#steel mesh mask

[blondebrainpowered]

Amy Peterson inspecting champagne bottles while wearing a steel mesh mask. ca. 1933

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You | Part III

Part III is now up and running! P.S. there are two playlists I listen to while writing these, they don’t necessarily go with reading them but you totally could listen to them as you read! Let me know if you would like the playlists. As usual, heed the tags. 

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader,NSFW, All characters 18+, P in V, Fingering, Overall smut 

Part I Part II Part IV Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

The next few days were pretty dull, you spent a few days over at Sidney’s, the first night it was just you two but the third day Tatum, Billy, and Stu all spent the night- it was a group decision to leave Randy out because he would just go on and on about who was the killer and why they were targeting the victims. Ghostface was pretty quiet too, with no killings or attempts since you, you were starting to wonder if you were meant to be the last victim, you also wondered if you had pissed them off by not going home. Luckily today you were returning home, back to see your parents and Irena and your brand new door- no shining scene included this time.

“Need a ride? Me and Stu are going to the movie store,” Billy asked, making you turn to him after you and Sidney had pulled away from a hug. “Sure, my parents haven’t left my aunts yet so I would appreciate it,” you said before turning to Sidney again. “Thanks for letting me crash at yours, I’ll call if I have anything weird going on again,” you promised her, waving bye as you left with the boys.

“You should call us if that creep comes back, me and Billy can put him in his place,” Stu said, giving his signature laugh and smile, making you laugh. “That’s a great idea, Billy can scare him away with his crazy eyes and you can bore him to death by telling him all about horror movies,” you joked, earning annoyed glares from both boys, making you laugh again. “I’ll call if I see them again, okay? Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself,” you promised the boys as you climbed into the back seat, throwing your bag in next to you.

The day passed by smoothly, the boys had taken you to the movie rental store and bought you some candy along with a movie, which Stu insisted you watch and even rented for you. Prom Night, another fucking Jamie movie. You had popped it into your laptop that night once you were home. Irena sat on your lap as you caught up on some homework due the next day, occasionally you glanced at your laptop to watch the movie, not noticing when Irena had moved from your lap and moved to your vanity. She sat down, her tail twitching angrily, your attention finally moved to her when you heard a little growl escape her.

When you got up to see what had angered her you saw the window slide open, the same masked killer from the other day climbing in through your window. You paused, looking at them with wide eyes, wondering if the flirting over the phone had all been a plan to get you off guard, to either kill you or kidnap you so they could set you up for the murders of Casey and Steve. Your nerves didn’t calm down when they motioned you closer after closing the window, still, you walked over slowly to them. Their hand reached up to your face, cupping it gently before gripping it more firmly, holding the knife in their other hand up to your cheek. Your breath hitched, feeling the cool touch of the steel against you, but they made no movements to harm you in any way, not really at least.

The knife ghosted over your skin, not enough to cut but enough for you to feel scared and strangely turned on at the same time. Your eyes studied the mask in front of you, you couldn’t make out their eyes behind the mesh, but you could feel their eyes piercing into yours. They removed their hands from you, pushing you towards the bed, you complied but paused when you sat down on it. “My parents are home…can-can you lock the door at least,” you asked, they tilted their head towards the door and you swore you heard them chuckle as they most likely recalled how they broke the last one. They walked over to the door, locking it before making their way to you. Your legs clenched together, your ever-growing nervousness and excitement now showing to them as you wondered what they were going to do.

They looked over you for a moment before holding the knife right up to your sternum, pressing the knife onto your clothes as they began to drag it down, leaving a trail of torn clothes in their wake. “I kinda liked those…” you murmured, if they hadn’t had the mask on you may have seen the shit-eating grin they had on their lips as they pressed the knife harder against your skin. Your cheeks heated up, taking the hint to shut up as you let them continue. You had already changed into pajamas earlier in the night, your Carrie shirt now tattered and torn, exposing your top half to them. Once they reached your groin, they paused and moved the knife away, pocketing it before pushing you back onto the bed so you were laying down.

They hovered over you, tracing your face again, the rough texture of their glove trailing down your body before their fingers hooked under the waistband of your pj pants, tugging them off slowly. Your skin grew goosebumps all over, the cold air in your room felt like mercy against your warm skin, which was only growing hotter by the second. A small whimper left you as you felt them place their hand over your panties, you hadn’t even noticed until that moment but your arousal had shown even through the fabric, feeling a little embarrassed that you were so needy without much effort.

Your hand flung up to your mouth as you felt them reach into your underwear, you could feel how cold their fingers were even through the gloves as they ghosted over your clit. You bit down on your hand as they pressed on your clit, circling around it as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The texture of the glove bothered you a little, which they must have noticed as you bucked against their fingers. A whine left your lips as their hand pulled away, opening your eyes to see them reaching into their pocket and pulling out some torn piece of fabric. They spread it out in their hands, showcasing it to you, a blindfold. Another blush rose to your cheeks as you tilted your head up for them to put it on, a silent understanding between you two that they wanted you to stay clueless about who they were. They reached around your head and tied the fabric over your eyes, your heart began to beat faster realizing that you were completely at their mercy now.

They reached back into their pocket, bringing the knife out and making a stabbing motion at you, bringing the knife inches from your forehead. When you didn’t flinch, they felt comfortable knowing you couldn’t see behind the blindfold and began to undress. You heard them shuffling in the outfit, hearing a thud on the floor, wondering if that was the knife or their mask. You received your answer when you felt the knife against your cheek again, you felt yourself grow wetter, partially because of the knife, partially because ghostface was standing right in front of you unmasked and you couldn’t see them. Your hand tried to move to touch them but before you had the chance they pinned you down by your wrist. You whined but they only gripped you tighter, they dropped the knife and instead grabbed your torn t-shirt and tied your wrist together with it.

You didn’t have to wait much longer before their mouth was latched onto your neck and their fingers were tracing over your core. Their fingertips teased you, running over your folds as they carefully placed a hickey on your neck. You could feel a grin on their lips as they bit and licked at your skin, feeling your pulse under their tongue. You did your best to keep your voice down, your heavy breaths bounced off of your bedroom walls as they pushed two fingers into you. A louder whine sounded from you, to which they comforted you by planting a kiss against your lips. You didn’t need to see them to feel the passion in the kiss, they pushed against you with such need, teeth clanking together and making your bones shake as their thumb moved to your clit.

Your thighs opened a little wider to allow them more access, relishing in the pleasure their hands brought you. The familiar tension in your stomach was slowly beginning to build, sweat began to form on your skin from feeling their hot breath against you. You felt their eyes on you, it only made you more turned on knowing they were watching every little reaction you had to their movements. Another finger entered you, hitting a spot inside that made you toss your head back and thank any supernatural being or god there was that they were quick enough to swallow the moan you let out in a kiss. They took the opportunity to snake their tongue into your mouth, making you melt even further as their pace quickened.

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly as that knot in your stomach threatened to break. You moved slightly, your hips bucking and moving against their fingers as you let the pleasure take you over. Before you could tip over the edge they pulled away, which made you whine and squirm in protest. “Not fucking fair,” you breathed out, to which you were met with the cold blade of their knife again pressing against your neck. You pouted, realizing ghostface probably didn’t like your bratty attitude too much but it was all fixed when they kissed you again. Your legs slowly fell open again, allowing them to situate themself in between them. Their hand let go of the knife again and instead took the opportunity to roam over your body, little whines coming from you when they ran over- and teased- all the spots you reacted to.

Finally, they trailed their way back to your core, watching as your face scrunched up with pleasure as they circled your clit again. “Please…” you whined to them, their other hand gripping your thigh as a warning, “I want you in me already, please.” You begged, their grip growing even tighter, likely to leave a bruise before they finally let up. You barely took a breath before you felt them against you, your body tensed slightly but soon calmed down as you felt their lips on yours again. They were more gentle this time, but you could feel the tension they held by holding themselves back. “It’s okay., you can ruin me. Please ruin me,” you begged again, whimpering when their hand gripped your neck, squeezing the sides as they quickly entered you.

Ghostface was smart enough to put their mouth on yours again to cover up your moan, melting in their hold as they began to set up a steady pace. You wondered if they were taking it slow to let you adjust or to tease you, but they quickly had your attention again when their free hand returned to your core. Your stomach tightened once again, your head spinning with all the pleasure they were giving you. When their thrusts began to quicken you couldn’t help but arch your back, your ankles hooking around them and trapping them in between your legs, but with the way they thrusted even harder into you, you don’t think they minded it one bit.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were close to coming undone, both of your hips stuttered and bucked, their hand that played with your clit quickened a little as well, paying attention to the spots that had you shaking. “Fuck, gonna-“ you whined again, your head tilting back as they hit your sweet spot, “gonna cum,” you whimpered out between moans, trying to keep quiet. They continued the torture they were inflicting on you, your black vision turning white as you finally reached your climax. Your thighs shook around them, pulsing around them before they came.

You felt their muscles unclench, glad that you finally came to the realization that they had worn protection, mentally cursing yourself for not even checking before. They pulled out slowly, gently touching your face as you whimpered from the loss. You adjusted yourself on the bed as they finally peeled away from you, hearing the shuffling of clothes again as they got dressed.

After a moment you felt a dip in the bed, feeling them untie you but held down your wrists as they leaned in for one last kiss. You smiled into it, giggling as they pulled away. “Come again tomorrow, with a new Carrie shirt preferably,” you asked playfully, feeling their lips curl up into a smile before they pulled away. You heard the thumps of plastic before your blindfold was taken off, your eyes meeting the masked killer after adjusting to the light.

“Was that smile a yes,” you asked, smiling when they nodded. “You can take the torn one as a momento, and so you know what size to get,” you offered, holding out the piece of clothing to them. They grabbed it, heading back to the window as you stayed on the bed and watched them. They climbed out of your room while you finally stood up and watched them take off. You sighed, running your hands over the little hickeys and bruises they left on you before heading to your bathroom to get cleaned up.

There was the ringing of a phone, only sounding for a few seconds before the other line picked up. “Hey Stu, let's take the girls shopping tomorrow, we owe someone a new shirt. Also need to get you all fancied up too, you have a date tomorrow night,” Billy said, Stu laughing before beginning to question him on the details.

[itacats]

Rain of Shadows

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: Themes of violence and combat (non-graphic), Mentions of hostage situations, Emotional tension and references to trauma, use of code name for reader, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: In the ruins of a war-torn town, the line between duty and discovery blurs. A fleeting shift in camaraderie hints at the layers hidden beneath even the thickest walls, leaving more questions than answers.

A/N: Sometimes, missions reveal more than just intel—they uncover cracks in the masks we wear. Writing this felt like walking through a storm with glimpses of sunlight breaking through. 🌧️💙

Rain of Shadows Masterlist

Part 4 - Through the Fog and Rain

Weeks had passed since your induction into Task Force 141, the elite unit revered for its unparalleled skill and courage. Each member was a puzzle piece shaped by conflict and survival, fitting together to form a sharp, cohesive whole. Yet one piece remained enigmatic—Simon “Ghost” Riley. His stoic demeanor and half-covered face concealed not only his identity, but the stories etched into his soul. If the rest of the team was fire and steel, Simon was shadow—present, persistent, and unknowable.

Despite this, the team had embraced you. Their camaraderie, forged in the crucible of battle, slowly extended to include you. Even Simon, in his quiet way, seemed to watch you more closely than the others, as if searching for something buried deep beneath your own surface.

Today, the masks of camaraderie and distance would be set aside, replaced by the grim clarity of a mission. Your objective was straightforward: retrieve intel from a town reduced to rubble by war.

The town sprawled before you like a broken memory, its shattered buildings and charred remains whispering tales of devastation. Streets, stained with the residue of conflict, yawned ahead in eerie silence. As you moved through the ruins with Task Force 141, you felt the weight of the destruction pressing down like a physical force.

“Stick close, and watch your corners,” Captain Price’s voice cut through the somber haze. His words were met with nods, and you tighten your grip on your weapon, trusting in the rhythm of the team.

Soap and Gaz kept up a stream of light-hearted banter behind you, their voices an attempt to inject levity into the oppressive atmosphere. But you and Ghost remained silent, the weight of unspoken tension thick between you.

The team’s advance was methodical, clearing each building with precision. When you reached the suspected hideout, Price’s hand signal brought everyone to a halt. The plan unfolded quickly: Soap and Gaz would breach the hideout while you and Ghost scouted the surrounding streets.

“Rain and I’ll clear the perimeter,” Simon said, his voice low but firm. His eyes met yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The two of you moved in tandem, scanning the ruins for signs of stragglers. Your training meshed seamlessly with his, the unspoken communication between you a testament to the hours spent sparring and drilling as a team. The sound of your boots crunching over debris was the only noise as you approached a crumbling building. Its door hung off its hinges, a jagged invitation into the unknown.

Pushing the door aside, you entered, the interior dim and foreboding. Movement flickered at the edges of your vision, and instinct took over. In the span of seconds, the stillness shattered into chaos.

The fight was swift and brutal. Adrenaline surged as you and Simon worked together, a seamless blend of calculated strikes and decisive movements. His presence was a steady anchor in the chaos, each of his actions complementing yours. The last enemy fell, subdued by Simon’s deft maneuvering, and you called into your comms.

“Gaz, we’ve got them.”

The reply came swiftly, but with an edge of urgency. “They’ve got hostages. We’re moving in to secure them.”

“Understood,” you responded, locking eyes with Simon. His expression—what little you could see of it—remained unreadable, but his focus was razor-sharp as he assessed the room for further threats.

The discovery of trembling, uninjured hostages only heightened the stakes. As the team regrouped, a debate arose about interrogating the captured enemies on-site.

“Why not do it here?” Simon suggested, his voice cold and pragmatic.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a flicker of defiance. “Because it’s more effective with all our tools back at HQ. And I like having options—don’t you?”

For a moment, his dark eyes held yours. Then, to your surprise, the corners of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Fine,” he conceded, his tone tinged with reluctant amusement. “But you’re dealing with the paperwork.”

“Deal,” you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips.

The return journey was a study in contrasts. The ruins of the town blurred into the background, their grim shadows softened by the warm hues of the setting sun. Yet something had changed in the aftermath of the mission—something intangible.

Simon, ever the fortress, seemed to have let down his guard for a fleeting moment. The quiet camaraderie between you felt different now, more personal. Each glance, each exchanged word carried a weight that hadn’t been there before.

As the vehicle rumbled toward HQ, you stole a glance at him. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning the horizon. For a brief second, his gaze met yours, and the world seemed to narrow. In that instant, the barrier between you felt thinner, as though a new understanding had taken root.

The mission had been a success, but it was the fragile shift in your relationship with Simon that lingered in your mind. Beneath the weight of his mask and the shadows of his past, there was something more—something you were determined to uncover.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. And as the day gave way to night, you knew this was only the beginning. The journey with TF141 was far from over, and the path ahead promised more than just danger.

It promised discovery—of the world, of your comrades, and perhaps most intriguingly, of the man behind the mask.

Taglist:

If you would like to be tagged in this story, let me know!

@jessicab1991

@burningarcadething

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[world-of-aus]

Pairing: Slasher!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI 18+ Use of Knife, Blood, Masturbation, P in V.

Author's Note: This one was a doozy but I finally got around to finishing this piece for @winterwitch-trash! Listen I've become very critical now when it comes to my writing and I'm not sure how I feel about this, but I hope you like it! As always happy reading buns!

He drinks you in, eyes running over your tear-streaked cheeks through the blackened thick mesh of the mask. Your body fits against his more perfectly than he imagined.  

You’re whimpering behind the gloved hand that he held against your mouth, he runs the blade that rested against your cheek down the side of your face, “you scream again and this is over before its even begun, you understand?” he questions as he rests the cool blade against your neck. 

You swallow, the motion causing the blade to Knick your skin. A sliver of blood pulls against the stainless steel, a groan bubbles up in his chest.  

You even bleed pretty. 

He lifts his gloved hand from your lips, the blade pressing deeper into your skin as a warning. “Please.” You plead through your tear clouded eyes. “Please let me go, I – I won’t say a-anything, I promise.” 

“They all say that,” he murmurs as he lifts the blade only to reposition it over your skin. “I promise,” he hears you cry, “I won’t say anything, I was never here, I don’t know who you are.” He’s grinning like a wolf who’s caught his meal beneath his mask. 

“But you are here, and you’re going to remember every single thing.” 

“Please don’t!” you cry, whimpers falling from your lips as he trails the blunt tip of his blade down your neck into the valley of your exposed breasts. He taps the steel there toying with the hemline of your flimsy costume, he could cut through this with ease.  

You really are making this to easy for him. 

“You sound so pretty when you cry,” he husks, “I wonder what other noises you can make, shall we find out?” He just barely manages to muffle your scream, a tick of his head as he looks down at you. The mask that covers his face hovers less than an inch from your own, “you really shouldn’t have done that, this could have been so good for you, I could have been so good to you.” 

He's unbothered by your muffled screams as he uses his knife to slice the flimsy fabric of your costume. Unnerved by your pleas, as he goes after the lacy fabric of your underwear next exposing you to the cool of the moonlit room, he’d warm you soon enough. 

The blade dances along your skin, your tears falling quicker, “It’s alright,” he coos stopping the blade just above your navel, “you’ll be crying for an entirely different reason in just a moment.” He delights in your fear, “we’re going to try this again, you try anything funny, you die,” he says as he releases his hold on your bound hands. He’s pleased when you leave them above your head, silent tears still streaming down your cheeks. Such a good girl he thinks. He lifts the hand that covers your mouth ever so slightly, “You scream, you also die,” he adds as he switches the blade to the opposite hand, the sharp steel meeting the skin of your neck once more. 

He can hear your choked back sobs, can see the way your bite your lip to keep that scream back. The hand that rested on your hip rubs at your skin, as if to soothe you, he inches his way down watching you, waiting for you to slip up.  

It doesn’t come, but he can hear your quiet plea as he dips further down your exposed body, “please don’t.” You cry when he dips past your navel, “I don’t – I don’t want this please.” He can see the hesitation to shake your head with the knife pressed snuggly against your skin. 

Your eyes slip shut when he doesn’t hear your pleas, a broken gasp slipping past your tightly sealed lips as he dips a finger past your folds. “Don’t hold back on me now,” he murmurs as he circles your clit, “let me hear those pretty noises, you were crying for me earlier.” 

This time you shake your head, a pained cry leaving your lips as more bubbles of blood pool around the sharp edge of the blade. He can’t bite back the groan that spills from the mask, hips grinding against your naked thigh. “There she is, come on” he husks, “let me hear you.” 

“Please -” 

It takes all his strength to not rip off the mask that conceals him from you and swallow your cries with his tongue. 

He could do that later, after he made you come.  

He continues to flick his finger against your clit, sweeping up the slick that has started to collect. Despite the fear that chokes you, the pleasure he’s bringing, the pleasure you won’t show is still finding its way out of you. He tries to coax it from you, he lowers his head till he's by the lobe of your ear, “It’s okay to let go you know, it’s only me and you, you don’t have to hide how I’m making you feel.” 

He can tell you’re still holding back on him so he decides to take it a step further with you, dipping his fingers lower he circles them around your wet entrance before pushing them in. The reaction it elicits from you is dream worthy. The arch of your back, the quiet gasp that has your lips parting sweetly for him, your eyes slipping shut, “it feels good doesn’t it?” he groans hips rolling again, a steady rhythm that follows the fingers he fucks your cunt with. 

His eyes catch on the way your fingers curl around the sheets, he’s got you.  

He continues to fuck his fingers into you, stretching you out on them with every stroke, you still won’t let your cries of pleasure break, but he knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, can hear it in the whines you bite back. He’ll get you there he thinks. 

You’ve been such a good girl for him, the sweet girl he knows you to be outside of the mask he wears tonight. The sweet girl that calls him B in the quiet of the library’s study room, the sweet girl that goes bashful under the gaze he has only for you. The thought of you has him fucking his fingers into you with vigor, he wants to see what you look like when you come, wants to experience it. 

You’ve gone breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your naked body writhing under his, almost there sweet girl. He presses a kiss to the heated skin of your neck right where the blade still rests, though his lips meet plastic he hopes it sears through. “That’s it y/n, let go, come for me.” 

You whine, shaking your head despite the knife still resting there, “come on,” he husks his fingers continuing to pump into you, his thumb now circling your clit in a tantalizing pace. 

“P-please N-” 

Your lips part on a cry, pussy clenching down on his fingers as the dam breaks, he’s never experienced something greater. “That’s it,” he grunts continuing to press his fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm, “come all over me, doing so good.” You’re on a high, body lax and complacent for the taking, he doesn’t want to waste any more time. He needs you. 

“Did so good,” he breathes as he slips his fingers from you, delecting in the whine he pulls from your lips, he needed a free hand to get himself out of his too tight black jeans. He needed in that pussy, wanted to feel what it was like to have you choking his cock. You’re unsuspecting, unaware until he’s sliding himself into you, a cry leaving your lips as he stretches you out. He has to catch your hands, place them back down on the bed as he fucks himself into you. 

He doesn’t care for your cries, the sobs leaving your lips. The blood that is now sliding down the side of your neck from where you’re working the wound open further. 

“Feel so good around me,” he growls, “fuck this pussy.” 

He fucks with vigor, needing that release. 

“Please - please don’t do this.” 

Too late he thinks. 

“It’s okay,” he groans, twisting the knife so it lays flat against your skin now, the cool metal choking you as he presses it down, “m’gonna make you feel so good.” 

You’re choking on a sob, he’d fix that, he’d make it one of pleasure. 

He works himself harder, deeper inside of you looking for that sweet spot that would stop the tears and bring out those stars you saw earlier. He’d bring back his sweet girl. It takes a few minutes, some soft caresses his body covering yours, but you come back to him. Those cries turning into tiny whines as he builds the two of you up. 

You’re still pleading with him, but it falls on deaf ears the closer he gets to climax. 

“Let go for me.” he moans, “come on now, can feel it, you’re almost there. Can feel this sweet pussy clenching around me.” 

You do something then, something he’s not expecting as he rocks into you, “Please, can I – can you take the mask off?” He tilts his head at you but doesn’t slow the pace, “why?” he questions. 

“I want to know who I’m looking at.” 

He shakes his head ‘no’ slowly, pace unrelenting, blade pressing down harder as he chases that release, you’d come to see who he was, but not right now, not like this. 

He couldn’t have you hate him, when he had just made you love him.

He brings the two of you to climax, with his sweet groans of release filling his mask, and your bit back cries meeting his ears in the still of the night. He wishes this night could have gone differently as he tucks himself back into his jeans, knife still pointed at your now naked curled body. It hurts him to leave you like this, but he'd be back, he'd hold you, make you feel safe, loved.

He leaves your room like he came, with the thought of you.

He'd be back.

[echantedtoon]

Sweet Sorrows

When the shadowed light turns to a full eclipse that blocks out even the stars, the monster comes out to claim the maiden. The wound Cupid's arrow caused by piercing the dark heart bleeds out for her, so the heart would seek what it's body needed to heal. The waning desire pangs them so.

(Or alternate title: Ried Gets All The Attention Whether She Wants It Or Not. If you're wondering by what's happening in this, essentially three boys being obsessive over you ain't always a good thing.

This is inspired by @wolveria's Cursed Polycule Au, and who was nice enough to give me permission to write something loosely based off it and using Kenneth in this. Please forgive me it's the first and second time writing for these characters so any ooc writing is probably there. The dynamic of the polycule is based off/on the fanart linked down below by @e-g-g-w-i-n . Please check out both content creators and support they're works.

WARNINGS: Some toxic relationship stuff mentioned, death, possible blood mentioned, possession with the mask, implied kidnapping maybe, yandereish tendencies, possibly some innuendos, and Dyo IS his own warning.)

Alarm, alarm.

The breach has begun. 

A prison break is a daring and often perilous act where a prisoner, utilizing stealth, cunning, and sometimes violence, manages to evade security measures and escape from a correctional facility. Typically involving breaching cell walls, scaling fences, or digging tunnels, while evading watchful guards to reach freedom outside the prison perimeter. 

It often requires careful planning, smuggled tools, and coordinated efforts with accomplices, putting both the escapee and those aiding them at significant risk of capture and further legal repercussions. However would it still be considered a prison if it was more akin to hell?

Like the flashes of hellfire red lights flashed upon the freed and bloodthirsty creatures that reigned supreme of the mesh of concrete and steel that once made up their confined cells of torture. The whirring of alarms sounded overhead instead of warning the innocent of humans seemed more of a praised laugh to announce the arrival of the manic chaos that was to befall all. 

Blood. As red as the lights and as copper as the metal was the main decoration for the parade of monsters descending through the halls and disemboweling the humans and in some cases each other. No one cares. Certainly not the beasts that now ran ramped with adrenaline and bloodlust in their minds.

An inhuman screech went off into the night as a stronger forced ripped away arms from torso. Eyes turned and stared into the bloodlust abyss of bloodshot eyes. A mix of shrieks echoed out into the darkened night above. So much blood spilt in that night that it might've even spilt into the moon illuminating red down on everything. 

R E D

That was the war paint splattered proudly across his body and coating his skin like a devil from the very flames that he walked through. Blood. Vengeance. C A R N A G E.

R E D

The color clouded vision beyond reasoning. Inhuman yells of pain and murder carved way by him. One by one. Body by body. Life by life. Flesh torn from bone. Blood cleaved from muscles. Arms from torso. Limb from limb. He was a beast tonight. The thirst for blood was not just a want but a need. For tonight he was not a man. Not a demon. Nor anything else comprehendible by human thought.

F O R  T O N I G H T   H E  W A S  D E A T H  A N D  H E  W A S   B R I N G I N G  H E L L  W I T H  H I M.

The darkness both swallowed him up and closed off the ways both in front and behind him making each end of the pathay difficult to see with the already limited vision he had. Heightened senses were one thing he had been thankful to have retained from years of familiarity to his body and mind. Closing off all senses to be more enlightened to one's world in a different light. Each echo of his footfalls ringing in his mind as the airways of his body forced himself to absorb more oxygen out of the air and each heart beat thudding against his ribcage. Throbbing sensation reaching from his head to his feet with every passing second he was surrounded by the buzzing swarm of danger. Enlightened by the stings of fear. Danger. Dread. Doom. Like many wasps penetrating his most basic human emotions and swelling them up to the point of combusting dangerously all over the peeping, teasing darkness. The soft silk touch of his host's clothes met his hand. It was hard to move...Hard to will it to move running along the soft fabric to something more smooth and hard. Both basic instinct wasps forcing him to do something so familiar to combat the combustible feelings. To grab at which to protect him and cut it away like a sickeningly sweet cake of misery and despair. Instincts wailing to protect himself from dangers he had yet to see. Had yet to reveal themselves to him. Hopefully to be chased away by the sounds of the bullets of the gun and held out into the darkness to cut it's tainting self down a notch. That his willpower will always prevail over it. Each burning room slowly passing a tainting gateway. Each with a promise of safety behind it and perhaps even it had occupants inside using it. taking up it's offering of safety from the darkness now dead to the world highly unaware of the masked host just roaming outside arm outstretched and staring down the one that dared teased him the most with it's fake promise of protection. 

"Ried?" The sounds of the next door smashing open by beyond human strength echoed out. "C'mon, Doc. Now's a bad time for hide and seek.~"

And that promise he would soon come to learn was broken and not even promise to one individual soon enough. As sweat formed on his host's skin in an attempt to cool it from the harsh tainting from the moment he was face to face with the door that broke it's sacred promise. At first glance to one in the dark it was as taunting as all the others he had just passed, but if one took time to see it's true mockery and failure hidden by the teasing darkness they would've seen it. The remnants of a beast. Looking as though it had clawed and kicked it's way at the door's sacred locks to be allowed entry inside the room beyond it. In it's wake leaving the door in misery and ruins. A slight opening between itself and the wall where one could look into the room beyond it and see nothing but more darkness laughing back at you.

It begged for him to open it further, to peek further into the darkness beyond the door that should have protected the occupant inside. The surprising untouched room was still, quite, far too quite for his liking. The broken splintered door only left so little to memory, and with cautious pushed aside he shoved the door open to reveal the horror to his eyes. His eyes widened. There where obvious signs of ransacking, evident by the turned over coffee table and the furniture pieces that lay toppled on their side as though someone had carelessly kicked it over in its rampage. The host body treaded carefully inside the ruined room, his shoe crunching on the remains of a picture frame that had been knocked over, its broken shiny cover a perfect match of the doorway half hanging from its hinges - the cover to what lay beyond broken to bits

What once was undoubtedly a very nice-to-stay-in staff break room inviting for visitors was now reduced to what might've been a break in sight following the discovery of a murder. Which made the situation even more worse. A small gasp noise left his host's throat as his foot caught onto something. And the something that dared to trip him up happened to be a piece of fabric. MANY pieces of fabric in the form of clothing strew about in the darkness of the floor he hadn't seen at first among the shattered frame glass. Heart throbbing sensation still hammering his entire body as he turned and twisted his body around the room.

CCCRRREEEAAA-

In just one second his body reacted on it's own. Twisting his body and holding his arm out to defend against the intruder...Only to let his nerves relax when discovering it was just the poor broken door slowly closing back to it's original poor position he had found it in. Internally cursing to himself at the overreaction it had caused him. At least...That was until he saw what was on the other side of the door he had missed upon initial entry. The gleam of a familiar metallic silver caught his eyes in the limited darkness he was able to make out and the shock at seeing it at first melted his sight and his mind raced. The door being the only thing to answer his shocked mind as it finally creaked back into place.

The host approached slowly, one hand still gripped at his gum, fingers strumming against the metal handle as if his nerves where itching to use it. Yet he remained stoic despite the clouds that where casting gathering to add to the storm inside his head. Upon closer inspection the scalpel  in the door was too purposeful for this to be an improvised job, this job - this attack, this entire get away had been just a waste of his time so far. His eyes narrowed, other hand ripping the surgical knife free from the grip that held it in place against the doorframe. The shining metal reflected the red staining his body and the frustrated frown of the porcelain face-

A inhuman scream tore through the area drowning out the other terrible screams and blaring alarm. An already broken door kicked off it's hinges as the demon walked back into the night seeking answers.

"This isn't the right way to go about this. You should stop now." 

"You are either on my side, by my side, or in my fucking way." The hands puppeteered gripped the gun tighter. "Choose wisely." 

Not an answer was given back from the host mind 

"That's what I thought. Now be a good boy for me.~ Tell me exactly where you think little miss immunity would hide during a situation like this.~" 

The blaring alarms hid well the sounds of his footsteps and the chaos of murder around him covered the intention of the desire and want which was the driving force of the shared minds that combined with one another to become one. 

The screams rang into the air as his pathway was made, him walking through its wake of cadavers long since dead.

Terror. Fear. Danger. Get away. Get away! All the pathetic ones scream. Like a car accident, terrible yet one couldn't look away from the incoming storm of tragedy. He was so used to such actions as he came with the reputation. The woman who continued to shriek in his way meant nothing to him. She was merely just an obstacle. An annoying hindrance to what he wanted-..No.

What he N E E D E D.

And he always dealt away with obstacles. The old body was easily chuckled to the side, he not caring about where it landed or how the other ended up. Screaming. A true testimony to his being. Power. Force behind it and he knew that as screams filled out his eardrums and killed him into the comfortable lullaby of chaos incarnate. Arms rising and head tilted back in display for the passionate dance of bodies scattering blurred to his vision footfalls thundering like a rain dance of nature. A true place a demon would find peace. Eyelids fluttered shut as the sounds blurred out around him until he heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing. But-

P E A C E

Until the panging desire returned from the other side deep down replacing the peace with a frustrated annoyance the farther into the hell hole he went. The reluctant annoyance only being halted by the passage of a familiar voice or two coming from a room. Little Miss Immunity's little office. How cute.~

"Rest a little longer. Your leg wound is deep but nothing serious."

"You could've gotten away you know. I'm dead weight with my limited movement."

"You know that I wouldn't do such a thing. I love you too much for that."

"Love makes you do stupid thing then."

"On the contrary. I only ever thought there were two kinds of loves. The kind you'd kill for and the kind you'd die for but you, Reid... You're the kind of love I'd live for."

The chaos had not left the couple unscathed. Blood pooling to a stop from her body thanks to a series of highly tightened bandages wrapped around her upper thigh courtesy of the concerned doctor knelt beside her. Hands caressing her pale face and wiping at the cold sweat poured from above her brows, fingertips leaving red smears behind from the hands that prepped the wounds. No doubt she had suffered blood loss. Both a curse to her..

And a blessing to him.

"Nice speech, Doc.~" Immediately the temperature in the room dipped. The man in the black robes freezing and the f/c of the woman dipping into the size of pins as the host body stepped within eyesight finally. A bubble of happiness panging throughout his being. "Unfortunately words aren't much good at healing wounds. Wouldn't you say?~"

"Oh my God..." Her bottom lip twitched as horrific realization of what stood before her settled in. "Ke- Kenneth?"

"AAAHNT! Wrong. But you are half right, he's still here and conscious of everything.~" A hand reached out to tap the side of the porcelain mask smiling wickedly. "He's a rather good boy.~ Doesn't complain, does as he's told, and- OH! He loves you, Darling.~ We have more things in common than one thinks." 

Her quivering, lips looked so cute on her horrified face. But he was more giddy when a face of white and narrowed silver eyes of hatred turned to greet him in disdain. "Dyo."

"Hiii, Doc." The gun was shifted to rest against his shoulder as his other hands wagged fingers at him. Happy black ooze seeping from the mouth of his face and dripping onto his body. "Did you miss me?~ I certainly missed you.~"

"Why is it that I can never seem to wash my hands of you?"

"Magnetism, Honey. I can't help it if I'm irresistible.~ And here I thought you liked my charming personality.~"

"Spare me your worthless babblings." His form shifted over. Protectively blocking the girl all three of the men in that room wanted from sight. Doesn't change the fact she was still there.~ "What do you want? Shouldn't you be fleeing like the rat you are akin too?"

"Aw.~ Flattery will get you everywhere with me if you just bothered to try.~ But since we're running on limited time here, I'll spare the chit chat and get straight to the point." The rifle in his hands clicked as it resumed it's place back sideways held in front of his chest. "I think we all have a common interest here."

"Escaping you mean?"

"Actually I was talking about little Miss Immunity over there but that too! Actually I'm here to collect the both of you to my little toy box.~"

As expected, a roaring wave of rage ignited in his body as shocked rocked the bird like face and his body tensed. "Do you mean to tell me that you're here with the intention of collecting her like a doll?!"

"Actually I think the normal person calls it a harem. I've been around enough to see the appeal of having one." The gun was nudged to point out the woman looking paler by the second staring at the both of them. "But we can play house later once Doll face is situated somewhere else don't you agree?" His head tilted as he hummed. "You'd have to carry her with that leg wound and you'd be needing help with getting out.~ I'd say that you'll be needing a partner, Doc."

"I'd sooner shatter you into a million pieces than accept your twisted hand of help!"

"It's not like you have a choice. There's three of us here that want the same thing...Well technically I want you too, but we all agree with wanting to keep her alive and within our grasp. I'm afraid you're both a little bit out of luck here. So now why don't you pick up the weight, and we can all be on our merry way?"

"You're a villain. A sick twisted villain and I should've tied you to a rock and threw you into the ocean instead of leaving you in that crypt!" 

There was silence other than the alarm still shrieking out and the feint sounds of chaos and screams still coming from the halls around them all. The host's body tending under the scalding of words thrown to his face. Before the frame of the gun creaked under his crushing grasp and a bear growl escaped his disembodied throat.

"Hm. Well it's a good thing for you both I am the villain instead of a saint."

"And just what might be the good of that?!" 

"A hero would sacrifice you to save the world, but a villain would sacrifice the world to save you. And it's lucky for everyone involved that I like playing the part of the bad guy.~" 

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

In other news, I finally found a nice nerdy motif that includes eyes to paint on my mask. I wanted a simple, reasonably beginner-friendly design that would read well on the mesh and that'd be easy to fix when it inevitably gets too badly scratched up by, you know, being repeatedly hit with a steel sword. (And in the meantime it's gonna get cool appropriately silvery details as the paint gets scraped off.)

Progress pics under the cut for those interested.

First, redrawing the symbol from a very low-res old rulebook scan, printing it out, and cutting out a stencil. There is a very nice high-res transparent png of this holy symbol available in the BG3 game files, but sadly it's a very detailed, fancy, redesigned version with way too many complicated thin lines to work for this.

The first step is just black and white primer, airbrushed on, kinda messy and blurry, as expected.

Then, freehanding in both black and white to sharpen it up and bring out all the details. Moonmaiden, guide my hand! etc etc etc.

And there you have it.

[werywrenniethoughts]

Let's Talk About Sun and Moon

I've been itching to share all my thoughts & theories on the Daycare Attendant ever since I first played SB. With MattPat's latest video reacting to Fuhnaff's recent Ruin theory, I could no longer contain my silence. It's obvious Steel Wool is pointing us back to Sister Location, or more specifically Circus Baby's Pizzaria. I think we'll find that the daycare attendant has been here all along. Below are a few key things I want to open discussions with the DCA fandom. Buckle up friends, and grab a snack or 3, because this is a long one. Let me know your likes, let me know your dislikes. (FYI general disclaimer that I bummed all these pictures from Google and that spoilers ARE contained below)

Personally, my theory is the DCA is an old funtime/toy animatronic from Cirus Baby's Pizzaria that was repurposed for one reason or another and brought to the PizzaPlex. Let's go over some of the reasons why:

Does the Daycare attendant fit with the Glamrock animatronics?

No. Not even a little. The Glamrocks are synonymous with neon signs, rock n roll, and 80s-early 90s vibes. Sun and Moon are based off of the naturally occurring satellites we see in the sky on the daily. Most FNAF theorist tends to unanimously state they simply "don't know what to do with the daycare attendant." It's understandable. They don't really flow with the rest of the SB cast animatronics.

You know who I think they do mesh with though? Circus Baby, Funtime Freddy, and Bellora. While one could argue they are not an exact fit, they certainly fit the circus designs far better than the Glamrocks. Sun with his striped pants, bells, ribbons, and poofy collar certainly give him more of a clown-like look (dare I even suggest, they look like a jester, Mimic fans?)

I've also always felt that Moon's speech patterns model Funtime Freddy's more than the Glamrocks or even Suns. They sound like preselected lines he's been programmed to say, rather than cohesive sentences most of the time with limited vocabulary usage, not unlike the lines delivered by the withered, Funtime, and Toy animatronics in Ultimate Custom Night. Phrases that sound innocent, but with the given inflection, they're obvious threats. Kellen Goff, the overly amazing voice actor for both the DCA, and Funtime Freddy stated once in an interview that the audition description for FF was "a voice that children would love, but adults would hate/fear." He nails that with Freddy, but, I think his performance with Moon warrants that description somewhat as well.

Another circus link I want to point out is this little devil right here:

Ballon Boy. He too blends in with the circus theme. It's also worth mentioning the arcade machine hidden within the DCA's room is Balloon World. Where in-game versions of Sun and Moon watch over any poor soul attempting to complete this flappy bird ripoff. Has anyone ever noticed that the arcade cabinet, and the game's home screen you start on, display a carnival tent?

Further, Kids Cove is linked to the daycare- the floor map shows us the shore of Kids Cove flows into the daycare, which flows to a flowery hilltop where the DCA's castle room sits. A pirate version of Foxy is the featured animatronic of Kid's Cove. In fact, every character cut-out you need to flash with the FazCam to access the DCA's room is a member of the original four: Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy.

The DCA lore from Bobbiedots states the DCA was "an old stage animatronic" NOT specifically from the FazBear theater. Of course, no one can deny the FazBear theater is absolutely pointing us toward them being meant to be performing there. The artwork of the daycare has the FazTheater in the "sky" per the scenery, there's a sun framing the entrance banner, and Moon's patterns decorate the door. Additionally, both the comedy and tragedy masks line the banner.

Could it be they are older animatronics meant to be retrofitted and added to the lineup but were instead reprogrammed as the Daycare Attendant last minute or, were they performing an old throwback routine from their original pizzeria for a time before they were reprogrammeed? Or was it always the FazBear Theater from the get-go? I feel all these scenarios are somewhat plausible.

Sun/Moon make more rudimentary machine sounds than the other animatronics in SB. It's hard to describe the glamrocks and the endos just sound smoother, like well-oiled machines. While Sun's movements are fluid and the sounds he produces are rhythmic, he sounds more like a clock or wind-up toy than anything else. Moon flat-out squeaks- a LOT. Like he hasn't been oiled in years. (Admittedly, this could just be a subtle attempt by Steel Wool to help you deal with Moon during the generator section. It's dark as crap, and you CAN hear Moon coming far sooner than you see him.) You can listen to isolated sounds of Sun's mechanisms on the FNAF Wiki and you can hear Moon on any SB playthrough. I think their cable might also be considered rudimentary compared to the glamrocks as well, but, this is also a personal opinion that doesn't really have any evidence to back it up.

I could probably add a few more minor things, but I think I've given us all quite enough to chew on for now. I know I've failed to mention Eclipse this entire time. Without any additional lore, it's hard for me to decide whether he's the original version of Sun and Moon, or a brand new addition. Obviously, a lot of my theories here are either supported or thrown out the window based on which one is true. I'm okay with letting that lie for now until we (hopefully) get a more concrete answer from Scott or Steel Wool.

It seems like we'll be getting a Sun-based story in Tales #8 so I'm eagerly awaiting to see if that completely disproves my ideas, or gives them any merit. I certainly don't think I have them 100% figured out, but, I think the limited amount of lore regarding the origins of the DCA means Steel Wool's hiding something. I'm eager to hear everyone's thoughts! Thanks for coming to my Sun/Moon TED talk.

[floofysmallbob]

Oh yeah this is my redesi- *gets brainwashed*

Yes this is a day late, I know no one keeps schedule of these redesigns, but I like to have an upload schedule to challenge myself, but it has gotten harder to adhere to said schedule lately because I’ve been cleaning my dad’s apartment(he’s still alive and everything it’s just a mess)

I added him in between class A and B because while it has been revealed which class he’s in, I figured it would be a nice transition and either way I’m going to stop talking now here’s the redesign

Compulsion Hero: Mindjack

sorry if the text is hard to read or headache inducing

yes the name is a giveaway of his quirk, but I don’t think his hero name would be public knowledge, he’s likely be an underground hero due to the lack of flashiness

honestly his canon costume is the best one out of all of them

it’s practical and it looks great

vest would have been the same but I sure as hell can’t draw that so it’s just a regular looking vest

thin undershirt covered by a fishnet mesh

which is also in turn covered by the vest

and the sleeves in canon look like a separate garment

i told myself when I did the Kirishima design that I wouldn’t give anyone shirtless sleeves.

i have now given two people shirtless sleeves.

i was supposed to give him cargo pants but I forgot to draw the pockets :|

leg strap pouch

dagger, would be useful if the capture weapon got tangled or for close combat fighting. also it looks sick and I really like swords and tbh this costume is something I would want to wear and at this point I’m not even trying to hide the fact that I am Shinsou Hitoshi

i have very prominent purple hair and eyebags too

also there are a fuck ton of layers because I can’t think of a single person this edgy who doesn’t layer like hell

i would rather burn up than not layer and that’s saying a lot considering my incredibly low heat tolerance

but back on topic

combat boots

steel toed

kneepads, shoulder pads, and forearm guards

gloves are the same as canon

so is his mask but I was not going to draw that

it’s legitimately just his canon costume in my art style

COLD WEATHER VERSION:

darker fabrics

slightly longer gloves on the thumb and index fingers

thicker fabric

capture weapon is temperature regulated

can function as an actual scarf

turtleneck(not visible)

undershirt is thicker

WARM WEATHER

yeah he’s still gonna overheat lmao

undershirt has mesh sleeves

gloves are now completely fingerless

also I forgot to mention earlier yes he has black nail polish, just be glad I didn’t give him a full face of alternative style makeup, too

I don’t care if he canonically just wears jean jackets as his casual wear he’s alt now and there’s nothing you can do about it

hell, Jirou is supposedly ‘punk rock’ and the only vaguely alt outfit she had was the time she was wearing an ‘end of villainy’ tshirt with fishnets and boots in one of the openings

no more shirtless sleeves

slightly thinner, looser fabrics

WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

not really any notes lmao

COLD WEATHER WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

you can see the turtleneck now

HOT WEATHER VERSION WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

neckline is slightly lower

as always, tips and advice are appreciated!

[itsalwaysforyou]

the black sky and all those lights

a silly little something i wrote for jalentines!!

When Mal opens the dormitory door, Jay is standing in the hallway in his workout gear, hair tied up in a bun. He’s already grinning in that way he does when he wins a fight. Mal rolls her eyes at him. Grabbing her bag, she says bye to Evie, and joins Jay in the corridor. 

She scowls as they walk, her workout clothes tight on her skin. Jay had insisted they’d do things properly, and not in their usual leather. 

The hallways are decorated for Valentine’s Day, making Auradon Prep even more gaudy and colourful as usual. Pink and red hearts plastered across the walls, boasting the abundance of love here in Auradon. Jay’s had a thousand notes in his locker. Mal’s had none. Every morning, she watches Jay approach his locker like he would a target on the Isle. Weight forward, shoulders squared; ready to fight if needs be. And the paper falls to the floor like blood, only sickly pastel. Scrawled glittery gel pen. Words confessing passionate love, or asking him on dates, or doodles of hearts. Jay smiles the whole time. Greets and winks at girls. Scrunches those notes up in a fist. 

“Everywhere looks disgusting,” Mal says as they approach the sports hall. Heart-shaped bunting crests the doors.

Jay holds the door open for her. “It’s fun.”

“You would think that.”

The sports hall is mercifully free of décor. They drop their bags in the corner and begin to warm up, another stupid practice Jay insists on. His top rides up as he side-stretches. Isle rule: never show skin, especially to the enemy. Except, Jay loved to parade around in those stupid sleeveless vests. She’s yelled at him plenty of times about it—Are you insane? You’re a walking target. He would just grin and say, they’ll have to catch me first.

Jay laughs as he grabs the practice swords from their stands. “Here.” 

He throws it, and Mal catches. The weight in her hand is familiar. Already, her pulse is thrumming faster, and maybe if she closes her eyes she’ll be back on the docks, with the wind ripping at her hair, and the salt stinging her nose, and half a dozen of Uma’s crew jeering over the clanging of swords. 

Jay chucks her a mask too, before attaching one to his own face. The mesh turns her vision slightly hazy.

“Ready?” Jay asks.

Mal’s watched fencing practise a few times, mostly as an excuse not to do homework and instead watch her boys wipe the floor with all those prissy Auradon princes. Coach Jenkins appointed Jay captain of the team a few months ago, a role he takes more seriously than she’s ever seen him take anything. 

“Rassembler! Salute! Lower the point. Masks down. En guarde!”

Mal lunges first, which Jay clearly anticipates, parrying her blow. He circles. Strikes. Mal blocks it. He’s quick. Reflexes honed to a sword’s point; learned by practise and theory. Mal lashes out again, just catching his free arm before he jerks away. She grins underneath her mask. Her breath comes quicker. Jay’s blade arcs down, hitting her chest. Mal swats his blade away. She hears him laugh. She growls. Strike. Parry. Strike. Block. Strike. Jay lands another hit. Their shoes squeak against the linoleum floor. 

“Come on, Mal,” Jay teases. 

Mal lunges like a cat on its prey. Jay’s blade grates against hers like steel against flint. Jay may be quick but Mal’s smaller, and she weaves her way through Jay’s blade until they both have the sword’s point angled at each other’s chests. 

They’re both panting. Jay lowers his sword first. Takes off his mask. 

“You came in clutch at the end,” he says. 

Mal huffs, wiggling the mask off her face and wiping her forehead with a sleeve. “You actually get training.”

“And now I’m training you!” 

His hair has loosened during the sparring, spilling out at the seams. He unties the bun; flips his hair down and shakes it out. In this late-afternoon light, his hair could be made of gold. Hair longer than Mal’s ever had. 

He pulls his hair back into its bun, deft fingers making quick work. When he straightens back up again, his face is slightly flushed from the match. 

And Mal looks at this boy she’s known most of her life; this face and these hands; a boy that has held her at the end of the world and the start of a new one. And she snatches back down her mask. 

“Again,” she says, lifting up her sword. 

She’s swinging before Jay’s even had the chance to pull his own mask back down. Her blade slices against his chest, and she hears the breath escape from his lungs. 

“Fuck!’

Jay’s blocking her hits in no time. Mal grits her teeth. A boy who’s inhabited every place she’s ever been. The shadow along the street; a fixed point on the rooftops. Those long, quick fingers that know their way around bandage; around open flesh; around her own hands. Like a comet to Earth. Like an eclipse. Totally consuming. 

And here, where the sun shines brighter than they could have ever dreamed, she is left blistering. Those girls that fawn over Jay, professing their love with the same ease that Mal can hold a dagger to a throat. Jay’s clicking tongue, and that low fry to his voice when he’s chatting someone up. Everything is always so easy to him. He can wrap anyone around his finger with a wink. 

His blade slams into her stomach. Mal pants, the budding pain in her side clearing her head. Jay’s standing above her like some heavenly deity. 

“Best of four?” he offers.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“C’mon. Let’s take a break.”

Jay drops his sword and grabs his water bottle from his bag. Mal joins him, still gripping her sword, gulping down her water like a man in a desert. 

“We should do this again soon,” Jay says. 

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s the Valentine’s Ball tomorrow.”

Mal snorts. “Yeah, and?”

“I was gonna go.”

His words are coming too slow; too considered. Like when he used to talk about his dad, or a particularly bad Barge Day. Rehearsed. A guard dog who’s smelled danger, prowling at the sidelines. 

Mal presents her blade. “En guarde!” she shouts, and Jay ducks her swing before scrambling over to his own sword. 

“Really, Mal? Another sneak attack?”

“I’m keeping you on your toes.”

They waltz around the sports hall, the blades clashing and slicing and singing.

“We all agreed we weren’t going to go to the Ball,” Mal says, jabbing at Jay.

“We never agreed anything.”

Jay lands a blow. They are at the dockyard, with its rotting wooden pier and dead fish stench. The screeching of metal; the shouting; Mal’s heart hammering like the tide. Blood, and life. The roar in her ears. A dragon’s call. Body moving without a thought, as quick as a lightning strike. Not having to look behind her because she knows Jay is there.

“Exactly!” she says. “Why would we want to go to some stuffy Auradon ball?” Jay tries to say something but she ignores him. “Why would we care about Valentine’s Day? It’s corny, and over-commercialised, and a stupid excuse to make everything about love.”

Jay has her backed up against a wall. With no time to mount his mask, his lips are slightly parted, and his hair is escaping from his bun again. He looks just like he did on the Isle; none of his perfect prince act that fools Auradon. His sword hovers above her throat. 

“Do you yield?” His voice is low.

Mal stares at him. Those eyes that have seen every part of her. All the blood; every smile; her pale skin in the dark Isle nights. The boy that has beheld her every action; weighed it all against his own understanding of the world, and decided that they slot together as easily as a bullet in a pistol.

“Who are you going with to the Ball?” Mal asks. She’s still clutching her sword. She could claim the upper hand, if she really wanted.

A grin creeps across Jay’s face. All those notes and heart-shaped lollipops. The giggling girls at his locker. He could pick any one of them. All of them so beautiful, in their sunset-coloured dresses. He could have anything he wanted.

“Well,” Jay says. “I was going to ask you.”

The sword’s point makes sure they keep their distance. Never too close. All touches so light; so fleeting, as if you could’ve mistaken them for a dream. As if you could’ve imagined the whole thing. All those nights in the hideout where the barrier of the body seemed thin, and the world became so small: just two kids who wouldn’t even dare knock knees. 

So Mal shakes it all away with a laugh. “I’m not going to the Valentine’s Ball.”

Jay lowers his blade. Neither of them move. “Not even with me?” 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other girls who actually want to go with you.”

“I want to go with you.”

His words echo through the empty hall. His word is as steadfast as ever, the only opinion Mal will ever trust. Compass, anchor: Jay does it all. 

Heralded here, Mal as real as the vast sky outside. Here, in his gaze, held aloft by trust where there shouldn’t be and compassion where there shouldn’t be and understanding where there shouldn’t be. A home for all her broken bones. 

Mal’s lips unfurl into a smile. This ache in her chest. In her throat. Jay always being able to disarm her. Jay in every place she’s ever been. Jay as her shadow; her skin; her second self. A reflection in the mirror. The line of separation is nonexistent. Like the sun, like the moon: one cannot exist without the other.

[pyrotechnic-tote-pyro]

Devil is in the details.

I use Stainless steel mesh for my lenses,

1. They allow airflow to my face better

2. They look better in photos than glossy plastic or glass

3. I use a blowtorch to get them the darker color that adds hues of the rainbow to it

Heres the Png for the mask text that I made as a reference, next time I'll get a laser cut sticker to use instead

[sims-tec]

I've already done a T-60, but this version is from Fortnite, and a complete suit. No frame, no armor pieces, just one outfit and a helmet. And recolorable as you can see. It comes with Vault-Tec, Enclave, NCR and NCR Ranger, and Brotherhood of Steel decals, as well as a Knight Maximus decal. Unisex, teen to elder, available for everyday, formal, sleep, athletic, swim, career, and outerwear. Unlike the other power armors, this only requires the base game. I'd like to thank ZoeyKL for creating the mask, and TommyAndSean for modeling the mesh to match the ts3 t-pose. Thank you both so much! Please enjoy!

Google Drive: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1uFNb_wt6dfqVRPLC-EXE_CA-ryHM9nnf/view?usp=sharing

SimsFileShare: https://simfileshare.net/filedetails/4768010/

ShareMods:

[alpydk]

Cabinet of Oddities (Part 20)

Honestly, my favourite chapter I've written so far.

TavXGale (Custom Tav)

Ao3 Link

Summary: He took a deep breath as he heard her approaching through the tree line, his mirror image having summoned her successfully. He dared not look back for fear of seeing her and the spell breaking.

1487 DR

Hands have always been so fascinating. From the delicate instruments that compose symphonies to the hardened forgers of steel. Both so different and yet so capable of fulfilling the same purpose. They wrap around the throat of this young girl and I can see the whites of her eyes as they roll back. She kneaded dough and I note the flakes of course flour under her nails. It is the sight of my own hands however that brings me such pleasure. To see the tendons stretching, the veins bulging as I put on more pressure. I see the knuckles whiten as I hear the crack of her trachea, a symphony of my own design. Quiet my sweet mask, you will have your time soon enough. For now, this must be done. 

I lay her bare in front of me, her body limp and naked. Now comes the creation of art, my fingers tracing the route the blade will take. The soft pads, my paintbrush. Around her wrists, so light and fragile. Oh, to have kissed these wrists would have been a waste, but now a kiss with a blade. That is euphoric. These hands of hers, a worthy offering. 

Present Day

“Copper for your thoughts,” Karlach said with a tap on Nana’s shoulder. 

Nana looked up at her confused trying to bring her thoughts back to reality. “Sorry, what?”

“Mate, you look knackered. When’s the last time you slept?”

Nana gave a smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Just been busy. You’ve not seen Gale around have you?” Truth be told she was exhausted. Thomas’ visits in her sleep had been forcing her to stay awake and even then she had found her mind drifting back to her past rethinking the things he had done. Their days at the inn had done nothing in terms of distractions or even given simple exhaustion to get her to sleep properly and she looked forward to their battle the following day to wear her down. 

Karlach grinned. “Gale? Not in his room?” 

“He probably is. He’s barely left. I just don’t want to go and check again.” Nana buried her face in her hands trying to clear the weariness that overcame her. 

Karlach gave her a nudge. “Yeah, I’m worried about him too. But don’t give up on him, yeah?”

------------------------------

He took a deep breath as he heard her approaching through the tree line, his mirror image having summoned her successfully. He dared not look back for fear of seeing her and the spell breaking. As Nana sat next to him he slowly turned. In this illusion, she hadn’t been able to control her form and for the first time, he’d been able to see her up close fully without risk of interruption or her morphing into something different. He saw the way she practically glowed under the moonlight, the way the shadows seemed to dance across her flesh. He noticed the scar on her cheek hidden under the mesh of her white hair that shielded her face. Her eyes were so clear and innocent and he wished he could simply stay in that moment forever. I must leave her… He looked away denying his thoughts. 

“I love this time of night.” He said softly.

Nana placed herself close to him gazing into the sky. He could hear her soft breathing and feel the gentle hook of one of her fingers around his. It’s for the best…

“There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness when you’d almost believe the dawn will never break. The cradle of eternity. The timelessness of lovers.” He glanced over at her, drinking in the image that lay before him, trying to memorise every last detail as if it would be the last he would see of her. “That most beautiful of fantasies.”

She smiled back at him, and he noticed a comfort in her that he hadn’t seen in some time. “I’ve barely seen you recently. Are you okay?”

He turned away from her with a small sigh. “I will be, soon. I am perhaps just one hard day away from being without any troubles at all.” 

Nana frowned. “Don’t speak like that.” Please don’t care for me….

He moved his hand, squeezing hers in comfort. “I’m so very glad you came to share this with me.”

She leant towards him and he wished he could hide the sadness in his eyes, the guilt of everything he would be leaving behind. But he knew this was his future. “Gale, I know you think this is what you have to do. That Mystra commands it. But there’s got to be another way.”

“Maybe so. But maybe this is the right way.” I’ve convinced myself…

“Gale, don’t do this. I love you too much to let you throw yourself away.” Those words she had blurted out without hesitation. Without a grand gesture of declaration. No illusions, no poetic prose. Just the simple and brutal honesty. He felt his heart tug and the indecision set in. 

He wanted to reply to her. He had prepared a grand speech about how all this was for her, how his time was short. He had been ready for her rejection, for how could someone so kind and gentle ever love the person he was? He wanted to ignore the intimacy between them but as their bodies closed in together he could not fight the urge to kiss her. I’m not enough…

The relief as her lips hit his own left him with no doubts, only the hunger for her touch upon his. He needed to show her how he felt in the only way he knew how. He’d give her the world before he left her for good. He gently pulled himself away and stood, reaching a hand towards her. He knew this would be a lot for her, but if this was to be his last moments he wanted to give her everything, his mind, body, and soul. “You wrote of Waterdeep, yes?”

“You read it?” She said, taking his hand. 

“I did. Let’s imagine how it would be.” He flicked his wrist and the starry sky vanished from their view, revealing the warm interior of his room in Waterdeep, the piano long since played, the loose books stacked, the table cluttered. If you must, love me for the man I am… He led her through the centre of his universe, his feelings conflicted. Hesitation, sadness, joy. He opened the doors to the balcony, the sun setting over the harbour, books lying next to the bench that he’d spent so many a night on. Love me for what I can give you…  

How he longed to be back there. To go back to a time before his shortcomings. Gods, I wish I could go home… He turned to see her sitting on the bench watching him. She’d said very little but he could see how untroubled she was, how she was letting him do this not for her, but for himself. He joined her feeling the velvet of the cushions under his hands. “My favourite spot. Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here lost in words.”

“The feeling reminds me a little of my own home.” He caught her eyes passing over a book and considered for a moment if this was what she would want. 

“Nana, I want this to be perfect - to bond with you in the way that gods do.” She smiled at him but he spotted the discomfort. … And be enough for you.  

“I’m not a goddess, Gale. All I want is you .” Again the honesty came so direct and clear from her lips. 

He placed his fingertips under her chin gazing into her eyes searching for answers, for clarity. Is this really what you want? “You are. Trust me, I would know. But if that’s what you want, very well.” He removed his hand and gave a quick wave. They stood within the forest together, the stars overhead shining just for them. He watched as she circled around him, her delicate form tiptoeing through the illusionary grass beneath their feet and slowly, with little hesitation, she pulled herself close to him. To love me as I am?

--------------------------------------

He wants this. He wants me. Gale’s hand touched her arm, slowly drifting up towards her face as if he was testing the limits of how much she could handle. Nana could feel her heartbeat quicken, her breath held as her body tensed further. Let him in. His fingertips lightly grazed her cheek and she pressed her face into his soft grasp feeling the warmth of his hand. She closed her eyes trying to drown out the overwhelming sensations that were attempting to overtake her. Her muscles stiffened, her throat tightened. Let me love him.

She felt a delicate pressure on her lips, the subtle taste of wine in her mouth, a curious tongue twisting around hers. She sensed her body melting into his wanting, her thoughts quickly being silenced by his actions. She brought her own hand into his hair, the overflowing locks weaving between her fingers. To touch him like this. Each strand of hair stimulated the nerves in her body that little further. 

Gale broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes as if he was searching for something. “This isn’t too much, I hope,” he said quietly.

Nana shook her head and gently urged him towards her again with a slight push of his head. The anxiety was there, the little whispers speaking in her ears, telling her of everything that could go wrong with this. Whispers of the orb, of her inexperience, of what she was. This must be a dream.

Gale leant in kissing her again, this time with less caution and more purpose. He yearned for her, his touch-starved hands hungering to have their bodies entangled. There was no time for thoughts or concerns. She could only allow herself to be swept away as they fell together onto the crisp ground beneath them, their hands exploring one another with a desperate eagerness. She rolled herself onto her back letting him take control of the situation, trusting him without words. Gale pulled himself over her nudging her leg to the side with his own. 

He barely broke the kisses as he tugged at her shirt pulling it upwards, his palm sliding up underneath the hem and over the flesh of her stomach. She gave a small gasp and quickly brushed his hand down out of reflex. He pulled back slightly and she could see the worry in his eyes, the thoughts that maybe he had gone too far. She said nothing and brought a hand to his hip tracing her fingers up the side of his abdomen. She could feel the shiver of his body and heard the desperate sound he involuntarily released. 

Gale leant back down towards her, this time more tentatively. She felt his lips upon the crook of her neck, the brush of his beard, the warmth of his breath. The most beautiful of fantasies. She pulled at his shirt and he was quick to remove it, allowing her to see him fully. She could see the dark lines of the orb pulsing with his heart rate and as she followed the woven trails towards the deep souls of his eyes she saw a hint of vulnerability. She had believed him to be confident about this, to take charge and give her all and yet in this moment it felt like she was seeing him for the first time. He was giving her everything, every scar, every mistake, every foley. This is what I want… And she loved him for it, and for once there were no longer any fears. There was only him. To love you as you are.

---------------------------------------------------------

She awoke the next morning with a feeling of contentment, her arm draped across Gale’s chest. He slept peacefully next to her and she realised she had never seen him so at ease. She gazed at the way his chest rose and fell under his slow breaths, the way his hair draped onto the pillow, her favourite strand still curled over his brow. She traced her fingers up the markings of the orb as she had longed to all those weeks before and let her fingertips dance between the thin layer of chest hair. She considered kissing him as he slept, allowing herself to express how much she loved him but she held back letting him enjoy his peace. She settled her head onto his chest, hearing the combination of his heartbeat and the orb’s gentle hum. “I love you,” she whispered before willing herself to fall back to sleep, her body curled into his as if this was where she had always meant to be.

[rmbunnie]

I know Morrison's Batman tends to be considered one of the greats, and I am definitely warming up to it more than I did on my initial read, but there are still some elements of it I found really didn't mesh with me. I feel like I can say this a lot more concisely than I did during my initial readthrough of Batman and Robin 2009, plus I've had more time to reflect and actually form a coherent opinion that wasn't a gut reaction, and keep in mind that I've read Batman and Robin in a vacuum Morrison-wise and can't speak on it in the larger context of their Batman run, but aside from just. very odd writing of certain characters, I feel like one of the more significant things that rubbed me the wrong way with this storyline was that a lot of the "weirdness" I'd seen hyped up felt either inconsistent enough that it didn't have a significant presence for me, especially towards the end of the run, or very surface-level.

One of the runs I see hyped up as some of Morrison's greatest work is Animal Man, especially for its metafictional ending. I haven't gotten around to reading it yet, but I expect that I'll enjoy it, or find it very interesting at the least (although author-inserts can come across a bit arrogant sometimes imo.) The point is I've heard good things, that it comes down to a very interesting and one-of-a-kind conflict in the end, which made me in some part hopeful for similar with Batman and Robin, (although I do have to admit I was reading it in part to see how off his Jason really could be.) I didn't really find that, tbh. There definitely were genuinely weird plot points with impact on the story which I feel were really successful, unfortunately it seems like a lot of them were at the cost of any prior characterization for the characters involved. Damian has steel implanted into his spine which allowed Deathstroke to control his movements and set off his emotional connection with Dick, Talia just had to be written horribly for it to happen. Sasha is a really interesting parallel to Damian/Robin-in-general. The conflict around her grotesque mask permanently fused onto her face and the fear that it'll kill her completely to take it off, the scene in which she gets said mask in the first place/the dollotrons, and the concept of a villain getting their own Robin in someone completely unrelated to Batman and the impact their legacy has had is all really original and cool, it's just that it's all dependent on a bewildering version of Jason that directly contradicts all previous characterization save BftC. To me the tradeoff doesn't feel necessary, but the events are inventive and have weight in the larger story.

In other areas though, especially as the run wrapped up, the zaniness that I see hyped up a lot, while providing a unique atmosphere, felt a lot like set dressing more than anything. In retrospect, the first time I really noticed this was the Professor Pyg dance page back in issue 2 or 3, I believe? But it became much more frequent towards the end of the series. The entire city becomes infected with a viral drug by Professor Pyg which isn't a major threat and doesn't serve anything in the story much besides being wacky, letting Professor Pyg say odd things about his mother sometimes and putting Commissioner Gordon... in a dress! Zany! (Professor Pyg is eventually... presumably?... torn apart by a parade of dollotrons and his narrative importance dies with him.) Alongside the Morrison-original villains like Dr. Hurt and Professor Pyg, there's a mysterious new player in town who's been orchestrating everything, and after a dozen issues of mystery it's the Joker, but wearing a mask and making edgy "differently-abled" jokes!

Dr. Hurt is interesting, and I liked his part of the story if I ignored the panels of auxiliary weirdness thrown on to add to the vibe, and I think there's something fun and interesting there about the legacy of Batman vs. artistic interpretations with his motive of ruining the Wayne's legacy (made more apparent with his talk about the Batcave being "the way it was meant to be in his head," the manor and Batcave "his to ruin," but Dr. Hurt kind of fades out of the story as Batman returns and is defeated by Joker, laying a banana peel on the ground. In the context of the theme of artistic interpretation and Morrison's commentary that they never cared to pretend the story was going to end with anything but a return to the classic Batman, I actually find this really interesting. A character heavily defined and reinvented by Morrison's writing being defeated by one of the most iconic Batman characters with a classic comedy trick from the 19th century feels like the conclusion to the contrast between Batman's legacy and the artistic license of the authors writing the comics: you can have your personalized elements, but the legacy of Batman is elastic and unlikely to be molded by them: certainly it won't be destroyed. Despite this, it didn't change the exhaustion of seeing the Gravedigger's mask come off and settling in for another comic where the Joker is gonna be doing classic zany Joker stuff.

As much as I'm frustrated with the way Talia and Jason are written during this run, I didn't entirely hate it, and the more I think about it, the more I find things I like. Some of my frustrations come down to taste, and are an unavoidable product of my personal taste differing from a pro comic author who had an established writing career while I was going to elementary school. I feel like some previous Batman comics were referenced in really exciting ways, for example the combination of Bruce's absence, a drug being used to gain control over citizens, an odd demonic presence, an imposter cult leader (If you can call Dr. Hurt that) prolonging his life through magical rituals, the background detail of complete chaos in the city, and one of the main villains being torn apart by a crowd of his followers, from the limited number of straight-up-Batman storylines I've read, felt pretty strongly like a nod to The Cult. But even considering the commentary on creative license vs. the consistency of Batman as a pop culture icon, the feeling of reading the comic was frequently that I was being convinced of a weirdness that didn't extend through the story down to the actual structure or plot points of the issue I was reading (with exceptions, such as the Sasha + Professor Pyg thing,) and although I appreciate the message of the return to status quo in the ending, with the hype of the story's inventiveness and uniqueness on my mind, it was kinda disappointing to realize halfway through that for all the weird window dressing, the story would be commiting to a much more traditional turn than what I was expecting.

[blood-of-the-eldritch-rp]

Bloodborne OC Sybelle Writing Drabble

I am sort of playing around with the idea of giving the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst (Alastair, in this au) a story, meshing it with Sybelle’s own story.

Based on this post

———

Sybelle’s hands shook as she took the Bloody Crow’s icy gloved hand into hers. His features were shielded by an intricate silver mask, but that didn’t matter. She knew who it was behind the steel and cold metal.

“Alastair, my sweet, what has happened to you.”

The Cainhurst lady could hardly find words as she stared into the man’s covered face in stunned silence. When she bound herself to Queen Annalise, Sybelle had been promised a reward for such dedication. Her husband given back to her from the clutches of death, delivered once again into her arms forever more. However, the lady did not predict the conflicted emotions she would ultimately experience as he stood before her.

Horror. Bitterness. Anger. Sadness.

This man was a stranger. Not her loving Alastair.

A shiver ran up her spine as Sybelle gazed upon her gift. The man spoke not a word as the bowed at the waist.

[fellty]

discovered energy drinks recently. diary entry ahead

still figuring out my future, some health stuff as me evaluating life with the perspective that it could be short, though, it's not a huge concern yet and things are still very treatable. but, it is a concern to me, since the chance still looms in my head like a heavy stone. i like to think about the worst possible scenario, and roll as if it was a real reality, since then i've done the mental work to a degree, and well, i guess i want to have peace with that possibility (though, i will say, doctors have said right now the chance is low. it's just scary? who wants a chance like that at all?)

if i'm to take my health seriously, and think about my time being short, then i'd have spent a lot of time avoiding art because it made me uncomfortable, and then avoiding being uncomfortable by avoiding art. facing yourself on the canvas is a big task. my mind lives there, you know?

Synthesizing my sense of depression around not working on art, and also, my discomfort on working on art, has been a hard task. Autism floats around in there with masking having me wonder how much to be myself, especially online! how much is right? how much to be me? and at what cost? a prickly little balance.

all of that seems to live in my shoulders and back. my muscles tighten harder, my shoulders concrete and my lower back steel. what a cost masking has. i'm happier when i see rubber kitten roleplay than when i see ten people clutching pearls around it. if they're free, then i'm free too. (hell, the freedom to scoff and move on vs worrying they'll be attacked by a group with hammers.)

i think there is a certain discomfort in getting to know yourself if you're constantly in a state of moral panic about what being yourself even means to others. being predisposed to people pleasing as a kid has made moral panic on the internet a minefield for my mental health.

i think i figured why i never tried to become a doctor or a lawyer and doubled down on being an artist. 1) I really love art, and 2) i wanted to become something my dad could love as myself. i took that as a challenge, i could be better, smarter, but also i got burnt out quickly because i had to figure it out by myself. hating myself when i made mistakes was a natural outcome, because those mistakes were what made my dad dislike me. if i could eliminate those mistakes, then, i would be loveable, right? i accepted readily i was in the wrong, i was ready to be loved! every child is. hating myself was a mechanism of protection, i could be loved soon! wholly! if i was just better! lots of hope lives here, hope for a better me and a better world. the pain of that runs so deep, because as the mistakes pile up, with no hand to guide, and only scorn to give, you realize being small, silent, and still is the best course of action. it feels, safe.

the thing is that, that's not a reality where natural improvement exists. my dad didn't want a kid, and then had to contend with the reality that he had one. now what? i exist. i have all the same features you have that traumatized you growing up, that you never really contended with with a sense of love for yourself. i am so equally my mom and my dad, it's painful and freeing. i understand them, but i won't be them. I will heal myself and love myself.

it's uncomfortable. my parents react to a broader societal and generational trauma around mental health, my class room reacts, adults react, and pass it to me. there's such a mesh of pain i wish I could lift it all. i can only try and lift it in myself and not reinforce it in others, to celebrate others joyfully as they lift it in themselves. whewh. what a task.

it's uncomfortable to sit with that lore undigested while i draw. but i think the other reality i face is that if I don't actually dismantle that in me, i'll just be in pain forever. i want the life i wanted, i feel stubborn about it especially seeing other people live it with joy. me too!! i want this for me too!!

[lighthouseborn]

  Henry’s relationship with his dreams veered in a similar pattern to his ongoing battle with his impulses. Some days he managed them well, and never so much as flicked a little piece of paper at his friend while they were talking. Others, he jumped into the channel even though there were drifts of snow two feet tall upon the bank. And so, some nights he thought nothing of them. They came as vivid parades of nonsense, and turned to naught but smoke or the vague sense of seeing an old friend when he woke. Others he sank straight to the far edges of pain.

  Agony, maybe, was the better word for it. (If he wasn’t saving that one for something that truly seemed it could get no worse.) All-encompassing for the way it bubbled out of him, pulling out of the very middle of him, where it teetered on the brink of ripping something vital right out. It’s the first and only thing to exist, like it was waiting for him. Then he heard her.

  “Henry! Henry!” dotted with high whines and the patter of paws on the ground. Lektra.

  He discovered himself, then, laying face down on cold, smooth stone. The fabricated kind, devoid of any natural character or merit. It was just hard. Cold. Henry, driven by his dæmon’s anxious fussing, found it I himself to lift his head and open his eyes. The sight forced understanding.

  Steel bars surrounded him, and the heart of his heart was some number of meters away, similarly caged, pacing and whining. Some sort of amphitheater surrounded them, equipped to seat hundreds, though for what purpose he could not imagine. It did not matter at all- he focused on pushing himself up onto his arms. Dragging himself forward. Pressing himself at the gaps between the bars as if there was any hope at all of fitting through them. Even with his shoulder as far out between the bars as he could get it, reaching toward her, they were too far apart. The pain eased only as far as resetting a broken bone put it a millimeter closer to rightness, but did not undo the harm; the idea –the feeling– of a cord pulled nearly to breaking remained.

  Any further from each other and it’d tear.

  “We’re alright,” he said anyhow, voice echoing across the empty void between them, “hey- hey. It’s alright.” Lektra whined again, but stopped pacing. The bars surrounding her were the same as his, as thick around as to squelch all notions of bending them even with the strongest of arms, only lined with a double layer of mesh sealed to the metal, as if expecting the chance of smaller occupants who might slip through the thicker gaps. Henry got the sense that she would have pressed herself against it, fur poking through the little holes, except that would mean she was unable to keep both eyes on him. His eyes welled. He sniffed sharply and reached as far as he could, fingers straining toward her. We’ll be alright.

  From the shadows at the edge of the empty plain stepped a woman. She wore dark robes and darker makeup, her body concealed and her face painted into a mask of sorrow so great it seemed mocking. The eyes were too down turned, the mouth twisted and wild. She approached the middle of everything. Not quickly, but not tarrying. Dutiful, one might say. When she stood just before the imaginary line Henry had reached out along, the one drawing him to Lektra, the woman stopped. She looked at Henry. Her pale eyes were like the stone beneath him. She looked to Lektra. The dæmon ducked down, her head well below her shoulders.

  In a flourish of sleeves rustling and whipping through the air, the woman produced a blade. She held it high aloft, so that the light caught its edge, making it ripple like silver fire. The sight of it alone instilled in Henry a sense of dread so visceral he flinched. Across from him, so far away, Elektryona bared her teeth in a silent snarl. She liked it even less than he did. But why? It was only a little knife, why should they fear it so? But the question did not come to mouth, or reach the air.

  The woman began to speak in a language that had no words. The sounds twisted and danced like hurricane winds, ripping through the air, howling and moaning in shapes that were almost familiar. That Henry almost believed he understood, if he could just listen a little better, but the effort escaped him. Like he’d forgotten how. The woman swayed as she spoke, the long tendrils of her dark hair brushing the ground. Then she stopped. Stopped swaying, stopped speaking. She even seemed to stop breathing. She slowly extended her arm, the knife gripped just-so, and drew the blade down… and down… she stopped at a height roughly around what would be the lowest of Henry's ribs when he was standing. Then, in the air between Henry and Lektra, she made a cutting motion.

  Henry almost laughed. It was such a strange act of pantomime so far from anything flesh and blood, so mundane after the sense of arcane profanity her formless speech and wild swaying brought on. Then he felt it catch.

  So small. Like the barest of misses while learning to cook with his mother, a little too eager at cutting root vegetables for the first time with young, unpracticed hands. So brief. So shallow. And yet this ran all through him in shudder, jarring loose a soft cry of shock and fear. Worst of all was the yelp that sounded in exactly the same moment as Henry’s cry. Their eyes met: soul and body staring in turn at all that belonged to them. Then the woman gestured again, and this time struck true, sawing at the bond stretched thin between them.

  A cry of anguish split the air. Elektryona howled.

  Henry surfaced with the same lack of effort it had taken him to sink. One moment here, the next there; now back again with all due confusion as to where he truly was and how he’d gotten there. The only clear thing, in this new place where he lay on his back instead of his front, was the weight of a wiggly, furry body on his chest, wedging herself under his arms.

  “I tried to wake you.”

  He lifted his arms enough to let her near, paws poking into his shoulder and elbows sharp against his ribs. Her golden fur felt like silk under his hands. No bars or mesh between them.

  “I heard you,” Henry said, “I heard. I just- I didn’t know that’s.. what it was.” The only bit of speaking that had made any sense: Elektryona calling to him. His answer.

  “We’re alright,” she promised, pushing her nose up alongside his cheek. She licked at the tears sliding back across his temples.

  Henry could not respond. He was thinking, still, of silver flame blades and heart-rending howls. It was a noise he’d never heard her make before or since. Perhaps because it matched that and only that feeling.

  Being torn apart.

  He drew her tightly to his chest. Counter-intuitively, the crush made it easier to breathe.