#punishment can take a while. mine's not over. 「 boone 」

[bottlecapping]

@alphateamsfinest words buzz, distorted by the mask.

Explosions concuss the air. A hydraulic hiss from the stimpak. It's all faint to Boone, but he hears it.

His knee jerks; it's as close as he can get to telling her "message received" and "P.S. I'm not dead. Yet." This isn't the most flattering way to be found, slumped atop his rifle. And out of his shoulder like an errant weed: one big fuck-off dose of short acting analgesic that make his limbs lead. A dart. Got enough fight left in him to lift a wobbly finger pointing it out.

"Two coming," half smothered words. Too far away for dynamite, he wants to say. Instead, nudges into his gun. "...use mine."

[amazinglyegg]

hey! late to the boone sh discussion sorry. as someone who’s had close friends who were ex servicemen sh is real common, even without the whole dead wife thing, so my personal head cannon is that the blood trail was him accidentally or internationally going too deep and then trying to fix it (hence why it goes to the bathroom). BUT my hc is also that that isn’t where boone and carla lived together - i believe that they had a house and he moved into the motel when she was kidnapped, so personally i don’t think that blood could be hers.

Don't worry about being late, I like discussing headcanons!

I agree with you on all this. I think Carla and Boone were at least in Novac at the time (whether or not they lived in the motel, I'm not sure) but the wiki says Boone "tracked her down", so I doubt she died in the motel room, or even in Novac. The idea of him leaving her blood is everywhere like that one reddit comment suggested is... a bit strange, especially if you think about the bits of gore and brain-bits that'd be splattered around as well. It wouldn't be TOO surprising for Boone, but you'd think he'd just keep, like, some of her clothing or something??

Both him self harming with or without suicidal intent makes sense. He has the mindset that life needs to punish him for what he did ("Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make. Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while. Mine’s not over.") - maybe he took a failed attempt as proof he can't take the "easy" way out and that he needs to suffer more, or maybe the self harm was him trying to create that suffering he believes he deserves. There's a lot of different ways you can go with this and they're all interesting enough to go in-depth about.

Either way, I wish there were more theories or fanfictions that worked with this headcanon. It brings a light to Boones motives and even his beliefs on fate and death - does he think he'll be "allowed" to die if he goes through enough pain? Does he think there's a higher being that decides when he's done suffering? If he believes in the afterlife, does he think Carla is the one deciding how much suffering he goes through?

[dyingofcookies]

OMG GIRLYPOP OMG I JUST HAD AN IDEA BASED OFF YOUR LATEST TRISHTERPIECE (masterpiece dupe) AND OML

(nasty stuff ahead)

Okay so when Trish comes out her room wearing that outfit, the recoms have NASTY NASTY thoughts. But they all know she belongs to Zdog, and they ain't touchin that with a 20ft pole. If Zdog EVER even CONSIDERS sharing, it's with Walker and Walker alone.

Zdog has thoughts about Trish ALL DAY!!! She can't go and fuck her during her work day, so she has to wait so desperately for L.O. (lights out) time.

The ENTIRE day she's going to the bathroom all the time to touch herself to the thought of her. But she has a 5-minute time limit, INCLUDING the walk to and from. No matter how hard she tries, she just decides to be a patient girl and wait. It is a painful wait.

But finally, FINALLY, the time has arrived. She meets Trish in their bedroom and sees her laying on her stomach facing her. She has her blanket covering her torso and thighs, and her arms are hanging off the edge of the bed in front of her. Trish has a smile on her face, knowing what she's doing. Almost a devilish and mischievous smile. Not almost, totally.

"Do you know the things you made me feel today, wearing that outfit of yours? Hm? Showing yourself off to the others when you know you're mine. Acting as if you're free use. At this point, if you wanna act like that, might as well make it happen." Zdog said. Trish responds with, "Oh really? I know you're too possessive to do that to your sweet baby."

"You are my sweet baby, but sometimes you're also a little whore who needs to be punished."

"Do your worst, mommy."

Z peels back the blanket, revealing a plump, plush ass. Provocative. Begging to be spanked and fucked afterward.

"Would you like that, babygirl? Do you touch yourself to the thought of being passed around at a PHNX-only party? Getting stuffed by everyone, and having too many orgasms to count? Being used like the little slut you wanna be? Huh? Tell mommy how you rub your clit at the thought of it." Z teases, kneading and smacking the absolute BUNDA (BOON-dah) in front of her.

"No mama. Only yours, I promise." Trish begs. "Finally submitting to your mommy. What a good girl you are." Z responds.

"But you still need to be punished for that stunt you did today."

"50!" Trish shouts, ending the spankings. Finally..

Her ass was so red, a couple more hard spanks and she would bleed.

"Good girl, sweetheart. Now wait just a second, Mommy needs to get something for you really quick. Can you be a good girl and wait for mommy?" Z asks, Trish still laying on her stomach. "Yes mama, I can wait."

Z comes back with some lube and a strap-on. Trish's pupils dilate, silently begging her for mercy.

"Don't worry babygirl, it's okay. This is for later. For right now, be a good girl and roll over onto your back. Good, now spread your legs so mama can see those pretty private parts of yours.

Don't be scared, honey, mama isn't gonna hurt you. She just wants to reward you for taking your punishment so well. Now show mama what she needs to touch to make you feel good."

(sorry i just switched to second-person pov in the middle of this oml idk what i was on)

You spread your legs, letting your wetness glimmer in the dim light. "What a good girl for mommy."

Zdog starts licking and kissing your clit, while she massaged your tits as you whimpered.

"Now, babygirl, I'm gonna need you to do a big favor for me. Can you keep your hands above your head? If you can't, I'll have to punish you."

"Yes, mommy."

"Hm, good girl." Z said as she continued making out with your cunt.

You unfortunately couldn't hold your stance for long, as she hit a special spot. You grabbed her head and started trying to grind into it, on the brink of your orgasm. Z ripped your hand off of her and placed it back above your head, holding them up with one hand.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself. You didn't follow my instructions. You know what happens now." Z said in a stern voice, one you only heard during some scenes, and when you were in actual deep shit with her.

Zdinarsk striked your cheek with her free hand, and did it over and over again until you were crying and begging her to stop.

"If you continue being a bad girl, I might have to invite Walker to come and teach you a lesson I can't seem to teach you."

"No, mommy, I'll be a good girl, I swear! I swear, mama! Please!" You begged. Z let go of you and went back to her activities. You, however, couldn't resist fighting for your release. You pulled the exact same shit you did before. This time, Z was really frustrated with you.

"Okay, I guess I'll have to get Walker in here. You obviously don't listen to me." Z said as she called her up.

Walker entered the code to your room, walking in and seeing you tied to the headboard. Seeing you fight and try to escape. You saw her and started crying, begging them to give you another chance.

"You are such an ungrateful little brat, aren't you? Can't be grateful for mommy trying to teach you something. Your mama loves you so very much and she would do anything for you, and you reward her with this behavior? Unacceptable. Mama's friend needs to teach you a lesson, huh?"

Walker forced your legs open, despite your cries. You knew what she was going to do to you. You remembered all too well. Your muffled screams couldn't save you, though. You had Z's panties stuffed in your throat.

Walker slapped your cunt, making you shed more tears and let out more muffled screams. How she learned to slap that harsh, you had no idea.

Your pussy was bruised, puffy and swollen by the time Z said it was enough. She decided it was time to fuck you and then start aftercare.

Walker decided to stay, to make sure you stayed in line. Z put on her strap, lubed you and herself well, and pushed into your abused pussy. You whimpered as she fucked you, since you had lost your voice from all of the screaming and cryin.

Zdinarsk fucked you hard and fast, trying to make you feel good after that abuse you took to your cunt.

After Z ran out of energy and got tired, she pushed your hair behind your ear and comforted you as Walker removed the strap and put everything away. She then started a bath as you sat with Z, listening to her whispers of sweet nothings.

After you were washed, you cuddled with Z and Walker, seeking shelter in their arms. They told you how much they loved you and wanted the best for you, how they would commit any crime for you, how they would die for you.

You needed just this, and they provided. You were happy you finally had a sex partner(s) that understood the correct way to execute BDSM and didn't think of aftercare as "weak"

hope you enjoyed mwah ilysm bbg 💋💋🤪🤪😇

OKAY- OUT OF RECOM SMUTS IVE READ, THIS IS THE NASTIEST AND JUCIEST AND DIRTY SHIT I HAVE READ ALL DAY WTF- OH SHIT IM WET LIKE A WATERFALL RN JESOIFS;UFIO;SIEWSDOUFOSEIOOEPIAUGIOLRDUIOGREJOTERF 😜💕💕💕💕😳😳😳

[blueskyscribe]

Robots & Their Unplanned Babies

So I’ve noticed this trend in Transformers fanfiction.

Character A gets pregnant, via Character B.  But there is a conflict or baggage between the two characters.  Sometimes it’s straight up noncon, sometimes it’s “enemies to lovers” and they’re still on the “enemies” part.

But either way, what often follows is something like:

“Should I terminate it?” wondered Char A.  “No, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t be such a MONSTER as to snuff out an innocent life!  Its life is just as important as mine!” (And if it’s the result of noncon, add “I can’t punish this baby for the actions of its father!”)

And that does make me wince since those are the exact rhetorical arguments that get used against real life people fighting for reproductive rights.

I’m not an anti, I’m not here trying to shame or scream at writers. I get that the dilemma is “Well, I have to think of SOME reason for them to have this Drama Making Baby”.  Conflict drives a story.

But guess what, I thought of some alternative reasons!  That still involve a lot of drama!

1.  They physically cannot get an abortion, for physiological reasons.

Hot take:  If you’re writing about robots, you can make their biology whatever you want.  You can say, “Actually, robots can’t terminate a pregnancy b/c snuffing the mini-spark would also snuff the parent’s spark.”  And if you like writing angst, this is going to be a great source of it!

Or maybe abortion is possible--but not for this specific person, because of [medical reason you just made up.]

2. They physically cannot get an abortion, for situational reasons.

Is the character poor?  Maybe they can’t afford a doctor.  Or maybe they are rich, so rich that the paparazzi follows their every move, so they come up with a crazy scheme to have the baby and bribe a maid to claim it’s their baby.

Maybe the government has made getting an abortion almost impossible through stringent and restrictive legislation, ha ha, good thing this is FICTION, what a FICTIONAL situation!  

If this is in the midst of a war, maybe all the doctors have been trained / put on the frontlines as field medics and they are unreachable.

Or maybe the parent is stuck in the wilderness or on an island.

3. They’re too nervous about talking on the phone to make an appointment.

Making appointments is stressful, and it’s even more stressful if you think you’re going to be judged over it.  So I think it would be perfectly feasible for a character to continually think, “Okay, I have to do it, I have to make the appointment TODAY”, but they keep putting it off and putting it off until, whoops, it’s too late.

I feel like this probably happens in real life quite a bit.

4. They WANTED a baby, actually.

Maybe the character was trying fertility treatments with Character C for ages and ages . . . but it was only after being with Character B that they got pregnant. Even if there was noncon, maybe their thought is, “Okay, whatever, at least I’m pregnant finally.”  Or maybe it wasn’t noncon, maybe it was a single night of forbidden (but consensual) passion.  Either way, that’s some good drama!

Maybe they even plan to stay with Character C and pass off the baby as being a result of A x C parentage.  That would also be a good source of drama--worrying what the baby will physically look like.  Will C be fooled??

(Fic Rec: “The Doctor Is In” by Spoon888 uses this reason, and it’s great!)

5. They are a bad person and want a baby for bad reasons.

I’m just saying, if you’re the villain and you give birth to the hero’s child, you suddenly have some amazing leverage against the hero.  This can range from telling the hero “do what I say or the kid gets it” to the classic trope of “child is raised to unjustly hate their parent.”  

If you want an eventual happy ending, you can have the villain-parent initially only use the child as a bargaining chip, but as the child grows up the villain becomes fond of them and actually becomes a good parent.  You could even have further conflict when the villain’s eventually like, “Hey pumpkin, I’ve been thinking . . . We should invite Hero over for tea to sort this mess out” and the kid is like “NoOooOoo they are EVIL, you told me so” and then the villain + hero have to work together to convince the kid otherwise.

6. Having a baby brings some specific benefit.

So, I come from an Irish-American family.  In my dad’s family, there were eleven kids.

My paternal grandparents lived on a farm.  And ‘back in the day’, if you lived on a farm, you wanted a lot of kids.  First, you wanted a lot of kids because some would likely die.  (Which did happen, several of the kids in my dad’s family died before they were school-aged.)  Second, you wanted a lot of kids because they were free labor.

That doesn’t mean the kids weren’t loved, it doesn’t mean they were abused.  But when you are living a hardscrabble life on a farm in the Great Depression, you do have to think about things like “So, how am I going to survive?”  And if child labor is legal, and you have a kid right there, weeeelll . . . 

So just think of some way a child can financially or socially benefit the pregnant parent.  It doesn’t have to be the gritty scenario of “send the kid to work in a factory” if you don’t want that.  It can be . . . “Eccentric king loves babies and invites new parents to a special feast every year, and Character A needs to ask the king for a boon / is a social climber / needs to steal the Macguffin that the king has in his collection.” 

Or “Master thief knows there’s a jewel at the end of a narrow tunnel that they can’t fit through, but a small child on the other hand . . .” And then they train their kid to be a super-spy from day one because of that or whatnot.

Or maybe adoptive parents pay big $$$ for babies and that is the incentive.

7. The character is pro-life.

If the character does have pro-life beliefs and thinks abortion is immoral--that is valid!  Characters can have strong beliefs, and they don’t have to be the beliefs of the author!  Just . . . this works better for some characters than others.

Like if it’s a fic about Sunstorm, I would one hundred percent believe that was part of his belief system. (He is probably picketing Robot Planned Parenthood on his days off.)  But if it’s Pharma or Ratchet . . . I don’t.  

(Not because they’re doctors.  But because Ratchet is canonically non-religious and pragmatic.  And Pharma seems like the type of person who does not put up with personal inconvenience.  Though I could see Pharma looking down on other people who have abortions, while sneaking away to have his own while he’s “on vacation”.)

--

So those are my brainstorms!  Like I said, I am not here to judge or yell.  I get it, we all love dramatic fics and an unplanned pregnancy is drama. :) Just, there are more reasons that people have unplanned kids than the one I commonly see in fics.

[zippdementia]

Part 85 Alignment May Vary: An End to Demons

At the end of last session, the PCs managed to put together the pieces of Alyss’ memory to discover she was not the queen of some ancient Satanic city, but rather a noble’s daughter, kidnapped and turned to the worship of Asmodeus. Furthermore, she bore Asmodeus’ child, Karina, who was a major Player Character in our campaign before she reached the hallowed halls of NPCdom.

Now the PCs are whisked back to the present, where they find themselves in the stone hallway again, the “behind the scenes” area of this layer of the Abyss and Esheballa’s game. And indeed, they have a game to finish.

(The artwork below is by Ryan Durney, from his Mirrors of the Abyss module. It’s one of my favorite of his pieces! For the full module, go here.)

Breaking the Rules

With the PCs at this point is Hecate, pulled from her destruction at the hands of the pit fiend moments before she could be crushed by its baleful wrath, and also Alyss. Puck is gone, but Alyss explains that he is “with her now,” the last bit of Asmodeus contained within her, safe in her restored mind until she can bring it to where it needs to go: Esheballa’s inner sanctum, where she keeps the “trophies” of the defeated Demon Lords and Devil invaders, who died during the Blood War’s destructive finale.

Alyss tells the PCs she will reach the sanctum and open a portal so they can join her there but that she needs two things: First, Daymos needs to go with her, as she needs his power to open the portal and also to travel the Abyss unnoticed, as he is now a demon. Second, she needs the PCs to keep playing Esheballa’s game for a little longer, so she doesn’t get suspicious and discover Alyss’ plan.

What is Alyss’ plan? To revive Asmodeus within Esheballa’s sanctum, bringing back her "husband” and the true lord of the devils.

The only other thing Alyss gives the players is a card from Abbraxus, meant for Imoaza. It has a curious riddle on it, telling her that in order to forge a weapon capable of defeating a god or goddess like Esheballa. It reads:

To the Snake Lady:

You will not be able to defeat Esheballa without the power of the realms combined. Solve my riddle and forge the greatest weapon in creation. It was meant for the one whose life you cut. Now its power will be yours to claim. Four realms will come together to craft this blade:

The Eternal Fire of Hell

The Cutting Darkness of the Abyss

The Power of an Elemental God

The Forbidden Knowledge of the Far Realms

Without this weapon, you shall perish and Esheballa shall make a trophy of your skins and a prisoner of your souls. Even with the weapon, your chances may be slight, but darkness flees from even the slightest light.

The PCs jump back into the game after this, doing one more room of Esheballa’s “Mirrors of the Abyss.” Esheballa herself is overjoyed to have her playthings back. 

“Ah, there you are!” Esheballa’s girlish voice emanates from mirrors all around the group. Then her voice darkens and lowers: “I thought you had tried to cheat your way out of my game.” Then a high pitched giggle again. “Or that you’d died, hee hee! Well, I’m glad you are back. There’s so much more fun to show you.”

The next room is a favorite room of mine from Ryan Durney’s crazed campaign, a room where the PCs are forced to split up and each tackle a different puzzle or challenge in a hallway of mirrors. Imoaza and Hecate end up in one hall, Milosh in another, and Ruz in a third.

Ruz has played Esheballa’s game and survived it before and he remembers this mirror puzzle. It was here that he and a fellow traveler met the horrible “Bloody Mary.” Mary was the architect of many of Esheballa’s magical mirrors, but when she tried to escape the realm, Esheballa took offense and punished her horribly, by putting her through the “grater” and then keeping her alive, suffering eternally from her wounds while trapped in the very mirrors she helped construct. Now Esheballa uses her as a monster against those who cannot solve her riddles.

For Ruz, this means solving the steps of a complicated ritual. Fortunately, he has the experience of past failure on his side and is able to avoid the mistakes his old companion made and complete the puzzle. As he exits the mirror hallway, he turns and sees Bloody Mary in one of the mirrors. Something about the look the horrendous apparition gives him makes him think that she knows what he and his companions are about to do. She nods solemnly as if in support, and disappears.

Presently Imoaza, Hecate, and Milosh join him. Milosh looks the worse for wear, but Imoaza and Hecate seem alrite, except for a trickle of blood running down her shoulder. The group doesn’t share their experiences, but I will, briefly.

Imoaza and Hecate end up facing a puzzle involving a sphere of annihilation which requires the proper sacrifice to pass. This is actually a pretty fun little mechanic, where sacrifices let Imoaza roll a d20 to change the effects of the sphere, supposedly turning it eventually into a portal that will let her and Hecate leave this hall. But the trick is that the sphere is never good, and really the goal is have it disappear and reveal the true exit. But this still requires sacrifice.

Milosh, meanwhile, is given a choice in his hallway: face a horrendous monster or set it on one of his fellows. Milosh has been changing ever since entering the abyss and especially since losing Carrick. He is losing his amicable, naive nature and reverting to something more primal inside of him. An old personality is emerging. And that personality wants to live. It sics the monster on Imoaza and Hecate.

This ends up being a boon for the snake relatives, as when they are attacked by the huge, deformed fox creature that Milosh sends at them, Imoaza uses powerful magic to blast it backwards into the sphere of annihilation. The sacrifice is accepted and the sphere disappears! 

An End to Demons

Passing through the mirror trap buys Alyss and Daymos enough time to open a way to Esheballa’s inner sanctum. The PCs leap through the portal that appears for them at the end of the mirror hallway and end up somewhere completely different, a great emptiness that is spanned by a massive bridge leading to the hollowed out corpse of the mighty Demogorgon, defeated during the Blood War and left here to house Esheballa’s most sacred treasures: the conquests of the Blood War.

Note, for this section, I’ve left the module Ryan Durney designed behind, but I want to say that it was a really unique dungeon, and one of the only ones I’ve ever read that really felt like an abyssal adventure. Ryan’s attention to detail really brought Esheballa and her realm to life. It is a deathtrap of a dungeon in the vein of Tomb of Horrors, maybe even deadlier, but also an experience lined with melancholy and moral dilemma. Very interesting stuff! Overall, the Planes in Dungeons & Dragons don’t get enough attention. They have been left as sandbox arenas for innovative DMs to play around in and let their imaginations run wild. But that’s also a lot of pressure on a DM. You have to create a compelling story, pick from myriads of monster lists and obstacles what the players are going to encounter, and somehow make the whole experience feel different enough from a standard game as to make it memorably part of a planar experience. Mirrors of the Abyss is one of the only modules released for 5th Edition that I feel does that, and the only one that does it for the Abyss.

That said, Mirrors could take up many more sessions if I play it straight through, and it is time for us to return to our main storyline. The players enter Demogorgon and make their way into one of his skulls, where Esheballa has built a museum of sorts. Here are paintings all over the walls, each containing the soul of a dead Demon Lord. One painting contains the soul of Asmodeus.

Basically, my head canon here is that in the final days of the Blood War, Asmodeus took some of his highest ranking devils and a huge army and invaded the Abyss. Every single Demon Lord died that day and the power of the Abyss was sealed away by Asmodeus’ power. But using this power drained Asmodeus of his life force and while he could not truly die, the Devils that accompanied him were killed and Asmodeus’ body destroyed. Damaged, his soul fled back to Hell, where one of his disciples, Alyss, found it and nurtured it into a semblance of health. It became Puck. Not strong enough to reveal who he truly was, and with his power only sustained by Alyss’ fervent belief in him, Puck could do naught but watch as Hell was left to the squabbling of those Devil Kings and Queens who had stayed behind from the front lines, turning hell into a capitalistic mecca in the process and more corrupt than ever before.

Meanwhile, The Blood War ended, but the Abyss survived. Dreadfully wounded, its ability to touch the world and open portals to draw poor souls into it was lost. The Demon Lords, from Lolth to Demogorgon, were destroyed. And into this vacuum of power stepped Esheballa. She was a very old goddess of fertility, whose worship had long ago corrupted into lust and blood and then eventually into dust and forgotten rituals. Now she claimed the Abyss for her own playground, feeding on what soul stuff of the dead Demon Lords she could siphon, trapping the rest in paintings to adorn her new sanctum, the hollowed out shell of Demogorgon. She kept a piece of Hellfire, kept alive here in a magical furnace. 

Into this furnace Milosh now places his broken gun arm and the spider mechanical creature that Abbraxus gave him, which is actually one of the old mechas of hell, designed to be able to forge using Hellfire. Milosh also feeds the fire a few special items he’s picked up around Esheballa’s realm, most notably the crown taken from the battle with the Lich. Flames flare up and the spider bot begins working at blinding speed, until it forges a new gun arm for Milosh, a gunarm filled with the powers of the Abyss but also the ability to turn those powers against demons: the Abyss Breaker.

The Abyss Breaker (requires Attunement)

As a bonus action, can transform from a hand into a drill or into a cannon.

As a hand, has no special stats (but it sure looks cool!)

As a drill, it cannot be used to wield a weapon or manipulate objects like a hand could. It can act as a +1 adamantine spear (user has proficiency) and can be used to help break through rocks and other materials. It can also be fired like a grappling hook as an attack action, with a range of 20/60 feet and can deal damage in this manner or be used to grip surfaces or objects (attack roll versus the object's AC to hit and grip an object). If it strikes, an immediate bonus action can be used to pull the user to the object or creature, after which point the target is no longer considered hooked.

As a cannon, it acts like a +3 heavy crossbow, dealing force damage instead of piercing. It can also cast the following spells, once per day per spell as an action:

Cloud of Daggers (PHB 222), Delayed Blast Fireball (PHB 231), Destructive Wave (PHB 231), Vitae Devourandem (a spell created by Ryan Durney which drains a target of their life and feeds it to the user)

The following spell can be used twice a day:

Modified Magic Missile (PHB 257): casts five darts for 1d4+1 force damage each. When a dart hits a target, that target is pushed 1d4-1 squares away in a direction determined by the roll of another d4. 1 - away to the left, 2 - away to the right, 3 - straight back, 4 - knocked prone in place.

Also, the wielder of the cannon can approach the body of a recently slain spellcaster (must have died within the last five minutes) and can store one spell that the spellcaster knew inside of it, to be used at any time. Once this spell is used once, it is gone. Multiple spells can be stored in this manner, up to 6. To store more than 6, one of the other spells must be discarded. The same spell can be stored multiple times, if taken from different spellcasters. This ability cannot be used on the same spellcaster multiple times.

Once per day, when the wielder of the cannon is a target of a spell, they may make an Arcana (Int) check equal to the spellcaster's DC. If successful, the spell is stored inside the cannon as per the ability above. On failure, nothing happens. This has no effect on the spell currently being cast.

And our fun with this weapon-maker isn’t over yet! 

Imoaza thinks back to Abbraxus’ riddle and puts the following items in the fire:

The Necronomicon

The Rod of Storms

Her Drosselgreymeyer Scythe

There is a terrific flare of heat and light and when the spider bot finished its work this time, the Eternal flame of Hell that feeds this furnace does the impossible: it goes out. Emerging from the flame is a shockingly familiar sword. It announces itself as “Blackrazor.” Only this is Blackrazor before it became the sword they all know. It is the original source of Blackrazor and the power of all of the Abyssal weapons that Imoaza and her Yuan Ti tribe have wielded for ages, including Drosselgreyer. We name it Blackrazor “Alpha.” How the sword’s origins begin here, aeons after the sword has already had a history, is a mystery yet to be solved.

“It’s gonna be timey-wimey stuff,” one of the players said. They probably aren’t wrong. “We are gonna go back and give birth to ourselves or something, aren’t we?” another asks. I’m not so sure about that.

The scene wraps up with a big battle. Alyss, Daymos, and Puck arrive and head to the painting of Asmodeus, and begin to form a new body for him, pulling his essence out of the painting where Esheballa had trapped him after the Blood War. But Esheballa also arrives and takes on the form of one of the demon lords she had previously defeated, the Demon Queen of Witches, named Rangda. The stats are taken from a Kobold Press publication (their Tome of Beasts and Creature Codex have gotten mention before, but they deserve mention again as the best third-party monster manuals for fifth edition).

The fight against Esheballa in Rangda’s form is a pretty fantastic one. Imoaza is immediately polymorphed into a serpent by Rangda but that doesn’t stop her from latching on to Rangda’s leg and dealing... well... about 3 damage a turn. But it’s something.

This leaves Hecate, Milosh, and Ruze to deal damage to Esheballa. Milosh has his Abyss Breaker, and Hecate has her gun arm, and Ruze has powerful magics, but it is a very close fight nonetheless. Hecate is nearly killed, and Milosh is about to face a deadly barrage when Ruze’s chaotic wild magic unintentionally turns the tide. Ruze is a Wild Magic sorcerer, and every once in a while he unleashes a random burst of magic. It can be dangerous, turning his powers on his allies... it can be pointless, like giving him a feathery beard or turning his skin blue... but it can also be powerful, like in this case, when it boosts the power of his magic and deals a devastating final blow to Rangda’s form. Esheballa is ejected... but the goddess is far from done with the group. Destroying Rangda’s form was simply like removing a bit of armor from Esheballa. Her true essence stands tall, ready to smite these poor mortals who dared to challenge her.

Only, this whole battle was just a distraction, meant to buy Daymos and Alyss time to channel Asmodeus back into Puck. That process completes now and Asmodeus returns to life. As he does, the power that was keeping the Abyss at bay is sucked back into him and the Demon Lords also are reborn, emerging from the paintings around Esheballa and pulling her, whom they consider a traitor and a rival, into their midst to tear her apart.

Asmodeus says the Blood War is about to begin again, and it is time for everyone to return to their homes, he with his new queen. Then, as Asmodeus draws Alyss in close for a passionate kiss., the PCs are sucked into a portal he creates and the world swirls into color around them.

They next open their eyes to see a canopy of leaf studded trees stretching above them. And that is for next time: Back to the Future.

[mariss-lyn]

king of my heart: ch.1

so this is a new story i previewed a while back on my page and the first chapter is finally here! i am already annoyingly invested in this series (this is becoming a series even if no one wants to read it) and i’ve started a playlist for it as well!! i can drop apple music/spotify links if anyone is interested. 

ANYWAYS. this was not requested, just something i was messing around with while texting @marissafalls one day and i rolled with it. the first chapter ended up being 2k words soooooo. it revolves around ryan murray, but will have mention of other players on the team.

mentions: other cbj players, alcohol

warnings: cursing, drinking

feedback is always greatly appreciated and encouraging so feel free to to flood my inbox :-) 

“I hate every part of this.”  

This was not how I spent Saturday nights. I spent them at home, in my sweatpants, eating ice cream and talking to my mom on the phone. Sometimes I’d be at a game, in the suites with a couple of friends from college, eating free food and taking too many pictures. But I definitely was not the bar type, or at least not at eleven o’clock at night.  

“Will you stop complaining? This is your fault anyways,” my best friend reminded me. And she wasn’t wrong. I lost a bet and this was my punishment. To be forced out of my comfort zone and have a couple of drinks out on the town.  

“Okay well I didn’t actually think he would score a goal tonight. I thought the odds were in my favor.” Becca smiled at me. “Maybe they are.”  

I rolled my eyes and patiently waited for the Uber to stop outside of some campus bar. I’d heard of it, but never visited. It wasn’t my thing. Quiet coffee shops were my thing. Libraries were my thing. Not bars where you got packed in like sardines and it was so loud, you couldn’t even order a drink without screaming. My friends and I all loaded out, Becca taking the lead, while I fell behind Eliza and Lacey.  

After the bouncer checked our ID’s, we walked in and I immediately felt anxious. There were bright lights and drunk people everywhere. I quickly followed the girls to a table in the corner, trying to just catch my breath.  

“Earth to Harper?” I snapped my head up to see the girls looking straight at me. “What?”  

Becca smiled. “Drink order? I’m gonna go to the bar.”  

“Whatever, is fine,” I mumbled. “Just a beer.” Becca squeezed my hand before she disappeared for the bar and I immediately started to dart my eyes. Taking in my surroundings. Figuring out what I got myself into.  

And that’s when I noticed them.  

They grabbed the attention of most of the bar. Tall, big boys. Hockey players. Professional hockey players.  

“Holy shit!” I heard Eliza yell. “Is that the team?” I nodded. “Some of them.” I wasn’t sure anyone heard me. I didn’t really care. I was focused on the group of guys pushing their way to the bar, right next to where my best friend was. Just mere inches from our table.  

This really was a bad idea.  

“Fuck, they’re so hot.”  

“Do you think they’re single?”  

“Would they come here if they weren’t?”  

I ignored the girls and their questions for a bit, focusing on the group. It was weird to me, seeing guys I’ve watched from afar for so long, right in front of me. I knew they went out. Word travels when you’re friends with a bunch of gorgeous girls. Friends of friends have had some experiences. But you never really expect it to happen to you. And you definitely don’t expect any of them to notice you.  

But then they do.  

“Harper, that one’s looking at you.”  

I forced myself to look away. “Lacey, they’re not zoo animals. His name is Ryan.” I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I still felt nervous. Like somehow he’d only hear his name and know where it came from. My face was hot and my heart was racing. God, they really were beautiful.  

“Harper, go talk to them!” I swung my head to look at Eliza. “Are you crazy? Why would I go talk to them?”  

Eliza smiled. “Because Ryan is looking at you, not us.” 

“The air quotes are not necessary, E. That’s his actual name.”  

I looked back up at the group and noticed Becca coming back with our drinks. I grabbed the Corona she ordered for me and downed half of it in one sip. I could feel the girls watching me as I set the bottle down.  

“Are you okay?” I shook my head. “No. I need a water.”  

I stepped off the bar seat and stepped closer to the bar, squeezing in between a very pretty blonde girl and Boone Jenner. I patiently waited for the bartender to notice me, trying to just be cool. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I didn’t move much. I could feel three sets of eyes watching me intently from behind, but I couldn’t turn around. I kept myself facing forward, trying not to eavesdrop. Until I felt Boone step away and someone else fill his spot.  

“Is he ignoring you?”  

I turned to my right slowly, my eyes coming to land on a pair of stunning brown eyes. Could brown eyes be stunning? Brown eyes were always ignored. Every country song was about blue eyes, sometimes green. But never brown. I always felt offended myself, having brown eyes, and I wondered if anyone found them stunning.  

Not now, Harper. Jesus.  

“I’m sorry?” I asked. “Who?” 

Ryan smiled. Oh fuck did he smile. “The bartender. Did you need something?”  

I nodded. “Oh! Just a water. It’s no big deal. I can wait.” He turned his body toward me now, and I noticed his friends had disappeared, surrounding the table my friends were occupying. How convenient.  

Ryan extended his hand. “Ryan.” I smiled and took it in mine. “I’m Harper. Great game tonight.”  

He nodded. “Thank you. Were you there?” Now it was my turn to nod. “I was. It’s actually your fault I’m standing at the bar tonight.”  

Ryan started laughing. “Why’s that?”  

I bit my lip. “I made a bet with my friends. If you scored, we went to the bars tonight. But if you didn’t, we ordered pizza and went home to drink.”  

“Ah well I’m sorry I ruined pizza night. Let me make it up to you with a drink.” I smiled. “You don’t have to do that. You deserved the goal. It doesn’t happen often.”  

Ryan laughed again. “Ouch, that hurts a little bit.” I laughed with him. It felt nice, and also surreal. “Wait, can I ask why it was me who had to score tonight? There are plenty of other guys you could’ve chosen from.” 

I swallowed hard and shifted a little. “Uh, well, because you don’t score a ton of goals and you’re my favorite on the team so my friends were teasing me, I guess. That’s embarrassing. I’m sorry. You don’t need to be talking to some dumb fangirl.” 

He smiled and set his bottle on the bar. “I don’t think you’re dumb. It’s not like I have a huge group of fans in the city, or anywhere really, except maybe back home. Plus, and this is no disrespect to your friends, but my friends have lost interest and they’re going to leave that table in five minutes. I, on the other hand, have no plans of leaving here.” 

“What if we left together?” 

It left my lips before I even fully thought it through. Here I was, exposing myself as not only a fangirl, but someone who was clearly willing to leave my friends behind and go somewhere with a stranger. A hot stranger. A really fucking hot stranger. 

“Where would we go? If we left together?” 

I shrugged. “Personally I’m starving and can’t stop thinking about pizza. And I know there’s a place down the road open late. But you don’t have to leave with me. I don’t really know what I was saying.” 

“What makes you think I would rather be here than somewhere much quieter, eating pizza with you?” 

“Besides the fact that you know absolutely nothing about me?” 

Ryan smiled at me. “I know your name is Harper, and I know you hate bars like this. What’s the worst that could happen at a tiny little pizza place down the road from all of our friends?” 

I bit my lip to hide a smile. “Okay, that’s fair. I can always call Becca if you’re a huge weirdo.” He started laughing. “Can you even eat pizza? Is that part of your diet?” 

“I’ll just skate a little harder at practice on Monday. I’ll take a risk. I think it might be worth it.” 

I leaned off the bar. “I’ll grab my purse and let the girls know. Should I just tell your friends while I’m over there?” Ryan straightened up and grabbed his beer bottle again, smiling. “I’ll come with you.” I walked towards the table, Becca’s eyes burning holes in me. I wish there was time to explain to her what was happening, but I wasn’t even sure I knew what was happening. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was convinced this wasn’t even real. I’ll wake up in the morning and this will all just be a very detailed dream I had after a night on the town. 

“I’m gonna head out,” I announced but Becca was the only one listening. “I’ll see you in the morning?” She nodded. “Be safe.” I could always read Becca like a book. She thought this was a dumb idea. We were never really the girls who left the bar with a hot stranger. We showed up and left together, after a few drinks and a lot of dancing. And that was on the rare occasion we even went out. But nothing about tonight was going according to plan. 

I turned to face Ryan, who was still talking to Boone. “Please don’t act like complete idiots once I leave. I’m not coming back for you.” Boone slurred something I couldn’t even try to make out and I choked back a giggle. “I’m out. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

He turned to me and smiled. “Ready?” 

The Lyft ride to the pizza place was quiet, and our drive probably thought he was escorting an awkward first date around town. But it was a comfortable quiet. And usually I’d blame the drinks for how calm I was feeling with him, but I barely had half a beer, so everything was very clear to me.  Ryan was just calming. His voice and the way he carried himself. It was attractive and that was so rare to find, at least for me. And he was soft. The way he spoke about his family and his job. I felt like I could listen to him talk every minute of every day. 

“So do you come to a lot of games?” 

I smiled and shrugged. “Not as many as I’d like. I spend more time watching them from the comfort of my couch. We’ve got a friend, Eliza; she gets suite tickets a lot from work so we use those when we can.” 

Ryan smiled and took a slow sip of water. “Do you have tickets for Monday’s game?” I shook my head. “I’ll have some under your name. Lounge bands too.” 

I laughed. “Are you trying to buy my attention, Murray?” 

“Not at all. I just want to be able to see you again after tonight but my job tends to get in the way. So if you’re at a game, in the lounge, I have a better chance of seeing you when it’s over.” 

It was cute. He was cute. And I really liked the way I felt with him. He probably could’ve asked me to pick up trash with him and I’d do it. Maybe this is why I’ve never dated? “I’ll be there Monday. Who says no to free tickets?” 

The rest of the night felt so easy. It wasn’t until around 2am when I realized I should probably be heading home, brunch plans with my mother looming in the near future. I checked my watch and felt myself frown. “I should probably get going.” 

“Can I get your number?” I smiled at how rushed he asked, thankful I wasn’t the only one suffering from word vomit tonight. I took his phone from his hand and entered my number, adding a pizza emoji after my name, “Thank you for tonight, Harper. I had a lot of fun.” 

I nodded in agreement. “I did too. I kinda wanna do it again sometime.” 

We had moved to the sidewalk outside now, both waiting for our cars to show up. The air was cool, but still unseasonably warm for a late winter night in Ohio. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I looked up and caught Ryan looking down at me, the cutest smile on his face. Before I could speak, a car pulled up to the curb, the car I was waiting on. I felt myself deflate, not ready to leave yet. But then I felt Ryan’s lips on my cheek and my whole body felt electric. I felt the kiss all the way in my toes and I definitely wasn’t cold anymore.  

“Good night, Harper.”  

[falloutdialogue]

Boone quotes?

“Ever take that beret off?” No.

[Unamused] I'd really like my beret back, please.

I don't know. I won't be staying, I know that. Don't see much point in anything right now, except hunting legionaries. Maybe I'll wander, like you.

Hnh. Yeah. Working on your own, you're a lot less effective. I've been there and paid for it.

[Over encumbered] Gonna be hard covering you when I can't move my legs.

Goddamn it! Don't sneak up on me like that. What do you want?

If there's one thing I won't tolerate, it's working with some dog of the Legion. You've got some explaining to do.

Look, I know the NCR has problems, but I fought with those men. I'll be damned before I betray them.

No offense, but I need to focus on getting more rest when I'm off duty. I'm not sleeping so good. So now's not a good time.

Let's get one thing straight. I see any crimson, I'm taking the shot. You don't like that, you're on your own.

Mercy killing is expected of NCR snipers. The Legion likes to torture their prisoners within sight of NCR positions. We get called on to end it. I've had my share. Some of them, you think, maybe you could've gotten them out. Maybe it's not the Legion that got them killed. Maybe it's your orders and you following them.

Caesar's dead. Bet he didn't see this coming when he was having his coffee this morning.

A face-to-face meeting with House, huh? The NCR would kill to be in your shoes.

How about I aim my gun at you for a while, see how you like it?

{Sighs} It's just something I'm not ready to discuss. With you or anybody.

She... I tracked her down. Southeast, near the river. They were selling her. Saw it through my scope. {Remembering a horrible scene. Disgust on "they were selling her."} Whole place swarming with Legion. Hundreds of them. Bidding for things no man has a right to. {Remembering a horrible scene.} I just had my rifle with me. Just me, against all of them, so... I took the shot. {Defeated, bitter. Very slightly choked up at the end - he's talking about mercy-killing his wife.}

Yeah. What they do to women... that's worse than death. There was no choice in what I did. It was more like... being forced to watch something you can't stop. All this was only ever going to play out one way. It still is. I don't have any say. All I can do is wait for it to be done with me.

There was never any saving her. They'd have taken her where I couldn't follow. What I did... that was the only rescue.

You take out a debt, it's only a matter of time before someone comes collecting. Things just finally caught up with me.

It was gonna be something. If I'd never met Carla, it would've been something else. I should've never gotten close to her.

I've got bad things coming to me. You'd better keep your distance, too.

That part of my life is over now. So is this discussion.

Look, we've done some traveling together, but we're not exactly comrades-in-arms. I'm not ready to swap war stories.

We did what we were there to do. Lot of people got killed. That's war.

Maybe looking back you'd do things differently, but that's not how it works. In the field, you hesitate, you or someone you care about will die. They teach that from day one.

Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make. Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while. Mine's not over.

A murderer who does good deeds is still a murderer. And he'll still get his judgment.

Still feels like I'm living on borrowed time. But I don't see any reason not to take a lot more of those sons of bitches with me.

I don't mean disrespect. It's a hell of a thing having someone with your ability looking out for me. But I've come to believe that there are things nobody can stop. I thought for sure that's what we'd finally come up against today.

It would've made sense for things to end here. But now... I'm still waiting.

Goddamn it. It's like I'm being toyed with.

With the Khans, the only difference between a soldier and a civilian is that the civilian is more likely to miss when he shoots at you.

There's no controlling war. No sense regretting what you can't stop.

They pick you out if you do well at the firing range. Pays a little better, so I said okay.

“The last thing you never see.” Pretty accurate, and so were we.

Didn't know him. He's a signature on my discharge papers. Wasn't real popular, though. Even overheard my C.O. complain about him once; General Wait-and-see, he called him.

Yeah. He introduced himself to me once. I shook his hand. Doubt he'd remember me now, though. When he looked at you, you could see he understood. After some of the things we'd seen, that meant something.

You're making a mistake. I want to be a part of this.

Damn right. You and I, we're just a couple of problem solvers.

Better be a good reason. I didn't join up with you to go on nature walks.

You'll be glad you did this. I'm gonna put a hole through Caesar's head.

If you want me to stick around, that ends now. I don't care what the reasons are, I will not help the Legion. Ever. Got it?

Bullshit. You're a goddamned coward, trying to pick the winning side.

Then this is over. Next time I see you, it'll be through my scope.

Give me my rifle and a clear line of sight and I'll start picking them off before they've even seen me.

She talked a lot. Suited me fine - I never know what to say. And listening to her, it could... make you forget. She stuck out, pretty much everywhere we went. Like she was from a different time. A better time. I never met anyone like her.

No. This is something for me to deal with. But I'm glad you're here.

If I was the assassin, I'd be up on that ridge. Or if I didn't care about escaping, maybe that near tower, or the landing pad behind us.

Thumbs down, you son of a bitch.

Mercy killing is a last resort. Glad you recognized we had options.

This armor's gonna get me killed.

Look, I'm dead unless you can get me some real armor.

Eat this!

Can't feel all my limbs.

[After healing, disappointed.] Figures.

Player Murders Someone

[Incredulously] What the hell was that?

Not a good idea.

You're gonna get us in some serious shit.

We all gotta go sometime.

Too bad.

Hmmph. {A nonchalant grunt - witnessing violence he's desensitized to.}

Dying

So this is how it ends.

Maybe it's my time.

Heh... I knew you'd be the death of me.

Think I might've killed my last legionary.

Player Pickpockets Him

I'll take that back now.

I don't think so.

I don't know who you think you're fooling.

[bottlecapping]

Luck. Never had any.

"No," replies the 1st recon; couldn't be bothered to look up from the game. The most he contributes to the conversation is a neglible gesture (something between see what I mean? and whatever.) to his betting pile as the dealer collects winnings from the table; a Tops' appointed suit-with-a-grin soothing the players' chapped egos with bullshit like "your luck'll turn ring-a-ding".

This supposed NCR soldier disregards anything outside his designated sliver of the blackjack table. Looks settled-in. Got an ashtray like city ruins - full of crushed cigarette ends, an empty glass, and he's flush with Top's chips. At the rate he's upping the ante (tossing a handful without counting), he won't be by the end of the day.

Used to be a time Boone made plans for his surplus caps. Surplus being anything that was left after arsenal maintenance and the human necessities. He can't see that far into the future now. No further than the end of his scope.

This is all his life's discipline affords him now. All he can imagine for it. Risking it at the Strip.

The dealer urges the newcomer to clarify. "You in or you out, baby?"

@bottlecapping liked for a starter. [[accepting.]]

[[for Boone:)]]

That recon beret was like a bullseye. Even from across the casino floor, Inculta's gaze was fixed on it. If they could only find themselves in the desert, he would act, and cleave the profligate's head from his body. But this was The Tops, and until the day that Caesar walked onto the Strip, there were different rules to play by.

Vulpes would like to think that he played fairly well.

The recon man had settled in at a blackjack table. To any civilian, it would seem as though another gambler had sat next to him, adding a new channel to the flow of cards.

"Any luck so far?" Just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the busy casino.

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 24

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                      ***

      The air was thick with heat.  Was it my imagination, or was the ceiling softly glowing orange?  I felt like there was a wind coming from somewhere, like what you’d imagine the wind felt like in Mount Doom that was blowing Elijah Wood’s shag around.  I felt it in my ears and it made it hard to hear myself or Leimomi.

      But I persevered, running through any faerie tales I could remember, and making them as baroque with silly details as I could manage.  The little mermaid had a waterlogged beanie baby collection with individual names, Bluebeard’s bride stuck her sisters back together with novelty Hello Kitty duct tape stolen from his sex dungeon.  I couldn’t hear a word of it outside of my thoughts.  Was I making a sound?  Was I even breathing?

      A building ache finally forced me to face biological reality again.  I had to pee.  My skin was on fire, the world was on fire, but it was still an invisible flame - nothing smoking, nothing scorching, no yellow inferno roiling out of my ruined flesh.  It was just a feeling of dangerous, alarming heat, dancing over everything.  Were there actual heat waves coming off my skin?  I couldn’t tell.  Sweat rained over my eyes and I blinked it away, but I forced myself to stand up.

      I felt like a wooden skeleton.  No muscle, just clacking fake bones.  How was I moving?  I reached the bathroom, stumbled through the door and almost fell down.  Instinctively I reached for something to hold onto.  I grabbed a dangling hand towel.

      It immediately slipped out of its perch, causing a weird floppy piece of shiny garbage to double over and splatter to the ground.  It was my improvised *redacted*  How had I not noticed it sitting where I left it, at any point in the last few days?  Where it hit the floor, a spray of green trash slime splurted out of the midsection, onto the tiles and my feet.  It smelled like a dumpster.

      I was just glad I didn’t fall on the floor, either from the incident or from despair, because I knew I would have pissed myself where I lay.  I turned to the toilet and laboriously went through the necessary motions.  In my imagination, the flushing toilet would have blown miraculously cooled pisswater back in my face, granted a moment’s surcease from the invisible flames, but no.  This air wouldn’t take moisture, and that water was probably warm enough to slow boil eggs.

      I walked again, the burning wooden skeleton, clacking away.  In the bathroom door I was arrested by the scene before me.  There were our little beds, like funeral biers - mine empty and Leimomi’s occupied by a limpid melting Ophelia.  The upholstery glistened like the sweat on her body, drenched.  The lighting fixtures held a dull light as if the heat in the air was pure electricity half waking them from the slumber we’d induced.  Was that blackening along the walls, in the areas nearest the ceiling?  The ceiling itself was definitely glowing orange now.

      Leimomi lifted her head - clearly an agonizing thing to do - and tugged a pillow under it so she could more easily look at me.  Drops ran down her face, but were they sweat or tears?  She was too weary to make a facial expression that would tell.  “Courtney,” her voice was minute, distant, rippled the way light is rippled by heat waves.  “Tell another.”

      As I walked back to my bed, black curls of slow-burned posters crumbled in my wake and fell like dry leaves.  I surrendered to gravity carefully, one hand, one more, my hips, rolled over, feeling like dead weight.  “I love you,” I said, not hearing a word of it.  I took up my water bottle again, dribbling what I could past the lips, then told another story.

      Were these thoughts without sounds?  Could she hear them?  Could she hear them with her mind, our bodies burned away from our souls, free to listen without ears?  I didn’t know.

      Once upon a time there was a young gal with a bad family.  Maybe dad died, leaving her in the care of wicked stepmom, or maybe that was her real mom but she liked to pretend it wasn’t, due to the pain that somebody biologically obligated to care for you just doesn’t, a way to not feel like that was her fault - that she was inherently and uniquely horrible.  People called her Cinderella because she was covered in the ashes of rock star posters.

      Stepmom and three stepsisters made her do all the chores and such, but you know, that sort of thing isn’t usually like they say it is in stories.  It’s not like, do these chores or we cut you, you ugly slag.  It’s more like, “Oh I just can’t right now, could you please?  You’re so much better at that,” or malicious compliance where they do the chores so bad it makes the more responsible person stop asking.

      They’d make Cinderella do emotional labor too.  The girls would gab about their drama all day, say “You’re such a good listener,” but never afford a moment of reciprocation.  Stepmom would get home from work and need to take a shit, but had constipation so she’d be in there a long time.  At some point back when Cinderella was eleven, she invited her into the bathroom, so she could pass that time venting about coworkers she hated.  Cinderella was too young to realize this was a flavor of child abuse, putting worries onto someone who doesn’t deserve them, isn’t equipped to understand them - and also making it pretty likely she’d grow up into that “amirite ladies” culture of woe and bitchery, unable to have a conversation of her own about the nice things in life, only ever able to talk about who was a bitch to whom, or who’s getting fat, or whatever.

      And there she was, a young lady, still not out from under the shadow of that porcelain throne.  But somehow she hadn’t absorbed that particular type of damage - she still had the ability to dream, to think of things beautiful and interesting.  It was worn down every time her stepmom spoke, but it still remained.  She had a spark of life.

      One day prom was coming - man I’m like the five hundredth person to turn this into a modern high school thing aren’t I? - and Cinderella really wanted to go.  She just wanted a chance to feel beautiful, to maybe dance with somebody.  There was no dream she would be loved, but just that she could feel something glittering and sweet.  It went without saying then, that she was not going.  Nobody had specifically forbidden it, nobody made any mention of it, but all preparations and discussion revolved around stepsisters and their needs.

      The night of the prom came and those kids were out the door.  Cinderella knew it was coming, but somehow spaced out on it until the last minute, until there was no denying it.  As the door clicked shut, stepmom put up the legs on her recliner and turned up the volume on a commercial for the Kia Summer Sales Event.  Cinderella walked upstairs like a ghost, and fell down crying in the hall.

      The door to the linen closet opened, and a beautiful little figure in taffeta, purple,and rhinestones appeared, hair a beautifully piled coiff of glossy black ringlets, a pencil thin moustache on their lips.  She looked up in amazement, not able to see clearly through the tears, no idea if she could trust what she was seeing.

      “Prince?,” she asked.

      It was indeed Prince, and he was funky.  Perhaps in becoming a ghost he had lost a foot of height.  But why was he appearing to her, and not to Morris Day?  He said, “Yes, Cinderella. This is no dream.  I was sent to make your life beautiful - but only for one shining moment.”

      “Wow.  But aren’t you a total *redacted* hound?  How can you be a fairy godmother?”

      “I might be the crown champion of boy vs. girl ball, but do I look like someone afraid to be called a fairy?”

      “And you did that homophobic song about how a lesbian girl needs to learn to be straight.”

      “Like I told Lisa and Wendy, we don’t talk about the back catalogue, girl.”

      “Is this your punishment for something?”

      “Being a Jehovah’s Witness.  Turns out telling babies not to get crucial healthcare is a bad thing.  But let’s focus on your problems.  What is keeping you from the prom tonight?”

      “My stepmom and stepsisters don’t care about me, just want me to slave away for them forever, never have a time for myself.”

      “I will make them care about you, make them slaves to you, and make this time be only for yourself.”  He pulled out a magic guitar, spraying sparkles across the beige carpet.

      “No!  I don’t want any of that.”

      “But you want to go to prom, right girl?”

      “Yeah.  Yes, please, my lord.”

      “I love the respect, but I am not allowed to be addressed as such, at this stage in my career.  And so again, pray tell, what keeps you from this promenade?  If you would not have me remove your problems, perhaps there are boons that can be offered.”

      “Well, I don’t have a dress, or makeup, or nice hair, or a way to go to the school.”

      “Crucial.  I can work with this.  Come.”  He clapped twice above his head and led her into her bedroom.  While he was unusually small, his magic guitar was full size and dragged on the carpet behind him.

      In Cinderella’s room, under a silver shaft of moonlight, he did a little dance and grabbed his crotch.  It was part of the magic, completely justified.  Her room was basically a walk-in closet, and some of her cleaning stuff was jammed in there as well.  He pointed his finger at a mop with a spray of sparkles.  It transformed into a beautiful silver-white wig.  He spun his finger in the air and it flew onto her head.

      “Wow,” said Cinderella.

      He picked up the guitar, did a spin, then played a cool riff.  Her ratty sweats changed into a fuchsia ball gown with neon purple lace and a bodice covered in purple rhinestones.  “It’s so beautiful,” she cried.

      “You know it,” he said.  “Now let’s sort out this situation.”  He pointed the guitar’s head at her face like a gun and played a wild guitar solo.  She could feel the ashes sliding around her skin, changing shape.  Looking at a dingy mirror, she saw the carbon condense into eyeliner, eyeshadow, and glittering lipstick, leaving her skin clean and clear.

      “I’m gonna cry again, I’m sorry,” she said, hand on her heart.

      “Don’t ruin that makeup, girl.  There is one item left to attend to.  Thy conveyance.  Approach me.”  He turned his back to her and with a wave of his hand the window opened.

      She came near to the little man, not knowing what to expect.  As she drew near, he seemed to increase in size - no, the whole world was increasing in size, or she was shrinking!  He scooched forward on his guitar, leaving room for her to straddle it in the back, and then it started to fly.  She grabbed his little waist and they flew off into the night sky.

      Smoke then, curling around my body like tendrils from incense, rising to pool and eddy at the ceiling.  It intensified, white and opaque at the corners of my vision, but inverted to darkness as it reached the glowing orange expanse - a negative print of the ocean, the opposite of water.

      Prince flew her to school and daintily alit to the gymnasium roof.  “I’ll wait for you under the north bleachers of the baseball field.  If you aren’t there at midnight, I cannot help you get home.”

      “Thank you so much, Prince!  I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

      “All I really need is to know that U believe.”  He pointed at the sky and took a tiny bow.

      Cinderella found a hatch to get down from the roof.  There was a ladder to a catwalk high above the gym floor, and she could see the prom below.  A few people bustled to do the last minute preparations, but there was only one dim light on.

      She wandered around looking for a way down and found nothing.  What good was it to be at prom if you could only watch it from afar?  But at last she found a rope to climb down on - one of the ropes they’d use in PR class, with knots at regular intervals.  She tossed it down and started climbing.

      When she got to the bottom, she realized she was in the middle of the dance floor.  As party lights came on and the rest of the students came in, she was the center of attention.  “Who is she?”  “How did she get in here?”  They were impressed.

      She humbly demurred and headed to the punch bowls.  A chaperone was glaring at her and not noticing somebody else spiking the punch.  It was going to be one of those nights.  The DJ led off with “Fight for Your Right to Party,” which was ironic because fighting for your right to party is expressly against policy at school events.

      Phew, I thought.  Are we alive or dead?  Will this ever end?  I can’t stand it.  Christ.

      A kinda short dapper gentleman approached Cinderella and said, “Hey babe, I haven’t seen you around the school before.  Wanna cut a rug?”

      “There’s no rug, but I’ll dance.”

      “Let’s buff this basketball court wax to a high shine.”

      They danced and chatted softly between songs, and enjoyed each other’s company.  Occasionally people would congratulate the dapper gentleman on his fortune in monopolizing the attention of a radiant queen.  People would smile at them and ask questions, take pics of her dress on their cellphones.

      Her own stepsisters didn’t recognize her.  It was a magical and glittering moment.  But best of all, she was really starting to feel like a woman, like a person who could be sought after by a dashing suitor.  It was the dapper gentleman that was making her feel like that, with his smooth ways.  Maybe he felt the need to stay with her because he was insecure about his height, or maybe she was just that appealing to him, but he was gently affectionate and suave and cool, and he knew how to dance.

      I could see myself limned in blue and yellow flames like a gas stove burner.  The world above the orange glow of a furnace, the walls around cracking and blistering, the world below a whorl of charcoal and soot.  In between the flesh cooked with no end.

      Proms crown people, right?  That’s why people make Cinderella into a prom story on Nickelodeon or whatever, so they can get the prince in there.  So ceremony begins and they crown dapper gentleman and mystery girl!  They say come to the stage, so we can crown thee at the stroke of midnight.

      That reminds her that she’s about to lose her magic, miss her ride.  But will it be worth it?  No, if she was left in dingy sweats and a mop wig on stage, she’d never live it down.  This was supposed to be a glittering and magical moment, but now it would end in tragedy.

      She couldn’t resist, she kissed him one time, then said, “I’m sorry,” and bolted for the door.  People were too surprised to react fast, and she lost any pursuers on her way to the baseball field.  Would Prince be there?  Midnight was so close.

      At the stroke of midnight she was halfway to the field, when she saw him rise into the night sky, momentarily silhouetted by the moon - Prince, straddling a magic guitar.  And just like that, the mop head fell into her hands, the ashes spread over her skin, the dress became dirty sweats.

      A whirlwind of ashen scraps blew past my face and I choked on the burning trash.

      There’s more, there’s more.  I swear.  I can do it for you, Leimomi.  I can do it for what’s left of you.  She, um, she went home on foot, right?  Fuck, glass slippers.  There’s supposed to be slippers.  I forgot them.

      I know, facial recognition technology.  Yeah.  So dapper Deandre is going through the school after that, using the facial recognition software on his phone, comparing all the girls with the mystery lady on his phone.  The stepsisters are all like, me, me, but...  No, that doesn’t even make sense.

      She’s going to get found, like, maybe she’s the equivalent of a TA but for the janitor instead.  A JA, that’s our Cinderella, and he takes a pic of her face almost by accident and it matches and he’s like, baby it’s me.

      She can’t see that, doesn’t want to be known the way she is now, which the janitor thinks is lame because you shouldn’t be ashamed of your class, you know?  Patrick’s a janitor.  Ugh, where was I?  She like, um...

      Bursts of sparks and chunks of molten rock fell in random splashes around us.  If any of that touched our boiling meat, it would bore a hole straight through like industrial acid.  No escape was possible, only luck of the draw.  Who would survive and what would be left of them?, like the movie said.

      Cinderella!  Dapper Deandre prom king finds her and says, “It’s OK, sometimes your clothes and your hair and stuff are gonna suck, but you’re beautiful and cute and I will never forget our night together.  If you don’t wanna be with me, that’s cool, but I just hope, I dunno...”  And she kisses him   It’s romantic because she looks gross but he’s like.  Fuck.

      The world was coming apart into orbs of light raining into an abyss.  Nothing remained between what had once been the floor and ceiling, and no one.  There was only a heat too intense to even bother with becoming fire.  It had become another state of matter, or nothing at all.

      At last the light was consumed with black.

                                                        ***

  Read next chapter here.

[bottlecapping]

@renoxvated is grinning; gushing.

Through the bloodred clumps of sand, Boone's boots are ashuffle; not looking entirely up from his scope until a perimeter check was satisfied. Then, and only then, he chintilts down to assess the wounded.

The rifle, now slung cross his back, gets swapped out for fistfuls of fabric at Roy's shoulders. "Need cover first."

That's all the explanation Roy receives before getting hauled out of the sting of unforgiving, direct sunlight. A short trip of dragging - buffeted by Boone's huffs and Roy's wild laugh - some several feet until a great, craggy overhang of cliffside eats the light.

Soldierly (cold, that is, and equal parts skillful), Boone administers aid. He grinds his molars, feeling some deep, sympathetic ache where the stimpak needle-pinches. "Bag's gonna have to wait." Sighing dulls the edge in his voice. There's no need for his aggravation. These injuries are more than price enough. "Got a knife still on you?"

[sayaadoftheforest]

To Get A Soul Part 1

(( Slightly Not Safe For Work ))

Dorjan exited the Stone circle breathing in the first breath of air in a new realm. As a fact there were hundreds of realms of Azeroth. All of them were on vaguely the same timeline. All of them had the larger power players in the same place. It was the smaller people who were different. In all the realms, Alle was the last of the hers who existed. It needled at the incubus knowing the girl that saved them was all alone in comparison.

Behind him Enzo and Asani slipped through the opening, all three of them were dressed for hard travel. Dorjan looked at the two men frowning a bit. “Last time I spoke to Silana she told me I had better show up with someone who… Wasn’t me.”

“And you brought me because?” Asani said his dark voice was quiet and wary.

“Because you are a great fighter and if we have to take down an incubus you’re the most capable.” Dorjan explained then looked to Enzo. “You’re the only one of us I know Silana won’t be angry to see.”

Looking around the dead woods Enzo pushed back some of his dark hair. “Silana and Niv get along well, you could have brought her.”

“One of the strong family members needs to stay behind. We’re stretched thin between keeping Alle’s peace in The Forest and Dun’Yazad having to live with her Master. A new family member will help, but we need to save his soul first.” Dorjan muttered pulling out a purple gem from his pocket. Holding it out to Enzo he gave a small smile. “Help me call her?”

Asani started to laugh at the two of them. “It is known that three are better than two brothers.”

“Yes, but Silana hates your energy more than mine.” Dorjan muttered this moving up to Enzo with a playful smile. His face shifted to the one he called his own and slipped a hand into the other incubus’s hair. Enzo moaned at the touch and leaned into to kiss the head of their family.

The kiss was passionate, both men pressing up against each other as they tried to suitably tease the other. Enzo slipped and arm around Dorjan’s waist, cupping the man’s ass with his warm hand. Dorjan’s hand rested on Enzo’s neck, the hand in the man’s hair found the small hole in the back of his head and started to lightly finger the strange feature.

The Gem fell between them and started to glow more purple as the two men started to fondle each other. The swell of sexual energy calling on the woman who had made the stone. Asani watched as his family members were suitably aroused. Enzo’s hands were sliding into Dorjan’s pants when a portal opened and three new figures stepped out.

A woman with soft blond hair strutted out with two men beside her. All of them equally beautiful, but they were dressed as if they were in the middle of a war. Her eyes first fixed on Asani, a sneer crossing her lips. “Dun’Yazad and the Lady aren’t here… why do you two dogs call me?”

Still in the heat of their rough touch, Dorjan ripped himself away gasping for air. His hands were tight and as he steadied his breath he looked on the woman with a worried expression. There had been so much history that he couldn’t explain. He was grateful his family knew it.

“Silana.” Enzo said in a husky voice, his hand reaching down to lightly rub himself through his pants. “Glad you heard our call.”

“Miss out on you…” She made a small ‘tisk’ sound. “Enzo, you are the one who got away, no wonder the dogs picked you to join them. What’s going on? Are you planning on an attack.”

Dorjan shook his head now taking a step forward, but it was small, and his head was lowered. “We need your help. Do you have any incubi enemies we can, erase for you?”

“Erase?” Silana scoffed. “You do know I free incubi. That’s what the Lady assisted with getting me a position here.” She gestured to the two men, both had more amused expressions at Enzo and Dorjan.

It was hard for Dorjan to suppress an eye roll at the obvious statement. “I know that, but there are sometimes incubi who, like their position in society. The Alphas, the ones who break the others.”

“like you?” She said with a haughty clip. “Or am I mistaking the word.”

He wasn’t surprised that she would try to pull a superiority tactic on him and Asani for their pasts. Taking a step back he looked to Enzo. If he couldn’t get through to the matron then maybe the more innocent of the group could.

“Silana.” Enzo said his hips swaying a little as he came up to her. “You have to have some Alphas you wish dead.”

Throwing an arm over one of her guards it took no time for the man to wrap an arm lovingly around her. Dorjan could tell that both of the incubi, while friendly, were not just there for show. One of them he knew was a competent mind mage, the other a weapons expert. Still Silana nuzzled into the mage grinning. “I do have some, but why would you want to kill one of my enemies?”

“There is an incubus in the realm Miss is in. She has offered him a home and is going to bind him to her for protection.” Enzo started.

Jealousy rippled through Silana as she pouted. “Really? She’s going to bind one of you, lucky bastard. Keep going.”

Enzo bowed his head. But all of them knew what kind of boon it would be to be directly bound to Alle. It wasn’t something the Gilnean woman knew, but it was a coveted role that all of them had secretly wished for. “He has no soul, and as such is… with out several emotions. He was also forced into a female body, I believe as punishment, but I wasn’t there for when the story was said. We hope in giving him a male soul we can transform his body. If not, we will find another way to make him in his correct form. Miss wishes it.”

The dead woods around them was still, the six sayaad as still as the trees. Silana pursed her lips ever so slightly in thought. “I have one enemy who is an incubus. He tricks rebel males to follow him and he puts them back into slavery. How do you plan on removing his soul and giving it to your new family member?”

Dorjan reached into his bag, inside was a small orb no bigger than a large marble. Lifitng it up it looked to be the color of an oil slick, the colors ever shifting. “This. You implant it in a demon and in twenty four hours it will remove their soul… They are cut off from the void and nether, if they are killed, they will die and the soul is still captured in the orb. The personality, the essence vanishes. We will have Vilknar do the rest of the work.”

“I’ll make you a deal then.” She said her eyes not drifting from the orb. “You teach me how to make that, how to use it. I will only use it on my enemies here in this realm. Let it help me continue my work in liberating and making my people equal. In return I will give you the name, location, and I will assist in capturing the incubus so you can take his soul for you future family member.” Wetting her lips she held her hand out to Dorjan. “Do we have a deal Prey?”

“If I was Prey I couldn’t make a deal.” He said staring back at her. There was so far he would allow her to degrade him, but it had been years since he carried that shameful title.

“I repeat all I said before and change to, Do we have a deal, Dorjan?” She held her hand out not staring back.

Taking it swiftly Dorjan said muttered a ‘yes’ and both of them felt the magic of The Forest pull at them. Knowledge that if one of them did not live up to their deal they would face a Beast at their back. It would be worse for Dorjan as he was sworn to a Beast.

Pulling her hand back she quickly ran it over the front of her dress, as if to clean it of Dorjan’s touch. “Well, as your Miss would say, ‘shall we hunt’?”

(( Mentions: @allebeithloch, @olivia-lovecraft (for Helriel), @mira-shadoword (For being the one who had the orb originally) ))

((Also yes I changed Asani’s FC since his new actor has a lot more gifs than his old one))

[simonaj1804]

Social research

Social Media – Impact on human behavior

I have previously been interested and read up about mental health and behaivor changes in humans that has happened or changed due to impact of media or society that has been impacted by media and internet. It is an interesting topic and it’s a topic that is seen to take place in every day life. Social media overal has made humans bolder. Societyy as whole is affected when rumors are spread.  Social media encourages mob mentality and supposed justice when accorded by a mob even if fatal to the individual rarely gets punished. For example Twitter is full of trolls looking for validation. Their goal is to pick on a celebrity or a content creator and insult them in horrible ways. You can see that many times on other social media such as TikTok, Instagram etc. people carefully look after the well-known people and pick on every little mistake they could possibly make and call it being ‘cancelled’. Which at times sometimes could ruin a person’s life or career (not only the online one) or mental health which is even worse when it’s affected. Also another fact is that Social Media has allowed to become to so many people celebrities through the apps. I is encouraging many others to become popular as well and in the process some are turning into self-obsessed and narcissistic. It can also make people very insecure if they’re not pretty or good looking, or even talented as others. There’s many times when a good looking female or male posts pictures of themselves and many many people comment that it has made them cry or that they’re jealous. They become self-conscious by comparing themselves to the (mostly) edited pictures or selfies of celebrities which are anatomically or naturally not the same as irl and in the picture. It is also encouraging violent behaivour for many. Before the internet has became popular, people couldn’t harass others easily. But now anyone can easily harass and threaten others by hiding their identity. Most of the social media content creators face cyberbullying, threats and trolling. People who are used to harass other online tend to develop more and more violent behaivour because most of the times they aren’t being punished enough for it. I had myself many experiences with this where I have received death threats, people attempting to stalk me or actual stalkers trying to get access to my location I lived in. Lot of teens and younger generations suffer from anxiety and depression when they face cyber-bullying. Lack of awarness and knowledge when they enter the online world is letting them become vulnerable to people who can use them or proceed to threaten them. Many of them are also suffering from low-self esteem as I said previously because of watching many people showing off their talents through social media. It has also power to instil anger in people in particular communities or towards particular people and this anger is being carried forward to real life. There’s also plenty of content on social media on makeup anad beauty products. There are so many makeup channels on YouTube. With high-quality videos and images, people are promoting products to improve their outward appearance. This is causing people, especially girls to give too much importance to beauty. They are also often being lied to because eventhough the product are being promoted by content creators and have photoshoots with people and skin they’re often still photoshoped or edited. Fake news is also causing panic among people. It is in turn leading to hatred and clashes between communities that we have seen in previous years..

Overal negative impact on sociaty might be that it is promoting gossiping and causing damage to the reputation of people. It’s the major reason for making content viral. However, not all viral content is trustworthy. There are many incidents of fake news going viral. A while ago few people were lynched by a mob in separate incidents. This happened because they believed fake news that said child traffickers are roaming in their area. Innocent people were murdered as the villagers thought they came to their area to kidnap children. Powerful people are using social media as a tool to impose their ideaologies on people. For example when political parties are creating lots of content on social media to influence and manipulate the viewss of people on goverments and political parties. Trolling is on of the major negative consequences of social media. Politically motivated trolling is also very common. The social media is also being used as a tool for data mining.

There are obviously many positives as well of Social media on human behaivour and on society such as giving access to varied opinions and thoughts of people of different cultures and different regions. This has the power to make people broad-minded, challenge stereotyped views on particular communities and develop mutual respect among people of different backgrounds. It allows us to expand knowledge through social media and most of the social media content creators encourage people to pursue career they love, to take care of themselves and learn new skills etc. That creates positive impact on human behaivour as it often really takes just someone to believe in one another for them to try their hardest or at least keep their head up. Traditional media was the only medium until recently to reach people. Not everyone could share their views and information with people. Most of the traditional media channels are in the hands of big businesses. Social media enriched democracy and equality by enabling everyone to send out their content to a larger audience. It also gives voice to minorities and vulnerable sections. For example more women are voicing their opinions through social media, who were otherwise not encouraged to speak up due to cultural norms. Another example is that differently-abled people are sharing content to encourage people who have the same problems, and are voicing their thoughts to goverment and society. People are collaborating for good. Tweeting by hashtags, they are pushing goverments to do their duties.  Though there are some negative effects, social media can be considered boon to society. However serious steps should be taken to mitigate the negative influences of social media like fake news, trolling etc. Cyber protection cells and AI together can solve these problems to a great extent. Along with that, ethical values should be imbibed in schools and colleges. Awarness programs help people to know about the good and bad sides of social media. I got the infor from these sites: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/social-media-impact-human-behavior-society-piyushi-jain#:~:text=Social%20media%20use%20has%20also,tendencies%20and%20behaviours%20in%20children.

https://islaahwellness.com/social-media-its-consumption-and-impact-on-human-behavior-and-society/

https://www.researchgate.net/post/What-is-the-impact-of-social-media-on-human-behavior  - I liked this thread because it’s like a discussion of people talking about it I have also looked at discussions between people on Reddit and Quora

[aroselane]

Boone’s Memory: A Girl in a Dress

A Girl in a Dress: Memory #7

There was a small party going on, and I already knew the outcome of it.

Eaden was going to ask me to escort her. It was inevitable.

The master of the house, Eaden’s father, Percival, was hosting the party here in the castle.

There was a rough knock on my door, and I frowned. I knew it.

I simply stood there, and the door opened anyway.

My gaze went to the door as I stared at Maccon.

“What is it?” I asked.

I was honestly a little surprised that it wasn’t Eaden.

He closed the door as he entered my room.

“Are you going to the party tonight?” he asked me.

I shrugged, “Am I supposed to?”

“You should,” he stated, “For Eaden.”

“She never asked me,” I stated.

It made me wonder why she didn’t ask me.

“She wasn’t allowed to,” Maccon stated, “Percival is having another man escort her.”

Why did that frustrate me as much as it did? Who was taking her?

“You just assumed she would ask you?” Maccon asked.

I shrugged, “She usually does.”

“She is going with some royal,” Maccon stated, “He seems like one of those eccentrics I’ve heard so much about.”

“Eccentrics?” I asked him.

“A man who fornicates with other men,” he stated.

I made a face. It wasn’t something I had ever heard of.

I didn’t realize that there was a word for it.

So then why was she allowing him to escort her?

Maccon looked at me, “Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” I asked.

I didn’t want to let him know how much it bothered me.

“Eaden going to the party with another man,” he stated, “If it were Lucia, I would be in a rage.”

“Like you said,” I stated, “Percival is having him escort her.”

If it were her, she would have had me escort her. Wouldn’t she?

“Still,” Maccon said, “You should go, make the eccentric feel nervous.”

If this royal man really did like other men, then what would happen if he took a liking to me? Would Percival make me leave?

I wouldn’t leave even if he were to have me locked away and beaten again.

I was much stronger now.

“I’ll go,” I said.

Maccon grinned at me, “Your devotion to her is obvious.”

I glared at the taller male, “At least I don’t follow her around like a dog.”

“I choose to follow her,” he stated, “I am Lucia’s Guardian. It is my duty to keep her safe.”

“She is perfectly capable without you,” I stated.

He glared at me, “Not while she sleeps.”

“So, you never sleep?” I asked.

“You know nothing about them,” he hissed at me, “You are merely being tested now.”

Being tested?

“What the hell for?” I demanded.

“You don’t even know what Eaden is,” he stated, “She is looking for a Guardian.”

“Why does she need a Guardian?” I asked, “She can protect herself. I’ve seen it.”

“When she was younger, did she have control of her fire?” he asked.

I made a face, “No, that was why all those kids died.”

“You helped her learn to control it.”

“How?” I demanded.

There was no way I had any part in helping her learn to control her fire.

“You didn’t die when she burned you,” he stated, “She practiced her abilities on you.”

She did?

I know she was continually surrounding me with fire, but I had no idea it was just for practice. Part of me was insulted.

“From there, she was able to develop her other abilities.”

“Like the mind-reading?” I asked.

He looked at me and nodded.

“Can she read your mind?” I asked him.

“Not anymore.”

I nodded slowly as my gaze dropped to the floor, “So what is Eaden?”

He chuckled, “That isn’t for me to tell you.”

“But you know what she is?” I asked.

“Of course, I do.”

“So why do you know, and I don’t?”

“Because I will always look after Lucia, and Lucia will always look after Eaden.”

Then why was he even here? Couldn’t they just look after each other?

“Then what about Lucia?” I asked, “What is she?”

“That is for Eaden to tell you,” he stated, “She has to trust you.”

Didn’t she already trust me?

“So, get ready,” he said, “I have to go make sure Lucia has a man on her arm when she enters the ballroom.”

I nodded as he walked out and left.

So, I was going with the sole purpose of making the eccentric royal back off?

I don’t know why it bothers me that she didn’t ask me anyway.

I just rushed to the bath, I had to hurry and get myself ready.

…

I stood outside the doors, and I could hear the music playing. I suddenly became nervous.

My hands went down to smooth out my jacket, and I ran my hand through my hair to keep it out of my face.

Once my hair was smoothed back, I pulled open the door. I could feel too many eyes on me.

I scanned the room until I saw Lucia and Maccon dancing, then I made it a mission to look for Eaden.

My eyes looked over the dresses, and I thought they were all overdone. The women wore too much makeup and tried to show as much skin as possible.

Then my eyes landed on Eaden.

Her hair was up, and I could clearly see her neck. The dark-colored dress brought out the pale color of her skin.

The man in front of her trying to lead was covered in every possible color. He was adorned with far too much gold.

Now I think I understood what Maccon meant.

I simply watched as he kept stepping on her feet, and she looked like she was trying her best not to get mad.

It was my chance.

I made my way through the crowd and stopped right next to them.

Her gaze met mine, and she quickly averted her eyes.

She knew she didn’t ask me, maybe that was her way of trying to avoid me.

I held my right hand out to the man who gazed at me curiously.

“My name is Boone,” I said, “And you are?”

His gaze dropped to my hand before his own hand met mine to shake it.

“M-My name is Charles.”

I gave him one of my best smiles, and his gaze went back at Eaden.

He was nervous, so I think Maccon was right.

“Do you mind if I cut in?” I asked him.

He shook his head quickly and backed away so that I could take her hand in mine.

“I’m not supposed to be dancing with you,” she whispered.

“Well, it would be a shame to turn me down” I stated, “Do you even know how many eyes are on us right now?”

She looked around, and her wide eyes let me know she noticed, “O-Okay.”

Her voice was shaky as she placed her free hand on my shoulder.

I placed my left hand on her side, and I led her.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked, “And here I thought you were going to beg me to come.”

Her face flushed red, “Why would I do that?”

“Did you want me to ask you?” I asked.

“No,” she hissed, “I didn’t want you here at all.”

I felt a little hurt by her words, but part of me knew she wasn’t being completely honest.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I am,” she growled.

I just glared down at her. She was still shorter than me by quite a bit.

The top of her head didn’t even reach my shoulders.

I led her a little faster before circling around.

“After this dance, you are to leave immediately,” she said.

“And what if I don’t?” I asked, challenging her.

“Then you will be punished,” she seethed.

“Are you going to punish me?” I asked.

She looked furious.

“I hate it when you disobey me.”

“I am a man of simple pleasures,” I stated, “Going against what you say has to be my favorite pass time.”

Her eyes changed to orange.

“Not here,” I said, pulling her closer.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“I’ll leave the party if you promise me something.”

She looked up to meet my gaze, “What?”

“Promise you’ll answer some questions I have.”

“I don’t know what your questions are, and maybe I don’t feel like answering them.”

“Promise me,” I said.

“I promise I’ll meet you after the party,” she said, “We can go from there.”

“That isn’t good enough,” I just above a whisper, “I need you to promise me.”

“I will do no such thing,” she pulled her hand out of mine before stepping away, “Leave the party, Boone.”

I wasn’t going to leave. I needed her to promise she would answer my questions.

I needed to know what she was, and I needed to know what Lucia was. Why does Maccon think he is going to follow Lucia to the ends of the earth? Why hasn’t he aged?

Why hasn’t Lucia aged? Why is Eaden aging?

I hated that I was forcing her to tell me, but it has been over seven years since I arrived. I deserved to know more than I do. I was here for a reason, so what was the reason?

I lifted my gaze to search the room until I laid eyes on a woman in a bright red dress. Her breasts practically squeezed out of the top of it.

I made my way over to her, and her eyes lit up once she saw me.

“Might I have this dance?” I asked her.

She gave me a smile that showed some of her teeth, and I led her to the dance floor.

I wasn’t sure exactly what she was, but I knew that she wasn’t human.

I could feel Eaden trying to burn a hole in the back of my head with her glare, but I wasn’t going until she promised.

I put up with being left in the dark for far too long, I couldn’t handle it anymore.

The woman pressed herself tightly against me, and I felt sick.

Her pheromones were making me nauseous, and I didn’t understand why.

She was a good-looking woman, so why wasn’t I attracted to her?

I just continued to lead her until I felt a light tap on my back.

I dropped my hands before I turned around.

Eaden stared up at me, and her deep mixed blue eyes made me feel lost.

“I promise,” she murmured.

The words left her mouth, and I felt relief. I didn’t want to stay here, but at the same time, I didn’t want her to stay here either.

“Why can’t we both leave?” I asked her.

“I don’t have a choice,” she said, trying not to raise her voice, “Father is throwing this party for me.”

It was for her fourteenth birthday. It’s been a few days since the actual day.

I could only sigh, she wouldn’t leave if it meant displeasing her father.

“Alright,” I said, “We’ll meet in my room once the party is over.”

She hesitated before nodding, “Alright.”

I wanted to place my hand on her head, but I didn’t want to ruin her hair. So I smiled at her, to show her that I was happy.

“Hurry up and go,” she said, looking around.

I gave her a quick, polite nod before turning around to take my leave.

The woman in red stopped me, “Where are you running off to?”

“My master requested me.”

Her expression changed from interest and desire to disgust, “You’re a slave? How dare you dance with me!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her, “You enjoyed that dance far more than I did.”

“Get out of my sight scoundrel,” she hissed.

I pulled open the door, and I walked out.

The loud sound of the instruments was barely a murmur now, and I could actually feel how hard my heart was beating.

So, all I had to do now was wait.

…

At first, I thought it was only going to be an hour or maybe even a little longer. I didn’t see Eaden until very late, a few hours before the sun was to rise.

The door to my room creaked open, and I sat up from my bed to see her. She was still fully dressed, but her hair was cascaded down her shoulders.

She looked clearly exhausted.

Still beautiful.

“Eaden,” I breathed.

I got to my feet to pull her to the bed, and I forced her to sit down.

Her dress looked darker than it had before.

“Did you have fun?” I asked her.

She only shook her head.

I wrapped my left arm around her shoulders, my demon arm.

“Hurry up and ask your questions,” she said, “I am very close to losing consciousness.”

She came anyway?

“I promised,” she said, “So ask.”

I stood up, “Sleep here tonight.”

“I can’t.”

She hasn’t slept in my bed in a long time. I don’t know the reason.

“It can be like old times,” I said.

“I am wearing this huge dress,” she sighed, “I can’t.”

I was quick to grab one of my short-sleeved white shirts and a pair of gray elastic pants.

“Then wear something of mine.”

She only looked at the clothes I held out to her.

“Come on,” I said, “Stand up.”

I helped her to her feet, and I found the knot on the back of her dress, and I untied it.

“Close your eyes,” she said to me.

“I can’t untie this with my eyes shut,” I stated.

“Try,” she whispered.

I didn’t even bother to try. I simply loosened it and pulled open the back of the dress.

She gasped and held the front of the dress with both hands.

I turned around so she could have some privacy.

My eyes locked on a crack in the brick near my bed.

“So, what do you want to ask?” she asked.

“I have a few questions,” I stated.

“I promised I would answer them,” she said.

I could hear the rustling of clothes.

“What are you?” I asked.

“What are you?” she asked me back.

“So, then you don’t trust me,” I stated.

It felt a little hurt by that.

“I never said that.”

“Then, what is Lucia?” I asked, “Why didn’t you want me at the party?”

I heard her sigh.

“What is a Guardian?” I asked, “Why was I really brought here?”

“Stop,” she said quickly, “One at a time.”

“What are you?”

“What are you?” she asked me.

I turned to glare at her, but I froze once I saw her pulling up the large pants.

“I am something people don’t know much about,” she stated, “I think I am one of the last of my kind.”

I stared at her, “What are you? What do you think I am?”

“You are a Demon,” she stated, “But human on one day of the month, so you are only Half Demon.”

She was right.

“What do you think I am?” she asked.

“If I had an idea, I wouldn’t be wondering,” I stated, “I have no idea what you are.”

She looked directly at me, and through the darkness, I could see her mixed blue eyes clearly.

“I am a Phoenix.”

I had to replay her words in my head, a Phoenix?

The fire, the healing, the different color flame, and the mind-reading. How did it all fit?

“And Lucia?” I asked.

“A Dragon,” she stated.

A Dragon? Now I know that Maccon had no reason to protect her.

“Why didn’t you want me at the party?” I asked.

My questions were diverting, but I needed to know.

She looked to the side and shook her head.

“You promised.”

She looked over at me, clearly tired.

“I didn’t want to hear those other girls’ thoughts of you.”

I looked at her, clearly confused. Why did she care?

“What is a Guardian?” I asked her.

“Maccon is Lucia’s Guardian,” she stated, “He will be alive as long as she is, he watches over her when she can’t care for herself.”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to?” I asked.

“When she sleeps, she is unaware of everything around her,” she said, “Sometimes it can last years. Maccon is the only one she trusts other than me to watch over her.”

She trusts Maccon with her life?

“Is he human?” I asked.

She sat on the bed before lying back, “Not anymore.”

“A Guardian isn’t human?” I asked her.

“The Guardian and the Keeper share a bond so powerful that the Guardian becomes a supernatural being to protect their Keeper.”

“Is that why I’m here?” I asked her, “To be your Guardian?”

She sat up quickly to look at me, “I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“That isn’t a decision I can make alone,” she said, “The Guardian must be willing.”

“So, what happens if I do become your Guardian?”

“It’s always different,” she stated, “Maccon has become very strong since becoming Lucia’s Guardian.”

“And how long would that last?” I asked, “Being a Guardian?”

She fell back on the bed, “Until the Keeper dies.”

Until the Keeper dies… What happens to the Guardian?

“What happens to the Guardian?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t remember.”

I stared at her for a minute, “Do you trust me?”

She was silent.

“You don’t?” I asked.

“I do trust you,” she said, “But I don’t trust anyone else where you’re involved.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?” I asked.

“Please let me sleep,” she groaned.

“Do you think I liked watching that moronic man dance with you?” I asked.

She sat up quickly, “Do you think I liked hearing his thoughts about you?”

“Stop reading other people's minds,” I stated.

“I can’t,” she said in a pleading tone, “Their thoughts were all screaming at me.”

I didn’t have a comeback for that.

“That woman,” she whispered, “The one in the red dress, she wanted you.”

I chuckled.

Eaden sat up to glare at me, she looked irritated.

“Well, I didn’t want her,” I stated.

“The man I was dancing with, Charles,” she said, “He wanted you too.”

“I thought he might,” I stated, “Maccon warned me about him.”

“You knew I was being escorted by another man, and you came anyway?” she practically hissed.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked her simply.

“You weren’t invited!”

“Yes, I was,” I stated, “Maccon invited me.”

“Then it wasn’t a real invitation,” she frowned.

“He told me about the man you were going with, and I decided to go.”

Her frown deepened.

I didn’t want to fight with her anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was tired.

I had waited several hours for her to finally arrive, and I finally got the answers to the questions that had been eating at me.

“Are you ready to sleep?” I asked her.

She nodded with a pout on her face.

“Come on,” I said, crawling on the bed first so that my back was to the wall, and she laid in front of me.

“That man didn’t even pay attention to me,” she said, “I didn’t understand why I was the one he was dancing with half the night.”

“Stop talking about that inbred,” I stated, “Sing something for me.”

She turned to look at me before chuckling, “Alright.”

I laid there waiting for her usual song. She sang it almost every time before she fell asleep, so I knew most of it.

“Sing me a lullaby,

Sing me to sleep,

Sing me a love song,

Sing me a song about sadness,

Sing me a song about war,

Sing me a song about laughter,

Sing me a lullaby,

Sing me to sleep.”

“Who came up with that song?” I laughed.

It was the first time I heard that version.

“You’re just mad because you can’t dance,” she stated.

“Yeah, well, you can’t sing,” I said back to her.

We both only laughed. I knew for a fact I was a great dancer, and she could definitely sing. I actually hated how her singing made me feel.

“I’d like to hear a song that didn’t sound like an old man wrote it.”

“It’s the only song I know,” she mumbled.

“The only song you know?” I asked.

She hesitated before nodding.

It wasn’t a song I ever heard of, maybe her father sang it to her when she was younger.

“Try writing a new one,” I said, “Any song would sound better than that one.”

She nodded again.

“Goodnight,” I told her.

“Goodnight,” she said just above a whisper.

I could still feel the raised hair on my skin from her voice. It made me wonder if she knew how amazing her voice sounded.

Despite me hating the way it felt, I knew I didn’t really hate it.

I just didn’t want to ever admit it. Not to her, not even to myself.

My eyes lingered on her until I couldn’t keep them open anymore.

Her humming kept the butterflies fluttering in my belly until I lost consciousness. 

[danigre]

Trump Is Trying to Militarize the Police. It Won’t Make Us Any Safer.

Alex S. Vitale

5:18 PM ET

President Donald Trump and Attorney General Jeff Sessions announced this week that they will be suspending a handful of restrictions put in place by the Obama administration on transfers of equipment from the military to local police. While this decision is a setback for efforts to improve police community relations, its effects are primarily symbolic.

The federal 1033 Program allows local police departments to request excess equipment from the Defense Department. Everything from microwaves to helicopters is included on the extensive shopping lists distributed to police. Since its creation in 1997, the program has distributed over $5 billion worth of hardware to over 8,000 police departments.

Following the militarized policing of protests in Ferguson, Mo. in 2014, police accountability activists and civil liberties advocates on the right and left raised serious concerns about the appropriateness of much of this hardware for civilian police forces. In addition to the bad optics, critics pointed out that this program, combined with the Department of Homeland Security’s “terrorism grants” worth another $35 billion, have contributed to a militarization of domestic policing and the rise of a warrior mentality.

Over the last generation there has been an explosion in the prevalence and mission of SWAT teams and other paramilitary police units. Radley Balko, in his book The Rise of the Warrior Cop, shows how these units generally lack appropriate enforcement activities, so have creeped into new areas such as serving low-level drug warrants and intimidating protesters.

This kind of policing and the extensive training that goes with it tends to treat every police encounter as potentially deadly and instills an “us versus them” ethos within police ranks. That, combined with a robust “war on drugs,” “war on crime,” and “war on terror” has created a growing gulf between citizens and the police that is especially true in communities of color.

The Obama administration recognized how this warrior mindset is contributing to poor police community relations and argued that it should be replaced with a guardian mindset that more closely mirrors a “to serve and protect” approach that many feel has been abandoned in recent years.

In response, the Obama administration placed some restrictions on the hardware that can be transferred. Tracked vehicles, bayonets, and grenade launchers would no longer be allowed. Mine-resistant vehicles, sniper rifles, and military transport planes, however, remained available with few questions asked. In fact the Government Accounting Office, as part of an audit, recently obtained $1.2 million worth of military grade equipment from the Defense Department under assumed names and made up police departments.

The Obama-era reforms were so thin, in fact, that they have done little to turn back the tide of police militarization. Departments continue to obtain billions of dollars of military equipment to be used primarily for paramilitary police units. Some departments have even voluntarily sworn off the newly reauthorized equipment. The Los Angeles Police Department announced this week that it has no interest in obtaining camouflaged uniforms or .50 caliber ammunition that was prohibited by the Obama reforms, since they have no legitimate law enforcement purpose and undermine public trust in the police.

So why then are Trump and Sessions championing these changes as a boon to public safety? Because it is part of the political theater of punishment and control. Sessions’s ramping up of the war on drugs, and Trump’s pardon of Sheriff Joe Arpaio are not about enhancing public safety; they are appeals to a politics of anger and resentment that is tied to a belief that the only way to solve public safety problems is through “getting tough.” Trump and Sessions are encouraging their supporters, including many police officers, to embrace a politics of branding immigrants, people of color, and people who commit crime as beyond the pale and deserving of the harshest of sanctions. It is this mindset that is the real threat to public safety.

Former police officer and now law professor Seth Stoughton tweeted Monday that this change “isn't about getting [officers] tools they didn't have & couldn't get." He continued, "Instead, it's [about] promoting a toxic approach to policing, one that reduces trust & effectiveness and endangers officers & civilians alike.”

It’s time to take a much bigger step to end police militarization than the changes implemented by the Obama administration. The 1033 and Terrorism Grants programs should be abandoned or completely rethought. Given the catastrophe in Houston this week, it’s clear that what local officials really need from the federal government to enhance public safety are high-water vehicles and swift water rescue boats, not tanks and bayonets.

Alex S. Vitale is professor of sociology and coordinator of the Policing and Social Justice Project at Brooklyn College, and author of The End of Policing.

[bottlecapping]

Boone is happier (although he doesn't have the terminology to express or even understand that he is) if he is sent to Lucky 38 when/if he is dismissed. Particularly if others are also stationed in the Highroller Suite, too. Reminds him of NCR days. Bunking by allies. Trusting them as an extension of the Courier's trust. Being socialized around. Doing a little of that himself, too. It's a group that couldn't be more different than himself. Their problems and their strifes allow him to (somewhat) consider others outside of his obsession with dismantling the Legion. It gives him a more well-rounded view of people in their entirety, given that his ideals were largely shaped by what the NCR has taught him.

Boone dismissed: "Guess I'll be around Novac for a while longer, until I figure out what I want to do with myself."

Boone, if left in Novac, leaves the town intermittently, following the rumors of Legion activity within the area. Occasionally, if someone comes looking for him in Novac, he will not be there for several days as he is out on one of these hunts of his. Leaving his hands idle (especially if/before Caesar is dealt with) is a catalyst for these one-man adventures. The right push can convince Boone not to come back until Caesar's dead – or he is. Boone is less prone to these blood-debt solo quests, if given the Lucky 38 community. (or another community – plothook)

Boone liked Novac. Still does. But the friendship that convinced him to move there is no more. Boone's room was intended to be shared by his budding family, but the dream was broken when they died. He only has painful reminders in Novac, and the obligatory dark cycle of night-watchman for 12 hours a day. It's certainly not to his mental health's benefit, but (someone) convincing him to move out is.

[bottlecapping]

We'll kill more with two of us. - for Boone - @umbrellamedic (//i don't have a verse set up solidly yet... but... uh... we'll throw her with the followers of the apocalypse for now >.>;;;;; )

The whitehot Mojave sunshine gleams in his shades, baking a stretch of ramshackle brahmin pens. The two-headed beasts don't know what's coming down the highway, while their caretakers cower behind crates in a predictable dereliction of duty.

One of them has a spine, or a death wish, joining at his side. It's no animal herder though.

"It'll have to be enough." Acceptance and resignation sink his voice low.

Legion's raiding party is still a blur on the horizon. From rifle-scope view, they travel in tight formation. About nine, with a flag-carrier following at the rear; looks grim with righteous pride. Boone can't abide that.

The offending expression explodes into pink mist.

Legion are a sickness. Whatever they can't infect, they kill. Boone's got a telescopic sight and .308 caliber cure for their kind of disease.