#static sunrise story

[bonefries]

Outlast Trials | Fanfiction | Mostly SFW + Depictions of gore / little bit of suggestive groping.

The Fox and the Hare | Franco Barbi x (Reagent OC) Sister Elizabeta

This picture is now the cover for this one shot I wrote about Eli and Franco! This is the story about the first time Eli reveals to Franco that she wants to cannibalize his heart. I've never really written a fic before so I gave it a try. (Please go easy on me. Writing is not my first skill.)

(Outlast Trials story, you have been warned.) Writing under the cut!

"5 AM in the Goddamn morning." Franco's voice rumbled from his bed at the less than pleasurable sound of the morning intercom. The crackling static of the Murkoff speaker as it popped on to inform him that he has 15 minutes to prepare before his first appearance of the day.

His blanket would shuffle as he struggled to slump himself forward, clearing the morning gunk from his throat and rubbing the dust from his eyes. Lifting his ring finger to his face, he delicately massaged the thin layer of his eyelid. In this gesture he would push away the pesky tears that pooled along his waterline.

"Marone." He would roll off his tongue in agitation. There are few individuals that opt to run his stage so early before sunrise.

This was, even for him, too goddamn early. However, it was all a part of the contract. On call at whatever moment of the day Murkoff desired. In exchange, Franco is given his milk and honey. The heroin operations intact, his clientele happy and paying, and his protection guaranteed from whomever senior Salvatore may still be trying to throw his way to disturb his little slice of heaven. Though, one did think about the audacity it took for him to be so inconvenienced by waking up early for work. He was, after all, complaining from his large and private bedroom that was custom fitted with all of his nice things. From his silky bed sheets to his hardwood armoire that held his finely tailored wardrobe. The things he can't help but want because of his upbringing in a luxury lifestyle. Back then, young Barbi could have whatever he wanted so long as it didn't require Daddy's love and affection. "Who the fuck wants to be in there at ass crack'a dawn." Franco would take a deep breath, the air hissing through him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The already irritated Barbi had no intentions of getting dressed this first time around as he searched his bed for his evening robe. As he sat on the edge of his sheets, he would run his fingers over the side of his head to feel how his wound was fairing. It was a regular issue that he has long since discarded serious care for. The chemicals Murkoff pumped into him at regular check ups somehow managed to keep the infection in line just enough every time. But, it was still a chronic pain. And of course, the dressings he had gone to sleep with were off once again. He could never manage to get them to stick as he would toss and turn throughout his appointed resting periods. At his bedside of course, sat his precious Lupara. He'd grab the gun with a haste most only saw in soldiers hurried to war.

"I'll be fucked if some spunky little cunt is really lookin for a fight this early in the mornin." He spat with a jagged scowl.

If it truly was some reagent with the balls to be so punctual, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him in his proper work attire. Hell, the only thing he truly bothered with were his socks and shoes. The small man had every intention of looking ridiculous for the poor sucker he was hoping to find. --------

"Good morning Mr. Barbi." Said the man behind the glass. Waiting for Franco at this gated entrance as always. "Up yours, scum pig." Franco would snarl, with no hesitation and no eye contact to spare. Never had he cared for the authority around him that Murkoff provided. This may be their set up, but this was his turf, as far as he was concerned. Once he was past the gate and through the doorway, he would be in the facility. With Lupara over his shoulder, he would stop to stare out into the distance of the Docks. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The morning silence was deafening. “So fuckin early even the rats ain’awake yet.”

Franco stated as he stepped along metal staircases and wooden hallways. The disgusting smell of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs. The fake simulated cries of seagulls and the moist sloshing of water and carnage against the cargo ship. He would make his way to the rising platform that laid beneath the hatch, expecting to find someone perhaps within the bridge. As his footsteps trebled against the metal panels of the floor, his predatory intuition made clear that his prey was not too far off. Something in the air changed, a presence, a frequency. A silent alarm, if any. And it made his trigger finger itch.

But his gut warned him to hold steady. And gently, Franco pushed open a door to the bridge control room. The red lighting in the room would make it rather easy for someone to sit still and eventually slide by quietly. Like a conniving little rat. But this wasn't the case, as the intruder made no real efforts to conceal themselves.

A figure hunched over a box of junk and trinkets. The sound of objects being picked up, inspected perhaps, and dropped back in. Though there was something odd about the way that they did, as there didn't appear to be much urgency in their gestures. At least not the kind that you would expect from most reagents.

"Who the fuck is that!?" Franco asserted. Aiming his Lupara with a ferocity that came quicker than the pull of the trigger.

It wasn't more than a second before the hunched figure rose to their full height, head turning slightly to capture a side eye view of Franco's threat posture. Their gaze presented with a very silent and eerie calmness despite the gun pointed to them.

"Thats an awful rude way to greet 'a girl so early in the morning, Mista' Bambino." A voice with a short fuse for patience spoke out to him. You could hear the small gasp that wormed it's way out of the mobster's lungs after being addressed. Franco would drop his hostile pose with Lupara still in his hand. Motioning his arms forward, he gestured the way one would when asking for a hug.

"Lizzy!" Shouted the Barbi.

The giantess gave Franco the quick up and down. Her eyes hung in a way that made them look so soft, but sad. The same way a Forget-Me-Not makes you feel by it's name.

"Doooon't you Lizzy me buster! Yous was just aimin'that goddamn Lupara at the backa' my head!" Her shoulders would jerk around, a small medicine bottle in one hand while the other put up a scolding finger.

Franco would note that she didn't look like her typical self. While she dawned her ever holy reagent bindings and gear, something was unkempt about her.

Her hair was frizzy and bedridden, her make up was fading and tacky along the features and creases of her face. Loosely fitted from her body was a hand made evening jumper. The material looked surprisingly close to the silk of his sheets back in his bedroom. Lastly her stockings were put on in a hurry. They were already full of tears and holes as they pulled against the shape of her legs. For her that had been good enough, and she had walked into the trial shuttle without any shoes.

The two would walk forward from their respective spots in the room, meeting each other half way.

"No, no, Lizzy! You know I'd never take a shot at ya! I-I ain't seen ya in a week I wasn't thinkin it was you!"

Franco's demeanor would shift ever so quickly to that of a begging pup as he put his hands together. Pleading with Lizzy that he was not out of line. That he did good hesitating before letting his trigger finger do the talking for him. "S-Sugar." He would stutter, his expression failing to show any real confidence in his display.

Lizzy would roll her eyes and shake her head. The finger that did the scolding now gently brushing through the front patch of Franco's hair.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much of a choice Barbi doll." She said.

Her nails gently pushed the strands of greasy hair into their signature swirl on his forehead. The gentleness of her motion reflected in the way it felt. A slight tickle on top of the skin, oh, it was something so minor that could make a man like Franco purr.

She could melt him like butter. His knees could turn to jelly on the spot as she stroked his hair. Like being praised for good behavior while he batted his eyelashes at her. Despite how disheveled she would consider herself in the moment, she was his Madonna. An icon he'd get on his knees to worship while he pleaded for her forgiveness and her blessings.

"One of tha'rookies in my cell block is havin a tough time with a nasty stab wound. I said I'd go get them somethin first thing in the mornin." She explained. The tone of her voice suggesting that she was, in fact, the one looking for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to wake ya up Frankie- Honest. But yous was the first in rotation today." Lizzy tried to assure him, her fingers clenching lightly to his chin. Making him look into her eyes while she tried to reason her actions to him.

Her hands were so soft, except for her pointer finger. He could feel the callused tip of it, making it stand out against the rest. The spot where she pricked too much from sewing without a thimble or machine guard, surely.

Smitten, his mouth would curl into a dotting smile. How he wished she would give him more than just this simple restraint. Though, the thought would quickly pass as his expression changed. Resembling that of a mean and feral tom cat. Scrunched together, like there was a bad taste past his tongue and teeth.

"Wait wait. You got up at this time for some....random newbie! Lizzy. C'mon what'dya get outta helpin these people!" Franco would argue. He was more upset on her behalf than she was.

In fact, she didn't seem to protest the task at all.

"These people ain't got nothin for you. You fuckin know that. Whats'tha sense in goin through.......through this kind of bullshit! Eh?" The little man would kick his leg limply as he let his fuse run without much thought to his outburst. Lizzy offered no real response other than a puff of air. Her red painted nail would lightly poke Bambino on his nose while she uttered something.

"Look Frankie. You might get a nice cozy spot all to ya'self but I share a parlor'wit a buncha other people. Some'a them need someone to look out for them alright?" The woman didn't say much else other than to point out that it was a simple act of kindness for a wounded stranger. "They're just taking advantage of'ya Liz." He grumbled and grabbed her free hand by the wrist. Holstering Lupara for the moment, a thing he rarely did when he was out and about.

"They ain't workin hard like you do, baby. They're just lookin to get what they can outta ya, and then suck you for every last drop you got." Franco's tone would once again reach a level of irritation. He hissed in a low volume and moved to hold her hand in his palms.

"You can't just go willy fuckin nilly doin shit for these people. They're gonna stab you in the back the second they get the goddamn chance."

The way Franco said it truly reflected how often he looked over his shoulder. One could imagine that he never meant a hand shake a day in his life, or that his fingers surely ached from how often they were crossed behind his back. It takes a rat to know a rat, and he has been both rodent and thief in his day.

"Frankie, you're ova'reactin. It's just a little medicine, sourpuss." Lizzy would puff her cheeks out, unbothered by the assumptions Franco was making. She calmly slid her hand away from his grasp to gesture as she spoke.

"Besides....Gave me a reason to come see ya'didn't it?" She giggled at the statement, her fingers running down the open lining of his evening robe. Adjusting the fabric slightly, Lizzy would cup the side of Franco's face. Feeling the heat from his cheeks that she couldn't see on him now.

Franco just stared at her. His thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked in confusion and bashfulness. He didn't want to admit he had gotten a little overworked about the situation, but he had to muster up an excuse of some sort, right?

"Y-yeah. So what if it did? I ain't gonna thank'em! And now I'm all fuckin worked up and out here in my fuckin pajamas!" The man whined. A wincing pitch to his voice that made one feel like they were fighting with a child.

"Fuckin...mothafucka.." Bambino growled to himself. Massaging his eyelids softly once again to push the waterworks away.

"Aw, my poor Bambino. Always cryin, never'sad." Lizzy would bend down to kiss his temple. A faint smear of red tint from her lipstick that she'd had on since the day before. It's darkness was only visible if you really looked for it under the red light of the bridge. Franco's sad moans would cease after this short reward, but only briefly.

For Franco, especially at this time, it still wasn't enough.

"Mother...May I?" He winced and groaned. The sound he made was pathetic to say the least. Like a pained beast, begging to be put out of it's misery. He ran his hands up the woman's sides, gripping them securely much like the way he would grip his precious Lupara.

Lizzy's eyebrows would raise in surprise by his assertiveness in this moment. She scoffed and shook her head. "You'know I ain't got time't fool around wit' you Frankie." She protested. Looking into those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Lizzy had a strong will, but sometimes the break line was thin. She sighed. "C'mere Barbi Doll. Give mama some sugar." She beckoned him with her finger. "Marone...." The mobster buried his face into her belly without a moment's notice. Whispering sweet nothings into the pit of her stomach. His sweating skin sticking to the cool silk that hung loose from her figure. Nosing at it like a desperate animal in heat. Breathing in her scent like it was the last thing he’d do. "Look at what ya'do t'me..." The words crawled out of his mouth like a bum from the gutter. Desperate and yearning.He could never have what he wanted most from her. No matter how many times she appeared on his stage. A dream that was far off, but he had played in his head one hundred times over. The idea of getting warm and close to Lizzy in such a manner made his heart skip and his head spin. He couldn't even catch his breath to properly word the excitement it brought him. So instead, he tried to show it through physical affections as he tugged Lizzy closer to himself. His hands cusped just under her wide and soft curvature. Lizzy's expression would go from soft to perky and surprised at the sudden affections. “What do I do to you, Barbi Doll?” She whispered the question into the air as the tension built itself up. The musk was thick from the stage’s fake salt and morning fog that poured from machines in the walls. "You make baby crazy, Liz…” He groveled as his legs failed to hold him up any longer. Holding on to her ankles for dear life as he looked up at her face. His palms rubbing past the holes in her stockings, occasionally slipping a finger under the fabric to circle her skin tenderly. He would heave slightly as he leaned forward to kiss at the shimmering fabric. The woman stared intently at his display of affection. At the vulnerable state he was willing to subject himself to so he could hear her affirmations. And all she could do was watch him as he kissed at her feet. His lips were dry and sticky as he peppered trails up each leg. One at a time. An alarm was going off somewhere inside her head. The way Franco appeared at the floor before her made her skin hot and her stomach warm. A smirk would creep at the corners of her face, only emphasized by the red lipstick colors that stained her mouth. “Bambino…” Lizzy said. Franco’s short breaths paused as he made eye contact with her upon his title being named. “You know what you make me want to do?” She questioned.

Franco's eyes would light up at the opportunity to ask her. What did he make her want to do. How did she feel? "Mother...Please...." His voice was eager and hurried, like it was being squeezed from him.

"W-what do I make you wanna do, Mother... Tell me. Please." Franco's head was almost on the ground as he bowed it to the question.

"Mother please." The man child begged.

"Heh.." The tall woman snickered and cleared her throat. The air hissing as it sucked in past her teeth that she bared. And if it hadn't been for the lighting one could swear that she had the grin of a predator. Sharp and wanting. Drooling. Itching to snap down on bone and flesh.

Franco's eyes darted back up as he stared from below. The silence getting heavier and heavier with every second that passed. Waiting for her answer.

Before he could gather the air to speak and cut through the quiet, he was hoisted into the air. Lizzy having put down the medicine bottle to give herself more control and range to handle Barbi.

"My Little Baby Barbi Doll." She sang. She pulled his small body close to her so they were nose to nose. Holding him as if he weighed nothing more than a toy to her. Her facial features formed what could only be described as an intoxicated expression.

"If I had it my way..." She giggle-whispered. Her high pitched tone jittering as though something was very funny to her.

"If I had it my way, Barbi Doll. I'd reach my hand right through that little barrel chest'a yours." Lizzy circled her finger nail lightly over the skin above Franco's heart.

"I'd push past your ribs...until I could feel'ya heart between my fingers. And yank it right outta ya. Tubes and all." As Lizzy detailed the viscera of the scene in her head, you could hear the peak of the pleasure she took in describing it. In some twisted way, it made her heart flutter and gave her butterflies in her gut.

Franco's jaw was nearly on the floor as she hushed her desires right into his ears. They locked eyes, and as his mouth was agape, Lizzy's grin was that of a hungry....wolf. No.

He was the wolf here. Lupara, echoed in Franco's head. He still had Lupara, but he dare not grab for it. He knows how much Lizzy hated when he handled the gun around her.

No not a wolf. A vixen. And right now, Franco was the hare. The foolish hare that laid it's head in the maw of the fox. At any moment she could snap her jaws right on his little neck and do him in.

"I would take a bite outta your heart like a fuckin fruit. Frankie." The woman's lips twitched into a sadistic and hungry little grin and she leaned in close to whisper into Franco's ear. "And I bet you taste sweet. Sugar-sweet. Like milk, and honey."

The sentiment was enough to make Franco's mind go over the edge between fear and arousal. He was speechless, short circuited. Not a clue this side of hell what to say to her.

She sighed a longing sigh, as if she had just been minorly inconvenienced. "A girl can dream..." Lizzy would cut off her thoughts quite abruptly.

Putting Bambino back on the ground, his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. Was she serious? Franco didn't actually know the answer, but his face was hot and flushed so much so that the sweat dripped from his skin. He took a deep breath and asked.

"Y-you wanna eat me?" He said with little behind the question. His teeth clenched from the anxiety. His mouth hollowed with confusion to Lizzy's true motives.

Their gazes would meet and there was a short pause. Lizzy wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her thumb and snickered softly.

"You heard me, Barbi Doll. I just wanna. Eat. You. Up."

She hunched over a bit, lowering herself to his level to place a deepened kiss on his lips. It caused Franco to moan lightly with relief as her touch was a comfort he had been missing for days. His temper was short because he felt ignored. Neglected even. But this was just the pick me up he needed, despite how he came about it.

But, the answer was still unclear. Although it wasn't something Franco saw any worth in dwelling over. Not after the heart skipping moment he just felt with Lizzy. Not right now.

A sickening bond that was ever growing between the two of them.

"One'a these days, Dollie. But not today,alright?" She grabbed his chin again and jerked his face lightly and playfully. His eyelashes fluttered at the motion.

"You gonna walk a little lady to the exit shuttle then?" Lizzy requested.

Franco whom already felt a lingering intimidation radiating from Ms.Lizzy, would hold no argument as he hooked his arm around her waist. He had no qualms with escorting her along with the medicine bottle she acquired.

After all he just wanted to get back to bed. He had thoughts to think over, and desires to dream of before the real trials of the day began.

-End

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Evolutionary Adaptability

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)     When Kel had petitioned the human worlds of Jora, New Foundland, Davin VI, and Tesla’s Retreat he had thought he knew what to expect.

Though humans were still relatively young in the grand scale of galactic empires they had the most interesting, if not confounding, habit of setting up shop on any world they could find. Be it a dust ball with no atmosphere and three hundred degree sunrises, or a water world filled with ravenous creatures; humanity had shown their grit and made these worlds into new colonies and homes regardless of the danger.

Acting as a representative of his people Kel had reached out to each of those four worlds to establish trade routes. The possible wealth from each, let alone all four together, would be enough to sustain his world’s economic boon for several dozen generations.

He had been delighted when the transmissions came in one by one and each of the human worlds had agreed to meet on Kel’s homeworld to discuss the arrangements.

The first signs that things were running off the tracks was when the Jora delegation had arrived.

Kel had done his research after gathering many texts and documents regarding the human homeworld and thought himself prepared to handle the humans as they exited the landing ships. To say he was surprised when instead of tall slender bipedals massive mechanical suits ducked between the loading doors and on to the landing field would be an understatement.

These constructs were easily nine feet in height and four feet wide standing on two pairs of sharp metal legs that gave them a more insect appearance. Their hands were likewise far more different as they only had three metal talons that clicked and clacked as the machines approached him and Kel saw his reflection in the polished steel bodywork.

As if that was not enough the bodywork suddenly split open and Kel saw a fluid sack inside of the machine holding a frail looking human with numerous wires and tubes sticking out of them.

The human inside nodded to Kel in greeting and their mechanical suit mimicked the motion as well; to which Kel returned after an embarrassing moment’s hesitation.

Before Kel could inquire about the state of the Joraran’s they spoke through a robotic speaker built into their suits. It was then Kel learned that because the gravity of Jora was nearly ten times lighter compared to their natural homeworld the humans had needed to construct mechanical suits to move and live across the any other planet’s surface. If they had attempted to exit the suits and walk normally the gravity of Kel’s world would crush them like tin cans. Thinking to himself Kel imagined that was why the humans inside the machines looked so frail in comparison to their Terran born brethren.

---------- After the Joraran’s came the New Foundlanders some thirty minutes later.

This time the humans did not need to lower themselves to exit the shuttle craft. In fact, they barely came up half way inside the doorframe forcing Kel to tilt his head down and look upon them.

In contrast to the Joraran’s, the New Foundlanders were short and muscular built; coming up to Kel’s waist in height. They wore normal looking clothes standard to human fashion but the fabrics appeared strange as they New Foundlanders approached. It was as if the fabric was remaining static and unmoving despite the motions their wearers made.

Kel extended his hand in human custom to shake in glorious welcome, but to his shock the humans looked amongst themselves and shook their heads.

When Kel inquired if he had offended them somehow they stated that he had done nothing of the sort, and that their reluctance to shake his hand was more for his own safety.

Something of confusion must have cross his face as the lead New Foundlander motioned for one of Kel’s aides to toss him a pen. With a nod from Kel the aide handed a pen to the leader who promptly snapped it in two with the smallest of motions.

Kel learned that in opposite of Jora, New Foundland had gravity ten times heavier than that of earth forcing the humans who lived there to develop squat like bodies of raw muscle. On a lighter gravity world like Kel’s the mere flick of one of their fingers was enough to violently amputate the arm of anyone.

Kel thanked them for the warning and hurriedly sent the new information on to his waiting staff to ensure no one died from a handshake later that day. ---------------------

Next to arrive were the Davinites.

Kel was thankful that when the shuttle doors opened the Davinites were much like the human material he had researched prior to their meeting. They stood between 5 and 6 feet in height, were slender in body shape, and did not walk with mechanical suits or seemed overly careful what they touched.

The strangeness only began to reveal itself when Kel looked closer and saw that underneath the formal clothing the Davinites were wearing a full body bodysuit made from a strange black material. This covered every inch of what would have been exposed skin with even their eyes shielded behind large black goggles.

They shook Kel’s hand in human custom but then insisted that they leave the landing pad as soon as possible. When he asked why they were in such a hurry it was revealed to Kel that Davin VI was orbiting a red dwarf star that provided little light compared to most worlds. The day and night cycles of their world were a constant shroud of soft light, barely enough to see your hand in front of your face let alone the stars themselves.

As a result the Davinite skin had become increasingly pale in the absence of sunlight and their eyes had adapted to the lower light levels to see. Standing out in the open in natural daylight, even with the reflectors on their face, must have been like standing on the surface of the sun.

With great haste he ushered them inside and had his aides blot out the windows and greatly reduce light levels of their rooms for the duration of their stay. -------------------- The final delegation was by far the most unusual of the group in Kel’s eyes.

Unlike the previous delegations, the Teslins arrived in their own spacecraft specially designed on their homeworld. It was a massive freighter like construct easily five to six times larger than any shuttle that had arrived prior.

When the doors opened Kel was greeted by five Teslins all wearing environmental suits he had previously seen in dated records for human space travel.

They slowly walked towards Kel and shook his hand. Their leader was rather friendly and welcoming in their own right and matched him custom for custom as was befitting a delegate.

Kel had tried to resist asking about the suits they wore but thankfully they must have encountered this problem before and demonstrated the need for their suits.

With a nod from their leader one of the Teslins removed the gauntlet from their suit and exposed their hand to the open air. Nothing happened at first until Kel heard a rustle from behind him.

One of his aides was fiddling with their data pad; swatting it with their hands while they rolled it front and back. They caught Kel looking at him and said that it had suddenly died on him and that he was not sure why. The batteries had listed fully charged just a moment ago and now the device refused to power on.

Kel turned back to the Teslins and saw the previous member return their gauntlet to their suit with a loud click followed by the chime of the data pad powering up again.

The Teslin leader explained that the surface of Tesla’s Retreat was plague with frequent and violent electrical storms. The very air you breathed had a sub layer of constant energy in it regardless of where you were on the planet.

Their bodies had adapted to the electrical currents and were able to absorb and pass on energy in the surrounding area through their own bodies; much like a power relay passing on power from a power station to a waiting city.

The grandeur of their ship was a necessity as it contained multiple power units. In the event of a suit breach the Teslin’s could drain the power from a ship midflight and send everyone plummeting to their deaths; but with their design the backup generators would kick in and ensure a somewhat smooth landing.

Realizing the danger the Teslin’s presented while standing in a busy spaceport Kel ushered them inside while he tried to find transportation for them that would not kill them. -------------------------

Each of the delegations were so vastly different from what Kel had been informed of human genes and species type, and yet each of them still claimed to be just as human as the next of their kin, regardless of the vastly different features they wore.

It was a notion that Kel made scrupulous notes for future dealings with the humans, to which the delegation core all but awarded him a medal from the mounting confusion his notes would resolve in later negotiations.

[syddsatyrn]

Je t'aime Violet

By Sydd Satyrn Masterlist

Chapter 1 ⛧ Chapter 2 ⛧ Chapter 3

⛧Pairing: - Alastor x OC!Reader Violet

⛧Fic playlist: Click here!

⛧Warnings: Drinking, smoking, swearing, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, adult themes, 18+ not for minors

⛧Summary: Hello ladies, gentleman and nonbinary friends! I present to you, my series Je t'aime Violet. This story is staring my OC, Violet! She is a deer demon containing a lot of personality. With a gifted voice and a bit of jazz, she's got style and class on lock. After 7 years, Violet and Alastor's feelings towards each other never dissolved. Violet reconnects with the man who left with her heart, will she forgive him? Does Alastor have the ability to set his pride aside for love?

⛧Notes: @hellfiremunsonn is my beta reader, go check out her writing! Its fantastic!

⛧Taglist: @ok-boke @myeternalsin @squiword7 @hxzbinwrites

⛧Chapter 2: Sauntè The sunrise paints your hotel room in orange and yellow hues. You stir in bed and slowly open your eyes. It takes you a moment to remember that you are in a hotel room. You sit up and rub your sleepy eyes. As the haze of sleep fades, your mind starts to process the events of the previous night. The mysterious shadow lurking in your room sends a chill down your spine once again. Was it just a figment of your imagination, or was there truly someone watching you as you slept? Shaking off the unsettling feeling, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up.

With a deep breath you decide to take a quick shower and change into something a bit nicer. You chose an A-line, knee length black dress with a simple corset. After brushing out your long black hair, you put on a pair of kitten heels and do a simple makeup look. Feeling satisfied, you think you're ready to head down to the lobby in search of some coffee. ---------------

Alastor was up all night in shock, when he felt your presence nearby he thought he was going crazy, last night he sent his shadows off to find you and you just so happen to be two doors down from his room. He couldn't believe it. After all these years, here you were, in the same hotel, under the same roof as him. A mix of emotions flooded through him - excitement, curiosity, and a hint of something darker that he couldn't quite place. He remembers the last time you both saw each other, that night still haunts him.

His hands clenched into fists as memories of the past flooded his mind. He knew he had to see you, to talk to you, but he also feared your reaction. Would you welcome him or push him away?

With a deep breath, Alastor stepped out of his room and made his way down the hallway towards your door. The dimly lit corridor seemed longer than usual, each step echoing in the silence of the night. When he finally reached your door, he hesitated for a moment before raising his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, the door swung open, revealing you standing there in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and confusion written on your face. Alastor's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the same familiar features he remembered so well.

"Alastor," you breathed out, disbelief coloring your voice.

"Violet," he replied, his voice low and laced with static. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. The way he said her name made your ears perk up and your tail flicked. Finally, Alastor cleared his throat, breaking the tension heavy in the air. "May I come in?" he asked, his tone almost wavering. Violet hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with memories and questions. Despite the flood of emotions coursing through her, she stepped back, allowing The Radio Demon to enter the room. He moved past her gracefully, his presence commanding yet tinged with an underlying taste of vulnerability that tugged at Violet's heartstrings. As he turned to face her, she noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual confidence. "I never thought I'd see you again," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Alastor's expression softened at her words, he briefly let his guard down as he observed your appearance.

"Nor I, you," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of regret and longing. You stood there, facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you both. Alastor can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and confusion that mirrored his own. As the tears rolled down your cheeks, without a word, he closed the distance between you and him, pulling you into a tight embrace. The initial shock melted away, replaced by a flood of emotions as you wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if afraid he might disappear again. Alastor's grip tightened slightly, a silent promise to never let go again. "I'm sorry, Violet," he murmured against your hair, the words heavy with regret. "I should have never left you."

Alastor breathes you in, a familiar smell that has haunted him for years. He holds the back of your head as you let out muffled sobs into his chest. For so long, he had tried to bury the memories of that night, but now they flooded back with a vengeance. As you slowly calmed down in his embrace, Alastor pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. The raw emotion reflected in them made his chest tighten with guilt. "I never stopped thinking about you, my dear," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.” You return, feeling like you might just cry again. You searched his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was love in his gaze. Alastor gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness after what I put you through," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "but I want you to know that I never wanted to leave you. It was the hardest decision I ever made, but it was the only way to protect you from something bigger." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, you felt a mix of emotions floating inside you - pain, longing, but above all, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. “Well…you know I can't stay mad at you for very long.” You finally say, breaking the silence and trying to lighten the mood. Alastor’s eyes lit up, relieved by your words. He continues to hold you close like you are the most precious thing in the world. The tension that had lingered between you dissipated, replaced by a sense of familiarity and comfort. His face is pretty red and he looks away. “I never wanted to leave you…” “Alastor, I’ve come to accept that you did it for my benefit, although I may not understand it, I don’t think you’re making it up either.” You reply, his words make your heart swell. Alastor let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the weight of years of guilt slowly lifting off his shoulders. He gazed at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and admiration. "You always were too kind for your own good, my dear." he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His face is so close to yours, you swear you’re dreaming right now. The love of your life has returned to you and everything feels exactly like when you first met so long ago. Alastor reaches out and gently cups your face in his hands, your heart is racing, your breath catches in your throat. Without breaking eye contact, Alastor leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wished. But you didn't. Your eyes closed as his lips met yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Alastor held you close, his touch reverent yet filled with a hunger that matched your own. The world fell away as you lost yourself in the bittersweet taste. You practically melted in his arms, a feeling that only he was able to accomplish. When you both break the kiss in need of air. He takes a moment to collect himself and reluctantly lets go of you. He takes your hand and smirks. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to today, but darling…Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?” He kisses your hand and your face turns a darker shade of red. "J'aimerais ça," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Alastor's gaze. 

(I would like that)

“J'ai hâte d'y être, chérie,” he replies. 

(I'm looking forward to it, Darling.)

——————————————- As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, you found yourself standing outside a quaint little French restaurant. Alastor stood beside you, his arm gently linked with yours as he led you inside. The ambiance was cozy and inviting, with soft jazz music playing in the background and the scent of delicious food filling the air. The two of you settled at a private table near the window, basking in the soft candlelight that flickered gently. Alastor's eyes never strayed far from yours. He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You look stunning tonight, my dear.” He says, a genuine smile graced your lips as you met his gaze. “You were always such a charmer, Alastor.” You reply and Alastor raises an eyebrow. The waiter comes by and takes your order, he comes back momentarily with two glasses of rye whiskey. Something that only you and Alastor drink. You hold up your glass and he mirrors your gesture. “Sauntè.” “Sauntè, ma chérie.” You and Alastor have always had a lot in common, you both have older tastes and speak French. You’re both deer demons, and you have the same drink of choice. You met him while bartending at a Jazz club, before you had started your career. You couldn’t stop staring at his ears, he ordered rye whiskey and you fell head over heels for the polite man sitting at your counter. He returned several times and once caught you singing in the kitchen. He told you how pretty your voice was and that you should get serious about your talent.

You took his advice to heart and began performing at the club, captivating audiences with your voice. Alastor was always there, watching from the shadows with a proud smile on his face. Eventually, your talent caught the attention of a music producer who offered you a record deal. As your career soared, Alastor remained a constant in your life, supporting you every step of the way. Until that one devastating rainy day when he left. Alastor raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid glinting in the candlelight. As the whiskey burned its way down his throat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him at that moment. It was surreal to be sitting across from you after all these years, almost like a dream he never thought would come true.

“Violet, if I may ask…” He began, your ears twitch. “How exactly did you find me?” “I heard you on television, talking about the hotel. How could I not recognize that voice.” You reply, and take another sip. Alastor's smile faltered slightly as he remembered the reason why his voice was now propagated through the airwaves. "Ah, yes, the hotel," he said wistfully. "It seems my reputation precedes me." There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he composed himself once more. "But enough about me," he deflected smoothly. "Tell me about you, my dear Violet. How has life treated you in my absence?"

“I just finished my first tour! I’m doing a few local shows next, just paying back some favors.” You summarize the highlights of your tour through Hell and all the different places you played. “I am pleased to hear you are doing so well in your career. I’ve always adored your voice. How does it feel to be a star?” “Don’t get me wrong, the fans are nice and so is the money. But I’ve always felt like there was a hole in my heart when you left.” You admit, it was difficult because he took a piece of you with him. He reached out and gently took your hand in his, his touch comforting and familiar. “Would you ever consider giving me a second chance?” Alastor asks. Your heart skipped a beat at his question.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you squeezed his hand reassuringly before replying, "Alastor, you never truly lost your chance with me. Despite everything, my feelings for you never changed.” His eyes widened in hopeful disbelief, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks. "I've always believed that second chances are worth giving, especially when it comes to matters of the heart," you continued softly. "But promise me one thing - never leave without saying goodbye again. I couldn't bear to go through that pain a second time."

Alastor's expression softened, "I swear on my very soul, Violet. I will never leave you in the dark again."

[mokkadere]

❝ Those Silken Strings ❞ | Chapter One

a/n: there aren't enough dollmaker stories out there so I decided to take matters into my own hands. enjoy~

synopsis: yandere!dollmaker makes a living doll to fill the void left in his life after his darling's death. that way, they can be together forever ‹𝟥

this story contains the following themes: death, isolation, manipulation, psychological distress, obsession, control, implied emotional abuse

word count: 5k

As the seasons quietly changed from summer to fall, time marched on tirelessly, with no pity for those who thought they could elude the mandatory participation of life. Yet tucked away in a small house just outside a village too insignificant to be granted life’s first gift - a name, in a world defined by shelves lined with fabric, wood, paint, and the various tools needed for doll-making, Erin believed he’d succeeded in building his escapist reality.

The quiet ticking of the wall clock had turned into white noise a long time ago, just another kind of silence adding to the mute soundtrack that accompanied his daily work. Sunsets merely meant that he had to continue by candlelight, and the sunrise simply meant that, after all those sleepless hours, his eyes had to slowly adjust to the daylight breaking in.

How could he peel his attention off what mattered just to sacrifice it for sleep? How could he stop and pay any mind to the wilting flowers that had once been in full bloom because of her constant care, to the now gone animals that had once happily come to her for food, to the currently rotting wooden swing that had once gently swayed in the wind while she read and basked in the sun? 

Although she’d been by no means one to halt her excitingly dynamic life, she had loved to jokingly echo Erin’s genuine advice to „stop and smell the roses.“ But he couldn’t, not anymore. The roses had been dead since the day he got rid of them to bury her underneath, her final resting place now replacing the roots of her beloved flowerbeds. Back then, she had nurtured them for him to feel inspired by, as she knew he loved the beautiful things in life - the nature, the animals, simply life by itself in all of its simplicity. But it wasn’t like he needed any extra inspiration to ignite his creativity; she had been his muse, not this fragile idyllic backdrop she'd created for him that would now fade into the background as it got ensnared by kudzu.

His hands worked methodically as he painted the final touches of his life project's face with forced steadiness. Doll-making was his calling, which was why he couldn’t help but pour his entire being into each doll time and time again. He needed them to be exactly perfect for the little girls who would eventually hold and fill their childhood days with them. Dolls were a beautiful part of the permanence that lined one’s childhood days. They didn’t age, didn’t die, didn’t want to transcend their purpose; they simply stayed by your side and loyally accompanied you through the countless narratives you wanted to experience with them as your blissful days of carefree wonder stretched on.

Grace used to be his doll. But unlike his actual dolls, she couldn’t sit still for more than a minute, with the only exception being her reading time, her rare sleeping time, and the moments that she spent holding Erin tightly well into the night, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear that lulled him into sleep. He loved her vitality, as in his eyes, that was just her way of permanence - always demanding novel things from life was just as much of a constant as his lack of demand for anything new. She added dynamic into his static life in a way that felt, admittedly, invigorating. He wasn’t bored with his life, far from it. He loved the stability and the predictability of it all, but the way she’d encouraged him to at least vary his trusted routine just a tiny bit filled him with the sort of satisfaction one might feel after realising they’ve just truly experienced life.

She made him feel complete, providing him with just the right amount of change that complemented the permanence he cherished.

Erin smiled as he observed his finalised creation, casting his gentlest look - one that was only reserved for his Grace. He let his hand graze against her cold porcelain cheeks before running his hand through the artificial strands he’d spent hours styling into an intricate updo. „You are so beautiful…“ he murmured to himself, letting out a shaky exhale as he delicately brushed away a few stray locks away from her flawless face, painfully careful not to disturb the fragile perfection he’d managed to replicate.

„Please, just wake up for me again…“

His trembling fingers, itching to have someone to hold and caress, no longer forced themselves to keep still when he reached out to the back of her neck with a bated breath. His heart hammered hard against his chest both in expectation and in anxiety. He begged for her to work, for her to finally be reunited with him again as she should - with all her constant moving about, all her joie-de-vivre and boundless love for him. Erin often shivered, him being naturally nervous like that, but for once, those electrifying jolts of shivers overran his body for a reason different from his crippling social anxiety. The thought of finally reclaiming the part of himself that he had lost that day fuelled him with this overpowering excitement that almost felt intoxicating. Finally, he pressed the small button at the back of her neck before stepping away, readying himself to welcome his Grace home, just like in old times. This expedition she’d been on had been two years too long, but just like always, no matter how much she strayed, she always returned to his arms.

Just seconds later, his creation drew her first breath. Her chest rose and fell on its own as her eyes fluttered open, revealing those verdant orbs he used to lose himself in. The world slowly revealed itself to her in its entirety as her painted eyes, at first pinned on the peeling ceiling, wandered on their own accord to the shelves lining the walls and carefully registering every wondrous object she saw until her gaze finally fell on Erin. Her lips were ever so slightly agape, mirroring her childlike wonder stemming from all the things that she was perceiving for the first time. 

„Welcome home, Grace,“ Erin whispered, daring to break the silence. He really wanted to upkeep the fragility of this intimate moment, to let his beloved experience her birth in serene tranquility, but he couldn’t help himself. He longed to hear her talk. He would’ve forgotten her melodic voice a long time ago if it weren’t for those tapes that he had of her exclaiming, „Stop recording me, Erin!“ through giggles. But that voice had been confined to just those four words… and now he could have her say more things to him, different things. „Please say something, Grace…“ The doll blinked at him before moving her hand ever-so-slightly towards him. She hesitated as if he would disappear if she dared to move too suddenly, which was ironic since she was the one who always disappeared. He always stayed.

When her small, lifeless fingers touched his cheek and poked it for good measure, he allowed himself to needily lean into her touch, earning himself a small exclaim from his doll. „W-Who… who are you?“ She stammered, looking at him with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Erin’s heart melted at the sound of her voice. Finally, oh god, finally, a new sound permeated his silence. That mute soundtrack that used to accompany his last two years came to a staggering halt at last. „I’m Erin.“, he replied simply as his hand, still trembling, took hold of hers. Her eyes followed his every move. „And you’re Grace.“ 

The doll tilted her head slightly, and Erin couldn’t help but feel disappointed when she started pulling her hand away from his, once again focusing on his face, poking at him as if she wasn’t quite sure if he was real. Erin let her patiently explore, understanding that everything was thrillingly unfamiliar to her.

He’d programmed her in a way that would leave her as clueless as a child, allowing him to teach her about the world himself. It was fitting, really, as Grace used to harbour this insatiable childlike curiosity, causing her to always run around and try out as much as she could, to take on the world and all it had to offer. Needless to say, that hunger to feel alive sometimes led her to attempt some reckless things, which, more often than not, earned her a stern scolding from Erin. 

Recognising that he had the chance to give Grace the world himself, he wanted to make it count. This time, he wanted her to see everything his way while keeping her in the safety of his world. He’ll spoon-feed her the necessary knowledge and keep away any bad thoughts that could bring her harm. He’ll protect her in a way that he was never able to before. With her being too wild - too uncontainable, Erin always had a hard time reasoning with her, no matter how much he tried to argue in her interest. Grace just loved her freedom too much, and knowing that she had the option to explore the world drove her to pursue that very thing. But this doll version of her didn’t have to know that exploring the outside world was an option - simply because it wasn’t. She was his creation, and therefore, she was his to hold, his to love, and his to limit however he wanted - all in their shared interest, of course.

The doll slowly tried to sit up on the work table, weakly struggling against the leather straps that he had put around her small frame to prevent her from somehow sliding off the work table and getting damaged before he had the chance to turn her on. „There you go, darling.“ Erin carefully released Grace from her shackles, formally letting her step into the small cocoon that she’ll be inhabiting with him and him only for the rest of their blissful time together. 

„W-Where… are we? Where is this?“ she asked, still unsure of herself or any of the things happening around her.

„This is my workshop. It''s part of your new home, Grace. Would you like to explore it?“ The doll nodded shyly, making Erin’s chest swell with warmth at how adorably she acted. She was just like his love, so adorably shy sometimes, it hurt. He clutched his heart, feeling this warmth transform into a painful hurt that intensified the more he looked at his creation and the way she nervously shifted about, bursting with energy within her that she desperately needed to exhaust. He loved it; she was already healing him.

Erin’s gaze was of such intensity that Grace felt mildly unsettled by it. This desperate love he was radiating was something she couldn’t quite comprehend, and that inevitably scared her. Humans, too, were afraid of what they didn’t understand, so it was natural she’d feel the same. After all, Erin had put more than his entire being into this project just to make her as human as possible. But his lovesickness acted more like a deterrent than like an incentive. Somehow, this person in front of her, her creator… he didn’t feel safe in her eyes. She stared at him as her gaze searched his for something that could help the code running in her computer of a brain determine if he was good or not.

„Come here,“ he coaxed, pulling her towards him with tender touches at the lack of a reaction from her. It was fine if she acted stunned or slow in the beginning. She was brand new, and she didn’t understand how to act. He’ll teach her everything soon enough. Right now, he just revelled in the feeling of this intimate togetherness he had the honour of experiencing with her. While the urge to simply embrace Grace as tightly as he could exponentially increased, yearning to unite their bodies as one just like he used to in the past, he could tell by her lingering hesitance that the miniature gears in her mind were still turning. 

The thought of his own doll having to assess him and not trusting him in a heartbeat wounded him slightly. Hadn’t he been nothing but sweet and patient towards her? He didn’t understand. But once again, he brushed it off, accounting it to her not knowing much about anything yet. Please let me in, Grace… I need you so badly.

As Erin lightly pulled Grace along, she stumbled and tripped. He wasn’t too surprised, however, as mild clumsiness was to be expected. She was quite literally taking her first steps in this world, after all, plus her joints were new and stiff. „Careful now, you might trip in the beginning, so take it slow, love. You wouldn’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, would you?“

At that, the doll went wide-eyed and hurried to wrap one hand tightly around the fabric of his shirt and the other around his hand before she took her first steps. They were a bit awkward and slow and not at all resemblant of the grace that her name implied, but Erin knew that that was going to change soon.

However, seeing that walking wasn’t scary at all, Grace soon made her first attempt at peeling off of his protective hold and eagerly went to explore on her own, stumbling from one corner to the other. Erin’s smile faltered. While her actions seemed innocent enough, the anxious voices that had begun to inhabit Erin’s mind since Grace’s loss screamed at him to hold her. She shouldn’t try to distance herself, she was his, and she was to be by his side.

„Where are you going, love?“ he asked as he hurried to follow her, but his question fell on deaf ears, the doll too engrossed in this new reality she was finally getting to be privy to.

Clueless to Erin’s rising anxiety, Grace slowly let her fingers trace all sorts of jars that were on display on the workshop’s shelves, eager to feel any and every new texture at every opportunity that presented itself. Her eyes flittered over the dozens of paint bottles as she quietly mumbled words of amazement to herself before finally working up the courage to raise her voice ever so slightly and ask: 

„W-What… is all this?“ she pointed at the paint like a child. As she came to a halt next to his paint shelf, he too did, following her like a shadow. 

„Oh, it’s just paint, love. I use it to draw the faces of my dolls. In fact, I drew your face with it too.“

„My face too? Can I see?“ she asked, excited at the prospect of seeing herself.

At that, Erin chuckled, gladly handing her a small pocket mirror. Grace looked at herself with utter awe, poking and prodding at her face, her fingers tracing over the softness of her rosy cheeks and her plump, red lips. She didn’t quite notice when Erin moved behind her to pull her back flush against his chest. 

„You’re beautiful, darling. Do you like yourself?“ he purred in her ear, wanting to coax some praise out of her. He just wanted to hear her talk and talk… praising him, saying that she wanted him, anything to satisfy his love-deprived heart. Say something, Grace. Anything. I haven’t heard your sweet voice in so long. It’s making me insane.

He himself just wanted to praise her for her existence. The need to drown her with all this pent-up affection made his entire body twitch with what Erin believed to be the same kind of energy that drove his original Grace to jump from one adventure to the next. He couldn’t even wait for the doll’s response. Instead, he buried his head in her hair, nuzzling her, desperate to get high on her delicious scent. He’d worked so hard to replicate it. 

„I d-do. Thank you… for making me.“ she stumbled over her words, finally throwing him a small crumb. When you’ve been so numb from starvation, even the smallest crumbs can re-ignite this desperate greed for satiation. 

Her voice was lined with hesitance, growing smaller by the second at his increasing affection. To her de-facto newborn mind, his yearning was nothing but an overwhelming input that didn’t quite match any of the few commands he’d programmed into her code. She stiffened further at his advances, trying to pull away once more, as her program urged her to leave this uncertain situation and seek safety. 

But Erin couldn’t have that, the lovesick expression morphing into one of betrayal and hurt. „Don’t…“ Erin breathed out - a desperate plea. „Please.“ His grip tightened around her, his arms moving away from her waist and instead snaking over her arms, rendering her helplessly trapped in what should’ve been an innocent hug. „Stay close, Grace. You mean so much to me, you have no idea. I’ve been waiting to hold you for so long. It used to be so lonely without you. Please stay...“

Grace didn’t dare to even attempt to push him away. „I’m confused…“ she admitted, her voice laced with the sort of vulnerability that filled Erin with a need to protect her. Instinctively, his hands sprung into action, slowly caressing the top of her head. 

„What’s making you feel confused, love?“

„I don’t understand what you’re doing…“ Confessing that instigated a sense of what one would call fear within her binary mind. She didn’t quite understand this pang of pain in her chest, but something told her that she'd just let this man down. „Why are you so close? Aren’t we strangers to each other?“

That feeling of hers was instantly validated by the way Erin paused his affections to pull away and look at her. „What do you mean ‚strangers‘, Grace? I made you. I created you,“ he pressed his lips into a thin line as his eyes searched hers for any semblance of deception. Surely, that’s not what you’re truly thinking.

„B-But I don’t know who you are.“, Grace replied. And she didn’t want to upset him; she just needed to be honest with him. Everyone deserved honesty. Yet what she clearly couldn’t understand was that Erin wasn’t in the right headspace to appreciate her honesty. Her entire existence was just him lying to himself that he could simply live on with his deceased love.

He tried to gather himself as best as he could.

„That’s okay.“, he assured her with forced gentleness when it was anything but okay. „I know who you are. And soon enough, you’ll learn to know me too.“ As he tried to ignore this gaping hole of momentary clarity aching in his chest, he went on in a different direction. „Didn’t you want to explore a little? ...If you’d like, you could. Just be careful. My workshop is filled with all sorts of tools that you could end up hurting yourself with, so please don’t try to touch everything and don’t stray too far. Alright?“ He gave her a small smile to silently encourage her.

Grace’s gaze fell as guilt washed over her before she reluctantly went on to scan the room for anything to interact with, trying to look past this first dent in their relationship. With newfound interest, she shifted towards the window. This silvery orb in the sky left her in awe with the way it plunged the outside landscape into soft light. Seeing how captivated Grace was by such a simple thing he smiled softly.

„Pretty, isn’t it? It’s the moon. It’s something that you’ll often see in the sky.“

Grace nodded with amazement. „I like how it plunges the world in this silvery glow… It’s so serene.“

„I know.“ His Grace had always been a night person. She came to life when the rest of the world slept, just like the moon. Perhaps she truly lives on in this doll…

„Its light is so soft. I want to feel it—“ If she were alive, her hands would’ve left handprints all over the window with the way she tried to touch the moon. „Everything looks like a painting… I wish I could be a part of it…“

„I know.“, he repeats once more, casting her with a soft gaze. For a second, he contemplated opening the window for her so that she could feel the chilly night air and the soft moonlight for herself, but that thought quickly died.

„Maybe tomorrow, alright?“

He felt a pang of pain in his chest at the sight of her eyes beginning to sparkle in glee at the promise. Technically, he didn’t promise, but she thought he did, and now he was forced to go through with it. He sighed.

And so, for tonight, Grace directed her full attention to the rest of the workshop, slowly picking up the pace at which she got to know this odd new place. She didn’t really heed his early warning not to touch his tools, eagerly darting from one corner to the other to see and feel and maybe even taste (although Erin stopped her before she tried to taste the paint) everything there was to see, feel, and taste. She pricked her fingers and cut herself at least six times until it stuck that, yes, sharp objects indeed hurt if you play with them.

„Be careful—,“ Erin cautioned every time he saw her aiming to poke at something she shouldn’t and inevitably squeaking from the superficial pain. In the end, Erin just grabbed her by the hand - that was one less hand to worry about. 

„No— I was just looking!“ Grace whined as he pulled her away from his sewing machine as she was seconds away from sewing a thread into her hand.

„You weren’t, don’t pretend now,“ Erin scolded with a firm yet gentle tone. „Here, hold onto me. I can show you things that feel nice to the touch and are safe.“ With excitement of his own, he went on to show her his collection of shimmering, expensive fabrics that he used to make the clothing for his dolls. Inside a large wooden closet, he stored smooth, luxurious silk, soft velvet, crinkly cheviot, and supple linen - it was a sensation galore for his doll that craved to interact with her surroundings.

He couldn’t help but feel emotional as he saw her innocent marvel at the ornate beauty of the fabrics and her bubbling enthusiasm for his craft. It’s just like old times, it’s finally like before, Erin thought to himself. He wanted to cry of relief right then and there.

The more Grace interacted with her surroundings, the more her fear and apprehension began to dissipate. It was fun to run around and be shown all these unknown tools. It was fun to have someone show her around, even if that someone radiated this odd energy. She didn’t mind it as much anymore. Sure, Erin still made her feel strange, but he didn’t try to hurt her, he seemed to care for her.

The more he showed her care and mildness, the more she naively believed that he was a safe human, just one with a few quirks. At the end of the day, he still was her creator, the person who made her from nothing...

Her eyes flickered over all the lifeless dolls displayed in crystal vitrines. She must’ve been just like them, but he had gifted her a life, an option to exist with him and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for that blessing.

„Does it hurt?“ Erin asked as he examined Grace’s dislocated hand. It was bent at an unnatural angle, with the joint sticking out in a way that made Erin wince. These past few days, she had been taking full advantage of the freedom Erin had granted her within the bounds of his workshop and she was already in need of repair.

„No… I don’t think so. It felt odd. Like something inside me was wrong for a moment.“ She kicked her legs impatiently. „Can I move now, Erin?“

„Just a second, don’t fidget too much.“ With studied precision, Erin fixed her hand within minutes. „Alright, you. You’re good to go now… how did this even happen?“ Grace shrugged. She was indifferent to her own pain. It’s not like she felt anything. Her code told her to react accordingly whenever she did something to her body that went against what Erin had originally defined as her ‚natural construction’.

„I wanted to see how far I can bend my hand. It’s pretty far. Very flexible.“

„How did you even get to that idea— okay, no, never mind.“, Erin sighed as he put his tools back where they belonged. These days, he couldn’t allow any type of disarray in his workshop. Not before Grace’s phase of needing to touch everything was over. „Just be careful.“, he urged as he caressed her cheek lovingly, his eyes searching hers. „You could hurt yourself badly. You still don’t know the limits of your own body.“

„But that’s exactly why I need to figure out what they are.“, she argued stubbornly, mirroring the original perfectly. „It’s testing new things. Seeing how far I can bend, or seeing how close is too close to the fireplace—“

„Please don’t remind me of that. You gave me a heart attack…“

Grace’s enthusiasm dulled at that. „I’m sorry.“, she mumbled. „It’s just that something deep inside me tells me to go and try everything out, even if it could be dangerous.“ She didn’t want to worry him; it’s just that she wanted to learn! She wanted to know her limits, and she wanted to know how things around her worked. And it’s not like she was fragile. She was strong!

Erin had gifted his doll Grace’s fierce need for independence and love for exploration in the hopes of replicating her personality exactly, but now he was beginning to fear he’d done too good of a job. She was so innocent, unperturbed of the pains of life, and unaware of the dangers lurking around her that all of her decisions were rash and not thought through. While he loved to watch her constant fidgeting, he felt like everything was now a potential danger. The thought of her being ripped away from him due to her infinite curiosity terrified him.

„You’re not alone, though. You have me by your side, darling,“ he reminded her softly. He just wanted her to need him the same way he needed her. „I can show you everything safely without the need of you getting hurt. You don’t have to rush.“

„But I want to rush- There’s so much out there! I just… I can’t explain it.“ There it was again, that need of hers to leave. Erin stiffened at the bare thought of her leaving the safe nest that he had provided her with, the anxiety he often felt when the situation was spinning out of control loomed over him.

„It’s like I’m missing something—,“ she went on with the same enthusiasm. „—a small piece of me, and it’s out there, I just have to find it!“ She sounded like she was convinced something out there was beckoning her to come out and embark on some sort of special mission that she was specifically designed for. Erin struggled to contain his bubbling desperation. Why wouldn’t she understand?

The only thing she was designed for was for loving. She was meant to love him and crave him, to stay close to him, not to crave the unknown. This sinking feeling of deja vu made his skin crawl, and suddenly, he felt his body growing hot and clammy, making his vision spin. He felt sick, physically ill at this point. As he acutely felt his heart pounding against his ribcage, it clearly trying to escape its confines, he put his hand on Grace’s shoulder to steady himself.

„Are you okay?“ Grace asked, casting away her excitement. He saw how her brows furrowed and how worry set in her previously determined expression, and that… that meant everything to him. He loved to see her worried for him, to see her pause her current train of thought and make him the centre of her attention. It was everything he wanted, everything that he desired from her. To just stop those fleeting thoughts and ideas that distanced her from him and to just stay. „E-Erin?“ she asked once more, snapping him out of his thoughts. He ran his hand through her locks, petting her.

„Somethings are better left unexplored, Grace.“, he settled on saying. „Stay here with me. I can guide you. I can give you all the knowledge you crave without you having to go out at all— I’ll teach you everything I know. Doesn’t that sound nice?“ He slowly closed the gap between them, pulling her closer to him and tucking her in his embrace. She didn’t fight it; she was already used to the way he sought her out whenever he needed to ground himself. 

„It does, but—“

„I could show you how to make dolls of your own, or how to bake, or how to draw. We could make so many new clothes for you together. Doesn’t that sound great?“ he breathed into her ear as if trying to channel his own shaky excitement for the idea into her. „Y-Yes, it does,“ she stammered, finally relenting.

„Right? There we go, it does sound great, doesn’t it?“ He nodded to himself, feeling proud of having suggested such good ideas. The voices in his mind that urged him on to keep this compelling for her gradually began to quieten the more he went on. „And don’t worry about getting to see the outside. I promise that when you’re ready, the two of us will go out and explore that too! I can show you the most exciting of hiking routes. I’m sure you’ll love them. But for now… let’s stick to the house, darling. There is so much for you to see here, you just have to give it a chance.“ When she fell silent and instead buried her head deeper into his chest, he exhaled. He didn’t even realise that he’d been holding his breath this entire time.

[glassrowboat]

Michi Character Story.

“I must confess I find Michi unsettling. She is a woman I know little about, but everytime I come face to face with her it's like she barely perceives the world around her and yet also sees it in a way I cannot even begin to fathom. Many seem to ignore that because of her crass nature but…nevermind. I am simply saying you should err on the side of caution with her. No one needs to know what it's like to be held at the end of a gun's barrel.”

-Prudence Shawn as she shines the claymore Michi had forged for her.

A blacksmith with a penchant for letting their smithy go unmanned for days as the sound of hammers beating against metal suddenly go missing only to return again like nothing ever happened. Some say this is because Michi takes it too easy and she simply doesn't care for her work, but a select few can recognize her sharp eyes watching the crowd as it passes by, but you'd never suspect is as she kicks their feet up and watches the day go by all the way from sunrise to sunset.

Introduction.

Those who actually have stepped inside know the place is covered wall to wall in all types of weapons - Still, that doesn't change her attitude. She would rather toss back a drink or two with Captain Beidou at the wharf than chase someone down for the sake of harassing them into buying her goods. It's made a few people wonder how her business stays afloat when it only had a few habitual customers to the point some suspect foul play.

Even worse are those flies that always seemed to buzz around the shop that Michi never cared enough to swat down even as they landed on her shoulder, nearly glistening in the sun as their wings beat with each passing second.

Only those with eyes as keen as the owner of the Yue Guang smithy would know those dragonflies aren't as organic as they originally seem.

Character Story 1.

Error.

Irminsul does not have complete access to these files and can only give you corrupt data. If you wish to process click yes.

Bruises blooming as a broken voice begs for someone to stop.

Tears filling hazel eyes.

Confusion at being hurt by her own family after being told they were supposed to be a never-ending source of love and protection.

A head banging back against a wall as blood spills from the gaping wound. Only then was someone called for, a number being dialed in as her mother's voice begs for someone to come help her little girl for the first time since this started years ago.

A single paralyzed vocal cord.

Error.

Data incomplete.

Character Story 2.

The names had been getting annoying. Mute, dumb in the head, retarded, and so many more echoed in Michi's ears every time she walked through her school's halls. It was like they thought she was deaf, too.

To her chagrin, she wasn't, but having a pair of static filled ears would certainly help tamper down the annoyance she was feeling. Not a single glare seemed to deter anyone from shutting their mouths, so she had to simply grit her teeth through it and march on.

Error.

Her head whirled around at another name being called out, almost shouted right into Michi’s face like they felt the need to make sure she heard it, because what's the point if they're not one hundred percent positive, right?

After all these times people still haven't learned, then, at least not enough to block when her hand reaches out to grab the collar of this person's shirt and shove them to the wall behind them with a thud. Their pained grunt didn't even deter her from kneeing them in the gut.

The rest…well….the small group of friends she had at the time to pry Michi off the moment blood had fallen to the ground and someone was shouting how she broke their nose.

Meaning….

“Another fight occurred.”

That's what the principal said when Michi had to be picked up by her mother from school. The entire drive home had been silent except for the hum of the radio filling the air between them; neither of the two wanted to disturb it. The lyrics were familiar, annoyingly enough, making Michi tap their fingers to the beat.

“Again, Michaella?” Lorelei asked.

“Again.” She nodded, barely getting the single word out.

“I can't keep doing this. Leaving early work to pick you up to just-” Her hands left the steering wheel when the car finally jostled into place as they parked. The garage light above them flickered with every passing minute. “I put you through therapy, didn't I? I did everything a good mother was supposed to, but it's still not enough for you.”

Therapy she sat in on, Michi wanted to add, but she refused to humor this conversation when she already knew how it was going to end. It always had to be her mother's way, so it came to no surprise when Michi didn't even so much as look shocked when Lorelei said “I'm pulling you out of public school.”

With Michi's stubborn silence, Lorelei looked over at her daughter, taking in her slumped form and a new set of bruises on her knuckles, framing the skin splitting apart between the blotches of color.

“It'll be a good school, I promise. We can get you into one where you can learn to navigate your disability and when you're come, you can come back to the normal world and integrate yourself back into everyday society.”

Still, Michi said nothing as she tapped her fingers to the beat.

In turn, the radio was turned off with a resounding click.

“Please, Michaella, I- you know what? Fine. Throw another fit like always, but this is happening either way. That's that.”

The car door opened and closed with a resounding slam.

Sighing, Michi slumped further in her seat, trying to get the leather to swallow her whole.

“If I ever slammed a door I'd be getting a real stern fucking talking to, but if she does it….”

With one last flicker of the garage light Michi forced herself to get out of the car.

Character Story 3.

A baseball bat met a window, shattering it into pieces as the stained glass once picturing a god fell apart before their very eyes. Under her feet it only broke apart further with a crunch as Michi walked back to the endless pews lining the nave all the way up to the other teenager watching her.

They shared a smile, even if Michi had to force hers as she had to look back and forth between the wreckage under her and back to the one person who had stuck around after she had been dropped into an ASL school for her own convenience. Or so Michi has been told.

“Jennifer.”

The glass crunched under their feet again as Michi approached the other girl, her eyes narrowed to block out the last few rays of shining sun peeking through the abandoned chapel's windows. From beyond the walls of their makeshift safe haven, they could both hear the sounds of cars driving past and a single person, most likely a drug addict, cursing away like they just saw an angel descend.

“Remind me why you want to do this again?”

“I need practice.” Jennifer responded in turn, a lighter already flicking on to birth a flame now licking at a needle she was holding. “I can't go around asking for money for giving people piercings if I'm not any good at it.”

“So I'm your victim in this?” Michi asked.

“Yes. And don't blame me if you get infected.”

The bat clattered to the floor, almost hitting Michi’s black and blue legs on its way down before filling the stone room with its echo. Right next to the gleaming wood sat Michi's knees as she kneeled down with a painting of the all holy himself facing her back. His eyes watched every movement as the needle Jennifer was holding caught a stray beam of light.

It shined beautifully.

“You better know what you're doing, Jen. I'm no good with pain.”

“You can get me back in a moment. You always do.” Jen patted Michi'a cheek, right before taking their lip between her fingers and refusing to let it go.

She didn't even relent as Michi tried to pull away.

Error.

A simple song filled the abandoned chapel again after all the years it had gone without hearing a choir: Michi's whimper as a pointed tip pierced the skin under her bottom lip.

“Just a little more.” She was assured, so Michi held tight and let the burning sting send shocks all the way down to her toes and back up to her head leaving her mind feeling hazy; swimming in a feeling Michi could never forget.

Error.

Error.

Error.

The moment the needle was pulled away from the second piercing Jennifer had jabbed into her once soft flesh Michi pushed the other girl's hand away, forcing her back until they both fell off the pews and down to the ground below. Dust from the unswept floors tried to cling to their clothes, but it barely mattered when Michi was already pulling Jennifer's shirt off.

With a single golden piercing in her lip and an empty wound waiting for a new piece of jewelry to join it in a matching set, a kiss was pressed to the wound, blood spilling from the new puncture in Michi's already scraped skin to Jennifer's mouth before the two filled the chaoel with a new song.

Their moans, one sweet and one broken, echoed together as a single spider pin fell from Jennifer's shirt tucking itself under the various pews as their clothing fell away.

Character Story 4.

The right to speak properly had been robbed from Michi fairly young, leaving her with a rasp in her throat, a single functioning vocal cord, and a scar on her neck to prove she had tried to at least get it fixed through surgery.

Another failed attempt at trying to integrate herself back into normal society, just as Lorelei wanted, had passed when Michi woke up to find the surgery was a groundbreaking failure.

Things had gotten worse after that. Michi's patience for vocal therapy had finally snapped in half as she tossed a chair at a wall and stormed out, refusing to look back no matter how many times her name was called.

And it was all because of one person: her sister.

The one who had robbed everything from Michi. Who forced her to have to get injections shoved into her throat every few months even though the prick of the needles left her as nauseous as ever. Who robbed the feeling of home right from under Michi's feet the first time her closed fist met Michi. Yet she was still welcomed into what was supposed to be Michi’s safe haven time and time again with ease as their mother cried with relief every time that -error- returned.

Like there was nothing wrong between them all.

Like everything was picture -error- perfect.

The right to feel safe in her own home was robbed from Michi once again, so they did what anyone would and found somewhere else to turn to. At first it was Jennithe's place before her parents banned Michi from coming over, then it was the church before it was torn down, and now it's the back of a classroom as Michi tries her best not to draw the teacher's eye.

He had welcomed Michi in without a single hint of hesitation every time she snuck past him only to drop before one of the many winking monitors of the, quite frankly, old computers. The light would reflect on her face for hours at a time as she stationed herself away, trying to delay the inevitable.

“If you're going to stay here, you might as well work on something.” He had once told her that before pulling out a course class, his regular students went over and left Michi to her own devices.

Truly, he had too much faith in someone known to cause trouble, but she wasn't going to complain.

So Michi stationed herself before a computer in the STEM lab and went over the courses to fill their time to avoid going back to a place she could only bring herself to view as a house rather than a home. Her fingers flew over the keys, adept as ever after all her years using ASL, and typed away.

The labs came easy, it was just taking something simple and putting it into practice, the coding took a moment to get used to, and everytime she had the chance to put her hands on something and make it from scratch with nothing more than a few bits and bubbles made the time seem to fly by with the same ease as a dragonfly until each course was complete everyday after school until there was nothing left to do.

‘Complete’ the monitor read out before her.

Eventually the teacher overseeing it all came by with a stack of college entrance exams and asked one simple question: “Would you like to do more with your life than this, Michaella?”

With her eyes flickering back and forth between the screen and the pen held out to her she could only ask one thing, her words coming out broken and hoarse. “Where do I start?”

Character Story 5.

Things had been easier and worse all at once.

A new life had opened up before Michi all from a few measly hours she had spent every afternoon after school trying to keep herself safe from the harm she had become so familiar with. Like doors finally being unlocked for the first time after she had gazed at them with a fierce curiosity to learn what was hidden away by their existence.

Coding was natural to her, making little gadgets for work was easier after all the practice she had getting her hands dirty- in multiple ways- and it all seemed to perfectly fall in place like it was meant to be from the start. Even if the one person she had who stuck around all those years left because Michi decided to go her own way.

But things were good.

They had to be.

Error.

So why did they just hear…that?

The phone in her hands slipped from Michi’s hold as the words echoed in her hold, bouncing around like they were trying to shatter her skull from the inside with each hit to the porcelain white dome.

“What are you talking about, Michi? Your mom knew what was happening. I remember telling her.”

Michi's mouth opened only to fall closed again, the metal of her piercings clicking against her teeth as she struggled to not only talk but to breathe.

“Michi?” Her cousin called. The same one she had over for sleepovers and birthday parties when they were both younger- who had seen everything.

Mom knew.

Mom knew.

Error.

Michi's hands reached up to their throat, shaking as they wrapped around the long column to feel the scar she always hid behind chokers or turtle necks. Beneath her fingers it was easy to find, almost laughably so as her nails grazed against the white patch from where she had been torn apart on an operating table for the sake of….fixing something that could have been avoidable if her mother had been aware what was going on.

But she did.

She-

Error.

The voice called her name again, but it was drowned out by the sound of jingling keys and a door slamming shut behind Michi as she marched down to her car with a stumble to each step. Being drunk would be easier, she surmised. The years of throwing back the contents of a full bottle while Jennifer encouraged her to chug it all down had proven that, but now Michi could barely manage a straight line all the way to the cheap Ford she bought second hand.

In its windows Michi’s frantic image was reflected.

“I just need to talk to mom. That's all.” Michi swore, already pulling out to go drive to the same house she had grown up in. The same one with a blotch of red in the carpet her mother had never been able to get out despite years of trying. Like she was trying to erase the entire event despite it leaving an everlasting mark on Michi.

Maybe a call would have been better, but it was hard to think right now as her foot slotted against the gas pedal.

Error.

Error.

Trees and buildings seemed to fly by with ease as she sped through the roads, trying her best to think straight even when she was barely able to feel the steering wheel through the layer of nervous sweat coating her skin.

Five more minutes and she would be back home- at the house? She would arrive.

Just five more minutes.

Error.

Headlights.

A single loud honk.

Error.

“Five more minutes….” Michi whispered as her car lay flipped over in the middle of the highway with scraps of metal laid out all around her, and everything went black.

Error.

Blacksmithing.

The flat face of a hammer slammed down on the bright red metal before her causing flakes to fall off the steel rod Michi was trying to shape. They flew through the sky, fireflies in the middle of the day until they fell back down to the ground to be smothered by the world around them; swallowed by the dirt.

Drawing out the bar had been an issue of hers despite it being such an important step, so here she was swinging the same hammer that had been forced into hands the moment she arrived at this dingy little summer camp.

Lorelei had been the one who sent her off here.

Michi had just gotten home from the hospital, the would on the back of her head from where it met the corner of a table still aching when she had tucked herself into her bed for a single night only to wake up the next day to find Lorelei had decided Michi shouldn't be at home right now. Her sister, however? Oh, she could stay. Of course-

Another swing.

This time it dented the metal, leaving the print of the hammer in what's supposed to be a simple dagger as it rattled against the tongs Michi was struggling to hold properly. They didn't even fit properly in her hands leaving them aching at the end of each day as they shook in her hold every time she stepped before the anvil to get to work.

This was her one way of releasing her anger.

Another swing.

Because how was she supposed to scream when it left Michi coughing and tears in her eyes from the pain that would rip through her?

The hammer fell from her grasp, dropping onto the upsetting block with a clang.

Why wasn't she home right now?

Why was Michi the one who was sent away?

A shaky breath left her as Michi looked back and forth between everyone around her. There were boys and men, but not a single girl like her, and back to the rod of steel slowly growing colder with each passing second as that bright red fades away.

She would have to throw it back in the forge, but for now, Michi could barely bring herself to move as she stood there trying not to cry.

Vision.

The subtle heat coursing through her as Michi held a single glowing gem in her hand was the only comfort she had as snow whirled around her. Its red light pulsed, a beacon through the storm she had trudged through with a pink nose and chattering teeth as she tried to see through the swirling haze of falling flakes.

The storm was like nothing she had ever seen before. All encompassing. It left her with a surety she would freeze to death even with this odd gem she had woken up with tied around her neck. It had been her one saving grace even as she had tripped and fallen into the patch of snow beneath her. Knee high, but like this, it might as well have swallowed the woman whole.

Would she be just another body lost to the cold in some place she didn't even recognize?

It was a haunting thought.

Even then, her mind seemed to compete over if the storm or her mind was more concerning as she tiptoed between a lingering sadness Michi refused to acknowledge and a festering hatred. The feeling was an old friend greeting Michi and holding out its hand to her in its one show of compassion as she was told to stand tall once again. To refuse to let this be her end.

So Michi got herself back up with a sputter and trudged on. All the way to a camp full of chatter and bright lights nearly as blinding as the one she had seen before it all turned black.

The symbol fluttering in the wind on a blue banner barely meant anything to her in comparison to the promise of a proper fire rather than the one sparking at her fingertips and a hot meal. If anything, it was the promise of a saving grace she desperately reached out for.

It didn't even matter they came face to face with a sneer that failed to hide sharp teeth as a figure covered in a white cloak stared down at her only to ask “And what's this?”

The last thing she remembered before succumbing to the cold, the gem in her hand nearly scalding her skin with how hot it burned in an attempt to keep her blood flowing properly, was red eyes peeking out from behind a mask. They narrowed as Michi fell into the ground, her short stature nearly swallowed up by the powder surrounding him before Dottore turned and moved to walk away.

With a single gesture of his gloved hand, two more men in masks came and dragged this strange woman back with them as they whispered under their breaths where she had come from.

Their talk filled the journey all the way back to the room Michi was forced into after having woken back up. Feeling had returned to her fingers, still intact from what she could feel. Though, admittedly, it was hard to tell when they were tied behind her back as she was being tugged and pulled along by these people who called themselves Fatui.

They jostled her and forced her down onto her knees before a woman who seemed to radiate ice and snow while sitting high up on a throne.

Michi’s head bowed, mocking the actions of the man with the red eyes next to her as the frosty woman spoke all as a single glowing red gem hung from Michi’s neck.

“Welcome to Teyvat, Outlander.”

Silly little Michi facts.

-The spiked piercings she originally wears before Baizhu gifts her a new pair is to represent spider fangs

Michi and Aloy have the same vision casing

-Michi 100% would have been pissed if she didn't get isekaid through a car crash because it ruins all her jokes so I am just letting her have that one

-Dottore gives Michi injections for her vocal chord now that she's in Teyvat, but she's refused his offer to get another surgery. She doesn't want her hope to bubble up only for another disappointment.

-Michi is a flirt cause one of the few ways she's learned to receive attention that doesn't involve any pity

[cyberdenizen]

THE CHRISTMAS WISH

This story can be found as a dedicated page on my blog: Here

This story features a number of kinks, primarily: CNC

===============================================

As the sun set on Christmas Eve, Aurora glanced out the foggy window. Snowfall, like the party she arrived at mere moments ago, had just begun. But as she watched the frozen flakes drift along in the wind, her mind drifted all the same. As she slipped into a daze, her thoughts sank away.

A hand on her shoulder, snapping her back. She jolted, finding that she had been biting her lip, feeling spacey, as if her blood was lighter than normal, and as she spun around, she could feel the dampness between her legs. “You good, Aura? C'mon, everyone’s here, let’s get you a drink.” Francis’ voice was soothing, but Aurora couldn’t help but think about how pretty the snowflakes were as they danced downward. The image persisted through the night… She yearned to return to it… But the group of friends called for her, anchored her in reality. And so the party went on.

...

We all have our own traditions during the holiday season, and there’s no exceptions for Aurora and her friends. Every year since middle school, without fail, the group of eight would spend the evening before Christmas all together. Drinking, gossiping, exchanging gifts… And at the end of the night, come midnight, making their “Christmas Wishes”.

It was cheesy, sure, and not too dissimilar from a New Years resolution, but it was their tradition. At the stroke of midnight, they would all write down their one wish on a strip of paper, fold it up, and throw each into the fireplace to burn to ashes… or at least, normally they would. This year’s host had no fireplace, and so there was no fire.

As the party went on, the merriment only grew with each drink. And with each drink, Aurora felt herself slipping back to the swirling snow out the window. Stories were shared. Gifts were exchanged. Midnight approached as swiftly as the snow fell.

And so midnight came, and eight friends sat round the table, heads down as if taking an exam, scrawling their annual wish with haste so that no other might glimpse the words being written. “How will we burn them this year?” One chimed out. Another voice was quick to reply, “I’m sure more than one of us has a lighter, right? Just put them in a bowl and use that!” At least 5 lighters were placed on the table, a moment of brief laughter ensued, but Aurora’s mind was drifting once more, glancing out the window, watching the snow flutter about, helpless to the guidance of the wind.

As the group all wrote out their wishes, Aurora found herself unsure of what to wish for. She somewhat joking scrawled “I want to be railed like a mindless whore,” mind still thinking on how drenched she felt when she came to after her first journey into the snowy static of the winter void. Quickly she scratched out that line, knowing that may be one of her heart’s desires, but not wish-worthy by any means. Following the marked out phrase came another now, “Watch the sunrise on a fresh snowbank.” She pondered this wish momentarily, but found it lacking, and so, it too was crossed out, though not as rushed as the first. Finally, the papers were being collected, and when the collector, Francis, made his way to her, he cleared his throat, shook the bowl holding 7 folded notes, and began flicking his lighter on and off with impatience.

“FRANKY! DON’T PEEK!” Aurora squealed playfully, playing off that a wish won’t come true if someone else reads it, but truly fearing he might see the first note she jotted down. Francis reached for the note, “Will you stop calling me that, we’re not kids anymore! Now come on, we’re all waiting.”

And so it came that Aurora quickly scribbled down one last wish… “I wish for a white Christmas, filled with friends a-” The paper was snatched from her mid letter, her wish cut short. “Time’s up!” A multitude of voices rang in near-harmony. More laughter ensued, no one expecting such a synchronous chime of finality.

The lighter flicked on in Francis’ hand. A crumpled note touched the flame, and dropped to the pile of neatly folded wishes below. As stark white paper turned to ash, the cleanup began, and within the hour, Aurora found herself in her own bed, mind still adrift, the feeling only aided by the drinks she partook in. Darkness flooded her mind, and sleep overtook her body.

A buzzing!

Aurora’s eyes flickered to life, her phone lit the room in a pale blue light. A text, an unknown sender, “Fresh snow lay on the hill you once rode your sleigh. Go now, dress and depart, and bare witness to an Earth-born star-field come sun’s rise.” She read it again, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out who sent it. She checked the time… 4am…

Deep down, Aurora knew the text was from one of her close friends, and so, she slid out of her pyjamas, donned a warmer outfit, and affixed her scarf and coat. With gloves and earmuffs on, she softly closed the apartment door behind her, and skulked down the stairs and out to the street.

Twenty minutes passed and she found herself, at last, in the park she frequented in her childhood. Before her stood a mighty hill… or… well she could have sworn it was as tall as a mountain when she was a kid. Upward she trudged, to the peak of the snow-covered hill.

There wasn’t a sound. No wind. No chatter. No cars. There was only darkness. Fading moonlight just before dawn.

The snow crunched under her as she shifted, checking her phone. Just past 4:30… facing East… ready for the sunrise. Aurora slid her phone back into her pocket, and heard the crunch of fresh snow behind her. She swiftly spun around, but no one was there. Confused, she turned back, only to see a figure, covered completely by warming winter gear. She jolted, just as she did when a hand was placed on her shoulder as the night began.

“You know, you don’t have to be so cryptic… and why’d you mask your number when you texted me?” No response… “Come on… What’s up? Did you just need to spend more time with me after the party?!” Aurora teased. Still no response… “Say something, won’t yo-” And just like her wish, her words were cut short.

A gloved hand on her throat, piercing eyes before her, and still not a word. Within moments, Aurora found herself laying face down in the fresh snow, her heart racing, her outfit in shambles. Jacket pulled open, top ripped, bra un-clipped… Boots forced off, pants yanked to her ankles, panties aside. She was cold… so cold… as she felt herself being violated.

The throbbing tip of a warm cock pressed deep inside her dripping slit. As she moaned, she found her face forced back into the freezing snow. Her skin was freezing, but all she felt was heat.

Whimpering, she found her hair wrapped around a no-longer-gloved hand, head pulled back. She watched the snowflakes flutter, guided by the gentle breeze, then pulled rapidly in another direction by wind. Helpless snowflakes, forced to take the path the wind demanded… She could feel warm cum filling her, the tip of the masked man pressed against her cervix. And just when she thought “it’s over…”, as that throbbing cock pulled from her, she found a new sensation. He wasn’t done… no, he was forcing his cock, lubricated with her own desire and his cum, into her tight ass. And as tears dripped down her cheeks, she moaned, gasping with pain and pleasure.

The hand unknown shifted now, to her chin, forcing her to look outward. “Look there” a familiar voice finally rang out. And Aurora found the field of snow before her glistening like the brightest star-field as the sun rose over the horizon. She whimpered, she cried, and she found herself flipped over onto her back.

As cum dripped down from both her holes, she opened her eyes wide, seeing the masked figure had taken off his mask. The face of Francis leaned over her, kissing her passionately.

As he pulled her up off the ground, he handed her a slip of paper… her wish… “Thought I’d do you a favor and make all three come true.” Aurora couldn’t even recall what it was she wrote, but in unfolding the paper slipped into her fingers, she realized… “H…HEY! You only gave me two!” She jested, already forgetting how forceful he had been with her. “Eh? What, two holes dripping with cum on Christmas morning sounds like a white Christmas filled with friends to me.” Francis gripper her chin as he spoke these words, kissing her once more. “Why don’t you be a good little whore and clean off my cock, Aura? Then I’ll take you home, you can be my Christmas gift this year.” “God you’re such a pervert, Franky” Aurora replied, already on her knees with a smile. “I love you, you dumb bitch, but don’t call me that.” Franky replied, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, Master, your dumb bitch doesn’t know any better.” She said before cupping his balls firmly. Francis jolted, just as he had made her prior. She couldn’t help but giggle before tasting her own desperation off his still throbbing cock.

“A wish come true” Aurora thought to herself, head bobbing passionately. She stopped for a moment and looked up with a smile, “So… how do we tell everyone else about us… dating?” she giggled childishly.

[broken-clover]

5- Sunshine

Ah heck, time sure does get away from me. I had this just about done last night, so far I've been doing pretty good in having these finished ahead of time, but given how early today's shift started it completely slipped my mind. No big deal, though! That's just how it is sometimes.

Continuing in my hopping, today we're stopping at Psychonauts. I still love this series to bits, and the Thorney Towers gang are still some of my favorite characters ever from how much we get to interact with them. I love that so much of the fandom saw the four of them and collectively went 'ah yep pair them all together, they're a matching set and can't be separated.' It's cute.

-

The morning light was one of the few mercies they had been allowed in those blasted ruins. Even trapped in the labyrinthian hellscapes of their own tormented minds, there were tiny fragments of comfort to desperately cling to.

On softer days, those lucky moments when things nearly felt normal, they’d share the feeling together. Though Edgar remained chained to the floor of his studio, he had just enough slack to sit on the rim of the broken mezzanine and watch as the rising sun glowed through the spindles of broken walls. It offered new colors from the ones he stared at for hours on the surface of his paint cans and wooden palette. It eased the strain in his aging eyes, reminded him that there was still a world outside of his own little room stuffed with his looping regrets. He’d offer a warm greeting to the courtyard below.

Napoleon didn’t often give Fred time to rest between their constant battling, but he took whatever he was given with an iron grip (bite? He didn’t exactly have hands to use nowadays…) With how often he was stuck in illusory, dreamlike battlefields, anything that felt concrete and firm was welcome. He sat with his back to the east, feeling how the warmth brushed up his neck and watching the shadows shift. If he was particularly fortunate, Crispin would have fallen asleep by then. He had no hands to wave back up at Edgar, but he responded with the best smile he could muster and a listening ear to whatever he or Gloria wanted to talk about. They were still his patients, he'd do whatever he could to make them feel even the slightest bit more comfortable.

Most of the greenhouse’s windows were broken, just the same as the rest of the asylum’s windows. Though she was typically too distracted to notice, Gloria did note that the sunrise could make the remaining fragments shimmer and paint little rainbows across the floor and on her audience of flowerpots. Something about it reminded her of one of her childhood recitals, and when she ventured out of the greenhouse and into the courtyard to interact with her fellow residents, she’d share her stories with them as long as they were willing to listen. Sometimes she forgot how charming they all were, far more lively even now than some of the stuffy high-rollers that had once attended her opening night performances all those years ago.

Boyd could hear them as he worked. He heard many things. Messages passed between birds as they watched him, recorded him. The radio static caught in his fillings. The things in the water that whispered. Echoes from the courtyard. Boyd knew who was speaking in there, his paranoia warned him that they were just as untrustworthy as everything else, but something else in him just couldn’t be absolutely sure that they were dangerous. They were victims of the conspiracy, too, that’s why they were all there in the first place. That’s why they all had to be there, locked away safe on a secluded island. Why he had to guard the gate to make sure nobody broke in.

Gloria…she talked about how much they all missed him, how they wished he would come inside just to speak for a little bit. He wished they understood, this was all for everyone’s safety. He would do whatever it took to make sure the Milkman was dealt with. Once he figured it all out, nobody would have to worry anymore. He wouldn’t be in danger, none of them would. But he couldn’t bear to tell her to stop coming. Her voice was golden-yellow and warm like honey, like the sun. Boyd hated how the sunlight bleached the stone walls, making it difficult to tell between his chalk diagrams and the place they were written on. Despite that still, there were moments when the light felt like a relief against his skin. If anything, being able to see made it less likely that someone could sneak up on him. It was the closest he could get to safe.

All of those thoughts faded with time in their minds. The asylum was nothing but rubble now. They were more than happy to get that place and those memories as far away from them as they could, even as the four of them stuck together for some sense of familiarity in an unfamiliar world. Acclimating to the outside life again became easier with time, but having each others’ support was really what made everything more bearable in the end.

Edgar, for reasons he wasn’t sure of, found himself waking up at the crack of dawn. He’d slept just fine, and he had nowhere to be for hours, but still he rolled out of bed and decided to get ready early. To his surprise, he spotted the others doing likewise, all sitting at the kitchen table in varying states of wakefulness.

“Mmm…mornin’, Edgar.” Boyd watched him with slow, sleepy eyes.

“Uh…good morning, everyone. It’s awful early, isn’t it? I’m surprised to see you awake.”

“Same to you.” Replied Fred, sipping at his morning coffee. “You sleep okay?”

“I did, yes. For some reason, I simply feel too awake to try and sleep anymore.” He took note of the open blinds. Everyone’s chairs were pointed towards it, despite the abundant space available. “The sunrise? What made you decide to watch it?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “Something about it just feels nice.”

Gloria nodded in agreement. “It feels nice.”

Without any fanfare, Edgar took a chair and squeezed in. “...Dios mio, it’s quite a sight.”

[myosotisa]

ao3 tag game

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

thanks for the tags @blue-mossbird and @ghost-proofbaby!! here are the 10 most recent:

Talk It Good - Eddie Munson x fem!Reader, wc: 8101

There was something about being on the closing shift that was immensely gratifying. Especially on weeknights.

Small Things - Eddie Munson x fem!Reader, wc: 3831

Another sunrise. The deep maroons that melted into rich oranges and peaks of yellow. Moments of warmth and gold that glowed in the dawn of a new day before fading into the palest and lightest of blues.

Make Up the Rest - Eddie Munson x fem!Reader, wc: 6285

From the very first moment he approached you at the bar, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done this kind of thing before.

The rest are parts of my Steve Harrington x fem!Reader series titled The Rabbit and the Hair:

When Judgement Calls - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 11117 (wip)

“So how exactly does this thing work again?”

Ride the Air - Eddie Munson & fem!Reader (platonic), SH x Reader implied, wc: 8785

You were about 1 upset away from setting fire to your Anatomy textbook.

Scar Tissue - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 7809

It was a month of honeymoon bliss with you and your now-boyfriend, Steve Harrington.

Ask For More - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 8297

Today was supposedly the last day any of you would need to be present for these government debriefs.

Breathe, Desperately - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 39446

The crackle of static. Cottontail, come in. Cottontail, do you read me?

Who's Gonna Carry Your Home? - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 4673

Despite the air he was trying to give off, Steve hadn't been to many parties recently.

Warm Ways - Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, wc: 9910

The first day of summer vacation after your senior year and you took the ample opportunity to sleep in. We’re talking didn’t-wake-up-naturally-until-2pm type of sleep in. And by God was it needed.

no pressure tags: @rosemaremembrance, @pastel-pillows, @storiesbyrhi, @manicpixiedreamcurl, @word-wytch

[anulithots]

hey! this is chance & here’s this week’s prompt. pick one of your ocs. how would they react if they suddenly appeared right next to you, in the modern world? what would happen?

*Anuli is a fiddle leaf fig dryad. They do not like being moved. EVER. They slowly get sick and start getting distressed until they are moved back. Anuli does the same... except fae doesn't know how to deal with stressful situations, fae just gets even more in faer head and recoils from the world, not dealing with it.*

*nervous laughter*

Some plot twist. Except... this was one of THOSE plot twists. This was.... not part of the plot, or the story, or even the genre. It didn't just change the plot... something was wrong. The captured stars multiplied. hung in the... the something. Thier shards of light poked my eyes and I buried them in my palms. Metaphorically, it was the perfect unhappy ending for a villain, for the captured star I killed, a thousand more lied in wait. They wished for nothing more than to exact their revenge on the antagonist that killed one of their own... the symbolism and plot symmetry would be perfect. What a payoff for such a sticky read- I shook my head. Nope. Do not story-fy this. Think logically, be like Maidoe or Kamari. I shook my hands to pull on my antennae. This is important, be functional Anuli. When had I ever been functional? I was more of a bug, melted in the sun. Its body laid in mush, while the legs stuck out in odd angles. What could it possibly do? Its purpose in this story was to curl up and die. I shook my head. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Sure, the ground swayed beneath my feet and the captured stars rang. Screamed. A thousand wails for every buzz of the ones back home. I squeezed my eyes shut, cast the world in darkness. Their screams decided a better strategy, to creep up my spine, worm their way into my head, and attempt to break free of my head. They clamored against the flesh of my skull, sending shudders to my root tips. My vision stirred into particles of static, as if the captured star pulled apart the fibers of my soul and tied them into knots. That's what this was. A finale. An ending, fit for pitiful excuses of antagonists.

Basically, Anuli doesn't take in the surroundings. Because fae is overwhelmed immediately and decides to curl into a ball.

The colors swarmed in puddles of light. The ground swayed. The whole thing. I pressed my weight against the rock and waited. Future Anuli would get faer roots in order and think about this without tangling stories into it. Kamari was right, my absent-minded-ness would cause my intended fate. Well, at least I wasn't around faer. At least fae didn't see this. Perhaps this unhappy ending would be perfect for everyone. The story's over now. Farewell all dear readers. I could never open my eyes. That could be the ending. I could dream up a million stories and let them swirl and combine and die and make them as morbid as I wished. Sunflowers could finally dance on the corpse of their oppressor.... great plot twists, that really was an awful story. I could pretend. What if the rock-but definitely-not-rock was Kamari's tree? In a moment the air would stir, and stop attempting to cement my lungs in place. The stars would quiet upon sunrise. The windchime would chase away the static. Would Kamari join? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps the proper plotline would happen. Kamari took away the fallen fairies and never have to deal with the little antagonist that ruined everything fae touched- I sighed. No no. There's no point. Be quiet thoughts. If this is the end, then my character was now - truly, finally - inconsequential. There was nothing to ruin. I would open my eyes to starlight filtering though branches, Kamari's wind chime clinking against itself in the breeze. I opened my eyes to the captured stars. Their static. It blurred my vison into a shaky haze. At least I wasn't having an existential crisis. Or perhaps that was worse. Weren't beings supposed to have existential crisis to a plot twist of this nature? Ah... well, perhaps a clobbered-together antagonist doesn't get to have adverse reactions to their unhappy ending. They are supposed to accept it.

*It is very hard to write Anuli in new situations just because fae shuts down and spirals every time something doesn't go according to plan. And fae doesn't spend that much time in 'reality' soooo....

That's how fae would react. And what would happen? Fae would be in a stupor, living life in a non-registering haze until faer leaves started falling off from the sudden switch. Not that exciting really. Mainly faer thoughts would be in a constant hazy story loop of "at least I can't make things worse now... oh thoughts please stop it already it's been a week" and such and such*

[crowdsourcedloner]

(from sealrock)

21 and B for the uncommon questions meme :D

21. Why do they get up in the morning?

Nailah gets up to keep busy. She doesn't sleep well most nights and, rather than staring at a wall for a few more hours, she gets up and starts idly taking care of whatever chores are undone around her. She's been caught sweeping, sorting, and making breakfast for any companions that might be awake at the same time as her.

In a more metaphorical sense... she doesn't know. She believed her only purpose was to be the Warrior of Light and save everyone, but now that all that's done... what purpose is there for her in a saved world? It bothers her more than she wants to admit, leading to her losing even more sleep and taking up an excessive amount of Hunt bounties in between story beats, causing her to disappear for long stretches of time.

B) What inspired you to create them?

short answer: i initially made my characters for a mechanical purpose rather than for the sake of making stories about them, but things got out of hand repeatedly when i was easily distracted by story ideas and aesthetic desires...

long answer: lets break this down by character

nohku (relevant to others though she technically no longer exists)

started as the generic fantasy orphan backstory, was my only character for a long time

inspired by wondering about mooncat lore in the shroud and thinking about what would happen should the ixal summon garuda near a mooncat settlement

she was... really all over the place aesthetically and personality wise so i did what hydaelyn would want and sundered her into other characters rather than throw everything out (each of my current characters has parts of her previous aesthetics/personalities/stories)

scrapped due to wanting 1. more consistent characterization 2. a more unique face/race without modding and 3. to one day see a catboy be carried in the arms of a large lion lady

yomi

originally made as a throwaway pf savage healer alt, only to develop into a character to keep me entertained during msq

shes still stuck in stormblood

originally was nohku's post-endwalker apprentice

originally inspired by hingan housing items and ingame eastern fashion, since i couldn't find a satisfactory headcanon behind a hingan looking house in the middle of the lavender beds (where nohku's first house was) and i still wanted a hingan house/apartment since the furniture looks nice

aesthetics include flowers, shortbread cookies, mint, sunrises, and cold tea on a hot day - things that are refreshing and light

personality was made to be as bright and cheerful as possible with minimal trauma, as i tend to make characters have pretty terrible lives and i wanted to not do that again as a challenge

after going through mount rokkon and the four lords questline, i might push her into an auspice/onmyoji role? its a corner of the lore that interests me greatly and no other character really fits in to it...

zezene

originally made to help me learn how to play ffxiv on controller

personality was made to be loud and confident, and the idea of a somewhat benevolent conman/thief similar to robin hood intrigued me as i usually don't do shadier (or genuinely confident) characters

aesthetic inspirations include card tricks, sleight of hand, zidane's outfit, threatening smiles, and mischievous imps

i have yet to find good inspiration for their backstory... but it feels in character for them to not have a static backstory? like they change it every time someone asks? maybe an idea will come in the future

the idea of them taking in yomi and verre only came about once i was set on entirely eliminating nohku from lore

there was a scrapped inspiration of them having more voidsent connections, but this has been removed... for now

verre

originally created for the new server bonus on dynamis

originally had much more involvement in nohku's lore, as she was connected to nohku's father/mentor figure

personality was made to be an introverted engineer, but not really a shy one - someone who has more quiet confidence and knows what they're about without outside influence

aesthetic inspirations include still water, gears, timepieces, the smell of gun oil, the sound of a ticking clock, and glowing screens

also partly inspired by goblins, goblin technology, and general wonderings about the effects of outliving the people around you

there's a big time inspiration/motif that i've yet to really dig into, but its there

her lore developed the most suddenly out of all my characters, and i'd like to add more dalmascan influence/inspiration to her somehow

nailah

she's what nohku will be fanta/name changed into

originally inspired by wanting a less popular character race, as i was tired of seeing nohku clones on every corner and i figured having more concrete race lore could steer me towards more consistent character/personality

bozja and general hrothgar lore were fantastic food for her backstory, as it's inspired by wondering 'hey how can i make hrothgar lore backfire'

backstory is also partly inspired by wondering how neutral intentions can be horribly warped by auracite (technically done through her mother but the effects are relevant to nailah's character)

personality is inspired by defrosting ice queen tropes, the concept of 'masks', feral cats, and the sensation of distance

aesthetic inspirations include drifting smoke, foggy pine forests, cold ashes, hooded faces, and the sound of distant thunder

fordola's echo helped inspire nailah's echo, namely how they're both very sensitive and they somewhat force a sense of empathy on their people

more inspirations could come about in the future (such as ideas based on body tattoos/markings in character creator)

[the-hobgoblins]

the witching hour

Who: Maeko Burke, Oz Pryce, Katie Thorne, Rue Attaway, AJ Ramesh, Xiomara Winters, Nathaniel Pinnock Where: FTB Safehouse, Putney When: Morning After Halloween, 2020

@katiethxrne @xiomarawinters @ajairamesh

Let it not go unstated that Maeko Burke thought this was a really terrible, like—extremely shit idea.

And not just because her and Oz both were hungover as all hell following a raucous Halloween fête on Hawkins territory, or the fact that she’d been watching the sunrise blooming blood orange over the horizon huddled close in conversation with one Penny Hawkins when she’d gotten the text from Katie—that the latter needed Oz to come identify a potential suspect for his attack.

‘Isn’t there anyone else u can get?’ Maeko had pushed back over text, ‘He’s just started feeling up to talking again, & being able to sleep without nightmares…’

To which Katie replied, ‘I’m sorry, kid. He’s our only survivor…it’s gotta be him.”

So with much trepidation, they gathered themselves as best they could and they made for Putney.

Maeko felt less apologetic over the state they were in when she saw the state of the FTB safehouse. Clearly, Maeko and Oz were not the only ones who had been tossed an unwanted curveball in the midst of a party. The house was in absolute shambles—and that’s coming from someone who legitimately lived in a haunted hoarder house full of creepy, broken junk.

But even more ominous was the way Nathaniel Pinnock, looking like he’d lost a particularly nasty brawl with a good night’s sleep, answered the front door and ushered them silently in—without one single condescending furrow of brow or snide remark. It was like he’d seen a ghost—

Or perhaps, something far worse.

***

Katie was about halfway through debriefing Maeko on the storied Zombie in the Closet—or, at least, she was trying to debrief them both, except that she was in a sort of frenzied state and using a lot of policey-sounding words that went over Oz’s head. Not to mention the fact that he was in such a state of anxiety that he could barely follow any three words strung together, and little flickers of ambient magic kept crackling at random points within Oz’s immediate vicinity, irritating lightbulbs and rustling bits of debris and zig-zagging tiny little chem trails of sparkly light in everyone’s peripheral vision. He was keenly aware of the battered hedges that lurked in the surreptitious pockets of the big open room, the covetous leers they fixed on Oz as he thoughtlessly disrupted—as he unwillingly commanded—the very source of their wild, unclaimable power.

Oz knew well those hungry stares; he remembered.

He swallowed, wishing the debris-stained carpet would gobble him up. ‘Mo Rúnsearc…’ Oz could almost hear Morrigan’s commanding whisper once again, could very nearly feel it graze his neck like static, making the tender flesh it kissed stand at willing attention. A prickling sensation, ineffectually forgotten, itched beneath the skin of Oz’s inked palms. He tried to catch Maeko’s attention, pleading silently, I don’t want to be here, not here, not again…

But her blue eyes, hard as frozen granite and just as sharp, were fixed on Katie.

“—and there’s a magical dark zone that seems linked to where it is, so far as we’ve found…” explained the auror, thumbs hooked in her belt loops.

“…meaning?” said Maeko flatly, her skepticism unveiled.

“Meaning hedge magic is a no-go when you’re around this thing. And no one has been able to get a wand even close. Might as well be a Muggle.”

“So how the fuck do we even get in, then?” Maeko’s voice was raised and incredulous.

Katie looked between Maeko and Oz, and then said with apology in her tone, “…well, we don’t. Oz, though…”

AJ stepped into the conversation then, having been lurking at the perimeter. He had one hand raised in greeting and the other sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “‘Sup…”

Maeko looked at AJ, and then at Katie, and snapped, “No fuckin’ way, Kat—”

“Mae, I know, but I promise you he’ll be—”

Here Maeko laughed sharp and unkind, without any real amusement—not a thing like her usual good-humored laugh. “Oh, cheers then! As if yet another promise from a fuckin’ auror means one single fuckin’ thing to me…” Katie looked immediately quite wounded by this, and Maeko sighed, rubbing her tired eyes and dropping her shoulders. “Ah hell, I’m…sorry, alright? I just meant…it seems sketch, is all. Considering.”

She met Oz’s gaze, finally, and he saw the fear and the worry that was churning there, like a storm over arctic waters that Maeko was trying to play off as aloof and irascible. But Oz knew already he would do anything that was asked of him. That was just what he did—who he was in the depths of his wretched, selfless bone marrow; he didn’t know what it meant to do anything else.

He gave Maeko a small shake of his head, and folded his clammy palms across his chest, beneath his arms. He gave the best lighthearted shrug he could muster, and smiled through his dread. “Well! Let’s have us a look at this beastie, then…”

***

There’d been thumping and commotion coming from within the room with no doors—where they were keeping that thing—and it had set everyone off, nearly trampling each other to get to that stretch of impenetrable wall to watch, and to wait. It was wallpapered with some tacky, ironic little flowers that Maeko was contemplating just blasting through with a well-aimed Reducto—magical dead zone be damned.

But Oz and AJ blipped back out, looking frazzled but unharmed. And Oz confirmed that whatever monster the hedges had locked up in the closet, it wasn’t the one that had nearly taken his life.

Katie must have had her suspicions on that from that start, because no sooner had Oz said his bit than she was nodding to herself, her face darkening in that way that signified she was parsing through a myriad of thoughts she had yet to share with any audience outside her own mind. She thanked Oz distractedly, and barely spared the attention to tell the nearest hedges that she’d circle back with them later before she was out the door to attend to business of her own.

And it should have made Maeko relieved, that they could elude more trouble and trauma so soon after Oz’s attack.

But god, for just a second, she’d let herself think they were so close—the things she could have done to that bastard if she’d had it right on the other side of a bloody wall, the things she’d been dreaming of getting to do every hour for weeks—

So when Maeko heard some of the hedges casually talking with what sounded like genuine cheer, discussing their plans to keep the monster cared for and comfortable for Merlin knows how long—after all these weeks of bottling up her anger and frustration at everything, Maeko snapped.

“Are you seriously mental?” she interrupted, her tone edged by all the unjustness they’d endured the past few weeks, and exactly how little she’d slept. “That thing tried to kill you! What the fuck are you playing at, keeping something like that locked up in a cage like a fuckin’ pet?”

The fiery one with the green eyes and thick London inflection rounded on Maeko and shot back, “Don’t you come in here all off your trolley, wavin’ your wand and waggin’ your tongue tellin’ us what we can n’ can’t do, in our own gaff, innit. Just ‘cause you got yourself some pure wizard’s blood and your fancy fuckin’ name that makes you someone out there, in here you’re no better ’n anyone else. You think it makes you special, huh? You think that big scary name’ll protect you? Pinnock’s got himself a posh name—why don’t ya ask him what good it’s done. Hell, they told me I got a cunt grandmother named Zabini and it’s never done me one lick of good, has it? So sod off, Princess—we didn’t ask for your permission or your input, ’n we don’t fuckin’ need it…”

And in a blink, the house erupted in magic.

Missiles of crackling, colored energy sliced through the air from the end of Maeko’s wand without a shred of thought behind them as she finally boiled over with simmering darkness and rage, like the very night itself given vengeful, corporeal form. Her sulfurous magic ricocheted off shields that were hastily thrown up by hedges, catapulting around the room like shrapnel. Billows of blue flame shot toward Maeko and she turned it to glass in the air before it shattered at her feet.

She was losing control of the torrent inside of her, on the liquid black night that had burned through her veins for all these years, that Maeko had so foolishly tried to bottle up and ignore—as if she could deny who and what she was, as if that dark power wouldn’t one day burst from her fragile flesh like a stoppered glass vial—

At the sound of commotion, the room had crowded with Free Traders; the green-eyed hedge had a ball of fire in one hand when Xiomara shrieked, “Rue! You are not burning down this fucking house today!” But the brand new wand that Xiomara held in her hand was pointed at Maeko, and just as she raised her own to unleash a hellish sea of biting shadow, Oz stepped in between them.

She faltered slightly at the sight of those tragic fucking eyes, her insides knotting and her voice cracking even as she furiously begged, “Oz, move.” She was seeing double, shattered by the sudden, overwhelming deja vu; tired blue eyes that Maeko had driven herself mad trying to forget—a martyred, masochistic Scottish drawl…

Oz shook his head. “I’m one a them, Mae—my blood as much as you. I can’t have ya doin’ something ya can’t take back, can’t watch ya wreck yourself tryin’ to…”

But Maeko didn’t hear the rest of it. She emitted one piercing, ravaged wail, and then disapparated.

[thespoonisvictory]

I posted 5,874 times in 2022

1,359 posts created (23%)

4,515 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@firesnap

@thespoonisvictory

@surreal-static

@geoguessbur

@snailsnfriends

I tagged 3,314 of my posts in 2022

Only 44% of my posts had no tags

#asks - 426 posts

#d20 - 182 posts

#acofaf - 168 posts

#fav - 127 posts

#exu:c - 54 posts

#critical - 50 posts

#spoon rambles - 39 posts

#prev - 34 posts

#^^^ - 31 posts

#neverafter - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#like yes niki enjoys a good drawn out seagull eating bit and phil will do unhinged tts but who else would rp being stuck in a public library

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

ok fine I’ll say it. a good portion of dsmp streamers don’t care about the story and maybe arguably they never understood the enormity of what certain people on that server were trying to create, the integrity they were trying to maintain in it. they see clicks, engagement, and an endlessly appeased fanbase that will accept infinite promises and excuses, and as long as you still click on that stream they aren’t going to care. the farthest a good half of them got was “this seems cool” and then they streamed it and we took that and wrote fun analysis and did fanart. and as long as we all know that and accept that george and sapnap do not care or even understand why tommy’s house is so important, that’s fine. as long as we get that certain streamers only bring it up to promote merch and others only bring it up to pull attention back, and we agree to watch anyway because it’s fun, that’s fine.

but it breaks my heart seeing fans confused and heartbroken because they have to keep realizing that the vast majority of these guys don’t care about this server in that way anymore

1,528 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

#4

the manburg arc being set during the transition from fall to winter like ok you hadestown over the garden wall bitch you really thought of everything didn’t you

1,850 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

#3

I enjoy period accurate costuming but people who get mad at inaccurate but absolutely intentional choices in period pieces drive me up the wall

2,773 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

#2

the new minecraft lore is like:

there are no mobs in the cities. something is stopping them; something is either killing them or maybe even they know not to venture down there, that it’s too dangerous.

but down there, there are candles. there are wool pathways. there are redstone lamps. whatever civilization lived down there was smart, much more advanced than villagers. they had thick walls, and figured out that wool kept Wardens away, and made enchantments to allow them to run quickly and quietly. they had nether blocks, basalt and soul fire, and their buildings nearly resemble nether fortresses, or bastions. there were whole communities that thrived in spite of the threat, until they didn’t, of course. 

did they live in fear of the Warden? if so, why didn’t they leave? could they leave? did they try to make a portal to do just that? their cities are intricate and their floors are lined with wool that children could run across and stumble over without worry and did they whisper, constantly? did they teach children legends of the beasts that would come if they didn’t quiet down? did the children believe them? did they make candles on holidays and dare each other to set the skulk sensors off with small dripstone pieces? did they keep bees, or did they ration their wax carefully, trying to learn the secrets of redstone and soul fire to keep their lanterns burning before they ran out? how far did they get in their knowledge? why didn’t they leave? what were they staying for, what were they trying to find with that portal? 

why didn’t they leave?

5,025 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I just. maybe I should be mad but I’m not. Wilbur Soot is a cunt and this was a story about suicide and blue sheep and sunrises and utah and I love that he took a deliberate move to make it campy and insane and like all of the most memorable bits from this stupid server it is full of heart! his mom is a fridge! he fucked a salmon! tragedy and grief render everything around them obscene and hilarious and the fact that this story ended in such a silly way is the ultimate fuck you to c!wilbur’s mindset that he is some ultimate dramatic evil. the world is ridiculous! you have to forgive yourself! suck it green boy! 

7,567 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

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[scottsurplicephotography]

Elopement Photography by Scott Surplice: Capturing Your Unique Love Story

Elopements have evolved into a cherished choice for couples seeking a more intimate and personalized way to celebrate their love. With fewer guests and a focus on personal significance, elopements offer a unique opportunity to create memories in a setting that holds special meaning. When it comes to preserving the beauty and emotion of such a personal occasion, elopement photography plays a crucial role. Scott Surplice, renowned for his exceptional work in this field, offers a distinctive approach to capturing the essence of your elopement with artistry and authenticity.

The Art of Elopement Photography

Elopement photography by Scott Surplice is not merely about taking pictures; it’s about telling the story of your special day through his lens. His approach is characterized by a documentary-style method that focuses on capturing candid, genuine moments. This style is particularly suited to elopements, where the emphasis is on personal connection and the natural beauty of the surroundings.

Scott’s work reflects a deep understanding of the intimate nature of elopements. He takes the time to get to know each couple, learning about their unique love story and preferences. This personalized approach ensures that the photographs are not just beautiful but also meaningful and reflective of the couple’s relationship.

Creating Timeless Memories

One of the hallmarks of elopement photography by Scott Surplice is his ability to create timeless, evocative images. His mastery of light and composition allows him to capture the ambiance of the day, whether it’s the soft glow of a sunrise ceremony or the warm hues of a sunset celebration. Each photograph is crafted to evoke the emotions and atmosphere of the moment, creating a visual narrative that will be cherished for years to come.

Scott’s focus on capturing authentic moments means that the photographs are more than just static images; they are a dynamic representation of the love and joy shared on the day of the elopement. From the intimate exchange of vows to the quiet moments of reflection, Scott’s images highlight the true essence of the couple’s special day.

Comprehensive Elopement Photography Packages

Scott Surplice offers a range of elopement photography packages designed to cater to different needs and preferences. Each package is thoughtfully crafted to provide comprehensive coverage while respecting the intimate nature of elopements:

The Essentials Package includes coverage of key moments such as the pre-ceremony preparations, the ceremony itself, and post-ceremony portraits. This package is perfect for couples seeking a focused yet elegant representation of their elopement.

The Signature Package offers extended coverage and additional features, including an enhanced portrait session and detailed shots of the venue and decor. This package is ideal for those who want a more comprehensive portrayal of their day.

The Ultimate Package provides full-day coverage, a pre-elopement session, premium photo albums, and optional extras like drone photography. This all-inclusive package ensures that every detail of the elopement is captured with the highest level of care and creativity.

The Scott Surplice Difference

What sets Scott Surplice apart in the realm of elopement photography is his commitment to creating a relaxed and enjoyable experience for couples. His unobtrusive style allows couples to be themselves, resulting in natural, heartfelt photographs that capture the true spirit of the day.

Scott’s expertise and attention to detail ensure that each photo is not only technically perfect but also artistically compelling. His ability to adapt to various settings and lighting conditions means that the final images will be a true reflection of the couple’s unique elopement.

Conclusion

Choosing elopement photography by Scott Surplice means opting for a blend of artistry, authenticity, and personalized service. His dedication to capturing genuine moments and his mastery of light and composition ensure that your elopement will be beautifully preserved. With a range of thoughtfully designed packages and a commitment to reflecting the true essence of your love story, Scott Surplice offers an exceptional photographic experience that will allow you to relive and cherish the memories of your special day for years to come.

[dustedmagazine]

The Decemberists — As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again (YABB)

Photo by Shervin Lainez

Six years after the band's last release — a period that hinted at potential permanent hiatus — the Decemberists return with As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again. The album, in short, features the Decemberists doing Decemberists things, but rather than simply being some sort of return to form, the album acts more like a summation. The group has its sea shanty side and its prog-rock side and pretty much any kind of music that can be preceded by “folk-”. Here the band draws on 20 years of breadth for an album that's both focused by song and sprawling by (double) album, resulting in the group's finest material since 2006's The Crane Wife.

The album opens with one of their hookiest songs, “Burial Ground,” which straddles the line between 1960s pop and folk singalong. With James Mercer on backing vocals, the songs takes a playful look at the adolescent urge to hang out in cemeteries. The music mixes the vibrancy of exploration with a darker psychic undercurrent (the death wish here is almost explicit by the song's finish). The graveyard makes for an appropriate setting, as much of the album considers mortality. Country-rocker “Long White Veil” leaves everything except the emotion out of a story about a bride dying on her wedding day. Monochromatic partner “The Black Maria” slows down and add some menace to the inevitable (the title refers to a police transport van — a paddy wagon — but the metaphorical implications are clear). “William Fitzwilliam” requires some historical unpacking, despite the skateboard, but ghosts haunt the song just as clearly as the lyrical playfulness, as when King Henry VIII's man is encouraged to not “lose his head.”

The Decemberists fill the album to overflowing with sharp, catchy songs, Colin Meloy's idiosyncratic bookishness well-turned for emotional resonance without relinquishing energy or wit. The main part of the album ends with the limits of words in “Never Satisfied,” and a character's struggle to understand that time wasted isn't wasted “if it's wasted along the way,” sunrises to be enjoyed along with “no more words for once.” The peaceful ending nevertheless contains tension in a person's inability to properly enjoy the pause, but it should serve as comfort and guidance to restless listeners.

As if the Decemberists themselves could sit still. The album's final track, the 20-minute “Joan in the Garden” could be its own ambitious EP. The track has a prologue of sorts, with Meloy himself discovering Joan of Arc and struggling to write about her, even as he decides to “lay her heart in mine.” The band begins building tension immediately, bells signaling a new level of movement. Meloy's lyrics are both oblique and accessible, matching the larger point he's making about transcendental experience (or at least its related art). The track goes into a deep static stretch before releasing into an accessible prog style. At this point, the violence – both historical and putative – erupts, blood flowing as both saints and autocrats face terminal danger. “Hosanna, yeah!” Meloy sings, giving a rallying cry to an archetypal complexity. It is, of course, just the Decemberists doing Decemberists things.

Justin Cober-Lake

[jcmarchi]

The Alters Preview - Aiming To Replicate Success - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/the-alters-preview-aiming-to-replicate-success-game-informer/

The Alters Preview - Aiming To Replicate Success - Game Informer

Every so often, I see a premise for a game that really grabs me. The Alters is the latest with its unique take on the “what if” questions and multiverses. What starts as seemingly a standard survival game set on a hostile alien planet quickly introduces enticing base-building mechanics and a fun premise of escaping an ever-encroaching deadly sunrise. But it’s the unique idea of the main character not only learning how different his life would have been had he made different choices at pivotal moments in his past but also being able to meet and work alongside those versions of himself that enthralled me. I recently traveled to Warsaw, Poland, to meet with 11 Bit Studios and be among the first to play The Alters, and I’m pleased to report that as exciting as the premise is, it works even better in motion.

Players experience The Alters as Jan Dolski, an everyday worker who thinks he’s snagged the career opportunity of a lifetime. He and his team head to an alien planet in search of Rapidium, a mysterious, new element that space-mining corporation Ally Corp is extremely interested in. Using the Quantum Navigation System, Jan and his team head for a planet in a Triple Star System—a system with three suns—but something goes wrong. Horribly wrong, in fact.

Getting His Bearings

Getting His Bearings

As the Prologue kicks off, Jan stumbles out of his pod. “That was a tough landing,” he mutters to himself as he tries to clear his head from the impact. Clad in a futuristic spacesuit, Jan attempts to reach out via his communication device but is greeted with silence. I begin wandering around in the third-person view as Jan says, “I need to figure out what happened.”

The planet Jan has landed on features a desolate landscape. Grey, craggy cliffs roll directly into raging black tides that appear oily in makeup. The only vibrant color I can spot is a red cloud of smoke; the emergency flare from Jan’s crashing pod starkly contrasts the grey ground. As Jan continues, he spots his captain’s pod. After running up to it, he realizes that she’s dead. But she didn’t die from the crash; the pod is intact, and she looks like she died inside of it. Jan continues climbing up the mountain and comes to a vista. On one side, he spots a dreary beach area with several pods belonging to his team. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of life. On the other side of his view, he spots the giant, wheel-shaped mobile base he and his team are responsible for. 

The timing is serendipitous as he receives a warning of an incoming radiation wave. He needs to get to that mobile base ASAP. I sprint down the side of the mountain, getting Jan into the shielded base with seconds to spare. The camera shifts to a side perspective each time he enters the mobile base. Jan needs to contact someone and let them know what happened, so I navigate him to the Comms Room. While you’re in the base, you can view the layout of the rooms from a zoomed-out perspective, similar to XCOM’s base map. And, just like XCOM’s base-building, you can build new modules and rearrange existing ones. But for now, I decide to advance the story by bringing Jan to the Communications Room. 

I take an elevator up one floor and find the room I’m looking for. Only one contact is listed as online: Unknown. The call consists of static with barely distinguishable words sneaking through. During dialogue, I’m given the option to choose how to respond. I declare that I’m the captain, and the person on the other end says something about ��imminent danger” and “time remaining.” These words obviously grab Jan’s attention, who does his best to get more information from the awful connection. After some more probing, he gets more keywords like “planet activity rising,” “lethal proximity,” and “must escape.” All very comforting for a man who is the sole survivor of his crew.

Jan finally ascertains that one of the three stars in the planet’s system is too close, and if it rises over the horizon, it will burn Jan and the mobile base to a crisp. That event happens in eight days, so he needs to get that base up and running so it can escape the encroaching sunrise and move toward an extraction point before then. After reviewing the Captain’s Logs in the system, I learn all about Ally Corp, the radioactive Rapidium, and the Evacuation Protocol. Unfortunately, there’s not much he can do until one of the other two stars rises again and dissipates the nightly radiation wave, so I guide him to bed. The longer Jan sleeps each night, the more energy he has the next day; if you try to work while exhausted, he won’t be as effective or efficient at his tasks.

Venturing Out

Venturing Out

Upon awakening the next day, I need to gather six metals outside in order to construct the room I need. I head to the airlock and return to the planet’s surface. The camera swings back to the third-person view as I head back to the planet’s grey landscape. I learn that metal deposits are indicated by red dust. A few nearby deposits draw me to them, so I mine and collect enough metal. I decide to explore a bit more, but not only is Jan tired, but one of the planet’s three suns is about to set, meaning that a deadly radiation wave is incoming. I head back to the base and use the evening hours to make progress there.

Back in the base, I enter the building mechanics, select the Workshop module to build, and place it next to the Comms Room. Now that I have a Workshop, I can craft tools and components. The game guides me to craft a scanner, which will take one in-game hour. As with all tasks – whether it’s mining or crafting – time speeds up while Jan completes the task. With the scanner complete, I’m ready to look for another natural resource on the planet: organic material. Unfortunately, that won’t be doable until the next morning, as the radiation wave is ravaging the outdoors until morning, so I put Jan to bed.

The next morning, I head towards some blue dust in the distance, as that signals the location of organic deposits. However, as I’m walking through a cave, I notice some strange visual effects. At first, I thought it was a visual glitch involving a strange pop-in or the lighting system malfunctioning – I’m playing an in-development build, after all. However, as I continue along that path, it’s more evident that this cool effect, which looks like fine light rays bursting from the ground, is intentional. As I turn a corner, there’s what looks like a massive blossom of these light rays. I approach them, and Jan remarks that this must be Rapidium, the primary focus on the mining mission that he and his dearly departed team were on the lookout for.

I spend the next several hours collecting samples, finishing just in time for the radiation levels to rise again. I run back to the base just in time. I head to the Comms Room and chat with the caller on the other side. The person on the other side is excited that Jan thinks he discovered Rapidium and provides a room blueprint for a “Womb.” After building it and adding it to the base, I can test the Rapidium sample. Using the Womb, Rapidium, and a DNA sample, Jan successfully creates a sheep. He reports back, confirming that it is indeed Rapidium, then heads to bed.

The next morning arrives and I decide to take a different path: I want to investigate the drop pods of Jan’s fallen teammates. I head to the beach I spotted earlier, where I find Jan’s multitool. I still have time before the radiation hits, so I go to the blue dust off in the distance by the Rapidium I found yesterday. After climbing some cliffsides, I arrive at a flat area with several deposits. However, I can’t just mine it like I did with metal. After using Jan’s newly crafted scanner, I built a mining outpost and then connected pylons all the way back to the base. I initially didn’t realize I had a finite number of pylons, so I had to reposition the network of pylons, but thankfully that process is smooth enough. This unlocks fast travel between the outpost and base, which will definitely come in handy as those radiation waves start kicking up.

Speaking of which, it’s time to head back to the base and see if Jan can get the engine of the base running, but first, it’s dinner time. Jan heads to the kitchen to craft some Mush Meals. They don’t look or sound appetizing, but I’m sure they’re chockful of nutrients. The gameplay loop of venturing out to the planet, scouring for resources, and then returning to steadily build up the base scratches that survival itch that, when it hits just right, can hook you on a game for hours upon hours. Those were the hooks that began sinking into me as I went through these early hours of The Alters. I likely would have been content with this loop if this was the entire game, but the main thrust of the game’s very concept was about to reveal itself.

Where Things Get Wild

Here’s Where Things Get Wild

Jan thinks he’s solved the problem of getting the mobile base operational and able to outrun the encroaching sunrise, but nothing can be easy for him in this endeavor. He tests the engine, but it not only fails but it sparks and smokes. He calls back to Earth to the Ally Corp employee he’s been talking with to complain. The voice on the other line says, “Rapidium can save you.” Jan ventures down to the Quantum Computer. All personnel records have been deleted except for his. Jan accesses his Mind Record, which shows a timeline of Jan’s entire life, complete with crucial decisions he has made dating back to his childhood – the ones he reflects on during his quiet moments. I see Jan’s choice to ignore a mugging he saw on the street as a teen, his decision to drop out of school, and his choice not to fight for his marriage. Jan, obviously confused, runs back up to the Comms Room and demands an explanation.

The voice on the other line doesn’t give much in the way of satisfying answers, but it does provide assistance in another way. The voice says, “Activate Branching Protocol,” followed by “Create The Alters.” Jan, devoid of other options, walks back down to the Quantum Computer and accesses those key decision points in his Mind Record. Searching for a Branching Point, Jan pinpoints one where he could see what if, instead of moving away, he stayed home and took care of his mother. 

After a cutscene that shows that Jan has some seriously conflicted feelings about what he’s doing, the result is ready in The Womb. An Alter of Jan Dolski emerges. He appears slightly different in facial hair and hairstyle, plus he speaks slightly differently. But make no mistake; this is Jan Dolski. However, this alternate path sent him down the road to becoming a technician. To denote the difference between your Jan and this new one in the menus, this new one is called Jan Technician. My Jan tries to catch Jan Technician up on the situation, but Technician is clearly confused and irritated by what’s going on.

As I try to explain things to him, I’m given dialogue options, with each one pulling different emotions from him: words like “Anxiety,” “Insecurity,” “Fun,” “Less Gloom,” “Frustration,” and “Rebellion” pop up around his face each time I provide an answer. As you grow your roster of Alters, you’re responsible for monitoring the mental states of the Alters on your team. I can’t help but feel there’s no way to end this first chat with Technician on great terms, so while he helps me to fix the engine, he tells my Jan to stay away from him. My Jan lets Technician storm off. It’s okay; the mobile base is officially mobile again, and the Jans can escape the sunrise. For now.

Getting Rolling

Getting Rolling

The base begins rolling like a giant wheel. As the base traverses the planet’s surface, I craft a repair kit to fix the Comms Room; now, I can finally fully understand the person on the other line with minimal static. Afterward, I return to the Quantum Computer and access Jan’s Mind Record. Where I chose as the decision point to create Jan Technician, a new branch on the Mind Record timeline has split off. I can now see Technician’s life choices and key decision moments that differ from my Jan’s life. It’s a fascinating exercise in learning how different lives can become based on one different decision.

You can create several Alters, each with their own specialties, personalities, and looks, based on which decision point you decide to engage with. For example, what if Jan intervened in the mugging he witnessed as a kid? That would create a doctor Alter that allows characters to heal and cook faster. What if Jan took the job his deadbeat dad offered him instead of telling him to shove it? That would create a miner who allows the team to be more efficient at mining. What if you decide to stay in college instead of dropping out? That gives you the scientist Alter, who can research new technologies.

Creating Alters seems as much about developing the correct team composition as it is about ensuring that the personalities don’t clash too much. However, you don’t have much information before creating your Alters, so it’s probably best to just hope for the best and smooth things over after the fact. I legitimately can’t wait to see how I can put my teams together and how the various personalities will interact with one another once I have a full team of Jans in the final game. For this demo, I need to make amends with Technician before I can hope to fill out my team even more. I engage in a conversation with him, make the right dialogue choices, and before I know it, my Jan is trying to make their mom’s trademark pierogi recipe from their limited ingredients and reminiscing on their family. With that, Jan Technician’s mood and cooperation improve, and things are finally starting to look up.

My time with The Alters is about to come to a close, so I run up to the Comms Room, and I see that I have a call from a new person. I won’t spoil it, but it is a person from Jan’s past, which adds an extra fold to the story and where we’re going with the what-if scenarios concerning Jan’s past. However, shortly after I hang up, the base stops, and it’s time to see what I need to do to get things rolling once again. 

“You are running from the sun all the time; you have this huge mobile base, and whenever you finish an act – you managed to overcome some problem that was blocking you – you start rolling to the rendezvous point where you are supposed to meet the rescue team that is going to take you home,” lead designer Rafał Włosek says. “It was very difficult for us to balance this in such a way so we could create pressure and create this feeling that you have to survive and make sure that the player will not stay too long in one place, because we want the story to progress, but at the same time, we didn’t want to create a situation of too much tension where you cannot focus on your Alters and the [what-if] questions we want to talk about with you.”

The words “Act 1” flash across the screen with a message that the sunrise is coming in 29 days, and it seems like the game is ready to begin. Everything to this point seems to be an in-depth tutorial; just like Jan, I learned on the job. Now I’m itching to start the real job of making more Jan Alters and getting the crew off the dangerous planet. After spending over two hours with The Alters, 11 Bit Studios’ immersive survival with a multiversal twist has skyrocketed up my most-anticipated list. I can’t wait to see how Jan’s story plays out when The Alters arrives on PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S, and PC later this year.

[kumarajitmda]

Best Lock Screen For Android Phones Is Here: Glance Lock Screen Wallpaper

Ditch the Drab, Embrace the Dynamic: Unleash the Best Lock Screen for Android Phones with Glance!

Ah, the humble lock screen. That first digital hurdle between you and your phone's wonderland. For too long, it's been a stagnant canvas, displaying a static image that rarely reflects the vibrant symphony within our phones. But fear not, Android adventurers! A revolution is brewing, a pixelated paradise waiting to be unlocked: the Glance lock screen wallpaper.

Beyond Static, Enter Smart: Gone are the days of generic landscapes and repetitive patterns. The "best lock screen" title now belongs to one that breathes, adapts, and surprises – and Glance does just that. It's a smart lock screen, a digital chameleon that transforms throughout your day, mirroring your mood, interests, and even the changing world around you.

Glance Lock Screen Wallpaper Magic: But where does the magic truly begin? In the heart of this smart revolution – the Glance lock screen wallpaper. This isn't just a pretty picture; it's a portal to endless possibilities. Imagine waking up to a serene sunrise, your lock screen mirroring the dawn breaking outside. Picture a bustling city landscape as you head to work, reflecting your urban rhythm. Or witness breathtaking cosmic phenomena as you gaze at the night sky, the universe unfolding right on your lock screen.

Wallpapers with a Whisper: And it doesn't stop there. Glance Lock Screen Wallpapers whisper personalized stories. Think you're a photography aficionado? Curate a gallery of stunning visuals, showcasing your artistic taste with every glance. News buff? Let headlines dance across your screen, keeping you informed with each tap. Sports fanatic? Celebrate your favorite teams with dynamic visuals that change depending on the game's score or highlight of the day.

Beyond Beauty, Utility Awaits: The best lock screen isn't just about aesthetics; it's about efficiency, about making your life easier. Glance Lock Screen Wallpaper seamlessly blend beauty with functionality. Picture checking the weather with a quick glance at your lock screen, the background transitioning from a sun-drenched beach to a cloudy cityscape depending on the forecast. Imagine catching live news updates in real-time, all without unlocking your phone. And if you need a quick mental recharge, Glance throws in fun and addictive mini-games, accessible with a single tap, right on your lock screen.

The Quiz Whiz in You: Think you're a trivia king or queen? Glance puts your knowledge to the test with engaging quizzes on everything from pop culture to science. Challenge your friends, climb leaderboards, and discover hidden facts – all at a glance. No need for separate quiz apps; Glance transforms your lock screen into a brain-tickling arena, keeping you sharp and entertained.

The Game On Whiz: Who says unlocking your phone is the only way to have fun? Glance throws in quick and addictive games, perfect for those idle moments. Brain teasers to get your neurons firing, arcade classics that take you back to your childhood, even memory challenges that keep your mind sharp – they're all at your fingertips. No need to visit separate apps; Glance turns your lock screen into a pocket-sized game night, ready to conquer boredom with every glance.

The News Flash Forward: News isn't just for scrolling anymore. Glance condenses the day's headlines into bite-sized snippets, ensuring you're always in the loop, at a glance. Sports scores, entertainment tidbits, breaking news – you get the gist without losing focus. Turn your lock screen into a personalized newsroom, delivering just the headlines you crave, all with a quick peek.

The Live Video Playground: Who needs to open separate apps when the world is at your fingertips? Glance brings you live video feeds, from breaking news broadcasts to celebrity interviews, right on your lock screen. Catch a glimpse of a live concert, peek into a cooking show, or witness history unfold – all within a finger tap. Explore the endless possibilities, transform your lock screen into a window to the world, in real-time, at a glance.

But wait, isn't personalization the key to the best lock screen? Absolutely! Glance doesn't just offer amazing wallpapers and features; it lets you tailor them to your unique preferences. Dive into the "Mi Glance settings," choose your favorite visuals, curate your news categories, and select the features that resonate with you. Make Glance your own, reflect your passions, and watch your lock screen blossom into a personalized playground.

**So, the next time you seek the best lock screen for your Android phone, remember this: Glance isn't just a wallpaper; it's a canvas for you to paint your digital journey. It's a dynamic window to a world of information, entertainment, and endless possibilities. It's the lock screen that whispers secrets, throws confetti on your boredom, and keeps things fresh with every glance. Take the plunge, unleash!

Conclusion: Best Lock Screen From Glance!

The quest for the "best lock screen" is over. With Glance, you've transcended static images and entered a realm of dynamic wonder. It's a personalized gateway to a world that changes like the seasons, keeping you informed, entertained, and surprised with every glance.

Remember, your phone is an extension of you, and your lock screen is the first impression it gives. Don't settle for the mundane; embrace the vibrant tapestry that Glance offers. Ditch the dull, unlock the dynamic, and let your Android screen become a playground of personalized delight.

So, open your mind, open the "Mi Glance settings," and open yourself to a lock screen that's no longer just a barrier, but a bridge to endless possibilities. With a click, a tap, and a glance, you'll unlock a world of information, entertainment, and personalization, waiting to be discovered. Don't just own a phone; own the experience. Embrace the Glance revolution, and let your lock screen become a reflection of your vibrant digital soul.