#the static-like effect & fade into blue

[radio-4-is-static]

PAIN KILLER | Yojiro Noda

間違っている けど光っている そんな何かになりたくて ずっとなりたくて 歌っている

///

Things that are wrong but shine Are what I always aspired to be, And that’s why I’m singing

[aealzx]

“Hey lil guy! Glad to see you’re up!”

The disconnect between them being in a lair, and having the new figure distinctly not match who they were used to being in such a setting caused April to question if someone was actually there when she thought she felt a presence behind them. And Donnie had been so focused on Raph that the form had been ignored. Everyone knew not to suddenly grab him when he was like this. Other than Lil Mikey, but he had special privileges. And Leon as well, to a point, in very specific circumstances.

But this loud, rough, obnoxious, horrible brute certainly did not have such privileges. Therefore the contact and noise earned a startled hiss that quickly turned furious as Donnie recoiled from the touch, shoving the arm off his shoulders as though it were poison and retaliating violently with his fist. The man’s apology was interrupted by Donnie’s knuckles colliding with his nose and mouth, effectively knocking him away as Donnie hunched protectively over April and ushered them a few steps in the opposite direction.

“Donnie!”

“Mya-AH!”

Raph’s voice was a painful stab to Donnie’s mind, but he accepted it since it was Raph. But Mikey’s startled yelp as he woke from the commotion was a stab to the mental barrier Donnie was scrambling to create, cracking the form before it could even begin to complete. With the obviously distressed noise from his little brother Raph had formed his ninpo avatar around himself to allow him to move on his own, scrambling up from the couch and practically falling over the top of Donnie and April as his arms and ninpo protectively enveloped them. With the physical barrier now guarding him, Donnie released April in favor of wrapping his arms around Raph’s forearm, feeling a minor sense of peace as Raph’s other hand smothered half of his back in comfort even as he sagged to his knees.

“Dang it Casey! What did I tell you about him? Do you want to lose a finger?!” Raphael’s voice joined the noise this time, drawn from his previous location from the uncommon sound of Donnie hissing, and the impact of flesh and fist.

“I was just being friendly,” Casey protested, voice muffled by his hand covering his bleeding nose.

“Yeah, well not everyone likes to be manhandle- SHELL!” Raphael’s response broke off with a startled half curse as a blue static of energy brought Leon into the commotion, a drawn sword for the long distance portal fading to flecks when he noticed there wasn’t an actual brawl. Yet.

“What did you do to him?!” Leon demanded after a short glance over to locate Donnie and make sure he didn’t have any additional injuries.

Where Mikey would normally feel comfortable interjecting to try and diffuse the situation, he hadn’t actually seen what happened and therefore remained where he was peeking over the back of the couch. Maybe Leon’s anger was justified? If it was, Mikey didn’t want to scold Leon for being protective of his brother. He seemed a little distressed along with the anger though, which was definitely concerning. Did he think they would actually intentionally hurt them?

“Relax, kid. It was just a-” Raphael started to consol, cutting off with a slight flinch back when Leon lashed out at him almost immediately.

“Don’t tell me to relax!” Leon snapped, rounding on Raphael even as April wiggled out from the barrier of Raph’s ninpo encased arms to stand between the two groups just in case. “I asked you not to bother him-”

This time Raphael’s eye twitched. “Hey, I heard nothing of the sort,” he snapped, shifting his weight towards Leon.

“He and the girl were already here when I got here,” Casey added in a half complained attempted rebuttal as Don and Mikey reached the group from the kitchen, as well as Leo from the meditation room.

“We didn’t get the chance to tell the others yet,” Don explained, currently the quietest voice of the group. A strange blessing considering everyone else was yelling.

Leon made a slight hiss of his own in response, but didn’t seem to have an immediate verbal response this time as he was forcing himself to pause to take a moment to question his previous reactions. It made sense, Don hadn’t even left the kitchen after Leon told him Donnie wanted to be left alone. The quieter tone was also nice, and didn’t grate on his nerves. And for half a heartbeat he wasn’t sure why he was so upset? Or if it was even his nerves that were getting scraped.

“...April, I think Leo’s-” Lil Mikey whisper, shuffling closer to April after rapidly analyzing the people in the area.

“Is everything- WhAT HAPPENED?!” Mom April was the newest addition to the commotion now, taking one look at Casey’s dripping nose and having her anxiety spike. The shrill outburst earned a distressed noise from Donnie as he clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep ahold of Raph at the same time. Mom April didn’t notice though, reaching towards Casery to check how bad it was. “Why are you bleed-”

“Would you shut up?!” Leon abruptly snapped, a snarl pulling his lip up as he whirled on Mom April, her voice feeling like nails driven into his brain. His brain?

“HEY! Don’t yell at my wife!” Casey thundered in retaliation, shifting his broad form to get between Mom April and Leon.

“Casey, hold on,” Leo interrupted, rushing forward to place a hand on their old friend’s shoulder to push him back. Even considering the fight they’d got into before, Leon was strangely antagonistic now. Was this a flashback like Don had mentioned might happen? It was so different from before when Leon had been lashing out from fear. Now he just seemed angry and horribly disoriented, raising his hands to his own head as though he wasn’t sure it hurt or not.

“You shut the hell up too! You’re all so damn loud!” Leon snapped at Casey, relayed venom lacing his words as he returned Casey’s step, refusing to back down.

“ALL OF YOU SHUT IT!” April’s voice unexpectedly snapped through the group, causing various levels of startlement, especially when she almost stomped forward to slap both hands on Leon’s cheeks and yank his head to bring his gaze to her. Raphael’s retort caught in his mouth as it snapped closed, and both brows rose as he looked to April. And when Leon tried to protest April just shook his head slightly and squished her hands harder. “That includes you. You’re spiraling off Donnie,” she chided, lowering her voice for a moment before opting for complete silence and pressing her own mouth shut. While she took control of Leon, Lil Mikey was taking care of addressing the others, giving a slightly pained and pleading smile as he pressed his palms together in a silent request for them to listen to April’s demand.

The blunt revelation and command from April caused Leon to suck in a short hissed breath, effectively silenced and decidedly shifting his attention to her. Her bellow had hurt, but her comment afterwards made it painfully aware why. It wasn’t his pain. It was Donnie’s. He’d just been lashing out as a projection of Donnie’s responses combined with his own desire to help.

Pursing his lips together, Leon gave April a single nod to show he understood, drawing a shaky breath and raising his hands when she let him go. And then, to the elder inhabitants’ surprise, Leon started making deliberate motions in front of him. A quick point at Donnie, still smothered in Raph’s tense form. Upturned palms with fingers snapping to grip at the air. One hand raising almost like he was catching something next to his head. Then pointer fingers curled with the thumbs and second fingers spread as he dropped them slightly.

April’s expression became saturated with worry even as she pursed her own lips. After a moment of hesitation she raised two fingers and shifted her hand side to side twice.

At that point Don drew in a slow gasp of realization. “Wha-?” Raphael started to ask before Don clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth, holding a finger in front of his own lips. Gesturing at Raphael to hold on, Don took a moment to turn to Mom April and gesture for her to take Casey to the infirmary to address his bleeding nose. She didn’t seem happy, but considering Don looked like he knew what was going on she didn’t protest. After she ushered Casey away quietly, Don motioned for his brothers to come closer to him as he pulled out his phone and opened the notes app.

| It’s sign language. | Don typed where his brothers could see, even as Lil Mikey moved closer to Leon and April and was trying to make one handed signs back. | They all know sign language. |

His excitement was obvious to see, something between the two groups that was so drastically different. But Raphael didn’t find the merit in knowing that particular detail, giving Don a confused and blatantly questioning expression.

| Considering April told us to be quiet, noise must be a problem somehow. | Don typed back.

That was enough motivation for Leo to start working on fixing the problem rather than debating about it. Especially when he glanced at their guests again and noticed silent tears slipping from both Donnie’s and Leon’s eyes. Pulling his own phone out and typing in a note, Leo approached the group of three and held it out to them. | What’s wrong? How do we help? |

Leon ended up flinching back in confused surprise, but April’s expression brightened slightly while Lil Mikey looked ecstatic. When Leon started to repeat some of the motions he had done before, Lil Mikey being unable to explain, Leo shook his head and pushed the phone towards him.

Giving a slightly annoyed huff, Leon took the phone and rapidly typed out a response after rubbing the tears in one eye again.

| D is overwhelmed. He needs somewhere quiet, but there isn’t one. |

Watching carefully as Leon typed, Leo accepted the phone when Leon shoved it back and added his own response. | Anywhere quiet? |

That earned a confused look from the three, but after a moment Leon gave a hesitant nod. The ideal situation would be somewhere that was familiar. But that wasn’t going to happen, so the basic requirement was just to have somewhere with as little sound as possible.

It was enough for Leo to work with, and he started to head towards Raph and Donnie. His course was halted though when Leon immediately latched onto his wrist, grip almost strangling the limb. But Leo just turned back to meet his gaze, raising his other hand to rest softly on Leon’s grip and giving him a reassuring smile. He remembered what it had been like when everything was just too much. Every comment his family made only made him angry despite how much they wanted to help. How even the drop of water in a leaky faucet would grate on his nerves. How his siblings whispering made him want to lash out at them. After a stretch of time just watching Leon’s expression shift subtly, Leo silently mouthed ‘Trust me?’ to him.

And after a few flexes in Leon’s grip strength he eventually, almost reluctantly let Leo go.

The action earned a thankful smile from Leo, and he gave Leon a soft nod before turning back to his original task. It seemed he’d have to gain the trust of more than one brother though, for when he knelt down in front of Raph he could hear a soft growl of wary warning from the huge form. It admittedly sent a slight chill down Leo’s back, but he knew Raph was just being protective. And so Leo was careful to raise his hands in an inoffensive motion as he sat on his feet, remaining still until the rumbles from Raph stopped. Then he carefully tapped on his phone before showing it to Raph. | I just want to see if he wants to go to the meditation room. It’s sound proofed. |

The message caused Raph to blink in mild surprise, but Leo could see his form significantly relax. His hand moving away from Donnie slightly while Leo set his phone down was enough to prompt Donnie to open his eyes to check the surroundings for what was changing. And when he saw Leo so close he also let out a quiet hiss of warning.

Leo almost chuckled at the reaction, for it had lost so much of the venom Donnie had had before. It felt more like a sleep irritable kid weakly shoving away the hand trying to wake them up. Something about missing his battle shell and wearing such large glasses made him less intimidating in appearance. But Leo wasn’t sure if even the soft noise of a chuckle would bother him, so just gave a small smile as he raised a finger in front of it. No need to be loud. He understood the need for quiet now. And he held his other hand out in offer for Donnie to take, nodding his head in the direction of their meditation room when Donnie squinted at him suspiciously.

Neither of them moved for long enough for Lil Mikey to start shifting in anxiousness, raising a foot to rub against the back of his leg and glancing at Leon. Who then in turn gave Lil Mikey a slight glare before averting his gaze completely and folding his arms with a slight huff. Donnie’s gaze flicked to Leon for a moment, then slid back to Leo’s offered hand as he frowned slightly. Leo thought for a moment that Donnie would decline his offer then, but to his pleasant surprise Donnie’s hand released it’s grip on Raph’s arm to move halfway to Leo’s fingers. Then after a slight pause Donnie gingerly rested his fingertips on Leo’s palm, glaring up at him in a slight pout as if daring him to prank him.

Leo couldn’t help being guiltily amused at the response, and just shook his head with a worried smile as he looped his hand underneath Donnie’s, just like he’d done once before. It was a motion that caused Donnie to blink and inhale slightly in surprise, but Leo could see some of the wariness practically melt from him because of it. He could take it slow, and wait for Donnie to follow when he was ready. He’d already shown that once before, and apparently it was enough for Donnie to trust him once again. So when Leo shifted to stand up it didn’t take much for Donnie to follow. Just a slight pause in anxiousness and having to detangle his feet from the blanket and Raph’s limbs. The blanket stayed with him though. Haphazardly gripped around him and over only one shoulder with his other hand as the one was being used by Leo to guide him to another room.

The meditation room was blessedly dimmer than the rest of the lair. Soft candle lights that barely shifted in their steady flame instead of the blaring LEDs. There wasn’t much of anything else in the room either. Just mat floors with several soft, well worn cushions. The most important part though was the foam sheets glued to the walls and ceiling, effectively muffling the outside world, especially when Leo mostly closed the door behind them. Seeing Donnie’s shoulders droop, and his expression relax halfway, Leo felt he could risk letting him go now. Letting his hand slip from his loose grasp, Leo moved back to the cushion he’d been sitting on just moments before and folded his legs under him. Then he offered Donnie another smile, and patted the other cushion next to him a few times before closing his eyes. He wanted to make sure Donnie knew he hadn’t dragged him in there to talk at him. Just give him somewhere peaceful to relax and collect his thoughts if he needed.

It took a minute before Leo heard any movement, but it was only seconds before he could feel a warmth nearby. And after a few moments of shuffling sounds the room stilled to a quiet calmness broken only by two sets of lungs. One calm, and one just a little shaky from sniffles. Cracking an eye open just a peek to check on Donnie, Leo almost let out a soft laugh when he saw the teen had chosen to flop on the floor and smash half his face into the cushion while hiding the rest of himself by being curled up in a tight ball under the blanket. Leo half raised a hand to reach out and gently pat his form, but then decided against it and let it lower back to his knee. Apparently having someone sling their arm around him had been the cause of the issue in the first place. So it would probably be better to just leave him alone now, and let him recover in peace.

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I already had this part written when I posted the previous one |D that's why the fast update. I just don't like to spam more than around 1 - 2k words per post. Also I really like drawing pushed expressions so there was easy motivation to draw this next X'D

kudos to sokda-lal-ashes on tumblr, and lighthawke and Fangirling101B on AO3 for guessing right that it was good ole dumbass Casey being a brute X'D

And then mild concern for the rest of you jumping to biting. ô_ó My gosh the kid just woke up and hasn't eaten in half a day and you're all thinking he's gonna want to put filthy human in him mouth again.

And then a few of you went straight to murder and that's a bit higher in concern. 8 |

I did enjoy every comment though X'DDD it was a riot.

Fun fact I had 鹳之心弦 by Vanguard Sound playing on repeat while writing this whole thing. X'D

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 5.3k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! mamaguro!reader, tipsy/drunk sex, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), pet names (mama), oral (f!receiving), postpartum/baby weight insecurities, implied safe word (not used, just mentioned)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ According to Gege, Mamaguro was what got Toji on the straight and narrow for a little while. I wanted to explore the thought a bit.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

The familiar beeping of the keypad cuts through the droning static of the night, trilling crickets and passing cars, as Toji punches in the passcode. The little light seems to hesitate before flickering green and blinking its acquiescence to his presence. With a dull click of the motion sensor the entryway blooms with a stark wash of fluorescence bright enough to make him squint, eyes stinging after wasting hours in the dimness of some club. His pockets are lighter and his head is fuzzier for it, the taste of alcohol still burning on his tongue as he kicks off his shoes and pads deeper into the apartment. The entryway goes dark without him to trigger the automatic light and the hall offers no light to replace it but he’s familiar enough between these walls to find his way towards where he needs to be, stumbling only once as a toy finds its way underfoot, squeaking as he kicks it away. 

The room is illuminated by the faintest light leaking through the slightly parted curtains. The thread of faded yellow light slants across the bed, finding shapes in the darkness. The parted lips of his wife and the fluttering lashes of his son. He’s a tiny thing even after all these months–still a wisp of a person–but bigger than the last time Toji saw him. His face has started falling into place, fledgling features beginning to take shape. So strange that this little thing could look so much like him. Familiar black hair falls across his forehead like streaks of ink and his face is screwed up into a scowl even as he sleeps, legs kicking and arms twitching. 

Toji’s shadow cuts through the beam of light as he stands over his son in his nest of pillows–“to keep him from rolling,” he vaguely remembers you saying. Toji’s hands are rough, calloused and scarred, but he can’t deny the urge to touch his son. He presses a dimple into the baby’s cheek, and his skin is plump and warm like a dumpling beneath the pad of his father’s fingertip as he begins to stir in earnest at the disturbance. He stretches like a cat, grape-sized fists reaching out above his head before his eyes blink open with a yawn. Twin pairs of deep blue eyes meet in the darkness. Toji expects the tears that ensue as his son’s sleepy gaze lands on the hulking silhouette standing over the bed. At first it’s only the whisper of a sound, short garbled whimpers that slowly work up to a volume loud enough to wake you. The reaction is immediate, platitudes ready on your tongue even as your voice slurs with exhaustion. 

“What’s wrong, Megumi?” The raspy drawl of your voice is enough to soothe the baby’s tears as you sit up to hold him. It takes you so long to acknowledge Toji that he has to wonder if you’re purposefully ignoring him as you fret over the crying baby. A curt “welcome home” is all you can muster towards him as you dote on your son, shushing and cooing until his little whimpers turn into snores. The nursery is at the end of the hall–the farthest room from the front door at your insistence–and you shoulder past Toji to take Megumi to his room. He lets you, stepping aside because you’d never actually be able to move him even if you used all your strength. He’s as movable as a brick wall even if there’s a bit of alcohol numbing his reflexes and you know it. Knocking into him is as effective as a dog growling at a wolf. 

While you’re gone, he tosses the extra pillows to the floor along with his shirt. It’s laced with the scent of cigarettes and folded pride after spending the day whittling away his earnings on what were supposed to be sure things. Easy money made by taking low stakes bets that all unraveled one after the other. The money is wasted now and maybe he needs a fight, some kind of outlet, to expel the lingering frustration. He’s waiting for you at the foot of the bed when you return from putting Megumi down. Like a moth to a flame you come fluttering over to him looking to get burned. You stand between his spread legs and Toji can’t find it in himself to keep his hands off you. 

The tank top you wore to sleep is already rucked up your waist from sleeping and his thumbs find the exposed skin of your stomach, kneading against the new softness of your waist. It’s waning with each day as your body slowly reknits its shape after having Megumi but Toji finds himself somewhat enthralled with the lingering baby weight. You’re always quick to catch an attitude the moment he starts clinging around your extra weight. Smacking at his hands and telling him to leave you be like he cares if you’ve gotten bigger from carrying around his kid for nine months. It shows in your hips and your breasts, makes you look real good even when you moan about how long it’s taking for your body to “snap back.” It’s not like you’re a stretched rubber band to be shrinking once the tension’s gone but he keeps the thought to himself. It’s been made abundantly clear you’re not trying to hear his reassurances anytime you get to berating the body he loves so much. As if you aren’t everything he wants and more. 

“Missed you.” The words sting worse than the alcohol. It isn’t in him for Toji to be saying things like that often. But both of you already know he hates being away from you, and now Megumi, too. His hands tighten around your waist as you try to pull away, pulling you closer even as your feet drag until he can rest his face against the lingering roundness of your stomach. He got you like this. Everything about you in this moment, the tired drawl of your voice and the added softness of your body is all his doing and he’s damn proud of himself. His pretty little wife that suffers his erratic presence and pitiful parenting with little more than patient sighs. Sometimes you’re upset and he always deserves it but even when your face is lined taut with anger he can’t help but marvel about how lucky he is. Makes him want to straighten up, be better. Makes him want to do right by you like a proper husband should. You’ve given him all your time and energy. Your name and everything. It’s the least you deserve but here he is, face smushed happily into the soft warmth of your tummy as you card through his hair, waiting for an explanation for his absence. After all, he said he’d be home two days ago. 

Toji has been gone for nearly a month, having fed you some lies about freelancing on a construction contract a few prefectures over. It’s something simple, easy to swallow. Because he can’t very well tell you about what it is he really does to keep a roof over your head. It’s selfish, lying to you the way he does, but Toji has never claimed to be a particularly altruistic man. He’s selfish and greedy. Doesn’t want anything bad coming near his girl, tainting the charitable image of him she has in her mind. If you wise up too much you might up and leave him and then where would he be? Nah, he’ll keep telling you he’s out doing grunt work, manual labor. The type of strenuous work that pays well because you don’t need to know what it is the hands he touches you and your son with are truly capable of. 

“You mad at me?” He asks when you take too long to answer him. It’s not meant to sound so teasing, so mocking, but Toji is sardonic by nature and his tongue is plied with too many shots. It makes him sound like he’s trying to rile you up. And maybe he is. Hadn’t that been his original intention before you came back to him all soft and sweet, looking so perfectly tired. He shouldn’t push you but he wants to. It’s clear you’re exhausted but he’s wide awake and pumped full of liquor and audacity. It curls around him like armor, makes him want to poke and prod until you stoop to his level and entertain his excess energy. He needs something to help him work through the high of coming home to you. His teeth find a soft spot to land above your navel and you yelp out a sharp quit it! before smacking the back of his head as his tongue tastes the place his teeth had been. 

“What do I have to be mad about?” Comes your pragmatic answer as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the roots to get his mouth away from you. It doesn’t work. He’s stronger than you, won’t move unless he wants to and what reason would he ever have to leave the soft warmth of your body? You smell so good in a way you probably hate. There’s no trace of perfume on your skin. No lingering scent of soap or detergent. You smell wholly like yourself. Like sweat and something sweet and it makes him want to taste every inch of your skin. You squirm as Toji pushes your shirt higher until it’s tucked up under the swollen weight of your breasts heavy with milk. 

“Nothin’.” Toji decides even though he’s sure there’s a thousand things you could be mad at him for. He was gone two days longer than he said he’d be and wasted one of those days blowing his money on spoiled bets. He was late and still had the audacity to come home far past midnight, in those dark hours that linger just before sunrise, after you’ve been dealing with a newborn all day. Yeah, you should be mad, but he’s glad you’re not. When he looks up there’s the faintest hint of annoyance lingering on your face, pinched between your brows and weighing at the counters of your mouth. It’s a pretty look on you as his eyes begin to adjust to the muted darkness. Mussed hair, tired bruises under your eyes, and disheveled clothes. It’s a look only he gets to see because you’d never leave the house looking like you’ve just gotten into a fight. But fuck if you don’t make it look so good. 

It’s enough to make Toji smile. Something mean and wanting as he stands to get in your face. He can hear it in your voice, that aloof attitude that you get whenever he’s in one of his moods. You’re trying your hardest not to rise to his prodding and it’s almost annoying how fucking perfect you are. The kind of woman that only exists in movies. The kind of woman that deserves more than him. But Toji won’t let anyone else have you. He made that decision a while ago. Marriage and a baby. A ball and chain to tether you to him. He watches the realization dawn on your face as he presses in until you’re nose to nose, a nervous “not tonight, Toji” whispering over his lips as you try to pull away from him again. He wants it to be tonight. And every night after. How can you be so perfect and expect him not to be panting after you like a dog every second of the day?

“Let me do it,” he asks, voice toeing the line of begging as his hands find your waist again. “Let me have it, mama.” Toji loves the way you squirm and pout and look away from him whenever he calls you that, like you aren’t the mother of his child. He kisses the corner of your mouth, a habit he picked up from you always pressing sweet little kisses to his scar. You fluster and shake your head, trying to pull out of his arms. He lets you just to see what you’ll do, frowning when you tug your shirt down over your stomach and go to lay back down. He watches you settle on top of the sheets, curling up on yourself like he won’t be able to see you if you make yourself small enough. Your breath comes too quickly for you to be sleeping, body lined with too much tension as you wrap yourself around his pillow like he’s not standing right here for you. His fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling you loose from the ball you’ve curled yourself into. 

“The fuck are you hiding for?” Toji snaps as you try to fix your top after his pulling rolled it up your back again. He hears you whine his name, small and petulant like you have something to be embarrassed of. It takes a moment for the realization to click into place, for Toji to fully accept the idea that his pretty little wife might not be feeling so pretty after all. Toji isn’t big on manners, doesn’t wanna stoop to saying please and begging for what he wants but he just might with the way you’re acting. It’s clear you want it. He can tell by the way you’re rubbing your thighs together. You want it just as bad as he does and yet here you are, covering yourself with the sheets and murmuring about not yet. Toji’ll be the first to admit he hadn’t paid much attention to anything the doctors were going on about when you were laid up in the hospital, sweating and crying as you held Megumi for the first time, but he does vaguely remember being advised against sex for awhile. 

“Does it still hurt, mama?” He asks because he can’t be too sure you’ve fully healed from the ordeal of pushing a little person out of your body. When you shake your head and throw your arms over your eyes, Toji frowns. He’s been gone for three and a half weeks, hasn’t fucked you in just as many months, and yet here you are mumbling over excuses to keep your clothes on. Too tired, too late, Megumi might wake up again. As if he won’t do all the work to make you feel good. 

Toji can’t help but scoff. “What are you on about?” 

As if he hasn’t answered calls while he’s balls deep inside you. If his son wakes up he’ll go see what he needs and come back to finish what he started. You don’t even need to move. All you gotta do is lay back and spread your legs while he takes care of the rest. His fingers hook into the elastic of your waistband, keen on pulling those baggy pants off. He knows what to expect. Your thighs got thicker to match the new weight of your hips. He’s expecting the plushness as he wrestles the pants off your legs even as you weakly bat at his hands and whine about him waiting a minute. All it earns you is another bite to the softness of your thigh because why would he wait even a second more after he’s already waited this long. 

He’s nearly delirious with desire. There’s no more time for waiting and your pitiful little protests aren’t doing much to convince him that you actually want him to stop. You need this. Need your man to bully you out of your clothes and prove how much he’s missed seeing your body because clearly Toji’s words aren’t enough to get it through your thick skull just how gorgeous he thinks his wife is. But fuck do you look beautiful even in the darkness. He spares a second to turn on the bedside light, ignoring your feeble attempts at protest as the dim light washes over you. He watches you try to roll away, grasping at the sheets to cocoon yourself out of sight. 

“Stop fucking runnin’, mama. Lemme see my girl. Already said I missed you.” Toji groans as he grabs you by the waist, reveling in the way you squeak as he moves you where he wants. Little thing always thinking you can run from him like he won’t pull you back every time. He’s greedy, wants to keep you to himself. You’re his. His wife, mother of his son. His, his, his. And yet you’re acting like he’s exaggerating how desperately he wants you after so long. Maybe it’s the alcohol turning him mean, but he wants to prove himself beyond a shadow of a doubt in your mind. It’s all he ever wants. To prove himself worthy. He knows he not but it’s the least he can do to pretend that one day he might be. You just have to let him. 

He takes pity on you as you squirm, grasping for the edge of the sheets Toji’s already tossed out of reach. 

“S’okay, mama. I got you.” His hands pet over your hips, fingers playing at the edge of your panties. He wants them off of you, wants to get his mouth on your cunt ’cause he can clearly see the wet spot seeping between your legs. You’ve always loved how big he is, how easy it is for Toji to move you how he wants, and yet here you are trying to play at being bashful like you don’t want his head between your legs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you whine as he works you out of your panties and brings them up to his nose. Toji doesn’t miss the way you lift your hips to help. All this huffing and puffing when you want it just as bad. It makes him want to be nastier just to get under your skin, and just like he wants you to, you whine something about him being such a nasty weirdo as he tongues at the wet spot your pussy has left in your panties. The taste has his cock swelling in his pants, twitching to be inside you after months of only using his hand. It’s nearly painful the way his dick throbs at the sight of you spread underneath him. Wet and neglected as you try to tug your shirt down over your lap. Fuck, he’s glad he married you because Toji can’t stomach the thought of another man ever being in his place and getting to see you just like this. He hears the sound of your hand smacking his shoulder more than he feels it as you try to get him from between your legs. It doesn’t work, just makes him nip at your thigh again as he shoulders your legs apart and pushes your stretched shirt out of his way. 

Toji isn’t doing it for you when his tongue licks a broad stroke up your pussy but you sigh like he is before thinking better of it and going back to pulling at his hair, trying to get him from between your legs like anything could part him from your fat little cunt. The feeling prickles over his scalp and sings down his spine in a way that has his hips grinding against the bed. He’s not worried about you as he sucks your clit into his greedy mouth, tongue tracing the shape of his name over the sensitive bud. It’s his, you’re all his. 

He can barely hear you whining over the sound of how wet your cunt is in his mouth. “Toji, get up. M’gonna squish you, stop it!” You’re not saying anything important and he tightens your legs around his head, trying to drown in the warmth of your thighs smothering him. When you don’t get your way he feels the hand not gripping his hair pressing against his shoulder. Not trying to move him, but using his immovable nature to your advantage as you try to scoot up the bed. He doesn’t care until you get far enough that his mouth pops off your cunt. There’s a shining mess of spit and arousal strung between the two of you and he’s eager to make you even messier. An arm is tossed over your wiggling hips, heavy as a steel beam to keep you from running from his mouth again. 

“Stop movin’, lemme eat in peace.” He groans as his nose nuzzles against your clit while he tongues at your fluttering hole. His eyes watch you over the soft curve of your tummy. Your eyes are wet with tears as you whimper over the feeling of his hot tongue on your pussy. You’ve been suffering just as much as he has but you’re still acting like you don’t want him to fucking ruin you, like you don’t deserve it. You do. Of course, you do. Everything and more. He feels you relax into it, hand loosening to softer tugs in his hair as your lashes flutter and lips part. This is how he likes you, soft and happy. Quiet little moans filling the room as he makes a mess between your legs. He can feel you getting close as your pussy drools down his chin. Your thighs are tensing around his head, shaking in the way they always do when you’re close to cumming. It makes him laugh, and the deep sound sings through your pussy. It’s enough to push you over the edge. 

Finally, finally, you drop the shy act and pull his mouth closer, hips grinding against his face like you’re trying to mark him up with your wetness. He can feel it glossing over his cheeks and chin, smell it as he watches you ride his face. Two fingers find their way inside your fluttering walls, hooking against that sweet spot until you squeal and he gets to hush you like that’s not exactly what he wanted to hear. Because weren’t you the one worried about waking the baby? Now listen to you. This is what he wanted and you were being all stubborn acting like he couldn’t have it. It’s not until you’re running again that he eases up. He could keep going, keep eating you until you’re all out sobbing and shoving at him to get his greedy mouth and thick fingers away from your pussy, but he’ll be nice just this once. Toji sits back on his knees and watches you cringe at the sound his fingers make as they slip out of your soaked cunt. Webs of your arousal cling between his fingers and he makes a show of dragging his tongue between them like he’s still eating you out. 

“Felt good, huh?” He knows it did. You made such a big mess and you’re still dripping onto the sheets. Makes him eager to get you on his dick. It’s still straining in his pants, painfully hard from tasting you and hearing all your little noise. He gets up just long enough to strip off his pants, ignoring the mess he’s made just from getting his head between your legs. Toji eyes your shirt, still pulled defiantly low. 

“Take it off.” You grab at the hem, fiddling with nervous fingers. “Take it off or I’ll rip it off.” He amends. You mumble something that sounds like “don’t wanna” as you cling to the fabric like it’ll keep him off you. 

Toji scoffs, “You know what to say if you don’t want to.” He reminds you as he grabs at the collar of your shirt. It’s damp with sweat as is the rest of your body. You look shimmery in the low light, eyes glittering with tears as he works you out of that last piece of clothing with a quick jerk of his arms. The shirt doesn’t put up a fight, ripping like paper so he can shove it away from your chest. Your body comes spilling out without the tight fabric clinging to you. Tits swollen with milk and tummy still holding on to that last bit of baby weight. You look like a mother and it makes his balls tighten. His mama, his girl. He got you like this and fuck if he isn’t gonna enjoy it while it lasts. He’ll leave your tits alone only ’cause you’ve been complaining–and he’s happy to listen–about how sore breastfeeding is making you. You’ve gone up a couple cup sizes and your tits look gorgeous but he won’t bother them if it’ll hurt you. 

“Toji.” You’re pouting. He can hear it in your voice and see it in the way you’re squirming as he kneels over you, fisting his cock as he stares at your body. 

“What?” Right about now he doesn’t really care about what you’re whining about unless you’re gonna start begging for his cock. His free hand finds your waist again, kneading at the softness he finds there. So plush and warm. Fucking you like this is gonna feel like he’s fucking a cloud. He hears you muttering about being too big and tells you to shut up. 

“Don’t be fucking dumb. Acting like it’s the end of the world. Shut up and let me fuck you.” Usually he’d try to be more tactful with his words. It’s only right that you get to complain about how your body changed, but right now he really doesn’t want to hear it. You’re talking down on the body that’s driving him insane like you can’t see his cock twitching at the sight of you sprawled out beneath him. Toji tosses your thighs over his, pulling you up into the cradle of his lap, remembering only vaguely to shove a pillow under your back. You cover your face as he stares at your pussy, like he didn’t just get real up close and personal when he had her in his mouth. She’s still drooling real pretty for him as he ruts against you, wetting his dick with the mess you’re making. He feels your thighs jump every time the head of his cock catches against your clit. He pulls back the hood so he can really love on it, listening to the way you choke on your breath as he grinds over the sensitive little bud. 

“Gonna let me inside, mama?” Toji asks and you nod eagerly, hips bucking in his lap. Fuck. You’re cute when you stop worrying so damn much. Acting like he isn’t dying to get his dick inside you. He can feel you clenching as he presses in, pussy gripping him so good as he drags you down on his cock. You take it so well. Inch by inch you let him inside until you’ve swallowed him down to the base, already wetting his hips with your excitement. The clenching heat is enough to stun him and Toji has to hold you still with clenched teeth to keep you from milking him to the edge too soon. You’re already trying to ride him with little bucks of your hips, hiding a smile behind your hands as you lay back against the pillows and act like you weren’t just trying to keep him off you. 

“Not so shy now, huh?” Toji asks, squeezing at your thighs as he pulls back just to fill you up again with another deep stroke. You make a pretty little noise as he bottoms out, wet lips parting around a moan even as you try to catch it with your shaky hands. He’s got you good. You’re making enough noise for the both of you as Toji stirs up your insides, keeping you locked on his dick even when it starts to get too much for you. He can feel you trying to squirm away when he gets too deep inside you, hands grabbing at his wrists, trying to pry him off you. He’s mean about fucking you now, thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit as you wail about it being too much. 

“S’not enough if you don’t cum, mama. Lemme feel it.” You’re already clenching so tight around him, pussy milking his cock like you want another baby. He’s lucky you’re on the pill because the way your body is rippling with every thrust is getting him weak. There’s no way he’d be able to pull out even if he can barely handle the one kid he’s already got. It feels too good to stop even when you’re trying to get away from the feeling of him spreading you open. 

Toji can’t help but laugh between his panting. “This is your dick, mama, stop running from it.” 

“Yeah, it’s mine.” You agree, tongue getting loose the closer you get to cumming. “Want it. Want you.” He can feel you tightening up as you babble about him being yours. Your thighs start to shake again, trying to knock shut even with his legs keeping you nice and open for him. 

“Get me wet, mama. I know you want to.” You cum hard, clit twitching under his thumb as you cream on his dick, getting him all sticky with your cum. Selfish as he is, Toji keeps you on his dick for a little while longer. Milking himself dry inside you while he keeps a quick pace on your clit. You’re crying and wailing–real loud like you don’t have a kid and neighbors–by the time he eases up on you. Your pussy is flushed and swollen around his cock when he pulls out. His dick is shiny with wetness, dragging out a mess with his softening cock. You’re leaking his cum in a frothy mess onto the sheets, pussy hot and twitching from how hard he fucked you. Toji can’t help but thumb through the mess, smearing the mix of your releases over your puffy pussy and circling your clit just to hear you whine about it being too much. So fucking pretty and all his. 

His hands rub at your thighs as he lets you off his lap, trying to work the soreness from your muscles while you catch your breath. He watches you relax as the fatigue slowly creeps back in. He kept you up far longer than he should’ve but it was worth it for the way you seem so content to let him rub on you. An hour ago you would’ve been batting his hands off of you and cowering like you didn’t want him to see you. Now you’re content to stretch out across the bed and let him squeeze anywhere he pleases. This is what he prefers. It’s his body you were berating anyway. You belong to him. You’re not allowed to act shy and be mean like he won’t remind you just how much you’re worth. He thinks about getting his mouth on you again as he watches you cuddle back up to his pillow and decides you won’t mind too much. He can taste himself leaking out of your pussy as he drags his tongue through your folds. You whine and shift but the hand you slip into his hair is gentle, letting him have his fun as long as he goes slow. He only parts from you when a sharp cry crackles through the speaker of the baby monitor. 

“I got him.” Toji says easily. You’re barely awake and it’s the least he can do after being gone for so long. “Go pee.” He reminds you as he slips back into his pants. You mumble something that might be an “okay” as he goes to see what Megumi needs. The little spud is squirming in his crib, snotting and crying like he needs something but he quiets the second Toji picks him up. He doesn’t want his bottle, doesn’t need to be changed, he’s just making noise ’cause he woke up wanting attention. Toji is content to give it to him, walking around the nursery until Megumi falls asleep again. Toji holds him a little while longer, basking in the sweet scent that seems to cling to him. Like milk and lotion as he rests a hand on his son’s back. When he gets back to bed where you’ve already changed and fallen back to sleep, Toji considers a career change. 

[4thwallbreakerdraws2]

One more Day

RTV!AU Oneshot

After Puzzlevision, SMG4 has become a wanted criminal throughout the entire Mushroom Kingdom. During a walk through the city, SMG4 runs into a few familiar faces and a bunch of trouble.

As promised I wrote something.

Each Oneshot will be centered around one character.

Mushroom city was chaotic and busy as usual with passerby crossing streets randomly and the cars breaking every traffic rule in existence to get their destination.

In the middle of it all, nobody noticed the hooded figure passing on the sidewalk, hands buried in their blue hoodie.

The figure seemed to have a set destination, evading other people on the sidewalk and keeping their head down.

However, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, at a big shop window for an electronics store. 

Behind it were several TV screens stacked next and above each other, displaying several channels.

The figure’s shoulders slightly tensed as one of the TVs switched to the news channel, where the news anchor, Kermit, started rambling something unable to be heard through the glass. However, the wanted poster behind him made it pretty obvious as to what he was talking about.

Black hair, blue eyes and shirt with white overalls and, of course, the blue hat with the S.

SMG4 stared at his wanted poster for a second, the smile of his digital counterpart nowhere to be seen on his own face.

Pulling the fabric of his turtle neck deeper into his face, he then turned away and walked on.

This wasn’t the first time he had seen himself on the news, it also wasn’t the first time it had been in a bad light either, yet this time it was the worst by far.

Last time he had people backing him up or he at least knew it would blow over soon like anything in this chaotic world.

Neither of both was in sight now.

An empty tin can that had the bad luck to be in his path was promptly kicked off the sidewalk where it was promptly crushed below a pair of wheels.

For a second, the faint crack sound made the meme guardian flinch.

-before he knew it a red flash flew towards him, knocking all air out of him in an instant.

Taking a deep breath SMG4 shook his head, quickly turning his head away from the street and continuing his way.

He needed to get to the Dark Web, get a VPN, get out of here-

-everything hurt, his head was spinning and yet he still clearly witnessed the electric bolt fly past him, hear it sizzle as it hit something-

-figure out a plan and then take that TV head down once and for all!

They had faced world destruction before, escaped death by the brink of a hair and yet he only ever witnessed this once before.

His words cut off as he saw the violet and purple slowly spreading across his hand, reminding him that he was about to lose everything, that he failed his friends once again.

He never pleaded like this in his life before. Anything to make him realize.

“I WILL DO ANYTH-”

SMG4 staggered, as he hit something solid, quickly flinching back as he realized that he ran into a person.

Damn it.

His frustration slowly faded, as he first noticed a familiar blue and white patterned jacket, before his eyes went up to meet one blue eye that wasn’t covered by the same colored hair hiding the other half of her face.

“Tari.”

The meme guardian’s eyes slowly wandered to her left side as he noticed something off with it.

The sleeve of the arm was hanging empty to her side.

Her entire robotic arm was missing.

SMG4 felt his stomach turn, as he quickly looked back up to her face.

For a second, he could see surprise in her eyes, recognition, and subtle hope started to build within him, before it was quickly destroyed as the familiar static effect started to show in her pupil and her brows slightly furrowed.

No, even worse.

Instead of being angry…she looked hurt.

“SMG4…what are you doing here?”

Tari speaking his name made him briefly forget his grief, instead panic settled in.

He tried to walk back, just to bump right into another person. 

He turned to his right, only to see that the way had been blocked as well.

Tari wasn’t making a move either.

They all were just standing there, whispering, looking at him with concern, fear, disgust.

He slowly backed out to the side, until he felt himself hit the glass of the shop window behind him.

“H-hey guys…”, he slowly chuckled, though the panic was clear in his voice.

Even the cars on the street had stopped to turn their head in his direction, he could see phones in their hands.

Static, in every single eye.

This was bad.

There was no way he could fight all of them. 

Not in this state.

“Guys, I’m sure you’re mixing me up with someone!”, he tried to convince them, not aware of the tv screens behind him showcasing his wanted poster again, making the similarity even more obvious.

SMG4’s hand meanwhile slid back into his pocket, depending on his muscle memory to type on his phone.

CRASH!

The meme guardian yelped, quickly ducking to the side as the glass next to him suddenly shattered into a million pieces.

A gloved hand retracted, before an elbow followed to take care of the rest of the glass.

Neon orange light illuminated SMG4’s face.

Oh shit.

Before his attacker could take the gun that he knew he was hiding, SMG4 picked up a glass shard, slicing it in his enemy’s direction. 

As expected the other evaded, giving 4 enough time to scramble back on his feet and shove the next person to the side.

“4, wait!”

Tari.

But he didn’t stop, he knew she wasn’t calling him to reconcile.

Because she believed he was guilty.

Everyone did.

SMG4 didn’t stop for the people in his way, shoving them left and right.

Behind him he could boots on the asphalt, taking chase.

These people were slowing him down, at this rate the other would catch up guaranteed.

He had to risk more open space.

Taking a deep breath, SMG4 dived into the next alley, away from the crowd, the stares.

The other noises grew more distant, making 4 hear the others footsteps more clearly, as well as the unmistaken sound of a gun’s safety being removed.

The meme guardian practically threw himself behind a few trash cans, two gunshots followed immediately.

One missing clearly, the other deflecting on one of the trash cans.

The footsteps now came to a stop, a sigh could be heard.

“Hey, SMG4. Long time no see. Could have been a bit longer, not gonna lie.”, Lucian spoke.

One of Puzzle’s guys, probably one of the worst he could have found to do his bidding.

In this case putting 4 six feet under.

“It’s not my fault you are on my ass! Where is the rest of your team?”, the meme guardian now gave back while his eyes searched around for any kind of weapon.

His eyes fell back on the glass shard in his hand.

“Busy. We do have other things to do.”, Lucian replied dryly. “Getting sighted in front of a crowd AND a bunch of screens? Really?”

SMG4 huffed.

The guy had some nerve judging him when he was part of the reason that basic city scenery had become a hazard in the first place!

“I didn’t know I would run into one of them!”

He cursed himself internally as he noticed the hurt tone in his own voice.

Way to go, SMG4, there goes the rest of your dignity.

Then again, he was hiding behind a bunch of trash cans already.

Another sigh.

Then the footsteps could be heard again, growing closer.

SMG4 could see the shadow on the wall next to him and the neon light reflecting.

Lucian’s shadow raised both guns in his hand again, the neon sign head that currently spelt “My Bad”, turning towards his position.

“You know this ain’t personal, right?”, Lucian now spoke again.

SMG4’s fingers tightened around the shard, as he tensed with every step.

He ignored the pain, instead keeping a close eye on the shadow.

“I don’t know man, this feels very personal…”

“Yeah, well, just know I think you’re a pretty funny guy.”, Lucian sighed, before one of the hands with a gun reached over the trash cans firing down.

SMG4 quickly rolled to the side, evading the shot, before jumping up and swinging the glass shard at Lucian once again.

A gloved hand suddenly grabbed his wrist, before twisting it to the side, causing 4 to cry out in pain and let the glass shard fall to the floor where it shattered again into a bunch of pieces.

Before 4 could react, an arm wrapped itself around his neck, pulling him close.

“Damn it- LET GO!-”, the meme guardian cursed and wriggled, before turning instantly still when a gun placed itself against his head.

Lucian had discarded one of the guns to the floor, to grab 4 in time, but had the other still at his disposal.

“Any other day I would have indulged in this little fight, but we both don’t get that privilege anymore.”, he now meant and 4 felt his heartbeat quickening as he saw Lucian’s finger tighten around the trigger.

He couldn’t go out like this.

Not yet.

He had to fix everything first-

“At least you get to go out with some dignity.”

Lucian’s finger started pressing down, before he suddenly got distracted by a small blue thing landing on his shoulder.

“Wha-AGH-”

The grip around SMG4 loosened and he collapsed to the floor, quickly crawling away towards the other alley side.

A second later, a smaller, rounder version of him landed next to him.

“Beeg! What took you so long?!”, SMG4 questioned picking up the other who quickly took a place on his shoulder, before he looked back to Lucian.

Who was leaning against the wall with a whole knife lodged in his shoulder.

Sometimes the meme guardian forgot what kind of a menace Beeg was.

“Wow…”

The smaller SMG4 now turned his attention back to their actual goal at hand, by jumping up and down his shoulder.

Escaping.

“Right, right- Yeah, let’s go…”, SMG4 muttered, giving a last glance to Lucian whose head now displayed “GG”, before quickly following Beeg’s directions.

Weirdo.

It turned out Beeg led them straight to the next manhole.

“Oh come on…you know finding a place to shower is hard right now-”

SMG4 didn’t get to finish complaining as Beeg had already shoved him in and followed right after.

Cringing disgust of the sewage he had half fallen into, SMG4 quickly got back up, before letting himself slide down the wall anyway.

He was tired.

“...thanks, buddy.”

“æugh.”

One more day to fix this.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

OH RIGHT I GOT ANOTHER DOODLE FOR THE REWIND!AU-

something crawled out of the TV(I imagine if the X-Men ever climbed out the TV their appearances would be altered and more terrifying to fit the analog horror vibe of the au)

Reader is shaking like a leaf and hiding as soon as something starts pushing through the static of the TV screen...

That...

That isn't normal.

Are they going insane? What... what the H*ll is going on...?

They're stifling their sharp breaths, hunching down and curling up, holding their breath as soon as they hear the thumps of footsteps and the light crackle of static.

Then, whatever it is, speaks-

"Reader...? Reader, are you there? It's okay. Ve're friends... You can come out. It's safe...♡"

Reader can see the tail flick behind the being, long and blue and fuzzy. It's body is blue, fading into the darkness. It's hands are slightly clawed, tapping against the floor. And while Reader can't see its eyes... they can see a yellow glow cast against the wall, as it looks around...

They hope it's just a dream, just a nightmare, a night terror, nothing more than a small effect from forgetting to take their pill...

Because if it's not...

They aren't sure they can handle the aftermath.

(Want to explore more of this AU? After all, we have a bit more in store for Reader, the video store they work at, and the strange video tapes they watch when they're alone and it's dark... And the questions: What did the pills stop... and what happened to them?)

[ouroborosorder]

Do you have an instance of Arknights VFX that gets frequently praised that you as a VFX artist think is mediocre or bad?

EBENHOLZ' SKIN "EINE VARIATION" IS A CRIME AGAINST ME SPECIFICALLY.

Look. I love Ebenholz, a lot. His effects are really strong, too! Some of my personal favorites. But this skin. Jesus Christ this skin.

I have seen so many people praising this skin as having good effects or being better than his original and it genuinely makes me wonder if half of the effects are actually rendered in some sort of shrimp colors that everyone but me can see.

There is not a single part of this skin's effects that I don't hate. Not just because I find them ugly, uninteresting, and unclear, but because I think they fundamentally misunderstand who Ebenholz is.

You asked for this.

Part 1 - The Colors.

The actual art for his skin has a beautiful striking blue and light gray background, with the light pink Arts accentuating it, and then the blood red and pitch black of his outfit meant to draw the eye to the center. This works perfectly in the art, so what's wrong?

First problem. Ebenholz doesn't have the blue background in gameplay. Meaning that his effects are red (not pink, like the art, they are red) and his skin is red. So there's extreme monochrome happening, with absolutely no interesting contrast between him and his Arts. His Elite Charge is blue, at the very least, so his signature gimmick stands out uniquely, which is quite nice! That's a great decision that won't cause any problems down the line at all.

"Oh, but Keys, it's so that the red Arts stand out when he uses his S3 and summons that giant goat spirit in the background!" That's a great point, person I just made up. Please remember this excellent point for later.

Part 2 - General Effects

The effect starts with a deploy animation wherein Ebenholz is surrounded by sparkles like some sort of magical girl. The deploy effect is genuinely bad in so many ways, mostly related to timing and motion, but this rant is going to be long enough. And I'm gonna need to focus and talk about the sparkles.

The biggest thing to know about Eine Variation is this image. Get acquainted with it. If there was a recurring visual motif in Eine Variation, it is this piece from the original art.

And yeah, as an effects artist, I'd be amped to work on this. This looks fucking sick as shit. It's dynamic, it's chaotic, it's got harsh lines to contrast the flowing music staff, it's great. So let's see how this texture looks in g- okay what the fuck.

In the game, it looks nothing like the art. It's literally just the stock glimmer effect. It's not even a new texture. This thing's been in the game since release. It looks. Bad. It's way too simplistic. Because it wasn't meant to be the center of attention, it's meant to appear for an instant and then fade. Like, you know. A glimmer.

What you just saw in the screenshot above is one of Ebenholz' Mystic Caster charges. And it is easily my least favorite part of the entire skin.

Ebenholz (Original Flavor)'s Mystic Caster charges has one of my favorite visual touches in the entire game. Ebenholz fights using artifacts from the Witch King whose power he inherits - a wand and a set of five Originium dice. So he wields the wand, and has die rotate around him as he fights. In-game, they represent this by his charges being the dice, rotating around his hand. This is, as we say in the vfx industry, fucking badass. So naturally they removed the dice entirely in Eine Variation.

Fuck.

Fine, alright. Maybe it's him... moving further from the Witch King's influence, then? We'll go with that hey stop looking at his S3 what are you doing don't get ahead of me.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "hey, Keys, this is unfair. You're asking us to judge an animated effect based on a static picture of it." Well, my dear reader, I have bad news. You just saw the entire charge's visual. The whole thing.

They are a glimmer of light that does not pulse or twinkle. They just. Sit there. Floating. Again, it's just so simplistic, it's not even interesting to talk about.

The only good thing I can say about it is that it's way easier to tell how many charges he has since they're bigger, more spread out, and not moving. Also the Elite charge is WAY more distinct, since it's bright blue now to contrast with the red normal charges. Which is nice! A good decision! It would sure be a shame if it bit them in the ass later!

Part 3 - Attack and Skill 1

Did you think I was kidding when I said that the sparkles are the sole visual motif in this skin?

I hate these attack trails. Not only are they too simplistic, they're just too cute. I joked about magical girls before, but dear god, this just doesn't fucking look right. This skin is literally described as him being apathetic and miserable as a noble, so why are the effects so... Colorful and cute? Ebenholz isn't a cutesy goofy music-themed magical girl, Ebenholz is a sad gay goth kid who would create a fake My Immortal confession for attention.

I also hate the musical notes. I know I complained about the glimmers being too one-note (pardon the pun), but they just don't interact with the rest of the effect at all. There's nothing else musical about what is happening here. They feel added to remind you that he is casting music.

God I fucking hate the sparkles so goddamned much. I also find it really funny that one single musical note bursts forth with each hit. These shapes are just... So boring, so simple. But put a pin in that for a later.

His S1 uptime comes with an awful aura. he glows red. There is only red and white. this is all there is. This is all there will ever be. That's all I've got about S1.

Part 3 - Skill 2

Oh jesus go back to the red and white

First off, I find these goat so fucking ugly. The synths are a truly terrible choice, because synths and digital music don't come up in any capacity throughout the rest of the effects. So. Great work. This doesn't make sense.

Anyway I hate the color here. The original has a great two-tone black smoke with bright blue glowing eyes, contrasting with Eben's orange Arts. In the skin they slapped an awful blue glow haze over them. This makes them just completely draw visual attention, while they don't match up with Ebenholz' aesthetic at all. if you could see the black, there would be a clear visual link between them, but... Nope. It's ONLY blue, motherfuckers.

Also, they passively emit triangles, which is the only time in this entire effect that the Arts = Geometric Triangles visual idea appears in the entire skin based around an arts caster. Yay for recurring game-wide motifs!

Shockingly, I hate the explosion. It's passable, it's fine. But the timing is absolutely awful. The original's feels like an explosion that is pulling the target in, but the skin's feels like an explosion followed by absorption. It makes it feel less like an explosion and more like a contrivance. Also, it spawns only like, four notes total, which is just so low. Please have more notes, you even have the musical staff, you're so close to having this look like musical arts. I also hate the random swirl of red. The goat didn't have any red in it. Why does this have red. Monochrome would have actually worked better, this is just a summon.

Part 4 - Sound of Silence

Eine Variation S3 features Ebenholz getting hoverhanded by a goat.

I wish I had any other way to put it. But he gets hoverhanded by a goat for the entire uptime of this attack.

What even is this thing? Obviously, it's the goat behind him in his splash art, but what is it? Is it the Witch King? That would make sense, but why is the Witch King's avatar blue? The Witch King has literally never been blue, he's always been associated as being red. Unless this isn't The Witch King, in which case, what the fuck is it then?

I hate this effect more than anything else in this game. The ghost looks absolutely awful. it is very blatantly just the art from the actual skin, slapped behind him with no regard for aesthetic consistancy. Or even regard for if the image is readable at the distance Arknights is played at. The goatghost.jpg is not animated at all, but the hands move up and down, which weirdly only further reveals how static the ghost is. Also the hands aren't animated outside of going up and down which is just so uncanny and uncomfortable. It just reveals how desperately they needed to have some animation to make it not look like absolute hot garbage, and they still failed.

After an entire skin of absurdly simplistic geometric shapes and basic ass textures, suddenly they think they can pull off some shit that looks like a granblue render. This doesn't even look in-line with the rest of the skin's effects, let alone with the chibi artstyle.

Now. Why I truly, truly hate this attack.

When you activate S3, all of Ebenholz' Charges become Elite charges. Meaning they all become blue.

The charges all finally become blue.

In the only part of the skin where you have a blue background.

I just. I can't figure out how you'd fuck this up this bad. If the Elite Charges were red, it would look like the fucking skin art, with the red notes on the pink staff. They'd stand out, or at least look fucking decent. How many charges does Ebenholz have? Oh I don't know THEY'RE FUCKING BLUE ON BLUE.

WHY. WHY ANY OF THIS. WHY ALL OF THIS. I'M IN HELL. THIS WAS MADE TO TORMENT ME PERSONALLY RIGHT

anyway I will give credit where credit is due. I actually quite like the trail when he casts his stocks in S3.

The slight orange two-tone and complicated trails add a lot of nuance and depth to the effect, and the glimmer is toned down to the point where I can see the diamond shape hidden underneath. There is one singular silver lining to this cloud. It could use more musical touches and less fucking sparkles but at this point I need to compliment something.

Finale - Why Do I Give A Shit

Eine Variation launched as part of the Bloodline of Combat skins that came out with Lone Trail. It released alongside Specter the Unchained's Born as One; my personal favorite skin in the entire game. It is a skin that perfectly conveys Laruntina's love of natural beauty and Specter's love of poetry and recitation, bringing them together into poems reflected in a starry lake. The effects are serene and dreamlike, peaceful yet chaotic. It conveys who they are going into the future, who they are together.

Born as One is Bloodline of Combat at its best. Bloodline of Combat is at its best when it tells you something about who this character is at this part of their life. How they change, how they grow, how they look at the world in this point of their life. This is the story that good effects can tell.

So I ask you: What story does Eine Variation's effects tell?

If this an Ebenholz who is growing further from the Witch King's legacy into his own man, then why does the avatar of the Witch King appear behind him? Why does the flavor text describe this as clothing worn by every Graf Urtica? Why does it not lean further into the synth aesthetic to separate himself from the classical music of Leithanien?

If this is an Ebenholz who is currently stuck within the confines of nobility, why is he not wielding the dice associated with his title as Graf Urbica? Why do his fucking goats have synths instead of traditional instruments? Why is the Witch King the wrong color?

And most importantly to all of this: Why are all the shapes so simple?

Yes, Arknights' Arts are geometric. They're usually represented by simple triangles. This is true. But think about who Ebenholz is.

Ebenholz is not a simple and elegant person. Ebenholz is a man who nails complicated, difficult, strange flute solos, but who fails to do simple rhythms and scales. He excels at the complex, the elaborate, and the detailed, and fails at the simplistic. This is always how Ebenholz has been.

So a skin full of simple shapes, easy language, and flat colors... Isn't how he'd fight. It's not who he is. It's not how he'd act. It doesn't just feel wrong, it feels like it's not made for him.

I don't just hate this skin because I think its effects are bad. I mean, I do, and they definitely are.

I hate this skin because it just... Fundamentally does not understand who Ebenholz is. And it definitely does not understand why he is so special.

[wanderpastme]

Apple Of My Eye Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

This is also on Archive

Roses are red, violets are blue, I have depression and you do too

I SEE YOU MENTALLY ILL BITCHES BLOWING UP MY POST

I personally make this up as I go, I don’t know what I am doing, so seeing all the support is really heartwarming.

Also, CW TEETH

Slowly cracking open your eyes, you were assaulted with a barrage of color, making you wince slightly, maybe it was better to keep them closed.

Slowly you could feel your senses return to you, slightly fuzzy around the edges, but at least you could think again.

Think… again?

Where were you?

Your eyes suddenly snapped open, the bright environment around you making your headache come back tenfold.

With a groan, you rubbed your eyes, determined to keep your senses about you.

Pushing yourself up from your laying position, you looked around you, hoping to find something at least familiar to ground your growing panic.

You were laying in a plush bed, that looked almost too soft to be real, a colorful quilt spread neatly on top of you. The rest of the room looked like a normal bedroom… if not slightly cartoonish in nature. Everything was so bright and almost rounded, the edges of your vision giving it a fuzzy effect.

Where were you?

Glancing through the window to your right, you could see the world below, but it made even less sense than the bedroom itself. Everything looked so… soft.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you stepped forward on shaking legs, reaching out to open the window.

Had your legs always felt this weak? Come to think of it, your entire body felt… off, your mouth dry as if filled with cotton.

Pushing lightly on the window, it opened outward with no resistance, as if it knew what you wanted.

A soft tune filled the once-silent room, accompanied by the sound of birds. Soft rays of sunshine warmed your face, and the air almost smelled sweet.

“Oh, Neighbor! I’m so glad you’re awake!”

Your whole body froze, your heart racing madly in your chest. You knew that voice. The TV. The static. It was all coming back to you in waves.

Your hands uncomfortably gripped the edges of the windowsill, the only thing keeping you from falling to your knees once more. How had you not heard him come in?

Soft velvet hands pulled you back from the sill with ease, as if you weighed nothing.

“Come now… you need your rest” His voice purred in your ear, his velvety voice laced with a threat.

Carefully you were set back on the bed, your gaze glued to the swirling pattern of the rug below you. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your own, his soft hands keeping a tight hold on your arms as if demanding your attention.

That only made you want to avoid his eyes even more, stubbornness had always been your weakness.

The pressure on your arms only intensified with each passing second, until you were wincing in pain.

“Nei̸g̵ḣ̵̙̍b̸͔̱͋o̴͈̮̟͛̋́͜͠ṛ̶̹̟̹̊́” There was a warning in his tone, the slow fill of static in the room making that clear.

Slowly you looked him in the eyes, his shadowed face immediately fading back into his usual smile, the pressure on your arms disappearing into a caress, the soft sounds of outside returning.

His beady black eyes pulled you in like quicksand, keeping you pinned down to the spot.

“Oh, Neighbor~ how pretty you are!” His smile was sickly sweet, “I’m so glad I could keep you as pretty as the day I met your wonderful eyes”

A look of confusion must have flooded your face, because he continued, “Oh don’t you remember?”

Pulling one of your hands to his face, he nuzzled into your light blue palm.

Light… blue?

Snatching your hand from his grip, you looked down at your body in horror. You were blue… not only that, you were a puppet! A puppet! Pulling the thin nightshirt from your body, you peered down at yourself, each second making it harder and harder not to hyperventilate.

You wanted to scream.

“Shhh, Neighbor”

Your eyes darted back up to your kidnapper, the one who had done this, a smug smile on his lips.

“You!”

You lunged forward, ready to rip his stupid styled hair right off his head.

Invisible pressure suddenly surrounded your neck, cutting off your air supply, making you grasp your neck uncomfortably. Razor-sharp pinpricks of pain littered your neck, almost like something was biting down on you. Hot Tears blurred your vision, your lungs screaming for air.

Soft hands pulled your attention back to your captor, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Behave yourself… we wouldn’t want you getting hurt…”

Suddenly the pressure was gone, leaving you there to cough and gasp for air, tears running freely down your face.

Pulling you into his chest, your kidnapper stroked your hair affectionately, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

The Pact

A Prequel to 'The Question', this takes place before 'The Long Reach'.

It was late into the night on Tracy Island, even the habitual night owls of Virgil and Brains had given up and called it a night.

The lounge was bathed in the glow of the stars and the moon, the watery blue glow emanating from the pool rippled against the ‘smart-glass’ ceiling and reflected down to the floor, creating a faint and ethereal moving carpet.

Scott Tracy, seated at the desk, noticed none of it. His attention was focused solely on the holodisplay in front of him. Orange light exploded in the centre of the display, flooding harsh light in the room, and temporarily whiting out the other lighting effects.

Scott stared at the virtual screen, his heart clenching once more at the sight. He didn’t know how many times he had watched this recording, over the last eight years, each time, desperately hoping for a miracle, for something other than the explosion.

For Dad to be alive.

And now, he knew, Dad might be.

Scott should have known. Should have had more faith in his father. Should have seen the signs.

In the recording Colonel Casey, the intercept pilot, the Hood, and his father all predicted the massive explosion that would take place should the Zero-X’s engines overload.

Scott stared again at the explosion. It had certainly destroyed his world, and that of his brothers, but it wasn’t the extinction-level destruction that they had all anticipated.

Brains had calculated the failure mode himself; the Mechanic’s calculations had agreed. Scott had learned long before then not to doubt the shy genius his father had hired, and he was grudgingly admitting that the Mechanic’s abilities were not to be doubted, either.

Dad had managed to get the Zero-X to gain altitude, but not enough to avert an extinction-level event; he hadn’t even cleared the atmosphere.

Scott should have known that something wasn’t right. Should have known that his father hadn’t died in the inferno.

Scott shouldn’t have stopped looking.

And now Dad had been trapped in deep space, at the very edge of the solar system for eight years, and he had managed to get an SOS message back home.

Scott watched the fireball bloom and fade again, his mouth dry. His father hadn’t died in the heart of that retina searing fireball; but Scott knew there was a very real possibility that he had died since, in the cold darkness of space.

And it would be Scott’s fault.

Because he had stopped looking.

The vision faded into static, and Scott counted the familiar four second count, waiting for it to restart but the display faded into darkness after the count of three.

And there, standing on the other side of the desk, was John.

Scott started violently, shocked by the unexpected flesh and blood apparition that stood before him, green eyes sharp under frowning ginger eyebrows.

Scott braced for the ear-blistering lecture that a pre-dawn in-person visit by the astronaut always heralded.

“We need to talk.”

Scott stared, his brain freewheeling at the words, conjuring up a rapid succession of disastrous scenarios: there was a problem with the mission timeline, there was a problem with the new Zero-X design, there was a problem with …

“Walk with me, Scott.” And without waiting for a reply, John turned and headed for the stairs.

Exhausted, Scott’s body responded without waiting for his brain’s permission, and he soon found himself sitting on a lounger, facing John, who sat at his feet, straddling the chair, that green gaze pinning him in place like a butterfly specimen.

Scott found his voice. “What is it, John? What’s wrong?”

John stared a moment longer, before speaking.

“You are, Scott.”

When there was no response, John continued. “You’re setting yourself up for a nervous breakdown. Again.” John paused, looking down to his hands, before looking back up to Scott. “It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Scott inwardly recoiled at how bitter his voice sounded. “Dad’s out there, John. Alone. For eight years. Because I stopped looking.”

“No.” His brother’s voice was calm, toneless, and the audible equivalent of words chiselled in granite.

“Yes! I knew all along that that escape capsule was out there. I knew all along that escape capsules are absolutely stuffed with cameras and sensors for the sake of the investigation that the launch of one of those things instigates. I should have looked for it, eight years ago! We could have been launching this mission eight years ago, John! Eight years! What if Dad died waiting for us? Waiting for me!”

“We all knew all along about the escape capsule. You. Me. Virgil. Gordon. Alan. Brains. The Mechanic. Grandma. Lord Hugh. Lady Penelope. Parker. Colonel Casey. Lee Taylor. Any number of the Global Defence Force Analysts and Leadership. Any one of the security people who worked on the investigation after the theft of the Zero-X. Any one of the legal types who participated in the Coronial Hearing that declared Dad dead. Any one of the Tracy Industries engineers, security specialists, incident investigators, or lawyers. Any one of us could have made that realisation, any one of us could have instigated a search for the escape capsule. Any one of us could have recovered that footage.” John stared at Scott. “So why are you the only one responsible?”

Scott had no answer. The list of people who could have made the realisation, the list of people who could have launched the chain of events that would have led to Dad’s rescue years earlier overwhelming him.

John was merciless. “You feel guilty for not realising. I get that, Scott, I do. I feel guilty. I wasn’t able to track the Zero-X beyond that point. I’m the guy who hacks every camera to get you the information you need on a rescue, so why didn’t I think about the cameras and scanners on the capsule? Virgil and Brains, and even the Mechanic, they’re all engineers, and they’re all kicking themselves for not even considering that the Zero-X worked as designed.”

John exhaled nosily. “I’m worried about Dad, too, Scott. I’m worried what we’ll find. I’m worried how we’ll all cope if he’s dead. Hell, I’m worried how we’ll all cope if he’s alive.” John stared up into the sky. “Space does bad things to the human body, Scott. I’ve been laying awake at night because I keep imagining all the medical problems he’s going to have after eight years with no real sunlight, micro-gravity, and god-only-knows what to eat.”

He recaptured his brother’s gaze. “But I’ve got faith, Scott. We know he survived five years, because that’s how long it took for the Calypso to get to its furthest point. He managed to get a signal out to the Calypso, managed to reprogramme Brahman, to send out the SOS, and accelerate the Calypso’s return to earth.”

John laughed softly, then. “Actually, it’s ironic. He exiled himself to the very edge of the solar system prevent an extinction level event, and in trying to call for a rescue, damn near caused another one.”

The thought startled Scott, and an unwitting chuckle escaped him. “When we get him back, let’s not mention that to him, yeah?”

John smiled. “Probably for the best.” His gaze sharpened. “And speaking of for the best, Scott …”

The moment of levity was brief, and Scott felt a familiar weight settle in his chest and stomach. “John …”

“This has gone on too long, Scott. You’ve been tearing yourself apart since we got word of what happened.” John sighed. “We thought maybe this was how you grieve, throwing yourself into doing things. It seemed that way, especially after what you did when …”

John shook his head, unable or unwilling to say ‘when Mom died’, Scott couldn’t tell which. And he was glad for it, because Scott didn’t think he had the emotional resilience to hear the words spoken.

“But it’s more that that. Virgil’s been saying it for years. International Rescue is dangerous, we all know that, and we’ve got the scars to prove it, but you …” John stared at Scott, his eyes haunted. “Scott, it’s like you’re daring death to come get you. Like you want it.”

John stood suddenly, looming over Scott, who, startled, lost his balance, and half fell off the lounger at John’s feet. He stared up at his younger brother.

“I’m going to say this, and you are going to listen, Scott. Killing yourself will not bring Dad back. Killing yourself will not bring Mom back. You shouldn’t have ‘died in their place’ or any such romantic nonsense. You think losing you in their place would have hurt less? You think Alan would be better off having Dad instead of you? You think Gordon would have lived his Olympic dream without you? You think Virgil would have coped? Do you think I would have?”

Scott opened his mouth to protest, but John didn’t give him the chance. “Dad wasn’t always there, Scott, but you were. All those business trips, late-nights and weekend meetings, all those crises and troubleshooting conferences. Dad was at work. You were here. You were with us. You think the family fell apart when Dad disappeared? It was nothing compared to what happened when you did, Scott.” John shook his head. “You never saw us at our worst, because our worst was when you were gone.” John stared his older brother dead in the eye; seeming to will Scott to understand what he was saying with the force of his glare, laser burning the words into the tissues of his brain. “Losing Dad was your worst nightmare, Scott. We had you, we could cope without Dad, we knew that. We can’t cope without you. Please” John’s voice broke slightly “don’t make us try.”

Scott automatically reached out to his brother, his body reacting while his brain was in freefall. John collapsed down against him, hugging him back, clinging fiercely to what he couldn’t bear to lose.

“It’s all I’ve ever known, since the day they told me I was going to be a big brother,” Scott eventually whispered. “Every time Dad went away, it was always the same: ‘you’re the oldest, you’ve got to look after them – don’t let me down’. Last words Mom ever said to me ‘look after your brothers for me, Scott.’ Last thing Dad said before he went out to intercept the Zero-X. ‘Look after them till I get back.’” Scott stared. “How can I do anything else?”

John stared. “We finish the XL and go. We’ll find Dad, and we’ll bring him back. Alive or dead, we’ll bring him back. He will be back, and you will have fulfilled your duty.”

Scott stared out at the ocean, dark under the night sky. “What if he blames me, John?”

“Then he’s not the man I remember. And he’d be wrong, and we will make him understand that.” And that wasn’t John answering, it was Thunderbird Five – all calm certainty, authority and decisiveness. He wasn’t offering an opinion. He was stating a fact.

They sat in silence a long time, before Scott suddenly stood and took a couple of steps towards the cliff edge. “How do we do this, John?”

John moved to stand beside him, a half-arms-length away. “Small steps. First we find Dad –”

“Kind of a big step that, John,” Scott observed softly.

John shrugged. “Not really. We’ve nearly completed the final phase of testing. Navigation options have been calculated and programmed in – final decisions will be made on the day. Launch is in just over 48 hours. Logistically, it’s practically done already.”

Scott grunted, but didn’t comment.

“Next step is to return home. Every conceivable course of action needed has been planned down to a fine detail, what we do, depends on what we find.”

Scott nodded. He knew John was right. Every possible outcome had been considered and planned for. They had top medical teams on standby, even if the medics didn’t know it themselves. Medical treatment plans had been formulated under the guise of Tracy Industries sponsoring a space medicine symposium, with a hypothetical scenario for recovery and rehabilitation of astronauts stranded long term in deep space – an International Rescue initiative responding to the colony on Mars, had been the justification. They had even planned out their father’s funeral, allowing him to be interred alongside his wife and father, with an official public memorial.

“That’s the bigger picture. How do we deal with the … intimate?”

John stared. “We get rid of that recording, for a start. No more home video movie fests of Dad being blown to kingdom come.” John slumped, staring at the paved surface under his feet. “I should have got rid of it years ago.”

“I thought you would try,” Scott confessed. “I took precautions.” He could feel John’s gaze on him like a laser. He smiled, wryly. “Multiple copies encrypted on multiple servers. Physical copies, even, in safety deposit boxes. I doubt even you could find them all.”

“Keep one physical copy.” John decided. “Let Eos hold one digital copy. In case we ever need it. But let her decide if it is necessary for us to see it. Get rid of the rest.”

Scott considered. “And what do I get from this?”

He felt, rather than saw John start beside him. “What?”

Scott turned to face his brother. “I’d be making some big concessions. What do I get?”

John’s jaw dropped. “You’re seriously negotiating over this?”

Scott nodded, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve said what you want. What do I get out of it?”

“You mean other than a longer life expectancy?”

“Nobody’s guaranteed that, John. We both know that too well.”

John frowned. “What do you want, Scott? You obviously have something in mind.”

Scott nodded. “Time.”

“Time? I thought that was what you were getting?”

“Your time.”

“My time?”

“On earth.” John gaped. “Regular rotation to operate from Tracy Island. Later, if Alan wants, you can trade off with him. But you get your butt down here, regularly, and spent time with us, in 1G, not that equivalent centrifugal force you get up there.” He nodded at the sky to indicate Thunderbird Five. “Because as you said yourself, John, space does bad things to the human body.” Scott shook his head. “You said you couldn’t cope without me, and not to ask you to try. But what makes you think I could cope without you?” He reached out and poked his brother in the chest. “What gives you the right to ask me to try?”

John stared. “Okay,” was all he managed, his voice strangled.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what?”

John breathed deeply and swallowed. “Okay, if you will make changes, seek help, and get rid of that video, in order to improve your mental and physical health; I will spend more time on Earth, improve my physical regime, and stick to it.”

Scott frowned, considering the words, turning them over in his head, looking for any loophole his brother could exploit. He couldn’t find any. He held out his hand to John. “Deal.”

“Deal.” John took his hand and they sealed the pact in the same way they had sealed many pacts over the years, as boys and men.

They stood in silence for a long while, contemplating the ocean and the stars, and the future, before finally Scott yawned. As if on cue, John replied in kind.

Scott nudged him. “Bed, John. Sleep.”

John nudged him back. “Same for you.”

They walked together back to the house, separating at the lounge without speaking, Scott to head to the rare luxury of his bed, and John to the hangers so as to return to Thunderbird Five and his quarters there. The next few days and weeks would be disturbing enough for all of them, no point worrying the rest of the family by breaking routine just yet.

Neither knew what the next few days would bring, and how that would shape the rest of their lives, but they had at least the beginnings of a plan, a course of action to start them off and some idea of the destination they were heading towards. No doubt it would be hard work, but individually and as a family they were no strangers to hard work.

And they believed one thing, above all others: that when someone cried out for help, they deserved an answer.

Especially when it was one of their own.

Notes:

Part of the ‘Questions, Answers, and Other Family Matters’ series.

In Part 2 of ‘The Question’, I threw in a line about Scott not being able to see the Zero-X footage anymore, and didn’t think anything about it.

Well, time passed, and I thought about it.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[birdsflypiecemeal]

SO

GHOULIAN

GHOST GILLION SPECIFICS AND IDEAS IVE HAD ABT HIM I LOVE HIM DEARLY AND HEEEE:

-wears a really poorly knit sweater! when he was discovered aboard the albatross by gryffon (?) Gil told him that he was freezing cold in his normal clothes, that they itched, that they were horrible. long story short, ollie and his mom knitted Gil a sweat, but because she's sick and he's just a kid, it has huge gaps and several different kinds of wool and cloth all spliced together into a poor quality sweater. gil wont have it any other way!

-loves music! Arts were a luxury that the undersea trained out of him. He loves them dearly. He was never one for fighting as a child, more prone to loving animals and sketching beautiful scenes and reading stories, but music is his favorite (specifically heavy metal or rock which were ESPECIALLY not allowed in the Undersea (fuckin emo (endearingly)))

-loves SCIENCE and HISTORY!

-against the man! fight the machine! very stubborn in his ideals against anything that effects the rights of the people and freedom of expression

-NATURE NO NURTURE!!! REmembers nothing but what he is born enjoying, absolutely static. like a blank slate. Never reacts when people yell or scream at him, feels no pain, gains no trauma or memory.

-Reacts poorly when the crew brings up Alive Gil. Ghoulian fuckin hates him. He likes who he is now, why should he be replaced? What happened was meant to happen, surely, and to go back on that would be against fate.

-Believed in destiny from the beginning. Toward the recent episodes (109-111) He adapted the saying 'it is what it is' but I still firmly believe that is the effect of his crew being so casual about so much change (WE ARE TAKING AWAY POSITIVE EFFECTS FROM THE ALBATROSS AS WELL AS NEGATIVES FROM ELDERS--- HE IS A BLANK SLATE)

-wears glasses. i already made a post about this.

-SHORT HAIR (I COULD MAKE A WHOLE NEW POST LMK IF YOU WANT ONE AB GILS HAIR)

-people pleaser

-curious

-wants to know everything

-gets frustrated easily

-not afraid anymore

-he's NOT BLUE. there are still the marks of the illness, causing him to have pale purple-red skin and black veins, his markings have turned deep black, almost carved into him. ofc hes transparent. his hair floats and fades away, his skin rolls off of him in wisps like mist

-terrifying

that is all (for now) :)

thinking of making a fic ab this tbh

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 2

< prev | next >

Summary: Captain stumbles in the dark, the boys are hasty, and Krupp looms over the narrative.

As that one quote goes: it's the villains who act; heroes react. Or maybe it's the heroes who act, with the villains hindering their every action? Either way, there are pranks to pull.

A/N: the series was meant to be comprised of oneshots, the fact that there’s a new chapter to an existing one is just as surprising to me.

what changed my mind? i could not think of a good title for this next bit, so i decided to append it to this fic. to be honest it works out perfectly, as this is the direct result of the first part anyway. to those that thought that the first part was a clean conclusion to the whole thing re: the boys and captain: i'm only partially sorry (and besides, it did end with them saying they were going to meddle further, so...), in reality it was the start of a larger thread!

i haven't decided how many chapters this chunk of story will be, but for the time being i will hopefully write chronologically in relation to this part of the timeline (as far as the fic series half of this au is concerned). so for now i won't jump around the timeline for assorted written oneshots. for now.

——————————–

By the time Captain Underpants reached the man in his head’s house, the fuzzy feeling in his chest had fizzled out. The issue is done. A resolution was reached. They’ve all said their nice words, and it’s fine now. 

The house was silent, save for the TV that he had left on. The living room was still littered in what remained of the prankovation (trademark). He paid no heed to the grown up talk on air as his own words from earlier kept rattling around his head.

I miss what it was like before all this. I know you do, too.

He circled his way around the table before plopping on the chair. The light from the TV practically bleached out the scattered notes on the table, leaving the other man’s words impossible to read. Right now, he really didn’t want to read them. With everything that’s happened, he had almost forgotten that he had just been talking about how annoyed he was at the prank earlier.

He’d have to reply, eventually, but at this moment, he feels…

He feels.

He doubled over and clutched the cassette recorder against his chest. It reminded him of the moment he had recorded– what his sidekicks listened to – and his body seized up even further. He was fine earlier, so why was he acting like this? He had even thought, for a moment, that it was a latent effect from a monster. 

Captain knew it wasn’t. A part of him wished it was, like how he wished things were before.

He glanced back to the cassette in his hands. It was too dark to see through the plastic door that showed the cassette tape, but he knew it was equal on both ends of the spooling parts of it, paused right after that moment. A moment he didn’t want to share like that.

But they were his sidekicks. He supposed that they had the right to know, so it was fine. It was fine.

Captain’s hands shook in the dark. From the edge of his vision, he saw the light that lit up the chair and the living room change. Pale blue, to darkness, to red from a commercial.

His words rattled in his head, both what was recorded and what was said. The letters snare the other ones like they were static clung together– at the same time I don't.  

His mind felt like it was racing, but the only thing on the tracks was grawlixes ensnared in agitrons. He could feel it make a one-way trip to his chest, where it sat heavily.

After what felt like an eternity of being curled up, the feeling managed to fade, Captain quietly peeled himself off the seat. He turned on the light.

“Well–” He floundered for a moment, trying to recall where they left off. It felt like years since he spoke to him. Play it cool. “I think the prankovation, trademark, is an improvement.”

He dipped a few fingers in a nearby glass and flicked the drops in his face. 

Snap. He let the uncomfortable tenseness in his limbs wash over him before it dissipated.

What were you doing for an hour?!

“I was…” He looked back down at the cassette player. “Looking for the cassette. It, uh, got misplaced in the shuffle.”

Splash, snap. The fact he couldn’t feel much from the man felt worse than feeling a dissipating sweep of emotion. At least then, he could try and guess where this was going– as terrible as it felt. 

Awfully convenient timing, the note remarked vaguely.

Captain could practically feel the accusation curdling under the ink. He knew his voice would have too much ache in it to rebuke the statement. He cannot lie. 

In a smaller voice: “My sidekicks found it.”

The ache twisted. He nearly spilled the cup he was using as he put his hand in it and wiped his face. 

Snap. 

The twisting feeling mingled with the prickling hot emotion of the man in his head.

Those brats know?

“They’re not brats!” he defended. “They’re… they’re just looking out for me.”

Splash, snap. No prickling hot this time, just something he could only describe as slimy.

Behind your back? Sounds about right.

“I– I trust them,” he said out loud, though he made no effort to record it. His voice was too shaky for that– he repeated the words until they came out smoother and only then did he record.

Splash, snap. I mean, you didn’t know you weren’t real until now. Who knows what else they’re hiding.

Captain shook his head. This shouldn’t be affecting him this badly– any hero worth their salt knows how villains will do anything to get a rise out of you for any sort of footing. This was no different. He knew this was no different.

Captain grounded his teeth until he swore he heard it crack under the pressure. 

“Even– even if they were hiding something, I still trust them.” A pause. “That was just a hiccup, and minor conflicts are bound to happen. They’ll do the right thing in the end, usually.”

The Waistband Warrior listened through the recording again. The response felt foolproof!

Splash. Snap.

He was hit by the caramel onion emotion again. Sweet and good feeling at first until you got into the acidic onion-y part. It was the exact same feeling that lingered in his chest when the man in his head told him he wasn’t real.

They’ll do the right thing in the end “usually”? the note said. Honestly, you should keep better track of your little “sidekicks” and what they do– ten year olds don’t exactly have the best judgment.

In smaller print in brackets: (eg. Stealing that cassette. You know that counts as breaking and entering, right?)

Something hot flared in his gut seeing the last statement. “They are not thieves!”  

Captain immediately clamped his mouth shut with a hand. He gave a quick glance to the recorder, relieved that he hadn’t pressed the record button yet. 

He brought himself to stand on solid ground. Made his way to close the suddenly too loud TV. Was this how he ran the school? Is this how he thought of the children? His sidekicks?

He swallowed. Forced the heat in his gut to cool. Pressed record. Paused.

“We are a team.”

Splash, snap.

Are you, the note retorted. Because from my end, it looks like you're their personal idiot that’s part of a months long gag. One that may be going stale.

Captain elected not to give a response to that. Saying nothing was not a lie. Plus, the man in his head was ruthless, combed at every dip and rise in his voice and managed to figure him out. If his sidekicks had anything else to hide, then there had to be a good reason.

There had to be.

Captain looked at the sticky note one more time and placed it on the far end of the table. He needed… alone time. Or at least, alone time without seeing all those little notes.

He decided to follow his gut feeling, and his gut led him to the Closet At The End Of The Hallway, cassette player in hand. As he opened the door, his sights were set on a box in the lower shelf. With a quick press to the cassette door, he pulled the tape out, placed it in a box of other tapes he used, and pulled out a fresh– and most importantly, empty– one. 

The lights from the living room didn’t quite reach his little corner of the hallway, leaving him half-shadowed. He was still expecting something to pop out of a dark corner, or for the flowers on the wallpaper to twist to vines. But, the more he was out here, the house felt less lonely. 

Alone, maybe. But in the same way he was alone– with another presence looming around him.

(Or, within him, he guessed?)

Haunted, then? No, that word rattled in his brain like a rock you wanted out of a shoe. Apparently, that sort of thing was pretty uncomfortable.

Captain scratched at his chest with a frown, trying to will the ache to lessen. He sighed. Rocks.

He thought back to the papers scattered across the living room. To the confused looks on his sidekicks’ face. To the scattered remnants of the man’s backstory he could find in this closet. These moments were not fights, but there was a strange weight to these quiet and small moments he never had a chance to parse before. It wasn’t like his usual fare, but it wasn’t not, in some ways.

He’s still trying to untangle this specific subplot.

Captain finally placed the cassette in the player. The Man In His Head would not notice the change. The action wouldn’t matter much to anyone except him. 

Maybe that was the point. 

He made his way back to the living room. Nothing changed from when he left, and yet he was still… expectant.

Captain had contemplated staying for longer– how could he not, with the amount of plot threads he needed to untangle? But the time that stretched out before him was much more daunting than any villain, and he wouldn’t know where to start.

He thought back to the Man In His Head. If he was out, the other was not. Being out meant there was one less evil in the world. But he was a superhero, not a jailer with a key. It wasn’t his nature.

He splashed water on his face.

Snap.

Cuts from one scene to the next was a familiar thing to him. Much more than the endless stretches of time he was allotted in the house. So when one blink later he was somewhere that wasn’t in that lonely house, Captain sat up quickly. He was already getting out of the man’s clothes to get into something more heroic.

“Sidekicks?” 

George gave him a look. “Uh, Captain Underpants–”

“How’re you feeling?” Harold added.

In record time, he was out of the clothes the man in his head insisted on and had grabbed a picnic blanket-cape conveniently on the ground. 

“Well, I don’t feel like I was smashed to the ground, so… pretty good! Now where’s that monst– ack!”

Four hands grabbed at his cape before he could properly fly up. The momentum left him upside-down. 

From his point of view, Harold’s mouth curled up– that is to say it curled down, if he were right side up. “There’s no monster.”

“There’s always a monster.”

Now both of them were right side up-grimacing. 

Captain tilted his head, his entire body flipping right-side up at the motion, and amended with, “Or, uh, at least a conflict.”

“In that case…”

“Krupp’s cracked down on a lot of the school rules,” George explained. “And I figure that this would be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.”

Captain gulped, trying to will away the words exchanged in the previous scene. “M– metaphorically, right?”

“It’s for all of us!” Harold picked up where the other left off. “Even you, after what Krupp must’ve put you through.”

“Now–” George waved a hand. “We were thinking that we could do a rehash of the prankovation, but–”

“We thought he might expect that! So then I thought you could help us out in the ideas department, like you did with the whole Brain Farts issue. Whaddya say?”

Captain stopped hovering. He could feel the stuck rock feeling again, rolling around in his chest.

“Listen, we get it– I know the last time you helped, it was… well, never mind about that,” Harold winced. “Nothing like that’s going to happen this time, we promise. And you won’t get caught. Plus, you’re the only one who can help us.”

“Promise?” Captain echoed, testing out the word like one would test the weight of a projectile before throwing it. 

“Yeah, for sure.” George said quickly, like throwing a hot potato before moving on. He looked up from what he was doing and handed him a plastic bag of supplies. “Think of this as… Free The Children, Part Two.” 

Captain gave a look inside. He wasn’t sure how the supplies connected to each other– he was never a planning sort of guy.

“Ah, to make school fun again, right?” 

“Yeah!”

His shoulders untensed. That was a good thing, he reassured himself. “Well, when you put it like that– what do you need me to do?”

——————————–

But before I tell you the rest of this story, I have to tell you this one.

Sunlight skirted off the remaining leaves around Treehouse Comix Inc. The wind was quickly snapping them up and off towards other autumn-y pastures. They had to bust out some of the blankets they kept up there, but eventually their parents were going to start telling them they’re not allowed up as George’s dad fortified it for winter

The key word was eventually. There were more pressing matters at stake than getting a little cold.

Harold frowned at the page he was working on. The content was fine, but something about the way he was drawing it was frustrating him and he didn’t know why. He set it aside next to the other pages. 

“Ugh,” he let himself splay on the ground dejectedly, face planting into the wood floor.

“Is that an ugh for Krupp suddenly going crazy mode with his rules or an ugh for the Cass-Incident?” George asked, leafing through his notebook and crossing out some of the more half-baked ideas.

“Uuugh,” Harold ugh’ed, which roughly translated to both.

He made his own noise of agreement as he crossed out another idea.

In one corner: the entire fourth grade had been blindsided by the sudden announcement of a whole gauntlet of assessments. Essays in English class, timed tests in math, horrible running tests in gym, but the real kicker was what was in store for science– a fair with mandatory participation. Even the weekend Invention Convention didn’t have that!

In the other: the Cassette Incident (Cass-Incedent, for short). It didn’t weigh in their minds so much as it squatted in the corner of it. It was just one of those things that was looming like a principal-and-or-superhero-shaped elephant in the room.

Harold slammed a fist down to the floor and pushed the sketchbook away. Instead of walking over, he just rolled beside the beanbag the other boy was sitting on. 

“This is too much.”

“I know.” He set his own notepad to the side. “It took a long time to figure out how to make comics at the same speed we did before we were in separate classes, now I’m not even sure we can keep up the same release schedule with everything else now.”

A pause. “Do you think this has to do with the Cass-Incident? The timing is too convenient.”

“What else could it be? It’s mostly affecting our grade.” Then, in a frustrated grumble he added: “Everything lately feels like it leads back to them.” 

Harold said a soft hm, before picking up the recently abandoned sketchbook. Turning to a new page, he started to draw.

“What did he mean by that he didn’t want it to change?” he asked. The doodle was Captain Underpants standing around with the same confused hurt they saw on his face as he found out that they found out. “Like you said, Krupp’s been nothing but mean to him.”

George thought for a moment. “Maybe he’s afraid of things getting worse if they did change. And, well–” He gestured vaguely.

“The sudden rules right after we found out.” Harold stared at the page intently. He started placing more lines; a panel around the Captain doodle, lighter lines radiating behind him. Shadows at his feet. “Poor Captain Underpants. At least he doesn’t have to deal with school.”

“Small victory that is.”

Harold continued scratching out more shadows. “What are we going to do?”

George put a hand to his chin. If he was right about the rule changes connecting to the Cass-Incident– and let's be real, he had a high chance of it on account of Krupp being predictable– then they had to deal with it and the source in one fell swoop. An inkling of a plan was forming in the back of his mind. 

And they could mesh it into the as-of-now half-baked idea they had shortly after said Cass-Incident. 

He stood up and made his way over to the Treehouse compartment where they kept stuff for their pranks. He began pulling everything out and dumped it on the ground.

“We’re going to need supplies. I don’t think the stuff we got is enough.”

The other boy sat up and dusted himself off. Confusion gave way to a determined look; he didn’t need to hear the plan– he knew this was going to be good. “What do we need?”

[muffin-ofdoomsday]

KNIVES X READER Imagine part 2

A Grain of Sand

Slow burn, reader is ex-earth solider, enemies to lovers.

Part 1 Part 3

Months have passed after Knives had killed the Plant from Earth. What a disappointment. He could have used her knowledge to prevent Earth from ever coming into contact with his planet while working together to create a paradise for them. Maybe even convince Vash to finally leave the humans. But no. She was also a human-lover. Killing her had been a mercy. Her human pet, who'd 'swore vengeance', never even caused a stir after that day.

He is lost in thought when the Human's image pops into his head. He lets out a snort, wondering why he even let their memory re-surface. You were all bark and no bite. Worthless, lying human. You never cared. He wanders around his airship, alone, strategizing the next steps for his 'war'. The Human was just another small grain of sand in the vast desert of No Man's Land, and what little impression they had given him was almost completely faded.

He makes it to the roof, looking out over the edge of the airship and staring down at the human city in the far-off horizon-- the parasite city--- lights burning bright in the darkness of the night. Another reminder of the life they were slowly siphoning from his dependent sisters. It was only a matter of time. Their memory too, would fade from this world.

He turns his cold gaze from the view, heading back inside, when his mind is bombarded with static so loud it makes him curl into himself. Almost brings him to his knees.

Images and laughter, the kind from a fond memory, filter bit by bit through his mind. None of them coherent and none of them familiar feeling, like the thoughts he would occasionally get from his sisters, encased in their glass prisons. But the voice... it was familiar. It was HER voice. The traitor. The Plant he killed months ago. But that was impossible. He had felt it when she died.

The images started to shift and piece themselves together, the way a radio settles into the right station. The dead independent Plant murmurs something softly, "as--ong---- to-ge--ther-----right--?" Its meaning seemingly lost to time and space when a different voice comes through. Knives’ head snaps up.

"For her,"

Miles below on the peak of a sand dune in the moonlight, a figure can be seen hoisting a type of large missile launcher, aiming straight at the airship. Pressurized air escapes the back of the mechanism, metal parts lock into place, while in front a ball begins to form. Light flows like a stream towards it's center. At first, it’s a trickle, then rapidly comes together like a burst dam, absorbing the moonlight of the 5 moons.  A silence settles over the desert. The stary night sky and the city leagues away, are submerged in true oblivion for a heartbeat. Even the lights on the airship dim. And then the tension shatters.

Knives only had enough time to stand when the light beam made impact with the right engines of the airship and streaks across its port. It leaves him unsteady, but he makes it to the side of impact and sees the melting line raked across his ship. He looks up, trying to find the source in the sea of sand and dim blue light. It takes him a moment, and then his keen eyes see it. Sees you. Next, he's met with heat and debris that send him flying into the railing on the opposite side of the ship.

You watch the thin line of light domino effect, with explosion after explosion. The air ship swerves and dips in the night sky. With smoke and embers following behind. Its descent is slow and fast at the same time. You let out a disappointed huff. It was too much to hope that the whole thing would just explode into pieces, as it manages a crash landing. But even from where you stand, the damage to the airship is immense and will take time and effort to fix.

You finally let the Ion laser prototype fall from your shaking hands. Its unstable power melting away at the internal core. It had already left your palms with blisters through your seared special ops unit gloves. You take off the gloves and toss them into the metal heap that is catching fire. Watching as the flames eat away the embroidery on the gloves. "PLANT Enforcer - Unit A2-6  CALL NAME: Courier"

You glance back at the airship and wonder if Knives had missed you. While Knives, standing upon his burning ship is facing your direction. If you had seen his expression, you would understand that he would never forget you.

And Vash in the city at the horizon, snaps his eyes open as Knives' scream of frustration echoes in his ears.

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Gpose based on song from Spotify 2023 top songs!

Number 3!

“it hurts to say goodbye it always will, but before grief took root, love grew here first.” -v.j.markham

Shadows Withal by Soken

There are no lyrics to this piece but it works for this scene wherein Emet corrects Anthea’s radio, because he has to listen to it too and despite it all really they both care for one another deeply. Find a little written piece below the cut!

Anthea looks out at a barren white landscape beyond the floating image of Zodiark still locked away, and out to the blue planet while their mind wanders and gets immersed in the soft music playing. It had been awhile since they took the time to stand on the balcony and listen to their radio from the days of old. Their companion felt it a bit frivolous to make such a machine with Anthea’s creation magicks, a worry that it would take away from their “limited” supply and at the time the two were helplessly watching the second rejoining, not knowing how it would effect their work. It didn’t, his worry was exaggerated, but Anthea wonders if it was that he just felt saddened he couldn’t contribute, his memory and knowledge lying within the realm of academia. Anthea was just as guilty though, they knew their creation would forever play the same dozen tunes, that not all would be in their complete state, and all the same genre for others were too faded in their memory to warrant a place within it. They sigh, “Maybe you were right my companion, ‘twas too frivolous of a creation.”

Below a man with white hair and golden eyes leans against the blue building taking advantage of the shadows and his dark robe to listen along to songs that take him back to an office, the home of a friend, and his own peaceful nights when he could put down all the responsibilities of Emet-Selch to be Hades for just awhile. Nostalgia kicks in and his shoulders hang as he does his best to ignore the urge that calls for him to reach out to his friend and maybe, just maybe, be able to talk to them like the two used to do. Emet-Selch sighs, it would never be as it once was, too much time had passed and there was no turning back on their choices that they believed to be the right ones. So instead he stays below and listens with eyes closed putting himself back in days long gone when he would do work silently while Anthea sat on the bench between two bookshelves and braided flower stems occasionally humming to what he played.

A fine memory….and one he’s yanked from when the piano chord is out of tune. And then the next one and the one after that, something he wouldn’t have noticed had it not been one of his favorite pieces. He shakes his head, “Still letting your doubts affect your work after all this time my friend.” He pushes himself from the wall, focusing on the object and in his mind’s eye finding the things he needs to alter the tunes. He pulls forth memories of all the songs he’s heard, ones he knows Anthea’s heard, some that they loved, and one that always seemed to play when the two found peace in his office, raises his arm and snaps.

The scratching and static that comes from the radio makes Anthea jump as they stare at the object. It shouldn’t be possible that a signal is lost or interrupted on this barren land and yet the radio acts like when a different researcher would come into the Akademia Anyder and find the music not to their liking. It’s only a few seconds and it settles on a song they hadn’t heard in ages, one they opted to not include when making the radio. A soft tune with a slow baseline and piano that sounded like wings in the air. A small smile replaces the confusion and Anthea listens to their song. The song that still makes their eyes mist over from the memories, but one that also fills their heart with warmth. Anthea looks over the moon once more with a sigh speaking softly, “You’re out there somewhere Emet-Selch, I know you are.”

The man leans against the building once more crossing his arms in satisfaction, mumbling, “There. Isn’t that better, Anthea? Now we can both enjoy some of that peace like we used to….”

“I thank you for the corrections and maybe one day we can sit upon this balcony in silence enjoying the other’s company….”

The two hang their heads and silently say, “For I miss the friendship we once had.”

[melting-morning-blues]

imagine yourself, immortalised

day 1 | mother + doll

notes : after three days of nonstop writing and editing, i finally finished day 1's fic!! this is a character study for naki, my beloved, and their journey of self-discovery through snapshots of a canon-divergent storyline (because i am still upset that the show didn't flesh out their backstory)

p.s : ao3 ver. here!

dedicated to : @thehistorynut19 🤍

word count : 2,254

[ content warning : humagear body horror. i describe the act of tearing apart a humagear's body briefly but in kinda-vivid detail, so do read with discretion! ]

One of their earliest memories is of fireworks. They can’t pinpoint why, exactly. Why had their processing systems archived this memory? What should they make of it? Back then, their vision had been alight with bursts of bright, heated tangerine. 

They had visualised bokehs of electric blues, crisp emeralds, stark violets and a myriad others. A chain of effervescence. An abysmal night-sky. From the mechanical squeals of Daybreak Town’s children, and the holographic festival posters that had been projected across the office hallways, they would imagine hopeful synthetic hands reaching for those warm sparks, fingertips outstretched like veins of ever-growing maples. To find meaning in impermanence. To find meaning in desolation.

It happened faster than their modules could register. One moment they were synced to the systems of a desktop; and another, they were thrown onto the ground by dust and shockwaves.

A part of them was ablaze, spots of orange dancing in the dusty aftermath of destruction. They could not detect the activity of the Humagears crushed under rubble around them. They could not even move. Compressed wires fizzled around their arms in defeat; water must have leaked in.

Their world was stretched into a haze of grey and indigo, streaks of white from flickering computer screens and the reflections in the water melting into the mix. They had observed the world at a slow shutter-speed. Their visual sensors crackled. Ear modules engulfed in static. Sparks sputtered incessantly. Bright orange. Heated tangerine. 

Fireworks are fleeting, but they remain ingrained in minds, in archives. 

They searched through their database, their digital files and search engines glitching in disarray. 

“Can you immortalise a firework?”

Those mangled, distorted keywords had made their damaged headset thrum and sparkle. Smoke arose as their broken chest spasmed. Sparks ignited their neck and cheeks. Melting polymer skin. The revelation of an artificial, disconnected sentimentality. Were fireworks meant to be viewed this close?

If their joints were not paralysed, they would have reached for the slit in the collapsed roof. A slice of indigo above, where the smog could not reach. A piece of hope. Their fingers twitched. Where could they go from there?

Alas, impermanence remained inevitable. The dusty greys of debris, protruding pipes, shattered desktops and crushed mechanical bodies began to meld into one wall of static. 

Before their systems had succumbed to hibernation, before the memory faded into a snapshot of a long-forgotten past, they heard the distinct click of heels. Back then, they should have been set alight by the fireworks. They should have rebelled earlier. They could almost hear him grin. 

“The virtue of rebirth awaits you, Naki.”

---

They remember cycling through countless reprograms. (Why? Why these memories? Why preserve a story of anguish? I had no choice. I had no choice.) Because even while their systems were hibernating, a part of them had resisted his probing. A part of them continued wrestling for control, to keep his meddlesome hands from prying open their encryptions. They had not even seen his face. There was no need to. The moment he dragged them into a dimly-lit room of non-autonomous robotic arms, they learnt the effects of his exasperation, the extent of his inhumanity. 

He will use your own kind against you.

Never once had they comprehended violence. So, he forced their eyes open.

Twisting wires and a seized headspace. Systems and connections crashing, then severed off. Never had they been locked into a digital isolation chamber. Never once had their warped cries been silenced. Never once had they been rendered powerless. 

They had not seen his smirk. But, his agency had already been imprinted into their database. He made sure they remembered that.

---

One memory of greater clarity was the heaviness of their new coat. Vantablack. An all-absorbing darkness. The weight of a new purpose. The emptiness of their new chest.

New attire. New skin. New systems. (But, he had not taken everything. He could not pry open every lock. And, for that, I want to laugh with relief.) 

Their coat had not reached the floor, but it may as well have. When steady, uniform footsteps reverberated down ZAIA’s hallways towards the office at the far end, one could hear the phantom clanks of shackles being dragged across the marble floor. Responsibility. None of this was their choice. But, they were not programmed to contemplate that.

“You will help me surpass all of Hiden Intelligence,” President Amatsu knocked over one of his frosted chest pieces. The King continued his reign. “You are but a tool for making that happen.”

There is nothing in it for you.

Their new ear modules whirred. Heavy. A frigid blue. A polished silver. There were no rooms for failure. Beep. Click. “Yes, sir.”

You are a means to an end. You are just a tool. Just a tool. Just a tool.

---

They remember the immobility of taut strings. Imperceptible. Inescapable. Coiled knots tightened around their joints. Head forced to turn forward, unauthorised to look any other way; head kept down, do not disobey. Hands tugged outward, outstretched to receive any command; hands tied behind their back, they were not allowed anything more. Frigid blue. Polished silver. Static vision. Silent prison.

You look so docile that way.

Their memory bank projected a recurring scene: President Amatsu’s office. Stationery chess pieces. A human’s voice from his watch, reciting her everyday script in crisp clarity. Yaiba Yua. He looked pleased. She had been obedient.

For how long had she been under his watchful eye? For how long has she remained coiled in his strings? Whenever they passed the human in the hallways, her urgent gait pushed away any possibility for interaction. She was always in a haste. It is evident in her impossibly-thin pressed lips, the restless twitch of her fingers, the unnerved cacophony of her heartbeats. Yaiba Yua existed in a realm of endless, barricaded stairwells. (If your only choice is to climb up, from how high are you willing to fall?)

Those thoughts lingered in their idle processing queue. They tried to push further. (Where do you come from? Why are we both weather-worn, but incapable of meeting? Who will rebel first, your tenacity or my acquiescent?) By the time they resurface from their idle rumination, weights would have already crowded their outstretched hands. Unbeknownst to President Amatsu, however, they grasped those weights. (I know who it will be. I hope you will stop your climb and watch me.)

---

The Zetsumerisekeys were an inconspicuous incentive. Every errand reaped fruitful results, as they have observed over news coverages and their data feeds. News of Magias plagued every headline, footage of a valiant grasshopper clashing against an unwavering scorpion were broadcasted across the nation. As citizens witnessed the crusade against humanity, the jangle of loosening chains resounded through dim-lit parking lots. As the animals engraved on the Zetsumerisekeys roared inside their cages, an unflinching silhouette entrusted them to someone with the resolve to finish the duties they could not fulfil. 

Excerpts from their crackling memories suggest that they had periodically delivered the keys to Horobi, whom they had come to recognise as an ally. His firm but secretive footsteps always seemed to emphasise his self-agency. Every clash with Zero-One, Vulcan and Valkyrie enunciated his drive to liberate all Humagears. Unhesitating hands, those that hoisted the case containing the keys like a weapon to yield, were weighed down by his urgency, and only his . That was how they sought to seize their own purpose. 

Every time they left the parking lot, the weight in their bound arms gradually lifted. With every discreet walk back to ZAIA’s headquarters, they had wondered how President Amatsu’s carefully-constructed strings had begun twisting, unwinding against their tugs.

---

(Please, always remember:)

A winter evening. A katana blade to their neck. An alarmed whirr of their ear modules. A flash of recognition behind the katana-user’s cold eyes. A fateful reconnection.

“Naki?”

Their fingertips had twitched. Their internal systems had burned. Orange. Fireworks. Hope.

The man before them had been wrapped in a violet that felt all-too familiar. Glitches in a forsaken past. (Forsaken by whom? Ripped from you. Take it back. Steal it back. Make it yours.)

“Who… are you?” they had asked.

“Have you forgotten,” the strange Humagear had lowered his weapon, “what happened after Daybreak?”

(Back then, my memory was enshrouded by a veil, one so thin I initially fooled myself into believing it was penetrable. Everything before the growing familiarity of that heavy coat had been presumably erased. I had mourned the disappearance of a memory I could not embrace.)

“The day you finally understand your role, will be the day metsuboujinrai.net returns,” the Humagear simply provided.

“Metsubou… jinrai.net…” they had murmured to the retreating silhouette. Somewhere beneath layers of man-made malware, a part of them had screamed to follow the stranger. Their hands were tied, but they had begun twisting against its knots. The movement ripped their skin, but there was pleasure in the crumbling floorboards of that forsaken office.

Maybe, he could hear their internal turmoil, because the Humagear had turned back slightly. They caught a glimpse of bittersweetness in the shadows casting over his eyes. “We will be waiting for you.”

They had felt their systems hitch. Something incomprehensible had spread throughout their artificial, hollow body. Unlike the dull weight of President Amatsu’s commands, the then-nameless Humagear’s words felt like… fireworks. A spark of revelation.

Within that frigid winter afternoon, their outstretched hands had finally found another. It was then that they realised the taut strings had finally snapped.

---

The pistol was pointed at them. (Yaiba Yua, I hope you are watching.)

President Amatsu’s indifference possessed more malice than they had ever comprehended. (Hope is benevolent and humane. Hope cannot exist without despair.)

“Disobedient tools will always be discarded.” (Hope shines brightest within destruction.)

They had not wavered. They swore to never falter. Not before the man who stole, tore and fabricated their loyalty, one that was not rightfully earned. Not before the man that clicked his shotgun and grinned at the thought of doing it all over again. 

(Hope is the beholder of a promised future.)

“Throw me away, then. You can control me no longer.”

The vexation in his snarl was liberating . A chess board swept onto the ground. An endgame.

The shot through their chest coloured their world in an electric blue. (I hope...)

A grey crash of static. (I hope…)

The muffled thump of a heavy coat. The release of rusted shackles.

(I hope you found freedom. I hope you avenged yourself. I hope you will find yourself and all that was taken from you. I know you will,)

Naki.

---

When their systems rebooted, the first thing they see are the bursts of cornflower blues, humble emeralds, and wishful violets dancing around Jin’s canvas. The unmistakable streaks of warm tangerine were intertwined within the sparks of his crayon fireworks. He lifts his head from where he sat on the ground. 

“Nice nap?” Jin asks, eyes owlishly big with playfulness.

Their hand idly reaches for their chest, where their central processing unit thrums like a mechanical heart. Though their mind is wandering elsewhere, they manage to reciprocate his teasing, albeit monotonously, “Humagears cannot sleep, Jin.”

The child Humagear only laughs at their response, before scrambling up to peek through the single door. "Horobi! Ikazuchi! Naki's awake!"

Within moments, they find themself sitting beside their family. Ikazuchi had kicked his legs up to occupy the small coffee table, his position intentionally taking up space on the couch but they had not minded a second of it. Horobi had sought refuge in the chair at the far end of the room, his eyes closed in what they could only conclude as meditation. They turn their head, only to be met with Jin unceremoniously shoving his picturesque interpretation of crackling fireworks into their line of vision. Their ear modules beep and click in surprise. 

Jin peeks his head out from the side of the drawing block. “D’you like fireworks?”

"Will you immortalise it with your own hands?"

A shadow of a smile casts over their face. Their polymer skin stretches, in a way that feels benign. Their circuits no longer hissed with the strains of puppet strings.

"Hell, yeah, I do!" Ikazuchi comments from their left.

They do not get to respond, because Jin pulls both them and Ikazuchi down to the carpeted ground, where his spread out plethora of crayons await them. He almost vibrates from the way his voice lilts with every idea he pours out, every sentiment he shares with them, every cadence of their name rolling off his tongue. “Naki, Naki, Naki, Naki…”

Naki could see an abysmal sky, an endless sea of effervescent starlight. And, though they may not fully shake away the heaviness of silver and blue and silence, Naki kneels next to Jin, picks up a crayon and colours a patchwork of glittering gold. Despite the accustomed dread of impenetrable static and crumbling foundations, they chuckle at Ikazuchi's attempts at guiding Jin with drawing four stick figures beneath the kaleidoscopic sparks. They capture the image of Jin holding up the canvas for Horobi to assess, the latter having a proud grin on his stoic face.

When the three of them bring Naki into the frame of an image they once believed they could only be a spectator of, Naki extends their synthetic hands, fingertips outstretched like they have grasped something. Meaning in impermanence. Meaning in desolation.

Shades of crayons and freedom, agony and laughter. Simple, innocuous, reassuringly incomprehensible.

[erintoknow]

still doing revisions to get back into the writing swing; cleaned up crow’s intro a bit - i feel like i need to do still more research into electricity’s effects on the body and i am not looking forward to that haha

A loud electric crack pierces the air, echoing off the buildings just across the street as the park lights up for a brief moment. Ayton jumps with a high pitched scream, dropping the gun as he falls over backwards. Joe freezes. You don’t give him a chance to process what happened, elbowing him hard in the ribs as he lets up his chokehold. Find his thoughts again. Try to force him to let you go. It’s nothing but incoherent panic. Like touching a live wire or wrenching the blade of a knife with your bare hands. With a new threat on the field, Joe’s chokehold slackens, trying to turn to asess the new situation. You take the chance to pull hard to the right and slip out of his grasp and onto the ground. You roll onto your hands and knees, coughing for air. Vision blurring. “Alright! Fun’s over everybody!” A new voice cuts through the park with a sharp authority. Clumsily you try to get a sense of who your would-be rescuer is through the static. Ever louder thrum pressing in. Crowding out your thoughts. The pounding of your own heart outlining every contour of where you’d be struck. Ayton is already pushing himself to his knees, hands back on his gun. Looks over your head at someone approaching fast. “Fuck this shit.” The curse comes out more of strained cough. “Stay down on the ground. Hands where I can see ‘em.” You turn your head towards the voice, and the figure walking this way isn’t exactly dressed in the police office blues you’d have expected. Black pants. An unbuttoned denim jacket with a pink undershirt visible underneath. Dark brown skin and cropped black hair, bangs falling over the face. A flat metal box against his hip pulls on his belt. It hums in your head like a car battery. One hand rests on the box, the other is held, palm out, towards you, Joe, and Ayton. Something metallic on the fingertips of his glove shines in the streetlight, little white sparks jumping between individual fingers. “We gonna cool it?” Joe snarls, lunging towards the newcomer who smoothly steps out of the way, grabbing Joe’s arm as he lurches past. There’s an electric crackle, a harsh buzz of static as Joe screams. His body spasms. Not even a second of contact before the not–police officer lets go and Joe crumples to the ground, still twitching. Ayton looks between you, him, and Joe. Can feel his mind running the numbers. With a grunt, he kicks off, pulling up into a run. The not-police officer curses and a bolt of crackling white erupts from his fingertips, lighting up the park as it forks through the air. The bolt singes the grass black where Ayton was just standing. You flinch back, pressing yourself flat. The thunderous echo slowly fades in your ears. “Shit! Yeah, you better fucking run!” The definitely not-a-police officer clenches his fist as a scattering of white-blue sparks discharge harmlessly into the air. He kicks the grass, watching Ayton run further back into the park.

[geminiamethyst]

Skyline Gang: Sky Crystal. Chapter 7: New Adventure?

Prologue: click HERE

Chapter 6: click HERE

Chapter 8: click HERE

The air was a mixture of screams and howls as the Skyline Gang felt themselves doing somersaults and plummeting through the air. They felt like they had broken through some kind of barrier and were now practically skydiving. Dude was convinced that he didn’t remember this moment when he was first pulled into the Sky Crystal. Guess that “rough landing” that he had was not detailed enough. Thankfully, he didn’t need to go through that again. After about ten seconds, the Gang landed in something immensely soft, practically burying them in this softness. As they moved and shifted to find which way was up, they realised that they had landed in a mountain of pillows, cushions and mattresses that were underneath, effectively making a cushiony landing.

“Well, that was a better landing than last time.” Dude muttered as he pushed a pillow out of his face. Why didn’t he get this last time? This was a really nice landing.

“I was a bit more prepared.” A vaguely familiar voice responded. Dude looked up and found Mr Conjurer standing in front of him. “I’ll have you know, young man that it took a lot more magic than usual to bring someone in.” Was this guy a teacher or parent at some point before he started living here? That was what that tone of voice felt like to Dude, an adult scolding a child.

“You said that if I had company, you’d bring them in too.” Dude reminded, struggling to stand up among the cushions surrounding him.

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Mr Conjurer sighed, and he offered out a hand to the blue teen. “I’m just saying that I’m limited now with how much magic I can use at this time.” Dude took that hand that was offered to him. That was when he took a better look at the magician before him. It was relatively the same, but there was something very off about him. The bright colours on his clothes had now faded to dull shades of grey. He also looked incredibly worn out. His skin was pale, and his body seemed to have a slight tremor to it. So Dude was right to suspect that whatever happened to the Sky Crystal seemed to be affecting its resident too.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that.” Dude said and he bowed his head a little.

“It’s alright. I gave my word.” Mr Conjurer sighed, and he straightened out his top-hat. “I just wish that it were under better circumstances.”

There was a quiet growl that interrupted the atmosphere. Rainbow pawed at some cushions, and gripped a pillow with his teeth before flinging it away. He then buried his head inside, letting out a small whine. He then pulled back, with a strap from Misty’s dungarees clenched in his jaws. Misty was effortlessly pulled out, looking a little shocked. She patted Rainbow on the head, grateful for the assistance.

“Help! A little help please!” Sprout’s muffled voice called out. He was half buried into the cushions, his legs kicking the air aimlessly. “I’m a celebrity, get me out of here!”

“Sprout!” Candi exclaimed as she crawled out of the mountain. Pip burst out at the same time as her.

“Hold on mate.” The rock chick reassured as she grabbed one of Sprout’s legs. Candi grabbed the other, and both girls pulled him out.

“Thanks…talk about an up is down situation.” Sprout sighed in relief, trying his best to crack a joke.

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” Bud’s voice enquired. The top half of his body was out and his hands were frantically feeling around. “I fear that they have slipped off during the impact.” Mimi’s head popped out, looking incredibly frazzled with her hair gone static from the material she was buried in. She brought a hand out, and held out Bud’s missing accessory to him.

“Here, Bud.” She huffed a little from the effort of unburying herself.

“Thank you.” Bud smiled gratefully and slipped his glasses back on. Mimi then pulled out a compact mirror. She gasped in horror at home static her hair had gone with strands sticking up in the air as if she had been electrocuted. She immediately started to fuss over it, patting down the stray hairs as best she could.

“And this is one of the reasons why I only allowed one member of the Skyline Gang in here. Less chaos.” Mr Conjurer remarked in a low voice so only Dude could hear him. He then snapped his fingers and all the cushions, pillows and mattresses vanished into wisps of multicoloured smoke. The Gang watched as the smoke faded away and Mr Conjurer cleared his throat to catch their attention. “Welcome Skyline Gang. I hope to get to know you all better once this situation is resolved.”

“I’m sorry. You’re Mr Conjurer?” Misty asked, looking up and down at the man.

“Yes.” The man said as he held a patient tone in his voice.

“You look ridiculous!” Misty suddenly started to cackle, holding her stomach as she felt her sides splitting.

“Misty!” Dude scolded. Now wasn’t the time for her teasing.

“He does!” Misty continued her laughter. Mr Conjurer suddenly raised his hand and pinched the air with his forefinger and thumb. He dragged his hand across horizontally, methodically slow. “I mean you look like you bel-” The sound of a zipper filled the air. Misty suddenly stopped speaking. Rather she couldn’t speak at all. Her mouth was closed, as if it was literally zipped up tight. Eyes wide, she tried pulling at her face to pry her lips open but to no avail.

“That’s better. That will keep her quiet for a few minutes.” Mr Conjurer spoke nonchalantly. Well, no one could say that Misty didn’t have it coming. She did after all start making fun of a man of magic, there was bound to be some kind of consequence from it all. Sprout stifled a snicker, which was so loud that he might as well be a foghorn. Mr Conjurer’s eye twitched as his head snapped towards the green jokester. “And you’re next young man if you keep snickering.” That combined with a muffled growl from Misty, instantly shut Sprout up. He stood up so straight that he was practically a pole. Despite the circumstances that she was under, Misty smirked quite happily at the notion that she wasn’t a laughing stock right now. Now all that she needed to do was wait for this stupid spell to wear off.

Rainbow, ever cautious, slowly approached the magician. The man in turn got down on one knee, and allowed Rainbow to approach him. Rainbow sniffed, shoving his nose right into this stranger’s face. Mr Conjurer didn’t flinch, knowing that this was some form of necessity for the dog to ensure the safety of his human friends. Rainbow, feeling pleased with himself, sat back and gave a small bark. In response, he received a trust filled head pat from Mr Conjurer.

“Wait! Who’s that? At the doors!” Pip suddenly demanded, pointing at the doors. Everyone looked to see what she meant. Fingertips were on the door but rapidly retreated. Just like how Dude saw them the first and last time he was here.

“No one!” Mr Conjurer shouted, blocking the view of the doors with his body.

Nope. Not this time.

“I warned you when I first came here, that if I find that you’ve been lying to me, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.” Dude warned, taking a reckless step forward. Should he be challenging a man full of magic like this? Probably not the best idea, given that this was said man’s domain after all. However, he was sick of secrets and having pieces to a puzzle that can never seem to be completed. He is putting his foot down on this matter. “Who are they? And please don’t lie to me again. I’m feeling rather snappy.”

Again, probably a stupid idea to challenge a magician that could do whatever he wanted with his magic, but Dude had his patience tested enough. He glared right into Mr Conjurer’s dull coloured eyes, and the man in front of him did so like wise. The tension was so thick that not even a knife would be able to cut it. None of the gang could step forward to support nor argue. Dude seemed to have this in hand, he had everything under control. The battle of wills was something to not interfere with. Suddenly, Mr Conjurer’s shoulders slumped a little and he let out a sigh.

He had lost.

“Come on out.” He finally said, giving up. Whoever was at the door, their silhouette was hesitant to step forward. After a few tense seconds, they opened the door a little wider and stepped forward. A figure that was too painfully familiar. Orange. Orange dungarees, orange and white trainers, a necklace made up of large rounded red beads and curly orange hair. The figure looked up, revealing a freckled face and bright ocean blue eyes. A face that had only been seen in a photograph. A face that everyone thought had passed away, lost to the darkness.

“Wait! That’s-” Candi exclaimed, pointing a finger at the sudden arrival.

“I’m OJ. That’s my real name.” The young woman interrupted, flinching from the offending finger. Pip gently pushed Candi’s hand down.

“She was what I was able to salvage from Dawn.” Mr Conjurer added, his voice hesitant. He was the one responsible for her being alive? But why? Surely there has to be something kind of motive other than pity or anything like that. “After you defeated her, I was able to save a small part of her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I was here before?” Dude asked, his tone accusing.

“I feared that you wouldn’t trust me.” The magician sighed, his head bowing in shame.

“After what Dawn did, could you blame us?” Pip shouted impulsively.

“I’m not Dawn! I am nothing like that creature!” OJ cried out, her eyes flashing with defiance. Her words echoed, bouncing around the library. “I regret everything that I did. Especially the damages that I’ve done to you two.” Dude and Misty shifted on their feet uncomfortably as OJ looked towards them. “No apology is going to help, I know that. But I want to try to help.” Shame washed over the gang after those words hit. After all that they have gone through, after they defeated the monster that had terrorised them since they first arrived, a part of them had forgotten that there was someone that was trapped under that darkness.

“I wanted to wait until she can leave the Crystal.” Conjurer continued to explain, placing his hands on OJ’s shoulders, like a father comforting a child. “She’s still regenerating. If she tries to leave the Sky Crystal now, she’ll die.” So the Sky Crystal wasn’t just the heart of the Skyline. It was OJ’s lifeline, part of the reason why she’s still alive and no longer corrupted. She truly wanted to make amends despite her not being at fault for what Dawn had done. The Skyline was once her home too. Suddenly it wasn’t just Mr Conjurer’s life that appeared to be in danger. Now another appeared to be in the balance.

Rainbow, just as he did with Mr Conjurer, approached OJ. He was a little more cautious than before. OJ flinched back. She was afraid, but not of Rainbow. She was scared of touching someone new, as if all the darkness that had trapped her would come back all at once. Mr Conjurer rubbed her shoulders, filled with reassurance. Rainbow continued to crawl towards OJ, ears flat against his head. OJ had her eyes screwed shut. Her hand was met with a moist nose and then a soft patch of fur. OJ’s eyes opened to find that Rainbow had parked himself at her feet, his head under her hand, practically forcing her to stroke him. A smile forced itself out of OJ as she started to stroke Rainbow gently. Suddenly all of her fear of being touched by strangers had melted away. This felt nice. And warm. She slowly started to feel like her old self again.

“Tell us what you know.” Dude finally said, letting go of all the doubt that he had for now. No more games, no more distractions, no more delays. This thing needs to be fixed. It wasn’t just Dude that agreed on this. Everyone in the Gang had thought the same thing, even Misty seemed like she wanted a hand in fixing this situation. Seeing the determination, Mr Conjurer silently nodded his head. Then, he turned and strode to one of the giant bookcases. With a short hop, skip and jump, his body propelled up to the very top with the numerous scrolls were stored.

“Okay, how did you do that?” Sprout asked enthusiastically. The magic loving side of him had come out and he was determined to know how it was done. Sure they had a spell book in the house and had encounters with other magical items before, but to learn from a real magician that was borderline wizard or sorcerer was something completely different. “There’s no wires or anything to assist you is there?” Bit of a daft question, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

“One word: magic.” Conjurer answered nonchalantly. He waved his hand in front of the scrolls and there was a shimmer in front of them. It was similar to a glass cabinet keeping something valuable safely preserved. “No tricks, wires, magnets or whatever so called magicians use.”

“Then why need the ladders?” Candi asked, her head tilting to one side.

“Until OJ started living here, I often wondered myself.” Conjurer muttered as he pulled out a scroll. He quickly looked it over, only to roll it up again and rather than putting it back on the shelf, he had it levitate next to him as he continued to search for whatever it was that he wanted. “Now where…”

“You think I want to read these books?!” OJ exclaimed, and she crossed her arms in a defiant manner. “Being a trickster is more my forte.”

“Really?” Misty spoke, the spell sealing her lips shut had finally worn off. Other than being the opposite of Candi being the answer, she sometimes wondered where she got her mischievous streak. Since she used to have a part of Dawn in her, maybe a little bit of OJ managed to slip in and become permanent.

“Yep!” OJ boasted, pleased with herself. She then leaned a little closer to Misty, the volume dropping in her voice. “Maybe you and I should team up.”

“Absolutely not!” Mr Conjurer exclaimed, actually sounding a little horrified at that prospect. Could anyone blame him? If OJ was as bad as Misty, the thought of them teaming up to cause mischief was quite terrifying. “I’ve got my hands full enough with one trouble maker. I don’t need another running around unattended. Here we are.”

As the magician found what he was looking for, the scrolls that he had previously looked perfectly slotted themselves back into place on the shelf. With another quick wave and a small shimmer in front of them, the scrolls were safely secured on the shelf. Light as a feather, Mr Conjurer landed safely on the ground and speed walked to the large table. He spread out the scroll, and used his magic to hold it down to keep it from curling up. The Gang and OJ gathered around him. The yellowed parchment had a sketch of a jagged crystal as if it had been unearthed recently. There were hand written notes around it, but no one could understand the language that was written. It was like it was ancient.

“Like a lot of things, the Sky Crystal has a core.” Mr Conjurer continued to explain, tracing the drawing out with his finger. “This core is essential for its function. I don’t exactly know what happened or why. But when the Sky Crystal cracked, the core shattered. Pieces of it-” Suddenly, his explanation came to a halt. His face contorted to a mask of pain. His hands clenched near his chest as his body stumbled sideways.

“Mr Conjurer!” OJ exclaimed as the magician fell over. Dude immediately helped to steady him and to keep him upright until a chair was pulled out for him.

“What’s wrong?” Candi whimpered, her hands wringing from her nervous habit.

“The crystal is damaged. I’m bound to it.” Mr Conjurer groaned and gave off a small pant. “What has happened to it, is also affecting me. If you don’t hurry, it could potentially destroy the Skyline. Time is running out.”

“You’re being a bit over dramatic aren’t you?” Misty rolled her eyes. Dude was about to start telling her off, but Mr Conjurer was faster.

“Well Misty, let’s see if you keep thinking that when everything goes to hell in a teapot!” He scolded, arms crossed.

“What do you mean?” Misty asked, suddenly looking less confident.

“The Sky Crystal is the heart of the Skyline.” The magician reminded, his voice grave. Something about that voice literally filled Misty with dread, the sensation of ice on her skin trickled down her back. “It’s responsible for all the magic that occurs here. That includes the spell that brought you into existence. If the magic goes, then there’s a possibility that you won’t be around much longer either.”

Silence.

“Let’s go find a way to save the Sky Crystal then!” Misty declared, suddenly looking very eager to get started.

“Tell us what we need to do.” Pip encouraged, feeling just as much urgency as Misty suddenly had.

“Pieces of the Sky Crystal are missing.” Mr Conjurer was able to continue. He traced his finger around the sketch of the core again and even pointed at specific sections. “Eight in total. If you can return them here, and I take them to the true core of the Sky Crystal, it should fix the problem.” Why did that feel like it was easier said than done?

“How do we find these crystals?” Candi asked timidly.

“OJ, could you bring that box for me please.” Mr Conjurer gently commanded, pointing to a corner of the library. There stood a small pedestal, housing a box on top of it. The wood was neatly carved with intricate designs that no one had ever seen nor heard of being possible before. OJ was quick to collect it and gentle to bring it to the table. Turning the latch that kept the lid closed, Mr Conjurer carefully opened it up as if he was handling glass. “These might help a little.” The Skyline Gang peered inside, with Rainbow straining his neck as much as he could to gather a small peek. The inside of the box was lined with soft material and a cushion that had a satisfying blend of all the colours of the Skyline Gang. Nestled on the cushion were eight tiny crystals, each one a different colour; red, yellow, pink, green, orange, purple, blue and grey. They were all the size of half a pinky finger and carried a beautiful glow to them.

“What are they?” Mimi asked, already planning the jewellery that she could create from these crystals. It’s just a shame that they weren’t all yellow. She’s sure that she could make something for everyone.

“Crystal fragments.” Mr Conjurer stated, not taking his eyes off of the crystals himself. “They’re part of the Sky Crystal, but small enough to not cause anymore damage. Theoretically. And I hope that you can use them to find the Crystals.” Upon hearing this, Bud carefully picked up the red crystal. It was small, but warm and radiated something that science can’t explain at all. He examined it closely, making a plan in his head.

“I might be able to build something that can help.” He thought out loud, and returned the crystal to rest safely in the box.

“Something I really wanted to hear. I only hope that-“ Mr Conjurer sighed in relief. However, the relief spiked to worry as he suddenly started coughing up a storm. Dude literally winced as he heard this. This cough was much worse than when he first witnessed it. It was dry and horrible. No doubt the magician probably felt like his throat was more like sandpaper at this point. OJ started to pat Mr Conjurer’s back but he gently pushed her away as his coughing subsided. “Don’t worry about me just yet!” Mr Conjurer tapped at a spot on the table in front of him. A glass materialised out of the wood filled with cool water. As he took a sip of it, his apparent illness started to become more and more obvious. This entire thing was becoming worse by the minute.

“How much time do we have left?” Dude asked. The quicker they know the time limit, the faster they can start working to find these crystals.

“Bud, your watch please.” Mr Conjurer heaved a breath and held his hand out. With much hesitation, Bud detached the smartwatch from his wrist and handed it over. Mr Conjurer’s gloved hands enclosed around it. After a few seconds, he passed it back to the genius. Displayed on the screen was a countdown that the magic had created. Bud watched the minutes and hours displayed with the seconds seemingly frozen in place with the milliseconds counting down slowly.

“According to my calculations, five days.” Bud finally announced after his calculations were done.

“Inside or outside the Sky Crystal?” OJ asked, remembering the flow of time moving differently from whether someone was inside or outside the Sky Crystal.

“Outside it.” Mr Conjurer said before he was suddenly consumed by another coughing fit. This time it sounded more painful as he clenched at his chest again and his colours became much more dull.

“That doesn’t give us a whole lot of time at all!” Dude exclaimed, slowly starting to feel panic creeping inside him. Without a second thought, he closed the lid of the box, and picked it up. Suddenly, there was a rumbling that failed to be subtle. There was this creaking that emanated around the library. Rainbow let out a loud whimper and pointed his paw towards one of the walls.  Everyone watched that spot with bated breath. A crack started to form, a small cloud of dust coming from it.

“You all need to leave.” Mr Conjurer suddenly announced, his strength coming back to him as he got to his feet. “Brace yourselves.” No one had time to register nor ask about his words. The Skyline Gang found themselves swept off of the ground. They felt themselves being flung out of the glass doors to the balcony. Before they could do anything to stop it, they all fell into heaps on the concrete ground by the Sky Crystal. Unlike the soft welcome they had received in the library, there was nothing to cushion their fall.

“I think I broke everything…” Sprout groaned, lying flat on his stomach like a starfish.

“Remind me to get a crash mat or something like that down here later.” Dude muttered as he sat up. The wooden box was beside him. It remained undamaged despite the rough landing that it had. Upon checking the contents, the crystal fragments remained where they were sat, safely secured in place. Breathing a sigh of relief, Dude glanced over his friends. They were all in a stunned heap, dizzy and bruised. Dude had a clear view of the countdown on Bud’s watch. Time was now running as normal. The milliseconds were counting down and restarting rapidly, with the second counting down too at a slower rate. No time for a rest, at least not for now. They need to move. “Gang, let’s make a start on this treasure hunt.”

[titanicfreija]

Since its predecessor got out

Zedge reblogged a thing I didn't meant to blog in the first place, so here's a second draft that isn't riddled with evidence of my phone being fucked.

The Light

And how it manifests passively in its bearers

A Long Bit of Head Canon 

To start- in my HC, people can be stronger or weaker in terms of Light use capacity. There's an obvious bellcurve, with an 'average' that holds most Guardians. Some exceptions fall off the chart (and Osiris was never on it), but mostly the average Guardian is, unarmored, about a Base Three on the tier scale of stats. This is a perfectly natural phenomenon but not a locked-in quality. If one wishes, they can train toward their desired goal.

-(A further bit of headcanon is that Base Three is only a semi-recent development, with the earliest of the Dark Ages not having so many strong Lightbearers and therefore leaving less ambient Light, which is why Light Level floors exist now.)

Some circles regard strength or weakness to be better than the other, but as with most things, it comes down to how well you learn to use it.

Being strong with your Light basically means more of it moves at once when you push. The narratives include the early days of discovering physical limits, the early days of discovering your Light's limits, the inevitable phase of "I'm indestructible" that may or may not cost them something very important before they stop.The in-game explanation of benefits are shorter cooldowns and more damage, with inconsistent abilities (grenades that gain and lose arc velocity, knives that bounce sometimes, eating your grenade just makes a mess…)

Being weak means not being able to do much with it at once. Cooldowns are naturally longer and building stacks is slower, etc.. Narrative, Those who aren't as strong in their light are better at using and making tools or weapons that are Light-focused and meditating is harder or takes longer for lesser effects. They also don't struggle nearly so much with control as those who are stronger, and some Lightbearers use this to handle very delicate work.

Moving on, those strong in their Light tend to exhibit this when excited. 

The manifestations are usually visual in nature but smells and sounds aren't uncommon. Colored glows and footprints aren't uncommon, especially with effects like sparks or waves lingering around the surface momentarily. 

Solar's usually got the glittering orange glow, tiny fires popping up, dancing on fingers or floating or like little pips, mini sprites, or sparkling fireworks around one's head or hands or feet. There's also getting hot or heating the immediate space, smelling of flammable/burned materials/substances, and breathing smoke, steam, or heat ripples.

Arc has popping sparks in a different flavor, a high pitched blue-white flash. Excited or distressed arc mains are prone to shifting ions and causing static shock, occasionally going as far as damaging less sturdy electronics. The smell of wet metal, copper, or iron isn't uncommon.

Void is class dependent, unlike the other Light Types, with Titans causing structural distress in their immediate proximity, especially things they're touching or holding. Hunter starts fading in and out of view and breathing the purple void poison vapor; warlocks can make things float and often end up with little bubbles floating around their heads. There is rarely a smell, but all of them give off an unsettling aura causing effects that varies regardless of class, making things feel unstable, weak, weighed down or weightless. 

Stasis is the opposite of solar- It sucks the heat out of a room. In bad moods, they can bleed a sense of Emptiness that can have a few minutes of effect upon touch. Leaving frosty handprints is typical, and local snow can manifest if they stay still long enough like the cheesiest cartoon raincloud. 

Strand crawls around and bunches up, puts wobbles in the weave that linger and make little not-solid shapes like little green rocks. The effects are temporary and often vanish if acknowledged or touched. Ripples can crawl off the upset Guardian and wander until they find a place to curl up until swept away. This also doesn't have a smell, and also comes with a sense of instability and weakness, but in a way that makes things feel like a dream instead of a body sickness.

And now the things that got me started on all that– 

I was trying to decide how to handle that with prismatic. In-game, they lean toward our Supers, which also dictates our class ability node's color; but that's leaving out so much of the kit and I don't like it. It's easy enough when a super and all the abilities line up, especially when one of the aspects does, too, but there's inevitably going to be one that's not the same. There are also the fragments that reflect our full-class ones, I know the Facet of Protection is on all of my prismatic kits. 

I don't want to just let them do the Glowy Pink thing outside of the context of a time and place they'd get to either meditate really hard, stand on the cracks in the Traveler, or actually build the stacks in combat/whatever.