#jackknife through a dove

[last-flights]

A Snippet. {CANON}

Written from HTTYD 2.

A boundless sky. Vast. Crisp. Clear.

A dragon rider on the back of his dragon. The feeling of unbridled freedom.

Wind whipped at his face as he held the handles of his dragon’s saddle. He pressed his chest against their back, tucked comfortably in this riding position. If anyone were to see the two from a distance, it might have appeared like he was part of his dragon; one in the same. They rocketed across the horizon, skimming over the ocean closely.

The two dipped, rolled, and dove over the sea, which teemed with breaching Thunderdrums. Ocean mist brushed the riders face as they pulled off daring manuvers with ease and refinement, making the feat seem effortless.

The dragon let out a soft warble, smacking it’s lips as it dipped under a Thunderdrum’s wing, which almost narrowly smacked the rider in the face.

“Oh hush, you weren’t paying much attention either.” A grin tugged at Rider’s lips as he patted the dragon’s side lightly.

Suddenly, they jackknife, heading skyward as the two tumbled gracefully through the cloudscape. As Rider glanced up, he gazed at the high-flying Timberjacks, which flew in a migrational formation.

“Beautiful…” He muttered faintly, eyes wide with adoration, an expression he wouldn’t let anyone catch on his face. At least, not in this way.

Sitting up, he adjusted the straps on the wrist of his gloves. The rider was snuggly clad head-to-toe in a flight suit. This model more aerodynamic than the last, with an asymmetrical design of Viking bike leather and articulated plates made of Nightfury scales. He flipped the visor on his helmet over his face, adjusting more parts of the suit to be tighter or looser.

“What do you think? Wanna give this another go?” Rider couldn’t help the smile crossing his face.

Ghost, his dragon, grumbled in protest as he flapped his wings to keep the two aloft.

“Come on! It’ll be fine!” The rider laughed softly.

With a click of a lever, he locked Ghost’s tail prothetic in the flared tail position so he could continue to fly solo. He then unhooked himself from his dragon’s saddle.

“Ready?”

Ghost snorted untheusastically as Rider let himself fall, peeling away from the dragon like a skydiver from a plane, yelling as he plummeted. Ghost hovered in the air momentarily before diving after the dragon rider. As the two dove, they spiraled through the air, face-to-face, parallel in their descent. The dragon cracked the other what could be described as a toothless smile, tongue lolling out like a dog as it seemed, despite himself, he was having fun.

As the clouds thinned and the ocean became clearly visible to the two, Rider slipped his wrists and forearms through a pair of tucked leather flaps on the waist of his flight suit. In a moment, he yanks the flaps out, unfurling sheets of leather as he extends his arms out, The leather caught the wind, snapping taught which sent him gliding. His dragon unfolded his own wings, catching up with the other with ease.

The freedom the two felt was unmistakeable, Rider and Ghost are, for the moment, one in the same. Feeling the same adrenaline rush, independantly together.

They plunged past cloud formations , splitting apart and then coming back together again. Ghost shot a non-lethal plasma blast under the other, the warm air causing a small updraft that boosted him just slightly. Rider laughed and in a way of mimicking him, the dragon let out warbles, wings flapping.

“This is amazing!” He continued to laugh before the clouds washed past, exposing a towering rock formation dead ahead.

“This is no longer amazing! Ghost!” He tried to steer himself away to no avail.

Ghost poured on the speed, trying to catch up to the other who was hurtling towards a dangerous collision. His locked tail made maneuvering extremely difficult, and he was unable to pull up at such a steep angle.

“Oh no-!”

At the last second, the dragon blasted the jagged rocks just ahead before wrapping his wings around Rider just as they fly through it. The demolished rock peaks rained down on the two as they hurtled into the trees of a neighboring peak. The two tumbled down the uneven, grassy terrain before coming to rest on a small upland.

They laid like that for a lingering moment, the two of them panting heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off. Ghost raised one wing, as he was on his side, and his rider emerged from the cocoon of his wings.

Rider gingerly stood up, switching his prosthetic riding foot to his walking foot, dusting himself off as he stowed his leather wings.

He let out a sigh of relief. “That really came out of nowhere, huh?” He glanced over at the sea stack as it cracked and fell into the water.

Ghost grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“We gotta work on your solo flying there, bud. That locked-up tail makes for some pretty crappy rescue maneuvers, huh?”

Rider removed his flight helmet, tentacles falling to the sides of his face as he set it down on the ground before tying up his hair in a ponytail. He walked over to the edge of the cliff, taking in the new land upon them.

“Oh, looks like we found another one.”

With a claw, Ghost flicked a small pebble at the back of his head, annoyed. He turned around with a slight grin, his hands on his hips.

“Oh, what? Do you want an apology? Is that why you're pouting, big baby boo? Well... try this on!” He wrapped his arms around his neck, making an attempt to wrestle with him. “You feeling it yet? Huh? Picking up on all of my heartfelt remorse?”

The dragon stood up on his hindlegs, waddling over to the edge of the cliff and dangling him over it playfully.

Rider groaned. “Oh, come on. You wouldn't hurt a one legged--” He cut himself off, looking down and letting out a yell, which Ghost laughed at in response. “You're right! You're right! You win! You win!”

And with that, Ghost fell backwards away from the cliff edge, rolling onto the other.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!-” He laughed as the dragon pawed at him. “He's down! And it's ugly! Dragons and Vikings, enemies again, locked in combat to the bitter--” Ghost pinned him as he flopped down on him and he groaned.

Rider began to be playfully licked all over by his dragon as he groaned, trying to shield his face. “Gaaahh-- You know that doesn’t wash out.”

Ghost pulled away, getting off of him with what could only be described as a laugh as the other splashed some of his own spit on his face. The dragon rider began to look around at the newly discovered island as he sat on his knees in the grass, pulling out a map of his own,

“So, what should we name it?” He asked, glancing back at the dragon.

Ghost licked and chewed at his armpit, itching at it.

“‘Itchy Armpit’ it is.” Rider gave a slight nod as he wrote the name down on a loose sheet of the map. "Whaddya reckon, bud? Think we might find a few Timberjacks in those woods? The odd Whispering Death or two in the rocks? Who knows…” He paused, hesitating. “,maybe we'll finally track down another Night Fury. Wouldn't that be something? So, whaddya say? Just keep going?”

His dragon gave him a look before shaking his head with a huff and before he could respond, a dragon screech caught the two’s attention. He shifted on his knees to comfortably look behind himself.

A pink, yellow and teal-blue Nadder landed on the plateau, it’s rider’s tentacles matching.

Cloudstrike and Aloha, what a nice sight to see, huh?

“Afternoon, my kind sir. Where have you been?”

Aloha sat beside Rider with a smile. “Well, winning races. What else? The real question is where have YOU been?” He fired back lightheartedly.

“Avoiding my dad.” The other responded with a sigh.

“Oh no, what happened now?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love this.” Rider stood up, dusting himself off. “ I wake up. The sun's shining. Terrible Terrors are singing on the rooftop.” He threw his hands in the air lightly, adding emphasis to his words.

“I saunter down to breakfast, thinking all is right with the world and I get,” He mimicked his dad, strutting around Aloha. “‘Son, we need to talk.’”

The other rider couldn’t help but laugh before doing a god awful imitation of Rider. ‘"Not now, Dad. I've got a whole day of goofing off to get started.’”

Rider shot Aloha an odd look, pointing at him loosely. “Okay, first of all, I don't sound like that. What is this character? And second... what is that thing you're going with my shoulders?” Sigh. And continuing. “A truly flattering impersonation. Anyway he goes, ‘You're the pride of Berk, son, and I couldn't be prouder…’-”

Aloha imitates him again, moving his hands the same way the other did when he talks. “‘Aw, thanks, Dad. I'm pretty impressed with myself, too.’”

Rider couldn’t help but laugh. “ WHEN have I ever done that with my hands?”

“You just did!”

“Okay... just... hold still. It's very serious.” He gently, yet firmly grabbed the other’s hands, placing them in his lap as he continued on. “‘You're all grown up, and since no chief could ask for a better successor, I've decided--’”

Aloha cut him off in excitement, a grin spreading across his features. “TO MAKE YOU CHIEF! Oh, my cods! Rider, that's amazing!” He punched Rider hard in the chest, causing his flight suit fin on his back to pop out.

Rider grunted as Aloha laughed. He wound the fin back up into the suit as he hissed softly. “You're gonna wear out the spring coil. The calibration is very sensitive--”

Cloudstrike and Ghost came running past, playing with eachother but knocking over the two riders in the process.

Rider winced and he rubbed his chest. “Yeah, so... this is what I'm dealing with.”

Aloha gave him a slight concerned frown. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn't. By the time he turned around, I was gone.”

“ Well, it's a lot of responsibility. The map will have to wait for sure, and I'll need to fly Toothless, since you'll be too busy... “

Rider shook his head. “ It's not me, Astrid. All those speeches, and planning, and running the village... that's his thing.”

“ I think you're missing the point. I mean, chief. What an honor. I'd be pretty excited.” Aloha placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to cheer him up.

“I'm not like you. You know exactly who you are. You always have. But... I'm still looking. I know that I'm not my father... and I never met my mother.... so, what does that make me?” He gazed into space as the other sat behind him, braiding the tentacles on the back of his head together.

“ What you're searching for... isn't out there, Rider.” Aloha put his hand on his friends chest. “It's in here. Maybe you just don't see it yet.”

He kissed the other’s cheek but pulled back, Ghost’s spit on his face now. Disgusted, he wiped it off.

“Maybe. But, y'know... there is something out there.” Rider said.

“Rider…”

The dragon rider grabbed Aloha by the chin, pointing his gaze straight ahead of them. A large black cloud of smoke billowed in the distance. The two then looked at eachother before mounting their dragons and flying towards the smoke to investigate it. They flew through the burnt forest until they reached the ocean. What they saw was imposing.

A large, piercing structure of ice with protruding icicles sat in the ocean, a fearsome monument.

“Stay close,” Rider ordered Aloha.

The two flew around the ice, taking a look at all the ruined things caught in it; it was ships, boats, and the splintered remains of a wooden fort.

“What happened here…?”

Ghost spotted a pair of enormous footprints in the mud and let out a stressed sound.

“Easy bud..” Rider soothed the dragon, or at least, made an attempt to.

“Rider!”

They heard someone yell out orders to fire.

“Aloha, move!” Rider yelled, pulling Ghost up out of the way of a net.

The net missed the two, but unfortunately caught Cloudstrike.

The pink tentacled rider yelled out for the other as he slipped from his mount’s back, falling towards the ground. Ghost caught him in his front claws, warbling.

The dragons hunters attempted to trap the caught Deadly Nadder, but she escaped, launching tail spikes at them.

“Watch the tail! Tie those legs up!”

Ghost flew past one of the trappers.

“Is that what I think it is?...”

Rider yelled. “STOP!”

“CLOUDSTRIKE!” Aloha cried out.

The black dragon landed on the opposite end of the boat, rocking it faintly.

“What are you doing?!” The pink haired rider exclaimed as he grabbed a stick.

Rider pulled out a flaming sword, fueled by Hideous Zippleback gas.

“Back again? My cod… that is a Nightfury.” A dark skinned, purple tentacled octoling proclaimed, eyes widening faintly. “Thought they were all gone for good. Looks like our luck's had a turn for the better, lads! Don't think Drago has one of those in his dragon army.” He motioned to the ship’s crew.

“Dragon…army?” Aloha frowned.

“Look, we don't want any trouble.” Rider tried to soothe.

“Ha! You should've thought of that before you stole all of our dragons and blasted our fort to bits!” The octoling scoffed bitterly.

“Yeah, look at it!” One of the crewmates chimed in before the octoling shot them a cold look.

“Wait…” Rider gave them a confused look.

“What are you talking about?” Aloha filled in.

“You think we did this?”

“ Dragon trapping is hard enough work as it is, without do-gooder dragon riders sneaking in to rescue them.” The trapper snapped.

“What do-gooder-- there are other dragon riders?” The green haired inkling looked almost amazed, bewildered even.

“You mean, other than your thieving friend from last night? You tell me. You may have an ice-spitting dragon on your side, but we still have a quota to fill. How do you suppose we explain this mess to Drago Bludvist?”

“Drago what-fist? Does anything you say make sense?”

“He's expecting a new shipment of dragons for his army by tomorrow.” One crewmate added.

“And Drago don't take well to excuses.” Another shuddered.

The octoling bared their fangs. “This is what he gave me last time I showed up empty-handed.” They revealed a nasty scar on their shoulder. “He promised to be far less understanding in the future.”

“Look, we don't know anything about a dragon thief, or an ice-spitting dragon,” Rider promised.

The octoling tilted their head up a bit before giving a subtle nod to the rest of the crew hidden behind the dragon riders.

“Or your lunatic boss and his dragon army, okay? Just give us back our dragon and we'll go, Strange-Hostile-Person-Whom-We've-Never-Met.” Rider continued.

“Oh, where are my manners?” The octoling opened their arms with a grin. “I'm Ocho. Son of Ocho. Finest dragon trapper alive. After all, it's not just anyone who can capture a Night Fury.”

Ghost bared his teeth before roaring.

“And this is Toothless. He says we're going. Now.” Rider narrowed his eyes.

Ocho sneered. “They all say that. RUSH 'EM, LADS!”

The hidden trappers attacked but the Nightfury fired at a large icicle, causing it to fall on the trappers, keeping them back. Rider, using his sword, cut Cloudstrike out of the net as Aloha called for her.

Dragons and riders took off, Cloudstrike and Aloha barely managing to escape as the other two followed.

“YOU WILL NEVER HOLD ON TO THOSE DRAGONS, YOU HEAR ME?! DRAGO IS COMING FOR THEM ALL!”

[devouringteeth]

[Amara parked Piper at the edge of the woods. Left the key in the ignition, but popped the hatchback. In the back was a very fucked up man who was very full of wasps. His broken leg was set with a brace. His right arm was sawn off and cauterized. The ornate censer hanging from her rearview mirror was filling the car with smoke that smelled of incense and burning skin in equal measure, which was keeping the wasps very much inside the man and very much not laying eggs under Amara's skin again. She unwraveled the chain from her mirror, got out of the car, and walked to the back.]

[...]

[She lead the man, a chain around his throat, through the woods that surrounded The Swamp. When she crossed the threshold, when she entered the land that was not native to the ground beneath it, that feeling of danger of hunger of frenzy of you are meat you are meat you are meat again caused every hair on her neck and arms to stand straight up. But the feeling wasn't new to her. Was to Sloan though, and he started protesting, though a look from the frenzied eyes that had sawed into him shut him up. He didn't know why they were here. If he did, Amara's threats would not be persuading him. The censer swung from the same fist that held his chain, the holy Flame serving as a barrier between she and he. And the smell of flesh served as an alert to the Monster.]

[...]

[Deeper still they pressed into the Swamp, until the feeling settling into her stomach felt a little too familiar. It felt like last time.]

DEVOURER. I WANT TO TALK. POLITELY.

[ Now that she wasn't trying to rescue someone, the swamp was quiet and almost - almost - peaceful. There were tadpoles in the water. A cormorant watched as she passed by, a fish under its talons. The insects swarming the hot, humid air and the stagnant water grew fewer the deeper they walked in. There were a few attempts at harmless bites before Amara's censer drove them away.]

[There was no immediate answer to her call. Behind her, the chain clinked as Sloan grimaced and pulled his braced foot out of the muck, only to immediately sink back in. Wasps buzzed, but they were few and soon landed again. Not far away was the wooden path, broken where the struggle with Mica had happened.]

[The corruption avatar was exhausted, Hungry, and injured. And in a terrible way he knows he was going to die here. It's apparent in the fear permeating the air. Is this how Eyes felt when they Knew things? He thinks it must be.]

[... Devourer? He did not like that name at all--]

[They both feel it, all of a sudden.]

[The crawling, bone deep ache of Hunger, like a living thing settling in their marrow.]

[The corruption avatar startles, panics, and even Amara's threats can't hold him anymore as he pulls at the chain and takes one, two ineffective steps before stumbling and coughing. Buzzing black and white is expelled, dispersing into the air, fleeing the way they came. Evacuating. With his one remaining hand Sloan reaches for his eye, a squelching noise as he rips it out before using his teeth to tear the rotten surface open. Three wasps escape and follow the fleeing Swarm, larger than the rest.]

[He was going to die, here. But the wasps had seen. They would live, and they would report to the Queen Mother. And she would give them a new host. The idea feels peaceful.]

[He turns his head, bleeding black from the empty socket while he gives Amara a hateful look and opens his mouth - only to scream as something massive green and brown lunges out at him. He narrowly escapes the initial bite and falls backwards into the water, but it does not save him.]

[The chain is torn out of her hand and Amara gets to watch as the Devourer, so close she can see the algae on his scales, easily crosses the spot of solid ground in one leap. It drags the man under with its full weight, water spraying in all directions. Briefly she sees Sloan resurface in the midst of black-coated bubbles before the rest of the battle - no, the Feeding - plays out in the murky depths.]

[When all is done, only a few dead wasps float on the water, and the quiet ambience of the swamp returns. The Devourer surfaces with a loud huff, spits out a piece of fabric into the muck, and steps out to meet her on land.]

[She can still tell that he is tempted to have another taste of her, can feel the twinge of desire as his yellow eyes flit to her new arm. But he stays where he is, seven feet of distance between the avatar and the monster. He tilts his head inquisitively, waiting for her words.]

[starryskiesuphigh]

@jackknife-through-a-dove

[A message pops up on her phone screen.]

Found a guy to feed on. 

Be at the Archives in an hour + bring snowproof shoes. I’ll get you jacket and goggles.

[lovestrucked-again]

1.2k  warnings: oral sex (F receive), overstim, heavy smut written by a sudden urge :)

Jaehyun shuts the door.

His office is messier and more comfortable than Taeyong’s. The blinds are pulled down and the only artificial light comes from a desk lamp.

He leads you around behind his wide built-in desk, rolls his chair away and brushes a pile of mail back from the writing surface, clearing his desk.

"Have a seat," he encourages you, gesturing to the cleared spot on his table.

You carefully inch your bottom up onto his desk and scoot backwards, tugging the lower hem of your dress down to cover as much of your thighs as you can. Jaehyun flops into his chair and looks you up and down. Without warning, he rolls forward and lifts your shoes to his lap. You try to cross your legs but he catches your bare calves and stops you.

"You looked pretty excited with Mr Lee back there. How's your first day going so far?"

"Uh, it's... it’s not what I... I didn't expect you guys to—"

"The spankings? I know. I told them that was crazy.” he chuckles.

"Really?"

"Of course”

"Why didn't they—?"

"I got outvoted three to one. So... here we are."

"No, it's gotta stop! I'm not like, okay with it... sir."

"Well you seemed pretty lit-up when I saw you."

You look away. You can’t admit that to yourself yet, let alone to this gorgeous man holding your knees slightly apart.

"I think your body has different ideas," he continues soothingly, "about what it enjoys."

"NN-o," You shake your head, still unable to look at him. "No it doesn't. You guys are... you're my employers. You can't just..."

Jaehyun moves his hands to your thighs and pushes your dress back softly.

You tense.

"This all seems very strange to you, I know," he says quietly. "And since it's your first day, you're probably feeling extra sensitive but I think... what you need now is some way to calm your nerves."

"Wha-t?" you stammer nervously.

"This will make your whole day seem easier," he whispers as his elbows spread your legs apart and his face doves to your crotch. You slump backward, gasping loudly as his mouth latches onto your swollen vulva and sucks your clit and labia through the sheer panties.

"Oh Sir! What are you—? Oh... God!"

You claw at the desk behind you, trying to scoot away, but he pulls your hips firmly closer. His mouth attacks your pussy so adeptly that your panties may as well have been invisible.

You struggle but his hands bend your legs back until your feet are over his shoulders. You tip backward, onto your elbows.

Within seconds your neck slackens as your groin endures a flood of ecstatic sensations. It’d been ages since anyone had gone down on you, and after your gushing orgasm in Mr Lee’s office your body was well-primed for more.

Jaehyun takes a breath and yanks your underwear to one side. Then he immerses his tongue inside your folds, licking and sucking every millimeter of your bare sex into his mouth. You collapse completely and grab his head.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God..." you pant. He was obviously an expert at this.

His hands pushes your legs farther back, folding your knees to your chest until your shoes are inverted high above your face. Your toes curled-up tight.

He peels your panties out from under your and gathers them into a rope around your knees, enabling him to keep your legs pinned back with just one hand. His free hand then takes up a position alongside his chin, thumb extending to probe your labia. Moments later he buries that long digit deep inside you, rocking it back and forth while your clitoris grow inside the vacuum of his mouth.

Your body squirms against his face. Your tailbone lifting off the desk.

He shivers his mouth against you, slurping your folds between his lips while his thumb probs your narrow depths.

For you, each successive minute of this was more ecstatic than the last. Finally you let out a desperate and plaintive cry.

Juices from your interior mingle with his saliva and trickle down the crack of your ass. The tempo of his mouth and thumb accelerate.

Your fists ball. One against his desk while the other lodges itself between your teeth.

Your clit was being pinched between his lips and shaken. His tongue flicks like a rabbit's foot. Then he wiggles his index finger into the slippery ring of your anus.

You feel all your orifices tighten at once. His finger pushes deeper and wiggles further.

He chooses that moment to suck your clitoris extra hard.

You scream as the climax hits you. It arrives with the force of a rogue wave, crushing everything in its path. Your jackknifed body quakes and wriggles. Your breathing stops.

As you come, Jaehyun carefully squeezes a second finger into your ass. Still he flicks and sucks your clit unabated.

A string of wavering sobs burst from your throat. Your hips jerk under him. Fresh secretions ooze from you.

Finally you grab his hair and shove him away. It was too much.

He raises his face, sucks in a lungful of air and surveys your body.

Your outer labia was puffy and gaping. Your delicate inner petals are bright pink and awash in lubricant. The head of your clitoris held itself high, entirely too swollen now to fit beneath its narrow hood.

His fingers remained half-inside your slippery butt, gradually creeping outward.

"How's that for a warm welcome?" he asks through a greedily glistening grin.

You rock your head from side to side, unable to speak. Eventually you reach down and push his hand from your ass. He obligingly removes his fingers, but keeps your legs pinned back for a moment in order to watch your anus recover its pucker.

Then he releases your knees and sinks back in his chair. For the next dozen seconds he simply admires the sprawled beauty lying atop his desk.

Your slender legs are slack, draped wide apart. Your sandals are heel-to-heel in front of your butt. Your nipples pointing at the ceiling, having completely escaped your bra.

You try to sit up, but only manage to get to your elbows. Your eyes are half-lidded. Your feet slip off the desk and fall, drawing your legs somewhat closed. You gaze at him sleepily.

He stands up and closes the distance between them in a single step. You do not move other than to track his approach. He bends over, cups your face in both hands and pulls you into a kiss.

You’re so far gone you answer his tongue's probing requests with eagerness, kissing him back as though he were a newfound boyfriend. Your heart flutters in your chest.

None of this makes sense. Here you are, hooking-up with another of your new bosses, giddy after such orgasms. Anything seems possible now.

Because it’s only nine fifteen in the morning.

[littleaxebad]

Thursday: Venomous

Inspired in parts by the wild energy of Olaf and Paul by PacoVolume (forbidden relationship), the magnificent genius of Thalasso Hobbyist (sea monsters) and dedicated to @writtenjewels as a thank you for one of my favourite fanfictions “Catch of the Day”...

(Go into this knowing that Jason is a fucking monster looking thing. He’s not pretty (maybe a little in the face if you cover all the spikes), he’s a fucked up monster looking thing. Ain’t nothing wrong with fucked up looking monsters. Fucked up monster supremacy.)

Yes, this is supposed to be funny...

Jason looked up at the science vessel. He’d been around long enough to know what was a science vessel and what was a fishing trawler and what was a cruise ship full of rich old people who thought he was a dolphin. He had no idea how a centuries old sea monster could be mistaken for intelligent tuna, but he’d never full grasped most of humanities obscurities in his long life. For one thing, they kept changing, and for another - he didn’t fuckin’ care.

His mother was a mermaid. His father had been something else. He’d never met the creature responsible for his nightmarish silhouette but he’d heard nothing but good things. He suspected it was a teenage crush elongated over hundreds of years into a form of hero worship on his mothers part… and a one night stand for a wandering Eldritch Horror on his fathers part. But whatever concoction of oceanic mistakes had been involved, Jason was more or less a 12 foot long eel shaped mer-creature, with a smooth, humanoid upper torso, long twisted vines sprouting from a horned face; powerful muscles and fins, and sharp teeth and claws for fighting and eating. Not to mention the venom he was capable of injecting if he felt so inclined. 

A fuckin’ dolphin indeed. 

Jason was swimming under the science vessel for one very particular reason. A scientist named Salim Othman who spoke with a strangely erotic accent, was basically covered in hair, and had absolutely captured Jason’s tiny heart over the months he’d been at sea, researching whale migration patterns. The actual science bored Jason to tears, he was far more interested in the technology they used, the alcohol Salim could provide, and the frankly mind-blowing sex they frequently engaged in. His mother was beyond furious - fraternising with someone who would probably be dead in 40 years, and then what would he do? Mourn for the rest of his life (probably)? Couldn’t he have picked a nice Kraken to fall in love with?

Absolutely the fuck not. He knew a few of those deep sea fuckers and they were all weird snobs. Jason preferred getting shit-faced with his hot human boyfriend and then eating Salim out until the man couldn’t even stand. Which is what he was waiting to do when another aquatic abomination swam into his vision. He didn’t know this fish, but he’d seen it around. A great big manta ray looking thing, with too many teeth where it didn’t seem physically possible for teeth to be - but what the fuck was it doing around here?

Jason’s question was answered quickly enough when, without warning and moving faster than something its size should have been capable of, the monster ray attacked Salim’s science boat. Jason’s body froze for an instant and then he was darting forward, his powerful tail cutting through the water like a bullet from a gun. He wasn’t about to let whatever this fuckin’ thing was kill his human, size be damned he was going to hand its ass to it, and he couldn’t even see an ass.

Suddenly the ocean was disturbed over to Jason’s left as a weight hit the water. At first he couldn’t see what it was, but it seemed that the monster ray didn’t care - all it could see was potential food and it dove for the falling shape. The bubbles cleared and both of Jason’s hearts stopped - Salim! Salim had fallen off the boat. Jason jackknifed through the water, changing direction in an instant. The thing was on Salim but the man was strong, he had a hooked knife and was going at his attacker for dear life. But his attacker was fuckin’ huge; dwarfing Salim, its long thin tail rising up to wrap around his frantically struggling body. 

‘It’s going to fuckin’ drown him!’ Jason’s brain screamed at him as he launched himself forward, latching onto the rubbery skin of the monster ray and sinking in his teeth and claws. It was as if he’d done nothing at all - the thing didn’t respond and Salim was jerking in its grip spasmodically, running out of air. Panicking, and without a thought to whether or not the creature was poisonous, Jason sank his teeth in again, this time aiming for the softer underbelly, and releasing a deadly injection of venom. 

The water stilled, and Jason wasted no time in chewing Salim free and hauling ass to the surface - he probably should have checked over his shoulder but getting the human some air was priority number one. They broke the surface in a shock of cold water, to the frightened yells of Salim’s crew mates. Jason didn’t bother to explain - if they thought he was big enough to do that much damage to a fuckin’ boat, they didn’t deserve to be scientists. 

He dragged Salim onto the deck and slammed a fist against the man’s chest. Salim sat bolt upright and vomited sea water all over himself and Jason. Jason just casually rubbed him on the back - it was not like he’d never been wet before. After long moments in which Salim got his breath back and the other, less active participants retreated from Jason’s imposing form, Salim turned to him.

“You OK?” “Not really.” “That’s fair.” “You’re uh… you’re venomous, then…?” “Yeah. But don’t worry, hotshot, I won’t use it on you.” Salim responded by nodding sagely, and then passing out.

[miicachii]

good news: i found a Slaughter avatar! :D bad news: i found a Slaughter avatar! :D

[ I.D. in alt text; if you can't read my writing I'll drop it in the notes! ]

@entities-of-posts @jackofspiders @jackknife-through-a-dove

[entities-of-posts]

*Lu enters the Archives with a bundle of papers spilling out from underneath his arm* *Black trenches crawl under his grey eyes which are filled with a palpable anger and determination* Alright everyone, the team will consist of myself, @nate0fthehunt, @vastjackfishschool, @desolatewizard, @cheshire-spiral-eye, @the-found-kids, and @jackknife-through-a-dove if she’s still willing, despite the Spider, personally I think that if you join us, that's what the Spider wants, and if you don't that's what the Spider wants, so I'm just really trying not to worry. Together, we will destroy the building belonging to the Church of the Singing Host, hopefully killing enough of the organization that reforming is impossible. Anyone who feels that their skills could be of use, feel free to join us. I have a plan, *under his breath* finally I have a plan.

*the Archivist, just exiting the Archives, hair still dusty and tousled, smiles wide and sharp, eyes glimmering with a Hunt-like shine*

Oh, I’ve been waiting for this. Everyone to their battle positions; I’ll be Watching intently.

Give me a nice show, will you? I need it.

This is going to be fun :)

[shifting-spiraling-something]

*Grey half stumbles through a Door back into the Archives before waving the Door away and slumps against the wall doing a once over check of itself. It has almost fully restored it's form, only it's eyes still showing glitchy static. It's hair is a soft grey and shorter than it usually is kept. It tests it's voice*

Test one two

*Grey groans as the motion irritates it's side wound, but their voice is at least no longer static. It still slightly echos but it isn't to disorienting for everyone. That's good. It can talk to.... Fleshy friend without needing the Archivist to translate. It really needs to learn his name. But for now there is more important things*

*It stands up, leaning against the wall heavily before going off to search for it's friend. It feels a little silly even bothering him, but sense it's last Feed got interrupted it doesn't have the energy to fix itself and it is trying to learn how to be open with people again*

*It walks into the Archivists office where Amara was when it left and found her and Ripley*

Hey. Do either of you know where Mr. Medic went?

@entities-of-posts @scavenger-shack @jackknife-through-a-dove @mothman-stolemyeyebrows

[noodledesk]

From the tarmac spanning the lakefront, a group of teenagers dove, flipped, jackknifed into the water. Two days later, as if memory had been caught out in a lie, at the same spot, at the same time of day, another group of teenagers waded through water not deep enough to swim. Having drifted apart from her friends, a light-haired girl appeared to search the shallows, her hands moving on the surface in the slow circular motions of someone polishing a lens. Given that the summer was just beginning, her back was a blotchy pink—perhaps the lotion hadn’t been evenly applied?—and where the strap of her suit had slipped, a lurid band, like a surgical scar, bisected the curve of her shoulder.

Sherod Santos, Square Inch Hours

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 30 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 30 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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When Everything was readied to the diver’s satisfaction, she waddled to the rail in her flips and went over the side, hitting the water on her back.  She went under and surfaced head first.  After several deep breaths, she blew out all that she could and sounded like an Orca whale, jackknifing down, flips shooting straight up into the air.  She disappeared into the dark water.  Over three minutes later, she burst up through the surface, almost to her waist and sank back, just her head out of the water, breathing deeply again.  

She steadied and called, “The bow-cable is secure.  Lift fifteen feet with the big crane!”

They lifted as directed and the diver sounded again.  Shortly, she was back up.  While she was getting her breath, she signaled with a circled thumb and forefinger.  

“Lift twenty five feet with the portable crane!  Pull easy, there’s going to be a lot of water resistance.”  When they had done it, she went back down and looked to see that all was well before they hoisted the boat up.

The mast tip broke water with the forlorn, drowned lantern still hanging from it.  In minutes the cabin roof was in view and then the fore-deck and flooded cockpit.

“Hold!” called the diver and the cranes stopped.  “Get a bilge-pump!” She flipped her feet up and dove.  This close to the surface, they could see her stroking in a leisurely way with her feet and shooting the length of the boat, turning and coming back along the other side of it.  Surfacing again, she called, “Belay that pump!  Lift the stern, gently! — — Good!  Now lift all, dead slow!”  

She just lay back and floated, watching as the boat came up.  Water gushed in a foaming torrent from a perfectly round, six inch hole close to the bows and low on the bottom.

Chapter 9: The Dragon’s Kin

When Kurin and Sula went to the bazaar, about noon, they were greeted on all sides by whispers of, “There she is!  She’s the one that maps the bottom!  That’s why the Longin is doing so well!” and many other variants of that.  Including, “The Longin has a new Luck!” There were also malicious whispers of which the kindest was “Witch!” said by a group of Fauline sailors, looking at Kurin venomously.

There was a knot of Captains about Captain Mord, in front of the Council Pavilion.  Captain Sula strode through the group with such assurance that they gave way before her.  Kurin followed.  Reaching Mord, Sula turned to the other Captains, raised her hands for attention and said bluntly, “This is unseemly.  Let us go in and deal with your concerns in a quieter, more private, setting.”

She opened the flap of the Pavilion and held it while the other Captains filed in.  She took the center of the Council Circle, and turned until she had faced them all.  Only about a dozen of the over two hundred Captains of the Council were present, leaving many empty benches on the tiers of the cavernous pavilion about her.  She waved them all together into a close, intimate group.

Boldly, she said, “I have taken this liberty because I am not involved in your squabble.  What is the problem, that you assault Captain Mord in such a public fashion?  She pointed at the Captain of the Gula. You?”

“Rumor started yesterday that the Longin had some uncanny method of finding fish, and that is why she has been so successful.  We want her to cease its use and fish fairly, with the rest of us.”

Sula actually laughed, wiping an eye, she replied, “I did not expect comedy in such a Council as this.  Would it not make more sense to inquire how the fish were found, so that you could catch them, too?”

Several of the Captains gave hard looks at Barad, Captain of the Grandalor, and pointing said, “It was his idea to shut down the Longin’s fishing methods.  He called them witchcraft.”

“And you listened to him with no more proof than his word?  I have only been here with you folk for a few days, and already I have heard that he hates the Longin and her success.  

“I have heard as a food booth tale, told with much mirth, how he cheated himself of what has proved to be his best fishing waters while trying to swindle the Longin.  If this is what you use for evidence in this fleet, then twist a rope from the moonlight of Dorac, Carsis and Wohan.  We will use it to hang Captain Mord.  Captain Barad left his wits on dry land Gatherings ago, and now he has you beaching yours in his wake.”

“If you know so much,” asked the Captain of the Dolthin, sourly, “how do they catch so much more than the rest of us?”

“I would hazard a guess that they use lines and hooks and nets, like the rest of you.  They excel in knowing where to put them.”

Barad jumped on that, “And just how do they know where to fish? Witchcraft!  That’s how!”  He sat back with a self satisfied smirk.

“Actually, I think not,” replied Sula sarcastically.  “You should allow questions that you ask to be answered, instead of answering them yourself.  That method of inquiry leads you onto the reefs of unreason.  

“You must accept that the Great Sea Dragon, Blind Mecat, lived on board the Longin in human guise for nineteen Gatherings.  They may have learned from her, and now use their resources better than you.  

“Five Gatherings ago, the Dragon left, and in so doing, gave you absolute proof that at least two Great Sea Dragons are still about.  

“For the last five Gatherings, the Longin has been blessed with the Dragon’s kin.  The finding of the fish is her work, is it not?” She turned to Captain Mord as she asked the last.

He looked at her blankly, “The Dragon’s kin?  Cat had no children. We have not picked up any other — — What do you mean?”

Sula pulled Kurin to the fore.  “Here is the Dragon’s foster daughter. With her father dead and her mother gone mad beyond help, Kurin was taken in and raised for an entire Gathering by whom?  Blind Mecat. The Great Sea Dragon became her foster mother by the laws of both Winternight and the Corlis fleet.  Is not your law similar?”

A buzz of consternation showed that it was.  And that nobody had thought of it.

“So, now the question becomes this; do you reject the Dragon’s daughter and her gifts?  Will you risk the wrath of very real Dragons in the process or will you embrace her gifts, and in the bargain become wealthier?  I have no vote here, but I think the choice is obvious.”

Skua, Captain of the chronically poor Fauline asked jealously, “Will she do for us what she does for you, Captain Mord?  Exactly what is it that she does?”

“I will answer Captain Sula’s question first,” said Mord, nettled by Skua’s tone.  “Yes, Kurin has been responsible for our finding fish.  Unfortunately, it is far more complex than her simply pointing and saying ‘the fish are here or the fish are there.’”

Mord cast a jaundiced eye at the covetous Skua and scolded, “Skua, how we find the fish and the way that she helps us is protected Ship’s Business.  Our Master’s Council has studied the matter and determined that it is a skill, not a Craft.  She does not have to share it with anyone.  I can say that the part that is still secret involves something completely new in the way of dead-reckoning navigation.  She has been teaching some of us the skill, with varying degrees of success.”

Kurin tugged at Mord’s sleeve and whispered urgently in his ear for a few moments.  His eyebrows shot up and he smiled.  The assembled Captains did not like the look of that smile.  It was almost predatory.

When he spoke, they were sure of it.  “It is clear that a great part of the knowledge is no longer secret, due to a loose tongue.  The crew will vote this evening on how to share our knowledge and what parts of it to keep secret.  Tomorrow morning, here, I will tell you of the vote.  By the Articles of the Longin that is all that I am free to do at this time.”  He got up and taking Kurin by the hand, he walked out.  Kurin went to her booth and thanked Roper, who had opened and watched it for her.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

[justaramblingromantic]

“This blanket is freaking thin!” ft EiRin 😙

50 Random Writing Prompts

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi/EiRin

Type: Fantasy/Medieval!AU, Worthy of a Namet!verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 2841

A/N: Oh man, I think I drank a bit too much nonsense juice when I wrote this, wahaha! Hope you like, friendo~! Thanks for the ask!! <33

XxXxXxXxXx

He did not have to open his eyes to sense that she was up to mischief, again.

To be more precise, she was trying to sneak up on him, again.

Eishi sighed inwardly. He did not move, lying on the bed with his back still turned to the source of disturbance, the latter trying her best to be as stealthy as possible.

“…Rindou.”

The surreptitious movements paused.

“Yes?” she sounded so innocent, as if she wasn’t doing anything shady at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in!” she chirped in reply. Since she had already been found out, the redhead abandoned all pretense at subtlety and dove straight at her master.

Eishi rolled over and jackknifed before she could pin him with her pounce. He still ended up with an armful of warm, soft, sweet smelling woman…who was also very happy to nuzzle into the side of his neck and brush herself up against him like an overly affectionate vixen.

At least this time she was clothed, he thought. He still could not help but flush all the same.

“…Rindou,” he chided as sternly as he could. “We’ve already discussed this. You’re being improper.”

This partner of his had always been unruly and mischievous for as long as he knew her. And ever since she took on a living form, his life had only grown even more complicated.

And exciting…in a completely outrageous way.

“Go back to your own bed, please,” he uttered in a strangled tone when she slithered under his covers and cozied up to him even more. She was very distracting. His pulse quickened.

“But it’s warmer here with you,” she protested as he tried to peel her off. “This blanket is freaking thin, so we should share our body heat~”

That sounded like a logical conclusion to make…only he was starting to suspect that she was only using it as an excuse. That suspicion was further compounded by her happily running her hands down his torso, the brush of her lips along the side of his throat, the flick of her tongue darting against his skin where his pulse beat strongly-

“I’m cold,” she purred, wiggling ever closer. “Warm me.”

The thing was, she wasn’t trying to seduce him. Unfortunately, he was seduced all the same. There was something she craved from him, and she was never ashamed or shy to beg it boldly from him. Her tongue tickled his skin. Her warm breath flustered him.

“I need your heat,” she demanded silkily against his neck. “Please, Master, may I~?”

He swallowed. This was the contract that he shared with her, that bound her to him and vice versa.

“Yes,” he mumbled in consent, his arms instinctively coming up around her, even as she smiled and parted her lips, sinking pearly white fangs into his flesh.

That sharp prickle of pain was the familiar prelude to the near blinding flood of pleasure that filled his mind shortly after. He gasped and bit his lip, keeping perfectly still as she settled happily unto him and hungrily lapped at the mark, coaxing more of those crimson, rich drops of blood welling to the surface. Her pleasure, almost hedonistic and pagan-like in its sheer, unfiltered, delight, washed over him as well, effectively doubling his own enjoyment of the act.

Lavender pupils silently dilated. Eishi bit down harder on his lower lip, swallowing the groan that threatened to rise from his throat. His ears buzzed. He turned his face towards her crimson hair, losing himself in the heady perfume of her scent. His fingers dug subtly into her waist, holding her tighter, pulling her closer…

She was much less restrained in expressing her euphoria. His blood sang inside of her, and she reveled in the throb and swell of its sweet, rapturous power. She squirmed on her master’s lap, moaning as his taste became all that she knew, his warmth spreading in her like wildfire. It had always been like that; his light chasing away the constant, cursed cold that lurked in her, and she was hopelessly addicted to this exhilarating feeling of life.

A few minutes later, she forcibly reined in her voracious appetite, careful not to take more than he could give. It was so tempting, though. She brushed her lips eagerly against his neck, lavishing happy, affectionate kisses now that he wasn’t being a starchy prude and trying to peel her off, red as a tomato the whole time. Well, he was still red as a tomato, but-

She pulled back slightly, a little punch-drunk giggle escaping her as she cupped his flushed face and peppered even more playful kisses on his chin and jaw and mouth. He could taste the copper of his own blood on her lips, and shuddered at the sharp spike of arousal that elicited in him.  

“Rindou,” he groaned, breathless. She had that effect on him. “Stop. Stop.”

His hands came up to her shoulders, slowly but firmly easing her off of him. She growled softly at being denied, and curled her own limbs around him stubbornly like a little monkey. Much to his consternation.

His voice, still husky and lust-addled, was now injected with a thread of familiar exasperation. “What are you doing.”

“Not doin’ anythin’,” she uttered. “M’not lettin’ go for nothin’ either.”

Her petulance was not unfamiliar to him. She was already like that, even back when he only knew her in her sword form. This was also partially his fault, for indulging her as he always did.

Which left him with a dilemma.

“…How do you propose we retire to bed like this?” he asked in consternation over her head.

Rindou brightened and pulled back slightly to look at him again, glad that he had asked. Before she could open her mouth to share her opinion, he also had a sudden epiphany and quickly added. “Separate beds, please.”

The redhead frowned at him.

“You used to keep me close with you all the time,” she accused crossly. Even during bedtime, he laid her beside him every single night. Granted, it was customary for most knights to keep their weapons close by in the event of a sudden attack or a night raid, but he guarded her too, to keep her out of the hands of those who desired to harm her or take her.

As such, Rindou really did not understand what was so different now and was increasingly aggravated by his constant rejection. She didn’t like being pushed away by him. It made her feel cold and discontent and violently unhappy.

“…Yes. That’s because you were a sword,” he pointed out warily. Not a siren-like, alluring, impossibly beautiful young woman who seemed to possess no inhibition whatsoever and was also completely oblivious to the difficult position that she was putting him in…quite literally.

Her limbs tightened around him in her annoyance. “I’m still a sword! Just in a different shape now!”

Eishi had to remind himself to close his eyes as her fair bosom swelled with indignation…inches from his face.

She didn’t have to speak the obvious; he was acutely aware of her shape. Especially when it was pressed against him like now, barely concealed in a paper thin, chemise shift. He was not a stranger to her magnificent curves, which was why he was so desperately trying to put some much needed distance between the both of them before he ended up inadvertently doing something gravely improper to her.

Furthermore, this was exploiting the innocent, wasn’t it? Through a series of stressful, dire events, he had bound her to him and now he was also harboring some distinctly ungallant thoughts towards her. Never mind the sacred knightly vows he took of valor, chivalry and protecting those who could not protect themselves, he already felt like a cad as it was.

Rindou could hardly care less about his moral dilemma.

“Am I still yours or not?” she demanded to know, wanting to hear the confirmation that he wasn’t planning to toss her aside and depart like all the others who had come and gone before him. Not that she would let him, but still-

“Say it. Say that I’m yours.”

He opened his eyes, that distant lavender hue sharpening on her face. He just stared at her for the longest time, as if finally finding an answer to a very difficult problem.  

“Yes,” he replied at last, so quietly it was almost a sigh. “You’re mine.”

She beamed at his admission, spoken so slowly and carefully, as if he was tasting the words on his tongue, testing and accepting the full weight of his claim for the very first time.

“Good! Your sword wants to lie with you.”

He had the strangest look on his face at her expectant request. That sounded wrong.

“…You mean ‘sleep,’” he corrected.

She sent him an odd look of her own. “Of course I meant ‘sleep!’ What else is there to do?”

While Eishi was muttering to himself (perhaps he was praying for patience and deliverance), Rindou finally clambered off him and dove under the sheets, settling in for bed, now finally content after having her way. He took longer to follow suit, gingerly lying back down and feeling very jumpy.

She clicked her tongue at his hesitation. “Why are you so scared? I’m not gonna eat ya!”

“You already ‘ate’ me,” he muttered, finally easing in beside her. He was still rather stiff and ill at ease. She snickered and petted him.

“And you’re absolutely delicious~” the redhead sang, turning her head to grin at him. His ears were starting to turn red again. “Fine. I won’t eat you anymore tonight. Promise.”

She did, however, wiggle closer to him and throw her leg over his. She also snuggled into his side so comfortably, like she had always belonged.

“Can you just lie still and not move. Please.” He sounded faintly distressed. The more she rubbed up against him inadvertently, the more his body reacted to her unintentional stimulation. Eishi was very close to cursing the base urges of his disobedient self. Funny; how it always went haywire whenever she was around – he usually had much better control than this.

“I’m trying to get comfortable,” she huffed back at him. She was frowning a little too, as she squirmed. “There’s something hard poking me down there-”

She gasped loudly, as if all the dots had finally connected in her mind and she abruptly realized what that ‘something�� was. She lifted her head so quickly she nailed him right in the chin before he could react and explain himself. That collision hurt her, but since she was of the rather hardheaded sort, Eishi came out worse from the encounter. The poor man saw stars. He clapped one hand over his aching jaw, groaning.

Rindou was too outraged to sympathize with her master’s pain. No wonder he had been pushing her away all this time! She had finally discovered the real reason! She knew why now!

The flames of righteous fury engulfed her. She scowled.

“You! You’ve been hiding another sword on your person all this time!” she accused, sounding thoroughly indignant. “How can you do that to me – we agreed that I’m your only!”

The redhead was very determined to get rid of the usurper. Her hand dove beneath the sheets and fumbled clumsily with the hem of his nightshirt before finally, blindly, finding the offending item that he had cleverly concealed there, nestled right between his legs. Her fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt and she tugged with all her might, like a farmer doing her best to dislodge a long, fat daikon out of the stubborn earth.

Eishi blanched.

“Rindou.” His strangled squeak were an entire three octaves higher than usual. It was a miracle he could still speak when the woman was still going at it with all the vigor of one attempting to extract the Excalibur from the sacred stone.

He hastily grabbed her wrist to stop her, lest she actually succeeded in her endeavor and uproot his entire bloodline right there and then. He gritted his teeth, ears ringing from the brief but excruciating experience. Maybe that was the sound of his yet unborn descendants screaming for mercy, ten generations down the Tsukasa family tree. His eyes met hers grimly, as she stared back at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“That’s. NOT. A. Sword.”

XxXxXxXxXx 

Omake

He hadn’t been very happy with her that morning, for rather obvious reasons, even though she had shown an appropriate amount of contriteness for the misunderstanding last night. Rindou was sincerely sorry, though that had not stopped her from biting back snickers whenever he stood up and hobbled around gingerly due to the soreness between his legs, no thanks to her. He had glowered wearily at her muffled mirth, but otherwise had largely ignored her.

It was a good thing that they weren’t scheduled for patrol duty that day; surely Eishi would have been even grumpier than he already was. Instead, they were sequestered in his office where he was somehow buried in paperwork. Again. Rindou was meek and obedient as could be up until mid-noon, and then she got tired of being boring.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?” she asked him point blank. In her mind, she had already prepared a list to argue her innocence “In my defense, I didn’t know; I’ve never seen a naked body before except my own! And I don’t have that strange little stump you have; nobody ever told me that men have little extra bits of meat hanging between their legs!”

Eishi twitched at her passionate entreaty, and he seemed especially triggered every time the word ‘little’ was mentioned in reference to his…bits.

“You called it a sword last night,” he muttered, offended by her change in opinion. She squinted at him, not understanding his pique.

“What’s it for, anyway?” she asked, immensely curious. It was a curiosity that he was quickly beginning to recognize could be extremely destructive whenever left unchecked. He hadn’t exactly been in the mood to answer her questions last night, too busy curled up in a fetal position in bed. That was after they had made that really awkward trip to the healer’s quarters and the latter had laughed until he was rolling on the floor after he heard what happened.

“That healer said that all men have one. Really? Do they all look the same?? Can I see yours?”

Eishi turned a dark red at her barrage of questions. He stopped what he was doing and stared at her like she was crazy.

“…No. You can’t see mine.” He paused as another worrying thought occurred to him. He frowned. “Also, you’re explicitly forbidden from looking at other people’s swords, am I clear?”

“Huh?” Rindou was confused and getting a bit annoyed herself by his unreasonable restrictions. He wouldn’t show her his and he wouldn’t let her peek at others’ too, how unfair. “Then how am I ever gonna know what it looks like?”

“You don’t need to know what it looks like,” he retorted with an unusual amount of forcefulness, getting more and more flustered by the second. Why were they even discussing this? He was silently dying of mortification and the woman before him had absolutely no idea, as usual. “We won’t speak of this topic any further, so forget all of it.”

But Rindou did not understand what the whole fuss was about. A weapon that only men had and nobody was supposed to talk about…? This sure was one big mystery, and all over something that didn’t seem very useful to her. Perhaps it was like a holy artifact? Something symbolic and only decorative in purpose? Then why hide it away? Shouldn’t he be parading it around everywhere?

She was also quite sure she had overheard the healer mention something about ‘family jewels,’ though Eishi had spluttered and waved him off before more could be said. …A jeweled sword? Definitely decorative, then, she concluded decisively. Her desire to see it grew.

Unfortunately, he was weirdly agitated so maybe she should try her luck again another time. With reluctance, the redhead dropped the topic. At least he wasn’t ignoring her anymore.

“Tsukasa?”

“…Yes?” He was almost dreading to hear what outrageous things she was about to say next. Rindou widened her eyes and projected all the sincerity she could muster.

“M’very sorry I broke your secret holy sword.”

…

…secret…holy-

The white-haired knight emitted a…croak that was almost part bewildered incredulity, part laugh of despair. It was either that or cry. He gave up. He started to massage his temple.

“…It’s not broken.”

She perked up at the good news. It’s not broken! “Then, can I see-”

He groaned, loudly. She was going to be trying her hardest to get into his breeches for the next few days, wasn’t she? Just the very thought of it made him break out in cold sweat.

“…No. Just no.”

XxXxXxXxXx

[oneironauto233-blog]

American Prayer Two

Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd. The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed condom waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight Sex and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies. Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam

[devouringteeth]

[The Devourer stops dead in his tracks.]

[One by one, the eyes lining his back rotate to hold its purple gaze.]

[And he remembers. He remembers. The knowledge is like ice water in his veins, like hot coals burning his lungs, rooting him to the spot. The swamp is silent, the air is still.]

[He stares, uncomprehending, as the Archivist rushes past towards the other two. Lost in his thoughts. Lost in the memory of green, of laughters shared, of silky strings, of comfortable moments and companionship.]

[The monster shudders and shakes his head, digging his claws into the churned up mud.]

[Of the softness of a familiar touch, of worry, of a decision, of agony, of, of of of of of-] [But no face... no face. It wouldn’t come to him, no matter how much he digs. And the deeper he digs the more it pains him. The hole in his mind which the word daughter slots so neatly into remains empty.]

[And that hurts.]

[The Devourer bellows an agonized roar that shakes the ground - no, the ground is shaking - and sets after the Archivist at a terrifying speed one would not think he could reach on land, maddened gaze for once holding more than simplistic hunger.]

How Dare You!

( @entities-of-posts @miicachii @jackknife-through-a-dove @shifting-spiraling-something @stfelixlepidopterarium )

[mystacoceti]

long excerpt from Aquamarine by Carol Anshaw

When Jesse comes out of the house, she sees that some dancing has started up, on the driveway apron. Somebody has propped a boom box on a folding chair and Whitney Houston has joined the party. Although it’s the kids who have brought the music, it’s mostly their parents who are uncool enough to dance on a driveway to a radio in the middle of the afternoon. In spite of the hear, Darrell and Jesse’s mother even get out and do something restrained and vaguely like jitterbugging.

Jesse watches for a little while, then suddenly pulls away, whiplashed by some sixth-sense radar. Willie loves to dance, thinks he is a great dancer. Why isn’t he out here? She turns sharply. Back by the wooden fence at the edge of Hallie’s lot, three high school boys — two of them Mavis’s grandsons, the Cooney boys, the third she doesn’t recognize — are encouraging William to blow out the fuse on the cherry bomb they’ve lit in his hand.

Jesse has forgotten the pure dumb meanness that grows up around here as a glandular part of adolescence, in minds running on high idle. In a crushing second she remembers all the cats flambeaux and squooshed things in play lots, and Lewis Frey at the party where he took a gulp of Clorox-on-the-rocks someone slipped him.

She starts to move, but everything, herself included, has downshifted into slo-mo. She shouts but can’t tell whether she’s making anything come out. She is in the middle of some wild, flailing leap through the crowd when she sees Kit come off her peripheral vision and get there and grab the cracker.

And then there is only the terrible sound.

*

And then they’re in the back of Darrell’s van, doing it His Way to the hospital rather than taking the time to wait for the ambulance. Jesse is holding Kit’s right hand inside an Oven mitt stuffed with crushed ice — Hallie’s idea. Kit is on the bottom bunk, breathing with long, grinding exhales. Her eyes are glossy with pain backed by panic.

“Two minutes to the hospital,” Jesse says, looking out one of the portholes. She looks down at Kit, still astonished. “They’re going to kill you on the show.”

Kit shrugs and comes up with a wince that Jesse sees is a smile filtered through pain. Kit lives by a rigid code of not doing anything that would change Rhonda’s appearance. She can’t gain more than a few pounds without getting called on the carpet, can’t change her shade of blond without a conference. When someone gets a great idea to go ice skating or ride the Wild Mouse at an amusement part, Kit Has a low-key way of ducking out. She takes no chances, and has taken none for so long that she is immune to the impetuous gesture. And so Jesse knows that what she did in the backyard took the full complement of consequence into account. This information is both thrilling and unsettling. It means that Kit is someone quite other than Jesse has been able to imagine.

*

Dr. Thoms says her hand will be all right down the line. He called in a specialist from Jeff City who stitched the town blown-off tips back on. The palm is burnt, and Rhonda will have to be vampy and seductive while wearing a big bandage for a while, but in the end she should be back to her former, fully digited self. For the moment though, she is drugged and tranquil in the little room overlooking the hospital parking lot.

“My hero,” Jesse says, holding on to the other hand.

“Sleepy,” Kit says, and drops off like an infant.

Jesse sits silently for a while, and then Hallie comes in and settles heavily into the other chair and pulls out a complicated argyle sock she’s knitting. At first Jesse thinks she’s going to come up with something profound and serious, a soothing aphorism maybe. Hallie waits about two beats, then gestures toward Kit with her knitting. “What a show-off.”

Jesse’s eyes widen, then tear over and then she begins laughing in a helpless, shaking way. Hallie doesn’t even crack a smile; she’s as deadpan as Groucho. Kit wakes briefly. “What’s so funny?”

Jesse leans over and brushes Kit’s hair back with her hand, then eyeballs Hallie, and asks, “Can you give Kit some more local color? She thinks New Jerusalem is so sweet. You know. She loves the Frock Shop, the Noon Hour Cafe.”

Jesse can see this request puts Hallie into a small quandary. She hates being thought of as quaint. She’s always touting all the recent changes that have come to New Jerusalem. Three Oaks Mall. Paddock Towers under construction downtown. That Alice’s new, trendy restaurant, whatever it’s called. Even the franchises, which make her feel the town hasn’t been passed by.

But these aren’t the sorts of things Kit wants to hear. Her eyes are bright with anticipation through the druggy glaze. She wants quaint, and because Jesse wants Kit to be happy, and because Hallie wants Jesse to have whatever she wants, she puts her sock and needles in her lap and says to Kit. “Perhaps your girlfriend has failed to show you Betty’s Button Hut?”

As she smiles, Kit’s eyes flutter a while, then close.

Hallie sighs and settles back into the chair, looking around. “The last time you and I were in this crummy place together was when you got these stitches out.” She reaches up toward Jesse, who is standing over the bed, and traces the small, deep, right-angle scar along her jaw line.

Jesse puts her own hand to it. “This? You know, I don’t even remember how I came by it.”

“I don’t know how you could have forgotten. I remember it as if it just happened. We were out swimming at the country club — you mother and me and you and Willie. You were only seven or eight. You weren’t a swimmer yet, just a kid fooling around in the pool. It was late in the afternoon.

“Your mother and I were tanning on side-by-side chaises longues. She was using me as a wind blind, lighting up a cig. I looked up and saw you. You’d shot up into the air above that old, sprung diving board, and you were trying to unfold yourself from a jackknife, but you weren’t fast enough, or you hadn’t dove out far enough. I don’t know. Something. On the way back down, you hit the corner of the board. You sliced down through the water, making this cloudy little trail of red behind you.

“I just went nuts, I guess. I jumped in — forgot about my extra pounds and my terrycloth beach jacket and the small problem of not knowing how to swim a stroke. I was in there before the lifeguard was even off his perch. Dragged you up and out and put you in the back seat of my car.”

“That two-tone care, cream and — “

“Brown, yes indeed. So you do remember after all. We went to Doc Wemby’s office, do you remember that? He sewed up your face while I held on to your hand, which I remember as being very hot, while you — your were always such a tough little thing — you just stared straight ahead.”

Some moments supersaturate, take on almost more than one tiny fragment of time can hold. How, Jesse things, can you hold this sort of memory of someone and at the same time just try to seem normally, regularly, pleased when she comes to visit for a few days every few years?

“Did we really go to Doc’s office?” Jesse says. “What I remember is being at your house and he was there. Maybe it was a Sunday and he wasn’t at his office? I can see him putting my stitches in on that giant old sofa you used to have. I was watching TV. Some show with singing mice.”

“I though you didn’t remember this at all,” Hallie says. 

“I didn’t. But now I remember the part about the stitches and the singing mice.”

Hallie looks like she is about to say something, then reaches down and tugs loose a length of crimson yarn. She catches Jesse looking down at the gnarled socks, suppressing a smile, and she says, “Be nice to me or I’ll  give you these for Christmas.”

[nora-reads-homestuck]

Nora Reads HS Part 68

Pages 6154-6184

Hey guys! Some quick background on why I’ve been a little scarce: I’ve mentioned a personal project that’s been eating into my free time, and that is... dun dun dun, a custom 5e D&D campaign I’m running IRL! The campaign is just starting, so I’m in the phase where I’m planning out a lot of details and building locations, etc. What that means is that sometimes I’ll need to take little breaks from liveblogging to work on the game, and other times, I’ll put D&D to the side to focus on liveblogging! I haven’t disappeared or anything like that, and once the campaign really gets going, my need to take short breaks should ease off. No need to worry! I am here and ready to find out what’s up with this robot bunny that young Bro has built Jane. *Seinfeld music* Does the auto responder have a connection to it the way he has a connection to the brobot? Does it fight with Jane? Is it... touchy feely?

Let’s... find out. Eurgh.

*click*

Poor poppop's severed head got nicked by the FIREPLACE POKER.

OH SHIT. I’m so accustomed to seeing damaged eyes that it didn’t really register the first time I looked at this panel. Is this Hussie teasing us with the idea of a Poppopsprite? Because I would be PERFECTLY OK with that eventuality. Circumstantial simultaneity.

Also, damn, check out all those Astaires.

Jane: Put head back.

You stick the poker down his neck hole and jam the head back on the spike as a temporary measure. That looks somewhat more respectable you guess.

THE PERFECT CRIME.

Looks like the troublemaker's father is calling.

That choice of language is weird and it’s skeeving me out. I DUN LIKE IT. On the other hand, yay, more kidchat! Or... robokid chat?

KID SIGHTING. And... well, he looks exactly as expected. He appears to be standing on the roof of his building, surrounded by... fucking... are those doves?

TT: Why have you activated dear, sweet Huggy Bear. TT: Are you in danger?

...I... it’s gotta be Snoop Dogg Huggy Bear, right?

TT: I disabled the AR for now. GG: Ok. Just making sure! GG: Jake was having some issues with it earlier, and I don't think he received its obfuscating tendencies in the humorous spirit intended. TT: Yes, I'm catching up with the situation now. GG: Oh, so you're talking to Jake then? TT: Nah. Just reading their chat logs.

Why does this seem weird and intrusive if the ‘AR’ is basically fucking him? (Haa haa.)

TT: Its demeanor leaves something desired though. I'd prefer it didn't make such aggressive and repeated claims of fidelity to my persona. TT: Be misrepresentin' hells of key subtleties, yo.

‘Subtleties’. Sure.

TT: Jake needs to be more skeptical. Rather than take a Pollyanna jackknife ass-first off whatever turnip truck is blowing through town that day, he's got to apply more critical reasoning to shit. TT: I keep telling him. TT: I keep telling him, dude, you got to be more like Jane. GG: These lectures I presume are roughly similar in complexion to those I'm familiar with? GG: Those wherein I have, and I quote, "got to be more like Jake?" TT: Yes, exactly. TT: You're finally fucking getting it. GG: I sincerely doubt that I am! TT: Said the stubborn skeptic, skeptically. GG: Let's not talk about my "issues" again, shalln't we?

Alright then. Young Bro is apparently trope savvy, so let’s see what tropes we can apply to him, so far. A: a fair few.

TT: Shalln't? TT: That ain't a thing to say, even for you. GG: Shush! GG: The word shalln't escape my vocabulary any longer, just as you SHALLN'T nitpick my language! That's my turf you're on, buster. TT: Alright. Kinda don't care.

WOW, what a jackass.

GG: What were you saying? TT: About what? Jake?

Careful, Strider, your crush is showing.

GG: About leaving the responder on! TT: Yeah. TT: Anyway, I kind of owe it to him to let the program run as often as possible. GG: Jake? TT: No. TT: The responder.

AHAHAHAHA. Yeah, this is going to get mined for drama later, isn’t it? Normally I’d be fucking allergic to the idea of a teen love n-gon, having experienced enough of them in YA fiction to make me sick, but then, this is Hussie. It’ll be amusing if nothing else.

(IF LITTLELONDE IS THE ONE TO END UP WITH JAKE I WILL SHIT. I might actually ship it??)

TT: It is a fully cognitive, self-aware entity I am responsible for, not even to mention an approximate cerebral duplicate of myself. TT: You don't just make a clone of yourself to live in a dead end existence where it has no chance to thrive as an individual or surpass its limitations. TT: That'd be sick.

That’s a charitable view to have toward an AI, and I’m going to remember this moment in case he reneges on his words later.

TT: Also. TT: The more the software runs, the broader and more detailed its experiential canopy becomes. Makes for a better dialogic partner. GG: Dialogic? GG: Are you saying you have conversations with your own auto-responder? TT: Of course. TT: Why do you think I made the thing? GG: Hrm, that's interesting. GG: I guess I always thought it was just a really elaborate gag! TT: It's that too.

Let me guess; the gag lies in the enormity of the narcissism involved in valuing yourself as the best possible dialogic partner, and is somehow tied up in ‘the ironies’.

God, what an insufferable prick. I think I would like him better if he were charming. Rose, for example, can get away with quite a lot by virtue of her rapier wit. What’s interesting to me, though, is that the most intelligent character in any work of fiction can only be as intelligent as the author. Rose and Doc Scratch were conduits for Hussie to show off his sense of humor and sesquipedalian loquaciousness, but Bro might be his chance to show off his raw intellect.

OH MY GOD JANE, YOU LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT. <3 And what the hell is the rabbit doing?

GG: Sometimes your sense of humor seems more impenetrably advanced than your robotics. I'll never understand this tapestry of irony you weave.

Replace ‘honor’ with ‘irony’.

GG: Maybe I'm just stuck in the dark ages of pranksterism with my funny mustaches corny old joke book. TT: Yes, you are. But that's fine. TT: We come from different traditions. Someone needs to keep that racist southern asshole's legacy alive.

WOW SUCK MY DICK. How can you even be mean to Jane.

TT: There's dignity in taking up the work of our familial predecessors, even if what they did was insanely fucking stupid.

So... adult!Dave is still all about irony post-Scratch, and Bro claims to have gotten his shtick from him, instead of the other way around, but... he thinks Dave’s work was stupid?? This is infuriatingly circular.

GG: Is that a note of bitterness directed at your superstar brother I am detecting?

I AM SO HERE FOR FAMOUS DAVE, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW.

TT: No way. He's awesome. TT: I've told you, I don't begrudge any of his success. TT: I've also told you he isn't my real bro even though I call him that. We're related through an esoteric process of genetic reamalgamation. GG: Oh lordy. Yes, yes, I know. I don't need another ironic lesson in science fiction!

Wow, yet another Sburb process the post-Scratch kids are inexplicably aware of. Does Bro know the actual nature of their relationship? Because that’s got to be weird and squicky in a Freaky Friday parent-kidswap kind of way. Maybe... Did Dave tell him all this stuff about the game, and Rose told LittleLonde, and that’s why Jane is still in the dark? Because Dad wasn’t a player???

IT ALL MAKES SENSE! :D

If Dave and Rose remember the game and their other lives, that would explain the continued existence of SBaHJ without adult!Bro’s awful comics to inspire him! And maybe they were the ones to encourage this troll friendship the Scratch kids have got going on! It would seem to run counter to the previous example we have in the troll ancestors, who didn’t recall game details after their Scratch, but it’s not exactly a game-breaking retcon to have the humans remember.

I still wonder why Jade would make all that Lord English-themed stuff, if she knew he was an evil motherfucker, but ah well. At least we know why she was so adamant about engaging “”Betty Crocker”” in corporate warfare!

TT: The point is, obviously his satirical methods have flaws, and whatever tempered brand of hero worship I might be practicing isn't keeping me from seeing that.

WHATEVER, HE LEARNED IT FROM WATCHING YOU.

...LITERALLY.

GG: Flaws?? Talk about understatement. Those movies are unwatchable. GG: Unless your name is Jake English.

AHAHAHA.

TT: Yes, spectacularly so. But they will have profound historical significance. Mark my words.

Consider them marked. And knowing Hussie, it’ll be played for drama just as much as laughs.

TT: And flaws aside, it's a legacy I'm proud to inherit. My duty isn't to appropriate his methods with absolute loyalty, but to apply reason and improve upon them. To leave my own mark. TT: To perfect the art of irony.

UGH. Improve upon his methods by “”applying reason”’, as if, had Dave only been just a little bit smarter, just a bit more logical, he’d have told better jokes?? Bro’s one of those “let me play devil’s advocate, if I may” douchebags, isn’t he. He should’ve had a fedora on his shirt.

...OH MY GOD HE HAS THE KATANA TOO, IT’S PERFECT.

TT: It's just like what you're doing with the work of your ancestor. You are striving to perfect his hokey vaudeville bullshit, or something. TT: You seek the Zen of a pie to the face. The Tao of falling the fuck down.

Alright, that one’s actually funny.

TT: Can't fool me. You take your shit as serious as I do. TT: And if I wasn't serious about it, I wouldn't have made you that rabbit. Then where the hell would you be?

Still literally homestuck, if with an intact grandfather-son. But you don’t gotta be a fuckin’ prick about it.

Whoa, they’re not doves, they’re seagulls! Not unheard of, that close to Galveston. Also, the sky is lovely and blue. I would expect the post-Scratch Earth to be more of a crapsack world, a la post-Scratch Alternia, so this is interesting. Maybe it’s just because it’s Fall?

GG: Well, aside from thousands of dollars in corpse-repair richer, I can't say.

Ahahaha. Fuckin’ tell ‘im, Jane.

TT: Has he been sleeping in the old man hollow again? Shit, that's adorable. GG: I can think of cuter places for him to sleep, frankly! TT: Yeah, bullshit. TT: He's just being instinctive. In the wild, he would gut a carcass and sleep inside for warmth, as well as to secure tactical advantage for ambushing would-be scavengers. GG: Oh, please.

UGHH I AM QUICKLY APPROACHING MY LIMIT FOR DOUCHERY.

On a side node, what is the internal temperature of a tauntaun?

(What do you mean, an African or a European tauntaun?)

GG: Anyway, property damage and desecration to cherished elders aside, Mr. Bear has been a lovely addition to the family. TT: You haven't renamed him yet? GG: Oh... no. GG: I keep forgetting I'm supposed to! TT: You've got to fucking rename him. Or change him to a girl if you want. That was important. TT: When pets change owners they get new names. Fact. GG: Sorry.

Ok not only is that patently untrue, but I swear to god if this asshat keeps being rude to Jane, I will TURN THIS FUCKING COMIC AROUND.

GG: I will name him right now! GG: How about Lil' Sebastian? TT: Fuck if that isn't the best name a thing could get. GG: Yeah!!!

HALF MAST IS TOO HIGH.

GG: So then, are you saying Mr. Sebastian here was an ironic present? GG: Relayed strictly for guffaws?? >:B TT: Yes, but it's not that simple. There were many layers involved. TT: Some of them are literal layers, of metal and plush. GG: Huh? TT: There's a real stuffed rabbit beneath its exoskeleton. GG: What! Really? :O TT: Yeah. TT: It belonged to my bro. GG: I thought you said you didn't have such an heirloom to complete the plushie trifecta? TT: I didn't. He didn't give it to me, and never intended to bequeath it. TT: I stole it.

Huh. So, like Dave’s gift to John in the pre-Scratch universe is the “original” bunny, having at that point taken no trips through time, so the bunny inside Lil’ Sebastian is the post-Scratch universe’s original. Why did adult!Dave have it in his possession? He didn’t give it... to... 

Oh. Con Air came out in 1997, and John died in 1995. So he bought it and kept it as a keepsake, in memory of his departed friend, only to have Bro steal it. For a good cause, yeah, but still. :’(

GG: Ooh. Risky! TT: Nah. I got a little help from RL and ganked it out of his museum. TT: It's this whole "priceless" collection of stupid shit from movies, defended like Fort Knox. Ironically of course.

PROBABLY NOT IRONICALLY, YOU JACKANAPES.

GG: So it's from a movie? TT: Ever hear of Con Air? GG: Nope. GG: Wait... GG: Wasn't that some bit of action schlock from the 90's? TT: Yes. GG: Some of the silly nonsense referenced in his work was well before my time. I don't have the wherewithal to investigate all this minutia. TT: Yeah, it doesn't matter really. But it was from that. Dude weirdly obsessed over that shit movie for years, among others.

Awww, noooo, he's sad about John!! D:

GG: That does sound a tad obsessive. Wasn't he furious about your burglary? TT: Pretty sure he didn't even notice. In years since, I never saw a news story about a "daring heist" or anything. I feel like he would have made some hay outta that. TT: And if he did know, he'd probably just want to give me a stoic fist bump or something. 

Maybe, but probably not for the reason you think.

TT: Like I said, there are layers. TT: On one level, I gave you a filthy tattered piece of shit, albeit of tremendous cultural significance, manhandled by some old B movie actors, now candy coated to function as a highly practical defender droid for your personal protection. TT: On another level, I needed to incorporate something passable as a real heirloom. TT: For sentimental reasons. GG: D'awwwww. GG: Wait, real sentiment, or ironic sentiment? GG: Or is there no difference?? Am I missing the point here? TT: No, it was genuine.

So he’s not completely without a heart, even if it is, to quote him directly, a filthy tattered piece of shit.

TT: The upper echelons of irony should always include measures of sincerity. And if the satirical practice is executed faithfully it will achieve something bona fide in its own right regardless. TT: Through an intense commitment bordering on religious devotion to the absolutely inane, absurd, or plain fucking stupid, a very different kind of sincerity begins to materialize. One of reverence to the ridiculous. You begin to "mean it," but what exactly it is you mean is never quite what appears on the surface, and is utterly inaccessible to obtuse and literal minds. That you "mean it" then becomes inseparable from the joke, and additional rich strata of humor may be stripped aggressively from this irreconcilable truth.

I’m torn. On the one hand, I want to reach through my monitor and punch this kid in the face. On the other, even I can recognize that this is basically Andrew Hussie sock-puppeting his own ironic ideals. It’s just somehow more insufferable when Bro says it.

GG: I have so much to learn. And I am not even saying that "ironically!" GG: Will you teach me your ways one day, sir? Perhaps an apprenticeship will open? TT: Oh god, I'd love that. TT: Consider the position yours for the taking any time. Feel free to approach and kneel before Cal. With my sword and his floppy mitten, you will receive my flashstep anointment shoulder to shoulder, and to shoulder again.

UUUGHHHH. His head’s stuck up his own ass, but at the very least, he does seem to be sincere about enjoying teaching people things.

JESUS RABBIT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING. If it’s really got a mind of its own, then it’s like a hyper-competent dog with a sword. If you don’t walk it or play with it enough, it starts destroying things. LIKE SOMEONE I KNOW. *stares down the dog*

GG: Lil' Seb is beginning to act out, and I must put his fidgetiness to constructive use!

‘Fidgitiness’, that’s putting it politely.

TT: Cool. TT: Jane, one more thing. TT: I'm sure you must be aware by now that you'll be the leader of our group, as you will be the first to enter the session. GG: Um, no? GG: This is news to me. I never gathered that "team leader" was a thing for this game. TT: Trust me. It's a thing.

Hmm. Frankly, it’s a little surprising to me that Bro would both know about the leader position, and willingly give it up. He seems like the kind of person who would want to be calling the shots, if for no other reason that he’s SOOO SMAAAART.

GG: Are you sure? I have my doubts. GG: I believe as a group we will have the temerity to succeed, without my having to order people around like an insufferable bossypants. TT: That's why you're our leader, Jane. GG: Hm? TT: Optimism through stalwart skepticism is an affect not everyone is plucky enough to be graced with. GG: That's stupid! TT: Yeah yeah. I know. TT: You're not our leader, you're our FRIEND, right? GG: Precisely! GG: There is a BIG difference! TT: And statements like that are also why you're our leader.

Whoa, whoa. So like... Bro and LittleLonde have certainly been privy to a lot of things they have no business knowing, which I’m still assuming was imparted to them by their troll friend or by Dave and Rose. But either that’s just an extremely coincidental call back to that exact conversation between Rose and John, or... Or I don’t know. It’s probably just him knowing her really well, and her being a lot like John and Bro being a lot like Rose. B...Brose?

TT: But only in name and in spirit. Less so, functionally. TT: If it puts your mind at ease, I'll be the one pulling the strings here.

Oh. Oh, wow. Never mind. You know what? I hope it all backfires spectacularly, so that the pre-Scratch kids can swoop in and save the day, while Bro looks on in stupefied wonder.

They wait, bitches.

GG: Oh yes? GG: Then this whole affair will be one of D. Strider's grand productions in puppetry?

Alright, so his name starts with D. Not all that many 4-letter male D names. Dean, Doug, Drew (ahaha), Dale, Dane, Dirk, Dion, Dann, Dill... Dick...

Also, ‘grand productions in puppetry’ makes me want to punch (and judy) something.

TT: I will be the unseen hand whose nimble digits are behind every subtle twitch in our session's bulbous foam ass. TT: At least those gyrations not happening by the volition of its own quivering absorbant proboscis. TT: If you ever need help, Jane. If you're ever in any trouble at all, let me know. Just say the word. TT: I'll whip the toggle stick of this ludicrous marionette, cavorting its humongous bottom to intercept your freefall through the abyss.

Well, that’s... sweet? I guess he’s saying he’s got good intentions, but still, I can see this (and am sort of rooting for it) to backfire horribly.

TT: Snowcone you up in the fluffy crook of its cleft. Don't be alarmed if you're in no hurry to unpry yourself. TT: For the great jut of this impudent rump has more yield to your touch than you ever dreamt. Remember to catch your breath as it cherishes the imprint of your hand like a memento from a lover gone to war. TT: There's a lot of give to that ass, you may say. TT: Might like to settle in. Make myself comfortable. Start a family. TT: Bounce a coin off that ass, you'll demand of visitors. It's not going anywhere. TT: Bet that coin'll take a good nap there. TT: It's a gamble you win every goddamn time. TT: Yeah.

I hate to use the same gif twice in one post, but...

GG: These lessons we talked about... GG: They've already begun, haven't they? :o TT: Jane, soon you'll believe what I've told you. TT: You'll believe it all. TT: It's just a shame that believing will take something so coarse as seeing, for a girl as sharp as you.

How biblical. What all exactly is he talking about? Game stuff? Betty Crocker stuff?

TT: Critical thought can lead one to accept the unlikely, just as much as dismiss the impossible. TT: I can help with this too. Would you like me to program a Jane Crocker responder for you? TT: I only require a simple captcha of your brain.

Alright, Doctor Fuckin’ Jekyll; let me just get right on that.

Wait, doesn’t DAVE have a captcha of his own brain? ...Oh no. Also, that means the auto responder isn’t n% indistinguishable from Bro just because it was programmed to be; it’s literally a copy of his brain. That’s kind of disturbing.

GG: Holy moly! GG: Um, thank you, but no. GG: I'm not ready to get dialogic with my cyberself just yet. My friends keep me busy enough as it is.

YES, JANE, THIS IS A GOOD ATTITUDE TO HAVE. KEEP IT UP.

GG: Speaking of which, I really need to go. I know you love to talk my ear off, and it's always a treat,

Pahahahaha.

but let's catch up later after the game starts, ok? GG: And if I do need your help, I promise I'll take you up on your offer! TT: I made several. Which one? GG: The one where you, hopefully not literally, offered to catch me in the crevice of a great big squishy butt! Hoo hoo hoo!

I fucking love this kid. She’s a little more assertive than John so far, though she’s also less mean-spirited. What will it be like when they meet? Can’t wait to find out! :D

Jane: Command Sebastian to lift fridge.

You order dear, sweet Lil' Sebastian to put his fidgetiness to constructive use. He is eager to assist, and lifts the appliance with ease.

Y’know, I was about to say something like, ‘how the hell is that tiny little robot supposed to lift the’ but then he did it. Welp. that certainly makes for a convenient escape route! After all this trouble Dad went through to keep Jane inside, she’s not going to get, like... sniped or something, is she?

He finds a note taped underneath the fridge. It seems to be addressed to you.

UGH I want to hate this bunny because Bro made it, but it is SO CUTE.

Fat chance, dad. This bird's gotta fly!!!

Jane, come ON, you’re courting danger now.

Never would have seen that one coming. (Jane, I’m about to throw a fridge through your wall.)

I like to imagine that the water pressure from the hose was at blasting power just before this panel, and drooped along with Dad’s confusion.

Jane: Throw down your hat in disgust.

Here it comes...

Wait for it...

You've been climbing your echeladder very gradually for various minor accomplishments here and there since you were 13. That was such a sweet textbook HAT POF, it earned you just enough to clear the next rung, FEDORAFLEDGLING. Nice going!

Huh, now this is a more interesting panel than you might think. First off, the mostly irrelevant details: Jane’s hat has what looks like a flag or a tag on it, instead of a feather, and her boondollar total is inching closer to 111,111,111 (damn, she’s rich). Now for the real meaty stuff.

The lowest level we can see on the echeladder, which, since the scrollbar is at the bottom, we can pretty safely assume to be the actual lowest level, is ‘Baby Ectobotananna’. This one took me a second to figure out, but then I realize it’s a combination of John’s ‘ectoBiologist’ and Jade’s ‘gardenGnostic’ via ‘botany’, and then ‘Nanna’.

Batterlass represents the obvious; she’s the heir to BCCorp, next in line after the Batterwitch.

‘Overbite Restart’, ha ha. John had ‘Overbite Upstart’.

‘Snorkbait Sporkplu’g, I have no idea, other than that it’s a call back to John’s ‘Sharkbait Sparkplug’.

‘Bespectacled Skeptic’ reflects what Bro was telling her, that she’s gotta believe more.

‘Haberdasher’s Daughter’, because Dad and hats.

‘Britches Healer’ connects back to the earlier rung ‘Britches Ripper’, and is either a reference to her being the Maid of Life, or else she just sews things a lot?

‘Sodajerk’s Confidante’ took a little digging, but it seems to be a Problem Sleuth reference.

‘Maid in the Shade’... this one’s interesting. It’s already lit up like she’s achieved the rung, and I wonder what prompted it. My first thought just looking at the name of it would be that she’d have to visit the Land of Wind and Shade, but obviously that has not happened. ...Unless she mysteriously achieved the rung shortly after her 13th birthday, when Nannasprite “”concurrently”” appeared in LOWAS.

‘Mourning Starlet’ is also a mystery. I get the pun, but who or what was she mourning? Her freedom? Poppop was long since dead, and her Dad is still alive.

The next rung up from the current ‘FedoraFledgling’ is ‘Heiress Sans Parent’ (a reference to John’s ‘Heir Transparent’), and if that isn’t leading, then... then... THEN I’LL THROW DOWN MY HAT! *levels up* Sadly, it looks like this Dad’s going to bite it too. T_T

And that’s all I’ve got for now!

The well traveled HAT shares in your glorious spoils. The battle-hardened accessory reaches dizzying new heights, leapfrogging from the DOUCHEBAG'S DOMESUCKER rung, to the rare, highly coveted MARTYR'S PISSCRADLE rung.

This is because FedoraFreak tried to use his hat to strain his piss, isn’t it. Did we ever find out what happened to ol’ FF? Did he go god tier?

How can these things be so fast on land???

JESUS.

...Now, wait a second. Gamzee never spent much time with his lusus because it was always out at sea, and I assumed that was because it couldn’t come on land. But if it could, and it just didn’t want to...

Oh no, it's a hostile swarm of those little fairy bulls! They are probably pissed off about the one you killed earlier. They have come for revenge!

Maybe the tinkerbulls and the goatdad will fight each other, allowing Jake to escape! Or... maybe the goatdad will follow in Gamzee’s footsteps and get all weirdly attracted to the tinkerbulls, and the tinkerbulls will get all shy and moe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

OH MY GOD THE HUMANITY. HOW THEY EXACT THEIR POUND OF FLESH. OH GOD NO OH GOD OH GOD OH GOOOAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

AHAHAHA, I love it.

> [S] ==>

Oh? Oho? What is this? *click*

...

This might just be the singular most beautiful moment in all of Homestuck. This is it. This is everything I’ve been waiting for. Everything I have ever wanted.

Nearby, someone or something bleats like a goat for strategic purposes. And also

Ironic purposes.

I can die happy now. Seriously, what was that, like, 3000 pages later?

Jane: Run.

The jig is so totally up. Nothing left to do but scurry your little legs to that box, snatch the mail and scram!

Ooh, are we going to get a strife? :D

God dammit, I love Dad so much. That his reaction to WORLD SHATTERING SHIT is just a mild ‘?’ and moving on just makes my fucking day.

Gasp!! He seems to be concerned about Jane being outside most of all! She’s totally gonna get sniped, isn’t she.

> [S] Jane: Get mail.

Wow, or that. I’m assuming Hussie’s pulling the whole ‘OH LOOK JOHN’S HOUSE EXPLODED, SURELY HE COULDN’T HAVE SURVIVED THAT’ thing again, but still, yikes. Poor Dad. :(

Also, if that ‘HOMESTUCK’ logo in the sky is an actual physical object like the words floating around Prospit and Derse are, can people see it? Does it spook the U.S. government? Have people been on manned missions to the Homestuck instead of the moon?

END OF ACT 6 ACT 1.

And that’s the end of this Act Act! (I think. I’m not gonna click that arrow just yet.) I know it makes for a short post, but I said I’d divide things up this way so that I didn’t get overwhelmed making an EOA reaction post for what is essentially half the comic, so there you have it! If you’d like, you can send me fanworks up through A6A1, though I warn you I’m still not done looking at all the stuff that got sent to me for A5A2.

Next up, Reactions, and then Act 6 Intermission 1! Or... maybe the other way around, if the Intermission deserves being included with A6A1′s impressions? We’ll see.

Until next time! ^0^

[entities-of-posts]

I think if you got a kiss then you would be fine and stable

-V

I think that’s preposterous, but I suppose to prove that I’d have to try.

@jackknife-through-a-dove, would you like to help me with an experiment?