#And like... A dozen other title variants

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

What To Do When They Dig You Up, Part 1

okokok, so I got inspired by this super fucked up (affectionate) fic by @tavina-writes, and with permission, I decided to start on a sequel. I'm posting it in chunks as I finish them in hopes that it will be enough to make me, you know, actually make it to the end of this thing.

warnings: past branding and abuse, ptsd and panic attacks, discussion of fucked up self-image, public humiliation.

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

“You don’t want to be here today,” Meng Yao murmurs as he guides Nie Huaisang out of the throne room, leaving their mutual master pacing in front of the throne with a sharp grin like a tiger expecting a feast.

‘What could possibly be different about today compared to any other?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

The hallway is colder than usual, making his face and wrists and back throb hot, and he sinks into the pain, barely aware of Meng Yao’s gentle hands on his shoulders and the act of putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s not until Meng Yao lets him go and opens a door that he realizes he has not been taken back to his master’s bedroom. 

“Yao-ge?” he asks, and his voice sounds as alien to his own ears as the chill of the hall.

Meng Yao presses his mouth into a thin line, glancing back the way they came. “A-Sang,” he says carefully, having long stopped calling him ‘Gongzi’ because hearing the old title had made him retch more than once. “Do you trust me?”

‘What kind of question is that?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

Nowadays, Meng Yao is always the one who puts him back together after his master takes him apart. The ebb to the flow, the pull to the push, the carrot to the stick. 

Nie Huaisang does not know the rules to this new variant of the game he has been trapped playing ever since his escape failed.

He has never asked either, afraid that his one respite will be stripped away, either by Meng Yao reporting on him or simply by his master’s whim.

At least Meng Yao seems to realize that he has pressed a raw nerve, because he shakes his head a little. “Nevermind. Just… stay here for now, alright? Will you do that for me?”

Nie Huaisang manages to nod and steps into the room, and the door swishes and clicks closed behind him.

The room is sparse on furniture, and still cold.

He is starting to wonder if the cold is part of him and not something to do with the palace.

There are robes draped over a chair, heavier ones than the gauzy things his master likes to see him in. They don’t fit exactly right, the hems just a little short at his wrists and bare ankles- and he knows who they must belong to. 

“Thank you, Yao-ge,” he mumbles to the empty space around him, then layers them against the chill.

There is a barred window that is the only thing of interest. 

He pulls a chair over and tries to sit, then winces and decides on the cushions on the floor instead.

All he wants to see is the sky, anyway.

—

The Nightless City has its name for a reason. Even as the true sun vanishes, there is enough light from the fire pits and the many lanterns that he can only see the very brightest stars.

He has heard noises on the other side of the door; running feet and low but urgent voices. But none of them have been Meng Yao, so he has mostly ignored them, too intent on savoring the most peace and quiet he’s had since-

A flash and the sound of a small explosion jolt him out of the light doze he was drifting into, and he lurches to his feet and stares up through the window at the flare for what seems like ages before his mind finally registers that it’s not a Wen flare.

And then there is another. 

And then three more from a different direction.

Soon there are dozens, in multiple colors and sect symbols, and behind him, he can hear the chaos in the hallway briefly rise, then abruptly cease.

When he starts laughing, it seems like it’s coming from outside himself, from a non-existent other person in the room. Only when the laughter gradually morphs into tears does the feeling slowly gather in his chest, pulling inward from outside him.

Even that has faded by the time a fist hammers on the door, leaving him completely numb as he turns to face the intruders.

They are wearing the colors of his sect and the one in front at least has a proper saber, but he doesn’t recognize any of them… another note on the very extensive list of reminders of just how long it has been since his one and only ill-fated attempt to escape this place.

The man in the lead looks him over -barefoot, hair loose, borrowed robes- and his lip has already started to curl in disgust before his gaze focuses needle sharp on the horrible mark of ownership that covers half of Nie Huaisang’s face.

“Zongzhu has us spread out looking for you,” he says, clearly irritated to have been given such a ‘useless’ task when he could have been doing something of actual importance.

Nie Huaisang does not snip back at him. 

Nie Huaisang keeps his head down and follows the small knot of mixed soldiers and cultivators, and doesn’t respond when one or another pushes him out of annoyance at how slow he’s moving. He realizes they’re taking him back to the throne room and dread begins to well up from his stomach into the back of his throat.

It is nothing like the dread he has lived with every waking moment previously, thick and sticky and weighing his whole body down as though drowning in wet clay. No, this dread is sharp and so cold it burns its way through his body like the winters back home, leaving his nose and fingers and toes prickling and his lungs feeling like he has inhaled needles.

The door opens and his escorts move aside.

His brother is staring at him.

So is everyone else gathered in the throne room.

The dread cracks and shatters under the gush of mortification that floods down his throat, leaving him so dizzy that his legs refuse to hold him.

All Nie Huaisang can do is kneel, head down, as the crowd -people he knows and people he doesn’t and so many people, people, people- erupt into gossiping, some whispering and some not bothering.

Within moments, it all blends together into a dull wordless sea of noise, which he thinks might be his mind’s last desperate attempt at preserving itself under this final assault on the barest shred of dignity he has left.

Was this intentional?

Is it another layer of the game?

Does that matter?

Trembling and struggling to just keep inhaling and exhaling air, he decides that it doesn’t.

He lost.

He lost, he lost, he lost, he has been losing ever since he proved himself too pathetic to get out of this on his own. 

He says nothing in his defense- does not apologize, nor beg- because what good would it do? 

His brother has to despise him, as he's practically an embodiment of his worthlessness as a Nie now. 

Marked for ownership by their most hated enemy; a grotesque mockery of everything their sect -their family- stands for. 

At best he can probably hope for exile... much more likely is that the stain on their name will be removed directly.

A heavy hand comes to rest on his back and he involuntarily cringes, curling in on himself even more. His brother’s voice cuts through the dull roar around him and in his head, but he can’t understand the words.

More murmuring, then-

“Out. Now!”

He doesn’t mean to jump at the snarled command; doesn’t mean to recoil as some long-forgotten sense of self-preservation suddenly flares to life from under the piles and piles of ash that Wen Ruohan had made of his mind. The way his head jerks up like that of a startled deer is completely involuntary.

They are alone. And his brother… is angry. 

Angry, angry, angry, so angry.

But not… but not at him.

The other big hand lays Baxia down on the cold stone floor then comes to rest on his face, broad palm covering the inner swirl of the brand and thumb covering one of the flames that extend over his nose in a way that is hot, but -for once- not painfully scorching.

“Didi. Who. Did this?” his brother asks, a deep rumble like the sound of a rock fall that threatens to become a whole avalanche.

It should be an easy answer, and yet it takes him once, twice, three times to manage to get his voice and mouth to form the words “Wen Ruohan did it himself.”

Da-ge’s eyes narrow. “No one else?”

He doesn’t know what Da-ge is searching for. For him to lie? 

The dread starts to creep back in. Is this a test? Is he failing? Will he be exiled or executed after all? Should-

The hands on his face and back tense briefly, then gentle, and so does Da-ge’s expression. “Nevermind,” he says. “We’ll talk about those things later.

And then Nie Huaisang finds himself swept into a near-bruising hug, the unblemished side of his face pressed into Da-ge’s shoulder.

Oh, this-

This-

His breath hitches in his throat, and then comes out as a sob.

—

There is a banquet.

Nie Huaisang does not go, instead remaining holed up in the new room he has been given for as long as the logistics of breaking down what remains of the spoils among the Sunshot participants will take.

He has yet to find anything suitable for covering his face, and though he has already embarrassed himself and his brother by appearing in front of some of those allies, there will be… others attending, and he wants to put off having to be seen by them as long as possible.

Someone leaves him food and wine at the door. 

That’s good enough.

There is one thing he needs to do, however, and once it is late enough that he can be reasonably sure he won’t run into any revelers, he silently slips out of his room.

Just his luck that Da-ge and Xichen-ge are walking down the hall just as he exits, but they are fortunately too distracted to notice him, talking urgently in low tones.

“-and my answer is still no, Xichen. I will have enough to deal with looking after my flesh and blood brother.”

“Mingjue-xiong-”

He decides he does not want to know what they are discussing, and continues on his way.

The last time he saw Meng Yao was when he was being hidden away from whatever -likely Wen Ruohan’s death- was happening in the throne room. 

He has heard that Meng Yao has finally won legitimization.

He just wants to see for himself, that’s all.

—

Of course, he hadn’t expected to immediately be placed on the same level as his half-brother, but Jin Guangyao had hoped for… something more when his father had decided to officially declare their familial relationship.

Something more than continuing to be the hands that conducted the dirty work to keep others clean.

Something more than a private -public- joke to be snickered at as his family got deeper into their cups.

Sitting on his temporary bed, he sighs and rubs his face. At least Nie-zongzhu hadn’t picked any especially tumultuous arguments… not with him, anyway. That’s a good sign, considering…

He wishes A-Sang had been there. He understands why he wasn’t, but nonetheless, he wishes A-Sang had been there. 

He hadn’t been present for the reunion of the Nie brothers in the throne room, having been carrying out his father’s demand elsewhere, but he had heard about it by eavesdropping on the eavesdroppers, and he just wants to know if-

-no, nevermind. 

He will check up on his once-charge in the morning, once things have settled and he doesn’t have to worry about being bitten by a certain protective guard dog of a brother.

He finishes shedding his boots, and is just about to blow out the candle and settle under the covers when there is a soft -very familiar- pattern rapped at his door.

Surprised, but not unhappy, to hear it, Jin Guangyao gets up to answer it and offers a smile to his visitor.

[purble-turble]

Random question for the battle nexus but what does everyone call each other?

Sure we know which au’s they are from and call them by those names, and there are the more prominent variants like Demon King Red(because there’s no mistaking him) that physically stand out, but how are the MK’s, Red Son’s and Mei’s telling themselves apart? (I really hop I worded this correctly.)

Or are they actually calling Prisoner MK just that, or TT Red’s MK?

Oh my gosh Anon, this is kind of silly but that hadn’t even occurred to me haha!! They probably all just go by their regular names.. I mean, I can’t imagine they call Prisoner MK that, it would be so rude and he’d hate it. Yeah, if someone were to go into a bar at the Battle Nexus and shout “hey MK” they’d get like fifteen different MK to look over in response.. it’d be pretty hard to find the person you’re actually looking for. So I think that when a trio gets separated and is trying to find each other, this is exactly the sort of thing that happens.

I think the way to fix it is that Jin and Yin have to be on top of this. When new universes are introduced to the Nexus, they have them fill out some paperwork and they get a little ID card. (Which I am pretty sure someone else has mentioned as an idea for the Nexus before, but forgive me I cannot remember who or how long ago) If no one in the group has a unique title or moniker or any distinctive physical features that sets them apart, then Jin and Yin will just assign the universe a random ID code and adds it to their card. They get to keep a card so they can identify each other and Jin and Yin file their own cards away in their own filing system (aka the big pile of papers in that office that they never go into except to throw some papers on the desk and forget about)

This all leaves me with the hilarious visual of a scene where a brand new version of MK, Mei, and Red Son get shoved through a portal and find themselves in the entrance to a massive stadium. There’s dozens of people who look exactly like them (and some who don’t quite look like them but also kind of do) all walking around chatting and acting like this is all totally normal.. then a cart with a big SECURITY label on it comes screeching up to them with Jin and Yin behind the wheel who present the confused trio with some paperwork to fill out that’s asking all kinds of personal questions about who they are and what their lives are like and if any of them are in a relationship. It’s awkward and confusing but eventually Jin and Yin hand them these messily filled out cards with pictures of their confused faces that they took just a few seconds ago and then they zoom off just telling them to have fun!

So yeah, I’m sure most of them all just keep using the names MK, Mei, and Red Son and there’s confusion in that respect, but at the very least if they absolutely need to identify what universe someone is from and aren’t able to do it by appearance, then they’ve got these cards they can use.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Not a Pretty Girl

There’s a really bad ass Ani DiFranco, GenX angst-y song I grew up with that has this title. This song was my personal anthem for probably the entire decade after I learned of its existence. If you’ve not read my piece called It’s Rex Manning Day, or any of the dozens I’ve written about my relationship with my family growing up or about how awkward dating was for me before I met J, this song made me feel validated.

Not only because I agree with all of its lyrics, but actually because I’d never been called a pretty girl. Not once. Ever. Not from my family (because they don’t dole out praise in general, at least not to me, and never have at any age I was). Not from friends. Not from boys/men I dated. Ever. Even the boys/men I dated that I knew truly liked me. Even the friends I know were and still are real and sincere. That’s because I am not a pretty girl. I’m not a troll or anything (I think). But physical attractiveness is never the first thing people notice about me. Which is okay. I’m a feminist and a humanist and I don’t think a person’s inherent worth has anything to do with what they can offer other people or any other arbitrary trait they possess, particularly one as obviously subjective as physical appearance. Like Ms. DiFranco says, ‘I wanna be MORE than a pretty girl.’ But… Never ever hearing that word has oddly set me up with the same insecurities as women who do nakedly value ‘pretty’ because they’ve been socialized to think ‘pretty’ is an important part of being a woman. (I have too…we got the same socialization. Even Ani DiFranco did. That’s why she wrote a song called Not a Pretty Girl…saying what you’re not is just as focused on the same descriptor as saying what you are.)

And it’s not just ‘pretty.’ That word has a lot of variants… Attractive Beautiful Cute Hot Lovely Sexy Appealing Desirable Easy on the eyes

And there are a whole lot more. But I’ve noticed that ‘pretty’ (and its synonyms and derivatives) is used a lot in praising girls and women, but used less often with boys and men. Almost never ‘pretty.’ Or ‘beautiful.’ Or ‘lovely.’ These are ‘feminine’ words. I know men who get upset at being called ‘cute’ too, so that’s kind of on the feminine fence too. I notice how often and how early we start pouring these words onto girls. From birth, really. ‘She’s so pretty…Oh, she’s beautiful…What a pretty girl…you’re so pretty…you look so pretty in <whatever>…’

This sounds great. I mean, who doesn’t want to hear they’re pretty/attractive/whatever? We shouldn’t stop telling girls and women this; we should start ALSO telling boys and men this. Right? But when physical appearance is the main focus (or the only focus) of praise for girls and women, it creeps into the subconscious in ways that are hard to combat and almost impossible to eradicate. For nearly all women. Women start believing that being pretty is the most important thing (or even the only important thing) they can be. They start being really insecure about being pretty and maintaining whatever societal or community or personal standards of beauty become a leading concern for them. This insecurity drives a lot of industry, at least here in the US where I live. Diets. Fitness. Make-up. Fashion. Hairstyling. Media like magazines and television shows centered around all of that. (The Biggest Loser…Say Yes To the Dress…Extreme Makeover…there are so many…) And I have friends and family who have some serious insecurity about being pretty and all the requirements that hangs on women, because of how often and seriously their beauty was focused upon in their youth, and is an ongoing focus. (Some of these women are GORGEOUS, by the way. Seriously. The person I met from Tumblr who stuck with me the longest after meeting me is one of these people. She is one of the most physically beautiful people I’ve ever met in person. But that doesn’t stop her anxiety about beauty standards. In fact, it might exacerbate it.) Women have to actively work against using physical beauty as a measure for their own worth. Even someone like me, who never got called pretty. Because by NEVER being told I was pretty (or any of those related words), I believed I wasn’t feminine…I wasn’t worthy…something was wrong with me. And maybe I needed to change my whole entire self to get to ‘pretty.’ So I could be seen and valued the way I wanted to be.

Little did I know that the girls and women who got praised with ‘pretty’ were suffering a different strain of the same disease. Theirs was just more like, ‘OK. I’m pretty. How do I stay pretty? What happens if I’m not pretty anymore?…’

And all of this shit isn’t fair. So I wouldn’t want to start putting that on men too.

J tells me I’m pretty sometimes, in other words and ways. He’ll say I look nice. He’ll tell me he likes my smile…the way I look at him… I know that’s, ‘I think you look pretty/beautiful/attractive now/when you do this/wear this/whatever,’ and that’s a more specified form of ‘pretty,’ and I appreciate that. I want J to think I’m pretty and find me attractive. Clearly. And I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting your romantic partner to find you attractive or wanting to look good to and for them. And I admit, I used to (and still sometimes do…let’s be real) get down about not ever being called ‘pretty’ (or any of those other words), from the time I was a little girl into middle age now (when…let’s face it…I’m not going to be called pretty MORE now…America is obsessed with youth, particularly with women). But I’m actually glad and grateful now that ‘pretty’ has never been a main focus for anyone who values me. I know they value me for more core aspects of myself. Like my integrity and intelligence and kindness and generosity and courage and compassion. And I’m especially glad those things are what J focuses on. Those things aren’t dictated by some arbitrary societal mold I have to fit into. Those things are me.

Now I’m kind of glad I’m not a pretty girl. And I’ve never really been a pretty girl.

And to all the pretty girls out there…your age or weight or hair color or skin color or texture or whatever…isn’t what makes you pretty. Your soul does. That’s something that lasts in a permanent way, no matter what changes it endures. At least, that’s why I think you’re beautiful anyway. ❤

[digi-marketing061]

How Do Google Algorithms Work?

Google algorithms are likely familiar to you if you follow online marketing trends or even simply often search the web for information. But have you ever questioned what precisely they are?

Let's first examine what an algorithm in general is in order to comprehend what a Google algorithm is. A set of guidelines for resolving a conflict in a limited number of stages is the traditional definition.

An algorithm creates the conditions for the computer to carry out a highly particular job in computer language. For instance, the computer may be set up to generate random numbers between 1 and 100. This is a job with a clearly defined start and finish. It is hence finite.

Consider an algorithm as a mathematical equation for another perspective on it. You could be asked to count down from 100 to 80 in 4s. Following that, you might repeat, "100, 96, 92, 88, 84, 80." On paper, you could be required to explain in a column how you arrived at each response by deducting 4. Despite the fact that this is a simplified analysis of an algorithm, it will aid in the comprehension of more intricate variants.

What is the significance of Google algorithms?

The Google algorithm is a set of rules Google utilises to determine the order in which websites appear in its search results. Google's complicated system extracts information from websites and tries to determine what users are looking for. It also ranks websites based on relevance and quality.

Google's algorithms are based on the same basic definition and  rule of an algorithm that we discussed. Think of when you last looked for something using Google. No matter if you searched for "cute cat videos" or "shoe stores in Pennsylvania," the search engine provided millions of results to select from.

How did it determine what results to display and in what order? a mathematical algorithm.

Google has a complex algorithm to display search results that are updated often. Although Google doesn't make the algorithm's exact details public, there are some aspects that we can confirm for certain have an impact on the likelihood of a site showing up in search results for specific keywords:

The keyword’s appearance in the page’s title, header tags, and meta description

The amount of naturally occurring, organic links to the page

The way the website performs on mobile devices, such as smart phones and tablets

Of course, these are just some of the characteristics the Google algorithm explores when determining how to deliver and rank pages. There are likely dozens, if not hundreds, of others.

How does Google decide which factors are most important?

When Google's algorithm "reads" a webpage, it assigns a pre-determined numerical value to each feature it's looking for on the webpage. The numerical value is added to the final product. Therefore, the page with the most appealing features will rise to the top of the list of results because the algorithm gives it more significance.

The calculations made by Google's Google platform are carried out extremely fast, and rankings could fluctuate when web developers alter the elements that affect rankings on a site or on one page.

So, the rankings given by the Google algorithm are amorphous. A website that is ranked third in a search result could climb to the top spot or fall to tenth if the content on it and other pages listed in the rankings change. Most of the time, the top positions are held by businesses that implement search engine optimization also known as SEO, on their websites.

Click on the link SEO Training in Lahore to learn more about SEO.

What is an algorithm for search? Google algorithm to search?

The fundamental Google algorithm is utilized for every search made on the website; however, it is adapted by the user. For example, someone who enters "buy running shoes" wants extremely different results from one who types "cat videos."

The algorithm is adapted for every search, and it can be changed by minor changes in spelling or word order. The results are then provided to the user, who will then choose which website to visit.

This happens quickly. Furthermore, it demonstrates that Google's algorithm has been developed to provide a variety of personalization. Over the last few years, the search engine Google has become more responsive to provide suggestions when a keyword is typed in the search bar by the person using it. This indicates an entirely different algorithm, which is used to produce individual drop-down menu suggestions for searches based on the search history of the browser along with other elements.

What is an algorithm for SEO? Google algorithm to optimize SEO?

As we have mentioned before, As mentioned previously, the Google algorithm primarily uses keywords to determine rankings for pages. The best method to rank for specific keywords is through SEO. SEO is basically a method to inform Google that a site or website page is focused on a certain area.

A few years ago, it was commonplace for many websites to "keyword stuff" their content. It was essentially that they believed they were assuming that Google's algorithm would think that the more keywords included, the more significant the page's content should be.

After Google discovered that, they modified their algorithm in order to penalize sites that overburden websites with keyword-laden pages along with other "black hat" SEO practices. This is why you should stay clear of any strategy used to outwit search engines. While they might not be aware immediately, Google will eventually pick up on the pattern of what you are trying to accomplish, and your ranking will be affected.

Want to learn more about SEO. Click Here for SEO Training in Lahore

What is the future regarding the Google algorithm?

Google seldom gives any information about any changes to its algorithms unless they are significant. Smaller changes are usually made on the inside and can only be seen as small ripples. It's essential to keep abreast of Google's announcements on algorithm changes. However, it's equally crucial not to get too caught up in the algorithms or even try to "game" them.

It is better to just acknowledge the power that the Google algorithm has and then work towards creating the most effective website you can. Thus, the visitors will be delighted with the results they see

[lasclwash]

How to search shopify stores youtube

#HOW TO SEARCH SHOPIFY STORES YOUTUBE VERIFICATION#

About page: Some ideas to include on this page are 1) a video introducing yourself or the business 2) links to awards and press mentions and 3) images that explain your supply chain or display the faces behind your business operations.You don’t need to have all your pages ready for launch, but some of the most helpful pages to your shoppers are the following: About page, Contact page, FAQ page, Policy pages. Your Shopify store pages use a WYSIWYG editor. Multiple currencies: Accept dozens of currencies, including Canadian Dollars, British Pounds, and euros.Īfter you set this up, it’s a good idea to conduct a test transaction on your store.Customer billing statement: Choose what name shows up on customers’ bank statements when they purchase from you and add a contact phone number.

#HOW TO SEARCH SHOPIFY STORES YOUTUBE VERIFICATION#

Fraud prevention: You can choose to automatically decline charges that fail AVS postal verification (the ZIP code on the customer’s payment method does not match what they entered) or AVV verification (they enter the wrong 3- or 4-digit security code).Payout schedule: Choose whether you are paid every business day, weekly, or monthly.The default description on the payment will be “Shopify,” but you can change the name of your store or business (if, for example, you have multiple Shopify stores). Payout details: Shopify will automatically deposit earnings from sales into your bank account.You can also adjust payment settings, including: The latter will remove any providers associated with your account and replace them with Shopify Payments. You’ll either see the option to Complete account setup (if you haven’t set up a credit card payment provider for your account) or to Activate Shopify Payments if you’ve enabled a different provider. The easiest (and for new businesses, the most cost-effective) payment processing method for Shopify stores is Shopify Payments. Search engine listing preview: Edit the page title, description, and slug of each product so that it’s easier to find on Google.Tags can also help to automate actions in your store, like adding a product with a specific tag to a specific collection. For example, if you sell pants, you can add tags based on color (navy, khaki), fabric (denim, cotton), and more. Tags: These are like keywords you can add to products so that they are easy to search on your site.When setting up collections, the same product can be part of multiple collections. Display collections in your navigation or on your homepage, similar to having a catalog. They let you organize and curate your products for specific purposes and audiences. Collection: Create collections, such as “Fall 2022” or “Back to School,” so that shoppers can browse by theme or event.Vendor: Add the vendor or supplier information to easily reorder as items run out.Product type: You can create different product categories to organize your site and inventory tracking-for example, shirts, pants, jackets, etc.You can also manipulate the meta information, which is what Google and other search engines display on results pages. Control which individual products you want to sell in each. Selling channels: Shopify lets you connect to other sales channels-such as point-of-sale (POS), Amazon, Facebook Messenger, and Instagram.Shipping: Indicate whether or not it’s a physical product and the country it will be shipping from.Variants: If an item is available in multiple sizes, colors, scents, etc., you’ll want to enter them all as one product with multiple variants instead of many individual products.If you’re selling books, this would be the ISBN number. UPC code: The manufacturer-assigned product number is called a UPC code.SKU number : An SKU is an optional unique code assigned and used to internally identify each product, which helps with tracking and reporting.Pricing: Set the product price, as well as currencies, taxes, sale pricing, and cost per item (more on these later).Media: Add product photos, 3D models, and videos.Include important details that shoppers will want to know as part of their purchase decision. Product description : This is where you want to both describe and sell your product.Title: Whatever you put in this field will be customer-facing.Shopify will ask you to enter information about the product, including For additional product imports, you can find the button in the upper right corner. If it’s your first time, you will see the Add product button in the middle of your page since it is empty. After logging in to your account, click Products in the left navigation bar, then choose All products.

[mariocki]

Killing Birds: Raptors (Zombie 5: Killing Birds, 1988)

"I feel like I killed him with my own hands."

"There was nothing you could do, nothing!"

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 73

Title: Best Laid Plans

Warnings: some profanity, talk of domestic abuse, child death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother, @lokitrasho, @miss-smutty,  @raith-way​, @ocappreciation​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/85024549

He’s up at quarter to six; throwing on a muscle shirt and a pair of work out pants and slipping into the well worn sneakers he keeps by the back door. A run on the beach as the sun peeks over the horizon is exactly what he needs; his bad knees cushioned by sand beneath him, a steady, cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sky painted in vivid orange and gold and stunning pink streaks. The two dogs run on either side of him; their tags clinking against their collars, each carrying a tennis ball in their mouths in hopes of play after the hard work is done. The excursion to his body is calming to both brain and soul; pushing all thoughts of Mark and his devious intentions onto the back burner and concentrating on nothing but his breathing and his heart rate and the sights and sounds around him. And once at the finish line, he bends at the waist and places his hands on his thighs; eyes closed as the sweat trickles off his forehead and runs down his nose and his temples and gathers at the nape of his neck. Chest heaving and burning; a familiar discomfort that serves to remind him of just how far he’s come. Fighting against the odds to complete the long and painful recovery after the incident with Nathan and coming out almost as good as he was before; strong, agile, his health better than it's ever been. He’d somehow survived and he’d long ago swore he'd never take another minute for granted; always grateful to wake up and find himself on top of the ground instead of below it.

After a half an hour of entertaining the dogs, he returns home; splashing cold water on his face and neck and running wet hands through his sweaty hair and then heading for the kitchen. Busying himself with the morning routine; brewing his coffee and the three shots of espresso he always adds to it. The smoothies are next; a wide selection of fresh fruit and various supplements and vitamins recommended by both his doctor and Esme’s fetal and maternal medicine specialist. And the moment he hears her footsteps above -small and light, but just heavy enough to NOT be a child- he begins preparing her breakfast; kettle boiling for her tea while he throws a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and gathers up a container of plain yogurt and a handful of different fruits to chop. He glances over his shoulder and smiles in greeting when she joins him; messy hair held away from her face and out of her eyes with a sparkly purple headband stolen from one of their daughters and her tiny frame clad in a pair of baggy Hello Kitty night shorts and one of his t-shirts. And before he can open his mouth to offer up a ‘good morning’, she’s wrapping her around his waist from behind; yawning loudly and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before laying her head against his back.

“Babe…” he warns. “ I probably stink. Gonna make you pass out. Give the baby in utero PTSD.”

“Bullshit. You smell good. You smell like a man. MY man. “

“All the kids still asleep?”

Esme nods. “You already went for a run?”

“Just a small one. Took the dogs with me. Tired them out.”

“I thought you said Sunday was your ‘set in stone rest day’?

“I did. But that’s just for lifting heavy.” Turning around to face her, he takes her face in his hands, turning her head up towards him as he leans down to kiss her. “I’m still going to run every day.”

“You know how I feel about this; when it comes to you pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know you worry. I know you don’t blow out my knee or fuck my femur up somehow. I’m taking it easy; I’m not going full tilt and I’m not ignoring my body when it starts screaming at me. I’m doing a lot better; when it comes to recognizing the signs and paying attention to them.”

“I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself. And you've been spending a lot of time in the gym. You went from one three hour a work out a day to TWO. That’s a lot, babe. Even for a bad ass like you. I know you feel this need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I’m past that. Maybe just looking to put on another ten. That’s it. That’s probably as big as I’ll ever get again. Sorry. No return to the thicc, lumberjack stage that you enjoyed so much.”

“I DID enjoy it. You had the big muscles and the extra weight in your tummy and your hair was short and your beard was really thick. It was a good look on you. A VERY good look.”

“But…”

“But I love you EVERY way. And how your body is right now? That’s how you looked when we met. When I fell in love with you. So it tends to be my favourite. It’s very sentimental to me. And you know what would make it even MORE sentimental?”

“If you want me to get the haircut, I’ll get the haircut.”

“You would do that for little old me? You’d do that to keep your pregnant and extremely hormonal wife happy?”

“I would do anything for you. Pregnant or not.”

“Best husband ever,” she declares, and stands on her tip toes as he kisses her once more; hands tightly grasping the sides of his t-shirt.

She’d long ago gotten used to that ‘after work out’ stench; the potent tang of sweat , the lingering remains of laundry detergent, and the cool, brisk, freshness of antiperspirant. It’s HIS smell. One that reminds her of safety and protection and love. Of HOME. When he’s away, it’s those combined, familiar scents that offer comfort; bringing solace to her aching heart and effectively relieving at least some of the fear and worry nagging at her. Sleeping with his pillow every night and often wearing one of his t-shirts or bundling herself up in one of his hoodies; soothed by the smell of him clinging to the sheets and clothes and subduing her rattled nerves just enough for her to fall asleep.

It never gets easier; kissing him goodbye at the front door or the airport and then wondering -as he walks away- if she’ll ever see him again. The job isn’t a life you ever really get used to; lying to yourself when you tell others that you’re completely fine with your husband being thousands of miles away, putting his life on the line in the hopes of saving another. But she copes; knowing he can more than handle himself when it comes to the physical aspect and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her and the kids. But the ache is real when he’s not under the same roof; both her and their brood feeling his absence and both saddened and angered about it. And the worry and fear never disappear; feeling as if she’s holding her breath the entire time, never releasing it until the moment he walks back through the front door. Safe and sound.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he turns towards the counter once more; snagging a knife from the butcher’s block and preparing the only breakfast her stomach has been able to handle. Dry toast accompanied by chunks of fresh fruit, a smoothie containing all the vitamins and supplements recommended by her doctor, and a tea that helps with calming both her tummy and her nerves. While the nausea lingers throughout the entire day, the mornings have been especially horrendous; unable to keep even the smallest sips of water down and struggling with both weakness and dizziness. All of the pregnancies have been the same in that respect; losing weight before actually managing to put it on, suffering from headaches and queasiness and even a handful of scares that sent them running to the hospital in fear there was something terribly wrong. But the sixth pregnancy is turning out to be an even bigger struggle; half a dozen different medications fighting to keep her blood pressure down, help her sleep, and keep her eating and drinking properly.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Tyler remarks, as she moves to the stove to tend to the boiling kettle. Offering a mug with the tea bag already in it; his hand briefly resting on the small of her back as he places a kiss on her temple. “You were sleeping pretty good when I went on my run.”

Sighing, she sets the mug down on the stovetop and fills it with water. “I probably still would be if your spawn didn’t wake me up out of nowhere and send me on a mad dash to the bathroom. I’ve come to expect SOME sickness, but this?”

“This one’s giving you an extra hard time, huh? What did the doctor say? Something about making too much human growth hormone? I don’t know. She completely lost me when she broke out the science speak.”

“A variant of it. And it’s too much of ALL the hormones. Kind of weird; that the last pregnancy would be the worst. You’d think it would be the easiest; your body totally used to everything, able to push that sucker out with only two tries. I swear to Christ, Tyler. If this is another Millie labour…”

“You’ll cut my dick off?”

“That’s a little extreme. You need your dick. It’s still very useful. I’ll just chop your balls off. So you can’t make any more swimmers.”

“How about we not do that and just let the surgeon handle things?”

“I want a goddamn guarantee from him that this isn’t going to happen again; your penis remarkably healing itself and letting those swimmers of yours have free reign.”

“I’m going to jump in here for a second. You realize your body fucked up too, yeah? That it took BOTH of us to make this baby? Your tubes were tied. Right after you had Kota and Brookie. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place.”

She stares at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if I hadn’t gotten them tied, you weren’t supposed to be able to produce any sperm. Ever again. For the rest of your natural born life. But low and behold…”

“You…” He points the knife at her. “...need to accept some responsibility in all of this.”

She huffs, taking a sip of tea and then setting it on the stove; hands on her hips in a show of defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, this can’t all be pinned entirely on me. Both our bodies had to screw up for this to happen. So be a big girl…” snagging her by the front of her t-shirt, he gently pulls her into him. “...and take some of the blame.”

She stares up at him; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and those enormous, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “No. You can’t make me.”

“Listen pocket wife, I’m a foot and three inches taller than you and almost a hundred pounds heavier. I can make you.”

“I’d like to see you try. You don’t intimidate me. Your muscles and your resting asshole face and all those tattoos and scars. They don’t scare me a bit.”

“You realize I have ways of convincing you, don’t you? Ways that don’t involve intimidation. “

“Yeah?” Both hands clutch the front of her shirt as her body leans into his. “What kind of ways are we talking about then?”

He swipes the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Sexual ones.”

“You realize that sounds more like pleasure than punishment, right?”

“You remember that thing we did back in New York City. In the bathtub. The thing you claim to hate but always seem to love? The one thing that I always can count on to make you squirt? Do you know what thing I’m talking about?”

“I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about.”

“Well next time around, when you least expect it? I’m going to do that twice as much. Only this time there won’t be a happy ending. For you, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“You’re evil.”

“Most evil husband out there.”

“You may be the most evil, but you’re also the sexiest out there. So at least you have THAT going for you,” she chides, giving a tiny yelp when he brings a palm down on the cheek of her ass in a ringing slap. Giggling when his hand reverts to lightly pinching and squeezing before drawing her into him; body pressed against his and her hands tightening their grip on his shirt as he leans down to kiss her. Long and slow and deep; the brief contact between their tongues finding her curling her toes and sighing into his mouth.

When he pulls away he’s smiling down at her; blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of unbridled lust and pure adoration. Hand moving from her ass to the side of her cheek; knuckles grazing over the soft skin before gentle fingertips clear wayward strands of hair away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.”

“I already knew that. But needing them doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

The smile she gives is shaky; tears welling in her eyes as a lump of emotion wedges firmly in her throat. It’s overwhelming at times; seeing his love, adoration, and affection laid so bare. This big, strong man with his myriad of tattoos and scars and a lifetime of trauma, guilt, and regret. So brave and fearless yet so vulnerable at the same time; possessing a heart that he’s even bigger than his body and a beauty to his soul that not even his father, Asif, Mahajan, or Nathan had been able to rob him of. Working as a team, she’d spent years helping chip away at the seemingly impenetrable walls that he’d built around his heart; patiently urging him outside of his comfort zone and encouraging that humanity lingering inside of him to make itself fully known. In the end, the reward was far beyond anything she could ever imagined; a man that loves her so wholly and completely. And profoundly. So much so it often takes her breath away; and all consuming and often leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion.

He frowns when he notices the tears in her eyes and the tell tale wobble of her lower lip and chin. “What’s the matter? Why are you gonna cry? What…?”

Her voice comes out as a childlike whimper; reminding him of Addie when she’s been scolded or has had a particularly rough run in with Millie and the teasing was just too much to take. “I really need a hug right now.”

Setting the knife on the counter, he gathers her in his arms. One arm circling her waist as a hand settles on the back of her skull; palm lightly pressing her head into his chest. And when she stands on the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order to return the embrace, he crouches down until she’s able to successfully wrap both arms around his neck. His beautiful, tiny wife; his best friend, truest confident, and his rock during his darkest and most dire of times. Always sticking by his side no matter how difficult he sometimes makes things; forever patient and attentive during the long and painful recovery after Nathan, always forgiving him for his sins and mistakes even when he can’t forgive himself. Suddenly seeming so weak and vulnerable herself; her entire body trembling and her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her ear. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s ALL gonna be okay.”

*****

He hates seeing her like this; face lined with worry and exhaustion, shoulders drooped as if carrying the weight of the world upon them, eyes dark and downcast instead of sparkling and playful. He’d long ago gotten used to her morning persona; overly cheerful and extremely talkative compared to his grumpiness and need for complete and utter silence until he’s at least finished his coffee. So it’s unsettling when she deviates from the norm; missing the familiarity and the routine of her chattiness and her teasing and witty banter. Instead completely silent as she sits across from him at the table on the back deck; her feet resting in his lap as she merely nibbles at the dry toast and moves the pieces of various fruits around on her plate.

He gestures at her plate with his fork. “You need to eat. Start putting weight on instead of it dropping off.”

“It’s not like I’m NOT trying.” She spears a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her lips, taking a tiny bite before setting it back down again. “I WANT to eat. My body is BEGGING me to eat. But it’s kind of hard when you just feel...I don’t know...off.”

“Something we need to worry about? Something to do with the baby?”

“No. I feel fine that way. Other than being crazy nauseous and already having insane heartburn. How much hair is this kid going to have? Because the only other time I suffered this bad…”

“We ended up with Addie. Hairiest damn kid I have EVER seen. Hands down.”

She manages a smile, then nibbles at a slice of dry toast. “Remember how it was practically head to toe? Because she was a preemie?”

“She looked like a little monkey. A cute one, mind you. But a monkey.”

“Don’t ever say that to her. It’ll be her new obsession; monkey this, monkey that. None of our other babies had much hair. If any at all. Well, Declan…”

“I will never forget seeing that head of hair. Bright red.”

“You looked so confused,” Esme muses, as she once more pulls her plate towards her and attempts to eat. “When he was crowning. It was like he had two heads or something.”

Tyler winks at her from across the table. “I was trying to figure out when you had time to get busy with me AND the cable guy.”

“Baby, he is all yours. Without a doubt. The cable man didn’t stand a chance getting close to me. So unless you can get pregnant just by breathing the same air as someone…”

“I hope you’d have better standards than that guy. If you’re going to do something like that, can you at least have the respect to go a notch higher than I am in quality?”

“That’s not even remotely possible. You’re already on the very top rung of quality. In fact, you’re in another league all your own. All by yourself. If you have the best, why settle for less?”

A grin plays on his mouth. “You are so good for my ego.”

“Besides, we both know I’m the last person that would EVER do something like that. I am way too hopelessly and madly and wildly in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. So unless you’re planning on going somewhere, you’re stuck with me. For the long haul.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. And with who I’m with. You know that, yeah? That I’d never do something like that. No matter who’s trying to get with me? I would never...EVER..cheat on you.”

“This is stemming from my insecurities, isn't it? Those women yesterday.”

“I just wanted to get it out there. I don’t care about any of them. There might as well not even be any other women on earth. The only one that matters? The only one I want? Is you. And that’s not going to change.”

“And you say I’m good for YOUR ego?”

“I mean, maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe you already realize all that. Or maybe you’re going to tell me that you don’t need the words; you can see everything in my eyes anyway. I just think sometimes I should say it. Who knows, maybe I need to tell you more than you need to hear it.”

Well…” She reaches for his hand that rests on the tabletop, running her fingertips along his forearm and over his palm before lacing their fingers together. “...a girl DOES like to hear how much she’s adored and worshipped.”

“I thought you like it better when I SHOW you how much.”

“That too. But sometimes it’s a nice little bonus; hearing the words.”

Pushing his chair away, he stands and leans across the table; free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek in its palm. “I worship you. I adore you. I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

While tears sparkle in her eyes, her smile is genuine; filling out her cheeks and crinkling the bridge of her nose. “And you say you’re not romantic.”

He bends down to kiss her; the soft press and languid movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “I do have my moments,” he says with a grin, running the tip of a finger down the bridge of her nose, playfully tapping the end of it before returning to his seat.

They sit in companionable silence. Enjoying the crisp, refreshing breeze that rolls in off the ocean and the familiar yet calming sounds of the outdoors. The waves rolling up onto the shore, the rustling of the trees as they sway in the wind and the different melodies that come from Esme’s collection of wind chimes attached to the awnings of the pool house. It’s home. The familiar yet never boring sights and sounds of the where they’re the most comfortable; where they grow and nurture their family and take advantage of the many spoils given to them by such a beautiful and expansive piece of land.

Returning to Australia had been the best move they’d ever made. The start of strengthening not only their marriage, but every aspect of the life and relationship they share; making sure to nurture and grow each separate component that makes them, THEM. Often having to pull back from the chaos and stress of everyday existence to remind themselves that they’re not just spouses and people raising kids together; they’re each other’s confidants, best friends and devoted and faithful lovers. Two unique individuals that share a bond unlike many could ever fully understand; broken and in tatters when they’d first met yet somehow managing to comfort and heal one another. What had happened in Dhaka will forever remain the foundation their life together has been built open. A rather odd concoction of many things; shared grief and regret, adrenaline and fear, profound lust accompanied by the pangs of the heart that remind you that you’re still human. And a lot of blood, sweat and tears. All combined with the unforgettable stenches of raw sewage, blood and sweat, and spilled gasoline.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He breaks the silence first, pushing away his empty plate and reaching for his smoothie. Satisfied with her attempt to get food into her belly; her own meal almost completely finished save for a couple bites of toast and a small handful of grapes. Her feet once more resting in his lap; both hands curled around the plastic tumbler that contains the thickened ‘super shake’ he’d made for her earlier.

“By ‘it’ I’m assuming you mean Mark?”

Tyler nods.

“What more is there to say? He’s in town. Not like there’s anything we can really do about it. Not until he at least makes a move.”

“I’ve got guys trying to track him down. Looking into every hotel, every bed and breakfast, every short term rental within a fifty mile radius. Unless he’s gone totally off the grid and he’s holed up in a cave somewhere, my guys will find him.”

“Is that really what you were doing last night? Taking care of all of that stuff? Getting people going on all this?”

“It was some of what I was doing. Not all of it. When you came in, I was doing exactly what I told you I was. I’d already gotten it all set up; guys already starting to dig. Told ‘em not to leave any stone unturned; Mark’s crafty and he’s slippery and he’s going to do everything he can to avoid me catching up to him. He wants the element of surprise; get to you when my guard is down. I’m hoping to get to him before that happens.”

“When do you ever let your guard down?”

“Even I slip up, Esme. You know that better than anyone.”

“Tyler Rake doesn’t make mistakes when it’s family on his line. He rarely makes them when it’s complete strangers he’s looking out for. You’re not the type to fall asleep at the wheel, babe. Especially when it comes to the kids. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to me.”

“I can’t be around you twenty-four seven. There’s going to be times I can’t be with you. As much as I’d love to be glued to your hip…”

“Do you trust the guys you picked? You don’t exactly hand that out lightly, Tyler. And you’ve always been very careful about who you bring into the business. You’ve always had the strictest hiring practices I’ve ever seen. You don’t just bring anyone aboard. And if you’re willing to put them in charge of keeping an eye on him…”

“I trust them when it comes to the job. They’re some of the best I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“Other than yourself, you mean.

“They’re good, Me. They’re quick on their feet and they’re strong as fuck and they will not back down. From anyone or anything.”

“But…”

“But I don’t fully trust anyone when it comes to you. That’s not something I can give; just hand over your life like that. No matter how well I know someone or how good of a merc they are. But I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s not possible to be around every second of every day. I wish it was. I wish I was the only one taking care of you. But…”

“If your gut tells you that these guys can handle it, then that’s what you go with. I trust you, Tyler. Whether it’s protecting me on your own or making the decision to hand it off to someone else. Your instincts are so strong. Some of the strongest I have ever seen. And if they’re telling you that this is right...that these men are right…”

“They’re telling me that I don’t have any other choice. That I NEED to trust these guys. And I want to Esme; I want to be able to sit here and tell you that I trust them one hundred percent. But other than you? There’s no one I trust that way.”

“If you say this is the right decision and that these are the right people, then I’ll go with that. Because I trust YOU. I always have. I always will. So if this is the move you need to make and you’re confident in it…”

“As confident as I’m gonna be.”

“Then there’s nothing more to talk about. If you trust them, then so do I. Simple as that.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words, then offers a small smile and once more takes her hand; lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I know you don’t have any answers. And to be honest, I don’t expect any. But I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Why now? If it’s a revenge thing, why wait this long? I haven’t been married to him for fifteen years. Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know, Me. I don’t even know if that’s his angle.”

“Everything says it is. What else could he possibly want? Do you think he’s a threat? To me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler reluctantly admits. “I do. He wouldn’t come out of the woodwork after all this time and play all those little mind games in New York and then make it a point to show up here IF he wasn’t planning something. I just don't know exactly what it is. Or when he’s gonna make his move. And hopefully the guys I have trying to find him will track him down. Sooner the better.”

“What will they do with him? If they do find him?”

“Found a little out of the way place in the northern territory. Somewhere they can keep him; until I can get there. Off the beaten track, no through roads, heavy bush. Not a single soul around. Figure that’s for the best, yeah? Keep him somewhere no one can hear screaming and pleading for his life.”

“You’re going to handle that yourself?”

“Hopefully. Told my guys that they can rough him up, but I want him very much alive. So he can feel every goddamn thing I do to him. And I know you’re probably thinking this is a throwback to McMann; taking him hostage and torturing his ass. But…”

“You do what you need to do, Tyler. You do whatever you feel he deserves. I’m not going to think any less of you. And Lord knows that I’ve had quite a few fantasies about how brutal I would love you to be if you ever got your hands on him. I’m not going to ask how and I don’t expect you to tell me. You just do what you need to do. To make him suffer and make him pay for what…” Her voice cracks; tears of both rage and insurmountable pain welling in her eyes. “...just make him pay. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

Sliding his chair away from the table, he’s at her side in only three long strides; dropping to a knee in front of her and taking her trembling hands in his.

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll make him pay, Esme. I promise.”

“Everything he did to him. Everything he said. It’s just all coming back. All those horrible, mean, degrading things he called me. All the times he forced me to do disgusting, horrible things to him. All the nasty, gross shit that HE did to ME.”

He feels the rage that immediately begins to take hold; his jaw setting and tightening and the blue of his eyes becoming much darker. Bile settling in the back of his throat; acrid and burning. He hates hearing about it; the horrific things that she’d been subjected to at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her, protect her, and give her a good life. The person he loves more than anything else in the world and would gladly lay his life down for. Not just his wife, but his best friend and the mother of his children and the centre of his universe.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he says, and tightly squeezes her hands. “Nothing good will come from going there. Nothing…”

“He is an evil, sick, demented person,” she continues, words struggling to make it through the sobs. “He used to make me clean the baseboards and the grout with my toothbrush and then he’d force me to use it afterwards. If he was in a mood and didn’t like what I made for dinner, he’d throw it on the floor and he’d make me get on my hands and knees and force me to eat it. Like I was a dog! And when I tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse and worse and worse and…”

“That’s enough,” he gently orders, and releases his hold on her hands in favour of drawing her into his embrace. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm resting on the back of her head; pressing a kiss to her temple and her cheek before drawing her face down to his shoulder. “No more. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t go back to that place.”

One of her hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, the other clamping down on the nape of his neck. “How do I ever get over it? How do I ever fully leave all that behind? I thought I was doing okay with it. I thought I was finally putting it all past me. I thought…”

“Sometimes there’s things we don’t really get over. Not completely, anyway. And that was fucking hell; the shit that he put you through. I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Is it weird that sometimes I think about ‘what if’? That I’ll wonder what it would have been like if we’d met some other way? Some other time. Some other place. Before all the bad shit ever happened. Imagine? If we’d met before all of that; if we’d found each other and healed one another sooner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about that stuff. But babe….listen to me….” He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands; thumbs swiping at the tears that continue to fall “...you can’t live the rest of your life thinking about that. Because if none of the bad ever happened? We wouldn’t have met. Because all the loss and the bullshit put us on the path that led us to each other. And yeah; it was fucking painful and I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger so many times. But in the end, all that crap? All the hard stuff? It brought you into my life. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”

“What if it was all for nothing? You spent YEARS trying to make up for all his mistakes. You didn’t care how messy I was or how messy my life had been before you. You just picked up the pieces and you put me back together. And you never complained ONCE; You just did it.”

“I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t exactly go and find the guy and kill him with my bare fucking hands. And believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. About how I’d do it. And how I’d make it as slow and painful as possible.”

“All the time and the work you put into fixing me. What if Mark puts me over the edge and I become a big mess again? What if all of a sudden I’m in a million fucking pieces again? What then? It will all be for nothing?”

“No. It won’t. And you know why? Because even if you fall apart a thousand times, each time I’m going to pick those pieces up and I’m going to find a way to make them up. I love you, Esme. More than I ever loved anyone. More than I even thought was possible. And if it DOES happen...you do fall apart...I’m just going to be here to pick you...and all those pieces….back up.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“Baby, you deserve the fucking world. And I’d give it to you if I could. Come here…” Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tangles his fingers in her hair and draws her head down onto his shoulder; other hand moving in slow, comforting circles in the middle of her back. “...everything’s alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not that I’m scared. Not of him getting a hold of me. I know that you’d never let him get that close. You’d do anything to protect me. I’ve never...ever...doubted that. I just hate what it’s doing to me; him being back in my life. I feel like I’m drowning in all this stuff from the past and that there’s no way you’ll be able to pull me out of it. Like it’s going to suck me under and you won’t stand a chance of getting me back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,,” she admits. “Worrying all the time about the baby and trying so hard to take care of the other kids and now this crap with Mark and him being so close to us.”

“I know it’s really overwhelming right now, Me. I know it’s a lot of things being heaped on your plate. And believe me, I am taking as much of it off as I can. And this stress with Mark is just making everything else seem even worse. But I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“You got lots of help with the kids. You got me, you got Stel, Riley’s always willing to drop everything and lend a hand. And you know how much grandpa Koen loves to spend time with them. He’s always ready, willing, and able to step up.”

Managing a laugh, she pulls back and swipes at her tears with the back of her hands. “He was in fine form last night, huh?”

“He was definitely on top of his ‘shit talk Tyler’ game.”

“Everything he says, he says with love. He’s a wreck, you know. When he showed up in Dhaka. He was all laughs and jokes at first and I’m sure that was just to calm his nerves, because when he got to your room? He just lost it. Totally broke down. I’ve never seen him get that emotional since.”

“I guess he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for me. Considering I was an enormous shit head when I first met him and he threatened to beat the attitude out of me. And believe me; he tried a couple times. Tough love, yeah? He’s the guy that turned me into the solider I became. And tried to stop me from destroying myself after everything fell apart. Spent years trying to talk some sense into me. Never stuck.”

“Guess you just weren’t ready for that yet. You just had a bit more of your journey to take. I’m sorry it was as crappy as it was. That you had to go through what you did.”

“Lost my kid and my sobriety. And probably most of my sanity.”

“It’s not fair. That you had to go through so much. Starting right from you were a little boy. Not a single step of your path has been easy.”

“No. I guess it hasn’t. But every one of those steps was worth it. ‘Cause look where I am now. I’m a long way from The Kimberley.”

“Leaps and bounds,” she smiles. “Even in the last five years.”

“It was worth it. It was ALL worth it. And this? Whatever the hell THIS is? With Mark? That’s just another bump in the road we gotta get past. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Tyler. Always.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promises, and once more gathers her into a tight, protective embrace. “I didn’t lose you in New York and I’m sure as hell not gonna lose you now. Especially not to him.”

The scrape of the screen door opening upon its track captures his attention, and he glances up in time to see his oldest son step onto the porch. Hair mussed from sleep and sticking up in several different directions; barefoot and clad in only a pair of blue, red, and white plaid pyjama bottoms. And it’s the first time that he’s noticed just how grown up that his namesake is becoming; only ten, but tall and athletically built with well chiselled ab muscles and noticeable definition in his arms and shoulders. All long limbs and torso and tanned skin; brilliant, expressive blue eyes and his once shoulder length dirty blond hair now chopped short. Despite his issues with impulse control, his diagnosis with ADHD, and his volatile temper, he always seems much older and wiser than his actual age; independent and detail and routine oriented and always willing to step up and lend a hand with his younger siblings or with chores and repairs around the house. And it’s bitter sweet; his first son after losing Austin growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye. Proud of him for the person...the man...that he’s becoming but missing the little boy he was; the one who’d be attached to his hip and who explored the world with wide eyed, breathless abandon and wanted nothing more than to exactly like his old man.

“Dad?” Worry tarnishes the ten year old’s voice; eyes darkening and narrowing as he observes the sight in front of him. “What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing, mate. Your mum and I were just having a chat. She just got a little...worked up.”

“About what?” He finally approaches, a hand on the back of his mother’s chair as he leans in to check on her. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just some adult stuff. Your mum’s just a little emotional today.”

“Mummy?” TJ lays a palm on her shoulder, gently squeezing and then pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened? What..?”

“I’m alright,” Esme assures him, and turns her face into his, pecking his lips. “Daddy and I were just talking and…”

“You don’t look alright. You’re crying. Why are you crying?” A mixture of panic, worry, and the beginnings of anger creep into his voice. And he fixes his father with a steely glare. “What’s wrong with mum? Why is she crying? What were you talking about that would upset her?”

“Just a couple serious things,” Tyler informs him. “ADULT things. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

TJ’s jaw clenches. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you…?”

“Daddy didn’t do a thing,” Esme assures him. “Like he said we were having a chat and things turned a little serious and I got emotional. That’s it. He didn’t do anything or say anything wrong. I got upset and I started to cry and he was just trying to comfort me. That’s it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if something else happened…”

Turning sideways in her chair, she clasps her son’s face in her hand. “Tyler James. Listen to what I’m saying. Daddy did nothing wrong. I started crying and he got worried and he was trying to calm me down. He didn’t say or do anything. He was trying to help. He wanted to cheer me up. That’s all.”

“Mummy…”

“That’s all,” she insists. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but we’re telling the truth. I just got emotional about some things we were talking about. That’s all. Daddy would never...EVER...do anything to make me cry. Unless it’s happy tears.”

TJ sighs heavily. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you.,” she presses a kiss to his lips and smooths a hand over his unruly hair. “I’m okay, baby man. There is nothing for you to worry about, okay? And good morning, by the way. Thought for sure you’d sleep in a lot longer; all the running around you did after the littlest yesterday.”

“Dad said we could go surfing. Before everyone else got up. I set my alarm.”

“Well the water looks perfect today. Or as you would say, the waves looking ‘bitchin’.”

Excitement replaces worry and simmering anger. “Dad checked the surf report last night. They said it was going to be perfect conditions. And that it could just be us. I like when it’s just us. It’s a lot more fun. And we sit on our boards and talk. A lot.”

“Then I’ll let you guys get to it. I’m sure you have a lot of boy stuff to talk about.”

Tyler pushes himself to his feet as his wife slips out of her chair; hand on the small of her back as she stands. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she assures him, standing on her tiptoes to return his kiss. “I’ll take the dirty stuff in and I’ll grab some towels and throw them out here for you guys. And maybe I’ll even crash on the couch; until the rest of the hoodlums wake up.”

“If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be fine, Tae. Everything will be fine.”

Nodding in agreement, he offers a small smile and presses his lips to her temple. Watching as she gathers the dirty dishes, mugs, and cutlery and carries them into the house. TJ gallantly holding the door open for her; a broad, beaming smile spreading across his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

“IS mum okay?” The ten year old turns to him once Esme is out of ear shot.

“She’s fine, mate. She’s just going through some stuff.”

“Bad stuff or…?”

“Just some stuff. Nothing you need to worry about. You’re mum’s alright. And you know I’d never hurt her, yeah? That I would never...ever...say or do anything to break her heart. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. But you used to. Do stuff like that. I know I was just little then, but…”

“I’m not that guy anymore, TJ. I haven’t been him in a long time. I would never hurt your mother. I love her in ways you can’t even begin to understand. And I would do anything to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

“Is there a reason to? Keep her safe?”

“No,” Tyler lies. “There’s not.”

*****

From the moment he first held Austin in his arms, Tyler had pictured these moments; introducing his son to surfing and forming a tremendous bond over their shared love of the water. Teaching him how to not only handle the waves, but to give himself over to the release and the escape that comes not with conquering them, but being submissive to them; gliding smoothly and confidently yet remembering that nature always has the upper hand and should never be questioned or underestimated. When he had first found out he was going to be a father, he’d often daydream about sharing his passions with his offspring; surfing, fishing, hiking, and camping trips. But military life had been all consuming, as had been his commitment to it; putting fighting the battles of others higher on his list of priorities than his wife and soon to be born child. And having the baby home hadn’t changed a damn thing; signing up for extra tours whenever he got the chance, putting his be all and end all into the army and having nothing left to give his family.

For his fifth birthday, he’d gifted Austin with two things; a custom made surfboard and the promise that he’d change his ways and become the dad that his kiddo needed and deserved. Neither of things ever came to fruition; Austin diagnosed with cancer just three weeks later and the board going unused and Tyler’s promise dying the moment the news had been dropped into their laps. And when Austin had died, so had all of the dreams and the hopes that Tyler had had as father; the loss tremendous and robbing him of both his heart and soul. The grief composed of many things. Not just the loss of his boy, but of all of those expectations, and fantasized moments, and the memories that would have been made during them.

He never dreamed that he’d ever be a father again; his marriage and his military career both disintegrating and finding him throwing himself headlong into mercenary life and a battle with booze and drug addiction. Wracked with so much guilt, regret, and profound grief that he truly believed he deserved his self imposed exile from the rest of humanity. He was a monster and not deserving of any form of a normal life; taking the most dire and dangerous of jobs in hopes one would kill him, drinking and popping pills in hopes of not just numbing the physical pain, but the mental anguish as well.

In the blink of an eye and in the midst of his deepest and darkest moments of suicidal ideation, everything changed. In the form of a tiny, tattooed and pierced brunette with the most beautiful smile and dark eyes he’d ever seen. Since then, every blessing has come with great sacrifice. Ones that he’s willing to pay over, and over, and over again for even a slice of the life that he has now. It’s a normalcy that isn’t normally rewarded to guys like him; a wife and children and a beautiful home in an even more beautiful place. So many bridges burned and toes trampled upon; exuberant coin in your pocket in exchange for scars that litter your body and enemies within all four corners of the world. It’s generally a short existence; catching a bullet in the midst of all the action or a bodyguard or a mercenary -contracted to take you out- catching you by surprise. Most never even attempt any form of domesticity; preferring the company of random women -or men- instead of committing and settling down. The job follows you. Stays with you. Remains embedded in your soul. Accompanied by long lists of evil people you’ve crossed and will forever seek revenge, debts that you can never repay and will forever be held over your head, and addiction and mental health issues. You’re never fully away from it; it will follow you wherever you go, keep you up at night, have you constantly looking over your shoulder or being wary of the smallest of bumps in the night. It’s easier to not get someone else tangled up in the madness; half the time it’s hard just to keep yourself alive, let alone a spouse and children. They’d be the first to pay the price for your misdeeds, and bringing them into that kind of world would be considered not just risky, but selfish as fuck.

Sometimes he still sees himself that way; a weakened, pathetic version of himself that opted to put targets on the backs of others instead of just dealing with his issues and his loneliness in a healthier, SOLO way. But love had found him. Somehow. In the midst of all the darkness and ruin and decay of his life, something...someone... so beautiful and bright had stumbled into his path. She’d effortlessly and easily saw past the hardened and fearless facade he’d created through an endless cycle of self loathing, sorrow, and regret; slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built around the remains of his heart and making him feel alive again. Opening his eyes to a different future and sparking a longing and a desperation and a hunger that he had felt to his very soul. Wanting her...ALL of her...in a way he’d never wanted anyone else. Trusting her in a way he hadn’t since the death of his mother; finding himself both soothed and ignited by the compassion in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the gentleness of her hands whenever she touched him.

His heart had been hers long before he’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her so. And he’d been both terrified and filled with hope when he’d even dare to think about a life...a future...with her. He has always felt that his time with her has been far more than he deserves; that kind of existence reserved for those who are morally stronger AND superior. But for some reason, fate had smiled upon him; giving a woman that so plainly wears her heart upon her sleeve and remains stalwartly devoted and faithful. Bearing him seven...eventually eight...children and building a home and a life beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

He’d spent the better part of an hour feeling tremendously grateful and unabashedly proud as he’d watched part of that life so confidently handling the waves below and around him. Ten years old but sometimes so wise and mature beyond his years; misunderstood by so many and not given the credit or the attention that he so rightfully deserves. A fearless, tough kid with an enormous heart; so much love caught up inside him that he’s sometimes unable to express or even cope with it. Exploring the world and the elements with near reckless abandon; always looking for adventure and forever staring challenge straight in the eye. And it’s bittersweet; the act of making the memories with THIS son that his mind had created with for the boy he’d lost years before.

“What do you think it feels like?” TJ asks, as they sit side by side. A hundred yards from shore where the water is calmer; perched upon their boards with their legs dangling over the sides. “To get bit by a shark.”

Tyler glances over; noticing small inklings of his wife inside the ten year old. The way his namesake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he contemplates a question. The smooth bridge of the nose and the shape of his jaw. But he’s definitely a ‘chip off the old block’; the brilliant blue eyes and the broad shoulders and the long, lanky body, the cheeky smirk and the smile that brightens his entire face. And there’s more. So much more. A strikingly similar personality; dry witted and quick with the sarcasm and the smart ass comments. And the temper; volatile and unpredictable, always seeming as if it’s on a permanent, slow boil.

“I don’t know, mate. But I can guarantee that it does NOT feel good.”

“Mick Fanning...the surfer that mum likes...he got attacked by one. During a competition. A great white. Hit him right in the face with its tail! Can you imagine? I would have been shitting bricks for sure! It would be kind of cool to see one, though. We’ve only ever seen a couple of dorsals in the water. When we’ve been hanging out on the beach. Kinda weird we’ve NEVER come across one.”

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you. I’ve spotted a few in my time. Long before you were even a twinkle in your mumma’s eyes. Wasn’t close enough to go one on one with ‘em. Thank Christ.”

“Sometimes I get this really weird feeling in my stomach. When we’re out here. It’s like something is just moving around in there; kicking at your insides and tugging at them and stuff. Like my body is telling me that there’s something underneath me. Maybe even WATCHING me. You ever get something like that? Where you just KNOW something is there?”

“Had that happen a lot. Always been too chicken shit to look down, though.”

“I like that, you know. That you’re not afraid to admit you’re scared of things. Lots of guys are. They act all big and bad and like nothing bothers them, but you know it’s all bullshit. You’ve never been like that. Even since I was little. You’ve always talked about being scared of things and how it’s okay to be afraid of stuff. And that we shouldn’t be embarrassed to get emotional. Cry and stuff. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do. I feel even stronger about it now. Nothing wrong with a guy being vulnerable. Doesn’t make them weak or pathetic or less of a man.”

TJ grins over at him. “Just makes them human.”

“You know, you sound a hell of a lot like your mum sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, if you ask me. ‘Cause mum’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles wistfully, then glances towards the shore; his wife up from her nap and getting the littles settled for breakfast on the deck as the older kid’s lend a hand. “...she certainly is.”

TJ’s expression turns serious. “You meant it, right? When you said you didn’t say or do anything to make mum cry.”

“Everything we both told you was the truth; we were talking about some adult stuff and she got emotional. All I was trying to do was comfort her. That’s it. You know how your mum can be; when she’s feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t been sleeping well and she tries to take too much on.”

“She needs to learn how to rely on other people . And ask for help when she needs it.”

“It’s hard for her. Even after all the years she’s been with me. She finds it difficult to ask for help. Guess she’s so used to people letting her down, that she just can’t shake that part of her. We’ll just keep an eye on her and just chip in where we need to and hope for the best, yeah?”

TJ nods, then gives a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, dad. For kinda flipping out on you earlier. But I saw you kneeling in front of mummy and then I could tell she was crying and my brain just immediately went to think you’d done something wrong.”

“We’re a lot like, you and I. In a lot of ways. I tend to react a little too quickly, a little too soon. Old habits die hard. But I would never…EVER...hurt your mum. That is the last thing I want to do. Intentional or not. I love her, mate. In ways you can’t even understand. In ways I can’t even understand sometimes. I just hope that one day you get to feel that way about someone. Or close to it.”

“I just worry about her,” TJ sighs. “I don’t like when she’s upset. Especially when she cries. I hate seeing it; mummy sad. I wish I could find a way so she’d never be sad EVER again. Wouldn’t that be nice? If we could find a way to make sure mummy NEVER got sad again?”

“Yeah, mate. It would. But life isn’t like that. We gotta go through the good AND the bad. Unfortunately.”

“Mum’s been through a lot. I mean, I know you have too. But mum...I don’t know...she’s different. She’s...well...she’s my mum. I know you’re tough and strong and brave and all that. That you can handle things better. But mum puts on a good show for people I think. She lets on that she’s okay and she’s totally fine with taking care of everything one else. But sometimes? Sometimes I don’t think she’s okay at all. Do you ever think that? That she’s just pretending to be alright?”

“I don’t just don’t think. I know she’s doing it. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her out of it. But your mum…”

“And she has the nerve to call US stubborn? She is way worse.”

“She’s got a hard head,” Tyler agrees. “And in some ways, it’s a good thing. She never gave up on me. Even when everyone around her was telling her she should. She just ignored them. Had my back no matter what other people said.”

“It’s ‘cause she loves you. And you’re the first person to ever really love her. Other than her dad and he died when she was young, so ....” TJ rakes a hand through his wet hair. “...sometimes it must feel like it’s just you and mum against the world, huh?”

“I’ve felt that way. A few times. But then all you guys started coming along and our team got even bigger. I like to think we ALL have each other’s backs.”

“Of course we do. We’re family. We’re all in this together. And we’re Rakes. Means we’re tough and we don’t back down. From anyone or anything. We might be scared, but we’re still standing up for what’s right. That’s what you taught us. That even though we might be afraid, we gotta do the right thing. Always. A man isn’t measured by the things he has, but by the people he’s helped.”

Tyler grins. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book at school. One of the grade eight kids left on the playground and I was bored and I found it and I just started reading it. I guess I liked that line for some reason. It stuck in my head. Even if there isn't much else up there.”

“Don’t you do that,” Tyler gently scolds. “I don’t want to EVER hear you do that. Talk shit about yourself.”

TJ frowns. “It’s kinda hard when everyone around you is doing it.”

“At school?”

He nods. “I’m the dumb, crazy kid. That’s what everyone thinks. Especially the teachers.”

“They ever say that to you?”

“Not to my face. But I walked by the staff room once and they were talking about that ‘Rake kid’. About how he’ll probably end up in juvenile detention by the time he’s thirteen. And in and out of jail when he’s older. You can’t tell me that it was about Takota or Declan. I might be stupid, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all. And I don’t want you ever calling yourself that again. You just need some help. Find different ways to learn. Not everyone learns the same way. I was like you in school; couldn’t focus, got ignored when I asked for help, that turned into me goofing off or getting frustrated. Lots of times I put a fist into a locker or a wall. A LOT.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to college? Like mum? Is that why you went into the military?”

“I suppose that’s part of it. Guess I liked the danger and adventure of it too. Going off and fighting bad guys and getting to shoot guns and all of that shit. Never thought about actually having to kill people and what that would feel like.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Not good, mate. Not good at all.”

“Even if it’s bad people? Like that Nathan that hurt you?”

“People like him are exceptions. But for the most part? I don’t like doing it. Not even if it’s in the course of helping someone else. But sometimes…”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his son finishes for him. “Sometimes it’s you or them, right?”

“Exactly. And don’t worry about school, alright? I’ll give them a call. Ask for a meeting. Get things sorted and get you the help you need. And deserve.”

“Man…” TJ grins. “...they are going to shit their pants when they hear from you.”

Tyler reaches out to ruffle his namesake’s hair. “Maybe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna head in? See what mum’s cooking up?”

“I don’t know." The ten year old's nose crinkles in disgust. "Do you think it’ll be edible?”

“Is it ever?”

TJ laughs. “Dad…”

“Whatever you do, do NOT tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry…” Leaning across his board, the ten year old wraps both arms around one of Tyler’s; squeezing tightly and laying his head against his dad’s shoulder. “...your secret’s safe with me.”

[aerial-ace97]

19. Faceless Stalker/Hulk - Pathfinder, PF2E

There is an ancient evil that stirs beneath the oceans and in the deep aquatic dark of the many worlds of D&D, one that will only continue to be spoken about in the future and come to this list some day.  But for now it lurks beneath the surf, with those in power believing them to be dead or scheming.  And while these creatures are certainly always a valid threat, on occasion it serves better to have creatures that can break the veil of being ancient and beyond approach, that can walk amidst those of this world, and be the schemers amongst men.  Or sometimes, to simply bear the scars of their creators, and make their own bizarre futures in a world pitted against them.

There are many dozens of creations and minions to the aboleth or alghollthu that have appeared through several different editions, and I have searched throughout to find one that might be a suitable harbinger, zealot, or explorative devotee to their cause.  The skum are far too simple and dull, the chuul not quite versatile enough, the cloakers have a lore that has become their own and only meets with theirs in some variants, and the deep walker simply doesn’t have enough lore.  The one that stands above the rest however, with the intellect, versatility, determination, and lore to carry both the weight of themselves and the legacy of the aboleth, are the faceless stalkers, or as I will continue to call them by their proper title, the ugothol.

Full disclosure, I love the ugothol.  That is all.  I’ll continue now.  As a basic structural analysis, the ugothol is a doppelganger that goes a step down in terms of its abilities mainly because it needs a long time to manifest a new disguise and this causes it pain, though apparently not enough to bother it much.  It does gain greater benefits from a surprise attack however and gains a couple added benefits including an additional bonus against spells or abilities that deal with senses on account of not having a face, some limited damage reduction, a very slow blood drain ability, and the constant ability to know and speak all languages which lets it bypass the will save doppelgangers need to work with to become an effective information gatherer.  This still leaves them with a fairly manageable canvas of CR 4 for further classing or advancing.  It also has a singular variant called the faceless hulk for disguising as large sentient creatures, which doppelfangers can’t manage, and this larger form gains the additional function to expand like a sponge and push people away.  I know.  Pretty dope right.  Sponge boi.

Naturally dwelling in swamps in the absence of their old master, the ugothols can set out on a variety of wide reaching goals either for themselves or this long lasting connection, something which they follow more ardently than any other allgholthu creation.  Crafted initially to infiltrate humanoid settlements on behalf of their alghollthu masters, many also now remain scattered in secret communes across the world.  Even still their is still a call within many of them to plant seeds for the return of the ocean and to deconstruct governmental bodies from the inside out.  All the while, the ugothol subsist on the blood of victims, which they will often leave conscious but helpless to witness their own slow demise.  This does leave them vulnerable to one telltale sign of their trickery though, as they cannot digest solid food matter, regardless of the disguise they take.  

Their is one very specific way however in which the ugothol differentiate from their masters and that is found in their approach to religion.  Where aboleth are largely atheistic, or at least not revering of any God, but rather elder evils, the ugothol seek the practice of faith whether they retain or are repulsed by their following of the alghollthu.  This sense of attempted individuality is a unique quality that could link into many separate paths for them, though admittedly many of the gods they choose to adher to are Chaotic Evil.

There are so many ways that a big bad ugothol can play into your campaign, either by attempting to bring back its masters from its ancient slumber, distinguish itself from its creators, continuing sowing discord on their behalf, or forming a cult to some depraved god or entity.  Even any plot you could consider a doppelganger for, you may also think to consider an ugothol first as their disguises allow them to basically inhabit any niche or story of your game.

https://aerial-ace97.tumblr.com/post/671597484730138624/intro-to-bmeg

[ct-7386]

[My art tablet lives! And I have been playing in the art sandbox >:) Also, as I've rped with Wren, I've learned a bit more about him that I wanted to edit/include. So, here ya go ^^]

BIO

Designation/Name(s): CT-7386, 86, Wren

Rank: Corporal

Title: Communications Technical Specialist: Translator

Age: First Generation Clone (roughly same age as Rex)

Other: He/Him, Asexual

PERSONALITY

Wren: Wren is slightly withdrawn and awkward in social interactions with his vode, but he is also playful and caring. He desperately just wants to turn all of his vode into blanket burritos to keep them safe. Wren will do literally anything to he can to make his vode happy and safe. The ori'vod is strong in this one.

86: 86 has a massive guilt complex. He still tries to do anything he can to keep the others happy and comfortable, but it's more because he feels it's a way to make up for his mistakes than because it makes him happy when they're happy. 86 is even more awkward and unsure of himself, and he doesn't trust himself with any of the younger clones.

BACKGROUND (SHORT)

Oldest and last of an experimental batch

Deployed for the First Battle of Geonosis where he suffered from Noise-Induced Hearing Loss (NIHL); quick thinking and quicker talking kept him from decom and got him two cochlear implants to help him hear again

Assigned to the Coruscant Guard once his therapy was complete

Chose the name Wren after much therapy and emotional healing thanks to his vode

LIKES/DISLIKES

Likes:

Flower horticulture

Talking to Bail Organa

Connecting with his vode

Learning new languages

Feeling useful

Dislikes:

Corporal Cory [another oc]

Feeling useless

Music

The dark

SKILLS

Flower growing - He can grow just about anything

Languages - He speaks nearly 3 dozen, knows various Morse variants (including Mando'a dadita and clone didi) and can sign almost as many as he speaks

Acquisition - He can get his hands on just about anything using his connections amongst the natborns in the Senate Building

EXTRAS

Has a greenhouse hidden somewhere in the Guard HQ that no one else knows about

Because he's hardly ever seen HQ (he's either working, sleeping, or in the greenhouse), hardly any of the vode, including the officers, know who he is even though he's been there for so long (he's fallen through the cracks, so to speak, but he uses that to his advantage)

Has two cochlear implants hidden by his hair

100% deaf in right ear, 80% in left (w/out the implants)

Hyperthymesia: 'an ability that allows people to remember nearly every event of their life with great precision'

Works as a translator in the Senate Rotunda all day every day

Doesn't wear his helmet, elbow guards, or hand plates while he's working so that he can sign easier/more visibly (the commanders don't know about this because h never cleared it with them)

Because of the above, he's the best known/recognized clone to the people in the Senate Building besides Fox himself (and the GAR poster boys Rex and Cody)

Works so closely with so many natborns that he was able to start cultivating them as 'sources' for his underground dealings

Deals in information, contraband, and favors

[There are a couple dark tidbits under the cut, just to be safe. TW: thoughts of suicide; prostitution? sorta?]

Before the fight with Cory that brought him to Fox's attention, 86 was reaching the end of his rope; he was beginning to think about suicide

Most of his deals with the natborns are simple trades of information, exotic flowers, and favors (i.e. retrieving/collecting blackmail material; running errands; ferrying other illegal/dubious items around the Rotunda; etc.). However, if he needs to get ahold of something more valuable and/or the natborn in question is more corrupt, Wren/86 will trade himself

The above is his darkest secret, and he will do a lot to make sure his vode, especially Fox who despises natborns so vehemently, never learn of his shame (he does it all for them)

[ellestra]

The lives not lived

I’ve seen so many calling this a filler episode. Of course, everyone can see their own thing in any work of art but thinking this show is about solving any case or winning a fight is setting oneself for disappointment. Looking for Mephisto behind the curtain where there is none.

Just like WandaVision was really about Wanda’s grief and not battles with villains (both Agatha and Hayward were just triggers) Loki is really about the title character’s growth. All the plots about the TVA (clearly built on lies) and finding Variant Loki (already found) are just side-quest pretext for Loki’s lessons about himself.

In main MCU timeline he learnt it through achieving his goal of being King of Asgard and realising it’s not really anything special but most of all by bonding again with his brother through shared trauma of their parents’ deaths and because he finally realised that he was loved all along.

In Loki he gets a redo through bonding with people who give him insight to himself. Just like in previous episodes Loki’s talks with Mobius were the real point of episode so in this one was his conversations with Sylvie. It’s always about what he can learn from other people.

In the first two episodes Mobius was the one teaching him the first lessons. Loki was basically put in detention and found there a social worker who actually cared enough to ask him all the important questions like “why?” and “what for” and even “and then?”

Loki is being forced to confront some truths about himself - about who he is and why he is doing what he does. It forced him reevaluate his belief system (how his belief in being “god” is any better or more valid than Mobius belief in the Time Keepers) and the superiority complex (there’s a smarter Loki). It showed his “glorious purpose” was but a lie he told himself to feel more special and less afraid but he is not that really special. Lokis are dime a dozen like Infinity Stones. And he isn’t even the best of them. It was all lies he told himself to feel more in control.

In this episode he is shown what he did have. It’s one thing to be shown his future because he didn’t live through his parents’ deaths and reconciliation with Thor. It’s another to remember his own experiences. Talking to Sylvie made him realise all he had with Frigga. You can see how much Sylvie envies these memories. It’s the childhood and love she could only wish for and it makes Loki appreciate what he had. It’s not an accident that the next time we see him he is singing Asgardian song and throwing glasses and showing fireworks. All that reminds him of home.

It’s matters that that the biggest lie he says is the one about his greatest insecurity behind all the Thor 1 and Avengers - being adopted. It’s clear that the fact she knew has shaken him. He tells Sylvie his parents eventually told him but they didn’t. He learnt on his own and this version of him never even got to confront them about it (because he let it fester into homicidal rage instead of talking to anyone about it but still). The other him at least had time to talk to them when he was imprisoned but this one never came back to Asgard. But he also gets to see that that wouldn’t get him a better life. Mostly because a crazy time police finds it unacceptable but also because he already had the love. He just was too angry to remember it.

Loki’s growth here just like the first time in MCU is all about human connection. First with Mobius as a mentor and now with another refugee form a dead timeline who mirrors his need for that connection and the fear of being hurt by it (it also matters that in the end he helps her and saves her even after the device is gone). And the whole talk about love wasn’t a waste of time either. It’s important that neither of the Variants know the answer but they get so close. Because it’s really about the reward of that connection being greater than the hurt it may cause.

The advantage this Loki has by doing this through TVA is that he can look at all the lives he didn’t live and see what could’ve been and understand himself better and become better version of himself.

[spawn-universe]

2021 THE YEAR OF SPAWN CONTINUES,

TODD MCFARLANE’S SPAWN’S UNIVERSE #1 REVEALS NEW ART

Key characters featured in inaugural issue's storylines

PORTLAND, Ore. 3.30.2021 — Beginning in June, Todd McFarlane officially releases the beginning of his new “world-building” universe. Nearly 30 years in the making, the highly anticipated Spawn's Universe #1 is set to visually expand with a reveal of some of the stunning artwork by superstar artists Jim Cheung and colorist FCO. McFarlane takes on the writing duties for this inaugural book that will be the launchpad to build a bigger multi-character, interconnected comic book universe based around his top-selling monthly Spawn comic.

Spawn's Universe #1 will be available with several variant covers. Most prominently, featuring the extraordinary artwork of J. Scott Campbell, who will be doing a set of four covers, each depicting one of the major characters who will be making the biggest impact in all the 2021 comic titles McFarlane is unleashing. Additional variant covers will be created by McFarlane and a group cover by artist Brett Booth—with inks by McFarlane. More covers and incentives will be announced later. However, these initial six covers will set the stage for over a dozen high profile artists to add their depiction of Spawn and other fan-favorite heroes that will set the stage for three new monthly spin-off Spawn titles: King Spawn, Gunslinger Spawn, and The Scorched, all releasing nationwide in 2021.

Contained inside Spawn's Universe #1 will be four different stories (Spawn, She-Spawn, Medieval Spawn, and Gunslinger Spawn) highlighting different Spawn characters from the past and present as well as the introduction of new villains. The acclaimed artists working on each of the chapters will be:

JIM CHEUNG – chapter with Spawn

BRETT BOOTH – chapter with Gunslinger Spawn,

STEPHEN SEGOVIA – chapter with Medieval Spawn

MARCIO TAKARA – chapter with She-Spawn

Spawn's Universe #1, a 52-page, one-shot issue, will launch on Wednesday, June 30 with a retail price of only $5.99. Given the current pricing from other comic companies, this will be one of the comic’s most outstanding value of the year!

McFarlane’s vision is to create new exciting superheroes and new major villains over the next year and beyond.

Todd McFarlane said: “I’ve waited almost 30 years to be able to get to this moment. To deliver on ideas, I hope they will grow from this initial seed called Spawn's Universe #1 into a fully formed world populated with hundreds and hundreds of characters in the near future. The stage will be set with this book, and soon I’ll be launching into new monthly titles for the first time since 1992. I can’t wait to show comic readers all the crazy ideas in my head as well as opening up the floodgate to so many talented creators that have said they’d like to join me on this journey.”

It has been more than 28 years for collectors and fans since a Spawn #1 title has released, and 2021 will bring four new Spawn-related #1 titles to comic retailers nationwide. In 1992, the Spawn comic’s first issue was released and sold an unprecedented 1.7 million copies, a record still unsurpassed for a creator-owned comic book. The original Spawn book is one of the world’s bestselling and longest-running comics, with over 100 million copies sold in more than 120 countries.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Imperial stormtrooper culture headcanons:

This is background information for my Star Wars OCs, so if this interests you you can read about them too! They and this are my personal rebellion against the stereotype of stormtroopers in the franchise as invariably pettily cruel, stupid, incompetent, having no personality beyond bullies or idiots, canon fodder, and the butt of the joke, and never, ever being anything even slightly near nuanced or multifaceted. It’s just unrealistic worldbuilding. I get that the franchise isn’t about them, but they are an important and iconic part of it and I’m sick of seeing literally not one millimetre of depth or respect allowed to them.

Stormtroopers may be indoctrinated into a system that values conformity above all else and punished for not complying with and enforcing that system, but they’re still people. No matter what species they are, they need social interaction on a fundamental level. But except on breaks and at meal times, informal or intimate communication is harshly discouraged as inessential and the first rule of stormtrooper life is that challenging the rules is dangerous. So they master voice and body language recognition to an incredible degree. There are three widespread and easy to learn coded languages native to the Stormtrooper Corps - Stormtrooper Sign Language (SSL); Tappese, similar to Morse code; and MAO (allegedly Move Along Officer, possibly a joke that’s displaced the now forgotten original meaning), a spoken military slang dialect - that are always fragmenting and evolving, and friend groups will frequently invent their own combinations and variants. A kind of game is to keep the canteen dead silent, just how the officers like it, while plenty of people are talking. They’re very self-aware of the ‘homogeneous perfect soldier’ stereotype.

Nicknames are a tradition, a holdover from the clone trooper days. You have an operating number your superiors use, but to your siblings in arms you’ll forever be known as whatever name you’re given or give yourself. In fact, the operating numbers’ dehumanizing implications popularized the custom among the early non-clone ranks, as well as wanting to honour and live up to their revered predecessors. Nicknames rarely follow a pattern because they’re so personal. However, a theme may show connections, e.g. siblings or a shared background. A trend emerges that the most respected soldiers for personality and success alike are given new or second nicknames (more like titles) related to colours. The Empire is black, white and shades of grey as far as the eye can see; being told that you bring colour into it is a great compliment.

To identify each other on sight they subtly modify their armour, another clone homage. Tiny carvings with a vibroknife; coloured splashes on the padding; stencilling or scratching patterns on the borders of your visor; removing the little buttons and switches to add ones you found or crafted yourself. Details never seen unless they’re looked for. This is because any act of reclaiming your individuality could be constructed as dissatisfaction, even dissent. A dent or scuff or something will inevitably be used to identify you anyway, so why not make it your decision and fun, right? More daring troopers try more obvious modifications, sometimes in escalating competitions. Who can keep the officer from remembering we aren’t mindless droids the longest? Who can come the closest to getting caught and not be? It’s an art and a game.

Speaking of games, the troopers have dozens. Life in the army is a lot slower than advertised. Dejarik and sabaac are popular. They make their own games and put twists on existing ones - if it didn’t involve gambling or cigarettes originally, it can now! They don’t get much time for such recreation in the tightly planned days, so many soldiers stay up past curfew to play in the barracks and/or have someone cover for them and sneak out to a local hangout during their shift. An upside of the concealing helmets, identical armour and not being expected to make independent contributions is that nobody knows when you’re being impersonated or snatching a nap under your helmet. Except your accomplices. Again, no amount of Imperial propaganda can suppress the joy of helping your friends outwit a snobby, abusive superior.

Detached superiors are maligned and mocked behind their backs. The higher the rank, more privileges and less frontline experience they have, the bigger the bully and/or coward they tend to be. These types of authorities are often callous and care nothing for the ‘expendable’ common soldiers, or actively enjoy throw their weight around. Even the more benevolent ones don’t understand the infantry culture and are used to thinking of soldiers as numbers on a datascreen. A joke goes, “What’s the difference between a Rebel and an officer? A Rebel might look you in the eyes as he kills you. An officer will do it without looking at you at all.”

If you have nightmares, your nearest roommate will wake you and do their best to comfort you. It doesn’t matter whether you met them that day, it’s basic decency.

Forget credits, trading is the currency here. Equipment, rations, gossip, random items from planets the recipient’s never been to. Brightly coloured items and dyes are revered like the finest spices are by criminals.

Highly specialized branches (snowtroopers, sandtroopers, seatroopers, swamptroopers, magma troopers, etc.) have their own stereotypes and inside jokes due to living in extreme, usually isolated environments. Their unique equipment also has an alluring element of coolness to standard troopers, who may envy it. “Seriously? I’m stuck with a blaster rifle that barely works and you get a flamethrower?” “Blasters don’t risk setting you on fire.”

The army is full of systemic discrimination. Everything from the standard armour to the weapons to the architecture is designed for the physiology of Humans. In a self-perpetuating cycle, most recruits are thus Human and the near-Human minority are subjected to if not blatant abuse, then underlying biases. However, different species have different strengths. The aforementioned specialized branches generally have higher concentrations of non-Human species. Few troopers are willing to stand up to an officer and many are at least implicitly prejudiced themselves, but some make it clear to their non-Human comrades they don’t agree with such unfair treatment. Non-Humans tend to stick together.

There’s a deeply ingrained rivalry between the Imperial Army, the Imperial Navy, and the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order (COMPNOR), the umbrella Imperial propaganda machine and secret police responsible for monitoring citizens for treasonous thoughts. The army resents the navy, the navy looks down on the army, and everyone hates and fears COMPNOR and the associated Imperial Intelligence agencies for being just plain creepy and extremist by anyone’s standards. Sometimes the military and naval rivalry is playful, akin to siblings. But when COMPNOR and Imperial Intelligence are involved, it’s deadly serious. The Rebels are the enemy. The other forces are your nemeses.

A universal joke is pointing out the impracticality of the seemingly bottomless holes and chasms in many Imperial buildings with either no railings or railings short enough to easily fall over. “You know, those things kill more stormtroopers than Rebels, other criminals and alien beasts combined.” It’s uncomfortable to think that that might just be true. What purpose are the chasms serving, exactly? Creating a tense, fearful atmosphere? Why are they so deep? Like, you can drop a stone down there and not hear it land. Why aren’t there at least decent railings? Someday, the troopers swear, an important person will fall down one of the pits and the safety board will finally have to improve regulations.

Mouse droids are the Imperial Army’s unofficial mascot. Mistreating them is considered equivalent to kicking a dog. “Mouse droid” is even slang for an inexperienced new recruit, connoting immaturity, innocence and needing protection. By extension, the Imperial Academy is nicknamed the “mouse maze”. Rebels are contrastingly sometimes nicknamed “rats”.

[i-mybrunettelady]

My brain is a lump of unflavored oatmeal rn so I can't think of questions, but if you feel like, use this as a free pass to answer any 2 questions from the Headcanon Asks Meme that you wanted to talk about but no one sent you! Or that you want to talk about more :D

(@uselessidiotsquad )

Ann :'(( That metaphor is very descriptive and ty! I have a really sweet headcanon that just begged to be released into the wild. So, here it is.

24. Wild card slot. Just anything that’s on your mind.

- Sylvari have their own holiday/celebration that's unique to them. Name is a WIP still, but I'm leaning towards Hopesday. Its beginnings can be traced to the first year of Firstborn being on Tyria, when they decided to make a small feast and celebrate around the fire the fact that they survived a whole year. Then came the Secondborn, one of which was a Valiant named Siona (El's sister in the Podtwin AU, but in the Orrian ritual AU, she's a Warden captain and the second Secondborn on Tyria after Cadeyrn) who was tasked by the Tree to find and protect the White Stag, symbol of hope amongst the sylvari. By the time she found it, sylvari had multiplied and what was 14 people because dozens more, and the annual celebration of.. having survived for a year more became a holiday of hope for the entire race that continues to this day, ever expanding as each new generation comes!

Currently, it's celebrated by dancing and singing and sparring between Wardens and Noonblooms. Duskblooms read and judge a poetry competition in the sylvari language (variant of Old Krytan that Pale Tree picked up and that was further developed by the sylvari). Siona lets the Stag roam and be seen. Firstborn and most recently, El as the Knight of the Thorn, are encouraged to attend. Nyra's attended more than once at Trahearne's side, as did Liv, on El's side!

3. How big is the Pact in respect to other Military forces? Who supports them monetarily (they’ve had enough ressources to build Fort Trinity long before it was certain they could even take Zaithan)

- Big. I personally think of it as the fourth order in terms of size. Do note that the way I write/view the Pact, they're not about to invade a country, as it's not their purpose, but as time progresses, they're slowly becoming more and more a neutral third party that doesn't interfere. If you played Dragon Age: Inquisition, you know what can happen with the Inquisition (who was founded in a situation not that different than that of the Pact) during its last DLC, Trespasser.

Pact's figureheads (Logan, Renira, El, Trahearne, Nyra, various commanders that served under Nyra, etc.) don't interact politically, if they do at all, as members of the Pact. Take Nyra, who is involved with politics (namely Ascalonian nationalism of Ebonhawke, Treaty, that sort of patriotic stuff): when she openly attacks Separatists, she does so as herself, not as Commander.

And I think it's that neutrality, focus on fighting dragons and relief efforts in various wars, that lets them get donations, as someone pointed out, and deals from other races and Orders.

bonus round: Wild card + Pact edition!

- I don't think I've really elaborated on how I hc the Pact to operate. I mentioned a council-esque type of thing, but never expanded upon it. Well, here we go!

There's a Marshal at the top and three commanders below them of equal rank to one another. Only, there's only one Commander by title, and that's Nyra (though she operates more as a free agent now; in my personal canon she rejoins the Pact during the LWs4, but it's someone else who does the field command she did during Zhaitan, and I don't have an idea yet who that person is.) El is the Pact's Head of Research and Renira is the Pact's spymistress. Both are given special permission by their respective Orders to do those jobs.

They're not accountable to each other, something that El is eternally grateful for, but only to the Marshal. Yet, for an action to be that of the Pact and not the advisor themselves, they all have to agree on it. So when El suggested using the Searing Cauldron on temple of Verdance in Orr, he wouldn't have had the green light to actually do it had Nyra not given her permission, which is the first of many questionable things she's since done to have her labeled Lionheart (traitor in a specifically Ascalonian way towards those they feel like are working with specifically charr) by the Separatists. Not that she hasn't called them traitors in return. They have a hate-hate relationship.

[umbry-fic]

To Wish Upon a Lantern

Summary: In the midst of their journey, Lloyd and Colette visit a new town and decide to participate in their lantern festival.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Original Character Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 3266 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 22/06/2021

Notes: Fluff fic with a little bit of angst! Written for @frayed-symphony's birthday!

~~~

“Look at these, Lloyd! They’re so pretty!” Colette exclaimed next to Lloyd. She was pointing out the tiny charms on display in the pop-up cart in the middle of the bustling marketplace. “I wonder what they are,” Colette mused.

“They kinda look like a chef’s hat to me,” Lloyd replied, leaning down to get a closer look at the charms. “You know, the one Professor Raine wore sometimes when trying to cook, just without the folded ridges? It’s even pure white in colour.”

The design resembled a cuboid with an open bottom from which a tassel protruded out, the individual strands all ramrod straight without a kink or tangle in sight. The top of the cuboid transitioned seamlessly into a pyramid-like shape, the same string that made up the tassel extending upwards out of the top of the pyramid, tied into a complicated system of knots. Trying to follow the string down its path made Lloyd’s head hurt. At the end of it all, the string formed a loop, perfect for hanging the charm up on furniture. Threaded on the string above and below the “chef’s hat” were two gems, sunlight reflecting off their polished surfaces and making them sparkle.

“I see what you’re saying.” Colette picked up one of the charms by the loop of string, pursing her lips as her fingers rubbed at the knot. It was a rather satisfying feeling. “But I don’t think a chef’s hat would be important enough to a town for it to be everywhere.”

“True.”

By everywhere, Colette truly meant everywhere. Lloyd had seen multiple variants of this charm at other stalls, some with different colours, some with and without the gems on the strings, some with even more complicated knot designs, some with words printed on the side, some without strings altogether and instead using clasps and hooks, perhaps to better attach the charm to clothing and bags. But it wasn’t just products in the marketplace. He’d seen it in murals painted on the walls of this town, and even walked past some children making a larger version.

“The details are incredible…” Lloyd muttered, feeling the material of the charm. It looked to be folded out of paper at first sight, but the texture wasn’t remotely like it. He wanted to ask the stall owner how he’d folded something so intricate and yet so small.

"Ah, young man, looking to buy one of the lantern charms?"

Speak of the devil! Lloyd nearly jumped out of his skin, gaze snapping up to find that the jovial, bearded stall owner was now right in front of him. The last Lloyd saw of him, he’d been engaged in a fervent discussion with another patron, and that had been just moments ago. How had such a large figure manoeuvred in front of him without any noise at all?!

“No, no! Just window shopping at the moment!” Lloyd quickly clarified, acutely aware of how light the sack of Gald in his pocket was.

“Lanterns? These are lanterns?” Colette interjected, head cocked and hands clasped before her chest. “I’ve never seen lanterns like these before…” When she heard the word “lantern”, she thought of fragile glass and cold metal grips, a flame burning with the faint whiff of kerosene, chasing away the foreboding darkness of winding caverns.

“Ah, I thought you might not be locals. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Yeah, we’re just passing through. Never been to this town in Sylvarant before, so we thought why not?” Lloyd replied.

“It’s always nice to see travellers now that the Desians are gone,” the shopkeeper said with a hearty chuckle, his smile hidden by bushy black bristles. “To answer your question, young lady, these are indeed lanterns. It has been this town’s proud tradition to make these lanterns and hold an annual festival involving them, where we send them to the Goddess above. Though we’ve only been able to do so again with the Chosen's success. We’re actually holding our second one tonight!”

“A festival?” Colette squealed, clapping her hands together. If she weren’t in the middle of town and surrounded by dozens of other people who could clearly see her, Lloyd thought to himself with a smile, she certainly would have started jumping up and down on the balls of her feet like an excited child.

For that was precisely who she was allowed to be, now that she no longer had to labour under the title of Chosen. The child that had been buried for so long in favour of performing her duty could now come to the forefront. She could show her excitement over experiencing all the strange and delightful customs of each town they came across, whether it be Sylvaranti or Tethe'allan. And it was always so endearing to witness, the clear delight on her face, and it gave Lloyd even more motivation to continue this journey across the reunited world. Both to collect the Exspheres, and to let Colette experience everything this beautiful world had to offer, now that it was no longer denied from her.

“Yes. Everyone is encouraged to participate! All you need to do is purchase one of the lanterns, light it up, and release it into the sky! You can even write custom messages on the sides. Most people choose to write wishes, such that the Goddess can grant them.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Colette’s eyes were shining just as brightly as the gems on the cart. Lloyd was sure that she had built a vivid picture of the festival in her mind, what with her bright imagination honed from years of daydreaming as she sat within the cold walls of the Church of Martel, wanting desperately to escape but only able to do so in her head.

A festival sounded like a wonderful experience to him as well. All festivals were, events that exuded a magical aura as all types of people, strangers, friends, lovers and family alike, came together in one place just to celebrate and have a fun time. He hadn’t gotten to participate in that many, but he’d love to go to more.

"Lloyd, do you want to go?" Colette asked, nudging him in the side.

That was all it took for Lloyd's smile to slip into a small frown. Colette's terrible habit was rearing its ugly head again.

It had taken him a while to pick up on it, to learn to parse through what was innate to Colette’s personality and what was Chosen behaviour. But once he did, it was rather hard to ignore. The accursed mention of “Lloyd, do you want to…” had started to grate on his nerves - she’d done it with regards to the summer festival at Mizuho, and the newly revamped Altamiran theme park, and likely a thousand other times throughout all the years he’d known her that he hadn’t noticed. Asking was all fine and dandy, but only if she expressed her own desires first.

She always did this. Disguised her desires in the form of questions posed to others, too afraid to just do things for herself. She still thought she needed justification to let loose and just enjoy herself, despite her own happiness being justification enough.

Time to flip her question on its head.

"Do you want to go? To release a lantern?" he countered, eyes narrowing as he held her in a stare.

"Uh - uh, I -" Colette stuttered, fumbling at the unexpected turn of conversation, unable to look away from those intense russet eyes. "Well, we're low on Gald! And you did say you wanted to make it back to Iselia by next week, so if we stay a night -"

"That's not what I asked," he interrupted, taking hold of her hand. He didn't like being this forceful with her, but it was required. She needed to learn to ask for herself, and giving excuses was not the way. "I asked if you wanted to."

There was silence as Colette bowed her head, her hair hiding her face. It was but moments later that she raised it again, uncertainty painted across her face. "I… Would like to go... With you… And release a lantern together," she whispered haltingly, like it hurt to get the words out, shy blue eyes meeting his again. For her, it likely did, battling against her instinct to swallow the words down and the fear that there would be retribution, whether from invisible priests or the world at large.

There would be no retribution, not if he had anything to say about it. He squeezed her hand, giving her an affirming nod.

That's it. I’m so proud of you.

A small smile graced her face.

"Then it's settled!" Lloyd declared with gusto, turning back to the stall owner, who’d been watching the whole exchange in silence. “Uh, except the cost. How much is it?” He expected he’d have to haggle; they really didn’t have much Gald left. But no matter how, by hook or by crook, he would make this happen.

The stall owner burst into roaring laughter, slamming a hand on the cart. “For you two, free of charge!”

“What, really?” Lloyd blurted out, hardly able to believe his ears. Surely this was a deal that was too good to be true?

“Yes, really! Take it as payment for putting such a large smile on my face. Go down to the fields at sundown. I’ll meet the two of you there with a lantern. In return, spread the news of our festival to your friends! And if you choose to return next year, you can pay the full price.”

“Thank you so much, mister!” Colette said. “We’ll be sure to tell all our friends! I’m sure they’ll love the idea so much that they’ll all turn up next year!”

“Ha! I like the sound of that!”

Confirming the details of the meetup, Lloyd thanked the stall owner profusely before walking away hand-in-hand with Colette.

“He was very nice,” Colette muttered.

“That he was. So we shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

Colette mumbled her agreement, that small smile still on her face, soothing Lloyd’s worry that he might have pushed her too far.

There was still the issue of lunch, though. His stomach was growling, and Colette must have been hungry from all the walking they’d done in the morning. But this time, he’d cut her some slack. He couldn’t expect change to occur immediately - it would take time, possibly years.

“Want to go get lunch at that place we saw down the road that sells dumplings? We’ve never tried it before, and Sheena said it was good.”

Receiving Colette’s enthusiastic agreement, (and spotting the relieved slump of her shoulders,) they set off, their fingers tightly locked together. And after lunch, there would be enough time to explore this town to the fullest.

~~~

Colette stood back on the grassy hill, watching the stall owner (whose name she still hadn’t learned), kneeling on the ground and carefully lighting a match. Lloyd stood slightly closer, observing with a keen eye. He was most likely trying to figure out the craftsmanship of the lantern; he’d been obsessed since he’d first seen the charms. She was more interested in the knot, and would likely be spending an afternoon at Dirk’s playing with string trying to recreate it. She didn’t think that would end very well, and a lot of untangling from Dirk and Lloyd’s end would be required, but it would be fun!

Standing too close to the stall owner ran the risk of her accidentally starting a fire, and that would have horrific consequences on plains of short grass such as these, so she was going to keep a safe distance.

As agreed, she and Lloyd had met up with the stall owner at the rolling hills behind the town, though not before exploring every nook and cranny of the town, with its curving arches and winding, narrow streets, watching the children play games with toys she had never seen before and having the honour of joining in. The stall owner had been in the process of unfolding a compact square of an unknown material, unveiling a lantern that was half her height and fitting it with something that resembled a lamp without the glass covering. (How did that fit into a small square?) After which, he’d lent them brushes whose tips were drenched in dark red ink, asking them to write whatever they wanted on the side of the lantern.

Enraptured with the idea of granting wishes, she had written the first thing that had come to mind before she lost her courage to do so. Lloyd had smiled after seeing her wish, choosing not to write another and only adding his name under hers, causing her to giggle as she tried her best not to trip and dot him in ink.

The sun had still been peeking over the hill when they’d arrived here, but in the time it had taken to finish their preparations, it had sunk out of sight, leaving behind only a harsh pink that was quickly being chased away by sparkling stars.

“It’s done!” the stall owner called out, standing up while keeping a secure grip on the side of the lantern. The fire was contained inside the lantern, causing the sides to be lit up in gentle orange light and the tiny words to stick out in harsh red. She’d noticed that quite a lot of things in this town were red. Maybe it was an auspicious colour to them?

Colette ran over to join Lloyd, accepting the lantern from the stall owner so that she was holding one side and Lloyd was holding the other, standing across from her. She could feel the heat of the flame licking at her fingers, chasing away the chill of the night. The lantern was fighting to escape her hold, the surge of hot air doing its absolute best to propel it towards the heavens, where it belonged.

“You can let go at any time,” the stall owner clarified. “Once that’s done, you can sit here and watch your lantern for as long as you want! I’ll be joining my family and giving you two some alone time now.”

“Thank you, mister!” Colette called out after the diminishing silhouette of the stall owner, until he disappeared amongst the throng of others. It seemed like the entire town and then some had turned up for the festival, populating the plains with head upon head. Somehow, upon this one hill, they were the only two present, free to soak in each other’s company.

“On the count of 3?” Lloyd offered, drawing her attention back to him. The flickering flame of the lantern cast him in the same orange light, the tips of his hair catching most of it and rendering the strands an even lighter brown, the features of his face soft while his lower half was covered in twisting shadow. A truly magical sight.

“Okay.”

“1…”

“2…” she joined in.

“3!” they cheered together, throwing the lantern into the sky and angling their heads up to watch.

The lantern rose fast into the sky, wobbling a little in its journey but remaining steadfast. The weather was good today, with no hint of a raincloud and only a gentle breeze that would pose no problems. Theirs was one of the first lanterns, joining the dozen that had already made their way into the clear sky to play by the moon, darkness having fully fallen.

Feeling a tug on her sleeve, she found that Lloyd had settled himself on the grass and was gesturing for her to join him. She did just that, the two of them sitting in silence side-by-side for a few minutes as more and more people released their lanterns.

"Sorry if I was too hard on you in the morning," Lloyd whispered, finally breaking the silence as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"No, it was necessary," she replied, taking his hand and squeezing. "You were just trying to help me. Besides, you've more than made up for it today. And I know I need to start thinking about myself more. It's just… Hard.”

It was difficult, to push past the echoes of the priests in her mind, telling her that as Chosen she had to conduct herself with the utmost grace and not indulge in cravings. That accepting gifts from others were already pushing the line, not to mention asking for things. It wasn’t proper.

“I'm -"

"Stop right there," Lloyd interjected, pressing a finger against her lips, a slightly exasperated smile on his face. “No apologising for what isn’t your fault, remember?”

“Ah, right! I’m - Okay, I’m just going to stop talking,” Colette muttered with flushed cheeks, clapping her hand over her mouth as she let her head fall onto his shoulder. She’d gotten better, but whenever she fell back into one habit, she tended to fall into all of them at once.

At least she could stop herself now. And she wanted to shed those behaviours, not only for herself, but to stop seeing the sad frown on Lloyd’s face. He continued to blame himself for not catching on sooner, for unknowingly encouraging those habits, when it wasn’t his fault.

Lloyd chuckled, leaning his head on hers. “It’s alright. I know it’s not going to be easy, but all you need to do is take baby steps. And I’ll be here to help you.”

“I know you will.”

“Let’s just enjoy the view now, shall we?”

“Mm.”

Above them, there were a thousand pinpricks of light as the lanterns rose into the sky. So many and so dense that they seemed to outnumber the stars themselves, though she knew that was impossible. Or perhaps the lanterns were golden stars, each holding a precious wish that its owner hoped could come true with all their heart, prayed would reach the Goddess. It almost reminded her of gazing up at the grand chandelier adorned with candles that hung in the sanctum of the Church, but instead of a sight that filled her heart with melancholy, the sight before her now was a breathtaking and uplifting one, even if she knew there was no Goddess in the sky.

For surely, if this many people came together with a common dedication, a miracle could still occur to grant these wondrous wishes.

She could barely see their lantern now - it was both lost among the crowd and too high up, the words she’d written on it too far away to make out. But they were still held in her heart.

I wish that I can continue exploring this incredible world together with you.

Mayhap it was a selfish wish. It would have been more appropriate for the Chosen to wish for the good of the world. But she wasn’t the Chosen anymore. Besides, she was sure other people had made such a wish. And… If the wishes contained within all these lanterns were to come true, would the world not be a better, happier place? Would there not be a brighter tomorrow awaiting all of them?

“I’d like to come back next year,” she said, trying her best to push out the desires in her heart, to stop battling against guilt that she knew she should not need to feel. “Maybe with all of our friends?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Maybe my wish will be different next year.

She snuggled closer into Lloyd’s warmth, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, both a comforting blanket and an impregnable shield.

I don’t think it will.

[ashedink]

RPG story time/Pictures

So I am a gamemaster for a pathfinder group that’s been my reliable RPG gang for years. I wanted to make this as like a small gallery of pictures I’ve drawn for my most recent game, titled Red Gold.

As per usual it’s a long one, so I’ll put the bulk of things under the cut:

It was a simple RPG starting point, everyone was bounty hunters in a prestigious organization called the Hall of Red Gold. They deal with prison escapes, grave robbers, train robbers, necromancers, dangerous animals/creatures, and all other sort of variety of unlawful or evilness.

The founders of the Hall of Red Gold, they had a large painting made of a much smaller photograph taken just before their last battle.

Their center organization is in one of the largest cities in the country (population over 1.5 million) called Mkali (top picture) specifically that’s an area called the Canal Promenade. The canal serves to water their fields, prevent disastrous flooding, and allow for steamboat traffic and it’s a huge and central fixture. It’s almost always filled with merchant cards and street performers, and the city itself is brightly painted.

Their first quest was to cull a pride of man-eating lions and collect the tails for bounty proof. Through their Lion encounters they ended up with multiple critical decapitations. So they cut off the heads, cut off the tails, and quickly solidified their name:

Heads and Tails

They’ve come so far since then. They’ve made NPC allies in their organization, several of whom traveled with the party until they started taking on quests that were just too dangerous for them.

Their first companions were a goblin bard who mostly went by his stage name: Corpsebeater, and a Alchemist Halfling half-fiend who was *mistakenly* rescued from a demon cult under the assumption that she was a 5 year old tiefling. Both of them wonderful companions now retired. Corpsebeater changed his bard name to Venomblood after surviving a dozen scopion stings. He retired from the group shortly after that, but continues to build percussive music to shout exploits to. And for Zippi, after her time experimenting on the party (and herself) she got accepted as an apprentice in a shop called The Basilisk’s Eye.

The way I did it is Red Gold has a number of NPCs who can be invited along, and I’ve made it fairly easy for characters to flow in and out of the party without changing the game up too much. When VB retired Zippi stuck around just long enough to nearly die (she was like 2-3 levels behind the party at that point) and the party had some downtime, enough downtime to get up to a Fun Side Non-Bounty Related Thing.

Performing in the COLOSSEUM OF COURAGE! A temple to a minotaur/cervine god of battle and martial prowess. It trains warriors and also hold grand events in the tradition of old colosseums as a way of generating money. And this temple is run by the Grand Paladin RHEMBOL IRONHIDE!

The number of PCs I expected to hit on Rhembol was 2 higher than the 0 I thought it would be I could not stop snickering to myself I make this big old banged up greyed minotaur but he’s just got so much personality that everyone loved him. And of course he was glad to have Red Gold Participate in THE GRAND MASTER’S MAZE RUN! (Sorry, he is inflicted with SPONTANEOUSLY PROJECTING STAGE VOICE! meaning when I think in his headspace sometimes YOU JUST GOTTA ALLCAPS IT!)

But there was one little condition. You see, Rhembol has four wonderful lovely daughters that he would give the world for, three of whom are mostly like him: charismatic, gregarious, boisterous, always up for a fight but not looking for conflict.

And then, there’s...

Chesvah Ironhide, his awkward, unsociable, perpetually on auto-pilot daughter. She doesn’t like the performative aspect of her father’s temple, never has, but has never known anything other than Be A Paladin/Performer. So Rhembol spoke with Red Gold and allowed their teams into the games if Red Gold agreed to hire his daughter.

She joined a group that had formed just to compete in the games with plans to dissolve afterwards- and boy did they.

The 6-person team she was a part of contained a lot of other NPCs the party could bring into Heads and Tails, but only one of them is relevant- that being Tulio. Tulio is a catfolk who is a crack shot with a rifle, but also a LOT of other problems. He was almost always some variant of high, and showed many concerning behaviors. Red Gold kept him around because of his skill...

But, when in a drugged stupor he opened friendly fire in the colosseum with a crowd of tens of thousands in the audience, Red Gold had had the last of it with him and he was kicked out.

The party picked Chesvah up shortly afterwards.

And they probably didn’t expect Tulio to ever come back.

And certainly for a while he didn’t. Things ramped up, the party had been tasked with wiping out a Lamashtan cult, their leader Jiyaki who was a very prolific murderer, and stopping them from whatever their mysterious and bloody Goal was.

Pictured above is not the cult leader, but a demon bound to her service by another caster, and perpetual game wildcard. A powerful concubus who goes by the name of Kel. Yes, the same two members of the party did hit on them, successfully (depending on your definition of success here). Kel repeatedly showed no interest in obeying their master’s wishes, especially if they got in the way of fun, but its soul-bound sword “Shiver” had a number of contingencies in place to ensure Kel’s behavior.

Around this time they also were contacted by a blue dragon. You see, the last time they were investigating this, they had been told it was bandits, not a cult they were after. It was an inside-attempt to throw potential bounty hunters off their trail.

When they investigated the city one of the things that stood out was that there had been a break-in at a greenhouse called the Greenbriar Reserve. Upon investigating, Heads and Tails comes to the discovery that the Greenbriar Reserve had a dragonsbane plant. Dragons have been known to raize entire cities or countrysides over even a HINT of dragonsbane, because it is one of the few things that challenge their supremacy, and this greenhouse in a massive, populous city just happened to have one. The owner of the reserve kept it secret- for obvious reasons- and didn’t even state the name of the plant or 100% confirm he had one to the party. Hints and innuendo and nothing more. But he did ask them to please keep looking for the snip of plant which was taken- and his missing daughter as well (Kel kidnapped her and many others to use their faces for infiltration)

And then a blue dragon arrived at Red Gold HQ. Hushand the Gardener.

It had been over a month and he wanted to know how they were doing at finding HIS dragonsbane plant.

Because you see, he was working on a cure.

More and more things pile up on this city, culminating in a huge battle.

Someone pulled many strings to create what could have been (and honestly still was) a disastrous chain of events which involved red dragons attacking the city, Hushand the Gardener coming to the city’s defense. And there being two active shooters in the crowd with dragonbane poisoned weapons.

And one of those shooters was

Tulio swift, former Red Gold member, suspected veteran of the 27 year long surriedan civil war, habitual drinker and drug user and over all fringe NPC to the game. 

In the heat of battle one of the PCs killed Tulio- but with the intent of getting him raised afterwards, to interesting effects.

Meanwhile under the cover of the military battles above, the party begins fighting the demon cult in the secret vaults below the city. Down below in the vaults where they had learned a lamashtan Artifact lies which turns sacrificed souls into conduits for summoning powerful demons.

And I’ll continue this when I get back from a walk. I’ve got more to add, but this has gotten long enough as it is.

[mst3kproject]

Beast from Haunted Cave

I’ve actually received a couple of requests for movies to review, and I am looking into them.  I just have a few others I want to get through first… like this one.

Beast from Haunted Cave begins with a familiar tune – over the credits we hear the same jumpy ‘suspense’ music that opened both Night of the Blood Beast and Attack of the Giant Leeches.  It seems to have been a favourite of Gene Corman (Roger’s brother), who produced all three movies.  The writer, furthermore, was Charles B. Griffith, who did the same job for half a dozen MST3K movies, including It Conquered the World, Gunslinger, and Wizards of the Lost Kingdom II.  Finally, Beast from Haunted Cave has the strange distinction of being the only movie I’ve ever seen that thanks ‘the people of South Dakota’.

A master criminal and his drunk, stupid henchmen (one of whom is a drunk, stupid henchwoman) have decided to rob a mining operation.  In the process they annoy some kind of giant bug monster that was living in the mine, and it stalks them and their guide through the wintery mountains until they reach a cabin where they hole up to wait out a blizzard. Between the monster lurking outside and the fact that the gang are all getting fed up being stuck indoors and starting to hate each other (a familiar scenario in 2020), it’s a good bet that no more than two of them are getting out alive.  Probably the henchwoman and the guide, since they were kissing earlier.

Beast from Haunted Cave is a typically cheap Corman production.  The familiar music persists through the entire film, and gives the same impression it did in Blood Beast – the soundtrack people were given a set of pre-existing pieces and did what they could with them.  A terrible winter storm is represented by howling wind noises, but it never actually snows.  The monster is dreadful.  The webs draped over everything demonstrate that it’s a spider, but all we actually see is a featureless head and a couple of flailing arms that resemble nothing so much as one of those inflatable tube men at a used car lot.  When all we’re seeing is one leg reaching out to grab people it’s not awful, but as soon as we get a good look at the whole creature it’s clear that this is some kind of repurposed Hallowe’en decoration.  The gold bricks the thieves came to steal are just… well, bricks painted gold.  The paint isn’t even shiny.

Outside of that, however, the movie isn’t really that bad.  Everybody on the crew seems to have known what they were doing, and did their best to work within their meagre budget.  The photography is surprisingly competent.  The lighting rarely qualifies as atmospheric but there’s always enough of it – even in scenes set at night or in a dark cave, I never found myself squinting and wondering what’s going on.  The snowy landscapes are shot on location and look suitably hostile (although they could often only do one take, since after that the snow wouldn’t look pristine anymore).  You can see the actors’ breath, which gives a visceral sense of the cold.  The writing is mostly just serviceable but every so often there’s a little gem tucked within it.

The two places where this shows best are in the character of Marty and in the relationship between the mastermind, Alex, and the henchwoman, Gypsy.  Marty is a drunken buffoon but there’s more to him than that.  Early in the film he invites a cocktail waitress from the ski lodge, Natalie, to make out in a cave with him.  They disturb the monster, and Marty escapes but leaves Natalie behind.  For the rest of the film, even as he continues to be a drunken buffoon, it’s clearly eating him up that he abandoned this woman.  There’s an ambiguous moment when he finds Natalie’s still-living body webbed to a tree in the middle of the woods – perhaps it really happened, or maybe he’s having a nightmare.

Gypsy has clearly been working for Alex for some time, as secretary, girlfriend, and as a way of distracting the targets of his robberies. She’s an alcoholic sad sack who looks ten years older than her stated age of twenty-six, and clearly regrets her self-destructive life.  She cannot leave, however, because Alex is controlling and violent, and because she wouldn’t know what she wants or who she is without him.  When he beats her up for kissing Gil the guide, she later says Alex had a perfect right to slap me.  At the same time, the film hints of happier times between the two in a running gag, never explained, where Alex and Gypsy call each other ‘Charles’.  This seems to have once been an endearment, but is now a passive-aggressive insult.

One character whom I wish had done more is Gil’s housekeeper, Small Dove.  She rarely speaks, but she carries an axe and spends a lot of time judgmentally watching the stupid white people.  She could have been this movie’s Eulabelle, but she ends up getting eaten by the monster without ever doing anything badass.  Shame.

Let us now return to a familiar question: who is the main character in this movie?

I guess Gil is the ‘hero’.  He’s the hunky male lead, who gets the girl at the end. He never does much to further the plot, though, except for urging Gypsy to leave Alex and figure out how to lead her own life. Although she seems romantically interested in him, Gil may not return the sentiment – it’s hard to say.  He doesn’t kill the monster, Marty actually does that by setting it on fire with a flare gun.  Gil is just sort of there, a cardboard cut-out in the ‘handsome guy’ box all movies must have.

Gypsy has a much better claim on the protagonist role.  The script takes much more interest in her situation than in anybody else’s, and we are encouraged to sympathize with her feeling lost and trapped.  She survives at the end to run off with Gil, though we’re not given any indication of what they’ll do now or whether the budding relationship between them will last.  Like so many other movies of its era, Beast from Haunted Cave has no denouement.  We simply fade to black from the monster on fire (another thing they could only do once, since they actually burned the prop).

Gil is the one who describes the cave as ‘haunted’, but this never has anything to do with the story.  There is not even a hint of a ghost or even a ghost story connected with the cave.  I assume the word is in the title mostly because Beast from Cave sounds like a dinosaurs-and-cavemen movie made by the cavemen, and having put it there, Griffith felt he had to justify it with a line of dialogue.

The character who had the most potential to go through an arc is actually the antagonist, Alex.  He’s been pulling heists like this for years, and is proud of his success.  He has no reason to think this job will be any different, and yet as the movie progresses, Alex has to watch his plans fall apart all around him.  One of his henchmen is going mad from terror and guilt.  The other, Byron (who you can tell apart from Marty because Byron is The One In The Stupid Hat), is developing a crush on Small Dove and thinking about getting out of crime and settling down.  Gypsy is kissing Gil right in front of him, and Alex worries what she might have told him about the real purpose of the ski trip.  Then there’s the storm, which means the plane that was supposed to take them to Canada can’t get to them, and the lurking monster.  At the end of the film, Alex is still trying to regain control of the situation, even as the monster closes in on him.

Criminals on the run getting menaced by a monster seems to be a surprisingly common plot for a movie.  Voodoo Woman and Killer Fish were both variants on the theme.  I’m guessing this serves two purposes within the plot: the first is that it means we’re not too sad when the main characters die, since they were already bad people.  The second is what I think Beast from Haunted Cave was going for – it means that the characters cannot ask for help with their situation.  The group know, from hearing it on the radio, that they’re being hunted by the authorities.  If they were to call for help, whoever came to the rescue would find the gold bars in their bags, and they’d go straight to prison.

This idea is mostly implied.  Nobody ever actually suggests calling for help, or even trying to contact the people who were gonna be flying their getaway plane.  It also seems that they had no contingency plan for bad weather, which makes the whole operation look very poorly-planned.

One thing I did find myself thinking about is that the radio news mentions the police looking into the theft, but we never actually see the cops investigating.  This applies to the other movies I mentioned above, as well… in Voodoo Woman we’re in an area that doesn’t seem to have much by way of police, but in Killer Fish, too, law enforcement is entirely absent. This is a good choice on the part of the writers and directors, because it allows us to focus on the monster plot. If they were to include detectives, that would unnecessarily complicate things and require a resolution of its own.

Then again, if they had two resolutions, they might have had to include some ‘wind-down’ time.  I don’t like it when movies end abruptly after the monster dies, because it tends to leave dangling subplots.  Gil and Gypsy are still in the middle of nowhere, and must now shelter in the cave until the storm ends.  Are they going to be okay?  Last time we saw Small Dove she was weakened from blood loss but not yet quite dead.  Can they save her?  Will Gil and Gypsy stay together, or will he encourage her to go find herself? So there’s another lesson for aspiring film-makers: don’t end your movie until the story’s actually over.