#vibrating while waiting for sonic 3

[nounuoo]

my two special interests ....... mixed ..........

[lace-coffin]

Hi im that person that asked for the stufed toy thing and oh my god i loved it so much i loved everything and onece your requests are open sorry im asking while they are shut i had this sudden idea for a request sorry😭😭 ive also kinda got 2 ideas soooo sorry😅

But like a reader that is obsessed with drawing and loved to draw cute and sweet drawings to give to asa to do with their hyper fixation or every time they are with him they start ranting to him about it or them i dont know but he would be so educated on their hyper fixation unless its bugs then he would already know everything haha

Or idea 2

The reader likes to lick things randomly for no particular reason they just like to do it or they love physical touch and cant get enough of it always cuddling with asa at night as close as they can and just imagine them cuddling and they just lick him then he just gets confused that would be so funny to imagine😭😭

Or the reader for the same type of thing as the plushie one but instead music to calm them down and they would have like a tiny crying fit for their headphones bc i have had alot of meltdowns over not having my headphones its crazy i love your writing so much hope u have a good day❤️

Asa Emory x Autistic!Gn!Reader with a new hyperfixation

Requests are open!

Hi I hope you like this! I totally crammed my last two fixations into this < 3

Call Asa old but he wasn’t exactly up to date on video games. He defiantly was now at least, not that he had much choice. You were always flipping between interests, intensely talking and interacting with one topic for weeks or months at a time and then switching to another that catches your interest. It’s been Sonic The Hedgehog for atleast 3 weeks now.

He didn’t exactly picture his desk to be filled with pictures of anthropomorphic hedgehogs but here he is, he kinda signed up for this when he stuffed you into the trunk, knowingly or not. As long as you’re happy then he’s happy, even if he thinks you’re spending a little too much time on that GameCube you begged him to bring to hotel..

A few weeks pass and it’s now the Saw franchise. Victims being “tested” in disgusting gory traps by a man that fancies himself to be god? This is more up to his speed..pun unintended.

A series of excited knocks sound from the door of your masters workroom. Stretching his taught shoulders and neck he takes inventory of his aching muscles, he supposes he can take a break to spend some time with his puppy. Slumping back in the chair and swinging it to face to door Asa calls you in. “Enter”

Keeping your eyes pinned to the floor until given further permission you enter the room, shuffling over to drop to your knees in front of your owner, waiting for the order. The currently unmasked man drinks in your appearance, oversized jumper falling to sit on your neatly pressed together thighs and the collar he places on you every morning slightly twisted, the tag not where it should be.

“Eyes up pet” he says firmly, snapping his fingers to emphasise the point. Jumping a little at the suddenness you snap your eyes up to meet a fond look on master’s face, you relax a little, letting out a sigh.

Shuffling to prop his chin up with his fist in interest, Asa continues.

“What can I do for you pet?”

Visibly perking up and practically vibrating on the wooden floor you push the paper into Asa’s face, defiantly too close, there’s no way he can actually see it like that. Realising this you settle to put it in his lap and stare back at him hopefully.

“I drew more pictures! I wanted you to see..” you reply a little shy, suddenly realising how loud and excitable you had been, insecurity creeping in. Asa recognises you shrinking in on yourself and tuts. “Can I see, cricket?” He adds softly, prompting you to show him what you’ve been working on, he never wants you to feel ashamed about you’re passions even if you’ve been taught in the past to ‘tone it down’

Asa wants all of you, he accepted that from the moment he hoisted you into the box, to the moments when he firmly settles the collar around your throat every morning.

Soft smile settling onto your face you hand over the paper, not ignoring the way your knuckles brush against your masters during the exchange.

You wait with baited breath as he looks the paper over, you know he would never say anything demeaning about your art but you can’t help feel a little anxiety when letting someone in on something special to you. Todays drawing is a rough sketch of your for a saw trap, it’s grisly and frankly disgusting, you don’t envy anyone that would end up strapped down and desperate on the other end of it. Obviously you have no need for a contraption like that, but it’s only an (admittedly) sick fantasy.

After flicking through the diagrams and reading the notes as best he can (it’s not your fault he can’t read you’re handwriting well 🙄) a strange look crosses his face..it’s almost like you can see the cogs working in his brain. this could either be fantastic or a disaster, Asa isn’t one to do things half assed, it’s always all or nothing.

“Can I use this?” The silence is suddenly broken, his sclera eyes raising to meet your own, not any less eerie than when hidden behind his mask.

A strange feeling begins to pool in your stomach, should you feel exited? Proud that he wants to use your plans? Or disgusted? Sick to your stomach that the plans you never envisioned actually coming to fruition will be used to torture some poor individual? Unsure how to feel or respond you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as if trying to muster something up.

“These are wonderful cricket, they may need a little tinkering to make them functional but regardless this design is…fascinating.” A sickly sweet smile sits on your masters lips as he hands the paper back to you, ruffling your hair and placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

Stunned and with a pit in your stomach you nod dumbly, leaning into the affection and practically purring. The idea that you’ve just essentially sentenced someone to their painful and unethical demise is soul crushing…but also a little thrilling? Has your owner really rubbed off on you this much? It’s not like you don’t know what he does day in and day out but it’s never been this..personal.

Asa slaps his knees (like the old man he is) and rolls back over to the desk, pushing away his current projects and random hardware to make room for your (his) new trap.

“Can you bring me the paper please, doll?. I would like to get started as soon as possible.”

Shaking off the ever building dread you pull yourself up, a little unsteady due to the burning in your thighs from sitting in one position so long. Placing the paper on his desk you stare back at him, waiting for further instruction. you’re not sure when he ended up ingraining that response into your mind but at this point it’s not worth questioning, it’s not hard to see that the pair of you are living in your own little world outside of normal society by now.

“You’re welcome to either sit by me as I work and give input considering it’s you’re design or you may sit on your bed and wait for me to finish”

You glance over at the cushy pet bed across the room from Asa’s desk…a lay down does sound ideal right now, maybe a nap will help clear your head? Or swallow the guilt.

“I’m gonna lay down sir, maybe nap a little, promise I won’t snore and distract you” you tease, giggling and feeling a little better in yourself.

Asa huffs out a chuckle at your joke. “I’ll be sure you don’t little bug.” He says, smiling gently at you. You turn to leave before being stopped in your tracks.

“One more thing, pet”

Cool gloved hands slide around your neck making you shiver at the contact, the small misplaced silver tag is slid back into its original place, proudly stating your name and owner on the front like a brand.

“There we go, much better”

Blushing a little you thank your owner and wonder off to the dog bed, curling up and lazily watching him work from afar.

[shady-scripter]

Piercing Light

Part 3 of my Super Smash Bros Fic!

It luminated a beautiful blue. It’s tip ridged and segmented. The head seemed to be wrapped around the arrow’s shaft like it wasn’t meant to be there in the first place. Kokiri could feel the energy radiating off of Arrow’s source of his Final Smash. Though, it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as Sonic’s emeralds.

Kokiri hummed, his eyes transfixed on, what Arrow called, an ancient arrow. Though, Kokiri could tell that it had Sheikah written all over it.

“Yeah, there’s like, an invisible barrier around all stages,” Outset talked steady and sort of in a whispered tone. “Which is why you blacked out. You hit the barrier and then respawned at the top of the stage. That was you losing a stock.”

“A…stock?” Kokiri silently laughed as Outset’s right eye twitched. For having a little sister, he sure was impatient.

“It’s like a…life. Like,” Outset tapped his chin and looked to the ceiling. “it’s like a heart! You have, or had, those, right?”

“The tattoos? On my arm?” Arrow rolled up his sleeve, but there were no tattoos. “They’ve faded but-“

“Yes!” Outset jumped up. “Crossing the barrier is like falling into lava!” Arrow winced. “You lose a heart, or stock, but then you come back!”

Arrow rubbed the back of his neck. “So, that thing over there,” Arrow pointed to what had to be a man, though his form was so blocky that he looked like stacked boxes. “Took my heart?”

“That’s Steve,” Kokiri cut in. He was a new person, but he had come over earlier asking about Arrow’s arrow. Steve said that the blue looked like an “Arrow of Swiftness” and Kokiri wondered how the hell getting shot can make someone quicker. “Even if you don’t know what they are, describing is better than pointing or calling someone an it.”

“Wait,” Outset’s expression grew surprised. “You fought that guy?” Arrow nodded. Kokiri could practically see stars in Outset’s eyes. “What was he like? What could he do?”

Arrow rubbed the nape of his neck. “He did this thing a lot where he’d take a pickaxe to the ground and get items. Which was weird because we were on pink clouds. But then he made stuff with it. One thing was like…a blue sword. It was definitely his strongest weapon.”

Kokiri watched as the look of woah set on Outset’s face as Arrow continued to talk. That was when a light buzz sounded in his head.

He reached behind him and unhooked it. He peered into his hollowed out eyes, the buzz growing in volume. “Yes?”

“Hello.”

“What did you need?”

“You haven’t even thought of using me for a while now, is all.”

Kokiri’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked around. Arrow and Outset were sharing abilities that their opponents had. The Captain looked to be having a crisis while his arms waved around in the air, a way the Captain expressed himself. A habit that he was pretty sure Ordon learned from him.

Everyone was talking to someone.

Kokiri opened his mouth, but it was then that his hand began to sting. Kokiri hummed and met Outset’s eyes.

“If they brought Ordon’s Ganondork back, I’m fighting god.” Outset sneered. Kokiri chuckled and felt the hum of a much deeper laugh vibrate in his head.

Ordon’s Ganondorf was one pretentious asshole, but then again, so was…his. Kokiri watched him walk in alongside another man.

Kokiri didn’t like how close that other man looked to the thirty year old him. The man was just a bit more muscully than he was around the arms. But Kokiri knew his pectorals were unmatched. At least, that’s what Malon said.

Malon…Kokiri could feel himself go lightheaded with his smile before he quickly shook it off.

Ike, his red cape flowing softly behind him, was the first to approach the new opponent. “Ike.” His voice was stern as he reached his hand out.

The man nodded curtly, holding the brim of his hat. He had it in the front instead of the side like Ness did. “Terry. It’s my pleasure.” He shook Ike’s hand and looked over towards Ganondorf, who hadn’t left the man’s side yet. Ganondorf shrugged, eyeing the next person to come up to the newcomer.

If his eyes weren’t so keen, maybe he wouldn’t see the look of embarrassment on Ganondorf’s face.

Part of Kokiri’s soul healed right then and there, he was sure.

Had Terry beaten him? Kokiri found himself chuckling. “Goddesses, how many more are coming?” Outset blurted.

“Only the goddesses know, I suppose.” Kokiri shrugged.

“What if it’s like with the Captain?”

Kokiri’s eyebrows furrowed. “What with Falcon?”

“No! The war, Kokiri, the war!”

Kokiri peered down at the mask in his hands, memories of blood and madness staining his vision. The Captain, a Link just like him.

Dread began to set in.

What if Outset was right? What if whatever gods hosted this had another problem, but this one was bigger, which is why there were so many people here.

And just as if he had summoned it, a massive door opened to the far side of the room. Silence rang through the room.

Kokiri stood up. Outside that door, it was just a small piece of land and then a cliff.

Kokiri made eye contact with Outset, then turned and met eyes with the Captain, then Snake’s.

But it wasn’t them who stepped up first. It was Fox McCloud. Soon enough, everyone followed.

He stood at the edge, looking down at the water below. Reflected in the water, were more Master Hands and Crazy Hands than he could possibly begin to count.

At the forefront of it all, at the tip of the cliff, stoof Fox, his gun aimed to the sky. “Don’t let a single one get away!”

Kokiri’s head began to spin and his heart began to beat rapidly. He looked around. Arrow was right behind Fox, a Zelda he didn’t know to Arrow’s right, and…he couldn’t see Outset.

Kokiri looked up, shielding his eyes from the unforgiving light. It was like a sun surrounded by moving rainbow gears. He gulped.

Here we go again.

“We’ll each need to take down about ten.” Marth’s voice was easily recognizable. Now Kokiri was wishing that Marth was scolding him about children like Roy implied he would.

“Stow your fear,” Zelda’s words sounded like orders. “It’s now or never!”

“We’ll win this!” The voice of Pit echoing across the cliffside. “I know we will!”

This was never finished so quickly. Pit had to know that. He was a veteran after all…

Kokiri shook his thoughts away and readied his fire arrows. There was a Master Hand close enough for him to…

The glove began to peel away, revealing blue light. The light then poured themselves into the sun encircled by rainbow wings. “What the…” he couldn’t stop his thought from dripping from his lips.

That was when he saw Shulk turn to the group behind him. He had wide eyes, his mouth agape.

That was when it all disappeared, leaving a black hole, the clouds around it swirling as if it were a vortex. The clouds turned red.

Aw shit.

Out of the black hole shot light. Light brighter than any sun or moon he’s ever seen.

It was a full frontal assault! Kokiri, no, Link, put his bow and arrows away and prepared his shield.

He turned to gage the rest of everyone’s weapons. Who could he work with?

With a ting, Kokiri’s attention was taken by Arrow. His Hylian shield deflected the light, but even as he tried to swing at it, his blade did nothing. It was the sword that seals the darkness, not one able to destroy light.

With one more bash to his shield, Arrow was defenseless for only a second before the light consumed him, leaving nothing behind. Not even ash.

Kokiri heard himself scream, but he couldn’t feel it. Why were his legs shaking? He knew something like this would happen! Arrow couldn’t actually be dead! He was-

“Focus Link!” The growl echoed in his head like a shout in a cave.

Samus went next, her lasers and guns doing nothing to deter the light. Then Zelda and Mewtwo, their protection magic doing nothing to stop their disappearing.

Sonic couldn’t run faster than the light. Turning into a bat didn’t save Bayonetta. Captain Falcon didn’t even have time to start the Blue Falcon.

Kokiri grit his teeth, his head suffering from a raging headache.

“Either gather yourself or let me!”

He felt like a kid again. Scared, shaken, useless. This was what it was like. This was what it was like to be a child.

Kokiri’s eyes widened as a beam of light came to him. He screamed at it. He didn’t even realize the mask was on his face until he was blinded by pain.

Then he was watching through his eyes. Well, his eyes.

He didn’t have the Biggoron sword, he kept his double helix sword. But what he did have, was the mirror shield.

The deity deflected the light with much more ease than Arrow. After that, he took off. Fierce looked up and saw Pit and his dark counterpart trying to fly away, but suddenly they couldn’t, signaling that their goddess had fallen. The light consumed them too. Then it took a sharp turn towards him, his shield deflecting the two beams.

Inklings, Fierce knew, splattered what had to be paint onto the hard rock and melted into it only for the light to destroy the ground they were housed in.

It destroyed Fierce’s path thoroughly, leading him to sneer.

Soon enough, Fierce was the last one standing. Falco’s attempt at escaping by jet failed. Snake’s attempt at boxing failed too. All others fell. All except one, a small pink blob who disappeared on top of a star.

That being said. The light had no other targets but him.

The mirror shield was cracking. With every swing, nothing happened. No slowing down, no pain to the light.

The War God had already lost the battle, and he was foolish to think he’d win the duel.

The shield shattered and, for only a second, Fierce felt a needle pierce his chest.

“I’m sorry Link.”

Kokiri wished that it didn’t feel like he was being incinerated into ashes.

[agarolifestyle2]

How is an Electric Toothbrush Beneficial?

Do you use an electric toothbrush? If not, what are you waiting for? If you're on the fence about converting to an electric toothbrush, we're here to assist. Electric toothbrushes are becoming increasingly popular for a variety of reasons. One reason is that they are far more effective at cleaning teeth than manual toothbrushes. This is because they can reach all parts of the tooth more readily and remove plaque more efficiently. Another argument is because they are easier to use, particularly for persons with mobility limitations. Electric toothbrushes are also gentler on the gums, which is beneficial for persons with sensitive gums.

Electric toothbrushes have been around for decades and have become increasingly popular over the years. They are designed to make brushing your teeth easier and more efficient than traditional manual toothbrushes. These toothbrushes use electric motors to oscillate or rotate the brush head, which helps to clean your teeth and gums more thoroughly. There are different types of electric toothbrushes available on the market. Following are some of the most popular types include:

Rotary toothbrushes: These toothbrushes have a round brush head that rotates in a circular motion.

Oscillating toothbrushes: These toothbrushes have a brush head that oscillates back and forth.

Sonic toothbrushes: These toothbrushes use a high-speed vibration to clean teeth.

Each of these types of electric toothbrushes has its own unique features, and they all have their own advantages and disadvantages. For example, rotary toothbrushes are great for cleaning the surfaces of your teeth, but they may not be as effective at cleaning your gums. Oscillating toothbrushes, on the other hand, are great for cleaning both your teeth and gums. Sonic toothbrushes are known for their powerful cleaning action and effective in removing plaque.

When choosing an electric brush, it is important to consider your individual needs and preferences. Some people may prefer a toothbrush with a round brush head, while others may prefer an oscillating brush head. Additionally, some people may prefer a toothbrush with a pressure sensor, while others may prefer a toothbrush with a timer. Let’s look at the top 5 benefits of using an electric toothbrush.

1. Keeps your teeth, gums, and tongue clean and healthy: Since we were children, we have been instructed to wash our teeth thoroughly. Despite our best efforts, we're not brushing as thoroughly as we would want. This is because the bristles of manual toothbrushes cannot reach all of the plaque and tartar that has accumulated between your teeth. The spinning head of an electric toothbrush has bristles that may reach deeper due to the combination of motion and equal pressure from the brush itself. Equal pressure is essential—far too many manual brushers do a fantastic job on one side of their mouth (a right handed person brushes the left side of their mouth more thoroughly) but struggle to keep the other side clean.

2. Makes for a longer, more thorough brushing: Most electronic toothbrushes are programmed to brush for the same amount of time in each quadrant, resulting in a better, longer brushing and a nice, clean sensation. Electric toothbrushes frequently benefit children the most. Many children wash their teeth but do not remove all of the food accumulation between meals. Children who wear braces are more vulnerable to this. An electric toothbrush is an excellent compromise since it can reach all of the hard-to-reach areas that children miss while brushing by hand.

3. It does the work for you: Old habits die hard. Although we intend well, our hand brushing is frequently too rough on our gums and ourselves. An electronic toothbrush not only timed your brush (as previously stated), but also removes the guesswork out of cleaning your teeth.

4. It’s a great way to fight gingivitis and gum disease: An electric toothbrush is an excellent tool in the battle against gingivitis and gum disease in your mouth. How? An electric toothbrush can reach those hard-to-reach areas that a manual toothbrush cannot. It’s a smarter way of brushing your teeth.

5. Helps you get rid of bad breath: Bad breath is caused by food and plaque that has been caught in the nooks and crevices between your teeth and along your gum line. An electric toothbrush and frequent flossing might help to eliminate foul breath by locating and removing food between your teeth.

As a result, electric toothbrushes are an excellent choice for anyone wishing to enhance their overall dental health. They are more effective than manual toothbrushes in removing plaque and can assist to improve your overall oral health by encouraging better brushing habits. It is critical to examine your specific needs and preferences when selecting an electric toothbrush, and to pick the toothbrush that is best for you. Know more about electric toothbrush price online.

[beskarberry]

Krayt’s Teeth

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 3 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead of you, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.7k

Content warnings: Canon typical violence, killing in self defense, headcanon angst, FLUFF, sensory deprivation, body worship, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: These are my headcanons regarding Mandalorian culture in terms of sex, I didn’t find much lore on it so whether it’s accurate or not idk but I like them and that’s all that matters! Enjoy~

<-Previous Next->

You could have slept forever, even on that horrible little cot you were so comfortable that you could have been out for days, but the only one on it was you. You did’t know when Mando got up from the tiny space you both shared through the night, or how he managed to get out from your tangled bodies without waking you up. You opened your eyes to tiny green baby hands tugging at your fingers. 

“Hey booger, is it time for breakfast? Where’s your papa?” You started to sit up, but the horrible sticky mess underneath you made you reluctant to move, a mix of passion and pain from the day before. “Yikes. I’m gonna run all his water out if I have to keep using the fresher. Come on, let’s get scrubbed up.” The baby gibbered excitedly at you, though you weren’t sure how much of what you said he actually understood. You scooped him into your arms without looking back at the sad little cot and all its stains. “You’re water proof, right?”

The ship’s engines were rumbling away, so you guessed tin man was up in the cockpit flying you towards your next bounty. Or Nevarro. You would have to find Mr. Mystery later, the grossness that was you had to be dealt with. Between you and the child your shower took forever, the two of you getting water and soap bubbles from top to bottom. You didn’t care. You had been on Tatooine for months without having a real shower, being consigned to the sonic freshers that vibrated the sand off of the moisture farmer’s bodies; and this was the second real shower you’d gotten to have in twice as many days. You spent a good deal of time trying to get your chatty friend to hold still long enough to be dried off, the little fart squealing with joy every time you went for him with the towel.

An ordeal later you were both fresh and presentable, but your host was still nowhere to be seen, though the ugly sheets had thankfully disappeared from view. The ship was quiet now, without the engine running you knew you had to be back on the ground, and you could hear a distinct hum of activity coming through the walls. Space port? He flew us into town? The thought was replaced immediately with a rich, savory smell coming through the air vents: FOOD! Your gut grumbled loud enough to resonate through the cabin and earn you a confused look from the baby. When was the last time you really ate? You’d been living on ration packs for the last couple of days. That was going to change right now.

“Ya hungry buddy? Me too! Maybe that’s where your dad is, hmm?” Grabbing your old backpack and hooking the baby under your arm you started punching buttons on the wall to get the door open, sending walls sliding and cabinets opening before you got one of the access ramps open. Bright double sunlight nearly blinded you, and on reflex you covered the baby’s giant googly eyes. It took a moment for your own to adjust to the radiant light of the Tatooine morning, and the smell of cooking food hit you like a ton of bricks, making your mouth water. As your eyes adjusted you were able to take in your surroundings: though it was bright outside you were parked low inside a maintenance bay, the walls of which soared high above you; littered with engine parts and humming with droid activity. Sound was the last input your hungry brain could process, but when it did you didn’t like what you heard. The sounds of an argument echoed around the hangar, high and shrill.

“I already told you, you can’t park here! You’re bad for business!”

“I just need to park here long enough to get supplies.”

“Well you’re gonna have to pay up, Mando! I’m not running a charity here! You got credits for supplies you got credits for parking! Up front this time!”

Oh no.

Of all the mechanics and docking hangars in Mos Eisley he had to pick this one. The fireball of a woman barely came up to your partner’s chest, but she made up for it with unbridled fury; and the giant cooked animal leg she was swinging around like a club between bites made her look even more formidable. She noticed you coming down the ramp and stopped grilling your comrade long enough to glare daggers through your skull.

“Oh NO! No nope nuh uh! You can turn right back around and get back on that ship, missy! I knew it! I knew you were bad for business, Mando! What’re you doing running around with her? I hope she’s your bounty because she’s your problem!”

“Peli.” Your words were cold as ice, but the squirming baby in your arms took all the malice out of your stance. He wiggled until you set him down, and he ran towards the mechanic with open arms.

“Baby! You can stay but your dad’s gotta take the mean lady somewhere else! She cheats at sabacc!”

“You lost fair and square, Peli! Try playing a better hand next time!”

“Ladies please!”  Mando cut through your bickering, holding his arms up between the two of you like he was trying to corner a pair of wild blurgs. “If I let the child stay with you for the day, will you let me park the Razor Crest here? Just for a couple hours?”

Peli bounced the child on her hip, offering him a bite of her breakfast. The baby squealed happily while he sank his little teeth into the mighty snack, though the size of it comically dwarfed his itty bitty hands. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep him and then maybe I’ll let you park here in a week.” Mando cocked his helmet at her with disdain and she huffed loudly, “Well if you put it that way, I guess you can park here, but you gotta put five hundred credits down, and not a cent less!”

Mando reeled, stabbing his hands to his hips with indignation. “Five hund- absolutely not! What am I going to buy our-” You interrupted his tirade with a hand on his shoulder, waving a slew of credits in front of his eyes. Peli snatched them out of your hand, fanning them out like cards to count them.

“Who’d you cheat these outta?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You leaned casually against your metal man, eyeing Peli with a smug look on your face. “Let’s go, Mando. Bye baby green bean, have fun with Auntie Cheats-at-Sabacc!” You spun him around by the hand and dragged him towards the exit, ignoring the insults being slung at your back. “We are getting breakfast and that’s final!”

The Mandalorian allowed you to pull him along a few feet before grinding his heels into the sand, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”

Now it was your turn for sassy head tilts. “I just paid for your parking, buckethead, that makes me in charge and I’m hungry! I’ll buy you breakfast too if you want.” He didn’t budge, fixing you with that intense stare of his and grabbing you by the shoulders.

“You are still being hunted. Mos Eisley isn’t safe for you.”

Ah.

You knew you could look after yourself, and he himself had compared you to a ferocious rancor just yesterday. You groaned loudly, “Shit balls of hell. But dad, I’m huuunngry!” The man bristled at your paternal harassment, sighing heavily and letting his helmeted head fall to the side like the world was ending. He glanced around the hangar exit, his shiny beskar snapping to each object of interest until he located a protocol droid corpse that was missing everything from the waist down. He strode over to it and held it down with one boot, yanking it by the head until it popped off. He began prying the droid’s vocorder apart at the mouth, pulling it wide until the droids face plate broke off with a snap! Tossing the rest of the logic processing unit to the ground, he held the face plate up to the light, inspecting the clarity of its photo receptor casings. He bent back down to the junk pile and fished out a stray wire to thread through the ruined audio processors, then tossed the finished creation to you.

“Put that on.”

You turned the makeshift mask over in your hands to check for sharp edges before you pressed it to your face. The bug eyes on the front were dirty, but you could see well enough. Before you could clean them more thoroughly you felt the weight of fabric on your head, his cloak now worn as your own. The thought of how you must look made you giggle. “You make me take my clothes off, now you want me to put clothes on. It never ends with you, Mando. Next you’ll be forging me beskar. Now can we eat something, please?” Without a word the armored man turned on his heel and walked out the hangar exit. I’ll take that as a yes.

Mos Eisley buzzed with life, people and animals and things you couldn’t explain made their way up and down the bustling streets. The smell of food led you to a vendor selling something that could have been a root vegetable, covered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. You couldn't wait, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window as you hauled ass to the stand, waving two fingers in the air. When you had both of your prizes in hand you stuffed the savory veggie under your mask, sighing contentedly at the taste of real honest-to-Maker food. “Hey tin man, I hope you like... whatever this-” You turned to offer your partner something to eat, but he had disappeared from the crowd. “Alright... more for me.”

Taking a newspaper from the vendor you wrapped the extra snack up tight and threw it in your pack for later, continuing to chow down on your own. You would find Mando eventually, and you had credits to spend. You had held onto your hush-money for months to avoid suspicion, but now it was burning a hole in your pocket. Wandering the streets of Mos Eisley from merchant to merchant you began accumulating a small hoard of supplies, ranging from bacta to hand tools, and food. Whatever you could get your hands on that would survive hyperspace when you inevitably left this fucking dirtball for good; though you still weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be making that flight in carbonite. You picked out new clothes and underwear, a much-needed bedroll, and some soft bantha-wool blankets. Something further down the marketplace caught your eye, and you made your way to the fancier items that glittered in the double daylight. You didn’t wear jewelry yourself, a poor choice of attire for a hunter, but the way the trinkets caught the light still made you wistful. Your hidden eyes danced over the glittering treasures; jewels and geodes that had been found deep in the sands and polished to a radiant shine.

You spotted something opalescent at the end of one table and found a pair of krayt teeth, each about the size of your palm. They had been sanded to a smooth, flat finish and carved with intricate desert patterns. The backs of them had tiny fittings that could be sewn on as buttons, or pulled off to reveal magnets. Something about their shape seemed familiar, though you couldn’t imagine why in that moment. You purchased the unique pieces anyway, something to remind you that even the harshest of places could hold hidden beauty. After a while you had so much junk piled in your arms that you could barely see over it, and tin man was nowhere to be found. You spotted a courier droid and paid for it to deliver your treasures back to Hanger 3-5, though you kept the pricey teeth in your pockets. With your arms free you started looking for your missing comrade.

The streets were busy with people, you would have to get somewhere out of the way in order to scan the crowds. Your eyes went from shimmer to shimmer, looking for his reflective chrome dome. “Big jerk,” you mused to yourself “‘Mos Eisley’s not saaafe...’ If he’s so worried then where the hell is he? Bah!” The scratched-up photoreceptor casings of your mask made it a challenge to see through the crowd, and you took a moment to adjust the iris apertures so you wouldn’t have to keep squinting into the double sunshine when you felt a hand on your back. Finally. “Mando, where have you-”

“Mando? Whos’sis man-do? Nah sssweetheart, I think you got me confused wi’ sssomeone elssse.” The slithering voice in your ear made your blood run cold. Not Mando! You rocketed your elbow backwards, connecting with the gut of the stranger on your back with an -oof! The hand let go long enough for you to make a run for it, and you tore off down the streets of the busy spaceport, smashing into bystanders in your wake. You cast a quick look behind you to see a large reptilian body flying after you, brownish scales catching the reflection of the noonday suns. Though you had your blaster, the risk of hitting a civilian was too great, so running would have to do. You were thankful for the courier droid that had freed your hands just minutes before as you barreled down the busy streets.

Market stalls flew past you, your boots kicking up sand and dust. The mask on your face, as dirty as it was, kept the debris from your eyes as you raced through the sunburnt city. You had to lose this fucker and fast. You turned down an alley, left, right, another right, leaping over supply crates and low fences like a lothcat. You turned to see if you had lost your chaser, breath heaving and heart pounding. Behind you was clear, but you took your eyes off your path for just a second too long, and were taken by surprise when a heavy weight fell on you from above.

The Trandoshan had gone over the low sandstone roofs, chasing you easily through the alleyways of Mos Eisley while you were none the wiser. He pinned you under him quickly, ripping your blaster off your hip and pointing your own barrel in your face. “Tha’ss enough, princesss! Nice n’ quietlike now. You gonna make me a pretty penny you are.” The lizard’s words dripped with metaphorical venom, though you were sure by the look of those fangs that real venom was probably right behind. “Ahm gonna cart yer arse right back to th’ Guild’n I’ll become th’ most famous hunter in th’ galax -urk!”  With a sickening gag the hunter above you grew a shiny new fang in the back of his throat before falling down dead on top of you, a vibroblade protruding from back of his skull.

“Took you long enough!” You hollered at your chrome companion, who was stepping forward to kick the carcass off of you. “Where the fuck have you been? Getting your rifle polished?” He pulled you to your feet, handing you your blaster while readjusting the mask on your face. You swatted at his fussing hands, but when you looked at him you were shocked to see not one but three blinking bounty fobs dangling from his belt. On the ground by the dead lizard was a fourth, flashing rapidly in the sand.

“I told you you weren’t safe! We need to leave right now.”  You were barely able to grab the remaining bounty fob while you were being tugged away by your allied hunter. He had a death grip on your hand, pulling you along behind him towards what you hoped was the docking hangar. You would have to cross the main street to get there, and as the pair of you plowed across the dusty, busy road there came shouts from either side. More hunters, fucking Guild! You didn’t have a single second to assess them before you were lead through an alley on the other side of the street. These were darker than the ones you had run through on the west side of town, and shady bodies moved quickly out of the way of your living locomotive.

At the end of a narrow alley you both burst through a door leading into an abandoned building. The darkness was almost worse than the blinding sunlight, you would need time for your eyes to adjust but the Mandalorian had enough sensory detection equipment that he ghosted through the ruinous building with ease; never once letting go of your hand as you tripped and stumbled through the dark. The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

“There! Get down!” Mando pointed at a pile of rubble, probably big enough to hide behind, but that’s not how you handled business.

“Fuck you! I��m not going down without a fight!” You pulled your blaster out and aimed at the incoming assailants. He growled at you and stepped closer, putting his body in between you and the door. The reptilian hunters burst from the darkness of the warehouse, firing rapid shots of blaster charges that bounced off of Mando’s beskar. You fired over his protective arm, taking out the first one and tripping up the second, who fell over his cohorts limp body. Mando took shot after shot to the chest, reeling with each impact. His other arm cocked back and shot out, sending a wall of fire into the last of the Guild’s hired guns.

Both of you were panting, shaking and sweating from flying through Mos Eisley, but the sound of blaster fire would draw attention and you knew there was no time to waste. You stepped over the incinerated corpse, making sure the fob it carried was melted, the second body still squirmed in the dirt, and you weren’t going to let it get a second chance, firing your blaster through it’s scaly skull. You picked the remaining two fobs and stuffed them in your pockets, making a run for it back through the building with Mando right behind, the blaze of his flamethrower lighting your way.

You took a different door out of the building and were relieved to see the words ‘HANGAR 3-5′ painted in bright blue Basic straight ahead. You skittered through the entrance, rounding the corner and dropping down behind the edges of the hangar doorway. Mando did the same on the other side, both of you pointing your blasters back towards Mos Eisley’s dark heart. Bootsteps behind you made you snap around, and you nearly shot your mechanically inclined host.

“You kids have fun out there?” Peli stood over where you were hunched, and you lowered your blaster to the ground. At her feet your little buddy was holding onto her pant leg, making big puppy dog eyes at you. You looked over to Mando to make sure there weren’t any more coming, but he still held his blaster out ahead. After a few tense seconds he lowered it down until it was back in its’ holster, then pulled himself to his feet.

“We can’t stay any longer, we’re putting you in danger. Time to go, kiddo.” His charred beskar still shimmered when he bent down to pick up his adopted son, who chirped with delight. “Thank you for watching him.”

“He can stay any time! Oh and thanks for all the snacks you made that droid bring me!” Peli called after the three of you as your party quickly boarded the Razor, making you turn around and stick your tongue out at her. She happily flipped you off and started closing the ground entrance to the bay, letting you board the ship uninterrupted. Fortunately, the courier droid’s delivery had made it to the ship, though you couldn't help but notice a few of your most carefully picked snacks had been taken as collateral. Fucking Peli. As much as she infuriated you, there wasn’t another person on all of Tatooine that you would rather play sabacc with.

The old rust bucket rumbled to life, taking off into the midafternoon sky and pointed towards the stars. Finally! Bye motherfucker. The hazy atmosphere of the outer rim planet fell away below you until the light of the bright yellow world illuminated the Crest’s stern. The pre-Imperial scrapheap started howling with noise, and you were almost thrown to the deck when it blasted into the safety of hyper space.

Your heart was still racing and you struggled to catch your breath. Once you had yourself in order you started busying yourself with putting the supplies away, filling the food larder to capacity. The child was contentedly telling you about his day with his auntie in his cute baby gibberish, and you picked him up off the ground to give him a much needed hug, pushing your stolen identity onto the top of your head to give him kisses. You almost wanted to ignore the sound of heavy armored boots hitting the floor panel under the ladder, their wearer opting to jump down from the cockpit rather than climb. You could feel the fury coming off of him as he stalked over to where you were sorting your treasures.

“You could have been hurt! I knew it was a bad idea to let you go wandering around, even with your face covered. What if they’d caught you? I picked three of them off before you even saw one!”

“I had it under control, Mando! I’m not some princess that needs you coming to her rescue at every sign of a struggle. And you don’t get to let me do anything, you don’t own me!” The man under your scrutiny paced the cabin on stiff legs with his hands on his hips, helmet snapping with rage.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I need to protect you.” He said with a huff, “And that lizard was... he had you pinned down, had his filthy, scaly claws on you... Nobody should touch you like that! What if.. what if he... I- I- didn’t like that he was...�� Listening to the sound of the gears jamming in his head made you realize the ridiculous thing he was trying to say.

“Are you.. Mando are you jealous?”

“No! I- I’m.. Cyar’ika I... ”

Oh no, you don’t get to be cute right now. “I don’t know what that means, Mando! What is that, some kind of sexy little pet name you use on all the girls you take underneath of you?”

“NO! I didn’t- I would nev- I’ve never had... There’s never been- no!” Oh how you wished you could see his face, watching him flail trying to defend himself from your accusation, he was probably white as a sheet under all that armor.

“Never what, Mandalorian?”

“I’ve never had anyone in this ship before!” The Mandalorian’s confession lost steam halfway through as embarrassment and fear crept into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own secrets.

“Wait.. wait wait. Never? You’ve never had anyone in this ship or...” You started approaching him, analyzing his visor for hints of meaning. “Or you’ve never had anyone at all?” The Mandalorian stopped his pacing, but his shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the galaxy. His silence told you everything, and the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. “Mando...was I your first?”

“Y-yes.” His visor tilted up to you, hands fidgeting at his sides. His voice was faint and sheepish, a stark contrast to the thunderstorm you were arguing with a moment ago.  Your eyes were full of questions, all racing through your mind so quickly none of them made it to your mouth. The metal man answered them all for you in one singular motion, raising his fist to knock a couple times against his beskar helmet. His creed.

“So, what, you guys aren’t allowed to have sex?”

He sighed his heavy, trademarked sigh and plopped down on the nearest supply crate with a defeated thud, cradling his head in his hands. “No it’s not that. Not... not exactly. In Mando’a the word we use is me'dinuir. It means ‘to give’, specifically to give yourself to another. And... when you give yourself away to someone-“ He turned the black gloss of his single eye up to you, “-you belong to them. That is The Way.”

The weight of his words made your blood cold. He was jealous, but not just because that other hunter had put his scaly hands on you. Everything about his attitude around you suddenly made sense, the way he had looked at you when you were presenting yourself to him that first day, why he never threw you in carbonite when he probably should have, and how he had stayed with you through the night after you nearly died hunting his bounty. His mysterious way of life decreed that giving his body to you meant that he had also given you his soul, and that made you just as important to protect as his foundling.

Mando reached out to pat the fuzzy green head of the baby you were still holding, who gibbered sleepily up at his armor plated papa. “I’m sorry to put that on you, and I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not my bounty anymore, and I shouldn’t try to control you. I understand if you don’t want to continue with me to the next bounty. You can take whatever you want from the armory when we land next. I’m.. I’m so sorry.” The monolithic man looked so tiny now, sitting on the edge of the crate with his shoulders hunched. He reached his arms out to take his infant son from you, hugging him to his blast-burnt chest and smoothing his massive ears. "I didn’t get to thank you for washing him earlier, he smells really good.”

You desperately needed to know more, though the sight of him fawning over his sleepy son made your heart swell. “I kinda got the feeling that you were rusty when we met, but that was actually your first time? And what does that mean ‘you belong to them’? How can you belong to me? I don’t even know your name.”

"It means that I’m now sworn to protect the one that carries my soul. I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian.”

His words made you feel sick, ashamed that you had taken something so sacred from him without a second thought, but how could you have known? He could have stopped at any time, you were the one in cuffs that day, not him. No, out of trillions and trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy he chose to give himself to you, knowing full well what his heritage decreed. Why you? Arms crossed, you dug deeper. “You’ve never seen another naked body than your own?”

He shook his head. “Just... holo-vids...”

You were going to have to ask him about those later. “Nothing? You’ve at least kissed someone before though, right?”

“Kissed?”

Maker fucking help you. “Yeah you know, kissing? The thing you do with your... oh, right." You reached up and tapped him twice on the beskar. “You need your face to do it.”

He cocked his helmet at you. “Can you show me?”

The innocence of his question made you melt. Fuck you, tin can, you’re not supposed to be cute when you’re in trouble. You reached your hand out, demanding he give you his, and shyly he obeyed. You pulled his hand to your lips, unsure of how much he could actually feel through his thick leather gloves. You pressed his hand to your lips and watched his whole body snap straight. “Kiss, like that.”

He was staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before, and after a moment he pulled your locked fingers to his head, tapping his forehead with the back of your hand. “Kov’nynir, But we do it with our helmets.”  At this rate you’ll be speaking Mando’a in no time. He still held your hand gently, running his thumb over your fingers. “I think I like your way better. Could... Could you do that again?”

So polite, maybe having him stuck with you wouldn’t be so bad. You pulled his hand back to you, giving him another soft kiss on the side of his thumb, and you heard the sound of his breath catching in his modulator. Your lips pressed to each of his knuckles, and then you turned his wrist to kiss his palm. “How’s that?”

“That’s amazing.”

“You like that? Watch this.” Addressing the bantha in the room would have to wait. You tugged his glove off, revealing the warm bronze skin underneath and kissed him again. The hitched breaths coming out of his modulator were honey to your ears, and you turned his wrist over to kiss his bare palm again, hunting for more sweet sounds. His body was so stiff, so tightly wound you thought he might snap. “Are you ok? Do I need to stop?”

“I- I- want to... Can... Can I try?” You nodded, your heart jumping to your throat at the thought of him removing his helmet in front of you, but instead he gently reached up to the busted droid face you still wore on your head. With a twist of a knob the armatures inside of the eye casings coiled shut, and when he slid the mask down into place you were thrown into total darkness. “Can you see?” You shook your head. “Promise?”

You sighed, long and frustrated. “I promise, dark as a sarlacc’s backside.” You were met with only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity you heard the sliding sound of metal as the child’s pram shield slid closed, then the shuffle of armor being removed, and lastly the dull thunk of something heavy being set down on the crates. His hand found yours again, and he pressed his lips against your skin. They were hotter than you were expecting, and soft, almost plush. You understood right away why he was so rigid when you were doing the same, it was amazing. Gentle kisses made their way over the back of your hand and made heat flood through your veins. He moved slowly over each joint, following the same pattern you had shown him, then turned your hand over and kissed at your fingertips. Something fuzzy brushed along with his lips, and you imagined that he might have a mustache. The shivers that crept their way up from your captured hand knocked all the strangeness of your conversation out of your mind, but when he reached your wrist he stopped.

“Where else do you kiss at?” You nearly fainted at the sound of his unfiltered voice, a rich baritone that dripped with dark intentions and stole all the words from your mouth. You could only point with your other hand at the forearm attached to the hand he held. Again you felt his lips on your wrist, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch he made his way up your arm, each kiss slower than the last until your toes were curling in their boots. When he reached the edge of the tunic’s sleeve that hung at your elbow he paused again. “Where else?”

“Everywhere.”  Your tormentor hummed at your consenting words and let go of your hand to run his palms down your clothed thighs. When he reached your knees he pulled on their joints, bidding you to bring your legs up over his lap. When you were seated on him he resumed his trek up your arm, kissing at the crease of your elbow and then upwards over your tunic until he reached your shoulder. When he got to your neck you almost buckled over, but his hands were at your back in an instant, wrapping heavily around your waist. Your own hands made their way to the nape of his neck, and your fingers found the edge of his hairline that you had felt before. To your delight you felt that the tousled curls went all the way up, and you tangled your fingers in them, exploring their softness while he explored you.

His journey led him up your neck to the base of your jaw where he nipped gently at the sensitive skin like you had done to him last night, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps from your head to your toes. When his nose bumped the edge of your mask you were suddenly aware of how silly you might look with your big bug eyes. “Can I take this thing off?” you asked in a whisper. “I won’t look.”

“I have a better Idea. Hold on tight.” You dug your hands into his shoulders and felt his arms wrap under your legs as he stood up, lifting you with such ease that you wondered if he felt your weight at all. His boots echoed through the cabin until he stopped at the other end. You hung on for dear life while he climbed the ladder with you still wrapped around his front. When you both reached the top you let yourself unwind from him and scooted on your butt over the floor, listening to the sound of him pulling himself all the way up. You remained seated as your host fussed around the flight deck, the noise of buttons pressing and switches being thrown the only input to your deprived senses.

You were only unattended for a moment, then his hands found your waist, fishing for the edge of your shirt. The tunic was pulled up and over your head, taking your mask with it, and you squeezed your eyes shut to protect his modesty; unsure of what his unconventional oath to you included in the fine print. Your diligence was rewarded with a kiss on your forehead, then down to kiss both of your closed eyes, and then lastly to your lips. The searing heat of his mouth on yours threatened to throw your eyes open, but when they fluttered all you saw was darkness. The transperisteel’s blast shielding had been closed, and the only light in the cockpit came from a handful of illuminated buttons on the dash.

He was lying over top of you on the metal floor, one arm wrapped under your neck for support. The cold decking under you was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, letting yourself be consumed by his kisses and becoming drunk on the scent of leather and adrenaline. The soft fuzz of his facial hair tickled slightly as he pressed into your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hands went to his face, running your thumbs over his cheeks and feeling what you weren’t allowed to see. His face was scruffy but not unkempt, and the bristles went all the way from his jaw up to the bottom of the defined nose that bumped against your own. You felt the creases on the corners of his eyes, wishing you could see his smile lines and all the stories they would tell.

You kissed him back, letting your tongue glide over his plush lips and making him inhale sharply. You licked into him again, and this time you were met with his tongue as well, just the faintest touch of its tip. He hummed in your mouth, and the sound of him so close made your belly pool with heat and your kisses bolder, sending your tongue deeper into his mouth until he was almost vibrating with the sensation of you exploring something as forbidden as his human body. He mirrored you as best he could, rolling the smooth muscle over your lips and the edges of your teeth until you were both lost in each other’s taste. He pushed his forehead against yours, pulling his mouth away with frantic breaths that spread fire over your skin. “Everywhere?”

You pushed your lips against his again, giving him an ambitions ‘Mmhmm’ as an answer. His growl made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you realized where his goal was. He kissed and nipped his way down your throat, letting his tongue glide over your skin. He made his way to your breast, taking its’ tender tip between his teeth and making you gasp. He sucked at it gently, rolling his tongue around it while it grew harder for his efforts. The hand not under you groped at your free breast so it wouldn’t be ignored.

"Beep!”

An urgent chime echoed in the tiny space, the hyperdrive indicator was flashing its countdown warning: 10 minutes remain.

The Mandalorian’s growl on your breast made your blood turn to ice and your core flush with heat at the same time. He wanted to devour you, taste every single inch of your exposed skin, but time was not on your side; and he became a man on a mission to prove himself worthy of you. Bristles dragged over your skin as he slid down your belly until he hit the edge of your pants. They were yanked off so fast you briefly worried about the krayt teeth that were still in their pockets, but you didn’t have long to think before Mando was poised over the apex of your thighs, kissing at each leg to make his intentions known. Those must be some good holo-vids you’re watching, tinman. You let him push your legs apart with his chin, receiving a soft kiss on each one once they were far enough apart for him to stuff his face in between.

Your back arched, hard, followed by the most ragged moan you‘d ever heard escape your throat. The grip on your thighs kept you in place as he lapped at your clit, sucking and teasing in an experimental way. His inexperience didn’t seem to matter, his hunger for you fueling his efforts and making you squirm in delight. Your hands sought desperately for something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded, finding his lovely curls to bury your fingers in deep. It was all you could do to hold on for dear life, tangling in his hair and struggling to breathe as he worked you into a frenzy.

The noises coming from below your waist were heavenly, wet and greedy in between his hums of contentment. It took you a while to realize they weren’t hums at all, but alien words of worship being prayed at your sinful altar; but the blood pounding in your ears and the gasps from your throat were too loud for you to hear his devotion.

“Beep beep!”  Five minutes remain. Fuck.

The Mandalorian’s efforts doubled, running his tongue almost too quickly in his attempt to eat you alive. You let your hips grind into his mouth, begging him to bring you your release, and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. Stars flashed behind your eyes as you came into his hot open mouth, but he refused to leave until he had drank his fill of you. Eventually he pulled his face away from your spent heat with agonizing slowness, as if he would rather drown than address the impending drop from hyperspace. He kissed at your shaky thighs, your soft belly, and each breast before pressing his lips into your panting mouth, pushing the taste of you onto your own tongue. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the sweat of his brow where it was pushed against your face. 

He lifted away from you, and the weight of the handmade mask was draped over your face, making you groan with the displeasure of your passion being cut short. However, once it was in place, it was almost immediately pushed under by strong fingers to lift its edge, and you were given one last kiss to swear his promise of return to you.

“Din. My name is Din.”

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[lukeskywalker22]

Different types of Microphones and their professional use.

There are 4 types of microphone:

Dynamic Microphones

Large Diaphram Condensor Microphones

Small Diaphram Condensor Microphones

Ribbon Microphones

1. Dynamic Microphones

They’re cheap, durable and sound fantastic on some of the most common sources in recording. Using a movable induction coil suspended in the field of a magnet, dynamic mics work like a speaker in reverse! Dynamic mics are responsive to transients and handle high SPL very well. This makes them a natural choice for loud sources like drum kit close mics and guitar and bass cabs. Given how affordable and versatile they are, there should definitely be a dynamic mic or two in your collection. And if you only have room for one, there’s really only a single serious contender: the Shure SM57. The versatile SM57 is one of the most accessible tools in recording. It’s the go-to choice of many engineers for guitar cabs and snare drums—no home studio should be without one!

2. Large Diaphragm Condenser Microphones

They’re the large, stylish and serious looking mics that you see in most professional recording studio situations. Condenser mics work by using a capacitor (or condenser) to convert acoustic vibrations into an electrical current. That means they need a power source like 48V phantom power to operate. It also means that they’re much more sensitive than dynamic mics or ribbon mics and output a louder signal. Their sensitivity makes them ideal for quiet or extremely dynamic sources—like vocals! Large diaphragm condensers exhibit a number of sonically pleasing qualities for voices. They help create that “larger than life” sound that we associate with pro studio vocals. Large diaphragm condensers exhibit a number of sonically pleasing qualities for voices. But LDCs are effective on all kinds of sources. If you’re looking for one mic that can handle every task, consider a large diaphragm condenser. Many modern LDCs offer selectable polar patterns making them incredibly versatile and useful in tons of different recording situations and one of the best mics for building your studio around.

3. Small Diaphragm Condenser Microphones

But they’re just as useful, despite their small stature. Small diaphragm condensers have great transient response, extended top end, and consistent pickup patterns. This makes them great for realistic stereo techniques as well as acoustic instruments. If you sat in on classical music recording session, chances are you would see mostly SDCs. They often come in pairs for stereo recording, so they’re particularly effective for creating accurate stereo images of real acoustic spaces.

4. Ribbon Microphones

Ribbon microphones use an ultra-thin (wait for it) ribbon of electro-conductive material suspended between the poles of a magnet to generate their signal.

Early ribbon designs were incredibly fragile. Moving them improperly, or even subjecting them to high SPL could cause the ribbon to break.

But their sound was worth the trade off in durability. Ribbon mics are prized for their warm, vintage tone.

Ribbon mics are prized for their warm, vintage tone.

They’re perfect for when you need to tame excessive or harsh high-end: sources like guitar amps, drum overheads or brass.

Ribbon microphones naturally produce a perfect figure eight polar pattern and respond to EQ extremely well.

Hot Tip: Even though today’s ribbon mics aren’t quite as fragile as the early designs, they’re still easier to damage than dynamics or condensers. Be careful while handling them!

The most important rule of ribbons is never EVER supply 48V phantom power to ribbon mics. You risk electrocuting the ribbon itself!!!

Choose microphone types wisely

In recording, microphone choice is probably the most important factor after the quality of the instrument itself.

Learn how to get it right by selecting the right microphone types and get the best mic for your needs.

Now that you know when to choose dynamics, ribbons or condensers get back to your music and mic something up!

5. Microphone pick-up patterns

80% of your audio quality is determined by your choice of microphone and how you use it. So it is crucial to first think about your options and test what works best for your setup. It’s amazing how much of a difference you will get by having the ideal microphone position and the right pick-up pattern (also called polar pattern) for your recording.

6. Unidirectional

This pick up pattern can be referred as a cardioid as it looks like a heart. It also covers an area of 120⁰.

7. Omnidirectional

This pick-up pattern is equally sensible in all areas, and it covers an area of a whole revolution {360⁰}.

8. Bi-Directional

A bidirectional microphone has a figure-8 polar/pickup pattern. It is equally sensitive to sounds from the front and back while rejecting sounds from its sides (ring of silence). The sound captured from the front side capture is opposite in polarity to the sound captured to the rear side.

9. Phantom Power

- Phantom Power simply is tiny amount of power needed to make the diaphragm move.

- Condenser microphones, use Phantom Power and 48 volts.

10. Frequency response curve

Frequency Response Curves are used to understand the behavior of an Amplifier or a Filter. It gives the quantitative analysis of the output spectrum of a system/device in response to an input. It gives measure of the Magnitude (Amplitude/Gain) and Phase response w.r.t frequency. 3 dB bandwidth is the frequency at which the power level of the signal decreases by 3 dB from its maximum value or falls to 0.707 of the gain in mid-frequency range. 3 dB decrease in power indicates that the signal power has become half of its maximum value. fc is the cutoff frequency and fL and fH are the lower and upper corner frequencies, respectively. The bandwidth of an amplifier amplifies, without attenuation, all frequency components present in the bio-signal.

11. Pop shield

Even the best controlled singers (who naturally turn to one side or back off from the mic when singing loudly or plosively) tend to get microphone popping on occasions, so in most studios you'll see circular nylon-mesh screens that clip to the mic stand and sit a couple of inches in front of the mic. You can see how effective these are by trying the candle trick again. A good loud plosive with a pop screen between the mouth and the candle should barely disturb the flame. The way the pop screen works is simple — sound passes through the fine mesh with just a little high-frequency reduction, but plosives are stopped dead. As the puff of air from the mouth hits the mesh, it breaks up, becomes turbulent, and loses its coherence, so what starts off as an organised mass of air ends up being randomised so that the air molecules are no longer all pushing in the same direction. It's simple, but it works!

12. Wind muff

A. Foam Microphone Windscreens– For effectively blocking gentle wind ONLY This is the most common type of windscreen, and it is often used in studios and indoor recording environments because it blocks the least amount of wind compared to the other wind muffs.Many microphones are supplied with a  foam windscreen made of polyurethane—a material that is effective at blocking the wind at less than 1 m/s (about 2 mph). Typically, the denser a foam windscreen is, the better it is at reducing wind noise.

B. Dead Cat Mic Covers– For keeping your audio clean even on a budget The fluffy “dead cats” use a lightweight synthetic fur material to block wind. (No actual cats were injured in the making of these handy accessories). But take one look, and you’ll understand why they earned their delightfully morbid industry nickname. This is the best choice for anyone with a tight budget. The furry material blocks wind but allows audio to pass through without losing the high-frequency response of a microphone.You can also combine the dead cat with the foam windscreen for an even better effect to block wind blowing at a high speed, like 6 m/s (about 13 mph).

C. Professional Blimp Windshield – For heavy-duty wind protection The most effective windscreen on the market is the  blimp, a microphone cover that is shaped like a giant pill. It is a hollow cage that creates an open chamber of space of still air around the mic. Unlike other muffs that only cover the mic head, blimps enclose the whole microphone, including the body, to completely protect it from vibration. This is important in extreme weather conditions where the wind can shake the base of the mic and distort the sound it records. With a blimp housing the microphone and absorbing shock, noise can be substantially reduced from the final audio output.Depending on your recording situation, you may or may not need a blimp. If you are seeking one, make sure to check the material and weight, as the newer versions are often much lighter than the old ones.

References

- https://mynewmicrophone.com/what-is-a-bidirectional-figure-8-microphone-with-mic-examples/

- https://audio-technica.com.au/microphone-pick-up-patterns-and-positioning/

- https://blog.landr.com/microphone-types/

- https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/engineering/frequency-response-curve

- https://www.soundonsound.com/sound-advice/pop-shields-why-you-need-them

- https://www.movophoto.com/blogs/movo-photo-blog/what-is-microphone-wind-muff-for

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #740: Scheduled Cuddle Session (Sonic)

3:59 p.m. at the Rabbits and Chaotix's Residence's Detective Office.......

Vector: (Sits Himself Down on the Wheelie Chair) ('Sigh') Alright. What's the recent status report of our case so far, Espio?

Espio: (Begins Writing Notes on the White Board) Well, according to our recent discoveries and everything else we've learned so far from this case, the jewelry that was stolen other day was.....(Continues Describing Everything that Happened So Far in the Recent Case)

Vector: (Lay his Head on the Palm of his Head While Listening to Espio) (Ah man......I know detective work can be challenging for the most part, but I didn't think the case we got now would be THIS exhausting......('Sigh') Let's just hope I get some R&R after-)

'Phone Vibration'

Vector: (Looks at his Phone Vibrating) Hm? (Picks his Up and Sees the Name of the Person Who's Just Texted Him) (Vanilly?) (Unlocks his Phone and Goes to the Text Message Option, Only to See........)

Vanilla: Vector-Kins~ It's 4pm. Time for your Cuddle Session~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥( ˘ ³˘)♥

Vector: (Eyes Widened at His Phone For a Couple of Seconds) .............. Fucking...FINALLY!!!!!!

Espio: Uhh....Vector?

Vector: (Eyes Widened Once More Before Quickly Turning Back to Espio)

Espio: (Raised an Eyebrow in a bit of a Mix of Confusion and Concern) Are you okay over there?

Vector: Oh. Uhhhhhh.....Yeah! (Chuckles Awkwardly While Blushing) I-I was just Uhhhhhhhh.....(Slowly Holds Up his Phone a Little) Checking.....some stuff on my phone..... A text Vanilla sent message. N-Not to say it has anything to do with case or anything!.... B-But uh-

Espio: Mother sent you a text reminding you of your scheduled Cuddle Session for today, isn't it?

Vector: (Eyes Widened Once Again While Staring at Espio in Complete Disbelief) H-H-How did you-

Espio: I accidentally saw it all written down on your notes the other day while I was looking for anything related to our recent case. You even drew a rectangular box around the words and everything.

Vector: (Sighs in Defeat While Facepalming Himself) You caught me red handed. Sorry, man. I didn't mean get this distract-

Espio: It's fine, Vector. I completely understand how tiring most cases are from time to time. This whole "Cuddle Session" plan is just your way of clearing your mind of stress, yes?

Vector: (Chuckles Lightly While Blushing a Little (And Thinking About Cuddling With his Beautiful, Bunny Girlfriend) ) For the most part, yeah.....

Espio: ('Sigh') Well, if that's case, then it's best that you get going now.

Vector: Wait. What?

Espio: Your Cuddle Session. You need to attend to it right away.

Vector: S-Seriously? You really don't mind me going right now?

Espio: (Smiles Softly) Of course not. I could just call Silver and Blaze to come over here and help work on the case with me. So naturally, you're free to go.

Vector: (Almost at a Loss of Words) Dude....... You're like..... a literal life saver right.

Espio: (Chuckles Lightly) No thanks is needed, Vector. Now get out of here already. Your lady awaits you next door-

Vector: Don't have to tell me twice! (Immediately Rushes out the Door) I'M COMING, HONEY!!!!!~

Espio: (Sighs While Smiling Sheepishly at the Opened Door) It astounds me how neither of those two have propose to one another yet.......

Few Minutes Later at Vanilla and Vector's Bedroom........

Vanilla: (Giggles Softly While Snuggling with Vector Under Their Blanket) Oho, Vector-kins!~ I'm soooo glad we decided to do this~

Vector: (Chuckles Lightly) Tell me about it~ I've never been this stressed free in my entire life!.....(Immediately Starts Blushing Yet Again) You know, besides being with you and the kids of course.

Vanilla: (Smiles Softly While Giving Vector a Loving Hug) I'm so glad you're enjoying this, dear. I know how stressful working on a case can be at times, but you don't need to keep worrying about that anymore. I'm here for you.....(Puts on a Seductive Smirk on her Face) And Momma Vanilla's gonna give you all the loving and care you oh so desperately need~ (Continues Cuddling with her Crocdile Boyfriend While Giving him Loving Kisses All Over his Face)

Vector: (Already Intoxicated by his Girlfriend's Kisses) This is the best Cuddle Session ever~ I love you, Momma Vanilly~

Vanilla: I love you too, Vector-kins~ (Continues Kissing Vector)

Blaze: (Standing Behind the Couple's Room Door with Espio and Silver) So this is their Cuddle Session you mentioned, Espio?

Espio: Seems like it. (Smirks at the Entire Scene) But it looks like Vector is already enjoying himself as we speak.

Silver: This looks fun. We should definitely create a Cuddle Session Schedule of our own one of these days.

Blaze: (Smiles Brightly) That's a great idea, Silver. We should planning that right now.

Espio: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprised) Wait? What!? A-Are you sure you two want to go through with this?

Silver: (Smiles Brightly at Espio) Yeah, man. I don't see why now.

Blaze: Exactly. (Gives Espio a Teasing Smirk on her Face) And besides, there's nothing more relaxing than cuddling with those you love and adore~

Silver: (Puts on a Teasing Smirk of His Own) Especially if it's with the most adorable ninja in the while wide world~

Blaze: Whom we love oh so very much~

Blaze and Silver gives their Chameleon boyfriend a loving kiss on both of his cheeks (Instantly causing him to change into different colors) before walking back to the detective office with a satisfied smile on each of their faces.

Espio: (Sighs Heavily While Reverting Back to his Original Color) Those two really are handful in one......(Smiles Softly) Still. It would be nice to have a Cuddle Session with them every once in a while.

@keyenuta

@cyber-wildcat

@caleb13frede

@26shann

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

@lovekittynoir

@rechicken-and-waffles

[kiegosbby]

Hawks falling in love with someone who everyone assumes is quirkless but actually has an absolutely gorgeous voice that can be used to woo people into submission or instead cause sonic booms in fight or flight situations where wooing someone won’t work (I’ve considered writing this myself, but I haven’t had the time! I might in the future, if you won’t mind!). She often sings to him while he lays with his head on her lap or chest and someone overhears/stumbles upon them, which is how her quirk is found out.

ok so this might not be that good 😅 I’m only really good at writing angst but I’ll try my best!

I also feel like this could be longer but I just kinda don’t know how to make it longer if that makes sense? this would be a good like 3 part series of him falling in love then the second chapter he finds out the quirk and then last chapter it’s all lovey or whatever

kinda a song fic I guess idk lol

first song is butterfly’s response and second is as the world caves in

if you do ever get around to writing it, tag me :)

✁- - - - - - r- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

it was late at night when hawks had come home, demanding you to sing to him.

well of course it wasn’t demanding just like begging. when you sang to him, it relaxed him instantly and calmed his nerves like nothing else could. he didn’t want to say that he fell in love with you because of it, but it played a role in it.

so when he came home you couldn’t decline and honestly, it felt good to help him. You were quirkless, and sometimes it was hard when you were a quirkless civilian dating a pro hero. sometimes you just felt useless with him, but being able to soothe him helped. you could do something to help him.

you laid down and waited for him to join you, drinking water preparing to sing for him.

most nights you would sing him to sleep, it calmed him that much. you’d never sing around anyone else, he would get upset saying that your singing was only for him. you were his songbird after all.

he walked into the room and you looked over him, he looked disheveled, tired, and tense. your heart ached for him.

he laid down with his head on your stomach, and his arms around your lower waist. you sighed and brang your hands up to his hair, slowly running your fingers through his hair, trying to release some tension from his scalp.

“ready baby?” you cooed softly at him, petting his hair.

“always songbird” his muffled voice vibrated against your stomach and you took a deep breathe.

“You don't have to speak

Don't need to talk to me

Baby, I already know

The shadows in your head

They've got you down again

Got you feelin' low”

this was one of his favourite songs you had sang it for him countless times and he never got tired of it. he asked you enough times to know that’s what he wanted.

“But it's time to rest, now

Let it all melt now

Wipe your tears

The sun's already set, now

Won't you go to sleep, now?

I'll see you in your dreams”

you felt his muscles relax, as you sang the soothing song. his breathes became more deep and you kept slowly running your hands through his hair, mostly focusing on singing

“'Cause I'm right here

Darlin', I'm right here

Close your pretty eyes, my butterfly

Baby, have no fear

The future's lookin' bleak

Your will to live is weak

But honey, hold on for me”

You had always wondered why he liked this song so much, but never really questioned it. you loved this song to, it got you through deep dark times.

“I know that you're an angel

But it's not your time to fly, now

We need you here on earth

Stay right here

I'll stay here with you, my dear

Look up to the sky and know

I am still alive

Because you want me to be”

when singing this song, sometimes you cried a little. especially after a long day. it held so much meaning for you two, it hurt so badly but it felt so good at the same time.

hawks breath had evened out now, and you were sure he was sleeping now.

you laid your head back and quietly said into the air not trying to wake him

“Remember, my dear

You're strong

You're loved

You're beautiful, so beautiful

And you belong here on Earth

I love you”

after that you fell asleep, holding him in your arms.

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

it was the next day, and hawks had called you to his agency, he had a bad fight and needed you very bad.

when you got to his agency you saw him laying on the couch in his office. you walked over to him slowly and when you came into his view he lifted his arms towards you like a toddler.

you laughed softly and pulled him into your lap.

“your so cute baby. everything ok?”

“just need you to calm me down angel. been a rough day you know?” he mumbled into your stomach, burying his face into it like a pillow.

“want me to sing for you baby?”

he never really liked you singing outside of your apartment together, but today had been a particularly rough day so, he agreed.

you had asked him what song, already knowing which one but he gave you a odd request.

“can you sing as the world caves in? I heard you singing it the other day and it was really g-good” He sounded nervous almost, it was so cute.

“of course baby, anything for you”

you cleared your throat and shifted so you could sing properly.

“My feet are aching

And your back is pretty tired

And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe

And set our grief aside

The Papers say it's doomsday

The button has been pressed

We're gonna nuke each other up boys

'Til old satan stands impressed”

you were singing so beautifully, so graceful like you were a professional singer, and keigo couldn’t help but think that he was so lucky to have you. he would go to the ends of the world for you and back.

“And here it is, our final night alive

And as the earth runs to the ground

Oh girl it's you that I lie with

As the atom bomb locks in

Oh it's you I watch TV with

As the world, as the world caves-“

you were finishing the song, your singing loudly causing both of you to not notice the person entering the room, hawks receptionist, trying to give hawks some papers.

she walked in through the door, heard you sing, and she was instantly mesmerized.

you walked towards you stopping in front of you dropping to her knees, and staring up at you in admiration.

you quickly tapped hawks on his shoulder and whispered a quick “keigo what the fucks going on”

He lifted his head up, obviously confused, and sat up reaching to his receptionist, asking her if she’s ok

“y-your voice is so beautiful! please keep singing” she stuttered quickly, and then continued asking over and over

“is she ok?”

“I-I don’t know? Why don’t you go home babe, I’ll meet up later I’m gonan take her to the emergency room to see if she has some kind of head damage” you laughed softly at his comment before getting up and leaving. or trying to.

she quickly grabbed your arm before yelling “please stay! I’ll do anything for you! just sing to me again! please!”

you pulled away from her, hawks pulling her away, you gave him a confused look before he tried to reassure you

“I’ll be home quick just go”

you nodded softly and walked out of the agency, going home.

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

you were making dinner when keigo had came home and you quickly went to greet him.

“did you find out what was wrong with her?”

he had a look on his face and you couldn’t quite tell what it was, but it wasn’t good.

“she was in a transe from a quirk. from your quirk y/n. you have a quirk that puts people into a transe.”

you looked at confused and then laughed

“nice joke keigo, now what was really wrong with her”

he stared at you seriously and it all clicked in your head.

you had a quirk.

[racingtoaredlight]

The Bigsby

This colossal piece of shit you see here is the famous Bigsby tailpiece.  It’s one of the most iconic, infamous pieces of guitar hardware in the history of the instrument.  One I’m willing to bet you’ve heard somewhere...but not that many where’s...

Because, again, I cannot underscore how big of a piece of shit this thing is.  And yes, I willingly, knowingly bought a guitar with one of these monstrosities on there, despite it’s numerous flaws.

“Whammy bar” means a lot of different things to different folks.  Eddie Van Halen weaponized it.  Leo Fender refined it and brought it into the modern age.  When most people in the modern age think of the whammy bar, they think of dive bombs and big waggles and some cool shit.

At its most extreme, the Bigsby provides nothing more than a gentle shimmer.  A gentle shimmer that somehow knocks youre ENTIRE FUCKING GUITAR OUT OF GODDAMNED TUNE deep breathe spencer, deep breathe.

***

You’ll get an idea of what the Bigsby’s all about in the video above.  Played by an absolute master at his peak, on a guitar that had a Bigsby operating at it’s best.

***

CON #1 - Restringing

Most guitars with a trem system utilize Leo Fender’s design.  The strings are anchored by the ball end at the base of the trem.  It requires nothing more complicated than threading your string through the bridge...and that’s it, that’s the entirety of the steps required.

With a classic Bigsby (more on the modern ones in a second), you utilize the hollowed out section of the ball end.  The hollowed out section that every string manufacturer still uses, despite the only tailpiece that needs this are the increasily antiquated Bigsby’s.

What you do is put the ball end through the pin, wrap it around the back of the tailpiece...maybe thread it under an additional bar if it’s a more modern Bigsby (to help give the strings the proper break angle, which helps tuning stability)...and then PRAY TO GOD it doesn’t slip off the pin while wrapping the string around the tuning pegs.

If that doesn’t make any sense, don’t worry, it shouldn’t have.  It’s a solution straight out of the Russian space program.  Da, Bigsbyvich...vy not easy make hole for string in cheap bar of metal?  “Nyet.”

Unless you use tape, that ball end will fall off the pin REPEATEDLY during string changes.  Not that big of a deal if you’re at home.  But if you break a string during a gig?  OH SHIT.

***

CON #2 - Tuning

I mentioned this above...

Let me ask you a series of rhetorical questions.  a) what makes music pleasing?  It sounding good.  b) does out of tune music sound good?  No.  c) would you like to use this tailpiece that immediately knocks you out of tune?

This problem is kind of solved with modern interations of the Bigsby.  They now make a “string through” model, which makes the pin problem something of the past.  And with locking tuners...tuning pegs that have a screw to keep the string in place...that previous section is no longer much of a problem at all.

But you still get knocked out of tune because the Bigsby design is inherently unstable.  It’s really annoying, but there are workarounds.  The first workaround is tuning during every song break...something you should do anyways as a musician playing in public, but we’re in the Butt Era of music, so that shit hasn’t mattered since the early aughts.  The second is simply not use it.

***

CON #3 - Weight

Weight matters when you’re playing live.

“Oh look at you you little pussy complaining about having to carry nine pounds on your shoulder for four hours.”  Listen you little strawman...if you tried to practice like I do, you’d be tapping out after 15 minutes because your fingertips wouldn’t have any skin left on them.  So cut the macho shit.

Next show you go to, watch a guy playing a Les Paul.  Note how fresh and energetic they are at the beginning, and then take a look at the end of the show.  3-4 hours standing with an anchor strapped to you is murder on your back and the shoulder your strap rests on.

I mention this because the Bigsby adds a good chunk of weight to your guitar.  It’s gotta weigh easily over a pound.  And if you’re someone who simply doesn’t use a Bigsby, you’ve got extra weight on your guitar for no practical reason that’s readily identifiable.

So yea, there are some definite downsides...downsides that are legitimately shitty...to the Bigsby tailpiece.  You break a string during a gig?  Fucked.  Don’t have a working tuner during a gig?  Fucked.  There is one massive, massive positive.

***

CON #4 - Chinese variants

Like every major guitar part manufacturer, Bigsby realized the money wasn’t in distribution but in licensing.  The vast majority of guitars you see with a Bigsby tailpiece will be cheaply licensed variants from China.  Every single one of those previous categories’ cons are greatly magnified.

The Bigsby is art, not science.  If it were science, it’d be like Fender’s trem system.  All of the above...the variabilities are magnified.  They’re more of a pain to restring, they go out of tune faster, they’re made out of cheaper, heavier metals.

Basically any guitar with a Bigsby that’s under $2,500 has a Chinese variant on it.  This includes the model I just recently bought.  And whether you use it or not, those issues above that are magnified become even bigger pains in the ass when the tailpiece isn’t made exactingly.

***

PRO PRO PRO - The Sound

This isn’t something quantifiable like weight or tuning...wait yes it is, to a certain extent.

With a modern, Fender-style trem system, you’re chopping off basically all the string that’s not 100% essential.  You pull it through, wrap it around the peghead once, measure roughly an extra inch with your finger, and then chop the rest off.  What this does is create a wonderful string tension that allows you to really dig in...especially with Fender’s longer 25.5″ scale length.

On a Bigsby...again the strings are barely anchored to anything...you get an extra 3-3.5″ of string length that’s wobbly and loose.  The Fender twang comes from scale length, but the Gretsch twang comes from the pickups and design.

This is where the unquantifiable comes in...this looseness and silkiness adds a character to the tone that simply isn’t there with a more typical Fender or Gibson style bridge and tailpiece.  You get different harmonics and overtones.  It’s more forgiving and missed notes aren’t as audibly punished.  The other strings vibrate more (even when muted) and add even more of a character to the overall sound.

Simply put, guitars with a Bigsby...whether you use the trem system or not...sound different.  The extra string length makes all the difference, and the loose nature of the Bigsby gives you a unique character to your sound that’s quite different than what you’d find on a more modern style.

***

That last bit alone is the reason Bigsby’s still exist.  And why Bigsby models with the antiquated pin system still exist.  I do believe that pin vs. string-through models sound differently...unfortunately, not for the better in the case of the modern versions.

Locking tuners make a lof these issues less severe, including restringing.  If you can lock on one end, you’re actually in pretty good shape even with the pins.

Of my four guitars that see regular play, three of them have trem systems on there that I don’t use.  However, the trem system itself is a variable that changes the guitar’s overall tone...and in the sense of my Strat, PRS and Gretsch...these are changes that I find sonically pleasing over hard-tail peers.

Here’s *my* truth...doesn’t matter your trem system...it could be a wonky Chinese Bigsby, a Floyd Rose, a vintage Strat with Leo’s original design, a precision machined Kahler...they ALL SUCK.  They all knock you out of tune and are more of a pain to restring than a hardtail.  It’s why I “decked” my Strat and “blocked” my PRS*

*”Decking” is adding additional springs to the trem so that it’s fixed to the guitar’s body.  You can’t do this with guitars that have an arched top, in which case you “block” the trem by putting  a piece of wood in the cavity that keeps it from moving.  This way they’re essentially a fixed bridge.

But the apparatuses do alter the tone in a pleasing way.  Highs are less strident.  There are more overtones and harmonics.  And the Bigsby’s the same story.  Even though it’s a piece of shit that I hate, there’s still something there worth it.

[whisker-biscuit]

In the Name of Science: Chapter 3

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

Note: :(

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

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 3

Subject has been given time to rest. Recovery appears to be more rapid than previously speculated, as subject is active and aggressive with and without scientists present. Full anatomy examination to be conducted soon.

Behavioral training has begun in earnest.

End log

……..........................................................................

Sonic comes to on a metal surface with his face smushed against cold steel. He hopes it won’t become a pattern.

With a few careful breathes he takes stock of himself. Tired, sore but not as sore as before that horrible shock. The lab is dark and quiet – well, mostly. As much as one can be with humming, blinking machines everywhere – and the hedgehog realizes he must have been out for a few hours at least. With a start he also realizes his limbs are no longer bound together.

He pulls himself up to a sitting position immediately, staring at the four silver metal rings set tight around his wrists and ankles. There’s no indication that they can attach to each other, but just to be safe he tries to keep his limbs apart as he inspects the rest of himself.

Still in the cage? Check. Still hurting from the fight and everything since? Double check. Still planning to get out of here, especially now that the Eggman and his crazy assistant aren’t around? Triple check Sunday with a cherry on top.

The teen carefully gets to his feet, grateful for the returned movement, and notices two new additions to his little prison. They look like giant bottles hanging upside down the front mesh of the cage, with thin nozzles sticking through to the inside. Sonic warily edges near them, pausing after each step to see if it’s some awful trap the scientist has set for him. Nothing happens even as he gets close enough to touch them. With a little more hesitation he reaches out and taps the end of one nozzle. His glove comes back wet.

“Uh…?” He rubs his thumb against the damp spot, puzzled, then turns to the other bottle. A quick touch finds the tip of his finger stained in something green-brown and mushy.

Sonic sniffs it gingerly. It’s got a weird, almost oatmeal smell that he only recognizes cause the town hosted a big breakfast event one summer day and he gorged himself from the food line every time people’s backs were turned. The hedgehog realizes with disgust that it’s supposed to be food, that these bottles are meant to feed and water him like some kind of pet.

He smacks the mesh angrily but they don’t budge, so then he starts pushing and pulling at the nozzles, hoping to dislodge them or break them or do something at least. They rattle in mockery, making the teen even more upset.

Dropping to his back, Sonic lifts his feet up in a biker position and kicks the two spigots hard. Something responds with a loud creak, so he kicks again, and again, until finally the water bottle flies clean off its hinges and falls to the ground in a crash of metal and water. The hedgehog freezes, suddenly nervous instead of indignant. His ears swivel every direction in case Robotnik or a robot appears out of nowhere to hurt him. He’s barely breathing.

As the seconds turn into a minute or more without anything happening, Sonic lets out a slow puff of air and rubs his face.

“Great, Sonic, just great. Way to cause a mess you can’t explain away. Do you want the deranged lunatic to shock you again or do you just enjoy his company? – No, don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. I know it’s rhetorical, I’m not an idiot! Clearly you are if you’re doing stupid stuff like this!”

He gestures to the mess on the floor, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s started pacing. The teen stops himself, pressing a palm to his forehead.

“Okay so obviously I need a little self-control here if I’m gonna find a way out. Wait, did that make a weakness in the cage?”

Sonic pats the mesh where the bottle used to sit. He makes a loud noise in frustration as it’s obvious the screen won’t budge.

“So that’s a bust. Busted plan, not busted cage or I’d be out of here by now. Okay, hmm…”

His eyes drift to the other bottle and his stomach gurgles. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten. Probably with Tom. The thought of the human sends something sharp through his chest that he has to stuff down real fast. Now isn’t the time for that.

Instead, he experimentally lays back down and lifts his feet again. With only a moment of hesitation, he jams them against the other nozzle. Forget his hunger. Forget getting in trouble. If he can weaken the wall now and get out, none of it will matter anyway.

It takes a few more kicks than last time to knock this bottle loose – probably because he’s not running on outrage anymore – but soon it joins its duplicate in a loud clatter. Sonic grimaces at the sound but hops up to test the mesh again.

Still nothing.

Frustrated with a growing sense of panic, the teen gets back down and starts kicking directly at the metal wiring. It barely yields, only giving Sonic a horrible backlash of vibrations through his feet for the effort. A growl sticks in his throat as he tries again.

It’s a long time before he’s too exhausted to kick anymore.

……..........................................................................

Robotnik sits at his personal desk with five monitors up. Two of them are running comparative analyses on the quill and blood samples he’s obtained. The third has diagrams of all seventeen different hedgehog species and their anatomies. The fourth is a series of videos of animal trainers offering tips for more rowdy animals, as well as accounts of former human psychological techniques meant to restrain and subdue, usually in old asylums and prisons.

The last monitor is video feed of the alien hedgehog himself, and everything he’s been getting up to.

He had been in and out of consciousness for the first four hours after Robotnik had departed, as the heart rate monitor in his wrist restraints indicated. Most likely his body had been overwhelmed by the stress and had forced a recovery shut down. Then he’d woken up completely at nearly 3 pm.

And what a ruckus he’s created since then.

The scientist strokes his mustache, attention entirely on the video feed for the time being. After breaking off the nutrient feeders (an unnecessary cry for attention, if you ask the doctor) the little creature had pounded at the front of the cage for nearly twenty minutes. He’d dropped flat on his back for a while, panting like a dog, before getting to his feet and running in a circle within one side of the pen.

Whether he’d been planning to try and break through the metal with his body’s speed alone or some other ridiculous plan, it didn’t matter in the end. Because Robotnik had coded those restraints to record velocity, and once they reached a certain threshold their magnetic fields would respond.

This was demonstrated directly when the hedgehog’s ankles were pulled together and he crashed into the far wall. It was a remarkable impact, all things considered.

That was about two minutes ago. Now the man watches as the restraints are deactivated, leaving the alien still half-laying where he hit the ground but definitely aware of the change, if his flicking ears are anything to go by.

“Doctor, I have the items you requested.” Stone’s voice calls confidently from behind.

Robotnik takes one more moment to marvel this creature’s candid personality and behavior, from his position as a hidden observer. Then he leans back in the chair until he’s practically horizontal with his head upside down. He meets his assistant’s gaze.

“Fantastic. Let’s not waste any more time.”

He swivels around and rocks forward out of the chair, his momentum pushing him to his feet and up into Stone’s personal space. He holds his hand out expectantly and the other man obliges, dropping the objects into his open palm. A quick glance tells the scientist they’re exactly as specified.

Without another word the doctor heads down to the main laboratory. He notes with glee how the hedgehog scrambles to attention when he enters the room.

“You’re looking much healthier this afternoon,” he comments, already seeing improvement in the creature’s posture and stance. Then he pretends to notice the broken nutrient feeders for the first time. “Well. Much more active too apparently.”

Sonic tenses. There’s a slight dilation in his pupils that the man almost smiles at – a fear response already, good news. But then he crosses his arms and lifts his chin, still too defiant.

“Yeah? You gotta p-problem with that? It’s just how I roll.”

“On the contrary, I’m delighted by it.”

“What?” The alien’s arms almost drop in his bewilderment. Robotnik tilts his head and purrs.

“Well of course. I want to see what makes you tick, and your behavior is part of that. Not to mention that stunning energy you’ve displayed. I cannot wait to harness it to its fullest potential.”

He watches the way his subject’s mouth works, every twitch of confusion and revulsion and beautiful intelligence. Not on par with him of course, nothing in the universe will ever reach that level, but there’s something so thrilling about interacting with a lifeform from beyond Earth that has given him a literal run for his money.

It’s on this thought that he brings the objects in his hands out in the open. The hedgehog’s eyes lock on to them with the most wide, alarmed expression he’s shown thus far, which is honestly quite the accomplishment given the last half-day.

“I take it you know what these are.”

The alien swallows, and his hands are clenched tight. He doesn’t respond.

“Tell me what you think these are.” It’s an order, the first of many planned.

Sonic takes a deep breath and points at the item in the scientist’s left hand. His arm stays close to his body. “That’s a….that’s a collar.”

“So it is.”

He turns the thing over, letting his subject get a good look at it. The collar is black with the Robotnik logo splashed across in red. Most notable however, is the fairly large black box attached to the center of it, as well as the shiny set of silver dog tags dangling just under them. One finger taps the box.

“Do you know what this does?”

The hedgehog shakes his head. He’s looking rather pale now.

“It’s designed to administer a shock under certain circumstances, the parameters of which will be decided by me. No doubt you remember the one you received earlier today.”

His ears flatten. Robotnik smiles.

“Do you recognize the other object?”

The doctor wiggles his right hand, drawing Sonic’s attention there. He starts trembling just a bit as he stares.

“It’s – that’s a, that’s…” The alien trails off, either struggling to remember the word or not wanting to verbalize it.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Feeling stifled? Gagged, maybe?” He lifts the other item under two fingers, giving it a little shake as part of the joke. “Remember when I told you I expected nothing out of your mouth unless it’s a response to a direct question? We’re going to practice that.”

Robotnik outright revels in the sudden retreat his subject tries to make from the muzzle in the man’s hand, backing up against the far side of his pen like distance alone will have an effect.

“No…” He whispers. There’s something very vulnerable in his voice, something that goes beyond the idea of physical restraint. “No, no no no.”

“Save your heart-wrenching pleas for someone who has one.” The doctor says coldly, already pressing a few buttons to activate the hedgehog’s magnetic bonds.

Sonic’s wrists come together, as do his ankles, and he loses his balance immediately. He hits the ground on his left side but doesn’t stop struggling to shimmy away nor cease his begging.

“You know, perhaps I would’ve considered only using the collar for the time being, but then you had to be an absolute brat and destroy perfectly functional equipment. Act like an animal, I’ll treat you like an animal. Only fair don’t you think?”

Robotnik makes an irritated noise as his gloating is met with an increased volume of ‘no’ being repeated like a protective mantra. Not that he doesn’t love the groveling, but really. Gloating’s only fun when someone can appreciate it. He sighs and sends a few drones into the cage’s ceiling hatch.

The little hedgehog sees them coming and does the only thing he has left – he curls into a ball, every quill straightened up to create a deadly sphere. It doesn’t help much when the drones hover near enough for his restraints to yank his limbs out into the open, attaching themselves to the robots against all his best efforts.

He’s screaming now.

The robots drag him halfway out of the hatch, leaving his legs dangling in the cage. As Robotnik approaches he can see tears forming in Sonic’s eyes. It gives the scientist pause.

“You are…remarkably impacted by the concept of this. I wonder.” He transfers the muzzle and collar to one hand. The other hand shoots out to grab the teen’s snout, causing him to freeze in shock. “What about it frightens you so? Is it the further loss of body autonomy, or something else?”

His subject’s gaze scatters away from Robotnik’s face for a moment before coming back just as pitifully.

“Please,” he’s back to whispering. “Please, don’t. Please.”

The doctor leans in close, letting the hedgehog feel his breath on his fur and see the utter contempt in his own eyes. He holds him like that for a long moment, and Sonic visibly shudders at it all.

“You don’t get the privilege of begging anymore.”

Sonic’s pupils blow wide. He opens his mouth to scream.

“NO–”

Robotnik jams the muzzle against his face, pressing cold metal into his cheeks and cutting off the wail so fast it leaves eerie silence in its wake. His drones make short work of pulling the Kevlar straps through razer-sharp quills to fasten together where the organic scientist cannot reach. The collar comes next and is almost harder simply because of how much the alien is thrashing.

But it’s soon secured as well, leaving a shaking, near-sobbing teen with his arms stretched above his head and his head still held by his captor. Robotnik drums his fingers against the metal wrapped around Sonic’s face, causing a harsh flinch each time.

“I think this looks quite fetching. Perhaps I should consider keeping it on even outside of training.”

The hedgehog closes his eyes with a whine. The man strokes his mustache.

“Mm, but perhaps not. It all depends on your behavior from here on out.” He checks the time. “For now though, I’d say the rest of the day should be enough to teach you the meaning of the word ‘silence’. What do you think?”

Sonic shakes his head.

“Rest of the day it is! Oh, and let’s not forget to get your sustenance feeders back up, hmm? I’m sure it will be much more difficult to eat and drink like this, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out with that clever little mind of yours.”

A flick of his wrist and the drones drop Sonic back into his pen. The teen scrambles away from the front, into the far corner on the bed side.

“I don’t trust you not to try and take off the extra accessories prematurely either, so your restraints will remain active for a while yet. Not that it matters, because if I find out you tried to break anything else – the feeders, the muzzle, the collar, anything – then the shock I gave you earlier will feel like a tickle. Got that through your thick skull?”

Robotnik waits until he gets a slow, defeated nod before turning away. Something tells him the quill and blood sample analysis is complete, and he doesn’t want to miss a single detail.

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

A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long. With everything going on right now I went to stay with family, and it has been a lot harder to get time to write around family than I thought ehehe. Hopefully the longer chapter makes up for it.

Also, sorry if Sonic seems OOC for this one, but I was thinking a lot about how his second greatest weapon after his speed is his motor mouth. This lad uses it to fill the void when no one else is there, and I'd imagine (at least for Movie Sonic) that losing that ability is just as terrifying as losing his speed.

On a technical note, I've decided to keep the focus on Sonic for this fic, and not Tom and Maddie. The original plan was to show them working to find him, but that wasn't working out so well in the end, so it's gonna be pain train all the way through.

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[radramblog]

Pink Lemonade: Not too sweet, not too sour.

(I think I’m brave enough to try some of that.)

Pink Lemonade is a 2014 album by Melbourne prog outfit Closure in Moscow and is one of the most banging’ albums in my collection. It sets out to have a good time and a good time it has, being probably the most consistently fun to sing along to of the albums I’ve tried to do that with. It also tells a pretty bizarre story, which between the salad of the lyrics, the rapid delivery, and sheer esoterica is pretty hard to follow- as such I’ll be explaining it as I go through this review. The clearest explanation of the plot is available in this article written by the band’s vocalist, and so a lot of what I’m saying is going to be coming from that. I’d recommend listening to it yourself, though, maybe even before reading on, if only so you can be as awed and confused as I was the first time around.

1. The Fool

We open on nature noises as a slow meandering line plays before suddenly being interrupted by a record distortion and a burst of energetic guitars and a quick beat, followed by the first lines of the song and what the fuck is he saying? Yeah, get used to that, that’s what this whole thing is like. Strap in.

The playful delivery of the second verse (“It’s a new day for the Fool today…”) had me hooked, with the backup vocals solidifying that position- its just a style that really appeals to me. The song doesn’t last much longer beyond that opening, because that’s just what it is- an introduction, a prologue, introducing the album’s style, energy, and protagonist.

Oh, speaking of. The Fool is our main character, and he’s who this track is about- a pleasure-seeker lost and adrift doing his own horseshit, and we’re going to watch him try(yyyyyyyYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy) to find his next fix- a fast track no fuss path to enlightenment.

2. Pink Lemonade

I’d argue this is the first real song of the album, considering how brief The Fool is. While The Fool introduced the off-kilter verses of the album, the album’s title song introduces the punchy choruses, with vocals going in unexpected directions and their impact coinciding with the beginnings of technical and fluid riffs. The first chorus (actually maybe the only one uhhh) breaks off with a hard pause, and we’re back in the slow build of a new, chiller verse. There’s a contrast here- The Alchemist (bloke on the cover!) offering this miracle brew, this psychedelic Pink Lemonade that’s the cheat way to heaven on earth, and the Fool just begging for it and then losing his mind as the drugs take effect and it’s not quite what he was expecting. This build climaxes as the Alchemist speaks again, voice editing simulating the effects the Lemonade is having on the Alchemist’s mind, as he pours this wicked elixir once more and reinforces quite explicitly that he doesn’t fuck around. As the music cuts back, it’s the Fool who’s finding out, as he just says a bunch of words that I don’t really get- but we hear backing vocals teasing, with the album’s first mention of the Brahmatron (we’ll get to it) The song keeps going as this motherfucker just keeps tripping- allegedly he’s grappling with extradimensional shit, you know how it is. This song fucks, by the way. It’s a thrill ride, never going in the same direction twice, and only stopping to start again until its final, bitter end.

The track on the album isn’t over, though, and here’s my first real criticism, though its more of a meta thing on albums in general. You get a lot of albums where there are additional non-song bits strapped to the start and end, typically with concept and story albums, and I just wish these would be delineated as separate tracks on the album if they’re as long as this one is. When Pink Lemonade comes up on shuffle, I don’t reaaaally want to get halfway seduced before moving on to the next song, especially if I’m not the only one listening to it.

Oh yeah, that’s what is happening, by the way. After the Fool is done tripping, he awakens in an alleyway to a voice (officially named the Tacky Ornamental Slut, ok, sure) in his head, leading him to her performance at a jazz club that is extremely forward and direct. This little swaggering, jazzy interlude (featuring guest vocals and “general insidious sauciness” by Kitty Hart who’s doing a lovely job) leads directly into and continues in the next track, as Weird Dimensional Shit happens to the Fool and by the sounds of things, either he or she is glitching through reality.

3. Neoprene Byzantine

The explosion of noise that is the first second of Neoprene Byzantine is the first thing I heard of this album, as it came up on one of Spotify’s Recommended playlists, and I’m glad I went back to figure out what the hell was going on here. Suddenly, our tempting voice has turned accusatory, essentially asking “oh, wait, you were actually into that?”, and offering the songs title character, Verina (a name never actually stated in the lyrics) to satisfy the Fool’s apparent needs. There is so much energy in this opening, essentially being *fancy guitar noodling* *sassy lyrics over a snare roll* *more guitar noodling* until it breaks, and Kitty exists the record hitting a high note that took me way too long to realise was a euphemism for cunnilingus. Exquisite. (I only realised when writing this and looking at the lyrics that this isn’t the first time that subject comes up on the album, since one of the lyrics I never got on The Fool was apparently “cunt-licking”. Earning that explicit label, I see.)

The rest of the plot of the song is basically just about Verina, a time-travelling plastic-surgery-covered literal Byzantine empress whom the Fool enters a torrid relationship with. The chorus is so much fun to belt along to, carried by the smooth guitar lines that don’t really explode like the opening does- that gets saved for part of the second verse, but we’ll get to that. The verses are also a lot of fun, with the first spending a lot of time as this cut back percussion-and-vocals bit, and when the other instruments do return the lyrics spend a lot of time with little asides (like these bits in brackets what I’m doing). The second verse on the other hand is has the vocals build along with psychedelic guitars until we are SUDDENLY YELLING, finishing with a steady fall back to normal for the final verse. The only reason I’d say they’re any less fun than the chorus is because the lyrics are fast so its real hard to keep up sometimes- kudos to the performer for nailing that.

Neoprene Byzantine is probably my favourite song on the album, and a lot of that is for similar reasons as Pink Lemonade- the energy all over the place, the different styles of vocals used, basically it has big ADHD energy, and I can appreciate that. It might literally be that this song resonates with me better only because of the better chorus, and me having a bad habit of saying (or singing) rude things with a straight face.

4. Seeds of Gold

Where Pink Lemonade and Neoprene Byzantine are chaotic and energetic, Seeds of Gold is a groovy, very danceable little tune. I don’t have as much to say as a result- its actually probably my next favourite after Neoprene Byzantine, but there isn’t as much to explain music-wise or plot-wise. The bass is grooving, and the little glitchlike noises keep it from being so smooth it feels out of place, reminding you that, yeah, this is still a track from Pink Lemonade. It’s probably the song most capable of standing on its own without the rest of the album, considering its meaning and non-reliance on themes or interstitials. That’s probably why it got a (very stylish) music video of its own.

Plot wise, Seeds of Gold depicts a more frustrated and melancholic story than its glittering guitars suggest- it’s about the ending of The Fool and Verina’s relationship, with him having no use for her anymore, his callousness turning to resentment in her mind, and he’s unwilling to take the blame for it.

5. That Brahmatron Song

Here’s where shit gets weird again.

That Brahmatron Song is the existential lament of the Fool as he discovers the truth of reality, the nature of the Brahmatron, and falls again through reality.

Like with Pink Lemonade, I’d argue this would have been better split off into two tracks, with the first half sounding completely different to the second- though at least the two are a little better connected sonically this time, in my opinion. After a mishearing of the lyrics, I can never imagine the chorus of That Brahmatron Song as anything but a particularly loud, drunken campfire tune, sung with tears in one’s eyes and a warmth in one’s heart (whether it be from the fire, the alcohol, or the camaraderie). And while that doesn’t actually fit the lyrics as the truly are, it’s a nice sentiment I’ve stuck to and kind of want to do in real life at some point.

The lyrics of this song are something that I just cannot connect to what the plot is supposed to be. Like, I get the realisation the Fool makes, but I don’t get how he’s supposed to have gotten there- the lines are just to esoteric. This is not to say it’s a bad song or anything- not as good as the previous three, but still great on its own measure- but it leaves me a bit puzzled.

The plot dives into its most psychedelic moments, as the Fool, through…some means… discovers the nature of the universe as the Brahmatron- the resonance and vibrations that make up reality as a whole. And as he fucks around with it, he gets sucked into it, leading to the second half of the song. The first half ends like a film projector being abruptly shut off, as the yawning void of the universe makes itself heard through atmospheric noise, slowly rising into a dramatic, unsettling beat. The vocals return with a transcendent BRAAAAAAAAHMATROOOOOON echoing through the noise, soon replaced by the dramatic beat continuing under what is presumably the Fool’s screaming rambles, filtered as though through a shitty radio. Guitar noodling begins, a solo lasting until the loud existential vocals come in again. Alarms blare as the raving gets more desperate, the solo restarts, and the dramatic percussion keeps going through it all. It’s almost akin to a twisted marching beat, eventually falling partially away as actual radio chatter is heard from some military type what the fuck? And then vintage video-gamey gunfire and explosions as the military dude says to fire and then someone’s really sexual moans and then it’s just over.

I don’t think I can put into words the experience that section of the song is, though I guess that’s me trying. It’s nonsensical and a little scary, but it’s a good time.

As the Fool tumbles through reality, he sees the apex, the centre of the Brahmatron, learning that it is neither malevolent nor benevolent, yawning of all possibilities and connecting to different realities. The Fool, frightened by the existential idea that all possibilities existing makes free will an illusion, desperately seeks a way out, finding a tendril leading to the forest he first met the Alchemist and diving right into that reality. It’s clearly a bit fucky, as we can assume from the military noises, but it’s familiar, and he needs that right now.

But there’s always a twist. We’ll get to the twist a later date, as at this point, I’m at almost 2,000 words and around halfway through the album. Stay tuned for Part 2.

[ms31x129]

Gypsy Journey:  By Ms31x129 (Existence AU - Part 6)

Summary:  Nightmares intersect with reality on a gypsy journey with no end in sight. 

“I can’t forgive you for hiding him from me Dana. A man has a right to see his grandson grow. “

Part 1- A Child Is Born, Part 2- Desperate Lullaby,  Part 3- Sacrifice & Part 4 - Faded Love Part 5 - Haunted Dreams

If I tagged you and you aren’t interested please ignore and sorry for the wait. Link HERE for AO3 or if you prefer reading on Tumbler it’s below for the newest chapter and linked on each chapter title. 

@cultureisdarkbeer @season4mulder @baronessblixen @kikocrystalball @kyouryokusenshi @piecesofscully @monikafilefan @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm @lappina @skullsmuldon  @wholeperson @mobygirl21 @faithfirst2016 @postmodernpromartheus @lmsmith099 @alienbaby-babymama @sandymans-world  @blossom-ofsnow @rationalcashew @thatsaprettycoolposter

Part 6: Gypsy Journey

Georgia

They’d been travelling for almost 7 months and they’d stopped in Peachtree City just outside of Atlanta in Georgia when Gibson heard him - it for the first time in months.

“Come to me. Do not run.”

Gibson looked around, Mulder was still in the restroom with William. There at the rear of the building stood an Alien Bounty Hunter. Gibson swallowed and hoping he wasn’t about to make a mistake walked closer.

“I could have killed you many times over, human.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“You know why.”

The hunter reached out and placed his hand on Gibson’s head. “You have been damaged.” Gibson felt a warmth pass from the Hunters hand, his head felt like it was on fire. And then just like that it wasn’t. The Hunter stepped back and Gibson heard Mulder calling his name, he turned and had to brace himself against the building wall when dizziness passed through him.

“You okay Gibson?” Mulder began to walk towards him; William in his arms. William called out to him in his own way verbally “Gi, Gi…” And a mental thought of a dark ominous beach - waves crashing forcefully. William’s arms were outstretched and he wiggled in Mulder’s arms. Gibson looked behind him one last time - the hunter was gone.

Gibson met Mulder halfway, “I think he wants you to hold him, Gibbs.” Mulder had started calling him that several months ago. He liked it. Mulder handed William to him and William snuggled close, almost like he was comforting him. 

Batesburg-Leesburg, South Carolina

As they moved up the east coast the nightmares kept them steady company on their gypsy-like journey. Scully walking away holding William, William reaching out to Mulder, a plaintive “Da-da...” fading as both mother and child became one with the endless sand.

 They took a circuitous route north driving west in South Carolina first. The plan was to spend a night in Spartansburg. Gibson stared out the window and noticed the silence first, then a vibration that grew louder. He turned his head and looked at William whose eyes were wide with fright.

It was only a few moments until he read the mind of the man he once accused of being afraid of him.

“Krycek thought he could kill me, he was wrong. I’m going to give you another chance Marita, even though you did nothing to stop him from pushing me down the stairs.”

Gibson could feel the satisfaction from the man taking a deep slow drag from his cigarette. “I want my grandson found and when you do you are going to bring him to me.”

Suddenly Gibson heard other sounds - dark, dangerous - something was in Spartansburg. The sign ahead read Spartanburg Exit 14 A Route 85 North. Gibson grabbed Mulder’s forearm.

“Mulder - don’t take the exit. We can’t go to Spartanburg. I, I can’t explain exactly - there’s something - danger. WE can’t go there.”

Mulder looked at the fear in the earnest young man’s face and nodded in unspoken agreement and merged into another lane. Gibson closed his eyes and sighed in relief, but William was projecting - the dark ominous beach was back.

The nightmare that came while in the safe house in North Carolina was the worst. Gibson didn’t know how much longer any of them would survive without restful sleep.

A triangular UFO made of sand, lifting up, up - changing into weather stained metal. A low humming began as more craft of all sizes now dotted the skies, the beach became a city of rubble. Screams of the dying, explosions, buildings toppling as the crafts above continued their reign of destruction.

A baby’s wail shattered the dream and a new one crept in. William crawled across the sand toward his father. Mulder was sick, dying, skin pasty his face and body moist with sweat, eyes red. William on his knees hands on his father’s chest, grasping Mulder’s shirt in his small hands. “Daa-Daa… Daa-Daa….” Mulder raised his arm weakly, a thumb wiped at the tears on his son's cheek. He swallowed his throat, felt raw, tight and it was getting harder and harder to breath. 

In the distance Scully ran toward them, in her hand - a syringe. “Mulder… ” her voice echoed. Everything would be okay now. Scully was coming. “God, I love you William.” Mulder’s hand fell just as Scully dropped to her knees beside them. “No, no, no, no… Mulder. Damn you!” She plunged the needle into his neck. “C’mon, c’mon don’t do this to Me! To our son!” Scully ripped Mulder’s shirt open and began chest compressions continuing to scream at him to wake up.

William was still on his knees beside her when she noticed the change Mulder’s skin had turned gelatinous… No! She looked at William as he was pulling his hands away from his father's chest, a stretchy, viscous slime coating his hands. Scully looked at her own hands pressed against Mulder’s now translucent chest and the creature writhing within. Scully scooped William into her arms, got to her feet and backed away. 

The creature burst from Mulder’s chest, it seemed to sniff the air until it swiveled its head and looked directly at Scully and William. Scully took several steps backward, her eyes never leaving the creature, until she bumped into something - someone. CGB Spender held a gun to her back. “Give the boy to Marita, Dana… I can still call you Dana can’t I? After our oh so memorable road trip… I’d rather not shoot you in front of the boy.”

Marita stepped forward and Scully reluctantly relinquished William; his cries grew louder as Marita carried him away toward a car. Spender also began backing away the gun still trained on Scully.

“I can’t forgive you for hiding him from me Dana. A man has a right to see his grandson grow. I wonder if there’s anything left of Fox in that creature? Perhaps you’ll be the one to survive? I think not, it’s unfortunate - I could have given you the world… It’s too late for that. I’ll raise William as my own, my heir. Finally a child to mold who can be the son I always wanted.”

The Mulder-Creature slowly slinked forward closer to Scully. “Goodbye, Dana.” The creature  moved like lightning striking driving Scully into the sandy beach. William struggled in Marita’s arms. “Da-da, da-da… n, n, nooo….” The creature turned toward the sound of William’s voice and took a few steps away from Scully. “Get the boy in the car, Marita. NOW!” Spender hissed.

Scully rose shakily to her feet and launched herself at the creature, instinct took over and it turned on her, slashing with its claws. Marita was still trying to get the struggling William in the car, his cries reached a fever pitch. “Nooooooo…...M, M … Ma….Mama!”

A sonic bomb, a wave of psychic energy consumed them, scouring everything clean.

Pure Darkness. 

William was crying out for his father. Both Mulder and Gibson stumbled to the makeshift nursery, Mulder took his son in his arms. “Shhh, Will… it’s okay, I’m here.” Gibson shook his head, the remnants of the dream fading. His head was pounding, he felt the familiar wetness above his lip, he reached up and swiped, blood on his fingertips. Gibson noticed blood beneath Mulder’s nose as well, as their eyes met. 

“What just happened?” Gibson shook his head, the dreams were fading, becoming hazy. William was calming, becoming quiescent in his father’s arms.

*****

Miles away the ABH felt the child’s power spread, an invisible wave -  so much untapped potential - so untrained. The ship responded, absorbing the energy even as the readout from a monitor went static. His brothers surrounded him. “It is done,” one of them said. “Call the boy,” intoned another.

[astonishinglegends]

Ep 197: Mrs. Hingely and the Mince Pie Aliens plus Listener Stories

Christmas tree element in the main image composition courtesy of Elekes Andor

"We come from the sky."

– 3 purported aliens to Mrs. Jean Hingely on January 4th, 1979, shortly before they attacked her artificial Christmas Tree and left with her mincemeat pies

Description:

Tonight's episode starts with the coverage of a strange and funny case involving aliens and holiday pies. On January 4, 1979, Mrs. Jean Hingely of the town of Rowley Regis in the West Midlands region of England was visited by three fishbowl-helmeted and friendly aliens with wings. After some spiritually uplifting exchanges, her holiday visitors thrashed her Christmas tree and nicked three of her mincemeat pies. The second part of our episode features heartwarming personal stories of hope from some of our listeners. These stories may not be proof of an afterlife for some, but for others, they may bolster the belief that our existence doesn't end with our physical death and that somewhere there is a world where everything we cherish is waiting for us, and proof that love is eternal and boundless.

Location:

The 12th century village of Rowley Regis in the West Midlands region of England, where Jean Hingely was visited on January 4, 1979 by three winged, benevolent aliens who trashed her Christmas tree and made off with three of her mincemeat pies.

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Credits:

Episode 197: Mrs. Hingely and the Mince Pie Aliens plus Listener Stories.  Produced by Scott Philbrook & Forrest Burgess; Audio Editing by Sarah Vorhees Wendel. Sound Design by Ryan McCullough; Tess Pfeifle, Producer, and Lead Researcher; Research Support from the astonishing League of Astonishing Researchers, a.k.a. The Astonishing Research Corps, or "A.R.C." for short. Copyright 2020 Astonishing Legends Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

[zippdementia]

Part 88 Alignment May Vary: Still Frozen

Last post I said that the PCs would end up finding many interesting things in the depths of the iceberg. Let’s jump right into what they find! Just a little note, too, about our changeling character, Ruz. Ruz is in the form of a female, but also has a male’s personality and sometimes that gender. She doesn’t have a preferred pronoun, so I switch back and forth between he and she in my writing, really just going with whatever one comes out of my fingertips as I type. Therefore, this is not a typo, but rather the most accurate way to portray Ruz’s view of her own gender, which is not as open as the term “they” would allow for.

The Weave-Seer

The old man sits as still as if frozen like everything around him. But there is a color in his cheeks and a warmth in his eye that tells you not all is at it seems. As you stare, he raises a wrinkled hand ever so slightly, ever so slowly, and beckons you forward.

Amidst one of the trophy rooms is what could only be described as an exhibit, featuring frozen Ice Warriors from the village above, set in positions that seem meant to simulate their daily lives: cooking around a frozen campfire; raising their spears to an unseen foe; and a building their fur huts. Inside one of the fur huts, however, is the village Shaman who taught Boneweaver. Impossibly old, yet still exuding strength, this Shaman reveals to Imoaza that he is a Weave-Seer and that he can see the Weave like she is starting to (she thinks back to a night spent on board the icebreaker, watching the Weave play through the sky like an impossibly active field of stars). Indeed, Imoaza’s ability to see the Weave begins to come more and more into play in our sessions, as she uses it to do everything from detecting magic to deciphering where the party should go next. The Weave-Seer tells Imoaza that she will one day learn to control it, as he has, but that he has not the time to teach her now, for the world has another path set for her. He tells her, cryptically, “You shall rise as needed. You shall learn from the Weave itself. You shall see when your eyes are open.” Then he snaps his fingers in front of her eyes and Imoaza can see the weave stretching out all around them. This time, it does not fade quickly, but lasts for minutes. And even after, she seems able to call back up her Weave vision. Not all the time... but often enough.

The Weave-Seer also tells the party the history behind this dungeon. It was once the home to an evil White Dragon, who held dominion over the Kobolds of the iceberg and the Ice Villagers who lived above it. But then a goodly Brass Dragon came to the iceberg, drove off or killed the White Dragon, and brought an era of peace to the kobolds and the people of the ice. For five generations, the Brass Dragon and its offspring were worshipped. But then the Witches came. They made a deal with Bone Carver, once the Weave-Seer’s student. She had lost a daughter, and the Witches agreed to bring back her daughter in exchange for breaking the seal on an ancient monster that the Ice Shamans had long ago sealed: the Wendigo. Bone Carver agreed and the Witches used the Wendigo to attack the Dragon. Bone Carver assisted them in capturing the Dragon and the Witches froze it deep inside the iceberg, then enslaved the villagers. But they could not enslave the Shamans, for their magic protected them. Bone Carver remained loyal to the witches, for two reasons: she feared they would take her daughter away again, if she fought them. And two, she desired to learn of their power and how to control it for herself. But the Weave-Seer mocked them, by resealing the Wendigo in a trap he had constructed far from this iceberg and then becoming a resident in the iceberg where they now laired, remaining beyond their power even in their own domain.

The PCs get a little uncomfortable when Weave-Seer talks about trapping the Wendigo, for they rightly piece together that they have accidentally broken that seal and re-released them into the ice again! Indeed, as they talk, one comes sniffing around for them and they trick it into one of the tents, where they ambush and kill it.

The Weave-Seer tells them, too, that this iceberg contains an ancient library, one of the most powerful and oldest in all of Faerun, the Library of Floating Wisdom. He says that three things they need from this dungeon: they need the library, they need to defeat the witches, and they need to find the Dragon. Then, with this proclamation, the old man settles into a meditative position and settles into what seems to be a state of hibernation.

The Ice Maiden.

“This was my home. And yet I hate it, for I have to see it destroyed over and over again.” The young woman in front of you breathes out a sigh that becomes visible as it hits the frozen air, and she wipes away a tear that turns to frost on her blue cheek.

In one room, the PCs find a bizarrely accurate creation of a city street in Brindol, made entirely of ice. Ruz recognizes it because they are from there, originally. The streets lead them down a twisting and winding way deeper into the recreation, and it turns out to be a trap set by Kobolds, using vibrating crystals which deal sonic damage and bring the whole city down on them in an avalanche of crashing ice and snow. The PCs escape from this with some clever maneuvering and the flight spell (not all of the Kobolds are as lucky) and make it to the end of the chamber, which is blocked by a massive wall of ice. Here, they meet the one who built the false city, for it was not the Kobolds. Instead it was a young woman with blue skin and snow-white hair. She approaches them like a shade from out of the flurry of snow and frost left behind by the collapsing city. At first they think she will attack, but instead she is inquisitive, curious, and sad.

She tells them she keeps constructing this area based on her memories of where she grew up, but that it always falls apart in the end. This time it had lasted longer than ever and she had dared to hope she might finish her work and live here, like a citizen in a forgotten world. But alas, it was not to be. She tells them her name is Hazelwood and that she has three mothers: the three witches. They are not her real mothers, they stole her long ago. But now they are her only family. 

While they talk, Ruz begins to recognize in Hazelwood the signs of their own people, the Changelings. Ruz also begins to recognize some of the details of her story and pieces together that Hazelwood is the Changeling from the journal he found out on the ice, in the camp where they released the Wendigo. He asks Hazelwood to accompany them and begins to gently remind her of her true nature as a Changeling. This does something to Hazelwood. An icy aura expands out from her and her eyes turn a deep black color. She exudes danger and power and Ruz realizes she is no ordinary Changeling (if “ordinary” could ever be used to describe any Changeling). Imoaza can see the Weave gather and tighten around her, darting in and out of her body like strings on a Marionette. She doesn’t know what this means, but Ruz and her assume that it may have something to do with some glamor or magic cast upon her by the meddlesome Witches. But why did they want to capture her in the first place?

While Hazelwood struggles to pull herself under control, Milosh is deep in his own struggle. As Hazelwood came from the storm, he shot a blast into the wall blocking their exit, intending to escape from any new danger. But the blast sets off another sonic trap that hits him hard and scrambles his circuits and suddenly Milosh’s becomes convinces that he is back on Eberron, living his life before the Surveyor found him and forever changed him. In this vision, he believes he is on a mission, on a train, and his Victorian-styled companions (imagined in this vision to be Imoaza, Hazelwood, and Ruz) are trying to find and dispose of a spy to the empire. He goes so far as to become briefly convinced that Ruz is the spy, and that startles Hazelwood, who makes a series of ice daggers appear in the air around her, poised to strike Milosh. Imoaza walks up and punches Milosh in the face and this... surprisingly... brings him back to himself! However, when everyone turns to see what has become of Hazelwood, she has disappeared back into the snow.  

The Scholar.

“I have waited so very long.” The elf is old, very old. Maybe the oldest elf that still walks this earth, though such a thing is difficult to know for certain. But certainly none of you have ever seen one of that race show so many signs of age, and you know those signs only appear when an elf is very close to the end of their years. For this one to have so many wrinkles, be so unable to stand, and have such a shake in their liver spotted hands, belies that he has lived under the threat of his own mortality for a very long time indeed. His voice, however, is still musical and strong and does not quaver like the rest of his body. “My name,” he says, “is Joachir.” He shifts as if he means to rise to greet you, but the effort is too much and instead he pulls the weatherworn remains of his threadbare cloak around him more tightly. You can see that they may have been yellow, once. 

The PCs eventually come to the library that the Weave-Seer spoke of. There is a study before its entrance, a reading area, and it is here at an old but beautiful desk that a long time character makes his final appearance. Joachir of the Yellow Robes was brought into my game a very long time ago, in Post FOUR, as a stand in for a quest giver. He was initially intended to be a central figure in a series of side quests that was going to build the characters up from level 3 to level 9 or 10, when I could take them on the Red Hand of Doom storyline. But then a couple of things happened. First, most of the party died during the Ghosts of the Moonsea storyline, involving Reeves Sar Testain and the Mysterious Island village. Second, I discovered the incredibly fun Tomb of Haggemoth campaign and ran that, instead. So Joachir drifted into the background, disappearing over the Dragonfang mountains and not making a reappearance until the Red Hand campaign, arriving to help be a questgiver for the White Plume Mountain adventure, where Black Razor was retrieved. Even then, I didn’t really have plans for Joachir, or understand where he fit in with everything. I think Black Razor is what finally settled me on his behind-the-scenes plot. Once Black Razor became a more integral part of the story, quickly surpassing the other things recovered from White Plume, Joachir suddenly became suspect: why had he sent the PCs to recover this most dangerous weapon?

And then the prophecy emerged, and things became clear to me.,

Joachir greets the players and talks with them a short while, telling them that his time is short and that he has just finished the last words in his life’s work, indicating a thick tome on the table in front of him. When Imoaza questions him about what it is, he  tells them to be careful with it, as it is the story of all that is and “sometimes the truth can be dangerous.” Imoaza opens it and reads the first few lines: 

“The moon shines down upon the sea which shares its name, its blank face full of the promise of new beginnings. The moon illuminates the prison ship, The Enlightenment, as it sits anchored in the sea, and it illuminates Captain Tolman striding back and forth across its deck in clear agitation, glaring at the mysterious golden island that sits in view off the port side.”

Indeed, this book is essentially Alignment May Vary itself, the story of our adventures. Imoaza flips through more pages, finding sections describing Haggemoth, the Red Hand adventure, and even her own story as she joined the party and they ended up traveling the planes. It ends with the lines: 

“They saw the elf close the book as they approached, and realized that he was very old. He looked at them and smiled and told them that the rest of the story was theirs to write, theirs to tell.”

Joachir gives Ruz a ring of cold resistance. He says that it will be useful in defeating the witches. He also tells them that the library ahead of them holds the keys to deciphering the Prophecy, if they can find them. He tells them that the world will survive this story, regardless, but the nature of how it survives and what that looks like will differ drastically based on their actions. He tells them that they walk a path that has been prepared, but not one that cannot be changed. His speech slows the more he speaks and finally he says that it is time for him to return to the endless lands. “It has been so long,” he says. “So long.” And with that, he passes. 

The Girl. 

She is young, with a soft pigment of brown in her skin, dulled by a lifetime spent away from the sun, like the skin of her people, the tribe of the Ice. She stares out at you with wide, curious eyes and a bold smile that shows neat rows of perfect white teeth.

After speaking with Joachir, the party realizes they aren’t alone. A little girl, clearly of the same ancestry as the tribal ice villagers, comes around the corner of a shelf and approaches them boldly, saying that her mother is Bone Carver. Ruz and Milosh actually debate killing her, so intense is their anger at the villagers and Bone Carver in particular. But even as they prepare to do the deed, they realize that it would be a punishment visited on the innocent, and to murder a child, let alone one who is not showing them any threat, is too intense a deed to be justified by their treatment at the hands of the villagers. So they calm and instead ask her what she is doing here. She tells them that she lives here and that mother is “somewhere around.” In continuing to question her, Ruz begins to come to the revelation that this is actually Hazelwood, having changed into another form. But she doesn’t seem to realize it, or retain memory of what she was at their last, very recent, encounter. From all that he’s learned from the Shaman and from the information he had in the journal, Ruz begins to suspect the full shape of her story. Bone Carver had wanted a child after the death of her own. The Witches agreed to bring her back and in exchange for her helping them defeat the dragon and steal its home, she was given a child that “appeared” to be her own: a child who could take the form of her child. A Changeling child. The Witches used their magic to convince the child that she is indeed Bone Carver’s own, but only until her 19th year. Then their deal is ended, and they take her back, changing her once again into the frosty-skinned maiden, Hazelwood, and claiming her as their own. Only, her family comes seeking her, or hires adventurers to come looking for her. Nine years ago, they find her, but in their return journey, the Witches catch up to them and destroy them on the ice, reclaiming Hazelwood and further adjusting their spells over her to hold her to them.

Realizing all of this, Ruz feels a bond with this girl, whom he knows now is still Hazelwood. She is trapped, as he was trapped, and she is only barely aware of it. He resolves to save her from the grip of the Sisters of Ice, the Witches who await them deep in the iceberg, 

The Library.

You look out at a space dominated by shelves made of whale bone, sea-lion skin, and driftwood, holding a haphazard display of books, scrolls, and tomes, seemingly without order. The stillness in the air is like a hesitation, like the world holding its breath to see what you will do next.

The library becomes the stage of a pretty cool scene, where Imoza discovers that the Weave here is pulling elements in from all over time and space, forming a truly endless library, containing potentially any information, as long as a strong enough will can bend the Weave to deliver it. Those with a weak will, or a lack of caution, may instead find themselves lost forever, losing their own knowledge and memories, or may find their greatest fears brought to life in front of them. Forewarned by Imoaza’s Weave-Sight, and a nasty encounter Milosh has with a book that tries to pull him inside of it, the PCs mostly leave this search to her. And what she is looking for is information about the prophecy and how to prevent the end of the world. She finds what she is looking for: a description of the Prophecy and the true meaning of its stanzas, written by the Surveyor who originally recorded the prophecy, the very same one who pulled Milosh from Eberron and set him on his life’s quest. His words take time to translate from the ancient language it is written in, but this is a language Imoaza has studied, for it was connected with her Yuan Ti ancestors. Once translated, it reveals more about the four items they are seeking.

The sword is a blade referred to as a “void blade,” which is an older word Imoaza’s people used to refer to the hexblades warlocks like herself wield. mentions this one as the blackest of black blades, with a name as sharp as it is dark. It seems ever more impossible that the sword is anything but Black Razor.

The stone is referred to as the “Mnemosyne Nefretis,” a complicated ancient way of saying “Memory Jade.” It is described as a device the Surveyors use to pass on their knowledge to the next Surveyor and thus simulate the process of procreation and birth, at least as well as Primus can mimic it in his creation. This was already confirmed by Karina to be the Jade Stone, which Carrick is hunting down.

The shield remains a mystery... the prophecy’s text uses a word Imoaza does not recognize, and mentions the “earth speakers” being able to know what it is. A frustrating obstacle, to be sure, but there is naught to do about it now. The shield will remain a quest for them to discover.

The source is referred to as “Primus’ Own,” and described as a piece of Primus’ energy. Where they can find that on Faerun is unknown. At first Imoaza and Ruz believe this might refer to Milosh himself, as a creation of Primus, but Milosh dispels this notion. “I was built by the Surveyor, not by Primus. An internal scan of my parts and pieces show nothing coming from Mechanus, Primus’ plane of existence.” Perhaps his minions, the Modrons, still wander far corners of Faerun? Would they contain some of this “source?” it is unclear.

While the library does not solve their issues by handing them the four things they need to defeat the prophecy, it at least points them in the right direction. 

There is one other thing in the library: a deep hole that yawns like an incongruous mistake in the floor. The child Hazelwood tells them it leads down (well, yes) to the lair of her mother. She tells them as well that other things make their home down there. As she says this, the wailing sound of the Wendigos reaches their ears, but the child tells them not to worry, that she will lead the creatures off and that they should rest. The party does not fully trust her, but they also do not wish to fight a hive of Wendigos. They let her go, and settle down to wait.

The Book.   

“... then his vision became as black as the space around him, and Aldric of the Green Company, once servitor of Eruthynul, later hero of the Battle of Brindol, was no more.”

Night and day are concepts that are lost inside the iceberg, and especially inside the library, but the party finds themselves presently needing rest. They settle in a corner of the library and sleep, leaving a watch posted in case Hazelwood (or worse) comes back. During his watch, Milosh hears whispers coming from the book at Imoaza’s side and he carefully extracts it from her grip, then opens it and begins to read. The book flips as if of its own accord to the end of Aldric’s story, and Milosh reads how Imoaza murdered Aldric by cutting a hole in his protective suit in the depths of space. Aldric was never known by Milosh, but he remembers Carrick seeking his murderer. Milosh isn’t sure how he feels about the knowledge. He has slowly been losing touch with empathy, with care for anything, and so he takes the knowledge to heart mostly as a warning, that Imoaza could easily betray any of them. But he does not share it and he does not feel anything for the man he did not know. 

A Frozen Fight

Upon awakening, the party finds that Hazelwood still has not joined them. Ruze still desires to return her to her people, but figures she may be safer not coming on this part of the journey. And so, not wishing to delay, they decide to take the hole to the lair of the witches.

Fog surrounds you and with it comes cold and stillness and quiet. You are standing on a vast frozen lake, which stretches out into the white wall of fog. All around you is a feeling of dread and danger, and though its source is not immediately clear, you cannot help but wonder what manner of beings may pass beneath your feet, beneath the layer of frozen water.

I won’t go through every step of the exploration of this level of the iceberg. To make things more interesting for my high level party, I make this area a massive frozen lake and of course there are things beneath it! In this case, aquatic trolls, who burst free at one point to attack Imoaza when she wanders a little ways from the party. This leads to a tense fight, with a terrifying moment where Milosh chases one of the trolls by firing his grappling hook at him as he dives back underwater and getting pulled under the ice with him. But ultimately the party chases off the trolls and continues on their way, using the spell fly to stay above the ice. In this manner, they avoid islands of Kobolds, waiting with more traps for less wary interlopers, and eventually come to the back of the ice cave, where they face off against the three sisters in what is probably the most magic heavy battle of our entire campaign.

Magic is one of those things I’d like to use more as a DM. Preparing for a magic fight can be a lot of fun but it is also time consuming, as there can be many spells to learn for such an encounter, each with its own rules and possible combos. A magic fight is about as technical and logistically complicated as you can get in D&D 5e, but it’s also a fantastic break from the more routine “I hit with you with big sword” battle, which really boils down to “I roll die, you roll die,” or the equivalent of the card game WAR, only with dice.  

The fight against the witches is a fight I prep for big time, basing an entire session around it. The arena is the back of the ice cave where a number of frozen creatures rest in a large trophy area. The battle all takes place in the air, as the PCs and the hags fly about each other with their magic, launching spell after spell. The fly magic comes from Ruz and thankfully Ruz doesn’t realyl get hit for the entire battle, managing to avoid having to make difficulty concentration checks to maintain fly. 

Each of the three hags has their own style, though they are the same creature, stats-wise. 

Marguerite is the charismatic one of the group, and a sort of leader of the three sisters. I picture her as reveling in power and control and so she puts an emphasis on using lightning bolts and weather spells, showcasing her immense control over the very elements, and spending her turns blasting the party backwards towards a rolling acid cloud that will strip the skin from their bones in moments. She is eventually cut down by Black Razor.

Darcy I picture as the youngest hag and one not as sure of herself. She doesn’t like to fight directly, and so she starts the battle by trying to awaken some of the frozen creatures to fight for her. Ruz stops her with powerful blasts of chromatic orb and she reveals that her lifeforce has been magically tied to Hazelwood’s. Each time she is struck, Hazelwood takes half of the damage, and she takes the other half. Ruz ends up breaking the connection by destroying Darcy’s bone necklace, made from the baby teeth of Hazelwood. She tries one last gambit, to polymorph into a massive flying Wendigo by drinking Marguerite’s spilling blood, but is cut down by Imoaza as she rushes for the body.

Slaveen is the oldest and the most overtly hag like, both in appearance and in bestial mannerisms. She spends the majority of the battle using a modified Ice Wall spell to try and clamp shut like frozen jaws around Ruz, who keeps barely dodging the deadly spell. He bears down on her with his command of fire and she fights back with her command of ice, but the ring he wears from Joachir makes him the less vulnerable in this fight. As he strikes her down, Slaveen taunts him, asking him why he has come to rescue Chaos’ daughter? When she realizes that the sisters were mistaken, and the adventurers are here for the dragon, not Hazelwood, she finds this delightfully hilarious. With her last breath she reveals why the sisters thought they were here for Hazelwood. See, they were able to recognize that Ruz was, herself, a changeling and, more than that, that she is the birth father of Hazelwood. That is because Hazelwood is the child of Ruz and Esheballa, born out of chaos into Faerun during one of their many sexual escapades during Ruz’s imprisonment in her realm.

They thought Ruz knew and was here to collect his own. When Slaveen realizes this is all a big ironic side quest for Ruz, she laughs herself into the afterlife.

Aftermath

There is a lot of clean up to do at the end of this session, lots of individual plot threads to tie up. First, the PCs are present as everything in the arena begins to awaken. Just as they run out of the duration of the fly spell and are forced to land, they get attacked by a deformed frost giant who is breaking free from his long, icy imprisonment. But also breaking free is the dragon, the son of the Bronze dragon who promised Karina aid in exchange for the Rod of Storms, decades earlier. His name is Argent (for short; his full draconic name is five times as long and half as pronounceable) and he is the master of the iceberg. He roars and causes the lake to shatter and the waters to rise, drowning the other creatures here. Then he grabs the PCs and escapes with them, Milosh just barely managing to grapple hook up to his back before the waters rush in and crash against the giant who had him in his frosty grip.

As they fly through the iceberg, Kobolds are seen escaping and cheering them on, freed of their slavery to the witches. And then Argent dives into the frozen sea, Imoaza and Ruze safe in his clenches talons and Milosh safe because... well, he’s mostly a robot.

Under the sea the dragon swims and then bursts from the water in a glorious spray of water and ice, roaring out his call for the villagers of the iceberg to gather before him.

And so they do, and they are as jubilant as the kobolds to be freed from their spell. They are also accompanied by the survivors of the Icebreaker, who had been about to engage them in a battle to the death when the spell broke and everything changed, the villagers suddenly becoming peaceful and begging mercy. In the face of their enthusiastic thanks, Ruz and Milosh find it suddenly distasteful and against their character to enact revenge. Even Orcaheart approaches Milosh like a brother and hugs the hulking robot, declaring him to be the true winner of their fight. He says he could only view them with anger due to the witches spell, which all of them were under. All except Bone Carver, who meekly approaches the dragon, who declares her judgement up to Milosh. Hazelwood (returned to her icy blue adult form) alone begs for her mercy, saying that a part of her will always be Bone Carver’s child. 

Milosh debates for a moment and then declares that she will serve him and, through him, the greater good, until such time as he releases her from her bond. Argent declares this to be just, and he removes all but her healing powers and her visionary powers, leaving them to better serve Milosh. He also removes her ability to speak and takes her name, renaming her “Breathgiver,” for she is now tasked with supporting life where once she sought to dominate it.  

The Shaman emerges from the depths of the Iceberg as well, accompanied by the jubilant Kobolds, who declare Milosh and the others as the “Big Butt Kickers” and celebrate them as saviors and dragon-favored.

We do a short downtime, then, and each player gets to determine how they would like to spend the evening, while the tribe throws a mighty feast (sealion and whale meat) and party and dance the night away in the light of many fires.

Ruz chooses to spend the evening reuniting with his daughter. He reveals to her what he knows and she confides that she feels broken inside, unable to change her form from that which the Sisters set for her. He tells her, gently, that true change happens inside, no matter what shape we wear. Hazelwood says she wishes to join him on his quest to save the world and the bald way she says it suddenly makes Ruz aware that, yes, that is what he is doing. Ruz inwardly marvels at the revelation, that Ruz would take on such a quest in the first place, when for so long she has simply sworn to survive, at all costs, and no matter what happens to the world. She accepts Hazelwood’s offer and the two spend a quiet night watching the stars overhead and listening to the sounds of revelry near at hand.

Imoaza, after indulging in whatever sugar the tribes have on hand (which amounts to some dried fruit saved from the icebreaker by the crew, and which is wholly unsatsifying to her), seeks out the Shaman and asks him to train her in the ways of Weave-Seeing. This time, he holds out a deck of tarot cards and asks Imoaza to draw from them.

GM note: this was a fun chance for me to use my Tarot cards from Curse of Strahd! I’ve been wanting an opportunity to pull those into a game, they are super well designed! I had to come up with things on the fly for each draw she made, which added a layer of on-the-spot improvisation and roleplay for me.

The first card she draws is labeled the Collector and shows a pursed lip noble placing coins into a bag. The Shaman looks at it and nods.

“This is a decision made in your past,” he says. “The Collector represents a debt you must someday pay, and you have stolen from time itself. Time will have its due, in due time.”

Then he holds up a hand of cards and tells her to draw two, this time. She draws, and reveals first a cocky looking man gripping a sheathed blade with one hand and tossing a cloak over his shoulder with the other. Then a naked man, engulfed in flame and surrounded by a circle of swords, his head thrown back in either ecstasy or pain. The Shaman closes his eyes.

“These cards represent a choice you will make. For you, the choice will be between two lives: the Rogue and the Tyrant. You shall choose one, or neither. The one chosen shall be saved, given a second chance. Those unchosen shall be lost forever, a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Imoaza asked. “To a deity?”

“No. The sacrifice will be to you alone. It is your decision and your responsibility. Now, draw a final card.”

The card she draws depicts a skull inside a jar. It is labeled the Artifact.

“The last card shows a bond, a bond embedded deep in your soul. All that you do is tied to this bond. And for you, that bond is to an item of power. When that artifact meets its destiny, only then shall you be free to pursue your own.”

Finally, the Shaman tells her that the power she wields, to see the Weave, is not one that is simply developed. It is a gift from Mystra, the goddess of the weave... some say she is the Weave itself. He tells her that the gift comes with responsibility and purpose. She does not need a teacher: the Weave itself will guide her to where she needs to be, when she needs to be there.

Finally, we come to Milsoh. Milosh spends his evening (he has no need of sleep) creating a teleportation circle. With the help of Argent, he empowers the circle to be able to hold open for an elongated period of time, long enough to get the entire village of ice warriors and kobolds (who have pledged themselves to join the cause of Karina) back to Vraath Keep. The ritual takes the full evening. He connects the teleportation circle to the one at Vraath Keep and in the morning ushers everyone through. Argent goes last, warning him that without his power the circle will soon close. Milosh acknowledges this and prepares to enter. But before he does, he hesitates. He looks back at the village. The one he promised to burn to the ground in retaliation for the way he and Carrick were treated. The one now devoid of occupants. 

He powers up his abyss breaker and fires a charged fireball at the village. Then, as the explosion rocks the iceberg into melted slag behind him, he enters the circle.

Teleport

... and ends up somewhere other than Vraath Keep. Milsoh finds himself trapped in a container of iron, or adamant. He cannot move his arms, they are pinned to his side. His magic and his abilities are cut off. If Imoaza were here, she would tell him the Weave in the container is non-existent, blocked from getting inside. No magic functions here. But MIlosh is alone in his prison, though not the only one imprisoned. He has a window in front of him and through it he can see row upon row of more containers and people are inside of them. The Ice Barbarians! And Kobolds! The teleport has taken them to the wrong place, but where?

Suddenly, a figure approaches. It is something out of a nightmare. The creature looks at first like a young woman, but erupting from half of her face and body is the skeletal form of a dragonborn, far larger than the woman. The creature approaches and places its fleshy hand against the window.

“You are early,” the creature says, the voice an amalgram of a woman’s breathy tenor and a deep male baritone. “But you are welcome.”

Where have the players ended up? Find out, as next time things heat unp immensely, in The Coming of the Three.

[davidtennan-t]

‘Saviour in the Snow’ 

Chapter 2

The Doctor doesn't return from a mission on an alien world. Donna has to take matters into her own hands. Some Whump and general Ten/Donna foolery.

Chapter 3 will be following soon!

AO3 Link - Chapter 2

- 

Gelta’Divians were known for their ignorant, selfish behaviour. Their attitude to life wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine, nor was their hospitality. It would be the last time he ever offered his help to species this side of the Adrota Galaxy.

“N-noted for n-next time…”

The Doctor never liked to admit when he was cold. A Time Lord’s body temperature was easily adjustable and controlled – better central heating, is what he said to Donna once and she had laughed and commented on his ignorant cockiness over his superior biology.

But even Time Lord’s had their limits and the temperature wasn't going to stop falling.

He was shivering and that, in his mind, was a bad sign. A terrible sign. A dangerous sign, even.

He'd tried countless times to pull himself out but being unable to turn to reach the rocks, or use his sonic screwdriver in any sense or fashion, it all proved useless. The throbbing of his ankle caused the occasional wince and groan, only furthering the problem of his situation. It even crossed his mind to use the sonic to try and shift the rock using setting 82, but even then, the chances of causing another collapse in the cave would be high. It was better to be a trapped Time Lord than a squashed Time Lord.

So, after 1 hour, 3 minutes and 19 seconds, he was still firmly trapped.

“S-should have brought the coat…” the Doctor stated through lightly chattering teeth to nobody but himself. The dimming light through the very few cracks along with his very good sense of time told him the night was drawing close, and there was still no solid plan on how he was going to free himself. The Time Lord was used to making plans up as he went along but he couldn’t move – how could he move along? There was no way of contacting Donna to tell her where he was, nor what he could do to fix the situation. He wanted her there... he missed her.

“In here – the collapse must be further in.”

“With two of our buildings gone it has to be an extensive collapse. The northern forces will pay for the damage caused!”

Deep, booming voices suddenly echoed through the cave and the Doctor steadily glanced up from where he lay. He considered shouting in reply but the unfriendly tone made him second guess his thought. The blue light from the sonic screwdriver was illuminating his position so he reached over with his cold fingers and fiddled with the device, trying to dim the light. However, it was inevitable they would come across him if they were heading this way. There seemed no point in attempting to dim the only light.

"If anyone is in here, present yourself!"

As the Time Lord tried to shift his cold arms into a more comfortable position, the sudden tremor from the loud voice caused one of the rocks in the large pile to slip. It shifted the entire bulk of stone, increasing the pressure on his trapped foot. The Doctor was unable to keep a yell of pain restrained.

That was one way to present himself.

"Who's in here?!" one voice called in response to the pained yell, now much closer. "This is the chief from the southern camp, make yourself known!"

No point in keeping quiet now. The Doctor, now aware it was another group of Gelta'Divians, decided asking for help wasn't the worst thing he could do. Perhaps this was his chance for aid. He would more than likely have to work some charm on the group - at least he knew not to use any of his Judoon jokes.

"Any of you fella's ever s-shifted heavy rocks before?"

Even to him, his own voice sounded weak and feeble and he waited anxiously for a reply, trying to control his quivering jaw and the shivering from his skinny frame.

This was a different group of the native species, not the ones he had helped, so they would owe him nothing. He needed to be on his guard.

"I'm n-not a threat, I'm actually in a rather crushed-s-spot," he added, the footsteps growing ever closer until the large, bulky aliens finally appeared in the blue light of the sonic screwdriver. All five had sleek, golden spears drawn and were kitted in full armor. They must have been expecting a fight, but with what, the Doctor didn't know. They all looked similar to the group he had aided but the colouring of their armour was different - dark brown leather pads instead of overpowering grey.

"Hello, gents - am I g-glad to see some friendly faces around here! Just between us, these cave walls aren't much for conversa-"

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The leader of the group bellowed, stepping forwards with the sharp end of his weapon only inches away from the Time Lord's face. The Doctor, unable to protect himself, tried to keep his brown eyes locked onto the blue orbs that were staring down at him. His friendly approach usually always calmed tensions but it couldn't work all the time, he thought.

"Well, if I told you that the northern camp asked for my h-help to track down an alien ball of energy that, upon exploding, caused a cave-in which now has me trapped since all the strapping big fellas I came with ran off without helping me... would you b-believe me?"

The alien cheif and the rest of the threatening group looked between one another, almost debating whether they should believe the thin man lying on the ground.

"Honestly, it's the truth... I was just here t-to help. Now, if you wouldn't mind helping moving these rocks I need to get back to my frie-"

"Silence!" the leader bellowed. To the Doctor's utter dismay, another creak from the rock pile echoed through the chasm and a boulder slipped from the very top. It crashed down near the leader, causing the group to jump back while also narrowly missing the Doctor's side. The Time Lord sighed in relief - or was he relieved? A simple cry for help seemed to be getting him nowhere and, at this rate, he would be crushed if he tried to reason with them any longer.

"P-please," he pleaded, now in a much softer tone, "I just need one of you to move a few rocks and I-I'll leave immediately. If this is your turf then take it up with the leader of the northern camp."

"This cave-in caused a tremor," the leader growled, restraining himself from interrupting the chatty, shivering man again, "it destroyed two of our buildings and nearly killed several of our warriors. We came in search of any culprits and we found you, an outsider. If you're partly responsible for this, then the punishment of our people is death.Your crime is certain and we will not take into account your off-world plea."

Right. Of course it would be death. No rainbows and sunshine present. Straight to the point.

"What?" the Doctor stated, "N-now hold on a second, I never intended for the cave to collapse, I w-was only trying to h-"

A firm kick to the face stopped his plea. The large, armour-clad foot smacked violently into what felt like the entirety of his face, throwing it back and causing horrible vibrations from the impact. Within seconds, droplets of blood escaped from the Doctor's nose and, with no strength to keep his posture defensive, let his whole upper body collapse from the impact of the kick, his face buried in rubble and his breathing raw.

Selfish, ignorant - now he could add violent to his ever-growing negative list.

"You have no say in this!" the leader declared. None of them took pity on the trapped man, nor had they listened to any of his pleas. The Doctor managed to keep one eye feebly looking up, the figures now blurred in the blue light as he tried to retain some of his dwindling focus.

"You... you c-cant do this," the Time Lord wheezed, unable to keep his jaw tremors at bay from the cold and pain, "I h-have r-rights, under the juri... jurisdiction of the Shadow Procla-AH!"

Another kick. This time, his ear caught the brunt force.

"What should we do with him? A quick death would perhaps be more efficient... it would shut him up quicker," one of the group suggested while another shook his head, ignoring the Time Lords wheezes and groans of discomfort.

"Maybe we should leave him to starve... he already appears to be near it."

"Silence - you all know the law. We came here to find the one guilty of the collapse and we found him. I carried out the sentence, it is I who follows through with it," the leader confided, "if the northern clan finds him, they will heed our warning. If what he says is even true."

For the second time that day, the Doctor had no plan. He couldn't run or even move. He couldn't plea for his life. He couldn't even use his most entrusted tool.

He couldn't save himself. And his hearts were now pumping with fear. Not just for himself.

But for Donna.

-

Read the rest over on AO3!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 2 of 30]

Summary: Erik opts to keep his distance from Yani and focus on Klaue and getting to Wakanda. Erik also meets his new temporary roommate...

NSFW. Mature audience only. As always, thanks for reading and please comment/reblog if you enjoy the series. Hi new readers, happy to meet you on this new Erik journey. Part 3 on the way....

"To every hundred niggas that came and gone missing Only a handful will go the distance I swear I seen this shit coming as if I was living up under the plumbing While niggas was riffing and mumbling 'bout, what they could do I was cooking gumbo whipping the voodoo I was in the jungle running with Zulu's We was looking past the struggle while life was moving so fast You had to be shopping at Ginsu To the top of the food group Doing what I want and how I should too

Stepped in the waters The water was cold Chi in my body But it didn't touch my soul Stepped in the waters The water was cold…"

Anderson.Paak – "The Waters"

He tells her his name, his real name, and the girl who talked to animals allowed her big wide eyes to ease up on their sharpness.

Yani sat back and allowed the water to catch her back as her body disappeared under the small wave of balmy liquid that lifted her away from him. Erik stayed put, watching her backstroke away from him and further out into the sea. He wanted to follow her, felt his toes grip the sand under his feet to cast off after her, but he felt stalkerish and remained where he was.

She was real.

Yemanjá.

Erik felt the blood in his body coursing through him, the thrumming of searing red in his veins making him clench and unclench his fists.

Disǎ.

He sat back in the water and let it buoy him up, his eyes following the path of Yani's body swimming. He found it odd that he could look at this woman and think of his ex-girlfriend Disǎ who he left behind in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

No, maybe it wasn't odd, because the way he was reacting to this young woman treading about in open water was the same way he reacted to his first love…Disǎ.

The voice.

Like Yani, Erik had only heard Disǎ's voice before he met her, and something about the tone, the lilt, the inflections, the sonic soothing he received from it made him weak for her before he even saw her face. He felt a weight drift down on him. He put Disǎ through hell, denied her things that she wanted, made promises he couldn't keep, and she left him. Refused to connect with him ever again. Walking into that relationship had been an exercise in self-flagellation. Love was something he never sought out because he knew he was not made to love and settle down.

He was a mover, a nomad…he had no real home, not really, no place to lay his head and call his own. Rootless. He had to be rootless in order to finish the path that had been laid out for him. A path that started when he found his father dead in his apartment. Dead and alone.

Erik had to keep himself emotionally dead inside and alone too. All that love ever did for him was rend his body in half and grind his bones into dust. So he knew something was wrong when he heard Yani's voice speaking to a damn lizard in a tree, recognized the tell-tale signs of that dangerous pursuit into madness. He had only ever felt that way before with his ex. All that fucking back and forth with Disǎ when he graduated from M.I.T., joined the Navy, made Special Ops, and then headed into the work of a mercenary for a greater good…it stripped away a relationship he held dear and couldn't hold onto because he was never around. And that feeling, that feeling of wanting someone was seducing his conscious mind as he watched this girl swim.

Life was about choices.

And sometimes choices meant letting things be.

The heat and the dazzling sunlight and the beauty of the pale blue sea were probably just fucking with him anyway. Plus, he hadn't gotten his dick wet in a long time, and to come across a woman with a body like that…naked, on an isolated beach…well shit, no wonder he was feeling punch drunk with lust.

Nigga, get your shit together.

Yani wasn't feeling him anyway, every time she looked at him it was like she had an extra sour lemon in her mouth.

Erik dragged himself out of the water and put his trunks back on.

He didn't bother to look back at her when he left.

###

After lunch, Klaue left a message on Erik's cell to meet him in the third house. His private abode.

Erik meandered down the compound walkway toward the house. It was perched closer to the edge of the hillside overlooking the sea. Erik caught breathtaking views and when he entered the house after a retinal scanner cleared him, he felt like he was entering an ancient Zulu enclave. Nothing in the house matched the light-colored airy Caribbean theme of the other houses. The dark shadowed interior of dark-grained wood and dark furniture enveloped South African artwork, with a plethora of large carved wooden masks, and plenty of drums. Djembes, dunduns, a three drum bata set, bougarabous…

Erik stepped in front of a djembe and rubbed his fingers across the skin. His fingers ticked up and he began beating out the rhythms he learned as a child from his Uncle Bakari when he used to drum for his grandfather and mother when they taught capoeira back in Oakland. The heel of the palm, then his fingers struck the skin harder, faster, and the acoustics picked up the sound and drowned the room with the ferocity he slapped down.

Erik rocked his shoulders and let his head droop forward, his locs flopping over his eyes as he allowed the drum vibrations to move through him. He let his head bob as he remembered days back in Oakland on school lunch tables, pounding out beats with his fists when there were no drums, or finding the hollow parts in his chest or thigh when he would strike his own body with his open palm to create the percussive boom bap to help his childhood friends spit bars in ragtag cyphers. He felt the moist sensation in his mouth as he shaped his lips to beatbox in time to his drumming. It all came back to him vividly, joyfully, and he couldn't help the curling of his bottom lip as he bit into it, thinking of his days running the streets, just being hood wild and free.

He ended the cadence with a slowing down of his hands until only his fingertips were caressing the edges of the drum.

"Well look at you."

Klaue's voice brought him out of his reverie and Erik stepped away from the djembe.

"Hope that wasn't some artifact," Erik said.

Klaue shrugged and headed over to a round old-world wooden globe. He pulled the top back and inside of the globe was a hidden bar filled with various liquors and libations.

"Share a whiskey?" Klaue asked.

"Sure."

Klaue poured them healthy amounts in crystal tumblers and handed one to Erik.

"Interesting décor."

"I wanted to have a bit of home away from home. Of all my hideaways, this place is my favorite."

"It's pretty sweet. Quiet too."

"Not for much longer. Once everyone is here, I'll need you to keep your foot on their necks."

"Newbies?"

"Most you know from the Kabul job. Is your man Tahir still a no show?"

Erik took a deep drag of the whiskey. It was aged to perfection. He let a bit of it linger over his teeth before swallowing.

"They still got him on that no-fly list. He's chillin' in Damascus. He can do any other jobs you got, but Africa is a no go."

"Too bad. Good man. And that is what we need. Good men."

Erik studied Klaue's face.

"What's the problem?"

Klaue glanced at him.

"You can always read me so quick. It's Huntsman. I really don't want to use him, but I can't find anyone else with experience on the borders."

"Tahir will probably be tied up the next six months—"

"Too long to wait."

"W'sup with Huntsman?"

"He has issues…with you."

"That's his problem. He don't even know me."

"Ah, but he knows your reputation. Something about you sticks in his craw."

"You don't have to use him."

"With no Tahir available, I'm afraid I do. Unless you have someone else."

"Nah. I culled away my last team. I only have three that I stick with now and we freelance for DynCorp most jobs. Those guys are already under contract."

"Timing is key with these next two jobs."

"You still toying with using submersibles?"

"I will need our pretty blue metal for that."

The holy grail. Vibranium.

"I got some leads that I hope will pan out soon," Erik said. He could sense Klaue chomping at the bit.

He really did have some leads.

One was from a friend of his mother's who worked with the British Museum. She had passed on some information about some museum exchanges up on the horizon, a collection of fifteenth-century West African armaments and masks. It wasn't the collection he was looking for, but it was part of an exchange program originating out of Benin. Erik and Klaue would be heading to Angola in a month to set up an arms deal and then slip into the Northeastern part of Nigeria to covertly meet with some members of Boko Haram and the Nigerian government. Klaue played both sides of every deal he made. Erik planned on slipping into Benin and checking out the newly constructed Royal Benin Museum. His research uncovered plans for the museum to start receiving indigenous stolen art on a rotating basis from European museums that held plundered artwork from an 1897 British invasion in Dahomey. Erik needed to see for himself if any pieces contained vibranium.

His tongue gently tapped against his tattoo inside his lower bottom lip. He could feel the irritating cutaneous sensation tickling his gums from the traces of vibranium used in the vibram tattoo ink. The itchy tickling only happened when he was near pure vibranium. Like the pure vibranium emanating from Klaue's prosthetic arm.

Klaue picked up the whiskey bottle again and Erik took another half tumbler of the dark amber liquid.

"I want you to move down here in this house when all the men are here. There are some conversations we need to have in private."

Erik didn't question him. It took him this long to be invited to stay at any of his safe houses. That meant that he was now part of the trusted inner circle. He would just have to watch out for Huntsman. He was Klaue's boy for the last seven years, but Erik was aiming to be the only righthand man. Getting to the safe house was the culmination of meticulous, deliberate, and patient planning. Their first meeting in Iraq gave the man an intro to who Killmonger was. They didn't meet again until an arms deal in Kosovo proved fruitful when Erik's new team was able to assist Klaue through a mutual trustworthy middle man. It was then that Erik first showed Klaue a small amount of vibranium he stole from some arms dealers he tracked down to a small forgotten village in Iraq.

Erik ignored Klaue after that, turned him down for several jobs before Klaue started hinting that he may need to return to Wakanda and steal again. Then and only then did Erik drop word that he was down for any excursions into his father's country. The two men teamed up within months to help one another scour the earth for any pockets of vibranium they could find. On those missions, they only worked with each other and two other men, Tahir and one of Klaue's boys, a fellow South African who asked very little about the blue magic. A year later, Erik was now sipping brown liquor in the man's private home.

"Let's take a walk," Klaue said.

Erik followed him down a pathway that led to another section of beach hidden from where Yani's cove jutted out.

Klaue took off his sandals and his feet touched the sand.

"Hot!" he said slipping the sandals back on.

Erik's flip-flops felt too thin for the sand in this particular area that was littered with a few broken seashells.

"What do you want out of life, Killmonger?"

Erik stared at Klaue. The whites of the man's eyes were a little pink, and there were tiny spiderwebs of broken blood vessels cresting his nose. The man did like the sauce a little too much. Erik had personally witnessed him overconsuming alcoholic beverages to the point of falling over and having to be carried off by Erik or his other men.

"Money. What else?" he answered.

Klaue let his eyes trace the horizon of ocean before him.

"You know, at one time I was a billionaire."

"Really? How you fuck that up?"

Klaue guffawed and his laughter made him rock back in his sandals and clutch Erik's arm for balance, spilling a little of his drink on the sand.

"I sold my entire cache of vibranium to a Tony Stark creation."

Erik's eyes fixed on Klaue. He had a history with Tony Stark himself, but he didn't let on about it.

"I was operating out of an old shipping tanker in Johannesburg. Had my entire supply of vibranium warehoused there. Perfect set up. And then these fucking enhanced bastards show up with this thing…"

Klaue's right wrist rubbed his left arm while still holding his drink. His eyes grew course looking and his accent flared up.

"I'm no fool. I make a deal and billions are dropped into my offshore accounts. I'm set. Ready to retire and live out the rest of my life here. But then Sokovia goes down, and fucking Stark goes back and…."

Klaue's jawline clenched tight and his left arm closed up his mechanical fist.

"Billions wiped out. Like it never happened. And I'm left to start all over again."

"You kept your entire supply in one spot?"

Erik wanted to laugh at the man, but Klaue was tipsy, and a tipsy Klaue could get agitated and rachet up to bastard behavior in mere seconds.

"I had a fortress set up on that tanker. It was safe. After everything was taken away, I learned of a small portion hidden away in what I thought was a discreet location…"

"The Mosul statues…"

"I still don't know who really took it. S.H.I.E.L.D. maybe. The Pentagon. Perhaps even that ass Stark…fucking Iron Man…Iron Prick."

Klaue raised up his tumbler toward Erik's face.

"When I ask you what you want, Killmonger, I need to know the God's honest truth, because when I finish off these next few jobs, I'm going back to the source. With your skills and mine, we could steal even more vibranium than the first time I went in. I'm the only person who went into Wakanda…and lived to tell the story."

Erik's jaw clenched.

The first time Klaue went in.

With the help of his father, Prince N'Jobu, a man who only wanted to bring the vibranium out to help his woman and her people. All those in the diaspora.

Erik gulped down all of his whiskey.

Focus.

Erik fought back the whispers in his mind to kill Klaue where he stood. Because of this cretin, his father was killed. Because of this shit stain of a human, his father was unable to save his mother. Because of this devil, his family had been destroyed.

"What's the story on that place?" Erik asked.

"It's my white whale. But that's a story for another day. I want to talk Angola logistics now."

Erik wrenched his eyes away from Klaue and gazed out at the water. He had to hold onto his mental acuity. His own temper could carry him over the edge and destroy all of his plans. This was the long game. He had to hold on and not give in to the rage festering in his belly. He couldn't wait to crush this weak maggot. And like his Uncle, King T'Chaka, Erik would take great pleasure in destroying Ulysses Klaue.

###

Yani stood by the intercom at the front gate. The guard on duty, Jamie, watched her try her best to carry on a discreet conversation with her cousin Kendall who stood on the other side of the gate.

"Twyla just said she couldn't watch her today. C'mon now Yani, take your baby!"

Yani could hear her Sydette babbling a mile a minute behind the thick metal divide.

"Can you keep her for me, just for a couple of hours? I have to finish one more house and then I can leave," Yani said, the pleading in her voice not moving Kendall one way or the other.

"I would if I could, but I'm going to hang out with Bunny and Gregory. They might let me record some things at their place. I can't have a baby there with me. You know they smoke—"

"Kendall, please—"

"Yani, I can't watch you pickney. Sir, please open the gate."

Yani and Jamie could see Kendall on the security viewscreen holding Sydette in her car seat with her baby bag slung on his shoulder.

Yani's eyes glanced at Jamie.

"Open the gate please, Jamie," Yani said, defeat and weariness in her voice.

Jamie punched in the gate code and it slid open.

"I'm sorry, Yani," Kendall said. His deep dark chestnut skin was shiny and he sported a fresh baldie cut. He shoved Sydette's car seat handle into her hand and Yani grabbed the baby bag.

Kendall ran back to his idling work truck and hopped in with gardening equipment uncovered in the rear.

"Don't be late tomorrow. Tell Freddie Mr. Klaue wants the trees and the bushes by the front and middle house trimmed."

Kendall just waved and drove off, his truck backfiring as he left.

Yani rubbed her hand gently over her daughter's soft dainty curls. Sydette was sweating from the heat, the dampness making her baby hairs stick to her scalp.

"Mommy is glad to see you, but I have to work. I need you to be a good girl today for me. Yeah?"

Jamie gave her a serious look.

"Don't tell anyone she's here, please Jamie? I don't want to cause my Auntie trouble."

Jamie nodded and Yani scurried with her daughter to the apartment under the first house.

Leona was feeding dirty sheets and towels into the washing machine. A huge stack of clean sheets waited to be folded and put away.

"Auntie," Yani said with Sydette clutching her chest.

"What she doing here?"

Yani felt her spirit sink from the sound of her Aunt's annoyed voice.

"Kendall brought her. Twyla can't watch her today and he has somewhere to be so he can't keep her for me—"

"Call your mother—"

"You know I can't do that—"

"What you expect me to do?"

"Can she stay up here with you? I need to finish the second house—"

"And I need to finish this bedding and get ready for dinner. You have to take her with you."

Yani sucked her teeth. Sydette balled up her fist and sucked on it then dropped her head down on Yani's left breast and tried to suck through the t-shirt. Leona gave a sympathetic look but then continued putting sheets into the washer.

Moving swiftly back to the middle house, Yani entered it slowly.

"Inside," she called stepping in and looking around. Thank God, no one was there. The soft bristle broom she was using to sweep the floor was leaning against the couch. She tossed the baby bag on the floor near the couch and plopped her butt down with the car seat. Sydette's saliva had soaked Yani's shirt.

"Hold on, gyal," Yani said hoisting up her shirt and releasing her left breast. Sydette latched on her nipple and Yani cradled her head and watched her daughter suckle like she was starving.

"I know I left you plenty of milk with cousin Twyla. Why you so greedy? Huh? Where you put it all?"

Sydette's cheeks puffed and hallowed as she fed on Yani. A thousand thoughts went through Yani's head. What if Twyla couldn't watch Sydette over the weekend? She had plans to go out, the first time in a long time. Her cousin Kendall was set to perform for the first time in a club that hadn't seen Yani's face since she first got pregnant with Sydette. She didn't even have to sneak into it anymore now that she was finally of legal age. It was a tourist trap for sure, but the D.J.s there were really good and played a good mixture of Hip Hop, Soca and other types of music that she enjoyed.

She couldn't be too mad at Kendall. He really wanted to make music and the local producers Bunny and Gregory were giving him a chance to record something. They helped her baby's father get his first and only record deal. Maybe her own cousin could do better and go further.

Sydette's lips slowed down, her sucking not as desperate. Yani kept an eye out for Klaue's men in case they were returning. Wednesday was cleaning day for the compound, and the regulars knew to stay busy while she and Leona worked the place. There really wasn't too much to do, in Klaue's place or the first house, but Hunstman and Polk were slobs. She hated touching their sheets or towels because she once found obvious semen stains on them. Nasty.

Yani lifted Sydette up to check her diaper. She smelled okay and was dry, so no need to change her. When her eyes were drooping and her lips fell away from Yani's nipple, she was gently burped. Yani allowed her baby to sleep in her arms for a bit. She was tired herself, still thinking of all the things she had to do. Friday morning and afternoon she was scheduled to work her third job at the Eco Tours company giving kayak tours through the mangroves. Unlike Klaue's compound, she couldn't hold Sydette to her breasts while she paddled through mangroves and oversaw hermit crab races.

Something had to give soon, she was wearing herself out. And that something was Chez. She felt her stomach knot and tension crease her forehead as she thought of Sydette's wayward father. He paid no decent child support, promised to at least help with babysitting (which he never did), promised to seek better work so that she could drop one of her jobs and care for Sydette on her own and not pass her baby girl off to various relatives. It was hard not to hate Chez, especially since he had another baby with another woman only three months after Sydette was born. Worse still, he was living with that baby's mother and paying her rent while Yani had to share a bedroom with Sydette and Twyla.

She knew it was mean, but she was so happy that Sydette looked like her and not like him at all. She would hate to think how she would feel if she had to look down at a child on her tit who had that man's face, no matter how fine he was. And Chez was fine. And selfish. And a bully. And abusive at one time…

Yani shook her head from the thoughts. She needed to get the middle house clean and vacate the premises before Klaue or anyone knew she had a baby around. She had to coat the floor tiles with a protective tile cleaner that prevented sand and grout damage.

Just get through the next two hours.

She wished she could be back out in the warm water floating on her back. Naked. At peace. Alone. Not responsible for anyone or anything.

"Oh, Sydette. I wish I had done better. I wish I had done so much better."

She kissed her daughter's sweat-laden forehead. Standing up she turned on the air conditioning and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Two hours.

###

The middle house smelled clean and was quite cool when he entered it from spending time with Klaue. Erik kicked off his sandals and left them by the front door. The tile looked polished and a less dingy from when he first arrived. He was ready to relax and maybe lounge by the pool.

His mind was still calculating all the things he had spoken to Klaue about in planning their Angola run. The base of operation that they would work from in Angola still needed to be prepped and ready, the warehouse that was to be used to house the new crop of munitions and rocket-propelled grenades had recent fire damage, and when Erik looked at satellite photos of the landing strip where they would import the black market goods, he discovered an uneven and unsafe landing zone. Large potholes and depressions peppered the ground. There was a lot to take care of in a short period of time. A political problem sprang up also because of a new governor in the province who was flexing a bit of muscle to try and intimidate Klaue. This new guy was not playing the game of allowing their crew to circumvent the regulatory and oversight systems they were used to bypassing with monetary incentives to look away like previous government officials had done. Erik already decided if the man became a problem, he would nickel his brain and keep it pushing. Klaue had no problem with that. Erik knew how to dispose of problematic bodies and loose lips. He had the scars to prove it.

Erik turned down the air and went into his room. Taking off his shirt he folded it and placed it on the dresser by the window. He was about to power dive on the bed when he noticed a baby lying on it.

The hell.

The baby, a girl by the looks of the butterfly barrettes pinned to her curls, was sound asleep on her stomach, her backside up in there air a bit as if she woke up suddenly, moved, then fell right back to sleep.

He walked over to the side of the bed staring at her. He could hear someone moving in the kitchen, there was the sound of sink water rinsing down. Leona or Yani perhaps still working.

Erik crawled onto the covers trying not to rock the double bed too much with his big body. He laid back resting his head on a pillow. When he turned to look at the baby again, her eyes were open and she was staring at him. Looking about eight or nine months old, she didn't cry when she saw that a stranger was right next to her. Instead, she gave him the biggest toothless smile, a stream of slobber falling from her mouth onto the blanket, and he saw that she had dimples like him.

"Hey, Lil Mama. What's your name?" he whispered, making his voice as soft as he could. She babbled something and more clear saliva dribbled down her chin. Her chubby arms spread in front of her and she bounced her body and grunted like she needed help.

Erik reached over and picked her up and that startled her and her fat cheeks twisted up and she started crying.

"Aww, why the tears? We was cool just a second ago—"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Yani swept into the room and scooped the baby out of his arms.

"I didn't think anyone was using this room. It was so clean. I didn't even touch it. Give me a few minutes and I can go through here—"

"Nah. I'm good. I clean my own room. You don't have to do all that for me. I'm self-sufficient."

"I wish the other men were like that."

He watched Yani's lips get tight after she said that.

"Don't tell them I said that."

"I didn't hear a thing. She yours?"

"Yeah."

"What's her name?"

"Sydette."

"She's cute. Looks like you."

"Thanks. We'll get out of your way—"

"You can leave her in here with me if you still need to finish. I think she finds me acceptable. She's not crying anymore."

He reached out and stroked the girl's cheek and Sydette touched his finger, then grabbed it.

"Sydette," Yani said pulling her hand away from Erik's finger.

Erik found himself staring at Yani's face.

"My babysitter fell through, so I had to take her…please don't say anything to the others. I'm not supposed to have her here while I'm working."

"Won't say a word."

"I'm done, so..."

"Will you be working here tonight?"

Why the hell did he ask that?

She had a baby, so obviously she had a man too…

"No. I have another job I do at night, and I need to leave now so I can get ready for that."

"Oh. Okay," he said.

He was still sitting on his bed, and she was holding her baby in front of him. He was feeling hella awkward. Sydette stared at him, and then she smacked her lips and turned back to Yani.

"Oh…Sydette!" Yani squealed when the baby started sucking on her chest, her head moving around searching for a nipple. Erik couldn't help but laugh. Yani lifted up Sydette's chin and the baby began to fret wanting her mother's milk with urgency. Erik stood up and walked into the living room, slipping on his flip flops and heading for the front door.

"I'ma let you handle that and give you some privacy. I'll be by the pool. Before I forget, I'll take the afternoon shift on the beach if you want to keep the mornings."

"Okay," she said.

Her daughter bounced in her arms and Erik could see a mixture of what looked like embarrassment and something else on Yani's face. Weariness.

He didn't see a ring on her finger. She worked two jobs too. She was probably still just a baby herself.

"Sorry about the room," she whispered. Her eyes looked watery like she was about to cry.

"Don't even trip. Sorry for being so neat. I felt like Goldilocks for a minute there."

He tried to lighten the mood for her.

"Goldilocks?" she asked.

"Muh…muh…muh…" Sydette said waving her chunky fingers in her mother's face.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed because it was just right…the three bears…?" he said.

"Oh!" Yani said. Her face lit up and she smiled, her dark sloe eyes no longer welling with tears.

"Bye, Sydette," Erik cooed out. The baby could only focus on Yani's face, "Bye Yani."

He stepped back out into the sunlight and tried to shake the lingering need to stay in the same room as her. Her baby was so adorable. Sydette's dimples are what sold him. That initial gummy smile. The puffy little curls mashed down on one side of her head. Her little blue t-shirt that couldn't cover her fat little belly all the way. Her little outie belly button.

It was a tough job and he wasn't cut out to do that ever. Take care of a baby? Pfftt. It was probably why his mother only had him. Too much work. And Lil Mama looked like she could be a little pushy the way she was going for Yani's breasts.

Shit.

Erik sat on a lounger by the pool still wearing the trunks he had on that morning with an added t-shirt. He felt a thickening in his trunks, his dick getting a little chubby thinking about Yani's breasts that he saw down in the sea. No wonder they seemed extra ripe. She was full of milk and those big ass dark nipples of hers were making his shit tent in his shorts. Fuck.

Erik reached down and tugged on his bulge, trying to smooth it down from being too obvious. But the minute he touched it, a spark ran down his length, making him rock hard in seconds. No one was around. His eyes scanned the area to be sure and he grabbed the towel hanging behind his head and placed it over his lap. His right hand slipped under the covering. His trunks were loose enough where he could get access to his erection by lifting up a little of the swim trunk material from the bottom.

Damn, his dick was so hard, the thick head firm between his rough fingers. He kept his eyes open and alert for others as he replayed images of Yani in the water.

"That big fat ass…fuck…" he groaned low and into his chest as he plucked at his tip as it pressed against his thigh. The warm ooze of his pre-cum dripped down his leg. He felt his right leg jerk from the sensation. He could see the slight dimpling in her ass cheeks and that layer of fleshy softness around her belly that he loved on women. That space to place his head when he wanted to rest in softness. The faint lines of stretch marks he saw on the sides of her breasts made his mouth chuff, his breath revealing the arousal he got from staring at the beauty of skin breaking to make room for more…more thighs…more ass…more stomach…more big ass titties.

He imagined placing his length in between her breasts and fucking the shit out of her tits, pinching those nipples, making his balls squeeze out a hot thick nut that would drench her neck and chin—

"Oooooh shit!" He gasped as he felt heavy spurts shoot all over his leg and the towel covering him. His eyes rolled back and he was left wondering if that big nut happened because he hadn't had pussy in so long, or if this girl put a spell on his dick. The fuck he look like beating his meat by a pool over some young baby mama he just met? Fuck outta here with all that.

He needed to get out. Go to a bar or club and be around some grown ass child-free bitches. Get his dick wet properly. Chase that nut the right way.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out toward the beach again. Yani was leaving and he could have the cove to himself to rinse the cum smeared all over his leg away. His trunks were soaked with it.

Damn.

From now on he was going to focus on Angola, getting that airstrip ready for Klaue in the next two weeks, and finding a way to get Tahir to St. Thomas.

New rules: Stay the fuck away from Yani.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]   [Part 4]  [Part 5]  [Part 6]

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