#such is the life of a little cave critter

[ur-local-neighborhood-scene-kid]

Ok I’ve been gone for a while but TOY HAUL!!!

And this bonus FUCKED UP little dude who I HAD to buy bc he (for some reason) has two heads???? He was in a box of 1$ dinos at the store and He was the only one of his type, the rest were all regular dinosaurs so idk?? What’s up with him?? Truly a freak of nature <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

I saw you asked for some Gravity falls Stanford or Bill stuff SO I HAVE A REQUEST (you don't have to do it it's up to you!) a Stanford x reader where the reader went into the portal with him?

Ford thought he was alone at first until he had realised that you had tried to rope him back from being sucked into the portal, but it was hopeless attempt as the portal ended up pulling you into the multiverse with him in the end.

So when he found himself seemingly without you, he decided that his revenge on bill would have to wait until he had found you first and foremost, which he did after while when he arrived at a dimension where everyone spoke in rhymes. ‘Someone like you fell from the sky, born with a twinkle in their eye, so pleasant and sweet we cannot say goodbye.’

So when Ford is finally reunited with you his first instinct was to grab you by the shoulder and say, ‘I appreciate you trying to pull me out but now look at what you’ve gotten yourself in by being selfless, trapped in the Multiverse with me.’ He was glad that you were okay and seemingly unscathed but still he didn’t like the fact that you had gotten dragged into this mess with him, and now you were both left to wonder if returning him was even possible. Though one thing you were both certain on was that the portal back home would be most likely out of power and lacking the requirements it needed to make it work again, and that would take some time as it took Ford a while to perfect.

so by proxy, you and Ford assumed that it would probably take Stan twice as long to get it up and running again. Which also meant that until that day the portal opens back up, you and Ford were on your own with the arduous task of surviving until that fateful day comes. And it was the hardest thirty years of your life wasted as you and Ford spent most of it escaping one dimension for crimes you’ve committed, only to run away from the dimension you sought shelter in because you just had to ask the locals when they’ll lead a rebellion against their tyrannical leaders.

‘I had to ask!’ You screamed to Ford over the sound of blaster fire heading your way.

‘Stop trying to insight rebellion in every dimension we come across just because you didn’t like the look of their governmental leaders!’ Ford screamed back as he pulled you both into a nearby cave, keeping you close just until the government gave up momentarily in trying to find you.

‘They’re old, balding men! What’s there to like!?’ You replied as Ford could only hope that the next dimension didn’t elicit the same reaction out of you like the past five dimensions did. Which thankfully it didn’t as the next dimension you visited was filled with cute little fluffy creatures.

‘Ford! They’re so fucking cute and fluffy!’ You exclaimed as you bundled a few of the cute critters in your arms and held them tightly again your face. ‘You can leave me here if you want I don’t care I’m in heaven.’ You added with a dreamy sigh.

‘No, we must keep moving, so put them down and leave them be.’ Ford said but while he couldn’t deny how adorable the critters with the big eyes looked, it was how relaxed and at peace you were that made him stop and stare. While your face might be littered in scars and dirt from the fighting and escaping you’ve done together, but it didn’t hinder the fact that Ford hadn’t seen you this happy in a long, long time. ‘Fine,’ he sighed as he sat himself down next to you, allowing some of the critters to clamber on his lap and start to purr, ‘five more minutes then we have to leave.’

‘Yay! It seems as though you aren’t immune to cuteness either are you Ford.’ You teasingly nudged him as you nuzzled your face against the soft fur of the locals of this dimension, unaware of the soft look Ford gave you while you did so. He didn’t do it because of the creatures, he did it because you deserved a rest snd he wasn’t about to take that away from you.

You both ended up staying there for fifteen minutes before having to leave because some bounty hunters had followed your trail, though not before you nodded the cute critters a sad farewell that Ford has to grab you by the hand and drag you himself.

‘I’ll come back for you!’ You screamed back at the fluffy critters.

‘No we won’t.’ Ford then said, mentally promising to find you a plushie that was similar to the creatures if you ever get back home, but for now? You needed to survive if you wanted to see that plushy.

You had multiple heart to heart moments while cosying up near a fire throughout your adventures in the multiverse, staring up at the stars with hope (you) and cynicism (Ford)

‘Do you think we’ll ever get home?’ You asked Ford once, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Or are we going to spend the rest of our days running from everything, and don’t try to tell me something I want to hear because I think I’ll cry if you do.’

Ford stayed silent as he thought about how he should use his words but decided to forgo it and just say it instead of overthinking it for the sake of protecting you from a harsher reality that you both already face daily. ‘I’ve lost hope on going home the moment I got pulled into that portal,’ he begins, ‘if running is the life I have left I’ll live it but I’ll find you a nice dimension to settle in the day you want to call quits on all this, I promise.’ Ford added as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder but yet his smile didn’t reach his eyes and that’s when you knew that Ford was lying, to you or himself you weren’t quite sure, but decided to stay silent for now.

‘And who’ll look after you stupid?’ You asked playfully as you nudged him in the side. You didn’t like the thought of leaving Ford alone, you both entered the multiverse together and you’ll leave it together too, however that maybe. That and you didn’t like being alone without your smart partner in multiversal crime.

‘I can look after myself.’ Ford said, a little insulted but you made a noise of disagreement.

‘That blaster shot you took and hide from me back in dimension 2 for weeks on end says otherwise.’ You reminded him, that day scared you to your core, seeing Ford almost lifeless that morning, lying in his own blood made you scream bloody murder as you tried everything you could to patch up his wound through teary vision. Even now you feared that you’d wake up and find him dead in his own blood or taken from you in the night.

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ Ford muttered under his breath as he felt his cheeks flustered.

‘Well I did worry about you then, I still do worry about you now.’ You told him as you reached out to grasp his hand in yours, smiling at him and you weren’t lying when you said this, you could see the dark bags form under his eyes and the fatigue seething in his face that made him look older then he did. You knew you wouldn’t stop worrying about Ford and you like to think that Ford was smart enough to know this too.

‘I know.’ Ford replied softly as he looked at you, place his other hand on top of yours. ‘You did a poor job hiding that you care.’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’ You asked and Ford only chuckled. ‘No, it’s not I just don’t feel as though I’m deserving of your worry half of the time.’ He admits as he gazed into the fire as though it’ll give him the answers he sought.

You then shuffled closer to Ford until your shoulders touched and you rested your head against his shoulder, staring into the fire yourself. ‘You do deserve my worry Ford, don’t ever think you don’t because I don’t want to leave this place without you, I need my smart buddy with me when we leave, you then intertwined your fingers with his, ‘together.’

Ford squeezes your hand in return as he looked at you with a soft smile. ‘Okay, then worry over me all you like.’ He had as he then rested his head atop of yours.

The multiverse was unpredictable as it was dangerous but as long as you had each other, you could get through anything it threw at you.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Wield It

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: You start your training with Qimir while also fighting the growing attraction you feel towards him.

Qimir Masterlist

You sit on a hill that overlooks the island. Your eyes are closed and you listen to your surroundings. You hear little critters chirping, waves crashing along the shores, the sound of Qimir breathing.

There's a buzzing sensation that courses through you and you know it's because Qimir draws closer. You feel him reaching out and, with your eyes still closed, you catch his wrist with your hand.

You open your eyes to see him smirking down at you, "Good," he says, staring at you with pride.

You drop his wrist and look away, staring out to the sea, "At the rate I've been going, I'm sure Mae will be much more suited to be your equal than I."

He looks at you curiously, "Does that thought bother you?"

You shrug, "Yes and no," you sigh, "Yes, because it proves to me that I'm not fit for this. No, because I still think Mae would be much more suited to be your equal than me."

"You have the potential. I sense a strong connection to the Force in you. You can have the power, Y/N. You just need to strengthen that connection, let it take over you. Then you can wield and bend it to however you like." He holds out his hand, "Stand up."

You place your hand in yours and he aids you to your feet. You stand there waiting for his next instruction.

"Close your eyes, do the same as before. Deep breaths, listen to your surroundings, but think of a time you were angry. A time that had your blood boiling, to the point you felt like you wanted everything around you to erupt in flames."

Your mind quickly flashes back to various times in your life where you felt angry, but none of them had the feeling that Qimir described. You thought back to your youth and then that's when it came.

You were a teenager. You came back from school to the apothecary your aunt owned. She was the one that took you in, raised you, and taught you how to run her shop. She always greeted you with a loving smile, but this time, she didn't.

You entered the shop to find it in disarray. You called for your aunt, hoping she would respond. But nothing.

Then you saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind the counter. You rushed over to her and she was already dead. You held her crying until the shop owner next door, came to help you.

Bounty hunters that weren't happy with a concoction your aunt gave them. In retaliation, they robbed and killed her.

The anger you felt towards them. The way you wanted to slaughter them after someone pointed them out to you a week later.

Going back to that memory, made your clench your fists and tighten your jaw. Your aunt was the only person who truly cared and loved you. And she was taken from you. Your aunt was taken from you. Rya was taken from you. You've primarily been alone and you were tired of it. You were angry that forces out of your control would take the people you cared about from you.

You wanted to take that control back.

"Amazing," you hear Qimir say and your eyes shoot open. Several rocks and boulders scattered around the hill were all suspended in the air. You feel that buzzing sensation again. It's much stronger this time.

"I told you," Qimir says, now standing behind you, whispering into your ear, "Let it take over you," he grabs your wrist, raising your arm out in front of you, "Wield and bend it."

You punch your fist out and the rocks zoom past you out into a rock pillar standing in the sea. The rocks pummel it, causing it to break and collapse.

You look over your shoulder and become incredibly aware how close Qimir is standing to you. You also feel one of his hands on your hips.

You clear your throat and take a few steps back, "That was...incredible."

"In due time, you'll be able to do much more than lift rocks," he gestures for you to follow him, "Let's eat."

____________________

You're trying to sleep. For the most part, the cave is dark, except for the little corner Qimir sits, working on his helmet.

You toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in. But nothing. Your body is pleading to rest, but your mind can't seem to get the hint. Thoughts are racing, questions and worries litter your mind.

You roll over, facing the direction where Qimir sits. He looks up, "Something wrong?"

You sigh, forgoing sleep and slipping out of the bed. You walk over to Qimir's little work station, sitting on the ground beside him, "So what is this?"

"A helmet made out of cortosis. Extremely durable. No lightsaber or blaster can get through it."

"I never knew such a thing existed," you say in awe.

"They use helmets similar to these in the Jedi academy. Help us hone in on using the Force and relying on just the Force," he states as he solders his helmet.

You look up at him in surprise, "You were a Jedi?"

"A long time ago. Things didn't work out," he says with a smirk and you can't help but snort.

"Did you just make a joke?"

He shrugs, "I can be funny sometimes."

"Has Mae seen this funny side of you?"

Qimir's smirk falls to a serious expression, "She only knows me as her Master. She doesn't know that the Qimir she knows out there," he gestures vaguely out, "is the same one here."

You bring your knees to closer to you, arms resting on your knees, "So you really think Mae will be your acolyte?"

"We have similar visions, we want to see the downfall of the Jedi. They talk of peace, but peace is a lie. There has never been and never will be peace. And I want to show them that," he reaches out and rests his hand on yours, "Together, we'll be able to show them that."

You nod, "I'm trying, Qimir. I hope you know that."

"I do. I appreciate you, for being here, for allowing this to happen."

You suddenly find yourself yawning and Qimir gives you a playful look, "Am I boring you?"

You shake your head insistently, "No, no. I just-I think my mind has finally caught up to what my body's been telling it."

Qimir rubs your hand and then pats it, "Rest. Your training continues tomorrow."

"Good night, Qimir," you say as you stand and head back to your bedroll.

"Good night," he murmurs, eyes stuck on you as you slip into bed, rolling over to face away from him. There's a pulling in his chest as he continues to watch you from afar.

He rubs at his chest, trying to soothe the ache. He knows nothing but you will soothe the ache in his chest he's still unsure about.

[melodiousmonsters]

I'm just going to start talking about my celestials each month to give you all some low effort and fun(for me) content. Also doing full illustrations of them as well, with some design notes at the end.

My interpretation of loodvigg, named Fhobia Denta Latrostratous (they're one of the three celstials with a full name at the moment) is a fair bit different from other's interpretations of it for extremely personal reasons. They're a tad bit strange, and creepy looking, but overall they are a compassionate (in their own strange way, like almost everything about them) and creative individual that's held as a role model for all shadowkind. They also have a lavender colored ring around their pupils so their eyes aren't fully pink, which is the main difference from the cannon loodvigg, along with the subtly different feathers, lower body, markings on the abdomen, and scales on the arms.

They are generally unexpressive (tonealy, the main way monsters express their emotions) yet VERY emotional. Over the years they gradually became more in control of their emotions due to sheer life experience, but they are still a little more irrational and driven by emotion than most of the other celestials.

They hate being touched, loud sudden/repetitive noises, math, people or things that get too into the meaning of art and other stuff like that, and the texture of a few things like fish meat or coarse fabrics. There are very few things they have a neutral opinion on, one of which is the taste of blood by itself.

They love keeping up their appearance in most situations, for example, their hair isn't naturally like that, they use their saliva like hair jell and specifically style it to look like that, also they would be absolutely rancid smelling and filthy with their diet of fresh meat and preferred locals of wet warm caves. They spend a lot of time cleaning themselves, which is extremely rare for monsters. They also like eating more than your average monster, they eat like a toddler because of how preoccupied with eating they get, collecting/making taxidermy and other oddities, and all critters, especially invertebrates though.

They are majorly interested in biological sciences, specifically preservation and taxonomy. They gave the celestials and dof era monsters/critters their scientific names(no I don't have scientific names for the celestials yet, I've kinda ran out of ideas for scientific names tbh). They happen to spend a lot of their time in a very large cave network with a lot of different types of caves that make good enclosures for keeping critters to study.

They care a lot about the other celestials as they are siblings and gets very angry if something bad happens to them, only if they feel it's undeserved, their empathy is a bit wacky and  inconsistent.

Also most shadow monsters tend to share in its odd mannerisms, sometimes the behaviors show up in completely non shadow affiliated monsters and no one knows why.

Disclaimer (I think that's the right word), yes you guessed right, Fhobia and the large majority of the shadow monsters are autistic, the term isn't used in universe as the monsters don't have a word for autism as they aren't that into psychology and "the way that monster is" has worked in place of a proper word historically, monsters aren't into categorizing others.

as for design notes and process here it is! all the stuff in red boxes are final.

[beatinginavoid]

The Mountain

Part 3 of 6. Part 1, Part 2

— — —

Don’t climb the mountain.

The townsfolk that lived at the foot of the mountain often made new signs and repainted old ones. All of the signs warned about the mountain, told people to beware, or blatantly said to turn around and go back.

There were rumours that the townsfolk were trying to protect Bigfoot or some other sasquatch-like being that lived up there somewhere.

This made the town an odd little hotspot for certain types of tourists, and even some film crews.

The latest traveller to the town, dressed in earthy tones, had also been drawn there to try and catch a glimpse of something legendary. The verbal warnings were brushed off. The signs were seen but ignored. Equipment was packed and ready.

“Nothing will stop me from taking this chance!” they resolutely declared.

So what happened when they climbed the mountain?

— — —

The trail up the mountain was very faint but still visible. It was obvious that at some point in the past it had been a well travelled track, worn into the mountain by innumerable feet. Then the mountain had been declared off limits, for safety reasons you had been told.

Safety reasons. Pfft. You don’t believe it, no matter how many times it was parroted to you.

It was just some local thing. It wasn’t actually illegal or anything, so here you were, trudging your way up on the track that nature had been doing its best to reclaim. Good thing your pants were sturdy, some of these plants had an attitude. You pick off a bit that got overly attached and flick it away.

There was something about hiking along a tough path or up a mountain that gave you this great sense of freedom and accomplishment. The air also seems sweeter in these places. It’s a freedom and sense of life that the big cities could never convey to you.

Leg muscles begin to burn at the steeper ascents, but you keep on. Your breathing is faster, heavier, and your heart picks up its pace, slowly getting more aggressive at banging on its cage bars. You push forward – there’s plenty of mountain left to climb and you haven’t even broken out any equipment yet.

About two-thirds of the way up was a cave. The entrance was something of an arch and didn’t face the sun whatsoever, so the whole thing was dark and covered in shadows. It offers a cool place to rest and you decide to take advantage, sitting down and breaking out a drink and snack.

Once you finish, you carefully wrap up and pack away the rubbish. No sense in spoiling the scenery, even if no one would trek up here and see it. Something echoes from deeper in the cave. Tiny little clicks and clacks of stone and the odd skittering noise of critters.

There are probably bats roosting in this cave that might have been disturbed by your pit stop. Once you leave they will settle back down. You stand up and dust off your clothes.

A low rumble echoes down from the dark depths. A cave-in? More clicks and clacks could be heard in slow intervals. They were getting progressively louder. Did you stumble onto the den of a bear?

You take a step back carefully, not wanting to trigger whatever animal is slowly stalking toward you. The darkness hiding the unknown creeps you out, and the scare factor activates your adrenal glands. The adrenaline floods your system. Your breathing gets faster and more shallow as your heart begins to race. Another careful step.

A loud growl reverberates off the cave walls. One more step back. Two brightly glowing yellow spots appear for a second before they rush at you. Something grasps your ankle and pulls hard, sending you crashing on your back to the ground. Your shirt rides up to your armpits and your back is scraped up as you’re dragged further into the cave.

Gurgles and growls echoed all around, and there is nothing you can do but go along, captive of this unknown beast. You close your eyes, not that it makes a lick of difference, and open them only when you come to a stop.

A faint light shines through your closed eyelids. All you can hear is your shaky breathing, the odd drip of water, your pounding heart thumping in your chest and head. Foetid air washes over your face and you open your eyes to see a creature you’ve only seen as stone statues perched atop churches and other grand buildings.

A gargoyle. A gargoyle?!

You can’t decide if this is better or worse than a sasquatch. You wonder if trying to reach for your camera is even remotely worth it. The grip disappears from your ankle and you instinctively scramble backwards, eager to put space between you and a creature that shouldn’t exist.

A stalagmite halts your escape. The gargoyle creeps forward slowly, and this time you can see it in all of its creepy glory. Two large fangs jutting skyward from its lower lip reach to slanted, predatory eyes. Small, ineffective wings twitch and flutter as a short tail with a whipcord tip lashes behind it.

A clawed hand reaches out, one sharp tip touching the sole of your shoe. Your foot starts to feel stiff and heavy and, to your horror, your whole foot and ankle appears to be stone. It scrapes across the cave floor horribly.

It pokes your other foot and it becomes dead weight as well, slowing you down as you try to get around the stalagmite. The gargoyle grins wickedly and easily catches up to you. It pounces and you flinch violently, throwing your arms up to cover your face. You feel a poke on a finger of each hand. You watch as your hands slowly petrify from your fingernails to your wrists.

Your hands and feet are now worse than shackles, the weight almost pinning you in place. The gargoyle appears in front of you again and slashes at your chest, rending your clothes into shreds and exposing the whole front of your torso. You gasp harshly.

The gargoyle pushes you flat on your back and your breath hitches. You look down, but you still see unmarked flesh, not a fleck of stone emanating from the clawed hand holding you down. The beast grins and gives a disturbing growly laugh.

Its hand moves up and down as your heart beats powerfully in fear. It moves the hand, tracing around the pumping muscle keeping you alive. The skin within the traced area turns hard and grey. You take in a sharp breath and there’s an odd feeling as that part of your chest doesn’t move with the rest.

Another tap of a claw and the stone portion of skin disintegrates, exposing muscles and bones. Your brain is screaming at you to move away however you can, but your body isn’t obeying, frozen in place. The claw traces the edges of the missing skin and the newly exposed part petrifies. Another poke and a good chunk of your sternum, part of your left ribs, and all of the muscles in between are suddenly gone. None of it hurt.

There, in plain view, is the sac that protects your heart, along with the edge of your left lung. Your heart is quickly pulsing and you can’t help but stare in fear and wonder. The tip of a claw pokes through the top of the sac and glides down. Both of its hands then ever so delicately peel away the sac, leaving your racing pump fully visible.

Each beat looks, and feels, very forceful. It squeezes, expands, and contracts as if it is trying to punch out an opponent, swiftly and aggressively dancing within your chest cavity. It’s amazing to think this one muscle is so vital to your life, and now you can see it working hard, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of your captor.

A slate grey hand reaches out, clawed digits delicately curling around your heart. The organ is lifted up, the apex now pointing to the ceiling. Your breathing is fast, shallow, and still shaky, your life literally in the monster’s hands.

Your heart pounds harder, faster, doing its best to work around the grip impairing it. It feels unlike any sensation you’ve ever felt before. You start feeling lightheaded as your pump fights against gravity and the blood wanting to follow it, the ventricles unable to fully fill.

A claw tip gives the apex the lightest touch. The pulsing tip of your heart takes on the now familiar grey and heaviness that means petrification. The apex is as still as stone while the rest of the muscle continues to move rhythmically.

The gargoyle gently places your heart back where it belongs and pokes the stony apex. The petrification spreads. So far it doesn’t seem to be impeding any function, but you know that won’t last. A forked tongue slithers from its maw and licks over the ventricles, atrium, and aorta.

It’s one of the strangest ticklish sensations you’ve ever felt.

The tongue wraps around your aorta and gently squeezes, just enough for you to feel it as the blood rushes by. Another tap, more growing stone, and this time you can feel the result. Your stone hands try and fail to reach up to your chest as it suddenly feels tight, a sharp ache zinging from the pump.

Another tap, more stone. Your ventricles bulge with every cardiac cycle as part of them are completely incapable of moving. The muscle is working harder to push out the blood, but you somehow know that it’s failing at the task.

A gleeful grin precedes another tap, another spike of pain. Almost half of the vulnerable organ is rock solid. Each beat causes the top half to violently flail with every distended thump, though the heavy part keeps it firmly in place.

The pace picks up even more, leaving you gasping for every breath as your heart strains under the load. Another tap makes you whimper, the pain increasing. The atrium and flesh halves of the ventricles balloon out with every fast contraction, straining to the maximum to get the job done.

It feels as if an elephant is sitting on your chest, crushing everything under an enormous weight.

Another tap, then another. You are beyond dizzy, your vision fading in and out of blurriness. Your chest is nothing but a sea of pain, poured into a bottle far too small to hold the volume of liquid. You gasp and wheeze, only one third of your heart functioning.

The part that is still flesh continues to pound erratically for several seconds until it stops, fluttering in place.

Your vision turns black and it feels like your throat has closed, no air getting through. Consciousness fades as your heart quivers in v-fib.

The gargoyle chuckles and petrifies the rest of the shuddering pump, releasing your aorta. It grips the statue that your heart has become, every blood vessel seemingly carved with the utmost care by a true professional, and rips it from your chest.

It carries its prize to a section of the cave where dozens of heart statues are displayed on a carved out shelf. It places the newest statue in line and grins proudly, forked tongue licking its lips.

Don’t climb the mountain. 

— — —

3 parts down, 3 to go. I'm having fun finding various supernatural ways for things to end. I hope any readers out there are having just as much fun reading about it!

[loverboykirstein]

biting the bullet // kinktober pt. 4/5

sam (sdv) x afab! reader

wc: 7,574

mdni -> warnings: mentions of addiction/neglect/throwing up/mental illness, unprotected sex, breeding, possession

***“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”.***

the mismatched pattering of his heartbeat in his ears began to close his throat, chest cavity torn apart by the weight of a passing phrase. 

“can we do tomorrow? i’m taking them to the look-out on my bike tonight,”. 

what..? 

it was happening again. he let his guard down for just a moment, a fraction of a second, and his lungs and heart and every nerve ending were spilling out of his ripped apart being, invisible to all but him. 

you..seb..? of course you want seb. everyone does. we each have a role, right? just like mom? like dad? 

is there something that wrong with me? how do i atone for my sins in my past life to mediate the bullshit i’ve drug into this one? that’s the only explanation, right? 

it followed him everywhere, a sick joke that didn’t even have a punchline. in its wake, it simply stole his soul away, piece by piece, a sick treasure hunt of trying to rebuild and rebuild and rebuild. 

for what cause? to sit up and stare at his ceiling, snapping the rubber band on his wrist over and over and over again, a piss-poor attempt to calm himself down that never seemed to work. 

what was he supposed to do? he hadn’t even been handed the short end of the stick, simply tempted with it like a dumb dog and locked in a collar for the rest of time as punishment for his greed. 

the desperate, aching, bruising desire for a life. 

to be more than a secondary, to figure out who he was. 

to fall in love and not get hurt. 

to begin to trust without losing his joints in the process, left a brittle mess of grinding bones at the end of it all. 

to make the decision to live for himself, not for the need of the image of others. 

to make it out of a war-torn cage, to never follow in his fathers footsteps. 

to build a family that was wanted, unlike his. 

he wanted that with you. 

he never knew why he existed, or what the point was. 

then he heard your laugh for the first time, handing him an extra maple bar you had made and he nearly collapsed at the life that made his fingers numb and filled his lungs instantaneously. 

but now,  quiet trembles rustled through his bloodied fingers, too busy taking out anything he could on anything he could. 

near the edge of the valley, beyond leah’s quaint home lied a hidden little cave, behind bushes and trees and the occasional critter or two. 

his blood stained parts of the exposed rock, the only thing he could hit without feeling bad. far enough away, no one ever finding him out there. 

for no one to hear his violent sobs, his screams out to whoever was behind all of this, why, why, why. over and over and over, prayers for a reason as to why things had to be this way. 

but if he wasn’t home to set the table, his mother would lose her temper before the oven timer even rang. the sun finding its way back to the never-ending horizon was her queue, the so-called ‘acceptable’ time of day to numb the sorrow crawling near, pushing it onto the son she never wanted in the first place. 

which left vincent to his own devices, luckily not alone, but he knew he wasn’t doing well, penny not focused enough on teaching, more on playing, as she glued herself to the novel of the day, explicit enough to be banned from the library entirely. in front of the kids? really? 

so he would swallow his heartbeat, coughing up a stable voice through his constricted windpipe that built a facade good enough to fool just about everyone. 

he sat on his floor for hours. the hum of the washing machine was echoing through the paper thin walls. 

everything was else felt silent, felt quiet. 

except the unrelenting grave digging itself wide open in the middle of his messy bedroom. 

because things weren’t quiet. dad was fighting for god knows what, narrowly missing shrapnel with each breath. 

mom was mixing pills and booze, manic-depressive in nature and waiting until the very edge before it was too late. 

but the worst was knowing that you and seb weren’t being quiet. you weren’t asleep in your bed, cuddled up with your cat under a quilt and your childhood blanket held close. 

you were clinging onto him, body pressed against his. sharing a spot of the world that he had only seen once, seeing the city ahead of him that he could barely remember being a part of. 

the most he could remember was his childhood therapist, the only one who saw past his so-called laxidasical disposition and class-clown behavior. struggling with reading, a common case of adhd and anxiety all jumbled up inside of a first grader. 

a hint of dyslexia, and the guilt of his mothers cries he could hear against the locked doors, mourning a life without children. 

nothing a child should have to bear, tiptoeing as to not crack the paper thin ice that made up his floorboards. 

craving attention from the ones who created him, from the one who carried him in her womb. 

father rarely around, making up for the lack of stability in the form of a paycheck and health insurance. 

reprimand after reprimand, the only way to get his mother to look him in the eyes. 

acting out as a cry for help, at validation, at fucking anything. 

from the comedy covered pain,  he learned to always know how to make someone laugh. to make sure they could exhale a little bit of whatever was holding them back, even if it meant that he had to let it settle in his lungs so it wouldn’t fall back into theirs one day. 

he promised himself that he would never open up the small little lock on his exterior for anyone. ever. 

maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe you tripped the wires first, but the alarm bells never rang. no emergency protocol, no swot team to barricade his entire being shut. 

you left the door open, not even bothering to worry about the heat being on, letting all the cold air in. 

or maybe you didn’t even know, the key hidden in the corner of your room, under your bed mixed with dust and other lost memories. 

how was he supposed to face you again? he had planned on inviting you to the band’s first show, your excitement bouncing off the walls at the thought, when he mentioned the idea. 

even though they only had a few songs, rough drafts at best, poor attempts at writing lyrics in an attempt to give abi and seb the spotlight. 

also in fear, knowing someone would put the pieces together, that someone would connect the dots. that they would see the unrepairable shattered glass of his being behind it all. 

that you would figure it out, never looking at him the same way again. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

weeks flew by in aching stretches, avoiding contact with anyone,  his only bandaid over the wound. declining invitations that could maybe bring you close, making your laugh ring in his ears or the smell of your perfume that would replace his train of thought. 

all his time spent sleeping, the sun becoming his worst enemy. 

braving the light only upon vincent’s summertime pleas, just to lie and say that dad was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. 

flickering his eyes between his brother and the beach entrance, hoping, praying, you wouldn’t appear behind him, or anyone for that matter. not strong enough to explain his absence, to explain the proverbial last straw that chewed up and spit out his barricaded soul. 

you would stop by, questioning his mother on his wordless disappearance. she didn’t have an honest answer, blaming it on music school? 

weeks turned to months, watching the seasons pass by. he couldn’t figure out why it hurt so goddamn bad. 

trying to process two decades worth of grief, wrapped up in his dna as he grew inside his mothers unwanting body. 

every effort, every last ditch grasp with a mildly politically incorrect joke, another brick laid on his wall of lies. 

why did this become his downfall? the dramatic, be all end all suffocating downfall. 

what did his subconscious craft while he wasn’t fixing up the cracks? too busy lost in your stories that filled him with a mix of worry and thrill all at the same time, the small scrunch of your nose, and the way you bit your lip when you lost your train of thought. 

two weeks after the attempt harvey made to check up on him, to ‘have a talk’, a government letter arrived through the mail slot on the door. 

kent was coming home. dad is coming home. dad is coming… home..? 

arriving in a week, realizing he had a week to build the wall back up. 

to rid his eyes of the rubbed-raw corners, saltwater leaving a red hue around his lashes. 

to cover up his sullen cheeks, too fucked to get up and take care of himself beyond the minimum. 

the hole in his chest mirrored the grave he had to step around when he got the courage to move, too deep and vacant to see the bottom. 

he couldn’t figure out why you were the one to kick all of this off, you weren’t even that close? sure, friends who saw each other all the time, near habitual meetings that would worry the other when routines changed. 

but you weren’t together, did he even have the right to blame you? 

you didn’t cause every ounce of pain he had endured through the fabric of his life, you didn’t stitch pain into the pattern of his fingerprints. 

but every goddamn thought came back to you. you, you, you. 

all he fucking wanted was you. 

it was pathetic, a childlike reaction to not getting something he made no effort to get. to try and make, to try and prove himself to you. 

you were probably waiting for the next rain by now, already modifying your cabin to accommodate your soon to be husband. 

FUCK. 

the 7 letters managed to make him ill, rushing past the all consuming ending cornering him against his wall. 

knees melting the cold tile, reaching to turn on the sink and the fan so that no one could hear him try and expel the hell of that idea. 

that he would get to sleep next to you every night, he would want love songs about you, he would get the chance to see the most intimate parts of you and so much more. 

everything sam wanted, gone. stripped away. 

but it was never his to begin with, was it? 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

a blur of days meshed together, world now sideways as a version of his mother he had never seen cleaned every corner of the house, paint chips repaired, hiding every dark secret she tucked away in his absence. 

the dread made him want to hurl, want to really disappear. how was he supposed to face a version of his father he didn’t know at all? 

two bags in hand at the doorstep, his mother and vincent sobbing in unison at their reunion. but he saw it. the visions in his eyes, the forced image of being alive was like looking in a mirror. 

he didn’t know what to do. he was stripped of anything he ever knew. any hopes of his life ahead. 

except his was lost in a real war, fighting for some sort of cause that came with a paycheck and praise and thank-you’s. 

sam’s was a selfish mess, ruining himself over the idea of something that wasn’t real over a goddamn sentence. 

a look of unblinking eyes, both bloodshot and sad, a nod of mutual understanding but also complete confusion. 

kent wondering what went wrong with his eldest as he was gone, mouth running dry when he recognized the look plastered on his son. 

a hot meal, the first real one kent had eaten without the threat of an air strike in god knows how long, mixed with his favorite beer he could finally share with his eldest. 

despite the distaste, sam took the opportunity to drink, no reprimands on something that would make him feel less. 

but it seemed to do the opposite as he stepped out into the pouring rain, clouds appearing out of nowhere as the sun took its leave. 

letting the cold, wet air settle the heat of panic in his stomach, he jumped half to death when his father tapped his arm with an open beer bottle. 

“take it,” kent tipped the bottle towards him, watching the rain patter on the glass. 

he nodded, nearly losing his grip as he swung back far too heavy of a drink, not wanting to taste it anymore. it tasted like guilt, disappointment. 

“kid, spill it. i didn’t stay alive to see the same look in your eyes,” kent’s demand knocked sam’s brain around in his skull, stunting his breathing and blacking out his vision. 

“what?” he coughed, knowing it wouldn’t work worth a damn on his unhappy father, who seemed to already know what happened, yet equally clueless as he had never asked about sam’s feelings before. 

“samson, c’mon kid. i-” he sighed, eyes tracking the rain on the porch make its way to the sidewalk. “i want to help you. i want to be a father, at least a friend. i realized that, alone out there. i can smell it on you, so talk,”. 

a lingering, sulfur filled silence crushed his passageways, nearly collapsing into his father like a small child after scraping his knee on the playground. 

‘i want to be a father’. 

“look kid, if you don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” kent leaned up against the painted exterior of what felt like a new home. “just, whatever it is, you can’t run away forever. it doesn’t wor-”

“I DONT KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME, DAD,”. 

the first time he had ever spoken up to his father, that he had raised his voice. 

a cracked voice still managed to let the sorrow spill, pooling over his lash line and mixing with the rain. 

“i can’t fucking take it anymore-i-FUCK,”. 

his syllables were broken, caught between desperate gasps for air in his first cry for help. 

paper mache hands disappearing under the diluted salt, crouching down as if to save them. 

“she’s-” his words barely coherent, choking up his pathetic admittance. “she’s probably already gotten that stupid fucking pendant god damn it all,”. 

broken laughter, a mix of every feeling known to man, choked up with gravel and acid. 

“i never fucking did anything about it, either,” running his arthritic bones through his sopping wet hair, he looked up at the man who had just been through the troubles of war. 

real war. 

not the emotional one, the near psychosis-like state of a few months passed. 

“so do something about it,”. kent was cut and dry, the only way he knew how to cover up his heartache. 

his eldest, the one he held the most guilt for, the most agony for. the one he prayed for every night, the one who was his first thought every time a bullet flew past a little too close. 

he didn’t want to break, knowing that if his son watched him collapse at the sight, he would never forgive himself. 

“what?” nothing more than a scoff, but a halt of accidental waterboarding at the gasps for air. 

“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”. 

his fathers gruff tone, eyes sharp and stern sent his feet moving, running. 

barely able to see in the dark, pouring rain, letting nothing but his burning blood carry his body to the place you called home. 

i have to fix this i have to fix this i have to- 

over and over and over again, repeating like a broken record, the only words left engrained. 

even though you didn’t know that anything needed to be fixed, he needed to fix things for him. he couldn’t look at his father the same if he at least didn’t try. 

soaking wet, hair in his eyes and catching on his tear stained blinks, out of breath and on your front porch. 

the only shield left was your front door, metal handle illuminated from your porch light. 

do it, you already got here, do it. 

scattered shallow breaths from running turned to shaky heavy ones, raising his still-bruised hand to your wooden door. 

two knocks, two seconds, two more. the way he always did before his self-inflicted imprisonment. 

“sam..?” you rubbed your eyes, shocked awake by his unnerving knocks in the dark. “what are you-come in, you’re soaked,”. 

you looked panicked, not bothering to worry about anything other than him being soaking wet and out of breath. 

he took his sopping wet shoes off at your door, leaving them to sit on your porch next to your rain boots.  with less than a passing second, you had disappeared and returned with a towel and a change of clothes. 

“sam what the fuck-are you-” running around in your pajamas, a short pair of flannel shorts and a tshirt that nearly covered them entirely, turning the heat on and running a kettle on the stove, his drying eyes were too focused on you. 

questioning why you weren’t out as late as you used to, knowing marlon had found you passed out cold on one too many occasions. 

“y/n it’s-it’s fine, i uh-” he stood still, shaking his head as if to force himself to blink. 

“go, go change before you freeze half to death in my house,” busy standing on your tip-toes to reach the top cabinet, barely able to grab the box of tea you kept specifically for him. 

peeling his eyes from your strained calves and your ass peeking out of the bottom of your sleepwear, he hurried off the other way towards your bathroom. 

the sight of your overly exposed legs was enough for him to twitch, his mind such a goddamn mess that he couldn’t really even remember what he was going to say. 

suffocating in your perfume that had soaked into your walls, he forced his rain soaked clothes off his shivering body. the purple hue on his lips, aching joints. 

hands on either side of the counter, flushed cheeks and sunken eyes, sam caught his breath, stealing any strength he could from the hardwood holding his hands. 

i have to fix this. don’t be a fucking bitch. suck it the fuck up, you fucking moron. 

hanging his clothes over the bathtub, towel still in hand, he caught sight of you pacing back and forth in your kitchen. 

chewing on your thumbnail, something you only did when you were stressed. brows furrowed, only snapped out of your endless loop by the kettle whistling loud. 

“better?” you asked, back turned to him as you poured him a mug full, adding a bag of his favorite tea from the traveling merchant in to simmer. 

“y-yeah. thank you,” rustling his hair with the towel, worn and faded, trying to rid it of any extra sorrow carried inside. 

“sit, mister,” you pointed at your couch, eyes stern almost like a mothers. 

he did as he was told, slowly caving in on himself as he felt like a bigger burden than ever before. 

“here, i’ll be right back,”. 

gently handing him the warm blue ceramic mug, the one vincent had given you after you spent your afternoons helping him learn to read, the corners of your mouth turned up slightly at the lax in sam’s shoulders once his joints found warm relief. 

grabbing a comb from under the bathroom sink, you came back wordlessly, floorboards creaking below your hurried feet. 

in a matter of minutes, you went from fast asleep on the couch, tv paused  from lack of activity when asked, cuddled up closely to your cat and your blanket, to wide awake and flustered, worried beyond belief. 

you knew that kent had come home, and you had planned to introduce yourself in a few days, allowing him time to settle in. 

rattling your skull was the fear that something horrid had happened, so bad that sam had run in the fucking rain to your cabin of all places after the endless era of radio silence. 

“so,” you sighed standing behind him, a small shadow casting over him as your body blocked the light in your entry way. “you gonna tell me what the hell has been going on?” 

your words were harsher than you wanted them to be, but fuck man, you hadn’t seen him in months, no matter how many attempts you made. 

pulling his head back a little, you began to comb through his incredibly tangled hair, feeling him dissolve under the slightly bit of affection. 

“can-can i ask a question..first?” his eyes were closed, mindlessly rubbing his thumb into his opposite palm. 

“only, if you pinky promise to tell me everything after,”. you stuck out your pinky, and he didn’t hesitate to reach yours. locking in his fate, peeling away the plastic film that was the only bit of his shield still remaining, your fingers crossed and released as the promise was sealed. 

“how are uh, how are you and seb?” it felt like blood came up as he spoke, riddled with sorrow filled expectations of what your response would be. 

“what?” you hands stopped their attempt to comb through his tangled blonde mess, stunned at the question. “were..fine? have you not talked to him recently?” 

huh? 

“no i uh- no i haven’t. i thought you guys were like…” 

“sam, you don’t think we’re dating, do you?” 

you-

“you’re..not?” covering his face with his hands, trying to hold any bit left of him together. 

“no? sam i-”. your breaths were deep, focusing all your downright confusion into releasing the knots through his hair. 

“oh,”. 

oh. 

“alright, now that your speculations on my nonexistent sex life are over can you please explain why you are here right now?” 

a black hole, all consuming, everything everywhere all at the same time. the inside of his skull, spinning, spinning, spinning. 

“i um-fuck, im so sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry,”. leaning his head back, fully into your overworked fingertips, soaking in every ounce of touch he could. 

“why are you sorry? sam you didn’t do anything, other than give me a goddamn heart attack,”. 

how are you not mad? 

how are you so casual about this? 

“i-” 

“if this is because of seb i swear to god i’m going to beat the shit out of you samson,” he could feel you shake your head in disbelief, as if he should have known or as if there was this big sign that was supposed to be placed in front of him that he managed to look right through. 

“y/n, i-”

he couldn’t cough the words he wanted out, embarrassment flooding his entire being, shame mixing in at a searing rate. 

he felt you silently leave, pulling his airways closed the further you went. 

so pathetic, so goddamn fucking pathetic. cant even tell her, what am i doing- 

“sammy, come back from whatever planet you're on please,” you were sat on the coffee table, knees touching his. two shot glasses in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. 

you set them both on the table, filling them each to the brim. dark amber syrup, so foolishly innocent, burning its way all the way past your lips. 

as if your voice didn’t make him dizzy enough, the liquor you kept on hand was always the strongest, outshining anything else he had ever had before. 

“each shot, we each share something. okay?” 

handing him his glass, clinking them together and kicking it back. 

he winced at the burn, the warmth bubbling in his stomach. 

he watched you drink it far too easily, better than you did the last time you drank together. your eyes, your soul looked tired, gone unnoticed in his own self-pity. 

soon the heater was shut off, both of you warm enough from the poison seeping into mutual bloodstreams. 

shot after shot, losing track in storytelling as he listened to you speak on your adventures in the newly found desert, all of the new weapons you learned to use. 

how he had tried to teach alex to skateboard, his first time getting high, struggling to find any reason to talk about himself when you were sat in front of him, inches away. 

he was simply infatuated, beyond infatuated, soaking up every breath to make up for lost time.

“oh! sammy, sammy,” you nearly whined, placing a hand on either one of his thighs. “will you pleaseee tell me where you’ve been all this time?” 

your slightly jutted lip, flushed cheeks and steadfast grip on his legs froze his surroundings, eyes locked on your pleading heart. 

just fucking bite the damn bullet. 

“i-seb canceled on me, that night he took you to the lookout. and i-” he leaned forward, heaviest sigh blowing fear out of the way. “i realized i couldn’t handle that. i couldn’t handle you being with-”

“sam-”

“i couldn’t handle seeing you with someone else when all i ever wanted was you, i just,”. 

“sam-”. 

“i knew that wasn’t fair to you and i just, i didn’t realize how much i-”

guilt ridden words cut short, your liquor stained lips shutting his. entire body pushed into him, not even enough time for him to fully register what was happening. 

is she..? 

“you’re fucking stupid,” you pulled away for a moments time to mutter that to him, pressing your forehead against his. “it has been you this whole time, idiot”. 

what? 

“what?” his eyes forced rapid blinks, unable to process what you had just said, what you had just done. 

“i-god damn it all sam LISTEN TO ME, i never went with seb that night, i wanted to do that with you,”. 

shock was the only way to think of it, the world frozen on its titled axis as it listened to your confession, to his heart that was on the brink of collapse as it beat so hard it shook the ground. 

a few short stutters, words falling flat. months of self-imposed torture, losing everything he knew, breaking his father’s heart, really was selfish, too scared to do anything. 

if he had swallowed his fear, faced the music, done something, anything. 

don’t let this get away. don’t fuck it up. don’t fuck it up. 

lifting his hands from his awkward side, roughly placed on either side of your hips. 

using a newfound strength, he pulled you from the table, right into his lap. 

falling into his wordless surrender, you let your body collapse into his, legs straddled on either side. 

your clothed cunt immediately rolled against his length, pulling all of the blood from his body to an aching throb under you. 

addicted to the sheer desperation in the air, gravity itself forced your lips back together, making up for months of time apart. 

feverish from the first touch, wildfire to a field of wilted grass, burning oxygen faster than it could be replaced. 

each heavy breath another exposed confession, his grip pushing you into him even harder another apology for leaving you for so long. 

tongues fighting for a chance at forgiveness, soaking up the words that were too hard to exhale. 

he let out a soft whine at your separation, instant drop of his stomach as you pulled away from his bruised lips. 

dropping your head to the side, he shivered under your heated breaths against the side of his neck. heartbeat nearly visible, your swollen lips pressed slow praises down, not leaving an inch untouched. 

opposite hand keeping his jaw turned, you trailed your tongue back up, a smirk hitting your lips at the twitch you felt against your spread legs. 

no permission, no hesitation, just a gasp from his aching lungs as you sucking a mark of sheer possession in the form of broken blood vessels. grazing your teeth along with your vampiric latch, leaving a bruise dark enough no amount of makeup could cover. 

your hips now indented with the lines of his fingerprints, permanently etched into your skeletal structure. 

“bedroom,” you whispered into his ear, sin coating your voice in blatant need. 

body driven by nothing but lust, he stood from the couch as you wrapped your legs around him, one hand cupping your ass while the other was itching to open the door to a new life. 

it was all happening so fucking fast. 

you wanted him. 

this whole time, you wanted him. 

letting your head hit the plush of your bedding, he loomed over you with two devilish sparkles in his eyes. 

one glistening as his broken heart glued itself back together, your touch ensuring that every piece was perfectly aligned. 

the other shimmering in primal greed, suffocating any thought other than possession. to not lose the chance to keep you all to himself. 

a needy look twitched in your jutted-lip pout, a wordless plea for him to take what was his this whole. time. 

now fluid joints, unphased by the ache in his tortured hands, hooked under your shorts, no underwear in between. 

warm fingers against exposed skin, the small bit of decency on the floor with one swift effort. 

cold air hit your already wet cunt, a small trail of your sticky pleads following your clothing to the floor. 

“can i..?” he looked up at you for a moments time, not wanting to lose sight of your glistening slit like his life depended on it. 

you nodded, not letting the small voice of insecurity speak up before your aching heart did, unprepared for intimacy to this degree. 

or intimacy at all for that matter. 

a touchy subject, too used to getting hurt. leaving your life behind in the smog coated city, one night stands back in the poorly painted walls of your studio apartment. 

you thought you knew what love was, the overwhelming panic, the world ending promises to be better, to be prettier, to be someone they wanted. 

forcing the thought out of your mind, each synapse in your aching brain going fuzzy at the first swipe of his hesitant tongue. 

it had been so long since you had been touched, too afraid to ruin a friendship in such a small town. to not overstep your place as the new addition in an already woven community. 

too exhausted to do it yourself most of the time, the thoughts only settling in when it came to him. 

a single brush of your fragile bud make your ears buzz, the sheer ache to feel it again, and again, and again. 

silent prayers answered, waters tested, sam’s tongue writing apologies and months worth of confessions in your pooling slick, feeding him the first meal of his life. 

placing your hand over your mouth, muffled whimpers replaced exhales, sharp inhales through your nose not providing nearly enough oxygen to your racing heart. 

“don’t hide, pretty girl,” his slightly slurred voice stuck like honey, pulling your hand away without a second thought. 

his plea a few octaves deeper, your walls clenching around nothing at all and with his drunken confidence. 

like he would die of hunger if he strayed away any longer, you lost sight of him between your legs, tongue teasing your pleading hole. 

“sammy please,” you couldn’t do anything but whine, a fistful of his hair in your shaking fingertips. 

pushing his flushed face deeper, nose pressed against your clit, shoving his tongue in as far as he could. 

muffled vibrations of his satisfied moans shook your core to near collapse, the slight movement of his nose making your legs quiver against the side of his head. 

thighs increasing their strength, ensuring he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, the telltale that you were already on the brink of release. 

the first of many, just the beginning to a man who would never forgive himself for leaving you for what felt like an eternity. 

no time for warning, words broken into a mess of jumbled up letters, your salty-sweet slick flooding his overworked taste buds at an alarming rate. 

nerve endings twitching, spine forced to endure repeated bolts of serenity with each spasm. all ten of his fingers bruising your thighs as he held onto them so tightly, a feeble attempt to keep you still until you rode out your first high of the night, your first in so, so long. 

finally able to breathe at the weakening of your hips, legs shakier than you would have liked them to be. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, more than enough of you on him, and he loved it. 

meeting your blown out eyes, you couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbled over, dragging his long lost smile out of the dark with each little sound. 

both hands covering your face, embarrassed, nervous. 

how a man like him, so gorgeous, so gentle, would want a single thing to do with you, you didn’t understand. 

hiding away your feelings for him for what felt like ages, heart shredded when he took his reclusive leave, without a word on why. 

weeks spent spiraling, wondering what you did wrong, how you could fix what you didn’t even know. 

“nuh-uh, no thank you,” his tsks were so thick, so heavy as he pulled both your hands away from your face, eyes softening just enough at the sight of your embarrassment. 

“do you want to keep going?” question so very gentle, not assuming like you had always known. 

and it was fucking hot. 

a quick nod, a little shy at the urgency in your reaction, but needing him anywhere was all you could think of. 

you watched him stand beside you, a better angle to strip himself of his clothes. 

nearly drooling at the sight, you could have died and gone to the highest bits of heaven, and it wouldn’t compare to the feeling of him looking down at you with his hand on his cock, thumb tracing over his pre-coated pink tip, silver bar glistening. 

oh fuck. 

each scar that covered his arms, each muscle contracting with labored breaths, made a whimper fall out of you, like a bitch in heat. 

“needy girl, aren’t you?” he climbed on top of you, urging you to sit up just a little so he could tear away the fabric hiding the rest of you. “haven’t been touched in so. very. long. huh?” 

usually, patronizing teases would have angered you to the third degree, but it had you melting into his palms like ice cream on a midsummers day. 

feeling his fingertips graze over your whole body, thumbs baaareely drawing circles around your nipples, another guilty whine for more, more of him. 

“think you can take me without stretching ya out?” his demeanor turned a little cocky, nearly pulling a bratty remark out of you, just to run his tongue against your over-sensitive chest. 

palming one tit, mouth fixed on the other, you nodded without thinking. a muffled ‘mhm’ and a handful of hair, pulling his fixated mouth away. 

“tell me if it hurts, okay?” a sliver of seriousness caught in the bubbling excitement pooling inside his blood, you knew he really did mean it. 

length in hand, he lightly traced his leaking head up and down your already swollen cunt, a small attempt at teasing you before he plunged inside your screaming walls, begging to pull him in and not let go. 

both hitching in air through gritted teeth, holding onto the last molecule you could manage as he slid inside, so. goddamn. slow. 

maybe in fear of hurting you, but really trying to gather himself at the sheer grip you had on him, regretting his own choice to not stretch you at least a little before letting his greed take over. 

so warm, so wet, better than any drug he had ever taken, or ever would. 

“s-sam, m-more, please?” you begged, batting your lashes ever so slowly to not give him a choice, but needing him so, so much deeper. 

any sense of restraint lost as your pleading eyes surrendered to him, and who was he to say no? 

he would never say no to you, not after what he did. 

an obedient dog, snapping his hips into you, flush against you. knocking the wind straight out of you, only thing you could feel was him. 

settling in, head dropping as he lost all of his strength, losing it all to restraining his urge to breed you right then and there. 

“fff-fucking hell,” his sputters were whiny, causing a slight spasm around him. the sound of struggling, barely keeping it together drove you fucking. insane. 

feeling full, feeling whole, wanting nothing more than for him to destroy you, molding your walls to the shape of him. 

“sammy, please,” you shifted your hips slightly, pushing against his hip bones, brushing the sweet, sinfully sweet spot you don’t think had ever been reached. 

his blacked out eyes, taking photos of the scene to never forget how goddamn angelic you looked under him, committing a cardinal sin. 

white-knuckle grip on your sides, bruising your bone marrow with his desperate grasp. 

jaw slacked, eyes locked on the mess of slick you coated him in, a slight clench in his jaw. 

free of his chain link leash, a feral animal let free for the first time since its previous carnation, learning to live again. 

focused on nothing else but you, your pleas for him to claim you, to mark up your insides far beyond recognition, begging for him at every breath beyond this moment in time. 

his whimpers mixed with low hums and exhales with each violating thrust, veins pulsing, a sick smirk pulling on his lips as he ruined you. 

instinctually squirming away, the urge of another trip over the edge already settling in, overstimulation hitting you like a bullet train without its lights on. 

feeling the slight quiver of your legs against his hyperactive body, a hand released your side, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder without a falter in rhythm. 

held hostage, you swore you could feel him in your chest as he fucked into you again, and again, and again. 

hypnotized by the furrow of his brow, glossy lips swollen from his hyper focused bite, holding back his own profanities as he tried to hold back his own release, never wanting the moment to end. 

if heaven existed, it was buried deep in your cunt, chest bouncing with each relentless thrust. it was the dig of your nails, grasping on to whatever they could. 

it was your fucked out eyes, watering at the corners in desperate need, in submission to his every want, his every dream. 

since that very first day, you were the thought at hand when he was fucking into it, edging himself for hours as punishment for thinking of you that way. 

but your innocent glances, and hard to read gestures every friday, the time you wore a that dress, dancing along with abi at the flower dance. 

taking the masculine role while dressed in a white skirt, a little too short for such a windy day, excusing himself to the depths of the forest. 

back against an oak tree, knowing seb would come looking for him at any moment, and god did it excite him in such a twisted way. 

he couldn’t fuck his fist hard enough to get the thought of taking you then and there out of his mind, flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side. 

making you carry his cum around all day, slowly dripping out of you as you spoke to his mother. 

but this, the real thing, was better than any fantasy he could ever imagine, the sound of your sopping wet cunt pornograohically loud, each wall of your unpainted cabin holding onto your sobs for more, more, more. 

hiccups caught in your throat, back arched and nails leaving crescent moon cuts in his arms as your second snap pulled him in harder, deeper. 

watching you fall apart was the sweetest thing, spilling out onto your bedding as he refused to let up. 

a dangerous game, knowing he was teetering on his own edge from the start. 

“m-‘ya gotta let me know if this is gonna be-”, his words cut off by the purposeful squeeze of your walls, offering a raised eyebrow and your bottom lip bitten. 

nearly knocking the wind right out of you, he flipped you onto your stomach, forcing you onto your knees. 

“you think it’s funny, huh?” leaning over you to purr in your ear, only focusing on how empty you felt, needing his pierced tip beating the life out of your cunt. 

“mm-no,” you shook your head, face red, pushing your ass into him just a smidge, hoping he would grant you your wordless wish. 

a palm to your ass, red hot and stinging, a startled gasp slipping out as he lined himself up with your dripping hole. 

without a warning, his hips were pressed against your ass, one hand forcing your arch deeper, the other holding your hip to keep you upright as he rammed into you. 

mine, mine, mine. 

over, and over, and over. 

sobs of overwhelming everything spilled out of you, moans nearly cut silent by the permanent bruising to every inch of you. 

sucking him off so well, pulling him back in with a force greater than gravity itself, his jumbled profanities mumbled under his breath only making it that much harder to hold on to reality. 

“wanna-” stuttered breathing, feeling the twitch of his cock buried inside you flash like a warning sign. “wanna fill you up- m-make you mi-mine,”. 

higher pitched, through clenched teeth, you had never heard a man so shattered, so beyond steady that his eyes blurred. 

the most you could offer was the push of your ass against him, too close to your own unraveling again  to remember a single word. 

his hand slid from your hip to your swollen, battered clit, squirming against him as the warm pad of his middle finger matched his sacrilegious pace. 

a matter of seconds is all it took, suffocating his overworked length that much tighter, too lost in your own ecstasy to feel the ropes of sin inside you, met with a loss of rhythm and short gasps for air. 

a weak attempt to catch your breath, feeling him slowly relax inside you, blood making its way back to his shaking hands and overworked core. 

releasing himself from your now relaxed grip, his fingers ran small circles on your back, delicate whispers that slowed your heart rate to normal. 

drained, all the energy stored in the form of internalized anxiety depleted, no control over your emotions anymore. 

a silent sob, tears of everything allowed to flow free at your relaxed inhibitions. 

“shhh-shhh it’s okay, it’s all okay,”. he pulled you up from your knees, gentle fingers moving you to his lap. 

head against his chest like a child, he rocked back and forth ever so slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his own tears at the sight of you upset. 

what happened ? is she okay ? what- 

“never-” your muffled words caught behind a screen of hyperventilation. “never run away like that again,”. 

your heaving body against his, his heart paralyzed at the sheer heartbreak rooted in your syllables. 

so goddamn mad at himself for bringing you to tears, but so fucking relieved that you wanted him to stay. 

“i-” a tear stained hiccup, an attempt to bury yourself inside of him completely, “i thought you left and didn’t say goodbye,”. 

she-she thought i would do that..? 

“shhhh, no no no, i’m not going anywhere,” cradling your face, letting a small stream pool over his lash line. holding his breath enough to mask the sputtering spasms thrashing around in his chest. “i would never, ever, do that to you. i promise,”. 

“pinky promise?” you pulled your face away from his chest, blurry eyes meeting his. raising your fragile hand, awaiting his interlocked promise. 

“pinky promise,”. interlocking without hesitation, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“will you stay tonight?” body running cold, the fear of him leaving settling in your stomach, overtaking the bubbling acid. 

“i will stay with you forever if you asked me to,”. gentle, soft. thumb against your cheek. 

“will you stay forever, then?” 

“anything for you,”. a gentle kiss on the nose, a sigh of relief mutually exhaled. 

tears dissolving, mending two broken hearts as they dried. 

matched breathing, hearts beating in unison. 

anything for you.

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

long time no see! so sorry this was so delayed, i had to work an insane amount of overtime at work and had a massive lyme flare up.

i have an alex fic in the works, who else would you like to see?

lots of love to @justwolosers for being there through all this!

mwuah! ᥫ᭡。

[delimeful]

the end of being alone (5)

warnings: illness, panic, trauma responses, arguing, mentions of triage & associated terms, mentions of death & grief, misunderstandings, stressful situations, first ever non-fluff installment of this fic tbh, cliffhanger

-

Something was wrong with the Human.

It was telling of how strange his life had become recently, that the realization was tinged with worry rather than suspicion in Roman’s mind.

Maybe it was foolish to lower his guard simply because Virgil was just a kit, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t anticipated that Human younglings would still be so… well, young.

It helped that even when the Human got frustrated or upset, he’d never gotten violent with one of them. Strong emotions affected him just as intensely as any developing Crav’on pup, but there were no violent tantrums or screaming matches or whatever the Human equivalent of clashing horns was.

If anything, he seemed far more prone to flee. The mere sight of their ship had consistently had a negative effect on the kid, but he’d always been more fearful than aggressive about his rejections.

Of course, that might have simply been because they’d never forced the issue. Neither did they plan to— after all, anyone who cornered a frightened child into an unwanted decision deserved all the comeuppance they got, in his opinion.

Virgil could be driven to lash out, he was sure, but then, so could any sufficiently stressed pup.

He wasn’t sure that the Human’s current behavior could be dismissed as stress or anger or any other mood swing, though.

Roman tried not to hover too obviously from the opening of the cave, knowing that a single step further would earn him a chorus of comedically high-pitched warning whistles from the Humlilts crowded around the kid.

They’d managed to encourage a fair number of the undersized fauna into visiting the local town again, but there always seemed to be a small herd within easy hearing distance of their adopted Human.

Logan theorized that they flocked to Virgil because the Human had unintentionally presented himself as a beacon of safety by scaring off most of the natural predators whenever he saw them. Patton believed that they’d seen the kiddo in need and adopted him into their group just as promptly as the three of them had.

Whatever the case, the critters had become quite attuned to Virgil’s body language, which made it all the more alarming that they were behaving so defensively now.

“Virgil?” he tried again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

The kid made a snuffling noise that was alarmingly close to how he’d sounded while in tears, turning his face further away from the cave opening. “All okay. Go away please,” he said, the politeness undercut by the low whine audible in the words.

The Humlilts crowded closer, a few of them making echoing high-pitched whistles. Normally, Virgil would mimic the sounds right back, but the scrunched-up ball of Human on the ground didn’t make a sound. Roman’s tail scuffed against the ground anxiously.

“It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he continued hesitantly, exchanging a worried look with Patton and Logan, who stood a little further from the cave entrance, just out of sight. “You just have to— to tell us, so we can take care of you.”

Virgil flinched and curled up even tighter. “No, no. All okay. All—,” his wavering voice was sharply cut off by a ragged inhale, and then he was making these awful hacking coughs that seemed to vibrate through his whole body.

Roman couldn’t have stayed put if he’d tried. He barely had the presence of mind to flick a stalling handsign to his crewmates before he began carefully wading through the ankle-high herd, ignoring the defiant whistles and the feeling of tiny dull horns being rammed into his legs.

He didn’t want to agitate the kid’s undersized protectors, but those noises sounded bad. Going by the bioscan they’d gotten, Humans didn’t have any gill-lungs or alternative breathing organs. If something was wrong with the kid’s lungs, he could die.

Virgil’s coughs spluttered off into harsh breathing as Roman finally reached him, and his concern only grew as he paused over the kid, who gave not even a twitch to indicate that he’d noticed Roman’s presence.

Normally, the kid was practically hypervigilant whenever he was awake, even the smallest twitch catching his eye.

Mentally bracing for anything from tears to snapping teeth, he crouched and set the pads of his fingers against Virgil’s shoulder.

Only to immediately recoil at the feeling of unnaturally hot skin.

Horror filled him as he registered that Virgil himself was the source of that burning heat, his body generating a terrifying internal temperature.

Oh, stars above.

“Get the medkit,” he called back to his crewmates, already leaning in to scoop the kid into his arms, thankful that he was still small enough to be lifted with only a little strain. “The kid is sick!”

“No,” Virgil wailed weakly, flailing one arm a few measly inches. “No, no, no, noo…”

“I know, I know,” Roman replied, ears pressed so flat he could barely hear the soothing nonsense coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay, it’ll be alright, ghiva’al. We’ll make it all better, just hang on, okay?”

The Humlilts scattered underfoot as he practically charged out of the cave, knowing the path back to their ship by heart at this point.

“What’s going on?” asked Patton, shifting into a run to keep up with Roman’s hurried steps. “Is he alright?”

Roman couldn’t even begin to articulate how not alright the kid was, mostly because the situation had left him unable to articulate anything. The ability to open his mouth had fled him and he couldn’t even sign, not with his arms too busy being occupied with a possibly-melting Human child.

Instead, he shook his head sharply, and registered the preparatory bunching of Patton’s legs mere moments before the Ampen was kicking off the ground to latch onto the closest handhold on Roman’s back.

Roman growled, a snappish reprimand that went entirely ignored. The impact hardly rocked him– Crav’on were built heavy, and Ampens were decidedly not– but he’d barely managed to force down his prickling scales in time, and the last thing he needed right now was two crewmates in need of treatment.

Uncaring of the near-miss he’d almost had with a living spike trap, Patton hauled himself up to Roman’s shoulder with practiced ease and peered over at Virgil’s curled up form. The sight of the kid was enough to make all of his feathers puff out violently in alarm, an involuntary reflex that Roman didn’t have but deeply empathized with regardless.

Logan was waiting at the edge of the trees, a spot that was still mostly out of sight of the ship. The last thing they needed was to agitate Virgil any further while he was already in a rough state.

“Lay him down,” Logan ordered immediately, bioscanner in hand and the med kit open at his side.

Virgil twisted and fussed as Roman knelt to carefully transfer him to the ground, but none of the sounds he made seemed to be actual words, just fragmented little noises of complaint. His eyes were partially open, but they tracked movement with a distinct delay, only the scarcest traces of awareness in his gaze.

Patton was crooning at him, the slightest wobble in his voice, and had a firm grip on two of the kid’s fingers. Distantly, Roman knew that was dangerous, that any mishap involving an injured Human’s strength could unintentionally deal horrific amounts of damage, but he couldn’t bring himself to break their contact. Not when he was barely holding together himself.

“I am going to check your vitals,” Logan informed Virgil in the same steady tone as always, as though this was just another standard interaction. “We’ve done it once before, and this experience shouldn’t be different at all. I will place the scanner along your arm, and it will play its customary processing indicator tones, and you may feel a slight tingling. It will not hurt.”

He didn’t waver in his narration, his actions urgent but not rushed. If it weren’t for the way his lower arms were tucked painfully close against his sides, Roman wouldn’t have thought him perturbed at all.

The scanner let out a low tone, the kind that played for patients who were in critical condition.

Logan broke off mid-word, going completely still for a moment as he stared down at the readout.

“Get him on the ship,” he commanded, and this time, there was a barely-audible buzz to his words. “Now.”

Roman didn’t hesitate, desperation fueling every movement, but he couldn’t outrun the dread that had settled on him, seeping through the cracks of his scales like a slowly-rising tide.

Even with Virgil still warm in his arms, he could feel the heavy shadow of a familiar grief looming over him.

He wasn’t sure if he could survive it a second time.

—

Virgil hadn’t taken well to being brought aboard.

Logan had known this was a probable outcome, but he’d hoped that the child’s current condition would alter the odds. As dazed as he seemed, Virgil might not notice the change in scenery at all. If he did notice, it was possible that the Human’s unusual lethargy would prevent any of the more severe reactions.

It was possible. But that wasn’t what had happened.

Instead, Virgil seemed to have experienced all of his usual terror, with none of his conscious restraint. He’d writhed and fought all the way, making an awful, hoarse little scream that had eventually devolved into strained wheezes for air.

Despite the short distance to the medbay, Roman had gained several new bruises and a small fracture from the process. And that was with fatigue clearly weighing down the child’s every move. Logan had known that the adrenaline compound was potent, a key component of the Human survival instinct, but to this degree?

Most of Virgil’s energy seemed to have burnt out– who could expect otherwise, with his body straining under an immolating fever– but his fear remained. Every time he woke enough to register the sight of the ship’s interior, he was instantly lost to that mindless panic.

No words could get through to him. Even Patton’s attempts at comfort were violently rebuffed, no matter how gentle the Ampen tried to be. After the third close call, Roman had physically picked Patton up to keep him from creeping within arm’s reach again, expression pained.

Logan understood. They’d known that Virgil was afraid of ships, and they’d brought him onboard anyhow. It was to help him, yes, but it was still only a lesser evil. One that Logan had ordered.

As the only way to assuage his guilt, Logan focused everything he had into figuring out a method of treatment.

It would help if he’d had even the most basic idea of how Human sickness worked. They had Virgil’s baseline logged, but the bioscanner was… Suffice to say, it wasn’t helpful.

Some elements of the illness seemed almost familiar. Logan himself was familiar with involuntary thermoregulation, but his own was a stabilizing measure, a response to external circumstances.

The Human version of involuntary thermoregulation… Logan had logged everything: the extensive sweating, the mucus-clogged airways, the searing internal temperature. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like self-immolation.

No wonder Roman’s concern had escalated so abruptly. Just recalling the temperature readout made Logan’s spines flush with venom, a telling shudder of color that he was normally much too composed to allow.

If his body temperature had risen that high, it would have been fatal. His thermoregulation was designed for too-cold environments, not internally generated heat. His nervous system would’ve overheated and completely shut down within minutes.

Virgil had been like this for hours.

He hoped that the persistence was a good sign, that Human durability meant that they were able to handle their own cells turning against them, just another insane biological defense for the infamously unkillable Deathworlders.

Deep down, he feared that being durable meant that an illness like this would simply kill a Human slower. That any and all his attempts at treatment were only prolonging Virgil’s suffering.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the distinct sound of approaching footsteps.

Roman paused at the medbay’s entryway, entirely unsubtle about his check-in to make sure the two of them were alright. He’d taken to stalking around the ship, unable to sleep but seemingly equally as unable to remain at Virgil’s side.

“Like sitting a wake,” he’d muttered, before abruptly standing and all but bolting from the room.

Patton had gone after him. Logan wasn’t sure whether or not he’d managed to actually talk with Roman, but going by the lack of return, he suspected the Ampen had fallen asleep mid-stride somewhere and been carried to his room.

It was understandable. Logan himself had skipped his last two sleep cycles, and had imbibed enough deathbrew to concern a medical professional.

“His status is unchanged,” Logan said, the same thing he’d said on the last three check-ins.

Roman didn’t reply, expression stiff as he turned away to resume his pacing. They’d had a rather charged argument earlier about sharing information and trust between crewmates, and one didn’t need to be an Ampen to tell that Roman was still upset.

Logan couldn’t blame him. The uncertainty of the situation was terrifying, and he hadn’t been forthcoming with Virgil’s scan.

“The bioscanner doesn’t have a reference database for Humans. All of its readouts are based off of the data analysis of non-Deathworlder biological standards, and so the advice it offers is unlikely to be accurate.”

The words were all Logan had to offer when his crewmates had asked about the specifics of the scanner’s results.

It wasn’t reassuring, he knew. Neither was the fact that he wouldn’t release the grip he had on the scanner, an entire hand dedicated to keeping it close. It would have been foolish to completely discount the raw data provided, so he hadn’t deleted the readout.

That didn’t mean that either of his best friends needed to see it.

Sometimes, knowledge hurt. Logan had long since learned that particular lesson, but apparently he’d needed to weave it in a bit more firmly, because he’d been taught anew by the words that had blinked up at him from the Treatment section of the readout.

CONDITION: IMMINENT

SEVERITY: LETHAL

RECOMMENDATION: PALLIATIVE CARE

It was the sort of response that he’d only seen in medic training modules, the one that meant there was nothing that could be done.

“The bioscanner’s dataset isn’t applicable to Humans,” he repeated, despite the fact that there was no one else awake to hear it. “The results aren’t accurate.”

The words were all Logan had to cling to. They were what he continued to cling to, despite all recommendations otherwise.

Ulgorii were one of the longer-lived species of the galaxy, to the point that their ‘immortality’ was a common misconception. They had early life cycle stages, like most species, but they never really stopped growing. Height was associated with age and wisdom, to the point that those who chose spacefaring often spent a while being unintentionally patronizing to smaller species like Ampens.

Like many things about him, Logan’s standoffish nature was an outlier amidst his species. For most Ulgorii, close connections were easily formed and maintained regardless of culture clash– frequent mind-sharing tended to give one an appreciation for new perspectives, after all.

After joining the intergalactic community, they’d learned just how unusual their lifespan was. They’d also learned more than their fair share about loss. It was accurate to say these two things were connected.

There was a saying about it, now. ‘Amidst the stars, new friends shine brightly– and burn out quickly.’

Logan had been off-planet far before he’d become a spacefarer, but he’d gotten around to taking the required classes eventually. He remembered the mandatory training on handling grief and loss, and letting go of attachment.

It didn’t matter. They weren’t relevant to the situation, because Virgil was not a lost cause. Their kid was not a lost cause.

Logan wouldn’t let him be.

[pearlcatcher-problems]

I realise I've shared Sezha without actually Sharing Sezha so behold, my boy

I've been having so much fun with this section of the lair, and I am a lore / story-building lair despite the actual lack of public lore, so have some rambles regarding him and his section of the lair below as I scream into the void about him q wq

warning: this is a hot mess of rambles

The acolytes are all 'new age' beasties compared to the rest of the lair, so younger sprites with smaller energy than the wizened elementals or eldritch critters from Oasis or Deepwoods. They first emerged from the far roots of the Deepwoods, tainted by the magics of the Solstice Trio, and as such are still bound to lands corrupted by the forest above. They're cave-dwelling creatures with albinistic traits, but all streaked with peacock tones from Solstice influence. As a whole, they're quick to act and quick to forgive, often tumbling into wild tousles out of nowhere due to some innate itch.

They're primal in a way that defies their age, acting on core instinct above logic at most times. The entire lair is curated by their instincts as well, tunnels burrowed to keep nails and sometimes teeth in shape due to their specific diet ( tainted fungi and roots from the forest ) causing some reactions to some reverting to more beastly forms than they started. Most of the Acolytes spend their time... pretty much having the time of their lives. Short lives, but still. They curate moss ( so much moss, ) sculpt sections out of the limestone to show praise to the Solstice ( which leads to ornate tunnels winding with scale-like patterns carved into the walls for most of the lair, ) and they eat their weight in plump mushrooms and ichor-tainted roots. There's nothing to complain for since they have their every need met for the time being, until something monumental changes they're more than happy to continue their strange little life below the ground.

Sezha is the lair curator -- the one that plans new winding tunnels or cellars for different types of jewel-toned mushroom growths, and decides the final colour palettes for new artistic projects run by Seiph and pong ( who are both equally as passionate about ensuring the subterranean lair is as beautiful as it is sustainable. ) He often spends his time ripping through the tunnels at full tilt, knowing the lair so well that he can whip past daintier sections of their artistic 'venture' into the depths without so much as rustling the daintiest of fungi. His body is more stoat-like than anything else, modified and specialised for this way of life away from the air, his feathery wings often just used for emoting rather than ever catching air beneath them.

When not 'working,' he spends a lot of his time breeding silkmoths, the colonies able to sustain some of their trades with the other branches of their alliance, but it's mostly just something he enjoys doing. Cocoons are often found tucked into his dense fur or strung carefully on wires and tucked into the crooks of his wings for safety. When a new fungi colony is settled into a new lair section, Sezha will often have plans made for new moth colonies to introduce.

He's meticulous about keeping himself tidy, often idly grooming his fur and feathers while discussing matters with other Acolytes. Most of the cave network have walls bound with marble rather than dusty stones or raw earth for that reason. His body is often painted with gold pigments, making him shine under glowlights and sparkle while streaking past.

The only time the Acolytes are able to properly leave their den is during the Solstice's wake, which lasts about two weeks in summer and winter. All four of these are usually a time for Sezha to simply exist and watch life continue above the surface, to enjoy the tones outside of his normal reach, and to memorise as much of it as he could to inspire him for the next six months of work.

BIG MESS OF RAMBLING but I love he so much, I love this section of the lair so much, they're all just literal goblin energy beans that love to make things pretty and consider themselves artists but half the time it's just hyper-fixation and so much needs to be knocked down and redone constantly like a giant ouroborous of cave networks. They dance and gnash teeth, create, destroy, worship, and repeat.

maybe some day I'll actually get my lair lore out properly but it's literally a 3-saga thing at this point because 3-generations of lair heads RIP.

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 31

snowed in/secret alien/twitter arguments

prompt generator used fandoms: all of them CW: surprising amount of major character death, minimal proofreading word count: 850 (i'm so sorry) @augusnippets

On a cold night in Hoelbrak, Hazel accompanied Willow’s quest to find more stray cats, because the ten that already roamed the Grove were obviously not enough. During their journey, they found a cave beneath a waterfall. Venturing into the cave, they found two humans, one scared shitless, and the other taking a nap.

The awake human introduced herself as Sophie, and her unconscious companion as Ben. They somehow ended up in the alcove after something called a “cruise ship" crashed into it. As Hazel asked Sophie a million questions about what a cruise ship was and how it worked, Willow left to continue her search for a cat. She found what she was looking for out in the forest: a small, gray tabby.  But when Willow attempted to coax the “cat" her way, a wormhole opened up and the cat jumped through.

The “cat" was not a cat at all, but an ageless interdimensional being. He grew tired of roaming Tyria and sought a different land to explore: one he visited before. He crept from under his minion, Peter's, bed.

“There you are!” The man with a missing eye cooed as he spotted the furry critter. “I've been looking all over for you, Mittens!”

Mittens quickly gathered why Peter was eager to find him, and why Sarah was staying with her former abuser. She originally intended to simply visit him, see how he was recovering from the Easter Incident. Then a huge blizzard hit Ohio and they all got stuck inside.

Just great, more cold.

Meanwhile in Detroit, another ill-tempered group was snowed in: not in a rickety farmhouse, but an elaborate mansion.

“Norman was supposed to be back with firewood half an hour ago,” Officer Wong grumbled through chattering teeth.

“Well, you know how traffic around here is on a good day,” Steve countered.

“I knew we should've found a better way to dispose of the bodies,” Isabelle whined. “I don't think Kenny or Manny would burn all that well, but it'd at least be something!”

Just as Manny's name left Isabelle's mouth, five bolts of lightning struck the mansion at once, killing everyone inside and leaving Norman, who was waiting in line at Whole Foods the entire time, homeless.

Many years later, paranormal enthusiasts Aaron, Joshua, and Selena were investigating the burnt remnants of the Murder Mansion. They needed to do something to unwind – especially Selena, who had to singlehandedly kick Azrael and Melani's monster asses.

As Aaron entered the remains of what he guessed was the living room, a loud crackling boom echoed right behind him

Oh God, what’s Selena doing this time!?

To Aaron's surprise, Selena was not fighting more monsters behind him. He'd never seen the two people standing behind him in his life. One was an older man with reddish-brown hair and scars around his eye. The other was a microscopic little guy dressed in black denim with bandaged hands.

“Well shit, this isn't the void,” Mark noted.

“See, I told you that wouldn't work,” he chided the kinda sorta saint.

With another boom, the two soft grunge boys vanished.

A few months later, Cain was down a Wikipedia rabbit hole. He was researching the case of the Vanishing Duo while he had Llywelyn's laptop precariously perched on the side of the bathtub.

Just as he was about to see if anyone else was talking about the case on MySpace. Llywelyn was thrown through the bathroom window by the Fisherman, who was still salty about him taunting the dumbness of trying to waterboard a fish. Jumping from sheer shock, Cain dropped the laptop into the bathtub, which started an electrical fire that blew up the whole house.

Years later, YouTuber Elijah Hardy made a video about the Exploding Fish Boy Incident, which got him cancelled on Twitter for the fifth time in a row. His sixth cancellation, however, was the one that finally stuck. It was cause by him making his first True Crime Video – covering the case of Roderick, Kevin, Sam, Jeremy, and Rachel mere hours after it went down. The Red Dragon Productions crew – Leah, Joshua, and Isaac – also got cancelled for defending Elijah. They didn't know about the plot of “pull your hands away!” by missr3n3 yet. Madeline also got cancelled for defending RDP.

This feud drew Cairyx's attention to Twitter. He figured out he could get into people's houses through their Twitter accounts, told all of his electric spider alien buddies about this, and they all banded together to murder every Twitter user.

This basically caused an apocalypse, with only a few people who didn't have Twitter accounts surviving. One was Jessie Simmons, who never made a social media profile beyond her Facebook. This same strategy is what saved Ida and Proto. Arthur was too young to be allowed on the internet unsupervised. Wes exclusively used Pinterest. Brandon's abusive parents wouldn't let him go on the internet period, lest he figure out they were also involved in the Peace Cult. And the incredibly lucky Dr. North deleted her account a week before the world ended.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.40

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

"Your Majesty!" I hear someone call out. This is nothing new because in my dreams (as in real life), the soldiers almost always call me that, even though I told them not to. Sometimes, they did it because they were supposed to, and sometimes, they did it to annoy me. It always got my attention. I ignored it and delved deeper into another dream, just waiting to be explored. "Your Majesty!" The persistent voice has grown louder, annoyed even, in a deep, crisp tone dripping with sarcasm and an aura of entitlement.

"Go away, Corey! Can't you see that I'm sleeping?"

“I see that, you idiot, but it’s morning, and classes start soon!”

I grit my teeth and crack my eyes open just a slit, hoping the older one wouldn't see it. But like the truffle pig he is, as soon as I do, his searching nose must have smelled the water in my eyes because his stupid face is immediately in mine. Irritated by his behavior so soon after waking up, I put my hand on his face and push it away, only to turn my head and lay it back down.

"Ouch!" I scream as I feel a sudden pain on my forehead. Reflexively, I open my eyes fully, only to be blinded by the piercing morning sun as if it were some beacon light shining directly in my face. As soon as I could see again, I stared straight into Corey's emerald eyes. Those eyes are the mark of the Jaton family. Our current capital in the Black Mountains is part of their territory and has only served as our vacation palace in the north until the catastrophe. But after our ancestral seat sank along with most of our world, we settled within this palace's walls. My family was just lucky that we were visiting the Jaton family, or the Jade Panther family, as they are known among my people. The Jade is their family stone, and beneath their capital is a cave containing a floating emerald stone that keeps their capital intact with an abundance of magic, while the mentioned Panther is the nickname of their founder, as he was as fast and vicious as a one on the battlefield. Few people could ever surpass the speed of a member of the Jaton family.

Looking into those eyes, I can clearly see concern but also a form of disappointment. I couldn't believe it! How dare he be disappointed in me when he slaps my forehead! Just as I'm about to turn the fires of death on him, he does it again. Instead of reacting to the slap, I hit back where it hurts the most. Watching his eyes widen, a breathless cough escaping his mouth, and his knees hitting the ground has to be one of the most satisfying things I've ever seen or done. I was finally able to stand up to this good-for-nothing bully.

To make matters worse, my little friends, awakened by the ruckus around them, are staring at Corey, baring their fangs and hissing at him, ready to attack. I wonder if these creatures would make useful soldiers in my future army. Just the thought of them wearing tiny suits of armor with tiny weapons brightens up my ruined morning.

The whole time I keep my eyes on the suffering ass on his knees. Maybe I should kick Riven in the balls, too. But I'm afraid he'd enjoy that, like everything I do to him. What a sick, twisted psychopath. I once threatened to step on him, and his face will haunt my nightmares forever. Even though I think he does this shit on purpose, I don't want to risk it. Otherwise, he'll end up marking me like a dog or something, and I'll never get rid of him.

"I swear by our Leviathan, as soon as I can stand again-" Corey's threat was interrupted as the little critters jumped on him, biting and nibbling at him. "Get off me!" He was about to smack them away.

Furiously, I grab his hand just in time. Pressing my tongue to my teeth, I whistle to the animals. They immediately jump back to me, land on my shoulders, and rub their angry heads against me again.

"You may still be tired, old friend, but if you or anyone hurts one of them, I will kill you because these little animals are more important than almost any other being, living or dead!"

Seeing the confusion in his eyes, I remind him that they are Skerools, the back and bones of our planet. But it took a few moments for his head to snap back. His eyes widened, switching between them and me. He quickly lowered his head, apologizing to the animals, and I, as my ancestor who had discovered what these creatures could do, declared them sacred beings to our Leviathans. Since they were sacred beings, they were equal to the royal family and protected from anything and everyone. Not even one of the Jatons can dare to stand against them.

Although I can see the uncertainty in the animals' eyes, probably because they couldn't understand Corey's words, I explain it to them as best I can with a few whistles and clacks. I learned their way of speaking as a child when my best friends couldn't play with me. Back then, I didn't particularly like dealing with people, and my siblings were too small. So I went to the garden to play with the Skerools. They came right away, loving me being around. Even the first time, they treated me as one of their own.

Smiling, I rub the heads of some of the Skerools. They had their eyes closed when I did this, so I waited until they opened them again to stroke Corey's head as well and loudly accept his apology. The little ones quickly notice. But their incomprehensible chatter is interrupted when one of them, clearly their leader, steps forward; his status is evident because of his black fur with a white belly and a brown stripe that divides his head, while all the others are brown, some with faint black details. Little Skerool carries himself with dignity. He raises his little hand and strokes the side of Corey's head.

My honorable friend couldn't believe his eyes but said nothing or did anything about the insult. When I hold my hand out to my new little friend, though, he doesn't seem to want to let go of Corey's hair. Shrugging, I turn to the others and pet them, to my delight. It's not long before a furry butt sits on my face, and four pairs of eyes stare down at me in disappointment. Without hesitation, I grab him by the neck and lift him from my face. I sit back up and tell the others to leave me so I can put their leader on my lap and pet him as much as he wants.

"Why are you here, Corey? You would have sent my roommates if it was just because I was late."

I hear a sigh from my side before he explains that he already sent my roommates; however, no matter what they tried, they couldn't get over the wall. But when he tried, he managed it immediately. Speechless in the face of this information, I try to understand how this is possible until, a few moments later, the realization dawns on me. Shortly afterward, I jump up from my stone bed, where many of my new little friends are still sitting, and go to the wall. With my hand on the stone, I feel clear vibrations; a slight grin crosses my lips because my suspicions have been confirmed. No wonder no one else got through except Corey and me.

With a knowing grin, I turn back to the older man. Although his face is stern, I can still see a certain softness in his eyes. "Have you spoken to your little brat of a brother?" He immediately becomes tense, so his conversation has not gone well.

„He believes that you left him without even a goodbye,“ Corey mutters, averting his gaze. Just as I'm about to say something, Corey beats me to it and tells me something that stuns me, so I ask him to repeat it. "My brother doesn't even know he's dead."

Suddenly, my head is spinning, my eyes showing me once again the day I lost control—how my stone spikes impaled him, just timidly in the corner of my eye. I didn't even notice it then, not until it was far too late. I didn't even hold him in my arms when he died, not until his body was already cold. Now, I remember it clearly: I kept fighting, and only when the skirmish was over did I look for him to celebrate, only to realize what I had done. It was the only time I cried on the battlefield. But how could my and his best friend not know that he was dead? He was a war hero, even though we had to leave his body behind as the enemies received reinforcements.

Corey must have noticed my distress because he came to my side and held me so gently that I almost saw the old him again. Only to shatter my world even further. "Almost no one outside the lower classes knows about the war.“

It should be impossible, but the way Corey said it, I knew it wasn't a lie. But how could this happen? My men bled and died for this, and our people don't even know about it? While raging inside about this, I suddenly fall limp. Another realization hit me like a mountain. Were all these people just cannon fodder? No, no, that can't be; my grandfather wouldn't do that! Or was it an attempt to get rid of me? Why else was I the only high-ranking noble on the battlefields? My hands fly over my mouth, unable to hide my shock any longer.

“Corey?” I ask breathlessly.

"I think so too," he replies as if he can read my mind. "I only know about it because I eavesdropped on a conversation between your grandfather and my father. But there was nothing I could do to help you." There are tears in his eyes. Seeing them, I freeze in that moment. Just a second later, he starts crying. "And when I saw you at Red Fountain without hearing a word from you for years, I just couldn't stand it; I was so angry!"

"I send letters twice a week," I interrupt quickly. This silences Corey, although it doesn't stop his tears. "I actually wrote you and your stupid brother two letters a week."

We both know they were intercepted without either of us having to say it. And I thought my family couldn't sink any lower. Shaking my head, I grab his arm, ready to confront my best friend with this new information. If anyone can figure out who is to blame, it's him, with his endless network of acquaintances.

[Masterlist]

[cats-of-fernclan]

FernClan’s History

Heeelllooo, my dear readers!

The blog is still pretty new, but I figured why not go over FernClan’s history - as well as territory, the camp itself, landmarks… etc.

For anyone who stumbles across this blog and has no idea what it’s about, the blog is dedicated to an alternate universe ft. Wordgirl x Warrior Cats! FernClan is the stand-in for Fair City, chosen as a pun on the city so it wouldn’t have to be FairClan wheeze- but anyway! I plan on breaking this down with the background of how the clan came to be, including all the other fun stuff!

So- for one thing, a group of cats escaped from a research facility and sought refuge within the forest in the hopes of not being found by the scientists. Things at first, were tense as they had no idea how to survive until one of the cats received a vision from StarClan - telling them they must form a clan in order to survive from the horrors ahead. FernClan became founded soon after, and eventually more cats began to join from all sorts of places (between wandering kittypets, strays, and more!), eager to experience clan life.

Though as the group continued expanding, trouble arose in the form of natural predators - not to mention unfriendly felines who would attempt to steal prey or cause problems by attacking the clan cats. Well, until a brave young cat by the name of Cometshine decided to boldly chase out the rogues and became the first savior great warrior of FernClan!

Though sometime after, seemingly without any explanation - Cometshine disappeared. No one knew what happened to him. Some claimed he might have found a mate, others believe he had other cats to help but it did shape FernClan’s history…

If you’re curious about the rest of the FernClan lore, check below the cut!

TERRITORY

FernClan is located deep within the forest, surrounded by wild flowers and thickets of berry bushes. At the center of the territory is a clear lake used for hunting. Prey is plentiful during the leaf-fall and new-leaf seasons, though it can quickly grow scarce during leaf-bare. The clan's known for having vines which the cats can used to hunt after birds, squirrels, and other critters living on tree branches. FernClan also has an old, abandoned playground which the apprentices frequent. It got remodeled a bit and the cats decided to add their own 'equipment' (which is meant to reference the episode "Tobey's Playground Calamity".

CAMP GROUNDS

FernClan's campgrounds are a little bit different. The leader's den is located just a bit away from the center of the camp; as it was once a wild critter's cave, the top is layered with moss and has a small array of flowers spreading around it. A canopy of moss falls from the top of the cave - almost like a curtain - clan meetings tend to be held around the leader's den. The medicine cat den however, is a smaller cave which was caused through moons and moons of erosion. The camp is filled with a lot of moss which is often used to make nests for the cats. The warriors' den is located closer to the entrance, made from a large opening which gets longer as once gets inside since cats dug in order to create more space. A small, seeable hole can be seen from the top. The apprentices' den strongly resembles a burrow and the nests are of course, made of moss - cushioned by other accessories found within the territory. FernClan's camp is known to be fairly big in order to accommodate for unexpected, new arrivals though it's been a while since new visitors arrived within the clan.

PREDATOR AND PREY

As FernClan is located deep in the forest, prey consists largely of mice, rabbits, rodents, and birds. Though there are also squirrels during leaf-fall and new-leaf which are a bit harder to reach during times of leaf-bare. Reptiles can be found closer to the lake, primarily consisting of lizards and snakes which can make for a good, tasty snack. Since FernClan's members have been known to be adapted with climbing, they have also been known to snag prey within the trees.

Unfortunately, FernClan does have predators which largely consists of foxes and the occasional badgers. Dogs are a rather uncommon threat though further within the territory, there are wolves which means the cats must be careful when venturing deeper. Birds of Prey such as hawks are a problem though FernClan felines, as they come from different backgrounds, are known for striking them down.

OUTSKIRTS AND BORDERS

Beyond the clan territory, and well past the broken fence, there are other lands... though cats tend not to venture that far. On the other side of the fence is a barn where other cats might dwell. Past the barn and heading down a dirt path, there's a seemingly abandoned cabin though it still appears to be in roughly good condition. FernClan cats are highly advised not to go beyond the borders, mainly due to the rumors of reaching the city which slims the chances of making it back to the clan.

FernClan borders another clan though no one has seen the members of said place in ages. [INFORMATION REDACTED]

KNOWN LANDMARKS

Woodview Point: Woodview Point is a cliff which is part of the mountains past FernClan. Cats are advised to travel in groups instead of alone as the area can get steep. However, it has been used as a training ground for apprentices in order to better their climbing and hunting skills. Great Lake: The Great Lake is a body of water located within the clan's territory. Fish is plentiful within there and apprentices are often taken as a way of perfecting their hunting skills. Raven's Ledge: Raven's Mountains are the surrounding mountains located further into FernClan. While they are known for being a bit steep, cats are known to travel - especially when it comes to the medicine cats as there's another landmark which allows connections to the Starry Plains (a term referring to the bridge between the mortal plane - aka the clan and beyond - and StarClan).

There might be other landmarks but for now - this is the best I could come up with. More for FernClan will be revealed soon and there is intention of making an official discord roleplay server, though we'll breach that later. The Dark Feline Association will also be talked about in a separate post!

Though for now, I bid you all a goodnight and good luck with classes picking up again tomorrow.

[floop-deloop]

Just 3 critters of different species hanging out together in their probably very stinky shack, vibing with one another and feeling it out with some tunes. (musical reference?!?!)

It all started with this image of the crow with a strat (bottom image), which kinda turned into those little guys coming to life.

It took me a while to get enough energy and motivation to finish this one up. But after two weeks of hiding in my little goblin cave, doing lazy goblin things, I magically got two extra characters and a decent background together in just a few hours! (ignore the minor lighting things here or there, it's not properly shaded anyways x3)

I kinda just went along with whatever idea I had in my head, which was a huge scope of things I wanted to do at first of course, but in the end I decided that it was better to cut some overambitious stuff out. It was still super fun to draw though! I still haven't named the 3, but I'll figure out names eventually! ^^ From left to right, they are an alpaca, a goat and a crow.

You can find more info and links to drafts and WiPs over at my post on cohost.

[herebecritters]

I’m not very well-versed in Happy Tree Friends BUT if your trio of kooky sumerian gods were actually canon to the show, I’d push everyone away just for them, words can’t describe how even though I don’t know shit about the source, I love these three so badly! And the amount of detail and depth you go into them is so astounding and AUGHHHHH!! And quick question! What would they look like as humans? I gotta know!!

Holy cow! This was such a nice message to receive thank you!!! Don’t worry I got plenty of Idol Trio stuff planned and in the works! 💪😤

Basically htf is just…Cute critters being violently killed by random silly bouts of bad luck only to come back for the next episode. Think Looney Tunes but gorey ehehehehe

And lemme clarify, the three are not Sumerian, they are Mesozoic cave people (well technically burrow people but yknow what I mean) However, considering people didn’t exist back during the Cretaceous….and considering that ancient Mesopotamian/Sumerian/Assyrian civilization has the oldest historical records to go off of, it does provide a lot of inspiration for them. Specifically for First Civilization.

But I also pull a lot from the little bit we know about Neanderthal life as well as many various Paleolithic hunter/gatherer societies such as the Ohallo II site and the ancient Natufian settlements. These sources help especially for the Dino-Sore days era of their lives. But of course, there’s no WRITTEN records from these times so it makes it a bit difficult when it comes to research and understanding how these people really lived. You can only tell so much from stone tools and bones sadly.

Because of this, the trio has been inspired by a hodgepodge of a bunch of different ancient cultures, not just one. Not to mention the occasional fictional liberties I take with them. I mean it’s a cartoon after all. ;D

Shoot I rambled a lot ANYWAYS

the HILARIOUS thing about this message is that literally the day before I had gotten this in my inbox I actually DID do some human trio doodles while at dnd so I went ahead and finished one of ‘em up for you! :D

It’s been a little while since I’ve drawn humans so forgive me hehehe Again thank you for asking this humanifying them has been so much fun!!!!

[nelvana]

Back at it again with another pokemon playthrough, this time going all the way back to gen 1 and playing yellow! I had been playing this on and off again for a few years now, but finally wrapped things up a couple months ago. Those old sprites are fascinating. Similarly, I thought it would be fun to shake up the usual team drawing doing this in the original Game Boy colors!

Team stats and general gameplay info under the cut:

"Sunnie", Pikachu, Thunderbolt - Quick Attack - Double Team - Body Slam

"Frumky", Primeape, Strength - Dig - Low Kick - Rock Slide

"Spesk", Parasect, Slash - Mega Drain - Leech Life - Spore

"Memoire", Mew, Earthquake - Metronome - Surf - Psychic

"Beast", Flareon, Fire Blast - Sand-Attack - Smog - Quick Attack

"Leece", Dewgong, Headbutt - Surf - Rest - Ice Beam

General Playthrough Notes:

Gameplay total settled at nearly 20 hours! One of the shorter ones, I'd say; though, then again, there isn't really much to do in this game aside from the gyms and Team Rocket stuff.

We went in to the E4 with the whole team at level 45! Something that didn't go well in my old LeafGreen playthrough, but was perfectly fine here. The E4 wasn't that bad at all, honestly.

Kanto is not nearly good enough to deserve all the times I've played through it. I am so tired of Kanto and I'm not even done with it yet (I'm midway through a SoulSilver randomized apocalocke which, of course, has Kanto in the postgame, and I'm doing another LeafGreen run for some reason).

Okay okay so look you can see the mew on my team, I thought it'd be fun to have a mew! I missed the spots you're ideally supposed to perform the glitch in. I had just finished Cerulean City and then realized that the trainers I needed for the glitch were in that city! And I had already beaten them! I ended up using a dugtrio in diglett cave instead. It wasn't very consistent, took me a few tries, but eventually I got it.

Fun fact! At one point I was going to do a yellow nuzlocke! I ended up getting bored and realized I just wanted to play through yellow regularly, so here we are. In that run I caught Frumky though, which is actually what won me over enough to want to use her again in my actual yellow playthrough. It was actually that save where I traded with myself to get an alakazam back in my gold playthrough.

Gen 1 is so funny with how broken it is. I got so much joy in describing to my roommate all the fucked up things that were happening in-game.

Hey. Come here. Listen closely: I don't think parasect is as bad as everyone says it is. Even with the multiple x4 weaknesses in gen 1. Spesk was the mvp in a lot of fights, they packed a punch. Lovely little critter.

...Wish I could speak high praises for gen 1 flareon though. I enjoyed using Beast! But they really just don't get access to a lot of good moves. Beast had their moments, but ultimately didn't get as much screen time as I had hoped.

Similarly, dewgong? Not as good as I hoped. It really isn't quite as beefy as I had in mind. Poor thing. Again, still had fun with them on the team!

Having pikachu following me around and checking in with them whenever will never not be cute. We've been robbed of quality following pokemon in the modern games.

[the-friendly-warden]

A blog following a particularly friendly pacifist of a warden, named Zylarath! Also interactable is their cub, unnamed at the moment... an absolute little shit, and Zy's dam, Azraketh, a scarred up blind elder warden living with the village that saved her life. The human Keira can also be asked things. Zylarath is a young adult, having recently went to establish their own territory. An encounter with another warden has left them with a tiny (And very angry) little cub. They will also answer to Zy or Zyli

They live in a shallow cave system within a large mountain range with a town at the foot of it. There’s a large lake that stretches from the surface into the cave system, providing plenty of fresh water for them.

They are very different from your typical warden. They’re a little smaller, fresh into adulthood. But that isn’t the odd thing about this warden… The odd thing is… they’re actually incredibly friendly.

Zy is a complete pacifist, and a complete sweetheart. They actually enjoy the surface, thus their den being close to the surface so they have easy access. They love the feel of the air, the smells, the sounds of birds singing and critters going about their business.

Zy is completely safe to approach, though they may grumble at you if you go into their den (They’re protective over their den and nest). They won’t attack you unless you give them good reason to.

They’re as strong as a normal warden, able to hit hard and absolutely still have the Sonic Shriek ability and can one-shot most creatures. But they prefer not to. Zy is quite gentle, however, and won’t hurt you and actually enjoys physical contact. They won’t let you touch their tendrils (Sensitive! Touches are ouchy!), but you can touch anywhere else you want to.

Their tendrils tend to be held lower than a typical warden, and they are noticeably curious. They flinch at loud sounds (So if you see them and scream, they’ll flinch cuz ow, loud!) but don’t attack.

They’ll often do a soft, curious sound while tilting their head from one side to the other. The heartbeat sound wardens emit rarely speeds up with Zy, simply because they just don’t care if others are around.

Zy is open for interactions! They can understand speech from various creatures, but can’t speak back; at least, not in a way that’s easy to understand. They’re trying, though! But there’s only so much they can learn when everybody’s scared shitless of them and runs away!

[jellyfishdoodler]

Three years ago yesterday, my friend took his own life and I still miss him almost every day. I hope he would like this little piece.

I also wrote something under the cut- mostly just kinda rambling about him but its more just for me.

Take care of yourselves out there and I beg of you, if you are struggling, please reach out to somebody. Because if you leave then you will be so dearly missed by more people than you know.

You are loved, you are cared for, you matter so somebody.

Take care 💛

I think about you a lot. 

But the things that come to mind are mostly about the video games you used to play with me.

You adored the giant mushrooms in minecraft. We explored far lands and deep caves together. You always killed the mobs for me because I was scared of dying even though we had Keep Inventory on. We would have long strip mining sessions and talk about how we were doing. Tell jokes and stories from our lives or just quietly enjoy each other's company. You always got so excited to see any of the in-game critters. You would have loved the cherry blossoms they added.

You always picked dark green in Among Us but always changed your hat for silly situations. Once you thought I was smart for going back and killing you while you were behind the Admin table, but I was just panicking. We laughed about it in the lobby after I lost. I tried looking for screenshots but I think they got lost. But we'd always run around the boxes while we waited.

You loved to wear the cute outfits in Animal Crossing. I gave you the pretty umbrella and it became your favorite item. We gathered on my island like it was a party to catch shooting stars and spin our umbrellas in unison in between the showers. I remember you lighting up like the sun when you got the New Horizons themed Switch for a really good price because it was in a small local game shop everyone overlooked. 

You enjoyed playing Grounded in early access. Telling me how decorating your base was your favorite part even though you couldn't sit in the little grassblade chairs. There's been a major update with story and more items added. It's also multiplayer now... 

I would give almost anything in the world to be able to play with you again, Gydeon.

I think about you a lot.

You were deeply protective and loved your friends with your whole chest every day. Even when it was damaging to you.

We would talk privately outside the server we met in. Saying how so many of them were in the wrong for so much of the drama they caused and that what they were doing was not okay. But they were our friends. We held each other's hands while walking on eggshells together. Trying to settle their emotions and each other's when we had nothing left to give. 

I still remember your bright laugh. I remember your sleepy mumbles not wanting to leave the group call when it got late in your timezone. I remember you being bored out of your mind while you waited in your dad's car. I remember you getting furious over the actions of someone and losing your cool. I remember you being so excited when you figured out and came out as Pansexual. You decorated all your avatars with Pan flag stickers and were so giddy to find out that part of yourself. I remember you joking about your depression. I remember you being down low and I remember how we would go online and play together to escape for a while.

I think about you a lot. 

Finger snapping has become a stim for me because you taught me that the sound comes from when your finger thumps against your palm. 

Whenever I need to feel brave I think about you standing up for what was right even though you got backlash for it. 

You had so much courage and pride but the thing you inspired in me most was to choose kindness above all else. No matter what. Its easy to be rude and angry and violent. It takes a strong spine and head to be able to let petty shit go and to choose to remain soft and gentle in spite of everything.

I think about you a lot. 

Its been 3 years and I still hold some guilt in my heart for what happened. I don't think it will ever go away and I almost don't want it to, but I've worked hard to make it bearable. Your memory still weighs heavily in my chest when I think about you, but it's more like a comfortable weighted blanket rather than an unrelenting mountain trying to swallow me whole.

You were an incredible young man and I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to say I was able to meet you. Even if the time spent with you was far, far too short. 

You were funny. You were smart. You were the kindest, sweetest person I have ever had the honor to get to know. 

You were one of my close friends and I miss you dearly, Gydeon. I love you, buddy.