Her wedding dress, her misty veil. Her palimpsest skin, on which he can rewrite himself.

“I thought I did but but it wasn’t this, it was never this, it was never you, I-“

Mulder comes in her, groaning, feels the tiniest sting of shame at how good it is to reclaim her from this other man.

***

“Dana,” Daniel says, heavy-tongued for Mulder’s consecrated, Catholic wife. He is hard; he shifts in the uncomfortable chair.

Mulder knows and Dana knows and the air is thick with this knowledge but strangely not unpleasant. The air is July just before a thunderstorm. The air is dense and verging. Primal, fecund, cataclysmic.

Hot.

Green.

Alive.

The air tastes like a 9-volt battery. He wants to put a baby into his wife.

“You were there,” Mulder says, his buckskin hands woven and laced. “What did you see?”

Daniel looks at Dana, Daniel is here for Dana, because he believes she is cold and lonely and alone in the way of the outer planets. He still thinks only he can warm her.

(He doesn’t know, Daniel, not really, that there is a solid core beneath the icy mist.)

She’s too distant and abstruse and Daniel doesn’t know.

***

Daniel smirks at Mulder, this old man who felt briefly alive in the hot juncture of his wife’s thighs; smirks as though he’s done anything real at all. They view the human heart so differently, he and Daniel.

Dana - Dr. Scully - rests her palms against her sharp tweed knee. She only wants to know what stops any human heart from beating. What shuts the brain down, from prefrontal cortex in a cascade to the lowly lizard stem.

“What did you see, Daniel?” She is poised and tensed. She is waiting. She is untouchable.

Mulder - Fox - is disarmed by the chill of her haughty face. Her Plutonian eyes are so very, very cold . So very, very far.

Ice could never be so warm.

***

“‘Maggie,” he breathes, into her amber light. Into her aura, in her husband’s office, after Mulder went out for their lunch order.

“No,” Dana says. “I don’t care. Tell me about the nurse.”

Daniel huffs. “I don’t know, it was nothing, Dana, Maggie said-“

“I don’t care,” Dana says, crisp. “I don’t care about your daughter. You certainly didn’t, when you brought me to your bed.

Daniel is appalled. “Dana, you were-“

“I know what I was,” she replies. “I knew what I was doing and I don’t regret it, not really. But I didn’t understand what you were, not then. And you should regret me, Daniel.”

He looks at her, his brows drawn.

He looks away, back through the years. Dana, all sharpened Ticonderogas and her mouth an unplucked apricot. Skin like fresh-churned butter.

“She was…she was gasping,” he says to the wall of of clippings. To the Flatwoods Monster and wendigos and little lost girls and stills from the Zapruder Footage. “She was clawing at her throat, she…diavola.”

Diavola.

Daniel looks at the ceiling. “She clawed her throat to ribbons,” he says. “She said our patient was full of demons, she said…” He shakes his head and looks at Dana again.

Dana knows. Dana has seen. Has read and wondered and wondered, considered the Gerasene demoniac in the synoptic gospels. Tooms at her belly on the chilly tile of her bathroom…

It will do no good. Whatever her husband says, the truth is not always a panacea. The patient has lived and Ludovica has died and all anyone wants is official paper with Dana’s name at the bottom.

A reckoning, now. A choice.

“Anaphylaxis?” Dana murmurs, in the perfume and cashmere of a different rich man’s wife. She puts a little throatiness in her voice now, like she did after Dr. Waterston spoke to her in private about Starling’s Law. She can give him this. She can give Ludovica’s family this.

Diavola.

Mulder is right, Mulder is almost always right. But Mulder is right in his own time and Ludovica’s family needs her home.

Daniel catches the lifeline she throws, grateful.

Humbled.

Daniel, when his gaze returns, is a bit smaller in her eyes. “Yes,” he says. “It must have been.”

***

They’re eating dinner at the Peruvian chicken place on the corner because Dana is hollow and Mulder has moderately weaponized his own culinary incompetence.

“Ansel died today,” she says, poking at her rice.

Mulder nearly chokes on a mouthful of black beans. “What?!”

“Died. Massive coronary at his desk. Dead within seconds.”

Mulder gapes. Ansel Jordan, Chief Medical Examiner in DC; the alpha and omega of the unexpectedly dead in the District. “He ran marathons.”

Dana nods into the middle distance. “He ran marathons. He had a treadmill in his office. He was 57 and he was my boss and I split his chest apart with a Stryker before his body had even cooled this morning. My god, I forgot what warm tissue feels like.”

She looks up with her wide, delphinium eyes. “They asked me, Mulder.”

They asked? He is appalled. “They asked you to autopsy him? That’s really fu-“

She shakes her head. “No, nobody asked me that. No one would ever. I volunteered, it was the right thing to do, for my colleagues. For Ansel. We were hardly close but I had tremendous respect for the man.”

Ansel was a runner. He ate well and drank in moderation. He cared for his body like a classic car; starting to slow down but with lots of miles left.

The human body is strange and unpredictable.

“Are you okay?” How do you cut open a man you know? He cannot believe she didn’t call this morning but also of course she didn’t call this morning. She is an eternal riddle, a beautiful enigma.

“I’m surprisingly fine,” she says. “I mean, it’s horrible and pointless and tragic. But the process of an autopsy…it soothed me. I knew what to do and there was a…a checklist.”

He smiles, soft. “You’re always a doctor first.”

Dana shrugs, fluid and dismissive. “I guess.”

He realizes then, awed. Adoring. “They want you to… to step in, to be Chief. Dana, that’s incredible, that’s a huge honor. I’m sorry it’s come at the cost of Ansel, but Christ. It’s tremendous.”

He will never achieve this in his own career and is delighted that she can.

Dana nods slowly, a blush creeping up her fine, pale cheeks. She spears a plantain and examines it on the end of her fork. “It’s obviously not a formal offer yet, my god, he’s only just been released to the family, but yes. It’s tremendous.” She bites into the plantain.

He thinks back to that feeling of wanting a baby, wanting her to have it, and knows that the new Chief Medical Examiner of DC will have other pressures, other concerns.

She’s expressed interest in babies in a vague sort of way, but doesn’t want them like he does. Dana grew up with hand-me-downs and home haircuts and spaghetti the last week of every month. She knows that babies grow into scraped-kneed children who need lunch money and trombones and French tutors and football uniforms.

He’s rich enough for it all, for night nurses and nannies, but he knows her body is not a rental property. He wants a baby, he does, but he also doesn’t care if it means this for her. He doesn’t care if her star can rise.

“I love you,” he says, raising his plastic cup of horchata. “And I’m so goddamn sorry about Ansel.”

She lifts hers back, his wife, her old-master face and her slapdash smile. “Thank you,” she says, still pained. “And slaínte.”

“L’chaim,” he replies. To life.

[heartfullofleeches]

I see alien and conspiracy theorist reader who is also hilariously oblivious/ refuses to believe the fact Alien is an alien. Like they're too OBVIOUS about it and it doesn't line up with their theories about what the ACTUAL aliens walking among us are like. Like, it can't be Alien, they don't have crab claws or a lizard tongue or anything. They don't even have a tail rendered invisible by hologram, but Alien doesn't mind when reader grabs their ass to check.

This is exactly where I was going with that-

Alien wouldn't even be in reader's radar for potential suspects. Their frequent insistence they're just a regular human guy is a little suspicious, but no real alien would walk around wearing a mask like his because it'd just draw unwanted attention to them. Writes off their glowy bones as paint. The fact they're more flexible than rubber is just a genetics thing.

Alien thinks it's nice to have some recognize them as human at first - but eventually they start to think how hot cool it would be to be the extraterrestrial reader scraps to a table in their study and grills for hours about their anatomy and the place they originate from.

-

"Did you bring the stuff?"

"Yea, gimme a sec."

Fiddling with the gate to the laboratory, your assistant turns their back to you as they retrieve a small vial from their pocket. Alien pushes the gum they'd been chewing against the wall of their mouth, gathering the saliva collected from their glands on their tongue and filling the bottle with the blackish substance. They grab a bag of white powder from another pocket and dumps it into the small opening. The concoction bubbles, fumes crawling along the cylinders walls as they face you once more. They push you behind them - sealing your body with theirs as they raise their fist.

Hurling the vial, its glass shatters on impact in an explosion of black sludge and white smoke. The slime eats away at padlock holding the gate closed and enough of the wall for you to poke your head through before Alien finally kicks what remains open. They stand off to the side, bowing as they extend their arm forward.

"After you."

Your eyes linger on the smoke wisping into the air. "What... was that?"

"My spit. Mix it with baking soda it becomes corrosive..... or was it acidic?"

"...Right. Well, let's get this over with before anyone arrives. We're lucky this was all this place really has in terms of security." You ease past Alien who skips behind you as you march towards laboratory's doors. Not wasting what little time you have, you pull off your backpack as you walk - removing the test tube brought with you from its protective sleeve. Alien eyes the teal tinted fluid sloshing around in the container curiously - a strange sense of unease hitting their stomach like a brick.

"So.... if I'm allow to ask questions - what uh... what are we doing here again?"

You hold the vial up for then to see - contents fluorescent in the moon light. "I found this strange substance on a tee shirt I left in my bathroom. It's oddly sweet, but left my mouth with a tingle sensation after I tasted it."

Beads of sweat roll from their neck down their shirt. "You... tasted it?"

Alien thinks for a while. They had broken into your house while you were away. They found your shirt in your bathroom. It smelled just like you. Kinda tasted like you too. They thought they cleaned up everything after they were done. They did not.

"Well I had to make sure it wasn't something I ate. This is clearly a sign. Once I get my hands on the microscopes in this lab I'll finally have concrete proof of aliens!"

Alien snatches the vial from you and throws it into the tree-lining. "On second thought let's just go hunting for aliens like normal people."

"What the hell-"

Alien tightly grips your shoulders. "You can have another taste once we're official, but you are not putting my fluids under any lenses until we are engaged!"

[parkcivconfess]

Buzz buzz ! Got some potions HCs this time (This could apply to both PKCiv and PVP Civ but i'm using PVP Civ as my frame of reference since its the one i know more about, also brainworms) Potions in PVP Civilization are very customizable and some iron and diamond swords brew ones to take the edge off. Because lets be honest, they would absolutely use potions recreationally down in the lower layers. PVP is very stressful to not only the body, but the brain! Specific recreational ones i have written down: Nausea - VERY powerful in the wrong hands, often diluted for recreational usage and its effects are similar to alcohol. Also has the simple recipe of Awkward Potion > Wheat. When undiluted can be used to knock someone clean out cold, especially if they don't have a tolerance (Cough cough Evbo) Swiftness - Gets you extremely wired. Also needs to be diluted if you just want it for the adderall-esque effects it grants. Slow Fall - Calms you down, you literally feel light as a feather. Still does what it does in vanilla but also goes to your head. Very good for those that are anxious. Non recreational bonuses: Resistance - Its ibuprofen! Higher the potency the better it does for pain. Usually requested by those that have chronic pain from past injuries. Add a golden apple to your potion of healing to get this one. Withering - Extremely corrosive substance. Evil potion made by evil users and also, extremely complicated and its ingredients are rare (Where the hell does one get wither roses in this place? Someone found out..) Instant Health - Heals superficial damage very efficiently but struggles to heal below the skin, usually used for very light injuries like small cuts or bruises. Higher the potency the better it performs as always, but cannot heal long term damage done by Withering. Regeneration - A slower alternative to Instant Health that can heal more for the user such as broken bones or muscular damage. Higher the potency the quicker it heals injuries. Struggles to heal damage done by Withering, but it CAN be done. Might take more than a few potions though.. Slowness and Weakness - They do as they are described, and both make moving your arms and legs very hard and very painful depending on the potency. When paired together, they're great for incapacitation without knocking someone fully out! Alot of potion ingredients are found around the layers, most of them are foragable and some can be purchased at the iron and diamond layers respectively. Prev ask i sent: LOVE your warden evbo hc btw it sounds very cool. Would love a fic with that premise fr Till I send an ask again! - 🐝

TYYYY i love my version of evbo even if it's not the majority . that fat boy is MINE

MY PKCIV LORE BELOW!!!

lore 𓄧 building

herbalism and alchemy was most common on the fighter level, and practice's died out when the fighter layer was closed off due to the parkour villain and all his evil shenanigans. see'watt keeps those practices alive, also has many journal's and books detailing all kinds of things from the fighter level because he didn't want anyone to forget where he came from.

when he died, evbo was the one who inherited said book's / journal's because see'watt had no family left to pass it on, and nobody wanted to touch anything that was his but him.

there had to be over 100 book's, thoughtfully handcrafted with so much love and care, even having drawings of flowers he didn't know existed, music, custom's, marriage practices, everything you could think of was in there.

he revived see'watt shortly after when he found an unfinished book that detailed see'watts family recipes, one of which see'watt had actually fed him when he was getting the disc's. he didn't want him to starve to death and not get all of the disc's. it was the best thing he ever ate. yeah he cried about it. yes see'watt had to comfort him.

POTIONS

withering

* sucks the life out of the user / victim, usually connected to a specific location said person's life force is going to for a higher power or ulterior motive. uses the crushed up bones of wither skeletons and wither flowers, given its name.

can be used to cleanse one of poison's if done correctly, similar to charcoal or a parasite cleanse. often used as a medicinal remedy in the 5th layer — (chain boots) for extracting venom and ridding one's body of disease. it's very risky, though, and only experienced herbalists should try it!! (like see'watt but i digress).

haste

* gives user speed and strength (much like swiftness or resistance potions), but at the cost of their body deteriorating overtime. see'watt often used these to get ahead in parkour battles while still trying to earn the evil champions trust because he's quite weak himself and needed an upper hand to win. he's still recovering from that.

makes user physically unable to sleep until effects wear off. how do you think see'watt made all of those book's? he was bored and wanted to preserve his culture and couldn't go to bed.

MEDICINE

care / remedies

* seaweed was used as bandage's or to soothe burns, like aloe vera. it was also used as a form of twine when dried, often used to reinforce the outside of cast's.

glowberries we're used to treat stomach bugs due to the properties that make glowberries, well, glow, also have lot's of antibodies in them! often used in skincare for dry skin or as natural decoration. sometimes put inside lantern's or made into oil for oil lamps.

spore blossom petals we're used to make saturation potions last longer, and a traditional form of plant tallow (← made from beef / chicken fat, herbs are added for taste / smell, used in cooking and as soap).

[iforimaginary]

May I entice the masses with the concept of a Will Wood Jukebox Musical?

Around a month ago me and a good friend of mine were listening to Will Wood’s discography and they offhandedly threw “Wouldn’t it be cool if someone made a Mama Mia equivalent with his songs?” into the air.

This thought stuck with me for a while until I found myself incredibly bored during a 3 hour-long road trip and decided to kill some time.

Preface aside, I present…

[ Welcome To Suburbia The Musical ]

↓↓↓

Brochure Designs:

Narrative Summary:

A young couple attempt to escape the hardships of life by moving to a far-off picture-perfect town known by locals as ‘Suburbia’. Despite it’s shining appearance, the couple are troubled by unsettling peculiarities bursting at the suburb’s seams- but what’s a village without a little cooky culture?

Character Breakdown:

• James Campbell - An alcohol-dependent horror writer down on his publishing luck.

• Dai Lu Lee - A doctor specialising in the care of farm animals with an unfortunate talent for disappointing her parents.

• Cassie Logan - James & Dai Lu’s next door neighbour with an unsettling sense of humour.

• Morgan Logan - Cassie’s reserved wife working as a forensic investigator for the local PD with a predisposition to bad first impressions.

• Lin Lee - Dai Lu’s headstrong traditional father.

• Ming Lee - Dai Lu’s passive narcissistic mother.

• Mayor - Confident and charismatic front man of Suburbia with a messy past who’s always ready to offer a helping hand.

• Barkeeper - Eccentric and off-putting owner of a local bar that appears to be a front for a darker business.

• Therapist - Patient woman tending to Dai Lu’s psychiatrical and psychological needs.

• Secretary (Non-singing ensemble role) - Nerdy and shy assistant of The Mayor who is desperately enamoured, head-over-heels for her employer.

Act Synopses:

[Act 1]

James and Dai Lu, freshly engaged and already exhausted from life’s baggage, strike a ‘too-good-to-be-true’ deal on a down payment for a quaint home in the unmarked town of Suburbia. After being warmly welcomed by the ever so charming Mayor and their next door neighbours Cassie and Morgan, the couple begin to unwillingly face some of their fatal flaws as Dai Lu is forced to stare her regretful decision making right in its ugly face.

[Act 2]

James may recognise his now hard-to-hide attachment to alcohol, but he is far from apologetic about it. Frequenting a newly discovered bar on the outskirts of town results in his fiancée finding herself in a rather unusual predicament. Forced to work for a sleazy underground cabaret bar, she preforms a number detailing The Mayor’s dark and unfortunate past. All the while, The Mayor himself is trying to seduce her partner into a life overflowing with sin and dubious spiritual ties. Upon being reunited through the brilliant detective work of Morgan, the couple have yet another handful of complicated feelings to sort through.

[Act 3]

Decades of pious work from The Mayor’s hands finally come to a head as he no longer attempts to hide his servitude to a being he was never quite sure how to please. The town descends into uncertain insanity as every individual is consumed by their corrosive and abandoned insecurities. Dai Lu never quite moves past her disagreements with her parents, James never quite makes peace with being an utterly unremarkable writer and Morgan never quite solves the case that’s been scratching at the back of her mind for years. All those lives are, however, lost in vain as The Mayor misinterprets his Patron’s asks. The town of Suburbia stands desolate, bare, and belonging to a man who’s greatest desire is to be rid of it’s burden.

Songs By Act:

(Act 1)

Suburbia Overture (Mayor, Ensemble)

The Main Character (James)

Marsha… (Lee Family)

Against The Kitchen Floor (James)

Momento Mori… (Morgan)

Well, Better Than… (Dai Lu)

(Act 2)

The First Step (James)

Willard! (Mayor)

Front Street (Barkeeper, Ensemble)

Venetian Blind Man (Dai Lu)

Black Box Warrior (Therapist)

Your Body, My Temple (Mayor, Ensemble)

Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll (James)

Cover This Song (Cassie)

Outliers (Mayor)

Love Me, Normally (James)

(Act 3)

Vampire Culture [S.O. Reprise] (Mayor, Cassie, Morgan, Ensemble)

Lapce’s Angel (Mayor)

Hand Me My Shovel (Cassie, Morgan, Ensemble)

Dr Sunshine (Dai Lu, Ensemble)

Cotard’s Solution (James, Ensemble)

Song With Five Names (Mayor, Ensemble)

2012 (James, Dai Lu, Mayor, Ensemble)

Naturally there is a much larger and in depth plot summary, thought-out blocking for musical numbers and some in progress character designs that I have crammed into my Master Doc for this behemoth of an original work.

Keep in mind this concept is far from finalised, more characters may be added and more songs might be written into the narrative.

I’d be more than happy to go more in detail about it and accept any form of suggestions or feedback if the users of Tumblr happen to find this interesting :)

In the mean time, if you find yourself interested in this work and would like to listen to the songs in chronological order I have compiled a playlist you can find bellow… ↓↓↓

[shmothman]

Alloy

Al•loy (noun): a mixture between two or more metallic elements, especially to give greater strength or resistance to corrosion.  (Just like titanium, two people can be stronger together, too.)

Vash the Stampede x Reader 829 words Rated G Tags: pre-relationship, mutual pining, fluff, pride and prejudice hand flex

“Vash,” you say, chewing on your lip; you’re not sure if you should even ask this, but your curiosity’s just too great.

He looks up at you, seated beside you before the fire. “Hm?”

“Your arm,” you say. “It’s lost tech, isn’t it?” That much is obvious, but it’s a necessary first question; a prelude to what you really want to ask.

He looks down at his left arm, flexes his hand. His voice is soft when he says, “yes.”

“Could I… look at it?” you ask, and then quickly append: “it’s okay if you don’t want me to!”

It’s long past sunsdown now, and your sleeping bag is wrapped around your shoulders as the fire you had built earlier finally dies down. Most of your companions are already tucked in their own sleeping bags by now, and there’s no one to overhear your quiet conversation, the soft intimacy of Vash sitting so near you, his thigh almost touching yours.

“Oh,” he says, sounding somewhat bashful. “Um, if you wanna?” He holds out his hand to you, his face lit in the soft orange glow of the fire, his bright blue eyes not meeting yours.

You wish your heart wasn’t hammering quite so hard. “You sure?”

He nods, gives a small hum of affirmation, and gingerly, you take his hand in your own. 

With his gloves and coat, sometimes you forget that his arm is prosthetic; he moves it so naturally, so carefully, that you didn’t even know until you were close to him. You know that it’s been a part of him for a long time now, though you’ve never asked the specifics, and he’s never offered. But now, he’s allowing you a closer look, and as you run your fingertips over the joints of it, you hear him draw in a breath.

You’re too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “It’s incredible,” you say. Machinery fine enough for the motor control he has is a feat of engineering that you doubt anyone alive today could replicate; the way it actually connects to his nerves by way of the port in his upper arm.

He only gives a nervous laugh. 

“Do you… feel it? Or can you just move it?”

“A little bit,” he says softly, his voice very gentle. You risk a look at his face, and his gaze is steadily locked on the way you trace his fingers with your own, run your thumb over the joint where the palm of it connects with the wrist. “Not pain, though. I can feel pressure; enough to move it and hold things, but not much more.”

You ignore the shiver that works its way up your spine at the way his voice sounds, at the way the metal—that strange, lost alloy—feels so cool in your hand. “Can you feel this?”

He nods. “Only a little. Like a really soft touch.”

You wonder if he would be able to feel it if you brushed your lips across his knuckles, or pressed them to the tips of his fingers. 

You’re not brave enough to try.

The fire’s burning down to embers now, and it’s getting colder; the metal of his hand growing cold, too. When you shiver and draw your sleeping bag tighter around your shoulders, Vash smiles gently. “You should get some sleep,” he says. 

He’s right, it’s late—but you’d give anything to stay by the fire with him, to keep up this excuse to touch him in any small way. But the desert night is cold, and you can’t ask him to keep you warm, no matter how much you wish you could, so you only smile softly and nod.

“You too,” you say, though you know he always stays up later than you—you’ve seen him disappear, night after night, and sometimes you catch him watching the stars.

You wonder what he thinks about, those long nights.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to know.

Letting go of his hand, you stand. “Goodnight, Vash,” you say, and you hope that he can hear what’s in your voice—the love there, the care, the adoration. One more smile thrown his way, and then you’re heading off to lay your sleeping bag down, to slip inside and curl up and try not to think too hard about his hand in your own.

---

As he watches you join your companions in sleep, Vash lets out a soft sigh and flexes his hand. What he wouldn’t give to be able to touch you like that all the time, to take your hand in his right, to actually feel your warmth. Even with his prosthetic, your gentle tracing of his fingers sent shivers up his spine; he can only imagine what it would be like with the other. And imagine he does, as he watches the embers die down, only the coals glowing a soft red, now. 

But you deserve more than the danger that follows him… if only he could gather the courage to leave.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompt from here (but randomized)

[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4] [Day 5] [Day 6]

[Read on AO3]

Day 07: Fireworks

My Canon AU, post-war, wc 978

The popping sound, loud and staggering rhythmic, wakes Gale up with a start: they’re under attack, the Germans are firing at them, God how was he asleep? How did they get here? The war is supposed to be over — but is it? Or was it just a dream?

Red light illuminates the room; a flare, so someone’s in danger. One of their fortresses, some of their men are coming back wounded, the plane shot to bits, leaking blood and fuel alike and for some reason he’s not outside waiting for them, helping them. What kind of a Major is he become? The one who abandons his friends, no, his men in their time of need? What a disgrace. What a shame to the rank they’ve given him.

Another loud crack sends him flying off the bed, barely registering the outraged meow as the shadow of something skitters away in the darkness — what is a cat doing here, his panicked mind wonders for a second then he realizes, more proteins. He’s back there, then. He’s not in England anymore, he’s back in Germany and he’s being shot at by friendly fire. Someone’s come to liberate them but don’t they get that it’s more dangerous like this? That they’re gonna kill them if they continue shooting at them?

“Stop!” He shouts, as if the soldiers in the planes can hear him over the commotion. “Stop! We’re here, we’re still alive! Help us!”

Another crack and he cries out, covering his ears and hiding his face in the cradle of his arms; he doesn’t care about how it looks like, a Major losing his cool like that. He just wants it to stop, he wants peace, he wants to go home, he wants-

Another thought fills him with icy cold dread: John. Where is he? He wasn’t in bed with him so does that mean he’s outside? Is he fighting, is he ok, is he alive? The idea of having survived all the nightmares they’ve lived through just for John to be shot down by friendly fire makes him sick, bile rising up his throat scalding and corrosive. “John!” He calls, but he’s shaking so fiercely it comes out as barely a whimper. “Please,” he insists through sobs. “Please.”

A door opens somewhere flooding the room with light. “Buck!” A familiar voice calls as someone rushes to him, cold and sticky hands grabbing his face. “Buck, it’s me. It’s ok, we’re home. It’s just fireworks.”

Home? Blinking blearily through tears Gale tries to focus his gaze on the shape in front of him and starts crying louder in relief when he finally recognizes it’s John, alive, older, worried. His pupils are wide with fear, his brow furrowed, and he flinches visibly when the next shot goes out but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t remove his hands or his gaze from Gale, keeps him steady. “It’s ok,” he repeats softly. “You’re ok. Come back to me, Buck. Come home.”

Home.

Little by little the rest of the room comes back into focus: the quilt on their bed, the heavy curtains at the windows, the paper Christmas garland hung to the door of their wardrobe, Meepo hiding behind John and staring at him with outrage in his green eyes. Home is their farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, home is their bedroom that smells of cedar wood and resin, home is away from the war, home is safe. He is safe.

One last sob slips through his teeth and then he goes quiet, sees it in John’s eyes when he realizes he’s back from where the noise of the fireworks had taken him and relaxes, the crease of his brow smoothing out. Then he notices something else and tries to pull away with a mumbled curse but Gale grabs his hands to keep him close. “What?” He croaks out.

John shows him his palm, smeared with blood from a fresh cut that runs up his thumb. “I was carving wood when the noise started and I jumped, I probably cut myself then and didn’t realize. Then you started screaming and it didn’t matter anymore, but now I’ve made a mess all over your face with the blood, sorry Buck.”

“Don’t worry,” Gale shakes his head. “It’ll wash away. I think I scared Meepo,” he adds, pointing to the cat still hiding behind John.

“Nah, he’s not offended, right Meepo?” John asks, turning toward the little creature. “He’s used to us, he knows shit like this happen when fucking kids decide to celebrate New Year a few weeks earlier,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna have a very interesting conversation with their mums and I promise you, they’ll think twice before shooting up their fireworks near the house where two veterans live.”

“Yes please,” Gale says and attempts a smile that feels pale on his own lips. “Not now though. Stay here now, ok?”

“Sure Buck,” John says. “I was just about to come call you to suggest we drink some hot chocolate, what do you think of that? Or would you rather just stay here for a little while? We can do whatever you want.”

“I think hot chocolate’s a good idea,” Gale answers, his voice still thin. “And some jelly sandwiches maybe. But first we have to fix this,” he adds tracing the cut on John’s palm with his fingertips. In any other occasion he might have kissed it but right now the idea of tasting blood, even John’s, makes him queasy. He’s still trying to avoid thinking about that smeared on his face, he hopes John will find a way to clean him without him having to look in the mirror.

John, seemingly understanding, nods and pulls him closer to place a kiss on his forehead. “Sure thing, Buck. Nothing that can’t be fixed when it’s me and my favorite boy.”

[solaneceae]

consume

a team bolas oneshot (read on ao3) tw: cannibalism, fuga impossivel references

“Hey, Slime. Can I eat your leg?”

The hybrid makes a huh of confusion, still adjusting his trusty gas mask over his face as he loots his own dead body, codified arm still glitching from fresh respawn. Cellbit can hear Jaiden and Étoiles conversing nearby, Bagi and Tina not too far from them, and the entire area reeks of blood and death.

Red Spawn had, strangely enough, become some kind of safe haven for now — people from all teams that were begging for a break, for a chat, for any modicum of normalcy had started to flock there as the end Day Four drew near: separated lovers falling into each other’s arms, Étoiles coaching everyone on PvP techniques regardless of affiliation (because the guy just thrived on being kind and helping people become the best version of themselves, it seemed. Cellbit appreciated that), his very presence a deterrent to anyone who would dare to come and break the temporary peace (BadBoyHalo).

And now that they didn’t have to look over their shoulder every second, the cat hybrid had started to think. A risky endeavour in a place such as Purgatory, but after exchanging a heated kiss with his husband and getting the sudden urge to bite his mouth off, he had started to wonder.

There were so many bodies around their spawn. He had seen many for the past few days, most of them belonging to his own team, but the urge to chow down on fresh meat had been nowhere as strong as right then with Roier, not even close. (First day had been the odd one out, as everyone in red team had lost their minds to the fog and joined in on that fucked up banquet.)

A hypothesis is blooming in his mind. He needs to test something. “Can I eat your leg?” he repeats to a befuddled Charlie, who looks at him, then at his body, then back at him. “I mean. Sure? Knock yourself out.”

Cellbit does — and it’s disappointing. It starts off nice, his heart hammering inside his ribcage as he severs muscle and bone and tendon to rip Slime’s leg off his still cooling body, saliva pooling in his mouth as his pupils dilate to eat up all the blue, and he can feel it, the thrill, the desire, the manic joy; but then he bites into it and the leg loses solidity, turning into green goop that tastes like grass and it’s so sour, like an unripe lemon. He spits it all out, grimacing — his palate and tongue almost feel burned. He forgot slimes were corrosive. “Tastes like shit,” he huffs, and Charlie lets out a disappointed aw.

Results: inconclusive. Cause: negative bias, because Charlie is a fucking slime and hence an outlier. 

He asks Jaiden next, and she shrugs and tells him to go for it. (Maybe they should be worried about how flippant they’ve all become about cannibalism, but that’s a problem for post-Purgatory them to deal with.) And this time, it’s good. Her flesh is tender and moist, just the right balance of muscle and fat, and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction as she watches him tear into her thigh with morbid fascination. “How do I taste like?” she asks him. He tells her ‘delicious’ between two mouthfuls of prime cut, and she smiles. “Nice! I’m glad.”

Contrary to what some might believe, he hadn't eaten anything off the Federation workers he had killed. Hadn't reached that point at the time. But now there he is, seeking an enemy body among the dozens of Jaidens lying around. When he finally does, he stares down at it for a long moment, and finds that he has no desire to sink his teeth into it at all. Mmh. He looks up to find Roier, still silent to mind his recovering lungs and plopping down signs that make Étoiles crack up, and he’s so funny and cute and strong and Cellbit wants to crawl into his chest cavity and— “Ah,” he realises, something old and crooked at the back of his mind finally clicking into place.

He thinks of Pac. He thinks of Alcatraz, of that desire that had torn its way into his brain as soon as he had seen that youthful, terrified face for the first time. He thinks of those nights tossing and turning, tongue flicking out in a nervous tick as he obsessively rotated the new guy into his mind from every angle, trying to imagine what his screams would be like, how his flesh would taste, how it would feel going down his throat. He thinks of the pure, unadulterated pleasure of finally making that fantasy a reality, details blurring into red-mist bliss and the song of Pac screaming and crying. He finds that if he had to do it all again, right now, he would, but not like this. This time, dream-Pac would offer himself willingly, repeating I trust you, I trust you as dream-Cellbit reverently slices through his flesh.

He thinks of that thing humans have, when they experience the urge to squish or bite when they see something cute. He thinks of the result of his observations, that he only enjoys eating people if he cares for them.

(Maybe he had loved Pac once, in a fucked up version of a crush distorted by his mania and lifetime worth of trauma. Maybe that was why he had done what he’d done. Now the engineer was more akin to a brother to him, close and important, but that obsessive attraction wasn’t there anymore.)

Maybe it’s just in his nature, to consume the very things he loves. “Something on your mind?” Jaiden asks him later, sleepily, her head resting against his side as the rest of the family dozes off within the Nest in a tangle of limbs and soft blankets. Cellbit shakes his head. “Just. Processing stuff.”

Jaiden hums, and Phil drapes one of his large black wings over them both. The conure chirps, flock, home, and the crow replies with a quiet yesyes.