#life is like a pencil; open starters

[sirensofthefiveseas]

"Ah! That stupid idiot!" Koala slammed her fist into a wall, growling as she looked at the den-den that had just hung up. "I'm going to kill him when I get my hands on him!"

[sparrows-house]

RadioApple || Borrowing Time 🦌🍎

Synopsis: Standing no taller than a pencil, Borrowers scramble to survive in the ruins of human civilization. Lucifer traps a cunning Alastor and strikes up a deal he knows Alastor can't refuse.

Chapter 1: a deal with the devil

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world was silent. Save for the occasional gust of wind through ruined buildings and the clatter of abandoned metal. Lucifer watched from his tower, eyes scanning expertly over the abandoned landscape for any signs of movement. He was a scout, but his last good-standing was in jeopardy: someone was in his territory.

He had noticed misplaced shrubs of metal, the faint scuff of a shoe or object, and even caught a glimpse of the intruder a few times. A Borrower. He didn't recognized him in the slightest--tall, lengthy, and wiry. His muted red hair occasionally blended into the rusted machinery when he—

There!

A quick flash of movement dove behind a rusting car. Lucifer watched and waited, trying to gauge which direction he was moving in. He crouched low so as not to give away his own position and allow the intruder to believe he wasn't being watched.

He moved again.

He was jumping from cover to cover. His pause between sprints were either short or long, never the same amount. He was being smart—it would be hard to hit him from a distance.

Despite his efforts, Lucifer could tell the general direction he was moving in, and it was in a direction he wanted. He grabbed a sewing needle from the floor, held it over the intertwined fish wire, and flew down the zip line.

His feet slammed into the stone pavement and he rolled with the momentum. He pushed himself against the flat tire of the old car and paused as he listened for telltale signs. When no sound presented itself, he gripped the needle tighter and creeped under the car's body.

~*~

Alastor held his position. He could've sworn he saw something near one of the cars. He watched the sky closely as he finally made another dash for cover. The amount of broken stones and debris were perfect cover, but the amount of traps and snares were unsettling. Twice he'd nearly gotten caught in one.

He had seen shadows of the other Borrowers in this territory but he couldn't tell if they were all the same person or if there were multiple. The area seemed a likely place for a large clan to build, but simultaneously a good place for a single Borrower to hide.

He slid into the shadow of a fracture set of stairs. Perhaps it was a small family. He'd come across a few of those recently; families who couldn't handle clan life, much like himself. Even so, they were highly distrustful of strays and were openly hostile towards many. While not all families acted the same, he tended to expect every Borrower to be hostile—it was easiest and safest to assume such.

He shifted the matchbox hanging on his shoulder and readied for another dash. Running along the building's wall would technically put him out in the open but if these Borrower's had long ranged weapons than they would've tried to hit him already; and they hadn't. Besides, he didn't want to be anywhere near the car where he'd seen something move. He was for too clever. 

He gripped his staff tightly—a makeshift of two metal rods tied to each other with a leather grip in the middle. The bottom rod was a flint starter (its sharp counterpart was stored in his box) and the top was a dog whistle. Wild dogs were a heinous problem for strays like himself. 

He jumped out of the shadow and made a run for it, hugging the cracked stone. His long legs carried him fast and far, the matchbox bouncing against his back. He was deathly silent as the contents had long been stashed in a way to keep from making noise. 

Then he heard a whistle.

He saw a small object in his peripheral.

He felt the disturbance in the wind as an arrow sailed past his chest.

For a moment he thought they had missed, but then a snare squeezed around his ankle and yanked upward. The opposite momentum of the pull was hard on his leg and he let out a cry as his head slammed into a large stone. When he came to, he found himself hanging upside by one leg. 

The matchbox slipped open and most of the contents fell out, along with the wild cotton he had pushed inside to keep everything secure. He tried to grapple for the items but his head throbbed and the return of his vision was delayed.

The world around him continued to spin as his mind crawled back. He withdrew his hand to find his fingers covered in his own blood. That wasn't a good sign.

Alastor groaned and reached down—up?—to use the ground to stop the spinning, but he found he wasn't quite able to reach the ground. Panicked, he tried lifting his torso to look around for his attackers. The constant ringing in his head wasn't from the hit--there were old, rusted bells tied to the top of the snare to alarm anyone in a five yard radius.

~*~

"Gotcha," Lucifer said smugly. 

The Borrower tried to keep him in view but he continued to spin in circles. The contents of his bag had fallen out and lay scattered on the ground beneath him. Lucifer had gauged his height correctly. The man's ridiculously long arms couldn't reach the ground, meaning he couldn't grab his items or use the ground to pull himself free.

"You've sure been a thorn in my side," Lucifer commented, creeping closer.

"I'm honored," the man deadpanned. His tone was a satisfying mix of silk and gravel, neither high nor deep. 

Lucifer chuckled softly and reached for the man's things. His red arm snatched for him but Lucifer was quicker, jumping away just in time. His eyes scanned the typical survivor items but landed on a worn, leather bound journal.

"Hey! Put that down!" The man thrashed in the snare to no avail. In fact, it made him spin more.

Lucifer ignored him and examined the crude handiwork. "What's your name?"

"Alastor." He calmed his thrashing and fixed Lucifer with a hard stare as he came around. "Pleasure to meet you, sir, quite a pleasure. But please return that item to me and cut me down."

"What are you doing in my territory?" Lucifer asked instead. He turned the pages in the journal and noted the way Alastor tried to curl upward to reach his ankle, then flopped helplessly back down.

Lucifer's eyes widened at the various sketches and writing. "You've been busy, I see." He tried to hide the surprise in his voice. "Mapping all kinds of cities and human inventions. You sure like to keep track of what you've done and where you've been."

"I'm a busy man." 

Lucifer watched him for a long moment. He noticed blood dripping from an injury on his head. He felt guilt creeping up his throat for hurting the man, even though he was the one trespassing. Alastor was dressed in simple cream and brown clothes to better blend into his surroundings, but why was his hair red? 

Alastor folded his sleeve back. Then, in one quick motion, bent upward in half and hooked an arm around his leg. He brought up his other forearm and began sawing at the rope with the short blade that had been concealed under his sleeve.

Lucifer hurriedly grabbed the items of most importance—the journal, his water canteen, and a weird staff—then jumped behind the large stone. He kicked the stake and promptly dropped Alastor on his head again.

He heard the man curse as he rolled onto his knees. Lucifer slowed down just enough for the Borrower to see him and give chase. Despite his injury, he was fast, and panic filled Lucifer's chest when the man closed the distance across the debris field.

Lucifer ducked under another car and aimed for the corner wheel. Alastor was almost on him when movement from above caught his attention. He skidded to a halt as dark figures dropped from the belly of the car. They stood in a circle around him with spears pointed at him and invisible fish wire in hand.

Alastor made a dash for the only opening but he knew it was pointless. Firewire wrapped around his neck and the other caught his foot, tripping him and hitting his head again. They pulled him back under the car and began to restrain him.

Catching his breath, Lucifer approached the other scouts. "The name's Lucifer. Welcome to Heaven's Gate, Alastor."

Alastor glared up at him, fish wire wrapped tightly around his neck, ankle, and wrists. He seethed like a wild animal the whole walk back. 

~*~

The room was small. It appeared to be an open space between the wall and flooring of the old church, which was the only building still in relative good condition. Though Alastor wouldn't say a fighter plane lodged in the upper floor was considered 'good'.

The scouts had tied him to a narrow metal pipe, then left the room. Lucifer stayed behind and scattered his belongings across the floor to survey them. Alastor shifted his feet and tested the binds behind his back.

The room was lit by a single, large melting candle. The dirt was worn down, wood poles held up the collapsing ceiling, and a rotting apple in the corner stuffed his sense of smell. The light chased the shadows away and exposed him in a way he didn't like, but it also gave him time to look Lucifer over.

He was of average height—maybe even smaller—and his makeshift clothes looked finely sewn. They appeared to have once been white but had been dirtied over the weeks or months of use. They were snug to his body, unlike the cape Alastor preferred to wear over his shoulders. His boots, too, looked finely hand-made.

Alastor didn't like the feeling it created in the back of his mind. His own clothes were dark, brown (once a smooth red), and patched with fabric he had found along the way. He was grateful the scouts had only removed his coat and didn't bother with the charm braided near his cheek or the one on his ear. 

"You've got a lot of nerve for overstaying your welcome in our territory," Lucifer said. Alastor watched the way he carefully sifted through his most most recent pages with extreme interest. "And for sketching our land in such detail."

"Careful with that," Alastor growled.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and began reading one of his pages. "Gear rotation is reliant on an external power source. Potential to use Triple A battery—" 

"You can read that?" Alastor interrupted, voice turning sharp. 

Lucifer hesitated. He glanced between the Borrower and his precious journal, unsure how to answer. He decided to skip over it. "You write like a human."

"And you read like one, my dear."

"Most Borrowers can't read," Lucifer explained, though he knew Alastor knew that just as well.

Alastor shrugged. "I'm not most Borrowers." He leaned forward until his bindings pulled taught. "But I'd love to know where you learned to read like that."

"I was taught," Lucifer replied firmly.

"Mm-mm." Alastor shook his head. "You read it like you understood it. Which is also quite uncommon, my dear."

Lucifer gripped the journal tighter. "Stop calling me 'dear'."

"Would you prefer a different endearment? Perhaps Meerkat? Apple?"

"Why do you have all this?" Lucifer gestured to the journal, ignoring the jibe. "Why are you recording and sketching all these things?"

"Knowledge is power," Alastor said simply with a shrug. He leaned back against the cold pipe, eyes running the small man up and down. "Humans are always writing down their secrets and plans, and it makes my life easier to plan around them. Clever, no?" 

He noted the way Lucifer held himself in a very stiff, but composed manner. He also noticed the spot in the journal the small man had stopped to stare at the longest. 

"You're a liability." Lucifer closed the book and went to the other items. "You're carrying around important information that could get a lot of people killed. And now I've got to figure out what to do with you."

"Ah, the great moral debate."

Lucifer side eyed him. Alastor could tell he was looking at the dirtied green sewing patches along his clothes. The only thing on him that could be considered 'finely made' would be the boots he had stolen from a dead Borrower a few years ago. Well, he killed the man but he was dead when his belongings were striped.

Lucifer began examining his items. He tested the matchbox slide, felt through the cotton, sniffed his water canteen and bag of food, and tested the black flint on the steel of his cane.

Alastor lifted an eyebrow. He knew what a flint and steel looked like and how to use it. Clearly there was more to this character, maybe even the clan itself. How intelligent was this clan? His nerves crawled along his arms with the possibilities. 

A clatter of metal echoed somewhere beyond the walls. Lucifer glanced quickly behind Alastor then snatched up his journal before someone new jumped into the room.

"Well well, what's going on here, fellas?" The voice was loud and boisterous, and made Alastor's ears twitch in pain. He turned right as a masked man jumped in views. The hairs on the back of Alastor's neck rose on the spot. The mask was crudely made, lacking all finery Alastor had seen in Lucifer's attire.

"This is the stray I've been talking about," Lucifer answered. The masked man kept his head level with Alastor's as he stepped in a semi circle around him. "Walking proof that he's not just my imagination, Adam."

That made the man turn his head. Alastor finally noticed a pair of yellow stained wings protruding from between his shoulder blades. His attire was much more loose—not at all a scout's outfit. What was his role in the clan?

"It's Sir Adam to you, demote." He finger-gunned Lucifer who barely hid his bristle at the comment.

Demote? Alastor wondered. The term rang sour on his tongue. Lucifer—quick, smart, and articulate—didn't exuberant that of someone at the bottom of a food chain. And yet, here he was deferring to Sir Adam who strutted around Alastor like an overgrown peacock.

"Where'd you come from little stray?" Adam taunted. Alastor refused to give in to the bait. "You've been stringing along little Lucy here for about a week. I expected something...more."

Alastor held his poise, calm and collected. "What exactly were you looking for?"

The sharp, yellow smile widened. "Something more dangerous. You hardly look like a threat, much less a scavenger. But maybe that's so you can slip under people's defenses."

"Ah, you do have a brain in that little head of yours," Alastor quipped. He caught Lucifer covering his mouth to hide a smile. 

Adam's grin faltered for just a second. "Careful stray, you don't want to find out how dangerous I can be." He swiveled to face Lucifer. "I suppose you want a metal or some kind of promotion for this?"

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably, eyes casted away. "No."

"Good." Adam turned back to Alastor. "Welcome to Heaven's Gate, scavenger. My girls will take good care of you."

Adam looked at Lucifer expectantly and waited for the small man to follow him out of the room. Lucifer's eyes met Alastor's for a brief moment, something silent and unknowing passing between them. It wasn't until later, when more Borrower's with white wings filled the room and began interrogating him, that he realized Lucifer had taken his journal.

Clever little Apple.

~*~

Lucifer stepped into the orange light of the setting sun and quickly melded with the rest of the crowd. Here, tents had been pitched in perfect rows in the dirt. Friends and families huddled closely around small fires to keep warm as the cold of night creeped in. Cardboard lined the flooring under each tent but had since been dirtied by their boots and sagged into the earth. 

Those of higher status lived on the second floor of the old, crumbling church. They had more formidable homes to combat the high winds and the interior often resembled that of a human home.

Lucifer could still remember those quiet nights by the fireplace with his daughter. The cold wind was never able to touch them as he spun human tales to a bright, wide eyed, cheery-cheeked little girl. Only she wasn't so little anymore—

"Oh Lucifer~"

A familiar voice reached his ears but he acted as if he hadn't heard them. He kept his head down, hands in his pockets, and hood up. But the man didn't give up and finally reached him, grabbing hold of his shoulder to pull him to a stop. 

"What's the rush, Lucifer?" Vox teased, bright eyes shimmering through his short black hair. 

"No rush." Lucifer shrugged, attempting to casually dislodge the man's hand on his shoulder. It didn't work. 

Vox was the clan's technology wizard. Well, he wasn't really a wizard. He had arrived at the clan with gadgets strung to his body and in his bag of belongings. Lucifer saw his potential and, since he could read, aided Vox in recreating human technology to benefit the clan. Vox quickly rose to popularity and joined the higher ups on the second floor. 

"I heard about your victory, today," Vox tried next. He stepped closer so he could trail his hand down Lucifer's arm. "You should be celebrating."

Vox was dressed in finely dark clothing. His long jacket didn't have any scratches, pulls, or patches, and the tall collars nearly reached his jaw. His other hand, which wasn't touching Lucifer, was wrapped in wires and a large magnet. 

"Where did you hear that?" Lucifer asked, genuinely confused. "Surely Adam didn't admit it was me who found the stray."

Vox rolled his eyes in reference to Adam. "Of course not. I heard his little possie talking about it on my way down."

"Right." Lucifer shifted his weight between his feet, unsure what to do or say next to get away. His eyes looked around at anything but Vox. The journal burned his skin where he had it hidden behind his back, tucked between his spine and his waist pants. 

"Perhaps you'd like to celebrate your new victory, tonight. Heaven knows it's been awhile since you've had anything to celebrate over."

"Not tonight, Vox. It took a lot out of me and I really just want sleep." Lucifer took a step back and finally dislodged the man's hand from his shoulder. 

"You can sleep in my room."

"Really, I'll be okay. Thank you." Lucifer backed away then turned to leave when Vox snatched his arm and pulled him behind one of the tents. Before he could react, Vox snatched the journal from under his shirt. Lucifer spun, eyes wild, "What are you--"

"What's this?" Vox questioned, holding the journal high enough so Lucifer couldn't reach it.

"A journal. Give it back." Lucifer stepped around but Vox switched hands. He continued to examine it, even going as far as to open it with one hand and looking at the sketches. 

"I didn't know you sketched," Vox said absent-mindedly. 

Lucifer stepped in front of box and lowered his voice grimly. "Give it back, Vox."

Vox side-eyed him. "It's not yours, is it?"

"It's none of your business. Please return it to me."

Vox lowered the journal but didn't hand it over. He began flipping through the pages. "I hear you caught a stray and on your way back from..." he fell silent and very, very still. Lucifer took the opportunity and snatched the journal from his hands, holding it close to his chest and backing away. 

Vox's expression grew serious. "What's the stray's name?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"What is the stray's name?" 

"Why does it matter?" Lucifer kept his arms crossed protectively over the journal like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

"Is it Alastor? Is that who you caught?" 

Lucifer opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried again, "You know him?" 

Vox scoffed and crossed his arms, one hand reaching up to touch his neck. "He's the one who gave me these." He pushed aside the high collar just enough to expose the nasty claw marks along the man's neck. Lucifer had seen them before but Vox never said who had done that to him. 

"I...didn't know," Lucifer said softly. 

Vox closed the distance and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "What are you doing with his journal?" When Lucifer failed to come up with a coherent answer, Vox hissed, "What is so important that you're willing to risk what little respect you have left?" 

Lucifer felt his conviction harden. "It's none of your business."

Vox looked ready to make a harsh remark but thought better of it, letting out the tension through a heavy sigh. His tone took a one-eighty and his words were gentle. "I know things have been hard since...everything. You gave up everything to help you daughter escape but...why risk what little you have left?"

"I have nothing left," Lucifer mumbled sharply. 

Vox felt a twang in his chest. "You should be lucky I'm not Adam. He would've taken it straight to Sera and she might've excommunicated you. Or have you killed."

"Why didn't you?" 

A small part of Vox's smile returned. "Because I know you. I know you've got something planned, even if it might get you in more trouble. Just..." He slipped his hands in his coat pockets and looked around at nothing in particular. "Don't trust anything Alastor says. He's good at twisting things around and making things sound like what they aren't."

Lucifer tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Just because I got demoted doesn't mean I lost my touch, too, you know."

Vox rolled his eyes, his toothy smile returning in full force. "Keep me updated, will you? I don't trust that red fucker one bit."

Lucifer smiled through his lie. "Of course."

~*~

Alastor hummed a slow, solemn tune. The song helped distract him from the throbbing on his injuries the white winged scouts had given him during their interrogation. His head hurt the most so his humming was kept to a very small, low vibration. 

The holding place for prisoners was in the basement of the church. The large stone steps had been terrible to descend, especially when there were aggressive women pushing him down each one, not caring for the damage they caused. After years of evading them, he had somehow managed to walk right into their nest. Clearly he had gotten more turned around than he thought.

His arms were tied behind a metal rod in the ground, a rod that likely held up some kind of heavy machine in its glory days. It had groves wrapping around it and made for an uncomfortable rest. He was the only prisoner in the entire basement. 

His eyes fluttered open, dragging his head up to look around the near pitch black room. His hearing had picked up on something. Not a scuffle of a scout or the hurried steps of a guard--a deliberate, careful step. 

He straightened as best he could, wincing at the pain it caused in his back and shoulder, and adopted his usual grin. His ears twitched with every sound of the approaching figure. He had a faint inkling of who would be sneaking around him in the dead of night, but waited for them to come closer. 

"My my," he mumbled softly. "It appears I have some company in this lonesome cell. What poor soul has come to seek my company?"

The faint outline of a small body creeped into view directly in front of him. It was a jarring realization because Alastor could've sworn he'd heard the steps coming from his right, in the direction of the stairs. 

Alastor grinned wider, hoping to cover his surprise. "And the demote returns. Either to gloat or join me in this pit of despair. Pray tell, which is it?" 

"You talk a lot." Lucifer muttered and finally stepped close enough for Alastor to see him clearly.

"It makes me charming." Alastor flashed him a smug grin so he could see his sharp fang. "What can I do for you, little Apple?"

Lucifer sputtered at the nickname but managed to compose himself. "Why were you here, Alastor?" 

"Is my journal safe?" Alastor returned. 

Lucifer huffed. "Yes. Why are you here--"

"Would you believe me if I said I took a wrong turn?" he jeered playfully.

Lucifer regarded him for a moment. "Depends. Where are you going?" 

"Away. Trying to get away from this hellish landscape."

"Anywhere that's green has humans."

"I'm aware," Alastor nodded. His throat scratched painfully and he coughed into his shoulder. His ear twitched, pain pulsing from where his charm had been ripped out of his ear. When he turned back to Lucifer, he saw the man unloosening the cap of his canteen. "I see Heaven's Gate likes to use their spoils immediately."

"Do you want water or not?" Lucifer deadpanned, stepping closer and offering the canteen. 

Alastor gave him a twitched, forced smile. Then he relented, accepting the offer and the help to drink with his hands tied behind his back. The cold, refreshing water tasted wonderful on his dried, ragged throat. He licked his lips to snag the small traces of water as Lucifer stepped away. 

"Much appreciated," he mumbled. "Tastes much better than poison."

Lucifer didn't answer. He turned away to screw the lid back on the water canteen. He retreated into the darkness and Alastor worried that was the only act of kindness he would receive for the next while. Fortunately, Lucifer returned a moment later with his journal in hand. 

"I need your help," he said, voice low and unsure.

"Well ain't that rich," Alastor replied, tone equally quiet. "A clever clan member is asking a stray for help. Tell me, Apple, just how desperate are you?"

Lucifer gave him an annoyed look. His olive branch had clearly done nothing to lower the Borrower's defenses. "Desperate enough. How desperate are you to get out of here?"

Alastor pretended to think for a moment. "I suppose desperate enough."

Lucifer's stare hardened. "Then we understand each other." He opened the journal and flipped to the very page Alastor had seen him paused at during his first interrogation. "You're looking for something. Something very specific."

"How cryptic." Alastor rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm looking for something."

"I know where it is."

Finally, Lucifer managed to silence the Borrower. The stillness was actually unnerving for someone who liked to move around and talk a lot. 

"You know...where it is? Exactly?"

Lucifer nodded, expression sobering. "I do. I can tell you where, but only after you do something for me."

He most certainly had Alastor's interest now. "And what can I do for you, little Apple?" 

Lucifer took a steadying breath. "My daughter left with a group and they're headed East, chasing rumors of a place that hasn't been touched by war."

Alastor clicked his tongue. "Ah yes, fields of green grass and structures that still stand. A place where Borrowers coexist with Humans." He looked back at Lucifer. "And you believe she's traversed all the way there?"

"Mostly. She mentioned some key checkpoints she wanted to reach. I can see if she's made it to those or even catch up. A group moves slower than two people."

"You want me to play tour guide," Alastor surmised crudely. 

Lucifer's hard stare returned. "You know the landscape better than me. You're going to lead me to these checkpoints and when I've found my daughter, alive or not..." his voice shook at the end, "then I'll tell you exactly what you want to know. Not a moment before, understand?"

Alastor studied him for a moment, really studied him. The man was full of questions and mysteries, but he was competent. Even if Alastor didn't want to go through with the deal, he didn't see him having any trouble 'handling' Lucifer once he was free. Speaking of which--

Lucifer untied the rope bindings around Alastor's wrists. He recoiled his sore arms and massaged the areas around his hands. He eyed Lucifer as he came to stand in front of him again, hands on his hips. "Now, do we have--"

Before Lucifer could react, Alastor lunged. He moved with unnerving speed and slammed Lucifer into the ground. He leaned his weight on the man's neck, forcing his back into the hard packed dirt. Lucifer gasped, desperately trying to recover from the wind being knocked out of him. His hands grabbed at Alastor's knee pushing a dangerous amount of pressure on his airway. 

Alastor loomed over him, hands resting on either side of Lucifer's head. "Let's get one thing straight, Lucifer," he growled, words fanning his cheek. "I am not some beaten dog on a leash you can pull around. You don't command me. You don't threaten me. If you want my help, you ask for it. Nicely."

Lucifer stifled a cough, still pushing against the immense weight on his throat. His legs kicked out but did nothing but move dirt around. The panic had subsided just enough to wear his pride down to answer. "Fine...I'm asking you. Please."

Alastor's smile softened, smug and pleased. He stood, Lucifer sucking in a large breath of air, and snatched up his journal. Lucifer rolled on his side and smothered his cough fit in the bend of his arm. It was then Alastor noticed a small pile of items in the darkness, half of which belonged to him. The little Apple had come prepared. 

"So do we have a deal?" Lucifer asked, voice hoarse from the coughing. He stood and extended a hand to Alastor. 

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Fine. We have a deal." 

The moment their hands clasped, a surge of adrenaline rushed through Alastor's veins. He tried shaking his hand loose but it remained firmly tied to Lucifer's. A crackle, like a strike of thunder, clapped overhead and temporarily seized his lungs. A bright, gold symbol etched itself on the inside of Alastor's wrist as the magic melted into his bones. 

The surge faded away but the feeling of something crawling along Alastor's skin remained. He yanked his hand free from Lucifer's, backing away and clutching his arm like it had been singed. Only, there was no heat. The symbol on his wrist faded into a muted magenta to reveal itself: a slithering snake curling around an apple, paired by a pair of antlers on the top. 

"What the hell was that?" Alastor seethed, ready to tear the man's throat out, but the fear of something like that happening again rooted him to his spot. 

Lucifer brushed off dirt on the front and back of himself and fixed Alastor with a wicked grin. "That," he explained, "was binding magic. You agreed to our terms and now you're bound to them."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Alastor hissed.

"Well, I couldn't exactly risk letting you run loose. It's a countermeasure to make sure you follow through with your side of the deal."

Alastor stared at him a moment longer, bewildered that he had been outsmarted. His anger bubbled dangerously close to the surface but he smothered it, coming to terms with the fact that he would have to follow through with this ridiculous deal. No matter, his life just got that much more interesting. 

He laughed, harsh but quiet enough so as not to give themselves away. "Well I'll be damned. Never thought I'd make a deal with the devil himself."

Lucifer rolled his eyes at the implication. "Let's go. We only have an hour before dawn and we need to get as far away from here as possible before they discover we're gone." He lifted a strewn bag over his shoulder and wielded a sewing needle with a leather grip in the middle. 

As Alastor approached to retrieve his own items, Lucifer held open his palm. In the center was the charm that had been torn out of his hair in the second interrogation. He plucked it from the man's dark hands and held it up to examine it. No scratched. 

He chuckled. "Oh little Apple, this will be quite fun."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

My first ever RadioApple attempt. This is not my main story, so this won't have an upload schedule. If there’s enough interest, I’ll try to write more, but this was kind of a whim of an idea. Let me know your thoughts!

[alwaysbethewest]

Narcos fic: Starter Home

This is for @by-ilmater. Ash, I actually wrote this for your birthday last year but I was in the throes of writer's block at the time and felt dissatisfied with it and didn't have it in me to keep redrafting. But now I kind of feel like, it's probably still better to share an imperfect fic rather than hoard it to myself where no one else can enjoy it even a little tiny bit. So I hope this brightens your day 😘

Title: Starter Home Pairing: Steve/Connie/Javier Rating: Teen Word count: 405 Content/warnings: AU (no baby), post-series, established (poly) relationship, domesticity, intimacy. Unbetaed.

The house was cramped from the beginning. It was what they call a starter home—sold as a two-bedroom but the second room no bigger than a county jail cell—with a small kitchen and a small living room and a tiny bathroom featuring a single pedestal sink and an old, built-in tub that even Connie couldn’t sit in without tucking her knees nearly to her chest.

The bathroom was undoubtedly the worst thing about the house.

The best thing—well, that was easy. The best part came when they’d convinced Javi he belonged there with them, too. And somehow, he fit right in, brightening up the place like the brand new bulbs Steve had installed in the ancient chandelier-style light fixture in the foyer.

But she must have groused about the bath one too many times, because she found them one day sitting on the back steps, heads tipped together as they shared a cigarette and murmured back and forth over a sheet of paper marked up in pencil lead. At the sound of the screen door cracking open, they looked up at her with matching conspiratorial grins, and it didn’t take much to convince them to let her in on the plan.

The house got worse before it got better. The remodel took weeks to complete, depleting their rainy day funds, and by the halfway point they were all sick of the hammering and the limited facilities and the careful budgeting.

But finally. Finally. That back porch sketch came to life: with the bonus room’s wall knocked out and the bathroom expanded, they had the luxury of double sinks and a tub that Connie could stretch out to her tiptoes in. Pure bliss.

Some days now it still got cramped, knees all folded up again under her chin—but this time it was because Javi had fitted his way into the tub behind her, pressed warm against her back, his own knees bracketing hers. He acted like he couldn’t get enough of her, mouth trailing kisses down the back of her neck, damp with steam from the bath and hot with arousal. Steve’s bare feet dangled in the water with theirs, perched next to the tub while he drawled out loud a chapter from the book they were sharing. She had everything she wanted right there in her little home, and it felt like the perfect starting place after all.

[fountainpenguin]

📂

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

Warning for minor body horror (Mentions of players removing skins, which are like onesies in this 'fic universe + injury / dragon bites)

In my Pixels Imperfect universe, frustration that you're still holding onto manifests as a glowing scar. Specifically, a scar all the way down to your soul level, meaning it glows through any new skin you put on. This is called a soul wound.

Martyn's the poster child for soul wounds being visible, since this is his in-universe parallel of IRL Martyn's Eyes and Ears lore.

In this image I drew for Dog's Life Chapter 26, "Ignite," you can see Martyn's cheek and collarbone scars (paralleling 3rd Life and Double Life respectively).

In a lore video, Martyn and his audience agreed that Martyn has his Last Life mark on the back of his right shoulder to represent being backstabbed (iirc), and we know from his Limited Life finale that he was cured of his right hand mark. His Secret Life mark hasn't happened at this point in the timeline, and also I don't think I know where it is.

In Eyes and Ears canon, I believe his scars glow purple to reflect the Watchers. In Pixels Imperfect, they glow white.

Cleo also has a wound, which is a massive dragon bite in her side. My pencil drawings don't make it obvious, but it's why her shirt hooks up like this and/or why she often takes off her shirt- the bite wound chafes sometimes and it just feels better to take it off.

Cleo's wound isn't as exciting as it sounds: They were helping to build New Star Station in its starter base days, but strayed too close to the Slime Dragon's guppies and got bit. They're fine, but lost a chunk of vessel data. You can put your hand in it and there will be resistance, but if you push through it, it's empty.

Their body is kind of like a milk gallon in the sense that it's shaped different than a glass of milk. It still holds everything it needs to (i.e. their vessel holds their soul without leaking), but their soul now follows the shape of the "gallon," which has a gap in it (like a milk gallon does for a handle).

What this also means is that Cleo can pull their shirt down over the wound and the shirt will still respond to their body's shape, because the shirt still registers it as body even though it's white energy.

Scar's chronic glitch works the same way- He can still use his arm, leg, or any other body part that glows blue, but it strains him and causes soreness or pain until the glitch moves to a different part of his body. The limb is there and can function... but it hurts, is weaker than usual, and sometimes it's so hard to get it to function that the limb is effectively non-functional.

Cleo's wound doesn't shift like his glitch, but it's the same principle: it's a phantom zone that her body treats as if it's sort of there, but she's also not going to lie on that side long-term because it would get sore. It's like an open wound, so lying on the dirt risks dirt particles pushing through their wound and ending up inside their body. Most people would prefer that doesn't happen, but Cleo's okay because they're a zombie and have a thing for being buried alive.

BigB also got bitten by a dragon. However, he took damage in a sensitive area that makes it difficult to breathe. This is the reason why he modded from an illusioner into a moth hybrid, which breathes through spiracles down his sides instead of down the throat.

Impulse's scar was a brief point of tension in my one-shot "Like Newlyweds Do," when being soulmates gave Bdubs Impulse's soul wound:

And even in the twilight, with lanterns dim, he can see the little mark he's searching for in the proper place on his husband's arm, too. Bdubs stands before the mirror, craning his neck to see his reflected back. His fingers trace along his skin. Impulse watches from the bed, face half-buried in his folded arms. If his tail were out, it would be ticking back and forth, counting out the seconds before Bdubs asks him why he never fixed that scar behind his right shoulder. "I like it," Bdubs says, prodding the old gash with one finger. It's white, glowing faintly. "I've got a clock from you and you've got this from me." In that moment, Impulse wishes he could kill on green.

Pixels Bdubs is a very interesting character to me. He's loud, proud, and not easily shut down. He also denies his own issues all the time.

During Dog's Life, Bdubs gains a lip scar after he and Impulse have a huge fight about the Day 1 Crew alliance betrayal. Impulse cuts his lip with his sword; it's later revealed that Bdubs is confused as to why this scar is sticking, when he "doesn't think that fight was a big deal."

Here's Chapter 12 Bdubs (no lip scar) + Chapter 30 Bdubs:

It's subtle, but it's there.

Etho's eye scar is part of his skin design- It's not a soul wound. Etho has no backstory for his scar because it's just always been there on the skins he wears. It's blue and doesn't glow (Injuries lead to energy leakage, and the energy is white or blue in this universe depending on depth).

Here's the image that goes with "Canadian Idiot"-

And Joel's mark there was just "recent damage" because this was a Double Life 'fic about Etho's fox instincts and aggro kicking in through the soulbond when Joel takes damage, so Etho was lashing out at Joel and/or himself every time he got hurt.

I can't believe I wrote a huge 'fic centered around Etho repeatedly biting Joel's neck 2 months before we got the "neck kisses" gag. I'm so sorry, Joel... I was just writing about fox aggro and a fox's instinct involving teeth instead of a weapon, I swear... it wasn't supposed to have a double meaning...

In a one-shot titled "The Man He Sets His Spawn With," most of the cast stripped off their skins in the server hub's locker room / shower house and had Grian blast them with a power washer to rinse the Secret Life mod off. Bdubs was our POV character and we learned some interesting things:

He pushes forward. Souls blur together, blue and overlapping, and the glowing doesn't help with the identity stuff like at all. He can pick out Tango (facing away from him) by the enormous white gash scarred down his right shoulder. Not pointing fingers, but that one's a Bdubs original. You're welcome for helping you look so cool, you're turning heads. Martyn's got smaller scars - little diamonds - that glow in fragments here and there across his soul. There's an arrow wound in his belly, though that one's hard to see when he's wearing skins… or, y'know. Clothes. Can't take credit for that one, though, because that's all Scar from a particularly brutal perma-death back in 3rd Life that still leaves Martyn jumpy today (so Bdubs has self-observed). And Impulse has an arrow mark just like that behind his shoulder… but then, Impulse has scars and patched-up bits of code everywhere. That's nothing new. What's one more?

- Tango's got a soul wound from Bdubs betraying him in Last Life. He's totally buddy-buddy with Bdubs and they're friends, it's fine, but Tango hasn't quite let it go.

- Martyn has an arrow wound in his belly. This is a nod to Double Life. Shortly before Cleo drowned, taking their yellow life, Martyn saw Scar coming towards him, screamed, and took off as fast as he could, yelling "No, no, no!" and that he's "Not dying to you [Scar] again."

Interestingly enough, the only time Scar ever killed Martyn up to that point was when he perma-killed him in 3rd Life; Martyn's reaction seems to imply Character Martyn has trauma around that.

Bdubs doesn't seem to care that he's responsible for giving several of his friends soul wounds, which makes it funnier that he gets super annoyed in Dog's Life when he gets the lip scar.

Bdubs is the kind of person who'd see the scar and then spin around or walk backwards while slapping at his lip over and over, trying to wipe it off. He refuses to admit he has issues with it.

Bdubs actually has another scar, but it's somewhere on his back (and under his clothes) where he can't easily see it. The Phantom Dragon's whole thing is that she spreads her babies to all the server hubs by dropping them off and leaving, but little Bdubs refused to go, so he just clung to her the whole time until she finally did ditch him in Underdark Crossing, where he met Cleo.

If you ask him about it, he'll spin a story about how it was all his idea to go solo and that's what makes him a good captain. He has huge issues with it, though, because his mom totally dumped him and he's not over it.

Martyn's also a phantom, but he never went through that because he was adopted by hybrids as an egg. Bdubs gets very jealous when his friends talk about having a good relationship with their moms. Secretly, he likes how Etho's mom also picked him up by the scruff and dumped him in New Star. It's something they have in common, though Bdubs will never admit it.

Bdubs probably has a lot of deep-seeded resentment towards Martyn being adopted, because supposedly he's "told Martyn horror stories about the phantom nesting hub" and may or may not have played a role in poisoning Martyn's relationship with the Phantom Dragon.

Also, at the end of Dog's Life Chapter 32 ("Starve"), we learned that SnifferMyFeet has a huge X-shaped scar on his back from each shoulder to hip, crossing both his Grian and Joel halves. Still working through the good ol' body possession trauma.

Tango specializes in aesthetic mods and one of the things he does is help people make their scars more subtle. You can't scrap them forever - you have to let go of your frustration to do that - but you can lower their intensity.

As an allay hybrid / fey, Scott can gather your memories of what happened to cause a soul wound, but you'll never be able to work through the issues, so you'll be left with a scar and won't remember why it's there or how to get rid of it.

Hmm... Who do I know who has a backstory they want to forget and got confused when Scott referenced something from their past that they didn't have an answer for...?

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

[lencra]

open starter. setting: king's landing, the red keep. during the art exhibition as part of the coronation celebrations.

lenora tried not to linger around the group of drawings hung among the portraits and paintings of the exhibition. however, it was hard to resist the urge to eavesdrop on the people who stopped by the drawings to look closer at them. the fact that anyone did made her heart race. she had never intended to display her own art, but when they had gone through the art pieces already found in the red keep and found old sketches with no name on them, a chance had presented itself. she had initially been excited to make them part of the targaryen art collection, figuring one of the targaryens in the past had drawn them.

however, when she had been styling how they were to be exhibited, her gaze had drifted to the drawer that contained her drawings that had been spared from the fire. there were a few pieces that she had torn out from her sketchbook. one of them of a dragon. it had been inspired by another piece of art in the red keep, a portrait that she had grown fond of. the first one to make her see beauty in the scaly creatures instead of only horror. the only one not drawn with a pencil or charcoal was a drawing of the sea during dusk. the rest of the drawings were of nature, of a fox, a sketch of a septa, and a drawing of the sky. none of the drawings revealed her identity, so she swapped the old sketches found with her own. she aged the paper by crumpling the parchment a little and staining them with tea at the edges. lenora decided that it would not be wrong to display them in the targaryen collection as she did technically carry the name. in the end, it was a harmless little trick and no one would be none the wiser. but she would get a taste of what life could have been like if she had been born with a different destiny.

when another person stopped to look at the drawings and leaned in to inspect them closely, she had already circled the hall once and could afford to spend some time by the sketches. the queen strolled over to them. "there is no name if that is what you are looking for." she took a step closer to the drawing of the sea herself, pretending to study it closely. lenora could not help but smile at the entire situation, but she hid it well before turning around to look at the guest.

it was fortunate she was a good liar. "the artist is unknown although there is a faint hint of initials. unfortunately, it has been smudged beyond recognition. we think the last initial might be a t, so naturally, we have assumed it's been done by a targaryen." in truth, lenora had done that herself just for effect. just as she had specifically chosen drawings of different styles to make it even harder for anyone to recognise. she was sure no one would. she had never displayed her art before ― and who would recognise something quickly seen in a sketchbook? if confronted, she would concede it was all a bit childish of her, but it had been so long since she had been allowed to do something purely for herself, to have fun with no fear of consequences. "we found the drawings when picking what art to display during the exhibition."

[txgrteo]

a long post about a long absence

i don't want this to be too long, so i'll probably omit some unnecessary details, but i wanted to open up about wtf happened to me. i feel bad for leaving so many people who care about me with literally no information. the last time i engaged with art as a community was pretty much exactly a year ago, early november 2023. posted a zeraora pic on twitter and stuff and just kinda jetted. it wasn't supposed to be what it is now, it just became that.

i got really demotivated, for starters. I've always struggled with reach and public perception, and my obsession with being a better version of myself. And i like to use empirical data for that- i prefer metrics, such as likes, retweets, comments- anything that can be graphed, quantified, etc. It's just how I work, i really like structure. But I never got that growth I was looking for. Posts didn't perform and I hated it- namely the feeling of being either not good enough or not acknowledged enough. so yah i left-

but oh boy did the shit hit the fucking fan. late november after i left, my long-term freelance position went up in smoke mainly due to mismanagement on their part, and that left me without literally any income. so no job, and literally couldn't hold a pencil without wanting to stab it through my neck (so, commissions were a no-go) means i was pretty fucked.

skip to like march and i hadn't literally drawn a single image since november. had no drive to. and right there i kinda just called it quits. social media was eating me alive- i couldn't deal with it. shortly after i got rehired, quit for the last time because of MORE mismanagement, then lost my apartment. i'm in a safe place rn with some absolutely outstanding friends but yeah...

---

i don't know if i can come back. i don't know if i'm capable of dealing with my perception of my work in the oddly socially competitive market that is digital art. i don't know or care if i'm a good artist. i literally do not. even if i were/am, could i handle the pressure that social media brings me? it might just be something i'm unable to handle. so even if i wanted to come back, and im not sure if i could- should i?

so, for now, i'm gonna keep all my art to myself. i've drawn some banger shit lately (I FINALLY AM GETTING PAINTING DOWN YESSSSSSSSSSSS) but... i shouldn't post it. if i do, and it doesn't soar to relatively meteoric heights, the cycle will begin anew, and i ain't feelin that.

idk. who knows. it's whatever regardless. i just want to put myself first for once and worry about healing as a creator and learning to love what i make again. i didn't draw a single picture for 8 months. actually nothing. im drawing again now but i'm not willing to open myself up to relapsing into hating my art or myself anymore.

...as an aside, fuck twitter/all for-profit social media and what it's done to the internet as a whole. literally fuck it. i hope twitter goes up in the biggest ball of flames it can. (unfortunately this means you too, tumblr).

(last thing i wanna say is that i WILL most likely be making at least one post in the not too distant future, for commissions. i'm in an extremely dire part of my life right now and regardless of my emotional state i still need to eat. so i'll be making a commission post at some point.)

anyways, thanks for reading

[leylayilmz]

LOCATION: Oakland Elementary and Middle School WHEN: During the Hurricane at BR Summer Music Fest FOR: Closed starter for @jeremylincoln

Leyla hurried down the dimly lit hallway of Oakland Elementary as she attempted to keep up with Jeremy, her sneakers squeaking on the old linoleum floors. The place smelled exactly as she remembered it: a mix of pencil shavings, dust, and old wood. She shivered slightly, partly from the cold seeping in through the aging walls and partly due to being absolutely soaked like everyone else in a bid to seek shelter at the school. She'd left Billie with her brother, thankful that amidst all the chaos she'd finally found them again. The brunette had instructed her daughter to stay put, but she lowkey worried that knowing her daughter, Billie wouldn't listen. She tried to push those worries aside and focus on the task she'd volunteered for. They were supposed to be finding the electricity breaker, whilst getting distracted taking a trip down memory lane, it seemed. Jeremy was beside her, the flashlight from his phone casting long shadows as they turned another corner. "I swear this place used to feel bigger," Leyla murmured, casting him a glance, her lips tugging into a small wistful smile. "You were a couple of years above me, right? I think I remember you."

As they approached the end of the hallway, Leyla pushed open a pair of heavy doors leading into a dim, cluttered room she had never been in before. Old equipment and supplies were scattered about, and it seemed as good a place as any to hide a circuit box. "This looks like it could have a circuit breaker, right?" she asked, stepping inside and surveying the dusty surroundings. The door slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud, and at first, she didn’t think twice about it. That was, until she tried to pull it open. The handle wouldn't budge. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, jiggling the handle more forcefully. After a moment she stepped back, looking at the stubborn door, and her heart sank. Her greatest fear felt like it was coming to life. "—Jeremy, I think we’re stuck."

[eartheats]

status: part 1 of 3

[a video seems to be posted. care to click?]

[the video starts a bit unintentionally; one can hear somebody fumbling around what appears to be a backpack before there's a sudden, bright light of the backpack being opened, before the rotomphone is unceremoniously dumped out with what appears to be quite a few things. some pencils, notebooks, pokemon treats, and lots of other stuff; it all gets cleared as ren seems to be setting up their room in the blueberry academy. they're full of giggles and bright laughter, and one can see madison (out of nurse uniform for once) in the background as they both help get the room set up]

🔆: Hey, Mads! Should I start puttin' these books up on this shelf we got here, or do you think they'd be better off in the bookshelf?

[madison looks over for a moment, contemplating before pointing to something off in the background]

👩‍⚕️: I'd probably say the bookshelf. Unless you think there's going to be a lot of books you'll need?

🔆: Well, ya never know. I've been gettin' by at Uva through Completely Legal Downloads [ren airquotes this, to the amusement of themself and madison, who chuckles] of the books I need. But I like this place so far! If they ain't super expensive I'll probs buy 'em to support the place, y'know?

👩‍⚕️: Sounds like someone's developing a bias.

[that gets ren to laugh a bit as they start putting some of their notebooks on the bookshelf]

🔆: Can ya blame me? I mean, I like Uva as it is now--Mr. Clavell definitely hasn't been lyin' when he said he's trying to improve the school. But...there's somethin' about an experience that doesn't have any shitty memories attached that's appealin', you know?

[madison seems to pause at that, as she gets to work on organizing some of the other stuff ren brought with them--clothes new and old, for starters.]

👩‍⚕️: I guess I can't. Not entirely, at least. You do seem infinitely happier than I've seen you in a bit, though.

🔆: Eh, ya think so?

👩‍⚕️: ...Maybe not as much as when you got to go and see your friends in Unova, but it's still pretty noticeable. [madison laughs a bit, getting all of ren's clothes on hangers] I'm glad that hasn't been taken from you. I was worried after...you know...

[madison gestures at the air a bit, and ren doesn't respond for a bit. their face goes...notably more blank, than anything, and they just keep putting notebooks away for a bit until they're done; madison's done hanging their clothes by the time they are.]

🔆: I'm not gonna let her take anymore happiness from me. [ren's tone is surprisingly determined] I've...I've worked so damn hard to find an arcdamned bright side in life, and my own happiness. Somethin' I can be proud of, and share with everyone I know. And fuck, I actually wanna get to know people! I wanna learn all about this school, and more about battle that I'd have never gotten the chance to. Me an' Lulu especially love it, and Bouton and Soba have been showin' a lotta promise too. I just don't want it all to be for nothin', y'know? And that's why I ain't gonna let her take it. I'm--

[there's a pause, and eagle eyed watchers might have noticed madison moving in the background beforehand--what stops ren's words is a soft hug from madison. one she has to lean down for, admittedly, because she does have a foot or so on ren's tiny ass, but it causes them to start for a moment.

it isn't long before they lean in and wrap their arms around madison in kind; mads' hand goes up to run through their hair]

👩‍⚕️: ...Good. I was hoping you'd say that, kid. [madison sounds genuinely proud of them, and though it's barely able to be seen, her expression is warm] You deserve all of the good things in life. And I want you to be able to experience them, too. Without worrying about the future, or what's to come, or anything like that. You go out there and enjoy every bit of what the Academy has to offer, alright?

[madison lets go of ren--or at least tries to. they cling tighter for a moment, startling madison before bringing themself up and wiping their eyes.

they were clearly crying, but the smile on their face is extremely bright]

🔆: I'm...I'm gonna, Mads! You better watch--by the time I'm done learnin' all I can here, Paldea's gonna have to crown a new Champion! Maybe even a new Top Champion, heehee!

[that gets madison to laugh]

👩‍⚕️: Well, look at you starting to dream big! You're gonna have a lot of responsibilities if you take the Top Champion position, though. Are you really prepared for that?

🔆: Nope! Not yet at least! But I'm gonna learn, and I'm gonna become the best damned trainer! Just watch me, Mads!

[madison laughs again, ruffling ren's hair a bit before separating; this time, ren obliges]

👩‍⚕️: Alright, kid! You get out there and enjoy all this Academy has to offer! But you better promise to keep us all updated, you hear me?

🔆: Heehee, crystal, Mads! Ahh, I should probs get going--there's probs some kinda orientation, right? But I still have...

[madison starts to gently shoo ren out the door, smiling a bit]

👩‍⚕️: Don't you worry about unpacking everything else; you leave that to me, kiddo. You get out there and start your school life!

🔆: Heehee, I will! Thank you bunches, Mads, I'll pay you back for the help!

[ren darts off after a wave goodbye, prompting a bit of laughing from madison]

👩‍⚕️: You try, and I'll repay it tenfold, kid. Focus on class!

[it goes quiet for a bit as madison seems to go back to getting everything organized for them. it last for a few minutes, and the recording almost shuts itself down, but...

madison's phone rings, and she picks it up without missing a beat.]

👩‍⚕️: Hello? ...I'm not sure if you have--oh! Oh. Hello, Detective. Yes, you've reached the right number, this is my burner phone. --Yes, this is Madison. Can I help you with something...?

[...]

👩‍⚕️: Discussing the case and gathering information, huh...well, I'm at about the safest place both of us can be, so sure. I'll bite. What do you want to know?

[to be continued]

[underno9]

closed starter for @saunteringserpent

It was a day like every single other in the shop. No customers had been, just like the past countless days & weeks. Possibly more. Freddie had been spending his days racking his brains to try and think of some kind of strategy to bring in customers. Nothing he ever tried seemed to work.

It wasn't like he didn't have a big enough range. There were supplies for offices, general household stationary, scrapbooking, journaling and bullet journaling. A wide variety of things. He couldn't work out why no one ever came in. What was he doing wrong?

On this particular day, Freddy was sat behind the main counter with a pencil positioned between his lips, sketches of possible ideas for a window display before him when the shop door opened. Making the man almost fall off of his stool in surprise. He immediately righted himself and stood with a wide smile.... which immediately fell he saw what the customers were doing.

Eyes widened and mouth fell open as the customers began to ransack the store, stuffing what they could into large bags.

"No, wait, you can't! Freddie exclaimed as he rounded the counter towards the men. Rushing over only to be greeted by one of them shoving him hard to the floor out of the way. He rubbed the back of his head where he had hit it on the side of a shelving unit and sat watching the customers take the majority of his stock and destroy the rest. Unable to do anything else.

Once the men had left, Freddie called the police, telling them everything. Only to be informed that they would send someone round first thing in the morning. Feeling more dejected and low than he had in his entire life, Freddie stayed sitting on the floor for some time before deciding to do something he never did.

He needed a drink.

So he got himself up off the floor, grabbed his things and exited the shop, locking the door behind him. Not that that was much use, given how all of his stock had been stolen. Making his way down the street, Freddie headed towards a bar he had passed every day on his way to the store. He hadn't ever really paid attention to it but it had seemed alright from the outside.

Entering the bar, Freddie looked around and took it in for a moment. The place seemed nice. There was some music playing, not anything too loud like some of the places he'd walked past before. Knowing he was going to have to sit down soon because of the throbbing at the back of his head, Freddie made his way over to the bar and sat himself down on the stool. Wincing as he held the back of his head with one hand and trying to signal a bartended or wait with the other.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

“Stop? Why? Don’t you want them to pay for what they did to you?”

VIOLENTLY PROTECTIVE SENTENCE STARTERS ═══ CANON VERSE ═══

Robin's smaller hand slid along the crux of Jhin's wrist as he sat beside him, easing into their usual comfortable position atop the cushioned chaise lounge within the garden. How long had Jhin been awake for..? Robin hadn't even felt him leave their silk-sheet covered bed. Despite this curiosity, his sparkling green eyes traveled over Jhin's sketches, noticing elaborate, delicious plans for a performance, one that almost made the healer's stomach twist. However it was...not for the reason one might initially think. His fingertips caressed their way upwards, each touch like a petal brushing against his skin, and he finally cooed up towards the artist,

"Because they don't deserve to be made into your art, your art is so beautiful...boorish individuals don't deserve to be crafted so carefully by your hand, that is a waste of your talent and time."

He whispered in the ear of the devil with that low siren voice, his tone sweet and honeyed with promises of Jhin's worth, of his art's worth and of...worse things to come. Whether or not Robin knew what he was encouraging did not matter, not when his words denoted his approval of such things; of an ugly, pointless death. Only people truly worthy of Khada's time were deserving of the spectacle caused by the assassin's elaborate, methodical planning. These people....they deserved no such kindness as a breathtaking death....they deserved something abominable, something quick and harsh to match the way they decided to live, brutal and hateful.

A simple knife to their necks would do--but those words were never spoken aloud.

His bewitching gaze lowered once more, highlighted by his lashes as pliant fingers languidly removed the pencil from Jhin's hand, his movements full of reverance as he brought the artist's silver knuckle upwards to be kissed by soft lips. They flutter against his skin twice, eager to remark their adoration while he lifts his stare once more to meet such gorgeous heterochromic eyes; his lips part, longing for something to press on, perhaps even to kiss him fully, but he held restrain. Robin smiled with ease as their fingers interlocked, cementing the intimate proximity between them both as the birds around them sung their aubade within the white light of dawn.

One might be foolish enough to presume that this was all some vile manipulation that the artist had carefully concocted within the healer's mind, that this level of cruel intention was only born out of the most monstrous of people. No... There was no rescue needed from the black pit, not when it had been dug long ago by his own hands--only now having an outlet that lacked judgment or argues of morality. No, Jhin simply listened and accepted that darkness, how could Robin not share those wicked thoughts when they were treated with such veneration? He truly does wonder how long ago he finally surrendered into this feeling, or if it had been meant to be so his entire life; warmth through acceptance. Open arms to the blackest parts of his soul...the imperfect stains along his being. A ready ear that would not mock or think less of him. But--he would not plant too many seeds, that would overcrowd Jhin's mind with ideas...best to lay the foundation. And so, he moved away.

"I'll make us a pot of tea, we can discuss some further ideas..." Oh what sweet seduction laced his words as the morning light danced along the wintry wisps of hair adorning his head; now grown out in their security. Finally, the very tips of his fingers abandoned Jhin's, leaving behind a tension within their wake, one that could only be cured when he was to return into those unholy, hellbound hands. His snowbird spared him one last lingering glance, the ends of his lips curling affectionately before he slipped inside their home, preparing the tea as he promised.

[sirensofthefiveseas]

"Deep breath and jump!" Cirrus helped with a small push, jumping after and laughing widely as she bounced on the trampoline like cloud she had formed "Aaaah, told you I could do it!"

[starwrittenfates]

LET'S GET REACQUAINTED ! hey rpc ! lets be honest, datv brought us all back in one way or another either you're a veteran or new, i'm sure there is stuff that has changed or we don't know each other so let's have a game about it to reintroduce each other ! repost this to do the same & tag some pals if you want !

Name / Penname: Serenity

for veterans, did you go by something previously ? name &/or penname: Nah, this is me. Always has been. Only thing is I've just started rping in the DA fandom recently, but been a fan for years!

age & gender ( if comfortable sharing ): 28 and She/Her

what was your first dragon age muse: Ethyral/Ellana Lavellan. She developed more as I finished Inquisition, and especially Trespasser.

do you have any other darp muses / blogs: *looks at my roster of muses* --- I got my Trevelyan on here, Solas, baby sweet cinnamon roll Cole, and Felassan on here as well. I may add more later. That's always a possibility, but these are my faves.

what muses / blogs do you have outside of darp: The Witcher, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Baldur's Gate 3, Marvel and more!

thedas has two moons: WHATTTTTTTTT

single line, para, or novella: I tend to stick with Paras, but sometimes the brain just isn't braining and I've started exploring one-liners. I wish i could write a novella.

plotting or winging it: I'm like so chill. Granted, plotting may be difficult for me at times just because brain fog is a real thing with my disability, so that's why I tend to enjoy memes, starter calls or even random starters thrown my way. But if you want to plot, I'm open to it too. It will just take me time, and I'm usually cool with anything. I go with the flow.

fighting threads, you bold enough for them? I'm not a huge fan of them. I'd rather skip to its end.

what content warnings are on your blog?: Most of the common ones, I think. That violence might occur, fantasy bigotry (people being prejudice against elves, for example), drinking/drug use in character, a character speaking about past abuse, that kind of stuff.

what things do you need tagged for your comfort?: Not much? Callouts, I suppose, cause that's generally stuff I don't really want to see. Otherwise, I'm pretty okay. I use xkit, tumblr's blacklist, and the block button when I need to.

shipping preferences: single | multi | no ship | polyship. Multiship, I'm very open with shipping. However, I do have a few things that I refuse to ship for personal reasons that's listed in my rules and wanted connections, including my muses bios.

shipping boundaries: I'm fairly open, but like I said above, there are a few things I refuse to ship for personal reasons --- I won't do anything involving incest, minors, the usual, and I won't ship Snape with any Death Eaters, students or Voldy himself. I'm just not comfortable with that and don't see it happening.

fun facts about yourself that may have changed since in the past ten years( when inquisition dropped )-- I've started giving a lot less of a shit about canon or what people online think of me/what I like. I think that has more to do with getting older in general though.

be honest, did you miss darp. come on now-- I'm still new to the DARP community, but sure.

challenge round! put a small top five things unrelated to dragon age !

I'm a cosplayer. I go to conventions and do cosplay things on the side besides writing on here.

Been unemployed for 2 years now due to my nerve disability getting worse and making it harder for me to hold down a job or do the basics (like write with a pencil or dishes. You name it. I can at least still type to a degree.)

Since 2020, I really started diving into video games more and consider myself a gamer girl now. I grew up without a console. I used to be known as a PC gamer playing games like Runescape & LOTR Online --- that kind of stuff.

Despite the controversy surrounding Harry Potter, I grew up with it and when I was 11 and going through one of the hardest moments of my life, it was like a shinning light to me. So it holds a special place in my heart, especially with the character of Snape. That is why I will stay firm with him on here as one of my muses and probably never remove him.

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt was the first game I played that had a true grip hold on me and probably what made me fully feel like diving head first into video games more during 2020. I'm a big fan of storytelling and everything about that game is perfect --- except for maybe the combat button options at times, but it's still among my Top 5 favorite video games and will always have a special place in my heart too.

tagged by: Got it from the dash!

tagging: you!

[lifeisintheleaks]

Exorcism

My house needs an exorcism. In therapy I unfolded the layers of dust from the old alcohol bottles I used to keep around the religious figurines which were already in my kitchen when I moved in. The theory is that despite me not being a superstitious person, I believe there is a right way to do things. I was taught young when I was caught fiddling with a pencil in school and punished for it that every movement can be precise, a finely tuned balance between thought and ability. Helping my mother move heavy furniture around when dad wasn’t home taught me that mostly ability is just a matter of thought again, and reason. Every movement can be made smarter, with reason. And often my reason eludes me.

The reason why I hate applying to universities and jobs and replying to emails is yet beyond me. However, somewhere around in similar territory I found a few reasons for my current un-movements. I haven’t moved houses because despite this house being cursed, it’s a steal. I haven’t kicked my flatmate out because if I had the money, I would leave the country with it. I haven’t learned how to cook because the kitchen will never be clean enough. I haven’t beaten myself up for not trying to get that bike I wanted this year because it’s not the right beginning for it.

I have so much to start. I haven’t because the beginning needs to be correct. And I’m not just saying that because I procrastinate. For years, I give myself deadlines. I knew I will have a driving license before I moved out of my parents house. I knew I will start liking vegetables when I leave for college. I knew I will be doing something that I love when I approach my 30s. I knew I will start dating at 25. Sometimes I bend the rules but mostly I’m right. I wake up one day with reason. Till then my thoughts are much clearer. Maybe that is why I am a good starter.

The knowing might be ability, the training is thought and when the time is right, I have reason. Despite feeling like I’m not quite awake for most of my life, I am at a perfect, predictable average, and just the right amount of intrigue to be ever so slightly above average. I knew my 20s are going to be a drag for me to sample and test out life because these are the years I’m exploring the playground of shitty adults and shitty situations and overpriced alcohol. I no longer feel panic. I feel impatient. It is a good life, even if I do it half asleep.

But while I’m dreaming, I wait for perfect beginnings. This house was not a good beginning. An acquaintance had died, and finding this place was punching above my weight, thanks to my sister wanting to keep me close. I walked up the cursed horror-version Rapunzel steps, nostalgic and strange at the same time, and was surprised to see the idols. I had not grown up sharing my house with them (My parents’ home used to be different gods made of silence and twilight). I remember wanting to have a good beginning so I asked them to share with me and look after the house. And maybe if it had been just me, we could’ve come to an understanding. I doubt me decorating their shelf with better alcohol bottles was an insult. The insult was the cheap shitty bottles my flatmate gave them, with no sanctity, and no thought behind any reason. And then it began, my cessation of ownership. Starting with food, then voice, then time and space, then ability to socialise. I knew my bed was slept in when I came back after New Years once. Everything was in the right place but the air tasted of cheap alcohol. Living with her was like choking on sour curd.

Walking in on her in my room with a man on my bed, ashes spilled on my blankets was like my mouth was held open and that cheap liquor poured in. It was so disgusting I felt decisiveness wash over me, sobering me up. She was gone in a month. Later that same night my friend told me that she had never seen me act that levelheaded in a dire situation before. I don’t often put myself in dire situations. After she left, I tried to cleanse the house with spiced moon water but the air in this city is choked up and so remained the house. The next one moved in, with her agarbatis and traditional perfume and gunpowder masalas. One can worship a two-foot long statue of Krishna or a bong, the view tastes the same. I understand the gods now, some things are sacred enough not to be shared.

I am waiting for a perfect beginning. Either it will come in the terms of a final transgression, and I am wondering if I should let that happen. Or it will come in the terms of a one way flight taken with a Visa. Either is fine by me. I just grow impatient at times. But I know two things about me: One, I get everything I want as soon as I outlast my impatience; and second, once I have something and I find reason to keep it, nothing can take it from me. The second is a trait cultivated by this city, Delhi’s stamp on me, the first is my Patiala roots. I know that the 25 years I have lived, I have had strong roots and a strong moulding given to me by this city but I am yet to grow branches and leaves and flowers. I am sure I will find bits of every house I have and scraps from every city I inhabit and I will bloom with it. But the exorcism is a small gift to current me from future me. A small celebration of the parties to come. May my friends be loud, music good, and liquor expensive. I no longer have room for cheap bottles and tricks in my house.

[heirceleste]

starter for @ascendgravity

another day in atlantis, another mission in which kel does her best to make military garb look cute (and to be fair she looks cute in everything but she can’t wait to wear something colorful the next time she’s at the base for a few days). normally the plant life isn’t too exciting, and although she brings samples back to study them and learn about the places they travel too, aside from finding a surprising variety of edible plants it was typically pretty boring. nothing like in the movies or books, but there was a sort of comfort in that.

instantly stepping through the gate though, kel knows this planet is different. can barely hear orders being given in the background as she pulls out a field journal and begins taking notes. the air smells like a spring morning but there’s no dew on the ground, and the land around them is as thick with plant life as the rainforest on earth. sky barely visible, she counts at least six different varieties of fruit bearing trees, and the grass is unlike anything she’d seen before.

nods along to whatever is being said, knows to stay in sight and have someone with field training accompany her. usually sticks close to sheppard, but kel can’t help but feel herself drawn to a specific area. the foliage not so much changing as it just remains diverse, can hear the familiar sound of boots behind her, her pencil scribbling furiously as she walks (later she’ll only be able to read half of her notes). reaching out she takes a flower in her hand and plucks it gently, tucking it in the pages of her notebook.

the shift is almost palpable. the world around her nearly blurring with an energy that she’s sure whoever is beside her can’t feel. knows it’s in her blood and the shift of her eyes, a change of honey brown into molten gold. the plant growing back in front of her, seemingly reaching out towards her. it’s only then that she realizes other plants have done the same, growing as she walks through them. the grass now reaches her knees and the fruit trees look even fuller. can feel whatever power is within her singing, better than the most euphoric of highs from her club days.

turning around, her lips part in a soft gasp as she realizes the extent of the growth around her and sees eyes that mirror hers in the trees. a pull towards them that has her field journal falling from her hands as she follows them, ignoring the call of her name. wonders for a brief moment if the flower she touches did something, but deep down knows that there is no point in logic. crossing the tree line, she’s surrounded by a group of people, the connection instant. they look like nymphs from fairy tales, the area they stand in a sort of eden. behind her the tree line closes, as if a door being shut before anyone can follow her through. isn’t sure if they do it or she does, but lokelani knows that these are her people, her kin.

doesn’t care that she’s left her commanding officer behind, that she’s galaxies away from home. simply follows the feeling of home, the thoughts of those around her blending with her own, an interconnected system akin to the roots of a mangrove tree. isn’t sure how long she spends there, overcome with her power, moving with those around her and learning just what she’s capable of, communicating without speaking a word.

when the tree line opens back up, lokelani realizes that the sun is coming up, that somehow although it felt like only a few moments had passed it had been nearly 24 hours. senses coming back to her, a sense of confusion comes over her, as though she’d just woken up from what was supposed to be a power nap that turned into six hours. stumbling, she manages only a few steps before every inch of her humanity comes back to her, dehydration and hunger, confusion and fear. the bag that typically accompanies her lost somewhere along the way. walking for close to a half hour, she makes her way back to the last clearing she remembers being in, the fruit trees and tall grass and flowers surrounding her.

panting lightly, kel licks her lips and sinks against a tree, using her powers and new knowledge of them to shorten the grass, creating a pathway to lead someone too her. head falling back against a tree, she’s unable to resist the exhaustion of being awake for over a day with no water and lets sleep take her.

[dzpenumbra]

4/1/23

It fucking snowed most of the day. Yep. But it's cool, it was a nice chill don't-give-a-fuck-sit-around-and-do-fuck-all kinda day.

At least it was supposed to be...

I caught up on sleep. At least, I think I did. Mostly. I did that yoga routine I've been liking again, that was nice. Ate cereal on the floor again. I'm trying to like... sit cross-legged more often to try to fix my hips. But then I went and spent the rest of the day working on my desire path project, and I'm looking back at it like... "well, I sat there for like 20 minutes eating cereal... then I sat in my work chair for like... 4 hours straight. At least. Does that even out?"

My hips started going to shit like... a few months after I quit smoking. Part getting older, but mostly because I'm not getting up and going outside to smoke every 2 hours. I'm just sitting still for hours at a time, tunnel-visioning and losing track of time, shifting around into different positions. I get what I like to call "one-more-turn syndrome", referencing the Civilization series, where I'm like... "I can just do a little bit more before I take a break..." And that turns into another hour. And then I look at a clock and it's 10PM and I'm squirming around because I haven't peed all day and I still haven't prepped dinner!

The flip side? I crossed the finish line. I got 100 runs done. And I recorded a few runs too, so if I choose to make a video out of this project, I have some first person footage of a few runs to use. By the end of the night (i.e. about an hour ago...) I got everything exported (all 101 layers as separate .png's) and tossed it in Blender. I think the grease pencil idea will be very doable and work pretty much how I'm expecting... I'm just a bit rusty with Blender... and... I'm going to have to trace all 100 paths one-by-one.

Instead of pulling an all-nighter and doing it tonight, which I will tell you I was very tempted to do... I am planning on doing that tomorrow.

Another cool accomplishment? I don't remember if I added it on here yesterday, but I made a supersaturated salt solution yesterday that I filtered and let settle and everything. I actually found a container sitting around that might actually work for growing seed crystals in. It was a plastic container that was made to store electrical tape. It's a bit scratched up and it was pretty dusty, but I cleaned it and... hopefully... it will do the trick. We'll have to see in a few days, I guess. The reference material I'm using for this is saying 1-2 days is a good amount of time for growing starter seed crystals... then you want to put the seed crystals in a smaller container... which I... don't have... XD But... I need to go to the pharmacy to get the meds I was prescribed anyway, so I was figuring I can check there for like... any kind of small flat-bottomed container to grow crystals in. I was hoping to go today, but I was just... not really feeling walking like 2+ miles in the snow today.

So yeah, honestly... I'm pretty sure that was my whole day.

Oh... there was... yeah...

This morning, I was updating my dating profile on Hinge on my phone and opened up my photo gallery. I haven't looked through my phone's pictures in... a long fucking time. A long time. And those pictures are archived like... back to like 2013 at least. And it was... bittersweet, honestly. There were a lot of pictures of my girls, my dog and my cat, Cerry and Maxine. They both passed within the last year, Cerry in early June, Max in early February. So, that was really nice to see them again, and relive my memories with them, and also really hard. Really hard. And I saw pictures from when I was like... way more confident. And when I had friends. Pictures with my goddaughter, when I used to babysit her. Pictures from lots of different stages of my life. When I had a pink mohawk, when I had long hair, when I was trying to be a tattooist and no one would help me finish my hours because they didn't want to train their competition, when I was all scrambled and fucked up on meds. Pictures from the retreat my counseling service sent me to because I had a weed freakout and apparently that means you send them to a 2-week program at a mental institution... And timid, wanna-please-everyone abuse-victim Me goes, "yeah, they probably know what's right for me..."

Floods of memories. 10 years in a slideshow. But what was cool... I saw very clearly an explosion of creative expression. A giant boom of art that burst out of me right after I broke up with my ex. It's like the people that have been around me just... suck up all my resources... and cut me off from my creativity. Rather than... I don't know... nurture it and amplify it. And a big example of this, that I came across?

I found a picture of one of my biggest pieces I had ever made. I still don't even know what the deal with this piece was, I was just... really drawn towards this concept and I made it. The concept was taking a big piece of particle board, probably 4'x5', and simulating a brick wall. I took that popcorn ceiling stuff and coated it for a base texture, then added textured spraypaint to it in layers of red, brown, white and black... to make what ended up being a pretty fucking believable simulation of a brick wall. Then I made a paint pen out of a shoe-polish applicator, filled it with black acrylic paint and painted a silhouette of Johnny Depp as Sweeny Todd. The movie had just come out, my bandmate was a theatre nerd so he had me watch it, and the image just... called me, I guess. I still don't really get the piece, or why I made it. It just called me, who am I to question?

So, as far as substance and meaning? Fuck if I know... As far as executing what my vision was? I fucking knocked that out of the park. It was one of my greatest successes. I mean that. It's not very often that you take on a multi-media project having never worked with several of the mediums before, and the end product comes out very true to your mind's-eye vision. That shit's pretty rare, in my experience.

And the picture I found in my phone, was that piece tucked away rotting in my parents' barn with all the rest of the scrap wood that was left over when they gutted and remodeled their sunroom.

And it reminded me of when I gave my "friend" a piece that she really wanted - a piece that she still has, as far as I know - around college graduation. It was a piece I made on an oddly shaped piece of scrap wood that had a perimeter of large circular holes drilled into it. I made it into a simulated sewer drain grate, painted all the metallic textures and rust and shit, and then painted one of my graffiti designs on top of that. So it had the effect of the graffiti design, broken up by a simulated grate with black voids between the slats, and then actual voids with the holes in the wood itself. (I did a lot of graffiti-themed work at the time.) That piece? I found it sitting on the floor in the storage pile corner of her house, behind the ladder that went up to the loft where I would sleep when I stayed over. It was sitting right next to the cat's litter box.

Would you consider those... people who nurture my creativity? Would you consider those... people who support a professional artist? A friend? A family member?

I don't. I call those people who want to appear supportive, take credit for being supportive, but not actually act supportive.

And it's taken me a very, very long time to even realize that I deserve better than this. That it's not normal, it's not healthy, and I deserve better. And I'm really, really proud to finally be able to see that clearly.

I think a problem I have in those moments is like... I know what they are doing is shitty, I know it's hurtful. I feel it viscerally. But I know I can't confront them, because they are volatile and will lash out or retaliate or make me the "aggressor" or make me "wrong" or something... And rather than seeing this as a gigantic blazing neon red flag... I convince myself that I must be misreading the situation, or that I'm setting unreasonable expectations, or treat it like it's normal for them to do this, or find some way, any way, to blame myself. I've noticed that creative people tend to be pretty skilled at creative self-sabotage... go figure, right?

But lately, I've been thinking... "why don't I see others in situations like this?" I'm sure there are plenty, truly, don't get me wrong. But like... I think the majority aren't. I don't know. Anyway, I was trying to transition to a thought, let's just fast-forward there because it's getting late. XD I think most people that are self-aware and don't have self-esteem issues, or a history of systemic abuse, or a history of being frequently manipulated and pressured and bullied and blamed/punished for shit that isn't their fault... People who don't have that history... just like... walk the fuck away and go "wow, what an asshole." They take the painting back and fucking leave. They don't even call them out on it, they don't even need to. They just go "me and my art deserve better than this," and they fucking walk.

I've gotten to a place in my life where I admire the fuck out of that.

I'd like to think that talking it out is a good way of navigating things like this. I mean that. I have tried for decades to do it. But I just have to say... when you're dealing with someone has no desire to look at the situation from both perspectives? That's honestly a waste of fucking time. At a statistical level. It's praying for a nat 20 on two consecutive rolls. It is fucking rare. It's just going to be them lashing out at you until they've dug such a deep hole that they finally storm off or give up... or them finding some way to make you the bad guy... or like literally anything but see your side. And you can't make people see your side, that's changing people. They have to want to.

So yeah, kind of a tangent there I guess... but the thoughts came up and I felt it worth bringing the perspective back on the table for my own reference and for whoever else may be interested. My loyalty, forgiveness, kindness and ability to see the good in literally everyone - this year I managed to see the good in a homeless shell of a highschool "best friend" who was smoking some kind of hard drug by a river while "in rehab", who was selling her Suboxone to her ex boyfriend for money, who lost custody of her 5 kids because of her drug problems, and who was facing felony charges for fentanyl trafficking. I saw the good in her. That ability is such a rare and incredible gift. It's a beautiful thing, and it should be cherished. But it often comes at a terribly difficult cost.

But here's the good news, if you can relate to this and you're anything like me. If you're humble and open-minded and honest, getting with a good therapist that actually understands what kind of person you are, that you click with? They can teach you some very useful shit. Skills, habits, perspective, shit like that. And... it starts with loving yourself.

It starts with loving yourself.

Because if you love yourself, you won't let others be that cruel to you; and you can find skills to ethically navigate that. Because you wouldn't let others be that cruel to your partner, or your pet, or your friends. And you set boundaries. And if people cross your boundaries or aggressively negotiate to pressure down your boundaries? That's a sign to leave.

And I'm still working on that, honestly. I really am. It's shockingly difficult, after a lifetime of... not being "allowed" to have boundaries.

So yeah, I guess I just needed to get that out.

Vibe check is in full-effect, time to reset and get some good stuff out there! XD I made potato skins with a mix of pepper jack and habanero pepper jack tonight and this habanero cheese... good lord... I am falling more and more in love with habaneros with every meal I make. I'm tempted to try to grow hot peppers indoors, if that's at all feasible without like... a crazy grow rig or some shit. I'm gonna look into it. I'd like to grow jalapenos, habaneros and ghost peppers.

Crap it got late again! XD Goodnight!

[warpaway]

in linhardt's twenty-some years of life, he'd become intimately acquainted with the stages of sleepiness. first, there's drowsiness, in the sitting-awake-in-class-but-can't-pick-up-the-pencil-right-now way; fully functional, fully awake, just lazy. then comes sleepiness, the stage wherein he can just lay down and drift off for a doze, but he'd remain awake as long as he remained standing. tiredness is third, the body's call for seeking out a place to rest. exhaustion is final, and it is such a different beast.

exhaustion doesn't just stop at go to sleep now. it compiles and snowballs into the weight on linhardt's limbs, sinking into his very bones until each step feels almost painful to take. it lingers beyond any actual rest obtained, and it isn't even related to his awful sleep schedule either. as is the case now; it's completely a result of this current situation.

Silent Hill had called to them (as it evidently had to others as well; they aren't alone here), and they had responded. it's a vacation destination; a sleepy little tourist trap; a place they had visited so long ago with their family. they'd learned how to fish out on Toluca Lake. their mother had spent hours dragging them to all the little antique stores. hell, they still had a chintzy keychain attached to their house keys they'd gotten here.

but this isn't the same place he thought he'd been going to. since his arrival, the sun remains stubbornly hidden behind thick clouds threatening rain. so thick are they, that they invade the earth itself in a blanket of dense, unyielding fog, obscuring anything farther than fifteen feet away completely.

at first it seems strange, but well within the realm of the believable. Silent Hill is off-season. the weather won't be as it had been in their memories of vacations with their family. the fog lends an excuse to them when they start seeing strange, undulating shadows drifting inside it. all in their head, just paranoia, the usual.

it's much harder to explain away in any comforting sense when those creatures begin attacking linhardt.

he runs. he hides. there are buildings they seem to keep out of, or maybe they just can't open doors. linhardt expects it would be a painful process with the shredded, weeping wounds covering their entire bodies.

best not to linger on their grotesque appearances. linhardt will block it out like they do all their other unwanted memories.

they find shelter in some form of restaurant. by appearances, it had been a family-owned diner, though one they'd never visited before. as the rest of the town, it seems abandoned, yet not dusty enough to feel as though some one may not return at any moment. the restaurant is closed, but not locked, and linhardt feels a vague sense of trespass as they catch their breath sitting at the counter. as their sweat turns cold, they hear a door open and shut in the distance.

linhardt lifts his head to stare in the direction of the sound, frozen. can those beasts use doors?

no. in comes a shorter woman with pink hair and skin darker than linhardt's from the back door. linhardt had entered through the front, so immediately they worry this means that monsters surround the building. they recognize her. the two had crossed paths earlier in the day, but that was before everything truly started turning into a nightmare.

he relaxes somewhat, at the confirmation that she is at least not a threat to him presently. his fingers scratch at his head; the sensation helps settle his nerves somewhat.

"you again," they murmur. "so... we're stuck in here, are we? wonderful."

plotted starter for @spinnerofhope

;; ooc// like i said before thinking of sh2 taking the town in a more individualized and psychological direction... i was thinking in replies we could like open up over time over what that manifests as and what it means to our characters later... i set up the thread to be similar to like how one of the cutscens from the game might play of like... not the first meeting, but they've met before and now shit has hit the fan so maybe it's time to work together now, just to make it a little more reasonable, so feel free to write whatever happened in the interim with ena if you like or however you'd like to take it x))

i'm excited. hope this works for you, and if not let me know and i can try fixing it.

do what's best for you

silent hill au