#its like sort of pushing where the sound comes out and where the shapes need to be forward

[geoffrey]

i had a lisp when i was growing up bc i have tongue tie that they just never did anything about so im a tongue thruster. and its funny bc in years of speech therapy they tried to teach me the appropriate mouth posture regardless of the fact my tongue cant really do all that (i can not make an R sound by touching my tongue to the roof of my mouth it doesn't reach) (i can not make a shh sound when my teeth are closed) so instead if you watch my mouth it does like lisp posture stuff like my tongue between my teeth when i make an s sound but i've just tuned it so it really doesn't sound like i'm lisping

[azdoine]

John is hiding two Resurrection Beasts, not just one.

This was originally going to be a much longer and fancier argument, but I don’t have it in me to dress it up properly, so I’ll just pepe silvia this out

What impact does a Resurrection Beast actually have from within the River?

Answer: an apocalyptic and defining one.

I think we’re all on the same page at this point that Tamsyn Muir loves Foreshadowing Literally Every Plot Twist From As Early On As Is Physically Possible, so for posterity, here’s what Palamedes and Harrow first have to say about the River Bubble phenomenon in HTN:

“You cannot build in the River! It is a dimension of perpetual flux—defined space is nonsense here—you might as well try to wall off time with bricks and mortar.” “Yes. Sort of. But by our very presence in the River, we briefly exert space on non-space. Think of how, when you blow air into water, you make bubbles. The water can’t be where the air is. It’s like the air temporarily enforces its own rules over a localised area.” -HTN ch. 33

The given impossibility of carving lasting form into the River seemingly leads directly into some of the biggest open questions as of the end of NTN - i.e., what is the Tower, how is it related to John’s cosmic imperium, and how has it enabled him to wall off time with stone and mortar after all?

However, this is misdirection. While the River Bubbles created by the presence of Palamedes and Harrow clearly remain fleeting and unstable, NTN explicitly shows us the existence of entities capable of pushing back against the River with far more force.

Pyrrha said, “This is impossible. We should be flayed alive,” and Paul said, “Yeah.” Nona tried to explain. “The water doesn’t want to touch us, that’s all.” Crown was saying urgently, “Judith—stop, come back,” and Nona vaguely heard unbuckling; and then shadows fell over her, people standing behind her seat. The Captain’s voice was like old teeth. “He left them too long—you left them too long, my salt thing.” “You are here,” said Nona, finding talking was hard, that her voice sounded drowsy in her own ears. “Okay, good—the water really won’t touch us. I was worried about our back end [of our truck].” -NTN ch. 30

The possessed bodies of Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Judith Deuteros - both of whom now carry the spiritual influence of Resurrection Beasts in whole or in part - actively function to repel the waters of the River such that Nona worries about min-maxing the coverage of their reality fields. If a human’s presence exerts some space on non-space, the presence of a Resurrection Beast supercavitates against the water.

Kiriona is also extremely explicit that the Tower serves much the same cavitation-function in the space of the River, ameliorating the existence-sapping pull of the waters:

“The ride?” said Palamedes. “Wait. You mean you both dropped through the River? In that shuttle?” “Can’t be,” said Pyrrha, who was watching the Prince narrowly. “Not anymore. You’ve got a soul attached to you, kid … or part of one, at least. John would have had to go with you to stop it being stripped bare.” The corpse prince tilted her head to one side, like a curious bird. “You haven’t been in the River lately, have you?” she said. “What’s that meant to mean?” “Guess you’ll find out at some point,” said the Prince. -NTN ch. 25

Pyrrha sucked in her breath, and she said: “What the fuck is that?” “Told you so,” said Kiriona Gaia. As the megatruck spun around, the wide rippling grey waters resolved into something totally different. There was a big structure standing up out of the River—that water was the River, after all—a tall, cold cylinder of what was unmistakably stone. -NTN ch. 30

In other words, we don’t need to postulate a new category of power to explain the Tower: we can be fairly certain that it’s one of the world-body-layers of an as-yet-unidentified Resurrection Beast, for whom an anatomy shaped like a heaven-piercing tower would make it no more alien than the rest of its peers.

That being said, it’s not a difficult guess at this point to match the anatomy inside the River with the outward-facing creature in physical reality - the Tower’s aesthetics are strongly reminiscent of John the half-RB and his literary cant, but John has been active for ten thousand years, and there’s only one Resurrection Beast who starts waking up at the same time as the Tower rises.

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side    Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,    In her sepulchre there by the sea—    In her tomb by the sounding sea. -Annabel Lee

He said, I didn’t stick my thumb in my mouth. Had more sense than that. Fuck knows what would’ve happened if I tried to absorb you all the way; I probably would’ve burnt to death. But I needed a house to put you in, if I wasn’t going to put all of you in me… He said, From my blood and bone and vomit I conjured up a beautiful labyrinth to house you in. I was terrified you’d find some way to escape before I was done. -John 1:20 (NTN)

Before I get to the question of the relationship between the Tower and the Devils, I want to emphasize the significance of this explanatory stance: the Tower’s existence, as a lynchpin nailed through the unreality of the River, is no different from the influence that Palamedes and Harrow are able to exert in their respective River bubbles.

That is, the Tower is larger, but not qualitatively unique. A RB’s force of repulsion against unreality is exactly akin to a human soul’s repulsion against unreality, and both of them give rise to their respective reality bubbles. “Pushing back on the water” is exactly the metaphor for existence in the River that Palamedes takes for granted, and which Nona and the Tower both exert effortlessly.

And here we have to take a step back and ask: just what in the River is really ‘natural’? Does the subjective reality of the River even have objective features to begin with?

“This is Canaan House,” you said. “Moment of death,” he agreed. You said, “The barrier begins where your line of sight ended. It’s derived from everything you saw.” He said, “And it doesn’t change … the sea is still. It looks like it’s moving, but it’s not—it’s like one of those holographic pictures where turning it up and down lets you see another part of the image. There is nothing here, and that nothing never changes.” -HTN ch. 33

In the dream, they were hiking up a big hill of brown, sun-blasted grass, crunching like paper beneath their feet. Below them the waters were rising, but they ascended without hurry, unpanicked by that bubbling, churning, brown morass… The clouds were strange, and in the far distance, a twister danced on the neon surface of the sea. -John 15:23 (NTN)

In the dream the waters kept rising. They started making a hut at the top of the hill. Bodies were bobbing up and down in the water. He was scared of that—he was always scared of the water—and he made the waters go away for a while, and he raised up some parts of the earth that had been covered by sea. -John 19:18 (NTN)

I would venture a guess that the answer is no - that the organizing metaphor of death as flood waters and rotting oceans is actually being imposed by the expectations and experiences of the undead Alecto, just as Harrow-the-Lyctor exerted a uncontrollable subconscious pull over the world of spirit.

Exactly how many Resurrection Beasts are there?

The first time TLT raises this question, it explicitly lampshades that there’s a loophole in the final accounting for this metric: it wants you to pay attention.

“How many revenants are there?” You prepared for an astronomical number. The Body raised its eyebrows when the Emperor Undying said, “Three. “There were nine. We called them by number. Over ten thousand years, we have managed to take out a grand total of five.” Before you could do anything—exclaim, or question his mathematics, which did not hold up even on first acquaintance—he did something dreadful. -HTN ch. 2

Five casualties plus three survivors is eight, one less than the given total of nine. With the benefit of hindsight from Nona or a little forward thinking from eagle-eyed first-time readers, we know that John is equivocating because he doesn’t want to talk about Alecto, who was neither alive nor dead at the time, and who obviously the missing ninth Resurrection Beast of the Earth.However, Nona gives us another accounting problem:

He said, I took you into myself and we became one. He said, I bit through the sun first. It’s human nature. That started things going. Once you take down the sun, you’re cooking with gas, pardon the pun. I sliced through Venus, Mercury, Mars … by that point a couple of the tugs had already launched through the Kuiper. I had to kill Jupiter and Saturn in a fucking hurry. You and I went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar. We took Uranus … Neptune … crunched down Pluto … found every satellite and craft, reached in, crunched up all the humans, moved on. -John 1:20

John kills ten celestial bodies, not nine - nine planets, plus the Sun. TLT is very clear that stars are alive enough to slay and reanimate with necromancy, and thus that they should properly be alive enough to leave Revenants behind upon their violent thanergetic death.

Moreover, the metaphors and apologetics John clings to in this section - the ways in which he talks around his crimes against the Dominicus - are extremely loaded: he can’t stop himself from equivocating between Alecto and the Sun.

He said, You were screaming. I wanted you to stop, I wanted … I wanted you. I wanted you like a caveman wants a wildfire … or the sun.  I realised you were too much for me. This is the problem, the incorporation, this is the hardest part … It’s the human instinct, to take. He said, As the world went up I remade us both. I hid me in you … I hid you in me. And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God. He said, I bit through the sun first. It’s human nature. -John 1:20

Augustine is certain that John can’t be drawing any power from Dominicus, and the rest of the story seems largely in agreement with his conclusions. However, John is clearly able to draw power from Alecto’s soul despite the fact that the First House is a corpse. If John were also supping on the dead soul of the sun in order to reanimate the sun’s corpse, that would be entirely compatible with the observed flow of energy from out of John and into the star of Dominicus, and it would resolve all uncertainty about his and Alecto’s absurd jump from Kardashev I to Kardashev II.

Then, the only missing planks of this wild hypothesis are: Why didn’t the Resurrection Beast of the sun flee the Dominicus system with the rest of the RBs? Where could John possibly be keeping a third keystone of his Perfect Lyctorhood? And, doesn’t this make the puzzle of John’s powers more complicated than it really needs to be?

Whence the Sun?

As for the first question, I believe John and Abigail both have their answers for this:

“The only sure way to banish a revenant is to destroy the physical anchor it inhabits before it can escape the shell. Inanimate objects can be destroyed; corpses too, if you remove the brain. But, Harrow, we have other problems on our hands,” said Abigail. -HTN ch. 49

You said, “So if you die, the Houses die with you. The star warming our system fails, and—becomes a gravitational well, as I understand it?” “Yes. A black hole, like the one that took out Cyrus,” he said. -HTN ch. 37

“It’s not that getting rid of the corpus wouldn’t be useful,” said the Emperor. “It would be. When Cyrus drew the corpus into a black hole, Ulysses said that it was the simplest thing in the world to dispose of the brain, that it fell into a dormant state, and he could bring it down to a stoma singlehanded…” -HTN ch. 36

When we see Harrow flip planets on-screen, the process of apopneumatic shock which blows the soul of the Beast from its corpse is not instantaneous. In other words, if a highly energetic system such as a star were to immediately die, its corpse might collapse or detonate faster than its soul could possibly escape through a thanergetic link to another vessel. The Resurrection Beast of the sun may literally be stillborn, severed from its own ties to undeath and left vulnerable for John to seize it - a vast and spiritual world-body lost somewhere within the afterlife.

And there is, in fact, another candidate for this entity - another ‘objective’ component of the underworld that we can map to the ruin of the sun, just as we can map the Tower and the entire aquatic River to Alecto.

“It is the mouth to Hell,” said God. He said, “A genuinely chaotic space—chaos in the meaning of the abyss as well as unfathomable … located at the bottom of the River. The Riverbed is studded with mouths that open at proximity of Resurrection Beasts, and no ghosts venture deeper than the bathyrhoic layer. Anyone who has entered a stoma has never returned.” -HTN ch. 36

Outside—another kilometre down, maybe—was the pale belly of the River, studded with rocky promontories. And right at the bottom—the water was churning. The station tilted forward, and I could see clearly. A hole had opened. It was big enough to swallow up the whole of Drearburh and have room to spare. It was a huge, hideous, dark expanse, and it had seething, weird edges; it took the lights pattering over them for me to see that the edges of the hole were enormous human teeth. Each one must’ve been six bodies high and two bodies wide, with the dainty scalloped edges of incisors. The teeth shivered and trembled, like the hole was slavering. And that hole had nothing in it; that hole was blacker than space, that hole was an eaten-away tunnel of reality. -HTN ch. 52

“They concoct their own vengeance,” said the Captain. “Their justice is not my justice. Their water is not my water. I came to help. I am made a mockery. The danger is upon you, and you do not even know … they are coming out of their tower, salt thing. There is a hole at the bottom of their tower. I will pull their teeth. I will make it blank for you.” -NTN ch. 27

A standard interpretation of Varun’s words is that the Tower itself is as a prison containing the Devils, and there’s a ‘hole’ in the sense of an aperture which now allows them to escape. Yes, but: the hole is specifically attributed to the bottom of the Tower because the spiritual embodiment of the black hole of Dominicus is spatially located at the base of the Tower. The hole is the Stoma, which Alecto has been placed to help seal and tap into - a Tower by definition rises up and over the bottom of the world.

We can say with some confidence, just on aesthetic grounds, that is an extremely strong connection between the Stoma and John’s power. The power of the Eighth House, which “sucks at the Stoma like a teat”, shares a shadow of the intensely oral, penetrating, incandescent burning glow of John’s transcendent necromancy:

As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of lightning. Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. It was a little bit like the sensation back in Response (which was, what, a thousand years ago?)—something deep inside her being prodded in its tender spot. But it also wasn’t, because it hurt like hell. It was like having a headache inside her teeth. -GTN ch. 17

Silas slammed his fists on the ground. The air was choked from Ianthe’s lungs. Her mouth and skin puckered and withered: she stopped, awkward, stiff, eyes bulging in surprise. The remnants of blood rose from the floor as pale smoke, trailing heavenward all around them. For a moment everything was blanched clean and luminously white. -GTN ch. 34

And God said, “Stop.” The world slowed down. You stopped, sitting upright in your chair: your bones somehow rigid and still, and your flesh chilly and rigid around those bones. The shrapnel spray from the Saint of Duty did not stop. But what remained of him stopped too, half man, half rupture—his prurient details hot and white, naked insides clothed with the sinus-drying burst of the power of God. -HTN ch. 25

I’m not sure that John has entered a full Lyctorhood arrangement with a second Resurrection Beast. However, I certainly believe that he’s constantly siphoning the RB of the sun, and that he’s permanently shaped Alecto to help him siphon and subjugate the sun, in much the same fashion that the Eighth House uses its own cavaliers to suck at the Stoma - yet incalculably vaster, for Alecto’s world-soul is both an impossibly vast channel and likely more suited to metabolizing the power of the sun than any other planetary Resurrection Beast.

Likewise, because he has no personal connection to the sun, I suspect John is using it not just as a punitive measure, but also as a proxy to extend his Lyctoral well - he can feed countless billions of people to the stillborn RB of the sun, dump smaller RBs inside, let them render down into an insane soul melange hive - teeming with demonic Heralds bursting to leap free through the first thanergetic link or solar convergence they can find - and capture the energies released by their lysis without having to devalue the meaning of the priceless relationship he thinks he shares with Alecto.

TL;DR - Hell is the ghost of a black hole, John is using Alecto to perform the Penrose Process on it

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[amalainse]

"life spring"

— gojo satoru

tags ට lite somno (consensual), praise kink, pussy job, riding, vanilla and full of so much love its gross, morning sex, lowkey sub satoru, established marriage, fix it fic of sorts

a/n ට i listened to hozier the entire time i wrote this. so thats how you guys know im serious about the vanilla sex.

───⠀౨ৎ this is the married life that gojo deserves and it's his and sometimes he can't believe its all real. (1.4k wc)

the room glows like pure gold, spun from the sun's waves.

its warm and it smells like home and satoru's eyes blink open slowly before shutting again. there are other colors too ; pretty cherry blossom pinks, hazy greens and blue the color of the sea. a gift from the first years — from nobara in particular. it's supposed to mimic stained glass.

satoru wants to cling to his dream for a moment longer. a boat, rocking gently at sea. you and your smile as you took turns pushing each other overboard. but the fuzzy feeling is lifting and faster by the second.

a bird cries and sings its morning song. satoru opens his eyes and grins.

the first thing he always sees when he wakes up is you. whether thats when your curled up under his chin like you want to burrow up under your skin. or if its like now—with your face inches away from his, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, grinding down on his cock.

satoru reaches out to pull you down, and breathes your name against your lips. not quite kissing, just breathing the same air. bucks up once and twice, smiling at your cheeky grin. like you aren't more undone than he is.

"'morning, satoru" you giggle, kissing him finally, sounding breathless.

his fingers find your waist, secretly delighting in your bareness. hums appreciatively as your weeping cunt rocks down against his cock—fully hard now. "its a very good morning"

he has no shame at all in admitting he loves this—loves when you take charge. when you go for what you want. you had spent so long being meek, trying to blend into the background. hoping to fade away. but you've come into your own, and satoru likes to think he's apart of that. how he gives you the stability, the comfort, to chase what you're after.

"did you cum yet?" satoru asks, fingers tracing shapes into your skin.

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth. but you know to keep your eyes open—focused completely on him.

"that's my good girl" satoru says, proud. you let out a shaky whine, pace faltering. "my pretty wife, so wet for me"

your hands come down to frame his chest, nails pretty against his skin as your hips grind in tight little circles that have him groaning out. and then your hand grabs his dick—holding him right where you want him, oh god—grinding more firmly against your clit.

"that's what you needed baby? needed my dick, didn't you?" satoru asks, like you both don't already know the answer. pleasure zips up his spine as your movements grow faster, sloppier. the pressure's enough to keep him on the edge, enough to make him feel like he could cum, maybe—but doesn't. it's the best. his hand rubs your back, moves your hair out of your eyes. "i don't mind sweetheart, its your dick. my hot, perfect wife"

you sob, muscled thighs trembling as you chase your high. your nails dig into his chest and he knows your searching for it now—the perfect stroke that'll finally make you cum.

"my perfect sorcerer wife is so strong" satoru whispers, gently caressing your stomach. "so beautiful. i'm so lucky. you gonna cum soon aren't you, baby? gonna cum messy too?"

you nod, another broken sob falling from your lips, fractured uh-uh-huhhh, satoru. you change your angle, and suddenly the wet sounds of your pussy sliding against his cock fill the room.

"yeah," he says, nodding, a wistful sigh leaving his lips. "can you hear yourself baby, hear how fucking wet and sloppy you are?"

and that's what does it for you—slumping down into his neck with a wail, as you take his hand and lead it down to your cunt. he knows what you want immediately, rubbing you fast and hard as you cum.

"you did so good," he says, sticking his fingers into his mouth to suck off the taste. your hips shake and quiver with the intensity of your orgasm. you don't answer for a long minute, and he can feel the soft puffs of air against his skin.

"hi" you breathe, finally, smiling at him

"hi" he says back, like a dork. you snuggle in closer, fingers brushing up softly against his cheek. satoru smiles and briefly closes his eyes. he can feel the smile breaking out onto his face, impossible to stop. never did he think he could be here, and have this : softness, laughter and smiles. peace.

"mm, and what are you laughing at?" you ask, leaning up on one elbow.

satoru opens his eyes. grins cheekily. "you. i was thinking your head looked like a raisin"

your mouth opens and closes in disbelief. the hand that been so gently caressing his face moments ago pinches his cheek sharply. and then you get that familiar mischievous look in your eye.

"no wait—" he protests, far too late. you descend upon him, jabbing your fingers into his sides, and his stomach and the side of his neck—where he is most ticklish. satoru writhes on the bed, loud peals of laughter bursting from him as he tries every yielding term in the book.

"oh yeah not so funny now is it?" you goad, although the sound of his laughter drowns you out.

"okay, okay, okay—"

a loud thud, and satoru falls of the bed and crashes to the floor in a heap of too-long limbs.

"oh shit" you mutter, and he doesn't need six eyes to tell him that you're covering your mouth with your hand to hide your laughter. you lean over the edge of the bed, eyes crinkling in the corner. age has done well by you. "baby, are you okay?"

"i think i broke my back" satoru groans, and massages his lower back to nail the point in further. "i'm getting so old"

"oh please" you snort, rolling your eyes, "you're only 39"

"that means i already have one foot in the grave!"

you roll your eyes again, pulling him up on the bed. "yes, you old old man. practically dead already"

"its been a good run" satoru says dramatically, tossing his head back onto the pillow. "i'm going to die happy now. 10 long years married to the love of my life"

"mmm" you hum, noncommittally, reaching over to feel up on his cock. his back straightens and he gets hard again embarrassingly fast. "do you think you have enough life left to handle me riding you?"

satoru pretends to think about it, massaging your right tit, slightly smaller than the left—fitting so perfectly into his hand. "try not to squeeze my soul out of my body and we're good"

"good," you say, settling on top of him again "i want you in me"

"fuck—baby, you can't just—" satoru gasps, as you breach yourself with his cock in one hard thrust. all coherent thought tumbles from his mind, gone with the wind, when he feels your warm cunt flutter around him and then squeeze. "you're doing that on purpose"

"am i?" you ask cheekily, smirking, riding him hard and fast. your ass smacks down against his thighs loudly, and when he dares to look at the place where the two of you are connected—he sees the ring of white around the base and has to screw his eyes shut to stop himself from cumming. he groans, tossing his head back, arm shielding his face from view.

ten years, and he still has to fight from busting his load the minute you get your cunt around him. ten years and he still keens, still mumbles shaky gasps and praises into the air. hands squeezing delicately around your hips, occasionally going to cup your ass—to help you along.

not that you need it. you grind down, hand massaging and squeezing at his pecs, as your go in tight circles around his dick. then you rise back up, letting him slip all the way out before slamming back down again.

you lean down next to his ear, taking his lobe between your teeth and biting gently. "baby?"

"y-yeah?" satoru asks, voice high, thrusting up into your tight heat in short aborted pumps of his hips. "you need something from me?"

"mmm" you moan in affirmation and he can feel you smiling against his cheek. "i want you to cum in me now"

satoru's grip on your hips turns bruising. he holds you still and shoves his dick into you over and over again, loud in the silent room. so good he can't think, broken praises and curses spilling from his lips. he brings you down and slams up into you one last time before doing exactly what you ask of him.

[t34-mt]

tepueh pu, the domesticated que'arsaeb animals of maanuls that act as a "sheperd dog" for them, but for the ocean obviously. more info and images below ->

tepueh pu are a tiny aquatic animal of the que'arsaeb reign meaning it has 6 limbs and its body is segmented in distinct parts, It also means they have a sort of "bone" exo-skeleton with rough skin on top. their front limbs who serve no purpose but to do courting dance and occasionally help themselves to crawl around.

The fur-like things around the eyes and front limbs are purely for courtship, they are not made out of modified feathers as feathers are exclusive to the silieus reign, instead its sort of bristles that are quite rough to the human touch. maanuls do find it entertaining to see them court and as a result of that, they get excited during the part of the year when they court. Creating safe temporary spaces on the beach usually being circle-shaped, all maanuls do is watch them perform and fall over, if they cant get up they come and assist them to put them on their feet again. Tepueh courting consists of them desperately trying to get on their feet (usually being pushing themselves onto a rock to balance on their feet, but more commonly maanuls help them to), then the bright ones will shake their arms. Extending them and vigorously shaking the bits that have the bristles, that when rubbing against each other rapidly, create a sound that can be compared to sand being shaken in a jar. the brighter the bristles, the better the sound, and the bigger the moves is what will attract a partner. Said partners are the dull ones.

I'm not sure if they're a unisex species, they might just be random individuals who get a certain boost of hormones that gives them bright bristles and they have to perform for the others who are dull, or if they're just bright males and dull females.

Like i said they're very pathetic on land, meaning maanuls carry them when they need to be transported on land for a reason. Central north maanuls who need to migrate once a year due to temperature drops in the far north have to carry their Tepueh pu on long distances, thus they use these attire, where they attach 2 tupueh pu per side, transporting 4 in total. While I'm talking about north maanuls, every other maanuls would also use this attire to transport multiple tupueh pu. Although said attire has regional variants in terms of designs, a rough look at what a northern one would look like here ->

as seen in the example, tupueh pu can have different color variations per region, While this is not the final look of northern tupeuh pu there would be light coloration from mutations. Tupueh pu are purely bred to be working species not a pet, so while color mutations are seen as a fun thing its not their priority or what they're searching for. While not a family pet it doesn't mean children do not play with them from time to time in the water. However, tupueh pu can be used as a service "pet" in the water for maanuls with blindness or other disabilities affecting vision that would require a service pet to navigate in waters. tupueh pu are never bred to be fancy but to be useful to maanuls, they're very grateful to have them and treat them with great respect.

While they are not house pets it doesn't mean they cannot be pampered outside of working hours by maanuls, being given treats, groomed daily by owners, and being treated with care for the smallest illness they could catch.

the breathing holes of tupueh pu are on each side of their back, due to being aquatic for quite a while their opperculums had the time to shift to a more convenient place for quick gasp of air at the surface. Their maanul owners however do not, maanuls when wanting to breathe before swimming again need to get on their back once reaching the surface, as their opperculums are placed here. While technically they could push air to enter their vocal vents and redirect it to the lungs its not something they do as they do not inhale enough air using this method to feel comfortable.

ocean shepherd as a concept (final version will be posted separately)

warning The cattle shown here is not the final design, they will not look like this once ocean sheperd as a concept are done and fleshed out in the future. this is just an example

ocean shepherd, or just called shepherd among maanuls, originally i thought of them guarding a group of smaller animals (small fish) tho the idea of one or three large slow domesticated cattle sounds more cool in my opinion and also easier to contain for maanuls overall. their cattle would need maanul assistance to live comfortably, maanul coming near them by canoe or even swimming if they're not so far. usually always have at least one maanul by their side who shifts their guarding job with other fishermen after a period of time. I imagine said cattle to be kept in a shallow kelp forest where it has all the food it needs, and little to no predators around to worry around. Maanuls might even sit on their backs during their shift duty because the cattle is docile and doesn't bother them doing it, plus they also need to get on them when they pamper them (by cleaning them)

this is my rough vision of it for now, while i have tupueh pu (tho its quite bare bones on this post) , i just need to design the cattle now, then write a whole long post about how maanul sheperds works.

- - -

the vague shapes i did to figure out tupueh pu (in chronological order)

heres some fun stuff, i wanted them to be awkward looking, those penguins from subnautica were on the back of my mind while doing them, creature design is just doing vague shapes for me

[talenlee]

3e: Winners and Losers In Lawful Space

Planescape is a silly place.

Dungeons & Dragons is a wholeheartedly silly game, and it’s important to remember that what makes it silly is an expansive growth out of a particular root. It is a tree of many branches but thanks to the way that it encourages people to build their own things on top of it, it has become a sprawling kind of folk narrative and generally accepted consensus material that then a company comes along and tries to augment and supplement. Still, as much as a corporate mind is at the head of what gets published, what gets handed to that corporation is going to derive from the mind of a dork who likes D&D. To that end, D&D’s lore is a constant push-pull between the kinds of nerds who like organising lists and the kind of nerds who like to invent new types of dragons they want to have sex with and they’re all trying to integrate one another’s material because that’s how nerds demonstrate mastery over a topic.

The result is that D&D lore is composed of parts that neatly and smoothly fit together and parts that should be airbrushed on the side of a van, and all subjects exist in a space between those two points, on a spectrum. And nowhere is this more evident than in the way that 2e’s setting Planescape introduced elements that 3rd edition tried to hide.

Planescape, as a setting, exists very close to the ‘airbrushed on a Van’ side of things, and it’s extremely obvious when you look at its roots in 2nd Edition. In this space, much of what makes Planescape Planescape was codified. For those of you unfamiliar, Planescape is a setting made up of the idea of ‘planes’ as distinct, discrete universes with their own rules separated not by time and space, but just by barriers or magical boundaries. You know how Narnia is supposed to work, with the wardrobe? It’s like that, but there are a lot more wardrobes and they all go to different places. Think a sort of multi-level Isekai scheme.

Anyway, it’s a setting with like, multiple whole universe-sized worlds, that may or may not have planets inside them, some of which follow a very narrow set of identifying rules, like the elemental plane of Fire, which is full of Fire, or are just like ‘here, but a bit weird,’ like Bitopia, which is a whole plane that is mirrored vertically at a certain height. If you look up in Bitopia, you see another whole country up there – that’s why it’s called that. Also everyone there is bisexual.

Planescape sought to build out more of that structured universe and then in each structured space, fill it with interesting notions. But the structure is a little odd, in that it’s hard to make an infinite number of chairs organise neatly, someone is always putting out one more where they shouldn’t. That means there are tidy diagrams of the Planar cosmology, and then you look inside any of the bubbles in that diagram and find it’s full of gibberish.

It was in 2e that, as far as I know, we were introduced world-wise, to the characters of the Modrons.

There’s a whole writing form that involves referring to Modrons in deliberately obtuse ways, with Modrons being the individual, plural, categorical, and utility terms for this people, but what you need to know about them is that Modrons are weird lil guys that are made out of a basic geometric shape – pyramid, cube, dodecahedron, all the way up to sphere (or down to sphere, depending on who you ask). They are truly perfect Lil Guys, a byproduct of a plane of true law and order which doesn’t in any way cohere to what humans (the people playing the game) necessarily assume about law.

They make a lot of sense in a storybook kind of way where you don’t need to have big answers for what they are or how they work or even how their philosophical bias towards pure lawfulness works. In the world of 2ed, where sometimes things that sound like they should be well explained, clear rules are kinda yada-yada-yada’d in a space that you might imagine is flavour text, the Modrons left a bunch of questions unanswered and seemingly, that was good. It was good that they were heavily ambiguous because what was the life cycle of ‘an orb?’ Any answer made them less mysterious and pushed them away from the oddness that they represented.

Anyway, 3e was an attempt by a serious company to do serious things and that’s why when they went back to talk about the Creatures That Lived In The Lawful Planes, they came up with the Inevitables.

Inevitables are the demons of small minds, writ large. Literally, the point of an Inevitable is to be a Lawful Neutral version of a Demon, an entity that exists purely based on rules, coalesced out of a world made of rules, and with nothing holding them back from expressing that. Each of the Inevitables is meant to respond to a rule in the universe and then enforce it. They are self-appointed near-immortal construct cops, and they’re meant to oppose things and people that break the rules that they, specifically, are meant to care about.

These rules are completely out of whack, though, because one of them is meant to enforce say, justice, another the inevitability of death and another, the way the desert is a fixed ecosystem that nobody should try and change or interact with. And in that case, there are a bunch of plants that the Inevitables are going to have issues with, that don’t seem to be capable of forming complex political allegiances.

There’s a really interesting distinction between Inevitables and Modrons, to me. Modrons are weird and interesting but also, there’s nothing they can do that answers a question. Inevitables are a fun challenge that’s supposed to be present to oppose players or potentially be recruited into an adventure, but not for too long. But Inevitables, the 3e attempt to populate Lawful Planes with A Kind of Guy, sort of fell apart and are now more of a trivia question while Modrons have endured into 4th and 5th edition.

I don’t think there’s some greater, better reason for it or anything. I don’t think that Inevitables failed because they were Bad Design or something. But I do think that for me, the way that Modrons represented Weirdness was much more interesting than the ways the Inevitables sucked weirdness away with their simple, clear consideration of certain things as being part of natural reality.

After all: Inevitables would hunt down people who extended their lifespans because ‘everyone must die.’ But Inevitables were immortal. That’s a pretty interesting thing to juxtapose and maybe a character could struggle with that.

Or maybe they could make a big speaking trumpet and demand that everyone else refer to them as a Spokesmodron which is, in my opinion, much funnier.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[mayasaurusss]

Day five: visiting a video-store. I did this as quickly as possible! I wanted to make headcanons, then I liked the plot of this too much and one thing led to another so, here! There is mentioning of an oc-friend. I couldn't keep the reader's friend nameless so she'll be called Ollie!

"Come on, hurry up!" the voice of your friend calls, muffled through the door of your apartment. "Comin'!" you finish putting on your scarf and shoes, hurrying to open the door where your friend is waiting for you.

"Finally! It felt like you were taking forreverrr" Ollie says, rolling her eyes and turning to look at you. "What?!" humming, she looks you up and down, almost scanning you. "Interesting choice of clothing" you look at her dumbfounded, then at your clothes, then at her again. "What's that supposed to mean?!", she shrugs, playing dumb with you, "Nothing! Let's just go". "No no no! What was that supposed to mean?!"

Ollie huffs, clearly bothered "Do you really have to go to this... vintage movie place?" she asks you, fiddling with the buttons of her jacket. "We went everywhere you wanted. Don't I deserve a threat too?" you answer her, thinking of how you went to at least three different clothing stores.

"Yeah it's just...maybe we could have done something more funny. Like clothes shopping. Or even watching a movie" she says the last part as if it's an accusation of some sort, likely calling you a nerd in her head. You pinch the bridge of your nose and bite your tongue, telling her "We can go watch a movie later".

A friend of yours has told you about this place. He told you that he comes here often, searching for classic and more obscure movies. His exact words were "Whatever you need, she has it".

The vibrant color of the icon shines underneath the light rain, written in black the words 'While you were streaming' pop up from the white background. "Ugh, it looks so tacky" Ollie wines, shielding herself from the rain with her bag.

"Well, you can always stay behind and get wet if you wanna" you step towards the door, hearing her mutter something beneath her breath and follow you. When you enter, a bell chimes above you and with its sound you're brought into a small, colorful world.

The insides of the store are lightened by various coloured insignia. One shines above the cashier check, which promotes movies picked by the staff. Shelves are filled with a multitude of different DVDs genres, from the '80s to 2010's. The latest movies all sit in a corner of the shop which hasn't still been tidied up.

"Still think this place is lame?" you turn around to look at Ollie but she has already gone off, searching for God knows what in the corners of the store.

You, on the other hand, have really no idea what you should pick. There's too many choices and you don't have the time to make any decision. The answer to your problems comes to you, in the shape of a stunning woman. "Hi! How can I help?" the woman asks you, giving you a smile. She looks so cool that it makes your heart skip a beat. You don't even notice that you didn't answer yet.

"Uhhh- Hello? Are you there?" she waves her hand in front of you and breaks you out of your tranche. "Oh. Uhm yeah! Sorry, I wasn't very focused" your cheeks start to heat up and you rub them with your fingers to shoot the sensation.

"I could tell. Do you need something?" she rests her hands on the counter and you can't help but wonder at how they look, how they flex, how they'd feel wrapped around your-.

You try to push your thoughts away, ashamed and mortified by them. "Uhm, I want-wanted to watch a movie tonight but I don't have any idea which. Do you have any recommendations?".

You see the older woman's eyes lit up, as if you've lit a fire that laid dormant for a long time. "Well, first let's round up a bit. What genre do you like?" she rounds up the counter, letting you see her in full view. Despite the cold weather, she's wearing a brown short sleeved shirt and a pair of blue jeans. When she turns around to look at you, you notice a pair of scars on her skin. They have healed a long time ago, but their lines are still embedded on her.

"Uhm. H-horror, comedy, those kinds of things..." you hope she didn't notice your stares, you would feel dirty and weird if she had. "Ok, perfect. To get into the Halloween spirit, I suggest you watch any of the Addams Family movies" she takes a couple of vhs tapes and hands them to you. "The originals are also pretty good" she continues to pull out tapes and push them in your arms. "Then, as the month goes on, watch progressively more scary movies. You can go with Scream, Friday the Thirteenth, Nightmare on Elm Street and so on".

"If I were in you, then, as Halloween gets closer, I'd watch movies like The Exorcist, Veronica and The Blair Witch Project" by now she managed to create a pile of tapes, which are in danger of falling all over the floor if you make a wrong move.

"You know, when it came out I was in my early twenties. I bought a ticket the first night the movie aired" the woman tells you, looking for yet another tape in between the shelves, which by now are significantly less crowded than before. "At the time, we weren't sure if it was real footage or if it was just acting. To us, it felt very real. I remember I was pretty shaken up the nights after" she remembers how, for the days to come, she was scared to leave any light off inside her home and had to constantly hum a tune or the silence would have made her hear things.

"Well that's all" she returns to the cashier check and opens a plastic bag with the store's logo on it, carefully stacking the tapes on top of each other. You'd feel bad about telling her after she meticulously put all the tapes in the bag, so you interrupt her. "I - I am sorry, but I don't have the money to buy all these vhs tapes..." you feel like you've made a fool of yourself. She was so nice and helpful and you don't even give her the shadow of a coin.

She gives you a calm smile "Oh don't worry, it's in the house". You gasp, earning the woman's attention, "Really?!". "I mean, you gotta return them, but yes" finally the last tape is in place. She makes sure they are all stacked up and hands the bag to you, which feels heavy in your hands.

"Is this the store's policy? To return stuff?" She starts to tidy up around the table, randomly moving things out of the way. Her eyes seem slightly nervous "Well, yeah. But I don't give my precious tapes to just anyone".

"But you look like you could be a movie nerd, so I gotta, how do you say...educate you on all kinds of movies" as if she has found some kind of deep hidden courage in her heart, she meets your eyes and winks at you "besides, you look cute, so I'll give you a free pass". You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and your face suddenly seems to get dangerously hot. You try to move your lips, to say anything to her, but nothing comes out.

"You finished or what?". Of course, Ollie comes in, ruining the moment. Not that you were having any, your incredible social skills aren't enough to grant you the strength to have a normal social interaction.

"Y-y-yeah I have just f-finished" anyone could tell that you were having a hard time controlling the heat in your cheeks. "Fantastic. I'm gonna wait for you out" Ollie is about to step outside the store before the woman stops her. "Haven't you gotten anything?" she asks, looking if Ollie has any suspicious tape-looking thing hidden in her bag.

"I dunno, there's nothing that fits my style here" she says shrugging, walking out of the shop, followed by the ding! of the bell. "Whatever you say" the woman gives a little smirk at your friend's antics and resumes tidying up. You feel so embarrassed, both by Ollie's actions and the blatant flirting of the woman. Your voice stutters a bit as you try to give an explanation to her "Uhm so, my friend is kind of an asshole. Don't mind her". She smiles at you but doesn't answer.

Fuck it. You only live once, no?

"Uh... I have to go, but" you take out your phone, already on the add contact screen. "I would like you to give me more suggestions. Mind... Switching phone numbers?". She seems a bit taken back by your words, like she didn't fully expect to hear them. A small smile appears on her lips, a genuine one. One that she doesn't give to customers. One she hasn't made in years.

"Sure" she grabs a sticky note and quickly writes her number on it. Her calligraphy looks worse than usual, thanks to the nervous shaking of her hand. "Here" she gives you the paper and watches as you store it in your wallet. You smile at her, so sweet that it makes her heart beat fast. She wonders how it would feel to have your lips pressed on hers.

You thank her for being so gentle and helpful with you. You wave and proceed to step towards the store entrance.

"Wait!" her voice catches your attention sks you turn back to see her give you a small, confident smile, "I'm Vanessa, by the way".

[th-compl-x]

You said you think bdsm can help with alters - what do you mean by that?

I kind of mean it in 2 separate ways. So... lemme elaborate. 😅

A lot of BDSM and its practices have to do with particular foundations of open conversation, trust, consent, "play", and aftercare. And by play, I mean the actual kinky/BDSM stuff you're getting into with your partner, Dom, sub, etc.

If you apply these same kind of rules/practices to your System, in a sense, the lot of you can have a better/easier time. Communication can be really hard to establish for some Systems, and it was hard to establish with mine, but that first step - once broached - can lead into the next, which is trust. To trust, you have to BE trusted, as well, open and ready to listen. In BDSM scenes, everyone there is ready to listen. It's part of the package. If you're not listening to the TRUE wants/desires of your partner, then you're not participating in BDSM. You're just being a jerk forcing your own agenda.

This sort of logic can be applied to Systems. The lot of you can talk and learn trust and open up about what you hate and love and what to do in those scenarios and if you'll need someone in particular to take care of particular issues, etc., and then CONSENT to those things. If you don't follow the guidelines, then that Alter is just a jerk pushing their own agenda, and that's not cool, and then they don't get trust in return, and their limitations increase. (Aka: they're the 1 person ruining it for everyone else.)

Consent is a large part of happy Systemhood. Just like in BDSM, you're basically laying down ground rules and then allowing someone to do whatever they want with your body. Yes, equally, between both Dom and sub, you're both consenting to fair play and use. And, in a System, you can do the same thing.

I consent to my boys doing whatever they feel they need to do within certain parameters. Because of those parameters, I feel WAY MORE COMFORTABLE during switching and knowing that they won't push too far. And, if anyone DOES push too far, it tends to either be with a form of internal, thought-consent I give in the moment, or it's stopped by someone else who is designated to do so.

This also applies to if the headspace gets ROWDY!! I have over 300+ up here and sometimes the crowd gets worked up and frenzied in a good OR bad way, and there are certain enforcers who everyone listens to. They're ALSO very similar to some individuals in BDSM spaces that are there to literally stop sessions before they go too far. Everyone knows that, so they don't fuck around when an enforcer shows up.

In this regard, me/my Alters' "play" period is very freeing! I'm not a very restrictive person, but I have certain limitations, like having them switch back to me when my mother is around, because she doesn't know we're a System and I don't want her to. But, even then, there are exceptions, like Terry: He's a shape-shifter by trade, so he can do a perfect imitation of me and get away with it! But that was discussed beforehand, so I'm fine with it. Trust. Consent. Etc.

Also, none of these discussions HAVE to take long. If you tell someone something and they seem receptive in exactly one sentence, then that's it. They only need to be long enough to provide consent/understanding.

Then, lastly, is the aftercare portion, which helps a lot. There's hardly ever times where I'm swapped back completely to front without prior knowledge or in a jarring way. Our kind of "sign" to each other of swapping tend to be a deep, slow breath, like one person breathes in, and another breathes out. Idk when this started up, exactly, but it's worked nicely. It also means that if I AM swapped jarringly, then something is out of sorts and I need to be aware of it. (This can range from emotional to physically in the world or in the body, like if the Alter was suddenly very anxious and uncomfortable, or there was a concerning sound coming from another room, etc.)

But the thing is, if they've been doing something emotionally or physically exhausting, they tend to help in some way with the aftercare. Some don't (to be blunt, because they're jerks), but most will in some capacity. The ones who don't tend to get some ridiculing, or I'm used to them NOT helping, so I'm mentally prepared to help MYSELF. (Or my/our partner helps us out, because she's awesome ❤️)

Funnily, given the topic, this also applies to Littles. When a kid has been out and about, you feel EXHAUSTED afterward! But, you can't exactly EXPECT the kid to help. You can ask nicely sometimes, but most of the time, kids will just fuck off and go do their own thing 😅

But that all sort of falls back into the process of conversation, trust, consent, play, and aftercare anyway. I consent to them being a little shitty and not helping because I'm already aware they won't, and I don't want to deal with the hassle of wrangling them. Thsi goes for anyone from 6 to 6,000,000. 😂

Then there's the 2nd way, which is quite literal.

(So here's your warning of professionally talked about sexy stuff. If you're uncomfortable with that, begone!)

BDSM helps my boys and I establish a sense of individualism. Some people like spanking, some people like feet, some people hate both those things, some people are dominant and some are subs, some are both! Some people are really into the Daddy/pet name thing, while others that would be VERY upsetting. But because of the massively wide range of BS we're dealing with here, it's nice to have a BDSM session where either 1 person, or a few people who overlap, get to have a concentrated little session all to themselves. It's a means of freedom and security.

If you go to a Dom or sub and say you like XYZ, they'll tell you flat-out if they can do that for you or not, and if they can, then you start discussing things and get to play they like. They'll enjoy the build up, play, and release, and especially because it's the way THEY like, and in no one else's.

For example, I'm physically a woman, but - like I've said before - a majority of my Alters are men, so using words more masculine in flavor get them off more readily than feminine words. Then, there are some boys who LIKE the feminine words, either just because it makes their heart flutter being called pretty, for kinky reasons, degradation, etc. It doesn't really matter WHY, the only thing that matters is that they get the respect they deserve in the form of a session catered to their desires.

It's also a small bonus to me, personally, because I find it all psychologically fascinating! And since I am kinda picky with my own kinks, it's interesting to experience someone else who likes... let's say... choking, for example. (BTW, be safe with your kinks, guys!! Look up proper safety before trying ANYTHING!!) I don't like choking, it makes me nervous in EITHER direction, but some boys are Hella into that, so it's interesting being able to feel their physical reactions to something I don't usually like, and then it can segue into my prior point of talking things out, trust, etc.

Basically, it just let's them have a nice time of being themselves and feeling good and can keep some of the more frustrated/ing Alters from going too nuts! All while being an incredibly healthy practice for both body and mind. 😊👍💕

Overall, the BDSM practice and my life lessons learned from being in BDSM spaces have helped me/us in our headspaces and with switching, conversations, etc. We all feel a nice sense of understanding and respect and don't really fuck around with that, because there are appointed individuals who won't let us. And why would we ruin the fun, anyway? It doesn't make sense to do so, except... well. There are those who ruin the fun FOR fun, but that's a whole 'nother thing. 😅

Either way, I hope this has helped clear up some points, and I really enjoyed the ask! 🥰 I love talking about this stuff because I genuinely think more people should learn about it and not demonize it. But I digress...

If you have any further questions, PLEASE ASK!! But that's all for now.

Have a beautiful day~! ❤️💕

[forest-hashira]

Twin Rescue

ok you guys said you wanted another sneak peek at a later scene in Noble Blood and i need a distraction lol so here you go! this is post-timeskip, and takes place after this preview where nanami & reader find yuji.

Suguru raced off without so much as a glance towards you and Satoru, calling out the names of people he knew, the frantic edge in his voice becoming more pronounced the longer he searched. You and Satoru split up then, all three of you now searching your own sections of the village, calling out for anyone who might have survived, saying you were there to help. 

The village was big enough that you’d gotten mostly out of earshot from your friends, so the near-silence that settled around you wasn’t entirely unexpected or unnerving. When a sharp shriek came from off to your left, though, you whipped around and sprinted towards the sound. It had sounded far too high pitched to have reasonably come from either Satoru or Suguru, but your brain wasn’t being entirely reasonable at the moment.

Eventually you were greeted by the sight of Satoru pushing himself up from the ground, where he had presumably fallen on his ass. He looked over at you as you approached, eyes wide and mildly freaked out.

“Satoru, what the hell?” you asked, heart still hammering against your ribs. You couldn’t spot who or what had screamed in the first place, and the look on Satoru’s face was doing nothing to reassure you.

“I don’t know! I didn’t even see them, it’s not like I meant to—”

“What happened?” Suguru asked as he approached, inadvertently cutting his friend off as he looked between the two of you. “Who screamed? Is someone else here?”

“Yeah,” the white haired man answered. “There might be more than one, I’m not sure. They were hiding, I didn’t see them. I think I may have accidentally stepped on one of them.” He still looked frazzled, brushing the sooty mush off of himself as best he could before he pointed to a pile of burnt rubble. It looked like it had once been some sort of storage structure, and had miraculously maintained a bit of its shape.

Suguru nodded wordlessly, making his way over to where his friend had pointed. “Is anyone in there?” he called gently. “You can come out. We’re here to help.”

There was a small sound of shuffling, before two small heads peeked out of the structure: one with dark brown hair, one a little closer to blonde than brunette, both faces streaked with ash and tears. 

“Geto-sama?” the darker haired person asked, seemingly in disbelief, and your heart stuttered; they knew Suguru?

“Geto-sama!” the lighter haired one wailed, not waiting for a response before she was tripping out of her hiding spot and stumbling over to the man, the other hot on her heels. You could see now that they were just little girls, probably around the same age as Yuji.

Suguru’s eyes widened when he saw the girls, and he crouched down just in time for them to crash into him. “Nanako, Mimiko,” he said, sounding a bit choked up as he held them tightly to his chest. “Thank god, you’re alive.”

Satoru glanced over at you, arching a brow in question, but all you could offer was a shrug; you didn’t recognize these girls, but it was clear that Suguru did. The two of you stood silently off to the side for a few moments, giving your friend a moment to process the fact that there were, miraculously, survivors of this horrific tragedy.

i'll get back to working on this fic as soon as i have the spoons, but for now i hope you guys enjoy this 💜

[suddenly-stickmin]

A Drive Through The Forest Pt. 1

Clement Warrantine grabbed the large brim of his black top hat with one hand and pushed it up, while the other stayed firmly on the truck wheel.

He grumbled to himself as the hat slid right back down, obscuring his vision of the road.

It was bad enough he had to drive through a thick forest in the middle of the night, it was bad enough the dusty-blue truck the Toppat Chief lent him was in such shoddy condition that its headlights were nothing more than weak, fuzzy yellow beams, it was bad enough there wasn’t a single lamppost anywhere on this road, he did not need his hat making this ride more bothersome than it already was.

He adjusted his blue-tinted, round framed glasses and slouched. He could take the hat off.

He could.

He took a deep breath.

But he won’t.

The top hat was important. It was a necessity. It showed how far he had come in life to reach the position he was in today, from a lowly truck driver…

…To a stick who was now the Toppats’ driver.

The sudden sound of static made Clement jump. His eyes darted over to the walkie talkie that sat in the passenger seat. He grabbed hold of it and brought it to his ear, ready to hear any updates from Macbeth, but when he realized the sound wasn’t coming it, he looked over to the radio instead.

He tossed the handheld device aside and fiddled with the knobs until the static stopped, and all that was left to fill the silence was the low rumble of his truck as the tires drove over the dirt path.

Clement put his focus back on the road. He’d been driving on it for what felt like hours, with nothing more than the view thick pine trees surrounding him. He was starting to wonder if he was making any progress at all.

He glanced over to his rearview mirror where a creased map hung from. He fixed the ends of his short, thin, black parted mustache before looking at the map. He squinted. He could just barely make out the red markings and notes in Macbeth’s handwriting, specifying that the road he was on was indeed a short cut to the airship’s landing spot.

It certainly didn’t feel like it. This just felt like another excuse to get him to drive for hours on end again.

He rolled down his window a bit to let some fresh air in and fixed his posture.

At least he was doing something more than delivering produce and furniture like he used to. At least he was actually being a part of something bigger, from helping with heists to bringing fellow Toppat members to different locations to suck them dry of their wealth.

Locations such as those big, fancy, over-the-top casinos with their flashy, obnoxious lights, or those sleek, polished banks with walls thicker than the airship’s. The sort of places ran by sticks who had the luxury of always staying home. They didn’t have to drive hundreds of miles to get what they needed, they didn’t have to worry about a deadline so much to the point they ruined their well being just to make it on time, they probably never even thought about those who delivered their precious jewels or their luxurious furniture. The drivers were nothing more than an extension of their property.

Clement gripped the wheel tighter. His nails started to tear into the worn down, brown fabric that covered it.

He may have a few gripes with the clan, but compared to his previous occupation? Those gripes were nothing.

Clement suddenly passed by a yellow, diamond-shaped sign. His eyes lit up. He had no idea what it said, but it was a sign. There were other people around here. He wasn’t driving in circles. He was finally making progress. Perhaps he was nearing the end of this dreadful forest.

He pressed down on the gas pedal. The truck let out a low rumble as it sped up.

He passed by another sign. Clement’s eyes scanned it in anticipation.

‘UTILITY WORK AHEAD’

He passed by another. It was noticeably crooked.

‘SLOW'

Then he passed another. It’s bottom half was horribly dented.

‘ROAD NARROWS’

Then another. It looked like someone tried to rip the sign off the post.

‘NEXT EXIT—‘

The rest of the text was unreadable.

He pressed on the gas pedal more.

He drove by a large, yellow excavator that had its bottom half covered in dry mud and rust. It teetered off the edge of the road.

The walkie talkie started to buzz, “This is Macb… How’re you doin’…?”

Clement’s eyes started to dart around. He grabbed the talkie and spoke into it, “Doing fine. Tired, but fine.”

He noticed more and more abandoned construction machines just barely out of reach of his headlights.

“It looks like this road is being worked on.” He continued, “A shame they couldn’t have finished before I had to drive through here.”

“Ha! That’s construction for ya. They nev…When ya ne…” Macbeth’s voice kept cutting off.

Clement kept his eyes peeled. Whatever was being worked on here must’ve been abandoned, but why leave the machines? Why keep the signs—

Clement’s truck suddenly ran over something. His body jerked up and his head hit the ceiling. A loud BANG shot through the air.

Clement’s eyes widened.

The truck started to sputter and slow.

And then it stopped.

Clement hugged onto his walkie talkie and took some deep breaths.

“Good gr…Did ya get shot or somethin’?!”

Clement steadied himself. He pressed the button and spoke again, “No. Ran over something.”

He peered into his side view mirror to see what he had hit, but it was too dark to tell.

“Do ya…spare?”

Clement kept staring into the mirror, “Yes, but—“

“Go ’n…it.”

Something didn’t feel right.

“Maybe it isn’t…” Clement’s voice dwindled as he slowly grabbed the wheel again and pressed on the gas pedal. It let out a pathetic cough and barely inched forward.

He pressed harder. The truck hacked and didn’t move.

He floored it. Through the sound of his truck spitting its life out, he prayed for it to move. He prayed he didn’t have to step out. Yet it never budged.

Clement got off the pedal.

He kept staring at the darkness ahead. There was nothing in front of him, only a dirt road consumed by the night, and what looked like hundreds of bugs now drawn to his lights, yet he felt a gaze pierce through it all.

He brought the walkie talkie close to him, holding it the same way he would with another person’s hand for comfort.

He slowly pressed down on the button, “I’m going out to inspect the damage.” He said as he opened the door and stepped out.

He walked over to the front of the truck and knelt down, swatting at the moths and mosquitos that surrounded him.

He swallowed as his eyes adjusted to the headlights hitting his face. He was able to make out the two flat tires with… Large gaping holes and nails stuck to the rubber.

What did he hit?

“Clem…It lookin’…?” Macbeth’s garbled voice came out.

Clement stood up, the cold night’s breeze grazed his face, “Not good. I think I’ll—I think you need to send someone over.” He walked past the truck and towards… Whatever he hit.

“…Wha…You need…Now?”

Clement squeezed his eyes shut and spoke again, “Yes, yes I know this is sudden, I know. I’m sorry, but—“ He stopped when he saw what laid across the street.

A large chunk of a dead tree that had hundreds of jagged nails and broken tips of drills hammered into it, along with barbed wire hastily wrapped around. He didn’t like the strange, brown stains on it, nor the strong smell of rust.

He took another step closer and knelt down to get a better look. Small rocks dug into his knee as he studied the—

A snap echoed through the forest.

He shot back up.

He brought the device back to his face.

“Macbeth, someone’s here.”

“…You…Need…” Static overtook Macbeth’s words.

“Macbeth, I need you to send someone to me now.”

No response.

“Macbeth?”

The static grew louder.

“Macbeth!?”

“…Hide…”

Clement rushed back into his truck, threw the device in, and locked the doors.

He scrambled back into position and floored the gas pedal as if it’d suddenly work again.

He frantically shook and jerked the gear shift as if it’d make a difference.

He kept hitting any and every button he could on his truck, he mashed whatever blinking light he saw and turned anything that could be turned. The jutted, loud sounds his truck made, the puffs of smoke that’d leave the tailpipe, Clement thought the truck was going to burst into flames—

Then there was a knock at the window.

Clement stared through the windshield, trying to avoid whoever was next to him, but he could see their hand out of the corner of his eye.

They knocked again.

Clement reached for the glove compartment and turned his head right as he opened it.

Another stick stared back at him.

Clement could just barely make out their mangled beard and wrinkled bandana that was tied over their head, along with the tens of moths that fluttered around them.

“You one of ‘em construction workers?” Their voice was husky and southern.

Clement hesitated for a moment. He narrowed his eyes and tried to study the sliver of expression on the other stick’s face. It was too dark, though.

“What?” Clement finally responded.

“Those big men in those bright vests ’n fancy hats.” The stick said. He took a step closer to the truck’s window, “You have one of ‘em fancy hats.”

Clement shifted back. His eyes flickered down just in time to see the stick’s arms… Move…? Reposition something…? His throat tightened.

“No, I—I didn’t even know there was construction going on, I—“ Clement looked around as if there was anything more than darkness surrounding them. When he looked back to the window, he saw the other stick had gotten even closer, “…I thought this road was abandoned. I was using it as a short cut. Didn’t think anyone lived out here. I can leave.”

The other stick didn’t say anything for a moment. The sound of rustling leaves and chirping bugs filled the silence.

“Open th’window more.” The other stick said.

Clement blinked, not even trying to hide his discomfort anymore.

“Open th’window.”

Clement’s fingers twitched. The window was already a crack open, just enough for the other stick’s eyes to pierce through, and even that felt like too much.

Yet Clement obliged.

He reached a hand out and pressed a button on his door. His truck let out a low hum.

His eyes darted back to the cracked open glove compartment. What glanced back at him was his last resort.

Before he could say anything more, the stick grabbed onto the truck door and leaned in. Their face was an inch away from Clement’s. Clement took the chance to finally study them.

He had a long, bushy, beard that was the same shade of brown as the bark on the pine trees. His brows were thick and slightly raised, his stained, orange bandana was adorned with loosely lined, coral-colored flowers, while his eyes were wide and wild, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Clement felt his glasses start to slide down. As soon as he pushed them back up, he saw something move—move—in the stick’s beard.

Clement couldn’t help but yelp and try to move away.

The other stick backed up and covered his beard.

“Don’t mind ‘em.” He said. A centipede sprouted from the hair, crawled across his hand, and went back in, “Where ya headin’?”

“I’m going to meet some friends.”

That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

Clement moved away from the glove compartment and snatched the map off of the mirror. He handed it to the stick.

The stick grabbed it with a dirtied, blistered hand and locked eyes with Clement for a moment too long before he moved closer to the headlights to get a better look at it.

As he did that, Clement was able to get a better look at him.

His strange, hunched stature, the way his hands shook slightly—

There was a stained, double barrel shotgun in his other hand.

Clement’s heart pounded.

He was stuck in this forest with a savage.

He was going to die here. He was going to get mauled.

He was going to get his head blasted apart and remains splayed across the trees.

That explained the empty machinery.

That explained why it was so lifeless here.

This stick was insane. This stick was going to kill him.

Not if Clement killed him first, though.

The truck might be stuck here, but he will be no sitting duck.

Not tonight.

Clement reached into the glove compartment and grabbed onto his pistol, but before he had the chance to yank it out, the other stick handed the map back to him.

“Shoot, you really ain’t a part of that construction crew, are ya?” His tone had turned lighthearted so quickly.

Clement stared at him.

“I’m sorry for this whole mix up. Guess yer one’o th’finer folks.” The stick glanced at the front of the truck then back to Clement, “I’ll fix up yer tires ’n give ya directions to a diner, how bout that? We’ll go together.”

“Together—?” Clement sputtered, “I don’t even know who you are, I—I need to meet with—do you live here or—“

The stick ignored his worries and walked off into the darkness.

And all Clement did was sit there.

He should’ve shot him.

He should’ve followed that stick to wherever he was going, grabbed the tires, and shot him.

But instead he remained, waiting for his ‘help’ to arrive so they could go to a diner together.

[decks-writing-blog]

Couldn't Leave You Behind

Summary: Eli and Kleiner are chased by a pack of houndeyes and a bullsquid.

[A/N] I had the idea to write about Eli losing his lower leg and making it have an Elisaac vibe because if I want content for this ship, I gotta do it myself, then I figured I should probably google it to see if there was a canon explanation for how it happened that I could adapt to what I wanted to write. And turns out he lost his lower leg because he got attacked by a bullsquid when helping Kleiner get over a barrier and into City 17 which actually feeds me shipping them, dude lost part of a limb to help Kleiner, that's true love right there. (Seriously, how is this a rare pair when that's a canon event between them? Where are all the old man fuckers in the Half Life fandom?) So here is my take on that event.

Content Warning: blood and gore, Eli's foot gets hit by bullsquid acid and is somewhat graphically described.

~

Breath burned in Isaac’s chest, his heart beating faster than it probably ever had before. His legs and sides ached, sharp and insistent, begging him to slow down or stop before he collapsed. Ahead of him, Eli’s lead was growing bigger and bigger; that jogging phase he’d had back before the Black Mesa incident, coming in to help him once more. Behind Isaac though, the lead he’d had on the pack of houndeyes and single bullsquid chasing them was shrinking. Their barking, gurgling, and thumping of their feet on the decaying road, growing louder as they gained on him.

A hiss that he now recognized as the bullsquid preparing to spit came from uncomfortably close behind him. He sped up… or tried to; he didn’t have much left to give. With a splatter and a hiss of an entirely different sort, acid spit splattered onto the ground just to his left, prompting him to hop to the right with a small yelp. The bullsquid’s aim was worse when it was in motion. A rather interesting data point in that it was currently the main reason he was still alive.

Up ahead, Eli reached the barrier. He’d be justified in jumping up and hoisting himself over it, leaving Isaac to make it or not entirely on his own. Like the sentimental fool he was though, he didn’t. Instead he skidded to a halt and turned back. “Hurry Izzy!”

Isaac would’ve loved to shout back that he was running as fast as he possibly could but didn’t have the breath to spare for even a single syllable. If he survived this he was going to have a jogging phase too, get himself in some kind of better running shape lest he ever find himself in such a situation again. That was looking more and more like a rather big ‘if’ though as he didn’t have much left in him.

Another hiss and splash of acid, this time just to his right would’ve had him yelping again if he hadn’t lacked the breath to make such a sound. It gave him another incentive to keep going though despite feeling like he might collapse at any moment.

Just a little bit further and�� he almost crashed into the barrier next to Eli. How the fuck was he going to get over it? Its top was just in reach – the reason they’d chosen this as their entrance point into the city, it was the least secure barricade their scouts had spotted. He reached up for it anyway, scrambling to pull himself up it despite having spent all his strength on the run over. He was doomed; he’d run all this way just to…

Instead of hoisting himself up too as expected, Eli put himself under Isaac and pushed him, giving the exact boost he needed to get over the barrier. He tumbled over it with an undignified yelp, landing hard on his shoulder on the other side but alive. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself up to his feet as fast as he could force himself to help Eli in whatever way he could.

He was just in the time to catch Eli as he toppled over the wall with his own yelp, more a scream really. Naturally catching him sent Isaac right back to the ground with Eli on top of him this time, knocking whatever little breath he’d had left out of him. Painful but he was alive. They’d made into City 17.

Eli groaned and rolled off of him, blessedly making it easier to breathe. Isaac would’ve gladly just lain there next to him while they caught their breath but… Eli’s face was scrunched up with pain. He’d been hurt somewhere. Damn it.

Isaac sat up, ready to get to work searching for which bone had been broken but there was no need as the injury was impossible to miss. Eli’s foot had been hit with acid spit. It had eaten through his shoe and lower pant leg, melting into his flesh and revealing bone. It was hissing, steaming and bubbling as the acid continued to eat through it.

Still desperately trying to catch his breath, Isaac quickly pulled his pack off and dug through for one of the spare water bottles. Carefully as he could while still being quick about it, he poured it out over Eli’s foot, moving it back and forth over the whole injury. Eli hissed and tried to jerk away, forcing Isaac to move after him. Before resuming pouring the water, he used his other hand to grab Eli’s knee, holding it still.

By the time the bottle was empty, the acid seemed to have mostly been washed out of the wound. But just to be sure, he pulled out another one and poured the whole of that one out too.

“How bad is it?” Eli asked, his voice strained with pain.

“Uh… pretty bad.” The acid had eaten through the entire shoe and most of the flesh surrounding the foot, leaving bone and tendon exposed, much of it burned away as well. Further up wasn’t as bad but there was still a sickening amount of bone exposed with varying degrees of acid damage. “I don’t think you’re likely to keep this foot.” Isaac wasn’t a medical doctor but one didn’t need to be to see that there was no saving it. “I imagine once we get you to a medical professional, they’ll want to amputate it.” Especially considering the potential infections having alien spit splattered in one’s wound was bound to cause.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Isaac pulled off his lab coat and using the pair of scissors from the pack set to cutting it up so he could bandage Eli’s foot as best he could with his limited medical experience. It wasn’t clean but the foot wasn’t likely to be saved anyway. He started with his best attempt at a tourniquet around the upper thigh. “Why’d you wait for me?”

“Couldn’t leave you behind, had to make sure you made it.”

Isaac couldn’t complain about that, especially since he wasn’t sure he could’ve gotten over the barrier in time without Eli’s help. But if the bullsquid’s aim had been a bit more true, if the acid had hit Eli’s back, even with the backpack and the supplies inside, it likely would’ve had a far worse outcome than just him losing a foot and part of his lower leg. “What about Alyx? If you’d died because of me, she’d have no one.”

“Not true, she’d have you, Dog, and Barney. I couldn’t leave you behind, Izzy, don’t say I should’ve. I’ve lost enough people already. Besides, I lived, didn’t I? So it’s fine.”

It had come far too close though. But they had both blessedly lived and such luck wasn’t something Isaac wanted to question lest it not remain for long. So, in silence, he finished doing what he could for Eli’s injury before helping him stand. He had to lean heavily into Isaac, his arm around his shoulder as Isaac returned the gesture, helping him hop along on one foot.

It would’ve been preferable to have a medical professional come to him and carry him in a stretcher or wheel chair. But they didn’t have that luxury. They had to get to the safe house before the sun rose in a few hours and then they had work to do. Most of which Isaac would be doing alone now as Eli rested and got much needed proper medical attention. Being the heads of the resistance efforts really sucked sometimes but it was certainly better than many of the alternatives.

[seyoonlgc]

GROWING UP.

Or trying to. Just a little.

Seyoon's motto had always been live fast, die young. We must thrive off the excitement of our present and worry little about the future. If there was no room for concern over what was ahead, then certainly, there was no need to consider the bygones.

Yet this part of his past kept on following him. It would borrow other people's lips and hands to reach him. A constant reminder. A persistent shadow. A ghost that refused to be forgotten until properly addressed by his name. Seyoon got the message and was ready to finally cave into the silent demand.

"I am five years older now."

He sat down crosslegged and flipped open the worn pages of the journal. The icy wind stung his cheeks and stiffened his fingers, a sharp contrast to the blazing hot summer featured in this diary entry. Simple, crooked words filled the pages, innocent and hopeful. The affection laced between each one cut deep.

Seyoon knew this was his fault and that not everyone would be or could be readily harmed by love. Every clench of his chest and twist of his stomach happened because of his own inability to digest what should come naturally and be greatly treasured by people. He was the one born sort of empty and raised to become even more hollow.

"I miss swimming together too," he said softly. "I still have the acorn collection," he whispered, voice so low he could barely hear it himself. The smile tugging at his lips was a bitter one and ordinarily, this would be where he tossed the journal and fled.

This time he pushed on, letting the blade of memories sink deeper.

Over time the writing became neater and more complex vocabulary was introduced. The writer's personality changed and his style did too. The only thing that failed to alter in these entries was the precious fondness.

"You've always been too good for this world, Ash. This is why it's easy to become disappointed. You should have known better than to lean on me." A press-dried four-leaf clover fell out of the pages. "Haven't I tried my best to dissuade you? Come on, all those questionable behaviors? Recklessness. Shitty grades. I was trying to show you I had no future and that I was going to be a loser. A to-be-forgotten nobody who's not worthy of being liked or trusted by you."

He closed his fingers over the fragile clover and felt it crumble against his palm.

In their barely separated backyards, there were patches of clovers. Vibrant green and soft to lay upon. Seyoon seemed to be able to find a four-leaf every time he bent down while Asher could spend hours and come up with nothing. It was luck, but seemingly useless as Seyoon would much rather just win the lottery instead. Here, he handed the one he found that Sunday afternoon to an irritated, luckless Asher, pinching at the boy's flushed cheeks and laughing over his frustration. Don't worry about your lack of fortune - we'll just share mine! I will always be here anyway.

"Had I known..." Seyoon's lips trembled. "Had I known." He shut his eyes and went back to that night. Once again his cell phone was ringing, the sound increasingly louder against his ears until it became an accusatory screech. "I would have picked up the call." With his admission, the ringing stopped.

Finally.

Blessed silence.

"It does no good to look back. No good to regret."

He unclenched his hand. The clover had survived surprisingly well, its edges mangled but overall shape held. It even managed to stubbornly keep all four of its leaves.

"But let's just say that I do...And I am sorry for breaking my promise." Seyoon raised his hand with his pathetic offering, crushed clover covered in a thin layer of green dust. "Would you forgive me?"

He looked up at the night sky, searching for the moon between the dark clouds. The wind howled, and the breezes circled. Seyoon kept his hand steady...and waited for an answer.

[sonicasura]

*Clang!*

By now, the various children-turned-toys had learned to tune out Bunzo’s cymbals.

*Clang!*

It was by no means easy.

*Clangclangclangclangclangcla—*

“Gotcha!”

The rapid series of cymbal clangs and the sudden new voice snapped many out from trying to bury their heads into something. Sliding into the center of the “camp”, a human-sized blur slid to a gradual halt with Bunzo getting hugged to restrain him. They finally got up revealing Dart’s latest form was something resembling a giant blue penguin who can slide.

Bunzo rapidly tapped one of the flippers holding him hostage clearly uncomfortable being restrained. They hummed for a moment until ultimately deciding to release him. He was about to bolt, then they laid a flipper on his head. “Hey. Mind not clanging your cymbals right in my ears next time?” The transformed teen asked. “I’ve got semi-sensitive hearing.”

Dart let him leave when he finally nodded.

…Then, dozens upon dozens of the minis suddenly tackled them. Playing a bit along—they think—the penguin let themself be knocked over on to their so they’d go sliding.

Various noises of excitement followed as the minis (including Dandy’s mini-Huggies) used them as a sorta sled. Snowslide did run colder than other warm-blooded transformations due to their inherent ice abilities. “You could’ve asked you know?” Dart lightly scolded, though they understood the excitement. They just felt a little weird sliding on their back over their belly.

Actually.

Snowslide gained a bit of a mischievous idea upon seeing—even if upside down—a slight dip in the plaines. The penguin pushed a flipper out to change directions toward that little dip. Doey and the others must have thought they were out of control, the dough man had an arm out.

They needed to duck under it and adjust their sliding path to still go through the dip. Using a bit of Snowslide’s subtler strength, the penguin boosted themself up gaining more air… The minis rightly freaked out for a few seconds that it looked like it was shaping up to be a wipe out. Which only made it funnier when they flipped to be belly side down mid-air, managing to catch them all on the drop back down. Like this?

Snowslide/Dart could actually slide faster!

————————————

“That was mildly terrifying for a moment there.” Doey muttered under his breath watching as the transformed teen slid around like a hockey puck with the mini-toys on their back. His arm was still being reeled back into himself after attempting to “help” an out of control penguin.

The closest bigger body was DogDay who was helping the building effort by keeping track of what supplies were being used. “Yeah, the littles can get hurt on even a small fall like that.” The wheelchair bound smiling critter agreed after setting down his clipboard. “How’re you feeling in all of this? Being free is kinda scary in its own way despite things getting better.”

“Mhm.” The quad-colored bigger body seemed to not register the question for a moment, then his body as if caught in realization. “Oh, me? I’m. Doing okay?” Doey tried to answer sounding largely unsure—he rubbed the back I his and straightened his hat. “We’re all getting food much more often, which is good.” He patted the beam he had finished moving while thinking. “Gonna take a bit to sink in, has it..?”

DogDay made a so-so gesture. “It comes and goes for me.” He adjusted the blanket covering the stump where his legs pelvis used to be. “The things we saw…” The lights in his eyes dimmed a bit, his tone getting quieter. “I think it’s going to take a while to convince myself I’m not there anymore. I’m sure you have got your own stuff to sort out.” Thankfully, one of the mini’s whoops of excitement broke the morose air. “At least some of us are enjoying it easier.”

“…How do you just. Not lash out whenever Catnap’s around?” Doey suddenly asked, red teeth starting to poke out a bit and tone getting somewhat distorted. “I don’t trust Piano-saurus’ musical-mug around my family. Keeps feeling like I have to knock that permanent grin off his face if he so much looks at them.” The dough man took a deep breath to shrug off a certain part of him’s anger. Didn’t want to knock down the house frame they just set up…

The orange dog bigger body moved his wheelchair so he was directly facing Doey, eye lights oddly bright. “Well. ‘Sides the fact I can’t exactly move too fast anymore…” DogDay tried to joke though he saw it fell rather flat. “Ah. The fact I saw Dart drag him out of the Gas zone made my anger go down. He wasn’t the invincible personal demon of mine anymore.” He would rather take it to his grave that he took a little joy out of that moment. “Otherwise? I remember he went through the procedure too.

Sorry if that’s not what you want to hear. It’ll take time to be at ease around certain people.”

Doey let out a tired sigh, feeling two parts exhausted while the third had enough anger for them all to burn in his gut. Still, it’ll be someday.

Right?

————————————

Sometimes, she forgot she could move.

Miss Delight was still getting used to not having to play statues in order to ambush food. The (former?) teacher had been gifted a few varying books by Dart in order to occupy her time. She picked up on the way the curious teen made a habit of checking up on her. It was hardly apparent to everyone else, but the shapeshifter often flitted around weaving in and out of talks.

They appeared to be used to being someone in the background of things if the practiced way they did this was any indication. (Oh! That’s a word for the word-a-day calendar! She had peeked ahead, heh.) Dart really was an interesting character to observe outside of stressful encounters like the factory… Miss Delight kept the following shudder at bay for the unintentional word association of that.

The human teen would have made an excellent student, in fact, they reminded her of young Matthew once was. She was unsure if Matthew and Kevin were fully conscious in poor Doey. There were moments when one of the boys would poke out, then get smothered. It was…

A sadder situation than her own used to be.

Hmm.

Her mind truly wandered these days.

(She missed Barb.)

Hopefully, the younger children would let her teach them again. Miss Delight didn’t blame anyone for finding her appearance a bit concerning these days even if it stung slightly.

Oh!

Perhaps she could start with Catnap!

The purple cat typically didn’t get up to much these past few days. He would be the perfect child to do some one-on-one tutoring with!

She needed to make some lesson plans.

—ROB’d Anon.

Some conversations while Dart’s playing.

Looks like the toys are adjusting at their own pace. Pretty understand when you consider the hell they've been through. Then again it's sometimes hard to think about that upon seeing the nonsense Dart can pull.

[knownangels]

hang out

wc: 1.7k

Someone grabs him from behind.

Benji lifts from his body, eyes shuttering like they always do, and bursts into motion. 

He drops to a knee as he spins out of grasp, shrugging away the shoulder pawed by a stranger’s hand. And then in a series of movements, he has the unlucky bastard’s knee knocked to the side, spun off-balance. It gets Benji in range. Benji’s awful in range. Up-close.

But in the back of his mind, he’s prompted into harsh movements by something even worse than in-range training. 

Betrayed, a little voice hisses. Compromised.

It’s that special rage that pushes Benji back to his feet, the body of his attacker in tow. It’s that rage that spins it by the shoulders to face him, momentum throwing the person into rapid, desperate stumbles as Benji walks them both forward. Directly, and without much care for gentleness, further into the depths of the alley. Towards the brick.

As his back hits the wall, Xavier makes a cartoonish sort of ack! sound. It’s so absurd Benji immediately snaps from wherever his head had gone. Not knowing whether it’s unintentional or intentional (but, knowing this one: with a desperate need for Benji to agree with his humor). 

That thought, really, is what snaps him out of it. That it’s Xavier trying to make him laugh, even with a forearm to his throat.

“Dude,” Xavier wheezes, grinning even as his breath cuts short. It makes him sound funny, and he must agree, because he’s grinning like a lunatic while he says it. “I just wanted to hang out.” 

*

They do. A not-so-carefully organized rendezvous whose coordinates were delivered in code over an agreed frequency. How Xavier manages to get this deep behind lines, Benji isn’t sure — but he figures it has something to do with the arsenal of networking and connections Xavier has established for himself amongst his group. Or so he assumes, based on how much the bastard yaps. 

For twenty minutes. For twenty minutes, they converse. They joke. For twenty minutes, (Benji counts as discretely as he can with glances at his watch) they circle the outer path of the city. It’s mostly an entertainment and commercial distract; these days, it houses a quickly dwindling array of shops and venues. 

“It used to be cool.”

“It’s still pretty cool,” Xavier says. He can’t stop looking above them, through the great glass dome encapsulating the city. “I mean, we don’t have anything like this —oh fuck! Is that a whale?”

Benji nods, but he doesn’t have the attention for it. Xavier’s darted down a path, eyes wide with childish excitement as he watches the great, dark shape in the far distance traverse the ocean floor like a hawk in the sky. Slowly, inch by inch, it fades the same mottled black-blue of the horizon until its gone, swallowed up by the dark water beyond.

Maran hates this place. He’d been here exactly once, to the comic store around the corner from where Benji leads them now. And then he had sworn, as typical, to never ever fucking come back. 

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” 

Benji snaps out of his thoughts. He’d been walking with Xavier close behind, the enemy soldier at his back —

The enemy soldier, Benji thinks, grounding himself. At his back.

He slows until Xavier passes him. His brow furrows. He feels no apprehension or fear or adrenaline; he should have. Xavier is armed. And Xavier is — Xavier. Benji’s seen him in the midst of it. 

“Yes,” Benji confirms. He steps up to the shopfront, shoulder to chest with the other man. “You said you liked music.”

Xavier tilts to smile at him. “Fuck, dude. I meant like — I go to the club and like music.” He gestures broadly at the store. “Not, like, actual real music. Or making it.” 

Benji shrugs. “Club music’s still music, mate. Got a decent beat.” 

“Tell me about it.” Xavier adopts a strange stance, then lifts both arms in the air and drops his chin as he bounces in place, unce-unce-unce of his own bad synth impression serving as tempo. When he stops, his hair’s a bit of a mess and his cheeks are flushed.

Benji clears his throat. “Ah, well. My bad. Can’t really recommend you clubs. Y’know. Considering. I, uh. Like this place,”

“Yeah? Can I guess?”

“Guess?” Benji asks, flustered. 

Xavier laughs. “Yeah, dude. What you play.” At Benjis surprised expression, his laughter bursts forth again. “Benji, come on. You’re totally obvious.”

“Alright, then, if I’m obvious. What?” 

“Hm.” Xavier says, eons of philosophers providing wisdom to that single, brief noise. “Saxophone.”

“Fuck yourself!” Benji splutters. He shoves Xavier, who stumbles a bit into the brick behind him. “Dickhead.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Xavier leans back into Benji’s space, as if forced by gravity. “Um. Bass?”

“Drums.” Benji holds up his hands, flexes them. “Couldn’t tell?” 

Xavier swallows. His eyes dart between Benji’s raised fingers, green finding brown in the gaps. “I was wondering.”

“Used shit sticks as a kid.” Benji says. He taps a finger against the window. “Like those.”

Xavier looks to where he points. “What’s that brand?”

“Why, you lookin’ to upstage me?”

Xavier smile stays turned toward him a split second longer than Benji thinks it ought to. Only after that lingering beat does his pale, freckled chin turn towards the store display. Brass and cherry-red candy paint acrylic guitars gleaming new behind an already glossy window. It looks like its cared after regularly and maybe even obsessively. There’s a bright yellow sale sticker in the bottom left, shaped like a star: voted best manufacturer by DRUM! four years in a row. 

“Never heard of this one. Don’t have it.” Xavier sways forward and taps the glass. “Amazon Basics. You can get, like, everything.” He frowns. “Uh, mostly because they like. Own...everything.”

Benji thinks back to his main supply pack, propped against the bottom of his cot on base. There’s a pair of worn and oil-darkened sticks tucked inside for luck. 

He frowns, staring at the laser-etched logo. “Mad.” He notes, drawing the vowel long. 

“What?”

“We’ve got a few — brands, I mean. Myself, m’kinda sentimental. Only used Yamaha growin’ up ‘cause they were cheap.” He looks up at Xavier. “Never heard of Amazon. Instrument company?”

“Dude.” 

Benji’s turn. “What?”

“Dude.” Xavier repeats, answering absolutely nothing. He takes Benji by the shoulders and shakes him. “You don’t have Amazon over there? Oh, fuck, that’s like…wicked inconvenient.” 

Benji blinks at him.

Xavier smiles wider. “Imagine overnight shipping. Same hour shipping. You guys got that?” 

Benji blinks at him again, then scoffs. “Mate, we’re lucky to get three weeks. You lot keep comin’ and pinchin’ the majority of our power source, remember?”

Xavier’s laugh is slightly delayed. Once it comes, it’s a big, bark of a sound. 

Then he sobers. Benji’s smile dies a bit, too. Suddenly the moment is too visceral, the conflict around them closing in less backdrop. 

It feels so different with you, Benji thinks. It feels slower. I forget. The fondness rolls his stomach with a knife-twist sharp like anxiety, serrated like fear. 

“Do you want me to break in and steal you the cool multidimensional drum sticks?” Xavier whispers. His voice is dead serious, pitched low. But there’s a little slippery twist to the words that lets Benji know he’s being…teased? 

He snorts. 

“Aw, you’re a right evil bastard, aren’t you?” Benji grins, spurned on by the shamed flush on Xavier’s face. “The family owned shop? I’d judge you.”

“I don’t want you judging me,” Xavier sing-songs. He tucks his hands in his pants pockets, swaying. “I just want you to like me.” 

Benji rolls his eyes. “You’re alright.”

Xavier takes a step. Benji has to tilt his chin up to keep their eyes level. 

“Just alright?” 

He lifts a gloved hand, pinches index and thumb together. “Fine. Bit better than alright.” 

Xavier must mean for his next look to be silly; outrageously flirty. But without trying, mostly because of how his eyes slip half-closed, he manages to land between coy and sultry. It, Benji thinks, is a dangerous place for him to be. 

“You gonna give it up any time soon?”

Xavier’s brows waggle. “Literally the second you say flip, I am fucking flipping.” 

“Can you?” 

“Fuck off.” Xavier laughs. His hands finally slip from Benji’s shoulders, although they don’t go without a friendly (friendly?) squeeze. “Maybe not, actually. Haven’t tried.” 

“I meant,” Benji laughs. “I meant if you’re gonna give up the act, Xavier.” 

“The act.” 

“The act.” Benji says.

“The…act.”

He throws his hands up in the air, laughing. “Fuckin’ hell. Got myself a shadow and a damn echo.”

But every light moment seems to catch wrong on the edges; when Benji tosses his head back, he sees not just the deep, sun-mottled blue of the ocean above, but each explosive orange burst of the battle outside the domed city’s safety.

He remembers, suddenly, that he stands in one of the most secure bastions of that — safety — left. Because of the man in front of him, smiling with his fingers tucked a millimeter beneath his sleeve. Benji glances down at that, and tries a hundred different ways not to romanticize the touch’s softness in direct comparison to the literal war being raged above. 

He tries, anyway. 

“When I found you in that alleyway,” Xavier starts, his fingers drawing circles on Benji’s skin, “I was going to kill you and loot you and sneak back home in your uniform.”

Benji wonders if he’ll ever tire of the up-downs of being around Xavier, the constant shifts in energy and tone — without the sensation of being yanked about, Benji likes being kept on his toes. 

“Now there’s a thing to admit,” Benji says wryly. “And of your own free will n’volition, too.” 

Xavier moves again. Another step. The smallest he seems capable of taking; he’s in Benji’s space, barely, and touching, but only just. Benji can’t figure out which side of the other soldier this is: purposeful or natural. 

“Shut up, I’m not done.” His hand trails up Benji’s forearm, squeezes. “When I got closer I was like, well no fucking shot. Right? You’re just —”

“Got a bit on you, hey?” Benji teases. His eyes feel heavy, but without exhaustion. “And you on me, suppose?”

Xavier blinks sluggishly at him. His mouth, lips slightly parted, splits into another wild grin. 

“Hah. That’s what she said.”

Benji gives him a quizzical look. “What?” 

“Wot?” Xavier shakes his head. “You don’t have The Office either? Man. This universe sucks.” He winks. “At least it has you.”

“Awful,” Benji amends, ducking his head slightly. “Amended to awful, not alright.” 

“Benji.” 

He glances up. Xavier cradles the side of his face like that means something. 

“We’re — I have to ��” his eyes dart between Benji’s own. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. Xavier is not smiling. “I want — fuck. Can we kiss again?” 

Benji nods, tongue glued thick to the roof of his mouth. As Xavier leans forward, ducking down in the grim blue light, he catches one last glimpse of the fiery battle above. 

One they both should be fighting. 

[drowning-in-cacophony]

to break and to keep

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 231: a promise to break

[Summary: promises are made, one to keep, one to break]

Some promises you make to keep.

Oaths. Swears. Bound in blood and in kisses, to treasure deep to your heart. Tightened like a ribbon across your chest. These you’d rather die than break. These you’ll take to your grave, or to theirs.

They make the promise to break it.

-

Somewhere in the dark, a stream’s falling.

Somewhere from her bitten lips, blood’s tracing a river. She stares at him, wide eyes and wet lashes.

“You’re sure about this?”

His eyes, winking jewels in the dim, and his fingers press their tips into the skin of her wrist.

“Very. If you are.”

She lets him trace her solemn nod, the shape of her skull and the flopping of the locks of her hair. Her heart thrums, a new instrument inside her chest. It’s a sound the organ’s never made before, anticipation crossed with nervousness, this sort of paralysing burning. Against her bones, they’ve wrapped a secret, one of the deadliest ones out there. His secret, smouldering like embers and made into the thing she’ll build herself around. His secret – the thing people would do anything to own, and now the only thing stopping them from getting it will be her promise.

Her oath, woven into her cells in a dim cave, somewhere a hundred miles below the surface. Like the place his secret will bury inside her.

The news will get out. The news will get out, and eventually – weeks from now, maybe years. Maybe days if they’re particularly unlucky – someone will come asking. Wheedling, convincing. There’ll be evidence to why she should spill. Atrocities, dangers. Does she want the blood of a million upon her shoulders, as tangy as the copper working its way from the tiny punctures her teeth have ripped into her mouth? Does she think her muscles strong enough to hold all of that, the guilt and the rage and the candles snuffed out without a care? Does she not have responsibility?

They’ll persist, push, and eventually, she’ll give in. Open her chest, carve it out, confess it all. The embers stitched into her very soul. Her promise, shattered at her feet, and her lashes will hold a constellation of tears, but they’ll tell her it’s all worth it, because of what he did. It’s worth it, they’ll say, even as a different ember ignites in their own eyes.

They’ll find him, with his secret revealed, her words ringing like a bell. They’ll find him, strip him back, drag him before their lord, watch in righteous fury as the punishment sets to begin. Of course, that would be where everything would go to shit. Embers would turn to a howling blaze, and the truth would fall as soundlessly as his head. Her skin would streak; the world would go on, a different path to tread. A worse one.

This – this is precaution. This is trust and foreplanning, because this is a promise he needs her to break.

His mouth ghosts her cheekbone, presses a touch against her skin. His fingers, still delicate-light against her wrist, and if she was to look down she’d see the glowing burn of their oath, sealing them together.

There’s a chance the promise might never need to come under the axe. There’s a chance this oath will just be an oath, her carrying his secret for the rest of her mortal life. But if that chance was wide, they wouldn’t be here.

In breaking this promise, eventually, tomorrow, at the end of all things, whenever – she’ll be giving him the only chance he might have. So even if it feels wrong, a betrayal of everything she’s ever been for him, she closes her eyes, feels his touch against her skin, and seals their oath. She'll do this, for him - and that's a promise she won't break.

-

And later, when she stands before all those concerned eyes, the devastation and ashes bright on their cheeks, she thinks about the stream’s drizzling, somewhere deep under the earth. The place where his gambit was formed, among the writhing muscles of her core.

She opens her mouth, and smashes it all open.

[antihibikase2]

The rumor of a ghost duelist persists among the streets of Nimbasa City.

His blue cape turns into an inky black in the field of battle, his sole red eye illuminating his silhouette. With a duel disk shaped like a crescent moon, he whistles a haunting melody as he makes his next move- and strikes his next target.

Rumor has it that he not only steals the coveted Number cards, cards of mysterious origin that bring out the true nature of each duelist,

but also their soul; perhaps as punishment for making a deal with the devil.

This was Piper truly leaving his mark on the Unova region- the shroud of anonymity was a small price to pay in exchange for the sight of the world being brought down to their knees, quivering in fear as the rumor grows.

It was a cause for pride when this leads to a professional duelist seeking him out, instead of the other way around- and one with a Number card, no less.

Number 7: Lucky Straight.

Light attribute, fairy-type.

A strange choice for pro duelist Grimsley, who specialized in monsters that are the opposite- creatures of the darkness, zombies and fiends.

But, he was also a well-known gambler, a risk-taker who left the fate of duels all up to luck; perhaps this mismatched choice was simply proof of that.

"Hey, you," Grimsley calls out to him; the mark of the number forms on the back of his hand, glowing a bright gold. "I'm not necessarily caught up to what the kids are talking about nowadays-"

They find themselves at the rooftop of Nimbasa City's shopping mall, overseeing the hustle and bustle of the night life.

Smiles and laughter, bright lights and sounds.

Piper could only imagine The Diviner's lonely gaze and trembling voice as he watched from the glass tower.

"But you're the rumored ghost, aren't you? The guy who steals souls, and the hunter of numbers."

"And what of it?" His voice is haughty- but he didn't care. "Have you come here to surrender yours before you're targeted? Pro duelist Grimsley is rumored to be a coward, you know."

"That's true," Grimsley bitterly chuckles, taking a coin out of his pocket. "A coward who abandoned his past- and his family, along with it. A guy that leaves it all up to fate, so it's easier to absolve himself of responsibility."

Piper whips out the keychain from his belt, just as Grimsley prepares one of his popular coin tosses- a sight the media never seems to tired of.

"But you know what? This coward's going toe to toe with this strange ghost everyone's scared of."

"For your own safety?"

"Oh no, far from it," Another chuckle, just as forced as the last one. "What this card does is nothing sort of a miracle- its pros outweigh the cons, and I'm willing to gamble everything and and anything to keep it. However,"

He tosses his coin, and it takes shape of his duel disk, attaching into his arm with ease.

"That melody you whistle. I'm going to need to know where you found that."

Oh?

Suddenly, Piper feels the chill of the night breeze brushing on his skin, giving him goosebumps.

"See, that thing you're humming- I know you know it's from nowhere big. Just a simple song,"

He takes out his D Gazer.

"But, you see, that song is my brother's-"

As Grimsley places his D Gazer, Piper realizes his eyes are a familiar shade of indigo. "

-and wherever he is right now, I know you had something to do with his disappearance."

Piper doesn't reply.

His own duel disk takes form as the tattoo of Team Plasma forms around his eye- and he ditches his red glasses, just this once.

Pushing down the growing panic, he focuses solely on the duel with Grimsley's soul at stake- nevermind the image of Slater hating him forever forming in his head.

He was abducted because he was weak. He was weak because he was abandoned.

Grimsley is at fault then, isn't he?

That makes it all the easier to fan the flames.

"Slater," A mad grin forms on Piper's face. "Hey, you're watching, aren't you? Then I'll make sure to teach your good-for-nothing brother a lesson."