#vine the drummer

[angrelysimpping]

M!OC x Friend's M!OC

Contents: Dead Dove; Non Con; fantasized incest; pseudo incest; Aksel being the massive creep he is; Danny’s drunk and high and very much not making logical decisions; painal

Set in the School AU, where everything is "normal." No cult, Aksel never blinded Joaquim, Danny isn't half possessed. Characters are younger than their canon age, in their last year of high school, getting ready to go off to uni.

Aksel, Joaquim, Vine, and Murmur belong to 💜@inkyquince 💜

Words: ~3.6 k

Really, it makes perfect sense in Danny’s brain, if he can hold onto his thoughts long enough to follow them. He doesn’t know what he drank, really, just that it was strong enough to make Vine’s nose scrunch when he’d taken the first swig before pressing the drink into Danny’s hands. Danny had drunk that and more before Vine had pulled him into his lap and shotgunned weed into his waiting mouth. Now here he is, tipsy and high and the party long over, alone in the cool, dark night and trying to nail down his thoughts.

He should have stayed with Vine. Well, he would have stayed with Vine, would have stayed in the drummer's lap, half riding the thick fingers stretching him out while making out, if Murmur hadn't cut things short. The singer had shown up and nearly dragged Danny off Vine, sneering as he snapped at Vine to Stop fucking the whore and get on stage.

So, Danny had ended up alone. Alone and with the intense need to sleep. Alone, in need of sleep, and in front of Joaquim’s house.

Danny’s never been to Joaquim’s house, but he knew where it was. Everyone did, the St. James house, how could Danny not know where it was? But, he’d never visited. Hell, he’s not really sure Joaquim knows who he is, but he knows Joaquim. Or, Danny knows Joaquim enough. He knows Joaquim is friends with Vine and that he’s nice, a good person. So, surely, Joaquim won’t mind if Danny crawls in through his window one night and crashes on the floor. Just for the night, just the once. Joaquim seems like the kind of person who would let Danny curl up in a warm corner and sleep. Double so if Danny mumbled out something about how his parents would kick him out on sight if they caught him coming in like this.

Yeah, Joaquim’s a nice guy, he wouldn’t mind.

But, luck seems to be on Danny’s side, at the moment. Not only is Joaquim not in, meaning Danny won’t have to try explaining himself while tipsy and fucked up, there was also a little couch! A beat up couch that would probably leave him stiff in the morning, but leagues better than propping himself up in a corner and hoping for the best.

Danny doesn’t hesitate, flopping onto the couch. It’s…surprisingly comfortable, actually. Yeah, he’ll be sore in the morning, but probably not that bad. What’s more, there’s Joaquim’s signature jacket thrown over the side. Danny tugs it down, using it as a blanket.

God, Danny could stay like this forever. Tucked up and cozy, drifting slowly out of consciousness as he thinks about Joaquim. It’s hard not to think about the cute redhead, not when Danny can catch hints of his scent with every deep inhale. Something sweet and leather and raspberries. Danny can almost pretend that there’s someone else here with him, holding him on the small couch. It’d be nice, he thinks, to be held so close on a couch like this. They’d have to be practically on top of each other, snuggled close. Yeah, that’d be nice.

Danny slips into a deep, easy sleep. A sleep so deep that he might as well be dead to the world. Deep enough that he’d never hear the tiny click of the door unlatching; or the whisper soft swish of it swinging open; nor the light padding of feet who know their way easily around the room they didn’t belong in. No, there’s no way for Danny to know that Aksel St. James has slinked into his younger half brother’s room. Even if he did, he wouldn’t think anything of it. Not really. Maybe the older brother was looking for something Joaquim borrowed. Aksel was head boy, top of all his classes, beloved by teachers and with a small, almost cult-like following of students. How could Danny ever guess that the angelic like blond was slinking into Joaquim’s room to steal a pair of his little brother's used underwear?

Aksel only falters slightly at finding the school slut passed out in Joaquim’s room, but who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth? It’s like a blessing, finding Danny unconscious in his younger brother’s room. Something for Aksel to unwrap and enjoy, have fun with. Take out all his pent up frustrations out on in the safety and comfort of his own home. In his little brother’s bedroom. Joaquim’s bedroom. Joaquim.

It’s surprisingly easy for Aksel’s shaking hands to tug Danny’s jeans down, fabric sliding over sharp hips, the younger man shifting slightly in his sleep, as if helping Aksel strip him, but otherwise not stirring as the denim slides off his legs. Aksel’s breath quickens, harsh in his own ears as he stares down at the unconscious man beneath him. Aksel isn't a virgin, nowhere close, but there’s something about how this is all happening in his baby brother’s room that makes everything feel more intense, cock already taking an interest, pressing painfully against his pants.

Pretty, he thinks, gazing down at the body spread out under him. Danny has a pretty cock, resting at the end of a thick happy trail like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. On the longer end even when soft, a dusky pink tip that just begged to get sucked on and made drool pool under Aksel's tongue. Lovely thing nestled in a nest of soft, trimmed pubes. Not like his little brother's cock, not at all. Monstrous thing Aksel could only stare at in mirrors when he barged into the bathroom while Joaquim showered, waving off any squawk of protest with how they're brothers so it's fine if Aksel doesn't wait for Joaquim to finish showering first. But, Aksel didn't want his cock, so it's fine that it's nothing like his brother's.

Shimmying out of his own pants only takes a second, quick to press his aching cock against warm thighs, soft skin. Aksel has half a mind to force himself into the unconscious man, fuck into the body beneath him, chase his pleasure fast and hard without thought. But, he holds back. He won't get another chance like this, he wants to draw it out a little.

Gripping under Danny's knees, Aksel pushes his legs back, exposing a cute little hole, eager for his attention. He presses two fingers against the puckered hole, grinding wildly when the tight muscles twitch against him. His last bit of restraint snaps as he roughly thrusts his fingers past the ring of muscle, moaning low in the back of his throat as Danny whines, kicking a little at the intrusion in his sleep. Maybe, if Danny wasn't high and tipsy, if he hadn't fucked himself on Vine's thicker fingers earlier in the night, Aksel's dry fingering would wake him. Maybe he'd be able to cry out, awake or not, and alert the St. James father to the actions of his eldest son.

But he can't and he doesn't. Danny just mewls softly in his sleep, squirming on the fingers being worked in and out of him.

"That's it," Aksal says with a breathy laugh, "be a good boy, Joaquim. Relax for your big brother."

Aksel can’t help but stare at where his fingers disappear into the body under him. So tight, so warm. His cock leaks against his thigh at just the thought of finally sinking into that delicious heat. And there’s that pretty cock again, growing hard, flushed and leaking messily. He almost wants to duck down, lap up some of the thick precum and pretend it was his brother’s.

He doesn’t. Instead, Aksel leans down, pressing his face into the jacket still spread over Danny’s chest and inhaling deep. He moans low, familiar scent of his little brother making him dizzy. “Joa.” It’s then that Aksel hits upon Danny’s prostate, making his cock twitch, a tiny half choked sound pulled from his throat and garbled in his sleep. A noise that Aksel swears sounds like a soft sigh of Aki, and he can’t take it anymore.

Aksel presses against the bundle of nerves one more time before pulling out, slotting between Danny’s leg, lining up his fat, leaking tip with Danny’s twitching hole. Once, twice, three times, Aksel taps his head against Danny’s rim, reveling in the way Danny squirms and whines under him, instinctively trying to sink down on the thick cock teasing him even when unconscious.

“Such a good boy,” Aksel murmurs, tapping against Danny’s rim for a fourth time, soft pap of skin against skin making him shiver. “Big brother is gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

His actions are in sharp contrast with his soft words, pushing into Danny with one solid, savage thrust.

Danny’s eyes fly open, mouth dropping open in a scream that never makes it past his throat. He can’t think, mind scrambling to make sense of what’s happening. A hand clamps over his mouth, a dick rearranging his guts. Fear burns through him as he tires and fails to understand what the fuck is going on.

Then he hears it.

“Joa, fuck, Joaquim. Taking me so good, taking your, ha, your big brother so well.”

Danny recognizes the voice, but he still doesn’t believe that it’s Aksel, even when his eyes finally focus on the man above him. It’s dark, little light creeping in from the window Danny had left open after crawling through. But, that’s Aksel St. James. Bright blue eyes and angelic blond hair and sweet dusting of freckles that Danny would be hard pressed not to recognize.

“My sweet, ah, s-sweet baby brother. Gonna make you addicted to my cock.”

But that can’t be right. This can’t be right. Aksel wouldn’t do something like this, would he? Danny doesn’t think so, he can’t fathom a world in which Aksel would do, could do, something like this. No way. Never. Not in a million years.

A dream. A nightmare. It has to be. A product of some fucked up part of his subconscious. Too much to drink, too much to smoke, too much porn that’s wormed its way into his brain and turned Aksel into some kinda foul monster. Turned the older man into a creep who would rape someone he found sleeping in his brother’s room while voicing vile fantasies that it was his brother he was assaulting instead.

Not real. None of it. That's why he can't move, can't fight back. A wildly vivid dream where his body hardly responds to his commands, arms leaden and brain foggy. He can’t think straight, can't think past the pain of being brutally fucked open and used. It didn't help that he could still catch hints of Joaquim’s scent from the jacket haphazardly spread over his chest. Leather and rust and cigarettes and sweet, sweet raspberries. If Danny lets himself, he can almost imagine that this is all some sorta play, cnc or somno, something he actually wanted and consented to.

Something with Joaquim.

Cute redhead who wouldn't hurt him. Who blushed when he walked in on Danny and Vine fooling around. Who never said anything crude about Danny's appetites or harassed him for a turn. Who could pick him up and toss him around but always seemed so, so gentle.

On impulse, Danny opens his mouth, licking softly, almost meekly, at the palm pressed over his lips. Aksel makes a tiny sound, halting in his fevered thrusts but still pressed deep. Too deep. Makes Danny feel too full, a feeling he might appreciate under different circumstances, but not now.

The hand over Danny's mouth moves, fingers sliding past his lips and pressing down on his tongue.

And he sucks.

It's instinct, something Danny must have done a thousand times. Easy. Something he could control.

"Fuck," Aksel moans, low and drawn out. "There's a good boy."

There's a small flicker of heat inside Danny at those words. A traitorous prickle of pleasure.

Aksel starts moving again, pounding into Danny as if in a frenzy. And, try as Danny might to stop it, the pleasure builds, the head of Aksel's cock just grazing his prostate with every other thrust.

Danny tries not to think, to focus only on the fingers in his mouth, tongue swirling around the digits. It helps, in a way. Lets his brain zone in on something that wasn’t the burning pain of Aksel humping into him.

His reprieve only lasts for a few moments, his teeth scraping over knuckles when a hand wraps around his cock, demanding his attention. It hurts, Aksel squeezing his cock, roughly thumbing the tip of his dick, a finger nail lightly digging into his slit and making tears spring to the corner of his eyes even as cum leaks down his shaft. Danny whines around the fingers in his mouth in the vain hope it would make Aksel stop, but it only seems to spur him on.

“Be a good little brother,” Aksel huffs, jerking Danny’s cock almost as brutally as he fucked his ass, “and cum on my cock.”

Danny wants to die. To disintegrate. That’s what should happen, for him to get ripped from reality for his brain to birth such a horrid fucking nightmare. Because not only has he gone and made Aksel a monster in his dreams, but he likes it.

Heat surges through him at Aksel’s words, pooling shamefully in his gut. Tears streak down his cheeks and the small hope he has that Aksel won’t notice are dashed as the blond almost immediately leans forward, tongue darting out to swipe over the salty trails left over Danny’s skin. Even as he cries, his dick twitches dangerously in Aksel’s hand, forced ever closer to the edge as Aksel continues to chase his own pleasure. Aksel might not be deliberately targeting Danny’s prostate, but that doesn’t matter. If Danny could fully let himself drift, he’d pretend it was Murmur being a sadistic shit and doing it on purpose, edging him.

He can’t drift, though. Danny can’t help but stare up at Aksel as he finally cums, spilling into his hand and tightening around his cock. Aksel looks wild, feral. Unhinged.

“Good boy,” Aksel pants. “Good fucking boy.”

Aksel wanted this to last a while, but he couldn't hang on much longer, thrusts becoming sloppy as he gets closer and closer to his end. “Joa,” he pants, harsh breaths sounding far too loud in Danny’s ear. “Keep being a g-good boy for me. Okay? Take, ah, your big brother’s cum d-deep in your ass like the good boy I know, fuck, I know you are.”

Danny’s too far gone to really be aware of when Aksel finishes, pumping him full of thick ropes of cum. He knows Aksel doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck into him through his orgasm. It’s as if he’s possessed, bent on fucking his seed as deep into Danny as possible.

A tiny sound escapes Danny as Aksel pulls out quick, just as inconsiderate of Danny’s comfort as when he started. Danny’s poor hole isn’t given a chance to rest, though, the fingers in his mouth ripped from him and shoved past the puffy rim without hesitation. Danny’s eyes roll back, a high keen ripped from his throat as Aksel fingers his cum deeper into the exhausted man.

When Danny feels something against his mouth, he doesn’t think, licking at the presented flesh obediently. Anything, anything, that made this nightmare end faster. He hardly registers that he’s cleaning his own cum from Aksel’s hand, tongue lapping up the salty liquid meticulously, not missing a single drop in case that triggered some kind of retribution.

“Good boy,” Aksel coos. “My sweet baby brother. So good for me. Did you like it? Did big brother make you feel good?” The fingers slide out of him, the newly spit cleaned hand brushing through his sweat damp hair. “Hm? You too tired to speak? Fucked you so good that you can’t even say how much you loved coming on your big brother’s cock?”

Aksel’s gazing down at him, a strange look in those bright blue eyes. One that makes Danny’s stomach flip with renewed dread. Aksel wants an answer, one Danny can barely think of, let alone verbalize. It takes his last ounce of strength to nod his head yes.

“Ahw, sorry baby. I’ll clean us up, big brother will take care of it.”

Aksel stands and Danny’s heart sinks as he sees the blond’s cum covered cock. It’s so close to his face, he’s sure that Aksel has decided to go another round, to fuck his mouth this time. To make him clean the dick that was forced inside him only moments before.

He doesn’t, turning to rummage through a basket that Danny hadn’t paid any attention to earlier. It was just a basket of dirty clothes, after all. What use did they have to Danny? Of course, this had been Aksel’s original goal, fishing out a pair of Joaquim’s dirty underwear and using it to wipe off his cock.

Aksel fixes his own clothes first, shoving the soiled underwear into his back pocket, before redressing Danny. It’s harder than stripping him, Danny’s unconscious body somewhat helping, responding to Aksel’s touches. Now, Danny is sapped of every last speck of energy. He can barely keep his eyes open as Aksel tucks his cock back into his pants, drapes Joaquim’s jacket back around his body. He doesn’t want to fall asleep again, especially not with Aksel still in the room. It’s a futile fight with his body, though, eyelids growing heavier and heavier as Aksel brushes back his hair, murmurs soothing words that Danny can hardly hear.

Aksel leans down, brushing his lips over Danny’s forehead in a soft, almost tender, kiss.

“Sweet dreams, little brother.”

There’s a pang in his chest at those whispered words. A deep, aching echo in his bones. New tears gather in the corners of his eyes, slipping free only as he finally lets his eyes shut and succumbs to sleep.

-

Everything hurts. Danny’s not even fully awake yet, but that’s all he can think of. His body fucking hurt. Achey. His head is pounding and his eyes feel like sand was ground into them, but it’s his body that really pains him. What the fuck happened? He thought his hangover would be brutal but he hadn’t figured his body would feel so sore. Worse than he expected from getting messed up and then crashing on a couch that was too small for him to properly spread out on. Maybe he should have slept on the floor after all? But, no, if he hurt this much from sleeping on the couch, it’d probably hurt worse if he’d slept on the floor.

He stands gingerly, careful to keep Joaquim’s jacket from falling to the floor. It somehow felt wrong to let it, disrespectful or something. Danny takes a moment to lay the jacket back over the side of the couch, smoothing down any wrinkles.

When he’s satisfied with his work on the jacket, Danny stretches, trying to work out some of the soreness from his body.

Really, if he didn’t know any better, Danny would think he’d been fucked good and hard last night.

Danny freezes, going cold as he remembers what happened last night. It’s flashes, snippets of words and scraps of feelings.

That can’t be right, though. If he’d fucked someone last night, he wouldn’t be in Joaquim’s room in the first place. He would have stayed with whoever he’d fucked.

He leaves Joaquim’s room through the same window he’d crawled in from, starting his walk back to his own home, ignoring the pain in his lower back. The pain that’s familiar to him. The pain that always flairs when he’s been fucked too hard, pain that’d normal have him giving his partner crooked grins, his dick twitching in his pants at the aches that’d flair as he moved.

But not this time. Because he didn’t get laid. So it’s just normal pain from sleeping poorly, even if it’d never happened before when he’d literally slept on the floor.

His brain drags up the vision of man on top of him, Aksel on top of him. Aksel St. James. Aksel fucking him, Aksel hurting him. Calling him “little brother,” calling him “Joaquim.” That beautiful face hovering above him, the vile words spilling from his mouth, the brutal cock splitting him open.

A nightmare. A horrid fucking nightmare from the depths of his porn rotted brain. That’s all. That’s fucking it. Nothing else. His body hurts from the couch. That’s all. That’s all. Something born out of his own perversion. Not real. Not real. Not in the slightest.

Danny flinches as a car drives past him, the sound breaking him from his thoughts. He fumbles with his phone, shooting off a quick text to Vine.

need to sleep with you tonight

His phone lights up as Vine answers almost right away.

needy slut huh? cant promise murm won’t try to run u off but sure, get ur ass over here. parents again?

Danny doesn’t bother answering, turning on his heel as his destination changes. He’s never had a nightmare like that when sleeping with someone else, and he can’t see a world where Vine wouldn’t let Danny share his bed. Danny would make sure to pay him back, after all.

[not-handsome-enough]

Dethklok as 3 vines

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

I called this Rosé themed so many times, and then I remembered Pickles's vineyard from that one episode, so I just had to add the grapes to the background.

The quote (as well as the pose) comes from Golden Girls' last season (7th). In the place of Blanche and Rose here it's now Pickles and Toki talking.

This is my first time trying out red eyelashes for Pickles. I love it.

[eideticspider]

@gwenbiote asked: what ,  you think i’m not qualified ?

{✗} "Well, you didn't want to BABYSIT Mayday, and she's way easier to handle than my five-month old," Cindy hummed, rocking said five-month old in her arms. It wasn't that she didn't think Gwen wasn't QUALIFIED or that she didn't TRUST Gwen (she's literally one of my favorite people)--it's just...she would commit literal war crimes for the bundle in her arms and if anything happened to him?

Vengeance would come swift and PAINFULLY.

Cindy sighed and pursed her lips, adjusting the little baby cap. "How about we have a TRIAL run? You spend a few hours with us and I can show you his quirks and tricks and if you aren't CUSSING me out or the room isn't on FIRE, consider you fully approved for any and all future babysitting."

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 14. cum bulge

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “stuffed like a present”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ mountain wants to give you something that’ll leave you completely filled

pairing: mountain ghoul x afab!reader

a/n: this one is so ass forgive me 💀 sorry if it seems repetitive compared to my other prompts

cw: nsfw content. cum bulge. overstimulation. multiple rounds. knotting (?). bondage with vines.

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“yeah… you see that? that was all me. you look so good with my cum stuffing your insides.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

“mmh fuck… oh you like that… hm?”

“a-ahh… this is like the fourth time in a row you’ve made me cum.”

“good.”

before you could reply, a sudden hip thrust into your core was enough to make you whine and clamp your mouth shut. your eyes were filled with stars, glittering with pure lust as you looked up at a certain earth ghoul, who was responsible for making you feel this good.

mountain grinned, and slammed his cock into your cervix again, to which in response you let out a loud whimper, eyes fluttering shut in the process. currently, you found yourself tangled up in the drummer’s sheets. his ghoul powers were active, summoning long, thin vines to keep you locked in place while he went to town on you, restraining your ankles and wrists. mountain was feeling rather… generous today. this year, he wanted to give you an extra special present this year, one that you will remember forever.

so of course, that idea of an extra special present involved strapping you down to his bed, and cumming inside of your tight cunt over and over again, each load of cum painting your insides white and gradually making you more stuffed with his seed.

you just writhed against his grip, body instinctively twitching from the amount of hard orgasms you just had, leaving you sweaty and out of breath. you felt the wind get knocked out of your lungs briefly when mountain slowly started thrusting again, forcing you to take another one of his loads.

“m-mountain… fuck— how much stamina do you have..? i don’t know if i can last another round.” you rasped out, and mountain only winked at your fucked out expression.

“i can go all night long if i want to, babe.” he grunted, thrusts gradually growing more forceful, rocking the bed with the strength of his hip movements. “but i’m nice… so i’ll make this our last one.”

your eyes visibly relaxed when you heard this, as you were sure that if you went for a few more rounds, you’d black out.

“oh thank satan— a-aahhh!!”

your quick celebration was then interrupted by a sudden, forceful thrust which turned into a series of rough thrusts, caused the headboard of the bed to slam into the wall while mountain fucked you with no mercy. your eyes widened with shock, and your choked up voice quickly melted into pleasured, overstimulated moans.

“s-shit! ahh! mountain!” you cried out, trying to grip the sheets to maintain some sort of balance, but mountain was relentless.

“since this is our last round for the night…” mountain grunted out, fangs bearing as he thrusted harder and harder, his cock sliding in and out of your thigh pussy with ease.

“i’ll end it all off with a bang.”

his thrusts only got more rough and forceful, each time his cock hit a certain spot inside of you that had you squealing over and over. you could feel the cum from the previous orgasms get pushed all the way back inside of you.

you couldn’t stop making such pleasured noises, and mountain was enjoying every last second of it.

“fuccck. you feel it? you feel my cum pushing inside of your tight womb?” mountain groaned, his large hands moving to press against your stomach.

your eyes fluttered open, and widened when met with the sight in front of you. your tummy had a bulge on it, and mountain pressing his palm against the little bump on your stomach only had you squirming and seeing stars.

“yeah… you see that? that was all me. you look so good with my cum stuffing your insides.” mountain praised, driving his cock deeper inside of you to feel every last inch of your tightness clamping around his cock.

“a-ahhh!”

“hmmm.. seems like you like it as much as i do.”

you could only nod your head mindlessly and let out more pleasured, high pitched noises as you neared your climax, feeling mountain’s cock throbbing inside you intensely, also signaling his upcoming release.

mountain groaned and moved his head down to bite your neck, whispering into your skin.

“ohhh yeaahh. fuck i’m so close. m’gonna make you catch onto my knot and take my seed like a good toy.” mountain whispered lewdly, which only made you tighten around his shaft.

your hands writhed against the vines restraining you, and you cried out: “fuck! i’m gonna cum too!”

mountain moaned in response. “then cum with me, darling.”

like it was on command, your body shook wildly as you came hard all over mountain’s cock. the earth ghoul also moaned loudly as he released thick ropes of cum deep within you.

both of you panted heavily, and mountain slowly pulled out, smirking when he heard you whine from the emptiness. he looked down, and saw his and your cum dribble out of your tight hole.

“fuck. that’s so hot.” he cursed, and you panted heavily in response.

you were completely spent, having gone multiple rounds with this ghoul. you thought it would never end, but alas.

mountain chuckled at your fucked out expression, and caressed your cheek with his hand. he moved it up to your forehead, and moved your hair out of the way to get a better look at you.

he pressed a kiss to your forehead, before speaking.

“good little plaything.”

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[velarisdusk]

Updates with each new fic, so this will grow steadily. Enjoy! :) most of my content is 18+, mdni

Breaking the Ice | Hockey AU | Smut

Beneath the Vines | Lucien x Reader | Smut

Shadows at Twilight | Nesta & Azriel | Angst

Cursed Flame | Eris x Reader | Smut

Velvet Whispers, Midnight Truths | Azriel x Reader | Smut

Held by a Whisper | Tamlin x Reader | Angst

Rushing or Dragging | Drummer Azriel | Angst

Kinktober 2024

[miasmaghoul]

Hiii could we get Mount and any ghoulette/ghoul of your choice slow dancing to cute music while under the stars? Thank you 🩷

-🐬

"You have terrible rhythm."

"I do not!"

Aurora scowls, arms crossed over her chest. Mountain raises an eyebrow, staring down at the little ghoulette. She tries to look threatening, despite him having at least two feet on her. Mountain seems unaffected.

"It's a basic waltz, Ro," he chuckles, striding over to reset the turntable for what must be the hundredth time tonight. "You just have to count to four."

"Says the drummer," she grumbles, picking at a cuticle. "With the mile long legs."

"And yet you're the one stepping on toes," he teases, gesturing at his newly scuffed boots. "I think my point stands."

Aurora sticks her tongue out at him and Mountain lets out a snort. Leans down to tuck a stray pale lavender curl behind her ear. It's the color of the week, matches her nails and eyeshadow and makes the silvery sheen of her eyes stand out. She's pouting at him, but Mountain still rubs their noses together.

"It's alright, petal." He takes her hand in his and brushes his lips over her knuckles. "You're still learning, and I've got all night. After all," he gestures at their surroundings, "this is just for you."

It's true, and a light dusting of pink crests Aurora's cheeks at the sincerity in his eyes.

The outdoor pavilion - usually reserved for celebrations and formal events - is truly a sight to behold tonight. Decked out in fairy lights and flowering vines that fill the summer air with with the heady scent of jasmine and wisteria, the only other light provided by the waning moon and sparkling stars overhead. A surprise, Mountain had told her. A little something just for her - dinner and dancing under the stars.

Except Aurora can't dance. At least not like this.

"I know," she mutters, straightening her skirt. She's glad she chose this dress - a flowy, sleeveless number in the palest shade of green, the hem embroidered with a vaguely floral design. It's Mountain's favorite. "I just..." she crosses her ankles, fidgets with one of her rings. "I thought I'd be better at it, is all."

Mountain tilts his head, hooks his thumbs in his pockets. He looks nice too, dressed in a light beige button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark jeans. Casual, but elegant in a way that suits him. The gold flecks in his emerald eyes stand out in the glow of the lights around them, as do the auburn streaks in his mousy hair. He looks beautiful, and it makes Aurora's belly warm to know it's just for her.

"You just started," Mountain rumbles, "no one's perfect without practice, Ro."

"I know, I know." She shakes her head, chews the inside of her cheek. "But I've seen you dance with Cu," she admits, quiet, "and she's so...so good, and I don't know why I can't -"

"Snowflake," Mountain interrupts, resting those huge hands on her slight shoulders, "do you know why Cumulus can dance like that?"

Aurora shakes her head, shifting foot to foot. Mountain's looking down at her with a gleam in his eye, a curl at the corner of his mouth.

"It's her vessel."

Aurora raises an eyebrow.

"The body Cumulus claimed when she was summoned," he explains and, well, she knows what a vessel is, but Mountain continues before she can balk. "It belonged to a ballroom dancer."

Aurora blinks up at him.

"Not exclusively, of course," he continues, "she also used to lead the human choir, but -"

"Really?"

She can't help the interruption. It's just such a surprise; she knows that most ghouls inherit skills possessed by the humans whose forms they inhabit, but she never would have guessed that was something Cumulus got.

"Really," Mountain confirms with a nod, his hands drifting down her sides to rest on her hips. "So I think it's safe to say you're making an unfair comparison."

"What did my body - my vessel used to do?" She can't help the curiosity, she's yet to find anything she's good at besides singing. "Did you know her too?"

"Hmm..." Mountain traces her hip bones while he considers the question, and it gives her the tinglies. "I think she worked in the kitchens, but since you could burn cereal..."

"Hey!" She gives his chest a playful slap and Mountain grins.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." The ghoul leans down again, nuzzles the crown of her head. "I'm not sure, Ro, but don't worry." He stands again, his smile kind. "You'll find your thing, I'm sure of it."

Mountain leans down for a quick kiss, and Aurora rolls up onto her tiptoes to meet him. She can still taste the wine they shared on his lips.

"But for now," he murmurs, stepping close enough to rest a hand on her lower back, "may I have this dance?"

Aurora flashes him a toothy smile, getting her hands in their proper places. She flicks a finger towards the record player, sends a gust of cool wind to knock the needle into place, and Mountain hums in approval.

"We'll start slower this time, alright?" Aurora nods, settles into his gentle hold. "Just follow my lead."

The music flows around them, carried by the sweet summer breeze, and as Mountain counts out the steps Aurora hopes this night never ends.

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

~4k words. / [It's a festival day in this fine park and you were unknowingly matched up by destiny! Warning! Might get sad towards the end, otherwise a pretty happy, fluffy piece.] hope you enjoy! i definitely wasnt avoiding two other fics by starting this one! might have a part 2!

Disclaimer: this is the Wilbur variant from the Tommy's Clinic for Supervillains fic, inspired by my lunatic daydreamings

Title inspired by Lovesong by The Cure

xxxx

“And you’re not dating anyone?” Seff, your friend, asked you, chewing on kettle corn as you wandered the venue, and you had to roll your eyes and then immediately apologize to a couple you bumped into because you weren’t looking. He could hardly hold his laughter back as you gave him a hard look.

“How is that so hard to believe?” You respond, stealing some of his snack, holding a handful as you look around.

“It’s hard because well- just look at you.” You gave him an unimpressed glance, “any person would be lucky to have you as a date, even luckier as a person.”

“Guess these people have shit luck then.” Shrugging, you end up under the musicians’ tent, the music blaring from well-placed speakers with plenty of chairs set up in front of the slightly elevated stage. And it’s decorated with the cozy environment, lights strung about and over the heads of everyone, flowers arranged in front of the stage and vines wrapped around various speakers. And then there’s the musicians. It's a small band with the drummer, a bassist and the lead singer. It’s a nice vibe for a night like this, a festival of good music and good food, and sometimes, you send Seff a stink-eye, good company. “Come on, let’s have a seat.” You didn’t want to walk all night and if Seff was going to be annoying, you didn’t want to add aching soles to the list.

As you sat down and the band played a few more songs, Seff had little else to say about your dating life and it’s not like he didn’t mean well but- dating does you much good in this life. Because in this life, it’s not just surviving a nine-to-five job and the traffic, it’s about surviving the horrors of having superheroes and vigilantes and supervillains. Seff had a hard time convincing you to come because of how little the heroes or villains are seen around the venue. Despite being on the edge of down-town, the venue was a lovely little heritage park with plenty of trees, plenty of benches and plenty of grass.

Sometimes the grass wasn’t a good thing and for that, you looked stupid, leaning down to scratch at your ankles. Bending over, though, you meet the eyes of a man who turns in his seat to look over his shoulder and it makes you shiver. He’s too fucking pretty to be real and his eyes glide right off of you the moment you move yours off, looking down and scratching till your ankle was red.  But fuck, he was so pretty. Brown hair curling on his head, almost in his eyes with big eyes to match his wide smile, sharp jawline, and, with a quick glance and a mental curse, you could tell he would be a tall man. Wearing a yellow sweatshirt, he matches his jeans with a dark beanie and boots. Not to mention his hands, long fingers gripping the chair and-

Shit.

Breathing in and out, you sit up straight and reach for the kettle corn, “hey!” Seff could choke, for all you care.

After the band plays their last song, the somewhat decent crowd claps and cheers and the lead singer thanks the audience and you and Seff stand up from your seats and as you’re about to head down the aisle to the exit you end up brushing past the pretty man, chests grazing and just barely catching his eyes and apology. Seff curses him out from under his breath but you could hardly breathe, how could a man be so pretty and just be so close?

Once Seff figures out you’re not overstimulated by the rudeness of the action and just his looks alone, he teases you. “Oh, well now you have to talk to him.” He says, wincing as the tattoo artist gives him a flash tattoo.

“I don’t have to do jack-shit,” you flash the bird at him.

“It’s fate, getting so close and then having to part with each other, can you think of anything more romantic? And at a festival like this?” Groaning, you lean back into the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands and pulling at the skin below your eye.

“It was an accident, Seff, please can we move on?” You plead with him as the artist hums and finishes up.

He gives you a side-look, “I mean, what if he’s a cool person and he has lots of money?”

You give a frustrated sigh as Seff gives his new tattoo a lookover, paying her, he gets up and gestures overly dramatic for you to get in the seat. “I’m only getting in this chair because you’re paying her, don’t forget that.”

He slaps your shoulders, somehow avoiding your immediate flapping of hands to get him back, “wouldn’t dream of it, now, how are we feeling about stars, my good friend?”

And it’s not even a few minutes after you decide on a design when she starts and you happen to look away from her handiwork to find big eyes under a mop of brown hair staring at you from across the walkway. Your breath catches in your throat and you want to choke on it and die in that moment but then he turns to- oh, that’s the drummer from the band playing earlier. Oh that’s nice, he went to support a friend. Okay, yeah, he’s just a normal person. Just a normal person you’ll forget at the end of the night. You work on breathing in and out as she continues with her work and Seff is the only that notices your reaction. “If I look, and it’s the pretty boy, I’m telling him you like his butt.”

You quickly hiss at him, “you do that and I’ll throw your ass to the Syndicate, don’t even think about it.” Glancing in the pretty man’s direction, he’s turned away for now. “And if not for the laws of this land, I would run you over, reverse, and run you over again.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you loud and clear, but come on, a second time you’re running into him, don’t you think-” 

“-this park is small, of course I’m gonna run into a couple of people during a fucking festival-” 

“-don’t you think, you should give fate a chance?”

“This isn’t fate.” You tell him, and refuse to dignify anything he had to say after that with a response. Twenty minutes later the tattoo is done, a little red but for the most part, it looks good and you thank the artist profusely as Seff pays for the order. After he pays, the two of you compare your tattoos and grinned at each other. “Now, time to get what I’ve been looking forward to this entire evening.” Seff drapes an arm over your shoulder and you mind your wrist as you do the same, heading towards the food vendors again. The kettle corn had been only enough to satiate Seff for the time being. “My favorite, cotton candy.”

There’d been a long line, getting in it, Seff had the brilliant idea of trying to get you to consider that maybe there was more to play than just people attending the local festival. “What do you have to be afraid of? The worst he could do is say no,” Seff tries saying, but you shake your head.

“Absolutely not, that would not be the worst thing that could happen. Worst thing that could happen is that I trip and die before I get rejected or right after. And then a meteor strikes right on top of me just to put a cherry on top.” You ramble, irrational fear creeping on the back of your hairs as you think about talking to the pretty guy. “All I’m saying is, yes he’s pretty but I have no idea who he is or what he likes, what am I going to do if he says yes and I have to plan a date right then and there? If I say coffee and he says he doesn’t drink it, do you know fast I’d start digging a grave? Pretty fast, I’ll tell you that.” Your eyes are pulled forward as the line moves up and up, the guy in front of you being fairly tall so you don’t think twice about leaning away from Seff and checking the menu. “Like I was saying, I would rather drink spit from the bathroom floor than get rejected. At the festival, no less, where I’m supposed to be stress-free. What happened to that, Seff, I feel pretty stressed right now, I think I might even go home.” Seff sighs as loud as he can before wrapping his hands around your shoulders.

“You need a Xanax or something, I swear, look, we still have the light show and more bands to check out, I’ll even buy you a stuffed animal, and I’ll lay off the pretty boy.”

“Thanks.” And then, for some reason, you hum. “He was really pretty, wasn’t he?”

“He was, with the hair and the-”

“The eyes and his smile-”

“He was so pretty, especially in the yellow sweater, it’s unfair.” You sigh, looking up just in time to see the person ahead of you receive their two items, cotton candy hand in hand as they turn around, in the very same fucking sweater you lamented about, and he smiles with a blush on his face. You would thank your lucky stars if he hadn’t been stuck in line, listening to two strangers arguing about asking him out and ranting about his prettiness. You would say your heart leapt out of your chest and buried itself beneath the grass and dirt under your feet.

“I’m not sure what to say but I appreciate the compliments,” and he nods his head and walks away.

Your mouth dropped open into a gape and as Seff places and receives his snacks, quickly smacks him when he gets out of line. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” Seff has the audacity to laugh into his snacks, snorting even as you resist the urge to bury your whole body into the ground, sure to receive a ticket maybe, for disturbing the peace but still. Don’t they know that the worst thing has happened?

“I’ve changed my mind, this is the worst thing that can happen, so if it's all the same to you, I would like to swim in a toaster bath,” you whisper under a hushed breath, looking over your shoulder and shivering, turning back to Seff as you bite your knuckles, “what if he comes back with a restraining order? Seff, I can’t get a restraining order against me-”

“Okay, okay, let’s go have a seat, you’ll feel better once you do, I promise.” You wanted to bite his head off so hard, but damn it, these things are serious. That must’ve felt so creepy and off-putting and fuck, he probably thinks you’re a freak or a weirdo. And nothing is worse than an unassuming pretty boy assuming you’re a freak-slash-weirdo. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

Back at the musicians’ tent, you find yourself being lulled to a pacified calm by a new band playing something softer. A sweeter, yet nostalgic tune. The accordion, violin and key-tar working well with each other and with the accompanying piano and drum players. It keeps you under this soft blanket of peace until the band bows, breathing in with the beat Seff taps into your knee. The two of you continued to sit in silence, occasionally Seff would comment something about the bands but it wasn’t until the third band that someone sat next to you and cleared their throat. From the panic to the now somewhat peace you had in your mind, you are startled out of your skin when you find the pretty boy sitting so close, his knees just a few inches away from yours, the beanie adjusted and the look on his face seemed nervous. Oh, please don’t be a restraining order, you mentally chant, forcing yourself to politely smile at him.

“I know eavesdropping on conversations is rude but… would you forgive me if I asked you to walk with me for a little bit? I don’t know this place like the two of you seemed to.” He admits and in the same breath… does he ask you out? No, probably just for directions and since they were so direct and polite and respectful, you get to be killed off in a less-public area.

“I’ll be here, my wife should be coming in soon.” Seff peers around to smile at the stranger. And then he leans in closer, “still have that knife in your pocket that I gave you?” You elbow his side before turning to the pretty boy, flashing a quick, apologetic smile.

“If I die because of him, I’m coming back to haunt you.” You say standing up and shoving his shoulder back.

He gives a shout as you walk away with the stranger, hands tapping your side as you look anywhere but him, slowly walking the paths the festival had set up. “Did you have anywhere in mind, or did you just want to walk around?” You ask, unable to help yourself, looking at the string of lights hung above the wooden posts of the vendors.

“Oh, well,” you finally turn your head to look at him, finding him sheepishly smiling at you and it takes your breath away again, “I just wanted to talk to you alone.” You don’t know whether to be afraid or flustered, though fear was making a run for the money.

“Was there any reason, then, you wanted to talk to me alone?” You ask and that’s when he stops the two of you, underneath the biggest tree in the park, decorated with lamps hanging above and tealights on the ground. You can’t help but see the romantic notions the people have put on this tree and you wonder if the two of you were closer to the first couple or the last couple to come here for the night.

His eyes dart over your face and if it weren’t for the various lights around, you would’ve never seen the blush dusting his cheeks and ears. “Forgive me, I just- when I was eavesdropping in the line earlier, I thought you were funny and I did- I mean- I also found you very pretty. If it helps. And I almost didn’t come to you when I did but my friends- they-” he stumbles over his words before stopping completely, offering an apologetic smile as if you didn’t find everything he did endearing. Fuck, how were you supposed to breathe normally when this guy is just so fucking cute. “I wanted to get to know you.”

“Okay,” you begin, and then you look around, trying to think of something to say, something normal before you turn to look back at him and he was smiling something so gentle it left a hole in your chest. Why is it so hard to breathe around this pretty boy? “Then let’s start with names, yeah?” You say yours, sticking a hand out and feeling like an idiot until he takes it in his grasp, the touch of him easily making you feel faint. He leans down, and yeah, you’re gone, gone forever, to be buried because what pretty boy leans down and brings your hand up ever so gently to kiss the back of your knuckles?

“I’m Wilbur,” and you nod, breathless for the rest of time because he fucking stole it, and he smiles, switching hands so when he turned to start walking, your fingers were interlocked and swinging between the two of you. Wilbur, who’s so fucking sweet, sends you a smile as the two of you join the thinning crowd to go find things. “Aren’t there any rides?” He asks, and you give him a look, stopping and pointing behind you. “Seems there is,” the smile, you swear, it’ll be ingrained in your memory as the best thing you’ll ever see. The ride in question happened to be the staple of this festival. The ferris wheel. “Do you want to go on it with me?” He stops the two of you from walking into the line, “I don’t want to force you into doing something you don’t want to do.” The serious look is just as pretty as his smiles but you nod.

“If you don’t get on the ride with me, I’ll assume you hate me or that you kick puppies, one or the other,” you say, while stepping into the line and he’s quick to follow you, almost toppling you over and you have to laugh, steady him with one of your hands on his shoulders.

“I wanted to make it clear that neither of those things are true- you know, I don’t- I think kicking puppies is unforgivable and one of the worst things you can do.” He says and you peek at him through the corner of your eye.

“That so?”

“Yes, so.”

“So does that mean you like me?” You ask, accepting the help to get into the capsule, smiling at the attendant briefly before turning to Wilbur, holding your breath in as you offer your hand, your knees weak for what’s about to happen next.

He sees and beams at you, sliding his hand into yours as if the two of you were made for nothing else, as if there could’ve been anything else in the world you were made for. Thousands of years in the making and it’s come to feeling his thumb swipe over your own, nothing else made more sense than now. The ride begins to move and your grip on him tightens.

“Are you sure you wanted to go on this ride?” He asks, noticing you refused to look down, or anywhere really, it was easier to space out for a quick second while you were moving. “We could’ve gone to another one,” he assures you but you shake your head, trying to send him a reassuring smile.

“I appreciate it, I do, but I really did want to go on this ride with you. Mostly because you wanted to go on it. I just don’t- I don’t do well with heights.” And he hums before carefully moving, moving as not to rock the capsule. He sits facing you and squeezes your hand, managing to get you to look at him.

“Tell me about Seff.” He says and you stammer.

“He’s a friend-”

“-yes, he’s married, but you looked close, like siblings. Tell me about him, I meant it when I said I wanted to know you.”

And so you tell him all about Seff, your good friend and yes, he also happens to be closer than siblings you ever could have. You tell him about the stupid things he does, things that frustrate you and things that make you afraid you’ll never be a good enough friend for him. The conversation shifts and by the time the ride has gone twice in a circle and lets you two off, you’re certainly shocked. Surprised. Whatever word is best, it’s what you are because he still smiles at you and helps you out and holds your hand and points at a game with plenty of plush prizes to win. Still not over how he helped you through the ferris wheel, you’re happy to be gifted a stuffed bear, one with a bow on it.

Following the winning of your bear, it was heard that the light show would begin so you helped him find a spot in the grass, the two of you sat close as you watched the sky and waited, the sound of laughter, talking and the music playing combined with the smell of food was enough to keep the silence between you two happy. You honestly could not have thought of a better way to spend your night, because no offense Seff, but after his wife would arrive, you would spend the rest of the night as a third wheel or alone. Neither sounded fun. And to be fair, Wilbur is wonderful company. One that’s one you a bear.

So the two of you are sitting, content in the silence when Wilbur opens his mouth and begins to speak when there’s a loud noise and then fireworks in the sky, children starting to scream and laugh louder, running with sparklers. You startled in that moment, not because of the noise, but because of the way he sought out your hand immediately, holding it tightly.

You turn to look at him fully, watching the lights flash on his face, how they light up every feature you’ve come to adore in the time you’ve known him. He doesn’t turn to you for a moment, waiting to look you in the eye and you save him a gentle smile of your own.

“You were here for the last festival, weren’t you?” The last festival, you were afraid, didn’t have a good ending like this one might have.

He looks at you, eyes searching for something in your face before exhaling and nodding. “I saw- I saw it happen.” You squeeze his hand.

“Me too.” The look he sends you is heartbreaking, his beautiful brown eyes almost watering, enough for you to let go of the bear for a moment, to scoot closer and hold his hand with both of yours. “And it’s okay, it’s been a year and nothing has happened yet.” You repeated exactly what Seff told you at the beginning, told him what soothed you and you hold his hands as he holds both of yours. You ignore the show for him, making sure he’s breathing right, that he’s doing a little better than when the show started.

And closer to the end, he turns to look at you, your face closer than before and you wonder what he has in mind. He leans in closer to you, his gaze focused on something lower on your face before he meets your eyes, smiling briefly before squeezing your hand again. “I want to know you more, and if you’re okay with it, completely okay with it, would you be okay to exchange numbers?” You let out a breath of air, laughing slightly as you untangle one of your hands.

“Hand your phone over.”

It’s a matter of seconds before the device sits in your palm, cool to the touch and you find the lead singer laughing with him on the lockscreen. He unlocks the phone and leans his head against yours as you add your contact information. Before you could stop yourself, you opened the camera and held it away from the two of you smiling, nerves shot as he hid his face against your hair, tickling your neck. You take it while laughing to yourself. “You’re too cute,” you say offhandedly, moving to confirm the picture not even realizing what you said, till he pulls back and makes you breathless for the countless times you’ve seen him smiling.

“You think I’m cute?” He asks even though both of you are more than aware how he heard you in the snack vendor line, practically shouting how you found him pretty.

“I take it back, you need a bag to cover,” you gesture to his face, “all of that.” You say with a half-hidden smile and he whines, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a pout. Then he taps your fingers and asks for your phone.

And he saves himself to your phone with a picture of him smiling and you just barely hiding your face in his shoulder, protesting how you didn’t want to be in it just like he did. You smile at the picture before also putting your phone away. “Well,” you look around, “the show is almost over, was there anything else you wanted to do before leaving?” You could’ve sworn his eyes dipped to trace the bottom of your face before flicking back up to your stare, but then he was smiling again, that damned smile, and shaking his head.

“This is possibly one of the best nights I’ve had in a while…” and when he trails off, he reaches for your hand. “Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do much, honestly,” you squirm under the sincerity, but he takes none of it, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight. And he keeps going, talking about this or that, but your brain blanks out after being hugged, you could smell the soap on his skin, a hint of cologne and deodorant and it makes your head spin. How does he do it? Smell so good and look so pretty? When he pulls back, you try for a smile.

Nothing else happens, he helps you stand to your feet and interlocks a few of your fingers with his, guiding you back to the area where you parked, guiding him to it with your stuffed bear tucked in your elbow. He’s so kind to open the back door and buckle your bear in, patting his fuzzy forehead with a gentle head. When he comes out of it and you shut the door, the two of you just stare at each other. “This was, really, a good night,” Wilbur starts and you agree. “Text me when you get home safely?” You nod and before you can process it, he steps into your space, almost crowding you against your car. He leans in, closer than before, his nose just barely touching yours with the two of you experiencing the fan of the other’s breath.

Then he moves away from your face, slightly, and presses one soft kiss to your cheek, lingering close for a few seconds before he leans away. He holds your hand and squeezes and then another firework goes off and he looks away.

“I’ll see you around.” He promises and then lets go of your hand, walking away slowly till he has to turn around and keep moving forward. Walking away till you can’t see him, blending into the crowd on the sidewalk. Still, you can’t help but watch the crowd move for a moment more. Wondering if you’d see your pretty boy.

… “Oh that was too cheesy, get a fucking grip, you simp.” You groan to yourself, slapping a hand to your forehead before getting into the car and starting the engine. And when you open your phone later that night, when you can still feel his lips against your cheek, skin burning where they once were, you send him a text. A simple one, telling him you’re in bed and wondering if he made it home safely too.

Despite having work in the morning, you refuse to go to bed without seeing a response. And despite the good night and the kiss he left you with, you never receive one.

Clocking out and checking your phone, you sigh when you see that the text is still on delivered. Part of you wants to hope that he just lost his phone or meant to respond but forget but you’ve gone through this before. You’ve had great nights with perfect gentlemen who made your heart flutter and made you feel special and seen. And you’ve had to pull your heart and head together when they never spoke to you again. You just have to come to terms that Wilbur, your pretty boy, is one of those guys. Only to be remembered with great care.

You try to console yourself in the car, trying to tell yourself that it’s okay you may never get to see him. That he might not have meant it when he wanted to know you, when he wanted to see you again. When he lets you put yourself in his phone and himself in yours just to never look at it again.

You stare down at the picture and somehow, you can’t bring yourself to delete the contact information. You’re tired from work and the lack of sleep and the lack of response, it’s time to go home.

(With it being so late in the day, with so little energy, it’s a wonder how you get home safe but that’s also probably due to the eyes watching you at the moment. Probably.)

[robertfripp]

"In July 1972, the music press heralded a new chapter in the Crimson saga... Melody Maker's front page carried the sly headline "YES MAN TO JOIN CRIMSON".

"A long standing fan of Crimson since seeing them in 1969, [Bill] Bruford attests to the significant influence they exerted over Yes. Fripp recalls Yes bassist Chris Squire and Bruford calling at his flat in Westbourne Park Road in March 1970, where they were treated to a preview of the just-recorded Cat Food and Groon. Fripp had the impression that the job of guitarist with Yes was on offer..."

"Bruford confirms that Yes regarded Crimson as a kind of benchmark, using In the Wake of Poseidon as a yardstick to measure their progress during the recording of The Yes Album."

"In May 1972... Fripp invited himself around to Bruford's flat for a meal and a chat. The drummer remembers that Fripp regarded him almost like a tomato that had ripened on the vine with Yes and was not ready to be plucked. "We went into my music room and he said: 'If I played this, what would you play?' Apparently I must have done the right thing because eventually he suggested that we do some more!"

"Stunned at the news of [Bruford's] departure, Yes wished him well, though he recalls Squire harboured suspicions that Bruford was simply a pawn in some nefarious Fripp plot entailing Wicca and other dubious practices."

From In the Court of King Crimson by Sid Smith

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Technically this is for week 6 of the Ghoulette Appreciation Prompts but. In my defense. I don't control what I want to write about. Right now the spotlight is on the Earth Wives: Terra, Pebble, Ivy aka the previous drummers aka Mountain's adopted moms/aunties/sisters (???) who fucked off from the Ministry to start a lesbian commune in the forest or something. Ivy is trans but it doesn't come up in this ficlet. (@jesusbutbetterrr and everyone else who put the prompts together, thanks!)

Murder wives below the cut.

Ivy is the shyest of the trio. She's as close to vegetarian as a ghoul can get, mostly because even the idea of being seen by a human causes her distress. It's why she didn't last long as a drummer; she was good but the crowds and the bus and the disconnect from her element threw her off so badly that Terzo dismissed her as quickly as he could. The only thing that kept her anxiety at bay was the uniform. Being indistinguishable from the others was her saving grace and she never took off the mask if someone else was present. Something about them knowing what she looked like horrified her in a way she couldn't articulate. In time, with patience from her partners, she grew bold enough to set it aside. But only in their company. Should Mountain bring someone else along, she’ll don her beekeeping hat until she feels ready to remove it. 

And though she loves Terra and Pebble dearly, considers them as good as her own heart she still needs isolation at times. They're happy to give her this, because they know she always comes back. Glowing with her own unique brand of magic with her arms wide to catch them as they greet her return.

 It's on one of these excursions that she killed her first human.

He was a hunter, out late under the moonlight, stepping carefully through the snow. Gun at the ready, he broke through the treeline to a small clearing where she sat on a stump, admiring the stars as she idly played upon a small harp. She had been alright on drums, but a harp was her instrument of choice and there was hardly need for that in the Ghost project. Had he approached from the back, he would have seen the wrongness of her. Her bovine tail, sweeping the dusty snow away. How her dress gaped unbuttoned at the back, corners falling away to reveal skin as rough as tree bark and a hole where there should not be one. He would have seen the private hollow of her back where no organs nestled because she was a maiden of the forest and had no need of it. He would have seen this and he would have turned and left, for his grandmother had told him of the legends of the woodwife and her timidness.

But he approached from the front and saw none of this. All he saw was a woman alone at night. Bear in mind, he had no ill intentions. This is not that kind of tale. But it still ends in sorrow for him simply because he did not see the warning signs and could not follow the rules.  He complimented her playing and startled her so badly, she sent a sharp root up from the earth through his chest, killing him.

Not right away though. He lived long enough to see her approach, weeping and sniffling as she apologized, his blood pumping out over the frozen ground. She could not save him, she explained, but if he had a family then she could make amends to them for his death.

He died telling her about them. His wife's name on his lips and the unnamed child she carried in her belly. Ivy wrapped his body as best she could in her vines and laid him to rest in the clearing. Then she set off to find the man’s family and pay her debt. Every year to this day, they are visited by a benevolent and hooded figure, who makes sure they have enough to eat in the winter and that their fire never goes out. The wife guesses, of course, but keeps her thoughts to herself. Her child is fed and warm and she doesn't have to worry.  

Ivy is as close to benevolent as any of them get. 

_________________

Now, Terra doesn't so much as hunt but lay in wait. She comes with her warnings, her own rumors and legends and her hunting grounds are strung with barbed wire and bright yellow signs.

CAUTION.

TURN BACK.

DANGER AHEAD.

She didn't put them there but she likes their presence and allows them to stay. Her prey tastes better for having chosen their own death freely with no trickery and this sort of honesty suits Terra. You were warned. This is the consequence. 

She likes to call it natural selection.

The forest is different past the warning signs. The undergrowth is crowded and thick with great gnarled roots looping up through the earth and diving back down as the trunks search for sustenance. A hiker might clamber over them carelessly, confident in their map and compass and skills. Following legends of a treasure, hidden deep in a cave perhaps. Perhaps it is even this one, so barely noticeable unless seen from the right angle. The hiker stops and stares for a moment. There could be anything in the darkness. A bear, hungry from winter slumber. A fox, snarling and rabid. Or, if this tourist looks closer, they may fancy a glimmer in the depths as the sun hides behind a cloud. Gold? Jewels? Their fortune, whatever it ends up being. Scoffing at the fear of the locals, the cowardice of a so-called “satanic church” this hiker steps into the cave, boldly going where surely no one has gone before. If something crunches under their foot, it is dismissed as a twig.

But as they go deeper, the “twigs” become more numerous. If the hiker looks down they will see the truth, that they aren’t the first ones in this cave, that many others have sought the same glimmer and all came to the same end but they don't look down. They can't. Too transfixed by the light that seems to grow further and further away with each step.

The dirt of the cave floor dampens. Turns to mud. Liquid drips from the stalactites, gathers in pools and puddles as the hiker travels ever deeper into the darkness and with each step the wet earth clings to their feet. What hasn't been soaked yet is stirred up by their movements, fine particles coating their body, settling into every crevice of skin it can reach. The droplets fall. Splash. Splash. Splashing, steady as a drumbeat as they helplessly wander deeper into the cave.  How long have they been there? Why did they go into the cave in the first place? The glimmer is long gone, they are surrounded by the cavern, embraced by it. It's warm and wet and they are so, so tired.

The hiker stumbles, puts out an arm to catch themselves against the wall and to their horror it is like touching flesh. They look down to see their shoes eaten away, dissolving into slimy strips as the digestive acids work diligently to strip the outer armor of the prey. The dust, once ignored, now burns everywhere, from the tips of their fingers to the screaming cilia of the lungs. Terra is as old as the earth itself and she does not hunt like other ghouls. 

She can't. 

She's just too damn big.

____________

Pebble's the boldest of them and the most mobile. She sprinkles her little traps all over the place, even on Abbey grounds because she believes, like Terra, that those who can't abide the rules deserve what they get. She also likes testing the new crop of recruits every now and then. Enrichment, you know?  

So when the Sister comes to Primo, carrying a strange looking mushroom to show him, he admires it with her and quietly mourns the loss of another Sibling. Not for long though. They're told the rules on arrival with the key ones concerning their safety being stay out of the woods at night and don't touch weird plants. It's common sense. Some of the First’s plants have produced crossbreeds that by all rights shouldn't exist. And it's dangerous after dark in any woods. Still, every year, there's someone.  This time it's her. 

He might sigh and shake his head as she leaves to put it on a shelf to admire. It's too late. The moment she plucked it, spores had been released. She's been inhaling them the whole time she was carrying the mushroom. So he’ll keep an eye on her in the coming days, and take down notes for his own curiosity. Compares them to the other symptoms he’s seen in the past. Sensitivity to light, check. Complaints of headaches, check. Found milling about the halls at night looking for something she can’t articulate, check. He guides her back to her room and she doesn’t complain. Obeys his soft words and lays in her bed like a corpse, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes.  He always wonders what they see towards the end. None of them have been able to tell him.

She is dead by then, of course, but the mushroom has laced itself into her nervous system. Her body twitches and jerks unnaturally until it’s heaved up, a puppet on strings. Her ankles roll with each unsteady step, the fungal infection lurching her body out of the Ministry to where a small figure crouches in the branches. Watching and waiting, yellow eyes aglow in the darkness and small, clawed hands reaching out to catch the dead woman like a long lost lover before Pebble drags her corpse into the forest to feed.

And then one moonlit night, it happens. He watches from his room as she stumbles in the courtyard, clutching at her head. Tearing off her habit and yanking on her hair until she rips it off her scalp in bloody ribbons. He watches passively as she claws her skin away, baring the bone of her skullcap to the moon, screaming in silent agony. He thinks she’s still alive when her skull splits under her fingers, bone falling away like fragments of an eggshell as the fungus hatches. Pebble always did like to play with her food. The Sister holds a small piece in her haking hand, eyes wide in terror before she’s falling, cracking her head further open on the stone, allowing the stem proper to burst forth, unfurling the cap in one awful motion.

Primo shuts his notebook. Places it on a shelf with the others.  Picks up his old rotary phone and murmurs quietly to the Ghoul on the other end. Her family will be notified of an accident, her funeral and burial planned. Closed casket, of course.  Pebble’s always been a messy eater. No matter how often he and Terra try, there’s just no taming that one.

[dustedmagazine]

Weak Signal — Fine (12XU)

Weak Signal has been my pick for “best rock band you never heard of” for a few years now, and this fourth full-length only strengthens the argument. It pulls their clanking, grinding VU-ish drone in new and intriguing directions—an acoustic blues folk a la Aquarian Blood, a guitar-heavy clangor akin to Crazy Horse—without sacrificing any core competencies. It adds some guests, including Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor, Doug Shaw of Gang Gang Dance and Cass McCombs, without diluting the locked in synchrony of its three founding members.

To review, Weak Signal is a three-piece led by Mike Bones who is linked to some cool NYC noises via an association with Endless Boogie and a stint with Soldiers of Fortune (Kid Millions is also a member). Sasha Vine plays mostly bass, but also a little violin and sings. Tran, the drummer, also sings. They’ve been a band for about seven years, and Dusted has favorably reviewed two of the three previous albums, 2021’s Bianca and 2022’s War on War.  

Fine is an advance for Weak Signal but not a shock. Though most of its songs sound very much in line with previous albums, it diverges in some fruitful ways. Both “Out on a Wire,” and “Baby” begin in a frenzy of feedback and improvisation, beginning side one and side two of the vinyl edition in exhilarating freefall.

“Out on a Wire” coalesces eventually into Weak Signal’s trademark vamp, a dissolute cousin to “Peter Gunn” that slinks and struts and smirks and all but has a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of its mouth. And yet, it’s pure rock and roll, this cadence, full of menace but also vibrating with heart and vulnerability, talk-sung with bracing cynicism but sweetened by boy-girl harmonies.

“Baby” is more of a surprise, because once the din lets up, a softer aesthetic emerges in jangling folk acoustic chords and soft lyricism. It’s an appealing shift, and it continues through “Terá Tera,” a fragile, pretty but deeply felt cut that puts me in mind of other unplugged psychedelic garage rockers: Aquarian Blood, The Duchess and the Duke and the Gris Gris’ Greg Ashley’s solo work.

The best cut, though, is “Wannabe,” a blown-out guitar-psych tune with shades of ragged glory. That’s the one where Cass McCombs guests, and if it’s him letting the long notes fly at the beginning, they should consider offering him a full-time gig. If Weak Signal’s songs have had a flaw up to now, it’s been a certain dank claustrophobia. This cut blows the doors down and lets some light in.

Weak Signal entertainingly imagines life as a Brian Jones-style figure in “Rich Junkie,” tapping into a pre-digital fantasy of rock ‘n roll excess (and financial rewards). Though spiritually part of a strung-out but brilliant lineage, Fine will likely never buy a mountain villa for anyone involved. It’s just another good one from a band you ought to know but probably don’t. Why not fix that right now? You owe it to yourself.

Jennifer Kelly

[periwinklemoonlight]

I AM VERY INTERESTED I LOVE HEARING THOUGT PROCESSES AND ITS SO CLEAR HOW MUCH PASSION AND CARE WAS PUT INTO YOUR ZINE PIECE

AHH THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!! i have so many thoughts i dont know where to begin LMAO ill start with the outfit designs first!!

to start things off, every design has one specific colour in mind to represent that hermit! pearl - blue, gem - green, impulse - yellow, doc - black/gray, and grian - red! (everyone's nails are painted their colour) every design was deliberately punk-inspired, since during the king arc the soup group was a force of resistance against the monarchy's tyranny :P therefore, the soup group are the main focus of the art and their designs are intentionally made so that they stand out more from the other two, though i made sure they were all unique in one aspect or another :] let's go character by character now! (i'm including all my initial design sketches + some inspo photos too)

pearl - she's the lead singer of soup group, along with playing the electric guitar! her design features a double tank top + low rise big pant combo, moon motifs of course, and two distinct shades of blue! The darker one is seen throughout her hair and outfit, while the lighter one in her moth antenna is reflected in her guitar. the main inspiration for her look was avril lavigne, which is also what influenced me to add those fun blue hair streaks :D on her shirt i wanted to have a sort of skeletal moth/butterfly design!!

gem - the keytar! i wanted to make sure that gem and pearl's designs looked very distinct from each other, so i went for a slightly different vibe with gem's! her design is based more off of the plaid skirts, big boots, and fishnet looks i found while looking through early 2000s lip service magazine scans (as well as some hayley williams looks!!) :D additionally, shes got vine tattoos over her body to call back to her nature elf vibe this season!

impulse - the drummer of course!! for his look, i wanted to go a little more anarcho-punk (since its a much older punk style and hes the oldest member of soup group LOL), so his vest jacket has got a bunch of diy additions like patches, pins, paperclips, and chains, along with a bunch of spikes!! in my mind, the back of his jacket has probably got a whole lot more patches, spikes, and studs :] beyond that, i made sure to give him lots of piercings (though my options were limited since s9 impy has a beard lol), and stretched earlobes for fun!! ideally his pants would also have a lot more patches and fun bits, but since his legs would be entirely covered by his drums in the final piece i went for something simpler

doc - an opener and feature on the song! since he's not part of the soup group, his design is quite a bit simpler than the others in terms of both look and concept :] his look is monochrome save for his robotic red parts and green skin, but still looks interesting thanks to that fun leather jacket :D his look is purposefully more reminiscent of a 50's style greaser, i wanted to go for an older fashion style to make him look more intimidating/mature, as well as set him apart from the look of soup group since the perimeter was an independent nation in the king arc!

grian - another feature/opener! design wise? hes literally just green day i can't even lie like the pun was perfect and also the black shirt + red tie combo is iconic and also fits his look so effortlessly it had to be done LMAO also, if you look closely in the final piece you can see he's wearing eyeshadow! this of course is again because hes grian day /silly. but to be real, i think this style also fits him really well since the tie + spikes & studs combo gives the look that sorta rebellious vibe that was all over his videos during the king arc :]

AND NOW FOR THE INSTRUMENTS!! this segment is thankfully much shorter

pearl's guitar is of course a nod to my design for her and her moth wings! butterfly guitars are harder to draw than you'd think LOL

gem's keytar has got a vine design all over it to match her tattoos

impulse's drum set has got the soup group punk band logo! the logo design may honestly be my favourite part of the piece, i feel like i really nailed what i was going for :D

and thats it! i'll edit this post or rb with any details i missed if they come to mind! thank u for reading anyone who has made it this far <3

[doomedandstoned]

New Zealand’s SIDEWINDER Reveal 2nd Single “Prisoner” from upcoming ‘Talons’ LP

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

It's been just a minute since we released our compilation Doomed and Stoned in New Zealand, which we were honored to have preserved by The National Library of New Zealand. The current of underground heavy rock and metal is still strong in The Land of the Long White Cloud (or if you prefer, Middle Earth).

Our latest discovery is Wellington five-piece heavy rock beast SIDEWINDER, who today air their latest single "Prisoner" from the upcoming LP 'Talons' (2024), an album that has some monumentally heavy moments (wait'll you hear "The Depths"). We've already gotten a taste of the band's bouncy heavy psychedelic groove with the first single "Disarm The King," and the second showcases their swagger even further with soaring melodic lines, crunchy southern sludge riffage, chugging bass, and workhorse drumming.

Jem Tupe is a powerful vocalist, on the order of Laura Donnelly from King Witch. She can really belt it out with ferocity and it meshes really well with the swampy might of the band's hefty, hefty low-end. Sidewinder is taking no prisoners with this one -- a big sound through and through.

"Prisoner has been a staple for us with our live shows for years," says guitarist Ben Sargent. "It was our opener for a while and quickly became a crowd favourite. We did a few things we hadn't tried before with the recording: like the whisper track through the verses. A lot of the lyrical content refers to Tartarus too which tied in with overall themes of the album. Big riffs, dissonant verses, lead breaks and heavy bridge sections – Prisoner's got it all."

"Prisoner was one of those songs that came together naturally and without too much difficulty," adds guitarist Thomas Rousell (yes, we've got two axemen at the ready with Sidewinder). "Ben had a banging riff, we threw in some rolling verses and great melodies, it all came together to make a killer track. The crowd have been hearing this one for quite some time now, but there's some special bits added to the recording that really lift the track to new heights."

Sidewinder's Talons strikes on August 23rd c/o Wyrmwood Records (pre-order here).

Give ear...

Talons by Sidewinder

SOME BUZZ

Since their formation in Wellington back in 2021, NZ heavyweights Sidewinder have always summoned the biggest riffs and most monumental of grooves possible to carve their own path out from the underground.

In a short space of time, they’ve proven themselves to be an integral part of the burgeoning NZ hard rock/stoner scene and this summer they return to the fray with their eagerly anticipated follow-up to their 2022 debut, Vines.

Due for release this August, new studio album Talons is a breathtaking byproduct of their tight, high-energy performances and sold out shows with bands like Orange Goblin and Sasquatch. A swirling tempest of bluesy southern rock and grunge in keeping with the quintet’s heavyset approach to sonic exploration, it draws on influences that span decades, from the hard-driven strut of Kyuss to the spirited sensibilities of Church of Misery.

"We’re really excited for this album,” explains guitarist Ben Sargent. “It’s a lot darker and heavier than our last. There are some monster riffs throughout, some great psych and doom sections and plenty of that eerie, swampy blues thing we do too."

Featuring new vocalist Jem Tupe; guitarists Ben Sargent and Thomas Rousell, bassist Sean Fitzpatrick and drummer Grant Lister, Sidewinder is primed and ready to bring it all home in the most spectacular of fashions, with their, “wall of riff-heavy psych, with lashings of delta-blues.”

Produced by James Goldsmith (Beastwars, End Boss, Planet of the Dead) and mastered by Will Borza (Deftones, Smashing Pumpkins), just one listen to "Prisoner" showcases just how heavier, darker, and more powerful they’ve become.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[talesfrommedinastation]

Here’s to all of us whose hearts were shattered by that line from ‘Plan 99’.

But here’s how some psychologists recommend dealing with tragic events: putting your own creative spin on them.

I’ve found, for me, is taking words and quotes that hurt or upset me, and rewriting them in my own way. Especially if the meaning can be changed.*

In this case, “When have we ever followed orders?” isn’t uttered by Tech, resigned but heroic.

It’s said by Sjael Drummer near the end of Far Past the Ring. It’s now defiant, independent, and hawking a loogie right in the face of adversity.

It’s a tragic line from Star Wars that’s now a shout of fortitude from The Expanse.

Writing it out made it seem like something Klaes Ashford would say, or Camina Drummer, right before knocking someone out an airlock. 100% ungovernable Beltalowda.

Now? I smile every time I see it. Tenye wah chesh gut!

Hell, Camina Drummer says a version of it in the new Telltale game: "The Inners may control everything, but they cannot control the Belt."

Take something that makes you sad, and make it yours.

And yes, Sjael, like most Belters in the fic, has her new helmet designed to look like Tech’s. He’s become an accidental fashion icon!

Belters have also started painting their helmets like the clones. In Sjael’s case, she has Ojibwe style greenery that hints at her work with organic sweeteners—she has strawberries, blueberries, and vanilla orchids on the vines!

————————

Tagging my Far Past the Ring readers here: @skellymom @eyecandyeoz @sued134 @cdblake1565 @moosethren @ilikemymendarkandfictional @techs-stitches @supremechancellorrex @amalthiaph

* = Example, my trashy ex Nick said “We won’t be together, the end”, via text when he dumped me.

When he crawled back to me a year later begging for a second chance, sending him a message WITH THAT IN IT was amazing!

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Six

i probably shouldve mentioned the flower meanings in previous chapters before but eh

Blue aster: represent trustworthiness and faithfulness.

Blue Salvias: means "thinking of you,"

Azalea: Some cultures believe the flower symbolizes taking care of yourself and those around you.

Orange tulips: symbolize understanding and appreciation.

Pink tulips: Pink tulips are known for meaning affection, caring, good wishes, and love.

Forget-me-nots: represent loyalty and devotion.

Balloon flowers: These purple and blue blooms represent the desire for a friend to return, honesty and endless love.

Alyssum: In the Victorian language of flowers, Alyssums are known to mean "worth beyond beauty."

a03

masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

word count: 10,923

link to site used for flowers mentioned in this chapter <3

III awoke that morning with a clear head, fully rested with no signs of pain throughout his body except for the slow healing bruising on their face. He was wrapped around II, holding the drummer's smaller body to III's taller one like a teddy bear as II's snores filled the silence. He looked peaceful, still at rest as the both of them were warm under the blankets with his head tucked under III's chin. III was content to lay there a little longer before going to seek out Vessel to tell him good morning and ask how his night went-

Then III realizes he can barely feel Vessel in the bond. He sits up quickly, accidentally waking II in the process, who sits up slower, rubbing his tired eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

II barely manages to get his question out before III shoots out of bed, tripping over the blankets caught around their legs. "I can barely feel Vessel."

Any tiredness is sapped from II's bones like a lightning strike as the second vessel scrambles to completely attune himself to the bond he shares with the other two vessels. III is already out II's door, bare feet easily heard thumping against the flooring as they run down the hall towards Vessel's room. III's bond was a frantic mess of confusion and worry and panic.

II could not describe just how relieved he was when he felt Vessel's bond in tact, open but just barely, deliberate in how much of Vessel could be felt.

"He's not in his room, or the altar room!" III calls, footsteps pounding down the stairs.

II gets out of bed, too, socks slipping over the floor in his haste to help III check the house. His knee slams into the ground, sending pain up his leg and down the bond but he ignores it in his worry. Panicked cursing meets II's ears as he also makes his way down the stairs, forced to take them slower lest he slip and break his neck. II goes to check the bathroom and practice room as III checks the living room and kitchen, then heads outside. Neither notice that the vines, usually so lively, are listless, moving about the walls at a snails pace.

Vessel isn't in the house, and when III comes back in, II having heard him yelling for Vessel from inside, III says, "He's not out there either! The car's still parked outside. I- I can barely feel him. He promised! He promised he would try to keep the bond open! What happened?"

"I don't know sweetheart, he never usually goes out by himself... but the fucking car's still here...? Fuck, the only place we haven't checked is the attic and most of the forest. With his bond like it is, we'd never find him amidst all those damn trees."

All III can picture in his mind is a bloody Vessel, lost somewhere in the forest, even if the bond shows no pain. He has lied to them with it before.

A thought strikes them-

"Our phones! Have we tried calling him?" III asks, already taking II's arm and pulling him up the stairs.

They apologize when II slips, helping keep him upright as they go slower. "Fucking socks. I'm sorry."

"Its okay, doll, I'm not meaning to rush you."

"You're worried about Ves, sweetheart, it's alright."

III goes to grab his phone off the nightstand in II's room, pausing when he sees three of them, with a note placed over one. "He left his phone..."

"The note says he'll be back soon. He even put the cute six eyed smiley face." II says, taking in Vessel's elegant cursive.

III runs a hand through his loose blonde curls, then does it again to try and release some of the restless energy inside them, "We could ask Sleep again?"

"You probably should, I've displeased the God each time. I'm... not as respectful as I should be when it concerns Vessel's safety."

II knows that he should show the God more respect. That Sleep is his God as much as He is the others'. That he chose Sleep, chose this life... but II hates that Sleep is a flawed God. Just as any other being. Hates that Vessel can't seem to see it, or perhaps doesn't care due to his own lack of self-love and his unending devotion to the God.

III nods in understanding, tugging gently on their bond with Sleep. There is no answer. Not the first time, the second, nor the fifth. Each time, the furrow between III's brow deepens in frustration.

"He's not answering."

"Damn it... why?" II sighs, "We could try the altar?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, we can do that."

Seeking comfort, II and III link their hands together, heading down the hall. The altar room is dark when they enter, III lighting the candles littering the floor for light they don't truly need. II stops when he reaches the altar itself, eyes widening slightly at what greets him.

There's a drop of blood on the table, red and black swirls telling exactly who it came from. It drips over the edge of the table, a stained knife sitting next to the offering plate.

III steps up next to II, noticing the bloody knife as well. He freezes at the sight of the blood, the red all he can seem to focus on. The scent of iron invades their nostrils, fear flooding the bond like a tidal wave.

In their minds eye, Vessel is bleeding out, laid over the altars edge like he had fallen asleep in worship. Blood drips from his open mouth, red pouring from his mangled arms.

III trembles, letting out a small cry when the match burns their fingers. He'd let it linger in his grip too long. They curse at the pain, silently glad for it, as it pulled them out of their head, putting the match out quickly and lighting another to continue lighting candles. Their mouth is pulled into a grim line, just the same as II's.

II is still standing in the same spot, staring down at the stained knife and blood splotch, when III comes back with a wet rag to wipe up the blood. He refuses to let this newfound fear take ahold of him, to ruin his favorite color. Even as he trembles, even as he still gets flashes of a bloody Vessel every time they blink, III forces themself to remain strong in the face of the blood.

"Has he been offering his blood to Sleep?" III asks quietly, running a hand through his hair as he kneels by the altar.

They light a stick of incense while waiting for a response from II, who slowly kneels to sit beside him silently, finally seeming to realize III was saying something.

"He must be." II's throat is tight with emotion, putting a hand on III's thigh in a desperate bid for comfort.

He needs to keep the tears at bay. He can't break down, he isn't the only one worried right now. II needs to keep it together.

"Might be why he doesn't want us to see him worship." III says, one shaking hand falling to hold II's tightly.

"He used to. We used to worship together, in the beginning. At some point, he asked to worship alone. I wish I knew why. There's so much he keeps from us. I hate it. I just want him to trust us. To be able to trust us."

"I think he does trust us though. Its just- He may not know how to open up, or maybe he doesn't think we'd want him to."

"But we tell him! We tell him all the time that he can lean on us if he needs it. We tell him that we're here for him. We take care of his cuts when he lets us, or asks. We don't... we don't pry nearly as much as I want to. I'm always so happy when he lets us hold him close, even if I can barely feel the pressure of his arm on mine when we sit close. Even if I can't feel his warmth when he cuddles with us! He doesn't- I know he didn't believe me when I told him I loved him!" II cries, not letting himself truly sob like he wants to.

Fuck, II needs to be stronger than this.

II continues, "I want him to believe that I care for him, even if he doesn't believe I love him. I need him to know that he is adored. He worries me, all the time, and I love him so dearly that I don't care about that stress as much as I should. I know its not his fault, I know that this is years of some sort of abuse that made him this way- I just... shit, III."

III listens, not sure what to say, letting II cry into their shoulder. Lets II wrap his arms around III, lets the other put their weight on him as III leans his head on II's shoulder, swamping him in a tight hug that brings some comfort to them both. They know he doesn't mean to, doesn't realize how deeply they care for him, but Vessel worries them so much.

III will tell him. Its time for Vessel to know that they love him. The biggest hurdle will be getting him to believe them. If Vessel didn't believe II when he told him, why would Vessel believe III?

When II finally cries as much as their body will allow, harsh whines and whimpers as his tears overflow fading into quiet little hiccups and sniffles, he speaks, "Ask Sleep where he is. Please."

It takes Sleep some time to answer, minutes passing without their candle lighting up. II and III almost give up by the time Sleep finally arrives. There's a twinge of annoyance in His voices when He asks what it is the vessels needed.

"We're worried about Vessel. Do you know where he is?"

"My First is with me, in my realm. He left you a note telling you of his eventual return, did he not? He left his bond open, did he not?"

"Well, yes, but-" III starts, as II squeezes his hand, worried.

"We're worried he's hurt. It doesn't feel like he's in your realm. His bond- Its not fuzzy around the edges in a mockery of rest-"

"My First will explain things to you when I return him here. You will leave us be until then, my vessels."

II bites his tongue, wanting desperately to say something snarky in return. Its understandable that the God wants to not be disturbed, but they're worried. So worried. For Vessel to disappear like this so soon after what happened to III. Neither of them thought it was without good reason.

II is angry, too. At the situation. Maybe a little at Vessel for doing this to them. He left them a note, sure, but if he is only in Sleep's realm, he could have just... No. The God never gives any warning. This is not Vessel's fault.

Fuck. II hates this. Hates the uncertainty of the situation.

"Alright..." III mutters, clearly not pleased either.

Softening His tone slightly, almost apologetically, "I will return him at the end of the day. Fret no longer, my vessels."

"Thank you, Sleep, for answering our call." III says, as the God's presence begins to fade.

A brush of feeling along their bond with the God, so unlike their own bonds yet still similar, brings acceptance and a small apology.

When II is sure Sleep is no longer near, he lets out a frustrated cry so unlike anything III has ever heard from him.

"If Vessel is in Sleep's realm, why didn't He just take Vessel's mind from his body, here in the house where we can watch over him? Why isn't Vessel here?" II asks, and III can only shrug helplessly, not really understanding.

III had heard them mention Vessel often being taken to Sleep's realm unannounced, but has never witnessed it themself. This situation is out of his realm of knowledge, and so he can't help II. III hates that. Its not their fault, Sleep hasn't done it since III has been around. Clearly, the grace period is over.

"To warn you in advance, Vessel is always... restless. When he returns from Sleep's realm. Desperate to write down what he gleaned from the God's cryptic messages. He explained once that the God will not let him leave until he understands whatever melody or lyric he thinks Vessel could use. I don't know if he'll return that way now, since it seems his entire body is in the realm instead of just his mind but- its better for you to be prepared, in case. If he's in a bad headspace, we'll have to ask him questions later."

"Alright." III takes a second to think of what to say, what to do, "Then we just... wait for him to get back?"

II sighs, "Yeah, that's what Sleep said."

III fiddles with II's fingers, hand still held over his. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to put my plan for the garden into action."

"Would you like help?"

"No, it's okay. I appreciate the offer. I want to work on it myself. Vessel helped me plan so much of it... And I need something to do. Wanna have us all be able to finish NieR together, don't really feel like practicing my bass right now."

"Okay sweetheart, I'm going to be in the practice room. I need to get out some of this frustration. I hate that Sleep doesn't understand where our worry stems from, and so doesn't seem to care about it at all."

III is still trying to find words to say when II stands, leaning down to give III a kiss on the crown of his head before disappearing out the altar room door. Sighing, III takes the snuffer and starts to put out the candles. The tips of their fingers still sting and he realizes he must have burned them worse than they thought.

II catches them in the upstairs living room on the way to their room, holding a red med-kit in hand, larger than any of the ones they've taken to keeping in their own rooms. "For your fingers, I can feel your pain. I'm sorry I didn't catch it before. This is the only first aid kit with burn cream."

II leads III to one of the small lounge chairs in the bare upstairs sitting room. As he applies burn cream and then some bandages around the tips of three of III's fingers, he comments on the healing slice on III's palm as III relishes in the coolness of the cream soothing the sting. "I'm glad to see this is healing well. It should be gone within a week or two more."

"Oh good, I feel bad every time Vessel sees the bandage and gets guilty again. And it makes it hard to play my bass sometimes. Still stings."

"He'll be happy when it's completely healed, and you never do something like that again." II states sternly, soft eyes going a little hard.

"I had to get the blade away from him." III mutters, chastised but still not thinking he was entirely in the wrong.

"You panicked, I know. I... It upset me too. I've never... I've never seen him do it before. Only ever helped with the aftermath." II says softly, gaze a little distant as they finish bandaging III's hands, keeping them in a gentle grip.

"I never want to see him do it again. I know how unlikely that is." III says bitterly, less upset at Vessel himself and more that he ever needed to resort to hurting himself at all to cope with whatever he was dealing with. "I... I'm afraid of blood now... I keep seeing him- Seeing him bleeding out in front of me- There's always so much blood- I- I hate it."

"Oh, Three, sweetheart..." II starts, but III cuts him off.

"I'm not going to be forever. I won't let myself. Red is the color of your cheeks and neck, your shoulders even, when you blush. Its the color of Vessel's eyes, like rubies. It was my favorite color, Before. Its my favorite color now. I'm going to work on it, no matter how long it takes. I'm going to overcome this fear."

There is such conviction in III's words that II could never doubt him.

"My fear of spiders... I'll work on it too, even if it means I'm only not afraid of you. I know you're not a spider, and even if you can manifest the arms of one, it shouldn't change anything but... but my brain thinks otherwise, despite my heart's protests."

"I appreciate that. I really, really do. It hurt so badly, when you were scared of me, Doll."

"I know sweetheart, I'm so sorry." II leans forward and wraps III in a hug, pulling him close.

Their breaths breeze gently on each of their ears, and they take in each others scent like oxygen. "Why don't we work on our gifts from Sleep together? I can get used to your spider power that way."

His voice in III's ear, lowered to a careful murmur so as to not hurt him with the noise so close, sends shivers down III's spine. Arousal simmers low in their gut at II's closeness becoming apparent, the warm weight of him pressed into III.

"Sure." III mutters, thinking about those lips so close to the sensitive, pointed shell of his ear.

"I really want to kiss you." III declares, and II laughs as he rolls his eyes though III can't see, a breathy, disbelieving thing that sends more tingles through III's body.

"Oh, you want to do more than that, sweetheart. To think, we were just having a serious conversation." II pulls back, away from III, just enough for their eyes to meet.

Blues of similar color, surrounded by a sea of darkness, darkened in interest. "When the opportunity arises, we're going to be having another serious conversation soon, with Vessel." III promises, the arm they wrapped around II's back when they started to hug sinking dangerously close to II's ass.

II simply watches III for a moment, studying them. Absentmindedly, II taps out a beat on III's thigh.

"I scared him off for a while when I confessed." II frowns, unsure. "He wouldn't, or couldn't speak to me until you got here. Tried to avoid me. Hurt himself."

III takes care to listen to what II is saying. They know it won't be easy.

"It can't hurt to try. I love him, you love him, I love you, so, I want to at least try to convince him." III insists.

Without warning, II leans forward and places a gentle, feather light kiss against the corner of III's mouth before barreling into their chest in a proper, tight hug.

"I love you too." II says into III's chest, turning as pink as III's cheeks.

This is the first time they've ever properly said it. The last time II uttered those words, his heart was mended and then shattered in the span of a few seconds and Vessel couldn't even look at him. II and III had intended to wait until they confessed to Vessel, but these last few days had been so hard despite the good moments. Even if it would shatter the both of them to pieces that only the other could hope to pick back up, at least they would have each other if Vessel ultimately didn't accept their love for him.

Bandaged fingers slip between the strands of II's hair, III's hand coming to rest on the back of his head after sliding up his back. "We'll tell him soon, and hope it goes well."

"I hope it does." II murmurs, words almost lost in the expanse of III's chest as it rises and falls with each breath.

::

While II feeds Elvira then heads off to the practice room, III changes out of their pajamas and brushes through the tangled mess of their hair, putting it in a bun and using little flower clips to keep his hair out of his eyes while he works. Then, III gathers up all of the stuff he and Vessel have collected since they started planning III's garden. Its all piled up in a room downstairs that's unused. III is unsettled, even with the confirmation Vessel would be back with them soon.

The sun is bright overhead when III exits the house, needing to take a couple trips back and forth to bring everything they need outside, along with their radio and phone. They had already marked where they wanted to start the garden, to the left of the house on its side where a small clearing barren of underbrush lays. III smiles a little as he walks the small stone pathway II had suggested that leads to where they wanted the garden. A short, rickety plastic fence meant to resemble wrought iron fencing lines the stone path with little solar-powered lanterns hanging off the spikes. They're barely any taller than III's shin, and thankfully very fake or the last time he came out here and tripped over it would have hurt far worse. III still thinks its cute though, and loves it even more since it was Vessel's suggestion, quiet and more of a question when he pointed them out at the store. II and III had loved the idea, so it was a no brainer to get some even when Vessel backtracked and apologized for the suggestion. III hopes to one day get real wrought iron fencing, that's higher too, to line the pathway on either side. Maybe they'll make a little planter space on either side of the porch and use those to line it.

They set their radio up beside the house out of the sun, making sure the batteries inside are in properly. Turning it on and clicking play, an album III had found at the thrift store begins to play out a tune, Latin vocals and ominous music.

Infesstisumum by Ghost starts off with its title instrumental track, then transitions cleanly into Per Aspera Ad Inferi, and III knows all the words. Idly, III wonders what happened to all of his clothes and belongings after he had died. It doesn't really matter though, not anymore.

III decides to mark out how big of a garden they want, then moves on to actually laying down the red bricks overtop the outline they dug using a spade. They take their time, humming along with the music, feeling the brick scraping their hands as he tries to carefully line them up evenly. Lets himself get lost in the work, anything to abate the worry still writhing inside him. The plot is large enough for III to have a multitude of flowers, and vegetables if they so desired. He's glad Vessel thought of that, helped him figure out the measurements so III would have the space he needed.

III works tirelessly, adding some of his own store bought soil to the dug up dirt, then digging some small holes for the multitude of seeds they intend to plant.

The first flower they intend to grow is daffodils, for rebirth, new beginnings. It is only fitting, even if III has technically been a vessel long enough for it to no longer be apt. Alongside the daffodils, III has chosen to plant bellflowers for gratitude. III thinks those would be lovely as offerings to Sleep during his Worship, or even just to keep on the altar table. He is truly so grateful to the God for picking them as a vessel, for bringing them to Vessel and II.

If these grow well, III plans on seeing if the others' favorite flowers will grow too, if they have favorites, that is. Giving the seeds some water, III sits, letting their hands hold them up as they lean back. Not much else to be done, except wait for something to grow. But that's alright, this is what III wanted. He loves his plants, loves taking care of them. A garden will be a bit different though, he admits, than taking care of already grown potted plants. A lesson in patience and perseverance.

Looking up, III still has a couple hours until the sun sets. Deciding that a walk couldn't hurt, III dusts off their hands on their jeans and heads inside to grab a journal and pencil to sketch with. Maybe a little snack, too, as his empty stomach grumbles in complaint. III contemplates disturbing II, but ultimately decides not to. His drumming reverberates through the upstairs floor faintly as the sound proof paneling on the walls does its best to keep the noise from traveling too far.

The radio is left by their bed, and III only brings his phone alongside his notebook and pencil. Heading back down stairs, III passes Elvira. He takes a moment to pick her up, turning in a circle or two as he smooshes his face to her fur and coos at the black cat like she were a baby. She stares at him in contempt the entire time but does not scratch him, so III considers it a win. She escapes upstairs with a hiss as soon as III sets her down and he laughs at the little creature.

Setting off outside again, III takes in the sounds of nature around him with a smile, easily naming off many of the plants scattering the forest floor in their head.

III pauses on his walk to pick a single flower of each little new section of flower he comes across. They gather a decent little bouquet, stems tucked carefully into the pockets of their dirty jeans so that the flowers stick out. III is glad they decided to wear a tight tank top, one that just barely exposes a sliver of midriff. The weather has quickly taken a turn for the warmer, III notices. It was still cold most days when he arrived, but spring seems to be transitioning into summer quickly.

Blue asters, blue salvias, and azaleas are all carefully sketched out, along with a couple different types of mushrooms. No matter how many times III wanders, he always comes across new things. He knows they will never know the forest quite like Vessel does. III has gotten lost numerous times, and no matter what, Vessel always seems to find them. III supposes it could be the bond, leading Vessel to them, but thinks it may be something different. Maybe it has something to do with the vines around the manor.

When the sun begins to set, the canopies above causing orange to dance along the underbrush, III decides its time to head back.

Vessel's bond is still calm, fuzzy at the edges. III hopes the calm is genuine, that Vessel is really alright. II's bond has been steadily leaking exhaustion, a tiredness that has been purposefully brought upon as the day wears on.

III frowns, deciding its time for II to take a break. III has been outside for hours, and even when he went inside a while ago, II hadn't left the practice room.

By the time III makes it back to the house, they first put all the flowers they collected in a little glass, then go to take a quick shower. Hair still dripping, III finds II exactly where he thought he would, in the practice room dripping sweat as he beats away at his drumkit. II notices them, but doesn't say anything, continuing to pound away a fast beat.

"Hey, Doll, the sun just set a minute ago. You should take a break."

"Is Vessel back yet?" II asks, stopping to wipe sweat off his brow, panting from the exertion he has undergone all day.

Shaking their head, III hates to tell II no, that Vessel hasn't turned up. "Damn it." II curses, standing up.

He shakes his legs out one at a time, wincing at the movement and the pain in his back. At III's concerned look, II says, "Overdid it."

"Go take a hot shower. See if it'll help. I'll make sandwiches." III says as II moves towards them at the door.

"Oh, thank you. I didn't realize how hungry I was." II thanks them as he walks by, taking a hand and placing an unthinking kiss on III's forearm as he passes.

A little stunned, III shakes it off quickly and turns to pull II back before he can get too far. III pulls him towards himself, not caring how sweaty II is, and places a big, loud kiss on II's damp hair.

II grumbles in mild complaint, not pulling away until III does so, soaking up the affection fondly.

"Go shower, Doll. You stink." III laughs, gently shoving II away.

"Why, thank you. You're ever so kind to me."

"Careful." III warns playfully, "You're beginning to sound like Ves."

III's smile falls almost immediately as what they said sets in, "I trust Sleep to keep their word, at least. Vessel will turn up soon, sweetheart." II tries to reassure, but it falls short in the face of his own worry.

"I know. Thanks, Doll. Go shower, I'll be in the kitchen."

III makes a few sandwiches while II is in the shower, of a couple different types. He makes one that Vessel usually favors, even if he doesn't need to eat. He always looks so happy when they make him food, or bring him his favorite drink. Or do anything kind for him at all, really. Its saddening, but so, so endearing.

III can't wait for Vessel to get back.

::

Vessel lays maskless in a bed of flowers, surrounded by orange and pink tulips, forget-me-not's, and alyssums. His God sits beside him, growing more flowers as time passes until the meadow is covered in them and Vessel is nearly lost in the sea of color.

As pleased as Vessel has been to spend this time with his God, to show Him what Vessel has been working on, to show how he has interpreted the lyrics or melodies Sleep has given him, Vessel longs to return to the other vessels. He hates the emotions that have been stemming from their bonds all day.

"Everything is all right, my Vessel. The others can manage a day without you near. Stay with me for a little while longer." Sleep croons, his translucent hand unable to touch Vessel as it flickers in and out of existence over Vessel's hair.

"But... They're... They're so worried. I don't like being the cause of it. I already cause enough trouble for them." Vessel says, attention being pulled back to the bonds he shares with the other vessels.

There have been hints of playfulness, minor pain from III that had almost caused Vessel to ask Sleep to return him right then, exhaustion seeping in to their bonds, and so much worry.

"They love you, my First. Any worry you may or may not have caused stems from that love."

"They do not love me." Vessel insists, turning his gazes away from his God.

"They do."

"Then I am not worthy of it." Vessel spits, moving to stand, backing away, arms held close.

His eyes are wild, distress leaking out of every pore at the turn this conversation has taken. The flowers are trampled guiltily under his feet, beauty squashed under his heel like everything else Vessel has ever touched.

"Not worthy. Will never be worthy." He mutters, raking his nails down his bicep, scratching at the skin harshly.

"They will decide themselves whether you are worthy of their love, and you are worthy of it. I would not have chosen you if you were not worthy." Sleep stands, too, their taller form towering over Vessel.

It makes him feel small.

Sleep would not have chosen them, if they were not worthy of the First.

"Maybe you made a mistake." Vessel's voice is weak, hunching over into himself to hide from the anger he knows is coming.

Who is he to question his God?

"Are you questioning my judgment, my Vessel?" Sleep's voices are stern, his presence filling the meadow and overpowering Vessel's every sense, but He is not angry.

Vessel shakes his head shyly, averting his gaze. Sleep's presence brushes against his mind so fondly, almost apologetic, featherlight touches on his cheek, his forehead. His cheeks alight with a fiery blush, and Vessel sends his love down the bond with his God, knowing at least He loves him back. There was no question in that alone.

"They love you, I swear it."

"I do not know what it feels like to be loved kindly."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't! Everyone who has ever loved me has hurt me. The other vessels do not hurt me, therefore they do not love me."

"You are wrong. The others love you dearly. They truly love you. Those fools who claimed to love you and then marred your skin and ripped your heart to smithereens did not love you."

Softer now, Sleep continues, longing to hold His first vessel but unable to truly touch him, "The second and third love you kindly. Their love is not painful. You feel their love for you everyday. It is in every kind word or thought, every gentle action. Every smile and laugh, imbued into their very souls. They worry for you now, out of love. Accept them, and they will show you if only you will open your eyes enough to see through your past and into your present."

"I do not know how to move past what has been done to me." Vessel says, choking on a silent sob that leaves his lips in a faint whimper.

Golden tears drip onto his clothes, falling onto the broken flowers beneath his feet as he keels over on a despaired moan, hands coming up to cover his face from view.

He feels too vulnerable under the eyes of his God. He wants his mask.

A weight settles over Vessel's face, a hard material pressing into his fingers.

Vessel misses Sleep's surprised expression, carefully neutralized before His vessel can see.

Sleep did not realize that His first had any control over this realm. Sleep had left that mask in the other realm, wishing to look upon his vessel properly with his own eyes. Perhaps... perhaps Sleep gave Vessel more of himself than he thought. Than he wanted to.

He has not had vessels before. Sleep wonders if he made a mistake. First, it was His Vessel being able to put other humans to sleep, then to eat nightmares. His Vessel has taken so many of Sleep's own features on...

Vessel sobs silently, grateful for the mask that had appeared over his face in a shimmery golden glow.

So long ago when Sleep first came to Vessel, Sleep wonders if he gave too much of himself to his First, eager to save him from the edge of no return.

His First's body was so damaged, Sleep could barely repair it, no matter the tight grip the God had on his vessels soul. His decision had taken too long. That indecision almost cost Sleep something dear.

"They will help you."

Vessel does not respond for a moment, wiping unending tears from under his mask. Finally, he responds, "I do not want to help myself. I... do not know how to care about my well being enough... to want help."

Sleep also takes a moment to think on what to say. The God... isn't sure how to respond to that.

How does he help someone who does not want to be helped?

"You asked to be loved, my First." Its a familiar saying, "The other vessels... they will help you learn to love yourself. They're trying, even now, to instill in you that you are not worthless."

"You are everything."

"I am ugly." Vessel responds, and Sleep does not say anything in return, only stares down at His first with such sad, adoring eyes.

"I am inadequate." Vessel spits, letting out another sob, a harsh thing that grates on his vocal chords.

"I am lost." Vessel mutters, removing his hands from his face for only a moment.

All six of his eyes meet as many of Sleep's own as he can, and Sleep sees the depths of Vessel's emotions in the crimson irises. There is such loathing in his eyes, directed inward. Sleep is lost in it, lost in the face of such human emotion. His Vessel has always been so expressive, so human. Sleep has always wanted to understand what it meant to be human. His vessel has shown him so much.

Vessel awaits the day his God casts him away. All Vessel knows is to hurt, to be left behind by those he loves. Trampled under the feet of those around him. He has been left as a broken shell, shattered fragments with no hope of being put back together. He has been this way so long he doesn't remember a time where he could look upon himself in the mirror and smile at his own reflection. Does not remember a time when he loved himself. Does he even wish to love himself? Vessel... isn't sure. Doesn't think so. No, Vessel knows so. There has never been any ounce of love towards himself, never any desire to cultivate any affection. His soul was torn asunder long ago. Vessel was used to always giving all he has to give, never receiving that same love in return. There was never any left for himself.

"I wish to return, now. Please." Vessel sobs, sniffling as he forces his next words out, "I... I will listen to your advice. I will try to let them love me, only if they want to. I will not tell them myself, and if it means I stay full of this love, waking up beneath it all for the rest of my existence, then so be it."

"As you wish, my Vessel."

Vessel returns to the Earthen realm in the same state he left, despair choking him. Blood was still splattered over his mask, still dripping down his front. His chest ached something fierce, every rib on fire and Vessel knows his heart would be racing, pounding furiously beneath those aching ribs had its home still been in his chest. A fog has settled over the ground, the moon bright above him as he sits up from where he was leant on a porch pillar, strewn over one of the steps. The vines have tangled gently in his hair, caressing his thigh as if in welcome.

Vessel moves to stand, and finds his legs do not want to carry him up the steps easily. Each leg feels as though a leaden weight is attached at the ankle, and something feels vaguely off in his mind. His throat is tight, tongue heavy in his mouth, and he feels vaguely nauseous with every step. Vessel is afraid. Always so afraid.

II and III had shared a quiet dinner and settled in on the couch under a thin blanket meant more for comfort than heat. II is the one who hears the quiet click of the front door shutting, a hand idly playing with III's hair as the TV plays some movie II was only half paying attention to. II carefully gets up from the couch after removing III's head from his thigh. As stressful as the day has been while they waited for Vessel to return, and III's time outside, they had fallen asleep only a quarter way into the movie they'd put on.

Its nearly midnight when Vessel stumbles in the door, bloody and out of it. He's already making his way up the staircase when II reaches him, vines reaching towards him, writhing in their will to be near. Vessel pauses at the top when II calls out to him quietly, a leaf brushing his ankle.

"Vessel?"

Vessel refuses to turn around, afraid of what is to come.

"I've returned. I apologize for worrying you." Vessel says simply, trying to escape to his room before II can see the blood.

II follows Vessel as he tries to escape to his room, catching Vessel by the hand long enough to get him to stop moving. Vessel freezes in place like a stone statue, moving no further, not even when II releases his hand with a soft apology. They try not to startle him with sudden touches from behind, and yet what else was II to do?

"Where did you go?" II asks, stern, but still concerned.

Vessel turns, pupils mere pinpricks in his fear. His bond is calm, but under the surface II can see a storm brewing in Vessel's eyes. II recognizes that the bond is lying to him. That Vessel is hiding.

Then II's eyes register the blood.

There was blood on his face, splattered along the cheek of his mask. A long line of red dripped down and off the jaw. It was beginning to crust on his chest, dripping down his stomach in rivulets to soak the waistband of his pants.

"This isn't mine." Vessel states, seeing the oncoming panic on II's face and down the bond.

"I killed them."

"What?" II says, struggling to hear Vessel's words, to move past the bloody mess on the taller man.

"Three's murderers. I hunted them down and slaughtered them." Vessel says, somewhat louder this time, a noose tightening around his neck with every passing moment.

"Do you hate me? Are you... Are you going to leave? Leave me?" He asks, finally moving his six eyed gaze up to meet II's, shadows from his mask casting them into a darkness that amplifies the hue of his glowing crimson irises.

There is resignation in his eyes, in the bond he finally lets reveal his true emotions. There is no regret. Just fear, and expectation. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, throat tightening further, and Vessel wants nothing more than to lock himself away in his room and pretend that the other vessels still cared for him.

For a time, II cannot speak. He isn't sure what to say. Vessel has just killed people. That isn't to say II hadn't wanted to do the same, after III had been so terrified. Especially when III woke up from a nightmare yesterday, in tears and unable to breathe through the immediate panic attack they were sent in to.

The bruise on III's face has darkened into a deep purple, swelling up. The man's fist was large, and it damaged a good portion of III's face, and every time II has seen it, it has filled him with unadulterated rage. If Vessel had killed the man when III had initially been assaulted, II would not have stopped him.

"No, of course I don't hate you, Vessel. I'm upset you didn't let me get a punch in. For what they did to Three."

Surprise flits down the bond, the expectation ebbing away to be replaced by confusion.

"You... never respond the way I think you will." Vessel admits hoarsely, nails digging into his arms, shining, golden tears dripping off his jaw.

II gently asks him not to do that, and Vessel listens, slowly lowering his arms, fingers twitching to dig back in. Vessel desperately needs to punish himself somehow, but he has to wait. He has to. He never wants to see that expression on III's face ever again, that haunted look when Vessel took a knife to his arm that was somehow worse than when he was confronted with one of their murderers.

"They killed our Three. I wonder, sometimes, if we could have prevented it. Yet, that thought leads me to wonder if Three would have come to us at all. I'm glad you avenged them." II reaches forward, hands hovering over the sides of Vessel's mask.

A silent question in the bond, in his eyes, and Vessel nods, a small thing but II noticed easily due to their closeness.

There is a shuddering breath in Vessel's ears, harsh wheezing that seems to fade with every second Vessel hears it. His hands tingle, nails digging into his sides hard enough to draw blood as he holds them to himself in a mockery of a hug.

He can see III dying before him, unable to stop those bastards from beating them to death. Unable to hold them as they took their last breath. Vessel will never be able to forget it. The memory will be imprinted into his soul for the rest of eternity unless his God grants him the mercy of destroying his everything its entirety. He will never escape the agony of the experience. The agony of watching one of the most beloved people in his entire life fade away before him, unable to touch, to comfort, to save.

"Sweetheart?" Vessel glances up from where his gaze has fallen to the floor, at III lying there beaten and bloody, chest slowly rising and falling, finding his view of II's concern is no longer obscured by his mask.

Vessel's six eyes are all glowing faintly, the symbol in the hollow of his throat too. His skin, black as night, has not faded back into only his arms and legs, shadows lingering around his edges in wisps. Sleep's presence is still prominent, satisfied and satiated and eager for him to return to the God's realm even though Vessel had just left. Gentle whispers tickle the shell of his ear, murmurs of sweet nothings that Vessel can't quite make out. Vessel wishes he could take comfort from them.

Swallowing harshly, Vessel forces out, "'m okay. Had to watch."

"Watch what sweetheart?" II is careful not to touch Vessel in case the other reacts badly to it, hands hovering awkwardly in front of him, longing to reach forward.

"Three die. Had to know who did it. Their names. Faces. Had to watch. Couldn't-" Vessel chokes out a gasp when the shuddering breaths in his ears cease suddenly.

He scrunches his eyes closed, trying to will away the frightening noise, the gruesome apparition. He knows it is not real. He knows it is only his mind playing tricks on him.

"Oh, Vessel, honey, I'm sorry." II bites his lip with furrowed brows, "I... I hate that you had to do that. Three has said their death wasn't... That it wasn't kind."

"It was awful. Sleep showed me with a dream." Vessel admits as he reopens his eyes, voice going softer, more hoarse, as he struggles to keep from sobbing again.

"He... I couldn't touch him. Couldn't help. Couldn't... I couldn't do anything. I could only watch." Tears leaking down his cheeks, Vessel drags his claws over his sides, hugging himself tightly.

The self-comfort action has never worked like Vessel wanted it to, but who else did he have to hug him Before, if not himself?

Vessel's throat finally closes on him, thorns wrapping tightly around his voice-box and ceasing use of his voice. No, no, he still has to talk to III. Vessel has to know if he's lost one of his beloveds, he has to know if III will hate him for what he has done. He can't- Not his voice, not right now. Please.

His breaths come out in shorter and shorter pants, a faint tremble setting into his limbs. Scratching at his sides, his claws leave angry little lines and welts. "Hey, hey, Vessel, sweetheart don't do that."

Foregoing the no touching rule II had enforced upon himself, he reaches out and forcefully takes Vessel's hands in his own. They're ice cold to the touch, one crusted with blood, as II slowly leads them over to the same little couch he and III had sat on earlier that day. Sitting them both down, II places Vessel's mask to the side, taking one of his hands and putting it on II's own chest.

Deliberate, deep breaths start out slow enough for Vessel to follow. It takes time for Vessel to try, and so II starts humming one of their songs off-key. Vessel doesn't cease trembling, but the hand against II's chest curls its fingers to hold it. Slowly, Vessel's breathing gets deep enough to match II's. His face is riddled with guilt and stress, and II doesn't know how to help him.

The med-kit II had used on III earlier still sits nearby, and II grabs it to use on Vessel's scratches. Its a familiar routine, to clean and bandage the scratches and cuts. II hates the familiarity, hates the lingering, slimy feeling of guilt that settles over Vessel's bond like a stubborn oil that won't go away.

"Mind if I clean those, sweetheart?" II keeps his voice gentle, taking in the scratches on Vessel's sides.

Vessel places a hand to his throat, shaking his head frantically to show II he can't use his voice. Vessel is worried II will be mad at him for not being able to speak during such a serious conversation.

"That's alright, sweetheart. No need to panic, I'm not upset."

II gestures at Vessel's injuries again and Vessel nods his head in reluctant  acceptance. A small smile slips onto II's face, his eyes scrunching at the corners. "Thank you." He murmurs, taking out antiseptic and bandages to place over the wounds.

II continues humming while he works, and Vessel watches II's face intently, only glancing away shyly when II looks up at him.

When he's done, having cleaned some of the blood that wasn't Vessel's off, II takes Vessel's phone out of his back pocket. "Here, was holding onto this for when you came back."

Nodding in thanks, Vessel takes it. When he turns the phone screen on, the lock screen is of III, spinning Elvira around with a happy little grin as the cat looks on at them, disgruntled. Its a bit blurry, but it makes Vessel smile. Vessel adores III, and Elvira.

"He didn't see me get that." II smiles mischievously.

'It's cute. Thank you :::D' Vessel types, showing II, even as his mind wanders briefly to the sliver of III's midriff exposed in the photo.

"You're welcome, Ves. I'm glad you like it."

'Do you want me to kill yours? For killing you, too?' Vessel types out, tilting his head to the side, taking in a careful, measured breath as he turns the phone around for II to see.

Vessel watches as II clearly thinks it over. Its cute, the expression II gets when he concentrates. A furrow between his brow that almost makes him look angry. Vessel sees it most when II drums.

"No. It was a robbery. They probably were desperate for money, for whatever reason. I... I do not want them dead." II decides, finally, brushing a strand of hair from Vessel's face.

His hand remains on Vessel's cheek, the other leaning in to the touch, eyes fluttering closed. II wants to kiss him. Wants to feel the chapped, bitten skin of Vessel's lips against his own. Wants to know what Vessel tastes like. Will it be the mint of his toothpaste, iron from where he has bitten his lips and inner cheeks so hard that blood spills into his mouth? Will it be something II can't name, but screams of Vessel no matter what it is?

II looks away from Vessel's lips, finding Vessel watching him in open curiosity, perhaps some form of invitation if II were to look into it further.

"I'm going to go wake III, get him in bed. They worked on their garden while you were gone, were outside all day. He came back inside exhausted." II says, moving to stand as his hands slip from Vessel's skin.

His gaze slips back to Vessel's lips, raising to one pair of his six eyes. They're still watching II intently and II feels as though he is going to be burnt right through with the intensity of Vessel's searing gaze. He barely notices when Vessel has turned the phone around for II to read what he wrote, easily typing with one pair of eyes on the keyboard.

'Are you going to bed?'

"Yeah, Three woke up early... then they realized you weren't in the house and woke me up too. I've been in the practice room all day."

Guilt overcomes Vessel's pretty features, flooding the bond.

'I apologize. I left a note.'

"Yes, we found it, honey, but it didn't abate our worry. We could barely feel you in the bond. We didn't know where you went. You're allowed to go anywhere you please... its just, you left the car, your phone... And you've never been inclined to leave the realm by yourself before. We were worried." II tells Vessel softly, trying to convey that they're not upset, they were only concerned. "Especially after what has just recently happened with Three."

'I apologize. It was a necessary endeavor though.'

"I realize that now, it was just concerning at the time, Ves."

Vessel doesn't type anything else out for a moment, seeming to just process what II has said. Slowly, he nods, contemplating something.

II watches Vessel bite his lower lip with a fang, his angel bites glinting in the low light of the lamp nearby. Watches Vessel's split tongue peeking out to lave the bitten skin with saliva.

II really wants to kiss him.

'Can I join you in bed?' As Vessel turns the phone around for II to see, his face goes up in flames as he realizes just what he typed and how it could be taken.

II laughs lightly, catching himself before he leans too far forward with the intention of actually kissing Vessel at the intense wave of affection that washes over him.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Three will probably join us later, if he wakes and realizes I put them in their own room. They stole one of my tater tots over dinner." II jokes, and Vessel cracks a smile, a lopsided little thing that sends II's heart pounding erratically in his chest.

"Go ahead and take a shower... Ah, damnit, I forgot I just did your bandages." II groans, "Take the shower anyway. I'll just redo them. And I can try to braid your hair. Three has been letting me practice small ones on theirs."

Vessel laughs, a faint little chuckle that II barely heard, but it causes a wide grin to split his cheeks. Vessel's surprised look at the sound simultaneously shatters II's heart and causes pride to swell in his chest.

II shoos Vessel on with a benign smile, dimple on full show, and Vessel wanders off to his room to grab a change of clothes. On his nightstand is a small vase, filled with all sorts of little flowers.  Vessel finds he can name a couple of them, balloon flowers and beautiful alyssums and one he thinks may be called salvia's. Balloon flowers can mean the desire for a friend to return, or everlasting love. Vessel wonders which meaning III meant, or if they picked them just for their beauty. Vessel doesn't remember what the alyssums stand for, but recognizes them from Sleep's realm. The sight fills Vessel with happiness. He knows exactly who left him these flowers.

A gentle finger traces down the length of one of the alyssums, and the flower's petals seem to glow a little at the touch, a white to match the color of the petals. Where they had been damaged on one of the petals, the flower seems to rejuvenate, leaning into Vessel's fingers.

Vessel tilts his head, curious, as he touches another of the damaged flowers, this one missing a petal entirely. A new petal unfurls under Vessel's finger, the purple-blue of the balloon flower glowing gently in Vessel's dark room. A grin splits Vessel's face, a wide thing that bares fangs and hurts his cheeks. With this gift, which Vessel thinks may be connected to his heart, he can keep the flowers III has gifted him alive far longer. He wonders if he can use it on other plants, since it clearly does not apply only to the vines around the house.

III doesn't stir when II hefts him up with ease, their head lolling onto II's shoulder. Getting them up the staircase surely must have looked comical from an outsiders point of view, with III being considerably taller than II. II leaves III in their clothes; dirt covered jeans, sweaty tank top and all then heads off to his room to change into his own pajamas.

Vessel joins II in his room around ten minutes later, with hair still dripping water droplets. A hoodie and sweatshirt hangs over his arm, and a pair of navy blue pajama pants covered in yellow stars drag the floor. In his arms is his plague doctor plushie, held close to his bare chest with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It leaves his Sleep given tattoos on display, and II adores the sight. II holds one arm out, a hand splayed open in invitation. Vessel shuffles forward, taking II's hand and letting the other pull him gently onto the bed. He sits at the edge of it while II brushes his hair, braiding it down between his shoulder blades.

His hair has grown longer since he first became a vessel, a bit past his shoulders now. It's a short braid, but Vessel is happy II has done it for him anyway. Vessel types out his gratitude as he remains seated in front of II.

Redoing Vessel's bandages is a quick, easy affair. When II is done and slides under the covers to get comfy, Vessel puts his mask on II's nightstand and changes into his shirt and hoodie, slipping under the covers. II yelps when Vessel's cold toes touch his calf, curling up at Vessel's side with a lighthearted joke about Vessel having frostbite. Vessel huffs a laugh, II's tone making it clear he is only joking.

They sit in silence while II settles down to sleep, tired eyes already fighting to stay closed as he blinks. One hand glides up Vessel's arm as the two face each other, Vessel's phone laid face down between them.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt." II whispers, fingers trailing back and forth over Vessel's bicep.

Goosebumps arise at the reverent touch, 'They had no chance to hurt me.' Vessel assures as he shows II his phone screen, and even now he doesn't understand why they do not want to seem him hurt.

Vessel is used to pain, he welcomes it. Pain is a constant companion, one he has always had by his side. Vessel can handle pain. He frowns, but doesn't say anything more. II slowly nods off after that, not quite reassured, hand slipping off of Vessel's bicep, settling into a peaceful sleep.

When Vessel is sure II is asleep, he lifts himself onto an elbow, taking his phone and snapping a quick picture of II sleeping beside him. His hair is splayed over the pillows, a calm expression on his visage, with one hand still holding Vessel's between them.

The camera button makes the phone let out a shuttering sound, and Vessel panics, clicking the screen off and laying back down quickly. II doesn't stir, only let's out a small snore that sends affection whizzing through Vessel's nervous system. When Vessel is sure II will not wake, he opens his screen again, six eyes squinting at the brightness and tries to figure out how to change his phone's lock screen. After he figures out how to dim the screen to save his eyesight.

III wakes up groggy a few hours later, seeing the empty bed and frowning in displeasure.

Vessels bond is open, shining with a silvery luminous beauty. Its peaceful, just being able to feel it. To know Vessel is alive. All the stress III had been feeling throughout the day seems to wash away under that gentle light. III practically hops out of bed, immediately noticing they're still in their dirty jeans and shirt from earlier. They're quick to change into a loose t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of pajama pants, making their way out of their room.

They see II heading downstairs for the restroom, dressed in a loose tank top and low riding shorts, hair mussed up on one side from sleeping.

"Is Vessel back?" III asks, rubbing one eye with a fist.

"Yes, he's in my room. Do you want to join us?" II responds, eyes soft as they look at III and their messy hair pulled back into a bun.

III nods eagerly, "Yeah, why didn't you just take me to your room anyway?"

III frowns, but II only smirks playfully, "You stole one of my tater tots. It was only fair."

"You little shit." III curses fondly, "Just for that I'm taking one every time we eat tater tots."

II gasps in mock offense, "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I absolutely will."

III smile is infectious, one easily slipping onto II's face to mirror it, but it falls quickly as he turns around to continue to the restroom.

He pauses before he goes downstairs, one foot on a step, turning his head to look at III once more. III is about to turn around to go get their stuff when II whispers their name.

III turns back around, a little confused at II's tone.

There's a contemplative expression upon his visage before he comes to a decision.

"We'll tell him in the morning, after breakfast."

III's face lights up in excitement, but II continues. "Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart. Not like I did... And he wants to speak with you when you wake up. He has something to tell you. About where he went today."

"Okay, and I know..." III says, a little confused.

They already knew not to get their hopes up too high, after what II had said happened last time, when II confessed to Vessel. How Vessel had freaked out, ran away and hid. It was one of the only times Vessel had ever snapped at II, he had said. But... what does any of this have to do with what Vessel did while he was away?

"Get your pillow, Three, and head on to my room." II says softly, closing the conversation.

III stares after him for a moment, before going to do what II said. Vessel is on his side facing the door, his thick blanket laid over him and his stuffy held close under his chin. All six eyes move from his phone to III as they enter, clutching their pillow. Vessel smiles, a small, hesitant thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Vessel, I'm so glad you're back! I missed you, and we were worried!" III lights up much like he did earlier, bounding over to Vessel.

Vessel sets his phone on II's nightstand, and III does the same when he's close enough. "Scoot over, I wanna cuddle."

Vessel huffs a laugh, doing as III asks and moving to the middle of the bed. He does not speak, but a hand comes to glance over his throat as he shakes his head, all six eyes apologetic, and III understands. II comes back soon, finding III already cuddled up to Vessel on one side, showing him a video they'd found of cats getting startled at mundane things. There's a smile on Vessel and III's faces, III laughing loudly and shaking the whole bed with it.

Vessel flinches back from the noise slightly, smile falling into thin lips. There is determination in the bond, a firm resolve, and Vessel leans his shoulder onto III's, who places their own head on Vessel's in return. III sends down his feelings of pride in Vessel, and Vessel gently sends back hesitant acceptance. II climbs over both of them, and Vessel picks up his plushie from where it laid at his side, pulling it close to his chest instead.

II, desperate to give Vessel any affection he can before he inevitably pulls away from them come morning, leans forward to place a kiss on Vessel's shoulder, wrapping a hand around Vessel's and scooting impossibly closer to rest his head over the lingering tingle of the kiss he left. III, seeing the action, makes one of his own, leaning over and placing a kiss to Vessel's temple, and then getting up on an elbow to lean over and kiss II on the forehead.

Vessel is warm inside, and can feel his body growing warmer from II and III laying on either side of him, both cuddled as close as they know Vessel will allow. No hands stray close to his neck or chest, no ear too close to hear his lack of heartbeat through his many layers.

When morning comes, Vessel will keep a modicum of distance from III. He knows it's necessary for when III no longer wants him near, but for now Vessel will soak up any affection they'll give him. For now, they will giggle and laugh at the continuous videos III shows II and Vessel. He will let himself have this, even as he fears it will be torn from his fingers come morning.

[theadventurerslog]

Quest For Glory III: Wages of War | Part 2

The Adventurer's Log

More exploring of Tarna and shoppin'. Well, a bit of shopping anyway. I didn't have much time before the bazaar emptied out for the day. I also wanted to keep an eye out for the katta, Shallah, to deliver the note for Shema. I bought some honey and a bead before evening fell.

I stopped in on Kreesha and was able to chat with just her while Rakeesh was still stuck with, I mean, conversing with Rajah. I asked her again about magic and she offered to perform a ritual with me for a magic staff. It's an amplifier and a container of the user's spells. It's a thing of magic and doesn't really exist in the world so it needs to be summoned each time it's used. But I needed to find some magic wood.

In other news I learned Rakeesh was once the king of Tarna but gave up his rule to defeat the Demon Wizard.

But perhaps not permanently I guess.

Then I returned to the inn, which is pretty at night.

I also discovered each table can be examined for a different silly result.

Then it was bedtime.

My room has a storage chest so I don't have to carry everything with me but my weight was still fine so I continued to cling to all my things.

I ate my breakfast which was "very tasty, even if it was a bit strange." which they make a point of saying every time. Ohhh, that foreign weird food.

Day 2 and more shopping. I bought some fruit, a waterskin, and there were zebra skins for sale, but I didn't currently have a use for that, which didn't stop me from the beads, but they were cheaper. I wanted to make sure I got what I figured I'd need sooner first. Still trying to avoid the QFG 1 money woes...

I another section of the bazaar I found Shallah.

He was happy to hear about Shapeir which he misses though he seems happy here. And I delivered the letter from Shema who turned out to be his aunt. Points! I also bought a carving of a leopard.

The meat seller is a dog person and he was very...enthusiastic. Very chatty. Very.

I bought some meat! I made him very happy. He otherwise didn't have much to tell me, but not much in a lot of words. But he was very happy.

There was also an amulet salesman who seemed shady.

I didn't have the option to buy any amulets. Maybe just as well. Or maybe not. What if there are moose out in the savanna! Savanna moose! I could use a moose repelling amulet; we've had one in our yard before.

Anywaaay:

There was also a cloth salesperson selling cloth and robes. And a drummer drumming away.

After my shopping, I still had plenty of day left, so I nervously decided to poke out into the savanna. Maybe I could find some of what I needed before having to return in time for the coming peace council. I figured I could at least hopefully find the fruit of the venomous vine since I had some directions there (South east of Tarna).

And I very quickly ran into a big dinosaur thing.

That was a scary first thing to run into! But flame dart saved me as usual. I got a beast horn from it.

Then I ran into some kind of crocodile man critter...and died. And I forgot to save after that dino fight! Which means I lost the horn too whatever it might be for. Not off to a good start here.

At least I got a fun death message...

I fought another lizard guy on my reload and won at least... yay.

I found the venomous vines with the fruit I needed for the dispel potion.

And meerbats, how cute.

Good old fetch spell got me the fruit safely.

If you get too close to the vines they grab and poison you and you need to cut yourself loose causing them all to disappear. Not helpful if you still need the fruit. And I was hoping for a death, but I guess not.

I couldn't figure out if I could do anything with or for the meerbats, so I left.

I started to head back to Tarna, but then because the game told me I didn't want to be late for the morning's meeting and forced me back, automatically dumping me to bed at the inn. Can't complain this time! Saved me a trip back, though I may have wasted a healing pill, and my trip out was fruitful.

The next morning opened with the peace talk.

So, emissaries were sent to the Leopardmen to find out the problem. They got attacked by something unknown. There was one survivor, Khatib Mukar'ram and through his account and evidence, the attack looked to involve the Leopardmen. Reeshaka Dar Kreesha wasn't found and was presumed dead or captured by the Leopardmen.

Then there was arguing whether they should be taking revenge and whether they even be helping the Simbani people against the Leopardmen because ew, humans. Kreesha cut in to say that her magic indicates the involvement of Demonic activity. If they're involved they're the true enemy here.

Rakeesh swore on his honour to bring peace to Tarna. If he fails he'll be deemed honorless and be banished. And I'll be going along with him on my own honor I guess, even if I did give up being a Paladin.

Then we were sent to Rajah again.

More grumping and arguing and I was sent out to meet Rakeesh at the gates once they were done.

So then it was off to the Simbani village together while Rakeesh gave me more information.

Probable demon involvement. He also talked about the Simbani and that they have a great distrust and dislike of magic--so once again don't use magic there. Sigh. But he also suspected that's part of the root cause of the conflict with the Leopardmen who are magic-users. Being a magic-user myself he suggested I might be able to gain their trust and help to convince of the serious consequences of going to war.

We also made camp and he noted that if I haven't gotten one yet I should get a tinderbox when I return to Tarna. So, that's something I missed! I didn't see who sold them, but definitely something I'll look for when I get back, so I can camp out if need be.

Then we arrived.

We met up with Uhura and she brought us to see their leader, the Laibon.

The Laibon is also all rah rah war. If the Leopardman chief was brought to his knees before him then they could have peace. So, this was going swimmingly.

The Leopardmen have always been their enemy. They're sneaky and can't be trusted. Worst of all is they use magic. Cue me doing a little shuffle step over here.

Now they've stolen the Simbani's Spear of Death and for that they shall die. Then they'll longer be their enemy.

Rakeesh still tried, hoping for a way to resolve the conflict without waging war. He wanted the Laibon and the Leopardman Chief to speak their grievances before Hall of Judgement in Tarna in hopes of a peaceful resolution. The Laibon wasn't having it and we left.

We were moved to Uhura's hut to speak with her. Rakeesh commented on the Laibon being gracious to see us, but he got the feeling we weren't welcome. Uhura noted that while much honor was lost with the Spear of Death being stolen, the Laibon not listening wasn't right.

Laibon grumps aside, the Simbani still held a celebration for our arrival.

Then we went to the hut we'd be staying in. Rakeesh decided he'd head back to Tarna at first light. He didn't believe the Laibon had told us everything and wanted me to see if I could earn his trust and find out more. He also wanted me to search for the Spear of the Death as finding it could be used to convince the Laibon that war isn't necessary. And he further advised me to find magic wood for the Magic Staff from Kreesha. Not too many asks here, buddy.

He also provided some general directions. The jungle is to the east. The Leopardmen have a hidden village there protected by magic. There's also supposed to be a magical lake somewhere to the south as well.

I went to bed and sure enough, Rakeesh was gone the next morning.

Next time I'll explore the Simbani Village and whatever else I'll fall into. I need to get back to Tarna for a tinderbox too... I have no idea where to go for magic wood but finding that soon would be nice, so I can shop and deal with it in one return trip to Tarna. But exploration first!