#its just sorta how my whims change i guess

[uiruu]

i miss being a hxh blog, that was fun

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Sixteen

“The moment her head jerked back ever so slightly he was sure that he’d messed up, but it still took him far longer than it should have to pull his hands away from her shoulders. Even as his hands slowly dropped back to his sides, he couldn’t look away from her eyes staring into his. They really were a startling shade of green. He was sure that he’d never seen such gorgeous and memorable eyes in his whole life.” 

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

Dwelling Chapter Seventeen

The vibrant streak of blood on the toe of her shoe turned his stomach, but Drew couldn’t bring himself to look at anything else as he stumbled along beside Shea who was very nearly carrying him after his knees had suddenly buckled underneath his weight. He’d vaguely heard her saying something about “shock” when she caught him before he could fall. Her grip still tight on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from curling into a ball in the middle of the stairwell. 

Her hands were warm. 

And she still smelled good. 

And, although he couldn’t make out what she was saying, her voice was nice to listen to. 

But he couldn’t stop staring at the streak of blood on her shoe. 

He’d never seen something so ruthless in his life. Or at least, he’d never seen someone do something so ruthless on his behalf. It wasn’t shock, he thought, that had his head spinning. At least, not about how effortlessly she’d won a fight against a man twice her size - one who was armed, at that. It was that when she’d turned to look at him - or rather not look at him - she’d looked more nervous about… him than she had about a man she accused of threatening to kill him. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but note that she hadn’t even broken out her glowing green fire to help her. That thought was beaten down by the realization that bile was rising in his throat. 

Choking it down he gasped out, “Your shoes,” just as Shea unlocked the door to their apartment. She hummed curiously in response and, nearly begging, he elaborated, “Off. Take them off,” hoping he wouldn’t upchuck what little food was in his stomach. 

Pulling out of her grasp, he stumbled over and collapsed on the couch while she kicked her shoes off at the door. He’d all but forgotten the strawberries clutched in his arms until she walked over and plucked them from him. A faint smile formed on his lips as he watched her eat one like she was sneaking candy before putting the rest of the carton into the fridge.

“Are you okay now?” she muttered, sitting curled into a ball on the chair beside him. It was obvious that she was still avoiding making eye contact with him even if she tried to look relaxed, fiddling with the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie. 

Nodding, he closed his eyes to focus on taking a deep breath before trying to speak again. If he wasn’t expecting to blurt out what he said next he could only begin to imagine how much more surprised she must have been. Still, at least his offhanded question, “Have you ever seen a robot fight?” finally got her to look at him.

“Sure,” she answered after a moment. “Um… this lady, Electronique, has sent robots after us a few times. Doesn’t work very well, but she keeps trying.”

Drew blinked. Then blinked again. Despite the fact that he knew he ought to be scared of making her mad, he threw his head back and let out a laugh upon realizing what she meant. 

“That’s not the kind of robot fight I’m talking about,” he told her when his worryingly manic (even to his own ears) laughter died down. “I mean a– a robot fight. It’s… sorta a competition. Teams build robots then, well, make them fight.”

“Oh,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing. His own face warmed up at the thought that when she blushed like that, with the hood of his sweatshirt still pulled up over her head, she turned so green that she looked a bit like a turtle hiding its head inside its shell. A cute… A turtle. Just a turtle. Turtles are not cute.“Then… no. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Would you - only if you wanted, of course - but I um… Would you want to join my team? Well, it’s not my team. I mean, the team was my idea and all, but James and Bobby and Kashwin are all–”

“Drew?” Shea mercifully interrupted his ramblings, raising an eyebrow at him. He gulped as he fell silent, and hoped that his nod showed her he was listening. “Not that I’m… saying no but I don’t know the first thing about building robots.” 

  Grinning, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that. We’ll build the robot.” He felt his grin grow wider as he thought about how merciless she’d been fighting a real person - he was sure that a robot would get even less pity from her. “But I think you’d be the perfect person to operate it.”

“Why?” 

“Why?” Drew repeated, scoffing before he remembered that not everyone’s minds worked the same way his did. “Sorry,” he apologized, although she didn’t look particularly offended. “Well, it’s just that you… You didn’t flinch. And that was a real fight, Shea! We could use someone as… as cutthroat as you.” 

He was fairly certain cutthroat didn’t mean… actually cutting someone’s throat. Could robots have throats? He supposed they could. Humanoid ones at least. Although animals had throats too, so if they built a robot that looked like a dog or a… a lion or something then it could sort of have a throat, right? 

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the actual conversation he was having. 

“Of course I didn’t flinch,” Shea was mumbling, as he turned his attention back to her. “Flinch and people die.” Her voice was high and mocking, he presumed in mimicry of some lesson that had been drilled into her during her time as a superhero. But there was a more serious undercurrent to it too, something angry and sad and a little scared. 

Looking at her just then, the thought he’d been trying to avoid infiltrated his mind and wouldn’t get out. It must be terrible to be her. She really was just… a scared little— well, she wasn’t a little kid at all, but she was just a scared teenager. Sure, he knew he’d been the one to get so startled during that awful movie she’d made him watch that he fell off the couch and that she was the one who’d found it more entertaining than anything else. He also knew that never in his life had he met someone who seemed so on edge. And how could he blame her? How could anyone blame her? 

“What was it like?” he blurted, letting the question stray from his thoughts before he could stop it. “To be a superhero, I mean? Were you ever scared?”

“No,” Shea scoffed and then started to fidget, shooting a frown in his direction. “I mean, I guess when I was little it was…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, then shrugged. “Training was always worse than the real thing. By the time we actually had to face down people who wanted to hurt us, it… didn’t seem all that bad.”

“What about your little brothers? Don’t they get scared?” 

Shea scoffed again, though any trace of amusement was gone from her voice. He watched as she curled up into a ball once more, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes turned glassy as she stared absently ahead of her.

“Of course they don’t get scared,” she muttered. “They still think it’s a game. They’re barely even ten. They don’t know that they should be scared.” 

“I would be terrified,” he declared, only realizing the truth in the statement as he said it. “Even with your powers - don’t you ever think that someone will—”

“Drew,” she snapped, pointedly cutting him off. He blinked stupidly at her and immediately began to feel guilty for blabbering about a subject she clearly didn’t want to talk about. “If some horrible awful thing exists I promise you someone’s already tried to do it to us. There’s nothing anyone could throw at us that we haven’t already faced at least once.” Adding in a mutter that he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear, she all but spat, “Or I haven’t faced, at least.”

Although “shut up” went unspoken, it was clear enough that’s what she wanted him to do. He bit his tongue to stop from asking her more about what her life was like. 

“I guess I wouldn’t want to talk much about it either,” he relented apologetically. “After all, I’m sure you didn’t just run away on a whim, did you?”

From the way she frowned at the floor, he suspected that hadn’t been the best thing to say. Maybe she had run away on a whim, he didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything about her, really.

“I should make dinner,” he announced for a change of subject. “Do you… want to help?” 

She shook her head and after spending a moment too long watching her in the hopes she might change her mind, he decided to just let her be, retreating into the safety of the kitchen to prepare the chili mac he’d planned. It wasn’t his most impressive recipe - to be honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of it -but he hoped she wouldn’t mind. Given that her eating habits seemed so far to consist of nibbling on fruit when she wasn’t forgetting to eat, he couldn’t see why she would. Besides, it was a little late in the evening to be cooking anything more time-inducing as it was. 

He had just about finished prepping the ingredients he would need - only digging through to the back of the cabinet for his last unopened box of macaroni noodles - when he heard her shuffle into the kitchen, though hearing her didn’t stop him from jumping when he turned to see her sitting on the counter. She still had yet to pull the hood off her head and he was increasingly tempted to push it down himself. 

“There’s this one guy,” Shea began, her voice quiet. “His name’s Magnus. Literally, Magnus Tism. And you’ll never guess - the guy’s obsessed with magnets. Well, sorta. He’s convinced he can control metal. Or, at least, he seems convinced. We all thought he could at first too, before we found out that he had some weird super-powerful magnets hidden in this ridiculous costume that he wears.”

She paused a moment, staring into space as he silently added his ground beef and onions into the skillet on the stove and began to stir. He almost said something to encourage her to keep speaking, but then she sighed and continued as if she’d never lost focus at all. 

“The first time we fought him was a month after we got out of– a month after we officially became heroes. You know what he wanted? What he demanded so he wouldn’t bring down every building in the city? He wanted metal so that he could use his superpowers to make a sculpture. He didn’t even want a lot. But we couldn’t just help him get some metal. Oh, no. We had to fight him and throw him in jail even though all he’d done by then was make empty threats.”

She brought her hands up, closer to her face then, and started lighting her hands and letting the flames die over and over, plasma bouncing between her fingertips like a ping-pong ball made of light. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her borderline-hypnotic idle habit, even as he continued cooking.

“He didn’t even know we existed. He didn’t want to hurt us. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. And then Heath - Hego - punched him halfway down the street. After that, he decided he was going to kill all of us. We spent half an hour dodging cars that the two idiots were throwing at each other. But you know what the worst part about it was?”

Shea paused for a moment, long enough that he eventually realized she was genuinely looking for an answer, and he hummed questioningly in response. 

“All I could think the whole time was that at least cars were easier to see than knives. Easier to dodge, too. After dealing with that in training, having some mad-man with a magnet try and obliterate us didn’t seem that bad.” 

There was a part of him, a large enough part that it took more effort to keep it silent than it should have, that could only think that the story she’d told would make a fantastic comic book. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen her glow - and now seen her fight as well - he might have called her a liar and assumed she’d gotten it from one in the first place. He very nearly asked if there were comic books about her, but decided against doing so, remembering how upset she’d been that he knew something as basic as her hero name. It seemed best to let her tell him what she wanted when she wanted. Even if he was undeniably curious. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there in silence, trying to piece together some response. It wasn’t as if he had any experience with superheroes outside of reading about and watching their adventures. And until a few days ago, he’d thought they must all be entirely make-believe. 

“Huh,” he managed to utter when her foot - when had he lent her a pair of his socks? - pushed against his hip. “I um… Did he change his name or did it always sound like the word ‘magnetism’?” It wasn’t what he meant to say, not that he knew what he did mean to say. But it served to make her snort and push him back another step. 

“Far as we know, it is his real name,” she answered with an amused (or at least he hoped) roll of her eyes. 

There was another silence then, and finally, he confessed, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what I should say.” 

“I don’t know what you should say either,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not and he felt himself nervously staring at her until her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced away, making him realize what he was doing. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing away as well to turn his focus intently on starting to add in his other ingredients. 

After a long moment, Shea spoke again. “Do you… want any help?” She sounded unsure of the offer, even as she said it. 

“You?” Drew asked, immediately starting to tease her without thinking about it. “You actually want to help cook dinner?”

She turned to glare at him, and he grinned back at her, more amused than scared. “Forget I asked,” she grouched. The small smile fixed on her lips detracted from how annoyed her crossed arms made her look. “Get stirring or whatever, oh king of dorks.”

It was his turn to glare, though he didn’t think he did a much better job at looking annoyed than she did.“You could measure out two cups of the macaroni for me,” he suggested, realizing that, distracted by her story, he’d completely forgotten to do so himself. 

“After you tried to burn me alive yesterday?” Shea snorted. 

“Nngh! I did not try and– And your hands are fine, anyway!” 

“You also tried to shoot me last night.”

“It was a grape!” he protested, his ears warming at how whiny he sounded. “Pest,” he added, grumbling under his breath. Was it really only the night before that all that had happened? It seemed like ages had passed since then. His whole body felt heavy with exhaustion suddenly. 

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, and it took him a moment to recognize the sarcasm in her tone. Airly commanding, “Just cook,” she waved a perfectly healed hand in his general direction. 

“You know, you’re very demanding!” 

Her laughter shouldn’t have delighted him so much, and he tried to glance away before thoughts about how cute she was could infiltrate his mind. He was too late and, for a long moment, the only thought in his head was one loudly pointing out how wonderful she was - even though it was true that she was very demanding.

“Yeah,” she answered, sounding almost too cheerful. “I know!” Her voice was wonderful too… and Drew desperately wished he could make the voice in his head shut up. He sternly reminded himself that she was only sixteen, feeling as if he were mentally stomping on his own foot. He nearly missed her teasing, “Like you said - I’m a pest.”

Too busy fighting his own mind to give her mockery any proper response, he practically begged, “Would you at least get the cheese from the fridge?” as he took on the responsibility of measuring the pasta. He all but threw the macaroni into the skillet as if the force would work to drive the discomforting thoughts away.

Her sigh came tinged with all the drama that only a teenager could muster, which was perfect too, and he— He needed those thoughts to stop before he got so frustrated with himself that he burst into tears. Even though he was sure he would never do anything… inappropriate… with her, it was still unsettling to know that even the vaguest notions of attraction to a sixteen-year-old girl existed within him. 

“Fine,” she said, and he almost didn’t remember what he’d asked her to do until she opened the door to the fridge.

When she popped back onto the counter, bag of shredded cheese in hand, impulsivity got the better of him. It was just after she muttered, “Here ya go, Doc,” that the… frustration, or whatever it was he was feeling about her hiding her face inside the hood of his sweatshirt finally got to him. And without thinking, he reached over and pushed it off of her. 

“Would you quit hiding your face?” he all but demanded. “I can hardly hear you!” It wasn’t quite true but an excuse still felt needed. 

The moment her head jerked back ever so slightly he was sure that he’d messed up, but it still took him far longer than it should have to pull his hands away from her shoulders. Even as his hands slowly dropped back to his sides, he couldn’t look away from her eyes staring into his. They really were a startling shade of green. He was sure that he’d never seen such gorgeous and memorable eyes in his whole life. And though there was something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him he ought to look away now, he couldn’t respond to the thought. He only vaguely noticed the green-tinted blush on her face, or the warmth spreading across his.

The awkward clearing of her throat finally snapped him out of it. Her mocking question of, “What are ya planning to do, kiss me?” only heaped on an extra serving of embarrassment. Especially when he couldn’t resist glancing at her lips, something in him wondering what it might be like to kiss her. Would she taste like plasma? What would that even taste like? Would her lips burn his when they touched? Would— stop!

And as seemed to be his only skill, he made the humiliating situation even worse. Stumbling away from her and stammering out some sort of apology, he managed to smack the skillet straight off the stove. His only reflex was to yelp and jump away to avoid the food splattering - which he’d thought would be inevitable. Her reflexes were far superior to his and without even having to do anything more than lean down a bit, she managed to catch the skillet in her palm. Only a few bites of food spilled down the side.  

“Doesn’t that—?” His panicked question died on his lips and he gulped slightly at her glare. “Right,” he managed. “Never mind.” Of course, the heat wouldn’t hurt. Still, the sight sent an unpleasant warmth into his palms, as if he were the one whose flesh was touching hot metal. “It really doesn’t hurt at all?” he asked, failing to resist the urge to shake his hands as if to cool them off. Bits of chili mac went flying off the spatula he’d forgotten was still his hand as he did, and he flinched when some landed on Shea’s face. 

She flicked it off and shrugged. “Not really.” Her gaze met his as she set the skillet back on the stove and they were both quick to glance away. “It kinda tingles, but it doesn’t hurt.” She sounded almost as awkward as he was feeling. 

“What about when you– your plasma?” he asked - or tried to ask. Clearing his throat he tried again, managing, “Does your plasma feel the same way?”

As if the mere mention of her powers made them surface, she brought her hands up and started lighting her fingers one by one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze flick to the flames and, despite himself, he stole the chance to watch her face, wishing however briefly that he could read her mind and know what she was thinking. 

It took a long moment for Shea to slowly reply, “No… It’s– it’s more like…” She paused, and he quickly looked away as she hopped back onto the counter. “You know how you get all bundled up before going out on a cold day,” she started again, “so you don’t feel cold, but you can see your breath so you feel like you should feel cold?”

In the silence Drew found himself looking up at her again. “I… I guess so,” he replied, already making a mental note to remember that description for the first cold morning so he could be sure he understood what she was trying to say. 

“It’s sorta like that,” she concluded, putting out the flames and wiping her palms over her knees as if wiping off any residual plasma. “Using my glow kind of makes me feel warm, but like I shouldn’t feel warm. It feels more… comfortable than anything. Nostalgic, almost? Which I know doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it’s like.”

It did and didn’t make sense at the same time. He wished he could experience the feeling, if just for a moment. “Did it always feel like that?” he wondered aloud. 

The shrill ring of the timer he’d forgotten he’d set seemed to momentarily startle them both. Had he really been cooking long enough for it to go off? He wasn’t sure anymore. He gave the skillet an extra moment on the stove, feeling a need to make up for the brief moment it had been knocked off, then hastily reached over Shea’s head to grab bowls. Scooping a generous serving into each bowl, he refused to let himself worry about making it look fancy. 

He pushed one of the bowls into her hands just as a curt, “No,” left her lips - her only response to his question. 

All but flinching away from her harsh tone he raised an eyebrow. “I get the feeling I shouldn’t ask.”

She slipped off the counter and he took that as his cue to walk to the table. “I catch on fire, Drew,” she pointed out, trailing a step behind him. “I’m sure you can imagine what that felt like the first few months.”

He thought he could. He didn’t want to. The very idea made him cringe. “It must have hurt.” She hummed in agreement, taking a bite so large he almost snapped at her to take smaller bites. Biting (heh…) his tongue, he asked instead, “Why’d you keep… using it? If it felt like that?”

“I tried to stop it,” she said, sounding like she was confessing a secret. 

He pushed his food around his bowl with his spoon, embarrassment still making it difficult for him to look right at her. “Yeah?” he muttered when she didn’t elaborate. 

A dark look, angry and sad and a little scared - just like her voice had been earlier in the evening - passed over her face. He wanted to flinch away from it, and he wanted to make sure that whatever she was feeling to give her such an expression… he hoped she would never feel that way again. He knew protecting her from feelings was probably even more difficult than protecting a superhero in general but he still desperately wished he could. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he assured her and momentarily forced himself to look at her again. His eyes were immediately drawn back to her lips and he had to look away. 

Despite his assurance, she told him, “It was… right after we stopped being dead. It hurt to use my glow so… I decided to stop, and just pretended I couldn’t when someone asked me to. And, that worked fine for a week. Even had a few of the doctors convinced it had completely gone away.” She sounded proud of that. “Then I was allowed to stand up for the first time in nearly a month. I’d barely been able to walk across the room without help and… halfway back to the bed I combusted. I don’t really remember much except that I swear every cell in my body was on fire. I guess I burned the nurse that was helping me too, cause she never came back.”

A worryingly frightened look crossed her face and he scarcely heard her horrified murmur of, “Oh god…” 

“What?” he nervously asked, ignoring his feelings long enough to force himself to meet her petrified gaze as her eyes locked on his. 

“I think I killed her.”

[albatris]

ramble time

yeet

there’s some kind-of not-technically spoilers and then there’s some Spoilers

so both noa and tris get to be involved in some interdimensional weirdness but neither of them is able to, like, entirely cross over to a straight-up different universe

like, noa has a direct connection with someone in another universe and there is a link there that allows them to basically exchange energy with each other, n like............ I mean, in general, in the world, there’s interdimensional energy running haywire all the time, uncontrolled, due to ports being their usual weird selves, n like. the nature of noa’s connection offers her some degree of control over the energy that results from it. so she definitely kind of? accesses? another universe? but doesn't do any physical interdimensional travel

n it's not necessarily accurate to be like "ports are what gives noa the ability to do weird fuckin shit" or "noa is a port" it's more like. well. a run-in with a port..... ie a run-in with a crack through to another universe.......... led to her developing a link with someone from another plane which is possible due to spoilers

so noa's Weird Energy Manipulation is a team effort and it goes both ways, there's a push and a pull, if she takes some weird otherworldly energy from the other side she has to give some

or like

if she offers energy to the other, then there will be repercussions on her side. or if she steals energy in a pinch there will be repercussions on the other side

can be destructive, unpredictable, unstable, depending on what context it comes out in. this is not Normal Energy it’s weird otherworldly bullshit and while there is some degree of control you don’t wanna, like, release it into a crowded shopping mall or some shit, y’know

I'm realising now that this is clearly an exercise in trust and connection and communication and in placing your own safety in someone else's hands and vice versa and trusting they won't take advantage of it

SO THAT'S FUN AND RELEVANT and something I totally definitely already knew before this exact moment and that I definitely did not just realise haha that would be ridiculous considering how obvious and relevant to her character development it is hahahaha

anyway and moving on

tris n jacob *technically* get to do a little bit of dimension hopping in the sense that Doors Are Created And Then Travelled Through but it would also be inaccurate to consider the unreality its own universe, like. there's their original universe and there's a whole different universe and the unreality is its own little pocket of space that exists SOLELY in the overlap between the two

which is why it's so wobbly and weird and full of holes and it's constantly shifting and fluctuating, shrinking, expanding, doing weird shit. could basically cease existing at any moment. it's subject completely to the whims of whatever ports and energies were involved in its creation

so like. a full proper interdimensional leap from one universe into another? not currently possible. not something anyone in the story does at any point. the only reason these two manage to cross to the unreality is because they never........... actually leave their own universe? they sorta cross into another universe but they also don't really leave their own. which is really dumb

it’s just kinda this. gap. between two planes. kinda both universes, kinda neither

stuck in an interdimensional hole, if you will. lost down the back of an interdimensional sofa

listen How The Unreality Was Created And What The Unreality Is is a whole other thing I don’t have the spoons to explain since I recently changed the whole process entirely but like

I would assume lots of unrealities exist all ‘round the place but they're inaccessible mostly because they would require A) someone to know Exactly Precisely where to open a door and B) a MASSIVE fucking explosion of the right type of energy

so like. you can get yeeted into one if you're extremely extremely unlucky

but if you wanted to open one on purpose it's an infinitely more fiddly process

pulling yourself back Out of one is an even MORE stupid fiddly process

anyway I got off-topic

my point was that.............. look, tris and noa both get tangled up in other universes but no one actually gets to cross all the way into one

also I was like

idk if the universe they both kinda brush into contact with is the same universe?

like, that could be fun

but also there's just so many different fuckin universes. there's so many different planes of reality and that is a fact that I establish in the story, and ports are gateways for a lot of weird energy from a LOT of different planes

originally it was two completely unrelated universes bc there was no reason for them to be the same universe and the thought didn't occur to me but now I'm like

ugh

I guess I should think about it

it literally doesn’t matter though I just wanted to ramble about something and this was a convenient excuse

[nofliight]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: stole it from @sternenteile​ and honestly others tbh tagging: TAKE

my muse is:  canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ for better or for worse, he’s THE face of kid icarus, after all. he’s a dork and funny and likeable and even if the fandom tends to get him WRONG (thanks smash bros) there’s no denying his popularity ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ i don’t??? think so??? most people are too busy talking about how they think he’s like 5 ]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ EVEN THE FANDOM AIN’T GONNA MESS THIS UP. MAN FIGHTS GODS. CALL THAT WEAK. ]

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. [ make no mistake - pit’s got fans and plenty of them but he’s so MISTREATED by the fandom. his character is a lot more complex than he gets credit for and smash bros in particular is a big reason people think he’s just Big Dumb Baby Man ]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. [ HE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER, THE CENTRAL FIGURE UPON WHOM THE NARRATIVE IS STRUCTURED AROUND, YEAH HE’S PRETTY RELEVANT. Uprising is literally made to tell the story of a war exclusively through the perspective of a single side and Pit (and Palutena) are the EMBODIMENT of that whole side. ]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ and a perfect one at that. he’s literally a perfect protagonist don’t tell me i’m wrong cause i’m not ]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ pit is beloved by humans... and mocked by the Gods. seen by most as a spineless extension of palutena’s will, most “respect” of any variety goes to palutena while he gets treated as a joke 99% of the time... and it’s not like Palutena gets too much respect either ]

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. (????) [ Uhhhhhh... it’s an odd one. Short answer is that Pit’s a good samaritan who’s done a lot of good BUT most of the gods think protecting humanity is a Folly and a Joke and that Pit’s just a pawn of Palutena’s and while the humans do hold a lot of respect for him, uh............. let’s just say, some humans on the surface have reasons not to be too happy with him. ]

How strictly do you follow canon?  —  about as much as I need to to respect one of my favorite video games of all time. while kid icarus uprising is a comedic game most of the way through it has a lot more nuance and depth to itself, its world, and its characters than one can see at first glance, even after a full playthrough. if you let yourself get invested in the characters, take a closer look at the dialogue it provides, and acknowledge the central, core storytelling message of the game for what it is, there’s a lot more to pull out than one would think. that being said, it’s still a comedic video game and one that I think could use some more expansion. though the game is inconsistent there seems to be the consensus that pit is like a child and I’m not into that, mine’s a bit more showing in his cynical and snarky side after all he’s been through and overall there’s a lot of expansion on the base while building it into something unique.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  imagine your typical bootstrapped anime protagonist. someone who, when younger, was a runt who couldn’t meet the expectations of others, was looked down on, and found himself crushed and hurt and near-killed by a great tragedy that he was forced to claw his way out of to make himself stronger. Now imagine all of that with a character who comes out still able to have a very real smile and ultimately comes out of it a self-assured, chipper goofball with a good heart. now put that together with all of the darkness and depth you would have expected to be there, but scattered realistically throughout the attitude of someone who does genuinely want to keep a positive attitude. someone who is sincerely an optimist who’s grown past his weaker days, but isn’t quite so simple as he’d like to believe. all of that combined with someone who can’t read, is willing to eat ice cream off the floor in times of duress, is extremely easy to fluster and can channel his goddess’ power to slay GODS? you got one strong man.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  his positive attitude is what most people will see when speaking to him, because for what it’s worth, he’s not actively lying about his depth. he’s a cheerful, jovial man with a big smile and a love of the world around him - which is all well and good, but his depth is something you have to find, even if it is reasonably clear if you’re willing to look. he’s also portrayed as a bit unreasonably dumb at times, and though I personally justify the worst of it with proper explanations, I can understand reducing some of the value of the character in favor of seeing all of his Jokes

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  i made my original pit blog, flightlesswarrior, on a total whim after playing kid icarus uprising. cute character, fun premise, why not? but over time, and with numerous plots I was able to take part in exploring the serious, not so serious, shipping, tragedy, and going back through the game to keep my muse rolling, it occurred to me more and more with time just how nuanced and interesting pit and co. really are. pit embodies many of the things i really, truly love in a protag, falling firmly on the side of good, having a heart of genuine gold, and having nuances and parts of his personality that are less than savory without making him seem like a contradiction. he’s got depth, he’s got story, there’s a lot to explore and flesh out... and he’s also just a nice, friendly guy who gets along well with others. plus, i’m drawn to dorks.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  a) love for Kid Icarus: Uprising. a game that helped me gain a deeper and more insightful understanding of character development, subtle storytelling, optimism still tinged with legitimate and healthy cynicism, and overall something that changed my understanding of character development and storytelling forever. and b) spite. the fandom treats him like an idiot baby and smash DOES NOT help matters so i have to remind others that he is a veteran of a war, a socially inept loser with few real friends, and someone who’s kindness and optimism was shaped and molded by its hardships in a way that doesn’t require a near-breaking point or a reminder that “this guy could be evil you know” to show how someone can still keep a positive attitude in spite of all the shit life throws at him.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO [ i’d like to think i have?? but i also acknowledge that he’s become something of his Own in some ways that do intentionally diverge from sakurai’s intentions. ultimately though, even though i may not play him completely true to text, i try to be as loyal as i can be to the spirit of the character. ]

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF? [ when i can!! but??? the problem is my mind really, really likes to reiterate the Same Damn Points i have to make with characters that draws me to them - and you know, writing the same hcs over and over is generally considered poor form?? ngl i also prefer to let the writing do the talking unless it’s something that’s not gonna show so 90% of the time pit’s open enough that all but the darker sides of his mind are lain out before you. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO [ maybe??? once or tWICE???? but i need to write more ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [ I REALLY DO, HOO MAMA. i have a lot of thoughts about him, his depth, potential relationships, goofy thoughts, more serious fanfic ideas im never gonna write and don’t get me started on how many SHIPS i have to think about for him ]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO [ my portrayal is made out of spite for portrayals in the fandom and some supplementary material that gets him wrong - it’s kinda hard to do that without the confidence ]

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / ??? [ it’s uhh........ complicated??? i don’t think writing is my expertise, tbh. but it is the best way i have to show the passion i have for characters, by putting their nuances into actions, by allowing them to shine from who they are their core, by exploring relationships and scenarios and struggles and hope and everything that can flesh a character out. whether or not i’m a good writer is something i’m still sorting out - but i’m proud of my ability to develop a character, and to that end i feel like i’m doing fine ]

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO. / SORTA. [ on one hand......... very. i have a tendency to overthink everything i do and look back at moments i made an ass of myself that keep haunting me throughout my day - they haunt me. i only have two fears: what my immediate friend group thinks of me and the crushing existential weight of worrying one day i’m gonna ruin everything i am SOFT. that being said, i’m also hardheaded and stubborn and i’m not afraid to go off on someone i don’t have much respect for if it comes down to it. i’m easy to anger when it comes down to it you know i guess that proves the point huh i’m not stonefaced at all ]

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  i try to? it’s a bit touchy for me I admit just because I do take portrayals and try to make them my own, but i am willing to listen if someone has any points they’d like to make that i haven’t acknowledged properly. if criticism IS had, lemme know, i do wanna hear it!

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —   Y  E  S

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  not that everyone who disagrees with my opinions has to explain themselves of course, but i do sincerely like the chance to learn if something i’m doing doesn’t quite feel right. even if it’s one-sided and i’ll come to disagree, i’m happy to listen! even if i don’t agree with the disagreement head-on, i like to keep them in mind and see what i can shift around to acknowledge them if necessary

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  — neutral?? i mean don’t be mean about it, but if you just think my pit doesn’t seem right or it doesn’t click right with your muse i’m not gonna throw a fit about it. everyone’s allowed to view a character in their own way - and even if i may get salty about those who oversimplify him, it IS anyone’s right to view him how they will.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  — agree to disagree tbh. i can’t pretend it wouldn’t disappoint me, but it’s not like, worth ending a friendship over or anything. everyone’s got their own viewpoints to run on

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  sure, within reason! i take pride in my grammar but i know that with my fast typing and often running on only a few hours of sleep some problems do slip in through the cracks. while i generally either catch them or just Die with them i’m all ears if i mess up

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  uhhhhhhhhhh well i’m?? kind of a socially anxious mess honestly which DOES make being easy going a bit difficult BUT i do try and be friendly and sociable as i....... can. i’m too scared to talk to people and CAN say some dumb things but i’m not a hardass or anything!! i like to talk and Yell and shitpost and pretty much do anything but write tbh DHFLKSJDF

[insane-mane]

Redesigned second set of 10 (totally forgot to upload it here)! 

Cannonbolt- Cannonbolt is sort of a hard design to just completely start from scratch from, but I really like how it turned out. Reconstructing how his face and outer shell  sorta connect looks visually pleasing, and I'm def gonna have to show how I think the rest of his exoskeleton actually functions. I don't want it to be where it's like this perfect, spherical ball, but have it sorta make sense how the arms fit into it correctly and whatnot, but that'll be for a later date.

Wildvine-  Nothing too different about this one, just resized his proportions a bit, gave some minor shine to his eye/shoulder thingies, placed a few exploding seeds near his elbows to make em more interesting, and muted some of his colors a bit to better differentiate them. Overall, pleased with the pose and whatnot.

Blitzwolf-  His mouth shape is actually slightly modeled by a moon flower, which I think fits with a somewhat new concept I've been trying to play around with. Blitzwolf (yes, I changed his name ever so slightly) can hear almost ANYTHING from far away and has night vision, but now has moon-powered sonic howls that can create narcoleptic shock, incapacitating an enemy for a few minutes. Blitzwolf also absorbs the light the moon emits allowing him to create these crescent-shaped blasts that cut through nearly anything.

Snare-Oh- Snare-Oh, as scarce as he was in the series as a whole, was a semi-fave of mine. I liked his lanky-look, which is something I kinda wanted to show off here, but still have him look like a threat. I also wanted to change up his biology, making him somewhat more organic and have his physiology make a tad more sense. I did give him bones before, but now that I watched Be Afraid of the Dark, I think it would be more unique to have his "corpse" look similar to the mutated humans? Corrodium was part of the Thep Khufan culture as this powerful, radioactive mineral and worshiped it as some sort of monolith that effected their race. Its effects are different, allowing them to be immortal but breaks down their body, to the point where they "become one with the stone" and decay,causing them to need protection (bandages) to keep their form together and contained. The bandages are to be extremely resilient and stretchy, and the corrodium allows them to control them via telepathy. They can still be cut, but it would have to be something FAIRLY sharp, an average blade wouldn't cut it.

Frankenstrike-  Frankenstrike’s species were once hulking, humanoid-like creatures with electromagnetic abilities. Slaves to the Ectonurites, the Transylians were used to power large generators to keep the planet shrouded in large, dense clouds where sunlight could not effect Anur Phaetos. After a large revolt against their ghostly masters, the Ectonurites wiped them out, so to speak. They were reanimated and the Ectonurites made them mentally impotent, so they’d obey to their every whim. Due to their decaying bodies, the Ectonurites implemented mini generators and other forms of machinery into their biology, keeping them stable and enhancing their abilities. Soon their flesh became callas and rough, giving them no pain index. Since he’s a hodgepodge of body parts disconnected from the joints, Frankenstrike can disassemble his body parts and reattach them via his electromagnetism. Apart from his electrokinesis, Frankenstrike is not too bright and is very child-like. Afraid of large amounts of bright light due to his masters beating the idea into his species’ heads bright light=bad.

Upchuck-  Upchuck's powers/abilities (like a lot of other redesigns I've done) are altered a bit. Upchuck is a lot more agile and uses his squishier exterior to bounce around, allowing him to evade attacks and/or get to food quickly (adding more to his frog-like appearance). His teeth are EXTREMELY strong/resilient, able to crush the toughest of metals. And no, there's no "pocket dimension" in his stomach, just a healthy amount of potent stomach acid that converts whatever it is he ate into nutrients/explosive blasts. His three tongues are covered in a very adhesive saliva, allowing him to keep hold of anything he's managed to capture.

Ditto-  Ditto's biology is a bit different here. The sensory nodes on his shoulders help his "hive mind" know where each one is and allows them to regroup immediately. Ditto is actually now an invertebrate, so he lacks bones and allows him to be extremely flexible and stretchy, for easier cloning. This adds a bit to his more cartoony nature, having him squash and stretch (however there is a limit to how much pain he may be put through). Speaking of limits, Ditto's cloning can only go so far. He can make it up to just about 100 clones, but that may double with age.

Eye Guy-  Nothing majorly different in terms of Eye Guy's design besides the asymmetrical eyes (which, in my opinion, look cooler) also added to his legs and slightly more detail with the face. I really wanted to give him slightly irregular proportions, which may be hard to see here in this pose the more I think about it. In terms of his powers, Eye Guy's eyes move more independently, helping his 360 vision a bit more. He still has minor regeneration/healing, eye merging, and elastic eye stalks he protrudes from his body. He's much more flexible, and has outstanding hand-eye coordination. I've decided to remove his ice beams since I felt they were out of place. He still technically creates fire beams, fitting better with his optic blasts.

Way Big-  Way Big's powers and abilities are pretty much the same: He big! He still has the ability to generate cosmic blasts by forming an 'X' shape with his arms, conjuring the forces from his home world and creating a very powerful attack. Way Big's height (at age 10) is nearly 1,600 feet, exceeding the empire state building! His height grows further from that, reaching nearly, you guessed it, 10,000 feet as an adult. Convenient, huh?

Feedback-  For his design, I wanted to make him a bit more feline-like. I got a cat a while back, he's very slender and energetic, and something about him made me think of Feedback, so here we are. I wanted to have some of his copper coils and such slightly more...alien and organic but still recognizable. Added some white in there because my cat has this neat little tuft of white fur on his chest, it's a nice contrast against the black. For powers, not a whole lot is changed, he's just much more flexible, and I like to think his skeletal structure is made out of the same metal material found on his tendrils and fingers, explaining how he can redirected and boost electrical blasts in a more fun way. Feedback gives Ben a rush of energy whenever he uses him, but makes him crash hard after timing out, so turning into him is a bit strenuous. Being more cat-like, he's also a bit more impulsive than Ben normally is, so that may lead to more harm than good.

[sunshineandfangs]

Klaroween || Corn Maze

Caroline finally showed up at Klaus’ door, but this is not what he intended when he promised to show her the world.

Warnings: this one got weird...show typical violence, some semi-graphic gore, implied past rape and cannibalism (NOT of Klaroline, and they get their comeuppance)

"Caroline when you showed up at my door and asked to see the world, I didn't think our first stop would be a bloody corn maze."

Klaus cast his unimpressed gaze around the farm in Indiana, hands shoved in his jean pockets. The perfect picture of sulking hybrid.

"Oh, lighten up Klaus! I always wanted to do one of these, and I like Stranger Things. It was the perfect combo."

Caroline, meanwhile, was bouncing on the balls of her feet. The perfect picture of giddy teenager, albeit a decade or so removed.

Klaus just heaved a sigh, knowing he would concede in the end. He found it was very hard to resist Caroline Forbes. At least she wasn't attempting to get him to wear ridiculous Halloween costumes again. Or decorate The Abattoir for Easter of all things. And despite what Kol said, he didn't capitulate to all of Caroline's whims. Just some of them. Most of the time.

Taking his hand, Caroline tugged him forward and out of his drifting thoughts.

"Now we have options," she said brightly, gesturing at the posted map on their website. Tapping on her phone to zoom in, she scrolled the image around, holding it in his direction. "See, it's technically four interconnected labyrinthine style mazes." She ignored Klaus' derisive muttering about giving people a map. "Together it totals 10 miles of pathway spread across 20 acres." She gave Klaus a pointed look, "And I know you can hear clear across it, but us mere mortals can't. So try to contain yourself."

"There's nothing mere or mortal about you, love," he whispered in her ear.

She pushed him away with an eye roll.

"You know what I meant, Klaus, stop trying to distract me with flirting. We're going to do this corn maze! Now here's what's going to happen…"

Caroline laughed as she occasionally blurred through empty sections of the maze, making to sure to wander at a human pace whenever she heard others come near. Klaus was somewhere in the opposite corner of the maze. The goal, as she had told him, was to find one another while exploring as many pathways as possible. And she had very strictly forbidden his Original Hybrid hearing, knowing he could tune most of it out if he so chose.

She carefully planned it that way as Caroline had a secret goal of her own. She was hoping she could give him a wide enough berth to circle around and sneak up on him. She was well aware it was very unlikely, but that was half the fun. Plus, if she actually managed it, she would hold it over his head for years!

Focused on her musings as she was, she didn't register the people who snuck up on her. She had just enough time to think that Klaus would kill her for getting kidnapped in a damned corn maze.

Returning to consciousness as a vampire was still a bit of an odd experience for Caroline. Unlike humans who woke slowly, all faculties returned to a vampire in an instant. It was like blinking, if blinking could change the surroundings in what seemed like an instant.

After several years as a vampire, and an irritating number of kidnappings, Caroline had long since mastered the art of controlling the instinct to immediately open her eyes. Taking stock of her surroundings, Caroline noted a few very surprising things.

First, while she was bound, it was with plain rope. Not vervain soaked rope. Not chains. Second, no one was posted nearby to monitor her. Third, she couldn't detect the odd buzzing hum on her skin that she had learned to associate with witchcraft.

Was-was she taken by a run of the mill serial killer or something?!

While it was the best case scenario, it was embarrassing for humans to have gotten the jump on her. Sure, she was technically still a baby vamp, and she would be for several more decades, but she had lived through Mystic Falls, for God's sake!

Withholding her desire to voice her exasperation audibly, in case she missed something, she strained her ears to listen for her soon to be very regretful kidnappers. A floor above her she caught their mutterings.

"'Ey Pete, we got ourselves a pretty one."

"Very pretty, very soft."

Withholding a shudder of revulsion, Caroline wondered what kind of sickos had her. Now, she was actually rather glad they managed to take her. Better her than some actual teenaged girl, because Caroline had fangs, and she could bite back.

She tuned back into their conversation.

"She'll be delicious. First to play with. Then to eat!"

Okay, what the fuck? Were they cannibals?!

Having heard enough, Caroline opened her eyes and easily snapped the ropes that had been knotted around her wrists and ankles. She stood and took a quick glance around, checking for any evidence that they weren't humans. She still wasn't sure how they knocked her out after all. However, she saw nothing but a barren and dark cell

Slipping out of it was simple. There was a barred door, not unlike an old-style prison cell, but it too easily yielded to her. Refusing to drop her guard a second time in one day, Caroline carefully crept down a rather short hallway that ended in stairs. She opted to head down first, just to survey everything.

She was glad she did.

Even having lived with Klaus and the rest of his often psychotic siblings for a few years now, she was disgusted by what she found. The rooms were somehow sealed off, as even looking right at the horror show before her, she didn't smell anything. And in each room was one macabre display after another.

Gnawed on bones. Entire sheets of dried blood. Most of the bodies were old and completely decomposed. Others were in varying stages of rotting and she could tell they had been brutalized in every sense of the word. All the identifiable corpses were women and some of their stomachs curved to suggest they died just after a pregnancy.

Revolted and appalled, Caroline quickly blurred down the corridor checking for hidden doors or possible survivors. There were none. Just tens and tens of rooms filled with rot and body parts. She quickly left, promising the dead their tormentors would pay.

Stealthily, Caroline moved upstairs to where she had heard the voices, listening closely to every heartbeat. 

It was shockingly easy to sneak up on them. 

Without mercy she snapped every neck, noting how they were all filthy and deformed. Unsure if they were mutated humans or a creature she hadn't heard of, she returned to every body and ripped off heads and tore out hearts.

She continued through all of the rooms making sure to double and triple check for stairs or hidden passage ways. Once she was assured she had destroyed them all, she found a chair to wait in, mentally and emotionally exhausted. She knew Klaus would come for her and he would hopefully be more knowledgeable about what she had stumbled in to. Settling in to wait, she kept her back to the wall.

It didn't take him long. A few minutes later a door few off its hinges and across the room where it slammed into the wall. In the entrance way stood Klaus, eyes blazing gold, a web of black veins bulging angrily, fangs fully descended. The vicious snarl across his face vanished as soon as he set eyes on her.

In an instant he was crouched before her, eyes and hands scanning for any hidden injuries.

"What happened, Caroline?" He asked, a growl in his tone, eyes blazing with a rage that currently had no target.

"I'm not sure. Something knocked me out and I woke up here. They didn't seem to realize I was a vampire, and killing them was easy." Caroline's relayed succinctly, still disturbed by what she had seen. Her voiced dropped as she uttered the next part, "Klaus, their basement was horrific and their forms were... warped."

His gaze sharpened.

"Warped how?" He asked in clipped tones.

"Mutated or deformed or something. Their bodies had odd bulges and a few of them had growths that covered an eye. Rotted teeth. Filthy. Potentially diseased,” she rattled off.

"Show me."

Caroline blurred toward the rooms she had left their dismembered bodies, Klaus on her heels. They were still in pieces, seemingly dead, and for once Caroline wished she could have inflicted more suffering.

"They're Çarpık," Klaus answered her unvoiced question. "Cannibals who failed to become wendigos." He walked over, toeing one of the severed heads with his boot. "I appreciate your caution, but they're only a little more durable than regular humans. Their strength is in the tiny amount of magic they possess that lets them hide scents and render their prey unconscious."

Stalking over to her, he tipped her chin with his fingers.

"How did they take you down, Caroline? They have to have physical contact to knock people unconscious."

Caroline glanced away, a little ashamed.

"I was distracted," she muttered.

Klaus clenched his jaw imagining all the terrible things that could have happened to her, had they chosen to keep her unconscious.

"Right, we'll... discuss this at home."

He gathered her in his arms, needing to hold her, touch gentle despite his protective anger, and whisked them in the direction of their car.

AN: Yeah, idk where this came from. It started cute and then got decidedly less so...I guess sorta inspired by the mutants in The Hills Have Eyes (even if I barely watched it a few years ago and didn’t particularly like it? Brains are weird)

[triumphorce]

I hope you enjoy these poems,

Been long enough since I’ve opened, but what’s wrote here is longer,

Sequoia length,

Hyperbolic-time flow in composition,

Bestowin lines of hopeful intervention,

Archs of ideas risen over an extended period, sheddin blood and perspiration,

No menopause, or birthin babies, no days off or on vacation, just endless effort,

An ellipsis stasis, pausing mentally to pay tribute and revisit thoughts degraded,

Or friends neglected,

Pausin like Nintendo, to eat some dinner before it’s cold and tastes of resentment,

Coldest chest bearin my truest intentions, similar to Sloths’ paws in my grip,

Skeptic in the presence of predators, pause to remain calm from all the norm’s digestion

On my South Paw Tekken method, so I stagger to keep them guessin,

In a mega melee between every one of these beings

And their baseless, no basis for patience, faceless and conceited bantering,

So, I’ll get angry if I get angry,

Pressin pause, once again before, just in case, breathing deeply,

Moment of recollection to intellectually understand the present,

And fast forward through every pressure, as I wordplay on endeavors,

All the while trying to buy me time and spare my mind displeasure

From hiding all these lines, wondering if it’s better to attribute pride

And be forever biased toward my dreams, ignorin finding securer ties

Amidst future porch-lit oblivions,

So I chose to approve all I choose with a stronger sense of what to do, Truth in use,

My Love for Truth reaches deepest distances to defining deeper motive behind the chosen,

Chase my dreams or loathe them, stop wasting time on goals or continue on toward them,

Still I end up writing my mind half the time, a bad habit of thinkin it’s lunch time

When it’s crunch time, bursts of ideas, floodin skies, rainin food for thoughtful animals

So now it’s hunt time and I’m roaming cranial parameters, ramblin in Rome-like stadiums,

A Rome of ages, no Brutus betrayal or Germanic invasion,

No collapsing, I make full course, my own track and traction,

Presidential pioneer of passion; a growth in hope from anger,

A ronin-rioteer, slashing throats of loathe and fear, lies and anguish,

Meaning is now the Home and I’m Forrester, on occasion,

Lovely to me to be left alone, to zone and be free from true isolation,

To redefine, no, renovate my limits, halls of castles spreadin from DNA,

To roofs, my being raising from half staff, saluting empires of past and present acceptance,

No predictions or master plans, only assumed direction and adaptive passion, always fittest,

Regardless of destination or where I land, its presence is foremost and always welcomed,

Whether I am or not, but okay, whatev, bet I’m still gone write, yep, bet I’m still gone type, gone but bet I’ll be right

Back, and bet I’m still gone knock, bet I still remain as obsessive as day one, towards an art,

So check the tech of this apex poet’s level in rap, floetry runneth over and I keep it coming like porno,

And…yea, good, that’s a wrap,

Horde of spun gears in wholesome work, cog-nizant abundance here,

An aggressive submissiveness, self competitive modes of progression shown in

An impressive stanza collection, goin all the way back, ’07, low and undetected,

007 impressions all the way to present moments, presenting poems,

Where 117 is now the logo, a present decree of freeing motives,

Steering hope to fearless and it couldn’t but be made more clear, this here

Can’t be on apprentice level s***, not anymore, I’m no where near, I’m better than,

Mirror Anakin, made aware of hidden traits, clearly bred colossal wake

As the inevitable dawn of day, endless skywalkin in either night or day,

On my Goku and Brolly game, got me on my jolly way,

So hold up, I’m bout to blow it up,

Bomberman noggin blogs, pardon the post-ignited fury,

Sparks from muse are used to light the fuse, moving through my spine,

To the keys I strike, to viewable words through screens of yours,

And then boom, my H2O line of sight crosses Alkaline insides,

Fleeting debris of my being sinking six feet in fire’s keep,

Leaving only a smoke flow of unspoken life, rise to flight,

About to air it out, openin insides to fair against the pain,

Another verbal hurricane, reign of Hadouken waved verses

Bringing pages, like a journalist, cursor brain attached to qwerty nerves,

Constant saving, birthing a freeze frame nature to nurture critiqued allure,

From observin to shining light on might of mind on mind excursion,

Lyrics of Merlin, magickal bound occurrence of astounding verbal wizardry,

Showin beauty in comprehension between the likes of those alike

And others who talk against,

So much hate, yet little mercy, despite what they claim to be in the first place,

So next to action, I narrate..

My part,

a poetic curator organizing deep extractions of Art within an Art,

Sorta clean cause of time off, still far from set Par,

Seeing only as far as I’m made able, free of cataracts

and until the rest is made available I place my faith in words,

Come out unscathed and church

Clean, from housing Temple worship,

Sermons of mental journeys, Hobbit-length, traversing Misty Mountain cliffs,

Where Stone Giants wage war, Bid on shoulder’s girth, a foundation never destroyed,

Only converted, only a change in surface, only courage

Made under fire, slay the dragon buried under the least of worries,

Traded violence and bias for brighter means of time spent,

Breaking dawn of storms, over shores of lore,

Growing force from self-remorse, stored distortion,

From getting used to moving forward,

overcoming obstacles, that before had me stuck in floors, all the lags had me glitchin,

Took a minute but I gathered, from the tension, a meta-genomic grasp

On philosophic-bloodlust in retinas of optics searching for oxygen,

yin-yang-third-eye watchin, a mind concaved to problem solvin at the microscopic,

Supplyin a macro-meson metropolis, comprising atomic gardens,

Ever meso-fixed in topless limits, I can’t stop, no need for friends,

Only accomplice to accomplishin, raising the bar again and again within myself,

Machine-like of John Conner, type neurologic, a bionic Laureate, I been on it,

A token-Conan,

A hint of Homer,

From scarlet bowties and formal clothing

To swinging forth the sword of warriors,

Spreadin life with an aura flourished in poetry,

Sort of like Tenseiga but just as sharp as Tessaiga to slay and defend what’s important,

So I Bakuryūha when cornered, no more warnings to get off my Case,

A Sherlock self-entitlist, just decipherin Edgar Poe whims,

With magnifying-focus, John Locked at poems coordinates,

Geologist-range, Rovin problems over with mecha-method,

reignin hectic over perfect tempo,

Mental metronomes, metabolic gyroscopic, hydraulic steps over all the bulls*** people talkin,

Supplyin medic-tomes to audiences, I guess,

Instead of poems, just a chivalric code in ir-realistic flow,

Just another dose of illness, to strengthen defenses

Here we go and, oh yea, that was just the beginnin’, oh snap, no he didn’t

lul.

So here is my written vaccination, a statement of my mission,

Sick of losing my mind and always seeing accepted ignorance,

Lettin go of trust, just to grab hold of hope I choose to trust again,

Desire to love and forgive poses more importance than holding in

Or holding on to thorns of torn rose stems,

Better at maintaining a utopia within, Jesus-morale through crucial friction,

Yieldin malice to oncoming Semi-driven peace,

Even when afflictions make it uneasy,

I make sure love is not only at its peak when toward family,

Because Kin is everybody I co-Exist amongst, an invisible brand in genes,

Givin me infinitely hope that I can defend beliefs of neighborly bred instincts,

Leading actions to condone sequence of repeated interactions,

Like dominos,

Between

people’s

compassion’s

path’s

Crossing

With that of

My own that I’m steady walkin, not really lookin back,

Exponentially increasing from lack of to getting back up,

Ours, as a world, to combine, or back up, and Choose disbelief,

Giving power to the powers To be, whose power to Be is defiling

Our Choice’s portrait of supposedly empty highlights, making ordinary

Unimportant, so thus this becomes the light of truth and leads life to corrupted view,

Either you losing sight of you or me of myself, misconstruing reason to pay it forward,

So I’m usin lucrative lines to lubricate the minds still a little prude to the nude of life,

Faded from strained engagement, makin the choice to die before you’re ever abused again,

To stand unphased in the face of hate and maintain a level stage of patience, that few appreciatin,

Proof that even in the height of uselessness, truth exist in a dimension fixed from vision,

Rooted fixture of a singularity, opposing ideals varying, extend as phloem,

Still can’t elude the speed of photons in a system of life and physics where the right to choose, itself,

Is the life in what lives stand for,

Beyond the physical, a Worth indivisible, formed from what we did and didn’t do,

Warm with smitten, passive light, passin every night and day,

By the hour, orbit revolutions of quintupled Arcturus regions, knowledge empowered brain,

Observin league’s descent uncharted, breeching in darkest hour,

Gravitate my beliefs to massive reason, dimension of must equalin mass of love

To not corrupt where hearts conduct or infest all I possess with lust,

Hope I can maintain the way I touch hearts and pump in months of hardwork,

I keep learning from how I feel to why I feel that way,

Found difference in being indigent and being ignorant,

Intelligence directly reflectin indignant wisdom, transmittin,

Referrals I purpose of personal Shells in ideals, splurging words earnestly

To enter these journals, but if I’m supposed to, what’s the purpose,

Who am I to deserve such a love to words, just an observer

With judicial poetic touch,

And if it’s certain, to whomever, that fate is written, a moral contingent imminent to emptyin,

then what’s the Purpose to existence other than fulfilling an omni-present minister’s wishes of progression,

So I’m administering this obsession to keep anyone who’s missin those “blessings” to please hold on for new direction because I’m tired of seeing depression used as weapons, ammunition from confusion spreadin, duly attentive to fully removin this sickness in sentenced remedies,

Imprison the Nil of pre-destined influences, bring immunity to kill tetanus infections,

Yet still refusing to refute my messages’ meaning even when people misread or dis-link from me

In fear of appearing foolish when light’s free, wool lids over open eyed fools,

Mule witted minds losin focus,

Allusive motive to controlling themselves,

Soo they leave it to forces brail, leaving me to expose

Where the heart is and what it is I was composed to do, go through,

With an ambition prone to fail, I suppose, According to premeditated rulings,

Meaning everyone can’t avail, so only some progress while others are rejected,

Some succeed, some fail, some live, some dwell, well, all alive, but none feel,

Not one well,

And once accepted they remain as frail as I stay mute, but that’s changin soon,

Realizing the truth to stay ahead, never aim to win, life is better played at whim,

Not a favor to anyone to stay blind because you believe you have no play in it,

And claiming peace, while inside, you fake as s***,

So no more resigned use of…

Of life in muses, only new identities I can side by, fuse with,

Away from what therein lies of pre-inscribed mysterious finds, binding will to higher kinds,

Leaving little clarity between actuality and their desire,

Entirety of irrationality blurring passions with pre-happenings,

So I’m writing packet-deep, massive thesis type lyrics,

Not on what life is, more on what it should look like,

Negate effects of strife in what we go through every day

In dreaming and seeking Faith, ending wake of endless waking, like Kenny’s nature,

Mysterion mind deliberating meaning in decisions that supposedly lead us, survival of the fated,

Achievements naked, blank sheet, feat-less wasteland of failures, aka

Someone else’s graceland’s sake,

Astray a world of involuntary reflexes, committed daily,

So what are we without the choices that we make?

And what are reached achievements if choices obsolete,

Our thoughts subjection leaning toward subjective mercy,

Always worrying things will turn for the worse, or should service us,

Circling merit, false in essence, always expectin credit, all these undeserved expectations,

Just another damn reason to instruct and detain, trained to hush,

Contained in corruption, so I break away and lead myself free of it,

Free of following a truth untold, or rushed through,

I slow it down,

Piercing meaning, rupturing relations between changes in Being

And being thankful for living,

Every reason I find, convenes in front of spleens,

Instead of wasting time slaving to understand something always changing

I can easily provide more beauty with “ordinary” in wording, ordaining my own action,

Than any do with reasons still a mystery because they believe in divinity’s selection,

Well I believe everyone, no matter skin, beliefs, see a peace, regardless of objective,

Peace is the seed that exist in you and me, me in you and you in me, nothing sexual,

Just technical, so here’s to findin triumph in effort hulled, fighting for survival of hope in better situations

Distribute it mainstream, with only precedence toward bestowing bravery,

Traversing in shoals of intricate migrations, from skull to throat,

Talkin over people trollin the same thing, about damnation, nuclear devastation, or no hope in humanity,

Betraying speaking peace in pieces, plain to see,

Disarray in creation of fate-sung predicaments

So I remain an algebraic humanist, Ethos patron instinctively,

Regardless of what will be, only means to believe in,

And I choose to believe then,

From the whole of me, giving heed in forms of rhyming reads,

Waiting for the time to reach and grab my chance before it passes me…

My chance to be, to chance is to breathe in depths of stress, under endless seas of probabilities,

Chance is the rise to waves accent to cling to being, where wind swiftly leads a symphony

Of dreams and just when air seems di-minished, chance then Links courage to cappin fear,

Ceasing deceasing of a dwindled breeze, bringing back forgotten memories,

Connected to the past, of where one love met another,

Growth in a happiness conceived bliss, paintings above everyone;

A past’s collage of pensive imagery, collision of Imagination and color,

As wind in the sky blows to soothe the dried, pacifyin,

Past trees, to carry seeds to where they land and breed,

Chance is the treaty between faith and reason,

So tired, so much time to chancing, less to myself, more to finding pride,

Wealth applied to build a health in a life worth more than itself, meant to help,

Enrich those left with doubt, pursued in talents used to salvage faith and shelter,

Compelling thoughts of jealousy and hatred, still a becoming, in the making,

No black and white, I’m in the gray, changin, becomin blanker to a race based on skin,

A lot of work in becoming the change I wish to see replacing all the deceit and greed shit,

To give people something to believe and then proceed to give them reason guaranteeing chance,

Fairing change in paths and enhance the passion made elastic by creating a canvas of emotions gathered

When faced with resistance in liberation from fated actions, I supply my own motivation,

I never tire, never slack, forever writing, sometimes gaming,

I design, repay debt and fines,

I find when lost,

I admire the quaint breeze,

I aspire to aspire,

Seeking others to re-fire fired dreams,

Finally seeing the beauty in dying leaves,

I am only but the comprisee, comprised to further ideas beyond that Comprising…

And at every Dawn of Morn’, perfect timing,

Lightly sun brushed adorned emotions course vibrantly,

Alarm chime got me up like Dug and Russell,

Carl Orff auricular consumption as I rise to shining,

Leaving bunks made comfortable, plying a nine to five,

Adrift corrupted, yet functional systems of injustice,

That people blindly trust in, such a numb to love world,

So I’m livin sure of what I want, but never deserving,

More for serving, because I see a turning in returning,

Learning TM 27, to defend without hesitation, those hurting,

Putting plenty work in, stayin sturdy, steady, stern,

So no more sleep, reenergize my mind with ultraviolet multi-focused drive,

Never tried thriving in just one type of art, renaissance rhymes or charcoal lines,

Bars of ideals primed in furnace fire,

Filled from philosophical mines I, from time to time, step inside to dig further,

Almost a decade, now, dedicated toward a storyline that transformed to novels,

From Lanowen to Cenoria,

From one part to over four, comic-concepts

From porch bottom to views with No horizon,

Just me and Hiz,

From RP to a simple Story, to a Foyer of plots,

Elevating floors high, Glory rises to tell of the dormant tales,

Tales of war, Tales of cheer, Tales Galore, Tales of Fears,

A tale of Fictional artists, just tryin to stay in chime tune with reality,

Eyes open, as trays of a balance-beam,

We only dream To chase them, after, running mentally to catch them,

Dippin off through darkened streets, literally,

And when dusk begins reality slumbers in Dippers over me,

Ephemeral solace into the evening, leaving me in

Pleasant never ending brinks, extinct of larks or peeps,

Sole existence of a solo dolo sidewalk dreamer,

A roamin Caesar, Rome enthusiast

To scenic artistry of stars gleaming in navy-bluest skies,

Light mists of moonlight sonata-like cloaks linger through the night,

A bliss as infinite as the stars are distant, holdin my hopes in suspension,

Ensuing thoughts to compose notes in my dome or on moleskine,

Brim-row view in opera lands, Baritone parlando, harking heartfelt cantos,

Stealing back the hope I robbed myself of, so no more dead silence,

No sounds, just NC headphones and instrumentals to get my mind scheming,

Socratic Luther King in Light and in my sleep,

Still a modern Machiavelli, to stand for what’s right,

Keep what’s on back and neck protected, look like an easy

Target, but I promise that that ain’t promised,

Fingers crossin keyboards like twist ties,

Butter bread lines, sun-beams, from always goin ‘gainst the grain,

In an Adidas skully over curls as I stroll the lunar World,

Lennon-shoes, solar-albedo Chuck Soles Chauffer luster, a sulfer glow of soulful surges from Sol-lit sources, shone off earth’s surface, in all directions, time reversin from my inertia, I surf a universe of Umi-verses, rainin fiercely, floodin nyxheim, floodin tumblr, floodin notebooks, on my flood the world s***, only observable once I give life to words shaped in a matrix muse, wor-ship of my curse or gift, I make that discernment, man what the hell, I been murkin, think it’s time for me to call the curtains, I’m outta here, peace and heart, hope you enjoyed the work,

Fin

[shadyhouse]

8 facts meme

Post the rules

Post 8 facts about your character.

Tag 8 other characters.

Post their names along with their creators’ url.

i got tagged twice by @chemicalkingx and @varsitysjackets​ to do levi, roni, and otso so ill do all three of them i guess! if it gets long ill put it under a read more

levi

he wasnt always a demon-esque being, he used to be just a normal dog when he was younger but he met a bad person who corrupted him and now he’s the degenerate we know and love today :’)

the necklace he wears has a jewel in it that gives him powers. if hes not wearing it he cant do anything cool hes just a weird purple dog thing without it

the a few of the powers he can do (with the jewel) are light shape shifting (he can change small things about himself like his eye color and the shape of his ears and tongue and such) and he can manipulate people easily. not the Shitty Abusive type of manipulating but like, if he sees someone across the room he could partially possess them with ease

tecnically he’s dead? like hes still alive but hes, undead. reanimated, in a sense. but he isnt a zombie hes more like a spirit? idk its complicated

i kinda designed him on a whim but im glad i did because he is my favorite oc that i have even if hes only a month old

hes based on this album that i really like that i wont be saying bc its embarrassing but yea he’s initially based off an album i like :’)

hes not only my fursona but also a vent character so i tend to draw a lot of Bad Stuff with him and ,,,,, idk its better than doing it irl i guess lmao 

hes a very very very BASIC demon like he hasnt Leveled Up and he has no interest in doing so, he’s gonna stay basic bitch forever lmao (unless i decide otherwise in the future)

otso

he was originally an undertale self insert oc gfdijkgdf i shipped him with burgerpants and i drew them A LOT some of my older followers might remember those days...... eugh.........

his story was basically: his brother was the nice cream man (i literally only decided this bc they happened to have similar color schemes) and his parents werent around so they were in it for each other, and then otso met burgerpants after a disappointing mettaton show Also otso is obsessed with mettaton it was a mess of a story ngl

so eventually i detached him from the whole undertale thing and turned him into my fursona, and i havent developed his story since fjdkhdf

when i was first designing him he was just, a wooly bear-like monster, but when i turned him into a Furry he became a bear/sheep. a beep.

hes changed like, A LOT, in terms of body type and design. he has like 4 ref sheets and not a single one looks similar

i considered selling him a few times because i wasnt as attached to him as i used to but decided against it bc i still really do like him a lot,

i dont really have 8 things to say about him this is bad

his bell is his most prized possession and if u catch him when he’s sheared you will not live to tell the tale gfdgfd

roni

roni doesnt really have much of a story besides being a cute animal tbh

he was originally going to be an edgy character but i couldnt do it because???? tree kangaroos Cant be edgy theyre too cute

he’s basically like.... a 80s/90s kid but immortalized. hes Too Rad

he loves those milkshakes......... cant get enough........

he has a very childlike personality and outlook on life but in reality he doesnt really? have an age? he’s sorta like a living plushie/toy, but not actually a toy. also he’s 100% genderless

whatever is Hip With The Kids these days he is absolutely into. catch him with a fidget spinner in each paw and some roni-sized heelys

hes kind of anthro and kind of feral at the same time like he can talk (he has a voice similar to toki wartooth) but also his body type is that of a natural tree kangaroo (besides the pink shades in his fur)

he doesnt know how he got here and he often gets lost in his own thoughts wondering about his and everyone elses existance :’)

I TAG........ WHOEVER WANTS TO DO THIS........ LIKE SERIOUSLY IF U WANNA DO THIS SAY I TAGGED U AND USE WHATEVER OCS U WANT THIS IS FUN AND I DONT WANT U MISSING OUT !!!

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (6/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

Taako was a real asshole sometimes. (Okay, most times.) It was a part of his personality he had no intention of ever fully excising. You go for the goof, you commit to the bit, and if some people can't take a joke, that's their problem. He knew Angus was fully aware of this, so Taako wasn't bothered when he didn't speak to him for the next few blocks. He simply twirled his umbrella and followed along quietly to wherever it was they were going.

He didn't have to be a detective to figure it out; the southern edge of Neverwinter butted up against the World's Teeth, the mountains separating the northern and southern halves of Faerun. They were heading towards those mountains along the main thoroughfare, and when the train station came into view, Angus turned to him and smiled.

"Feel like a day trip to Rockport?" he asked.

Taako shouldered his umbrella and grinned. "Why not?"

Getting tickets seemed easier these days — there were two larger trains on parallel tracks, and they operated in sync with each other. By the time they finished paying and stepped out onto the platform, the Rockport Limited was pulling into the station. Angus was a little disappointed ("I hoped you'd get to see the Neverwinter Express, it's totally different.") but Taako was happy to bask in the nostalgia of one of his more memorable escapades.

The train itself was new, since the Reclaimers had trashed the last one pretty thoroughly, but it was largely the same. Fancy gilded exterior, very ornate, with lots of gold and bronze, and an equally plush interior, full of wood and silk and velvet. The train had been Rockport's baby, Angus explained — they'd been the ones to spearhead the tunneling operation, and it was the sole thing they could lord over Neverwinter — so they'd spared no expense in its reconstruction. The only difference Taako noticed was the lack of the empty archway in the dining car. Guess after Jenkins killed someone with it, they reconsidered the whole port-wand pleasure-room thing.

Their conductor was a friendly halfling, cheerful and pleasant and totally boring. No fun goofs to be had at his expense. Angus must have noticed Taako pouting after the halfling led them to their table in the dining car, because he snorted under his breath.

"Sorry you don't get to be mercilessly cruel to someone this trip," he said after the conductor was out of earshot.

"Just nostalgic, is all," Taako said, glancing out the window as the train began to move. "'Sides, not like Jenkins didn't have it coming."

"You didn't know that at the time."

"I had a hunch." Taako tapped his temple. "Elven intuition. You wouldn't understand, being human and all."

Angus smirked. "Uh-huh."

"You wanna play keep away with your notebook for old time's sake?"

"No, I'm good."

As their waiter approached with two full trays of goodies in his hands, Taako nearly did a double-take; he was an absolutely gorgeous dark elf, broad shouldered and built like a house with luscious Fabio-esque hair. He smiled and offered them their choice. Angus took a muffin and coffee, plus a newspaper. Taako took a blueberry scone and a cup of tea. The waiter poured his tea, smiled again, and then took the two trays and headed down the car to another occupied table at the far end. Taako leaned out and watched him walk away. When he settled back into his seat, Angus was shaking his head.

"What? I'm married, I'm not dead."

"Gross, sir."

"Do I have to bring up how you were looking at Silvia? Oh, I'm sorry." He leaned forward. "Lieutenant?"

Angus' grin disappeared and he turned his attention to the newspaper. Taako grinned and took a bite of his scone.

"Y'know," he said with his mouth full, "that sorta dom-sub stuff ain't really my bag, but you chase your bliss, Ango."

"I'm not listening," Angus said in a sing-song voice.

"Right. I'll leave you to your paper. I won't say another word about Silvia." Taako leaned in an stage-whispered, "Miss Hayden, if you're nasty."

Angus rolled up his newspaper and smacked Taako upside the head with it. He started laughing again, and Angus blew out the exasperated sigh he used when he wanted to stifle his own laughter.

The journey was thoroughly uneventful. After they'd taken lunch (and Taako had asked the waiter to bring him a hot towel just to watch him leave a couple more times) they'd retired to the sleeper car. Taako had dozed lazily while Angus read the paper, then they'd played a game of cards where they both cheated mercilessly, and after a few hours, they pulled into Rockport.

Last time, Taako had killed a weird crab monster, stolen a bunch of shit he shouldn't have, thrown a serial killer off the back of a runaway train (well, that was Magnus, but he'd been present for it) and then saved hundreds of people by teleporting said train into said serial killer's private garden. It was wicked awesome.

This trip was pretty good too, though.

Rockport was a fishing and farming town, largely, and that much hadn't changed; it still smelled like fish when the wind blew from the west, and like flowers when it blew from the east. The ticket seller at this end was still the spitting image of Tom Bodett, though a fair bit older than when Taako saw him last. He probably recognized Taako, too, considering how he turned on his heel and walked away the moment he saw him.

It wasn't nearly the size of Neverwinter, but Rockport still qualified as a bona fide city — there were wagons traveling up and down the white cobblestone roads, many pulling cargo trailers full of crates. Stalls and small markets were set up all along the main road from the train station toward the city center, hawking everything Rockport was famous for, which was mostly beef pasties, fish and chips, or bouquets of lupines. Not so many souvenirs of the Rockport Limited anymore, Taako noted. Made sense; if Neverwinter had built their own, it couldn't be that special.

Angus led them off the main road into a narrower side street. Taako narrowly avoided a puddle as he stepped alongside Angus.

"So who are we visiting in Rockport?" he asked.

"There's an artist here," Angus explained, adjusting his glasses as he walked. "He's sort of a historian. Rocco, the owner of that curio shop? They introduced us."

"And this artiste will know... what?"

"Well, the curator gave me the broad strokes—"

"Nice."

Angus rolled his eyes. "—but after talking with Rocco, I'm sure this wasn't about the money. I want to learn more about this painting, and about who painted it."

"What's it even a picture of?" Taako asked, realizing he didn't know the first thing about what they were doing.

"It's a flock of birds flying above the Sword Coast. They say it's the pinnacle of the proto-naturalist movement in the art world."

"'They' being stuffy old professors and ultra-nerds."

Angus opened his mouth, then closed it and shrugged. "Yeah, basically."

"And it's worth a lot?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Shyeah!"

"How much?"

"A lot."

"We talkin' six digits? Seven?"

Angus hesitated, like he didn't want to say it out loud. "More like eight or nine."

Taako stumbled a bit and caught himself with his umbrella. "Pumpkin?"

"Yes, sir?"

"That's a lot."

"Yes, sir."

While Taako's mind reeled at the amount given (and idly fantasized about how he'd waste it) he followed Angus down the road a few more blocks to a shabbier, dingier part of Rockport. A place where the roads had a few more potholes, the wagons were fewer and farther between, and if anyone bothered to clean the streets, they did it a lot less frequently. Not quite a slum — Taako knew slums — but certainly less well-to-do than anywhere they'd been today. Hell, he was pretty sure that shady curio shop was in a better neighborhood.

Angus stopped in front of a four-story apartment building. There were no wagons on the road, no one walking the streets. Taako suddenly felt very alone, isolated, like there was no one but him and Angus on the whole block.

"Your fancypants art historian lives here?" he asked, glancing around.

"Yep." Angus started up the stone steps. "I think he got caught up in some scandal, years ago. Kicked out of the university."

"No shit."

"Pretty sure he helps Rocco forge the occasional painting," Angus said idly, opening the door. "Or at least do some clean-up work if they're damaged. Fetches a better price that way."

The place was empty, no one in sight. There was a small foyer with doors on either side, a short hallway leading deeper into the building, and a stairway leading up. Angus led the way upstairs. Taako kept glancing around. He heard the occasional signs of life, but they all seemed distant. Nothing sounded close by. It made him nervous. Brought back memories of his time on the lam, after Glamour Springs, when it seemed like even silence and solitude were out to get him.

They walked up four more flights of stairs, and Taako was about to start complaining about it when Angus stepped in front of a door at the top.

"This guy might be a bit... nervy," Angus said diplomatically. "Try to go easy on him, okay? I really need his help."

Taako straightened his back, crossed his heart, and held up two fingers.

Angus stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and knocked on the door.

It slowly swung open.

Angus' eyes widened. He looked at Taako. Taako looked at him, then gestured at the door. Angus held his hands up like how should I know?

With a gentle push, Angus opened the door. "Uh, Mr. Wendell? Sir?"

The apartment was a mess. It was hard for Taako to tell how much of it was always like that. There were paintings propped up along every wall, four or five deep in some places, and paint cans and palettes strewn everywhere. Drop cloths lay in a haphazard pattern on the floor, though paint had still spattered onto some exposed hardwood. A number of easels, one folded up and tipped onto its side, lined the near wall, opposite the windows. There were old takeout boxes on the small kitchen counter to the left, dirty plates on a tiny table to the right, and in the corner, a large trash bag filled with what looked like stale popcorn. It really made Taako feel a lot better about the state of his own home.

Angus walked in, examining the place intensely. Taako took the time to check himself out in a stand-up mirror on the far wall. As he stepped towards it, his nose wrinkled.

"You smell that?" he asked, sniffing the air.

Angus didn't answer. Taako sniffed again. It smelled like something burning. Or... not burning. Charring? Like meat seared too long.

"Taako."

He turned around. Angus was staring at a space beyond the kitchen counter. Taako stepped closer and followed his gaze. An old human man, bald with a grey beard and spots on his forehead, lay face down on the floor. A pool of red surrounded his head.

Oh, good.

"That's not paint, is it."

Angus reached into his jacket and drew his wand. A new one, Taako noticed — fine grained wood, with a longer handle built for a duelist's grip. Nice.

Wait. He sniffed again. Is it wood? Charcoal? Or... is it even a smell?

Taako looked down. Something wasn't right. He was definitely picking up something, and if it wasn't a smell... he reached up, tapped his temple, and cast True Sight.

The ring appeared immediately, a series of invisible, glowing runes stretching from the door to the far wall and back again. Like a summoning circle, or a—

Angus stepped forward, towards the body. Taako's eyes widened as Angus stepped onto the runes.

"Don't!"

Too late. Taako threw himself forward, tackled Angus to the floor next to the corpse, and popped his umbrella. The space behind him flashed and flared as the air itself caught fire. There was a sudden breeze, like an inhale, as the oxygen in the room fed the blaze.

Taako rolled over. His boots were on fire. He kicked at the flames angrily — he loved those fucking boots, god damn it — before Angus cast a light ice spell over them. The boy pushed himself to his feet, eyes wide and hand up to shield them from the waves of heat.

That incantation must have been some serious shit, because the fire wasn't going out. It was getting bigger, growing hotter with every passing second. The drop cloths were already ash, the hardwood floor was charring to black, flames were licking up the walls and flowing across the ceiling, and everything in the apartment that was combustible (which was everything) was catching fast.

Taako held up his umbrella and fired a Ray of Frost at the inferno. It did about as much as good as spitting into it. He swung it from side to side and tried Ice Storm. It melted before it even fully formed.

"We gotta go!" Angus shouted, glancing around. "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go—"

"Go where?!" Taako shouted back, waving his hand towards the fiery expanse between them and the door.

Angus didn't answer. He had already found their exit. He ran past the kitchen counter, stumbled over an empty paint can, and made it to a window. He tried to open it, straining against the jam, then looked down.

"It's painted shut!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Taako cursed, shoving him aside. He raised his umbrella and fired a spell which blew out the window and most of the wall with it. He turned to Angus and grabbed his hand, and he didn't have to say a word — they both jumped.

Taako popped his umbrella again, and the Featherfall enchantment kicked in immediately. He and Angus floated gently to the ground. The air cleared and the heat faded as they fell, but Taako could still feel it like a forest fire at his back.

As soon as they touched down, Angus turned around and looked up. The fire was spreading fast, already licking past the top of the hole Taako had created.

"Is anyone else in there?" he asked.

"Nah, don't think so," Taako said, shaking his head. Then he looked at Angus, who was starting for the steps. "If you think you're going back in there—"

Angus spun on his heel. "We can't just leave!"

"So call the fucking fire brigade, dingus!" Taako yelled, throwing his arms up.

Angus clenched his jaw. He held his wand straight up and, with a fairly intense use of Prestidigitation, fired a bright, screaming flare high into the sky. Taako stared up at the fire, at the holes it was burning into the roof, at the pillar of heavy black smoke rising into the sky, and scowled.

It had been such a nice day, too.