#Those days gone by (Pre-DOOM)

[expvrgction]

Continued from here! @errantwish

Instead of a swift end, a voice could be heard. Unnatural, unnerving, even by the standards of this world.

"My, human beings are so quick to fear. To judge, when faced with unknowns." Which would be worse-- To be hunted, or to have to suffer an encounter with who was nothing short of a fiend? At least Snow White was far more fortunate to NOT have this-- The Dark Lord of Hell as HER guardian. Who knew what she would have otherwise be subjected to, and to what kind of world she would live in.

"Where could you be heading amid blinding sleet, young one?" A question that should have been easy to answer, but Davoth's presence would pose weight of difficulty to do so.

When was the last time had he seen a living child, in his homeworld?

[miasmaghoul]

I’ve been thinking about 0 stamina dew recently. Like that part in mummy dust where he jerks off in time for the canon? Dude gets in like 4 jerks before he’s blowing his load. Probably would be even less if it was someone else’s hands on him.

you guys have no idea what a minute man dew truther i am omg my moment has cum

Dew tries not to view it as a weakness.

He has stamina in other ways. More than most, really. He can take and take without complaining - well, not in any way that matters, at least. He can take pain and pleasure, humiliation and scorn, laughter and praise; whatever they give, he will gladly take. Takes it all in stride, even, save for the occasional case of supdrop or mild internal bruising. Dew is good at taking.

When it comes time to give, though -

"Dew, fuck, please-" Aether voice quivers as much as his belly, tight with pleasure. "Please give it to me."

Well, there's a reason Dew rarely tops.

"Soon," he breathes, licking his lips while he watches Aether open up for him. "Soon, I promise."

Aether drops his head back onto the mattress with a groan, rolls his hips, and Dew sighs.

There's a reason he rarely tops, but Aether asked, and Aether always gets what he wants. Whether Dew likes it or not.

As though he could possibly not.

They've been here for a while now, started back when the sun still painted his room in summery tones of rose and peach. It's lit by Dew's bedside lamp now, but Aether looks no less tantalizing in this light.

On his back, legs splayed and hanging over the edge of the bed, fists bunched in pale gray sheets. He's flushed all over, skin shiny with sweat and speckled with evidence of Dew's mouth. Splotches of color that pepper Aether's throat, his inner thighs and everywhere in between. Sucked in deep enough that Dew will be able to press on them for a few days to remind Aether what he can do.

Dew's eyes, though, aren't caught on those marks. They're been stuck between Aether's legs for a while now, ever since Dew settled to his knees between those strong thighs. Stuck on the sight of Aether's wet, purpling cock, throbbing where it rests in the crease of his hip. It jumps every time Dew's fingers move, every time he curls them deep inside Aether's needy body.

Dew pets at the bump of his prostate and Aether yelps as his cock spits a blurt of pre. There's a trail of it coating Aether's hip, just begging to be lapped up. Dew indulges, drags his tongue from Aether's frenulum and over the fresh bead already welling up in his slit. Relishing the choked off gasp he gets in return, in the way that tight pink hole clamps down around his digits.

He licks up the mess coating Aether's warm skin, bathes his tongue in the salty musk of pre and sweat, and Dew's own cock dribbles onto the hardwood floor.

The thing has gone ignored all evening, left alone while Dew worked Aether over. While he licked into his mouth and kissed down his chest. While he took every inch of Aether into his hot mouth and swallowed him down. While he pressed wet, sloppy kisses to Aether's full balls and tickled his soft, pink rim.

It hurts. Aches in a way Dew really likes, in spite of himself. It's so hard, flushed red and sticking straight out, wagging in the air whenever Aether lets out one of his beautifully agonized sounds. The little ghoul hasn't so much as squeezed at it, devoting himself instead to pulling pleasure from Aether's stunning body in any way he can.

He has no other choice - one rogue brush of his own fingers could spell his doom.

Well, maybe not just a brush, but it certainly wouldn't help.

Dew rolls his hips into the air anyway, silent desperation. His other hand, the one not busy milking drop after drop of fluid from Aether's twitching cock, provides a distraction. He funnels heat into his palm, rubs it over Aether's thigh and up his stomach. Aether hisses at the burning warmth, squirms, and Dew pulls it back just enough to make him groan instead.

"Dew - love, please," he begs, the sound of it hitting the little ghoul right in the gut, "you - want you -"

"You've got me," Dew assures him, trying not to let his voice betray the soreness between his legs. Not that he needs to hide it, Aether knows exactly why Dew's holding out on him. They've been here before.

"You know what I mean," Aether pants, gasping out a soft oh when Dew's overwarm hand wraps around his pulsing length. Aether peers down at him with blown-out eyes and bee stung lips, deep hunger lining his face. Dew gives his swollen tip a little kiss and pillows his head on Aether's thick thigh, letting out deep sigh.

"Are you close?"

Dew crooks his fingers and a generous blob of pre slides down over his knuckles. Aether shivers, but he doesn't respond, and Dew has his answer.

"You know how this works," he murmurs, smearing that slickness over Aether's shaft and starting to stroke. "You know how to get it inside."

Dew watches Aether dig his fingers into the sheets harder, and he can't help the little moan that escapes him.

"Just tell me when," he breathes, nipping at the tender skin of Aether's hip. "Then you can have it."

It's not that he wants to deny Aether. Not really. That's more of a pleasant side effect of this exercise. Dew has a definite goal here, one he's never managed but always aims for, and it hinges on getting Aether to that razor's edge before he even thinks about giving him what he wants. It's the only way Dew stands a chance.

Patience is not a virtue the little ghoul possesses in spades, but determination is another story.

Tonight, he will make Aether cum on his cock.

Dew snorts to himself - even in his head it sounds ridiculous. Something that should be so simple, always just out of his grasp. He tries, every time he tries, and yet success eludes him. Always on a hair trigger, never more than a few pumps from spilling long before he's ready. Weak to any pressure around the sensitive flesh hanging between his legs, pathetically so. His own hand was bad enough, and that's a habit he's mostly abandoned in favor of becoming something of a communal hole instead.

But he is determined, and Aether deserves to spill all over his own belly before Dew fucks a hot load into him. Dew will be so good to him afterwards to make up for the wait, he swears he will - all Aether has to do is give him this. Has to lay there and take what the little ghoul gives him, has to let Dew push and push until he can't take any more, driven to the brink until he's a drooling, quivering mess.

Dew wraps his lips around the head, gives him a nice slurp, and Aether's back arches. The sound he makes when Dew stretches his jaw and swallows him down is low and decadent, deliciously sinful. It only takes a few bobs of his head for Aether's breathing to go stilted, and Dew takes that as his opportunity to wiggle a third finger into Aether's eager hole.

"Lucifer that's good," Aether says in a rush, trying to rock back against Dew's hand. His cock throbs against Dew's tongue and the little ghoul groans, the vibration of it forcing a tremor through every inch of Aether's body. "Oh, Dew -"

His voice melts into a tight, reedy plea for more, and Dew knows it won't be much longer now. He doubles down on wringing those heady sounds from Aether's throat. Messy, unintelligible gurgles that flow freely from his tongue and his cock pours pre down Dew's throat.

Aether's fluttering round his probing fingers now, hot and velvety in a way that makes Dew's eyes cross. He's rutting into the air mindlessly, skinny hips humping against nothing at all. Part of him hates that he can stay so hard for so long, only to fall apart in seconds. It feels like a betrayal on the deepest level, but right now Dew doesn't care.

Aether's starting to sound stupid now, and it's music to his ears. Little ah, ah, ah sounds forced out with every swirl of Dew's fingers over his most sensitive spots. He's started to draw his knees up too, started to curl in on himself, and Dew feels Aether's balls begin to draw up against his chin.

"Close, close," Aether warns, moaning long and low when Dew pulls off with a wet pop.

"Yeah?" He asks it a bit breathlessly, eyes sparkling and cock jumping. "Gonna shoot for me?" Aether gives him a frantic nod and Dew groans, biting his lip. "Fuck, I'm gonna make you feel so good."

He pulls his fingers from Aether's tense, quivering body with no ceremony, little chest heaving as he shoves himself to his feet. His knees scream at the movement, but Dew does not have the capacity to care. He paws at the bed in search of their discarded bottle of lube, digging it out from the mess of blankets and popping the cap.

"Legs up," he instructs, drizzling entirely too much slick over himself, "show me - yeah, just like that, fuck."

Dew groans through his teeth when Aether grabs for his knees and tucks them up by his chest, making sure not to hide his face. Dew would never allow that. He's slick and swollen, puffy hole clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. Dew pours more lube there too, and Aether squeezes his eyes shut with a strangled sound.

"Shh," the little ghoul soothes, smearing the lube over his hole and pushing some inside. "I've got you, I've got you."

With a deep breath, Dew finally risks touching himself where it counts. His whole body feels like a livewire, twitchy with unspent energy and tension. He hasn't only ignored his cock tonight - his whole body remained off limits, even to Aether. Especially to Aether. He can feel sweat trailing down his temples, down his sacrum, and when Dew oh-so-gently spreads that generous layer of lube over himself it knocks the air from his lungs. It's just so sensitive.

With a barely-hidden whimper, Dew wipes his slippery hand clean on the sheets and grips tight at the base, his other hand digging into the plushness of Aether's thigh. Squeezing mindlessly while he lines up his dripping cock with Aether's wet hole. There's entirely too much lube in play here, but it's all intentional. Necessary, if you ask Dew. An added barrier, a reduction in sensation that his body desperately needs.

It hardly helps. Even the bump of his tip against Aether's hole feels like too much, and Dew grabs at Aether's cock again. Strokes once, twice, three times to make sure he's still riding the edge. The way Aether's toes curl is a dead giveaway.

"Dew," he bites out, licking his lips and opening himself so wide, "now."

Dew can deny him no longer.

The little ghoul shouts when the tip slips into that tight ring of muscle, and the searing pressure of Aether's body shreds his patience with the sharpest claws. It sucks him in, hot and silky and so, so perfect. Dew sinks into him in one long push, not trusting himself to stop. If he stops, Aether might clamp down on him. If Aether clamps down on him, his head will implode.

What a way to go.

Dew seats himself to the hilt, and the moment their hips meet his shoulders hunch. He's throbbing already, his balls tight, and Dew cannot stay still or silent.

"Aeth - shit, Aether," he nearly whispers, chest heaving while his greedy hands grope at Aether's belly and chest, "so good, you feel so good, oh -" He starts pumping before he really means to, any control hopelessly vanishing into the suffocating heat of Aether's body.

It's embarrassing how quickly he falls apart, it really is.

"Please, please," he pants, too-stiff dick pulsing deep in Aether's hole. It's barely been a minute, but he's right there already. Like always. He drags blunt nails down that soft stomach, scratches red marks that he'll lick Aether's cum off of later.

Dew wraps both spidery hands around Aether's fat cock, strokes him tight, and the last of his control dissolves in the hurt cry Aether offers. He's slamming in now, the slap of skin on skin loud and lewd in Dew's ears.

"Aeth, baby, please -" he begs - demands - hips stuttering when Aether squeezes around him, Dew still working him with frantic hands. "Please cum, need you - oh fuck - need you to cum for me, please -"

Aether's moaning nonstop now, leaking all over Dew's fingers, thighs trembling. Dew worked so hard to get him here, spent so long worshipping Aether the way he always deserves. He knows it's close, knows he's so close to finally feeling Aether writhe around him without blowing first. He knows he can make it happen tonight, has to make it happen tonight. He doesnt care how much he has to beg, to plead; the gnawing need to feel Aether clamp down around him far outweighs any shame.

"Know you can," Dew spits, half out of his mind at least. The knot of painful heat in his belly is unraveling far too quickly, his blood set to boil. Aether hisses when Dew tightens his grip, twisting over the head, and Dew starts to ramble. "Please do it, please Aeth, let me feel it, I gotta - need to feel it, feel you -"

Dew cuts himself off with a shocked howl when a callused finger brushes over his nipple. The sensation zips through him like white-hot lightning, wrapping around the base of his spine and forcing his stomach tight. He fixes Aether with wide, wild eyes, and finds the other ghoul wearing the worst sort of smile.

"Wanted to...touch you too," Aether pants between Dew's hammering thrusts, and the little ghoul can't possibly hope to stop himself now.

"Oh no - Aeth, no, please," he whimpers, hips stuttering while the other ghoul fiddles with his chest, "you can't, that -" Dew gags on his cries when Aether pinches that stiff bud, drooling directly onto the other ghoul's stomach.

"Why...not?" Aether has no business sounding so playful, not when Dew can feel himself stabbing at his prostate with every pump. He swallows hard.

"'S gonna make me cum," Dew mewls, truly pathetic, "if you don't -"

Aether silences him by dragging Dew into a desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and shivery moans. Dew can feel his rhythmic clenching; he's right there, he's so close -

"Next time," Aether tells him. His other hand sneaks up to Dew's other nipple, gives it a flick, and as Dew's plans for the evening start squirting out all over Aether's insides, all he can do is sob.

Next time, he'll get it.

Next time, Aether will be bent over.

With his hands tied behind his back.

Troublemaker.

[blossoms-phan]

I have been watching old videos in tour preparation and was staggered by how much happier and healthier Dan and Phil both look now. You can see how suffocated by the whole thing they were back for a period pre hiatus. Those years where the enjoyment and fun had gone is a tough watch.

I dipped out for a while and missed this period, and so looking back now you literally see the lights dim in Dan's eyes over a year or so, and how fed up of forcing an act he was.

The absolute chaos and fun and joy that has been post hiatus really emphasises just how tired and over hiding and lying and being yes men they must have been. It makes me appreciate this new era of content so much more. I would watch them watching grass grow, if it kept them smiling and happy and fulfilled, rather than making content for us, that made them that miserable.

oh :(( anon this really broke me and i have a lot of thoughts about this tbh.

as someone who's been lucky enough to watch them change and grow over 10 years, i think something we all know is how it's nothing compared to now, but like there was a clear shift around 2018 with tour and just the way that they presented themselves publicly. in part, they started to become a little bit more comfortable with each other and carefree about sharing certain things. again, looking back this sounds strange to say but im talking purely compared to the years before then- it was absolutely different. of course, we all know that this time was extremely difficult for dan, struggling with authenticity and "living his truth". i love ii, this is in no way dogging on it bc i think there's room to be proud of it and what they did but also the entire concept of "giving the people what they want" is almost poetic considering dan's internal turmoil during this time, like with what he said during one of those reaction videos- "c'mon dan, give the people what they want and then you can disappear forever." multiple people on here have put it like this before but there are certain points like in ii era liveshows where you can tell dan is just buzzing with this restless, frustrated energy, like he's stuck inside his own skin and can't crawl out of it.

i will say that i think just on some practical level, i like to tell myself that it wasn't all doom and gloom pre-hiatus and that there were obviously moments of happiness or comfort or things that they genuinely enjoyed doing, like travelling the world or something as small as playing a fun game. but i would be lying to myself if i denied the fact that they absolutely struggled at points, and that dan was fed up of struggling with the pain of wanting to be his true, authentic self, but being scared. again though, it's not all bad. this was the first time that dan started to accept and at least think about coming out, and all those moments where they signed pride flags and he would say things like "hopefully one day" to people who told them their stories really cements his point that the acceptance and support his audience gave helped him. the hiatus was so important for their personal growth, to heal their relationship with us, and like you pointed out they really were "yes men"- phil constantly pointing out how learning how to say no has helped a ton.

there are no words to describe this new era other than pure fun, joy, and whimsy. it's been an absolute privilege to see their personal growth, to watch them allow themselves to focus on themselves and be happy and open and watch them have the time of their lives and reassure us that they're enjoying it and not going anywhere anytime soon. i'm right there with you, i just feel so happy and appreciative of being here experiencing this new era with you all and them, and i just want them to do whatever makes them happy and fulfilled. which is what i think they're doing right now with the tour, and they knew it mere months after the comeback which they had no real long term plans for, but we showed up for them, and they know that which is why it makes the idea of our mutual "healing" and entering this new era together so exciting <3

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

I Won't Forget

Soap x Civilian!Reader

Your last night with Johnny...

SFW, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Established Relationship, Long Distance Relationships, Mutual Break-Ups, Failed Romance, A bit mopey, but not toxic, hopefully not OOC, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

I felt like writing angst, but not heavy angst. Here's the drabble that thought concocted.

Masterlist

Johnny took the long way back home from the park. He hadn't commented on anything in particular, beyond what played on the radio, and you didn't mind the silences, frequent as they came tonight.

A choice lyric sent him into a small rant at some point, each new comment springing a giggle out of you. It warmed him each time to hear, though he wouldn't say so in words, even as he attempted to. Johnny feared he could never find the right way to express himself to you, but it never kept him from trying. He always was adaptive to anyone and anything, it seems. Anytime the world allowed for it.

The silence returned after a few more roads had passed, as though a sudden realization had dawned on you both; an impending doom and growing nausea which came once more. Reality.

When this drive was over, this was it. He'd be gone for another long assignment. Another indefinite amount of time. Another handful of moments taken. And after a long talk over dinner, you both came to the mutually painful conclusion that things needed to end.

Your lives split you two apart more often than not, and it was past time for you both to move forward without one another, no matter how ambitious you both had been about things; your problems could be swept away no longer.

For the first year it hadn't been so bad -- the long evening phone calls, the gifts and letters, and that unmatched excitement from finally reuniting. It made for memories you were sure to live with until your elderly days; like falling in love all over again. Yes... it hadn't been so bad the first year.

It took him about as long to make things between you two official; a whole year of him popping in and out of your area like a short-lived dream. When he'd asked you to be his girlfriend, you could feel the hesitancy mixed into the excitement in his voice, not from a fear of rejection but rather a fear of regret. Because even then he knew that being with him wouldn't be easy. You believed you could handle it.

By the third year the phone calls grew routine, feeling more akin to a daily task you had to do rather than a want or need. And while at times you had bemoaned the interruption they caused in your schedule, selfish as it had made you feel, you'd cry yourself to sleep every night you didn't hear from him at all, wanting to go back to those five minutes he could spare you between missions.

Eventually the stretches of radio silence between your calls grew so much that you stopped noticing them after awhile. These days it feels you've been together separately more often than near one another. His calm blue eyes looked more accustomed to your phone screen than right in front of you.

And it hadn't been as though Johnny were purposefully pushing you away. There was nothing more he wanted than to just find a nice plot of land and spend the rest of his days with you.

But this other side of him, his identity before you that had been the very other core of himself, Soap... that had just been a part of him that could not be separated.

He lived for his career, and it's all he's ever known until now. Being a soldier had meant everything to him and it hadn't been something he could so easily set aside, not even for you it seems. It was the one thing he felt he'd been good at, and it brought him just as much pride.

You couldn't take him away from his life, just as he couldn't do so to you. Your life mattered too, and that included being deserving of a present love. Someone to be there for the special moments, and someone you didn't have to wait for.

So he would stay a soldier, and you would go back to your life, uninterrupted this time. So goes the end of what had otherwise been a pleasant on-and-off time between you two.

But you hadn't wanted your last memories to be this. To be you both sitting silently, sadly, in the car as he drives you home. The ultimate summary of your relationship. You hadn't wanted this ending to feel so awful if it had been something you both agreed upon.

So you turn up the car radio and you sink back into the passenger's seat with a bittersweet smile. And when a dumb joke crosses his mind, Johnny finds himself unable to keep himself from sharing, even laughing for a time or two before the joke had even come out. If you both didn't talk about the obvious, then it didn't have to mean anything right now. Let that be later, and these moments feel endless.

You hope whatever road this is, that you've hit every red light, every stop sign, and every passing pedestrian the street could throw at you. You hoped Johnny would drive five miles under the speed limit and accidentally forget a turn or two, forcing him to backtrack and restart the route once again. You would hope to stop time itself tonight and keep the sun from setting any further over these quiet streets.

It was the hope that hurt the most, knowing these wishes were impossible and out of your hands, just as life always was. But you hoped for these things regardless. If not that, what else would there be beyond everything else around you?

You loved these finite moments, and it's many sweet little trappings. They were often provided just by the cool touch of his skin on yours, or the vibrations of his voice against your living room walls. You could spend ten years apart and three minutes together, and those three minutes would be the only thing you think about for the next ten years to come.

With each light you've passed, and corner you've turned, dread slowly rises in you, knotting in your throat even as you try to keep singing along to the radio.

Johnny stopped talking as much the closer you got home; he even stopped taking quick glances your way, replaced by small sighs and silences. You always did envy his ability to remain so calm around you, unable to tell if it had been some front of his or merely a side of him that you alone brought out of him.

Your eyes look down to see his hand firmly resting over the stick-shift, and you invite your own over it, letting your fingers dance lightly over his warm skin and cup them into your palm, feeling Johnny's fingers gently squeeze over yours as he's felt you.

His blue eyes glance your way momentarily, dipping back and forth between you and the road. He always adored the way you looked in his passenger's seat, sat comfortably with your legs crossed and your body leaned in as toward him as you could be within this confined space. He could easily reach out and let his hand rest over your thigh, that simple trust bringing him peace for the entire ride. Tonight his hand felt perfectly placed in yours, having your thumb caress his rough skin, and your warmth take the coolness in his palms away.

You come across a red light, the final one before your road. A brief moment longer between you two parted ways for good.

You look over at Johnny, who looks back at you. Had it been daytime, he may have seen the tears brewing in your eyes rather than the hazy gloss the night had shaded them with instead, tinted by a crimson glow.

"When are you leaving?" You could no longer keep the question to yourself, despite knowing the detail had been trivial at this point. A small part of you just needed to know.

Johnny holds back a sigh, keeping his gaze locked on you. "...Tomorrow afternoon."

"Ah..." You look down at your lap shyly, drumming your hand lightly against your thighs. "I'm guessing you won't be able to see me one more time before you go then..."

If he could have more time, he would give it to you in a heartbeat. He would have said that to you, but something held back his tongue. Some fear he'd yet to get over which had been admitting to the desperation he'd slowly begun to feel tonight. A desperation to make the time stop, take it back... only to be followed by the discomforting realization that no matter what, you could not in fact stop time. For better or for worse.

"I'm afraid not, Bonnie..." he said. "...I'm sorry."

"It's OK," you say, though your voice is faint. "Well... do you think you can spend the night?"

Johnny knew what you were doing, or rather trying to do. He knows you're well aware that he had until the sun rises before his departure, so if you could take every last hour of that time until then, you'd search for a way, somehow. It's something he loved most about you, and found himself thinking back on at multiple points throughout the night as he'd followed you into your apartment, prepared to make himself at home for a final time in your walls.

Your couch felt a bit more cozy this time, your living room more warm. There'd been no concern as to look at the clock, your drooping eyes and slurred words telling time well enough. Neither of you can remember when the conversation ended that night, but you wouldn't forget when he took you into his arms for again, pulling you into him beneath your covers, lips locking with yours.

Wrapped in each other, you didn't want to forget his skin or scent, the taste of his lips or how each movement brought you immense pleasure. You didn't want to forget a thing.

He fell asleep before you, and you woke up that morning before him. When the sun dipped through the curtains, you'd hoped he'd sleep a bit longer. And when his eyes finally crept open, as bittersweet as it felt, you greeted him with a kiss. It was small, but it was one you would always think back to.

(._. )

[historia-vitae-magistras]

butt?

I had to substitute it for arse, sorry. Exploratory fic I began to explore some character dynamics and what the lifestyle of 4 growing nations and their mother in their last real time together would be like in a slightly Post-Roman Iron Age estate as the Migration period picks up and Germanic peoples cross the North Sea to make a home. I believe of these earlier themes have their origin with @balladofthewhitehorse.

5th Century AD, Cumbria

"Rhys," Alasdair appeared at the fence line, his face gloomy. Rhys had stopped here for his mid-day meal halfway between where the shepherds had herded the sheep in the northernmost glen and their home behind on the hill. It'd been a long two days in the hills. He offered the cider flask to his brother as Alasdair approached, his frown deepening. It wasn't raining, and the day's work wouldn't have been hard. Bad news, then. It was always bad news.

"What is it this time?"

"Rot in the south store."

"Oats, rye or wheat?" Rhys asked. The rye they might go without, but the rain hadn't come so early that anything else should rot.

"Oats,"

"Fuck." Rhys sat on the low wall of flagstones and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck,"

He glanced up. His brother looked even more dour. "Gods, what else?"

"Seven horses," Alasdair said, sitting beside Rhys, boneless and upset.

Rhys gaped at him. "Seven? That's three more than were sick yesterday!"

"It's spreading." Alasdair shrugged helplessly. "I took the healthy ones into the third stables, and it didn't help."

"Is it distemper?"

"I didn't think so," Alasdair said. "They weren't so feverish, and there wasn't pus, but now I don't know.

"So, no horses to sell this year. At least half the oats are gone."

"Rhys." Alasdair's ingot grey gaze fell heavily, and Rhys glanced at his brother.

"I know," He said, and Alasdair didn't look convinced. He looked at his elder brother with a firm look. "I know."

"If we can't pay the tributes…"

He thought of the mustached helmets of the German kings and exhaled. "We don't know that we can't pay. There's plenty to sell."

"It's not just a lack of goods I'm worried about. It's been a bad year for everyone. There might not be anyone to sell to."

"There must be," Rhys said, pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders. "There will be. We'll figure it out."

"I suppose all we can do is pray," Alasdair said.

Rhys frowned. Alasdair was the one with a mind for numbers, but he always worried, and they always managed before. So what if the horses would not fetch the total price if they were ill come market day? There was still the wool, the fine worked saddles he and Alasdair had made the year before, and plenty of cattle, sheep, honey and mead to sell. There were options. They had options.

"I'll see to the horses; if none of them die, we'll be fine," Alasdair said. "We have ore too. I might get a good price for my boar spears."

"Maybe," Rhys said. His hope was teetering precariously on the assumption that his brother was overly worried.

There was an unspoken sense of doom between them, both praying their worries were unfounded. Rhys grimaced after they parted ways at the outer gate, Alasdair marching off to the stables and Rhys to the poultry yard and the hives. One of the women in his mother's service alerted him to the fact that another of the hives had gone dark with rot. Honey was expensive, and now there wouldn't be enough to sell and use themselves over the long winter. Rhys waved her off with a pinched-off smile.

He stood in the poultry yard for a long moment, leaning against the half gate that kept the hens, quail, and ducks safe in their enclosure and away from the hounds. He watched Arthur tumble after a goose, laughing as it squawked and ducked him. Their dinner pail of scraps and grain was sitting neglected as he played, but Rhys looked on, letting him play. They'd have to keep more honey than what he'd wanted to sell, if only for Arthur's sake. Honey cakes with stored apples and cheese or on bread were one of those precious things that would cheer him when the worst of the winter gloom gripped him worse than any of them. Arthur rolled to a halt, cackling as the goose bobbed angrily and finally noticed him.

"Rhys!" He grinned, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for him. He exhaled a loud "oomph" as Arthur knocked into him, throwing his arms around him. "You're back!"

"I was only gone a night," He laughed. "How is Mother? And where is your cloak? Have you lost it again?"

"The same," Arthur said. "Maybe a little better. She laughed this morning when I fell right on my arse out of bed. Bridgie pushed me."

"Good! And you probably deserved it. You kick in your sleep." He replied, and his smile was genuine. Mother had at least made an effort to shake her recent gloom then. She'd been thinner, paler, and sadder than he'd ever seen her in the last few years, and it hadn't gotten any better as the days became shorter. "And your cloak?"

"I forgot it!"

"You'll catch your death." Rhys ruffled his hair. "Hurry and feed the birds and come in for dinner."

[akirenhell]

"I am ghoulified...Inside youuuu~"

Soooo, even though I haven't played any of the games, the Fallout brainrot got me tight enough to binge the TV show AND learn some of the lore, cause HOLY SHIT, the attention to detail they put into it is impressive.

As some of you have probably seen, I did show some sneak peeks of this guy a few reblogs ago, but now here he is in full color!

Sooo, this is Mucky, a rather special ghoul due to the fact his hair has actually survived the massive doses of radioation he has gained and his incredibly slimy and filthy skin, which always looks like its melting down from intense heat. He's a bit of a celebrity in the wastelands, strolling around with his band looking for a good place to perform his music (which is the equivalent of 90s industrial rock, mind you).

Personality wise, he's pretty crass and cocky, but if you hit his right points, he can get pretty shy and flustered. Regardless, he's not exactly an asshole, for he can be pretty polite at times despite how violent his music can be.

(Backstory and fun facts under read more)

Before the Great War, Mucky's name used to be Michael (something he has long forgotten about). He was considered an outcast due to his rather radical way of thinking and not following the "American norms" of what's good and not, especially when it comes to music, one of his few favorite pasttimes and the only way he had to fully express himself.

However, ironically enough, music was also the thing that almost lead him to his doom. One day, the once human called Michael actually managed to release an album of his own music, and even though it wasn't a massive hit, it was very well beloved by specific groups of people, which were those that were unsatisfied with society.

Due to the fact his music could be considered "commie propaganda", Michael was almost murdered for this by none other than the Enclace. Yet oddly enough, what saved Mucky was the same thing that doomed humanity, for his failed assasination attempt happened the day the bombs fell.

Despite getting severely burnt and hit with a massive dose of radiation for him to turn into a ghoul, Michael survived the attack by hiding in a sewer, where something strange happened. Call it whatever kind of luck you want, but due to the radiation and his slowly melting skin, his body managed to mutate with the sewer waters, thus turning him into a foul smelling, slimy ghoul made of muck.

Hence his new name: Mucky. Promptly given by those who considered him a freak of nature (mostly humans who hate ghouls, obviously).

The rest of the years after the war remain fuzzy, but eventually, Mucky, alongsides a group of ghouls that found comfort in his music, made their way towards Necropolis, the city of the dead; where the filth ghoul settled down and, with an uncertain future but a strange yet newfound liberty, he started to work in his new albums to share with the rest of the wastelands. Be it with humans, ghouls, super mutants, it doesn't matter; for music is one of the reasons why he managed to remain sane even to this day.

And maybe the real reason why he hasn't gone feral yet.

Post-Fallout 1, Mucky obviously left Necropolis due to the Master's invasion on the city. Thankfully, he didn't leave alone, for two super mutants actually joined him as bandmates thanks to his mercy.

And so begins his life as a rockstar in the wastelands.

Facts:

-Mucky has a little cat companion he named Scatticus, which he found in an abandone vault where they ran cruel experiments involving both animals and humans, which Scatticus is the only that remains. The cat, oddly enough, can talk due to a device that is linked both with his collar and his brain, and he's a sassy little bastard.

-Mucky has a love-hate relationship with old, 50s music, which really was another reason why many considered him a weirdo in pre-war times.

-Due to an incredibly strange chance of luck (and possibly genes), Mucky is one of the rare exceptions in which a ghoul could become a super mutant. While exploring a vault to look for equipment he could use in his instruments, the ghoul got ambushed by a pack of irradiated wolves that gave him chase, with one of them alongsides him falling into a vat that was full of an alternate, very rare version of the Forced Evolutionary Virus. From it came crawling away a large, filth covered wolf, the complete contrary of the scrawny ghoul.

Luckily, if you can even say that, once he grew exhausted enough, Mucky reverted back to his ghoul form. However, there is still the chance he can revert back to that hellhound, especially if there's massive amounts of radiation neraby...

-Mucky is originally from Ohio, but due to the fact he spent pretty much of the time out in the open after the war "touring", that gave him a great amount of knowledge regarding the wastelands and the commonwealths he could get in. If you need a trip somewhere, he will gladly take you there. Though, he might ask for something in return...

-Mucky can be pretty skilled with technology, even using pieces of weapons as ways he can improve the sound of his instruments when playing.

-He's a huge menace to both the Enclace and the BoS, especially with the fact his skin and foul stench can corrode metals. Yes, even the one from a power armor.

That's as much as I can name about him, but if you have any questions about Mucky, please ask! I'm pretty new into Fallout, so if I have made any mistakes or it's there anything I could change, please do let me know, cause really, I mostly made this OC for fun.

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Lil’ Nugget [Doom AU]

@raventroll80 has this amazing idea and story so far of a Troll!Slayer doom AU and allowed me to write a little thing... and in true Omie fashion the thing I tried to write turned into a large thing.

so have my nugget of a child's pov of meeting the Big Guy and them confusing each other for different reasons. Full story is here and under the cut n.n

Also the hidey-hole is DEFFENTLY just that good.

Story: Heather saw the big armored thing long before it (…him?) ever saw her. She had a really good hiding spot, because her mom had found it and put her inside. She was supposed to stay inside, and Heather was! She just found that she could pull a chair over to the big cabinet in the basement hiding spot and peek out from the big curtains mum had covered the window with. 

Heather could peer and peek very carefully, watching the things outside. Sometimes she could see a pretty spider walk by, or one of the big crocodiles would slowly march by. Sometimes one of the monsters would come close to the building they were hiding in. Sometimes her mom would see her and wave when coming back from her trips outside to look for supplies. 

She really liked it when her mom did that!

Her mom was so brave, and smart! And always found new coloring books and goodies. Before Heather’s mom left this last time, she had said they could leave the basement bunker soon. 

Mom had told Heather all about the boat she found and that still ran. She was so excited to go on the boat, Heather sort of remembered being on boats when her dad was still with her and Mom. It was before the monsters came, Heather missed her dad.

Heather missed her mom too.

Mom had been gone for days now, and Heather was trying really hard to save the soup cans that were her mom’s favorite. The girl had already eaten the pre-made meals her mom had left. Before she could open a tuna can and try to figure out how to make the yummmy tuna can noodle thing her mom would make, she felt the odd vibrations that meant that the Monsters were moving about. 

Heather had climbed on the chair, then onto the big dresser so she could reach the window. Heather had to be really slow as she peeked first, then climbed under the curtains, making sure it covered most of her head until she got used to the light outside. That’s when she saw the big thing.

It was a really Big Thing! 

She could see it… him? Him from all the way down the hill. She could not tell if he was making those odd vibrations like the Monsters did. Though the girl could tell that this new big thing did not like the monsters, or he did?

It almost looked like this strange armored big person was playing with the monsters at the distance. This was puzzling enough that Heather braced on the wall, so she could stay in spot better, though not lifting her head farther. Just watching as the Big One started uphill after one of the ‘smaller’ Monsters.

Were they playing chase?

The Big thing with the green and tan armor launched at the smaller monsters, tackling two and wrapping his arms around them. The monsters vanished into a swath of glowing, almost glittering stuff! 

That was cool! 

It was also really impressive when a bigger monster tackled this new big thing and they rolled onto one of the cars out there. Heather tilted her head and watched with wide eyes as part of the car- not the one her mom hid behind the building. 

Was her mom scared to come back because the monsters were playing with this new thing? Heather would be scared of being out there too, but then again, her mom could hear the monsters coming. 

Heather gasped as teh two rolled onto the yard of the building the bunker was under. Saw them wrestling and rolling over one after the other. Breaking apart and then launching back into the weird wrestling-tag game of theirs. But at one point the girl realized a big seeming difference between the new thing and the Monsters. 

Other than the new thing being the only one in full armor, he had a tail! 

It looked part metal, and Heather wondered if it… he… had lost part of the tail? Needed a new tail? Tails were important to animals she knew, was it just important to this person to keep balance?

Heather ducked down and looked behind her, not for the first time wondering why she could not have a tail like the cats or something pretty like with birds-? 

There was a massive thud and it had Heather yipping a bit and looking back up at the window. Brown eyes widening as she looked up through the window to see her reflection in the silver of this new person’s helmet. Heather reflexively ducked a bit from her nose just over the window still to just her eyes. 

Did the monster throw the big thing?

There was dirt up against the window and Heather gasped as the helmet tilted, and then who was inside seemed to focus on her. She was just able to see the basic outline of features of a face that was more human like then any of the monsters. There was a reflection of green, or so it seemed like under the visor. The girl watched as a just massive hand lifted- he was so much bigger then she had thought until right up close like this. 

He took up the whole window.

For a moment, a big hand lifted and touched the window that Heather was peering out of. Touching the glass between them and Heather reached up to touch the spot and then tapped the glass over one of the big finger pads. Two thick digits seemed as big if not bigger than her hand.

Then that bigger Monster was back, it seemed a lot more mad up close as its teeth sank into this bigger new person's shoulder and Heather yipped in fright. Just as she was dropping down she saw the Monster see her and she whined as she scrambled to climb down while the whole wall of the bunker seemed to vibrate and shiver.

Had Heather made the monster mad by distracting the big person from that weird game they were playing? 

She climbed down to the ground, almost missing the demonic arm reaching through the broken window. Just seeing the claws skimming close to her shoulder before it was jerked back and out. 

Heather grabbed the stuffed Easter bunny her mom gave her before all the monsters came. Running to the other side of the basement bunker and climbing under the big thick table that was in front of the cubby in the wall that her mom made for her. This was where Heather was supposed to hide if any of the monsters outside saw her.

Heather closed her eyes and pushed her face into her old easter bunny. Trying to use it to help control her breathing. She had to be quiet, no squeaking and had to make sure she did not feel herself making any sounds. 

Even when her legs twitched and tingled from being curled up in the hidey-hole. Even if it got cold, she had to be quiet and still, feeling the vibrations from above come and go until it did get cold from the broken window and Heather worried if she could fix it somehow. The bunker was supposed to be safe because the monsters could not smell them in here?

…right?

…could Heather stuff a blanket into the broken window once the monsters moved on if they got distracted?

It took a little longer than normal in this weird spot to recognize a certain vibration. The bunker door opening.

Was her mom back?

Heather stayed in her spot as something was off about the vibrations felt… odd. Not bad but still so odd that it confused her. When she was confused she was supposed to stay still and hide, or play dead.

If she was not so stiff and somewhat cramped Heather might have jumped as she felt the bigger vibrations then finally saw the big, metal foot being carefully placed. The air seemed to vibrate in that odd way it did with the invading monsters but… different. Not prickling a warning about something, like the all of you could be lost if those monsters found you. This was…

Rumble-y. 

It felt like what rock slides seemed like they should sound like. Like the earth was grumbling at you but not mad at you… like the vibration the big crocodile mommas were supposed to make? She could feel it in her chest and behind her ears. It made Heather wonder if this was what sound was like?

It was not dark in the bunker, but not as bright as outside. She could see the green armor of the big new person, and as they…he? He was lowering himself down and rested one of those massive hands on the ground. The basement bunker was so big normally, but now seemed like it was almost as cramped to this Big Thing as the hidey-hole was to her.

It took a moment and Heather realized the tan was not the color of his armor but dirt or clay from outside. It looked like it had been scrapped off mostly before he came into the bunker. There was another hand bracing on the ground that Heather could see from her spot and she tilted her head, surprised again that this bigger-big person seemed even bigger then before at the window.

She could see the main body of him as he seemed to be moving slowly through the bunker. He was moving to the bed away from the two windows, where Heather and her mom slept. The girl watched what she could, taking note of the slow, almost gentle movement from her point of view near the floor.

Movement had the girl’s attention. She blinked before remembering that this bigger-big person had a tail! …monsters outside did not have tails, did that mean this was one of those safe people her mom talked about finding?

…had he already found her mom and got her safe?

Could Heather ask if he could find her mom if the safe people had not?

The tail slid closer to her then swayed away, then slowly back, as if feeling where the table was and the underside of it. Heather was not really sure how or why, but she let go of her easter bunny and reached. Her fingers brushed against the metal tail, and it froze midair. 

There was that low, rumbly feeling again before the bigger-big person slowly lowered and turned. Looking back, and then keeping the tail still before lowering it as if to press against her hand then forearm. Then he lowered even more and Heather saw the helmet tilting to look back and then moving back and forth as if they were not sure she was there.

Was her hiding spot that good?

Heather pulled her hand back from the tail and gave a small wave, still staying quiet as this stranger started to turn around. Her hidey-hole mush be really good after all, he was acting like he was not sure she was there. Even sitting back before the helmet was taken off and set down on the ground. Then this Bigger than big person was backing up and lowering himself onto the ground to look under the table.

There was green before, large, piercing green eyes that scanned under the table before settling on her. Heather tilted her head, watched as this new person did the same, both just as confused as the other at what they saw. This bigger then big person seemed human, or human ish?

Those green eyes seemed to almost glow, watching her as intently back. Studying the girl as much as she was him. There was just something a little… off about him? Not really wrong though but Heather could not place it. His face did not look like the monsters, nor like he was mad at her.

Heather gave another little wave around her easter bunny again. She looked around and back, then she watched as one massive hand- again it seemed a lot bigger than by the window, it slid forward. Under the table and towards her, Heather watched the big gloved hand until it stopped just shy of the hidey-hole. Then inched closer for two digits to touch her arm and curled up knees. 

The hand was… warm, and Heather found herself focusing on those massive digits before reaching over and touching the thick… thick…

Claw?

Bigger than big, he had a tail, claws and glowing eyes?

Was… this not a human after all and one of those… the… what were they called? Heather remembered her mom trying to come up with a sign. Mountain man? Man of mountain? Mountain guard?

He definitely seemed as big as a mountain.

Those big claws were not hurting her, the big hand that was still edging closer was not snatching or grabbing but slid around her. Heather squeaked finally, saw the other finally blink before she was pulled out of the hidey-hole and then out from the table. This massive mountain of… big was moving, not dropping the girl as he sat back and upright. Both hands coming up and wrapping around Heather under her arms, holding her up between them and blinking slowly.

Wide brown eyes blinked back, the girl never looking away at first. Though looked really confused as this mountain person slowly brought her closer to and sniffed. He sniffed her? Her head and shoulder were definitely sniffed.

Heather tilted her head, and offered her easter bunny to the strange person for inspection next. It was the only thing she could think of doing. He could not have her easter bunny, but if he wanted he could sniff that too.

Those almost glowing green eyes did not seem as harsh as they did at first. The bigger than big man sniffed at the stuffed toy before shifting his hold. Heather was lowered into his lap and she looked around puzzled until one hand let go to awkwardly pat her hair and back. Heather shifted and still holding her easter bunny grabbed the other hand before it could leave. Just holding onto the top finger and then hid her face against his hand. She missed her mom, and all the hugs her mom would give Heather. 

This was not the same, but it was enough that the girl was willing to climb higher into the big lap and try to pat this nice mountain back on his closer wrist and thumb.

[underteika]

CHARACTER SHEET REPOST, DON'T REBLOG!

basics !

FULL NAME. Anda Teika TITLE. Responsible-ish Stoner, Child of Sorrow NICKNAME. n/a GENDER. Nonbinary PRONOUNS. They/Them HEIGHT. 6'3, but slouches, so it's more like 5'9-6'0 AGE. 24 (30 in Isola) ZODIAC. Technically an aries bc their birthday is a bad luck reference (4/4), but doesn't act like it at all SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, broken Japanese

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. Naturally dark brown, but now it's 50/50 white due to stress. Dyes it all violet EYE COLOR. Brown (gold if using their powers) SKIN TONE. Tan BODY TYPE. Top-heavy and broad shouldered, muscular upper body but skips leg day all the time. Not the body-builder kind of muscle, but muscle from years of lifting dead weight (pun intended) VOICE. Soft spoken, like speaking too loud would get them in trouble. Breaks a lot. DOMINANT HAND. Left POSTURE. Needs a desperate visit from the posture posse SCARS. Many. Pre-isola scars are a long one on their scalp that their hair covers and a few other faded ones from the crash. Isola scars are... all over them, unfortunately, and mostly consist of claw marks. TATTOOS. None, but wants one. But too indecisive BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Kindness and sadness in equal measure in those big ol' eyes. Wears a prosthetic from the calf down on the right leg that's covered in stickers. Always wearing SOME kind of band shirt

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Washington, USA HOMETOWN. Washington, USA. Moved to a hidden forest in Japan after the accident to seal away the family curse SIBLINGS. none PARENTS. Deceased. Was taken in by their grandmother after the accident, now deceased. No living relatives left. Thanks, fate!

adult life !

OCCUPATION. Cemetery caretaker (various wards, goes wherever their boss needs them. Takes jobs from other cemeteries too due to a good work ethic), body removals, restores/repairs monuments and headstones. Used to work for a detective agency. CURRENT RESIDENCE. The Misfit House in Archimedes. Recently, the new owner CLOSE FRIENDS. Zal Liakos (Unofficial life partner?). Has a few people they get along well with, like Eiden and Ismael. They've been in the city for so long that a lot of their other close friends are gone. They need some... RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single (and intends to keep it that way), but hooks up sometimes for casual relationships. FINANCIAL STATUS. Actually? They're pretty well off, but live modestly. They could probably spend the next five years without working a day and be just fine, between their savings and Zal's big money /j DRIVER’S LICENSE. It's all up to date! They love their van. CRIMINAL RECORD. It would be harboring a criminal, breaking and entering, mass-manipulation of crowd psyche, and some old petty theft, but 'conveniently', people forget those :) VICES. Weed, cigarettes, junk food, and varying weed-fueled junk food crimes

sex & romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual (and freezes up if they're talking to someone attractive for the first time) LOVE LANGUAGE. Favors, quality time, cooking for you RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Anda will love with everything they have. They're very attentive and understanding due to their empathetic powers, and they'll do just about anything for the people they love, even if it takes them out of their comfort zone. They're happy to mutually coexist. For romantic partners, they're the strong affectionate type, and they like to cuddle.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. How Soon is Now -- The Smiths HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Weed Video games, going to concerts, fixing furniture, gardening PHOBIAS. Trains. Really, really hates guns SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Abysmal lmao. Everything they do, no matter how good it is, 'could always be better' VULNERABILITIES. They tend to run away from the things that scare them, unless someone will be harmed by running. They also suffer from the kind of hopelessness of being doomed by the narrative, but try to live a 'normal' life anyway. Rather than confront what scares them, they'll use their abilities to make people forget it ever happened, prolonging the inevitable. That used to be way better until their canon point updated, so now they're kind of in a toxic 'What's the point' whirlpool. On the more light-hearted side? They can't cook eggs, no matter how hard they try to.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 15

alexa bring me my popped corn and a drink. im about to watch a white boy get annihilated

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

may go back and edit some things for the final cut bc im STILL not all the way satisfied with how the trial is working out

the one where byakuya has only the vaguest idea what the hell is going on

syo is so fun to write. sorry im syo apologizer now

betaread byy @digitaldollsworld :)))

Content warning tags: mild descriptions/mentions of blood/gore

< previous - from start - next >

The ride down to the courtroom is tense as usual, but with a new, palpable level of hostility in the air. He feels gazes, laden with suspicion and wariness, but there’s no whispers, at the very least. Aside from the rumble of the elevator (and the occasional grunt and insult from Syo, who was picking a fight with anyone who ‘looked at her funny’), the air is dead silent.

He ignores them, arms crossed and staring resolutely ahead. The animosity isn’t unfamiliar to him; he’s experienced such things countless times already, from his siblings who wanted him gone, to adults who thought him young and impertinent and an obstacle. And he’s not one to care for the opinions of the lower class either, but it irks him that he needs to take them into consideration for this trial. 

If he lets them decide based on their naive pathos alone, they’ll all be doomed. No matter how much he disliked having to cooperate with the rest of them, as foolish as they were, it would be necessary to ensure his own survival. As a child, Pennyworth once reprimanded him for criticizing the democratic structure of the various national governments, saying ‘the greatest asset is people.’ Byakuya had grown to understand the truth of those words, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

There’s a quiet shuffling sound at his side, that startles him out of his thoughts. He glances over, and sees Makoto, surreptitiously edging near.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, and when Byakuya raises an eyebrow at him, he taps the side of his face. “You know…”

Ah, right. “Yes. I’m fine.” He reaches to touch the side of his face - the swelling has reduced noticeably already, though it still feels soft and tender under his fingers. Like an overripe fruit. “Don’t worry about pointless things.”

“It’s not-” He starts, before sighing. “Okay.” Makoto’s head twists, glancing around them for any onlookers. “About my investigation-”

“Save it.” There were bound to be eyes and ears on them, most noticeably, Kirigiri’s. He can see the girl standing out of the corner of his periphery, a pillar of pale violet. He’d prefer not to draw unnecessary suspicion now. “I’ll hear about it during the trial anyways.”

Makoto falls silent. For a few moments, the only sound is the rumble of the elevator, the occasional shifting of restless bodies. Then Makoto leans closer until their arms graze, a sudden, shifting press of warmth.

“I promise, I’m going to prove you’re innocent.” There’s an unexpected fierceness to his tone, a determination that Byakuya only heard once before, during the last trial. “No matter what.”

He blinks, taken aback somewhat. He hadn’t expected this display of loyalty, but - well - maybe it was to make up for their previous falling-out. Whatever the case, Byakuya finds himself strangely reassured.

“Hmph. You better.” He crosses his arms and surveys their surroundings. “If you don’t, we’re all dead.”

So Makoto was certain of his innocence. That was some comfort, though Byakuya couldn’t put his entire faith in the other boy alone. At the end of the day, he could only rely on his own strength to get him through this.

It will be fine. The elevator shudders to a stop, and the metal grate of the doors rattle as they slide open. Everyone files silently to their stands, at this point already familiar with what being in this room meant. No matter what the outcome was, at least one of them would die.

From his stand, he looks around. Everyone seems somber, and even Syo is quieted down for once, currently consumed with picking at her nails. Ogami has her arms crossed, face turned downwards. Hagakure keeps fidgeting, head nervously turning this way and that. Kiyotaka seems as stiff as ever, posed as rigidly as a statue and staring silently ahead. Something white  is wrapped around his head, stark against his dark hair; a bandage, most likely, and Byakuya wonders for a moment if he’s concussed.

“Welcome, welcome!!” Monokuma springs up, twirling on its chair like a clown. “What do you guys think of my redecorating? Pretty nice, right?”

Byakuya has no idea what the bear is talking about, until he looks around again and notices that there were more plaques, standing in each of the unoccupied podiums. Even with his vision, he can identify what the dark-framed rectangles are supposed to be, and why each of them had red paint splattered across it in an ‘x’.

Last time, it had been Maizono and Enoshima. This time, it was Kuwata, and Chihiro.

How tasteless. No one bothers to say a thing in response.

“Gosh, what’s with the silent treatment? Cats got your tongues?” Monokuma hums, apparently put off by the lack of reaction. “What a bunch of downers! Where’s your youth?”

“Enough with this.” Owada growls darkly. His hands are fisted tightly on the railing. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Well, aren’t you rip-raring to go! Didn’t expect that from you, Mister Owada!” Monokuma cackles excitedly. “But I don’t hate it! Alright, let’s get this show on the road!!”

So it begins. Byakuya readjusts his stance, lifting his head to stand tall and straight. He cannot afford to show weakness here. He cannot afford himself any more leniency, any reason for failure.

It was time to start the trial.

___

“Because we have a newcomer, let’s go over the rules one more time.” Monokuma says, as it climbs onto its chair. “At the conclusion of this trial, you will all vote for who you think committed the crime, and your vote will determine the results. If you can figure out ‘whodunnit’ then only they will receive punishment. But if you pick the wrong one…” It grunts slightly as it finally clambers into its seat, settling in with a bounce. “Then, I'll punish everyone besides the blackened, and the one that deceived everyone else will graduate!...Does that make sense, Miss Syo?”

“A death game, huh?” Syo hums, tilting her head. “No wonder y’all are so tense. It’s a real battle royale in here!”

“How dare you? My game is way more sophisticated than that government-organized waste of tax dollars!” Monokuma sounds genuinely affronted, somehow. “But- well, I could talk forever about that, but I don’t wanna cut into everyone’s time. To start, why don’t we go over some details from the case? I’m dying to know what you guys are thinking~!”

The response is more quiet, some awkward shuffles. Considering the events of the last trial, everyone was treating this one like a minefield, and each person was afraid to venture out first. 

Finally, someone speaks up. “Let’s start with the scene itself.”

Kyoko’s voice is calm and steady, and cuts through the tense air. Silently, Byakuya appreciates her initiative, the careful drawing of the reins, the call for a preamble. If he came out and began throwing accusations outright, it would only damage his credibility; he needs a base to stand on.

“R-right.” Makoto follows up quickly. “Um, so. At around…one-fifteen today, Chihiro’s body was discovered by Byakuya, Hina, and Kyoko in the hallway outside the library. The body announcement went off shortly after.

“The body…was leaning against the wall, and apparently crucified,” His voice wavers slightly, but he presses on. “The presumed cause of death was…was a blow to the head. The Monokuma file says the death was instant.”

A blow to the head? He almost asks aloud, surprised. Though it hadn’t exactly been clear with the amount of blood on Chihiro’s body, he thought the cause of death would have been stab wounds, given Syo’s modus operandi.

If it was someone with the same cleverness as Kyoko, they wouldn’t have missed such an obvious detail, and if it were Syo herself I doubt she would have strayed from her pattern… He casts a glance at Syo, now picking at her teeth. Though, it is difficult to kill someone cleanly with sharp objects alone. 

Somewhere to the side, Asahina shudders. “How horrible…”

Makoto only nods once, jerkily, in agreement. “The word ‘bloodlust’ was written on the wall besides the corpse, presumably with blood from- from the crime itself.” There’s the quiet sound of him swallowing drily. “The scene also mimics the signature of a serial killer that was pretty prolific a short while ago-”

“That’s ri-ight~!”

He’s interrupted by a giggle. All heads turned towards the source.

Syo is twirling in her stand, pointing at herself with the same glee as an audience member who was picked out of a game show. “It’s yo-ours truly! Call and I shall appear!!” She strikes some kind of ridiculous pose, hip cocked out and arms raised. “Genocider Syo is here!”

Even though they had all been present for her initial self-introduction, the declaration still draws some disbelief. “Wait, so…you’re serious?” Hagakure asks, with an air of incredulousness. “Lil’ Toko, the bookworm, a serial killer? You sure this isn’t, like, a late-case of middle-schooler syndrome?”

“Bah! Don’t compare me to those posers, Grasshead!” She snaps, pointing at him, and he yelps, flinging his arms up as if she was threatening him with an actual weapon. “I’m the real deal!! Ask me about any of the victims, and I can tell you everything ‘bout ‘em, from their favorite foods to their shitty tastes in girls!”

“...Anyways, Toko - in this case, known as Syo - was also carrying these.” Kirigiri withdraws a brown pouch from her jacket, the contents of it jingling. “Inside are scissors matching the unique make and model of the murder weapons found at Syo’s crime scenes. Between these and  the…dramatic change in personality, I think we can confidently assume that Toko is Syo, and vice versa.”

“Hmph. Gloomy wishes she could be me.” Syo harrumphs. “But yeah, sure, you got me detective! Me n’ Gloomy are like twins in one body, but only one person can drive at a time, yakkno? And she always hogs the wheel.”

There’s a murmur, as people take in this new revelation. “So…like a split personality?” Yamada asks.

“Not quite.” Kirigiri replies immediately. “It’s not clear how her affliction might be classified, but it does explain how she was able to avoid detection for so long.”

I see…” Celeste’s fingernails tap lightly against the railing. “But with this, does it not appear as if this case is already solved?”

“No…it’s not that simple.” Makoto says, a frown in his voice. “All of Syo’s previous victims died by stab wounds, but this time around, Chihiro’s cause of death was from blunt force to the skull…plus, nothing sharp was used in the crime at all.”

This time, Byakuya can’t hide his surprise. “Really?”

He immediately shuts his mouth, at once disgusted with himself for losing his control like that, but it’s too late. Attention turns to him. “What is it, Byakuya?”

He grits his teeth, now with no choice but to move forward. “I didn’t get a close look at the body earlier,” He explains, which is something like the truth. “But - given the blood and the nature of Syo’s crimes - I assumed that there would have been use of stabbing to at least mimic the scene, if only just to suspend the corpse?”

It’s a plausible enough explanation. He can only hope no one noticed the hesitancy in his voice. Kirigiri is the one that responds. “It is strange,” She nods. “I noticed that as well. But no, there are no stab wounds whatsoever on the body, and Syo’s scissors are completely clean. The body itself is suspended with an extension cord looped around the wrists, and hammered into the wall.”

This was more unexpected information, but useful information nonetheless. But it was frustrating that he couldn’t have seen it for himself to confirm, and all he could do now was rely on Kirigiri’s claim. But no one else was speaking up to disprove her, and so he had no choice.

“Couldn’t she have chosen a different weapon and method of crucifixion to keep suspicion off of herself?” Celeste asks again, curiously. “Given the enclosed nature of our surroundings, would it not make sense for her to try and create a scene where we could not ascertain her role in it?”

“Right! Couldn’t it be that Syo - er, Miss Syo -” Yamada corrects himself quickly. “- was trying to cover her tracks? I mean, I’ve seen it all the time in mystery mangas, where the killer changes up their style to throw the dogs off their tail…”

“No way!” Syo confirms aloud, sounding genuinely affronted by the suggestion. “I take pride in my works, yakkno? Any shmuck can make sushi, but it takes a real master to make the real thing. And what happened with Chihiro is some cheap convenience-store trash you can buy for a kid’s allowance!”

Ugly metaphor aside, it made sense. After reading so many case files, he had an understanding of how hedonistic killers operate, and it seemed that Syo was certainly not out of the norm in this case. She and the mastermind were similar in this regard. No matter how irrational, they always adhered to their own twisted sense of pride, and by extension, followed their own set of guidelines strictly.

But, then that meant it was unlikely for Syo to have committed the deed. Out of three possible suspects in his mind, he knew it was not himself, and if it wasn’t her, then the last one left was…

“That’s a possibility, but it’s not likely here,” Kirigiri speaks as if Syo had never said anything in the first place. “Syo was far too eager to reveal her identity, so it’s unlikely that she had intentions of hiding herself...and furthermore, with someone with as extensive a streak as her, it strikes me as odd that she would break her habits now.” She voices out the exact thoughts he was having himself, and that both reassures and irritates him at the same time. “Rather, the obvious way the body was displayed, plus the small differences with the actual killing method and the mounting, makes me think that this is a red herring.”

“Quite right,” Byakuya says now, and he can feel eyes turning onto him. “But many details on Syo’s killing methods and habits were concealed from the public, including the fact that the victims were crucified. Which means there is only a limited number of people here who could have copied her M.O to this extent. Am I correct?”

There’s a moment’s pause. He’s taken them by surprise, by pointing out the very thing that would otherwise suggest his involvement. Everyone had seen Owada confront him on the second floor hallway, had heard his messy accusation, though given how Kirigiri was quick to have the suspects isolated and Owada occupied by the menial task of overseeing the scene, they likely weren’t aware of any real explanation for his suspect status beyond Owada’s initial, hasty claims.

That was what he needed to take advantage of now, if he was going to keep suspicion off of him and survive.

Kirigiri nods slowly, likely also taken aback by his sudden interjection. “That’s true…the details of the Syo’s victims were kept confidential to only high-level police and investigators-”

“But that doesn’t mean jack here,” Owada cuts in sharply. He had been quiet this entire time, but now he leans forward, hands clutched against the wooden rail. The tip of his pompadour is facing Byakuya, as if staring him down. “There was that folder thing, right? The one that had all the details on Toko or Syo or whatever, I don’t give a shit.” He drawls out his cusses with a snarl, trembling with rage. “And the only guy who’s spent enough time in the library to be reading about that kinda stuff is right in front of me.”

Byakuya suppresses a sigh. Of course, Owada would jump to such conclusions, easily thrown into a blind fury by mere provocation. The bruise still throbbing on his face is evidence of that. “As I was beginning to explain, yes, I did have access to this knowledge. However, I alone can’t be classified as the killer-.”

Owada cuts him off again. “But there’s more evidence, ain’t there? You were the only one closest to the body when it was found. You were the only one with blood on you-”

“Oh, please. Everything you’re describing is circumstantial at best.” He scoffs. “It’s not like I’m locking the library doors or living in there, anyone could have read that file. I don’t have access to anything that could’ve been used to stage such a crime. And the blood on me isn’t enough to justify a murder.”

“You could’ve cleaned it off then!” Owada spits, and Byakuya simply rolls his eyes.

“And what’s your proof? Beyond your own, half-baked opinions based on some coincidences?” He snarks. He can’t waste too much time on this. He needs to move on, and quickly. If too much attention lingers on him, he’ll lose credibility. “Tell him, Makoto.”

Gazes turn towards Makoto. Byakuya waits, expecting him to say something, to point out the blatant lack of proof, or offer some counterargument to break down Owada’s logic. But Makoto is silent, his face cast downwards. After a pause that feels entirely too long, Byakuya finally understands why.

The realization completely derails him, and his fragile, haphazard plan of attack shatters. “Don’t tell me…” he says incredulously under his breath, mostly to himself.

“There is proof.” Kirigiri confirms his suspicions. She holds something up - rectangular and maybe the size of a small book, and maybe white once, but stained so thoroughly with blood it was hard to tell - “There was a mess in the library suggesting a struggle had occurred, and there was a textbook that had some bloodstains along the spine found near the far shelf. There were also two of these gauze pads found behind the door.” There’s a dry crackle as she sets the bloodied gauze down against the railing. “Furthermore, the cord that was used to crucify Chihiro was also confirmed to have come from the library. We found an empty box with a broken lid, with a dust imprint that suggests that it was used to hold the cord.” She pauses for a moment, as if gauging reactions. “There was also a white sheet found in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, with a large spot of blood near the middle of it.”

It feels like the floor is tilting under his feet, and he leans his weight forward into his arms, his hands still clutching the rail. The cord, the bloodied gauze? The sheet?

I’m being framed. That much was clear, but - he has no idea by who. It couldn’t have been Toko, or Syo. Had someone snuck into the library after Chihiro’s body was found, during all the confusion? Planted evidence to doom him?

“That’s impossible,” He hears himself saying, voice strangely distant. It takes an effort to drag himself back, out of his racing thoughts. He can still salvage this; I just need to stay calm.

“I’ve never touched that cord, and I have no idea where that gauze came from.” His own words sound pathetic and baseless, floundering attempts with no substance. “And- there’s not enough blood on the book to justify that kind of killing blow-”

“So it was used to hit someone?” Celeste asks, an amused note in her voice. Immediately, he snaps his mouth shut, cursing at himself silently. “Won’t you please elaborate for us?”

“That was-” It’s hard to explain the real reason. That he had struck Fukawa, in a moment of panic; no matter how much he hated that girl, to admit such a thing was humiliating, the act of someone lesser than him. “-from something else.”

His eyes dart towards Syo, half-expecting her to come forward and call him out on his avoidance of the topic. But all she does is…wiggle, her hands clutching her face. 

“Gosh, I’m jealous of whoever got to feel those hands on ‘em!” She swoons, and he realizes that she didn’t remember. Either that, or she had no intention of bringing it up, and the latter seemed unlikely.

Kirigiri leans forward a bit, pale face turned towards him. “The gauze pad I held up was soaked through, but it’s strange how clumsily it was hidden. Additionally, just the two of them wouldn’t have been nearly enough to justify the cleanup of an entire scene, especially given the tendency of head wounds to bleed.” She pauses, apparently waiting for any protest, before continuing. “And the book, too. To match the shape and dimensions of the wound, you would have had to use the corner of the book and apply a heavy amount of force, and there aren’t any deep stains or large splatters against the edges that would suggest such a thing.”

The relief he feels is nearly palpable, Kirigiri’s methodical words like a balm. He’d be almost grateful for it, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was suspecting her as well. Was she trying to get his guard down? To ensure his support if she were accused? He can see others nodding, following her logic.

“And what about the sheet?” Ogami asks.

“The stain on it doesn’t suggest it was used to wipe anything up. And there are no clear splatter marks to suggest that it was laid down prior to doing the deed, to reduce cleanup time.” An inadvertent breath of relief leaves him, a quiet sigh, and he swears for a moment that he feels her gaze flick towards him, a near-imperceptible turn of her head. “The boy’s bathroom is also not as strictly regulated as the locker rooms, so to claim that Byakuya was the only one on the second floor who could have put that there is untrue.”

He refuses to let himself show gratitude for her aid. He looks away as she turns to him fully, pretends like he doesn’t see it. “So…does that mean it wasn’t Byakuya?” Asahina asks, bewildered. Byakuya opens his mouth to confirm-

“The hell it isn’t.”

Owada’s voice is a low rumble. Byakuya has heard him yell and rage before, but there’s something different now. An unidentifiable emotion beneath the anger. But it creates the same sensation as the thunder before a storm.

“That fucker was in the library the entire fucking time. Chihiro got strung up right across from him.” The room is silent, everyone terrified to interrupt. Byakuya can hear the creak of wood as Owada fists tighten on the rail. “There’s too many things that make him suspicious, don’t fucking tell me that all of you are just gonna write it off as fucking coincidental? Chihiro’s DEAD!” 

“That’s-” Makoto speaks up, but his voice is drowned out almost immediately.

“The gauze. The case file. The sheet, the fucking extension cord.” Owada continues, turning slowly to cast his gaze at every person in the courtroom. “There’s no one else in this room who could’ve known about how Syo does her murders. There’s no one else with access to all the pieces to set this shit up. There’s no one else who would’ve had a motive-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He manages to keep his voice halfway steady, unshaken despite the sudden onslaught, but the beds of his fingernails are beginning to ache from where he digs his nails into the grains of the wood. The inside of his mouth tastes of metal and salt, accompanied by a raw, bleeding pain in his cheek.

“A motive. You, during breakfast - didn’t you say all that shit about ‘waiting for someone to die’?” Owada sounds just as hysterical as himself. “And then, Chihiro said you were the one who told him to tell everyone his secret - were you trying to get his guard down? To make him vulnerable, like you said?!”

“You’re insane. Do you even hear yourself?” Byakuya spits back. His head spins, and he feels sick. “I would never kill Chihiro, I-”

I owe him a debt.

He can’t say that. The words freeze on his tongue before he even comprehends what he’s about to say, as if pure instinct has held it back. But his mind feels unfamiliarly, frustratingly blank, filled with the static of rushing thoughts and a haze of panic.

If he tries to explain, he reveals his blindness, and makes himself vulnerable. If he doesn’t, he risks letting himself be identified as the culprit. His options were torn between his honor and his life, and either choice would ruin him.

He hasn’t felt this cornered in years. Not since the competition for heir.

“See? See?!” Owada is still screaming, but he sounds so far away. It sounds almost frenzied, as if with triumph. “He can’t even explain himself! He tricked Chihiro, and then murdered him!”

“No, that’s wrong!”

< previous - from start - next >

[misty-caligula]

To preface this, I’m going to be talking about growing up in a really generalised way, it’s not meant to be read as a critique of people or as prescriptivist. It’s just an overall framework, from my own point of view.

I think that growing up, graduating from childhood into adulthood, has less to do with age and more to do with personal experience. Because when it comes down to it I think that what’s most critical in the difference between an adult and an adolescent is that adults tend to put a lot more thought into our decision making process.

That’s NOT to say “Oh dumb teenagers don’t think about stuff.” Instead, I mean that those of us with more life experience have more experience of failure. Tend to be more aware of what failure means, in practical, real world terms. We’ve seen and felt and had to find solutions to the consequences of our actions, and through doing so we’ve learned not only how to mitigate those consequences, but also ... which decisions we absolutely do not want to repeat. We more appreciate and value the experience of peace and calm and stability because we’ve had our fill of chaos and the discomfort and pain that comes with it. And so when we make any kind of life choice we’re more likely to really think it through based on what consequences we can REALLY tollerate dealing with, what risks we can REALLY accept. And we learned that by ... fucking around and finding out.

The yellowjacket teens are really showing that process in full swing, and I think it’s such a big part of what I love about it.

Shauna, pre-crash, had unprotected sex with Jeff. She knew, logically, that there was a chance that this could lead to pregnancy. But it was a very ... theoretical, vague kind of knowledge. In the same way that you know, in theory, that if you don’t wear a seatbelt you might die in a crash. It was a bad decision on her part (no judgement but it was) which could’ve been easily mitigated, if only the reality of the consequences were more clear to her. Post-stillbirth Shauna is going to be radically different. To her the consequences are VERY clear, very real, very personal. If she were transported back to that night with Jeff she’d not have done it, even if she didn’t know for SURE what was going to happen, where they’d end up. She’d just have a deeper conception of what consequences REALLY look like, in practice. What a choice that you cannot take back really feels like.

Misty smashed the flight recorder, potentially dooming the entire team. Whether or not that’s why they’re not being rescued is irrelevant, it’s what she believes. She did it on the first day, in a very emotionally fragile and intense situation. This was a TERRIBLE fucking choice, but ... she didn’t think it through. She couldn’t have, fundamentally, understood what she was doing. Because the consequences again were so theoretical, so vague. And because she was running on a high of perceived competency, she was sure that she’d help them all out, be a hero. She might well have thought that she was just delaying rescue, that at some point they’d work it out and she’d just be a big hero. The true consequences of her action only begin to really hit months afterwards. When Laura Lee died, when Jackie did too, then Crystal and now the baby... Misty knows it’s all her fault. And the blood is literally on her hands. Things are only going to get worse from here, and this Misty, this 9 months older version, covered in blood and full of guilt, wouldn’t have smashed the box. Given the choice she’d have gone back and undone it. But she can’t. Sometimes we make choices that have HORRIFIC consequences, and then all we can do is survive them, and hopefully learn from them. That’s what growth IS. We learn from mistakes, but that doesn’t mean that those mistakes are any less disastrous.

I think this is fundamentally what the yellowjacket adults are missing. Their refusal to acknowledge and process their past - and the decisions they made and the consequences that came of them - robs them of the capacity to learn from those choices. They’re stunted in their growth, frozen in place. For all their extra years in so many ways they still haven’t grown up. Instead they’ve all built coping mechanisms to hold their trauma and pain so they can pretend to function as well as possible and hide the fact that they’re all so ... stuck.

And a large part of that really comes down, I feel, to guilt. They’re making a fundamental mistake where they’re judging the actions of their younger selves by their current realities. Shauna cannot realistically relate to pre-crash Shauna anymore, and cannot understand - or forgive - herself for her irresponsibility. Misty is so full of self-hatred and guilt, blames herself for everything, she can’t possibly look at that tiny version of herself with compassion and understanding and say “You fucked up so bad, but I won’t because you did.” They’re putting the consequences of their choices before the decision making which is a really common error people have when they regret things. They make a choice that goes badly, then they regret the choice because of what happened afterwards. But if it had worked out - even if it was STILL a bad choice - they wouldn’t regret it. And they can’t acknowledge or appreciate that error because they’re not processing or analyzing their choices properly, which is keeping them stranded in time.

As an adult it is SO hard to look back at a younger you with compassion and care, to say “Oh, look at you screwing up, don’t worry you’ll learn not to be so hurt. You’ll learn how to find your stride.” And I say that having NOT actually gotten lots of people killed or eaten my friends in the wilderness. I’m not exactly proud of many of the choices I made, but I can only imagine how much harder it’d be with their level of guilt and trauma, to say “It’s okay, I was a kid, what’s done is done and all I can do is do better.”

[hyde-nseek]

Breath of the Wild Thoughts

A completely pointless essay.

I was first introduced to the Zelda series with Breath of the Wild, and that comes with some good and bad things. The biggest downside I've seen from this is that I didn't understand what the characters of Zelda and Link used to be.

Since playing BotW, I have played parts of the other games, including all of Twilight Princess and Skyward Sword. They've become some of my favorite games to play.

But now that I've had the experience of older games, I realized something about Breath of the Wild, specifically the memories.

Link and Zelda are different before the Calamity. They don't match up with past incarnations.

For a while, I couldn't point out why exactly they were different, but now I have the answer. Link and Zelda didn't know who they were supposed to be in the prophecy. It was only after the Calamity that they understood what their roles were.

Pre-Calamity, Link is a royal knight, something that he never was before. To add to that, he was Zelda's bodyguard.

Canonically, that was a lot of stress for him. That's why he was silent and expressionless: he was too worried that he'd say something wrong or act contrary to his position.

To be fair, the only difference between this Link and the Hero of Hyrule we all know and love is how many people are looking at him. The responsibilities and goals stay the same: protect Zelda and save Hyrule.

The problem is that Link didn't have any freedom in doing that. He was given a specific task but told that he had to do it in a specific way by everyone he met, and it wasn't in the way he was comfortable with.

Essentially, he was doomed to fail.

Now let's talk about Zelda, the princess who didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up.

I like how they portray Zelda in the memories. She is caught up in three different ideas of who she is. On one hand, she has a passion for research in Sheikah technology, and takes any opportunity to look into it, even if it gets her in trouble. On the other hand, she is trying to be the servant of the Goddess that Hyrule needs.

What I find interesting is that she fails to do the one thing that she knows she needs to do. She spends days worth of time trying to unlock powers everyone says is inside of her.

But they only come out when there is no pressure left.

Similar to Link, she can only function to her whole capacity when she's free to do it in her own way.

The Calamity, in a weird and backwards way, opened Zelda and Link to be who they were always supposed to be. Link was more heroic when there wasn't a plan or an expectation. Zelda was more powerful when she already failed and the expectations were gone.

In a sense they were free to do what they wanted. They were in the wild for the first time when the Calamity hit.

That first breath of the wild was what awakened Zelda's powers. She finally could be who she needed to be, and feel good about herself.

As for Link, he always had a little bit of wild in him, but it was suppressed when he was appointed a knight. When he wakes up 100 years later, he doesn't have those same expectations. He's as wild as ever burning the countryside and making seal puns. And that's what saves Hyrule.

I would also like to point out that Link is the most rigid when he is talking with Impa, the only person who has expectations of him.

And it is at this point into my essay when I realized that I was only stating the obvious. And it could have been summed up into one sentence.

Like the silent princess, Link and Zelda were only able to thrive in the wild.

So.... Yeah.

[lavenoon]

Okay, gonna go slightly for pain with this ask:

We all know the boys love and adore their games. How would Dawn/Dusk/Eclipse react to a game having gone just a step too far? Like at first it was all fun, heeheehoohoo, but then y/n either starts crying or outright states 'this isn't fun anymore, that hurt'. And possibly the reason it got to that point was because y/n didn't want to seem like they were rejecting the boy(s) and this is all in good fun right(?) so they just sort of pushed the negative feelings aside until it just got to be too much, leading to the straw breaking the camels back and causing them to possibly be in tears and then feeling horrible because they didn't know how to communicate their earlier discomfort. How would the boys react to the initial fallout and would it change their demeanor for a while, would they try to talk about it, clear the air? Would they try to pretend all was well why also walking on eggshells?

-P

You went so hard with the pain, I have a short answer, and a longer answer for a slightly different scenario

First also the disclaimer, Eclipse does not play like his brothers, he's playful, but rarely snarky with people he likes (unless it's Sun and Moon, that lovely brotherly bond), plus he doesn't really get that sort of contact with Y/N until way later - so he's not going to be a part of this, sorry!

The short answer for this scenario is simply... They don't have a future, or at the very least need distance for a good while until they can stomach each other again. A scenario where Y/N let the boys believe in a playful rivalry/ friendship filled with teasing banter even though it hurts them is simply doomed. The boys trusted Y/N to be honest, and they didn't get that, and have to realize that all they built together is now shattered, all while Y/N doesn't even know where to start trusting the boys again after that last metaphorical gut punch. The boys of course apologize, and promise not to do it again - so they all withdraw into polite distance, because do they even know each other? It's not a happy ending, and I can't see myself entertaining it for long - either be honest from the start and immediately say when things get uncomfortable, or genuinely love banter, both are fine. But letting them trust in a friendship while letting them hurt you is just... No

For the longer answer I'll grab this ask again - what if it's just one of those days where insecurities lurk closer to the surface, setting Y/N on edge? Since you specified Dusk and Dawn, I'll do the scenario where Robin just. tries to engage in the usual banter, but pre-reveal in main/ reverse AU respectively, and of course not successfully.

So Dusk has the advantage of being generally more attuned to Robin's feelings, because they aren't as defensive with him as reverse AU Robin with Dawn. He'd probably notice something is up quickly - their responses are slower, they zone out more, and they seem more like a shadow of themself the entire night. 

But after the nth near-misstep, Dusk still underestimates just how badly a little comment like "Your head's really not in the game tonight, huh?" would be received.

Robin immediately stops, and Dusk does just a few steps later, looking back to find them shaking, hands balled into fists, and staring at the ground.

He freezes. This was not his intention, and his mind is racing - the comment is completely in line with what they usually throw at each other, in fact, they’ve hurled much worse at each other at the beginning of their rivalry - but still this is the first time he’s seen them break like that.

The thing is, Robin is proud, and stubborn. Pre-reveal, there's no admitting to being hurt - not immediately. Just a strained, shaky, forced out between clenched teeth;

"Best if I leave, then."

And they do. Still tense, they just turn, walking back the way they came from, focusing so very hard on not crying right there that they don't notice how Dusk immediately follows them. he can afford it - because he doesn't care about the mission that much, and there aren’t any people to impress or fool, just them, and that’s all he cares about in that moment. He much prefers these missions as a way to spend time with his little rival, so this? This is not what he wanted.

He pulls them to the side, the funny act immediately dropped. Gentle, but insistent, even as Robin avoids looking at him. Still shaking.

"Hey, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Neither of us believes that. Little bird, it's never 'best if you leave'."

And that's when they break. Fold like a house of cards, and all Dusk can do is hush reassuringly as he kneels beside them, checking their surroundings to ensure they won't be interrupted. He's not caging them in, but rather trying to project stability as he holds on to them, hands reassuringly on their shoulders as his thumbs brush soothing circles through their clothes. It's an awful kind of deja vu - Robin, crumbled before him, and he doesn't quite know what to do.

At least this time they aren't bleeding.

"But what if?"

None of that.

"I much prefer you being here. Who else would I trust at my back?"

And that.. That already helps. It's that absolute trust that they already have, and even in that spiral of negativity Robin finds they can hold on to that.

If only to argue.

"But I keep messing up."

"You're having a bad day. Everyone gets those - not everyone's as stubborn as you though. I just lock myself in my office and don't insist on going out."

"You get bad days?"

"Sure do. Mostly days where talking gets too exhausting. Hard to explain that without words though, so I just do paperwork until it passes."

"You don't gotta talk with me. I'll get it."

Robin, ever deflecting, has no issues trying to comfort Dusk - but he just chuckles, and gives their forehead a little flick.

"That's sweet, but we're talking about you right now, birdie. Do you want to go back? Postpone this?"

They shake their head before ducking down, aware of the risk they're asking him to engage in. It still feels like failure if they go back, and their brain isn't kind to them about it.

"We'll be extra careful, then. You gotta stick close, okay?"

He's still lighthearted, holding out his hand, not a hint of anger or bitterness or annoyance in his expression. They can't really trust their own mind right now, but they trust him. After months of working with him, and ironically because of all the banter he flung at them before - they know he’s honest, as far as is possible for them in their line of work, and wouldn’t trick them like this. He’s not that cruel. 

They take the hand.

"Nice. Once you're back home, you gotta put on your comfiest pajamas though, and make yourself a hot chocolate. Extra sweet. Doctor's orders."

And that's when they find their laughter again, too <3

Dawn, as mentioned above, has it a little harder. Not just because Robin is more on edge around him, but also because he is simply an idiot about it all and more prone to fucking up.

Their shared undercover missions are also social, which adds another stressor for Robin. More people to fool and entertain with polite small talk, which just gets harder by the minute. They struggle to keep up with conversations more and more, spiraling internally about "Oh god, I'm not paying enough attention, am I even smiling? What if I'm giving us away, what if I'm the reason we fail, that'd just prove them all* right -"

(*all being in this case everyone at the agency, including Dawn, as obviously they're all just waiting for Robin to fuck up and boot them from the agency)

Dawn is an idiot, but he's not blind. He notices their fumbling, their strained smiles - and ever efficient, he gives them an out. Hand on their shoulder and leaning in close, creating a bit of a cover for Robin.

"You seem unwell, my dear. Did you eat something wrong? Perhaps you should go, freshen up a little?"

And then lower, quieter, just for their ears:

"You're slipping. Go take a breather."

Robin, stone-faced, goes to do that without another word. There's some awkward chuckles from their former conversational partners, pointing out how there might be "trouble in paradise" - and while Dawn is aware that their situation is nowhere near "paradise", he can't help but agree with the rest of the sentiment.

He saw their expression. He's seen them smug, he's seen them shocked, he's seen them scared, he's seen them happy, he's seen them angry - this is the first time he's seen them resigned.

The breather doesn't stay a breather. After ten, fifteen minutes pass, now Dawn is the one obviously getting antsy, and promptly excusing himself to go check up on his "date". (He's peripherally glad that he gave the explanation of them eating something wrong, because sickness is a valid cover, which both of them need right now.)

He doesn't find them in the bathrooms, nor near any of the public balconies. But the fresh air does give him that idea - his little thief likes their high vantage points.

He finds them on the roof, which they should not have access to.

Robin, hearing the door click, has a good idea of who found them, and only curls up tighter where they're huddled, as hidden as they can get.

"Why are you hiding?"

Dawn isn't here to play games - the mood for that left him as soon as they looked at him with empty eyes. Maybe he'd do well to be just a tad gentler, but he's confused, and honestly kind of worried, so he slips into bluntness.n (They aren't at the stage where he can show concern - is what he thinks)

Robin is still hiding, even with Dawn right there already, and only acts defensively.

“Please, just do your thing. Don’t let me hold you back.” 

They may hide it behind the passive aggression, but the fear is very real. They are holding him back, making him cover for them, making him look for them, and they can’t do anything right, huh? 

The soft sound of shifting clothes, and then there’s a hand tilting up their head to meet his eyes. Confusion twists his expression into a frown, and Robin lowers their gaze almost immediately to escape that searching expression. 

“Darling, in what world would you be holding me back?” 

“In this one, obviously.”

They try to slip out of his hold - but then his other hand cups their face too, and looking away becomes even harder. He looks bewildered, and it makes no sense. 

“Do you think I have any interest in being down there without you by my side?” 

That makes even less sense.

“You can do better without me -” 

“Will you stop slandering my partner? I can do differently, not better. And I want you down there, with me.” 

Robin can’t take it anymore - they push his hands away, trying to curl away, even as one of those hands settles on your shoulder instead. 

“But it’s true, I’m just faking, I’m pretending to be a good agent and somehow I fooled a couple people and now I just -” 

And there’s a handkerchief, dabbing away those first spilled tears. (A fancy one, in red. A little embroidered Sun in a corner, because initials aren’t really an option.) Robin freezes, the rest of their sentence dying in their throat. 

“The outcome is the same, dear. Your results don’t change just because your mind tells you to invalidate your efforts. There’s no one else I’d rather have at my side to stomach these kinds of events.” 

Deflection is easier, always. 

“... You don’t even have a stomach.” 

“Which makes the need for an outlet even more dire, no? Have you seen the suit on that ginger? Their lapels are barely ironed!” 

Some of that indignation is real, and Dawn realizes a second too late that this… perhaps isn’t the time. But another second later Robin giggles softly, and maybe it was the time, after all. 

He softens. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and set up the bug - we have everything we need from those people, and I’ll go ahead and say you’re feeling unwell. We can leave right after.” 

Their smile is small, and hesitant, but he’s never seen anything that filled him with more relief. 

“Okay.” 

For good measure, he smiles at them too, tilting his faceplate just a little. Wraps their fingers around his handkerchief - it’s for them to keep, and he’s so very glad when they do <3

Post reveal, should something like this happen again, the boys are prepared - and much less limited in their reactions. They’ll get to reassure them in the moment - and also at home, ensuring Robin actually rests and doesn’t push themself too far, while taking care to not set them off again. It’s not quite walking on eggshells, because they’re more than capable of being soft, but the gentleness is definitely palpable (because neither of them would try to hide it) <3

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

The more I read into and about pre-mending Planeswalkers, the more I realize that these "oldwalkers" slowly lost the chance to become people. Once you were a planeswalker in the olden days, if you claimed dominion of a plane, it was now your duty to watch over it and guard it - essentially staking out territory - often in opposition to other planeswalkers.

And planeswalkers back then, they were not just people that could cross worlds. They were immortal, nigh unkillable (though not entirely, as Ugin and some others prove), could do virtually anything they wanted, could create their own realms!... they were gods. They WERE gods. These people were moving forces of nature, whose motivations were often unknown to all those they ran across.

And they found each other, oh they found each other, constantly. Sorin remarks that there are strict protocols of sorts for planeswalkers coming to one another's planes when he meets Nahiri, and I am of the opinion that this is because most planeswalkers, at least back then, were actually rather terrified of each other.

The world was a lot more vicious for them, even if things were a lot easier. Yes, their magic was much better, and they could succeed at their own goals easier - but so could other planeswalkers. Urza merely showed his face in Serra's Realm, and that damned it; he did not intend for it to be so, he didn't call the Phyrexians there purposefully, but his arrival was what doomed the plane and, arguably, Serra herself. While that specific example with Urza might not have been widespread knowledge, it probably WAS widespread knowledge back then that when a strange planeswalker arrives on your soil, you do not know what will change because of that.

You have immortal forces of nature, living gods, called planeswalkers, that stake their claim over worlds at a time (usually), and often fight for control of these worlds or for something from one another's worlds. They have a natural distrust and wariness of one another. They cannot afford to think of each other as people, to wonder about each other's emotions and underlying motivations, because to do so risks one's own safety (whether of themselves or any world they've claimed dominion of).

Oldwalkers were always on edge, always ready to defend, always seeing enemies and allies, never people they merely didn't like or friends. And even when they did claim to have friends, they always seemed to have a nagging voice in the back of their head reminding them to be careful and to still be wary.

And this, I think, is in direct contrast to post-mending Planeswalkers - they are people first, gods never (or later, if they do reach some unreasonable amount of power at all), whereas the immortal pre-mending planeswalkers were gods for so long they forgot what it meant to be a person ever.

And I propose that most oldwalkers retain this wariness of other walkers, even post-mending ones. They know it's undue, they know that they themselves are weakened (even if they are still stronger than the average post-mending walker). They know that the territorial times of pre-mending walkers is mostly dead and gone. But that instinct remains, that instinct remains to be on guard, to be wary...

And to be frank, they're not even entirely wrong to be. Postmending walkers might be weaker, and walkers themselves less godlike, but walkers can still cause indescribable damage. So premending walkers may know they are in a new age, where the rules and norms they knew are long gone, but they feel as if holding that culture tightly protects them to some degree.

So it permeates their behavior. And oldwalkers are seen as standoffish, cold, cruel, even - because the culture and world that shaped them is long gone, long forgotten. But it is the world they knew, and the world they will always know in their minds.

[acatalystrising]

Curious about your thoughts with Boba and 🎥? I think Pre-TBOBF Boba wouldn’t mind a holo or two while on the job to revisit. What do you think he’d enjoy or request ;)

Hey anon! OHHHH now that’s a good question!

You’re absolutely right, especially with pre-TBOBF Boba - he’d be very careful to ensure you’re not pulled into danger, and especially with big jobs that take him deep into dangerous territory, he’d want to make sure you were tucked away somewhere safe until his return. But he’d miss you, despite his cold exterior, and you’d certainly miss your man when he’s gone. So how do you two cope?

NSFW below the cut, no minors please!

• The first holo would have been carefully planned and discussed - Boba likes the idea, but he’d want to ensure you were comfortable with it, too. It would have been a particularly hot and heavy session (mind you, when is it not??) and he’d watch it on those lonely nights when he longs for your company. (Boba is a sap, I don’t care what he says. He’s big, bad, scary, and also misses his girl. I’m just saying.)

• The second holo would be a request - he’d miss seeing the way your back arches when he fills you, working you into oblivion, and all the pretty sounds you make. You’d be more than happy to oblige - and that’s one he’d assuredly watch when he wants nothing more than to drop everything he’s doing to return for you.

• The third holo would be a gift. He’d have had a particularly rough day - a bounty nearly overpowered him, and while the doomed man in question was currently in pieces in a bag in the cargo hold (dead OR alive listings sometimes require the usage of both terms, naturally) and when he collapses in his pilot’s chair, bone weary and exhausted, he opens your message - pleasantly surprised to find a holo of you naked, desperate, fingers buried within you as you work yourself into your release.

• And stars, there’s something about your desperation and keening cries that particularly affect him this time. He’d been gone too long, this bounty had been a pain, and even as he frees his aching cock he knows it’s not enough. It’s never enough when he knows that you’re real, flesh and blood, waiting for him. Even as he punching the coordinates to deliver the bounty’s corpse, he’s already backlogging the path back to you.

• You’d wake to the beep of your comlink, pleasantly surprised to see its Boba. You open it, connecting the video feed, and the moment you see him, a groan slips past your parted lips.

“The things you do to me, princess.” His voice is rough, strained, as he fists his length, sweat beading on his helmet-less face. “Don’t deserve something so soft. So good.”

“Nonsense. Come and get me, Boba Fett,” you dare to wink at him and he growls, hurrying his frantic pace as you slip out of your shirt, bearing your chest to him. “When you’re done with your obligations, of course.”

He grunts, lips twisted in a near-scowl. He’s close. You can tell by his hard arousal, the precum smearing his tip. You dip your fingers beneath your underwear, you can’t help it, and his movement stills, eyes following your movement, lips twisting in a wry grin.

“That’s right, little one.” His voice growls even as he continues his quick pace, hips subconsciously thrusting into his firm grasp. “Pretend those are my fingers making you feel so good. Can you do that, mesh’la?”

“I’ll - I’ll try,” you do, you really do, but it’s not the same. His big, thick fingers could never be replaced by your smaller, more delicate ones. “But it’s not…”

“I know, sweet thing,” his gaze locks with you, but you can tell he’s close. Honest to the stars, you are too. “You can do it. After this, I’m coming back for you, understand?”

You whine at the sound of his deliciously deep voice, a tremor setting in your legs, and he watches you with the calculation of a hawk, lips curved in a wry grin.

“That’s a good girl,” his voice is nearly proud, you recognize, even as you near the precipice of your release. “Let go for me, cyare. Come on.”

You obey, as if you’d ever say no, pleasure coursing through your body and numbing your mind. You hear his guttural groan and open your eyes quickly enough to see him spill over himself, lips twisted in a snarl, brows furrowed, sweat slicking that bronzed skin. Maker, he’s gorgeous. You know he’s ruined you for anyone else, and stars, you’d never want to be with anyone else.

And even after he has to go (very reluctantly, have I mentioned he’s a sap?) your room once again silent, you go back to sleep - resting, waiting.

Knowing that Boba Fett will always return for you.

[thatboreddrake]

The Drake Knights of Elden Ring

Alright, so. Despite having like, literally no actual information on them in canon, my brain decided that we were going to construct an entire culture/story around a group that never properly appears in-game! (:

Obligatory "absolutely none of this is official canon, it is connecting loose threads at best and rampant speculation at worst" warning out of the way. So strap in buckos, because tonight we're talking about the Knights of the Dragon Communion!

Let's start with what we know from the game itself:

Yura: "Those who partake in Dragon Communion will one day shed their humanity. Their hunger for dragon, their yearning, only worsens. Until the floodgates burst, unleashing eternal torment. The strength of a mighty dragon"

Magma Breath Incantation: "Those who have performed the Dragon Communion will find their humanity slowly slipping away. Once they fully succumb to their fate, they are left no more than wyrms that crawl the earth"

Dragonclaw, etc, also in-game mechanic: knights of the Dragon Communion gained their power from hunting and feasting on dragon hearts (metal)

Drake Knight Armor: "Features the spoils of a dragon catch as an emblem of pride as both dragon hunter and partake of communion."

TL;DR Drake Knights were people who hunted down dragons in order to consume their hearts and gain power, but eventually they were doomed to lose their humanity and become the Magma Wyrms we find throughout the Lands Between.

This also tells us with near 100% certainty that Eleonora was a member of the Dragon Communion, and with considerably less certainty that she and Yura hunted dragons together (but that's a topic for another day).

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaand here begins the speculation:

De-gamifying the incantations, I've headcanoned the power of Dragon Communion as a sort of "berzerker" state. The basic idea is that once they've partaken in the communion, the Drake Knights can tap into the might of dragons in order to augment their strength, durability, and endurance. This would manifest mostly in the form of growing scales, horns, claws, and the like. The more hearts a Drake Knight consumes, the more powerful transformations they can achieve. However, the more powerful they borrow from the dragon hearts, the harder it is for them to return to their human form.

Side note: another power available to them would be regeneration (because lizards), but this power is particularly dangerous, as its directly replacing parts of themselves with the dragon. It's still possible to return to human form after regenerating, but it's exceptionally difficult.

My idea is that the Drake Knights originally started exclusively as a corps of dragon slayers, but gradually came to realize that they could borrow the power of slain dragons in order to grow more powerful and slay more dragons ("those who fight monsters are doomed to become monsters themselves" and all that).

Anyway, because death is screwy in the Lands Between and we don't really have a clear picture of what death even looked like pre-game (Rune of Death being gone, at least 3 different death cults, etc.) I choose to believe that the original Drake Knights were made up of Tarnished warriors, whose guidance of grace allowed them to return from death (this is important).

Basically, as the Drake Knights realized the dangers inherent in using the dragon's powers, they came up with a solution to the loss of humanity. Basically, by a seppuku-esque ritual, Drake Knights who are approaching the threshold are able to, in essence, "reset" their humanity. Each Drake Knight carries a cold-forged iron blade on their person (for ritualistic purposes, it has to be created using only human strength. Thus the cold-forging). Anyway, if a Knight feels that they will not be able to return after another transformation, they recite a certain litany (these will come later) and impale their heart with the dagger. Because the center of the dragon's power is in the heart, this prevents the regeneration from taking place, allowing them to die a true death and purge themselves of the corruption of dragons and restart the cycle.

[chickadee-chariot]

📚🗓️📣 for the music ask game :3

~🥀

🥰😚🌿

📚 A song or album I could write a term paper on is Pyramid by Jason Webley. This song makes me chew on the walls in a very existential way. I'm passionate to the nines about what I consider to be a defining pillar of humanity, that is storytelling. The relationship between the teller and the listener. The degrees of separation between them, and how those degrees can shape a story to something wondrous, or render it unrecognizable. When is a living story altered enough to be called false? To whom does such a condemnation even matter?

Storytelling as a collaboration, or transaction, willing or not. The ordeal of being known. The ordeal of being known wrong. Or right. Where is a legacy, between the truth of the dead and the name by which we call the dead? Someone who doesn't want to be remembered. Someone who doesn't care if it's fiction as long as they are remembered. Will it please me when someone lights a candle and says my name?

The versions of ourselves we loan out to others to be held, that bear our names but only fractions of what those names mean. The futility of wanting to be fully understood by another the way you understand yourself, and the futility of being upset by that.

The reasons we cry, remember me in your songs. The reasons we beg, forget all I ever was.

What is the devotion of a stranger worth to you? How might it feel, when that devotion is worth castles of gold to them, if they carry an idea of you that is no more or never was? What ownership do you have over that? What would you tear down to claim it? No pre-judgement should be inferred here. Some things ought to be torn down. But then Sometimes integrity is cruel.

The difference between a person and a character, in cases where there is any difference at all.

The urge to disappear rather than be looked through unseen. The inability of the living to stop reinventing the dead. The inability of the listener not to participate in the singing of the song.

I have said very little about any of these things, mostly asked questions. Those are the questions I would write about. :]

Oh also, the other answer to an album I would write an essay on is uh...the entire musical score of lotr as created by Howard Shore and others...with particular attention to the use of elvish and other languages and the meanings their translations add.....I'm so normal about that...I'm totally not thinking about the words hidden in all the mt doom scenes that make me want to claw my chest open....nope....

I thought that was a bit TOO obvious ;]

📅 A song that calls up a specific time and place for me is Blue Ocean Floor by Justin Timberlake. That song will always take me back to warming up in the dance room at school, the backs of my hands brushing the floor in a wide arc. The wideness of the light in the only tiny room we had, and the firework curls of my beloved dance teacher. 🥰

Tesselate by Alt-J shares a similar space also with a time in my life when looking at fanart on tumblr was the hilight of my day.

📣 A lyric that feels like it is specifically calling me out is from Frozen Pines by Lord Huron:

And it feels like I've been away for an era

But nothing has changed at all

And it feels like I've been with you, oh

But what did we do, and where have you gone?

Far and away from being all poetic and shit, Ouch. That's a little too real.