#it’s like fucking dodging grenades out here

[vigilantesyd]

sorry i just don’t understand why people are posting spoilers at all honestly. like.. it’s fine if you’re tagging them but still it’s like people who haven’t listened yet shouldn’t have to avoid social media to not see lyrics and analysis of an album thats not out yet!! it’s fucked up!! i honest to god dont give a fuck if you’ve listened i get it really but like… its literally just a few more hours can’t you wait to post about it?

[modelbus]

Have I ever mentioned I’m a Greek mythology nerd? If not… here’s a good time to drop that. This is HEAVILY Orpheus and Eurydice inspired!!

This is just a little writing EXERCISE, I know it’s not good :) I will be posting an actual writing thing on WEDNESDAY!!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

He Doesn’t Look Back

You’d follow your lieutenant through fire if he asked you to. And he never did ask, but you still did it. Bullets pinging at your feet, all you can do is grip your gun and keep your eyes trained on his back.

Ghost doesn’t look back.

Hesitating for even a second would get you both killed, and he knows it. Glancing back at you, even just to confirm you’re alive and following, would end with a bullet in his head too.

It’s not far from cover, a building you two can duck into to reload and go back at it. Call Price for an evac, inform him the mission went sideways.

Damn intel leaks.

This was your mission, technically. You were sent out alone, collecting information on a mobster from afar. It was simple, safe.

Until the Task Force servers were hacked and your mission was leaked.

Being disconnected from the team unless you called them left you unable to know what happened. When the mobster suddenly went into hiding, you searched the city high and low, trying to figure out what had triggered it.

Ghost was the one to come into the city to tell you, to save your ass. And now he’s the one helping you get out, helping you live, continuously saving your ass.

Despite what everyone says, Ghost is hardly callous or emotionless. If you chose, you’d liken him to a tragedy. For all intents and purposes, he’s the makings of a hero: strong and brave, loyal enough to dive into hell to save you. But he’s got the air of a dead man walking, someone who has so many ghosts that they’ll drag him down. Ironic, considering his Callsign.

You let out a muffled curse as a bullet zings past you, barely missing. Ghost doesn’t turn, too busy dodging his own bullets.

There’s just a few more paces, then you’ll be in the safety of cover. This is the last time you’re letting Price put you on undercover work, you swear. Soap will probably tease you for days for needing Ghost to come rescue you.

Your hands tighten on your gun instinctively, glancing over as you catch a glimpse of fabric. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve been in a worse situation. At least in other times you had all of 141 to back you.

Finally, Ghost ducks into the doorway of the abandoned house, looking back at you before he’s even fully in. You can see his eyes through the mask, relief clear as he reaches back to haul you through with him.

You lower your gun, stretching to grab his arm, eyes only on him and the prospect of safety.

Neither of you ever sees the grenade.

It flings you back, the ground seeming to erupt beneath your feet as you fly. You slam against someone’s abandoned car, scrabbling for purchase as you’re sent tumbling across its hood. Glass tears through your sleeves and gloves, piercing through to your skin.

Ghost shouts your Callsign, but you can’t even hear it past the ringing in your ears. Like everything is muffled, you can barely get yourself to focus on pushing yourself to a sitting position.

Pain shoots through your body, but you ignore it. You have to get up, you have to get to Ghost, you have to fucking live.

You look up, right into the barrel of a gun.

A man you’ve never seen before stares down at you, sneering. As you watch, his hand tightens around the grip.

Ghost is nowhere in sight. He came back for you, but at what cost? He looked back to help you, to make sure you were still alive, and you were a fool for dropping your gun to reach for him.

The man above you squeezes the trigger.

Ghost’s name is the last thing on your lips.

[dairy-farmer]

I just had a thought! :3c Multiverse+A/B/O/ shenanigans! And it goes on longer then I expected it too!

Consider!

Tim. Clever, ruthless, barely holding in there. Standing in the ruins of what once was Gotham, air tank running, filters On. The air of planet earth has finally passed the point of no return. The last human hold outs have finally fallen.

He was hoping it wouldn't come to this.

The Great Pyrrhic Victory.

Batman's Doomsday Vault. Buried deep under the rumble of Wayne Manor. With every last Fuck You, Batman ever found. All the "taking you with me" plans, laid out side by side. And Tim?

He needs the one at the very back.

Because this... THING. Won't stop. Not ever. And the Multiverse can't afford that. So Tim fights forward. Runs out of weapons. Bashes in those last few skulls with and empty air tank. And then he digs.

And digs.

And digs.

He runs out of air tanks, day seventeen. But the rubble filters the poisoned air enough. It has to be enough. Three hours later he hits Vault. Uses the last of his wrist computer's battery to power the entry pad and door. He's in. At least the air is clean here, for now.

And there? In the back? Sits the plain black lock-box.

A sci-fi looking hand grenade with extra bits. The bomb that can Destroy Everything. Not just the world. But the entire universe. Tim's whole reality and everyone in it. He would never consider it, if there was anyone left. Any way to fix this. But there's not.

It's just him, a monster, and the bomb that can end all of this.

He doesn't bother to say good bye. Why give that THING a chance to stop him? He pulls the pin.

And let's go.

Aaaaand it works EXACTLY as it's creator designed it too. VERY big boom. Everything dead. Etc etc. Reality? Hard Deleted. No take backs. But! Creator dude was a coward and a scoundrel. Like FUCK was HE going to stick around and Die with you PEASANTS. Absolutely the fuck not! He just hated you! To death!

HE was gonna hop to a DIFFERENT reality! One that probably had blackjack and hookers! Appreciated his GENIUS! Or at least that had been the plan... until Batman Super DUPER broke his bones for threatening all of reality. As one does.

It was in the file.

Page 17.

Tim only bothered to read to page 15. Because he was short on time and the world was dying. He didn't give a shit about the assholes life story. He probably should have. Because if he HAD? He would have realized he wasn't going to die today.

Instead he's in the Vault.

THE Vault.

The Super Dangerous Batman's Final Fuck You Vault of DANGEROUS EXPLODING DOOM Vault(tm). He's not doing so hot. What with the hiking for days without rest, poisoned air, no food or water, and expecting to die. He's standing in front of THE "destroys the universe" bomb. Blinking dumbly down at it.

These many factors are probably why he fails to dodge.

WHAM!

Getting full body takled by a well rested, highly trained, adrenaline filled Alpha? BIG Ouch. But at least Tim get medical aid and an IV of fluids! Followed by everyone's FAVORITE gameshow~ Paranoid Bat Duel Interrogations, Code Word Exchanges, and General Angry Wet Cat Posturing!

The fact that Tim does not EXSIST here? Doesn't help. But his wrist computer DOES. The OTHER problem? Is this Reality has secondary genders? What? I mean, he HAS heard of planets like that. But...

It apparently trips them out just as much, that he only has one. But apparently Uncle Clark has the same problem. So he's given fake Beta pheromones to where.

He's... surprised they just let him stay. To be honest. But apparently "pack is pack", and HIS family may be gone, but so long as THIS version is alive? He has a home with them. Tim doesn't cry. It's dust. Sweat got in his eyes.

But! This wouldn't be a smutty Ask Thought if it stayed so wholesome, would it?

Because Tim is awkward. Clearly trying his best. But unsure of... how to? Bond. He doesn't HAVE the enhanced sense of smell. The scent glands. The instincts. He loved his family, but they didn't DO touch nearly as often as A/B/O/ packs need for healthy bonds. So really, he comes off as skittish. Jumpy. Abused almost.

In need of attention.

Bruce casually rubbing his shoulder. Clasping the back of his neck. Sitting near him. Duck tucking Tim's arm in his, resting his head on Tim's shoulder theatrically so he can rub his scent on him subtly. Jason slinging arms around him and using him as a leaning post.

And Damian. A child who never knew him as any sort of Rival or threat to his position, who sees him NOW as a battered and abused member joining the pack. A hero in his own right, Tim is no threat to Damian's long held position as Robin. Damian is out here legit RESEARCHING how to rehabilitate abused Betas and Omegas, trying to apply a hybrid approach.

Treating him like an easily spooked cat.

Tim starters getting used to being touched. Cuddled even. Pulled into laps and flopped upon. Honestly, even kinda LIKES this whole nest idea. It's pretty comfy.

But then it goes to shit. In the way it always seems to. Tim has started helping out. Building a record of Red Robin's presence LONG before Tim Wayne appears. Planning outings for when he CAN go out together with the others. Comparing realities. But then? Ivy. And ugly fight.

Heat inducer, straight to the face.

He calls it in. Already used a near by hose to get it off him. But... but he feels sick. Like, lose meal you ate as a four year old sick. Nightwing gets to him. Jabs him with the counter agent. Helps him back to the cave.

But not before a dangerously high fever starts to kick in. Blurred vision. Sever nausea. He's not REMOTELY aroused, but he IS being affected. They scramble to figure out what's happening.

The inducer is poisoning him.

The counter agent is helping, so another, STRONGER dose is applied. But that's all the can do. And even that, is incredibly rough in his liver. And he's still nauseous, still has a fever.

His body just doesn't have the proteins to break down the chemical of the inducer. Bruce sends everyone back out on patrol. He scoops Tim up. He'll tuck him into bed so he can rest. There really is nothing they can do.

But that's not true and they all know it. It's that none of them are willing to SAY it. To name the truth. There very much IS a way to get Tim the proteins he needs to break down the drug poisoning him. And with how deeply nauseous he is, it wouldn't be orally.

But they choke on it.

Eyes lingering on their other-reality pack mate. Frustrated, they leave to go take there anger out on some goons. Bruce himself tries not to think about it, as he carries Tim upstairs. As every jostle and sway makes Tim desperately suck in air to keep from hurling. As sweat catches the light. Making the younger man look like he'd just run a marathon.

He rests Tim on his bed. He's refusing to think about. Helps Tim out of his clothes. Isn't thinking about it. Goes, comes back, with cool water and a wash cloth. Most CERTAINLY not thinking about it.

Tim his thrown an arm over his eyes. To block out the light. Is pulling in even, practices breathes. Utterly miserable. When... when he doesn't have to be. Bruce wets the wash cloth and wipes him down. It's basicly with holding treatment.

Bruce's eyes stray the the sheet, lightly draped over Tim's hips. Only thing that covering him, now. He is horrifyingly glad Tim is scent blind. Tears his eyes away. Tells Tim that... technically... there IS one way to get the proteins into his system. If he doesn't want to wait this out.

For a long, terrifying, moment there is dead silence.

Bruce has ruined everything.

Tim hates him.

He's going to run away and never speak to him aga-

Bruce is pulled from his brooding panic spiral, by Tim dryly pointing out, that in CASE Bruce us unaware? He's fucking huge. And Tim is nauseous as shit right now. He WILL blow chunks. Not exactly sexy. Perfect timing as always, Bruce. Somethings truely ARE universal.

Bruce snorts. But Tim has a good point. This is hardly the most romantic situation. As sensual as sandpaper to the face. He promises to make it up to Tim. Feels that distinctly Alpha thrill at the prospect of GETTING to take care of someone. Tuck them close and provide for them.

For now, he massages. Gently. Careful not to rock. Slides his hand down to gently rub. Twirl his finger around and tease Tim's little cocklette clit, when things are wet enough, drift lower to slid in. Start to gently stretch his hole.

He doesn't have to fit. Today. Just has to get deep enough that no seed will slip out. A though occurs to him. They have heat aids, don't they? He bought them for Dick and Jason. They probably don't USE the smaller ones anymore, since they've grown. But that doesn't mean Alfred would have thrown them out.

Bruce leans down. Presses a kiss to Tim chest. And tells him he'll be right back. He's gonna get something that'll help.

Heads for the Heat/Rutt nest.

And yep. Right there on the high shelf in the back. The smaller plugs and toys. Grab that and a bottle of artificial slick, he's good to go. Back in short order.

The slick makes his fingers slide in so EASILY. He pulls back, picks up his favorite rutt sleeve from where he stashed in the box. And imagines what it will feel like, working himself inside that tight, fluttering hole. Brings himself to the edge with brutal efficiency, but doesn't let himself fall over. Sleave off, crawl forward.

Gently pushing. Still too tight. Tim gasping and gripping his arms, legs spread beneath him. He wants so BADLY to rock forward. To fuck into him. But he won't. Not Today. Just the tip, pushed just deep enough to gush inside, as he cums. He shudders, milking his cock into that body. Then grabs the cute little blue plug that'll keep it all inside him.

Rock it in.

It's impossible NOT to cuddle Tim after that. To wrap him in his scent and body. Instincts and hormones demand it.

His son's are of course FURIOUS. Mostly that he enticed Tim with out discussing it with them or with them there. His youngest, also being an Alpha, tries to stab him at breakfast. It's to be expected. The important thing is Tim feels better.

Tim is ALSO immediately hunted down by Damian, when maiming his father for sexing up Delicate Timothy failed. Scoundrel! Cad! Damian bets he wasn't even gentle and attentive! Barbarian! How could he!

So obviously, it's up to the ONLY Alpha in this household with ANY decency! To fix this! Which is how Tim starts the first day of MANY exciting days to come, by waking up to Damian eating him out like it's his mission in life. Fingers on a mission to find his g-spot or die trying. One overwhelming, if confused, and still waking up orgasm later?

Damian is tucking a pillow under his hips. Adjusting his grip. And..? Oh! Oh, big is genetic! Very full! And he hasn't even hit his final growth spurt yet. Holy shit. Then Damian pulls his hips back and snaps forward, and Tim's not thinking much of anything. Mostly just incoherent babbling and scrambling at the sheets.

Getting That Spot HAMMERED.

Shuddering apart.

Feeling something... different. Pressure. Stretch. Popping in and out, until it CANT and its just dragging the grind, just inside him. Damian shuddering, snapping his hips forward like he wants to FORCE it deep. Like a FIST inside him. Spraying his guts. Full! Oh god, full! It's grinding against everything that feels good. Amazing and like he's gonna die. Tim can SEE the little bulge of seed, from how full he's gotten.

He gets to learn EXACTLY how long it takes for a knot to go down.

"They" get caught Dick. Who hums and offers Tim advice. It CAN be a lot, can't it? Dick meanders over. Eyes trailing over Tim's straining and sweat soaked body. Where Damian is buried deep and knotted inside him. And leans down.

You know what always helps DICK when a knot is too much?

Tim knows that look in Dicks eyes. He does not trust that look. Tim doesn't want to know, Dick.

Too bad~☆! Says Robin number one, grining like a shark.

What helps HIM, is more orgasms, He informs, as his clever hand makes contact with Tim's clit. Tim jerks but can't escape. Pinching, twisting, tugging. Rubbing. Tim whines and jerks, coming apart while Dick watchs. Waits his turn.

It's a long morning.

Luckily, Omegas can't Knot. Unfortunately, that does NOTHING to stop them from bending you in half and railing you through the mattress. Pulling you up into their lap then up and down their cock like a sleeve. Kissing the air out of your lungs as they pin you to a wall, so they can get better leverage, fucking deep and hard like they want to permanently rearrange your insides.

Sometimes Omegas are ALSO Superhero acrobats.

Tim hides out in Jason's room, after he escapes Horny Devil and his beloved gremlin. Gets a shower. A nap. It's a mistaaaaake. Or not? Jason, at least, props him up in a comfy position before sliding home. Apparently stretched him A LOT while he slept, because frankly, the fullness feel nice instead of bloated.

He could almost go back to sleep.

Gentle rocking. Sweet praise being rumbled in his ear. Warm pressure covering him like a weighted blanket. The slow, building, hum of pleasure. 'S nice. Jason even arranged the pillows so Tim could slump face down and still breath just fine!

........you know what? He NEVER gets to sleep this easy. Go for it. This is nice. Unlike SOME people, at least Jason is being thoughtful. Have fun.

And Jason does have fun. Tim drifts in and out of a light snooze. Getting some sleep, getting some orgasms. Waking up to an absolutely GUSHING hole stuffed with cum. An exhausted Jason cuddled up next to him. The sheets may be beyond saving.

He has to shower, again.

Sticks to the walls. Hugs corners. As he keeps an eye out for Fuckwing the cuddler. Tim is HUNGRY damn it! He missed both breakfast AND lunch thanks to him! He eats quickly. Does not notice Alfred's exasperated look. The Beta can smell everything, after all.

And since HIS room is compromised. Tim, having learned nothing, decided to hide in Bruce's room. The perfect place to nap!

Which is obviously exactly where Bruce finds him. Smelling like bratty, young adult drama and jealousy, exhausted on his bed. Poor Tim. His kids fighting over Tim Time should NOT be taken out of Tim. They'll learn THAT the hard way, when he inevitably avoids them to rest.

Bruce, luckily, already learned all this in his playboy phase.

Want a massage? Some juice? Cuddles? I'm VERY non-threatening. Here if you ever feel horny. Let's get you all nested up, hmm?

And Tim's not even an Omega. He's not an ANYTHING. But damn if that's not effective. Bruce paying attention to him. Talking in that low, soothing rumble. Touching all soft and gentle. Not pushing or demand, just warm and smelling so GOOD and just.....

He's squirming out of his clothes and dragging Bruce down on top of him. Feeling incredibly decadent and kinda bratty. Pay attention to him. Fill him up and make him feel good. He's pouting and demanding and feeling clingy. And wonder of wonders?

Bruce doesn't scold him or scowl. But grins so indulgently, hums and hushs. Yes, yes. Of course. His little pillow princess, gonna get so full and knotted.

And Bruce is huge. But Jason stretched him so, SO much. So Bruce can rock into him now. Punch the air out of him, little by little, as he gets filled up. Whine and pant as his clit his teased. As Bruce fills him even when it feels like there should be no room left. Until he bottoms out. Grinds with little rocks of his hips.

Slides back and seems to take Tim's insides with him. Slowly. The more. In and out. Held still. Praised as his insides stretch out. As it starts to feel overwhelming good instead of just overwhelming. Faster. Harder. Whimpering and drooling as everything is pummeled by the snap of those hips. Fucked.

He's not even knotting him yet.

Bruce making him orgasm first. Almost dragging it out of him. So his body will relax enough to TAKE it. Then the pressure. The short, brutal little rutts against Tim's best spots. Made all the more sensitive having just orgasmed. Each one making Tim jolt and squeeze, milking that quickly expanding pressure. Having it GRIND, almost cruely, against where it feels best.

Unable to move, barely able to BREATHE, as he finally locks and begins to gush. Pumping deep. Filling and filling. Hot hands, rubbing to ease the strain. Or maybe just in fascination. He's been with Beta's but never someone who body straight out WASN'T designed for this sort of thing. Not poorly designed for. NOT designed for.

Tim looks almost pregnant. Not heavily. Just that tiny swell. But it's enough to wonder. Are they even compatible? He finds himself hoping the might be. Let's his hand drift down as he leans forward to press kisses to Tim's face. Works him up to another orgasm. See? Being knotted is nice. Feels good.

It's a bit awkward due to the angle, thanks to his own poor planning, but he is able to cuddle close to Tim. Who is finally getting used to it. Is nested in pillows, covered by Bruce, and filled to the brim. High as a kite on hormones thanks to the near but not quiet pain and repeated orgasms. There'll be no Red Robin on patrol tonight.

Tim of course, can barely walk the next day.

Which means he can not escape his brother's. Who love him VERY much and have multi-step plans to becoming THE favorite. Tim may soon become the stabby one, if they don't let him rest. Alfred is the favorite. He has food and doesn't keep Tim from his work.

(That's a lie. He loves all of them. But his fuck bruises have fuck bruises, so currently they're all BASTARDS. Dead to him! Hisssss!)

-🐼🐼🐼

!!! the angst of tim losing his universe but then ultimatly sent to another, an a/b/o one where he's the object of their desire but he can't fully handle it because his biology just isn't fully compatilble but that doesn't stop them from trying!!!

[tacticaldiary]

Unsteady

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Little could throw Leon off, especially when he’s laser-focused on his objective, but the moment he hears that cry of pain all thoughts of acting rationally are out the window. 

Masterlist

He’s a steady man. 

Everything Leon does is meaningful. The way he moves, striding with purpose, the way he talks, to the point, those remarks rolling off his tongue naturally, the steady motions of his fingers as he smoothly reloads his gun with one hand, tossing a grenade with the other. 

Deployed to investigate an outbreak in the middle of the ruins of a city, Leon hadn’t liked being paired with her at first. 

Love and duty didn’t mix after all. 

“Watch your six.” She yells out, ducking to parry an incoming knife from the particularly agile species of zombies they found themselves in the middle of. Leon turns just in time to dodge a zombie lunging for his neck. A bullet through the head sends it down. 

Together the both of them move as a deadly, well-oiled machine. Wordless communication glances that silently request support or warn, a punch there, a chamber of bullets lost here.

“There’s too many of them, we’re overpowered!” He calls out, holding his position. 

“Retreat back to base for now!” She yells back, yanking her knife back out of a creature’s head with a sickening squelch. She scowls as the blade comes out half broken, tosses it aside, and extracts another one. “We’ll regroup and come up with any strategy. Charging forwards isn’t working-”

A creak cuts through the air, halting all conversation. Even the mangled corpses go quiet. 

“Move!” She shouts and before Leon knows it, he’s shoved roughly away as an old oil tanker collapses mere inches from where he stood. The massive barrel explodes on contact with the ground, engulfing the world in flames, bright red and hot. She lets out a strangled yelp as it burns right through her shoulder and chars her skin. A surface burn but still stinging and painful. 

“Are you alright?” Comes a yell from the other side of the wall of flames. “Shit, are you hurt?” He sounds...panicked? No, that wasn’t right. Leon Kennedy didn’t panic. He fought, thought, and charged his way through any problem. 

“I’m fine!” She tries to find a way to him, but the wall of flames produces so much heat it makes her eyes burn from the smoke. Pulling the collar of her shirt to cover her mouth and nose, she gives up finding a path back to their original position. 

She curses under her breath, “I’ll meet you there! Go back to base, I’ll find another way!” His protests come through, but she ignores his demands for her to stop and find another way. If she stayed she’d be charred to toast. The fire spreads onto the old creaky building, columns of flames mounting higher and hire. The creatures at least seem to have just as strong a dislike for the heat as she does because they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Go!” She yells one last time before taking off into the nearest alley, clutching her burning arm. 

Getting separated was never ideal, but it couldn’t be helped. She knows he’ll be alright. Leon was anything but stupid. He was deadly, he’d be fine she tried to convince herself. 

As she starts to think she might have gotten her bearings back, a crack sounds from above her. She whirls around, gun aimed to the ceiling of the wooden beams she’s passing under, thinking it’s a zombie. 

It’s not. 

The beam creaks under the weight of the fire eating away at it, and before she can dive out of the way, it cracks and falls straight into her, trapping her in rubble and splinters, pinned to the ground. 

She screams, hot wood pressing against her skin as the fire around her seems to close it. “Fuck,” she gasps in a breath, trying to think. Prying the beams off of her does little but burn and embed splinters into her palms. 

Shit, Leon. She had to meet Leon back at the base, had to let him know she was alright, had to know that he was alright. 

 After a couple of minutes of struggling, it dawns on her that she’s not going anywhere. Her lower half and left arm are trapped. There’s no way she can lift the beam on her own, not with her injured shoulder at least. 

Was this it? She squeezes her eyes shut, chasing the thoughts away as she sweats and burns. Was this how she was going to go out? Smoke threatens to choke her, acrid and bitter in her throat, in her lungs. 

She imagined she’d go down protecting someone, maybe even her boyfriend, or that she’d be torn apart by some sort of bioweapon, but no.

She’d burn and suffocate under a goddamn beam. 

Feeling tears prick her eyes at the thought, her head feels too heavy to keep lifted, her forehead dropping to press against the dirty pavement below.

Leon...God, she hoped he wouldn’t blame her too much. 

They’d just started to make a life together. Years of dancing around, subtle flirting, and lingering glances finally led to them dating a year ago. She loved him. She really did love him and now she was never going to see him again. 

Two beady eyes glare at her from the far end of the alley.

Cold and dead. 

A zombie staggers towards her, snarling unfazed by the fire around them. It stumbles and drags itself closer and closer.

A dry sob rips itself out of her throat, the heat unbearable, panic clawing at her. Breathing short and shallowly, she wishes she could reach for something to end her pain a little quicker, but she can’t reach any of her for any of her weapons. 

Helplessness threatens to drag her under until her eyes catch on a sharp splinter of wood the size of her palm just within reach. With a shaking arm, she reaches towards it, crying out when her movements put more of the wood’s pressure on her. The splinter of about the size of her palm, is wickedly sharp. 

Glancing up again is almost too much effort to handle in between her hacking coughs. It’s halfway down the alley already.

She’d rather kill herself than end up like them.

Trembling, she presses the sharp point of the wood right onto her jugular, swallowing nausea and hesitation. 

She couldn’t let herself turn. What if she was the one who found Leon? What if she hurt him? No, she couldn’t bear it. 

Another sob wracks her body as the living corpse staggers closer. Steeling herself, she closes her eyes and tries to think about anything else. 

Don’t be too mad at me, Leon, she thinks to herself, before-

The sharp bang of a gunshot startles her, her hand jerking and digging painfully into her throat. Before she can blink away the blurriness in her eyes, her wrist is yanked away from her neck forcefully, the grip on it like iron as the wood is ripped out of her hands. 

“Not yet, baby.” She could cry at the voice, low and determined. “You’re not done yet.” 

“Le-Leon.” She coughs, “You won’t- the fire.“ A gasp rips out of her when he tries to tug her free. “Stop!” She cries out. “Can’t-you can’t. I’m stuck. Go before it’s too late.” Is all she manages to choke out. 

The look Leon gives her is one that she might have laughed at if she were in the laughing mood. 

“Like hell.” He says roughly, “We’re staying together.” She knows that tone of voice, the one that’s immovable and molded out of iron. Too tired to argue, she nods. He moves out of her field of vision behind her. 

“I’m going to lift the beam.” He says calmly but quickly. “I need you to drag yourself out from under when I do. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

When she doesn’t respond, he calls out her name, repeating himself more urgently. 

The most she can offer him is a weak nod. Her throat feels like it’s on fire.

Suddenly the crushing weight is gone, and all she wants to do is sob in relief and curl up right there and then, but Leon’s voice filters in and out of her mind. With the meagre remaining strength she has left, she claws her way out of the rubble, collapsing a bit away onto her stomach. 

Leon doesn’t waste any time asking questions when he runs over to her and picks her up, ducking through a gap in the brick wall a couple of feet away. 

“You’re going to be okay.” He says aloud, glancing down at her as he moves. Steady. Always so steady and calm. She takes comfort in it, but it’s only when she sinks farther into his grip that she notices. 

The tremor in his hands. 

The slight shake of his voice.

The poorly hidden panic in his eyes whenever he glances down at her. 

He’s panicking. Leon Kennedy is panicking. 

“Shit, don’t close your eyes.” He urges, squeezing her closer to his chest. “Stay awake. Stay awake for me, okay?” He talks, getting increasingly shaky when she can’t find the will to respond to any of it. 

In and out of darkness she drifts. Every time she feels herself swim too deep, his voice always pulls her back, like an anchor she couldn’t lose even if she tried.

When she comes back to this time, clinging onto his voice to drag her back she finds they’re back in the bunker they’d chosen as their temporary base for the mission. She’s laying on her bedroll, Leon’s roll draped over her to keep her warm. 

The man in question is wrapping her shoulder with a bandage. The numb coolness suggests he’s treated the worst of her burns

Trying to speak, nothing but a hoarse noise comes out. 

“Don’t talk.” He instructs, immediately reaching for his canteen. Gently he props her up in his arms and brings the vessel to her lips, guiding her to drink. “That’s it, sweetheart.” He praises her as she drinks. “Slowly.” 

Swallowing a few times, she tries again. “Are you...are we?” 

“You’re alright.” He assures her. “I got you out in time.” Still, in his arms, he feels her physically relax at the assurance. 

It’s not enough. Seeing her accept her demise, laying there half-trapped with a weapon to her jugular ready to end it all before his eyes...

He feels sick thinking about what would have happened if he’d been a mere second late. Seeing her slit her throat in front of him...he may have just pulled the trigger on himself there and then. 

The thought washes over him, overwhelming. He can’t stop himself from clutching her tighter, drawing her into his chest and tucking his chin over her head. “Thought I lose you for a second.” He admits hoarsely.

“I...I thought I did too.” She whispers, feeling him draw his arms around her tighter. “Thank you.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you there.” 

“How did you know?” She asks, shifting to meet his eyes, taking solace in the deep blue. 

“I heard you scream.” 

It had stopped him in his tracks, all thoughts of anything regarding his own safety and the mission dissipating with the single sound. The only thing on his mind was to find her, to help her, to make sure she was alive and that she never made such a sound ever again while he was alive. 

“I’m glad I did, then.” It’s a weak joke that doesn’t pull a smile or a chuckle out of either of them. 

“Scream or stay silent, I’ll always find you, sweetheart.” He mutters into her hair. The trembling in his body seems to have subsided now that they were out of the fire. 

Her heart warms at his words, and even as their world is quite literally burning down outside their little safe haven, she finds that there wasn’t a place she’d rather be right now than in his arms like this, comfortable and safe. 

“Rest. I’ll take watch.” He presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a couple of seconds. 

Her last mumbled thanks barely makes it past her lips before she’s out cold, trusting him to keep her safe while she recovers. 

Requests Are Open!

(22/06/2023)

[lucidfallacy]

Watching From Siberia (Ghost x Reader 18+)

'It's only a matter of time.' That's what I've been telling myself as I await another one of Task Force 141's inescapable phone calls. They've needed my help 3 times, just this year, and made sure they got it. And yet, I'm almost itching to work for them again. First, they had me aid in implementing UAVs into their awfully complicated aerial system. It's kind of a new concept, the whole remote-controlled flying crafts that shoot bullets thing. Super fun to make, not so fun to sight in. I still haven't bought Soap that drink after nicking his calf, but I told his smart ass to move. Then they asked me to 'Illegally,' might I add, modify some spare M4s that I totally found just lying around somewhere. I fitted each of them with saucy little grenade launchers and holographic sights. Price about came all over himself the first time he fired one.

This last time was a bit silly though. They called me to connect cameras, of all things, to their fancy little fuckin' Humvee trucks they use in the god damned middle of the desert. Now that shit was a little sketchy. I was flown into Chitral airport on the outskirts of Pakistan. When I hopped out onto the runway, Ghost bagged me, threw me in the back of a Hummer, and from what I could make out, carted me into Afghanistan. That's right he manhandled me, threw me right over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, and gripped the back of my thighs with a single muscular fuckin' arm. Lord I can't lie, it had me feeling spicy. I didn't even fight back. There was a foreboding look to his deep umber eyes, almost hungry. But so do all soldiers, I guess. When I told him he could at least take me out to dinner before trafficking me he didn't laugh. Embarrassing. Usually, he's the silent one out of the lot, at least when I'm around. I haven't been able to break him in yet, so we are at odds with each other on most days. And you know what? My back still doesn't feel right after all the bumps and sharp turns we took on that trip. Oh right, Ghost was dodging bullets as were shot at. At least he kept me alive. 

Anyway, they had a full-fledged base out there with all the bells and whistles, lookin' like a replica of a Star Trek ship, or something like that. You would've thought I pissed in that one tech bitches cereal from how she treated me while I helped out too. Boohoo, I didn't go to Daddy's money Stanford and then fuck my way to the top. So what? But like I said, connecting cameras is child's play. She must've thought my presence meant competition. In actuality, I'm only around because I'm repaying a debt.

It all started in 2016 when I was taking a well-deserved vaycay trip to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. Risk-taking is my specialty, other than tinkering with coding and wires. So, when you leave the door of a loaded LTV truck cracked on the street for just anyone to waltz into, how could I stop myself? After scanning around I hopped in. Guaranteed I can find a scrapper around here somewhere, I thought. So there I was, money hungry, bent over elbow deep in the dashboard's wiring when the click and cold barrel of a gun suddenly pressed to the side of my unknowing temple.

"Smart girl... So you're good with your hands, huh?" Ghost teased, voice thickly laced in his British accent.

"Did you know your air conditioning is shot? Lots of condensation under the truck. Was just trying to help out is all," I blatantly lie, hands flying up in defense.

Ghost pressed the pistol harder, wrapping a gloved fist around the ends of my long hair. I winced as he yanked me back against the seat. He wrapped me up in a loose headlock, just enough to breathe. But I remained steady.

"Hmm. What else can you do?" he whispered into my ear. And from then on, I was Task Force 141's bitch.

Before, I used a special website where I would disguise my business as a maid service. In reality that used to be my actual job for many years, y'know scrubbing toilets. But, I would receive private messages asking me to come and "clean house," basically meaning hook them up with whatever they needed. It was always the same ordeal. Price, time, place. I got contracted out for god knows what by god knows who, and then my ass gets to go free. It was a lovely exchange really. My top-of-the-line tech equipment went for thousands of dollars. I set it up and my reward was routed straight into my offshore checking account. No strings attached. However, the task force has been paying me so well recently, that I haven't even considered checking my site's inbox. Am I too comfortable? Nah, maybe I should vacation in Ibiza this year... no Greece. Ah yes, I can stroll around the Acropolis, visit the mountain villages of Zagori, get fat off of the souvlaki- 

My phone lights up, buzzing around on the nightstand and interrupting my nightly glass of red wine. I'm laid up at the Aman Hotel in the heart of Manhattan, aimlessly scrolling through must-see Greece destinations on my laptop. The hotel's richly modernized earthy architecture, glass fireplace, and Japanese minimalist-inspired open floor plan have me feeling breathless as I look out into the New York City night. I spent the evening drinking cosmos in the downstairs jazz lounge, sporting the tightest black dress I could find earlier today at the Vivienne Hu boutique. I dreamed of times like these, and god am I enjoying myself. But I've come to realize the ball-crushing fact that no matter what I spend or where I go, I still feel alone. I roll across the bed onto my stomach and set my glass aside, red nails scratching against the table to grab my annoying cellphone. A Manchester, England area code? That's Ghost's personal number.

Me: What the hell are you calling me this late for?

Ghost: ...Because I have a job for you.

Me: What if I told you to fuck off?

Ghost: What if I told you to flip over?

I blink a couple of times in disbelief, stammering on a quip back at him.

Ghost: All that booze got you feelin' a little courageous, huh? In that tight little fuckin' dress my money bought you.

Me: How do you- Where are you?

I look around the room panicked, as if he's somehow lurking in the lack of shadows.

Ghost: What are you wishing I was there? So I could bend you over that balcony out there and let all of New York watch me fuck you.

My cheeks are ablaze and my stomach turns with relentless butterflies.

Me: Simon- you feelin' okay? You mistaking my number for an amateur phone sex line?

Ghost: Mmm, no I know who I'm talking to... And who I was just looking at.

The unmistakable metal clink of his buckle and zip of his pants on the other line has my heart racing, faster than when we were shot at in Afghanistan.

Me: Creepy bastard how-

Ghost: For fucks sake would you shut that filthy mouth of yours and roll back over to your laptop.

My jaw drops, but my thighs clench together as a noticeable heat begins to build in my core. Maybe it is the alcohol, making me mindless enough to jump off that balcony if he says jump. And maybe it's my endless flirtatious comments and tight tank tops I've worn in missions past that've driven him mad. But we are about to run full force into a field of landmines, screaming fuck the consequences.

I put my cell on speaker phone, sliding my long bare legs across the white linen sheets back in front of my laptop. I don't know how he's done it, but he's hacked in and can see me through my tiny computer camera. Honestly, I'm not even mad.

Me: Where are you? What are you doing?

My voice is silky and flavored with intent.

Ghost: C'mon bunny, you're killin' me...

He says, antagonized.

Ghost: In Siberia. Needed something to warm me up...

He groans, his calloused hand stroking audibly slowly over his cock. The sound makes me rigid with excitement. Especially as he aggressively spits on himself as lube. I spread my legs on both sides of the computer, rubbing my clit slowly through my soaked black panties as I lean back on a mountain of pillows. I wonder if his abs are trembling, or if the veins of his forearms are straining under his thick tattooed flesh.

Ghost: God your tits sit so pretty in that bra fuck- don't make me beg you. Think I won't fly there right now and screw the security deposit outta that place?

His voice is gravely, overcome with the consequential need to have me. I moan, pulling my panties tight up between the lips of my pussy, just enough for him to get a peek of what he's missing. Ghost's breathing runs ragged as he grunts, pumping himself with a bit more ferocity. So I slip my skimpy dress over my head and throw it somewhere on the floor. Then I slide my thong down my shaking thighs, flicking it away.

Me: What's stopping you? I'd let you fuck me raw on every piece of furniture in this place. Mmm but maybe your dick is too small to do that, so I don't know...

I tease him, gathering the wetness of my arousal between two of my fingers. I spread the lips of my cunt, finding euphoria in listening to him come apart from the sight.

Ghost: Quite the opposite, you cheeky bitch.

He's so full of himself. His cock sounds like it's more than enough for me to handle as he continues fighting for his climax. I can tell just from how long it takes for his fist to reach his wet tip and slide back down in a slap against his balls. So I begin rubbing small painstaking circles around my bared clit, letting the tension blossom.

Ghost: My smart-ass little fucking whore. Rub that pussy faster bunny, c'mon cry for it.

The pounding of my heart echoes through my ears, making it difficult to even think straight. My bucking hips help me ease my fingers into my weeping entrance as I whimper, making Ghost growl through his gritted teeth.

Ghost: God you're fucked, ya' hear me? Next time you see me I want you crawling-

He cries out and he quickens his pace

Ghost: Perfect ass in the air- ugh holy shit,

I'm sloppily riding my fingers at this point, desperately wishing he was here to rip me apart. And I know nothing will ever be enough until he gives it to me. He embodies the very things I've been missing. Someone to put me in my place. To own me. My fingers curl roughly inside against my G-spot, just as I hear Simon's release in a howling cry. We are so far away and yet have exposed ourselves to each other at the furthest extent in a matter of minutes, changing the course of our confusing partnership. But deep down we both knew, with every second glace and every one of my dropped pens, that I knew what I was doing.

My head falls back, hair slicked to my sweaty forehead, and body feeling completely at peace. The white sheets beneath me are ruined, drenched by my own squirting orgasm. Simon snuffles a bit, trying to manage his breathing as he climbs down from his own self-induced high. He's probably shuddering as he takes in my spent form from his end. Hopefully wishing to feel the closeness of a post-sex embrace, just as I do, This temporary silence between us means nothing after over a year of unrequited lust. Ghost chose me, out of every other woman he knowingly has at his fingertips. He's watched as they melt for him, but not me. He likes the bickering, the banter, the chase it's been. And tonight was a result of his patience running out. So, now I realize two things.

Ghost: Pack your shit, you're not going to Greece. I'll send you the flight details for Siberia.

* Hangs up *

I'm not as lonely as I thought and that Simon Ghost Riley is just a horny fucking liar. 

[ac-19]

Marry Me - T. Sawyer (Bravo 4)

Summary: you never expected it to happen until it did. In the middle of the battlefield.

We were trapped. There was gunfire coming in on either side of us, and I was running extremely low on ammo, which is why Trent was currently doing most of the shooting. This was not what I was expecting when I agreed to roll with Bravo while Clay was out with an injury. 

"Bravo 4, Alpha 3 come in."

"Bravo 1 this is Alpha 3, we're pinned down."

"Copy Alpha 3. We're heading your way now."

"Copy."

"What's the plan?"

"Run like hell."

I chuckled, and Trent looked back at me for a second over his shoulder before he focused his attention back on shooting at the bad guys. 

"What?"

"There's no way we're making it out of here you know that right? Unless Jason can pull off some miracle we're outnumbered and outgunned."

I saw a figure run across the corner and come at us so I quickly lifted my gun and fired off a shot landing it square in between his eyebrows. 

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life you know that."

"Then trust me here."

"Okay."

"Stay close to me and run when I say so."

I nodded to myself.

"Now."

I quickly turned around and we both bolted and I had no idea where we were running to until we were in the empty building across the street. We ran up the stairs pushing as much debris as we could behind us until we reached the top. 

"See I told you to trust me."

I smirked.

"Never doubted you for a second."

Trent scoffed.

"Yeah right. How's your ammo?"

"Low."

What sounded like an explosion came from downstairs and I looked up at Trent.

"We're not alone."

"Get behind me and hide."

I scoffed.

"Like hell I'm going to let you fight these guys alone."

"(Y/N) for once can you listen to me. It's my life over yours always, don't you get that?"

"You know I technically outrank you right? I don't have to take orders from you. And by the way this is not the time to be noble Trent Sawyer. I love you and I am not going to let you take these guys on by yourself because I would never forgive you if you died and I lived."

Trent smiled.

"I love you so fucking much (Y/N)."

"Cut the sappy shit Sawyer, we have some bad guys to fight."

Trent smiled as he planted a quick kiss on my lips before we took our position hiding from the guys coming up the stairs. We heard more gunfire, which meant there were a lot more people down there than we thought, and I gripped my gun a little tighter. With the ammo we had left, there was no chance we were going to win this fight. 

"Meet you on the beach?"

Trent nodded. We had this saying that if either one of us didn't make it home from a mission we would wait for each other at the beach. We knew this was a lose lose situation and the chances of us making it out alive were very slim. The shooting got closer and closer and before we knew it bullets were flying our way. We fought back for as long as we could but there were just too many of them.

"I'm out."

"Me too."

Trent quickly grabbed onto my hand, and we started running dodging bullets, trying our best to get away. We made it out of the building, but we quickly found out that there were more of them out onto the street.

"Incoming."

Trent swiftly covered my body with his as a grenade exploded just a few feet from us. More gunfire erupted, and we tried our best to take shelter behind some of the debris. 

"You know if we get out of here we should get married."

I chuckled through the tears that were now streaming down my cheeks. 

"If we get out of this alive, we can go straight to the courthouse when we land back in Virgina Beach."

"I'm gonna hold you to that Mrs. Sawyer."

I leaned forward and planted my lips on Trent's. If these were our last moments together, all I wanted was for him to know how much I loved him. After a failed engagement for me and a failed marriage for him, I never thought I'd hear those words come out of his mouth. We had known each other for years before we actually got together. Our unofficial first date was after I was stood up and went to the Bulkhead to blow off some steam and ended up talking with Trent the whole time. Metal called it that night, that'd we'd be together, and three years later, here we were. More explosions made us pull apart, and I sighed out of relief when I saw Ceberrus running towards us. 

"Alpha 3, Bravo 4 can you pinpoint your location?"

"Bravo 2 this Alpha 3. Follow Cerb."

"Copy that Alpha 3."

Soon enough Ray, Brock and Metal were standing around us. Brock took a hold of Ceberrus while Metal handed me some ammo and Ray handed Trent some. I quickly reloaded and wiped my face of the tears.

"Bout damn time."

"You know I wasn't about to let my best damn gun fighter die a horrible death. Oh and had to save Trent too.

I chuckled.

"Can you repeat that so I can record it?"

"Not gonna happen kid."

"Let's get to exfil."

I nodded, and we followed Ray's lead as we headed towards the exfil point. Jason and Sonny were mending the exfil point, and he smiled when he saw us in tow of Metal, Ray and Brock. 

"Good to have you guys back."

I chuckled.

"You always take us to the nicest places Jason."

"You always volunteer to come."

"Yeah well this might be my last ride with Bravo."

"Oh come on now, I didn't think you'd scare that easily."

Some gunfire was heard in the distance and I shook my head. 

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"I second that."

I smiled as we all climbed into the helicopter and smiled at Trent as we took off. The team knew about our relationship, even Blackburn knew, but he always looked the other way when I volunteered to work with Bravo. If we do get married then that complicates things where it concerns us working with each other. I felt a small tap on my leg and I looked over at Trent.

"Where's your head at right now?"

"Just grateful that we didn't die."

He nodded. 

"Yeah that was close."

I nodded as I laid my head on his shoulder as we flew back towards the airstrip that was going to bring us back to Virginia Beach. Once we were all back on the plane I changed back into some civilian clothes which consisted of a pair of blue jeans, a long sleeve shirt that I "borrowed" from Trent's closet and some white converses. Everybody was exhausted so we all tried our best to get some sleep. After some tossing and turning on my part I decided to get up and grab some water. 

"Can't sleep?"

I shook my head as I turned to face Trent. 

"Adrenaline's still going. You know from almost dying today."

Trent nodded. 

"Yeah. Listen about what I said.."

I nodded. 

"You know I get it. It was said in the heat of the moment when we thought we were gonna die. I'm not gonna hold you to it."

He nodded as he pulled something out of the front pocket of his jeans and I swallowed the lump in my throat when I realized it was a ring box.

"And that answer right there is exactly why I've been hauling this thing around with me for weeks now waiting for the perfect moment and in reality there's never gonna be a perfect moment because we leave on spin up and deployments and we never know if we're going to make it back home. You're my best friend (Y/N) and I can't imagine not being married to you another day."

I nodded as tears brimmed my eyes. 

"I was really hoping you weren't gonna go back on what you said because I really want to marry you Trent Sawyer."

Trent smiled as he stepped forward and put his hands on my hips and planted his lips on mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kind of got lost in the moment until Metal cleared his throat. 

"Excuse me, I just need to go to the bathroom to go puke after witnessing that."

[shuttershocky]

I'm playing MGRR now and I know it's been some time since you did the same, most likely, but have you got any tips on Monsoon? This guy is unbelievably hard. I'm getting my ass kicked

Also what's up with Jetstream Sam. Why is he... here. He feels so weird, it's like he's kind of tacked on the game.

I know exactly where you're having trouble. It's that Monsoon seems impossible to hit, right?

There's two ways to deal with Monsoon separating himself into tiny pieces to go kick your ass: parry each part, or use an EMP grenade.

To parry an attack in MGR, when an attack comes your way, press the stick in the direction of the enemy attack, and press the attack button at the same time. That's right, there's no block at the last second mechanic, you gotta throw yourself in the direction of an incoming attack and face it head on (while pressing the attack button at the same time). Time it right and Raiden will parry the attack, and parrying Monsoon's magnetized limbs stuns them; this means you can parry all his body parts until only his head is left, then start beating the shit out of his head for free until he reactivates his limbs.

The second way is to use EMP grenades. If you come into the fight with EMPs equipped, bombing Monsoon as soon as he activates his magnetic limbs kills all his electric parts and leaves him vulnerable. If you don't have any EMPs on you, parrying his limbs then beating him up will sometimes cause him to drop EMP grenades, which you can then pick up and throw at him for free damage.

Eventually Monsoon will wise up that this Buggy the Clown shit isn't working and start throwing things at you instead. You can use blade mode to cut them in half instead of dodging, letting you keep running straight at Monsoon.

When Monsoon creates a massive trash wheel in desperation, you'll probably want to dodge. Don't listen to those instincts — Raiden is a fucking boss and can parry that shit too. Parrying the big wheel multiple times will expose weak points you can destroy in Blade Mode to let you disarm Monsoon quickly, otherwise you'll have to keep dodging the wheel until Monsoon gets tired and this raises the risk of you getting flattened by it.

Follow these simple steps and you can breeze through Monsoon easily.

Fun fact - Monsoon's dialogue will actually change depending on how hard you kick his ass. Normally he'll goad you into killing him in order to complete Raiden's fall back into Jack the Ripper, but defeat him fast enough and he gets terrified by you and begs for you to stop instead. Extremely satisfying.

____

Jetstream Sam is there to prove even cyborg ninjas have much to fear from the average Brazilian samurai

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Now back with Volume 1 - Chapter 3

I like this. Simple pose but very interesting with the "imbalance" I guess with the tilted head, shadowed face, and slightly lower slope of one shoulder. It's not "stiff" and it's easy to imagine the wind blowing through Vash's coat and hair.

A thought occurs tho, Did Trigun predate Tetsuya Nomura's obsessive belts, belts, and more belts design quirk? Did Nightow and Vash started that anime fashion trend?

Uhuh. Says the people who tried to shoot a GRENADE at that same one guy.

I kinda put these three panels in a sequence because... we know Vash is a good guy. Of course, he's going to save the women but the emphasis on the Nebraskas reaction to his rescue is really interesting.

Vash gives them a side-eye. He's either gauging their capacity for mercy or already clocked in that they are capable of mercy and silently hints for them to wait just a moment.

Father Nebraska understanding and just waits as he smokes. Then confirms first if Vash is ready to rumble again.

Idk. It's a moment of humanity not only for Vash but for the Nebraskas too imo.

AND IT'S WEIRD! In '98, Father Nebraska tried to get a cheap shot on Vash while he was still carrying someone to safety.

Yeah, assholes. Vash is doing his best to keep the women in the clear while you guys just throws grenades willy-nilly into buildings who have people in them. Smh.

Ngl. This sequence confuses me a bit. But, going with what happened earlier, the Nebraskas were not targeting the women. The punch was intended for Vash - which he dodged easily. However, instead of running further away, he shielded the women from the flying debris that the punch caused.

WHICH AGAIN, I REITERATE, IS REALLY WEIRD FOR '98 TO DEVIATE FROM!

In the '98, they are bonafide bad guys but in the manga they're still bad but not "Muwahahaha I'll shoot the injured women Hahahaha!" bad . The Nebraskas have some semblance of honor here.

I guess this is why TriStamp has a much more nuanced presentation of these characters. It's closer to the manga.

Oof... Owww... Vash... 😢

Another gorgeous art. I like how Nightow's way of using perspective here!

Junior is established to be huge - a giant. He always take up so much space in the panels/pages like below:

However, when Vash finally "duelled" them seriously. Doesn't Junior suddenly "feels" smaller and Vash really big?

It's really cool how it instantly shows that Vash isn't goofing off anymore and the Nebraskas stand no chance in winning this.

Ragey Baby Girl no longer smiling.

Sigh. Gotta admire their one track mind.

Ngl. The line work here gave me Junji Ito vides for some reason. Vash's eye look haunting, cold, and really old.

Linework carrying hard on this page. Vash is obviously quicker with how much lines are there in his entire arm - convincingly too fast of a blur. Meanwhile Junior has less lines which makes his fist less blurry and, therefore, slower.

Clever use of the sound effects in the first panel.

I don't know what the fuck is going on in the second panel. I've been staring at it too long already and I still can't understand except it has something to do with Junior's arm?

Third panel is the crazy detail on Vash's eye. His glasses seem like he is looking at the side. However, on closer inspection, Vash is actually not looking away from the incoming attack.

The following pages is really great at building the tension on how would this duel end. The '98 anime captured it very well!

Looking cool, Vash!

Also, is it just me or does he always look for opportunities to show off his flexibility and long long legs. Must he really split here?

...

...

YES. YES HE MUST.

Oh. Ooooh! So that's what happened!

In '98, this conclusion was given to the bandit in Episode 1. His own enhancements crunching his body until he passed out and lost to Vash. However, they can't exactly rehash this in Episode 5. So, we have the "LOVE AND PEACE!" scene instead.

Admittedly, I prefer the "LOVE AND PEACE" conclusion more.

I like how, so far imo, Nightow just gives no fucks about anatomy in his art. I mean... Look at this! Even if we reason that it's because his coat is dramatically billowing with the wind, Vash's body is not proportionate. However, it doesn't matter! It looks cool and it evokes the right emotions just fine: fear and awe.

OMFG?!!! The trials these two are going through! These poor insurance ladies! Milly hanging on for dear life to that pillar. Meryl just screaming her lungs out EVEN WITH A MEGAPHONE!

AND IT WAS FOR NOTHING!!!! OML

Being considered as someone equivalent to a natural disaster shouldn't bring joy, but damn it... LOOK AT HOW HAPPY VASH IS!!! AWWW BABY GIRL!!!

Wow. They blame HER!!! How dare- Meryl beat them up! No, Milly. LET MERYL HAVE THEM!!! THEY DESERVE TO BE CRUMPLED LIKE TISSUE PAPER AFTER THROWING OFF GRENADES LIKE CONFETTI EARLIER AT VASH!!!

Awww. Their first interaction is SO CUTE!!!

In '98, it's funny and amusing. Ditto on TriStamp. But this one is sweet since Meryl and Milly kinda saved Vash in here.

I mean. Yeah, the townspeople are scared because Vash just beat the Nebraskas, but they are desperate for money. Desperation can override fear given enough time. Vash would've been hunted all over again.

I take it back. The insurance ladies climbing up to that bell tower was not for nothing. It was enough to allow Vash a moment to breathe and, as he rejoices, be free (even just for a while).

Wonder what exactly went through Vash's head here. Confusion? Fear? Dread?

HELL YEAH!!! BADASS LADIES IN LONG COATS! STRIKE FEAR TO THE HEARTS OF EVERYONE!!!

Oh. Some responses to the a couple of tags:

@alena-reblobs

Thanks! Glad you're having fun too because I sure am. I appreciate the warning and I'm kinda nervous because the action this chapter was kinda confusing to understand. Hopefully, it won't get worse (will it?) I agree that they are very cool nonetheless!

@eldritchneuro

Thanks for explaining! Paneling is always fun to study in mangas because they usually follow a 3 or 4 panels which mangakas creatively breakdown to evoke a feeling among readers.

Trigun is interesting because its from the 90's! So, some of the paneling are probably "prototypes" of the crazy ones we'd see in modern mangas.

I guess, Nightow's aiming to make the page very "cinematic" with slo-mo (sparse panels) and hyper focus on details (graphic weight). It draws us readers in to the story more effectively as if we are there too with the townspeople looking at the Humanoid Typhoon.

[thesopwithcamel]

More internal A hat in Time related shenanigans in my head.

Everyone else is portraying Hat Kid as this innocant little goober and I'm over here portraying her in my mind as some sort of killing machine, like seriously hear me out.

Hat Kid is strong enough to life an adult walrus with just one hand while being able to retain full maneuverability, for context adult male walruses can weigh up to 2 tons. Roughly speaking she can absolutely throw a car at you.

With her umbrella she can smack a buff man into subatmospheric orbit and you.cannot.dodge.the.homing.attack.

Can turn her own body into some sort of missile (mustache Girl fight is more of a railgun lol).

Can keep up with what is essentially a God and dodge lasers.

Hat Kid can eat solid metals, showcasing that her bite strength is ridiculously high and she has a stomach able to digest metals.

respawn (obviously she can't take much damage but she will be a menace in the long term).

Dat maneuverability and jumps, also her hat abilites (for example the potion hat is basically a fucking infinite producer of impact grenades).

This fucker has taken lives before I am sure of it and she hasn't gone all out in any of 'em (excpet maybe in the Mustache Girl fight), unless you count this motherfucker but the ARG ain't canon.

Cavus preparing to get his arse whooped to the 4th dimension so painfully he fucking dies.

[kapanbenernya]

Back 4 Blood -- It is Now Literally Left for Dead

As I have touched in this post, this is one of the games I still play, and for good reason. It has huge replayability, it's easy to pick up, it can fit all of my friends, and most importantly: it's fun. Yes you heard it right here folks, I like Back 4 Blood despite being aware of all it's faults and imperfections because it's still fun. And because of that, I will spend what free time I have to talk about this game and what I appreciate from it.

First, let's talk about the apocalypse

As we all know from the Left 4 Dead comparisons everyone throws around, the setting to Back 4 Blood is a plague apocalypse. Notice that I use the word "plague" instead of the straight "zombie" apocalypse because there are almost no zombie apocalypse in mass media anymore. Ever since the year 2010-something everyone just shied away from it like last month's fast fashion.

"LOOK AT HIM STILL USING CONVENTIONAL UNDEAD ZOMBIES! LOOK AT HOW MUCH OF A SIMPLETON HE IS!"

And with the traditional undead zombies declining in popularity, rose the new hotness that I can only describe as scientifically induced zombiefication, in which the "zombie" is caused by a scientific phenomenon like fungus, virus, bacterial infection, etc. Popular examples including 28 Days Later, The Walking Dead, and of course, Left 4 Dead. In the world of Back 4 Blood, the cause of the zombie mutations is an entity called the Worm which is said to proliferate in the waters and could mutate human flesh into all sorts of malformed abominations. And it's up to us, the cleaners of Fort Hope to thin their numbers and save the future. Or at least our group's future

But who is our group? And what are the Cleaners?

As mentioned before, we play as Cleaners. Essentially a ragtag group of survivors from Fort Hope sent out to execute missions such as community outreach, resupplying, and more often than not, blowing shit up. The characters available to us ranges from a soldier, a doctor, a delinquent, a prepper, two war veterans, and two nutjobs each with their own unique craziness. The variation is more than just salad dressing mind you, as each character comes with their own character and party skills. Such as the doctor that affects how well you can heal and how resistant the party is to long-term health damage, The prepper that can somehow turn the zombies into pinatas of ammo and grenades, and a young man whose only purpose is to annoy me every time he opens his fucking mouth.

"No seriously, Jesus Christ, just shut the fuck up Evangelo"

On top of the skills that comes with each unique character, you also have to build your own personal skill with the Skill Card system. It's essentially buffs in the form of cards that you form into a 15-card deck filled with multiple buffs and/or debuffs that will combine to fill a certain role within the team. The cards are unlocked via an in-game currency called copper (boy am I glad they didn't charge us micro-transactions for those) and you earn copper by playing the game. The system sounds pretty okay on paper, since you unlock your skills quite organically and slowly build yourself up as you play. But as you know things that sounds alright on paper might just be fairy farts in the real world, and the skill card system is no exception. The downside is that the skill cards are unlocked via packs that will randomly spawn on the shop. So if you're in a hurry to unlock certain cards, you can take a cactus up the arse and get fucked.

Wait. We've veered too much into gameplay territory now. Let me actually switch the topic to gameplay

It's no secret that the gameplay is very much similar to Left 4 Dead, so any attempt to explain the gameplay is a waste of time because everyone knows Left 4 Dead at this point. Its simple formula of "move from the starting point to the finish zone while dodging obstacles in the form of zombies" has been tried and tested for so many years now that it can almost vote. Attentive readers might have realized that I didn't put the words "killing zombies" in there because it wasn't really the main objective in L4D. They're more nuisance in the form of very bitey assholes, not unlike a teething baby that just learned to run.

"Yeah, not so tough now are you?"

Aside from them however there also the special infected that are so famous that they don't need an introduction. What I need to emphasize however is how good their designs are. I'm talking about each of them are so visually and audibly distinct, and how their roles are so synergistic with each other that they are still downright terrifying to face even with a tight 4 man group.

As the self-proclaimed "spiritual successor" of Left 4 Dead, and how the tagline for the game is "From the creators of Left 4 Dead", one would rightly assume that the game would at least maintain such quality. A thing that they unfortunately, did not manage to do with this game. Dishonorable mention goes to the special infected that can be very hard to discern unless the game spells it out for me. Not to mention that their roles aren't very distinct from one another that they all just blur out into "collective nuisance" for me. Overall, such a letdown from the people that made L4D.

Before we go to the final say, let me list the good things I really like from this game

Oh my god, it's the weapon system. The way the weapons handle, the customizations, the brutal melee weapons, the satisfying OOMPH some of the weapons have, and aiming down the sights? Good lord killing zombies haven't been this cathartic since COD Zombies. This is one of the reason why I think this game is still fun despite all it's shortcomings. The other reason? Nothing else except the fact that it's very much competent. It already has a satisfying gameplay loop that could carry the game by itself. All we need it just for the devs to keep this putrid ball of cadaver rolling.

And as we are now in the current future of 2024, we know that the Developers have pulled out like a couple of teenagers fucking on a risky day. This post by the Developers (almost exactly a year ago, by the way) has cemented the death of this game. The lack of community modding means that the game will stay the same as it was until the servers inevitably close. It truly has been the final nail in the undead coffin. The devs did say that they were gonna "be Back, bigger, bolder and better than ever!", but seeing how they treated this promising IP? Might as well get the phone ready to call CPS

In Brief

I'd still play it. No matter how much shit the community says about this game, I'd still play it given the chance. I still truly believe it's a competent game that just need a few fixes. I dare the developers to get off their ass and actually put community modding and/or map maker to the game. If that happens, I'm willing to bet one of my testicles that the game will re-flourish and we're going to start seeing a lot of new fan-made content and fixes it sorely needed.

But we will not get it of course. Not because the devs are lazy or incompetent, but I'm thinking it's because there is no money to be made in implementing it. We still remember the backlash about "Paid mods" back in 2015 so monetization is a very tricky issue. Apart from that, the devs will just look greedy by doing so. And trust me, Turtle Rock Studios cannot afford to tarnish their reputation any more than this. Not after Evolve

22/02/2024

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Just a Little Side-Quest, Part Three: GRIEF, a TMA x Malevolent series taking place in the Dark World

Egg storms. God-eating monsters. Mysterious machines. The Dark World responds to minds and hearts in a way no one can predict, and sometimes, even with a baby god on their side, harm still happens.

That doesn't mean it all has to be bad. Today, it starts bad, though. Boy, does it ever.

Just a Little Side-Quest: part three of A TMA x Malevolent crossover taking place in the Dark World. Spoilers for the entirety of TMA. Spoilers up to part 35 of Malevolent.

AO3

--------------

“Who is dreaming eggs?” Martin cried. He didn’t dodge quickly enough, and lukewarm horror splattered him from behind. “Oh, gross!”

“Keep moving, keep moving!” Jon shouted, dragging him with a fist around his denim suspender. “Arthur! Follow my voice!”

I can’t fucking see! John bellowed, because the first bomb had landed egg all over Arthur’s face.

“This way! This way!” Jon cried.

Arthur was good at following voice commands, and he kept up.

It had been like this for nearly an hour. The rising sun brought a storm of eggs. Huge eggs. Massive eggs. Eggs the size of lorries, splattering everything with sulfuric goo and sticky, gelatinous white, and the only thing there was to do was run.

They’re aiming for us, I swear!  

“No, she’s weeping!” Jon said, which made no sense to anybody. “Follow! This way! This way! It’s going… godsdamn it, that’s not east anymore, but it was, but it’s going that way , so we go this way!”

“East changes?” Martin’s voice cracked. Then he started spitting; some of it had gotten into his mouth.

“Keep going! ”

What else could they do?

Eggs hit with the power of grenades, denting the earth, shell-shrapnel flying. All three runners understood that they didn’t really have bodies, that they couldn’t die, that receiving injury made no sense—but they felt like they might be cut and bled, or brained by eggs, or choked in goo, and so they ran.

“Damn this place!” Arthur snarled.

“Here! Down here!” And Jon did the unthinkable: he abruptly darted right and into the Chasm.

Martin screamed. “Jon!”

“Right here!” Jon called, his hand waving above the sharpened edge. “Here! There’s a ledge!”

Why would a ledge in a hole help anyone? John bellowed, but Arthur was already scrambling down.

Martin made a small sound. He couldn’t see them. Jon’s hand seemed to be sticking up out of pure shadow.

Then so did Jon’s head. “Martin.” He reached. “Come to me.”

Martin met his eyes and did. He reached, and was pulled down.

#

The eggs did not penetrate. They did not even hit the Chasm. There had to be some horrible reason for that, but none of them had the mental space left to figure it out.

“I am so… sticky,” Arthur moaned.

John kept flexing the fingers on his left hand, breaking the strings of goo trying to dry between them. So… this is sort of like the Dreamlands.

“The what?” said Martin.

Dreamlands. It’s… fuck, it’s another world, apart from Earth’s universe.

“Interstitial,” said Jon, leaning against the rough Chasm wall, eyes closed. “An in-between place; the playground of gods and monsters. People who dream vividly can go there, and even make something of a life.”

“Right,” said Martin. “No idea how to respond to that.”

“I think I get what you’re saying, John,” said Jon. 

The Dreamlands are formed by the power of dreams, said John. Human minds and imagination shape it even more than the will of gods and monsters. They create reality there.

“Ephemerally,” Jon added.

Sure, but that’s my point. This like that, but… so much worse.

“On speed, or something,” said Jon.

“On speed?” repeated Martin, amused. “Jon, just out of curiosity, what do you think speed is?”

“Well, it’s methamphetamine,” said Jon, and several more eyes than expected opened. “Chemically, it’s C10H15N. It’s a central nervous system stimulant, highly addictive, related to amphetamine which has a common medical use, but with worse side-effects. Generally  a white, odorless, bitter-tasting powder, it dissolves easily in water or alcohol, and…” He realized they were staring at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Wow, said John.

Martin was smiling. Dried egg shone on his face and made his hair stick in all directions, but he was smiling. “Gods, I love you,” he said. “You’re adorable.”

“I am not … look. We need to get out of here soon. The Chasm isn’t a safe place. There just wasn’t anywhere else to go right now.”

“Was this ledge even here?” said Arthur. “Or did it appear because we needed it?”

“I don’t know ,” Jon cried after a moment. “Why don’t I know?”

“Hey, easy,” said Martin, leaning in and placing one sticky hand on Jon’s sticky arm. “It’s all right. I don’t expect you to know everything, and neither do these two yahoos.”

“Yahoo, yourself,” said Arthur warmly.

I don’t think you can know everything, anyway. Can you?

“I don’t know that, either,” said Jon. “I just want to know enough to get us out of here and safely to—” He stopped.

“To?” said Martin. “Where are we going, anyway?”

Jon looked at Arthur.

He’s looking at you, Arthur.

Arthur went still. “You know, don’t you? You know… that.”

“I do,” said Jon quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to know it. I’m not… attempting to be invasive.”

Martin looked back and forth, eyes wide. “Should I ask?” he said slowly. “Or is this one of those things where if I find out too soon, I’ll just go mad?”

“It’s not mine to tell,” said Jon. “But we are headed in a specific direction.”

Arthur’s face turned toward him. “We… we are? You’re doing that?”

“Of course,” said Jon, sounding posh. “Naturally.”

Arthur ducked his head. He was crying. John’s hand wiped at his tears. “Gross,” said Arthur, because there was goop everywhere, and he and John both laughed weakly. “Martin, I… Jon, you can tell him. I…”

“I’ll wait until we’re out,” Jon said. “You don’t have to listen.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, softly.

“What is making the eggs, anyway?” said Martin, wisely changing topics. “You said ‘she.’”

Jon looked so solemn. “She’s a gh’pluh from a planet I can’t pronounce. Sort of a… sapient… chicken dragon one-eyed giant. Her species lives its entire life in the air.”

“How?” said Martin. “That can’t—how?”

“It’s a wildly different ecosystem than what we know,” said Jon. “The thing is… she lost all her eggs. They are laid… well, her cloaca is on her back.”

“That would be really messy,” said Martin slowly.

“They’ve adapted. It’s more hygienic than you might think; but the key here is she was deeply ill, and her eggs couldn’t stay attached.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Arthur. “So all her babies fell to their deaths.”

“Yes.”

Then she did? John said.

“Then she did. She… she hasn’t found her children. What we just experienced was a storm of her grief.” Jon looked into the Chasm, not at Arthur.

Arthur swallowed. He tried very hard not to consider what his own grief-storm would be. “Is it… hard to do that, here? Find someone?” he finally said.

“Yes,” said Jon. “They imagine, too. You’re trying to sail two discrete tidal waves with one will.”

Arthur fell silent.

Martin again steered them clear. “Wish I had a way to make us some tea.”

And in the gloom of the Chasm, Jon’s eyes seemed to glow briefly green. “There’s water up ahead in the red forest.”

“The… the what?” said Martin.

“The red forest. It isn’t far.”

There was no forest in sight, said John.

“It will be when we climb out of here, which we should be able to do soon,” said Jon.

Martin touched his arm. “You don’t have to be the one taking care of all of us, you know. That isn’t… that isn’t owed.”

Jon turned his face away and did not answer.

Heavy with thought, they all sat for a while, silent  as the pounding of eggs continued overhead, and did not speak again until it quieted.

#

Martin peeked over the Chasm’s edge. “What?” he said, climbing out. “There’s no egg.”

“How can there be no egg?” Arthur said, climbing out alongside him. 

Fucking hell, he wasn’t wrong. There’s no egg. But there is… well, that’s a red forest if I’ve ever seen one.

“Like… like fall colors?” Arthur said hopefully.

Uh. No.

The ground was unnervingly like brain matter—gyri and sulci, but a brilliant red instead of pink. The trees that grew out of it were tangled , thick and impossible growths, sharp-edged and disturbingly lacy where the wood joined. 

There were no leaves; merely a dull red glow, filling the spaces. John thought it might be pulsing. 

This red forest stretched as far as he could see from left to right, only skipping the Chasm. There was no way forward without going through. Uh, he said again. Maybe we can… go back down and reset this view?

“No,” said Jon. “We have to go through it. Besides, it won’t be that dangerous for us. It’s not occupied by any living thing, exactly. There’s fresh water in there, too.” He accepted Martin’s hand and climbed out.

The moment he did, the ledge they’d been on broke and fell, tumbling, crashing into the sides of the Chasm, echoing forever.

“Was that… what we were just on?” said Arthur, his eyes huge.

“We… didn’t need it anymore?” suggested Jon, weakly.

“Reassuring,” Arthur mumbled.

Did you make it? said John.

“I don’t know. I just knew it was there,” said Jon.

It sure seems like you conjured it, somehow. Kept it for us.

“I don’t know how,” Jon said. “I don’t know what I did, and if we depend on that when I don’t know how to do it—”

“Hey. Shh. It’s all right,” said Martin.

Jon fell silent.

“What did you mean, ‘not occupied by any living thing, exactly ?’” said Arthur.

“It’s a grief-place,” said Jon. “We can’t die here, as you know, but we can… succumb. Give up. Remain in one place and feed the Dark World with unending, spiraling sorrow, and some people do. But it isn’t… it’s not inevitable, even for them. They could wake up. They’d have to choose this.”

John audibly gulped. So the trees are people.

“Yes.”

“Oh, gods, it’s horrible,” said Martin.

Jon took his hand. “Some places are, here. But I need you to believe me that other places are as good as this is terrible. It comes down to us. It’s our choices.”

Martin exhaled slowly, cheeks puffed out. “Why do we have to face this grief-forest right now?”

“I don’t know. It seems to be a theme, today," said Jon.

Arthur hung his head.

It’s not you. 

“Sure, John.”

If you were powerful enough to bring a forest of grieving souls to us, you'd be powerful enough that we would have already found her.

Arthur made a small sound.

John held his hand.

They walked in silence, inevitably toward the forest.

#

The red forest smelled vaguely like strawberry ChapStick. 

“Pink and waxy,” Martin said, stepping carefully. “I swear, I can taste it.” The ridges in the ground were solid and did not give way underfoot as he’d feared, but the gaps between them were just wide enough to threaten twisted ankles. (Which he did not even have to twist. He reminded himself. He told himself. It sure felt like he had ankles, though.)

“Familiar with that taste, are you?” Jon teased.

“I mean, yeah,” said Martin. “You don’t know all my phases.”

Jon laughed softly. “I want to. All of them. Everything about you.”

“Will I be boring to you then?” said Martin, only mostly joking. 

“Not as long as there is love within me,” said Jon. “Not as long as I have eyes to see.”

“Jonathan Sims! That was positively poetic.”

“I’m trying,” Jon said, cheeks flushed.

Sappy, pronounced John.

Arthur smiled weakly. “Let them have it. Do we just… keep walking straight?” 

“Yes,” said Jon. “Specific direction doesn’t matter. We intend to leave, and so we will.”

Arthur’s jaw set. “I’ll go on ahead a bit,” he said, stuck his hands in his pockets, and hurried.

Martin swallowed. “That bad, huh?”

“He lost his daughter in a tragic accident,” said Jon softly.

"Gods, no!"

“She drowned in the bathtub. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but…”

“How could he not feel like it was?” said Martin, softly. “I still feel guilty over my mum dying, and that had absolutely nothing to do with me.”

Jon took his hand. 

"So you meant trying to find his daughter."

"Yes."

"I'm in."

"I knew you would be," Jon said warmly.

They walked in silence for a moment. “Anyway, if you can figure out tea on our route, I’d consider that a good use of your godly powers.”

Jon laughed. “Sure. Tea plants. I can do that. Probably.”

Martin kissed his cheek.

“I am all over egg!” Jon protested.

“So am I. I still love you.”

Jon leaned in. “We’re both insane.”

“Long as we’re complementary in it, I don’t care,” said Martin.

“Pathetic,” said Jon.

“Absolutely pitiful,” said Martin.

“Particularly fascinating,” said a hissing voice they’d never heard before, and something long, white, and heavy tackled Jon from behind with enough force to tear him away.

#

You’re not in danger, John said. As if I’d let you drown here, after everything we’ve been through.

“I wonder, John,” said Arthur, “just how fair it is, though.”

Fair?

“You’re a god, or part of one. You shouldn’t be experiencing all of this with me.”

What the hell are you saying?

“I’m not good for you. There. I said it. You're probably supposed to be in some weird heaven for your kind, and instead, you're stuck here with me.”

John’s hand rose and lightly smacked Arthur in the face.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Stop being stupid. I chose to stick here with you. I clung to you on purpose when we died. I'm doing it now. Shut up.

“I’m not… look here, you.”

No. You don’t get to have it both ways. If I’m part of a god—-“

“Which you are!”

Then I damn well get to decide what I do with me, and you!

“I didn’t say you were my god.”

You little punk , said John, who had no face to smile, but gave the impression, anyway.

Then, behind them, Martin screamed.

Arthur spun on his heel and ran toward the sound, tripping on the odd surface, half on all fours, unstoppable.

#

Jon knew he had no real body. He did; he knew it, fully understood and believed this, but he didn’t feel it yet, the power of it, the freedom.

What he felt now was pain.

The thing had clomped horrible jaws right on the back of his neck, as if to sever his head from his body. The pain—electric, heavily limp— ragdolled him as the thing’s inertia wrenched them both forward and away from Martin, who screamed.

Jon’s eyes opened. Searching for Martin, whose voice had gone distant and panicked.

“Pleh!” said the thing, spitting Jon roughly from its mouth. “What is that! Rotten egg? What have you been doing, little god?”

Shouting, shouting in the distance, but Jon knew they couldn’t see him, wouldn’t reach him on time. 

It was going to eat his brain (was it?) and his heart (how?) and digest him, absorb all he was, become him in a way only gods could end here, a death everlasting, an action verb forever, and he was too scared to do anything more than cry out.

“Well,” said the thing. “It won’t be the worst marinade I’ve ever had.” And it opened its mouth too wide, too wrong , and bit his head, and it didn’t matter that he had no skull because it was cracking and that long tongue was pushing inside—

Arthur hit it like a train.

Slammed into it, full-speed, with a weight and density he did not possess but the will of a battering ram.

The monster wrenched off Jon, tearing skin, its black tongue sliding out of his skull in the worst feeling he had ever known, and panic followed: had he already lost himself? Was he lobotomized? Was he damaged now, half devoured, useless?

“Jon!” cried Martin, landing beside him to grab him up. “No, no, no, Jon!” His scream was—

He thought Jon was dying. Was Jon dying? He didn’t know!

Horrible sounds rose from where Arthur fought the thing, vicious yowling like some bobcat in a blender.

Jon didn’t want to die (he couldn’t , he knew , but Martin’s grief—)

Damn you! John roared.

The creature gasped. “ H'aaztre ?” it said in terrible awe, and Arthur cried out as the battle changed from a monster trying to get away to a monster trying to eat him.

Martin let out one sob.

That sound rocked the world. Slowed time. Turned it all to low and terrible distortion, and in that moment, Jon saw three things.

One was Kayne, barely visible behind Martin, a man-shape blur with sharp red eyes,  watching with clinical and unmoving focus.

Two: The other was truth. He was damaged, because he believed he was. Except he wasn’t damaged. He was fine. It was fear speaking, making him wrong, an unreliable witness to himself.

Three: the god-eater currently trying to eat John contained within itself a multitude of the eaten, and if Jon ate it instead, he would gain what they used to be.

“Jon!” Martin cried in long, bass tones, stretched in time like taffy.

Kayne watched.

It all seemed distant, and strangely clear. If he ate that thing, Jon could know so much. Could have it all, immediately upon swallowing. But that would be doing what he dreaded being done to him.

No. He would not eat the creature. That’s not what Martin would want. Those suffering god-bits needed to be freed, able to renew themselves. That’s what Jon would have wanted for himself. Jon knew .

“No, you don’t!” Arthur snarled with glacial speed, somehow avoiding the black tongue striking like a snake, attempting to get into his eyes. 

Jon couldn’t explain what he did. It was instinct. It was Jordan Kennedy all over again. It was no Ceaseless Watcher, but his will, and he had no idea how it worked.

But it did work.

Jon woke the trees closest to Arthur and showed them Martin’s grief. They didn’t know he was still alive—that Martin wept though he did not have to. They knew Martin’s despair because Jon fed it to them, and knew what was the cause and, with absolutely terrifying silence, slid through the sulci of sad, red soil and descended on the god-eater. 

Arthur was simply knocked aside. Martin gasped. Arthur cursed. The god-eating creature screamed as the trees widened their impossible lacy wood and took pieces of this monster into every small eyelet. 

The incorruptible within this thing could no longer be contained, and it exploded. The trees nearest popped into shrapnel, spraying everywhere, and everybody cried out. There was wood-creaking weirdness for a moment as nearby trees shifted, then silence.

Arthur panted. “What? What the fuck?”

I… I don’t know! It exploded!

Martin held Jon, still sobbing. “Jon.”

Jon was fine. He knew he was fine, and as he leaned into that, he was. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.” He touched Martin’s cheek.

Martin stared. “The… it’s gone? The hole’s gone! You’re okay? You…” He clutched so tightly that if Jon had needed to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to.

“I’ve got you,” said Jon, clutching back. 

“Did we just… murder a bunch of grieving souls?” said Arthur.

“No,” said Jon. “They’re freed, like the gods that thing already ate. They’re all free. Maybe the grievers will choose to take root again, but they don’t have to.”

Okay, what? What the fuck?

“What did that thing call you, John?” said Arthur.

I don’t… I don’t know. I mean, it was Hastur’s name, but it wasn’t.

“Tried to eat you, anyway,” Arthur growled. “Fuck him.”

Yeah, said John less optimistically. Archivist, what the fuck did you do?

“I don’t know,” Jon said into Martin’s chest.

“Where did that thing come from?” Martin moaned.

“I didn’t see it,” said Jon. “I don't even know how long it was following us. I think I... can’t see them unless someone else I’m connected to does first. They’re camouflaged, somehow.”

“Shit,” said Martin.

“Okay,” said Arthur. “Okay. We just… we need to keep our eyes out. That means you, John.”

Of course it means me, nitwit.

“Did it come from the Chasm?” said Martin.

“I don’t know,” said Jon. “I don’t even understand what they are.”

Hey, maybe I’m crazy, said John dryly. But we should probably get the fuck out of here?

“Yeah.” Martin stood, lifting Jon. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered into Jon’s egg-thick hair. “I don’t… I can’t tell you how afraid I just was.”

Jon shuddered. “You can’t lose me,” he said.

“Sure.”

"You can't. You won't. I'll never leave you."

Martin shuddered, too. “Hey, Arthur,” he said slowly. “How did you do that, by the way? You… moved so fast, and hit it so damn hard. And you avoided that tongue-thing.”

“Fuck if I know,” said Arthur, apparently unbothered by that weirdness.

I don't know, either.

“Great,” said Martin. “We’re all mysteries today.”

Move, people, said John. If I have to take point, I fucking will.

“I don’t think anyone minds,” said Jon.

Oh. John paused. Okay. Uh. Sure. Arthur, turn left and go straight. Not that far left.

“Fucking place needs public transport,” muttered Arthur.

“They do closer to the cities,” said Jon. “I don’t know if you understand how far away we are from any reasonable parts of the Dark World.”

There are no reasonable parts.

“There are… slightly more stable parts,” said Jon. “And that’s where we need to go.”

Nobody said the reason. Then Arthur did. “She’s there?”

“I don’t know yet, but I believe so.”

Arthur swallowed.

“We’ll go wherever’s needed to find her, you know,” said Martin. “You get that, right? You won’t do this alone.”

“You don’t even… you never knew her,” said Arthur.

“So?”

Arthur turned his face toward Martin. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Martin scoffed, still holding Jon under his arm. “Spend as much time with the Lonely as I did, and you’d end up knowing exactly what you’re saying, too. Besides… ask this guy how easily I give up when I’ve got a goal in mind.”

“You don’t,” said Jon. “One thousand, one hundred, and fifty nine cups of tea before I finally realized you were trying to tell me something.”

"Worth it," Martin said and kissed his forehead. “So Jon’s stubborn, too, is what I'm saying. You've got help."

“Thank you,” whispered Arthur. "Thank you both."

We’ve got this, said John.

"Hey, listen," said Arthur. "What's that?"

The red forest was finally thinning out, and at last, they found the water Jon had promised. It was clean, crystal-clear, a patch of water flowing quick and cold like a river saying hello from deep underground.

They were all silent as they stripped and bathed, sputtering in the cold and deeply grateful for it.

Their clothes were gone when they finished. Somehow, it made sense. “Offering to the woods?” suggested Martin.

“Fuck if I know,” said Arthur, and fished a new outfit from his pack.

#

At long last, the ground stopped being made of ridges and valleys. “That was a big place,” said Martin softly.

“You have no idea,” said Jon, tucked under his arm again. “It stretches the whole width of the Dark World, and it’s growing all the time."

“That doesn’t seem right,” said Martin. “Not everyone there deserves to be there, I’m sure.”

“It’s not about deserving. It’s choices,” said Jon. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Martin gently chided. “Though… not to change the subject, but my ankles shouldn’t feel better? I know I don’t have any. I know I don’t. But damn, they feel a lot better.”

“I still want a damn car,” said Arthur.

“Naw,” said Martin. “We need the Mystery Machine. Because we're mysteries, you know?”

"Ha," said Jon.

“The what?” said Arthur.

“It’s this van from a cartoon called Scooby—” He stopped.

The fuck.

Arthur stopped, too.

Jon started laughing. 

Before them sat an egregiously teal van. It was without question a 1965 Dodge A100, painted wildly with love-child flowers and a deeply groovy font proclaiming it The Mystery Machine.

“What?” said Arthur. “What?”

Apparently, Martin really wanted that cartoon van, said John dubiously.

“Let’s see if it drives, shall we?” said Martin. “And nobody imagine monsters inside it, or something.”

“Well, now I am,” muttered Arthur, but followed Martin’s voice.

The van inside was lovingly pristine; it had shag carpet and a horizontal bench seat in the back, all an eye-watering orange; up front were two more bench seats, still orange, and—to Martin’s delight—a full tank of gas.

He turned the key, and it started.

They all took this in, the rumbling of the engine and the acrid smell of the exhaust more mind-blowing than anything they’d experienced today.

“So let’s try,” said Arthur. 

“We’ll be a target,” said Jon. “This thing is noisy as hell.”

“But we’ll also make a lot more distance,” said Arthur.

“You’re thinking too logically. It’s possible we won’t make any distance at all,” said Jon.

“Jon,” said Martin. “Get in the damn van.”

Jon laughed. So did Arthur and John.

The seats were shockingly comfortable, and though the steering wheel was not on the side Martin was used to, he drove it just fine; happily, he knew how to drive manual. "Worked delivery for a while. I was fifteen and it was so illegal, but whatever," said Martin.

Jon settled against him, meaning to stay awake, to keep track of it all, to try to keep him safe. "What are we, I wonder?"

"Hm?" said Martin, pulling out.

"We're all weird, you know? Or maybe everyone is weird, and I'm just assuming, but..."

"No, you're right," said Martin. "We're... I don't want to say special, because that's the wrong word, but it all feels terribly chosen, somehow."

"It does," Jon murmured, soothed by the softness of Martin's belly, soothed by the warmth of his jumper. "We should... think about it."

"Rest," Martin murmured back. "You've got to be exhausted."

"Can't be," Jon mumbled, and then he fell asleep.

He dreamed of Kayne repeatedly poking his sleeping form, going, Why did you do that? But Jon had no reply.

[tbnrpotato]

Our Own Choices

Chapter 12

Anyways, the droids arrive soon enough, and Crosshair is camping with Echo and General Skywalker on a cliff, using the high ground, something which I never thought General Skywalker would use. (if you know you know)

I blend in with the shadows of the rocks, waiting for the droids to arrive. My sword is in my left hand, because my right hand is basically useless, and my other pistol is in the holster on my belt, I'm ready to drop my sword and use my pistol anytime I need to. Just gotta wait for the droids to come and for Wrecker to take them out.

I can feel the tension in the air. No one likes the calm before a battle. Especially not me. I prefer to watch the carnage as I slice up clankers.

I hear the droids flying in, and I don't move. I hear the rock rolling down the hill, crushing a few droids as it passes me, and the locals move in. 

They're definitely cannon fodder. 

I watch some of them get shot in the head, and some of the others being the MVPs by taking out a bunch of droids. So I start to get some kills, slicing some of the droids and Crosshair's stealing some of my kills. I'm just about to slice up a clanker when it gets shot in the head, and I look up for a moment, still holding my sword, and hold up a middle finger at him, and I receive a warning shot that whizzes past my head and shoots a droid that's behind me.

I stay close to Hunter, Tech and Wrecker and they're getting more kills than me, and Hunter's taking out droids with style. Tech rolls a stun grenade at the droids and it stuns them, and the Poletec leader runs up to us. I sling my sword back onto my back. 

I see a droid standing up and is aiming for the Poletec leader, and I quickly draw my knife and throw it at the droid's head, just as it gets headshotted by Crosshair. I see him pointing his middle finger at me and I do the same in response.

I look up at where Echo and Crosshair are at, and Echo's shooting some flying droids. I draw my pistol and start shooting at some of them, managing to hit one and Echo hitting another.

I see a walker droid landing near us, and I immediately run to take cover, splitting from the others and blending into the shadows, and I consider running up to where Echo and Crosshair are, but that would draw attention to them and also leave me exposed. Actually, maybe I should do that. Could kill Crosshair in the process. Something I would very much like to do.

The walker droid shoots a beam of explosive light at Rex, Hunter and the others and at the other Poletecs, and they all run to try and take cover, out of my line of sight. I can hear other spider droids coming, and a bunch more of those flying ones.

I run in the shadows silently, taking out a few droids here and there as I make my way to where the others are. I see Rex, Hunter and Wrecker shooting at a walker droid, so I follow them and start covering them, taking out some of the droids that are shooting at them and dodging the walker's legs that are currently trying to crush us.

I hide behind a rock and watch as General Skywalker slices up the walker. 

"That seemed to work, but how do we get up there?" Rex asks, and in response, Wrecker grabs him and throws him up to the walker's guns.

"NO NO NO NOT AGAIN-"

I'm laughing as I watch Rex get yeeted up to the gun of the walker and just hanging there.

As Wrecker goes over to Hunter and gets ready to throw him, I step forward. 

"Ladies first," I say, before Wrecker yeets me up to the top of the walker. I land on my shattered hand, which sends a wave of pain through my head and my right arm, and I hold back a scream. As I roll off the round top of the walker I stab my knife into its head and land in front of the eye of the walker, right above the gun.

Ow. My fucking pelvis. Ow.

Hunter gets thrown up as well, and the walker's head spins, and I'm clinging on for dear life with one hand. I stab my knife into the walker's eye, Hunter does the same on his side, and Rex shoots the one on his.

I see General Skywalker force-pushing the walker to crash into ours, and we go crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. 

REALLY GENERAL? YOU SERIOUSLY HAD TO FLEX LIKE THAT AND LITERALLY ALMOST CRUSH ME?

Everything's blurry for a moment and my head hurts as I regain my sense of surroundings. The droids are retreating. Wrecker helps me up, followed by Hunter and Rex. As we all stand up, I hear the Poletecs cheering. Hunter, Wrecker and Rex take off their helmets and I try to do the same with one hand, doing so with some difficulty.

"It's hard to compete with a Jedi," Hunter says.

Soon, we head back to the ship, followed by the Poletecs, who I assume want to send us off. As we walk, Echo notices my hand swelling, a side effect of basically shattering it.

"You okay, ad'ika?" he asks.

"Just shattered my hand a bit, some surgeries will get it fixed up before the next mission," I reply.

The Poletec leader walks up to us as we stand in front of the ship.

"Thank you for helping us in our fight," General Skywalker says, and Tech translates it. The Poletec leader says some stuff in response.

"He said the Jedi will always have an ally here on Skako Minor," Tech says as the Poletecs walk away.

We start walking up the steps and enter the ship.

"You stole my kill," Crosshair says as he elbows me in the back, causing me to trip slightly and almost fall down the stairs.

I chuckle. "Too slow."

Then Crosshair goes over to Hunter and says some stuff as Rex and Echo walk into the ship. Rex sits next to me.

"Hey ad'ika, how's your hand?" he asks, and I ignore him.

"Aris..." he puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stand up and walk away from him.

Not like you give a shit anyways.

I head over to where the batch are chilling and spin my knife with my good hand. Wrecker looks impressed, and Hunter takes out his own knife and does the same. I glance at Rex for a quick moment. He's looking down, and that's when I know something's wrong. I look away.

Doesn't matter. Wrecker's impressed, and Hunter's trying to one-up me. That's the only thing that matters.

[cuprohastes]

Those Darn Jedi

From a conversation in the notes of the Jedi Archive

@gurps-dungeon-mommy: Also just to add about cheap tricks to fuck someone's saber up - if you flip Khyber crystal in wrong polarity (or jam it with Force, like you proposed) the fucking saber would fucking BLOW UP and AT LEAST take someone out of the fight if not outright murder them on the spot

Cuprohastes: Yeah Khyber crystal canonically can hold massive amount of energy. Which suggests that if you were serious, you could build a Khyber Bomb

gurps-dungeon-mommy: and they let kids make weapons with that shit! ON THEIR OWN! "Here's a little bit of sulfur and coal, little child, construct me some gunpoweder and shoot that target please"

Cuprohastes: Well... no. It's more like 'Hey Timmy here's a plasma cutter. You have to put it together yourself and it uses a grenade as a valve, and when you're done, Lucy is gonna duel you with hers'

gurps-dungeon-mommy: That's even worse of a situation to put the kids in, man. Jedi are the most up-their-ass OSHA violating kickasses with space magic in there, no wonder people stopped liking them after a while

Which brings me to a point about the Prequels. And in fact the entire 9 installment Skywalker saga.

The Jedi are assholes.

Let's examine this shall we?

Not police. But they roam around dispensing justice. How? Mutilation and mind control. Remember Ben Kenobi solves a bar fight by just hacking off someone's arm because it's convenient.

Genocide. They decide to wipe out the Sith culture. Not just the Sith Lords, but their slaves, servants and the people just unfortunate enough to be born in the area. The Jedi show up and perform arial bombardment. And yet...

Slavery Is Fine. Having determined that the Sith cannot be allowed to live, based ont he argument that only the Jedi should be allowed to use the naturally occurring phenomenon of the Force, in the way they see fit, they suddenly hang up their morals and determine that letting the Hutts keep slaves it totes fine...

Clones ... And that continually breeding clones with a chip in their head to prevent them having free will, then using lining beings as cannon fodder is totally fine. c.f. Obi Wan not even pausing when his Clone wingman gets dusted. 'Oh he did his job'.

Child soldiers And yes the Jedi are scooping children up for indoctrination, handing them nuclear chainsaws, and then making them fight. "Hey kid, you're 16 and you already cut a guy in half and spent a couple of years dodging blasters. Here's your hairdo upgrade and some clone troopers, now go fight the Droid Army.

I mean Darth Vader is like 22 years old when Obi Wan sets him on fire and leaves him to cook alive because he was being a vicious shit and didn't want to give his former student an easy death.

The Jedi go on about how acetic they are... living in a giant marble and gold palace on Coruscant with their private navy and servants and army of droids. But they do nothing to make Couscant a better place to live for the people who live there.

And this is the people who have 'protected' the Republic for a thousand generations. 20,000 years.

The original trilogy starts with the Jedi, who were major cultural thing 20 years back, being this forgotten, mythological story.

Luke knows jack shit about the Jedi. Obi Wan straight up lies and massages the truth. There's that 'From a certain point of view" thing but also "A more elegant Weapon from a more civilised time" - Cut to: Qui gon Gin putting a bet on a 10 year old to win a speeder race with the kid's owner, fully intending to leave the boy's mother in slavery... A the start of a war where human slaves with brain chips will be forced to fight for a Republic that's just as bad as the Empire.

The Jedi are massively hypocritical and kind of nuts.

And then in the last three films, Luke's kind of tumbled to the fact the Jedi are... the myth was better than the people. The Jedi created Palpatine. In canon while they knew he was Force Snsitive they just told him he wasn't good enough and left him for the Sith to recruit. They failed to protect, they just leeched off of people. They were roving spree killers.

It's no accident that Mon Mothma wants her own Jedi for the rebellion. Screw the cachet: She knows one space wizard with a laser sword can hack n' slash through imperial troopers like crazy, Mind Trick their way in and out of any fortress, out-fly any normal pilot, and go toe to toe with Darth Vader... who at time of death was what... 45?

She wants her own Vader. She gets him.

"It's time to let the Jedi die out" Luke Says in the final trilogy, and he's right. Because Luke's managed to start another galactic war by creeping around his students bedrooms with a lightsabre and Kylo has some definite opinions on this, which backed up by Sheev Palpatine...

WHO HAS SOMEHOW RETURNED

... is like "Screw this, arson and murder time". And poor Luke is like... hang on, what is the common denominator for every major galactic conflict of the past 10,000 years? Oh yeah, the Jedi getting their dicks out. Well time to shut up shop and go hit up them space-cow tiddies.

Fair play he's got a plan and he's followed through.

BTW that's not jsut any space sea-cow. They're married. They love each other and they're kinky as hell.

[wreckedregent7]

Regent’s Ramblings - The Osteo Striga is Overpowered

Holy fucking shit Regent’s yammering about something that isn’t League of Legends! Is it a blue moon out tonight? Obviously if it were I’d have a positive winrate, but here we are.

Destiny 2 is a weird game for me to talk about, especially right now with the current story shenanigans, but I wanna talk about balance real quick, and something that isn’t really balanced. A weapon given pretty prominently in the Witch Queen expansion, the Osteo Striga is a really cool, unique SMG that is just, really hard to avoid running, and even harder to consider Vaulting for any length of time.

So, why is this weapon “overpowered”? Well, to put it simply, the only thing it doesn’t do well is crack shields with Match Game. But, keeping it to shorthand when I could go into excruciating detail isn’t my style, so, let’s talk weapon archetypes and encounter design.

Guardians have a pretty expansive arsenal of weapons, each with their own unique perks - depending on if you need precision, spread, crowd control, long range, short range, midrange, etc.; there is a weapon for your unique need.

Bundling weapon categories (not counting weapon archetypes, that’s its own can of worms) into simple paradigms, you kinda get something like this;

Short Range - Sidearms, SMGs, Shotguns, Swords, Fusion Rifles

Mid Range - Auto Rifles, Hand Cannons, Special Grenade Launchers, Heavy Grenade Launchers, Glaives, Machine Guns

Long Range - Rocket Launchers, Combat Bows, Scout Rifles, Pulse Rifles, Sniper Rifles, Linear Fusion Rifles

Precision - Sidearms, Hand Cannons, Combat Bows, Sniper Rifles, Scout Rifles, Pulse Rifles, Linear Fusion Rifles

Crowd Control - Special Grenade Launchers, Heavy Grenade Launchers, Machine Guns, Rocket Launchers

Sustained Damage - Machine Guns, SMGs, Auto Rifles, Scout Rifles, Hand Cannons

Burst Damage - Rocket Launchers, Sidearms, Special Grenade Launchers, Heavy Grenade Launchers, Glaives, Combat Bows, Pulse Rifles, Sniper Rifles, Linear Fusion Rifles

And these are just rough paradigms for each weapon type - but the general idea is that each weapon has a pretty solid niche. Auto Rifles are good for extended fights, HMGs and explosive weapons are good for clearing large groups of enemies, snipers and 4FRs are good for bursting down big targets, etc.

Now, to take a moment to talk about encounter design; a lot of encounters in most activities (aspirational or otherwise) tends to orient around a basic principle; flood an arena with chaff enemies (either melees, basic infantry, or a mix of the two), perch snipers or other pesky long-range attackers on the periphery, and maybe toss in a heavy unit or two to distract the Guardian from their main task.

Some encounters don’t require that much in the way of chaff enemies (look at any encounter in the Duality Dungeon; Cabal basic infantry are tanky enough that just 6 of them can be tough to chew through), but nevertheless, the problem isn’t typically with the quantity, but persistence. More adds will spawn in to keep you under pressure, and the more bodies you have shooting at you at a time, the more difficult any single task is going to become - god forbid you have a boss to dodge as well.

In this regard, you often have to kit yourself out very carefully; you want synergies within your subclass build, but you also want to be able to perform in the specific content. Cabal Commanders have Solar shields, better pack a Solar Weapon; War Hounds flood the room, I should bring an SMG or a crowd control weapon. I wanna do damage to the boss, gotta bring my 4FR.

But what if one weapon tackled multiple problems at a time, all without any real effort required? What if you had good sustained damage, crowd control, and damage mitigation rolled into one weapon?

Osteo Striga does exactly that.

Its bullets track targets roughly within your aim, and multiple consecutive hits on a target poison it. Deal multiple Precision Hits or kill something with it, and it does a small burst that poisons nearby enemies. If an enemy dies to the poison...You refill ammo from your reserves, and even overflow to quite a substantial amount.

So you can fire it haphazardly into a crowd of enemies, and the bullets will reliably hit. You’ll poison a few, maybe get in those precision hits, the whole group is poisoned now, and hey, you’ve got 110~ rounds in the magazine now, and have breathing room to assess your plan.

And because the poison deals damage over time, you can weave Osteo into your damage rotation on a boss - trigger poison, swap off to your main damage weapon, swap back, poison, swap off...And your damage becomes much more consistent.

And add onto that the general ubiquity of Overload Rounds on Auto Rifles and SMGs through the Artifact Mods - I don’t think I’ve seen a single season where Overload SMG/Auto wasn’t on the table - and you now have consistent damage, reliable add clear, AND the ability to lower an enemy’s damage output with casual spray-and-pray.

In the context of PVE content, the only reason you’d opt not to take Osteo Striga is if Overloading Champions aren’t on the table for the activity you jump into - and even then, unless you’re going solo (or have some other means to deal with multiple Champions at once), Osteo might still be your best general tool.

And it’s pretty telling that the only thing that can come close to competing with Osteo Striga in terms of damage and crowd control effectiveness is Witherhoard with Breach/Weakened Clear. And between the two, seeker bullets are much more broadly reliable than a puddle of Taken gunk, which leaves Witherhoard only capable of reliably competing for boss damage, as it’s even easier to work into a damage rotation thanks to its innate auto-loading holster, and that you can just plunk a target with it and resume your damage.

And the big problem is, I really don’t know what could be done about Osteo Striga to make it less egregious. Making it an Energy Weapon only risks exacerbating the problem, since a lot of Subclass builds involve synergy with same-element weapons. Similarly, adding Anti-Barrier or Unstoppable traits would only remove one facet of the problem.

I think the only thing that can really be done is to change something about the poison burst (either remove the on-death effect or the Precision hit effect; I think on-death would be better to prune) and also place a bit more of a strict cap on how many bullets you can stockpile from getting poison kills. Just something to tone down the extreme versatility of the weapon.

If you happen to play Destiny 2 and read this (I pray god you play D2 anyway, dunno who would want to read a bunch of nonsense about a game they don’t play), I am curious if any of y’all agree. Osteo Striga, to me, just feels way too powerful in any PVE context to ever not use.

[marvels-bitch-boy]

Chapter 5: (Third Person)

Chapter 5: (Third Person)

A/N: HI guys! i know I said the series would be on hold for while but i just wanted to give you this before it was officially on pause. I have an endgame decided and I'm just taking some time for myself to make sure I can give you guys the proper ending and resolution when it comes time. I hope you enjoy

Word Count: 3.3k

P1 Chapter 1, P2 Chapter 1, P3 Chapter 4, P3 Chapter 6

As Y/N walked in the line of men cladded in all black armour he began to look for a way out of the line. Discreetly slipping down a side hallway He heard a small voice in his ear. “Y/N… I need you to help Yelena, can do you that?” this voice was a very calming one that didn’t seem to be in a rush. He whispered a response and listened to her. “When you hear medical equipment you know you’re in the right place” He felt himself let out a small huff of hair with a smile under his mask as he began to search the nearby rooms. 

Within a few moments, he was greeted by borage of fluorescent lights that hit his eyes like a slap in the face. As he saw the way that Yelena was now releasing herself from the straps that held her down. He rushed over to her and within seconds she threw a small blade in his direction. Dodging it in the knick of time he turned back to her and found her barreling towards him with a terrifying glare that could rival Natashas. Grabbing her hand as she went to strike him and she quickly kicked out his knee and he knelt down to the ground. As she went to hit him once again he struggled to rip off his helmet and stop this fight. “Yelena! Jesu-” she strikes him which causes the helmet to go flying and his face hits the cold floor.

“Ooooh… shit, are you dead?” her accent is thick and slightly muffles her words in his ears. She nudges his side with her foot and attempts to roll him over. She can see the slight trickle of blood that spills from his mouth.

He groans as she looks at him. “I feel like if I was it would be better at this point” closing his eyes he feels two hands grip his arms and tug him up. 

“Up now you big baby” she rolls her eyes as he struggles to stand up. 

“I’ve been used as a punching bag the last few days…” he opened his eyes and looked down to pick up his helmet and found a small puddle of blood and wipes around his mouth “for fucks sake, I just had a dental inspection” he mutters a few curses under his breath as he follows Yelena around the poorly decorated makeshift hospital room. She spoke into the earpiece she had and directed him to help her find the cold storage. 

After he heard glass shatter his head whipped around and he saw her reaching into the freezer and producing a bundle of red vials. “There's a handle…” he says in an exasperated tone.

She shrugs at his words “not as fun” She begins to leave the room and ushers him down the halls. Yelena seemed to attempt conversation as the two made their way around to expose the other widows. “So, you died? And now you’re an asshole?... seems stupid” she could not see his face under the helmet but he found himself with an offended expression.

“That’s a very reductive take on it, Leviathan helped me come to terms with my feelings. They showed me the truth” he held his weapon up as he checked the hallway to their right. 

“Why are you using a gun? Can’t you shoot fire like a dragon” he sighed and lowered his weapon. His thoughts mainly consisted of questioning why Val wanted her and also the fact that she was completely right about that. “I- just shut up, where are the widows?” she smirked at him and motioned for a door that had red lights blaring from it. 

“I’ll guess they were here…” she smacked him over the head and rushed to the wall of dangerous weapons, grabbing a grenade she rushed out of the room. Y/N quickly joined her as she ran through the building. As he rushed alongside her the two of them came across a horrifying sight, Natasha was being heavily beaten by a swarm of widows. Y/N acted as fast as he could and sprouted small bursts of fire above the widows, as Yelena tossed a vial high into the air and fired at it spreading the nerve agent across the room. Once the punches towards Nat yielded he threw his helmet off and rushed to her side, he began rapidly checking her, his hands on her cheeks and eyes filled with concern. He attempted to get her attention on him as she looked dazed and around the room. “Natty, hey- hey I’m here…” he pulled her into a hug and as he stood up with her she leaned her weight on him, his hand on her waist and his eyes cautiously watching the newly freed widows. 

Natasha stood next to him and barely registered his actions, she saw the looks on the widow's faces and knew she wouldn’t be harmed. She stared into their uncertain eyes and saw them ponder a million questions each within only a few seconds. A brave widow speaks up from the group “Minne me menemme?” (Where will we go?). The question lights a spark inside Natasha's eyes. She looks at them all and then towards the now freed girl who spoke up. “Get as far away from here as possible.” a gentle smile tugged at her lips and she spoke with pride “You get to make your own choices now.” 

The girls all looked at each other and murmured as Yelena moved to stand beside Natasha. Who now shifted her weight from off Y/N, he stood there slightly awkwardly as he still felt his hand on her waist and her arm strung across his shoulder, it fell off him and landed on her side and he began to move away from her but she reached for his hand that was sliding away from her. She looked into his eyes that appeared to perfectly mirror her emerald eyes and he stayed in his position beside her. Suddenly an explosion sounded from around them and shook the floor they stood on. All the women were now on high alert as the building continued to rattle like a fun house. Objects from the nearby shelves began to hit the ground and Yelena yelled to her sister as she allowed the man to take the full weight of the woman once again. “We gotta get outta here. We need to find Dreykov.” she looked at her sister who didn’t seem to be moving from her place “Are you coming?” she looked at her with question and concern. Y/N nodded to her with sincerity and Natasha replied “I’m right behind you.” 

With those words, Yelena and the newly freed widows made their way down to the jets at a rapid pace. Y/N helped Natasha towards Dreykovs desk and she made a quiet comment about his behaviour. “So I’m Natty again?...” she said with a sly smirk that was made to produce false confidence. She wanted him to think she knew how he felt, she wanted him to think that she knew how she felt. In actuality she had zero ideas how he felt, she didn’t know why he called her that, since his death and betrayal she hadn’t allowed anyone on the team except Barton to call her that. It felt wrong to hear the name come from another voice. There was nothing that seemed to fix the taste in her mouth that appeared when she heard it. 

“I- I just thought a familiar name would help… that’s all it was.” she didn’t let the slight hurt fill her face she only looked at him with pity before she went back to her task. “What are you doing anyways?” He was closer to her this time as he spoke, he had moved to stand so close beside her that he was almost directly behind where she stood. His presence felt menacing but had a duality to it. The feeling of anger that had once radiated off him was gone and now she could feel the almost instant security he brought to her. 

“I have to get the information on the girls… all the girls, I didn’t end this the last time,” she watched as the screen began to show the loading of all the information “I won’t leave until I’m certain this is burned to the ground.” He smirked at her words and held up a single fist.

“Say the word,” he let a small flame grow on the top of his hand “This one will be on the house.” She looked into his E/C eyes and saw the man she could recognize. She felt her heart slightly repair itself. The tear that was in place of him had produced two new stitches. “You keep looking at me like this I’ll start to think I’m not as much of a monster.” His words were low and his voice was full of emotion, she could get the base of it but the deeper meaning of his words rattled her brain. She heard the alert that the download was now complete and the two of them let out a sigh and an enthusiastic “yes!”. They ran out of the room and down the hallways, as they ran a large explosion hit the two of them which launched Y/N out of the window and into the sky, while Natasha had been thrown through a hole that was deep in the floor. She fell into the room that contained the cells and found the taskmaster trapped in a cell. The woman would have no chance of surviving a crash at this altitude. Yet Natasha was aware that the first chance Antonia got to kill Natasha she would take it. Natasha had already now lost Igg in the chaos and couldn’t lose another life. 

“Antonia.” a punched was thrown at the glass that stood between them “No!” she let out a heavy breath and attempted to catch the air she had lost “I’m gonna open the door. You’re gonna come after me. It’s okay. It’s okay. I know you’re still in there. And I’m not gonna leave you. Okay.” She opened the door and for a second a mere second it seemed as if Antonia was in control, that she was going to escape with Natasha. Instead, she began to attack her, she threw a punch at her head that had easily been dodged and they began to do the age-old dance of combat. Limbs were flying and connecting in all directions. Neither was going to give up but for contrasting reasons. Natasha was hitting to subdue, while Antonia was striking with a passion to inflict pain. She was like a wild animal in the most graceful way, her blows were calculated and precise. Through the chaos Natasha found herself clinging to the floor as her opponent went flying out the window, just like Y/N had been. She pulled herself back up as she saw an opportunity. 

—

Natasha was sprinting onto the runway as she saw Yelena raise her staff. With the determination on her face and the content that filled her, Natasha knew which direction this was going. She let Yelena's name fill her throat as she called out to the woman attempting to change her mind. “Don’t do it!!” she felt the pleading leak from her words, watching the girl raise the staff high above her head and look into her eyes. It was the bond the two held since they were kids that were reignited in the pair. 

“This was fun!” a sorrowful smile that reached the tears in the corners of her eyes appeared on Yelena's face. She used all her might and strength to shove the staff into the turbine, within seconds the engine exploded and sent her flying into the air. As Natasha looked back towards the building in haste she was the mask of Antonia and quickly reached for a stray parachute. Diving off the side of the runway into the morning sky she felt the sun bask over her, it illuminated the path toward her sister and she latched onto her within seconds. Releasing the chute she was able to look around finally and saw her opponent barrelling towards her like a bullet that had been shot out of a gun. 

Natasha only had a few seconds to make her plan and she knew exactly what she needed to do. Pushing off her sister she dove back into the air and found herself facing her opponent once again. As her feet hit the glass that was hurling towards the earth, she once again felt the sun hit her skin and used the surface to slow her own descent. As Antonia held onto her while they both fall from the clouds like two fallen angels who had been banished by god. They were fighting like sisters and all they needed to fit the picture perfectly would be their two wings. One could imagine that if they had not been taken up in such a filthy place that maybe, just maybe they would have those wings, they would not be in this fight for their lives, and they would not be seen as fallen angels. They would have been seen as goddesses amongst men. One of a kind, as all women deserved. 

Instead, here they were, attempting to escape their own clutches. A swirl of black and blue, almost like a meteor. 

—

As he hit the ground almost like a ping pong ball, bouncing off the dirt and grass he laid for a moment as he began to feel the immense pain coat his body. The wind hit his face and woke him up from his pain-induced sleep. A familiar set of voices filled his ears and suddenly he was greeted by the face of Melina. “Hello,” she felt his chest and ribs which forced a strained groan out of his throat “tell me if you can breathe or not, does this hurt?” suddenly she moved his right leg only to the right by half an inch, a scream that pierced through his ears and shook its way out of his throat. “God, are you not invincible?” the snarky remark came from the blonde who was now watching him splayed across the ground. 

Soon Alexei lifted you up and you came face to face with Natasha who was standing hip to hip with her sister. The widows were making their way back to a black jet and the small make-shift family began to speak. Y/N had now passed out once again from his pain and felt a hand smack him across the face, he saw Natasha giving him a smile as he looked at her. “Hey,” he whispered to her through shredded vocal cords and a winded chest. “I’ll see you around” She leaned up to his cheek and left a soft kiss, the warmth from her lips caused his eyes to close on impulse and he found himself dreaming of his life back at the compound. 

—

He saw Natasha sitting on his couch as he entered the door after a small mission, she greeted him and helped him clean up all the ash and dust that coated his skin from top to bottom. “There’s no way only one lab caused this much mess” she joked as she swept up the remaining contents that spread across the floor. “It was more like a small base for their genetics division” he walked out of the bathroom with his towel draped over his head as he approached the woman, wrapping his arms around her waist he found her facing him now, however it was Wanda who was in his arms. “And I’m sure you were able to handle them with ease? I mean Ignes can burn down entire armies!” she laughed at her joke and it sent vibrations down to his core as he stared at her. As he looked around the room he saw the photos around him change, the woman who was in them before was gone, replaced by the one in front of him. Deep within his stomach, he felt something off, something was starting to feel wrong. He moved to his bed and noticed the sheets had changed, they were no longer his usual dark green but instead a pale grey. His eyes drifted to the books on his shelf and the titles were different, they were all “Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens. He started to take them off the shelf one by one and couldn’t find anything but the same cover, the same title, and the same author. He looked back to Wanda and found her looking at him concerned, her brows were stitched together and her emerald eyes were filled with fear. 

“Ogon’, are you okay?” she held his face in her hands and stroked his cheek. This brought his mind calm, and he relaxed almost instantly. He nodded and she brought him close to her. He felt the beating of her heart blend into him and they stood there for as long as he needed. 

—

Snapping back into reality he found himself in a safe house, he knew it was a Leviathan safe house from the decor and the clothes he had been put into. Looking around the room there was a phone on the nightstand and he saw a message from Valentina displayed. “Welcome to Edinburgh, I hope you stay in the shade while you’re here. Wouldn’t want you to get burned” He groaned at the message and rolled onto his side. As he felt his skin rub against the sheets the absence of pain or ache startled him and he sat up. He felt around his body and to his surprise he found himself to be completely healed. He was no longer injured or recovering from any of his previous injuries. He stood up and made his way to the window, the sun was just barely able to peek through the curtains. As he opened them he got a look at a small open street, it was easy to access and easy surveillance. He caught glimpses of the people passing through, he could tell who was a tourist and who was a local. Though one man stood out to him. He had grey hair that peaked out the back of his baseball cap and was in a mismatched tracksuit, his running shoes looked beat up but were top of the line. This made Iggy smile to himself. He knew exactly who that man was, he watched as he attempted to pick up a woman who was in line with him at a small fruit stand. Pietro couldn’t avoid a catch, he had to try for it, even if it seemed hopeless.

Nodding his head, he went to the bathroom and showered before changing into neutral clothes that would conceal him the most. Making his way towards a small cafe across the street he kept his eye on the silver-haired man who was still striking up a conversation with the woman next to him. He sipped his coffee and was taken aback by a faint voice that approached her brother. Wanda. The shock of seeing her froze him in place and his mind flooded slightly. His senses went on overdrive and he was looking at the two of them like he hadn’t seen them in 100 years. The pair laughed for a moment before the redhead turned and looked in his direction, averting his eyes and focusing back on his coffee. She furrowed her brow and glanced over towards an empty table, it was only one away from him. She informed her brother and went to sit down. Soon after he joined her and the two of them talked and talked. All whilst the stranger next to them was listening and laughing along as if he was a part of the conversation. 

Taglist:

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[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Deactivated.

Hrrggh...GRRGH!

*Sparks continue to fly off the heavy door as Kuripa’s sword carves through it.

Kuripa Kurafto!

Oh, good, you’re here! I almost got it, give me a hand!

Right!

*Munakata readies his blade and they both stand back.

On three! One...two...!

HIYAAGH!

*SLASH!* *WHAM!*

*Simultaneously, Munakata and Kuripa slice open the door with their swords. Kuripa reels back and kicks it out of place, with the two of them and their accompanying soldiers storming into the landing platform.

Up there!

HIKARU ANDO!

!!!??

*BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!*

GRRGH!

*By the time they burst in, the platform with the getaway chopper on it is already climbing, with Ando still up there trying to power up the chopper. Upon realizing that the Future Foundation have burst through, he starts shooting down at them with a revolver. They all dodge and look up at him.

Soldier: He’s getting away!

Soldier: How are we gonna get up there without grapples!?

...Throw me...!

Huh?

KURIPA KURAFTO! THROW ME!

!!!??

*WHOOOSH!*

OOPH!

*At his insistence, Kuripa grabs Munakata by his suit and spins around, throwing him up into the air like a ball in a hammer throw. Munakata flies up high enough and grabs onto the ledge of the platform, heaving himself up onto it.

...Hehehehe!

!!!??

*Ando lowers his gun, and instead reaches into his pocket, pulling out three parasite grenade like the one’s he used on Shuichi and Kyoko earlier.

!!!??

*Upon seeing the grenades, Munakata starts to panic.

Hold your fire! If Ando drops any more of those worms, we’re finished!

OLD MAN! SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT!

TAKE THIS!

!!?

*Kuripa’s shout, combined with Ando’s declaration, snaps Munakata back to reality. As the doctor lobs the three bombs at the one-eyed enforcer, Munakata lets go of the platform and flies backwards, catching the grenades as he falls.

OOF! Hah!

*He lands and rolls on the ground, catching the last grenade before it explodes upon impact.

Phew!

You alright!?

Yes...I’m sorry.

For what, saving our lives? Don’t worry, I got this! HAH!

*Kuripa rushes towards the wall of the chamber, light shining down on him as the landing hatch starts to open. He jumps high into the air and plunges his sword into the wall, utilizing his body weight and yanking himself upwards with his arm strength. He uses his momentum to run up the wall, then bounds off it, tucking and rolling on the landing platform.

Haha...Always a show off...

Grrgh!

...!

*Once again, Kuripa and Ando square down, Ando pointing his gun at Kuripa while Kuripa points the tip of his blade at him.

Drop your weapon, Dr Ando...

Why in God’s name would I do that?

Well for one...you’re out of bullets.

!!??

*click!* *click!* *click!*

*Ando panics and tries to fire, only to find out Kuripa is right. The platform grinds to a halt once 

What? I know how to count.

...O-Oh yeah...!? Hmph...

*Ando drops his gun and pulls something out of his pocket.

In that case...

*He triumphantly pulls out a handful of live parasites, wriggling in his hands.

UGH! Gross! You’re like the kid in Year 1 who put worms in his pocket!

You wanna count!? COUNT HOW MANY PARASITES ARE GONNA BE INSIDE YOU!

!!!?

*Kuripa readies his blade as Ando raises the parasites above his head.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! YEAH YEAH! HAHAHAHA!

SUIICIIDE DIIIIIIIIIIIIVVEEE!!!

*WHAAAAAAAAM!*

AAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH!!!

Grgh! DAGH!

*Out of nowhere, Eden shows up out of nowhere and tackles Ando to the ground before he can throw the worms. The force of her dive is so strong, Ando loses his grip, and the worms fly into the air. Kuripa drops his sword and dives to catch them before they hit the ground, crushing them in his grip as soon as they enter his hand.

Uugh...NO! MY RESEARCH! MY-OOPH!

You ain’t goin’ nowhere buddy!

*Eden’s dive forces Ando to drop his case full of parasites. He struggles to retrieve it, but Eden turns him over and stamps on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Kuripa grabs his blade and points it at Ando’s face, standing alongside Eden.

You know, I changed my mind. You are DEFINITELY Akane’s sister.

This isn’t over! You’re out of time!

*He raises his wrist timer and shows it to his two captees.

...

...

The bombs will go off and we’re all going to evolve! HAHAHAHA! YES YES HAHAHAHA! HAAAA-

*Powering down noises.*

...!

...!

Wh...What happened?

Bomb Squad: Deactivated ma’am. And with plenty of time to spare~

Good Job.

*inhale*

AAAAAAAHH! 

*Kaede lets out a sigh, or more accurately a cry, of relief.

That was...TOO close for comfort...!

*As Shuichi slumps against the wall and rolls down it, Kaede takes her comm and activates it.

Everyone, this is Kaede. We’ve retrieved the last bomb from the Monokubs and it’s been deactivated.

Good work Kaede Akamatsu. Kuripa Kurafto. Did you get Dr Hikaru Ando?

Deactivated as well. Thanks to Miss Owari here.

Aw shucks.

Kaede, you got Shuichi and Kyoko?

They’re both right next to me.

I’m ok too by the way. Thanks for asking.

Hehe...

...Nggh...

//Dr Ando has been captured.//