#clay disarray

[tomorrowusa]

Looking for a low budget Halloween costume? Dress up as Gym Jordan! Just hope that it's warm outside and you don't need a jacket.

There's also the younger Jordan if you happen to own a wrestling singlet. The dumb facial expression might require some work.

Rep. Elise Stefanik (R-NY-21) boldly brought up Jordan's wrestling past in the House on Tuesday.

Congress Gasps When Rep. Elise Stefanik Cites Jim Jordan's Wrestling Past In Speech

I'm sure that won him some votes for Speaker. 🤣

[miraamio]

art student Geto who gets paired with stem student Gojo. Their shared dorm is a disarray of mismatched interests. And Suguru’s poor attempt at recreating soft lighting hangs across their ceiling in the form of star shaped fairy lights that drape over Satoru’s pegboard that contains several articles related to biochemistry and radiology. Images of severed bodies and effects of radiation on human genome are pinned right next to the five foot canvas with gesso on it, awaiting the arrival of the oils. It get worse as the semester progresses. Large plastic models of subatomic structures and pictorial depictions of molecular structures of coordination compounds and their stereoisomers alongside a half finished sculpture with clay that has Suguru’s large handprints on them like a signature that marks his creation, little ceramic projects in shapes of vases, ashtrays and whatnot. Books related to colour and structure shoved in between advanced calculus and organic chemistry. Like a little library of their shared love.

Both of them pretend to hate it, Satoru grunts and nags Suguru when his penned diagrams disappear between the large stack of canvases with unfinished paintings. And Suguru who absolutely loses his mind when he sees Satoru use his insanely expensive hog hair brushes to dust his atomic structure models. They pretend to hate the mismatched chaos that surrounds their room, posters of artists and art, of bands and music adjacent to shelves so full of books that the wood creaks and cracks under it. Large blueprints of derivations and formulas. All held together by the starry golden lights.

At the end of the semester, Suguru saves up enough to finally have rented a small studio across the campus, similar to Satoru who finds vacant shelves in the isolated corners of the university’s physics lab. So when they come back after the winter break, they’re both equally surprised to see their shared dorm cleared out on each other’s end. Except for a few books and articles that occupy negligible space. They remain quiet about it, initially at least. But with their stuff moved both start spending ungodly hours at their respective spaces in the lab and in the studio. Suguru starts feeling the discomfort of the shared loneliness when he comes back at ten one night, having finished his painting, to find Satoru’s spot on the bunk bed empty. Satoru who works better at nights finds the room drowned in pearly sunlight at eight am when he makes his way back to get some sleep but Suguru’s side of the room is empty and so is his bed.

Then, one night, they start bringing back their stuff, one by one, until the room overflows with books and canvases and articles and disks again. When the top bunk remains untouched as the starry lights spill warmth on the shared lower bunk bed where two bodies coil into each other.

[ancientyaoi]

Been thinking about Patrochilles in relation to GilEnkidu, and about "oneness" in relation mlm in Ancient Epics

We can't be completely certain that Homer (whether we think of them as one person or a collective of poets) was influenced in any way by The Epic of Gilgamesh when they composed the Iliad or Odyssey, though some have suggested that this is the case. Assuming, however, that Homer had known of The Epic of Gilgamesh, the relationship of Achilles and Patroclus gains some interesting context in light of Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship.

A. Oneness

While Gilgamesh, as a King and the child of a god, is unquestionably superior in social status to Enkidu, the two friends are shown to treat each other as complete equals. Reflecting their complete unity and equality, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell them apart as the epic progresses (Helle, 177). When speaking to each other, Gilgamesh and Enkidu blur the lines that separate them. They do not define themselves as individuals while with each other. When they are together, it is as if they are one being. Gilgamesh and Enkidu never speak each other's names, and refer to each other exclusively as "my friend." It is not until Enkidu dies that Gilgamesh finally says his name. Indeed Enkidu's name is the first thing he says when Enkidu dies (Helle, 178). It is their complete separation through death that makes Gilgamesh clearly define himself as a separate being from Enkidu.

In life, Gilgamesh and Enkidu were "one" in the same sense that the eight limbed creatures in Plato's Symposium were one -- two people merged as a single entity. This is why when Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh's identity is in disarray. He has lost a part of himself. He no longer knows who he is without Enkidu (Helle, 178).

It seems, therefore, that while Gilgamesh and Enkidu's "oneness" is indicative of their absolute equality, and their mutual disregard for social hierarchy, Achilles and Patroclus' "oneness" may be construed as a product of their inequality, of hierarchy. Nagy, citing van Brock, explains: "...the mentality of substitution rituals requires that someone who is notionally close to the king must die or be in some other way eliminated so as to preserve the king." (Nagy (citing van Brock), 135) When Patroclus dies it is not only a part of Achilles that dies, it is Achilles himself.

Achilles and Patroclus too, were "one" in the Iliad, but in a different sense. Patroclus is the "nearest and dearest" (philtatos) to Achilles of all his comrades, and as such, he is Achilles' "other self" (alter ego) (Nagy, 57 and 147). As Nagy writes: "the more you love someone, the more you identify with this special someone." (Nagy, 147) This is "oneness" as "equivalence." Patroclus is a stand-in, he is playing the part of Achilles. As Nagy puts it, Patroclus is the "ritual substitute" of Achilles. He is "doomed to die as the other self of Achilles." (Nagy, 129-131)

Since the two pairs are "one" in what are arguably opposite ways, the transformative effect of the death of Patroclus and Enkidu on Achilles and Gilgamesh, respectively, is also "opposite."

B. Transformation

When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh begins to fear death (Helle, 90):

Afraid of death, I wander the wild.

The story of my friend wears me down,

so I wander the wild on on far-off roads.

[xxx]

My friend Enkidu, whom I loved,

has turned to clay.

Am I not like him? I too will lie down

and never get up, for all eternity.

Incontrast, upon Patroclus' death Achilles says that he wants to die (Wilson, 442):

Swift-footed Lord Achilles, in despair, told her, "I want to die right here and now, because I could not save my slaughtered friend.[xxx]"

This is not where the contrast ends. Gilgamesh's fear of death sends him on a journey in search of immortality. He fails to gain physical immortality -- Gilgamesh remains mortal to the end -- but becomes immortal in another sense through the legacy of Uruk, the city he skillfully and justly rules after Enkidu's death. Gilgamesh's violent tendencies are tempered by Enkidu's death. The tyrannical King is changed by the knowledge of his own mortality after the death of his other half. God-like Gilgamesh, through Enkidu's death, has become a true mortal.

On the other hand, Achilles, upon Patroclus' (ritual substitution) death, becomes equal to two immortals: Ares and Apollo. (Nagy, 97-98). In death, a hero becomes equal with an immortal (a god), and so the death of Patroclus, his other self, makes Achilles "like a god."

C. Lovers

Gilgamesh dreams of an axe and a meteor which he "loves" (râmu) like a wife and which he "carressed" (habābu) (Ackerman, 52) Ackerman explains: "the meteor- and axe-dream accounts as found in the Standard version [of the Epic of Gilgamesh] occur almost immediately subsequent to that text’s description of the week Enkidu and Shamhat spent making love, as, shortly after their six days and seven nights of coupling ends, Shamhat tells Enkidu about Gilgamesh’s prescient dreams. Then, immediately upon the conclusion of her recital, the two begin making love again (Tablet I, lines 278–279): [After] Shamhat had told Enkidu Gilgamesh’s dreams, They made love (râmu) to one another." (Ackerman, 54)

A.D. Kilmer additionally proposes that the dream episode which likens Enkidu to a meteorite (kisru) means to evoke "kezru," the male counterpart of a kezertu, a kind of cultic sex worker, while the axe (hassinnu) dream, evokes "assinnu", also a cultic performer, typically a eunuch who takes on the "female" role during sex (Mitchell, quoting A.R. George, 218) Ackerman proposes that this sexual wordplay indicates that Enkidu is an object meant to entice Gilgamesh sexually. (Ackerman, 60)

Indeed, Ackerman notes, commentators almost unanimously agree that habābu, "to caress", can be understood as having sexual connotations. Significantly, the term "habābu" occurs in only one other passage in the Standard Version if the Epic of Gilgamesh: "in Tablet I, lines 163-177, where it is used, twice (lines 170 and 176), to describe Enkidu's six days and seven nights of intercourse with the prostitute Shamhat." (Ackerman, 53)

The totality of this taken together, many prominent Assyriologists are inclined to interpret Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship as sexual in nature, though this interpretation is naturally not without it's detractors (Helle, 172). It is worth noting, however, that in Tablet 12 (which is not actually part of the epic, but an Akkadian translation of part of Gilgamesh and the Netherworld, a Sumerian poem (AR George, 97)), the sexual nature of Gilgamesh and Enkidu is explicit:

My friend, my penis, which you touched to please your heart, is being eaten by a moth, like a threadbare cloth. My friend, my crotch, which you touched to please your heart, is filled with dust, like a crack in the ground. (Helle, 117)

In other words, at the very least, in the Standard Version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship is explicitly sexual.

Since it is supposed that The Epic of Gilgamesh could have come to the Greeks (Riley, 23) through Akkadian speakers who immigrated from Anatolia (Near East/West Asia), we might suppose that if any version if The Epic of Gilgamesh reached Homer at all, it would have been the Akkadian version which depicts Gilgamesh/Enkidu as sexual partners.

Thus, if Achilles and Patroclus were created with the template of Gilgamesh and Enkidu in mind, then it may be argued that their relationship was intended to be sexual. However, while in Akkadian there is no difference between love (râmu) between friends and lovers (Helle, 172), and therefore, it would not have made a difference at all to Gilgamesh and Enkidu themselves in context, this is not so for Achilles and Patroclus. The Ancient Greeks differentiated between the love of friends (philía), and sexual love (érōs). The text of the Iliad itself does not state that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers, though this has been assumed by readers from at least 5th century BCE, onwards (Wilson, xli). Indeed Plato's Symposium contains the following passage:

Very different was the reward of the true love of Achilles towards his lover Patroclus—his lover and not his love (the notion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into which Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of the two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and, as Homer informs us, he was still beardless, and younger far). (Jowett)

In Plato's lifetime it certainly appears that Patroclus/Achilles as lovers has become a popular if not the dominant interpretation of their relationship in the Iliad, possibly due to Aeschylus' trilogy of plays about the Myrmidons. Taking these interpretations and the possible influence of the Epic of Gilgamesh together, it may thus be said that Homer's intended reading of Achilles and Patroclus' bond, is an erotic one.

(An aside: Xenophon, eternal hater that he is, insisted in his own Symposium that Patroclus and Achilles did not have a sexual relationship:, in fact, he no-homos a bunch of famous pairs that other ancient Greeks have interpreted to be erotic bedmates:

Homer makes Achilles avenge Patroclus in that brilliant fashion, not as his favourite, but as his comrade. Yes, and Orestes and Pylades, Theseus and Peirithous, with many another noble pair of demigods, are celebrated as having wrought in common great and noble deeds, not because they lay inarmed, but because of the admiration they felt for one another. (Dakyns)

But Xenophon also hated the Sacred Band of Thebes (a band of soldiers who were said to be composed of male lovers, that lead Thebes to surpremacy, and who were defeated only by another famous man lover, Alexander the Great), and didn't like that the Spartan army had sex with each other so honestly what does he know! Lol! (I am a Xenophon hater.))

[missanne]

The great war-

author's notes:This chapter was kind of hard to write, I had a relapse and the panic attack was inspired by one I had, I'm better. I'm giving you the freedom to fill my DM with chapter requests, stay hydrated!

The floor was full of facial masks and judging by the expression of doubt on Satoro's face, he wouldn't know how to choose so easily; Yn was making clay masks and faced the same dilemma: indecision about which clay to use; both in similar situations shared, in addition to the same feeling of doubt, the same decision, to focus on repair and reconstruction. The boy, with white hair, chose the strawberry mask and the chosen clay was the white one, when they both met they laughed mutually:

_ So you think I need to rebuild, huh?

_ Take it easy Yn, I don't even know what all these agents and acids are for, but you're going to explain it to me and only use half.

_ Half! For it to work, you have to use it all!

_ Sad, this mask will have to work with only half. Between laughs, the young people got ready for the night, they chose Hello Kitty pajamas, and lively music for the background, sitting in front of the bed while Yn calmly applied the mask to her face, as soon as she finished it was Satoro's turn to apply it to her, in an attempt to get to know the girl in front of him better, he carefully asks:

_ Yn?

_ Hi

_ Why did you decide to do an exchange in Japan?

_ Because the question is, nowadays, many young people are interested in Japan...

_ It's just that you seemed a little lost on the first day, before... you know...

_ being kidnapped.

_ Yeah, and you were also very calm about all of this...

_ I wasn't calm, I know how to lie well and hide my pain even better, I've been kidnapped a couple of times before this, so I kind of already knew what was going to happen, but why did you apply to watch over and take care of a foreigner who barely speaks Japanese properly? _ My father told me to, he said it was my duty…

_ In other words, you were forced?

_ No! I'm here because I like you… I mean, you're a great friend, and you're very interesting…

_ Oh yes….

_ But what about your parents, have they called you yet? Or have you told them what happened?

_ My parents don't care about me, well of course as long as I don't die here without having a reserve of money to take my body to our family's grave. But anyway, I haven't told anyone yet, I just sent a message to Mrs. Smith, who is almost like a mother to me, saying that I'm adapting.

_ Do you need help?

Yn's eyes, which until then had been tired, took on a tone of unfocus, something similar to the thousand-yard stare, and with a monotonous voice she says:

_ No, I'm fine mentally, thank you for your concern. _ if that's what you say…

The silence was awkward, but after a few seconds, yn says:

_ Sorry, I ruined the mood…

POV: yn

He looks at me confused, even with the pain that cuts through my chest, I can't stop looking at him, it's like there's a magnet connecting us.

_ There's no need to apologize, yn, because I was the one who started it...

Useless

I try to ignore what my inner voice says, and once again I try to focus on the mask that's on his face, it's time to take it off, I think.

_ I-it's time to take it off-

The air in my lungs disappears, I start to shake, and it seems like my blood pressure has dropped, because I feel ice rising in my legs, I see his face, the concern and panic are evident, but the pain in my chest prevents me from thinking straight, I don't want to get sick here, what would he think? That I'm weak...

You shouldn't have been born!

Get out of here!

You can have my last name and enjoy all its benefits, but know that you are not one of us.

You are unbearable, I can't stand hearing your voice anymore, I can't stand seeing you anymore, get out of my sight once and for all!!

All my thoughts are in disarray, I remember things that should be buried, I don't know who said them to me, but I feel the pain they caused me, it feels like my lungs are being crushed and my brain refuses to shut down, I try to stop thinking about it, and I try to remember all the good things that have ever happened to me, but they all seem to have been infected with my past and mixed together.

I need to stop, I need to turn it off…

_yn, breathe…

satoro gojo… he’s in front of me telling me to breathe…

POV: satoro gojo

she was shaking and scared, her uneven breathing was accompanied by tears and this completely undid her mask. If I hadn’t brought up the subject, she would probably be smiling because of some stupid joke, but here we are; when she started crying, I remembered Geto’s words to the guys before we went to find her and I felt a knot in my stomach. Maybe that wasn’t right, but what could I do? It was already done. With each passing second, she curled up more and put her hands on her head and breathed deeper and deeper. It was the first time that this had happened to me. Usually in my life, I was the one who had the crises and he comforted me. I remembered what he typically did on those days and tried to replicate it with her. I put my hand on her shoulder and softly said:

_yn, breathe — for a moment, I realized that I was heard, so I continued

_ breathe... 1... 2... 3 now let it out slowly.... That's it, now let's go again... 1... 2... 3....

_ thank you Satoro — she said in a weak voice

_ Do you want to talk?

_ no, please, let's watch a movie or sleep

_ do you have a movie in mind?

_ it can be grown-ups, as long as it's a comedy movie, I don't mind.

I needed to make her a little disconnected from herself, and focused on something else, so I put on Sailor Moon, who knows she might relax; because until now her body was tense, as if I was going to assault her at any moment.

End of Satoro Gojo's point of view.

When the film was halfway through, the white-haired boy noticed that she was too focused on the film, he picked up the phone and sent a short and self-explanatory message to the pinned group:

_ I need to find a psychologist, as soon as possible, then I'll explain in more detail.

tag:@lunaekalenda

[the-fiction-witch]

Bunny & Bear P1

Media - The Artful Dodger Character - Doctor Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Y/n (Nurse) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1078

Warnings - Mentions of illness /sickness/ death

As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, its bright hot orange light started baking the dry, dusty clay below. The air was still and quiet, and most of the residents of Port Victory were still sound asleep in their cosy beds. Even the earliest risers, like the sailors and bakers, wouldn't be up for another hour or two.

Despite the early hour, something seemed off in Port Victory. The small town appeared empty, almost eerie in its stillness. The dusty streets, usually bustling with activity, were quiet and strangely vacant. It was as if the town had been abandoned overnight.

As you looked down the desolate streets, you could easily picture a tumbleweed making its way across the road. The houses and shops were all closed up tight, with no sign of life inside. The only sound was the occasional creak of a shutter in the light breeze and the whine of lantern lights being slowly swayed in the wind.

Despite the strange emptiness, there was a good reason for it. Something had happened in Port Victory,

About a month ago, a ship made its way to Port Victory. The men on board had a difficult journey as they were caught in a tropical storm while sailing through the West Indies. As a result, they arrived at the port suffering from severe dehydration, sickness, and other related health issues. At the time it seemed too simple, so normal.

But this was anything But. 

As the men arrived on the shores of Port Victory, they carried not just a few goods, but also an unknown virus that quickly spread through the town. It started with a few isolated cases, but soon the entire population was at risk. The virus was unlike anything Port Victory had ever seen before. The Blue Fever, as early symptoms, included a blueish tinge to the skin. The illness is characterized by a high fever, as well as a persistent cough, wheezing, and vomiting. As the illness progresses, the infected individual may experience shortness of breath, chest pain, hallucinations and delirium and a bluish discolouration of the face and hands due to a lack of oxygen in the body. Once the illness has reached a critical stage for many who contract this illness, death is an all too common outcome.

And it was spreading, faster than could be controlled across the colony. One-third of the colony was now being buried, one-third laid stuffed in the hospital corridors and wards, and the final third locked in their homes hiding from the devilish plague. 

The hospital was filled to bursting, people lay in every room possible even store rooms and stock rooms, the theatre turned into an extra ward, most nurses worked ragged and many dropped like flies. 

Of course, the doctors also were beyond overworked, leading to the stranger rather tranquil scene. 

Jack's small hospital room, situated on the second floor, the soft light filtering through the window cast an array of shadows across the floor. The room was cluttered with books, trinkets, and tools that were scattered on every surface, and dust particles floated in the air. Jack's clothes were strewn about the floor and chair, adding to the disarray.

Lying in his bed, Jack appeared to be in a deep sleep, with his body twisted and knotted under the white sheets. His blonde hair was messy and matted, and his foot dangled off the bed. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and his lips were slightly parted, displaying a small amount of drool on his pillow. Despite his seemingly peaceful state, one could sense that something was amiss. In the quiet of the night, I could hear the soft sound of his muttering snores and his breathy gasps. The rhythm of his breathing was steady and calm, almost like a lullaby that gently rocked me to sleep. Despite the dark and stillness that surrounded, there was a sense of comfort in the sound of his peaceful slumber.

However, this was not to last, as the door to his room flew open and Y/n marched inside in her nurse dress and apron, drying her hands on a fresh cloth, her hair braided and pinned up around her head. She beelined for his bed and shoved his chest, 

"Wake up." She demanded, 

"Uughhh..." He groaned,

"Up. Now." She demanded kicking his bed, 

"...Some nurses say please." He pouts not bothering to open his eyes, 

"Well I'm not some nurse," she glared, 

"Just a little longer Y/n I worked a double shift," 

She glared down at him, "Ohh did you? Ohh boo hoo. I just worked the last forty-eight hours with only coffee and pure adrenaline to keep me from falling into a cupboard and sleeping for the next five weeks. We have four nurses down, six more infected, and ten more bodies, sneed has locked himself in his room with one of the nurses calming he needs to be the new Adam and Eve for this post-apocalypse, proff is nine bottles of whiskey deep into a coma and I have just spent the last three hours cleaning up a pile of sick and shit in your ward." She explained her rage boiling just below the surface of her calm voice, "So get your god damn grumpy grizzly bear butt out of this bed and work," 

"...somebodies a touchy little bunny," he glared opening one eye to see her, 

"Get up. and get to work. or so help me I will cut open your stomach and hang you from the weather vein by your intestines." 

"Alright... alright..." He groans slowly sitting up, "Why has Sneed locked himself away?"

"He thinks this is the end of the world so he's taken a nurse and locked himself away to rebuild once we all die,"

"Great, don't know how far he's gonna get with one nurse but I like that he's thinking ahead." he rubbed his eyes, "Is that the plan going forward then? lock ourselves away until the illness dies out and then repopulate?"

"No Jack." 

"You sure? You can be the nurse I pick to repopulate with?"

"Get out of bed or-"

"Yeah. yeah. or you'll hurt me in some horrific way I'm getting there. Can you at least make me a coffee?" 

"Yes," She rolled her eyes going and making him a strong coffee and handing it over, "Here,"

"Thanks, little bunny," 

"You're welcome you stupid bear. Now come on pants. and get to work." she demanded before she headed out to get back to work. 

[hnjnnie]

STRAY KIDS

Masterlist

CHAPTER 4: CHANGBIN.

The green glow bathed the stone walls in an eerie light, casting warped shadows as Chris and Minho moved deeper into the underground chamber. The air was damp and close, heavy with the scent of metal, salt and rot. Chris’s footsteps echoed, soft against the uneven stone floor, while Minho moved with a near-silent grace, his senses sharp and searching.

The space opened up into a room that could have been pulled straight from the pages of a gothic novel. Rusted chains hung from the walls, their loops empty but ominous. Metal tables stood at odd angles, their surfaces cluttered with glass vials and tools that glinted under the green light.

Chris’s eyes moved over the room, taking in the disarray. His mind spun with old memories, of dungeons and damp cellars, of dim rooms where secrets festered. It was a Victorian nightmare, brought to life in modern ruin. His fingers grazed over a set of metal restraints bolted to a table, the cool touch of iron bringing a shiver to his skin.

“It looks abandoned,” he murmured, his voice small against the weight of the place as he looked at some vials on the floor.

Minho didn’t respond immediately. His head tilted, his dark eyes narrowing as if he were listening to a frequency only he could hear. “We’re not alone.”

Chris froze, his senses dull in comparison. He saw nothing but shadows, heard nothing but the steady drip of water somewhere deep within the stone walls. “Are you sure?”

Minho’s hand shot out, fingers curling around Chris’s wrist. “Stay close.”

A voice came out of the darkness, low and edged with danger. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Chris and Minho spun around, the air between them rigid. The voice had come from the far side of the room, where the green light bled into shadow. At first, there was nothing, just the dark pressed against the metal bars of what looked like a holding cell. Then, movement. A figure stepped into the green light, his silhouette broad and dressed in black leather. His hair was dark, with streaks that appeared to be green, and his eyes glowed with an equally unsettling green, the same shade as the light that pulsed through the room. His gaze burned with a restraint anger.

“Leave,” the man said, his voice rough. “Before I make you.”

Chris swallowed, his body shifting slightly to put himself between Minho and the stranger. “We don’t mean any harm. We’re looking for the scientist, the one who works here. We need his help.”

The man’s lips curled into a snarl, the expression more like a beast than human. “He won’t help you. He can’t help anyone.”

Minho’s grip on Chris’s wrist tightened. “Who are you?”

A low chuckle filled the room, the sound vibrating through the metal bars separating the man from them. Without warning, the man reached forward, his hand slipping through the gap. The iron groaned, bending under his touch, the metal twisting as if it were made of clay. He stepped forward, the bars bended open behind him. Chris’s breath caught. The display of strength was not human, not by any standard. His mind raced, searching for a reason, a story that made sense, but Minho’s body tensed, a ripple of energy passing through him.

The man moved toward them, his hands flexing, knuckles cracking. “I told you to leave.”

Before Chris could react, the man’s hand shot out, aiming for him, but Minho moved first, faster than a breath. His fingers pressed against the man’s chest, a single point of contact, and something shifted in the air. There was a flash, not of light but of feeling, a pull that drew the room into a dead silence.

The man staggered back, his green eyes widening. “What did you do to me?. Are you one of us?”

Minho’s expression remained cold, his hand falling back to his side. “I saw you. I saw what you are.”

The man’s breathing turned ragged, his chest heaving. “What am I, then?”, voice tinted with more controlled anger.

Minho’s gaze sharpened, the shadows pooling around him. “You were born here in this lab. You’re human, but you weren’t brought into this world the way others are. The scientist… he used a wrongly labeled chemical, something called Ultra, to feed the embryo. It altered you before you were even born. It gave you this strength.”

Chris looked between them, his own thoughts struggling to keep pace. “Ultra? What is that?”

The man’s lips trembled, his voice slipping into something fragile. “He said it was an accident, but when he saw what it did to me he wanted to keep me, to find a way to make humans better. When I was a child, I couldn’t control it. I’d break things… walls, doors, bones. He kept me hidden here until I learned not to hurt everything I touched.”

Chris’s voice softened. “What’s your name?”

“Changbin.” His name fell into the room, heavy and full of history. “He kept me here for a long time, told me it was for my own good. I didn’t see the outside until I could control myself.”

Minho took a step forward, his movements still deliberate, still wary. “You asked if I was one of you. What did you mean?”

Changbin’s green eyes narrowed, the glow dimming slightly. “He created others. Not many, I think, but there’s one more. Not like me. Different. I thought maybe you were like him. Made in this lab.”

Chris’s brow furrowed. “How did the scientist do it? What was he trying to achieve?”

Changbin’s shoulders rose and fell, a shiver passing through him. “First he wanted to enhance humans. But then wanted to create something better than humans. He thought he could build perfection… physically, mentally. He said he was making a new kind of life, but when the government found out what he was doing…”

Chris leaned in, his pulse quickening. “What happened?”

Changbin’s jaw tightened. “They took him. Men in dark suits, with papers and orders. They said he was dangerous, that his experiments broke laws not just of man, but of nature. They shut everything down. I thought they’d take me too, but they didn’t. Maybe they didn’t know I existed. I stayed behind.”

Minho’s expression turned guarded, a shadow slipping over his features. “And you’ve been here alone ever since?”

Changbin nodded slowly. “I didn’t know where else to go. I was made here, born here. I don’t know how to live anywhere else.”

Chris reached out, his hand hovering just above Changbin’s shoulder. “We’re looking for answers. About why we’re here, why things are the way they are. If you could help us…”

“I don’t know if I can,” Changbin interrupted, his voice cracking. “The scientist is gone, and if what you need is locked in his head, then you’ll never find it.”

Minho’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There must be records. Files. Something that explains what he was doing, why he was doing it.”

Changbin hesitated, his expression caught between fear and a faint, wavering hope. “There might be, but if they exist, they’re hidden. And I don’t know if they’ll help you.”

Chris steadied himself, the pull of the unknown drawing him forward. “If there’s a chance, we need to try. You said there was someone else, another like you. Do you know where they are?”. His chest rose and fell with a quiet rhythm, his gaze fixed on Changbin, whose expression had turned thoughtful.

Changbin said, his voice a low rumble. “Follow me.”

Taglist: @eridanuswave

[werezmastarbucks]

8. headless king

pic credit

masterlist

warnings: language

word count: 2771

music: drive by halsey

"He called me!" Jax yelled. A little bit louder than he was planning to. Of course he didn't think June could have outpowered him! But the fact that Chibs just disappeared nerved everyone the fuck out. Chibs never disappeared. He didn't get drunk until oblivion, never got into accidents, didn't take shit from anyone, he was punctual and reliable. They all were standind on their heads, garage in the alarm state with the disarray of things. After the last arrest of the new Niners head, the gang blew up the gas station that belonged to Clay. Explosion was so big, the fire so long, that the whole city was lit for the whole night. Seven people injured. The police racing through Charming like scattering rats; Pins and Pallum both vanished off the face of the Earth, and they thought Chibs might have got them out, or got in the middle. Everybody was completely distressed. Out of their minds. City on fire. Their money flowing away into a drain. Chibs gone. But hearing his voice now gave him the kick of adrenaline he hadn't felt in weeks.

He ran through the parking lot like a little boy who'd heard about his father returning from war. The tone though, he didn't like. Chibs sounded hollow, angry, he was speaking in the low voice he usually had when he was about to kill. Seeing as he asked to gather everybody at the bar, Jax hoped he didn't plan on murdering them all. Couldn't think of a reason, frankly. But it has to be connected to the picture of June's mom, and with what he found in his father's journal.

He could hear his own brains tick with thinking. Perhaps he will have to engage in a highly unpleasant activity, which is protecting the man he doesn't like too much, against the man he likes a lot.

Jackson locked everybody in the bar without explaining anything; Clay was fuming but passive, Gemma, pacing. The faces were pale with exhaustion, studying him, trying to read his mind.

"How much longer?" Tig demanded. Jax smoked one cigarette after another, one foot on the floor, the other, on the bar of the stool.

"A couple of minutes. He's already in the city".

Tig crossed his arms on his chest.

"Did he kill June?" Juice asked. Jax shook his head, then thought.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I don't know".

Finally, they heard the screeching of the wheels in the parking lot. Kozik walked over to the window to look.

"He's alone", the man announced. Gemma puffed and sat down at the table.

"Is he injured?" she asked.

"No. But he's like... oh".

"What is it?" Jackson asked.

"He has a gun".

Teller jumped up and stepped to Clay, who turned his head with a silent question. His face was irritatingly unreadable. The last couple of days step-father has been uncharacteristically quiet, inactive. He had had those periods before, but now it felt like he gave up all of a sudden. Jax didn't expect him to lose it over this crisis. Of course, it's one of the worst, but still.

Telford thundered into the entrance. His eyes were only half-way open, face sleek, tired. Gaze fixated on Morrow. Jackie stepped in front of him, but Chibs walked over like a machine and moved him away with his shoulder. Jackie struggled, clutching on his forearm and putting on foot in front.

"Step away, son", Clay said. At first, nobody even understood that it was his voice. Jackson turned around to look at his face. All down, hanging drooling, like Shar Pei's. His body relaxed. Mother stood up, alarmed.

"On yer knees", Chibs said, his gun pointed at the President's head. Clay raised from the stool slowly, a jaded man, about the size of a fridge.

"Let's not waste anybody's time, Clay, jus' tell them", Telford's speech was clear, energetic, like he woke up from a slumber.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Chibs didn't seem to hear or notice anybody else.

"Gonna shoot me over that little inconvenience?"

Chibs pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. It was a match of will, obviously. A big, bulky man, against the tall, furious man. Clay couldn't give up. He was the king of this swamp.

"Chibs, let's talk about this", Opie asked.

"I won't do it for you, Morrow. Be a man and tell them, and then you die".

"No, hey, let's not get hot, Chibs!"

"Whatever he's done, we need the President now, Chibs", Bobby warned. He tried to sound calming, choosing his words. Chibs tuned his head to him to give a disbelieving look.

"Whatever he's done?" he hissed quietly, "That's the philosophy that landed us in this shit we're in today".

He motioned his gun to Clay.

"That's the type of thinking that gave us the cataclysm that is Juno".

He showed Clay the picture.

"Are you gonna tell them? Or should I? I have paint to my words".

Morrow was silent. His eyes sliding on Chloe Pallum's face slowly, like a whale's.

"Yeah, we fucked her. Me, John and Wally, twenty years ago", he said. The air changed a little bit. Chibs gritted his teeth. Clay was almost proud of it. Such a little tiny thing, many a summer from now. Nobody would care.

"But that's not what I'm talking about, Clay", he whispered. Jax's eyes were darting here and there. He looked like something awful was creeping up on him. Body ready to jump, but he didn't, yet.

Morrow's face changed. There it is, finally. He had the decency to look horrified.

"Who..." Juice started, and was shushed. Clay was looking at Chibs like he let go of the rope that held him over the edge. For a second Scotsman thought Clay would jump him, but suddenly the President collapsed. Bloodshot eyes going redder, the other color leaving his face. This was the first time ever he looked completely, utterly done. Crying. Sobbing.

Everybody shifted a little. One foot to the other. Tig and Kozik exchanged scared looks.

"What did you do?" Gemma asked, her voice shaking hysterically. Poor woman. She must have known the dark depths of her husband's soul. She was the only one who saw this as ugly as it was. She probably almost knew already.

Clay looked at her in search of support. Her lips were pursed and shaking.

"What did you do?"

Clay hid his face in a big palm.

"We don't have all day, dammit!" Chibs snapped. Clay fell to his knees, holding the floor with one hand.

"We took drugs!" he wailed. He was begging. "I didn't even know what I was doing!"

"When people take drugs", Chibs yelled, levelling his voice to Clay's, "they run around the city naked. Not rape children!"

People around them turned into wax figures. They froze, unable to utter a word, just breathed through their mouths. No gasp, utter terror. Their ground was crumbling under them just like it happened for Filip yesterday.

"When did you recognize her?"

"When she brought Abel back".

Clay was crying.

Gemma had to grab her mouth with both palms to stop herself from screaming. Chibs turned the Colt around and handed it down. Clay took it without looking. Telford was almost sorry that Clay was so relieved to die. He wished to fight, tear him apart. Wanted to stamp his fists into the man. For all he's done to their club. For creating her. For being this creature.

Morrow lifted his head and threw a look at his wife and step-son. Ironically, he looked for closure in his family. Then, having memorized the features of her face, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Juice and Gemma yelled out. The blood flew and splattered on their faces, tiny fractions of brain matter on Kozik's white shirt. Jackson went from red to pale. Chibs was the only one able to move. He was past the shock: had ten hours to think about everything in the car. He kneeled before the body, feeling nothing, and took out his knife. The bastard, had destroyed everything, whatever. Piece of shit. He turned Clay around onto his back. Clay had his eyes open. Chibs pushed the tip of the knife between the patch and the leather and tore the threads. Then he pulled and tore the patch off completely. He stood up and went towards Jackie, gave it to him.

"There's your President".

The boy was cold like a statue. Both his dads turned out to be scum.

Gemma finally started sobbing, or more like, wail. The understanding was descending slowly. The king was to be headless.

Chibs jumped down from the truck and pushed the door closed. In the last three days, he hasn't ridden his bike at all, and started feeling like a civillian.

Charlie ran down the porch like he always did, so happy for no reason.

"You didn't call at all", Telford noted, "everything okay?"

His friend threw his arms up.

"I don't get you, Filip. She's totally fine. None of the things you told me. You were trying to prank me, weren't you?"

Chibs and Teller exhanched puzzled looks.

"June?" he clarified.

"Yeah! She slept for, like, fifteen hours, and then she showed me this show, it's so funny! It's about some office workers and a really stupid, goofy boss. So entertaining! We ordered pizza!"

He reeavaluated everything. The three of them ran up the porch and entered the house.

Charlie's dwelling could belong to a professional housewife. He was an incredibly gentle human, quite the opposite of Chibs himself, and for that, Chibs valued him a lot. Cream shades of the interior, wooden tables and coffee-tables, big, plushy brown sofa, on which June was perched, in a comfortable house robe. She sat there like a house cat, a half-empty pizza box on the table in front of her, a soft slipper on one foot, swinging up and down. She let her hair loose and it scattered on her shoulders and the sofa back. She put up one hand as she glanced at the men:

"Morning".

And turned away. Jackson felt very uneasy now, but he went first. Chibs and Charlie, a big bag in Chibs' hand, retired into the kitchen.

"Can I smoke here?"

"Please don't".

Chibs nodded. He sat at the table across from Charlie.

"Did she really behave?"

"She's perfectly pleasant".

In all his years in America, Charlie has lost his accent completely, and Filip could never understand how he kept his. It was like an armor to him, an important badge. He didn't try to sound like locals and didn't know how to. Charlie had only lived in America one year longer than him but turned into a proper citizen. Everything was amusing about it.

"Maybe you weren't being polite with her. I noticed she likes that", Charlie suggested delicately.

"Wasn't quite the circumstance to be polite".

"Still".

They looked quietly into the living room. Jax sat next to her on the sofa, telling her something, head bowing with every word. Chibs had no idea what to say. What do you say in this situation. No idea.

"You're gonna tell me about what's happened to her?"

"Uughhh..."

"I see".

"I don't know if Sam Crow will survive".

Charlie gasped.

"What happened?"

"She did. I brought all of her stuff. It's in the truck. Can you call Pat so that he drives her wherever? I'll leave you some money."

"You're not going with her?"

He shook his head.

"I think we need to separate our ways for good".

Charlie nodded. He wanted to know more but was too polite.

Finally, Jackson stood up from the sofa, rubbing his face with force. June was so small that the top of her head was barely visible from behind the sofa. He only saw her slender arm, the sleeve of the robe sliding down, as she put it up. Jackson shook it. Then Chibs picked up his sacrificial offering and walked into the living room.

He put the bag on the table next to the pizza.

"What's that? Oh, is it the head?" she shifted, gathering the robe. It was too big for her. She looked like a posh widow in it.

"You wanna see?"

"Sure".

Chibs unzipped the bag and unfolded the halves of it. The head was wrapped in two plastic bags, and yet the blood still seeped through a little. June didn't seem too terrified of it, but a little curious.

"How are you?" he asked, sitting down where Jackie had been two minutes ago. She shrugged.

They gave a short look to the TV. Silent comedic pause made her snicker a little.

"I have to ask you", he said apologetically. Couldn't believe he was saying something apologetically to her. June turned her cherry eyes to his face, and he shuddered. He couldn't believe he wouldn't see her anymore, either. Got so used to her little bouncy stride across the parking lot, bringing bad news. Her little claws, shrieking voice. The sharp thin blade of insults that she used on him every day.

"Are you going to kill yourself?"

June sighed, thinking.

"No. Life goes on. Even for machines like me".

Chibs put the elbows on his knees, tracing the scars with his thumbs.

"June... I am sorry", he said, staring into the pizza box, "I am so sorry for what I said at the lake house. I was being a dick, and it was wrong, and... sorry".

He blinked and shut up. The silence was too heavy. After a couple of seconds he looked at her. June was leaning against the corner of the sofa, smiling.

"I knew it!" she yelped suddenly. "I knew you'd be apologizing for that".

He sighed. She managed to read the room and killed her enthusiasm a little.

"I mean, you were correct at the end of the day..."

"That's still fucked up. I shouldn't have said it".

June rubbed her neck hard. She stared him down, thinking. Will he laugh? Can she say it to him? Others have laughed at her for that. Chibs was looking back, holding on the thread of their invisible tie.

"I realized my own mortality when I was three years old", she said, "I was listening to Return to Innocence by Enigma. Of all things. And I got so sad because I understood that my time is very limited. This thought has been with me ever since".

Chibs didn't laugh. He looked more confused and alarmed.

"I don't think Clay Morrow was the one who mutilated me", she concluded quietly.

He reached for her bare knee. In different circumstances he could have even moved his hand up, consoling her, like you console a scared horse.

"O you will take whatever's offered".

He gave her knee a light squeeze. June's eyes looked tired, like she was about to cry. But she didn't. For once, she didn't break the momentary meaning, but kept quiet. They studied each other again.

The three words he himself neglected, were floating between them.

You love me?

He turned away with a losing smile. Hers grew. Chibs gathered himself and pointed towards her leg, robe uncovering it so casually, but definitely with a design:

"Where's that one from?"

"Huh?"

"Dog bit you on your elbow. But you also have a scar on your thigh".

She looked at it, opening the robe even more, and he didn't turn. This provocation was maybe the last time he got to see her. June touched the wide short scar with her finger.

"That was North Ted. My first and only violent collision at work. Well, before Charming, obviously".

"The serial killer Pins was asking about?"

"Yeah. He attacked us with a knife and was shot by my superior".

Chibs hummed. There goes the last piece of her. They were quiet for so long that the episode ran out, and the next one began automatically.

"How's the club?"

"A little better. Niners blew up a gas station. But three different charters arrived to Charming yesterday, to help us. I think, maybe, we'll be fine".

She smiled warmly, like she was about to say, oh how nice.

"You can't return though".

June grimaced.

"I have nothing to do there anyway. It's done. You ruined it".

"You didn't give any shit to Charlie, huh?"

"He's so nice. He never punched me on my nose, or cuffed me", she shook her head, evoking a grin in him.

"This just bloody great".

She laughed.

Chibs couldn't pull it any longer.

"I have to go".

"Fine, then go".

He stood up, again feeling abandoned outside of her walls.

"You need the head?"

"No, not really".

He pulled the bag off the table and walked around the sofa. Put his hand on top of her head. Warm and silky.

"Bye, June".

"Thanks", June replied.

Jackie was waiting him at the door.

When they left and hugged it out with Charlie, Chibs said,

"Give me a minute".

He stood his back to the house where the sky above was purple again. Jax walked over to the second car and threw the bag into the trunk. Chibs lit a cigarette.

"Who's driving?"

"You are", Telford said, "I'll be sleeping".

Jackie paced in front of him. He had the President patch on his chest. He amalgamated into it immediately at home. Came back up faster than everyone. He had tears in his eyes, poor thing, and already started ordering around, each command on point. He'd been waiting for this green light for a long time. But here, next to a human conundrum, he felt like a little boy again.

"She didn't really have to go at all of us, you know that? She didn't need to destroy everything".

But she did. You reap what you sow. Enter the tsunami. It's not really thinking. It's crashing.

"Blame Clay for it", Chibs flicked the butt away and landed his heavy arm around the lion's shoulder, "not the eight-year-old girl".

Teller Junior had killed the term 'old lady' on the first day of his term. Immediately. It didn't exist anymore. He'd tear the old skin, Chibs knew it. Hugged, they walked over to the car and drove away, back to the home, where the sky was on fire.

Dance there upon the shore; What need have you to care For wind or water's roar? And tumble out your hair That the salt drops have wet; Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won, Nor the best labourer dead And all the sheaves to bind. What need have you to dread The monstrous crying of wind?

Has no one said those daring Kind eyes should be more learn'd? Or warned you how despairing The moths are when they are burned, I could have warned you, but you are young, So we speak a different tongue.

O you will take whatever's offered And dream that all the world's a friend, Suffer as your mother suffered, Be as broken in the end. But I am old and you are young, And I speak a barbarous tongue.

@fallout-girl219

[notrecommendedforlife-blog]

the stars where we’re livin’

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

It took a week for Clay to finally calm down enough to return to their pod

(Clay takes care of Branch AU)

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Chapter 1: Returning Home

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

First chapter of this story! I’m going to be posting it on ao3 under the same name <3

(also @elijah-doodle :P)

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

After spending the week at a friend's pod, Clay was calm enough to return home.

Upon entering the pod, he was shocked to see his Grandma sitting on the couch looking haggard and tired; her mint hair in disarray, deep bags under her eyes, and a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Grandma?” Clay hesitantly whispers, flinching back when she springs up at his voice. He’s even more shocked when tears fill her eyes as she rushes forward to pull him into a hug.

“Clay, baby- my baby,” Grandma Ro murmurs into his hair, squeezing him as close as she can. Feeling the way she shakes, Clay wraps his arms around her. 

Soon, she leans back, keeping one paw on his shoulder while the other cups his face. Mint eyes check him over, tears steadily falling down her face. She lets out a relieved sob, causing him to panic and throw his arms back around her, which prompts Grandma Ro to let out all of the tears she’s been trying to hold back.

Eventually, the sobs come to a gradual stop and, even though Clay feels uncomfortable with all the moisture accumulating in his hair, Clay guides her back to the couch. Grandma Ro keeps her paws wrapped tightly around one of Clay’s own like she’s afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” Clay says, unsure where to go after that.

Usually, when he and his brothers have huge fights that lead to them walking out of the pod, Clay will spend a day or two at a friend's. But this time, with the first show of the tour, the “Perfect Family Harmony”, quitting the band, and a bunch of tiny stuff that piled up over time, Clay felt like he was too wound up to return home - worried he’d lash out even more.

Clay takes a deep breath, keeping his focus on the small stain on his wristband, then tries to explain all that to Grandma Ro, “I swear, I meant to come back sooner, but I- it just-“ He cuts himself off when one of Grandma Ro’s paws cups his cheek, tilting his head up to look at her tear-filled eyes.

“Oh, sunshine, I’m just glad you’re here.”

His brows scrunch together in confusion, there’s definitely something more to those words.

“Roro?”

His Grandma sighs, removing her paw from his face to run through her hair, “I thought it was just another one of your fights and everyone would be back in a few days,” She starts, Clay’s shoulders slowly coming up to his ears as dread builds in his chest, “Meadow told me that you were staying with her and Karma, so I knew you were somewhere safe, but no one could find your brothers.”

The building dread falls into his stomach before trying to claw out of him through his throat.

She takes a deep breath, just like Clay had to earlier, “Astrantia asked around, and some Trolls say they saw John, Spruce, and Floyd escaping after the show.”

Clay pulls his paw away, curling into himself, his breath coming and leaving him too fast.

His brothers are gone? They actually left?

Okay, Clay doesn’t want to continue being in the band, but that doesn’t mean he wants his brothers gone.

And sure, he’s thought about escaping the Tree before- but not without them!

The fact that John, Spruce, and Floyd actually left-

Clay jumps up from the couch, his breath coming even faster, “B- Branch- Where’s Branch?”

Grandma Ro said no one could find his brothers - it was only until the Head Guard asked around that some Trolls say they saw three of them escape - but she never mentioned Branch.

Is Branch just wandering around after the fight? Looking for them?

What if he lost his glasses? What if he’s hurt? What if a Bergen finds him? What if-

“Clay?”

The voice, and two small arms wrapping around his leg, bring him back to himself.

Clay’s paws are clenched at the roots of his hair, a dull pain thrumming through his head and fists, his tail is curled tightly around his leg, tears are streaming down his face, and his chest aches with each rapid breath he takes in.

Clay looks down at the voice, releasing his hair, he scoops up the Trolling and collapses onto his knees. He sobs into Branch’s hair, just like his Grandma did to him minutes ago. 

Grandma Ro kneels beside him, making sure to give him space until he says otherwise.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Clay’s back! 

Grandma said Clay was still in the Tree, but Branch was worried his big brother was still upset he ruined the show- but he’s back!

That means there’s a chance Johnny and Spruce might come back too! And Floyd already promised he’d come back!

Branch wraps his arms around Clay’s neck, nuzzling against his jaw and trying to mimic the comforting coos and trills Grandma had been making to Branch all week. 

Even as he tries to comfort his big brother, Branch can’t help but wag his tail in joy.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

[murdcrofcrows]

who: @insainted ( clay ) where: burnington streets after attack

it took forever to get to the market and ziggy was about to lose their mind. they knew beau was in there somewhere, not to mention their friends and family could be among the crowd. some of the people they were able to account for looking at passersby as they left the market. of course, many of the ones coming out by the time they were able to get there were the injured or those helping or the few that had been hiding when the swarm hit. and to think, they'd just released an article warning about this very thing possibly happening. if only they'd been able to get to it sooner.

"beau? beau clary can you hear me?" ziggy called out as they tried to weed through the chaos fresh on the ground. items flung everywhere, damaged stalls, a few missing shoes, etc. when they got to where beau's stall normally sat, they could see a few remnant cicadas wriggling by what was left of the produce. before they dared to approach they looked around for something to ward off the bugs among the rubble, instead, they saw a familiar face. "holy shit, clay, hey! over here!" they jogged over to close the distance between them. "have you seen beau? i can't find him anywhere and i—" they paused as the lump caught in their throat, turning to motion at his market stall now in complete disarray.

[everyone-has-a-secret-whats-urs]

Book 1 sneak peek

Beneath The Shifting Sands

Chapter 1: The Waking Sands

Freya Blackthorn awoke to the soft rustling of the wind, which swept through the remnants of her once-vibrant town. As she rose from her makeshift bed of tattered blankets and ancient relics of the past, the first rays of dawn filtered through the torn fabric that served as a curtain. Dust danced in the air, catching the light like tiny fairies teasing her trying to refresh her hope for a day filled with determination, a day filled with hope for a change. But as she stepped outside, her heart sank at the sight of an endless expanse of golden dunes, barren and lifeless, stretching as far as the eye could see.

In the years since the catastrophic sandstorm had ravaged Arvidale claiming its colourful buildings and cherished gardens, the relentless sands had claimed dominion over what remained. Memories flooded Freya’s mind: the vibrant marketplaces brimming with laughter, the bright textiles that adorned the hollering stalls, and the enchanting stories her grandmother used to tell her beneath the shade of the great Tree—a giant fig that seemed to touch the sky with its sprawling branches.

“Arvidale was once a jewel,” her grandmother would say, her eyes glistening with the knowledge of a bygone era. “A place where hope blossomed as brightly as the flowers in the field. Remember, Freya, amid the sands, the jewels may have been buried, but they are not lost.” With her grandmother's words echoing in her thoughts, Freya often wandered the arid landscape, searching for traces of that forgotten beauty.

Yet today, she felt a different pull. Standing among the skeletal ruins of brick walls and weathered artifacts, she clutched an ancient clay figurine—a mere shard from what had once been part of a grand sculpture. Its surface felt cool against her palm, a distant reminder of the artistry that had flourished in her world. “What stories could you tell if you were whole?” she whispered to the broken piece, wishing for the ability to hear its silent adventure.

As Freya ventured further, the playful wind called to her, teasing her hair into disarray. The day was waking slowly; the deep silence of early morning was punctuated only by the occasional call of a lone bird searching for food in the lifeless wasteland. She recalled hunting for herbs with her friends before the storm—joyous expeditions where the landscape sang with life, interspersed with fragrant blooms and vibrant creatures darting between the colourful flora. Each corner of Arvidale had echoed with the drumbeat of community, the pulse of existence that had thrived despite hardships.

Now, however, the landscape around her was hauntingly still. Each step felt like a dance with memory, a delicate balance between the past she longed for and the present that haunted her. Freya brushed a hand against the crumbling wall of what had once been her favourite bakery—sweet aromas had danced in the air from freshly baked bread during that golden time. In contrast, now all she could smell was the dry, gritty taste of the sand that enveloped everything, suffocating the remnants of what had been.

“Why did you leave us?” she murmured, glaring at the sky as though hoping it would offer an explanation. Frustrated by the silence, she brought her fists to her sides, feeling the defiance that had become her secret ally. The wind responded with a soft howl, almost urging her to look beyond despair. “You’re right,” she mumbled with a hint of determination. “I have to find a way to make it better. To wake Arvidale from its slumber.”

With her curiosity ignited, Freya began to collect bits of discarded items strewn about the floor, each piece a potential puzzle in her attempts to piece together the story of Arvidale’s fall and potential resurrection. She scavenged metals that glimmered under the sun, battered pots that could be refurbished, and colourful shards of broken pottery that hinted at beauty once lost. She imagined the creations each fragment could become, dreaming of a world full of colour and laughter again.

In her heart, a burning desire flickered—a dream to revive Arvidale, not just for herself but for the generations to come. “If I can scour the sands to find hints of life,” she proclaimed to the emptiness, “then perhaps, just perhaps, I can lead the others who are left to reclaim it.”

As the sun began its ascent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Freya felt the warmth of hope envelop her like a comforting blanket. She understood that while the sands of time had buried her town, they could also hide the seeds of rebirth. Looking toward the horizon, she envisioned a future where colours would return, where laughter would once again fill the air, and where the spirit of community would rise from the ashes of despair.

With renewed vigour and determination, Freya moved into the waking sands, a spirited dancer amidst desolation, ready to embark on a quest to awaken the heart of Arvidale. The memories of her past whispered in her ear, guiding her, as the winds carrying the promise of change swirled around her like an embracing hug. The adventure of reclaiming their vibrant history was just beginning, and Freya the spirited dreamer, was prepared to lead the way.

“I will not let you die, Arvidale will rise again and this sand covered haven will return to dust” she swore a silent promise as she continued forward.

Chapter 2: Whispers of the Past

The sun rose higher into the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the sand-covered town of Arvidale. As Freya walked further to the edge of town,

She was drawn in by the familiar clinks and clanks of the libraries wind chimes as they danced in the gentle breeze. Freya pulled the covering over her face more as the swirling sand whirled through the air, she stopped for a moment entranced as if the wind chime was whispering secrets from the past that beckoned her to listen. Today, she walked over to the porch of an elderly women who refused to leave like Freya had.Only a few dared to stay behind the majority of the town left including her parents and two younger siblings in search for other cities with hope in their hearts. Over time two of the towns folks who returned told the horror stories of the vastness of nothing and how some perished outside on the way from the active sand storms and starvation. Freya only hoped her family and others made it to another city as the few who stayed waited for news to come form their family and friends who left, but so far there was only silence. As Freya approached the elderly lady named Gertrude, whose stories were as rich and layered as the sands that surrounded them.

Gertrude sat in her usual spot, a weathered rocking chair creaking softly as she reminisced about times long gone. Her silver hair glinted like spun gold, and her eyes sparkled with the fire of a thousand untold journeys. Freya approached, curiosity piqued, and settled beside her, eager to gather tales that might hold the key to understanding their fate.

“Gertrude tell me about the Red Star again,” Freya asked, her voice barely above a whisper, entranced by the legend.

A knowing smile curled on Gertrude’s lips, and she began, “Long ago, when our ancestors roamed freely under the vast night sky, the Red Star appeared in times of despair. It glowed fiercely, a beacon of hope for lost souls. They say those who followed its light were guided to lands abundant with life—a sanctuary amidst the most unforgiving.

As Gertrude spoke, Freya felt a stirring within her—a flicker of hope amidst shadows of uncertainty. “Do you think it’s real?” she pressed, her heart racing as visions of a lush paradise filled her mind.

With a nod, Gertrude replied, “It was believe that the Red Star could see into one's heart, revealing the courage within. It tests those who seek it, challenging them to confront their deepest fears before granting them the solace they desire.”

Freya’s thoughts began to swirl. Could this mythical beacon really be the last hope for her people, who faced starvation and peril with every passing day? A fire ignited in her heart, and as a fleeting breeze lifted the dust from the ground, it felt like the star itself was calling to her, urging her to embark on a quest that could change everything.

Chapter 3: The Decision

The following day brought news that rippled across Arvidale, igniting fervent discussions among the few who gathered in the corners. Whispers of a rebel force, emboldened by desperation and rage against their oppressors, reached the ears of every resident. The small community found itself embroiled in a fierce debate, its once-unified spirit fracturing into factions, each driven by fear and hope in equal measures.

Freya stood at the town square, her heart pounding as she watched the emotions swell among the few neighbour’s who were left. Some wanted to flee the land that had become inhospitable, pursuing tales of verdant soil beyond the dunes. Others, led by the fiery spirit of her childhood friend, Kai, spoke passionately about standing their ground and fighting for what was rightfully theirs.

“We cannot abandon our home!” Kai declared, his voice ringing clear and true, drawing a small of supporters. “The desert has given us strength. To leave now is to let fear dictate our choices.”

Freya’s heart ached as she battled with the rising tide of emotions. She caught Kai’s gaze, each of them understanding the weight of their unspoken connection, the tension simmering beneath their friendship. Deep down, Freya knew that her ambition to seek the Red Star might pull her away from everything she had ever known.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky crimson, Freya made a fateful decision. No matter which path her friend chose, she would embark on her quest. The thought that the Red Star might hold a solution for all of them filled her with purpose the hope she would find her parents and siblings as well as the rest of the towns folks, who also went searching for the Red Star in hope it would lead them to other towns. Freya looked away across the vast sand dunes and knew her heart ached at the rift forming between her and Kai.

.

[teeth--king]

Had to re-arrange my room again because the airflow is so bad, but it gave me a chance to fix my clay display cases again because they were in disarray and I needed to store more because of dust. I love all my little dudes!!!

[letterboxd-in]

riptide calling c1 part1

When the moon rose high over the sea, Marisol found herself consumed by thoughts of her great-grandmother. A remarkable woman, some said, but taken too young, and taken a mystery. Taken a mystery.

A sleek black swimsuit clung to her arms. The gentle and perfectly-familiar scent of saltwater waded through the air like syrup, taking its time to cross the beach. Marisol existed as the truest and most poignant form of herself when surrounded by those moon-kissed waters.

Pulling at her swimmers sleeves, letting their elasticity heave up then snap down, she brushed her dark hair from her face clouded by freckles. It was always a mess, but the water really did its job, smoothing the locks out and making everything feel more comfortable. Her body belonged to her when it was cradled by the waves. Dark eyes prepared to press shut as Marisol’s feet carried her closer and closer to the waters edge. The beach was blissfully empty, the only sound the humble toss and turn of waves, ebbing and flowing as they always did. Thank god, something consistent. Something to return to—Marisol seldom knew that peace elsewhere.

Her mother always said she looked like a painting. Not in the way paintings are beautiful, in the way paintings are products of reality. Was it that she thought Marisol wasn’t a real person? Was it that Marisol shared such likeness with another?

That’s ridiculous! Marisol was her own person, body and mind… even if that mind contracts in on itself so often that nothing important really makes much sense. Even if that body doesn’t feel like her own, more like ghost hands trailing across a mound of clay. Marisol looked like her great-grandmother.

No aspirations. Marisol liked it that way. It was just her and the ocean. When everyone’s eyes were closed, she could swim; unburdened by the notions of the world that almost raised her.

She let the water wash over her. She lowered herself into the waves motions. At home at last. The salty air disappeared for a moment as water overtook it, the refreshing chill of it encasing her entirely. The seawater fit together like a mosaic, light glimmering across each drop. If there was only one comfort in Marisol’s world, it would be this.

It was short-lived, however, as the sound of something muffled above the surface caught her attention. This swarm of voices ran through the air, suffocating the water’s kind embrace. Marisol resurfaced, eyes bleary—half opened underwater at the noises—and hair in a dark disarray. She slowly pulled herself out of the water, adjusting to the new temperature.

What was there to see? Near impossible to see against such a dark background. Marisol squinted, water droplets running down her cheeks. Voices rang out some distance away. She planted herself on the sand and began to stalk closer to the source. First a good-for-nothing layabout, now a stalker. How flattering. But now, her interest piqued, Marisol continued along anyway, doing her best to keep quiet. Wet sand brushed against her heels, tracking along behind her as she moved.

On the jagged rocks, along the leftmost side of the beach, a small group of people spoke—or maybe argued?—between themselves. Their voices were discordant, grating against one another. They didn’t fit right. They couldn’t be friends, friends voices fit together. They sounded wrong. And yet incredibly familiar, at least one of them. White foam curled around the rocks as they spoke. Three or four, maybe. The water wasn’t kind. It raged against the rocks, lashing out and pulling itself towards them. Marisol wasn’t sure if those people didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Marisol’s ears must have been filled with water. She couldn’t hear a thing. She pressed her palms against her ears, then tilted her head. Nothing changed. They didn’t notice her.

Yes, four people. All in dark colours—probably swimmers—three a fair bit taller than one. The shortest one had their heels against that rock’s edge, hands gripping their ears, or maybe the sides of their neck. As Marisol inched closer, the one by the edge seemed clearer. They were wearing a swimsuit similar to hers, hair tied back in a ponytail matted by saltwater. The other three were wearing similar things, but nothing of note. From Marisol’s angle, she could only see the back of the first person, and the other three’s faces were obscured by the night.

But she was too far away to get anything more important. Their words were louder than ever, but only whispers to her. Something must have been wrong—she still couldn’t hear a thing.

[no-future-mudwasps]

Local_Storage_Only: Extension

"Alright. I think I've nearly figured it out."

The hangar bay of Jeweled Wings About stands in disarray, crates of supplies and weapons and extra shelf-stable ingredients pushed to the very edges of the room and sequestered behind the temporary yellow lines of a safe-distance zone emblazoned on the metal floor. Saleh's parked on one of the larger crates, dangling the tips of her boots at the very edge of the warning stripes. From her perch a vast collection of refuse spans out; the floor of the hangar is studded with little teeth, jagged accretions of atomic mass raked into concentric patterns as if by Terashiman artist. They're not nearly as hard as they look, those comminglings of dust and sharpness-- which, she supposes, is the whole point.

The request asked of her comes from something like a coral reef erupting from the corrugate-- the utility subaltern holding No Future has been caked in layer on layer of ferrous sediment, made into a sand castle after numerous tries to constrain and control the NO/EM technology (which sits, of course, almost totally pristine) before them. The accrued dust has scratched off his paint, sanded down the edges of her joints and rendered manipulators into dumb mitts of compacted iron filings and jammed actuators. The NHP's casket will need extracting after they're done-- and maybe a shower at that, just to keep everything clean.

Sal hasn't seen her this motivated since Marten was alive.

"What's your theory?" She leans back in a single, falling motion, one hand white-knuckling the edge of the crate to keep her from tipping in as the other grabs yet another spare wrench, pushing off from the others to swing her back up to a stable seat. "I am running out of these, you have maybe one or two tries left before I call a quit to protect my spanners."

"I think I need to modify (dismember) my anatomical map," comes the reply. No Future's voicebox has well since started to corrode out of the subaltern, and it makes parsing apart the moments of strange, overlapping words even harder on Sal's poor ears. "The hardware's fine, it's just my cognition (muscle memory) getting in the way of fine manipulation." With a thought, the unmoving body begins to hum and shift, all the little iron filing barnacles crusted over it now turning to stare into the aperture of the magnet array on the ground. The spanner falls from Sal's hand and begins to scoot across the floor, leaving a cleaned trail in its wake.

"I keep approaching the molecular draw like... A tool (artist shaping clay)? Does that make sense?" No Future settles deep into thought as the wrench makes it to the array, hauled suddenly aloft on circling currents of electromagnetism. "I can mess around with the parameters all I like, but it's just not intuitive. I'm not (like you) made to articulate, I'm (the knife in the hand) best when I get my hands in a thing. You know?"

"Mmm." She doesn't, but is willing to pretend so he can talk himself through the process. "So then, how do you look at it?"

"Well, that's where (limbs) my self-conception comes in. The field has a detectable presence, I can (bind the skeleton [in plein air] where it stands) use it to map out my somatic-- it's hard to describe. I'm just going to treat the material as a direct extension of me, that's all. Or try to."

"You can just decide it's part of your body?" Saleh leans in, eager to see. A few loose strands of hair catch and float about, just past the far side of the warning zone.

"Why not? I'm already (formless) making up the rules as I go." The world stills, the humming of the array increases, and in a moment--

...

As if in a dream, balancing at the edge of sleep and wake, No Future lets the borders of her self dissolve. The routines running through and across her body fall aside, something aches in her left leg-- not the body's, hers. The image within her own mind smooths out at the edges, loses its outline. Her sensors can feel the circulating current. It is real, it applies pressure to the world around it. There is resistance, intermolecular friction, strong force interactions, all felt and as real as the metal body she sees out of. No Future takes hold of her own dream-self's arm, rings her fingers about the shoulderblade, and pulls it free.

The trick is not to consider the substance, but the shape it ought to make. It is not her will, nor her skin, but (an extension of her doom (unto the other)).

As Saleh watches, the floating wrench begins to shiver. It seems to sweat, as if producing water or oil-- greasy-filmed droplets rise from the metal itself, rusting and liquefying in real time as the superstructure of the tool cracks and pops with new microcavities, new crevices to chase air into. The drippings flow up, following the invisible route of her arm/the current, and at the same time the refuse begins to fall to dust-- paint, impurities, all sorts of heavy atoms forming bismuthide whorls and crags as pressure smashes them together before firing off in snapping little spalls that pockmark the test zone. Saleh spits to clear a fleck of plastic resin from her lip.

When the process is complete, when No Future dares to return her consideration to the outside world, the finds not a spiny ball hovering in midair, or shivering apart to flake into ash on the ground, but a spire-- a thin hairsbreadth of droplets, each barely bleeding into the next like a papercut up the skin of reality. They tremble with faint oscillation, betraying her excitement; she hurriedly returns to the self/image, pressing further into the dream logic and enforcing this new shape of herself. Now that she's considered the field as a limb, manipulating it feels visceral-- fundamental in a way much preferred to the prior attempts. This is not aiming a weapon, this is allowing himself to be it. Knowing the arc her strike will take because it is the most natural.

Experimentally, ecstatic, Nofie flexes the new muscle. The spire shivers, molecules rearrange and chain up with a sudden lash of resonance and now the cut is a solid razor of aligned nanotubes, a wire-spear contained in the field. Another flex, and the spear falls into a constellation of droplets, oscillating too quickly to touch one another; another, and a new pattern emerges. So she moves, slowly and carefully in awe. "That looks to me like progress," murmurs Sal, approving. "How's it feel?"

"Good," comes the whispered reply, "like (at last, my right arm is complete again) I can protect with this."

"Then have your fun there, experiment away. Then let me come over and start cleaning."

"I can help."

"You can rest."

[brokenmagxc]

@elouann called: ❛ magic always comes with a price  ❜ ( accepting. )

PAYMENT IS NOT FOREIGN TO HIS BLOOD, dark as any dirty currency would be and thicker than pouch or purse. always paid in full, even when fenced between black market violence and troubling underground disarray. coaxed from unforgiving religion and tied to skin with brand alone. a sinner. he knows what consequences lay at the feet of magic's unnatural display. coiled deep within its faux grandeur, the power to be anything, achieve and manipulate anything, all against the will of gods. he's paid this price many a time, in ichor spilt against the tongue, in bruise and troubled heckle. sin, sin, sin !! unworthiness builds his pyre, a bed for him to lay in warmth as it burns. and still magic wants to be further paid, to take with it more life, drain from the very soul it weaponizes. he understands that well, bathes in its concept with each and every flicker of gold that licks against dark lashes. and he could not even control the way it ate him, how aether clung to hair and bone, dug deep within his very being and embedded itself like a parasite and a plague. no, he could not escape this price, and he knew that far before the other could speak upon it.

what he didn't know what the kind of price a god would pay to be the very mortal that worshipped it. after all, not many gods clung to mortality the way dominants did. such people always at the brink of demise, whether by their own hand or in the grasp of others. dion speaks and it is a different kind of magic and price paid altogether: that of royalty, of unyielding duty, of unspeakable holiness that blinds weak mortal eyes. and yet, arthur stares at him and finds his very essence riled by the look alone. the god speaks to him, begs for mortality on immortal lips. ‘ you can see me, ’ it says, ‘ so witness my demise. ’ such death tastes of burden, salted like ocean and stone. cold. and arthur thinks to self: how can light be so cold ?? how can dragon be so chained ?? he tilts his head at dion's words, solemn expression pressed between the curl of dark brown hair. clay eyes glisten — he molds himself this time, distorts what iris would be dirt and unearths the gold beneath it, resonating the kind of celestial spark that stirs them both. this power will blind him one day, he knows ; turn his eyes to stone like any other broken piece of the lonesome prince. but he does not speak to that price. does not even speak to the blood it will draw upon him as he finally finds some words to throat.

“ A PRICE CAN BE SHARED. ” he speaks in soft tongues, such quiet words leaving crimson lips, where golden gaze falls onto equally golden hair ( and he ignores the way wrapped skin is marbled stiff beneath its gauze, and he ignores the way vision blurs for but a moment, color fading from the sight ).

“ just like magic. and life. and death. and many other things. what magic touches is what brings it value, not the price that was paid to wield it. that is why its worth the hassle, letting it take action and shape our lives. because no matter the cost, if it could touch another soul beyond my own then, is it not worth it ?? ”

[vampcubus]

Content warnings: Gore, brief mention of vomiting, the poor reader will not catch a break anytime soon.

Blood was everywhere. As expected, the crimson substance was caked on everything, pools on the floor not even dry as you stepped inside, the acrid scent invading your nose and making you dry heave. There were stains littering the walls, handprints littered about amongst deep gouges in the wood. Wandering deeper into the house you see everything in disarray; furniture upturned, floorboards ripped up, debris everywhere, all followed by a trail of sickly red. The struggles of all the siblings couldn’t be more evident. A new wave of tears began their cascade down your face as you explored the house. The stench of old, rotting meat blasted your senses as you slid open the door to the sibling’s bedroom, a scream being ripped from you. Limbs were scattered about the room, pools of dried scarlet surrounding and staining them in a sickening tapestry of gore. Fingers were broken and bent in all sorts of directions, the joints on elbows exposed to open air, flesh peeled and bitten away from legs, feet bent backwards- You couldn’t look at it all anymore, you turned and began scrambling to get back outside, practically hurling your body out onto the dirt road, getting on your hands and knees while coughing heavily. You felt bile rising to your throat, the horrendous scene you subjected yourself to playing back over and over in your mind. This is what that monster did to them? Not only mutilating their bodies but ripping their limbs off? How you managed to keep yourself from vomiting only the gods and spirits of these hillsides will know. You gulped back all your feelings of anguish and disgust, shakily getting back on your feet and gazing back at the house of the Gishiwaras. You could practically hear the screams of Yuri and Tetsuki, the youngest of the siblings as they were terrorized and slaughtered, you could only imagine the pain poor Joto was in, watching all his younger siblings die if he wasn’t killed first. You retched, unable to hold back your disgust and pain anymore, the bile that you previously swallowed back forcing its way out your mouth as you coughed. You couldn't despise that bastard you met last night any more if you tried. He had ripped your friends away from you, friends that treated you as if they were your family. Now, your final memories of them are tainted with their agonized faces of death and bloodied walls of their home.

All because of him. You shot a snarl at the house as you wiped the drool from your mouth, imagining that you were actually looking at the one responsible for all of this, all that happened to them. You felt hatred bubbling deep within your stomach as you tore your gaze away and  got to your feet again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Anger was fading fast as you continued to stare down the home of your deceased friends, family really, and a hollow sadness was taking root. You shook your head, starting to walk away. You can’t dwell here too much, not now, not when the wound is so terribly fresh. Glancing back one last time, you grit your teeth before storming back to your village, a renewed fire in your eye and anger ebbing away inside your chest.

It was sunset by the time you arrived back home, your fury now having boiled down into a deep sadness as everything fully sunk in, a conclusion having been drawn; your dearest friends, your family, were now gone, and you can’t even say that it was painless. It was never to be painless for them with that monster at the root of it all. You trudged forward through the shoji doors of your home, vision blurring as tears brimmed around your eyes. Your feet instinctively carried you to your studio room, the hefty scent of powdered marble and wet clay filling your senses and comforting your poor heart. You had trusted Mikami to look after your home while you were away, as you weren’t sure if you would even come back or if you would come back. She was horrified either way and tried to stop you, yet you simply shrugged off her pleas in favor of sating your curiosity.

GLITCH I CAN’T EXPRESS TO YOU HOW BEAUTIFUL YOUR PROSE IS. gahhh and i couldn’t be more more invested in this story. you do a wonderful job of inducing feelings of disgust and hatred here.

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Maze Chapter Two: Renegade Pt. 5

The island shook violently as the jump commenced, Orion having to cling onto the table as the island vanished into the portal. It was pure hell and pandemonium the moment the phantom island entered the portal. Objects, people, everything except Ophiuchus was twisting and warping from the unstable tunnel through as panic broke loose throughout the inhabitants. From the other room of the royal chamber, Orion was cursing out their husband for being such a stupid twat as the warping intensified as the island drew nearer towards its end goal. It was fixable, truly it was as Ophiuchus planned to vaporize those that were horrifically disfigured by this in order to make them regenerate back into working order. Soon the panicked screams would die down as the warping and twisting subsided as Nibiru in disarray reached its end goal. The waters of the world next door crashed softly against its biomechanical surface, the silence deafening as Ophiuchus exited the command chamber to inspect the collateral damages caused by the jump. Orion had melted into the angriest puddle imaginable as eyes bubbled to the surface just to glare at their stupid husband.

 “Ophi…you motherfucking block head…” Orion gurgled out in anger from having been melted from recklessness.

 “Shit…sorry hun, I’ll vaporize you right away.” Ophiuchus prepared to vaporize their liquified spouse before being told to stop.

 “No… you are to put me into a jar for the next two days so you can think long and hard about what this has cost you..” Orion instructed, they were going to make Ophiuchus live with the consequence of his shortsighted actions.

“Now that’s a bit unreasonable..” Ophiuchus was caught off guard by the request as Orion’s glare deepened.

“Are…you shitting me…right now..? You ordered this jump…and now you have to live with the consequences for two fucking days…” Orion was bubbling a bit in anger like scalding hot soup as Ophiuchus got their spouse into the jar.

 “Okay hun, you can stay in the jar like soup for two days. I’ll be right back from fixing the rest of the island so we can finally start hunting Crom Cruach down like the rat he is.” Ophiuchus rolled his eyes a bit as he dropped some fruits into Orion’s jar to eat like an amoeba.

 Ophiuchus, unaware of just how dire his actions were, exited out of his chambers to be greeted by the mother of all nautical messes. While some managed to survive being warped beyond recognition, namely Ophiuchus’s batch siblings, the rest were not as fortunate. Others were disfigured to the point of agony, some were lucky to have just melted, and the very unlucky few were turned inside out. The buildings had been severely damaged from the intense warping while some had completely been converted into a mass of molten clay. Ophiuchus had his work cut out, the resentment from each and every member of Nibiru being visible for all to see as he went about the vaporization process. The task was long and tiresome, so many needed to be vaporized in order to rematerialize into their original body format. Then came the new panic once the crew was back into working order: how did the crops and livestock do during such a rough jump. The animal husbandry and the agricultural sections went into full panic mode as both were not spared from the disastrous jump. The appearances of the unfortunate animals that couldn’t make the dimensional jump were indescribable, hard to tell which part was the body or head, not even being able to tell if they had merged together. The real only course of action to do in that situation was to humanely euthanize the unfortunate livestock to spare them further pain of being alive like this.

 “Ophiuchus.” Virgo arrived, unharmed and pissed off that her warning was ignored with the catastrophic results to show for it.

“What is it now!?” Ophiuchus whipped his head around in frustration and stress of just how poorly the jump had gone.

“Strange aquatic life forms are trying to climb aboard the island.” Virgo plainly said as she brought even more bad news.

“Damn it, first it was the crew situation, now this.” Ophiuchus grumbled, knowing full well he was going to have another round of vaporizing coming up.

 “I think I now know why we haven’t had angry deities yet along with why they didn’t respond. This fucking world they made ate them.” Virgo threw her hands up, realizing that her brother, the queen of this island, had essentially dragged them into a god-eating world of death.

“I don’t want to hear this right now Virgo.” Ophiuchus hissed in anger that Virgo had indeed been the one with common sense.

“Oh no, I think you do, I think you truly do need to hear this Ophi. Was it worth it? WAS IT TRULY WORTH GOING AFTER CROM CRUACH!?” Virgo questioned and prodded at her brother, her fury over everything knowing no bound.

 “WHY YES IT WAS! THAT FUCKER IS GETTING OFF TOO EASILY BEING EXILED INTO A GOD EATING PLANET! WE CAN SURVIVE THIS! LET’S JUST EAT THE FUCKING MONSTER CLIMBING UP ONTO MY BROKEN ASS ISLAND SINCE OUR FOOD SUPPLY HAS DWINDLED!” Ophiuchus spilled in his screaming match with his enraged sister who looked very much ready to gut a reptile.

“OUR FOOD SUPPLY!? YOU’RE TELLING ME WE LOST A HUGE ASS CHUNK OF OUR FOOD SUPPLY!? ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME!?” Virgo’s eyes widened at the revelation that the island was now indeed facing a food shortage crisis thanks to the sheer recklessness. 

 “NO, NO I AM NOT!” Ophiuchus threw back his head a bit after admitting to the fact that his actions had truly cost the island dearly.

“DAMN IT OPHI! THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!” Virgo screeched as both she and Ophiuchus got into a slapping fist fight with one another before being interrupted by a stormy gray colored Dobhar Chu who was about as angry as everyone else.

 “Virgo, Ophiuchus?” The Dobhar Chu asked with her yellow eyes, hiding a rage that was unmatched by the two fighting parties.

 “WHAT IS IT AQUARIUS!?” Ophiuchus screeched as he pushed Virgo off from the slapping fight.

“We managed to receive telecommunications with the mainland from the humans in this world. How do you want to proceed with this information?” Aquarius didn’t even flinch at the screeching as she stood there to deliver the message.

 “...You’re telling us that somehow, SOMEHOW, this planet not only ate their own gods but the humans here are thriving off of it?” Virgo asked, flabbergasted that the humans were not only the ones to survive in this environment, but were also thriving as well.

“It would appear to be so.” Aquarius calmly said, awaiting what the order should be in regards.

“Fuck it, we got nothing to lose here, we’ll just get our human glamor on and hopefully receive supplies from them.” Virgo said, taking full control of the entire trainwreck situation that had been this island.

 “I didn’t..” Ophiuchus was about to protest before being hushed by Virgo who was clearly done with everything.

“No, you don’t get to make anymore demands for the day, not unless you want a full scale mutiny on this island.” Virgo put her foot down on Ophiuchus, the stress causing her to lash out.

“I will proceed with the contact with the mainland then.” Aquarius dismissed herself for the telecommunications station that managed to remain operational. 

“I can’t believe you would undermine me like this.” Ophiuchus growled out the moment Aquarius was out of view.

“Well get used to it. You want to stay in control? Then keep fucking low for the time being, otherwise Scorpio is going to take her opportunity with this situation.” Virgo started to walk towards the telecommunications station, ending the discussion with Ophiuchus for the time being.

 Ophiuchus was left to stew in his own anger over everything with the added knowledge of having his island receiving assistance from humans of all things. In the shadows of the chaos brought upon by the jump, a shimmering purple serpent-like being that shone like an amethyst slithered along menacingly, happy with just how bad the outcome was for brother dear. As the island awaited assistance from an unlikely aid, the focus shifted over thousands of miles away towards the city of Yorknew. Up in a penthouse style apartment, the small queen in the photo Kurama received looked out in the city waiting, her company being the three small animated plush dolls. The three plush dolls, her familiars, hopped off of the ottoman they sat upon to follow along. It had been some many months since arriving in this world by that freak accident back at home as the small queen got up from her seat to get a glass of water. The small queen had been waiting a few hours for this person she was staying with, having left for errands to fill up the fridge amongst other things. A part of the small queen had a feeling that her friend had likely gotten into another fight with somebody else or received a target since they are a blacklist hunter. The door to the apartment started to twist as a man with long white hair tied back in a pony tail came in. He was incredibly well built and tall as his only eye looked over to where the small queen was, offering a smile after reaching back home.

 “Sorry for the wait there Dolly, had to get the cleaning solution for my prosthetic eye. I couldn’t believe just how poorly stocked it was at the market.” The man said as Dolly came over to help them out with unloading.

“They really need to do better with having that solution more available. How are you holding up after that, Caspian?”  Dolly asked as she went to take a bag off of Caspian’s load, surprised they got that many items.

 “To be fully honest with you, not too well. I was nearly ready to rip a man’s head off over it. I’m just glad to be out of there and back here to relax.” Caspian admitted, a bit of blood thirst was clear in his stare about the whole interaction.

 “That sucks, let’s get you decompressed then after having to deal with that. Do we want to order pizza for our lunch today?” Dolly asked as she started getting the groceries put away into the fridge, having a strong feeling today wouldn't be a good day to cook.

 “I think pizza sounds like an excellent idea, I think our favorite pizza parlor has the pretzel crust out right now.” Caspian was more than happy to agree for a pizza lunch for the day as he got the higher shelf items placed away.

 “I like the sounds of the pretzel crust, that would be really good with their smokehouse meat lovers topping.” Dolly smiled before her attention shifted to something else as the sound of thumping upstairs could be heard.

“Damn it, I thought we were quiet enough this time to not alert Gany..” Caspian grumbled as they knew full well who that could be.

“I swear, Ganymede has some sort of built in pizza radar in that skull of theirs…” Dolly remarked as the thumping intensified.

“I’ll go and see what pizza Gany is going to want this time around.” Caspian shook his tired head as they made the way towards the attic before being stopped briefly by Dolly.

“Hang on, I have some soda here you can offer to Pepe, I don’t think Gany has trained his construct yet.” Dolly said as she handed Caspian the mini bottle of soda as a sacrificial offering to the attic monster.

 “How could I have forgotten Pepe…I’ll be right back, Dolly.” Caspian accepted the mini soda bottle before making the dreaded journey into the attic of the penthouse.

 While the main area of the penthouse was nice and very easy on the eyes, the attic was an entirely different story. Boxes of pizzas past had been built up into mini towers of decay as the smell of stale bread crusts and expiring cheeses lingered. It was incredibly harsh on Caspian’s sense of smell as they navigated through the trash heaps that were the domain of Ganymede. A strong feeling of dread crept into Caspian’s stomach, knowing full well if the penthouse manager, Joel Mancer, were to find out about the state of the attic, it’d be complete blood shed. The ghastly sounds of something scurrying caught Caspian’s attention as he looked down to the ground. The dreaded mobile trash heap known as ‘Pepe’ had shown up with the temperament of a chihuahua wanting to take a good bite out of Caspian. Pepe had always been like this, even when Caspian was just a small child as they took out the soda bottle and offered it to the trash monstrosity as payment. Pepe eyed the soda for a moment before taking it from Caspian and shuffling off to a little house made of pizza boxes. With a sigh, Caspian continued his journey towards where the soft sounds of a muffled television could be heard. There, sitting on a worn bean bag chair in a stained sweatshirt and yoga pants was Ganymede, a humanoid being that had been freeloading in Caspian’s family for as long as anyone could remember. Long, white, feather-like hair was pulled up into a messy bun, dark eyes piercing from a face that was attractive as a low swan-like honking sound emitted from Ganymede’s throat.

“I take it you wanted some pizza too?” Caspian asked as he looked at the family deity who couldn’t give five flying fucks on how they’re living.

 “Yes, but also tell Dolly that I just picked up two disturbances right now on my radar.” Ganymede croaked out in a voice likened to a sailor who had been smoking since birth that starkly contrasted her good looks.

“What do you mean by that?” Caspian raised a concerned eyebrow upon hearing that come from Ganymede.

“Exactly what it means, two groups have managed to enter this place somehow. Looks like the second group decided to make contact with the humans though, figured it’d happen though given how messy both entries were.” Gany snorted as he rummaged a bit through their bag of stale popcorn.

 “Is this to be on the very worried scale?”  Caspian asked, needing to know if they needed to get armed right away.

 “Depends, the second group is way too far away to be a concern. The first group though, that has my attention, they’re not too far off in Meteor City.” Gany explained after getting their fix of popcorn into that grody mouth that was in need of washing.

“That group is going to get eaten alive by the freaky body collectors if they’re not careful. Did you contact them?” Caspian inquired, knowing full well about Meteor City from the mafias he’d sometimes get employment from.

“I thought about it, they do have fae tech that I can reach them with if needed.” Ganymede answered, petting Pepe the trash construct after coming out of the pizza box house.

“Then why didn’t you?” Caspian gave Gany the look of annoyance now given that a group of people not familiar to this world was basically heading into no man’s land.

“Because you told me not to do anything on my own, remember?” Ganymede snidely reminded Caspian, evidently holding a grudge from some unnamed past incident.

“This is exactly why I prefer spending my time with Dolly. Go and contact the close group immediately.” Caspian grumbled their grievances with Ganymede before giving the sloppy fae the okay to contact the group.

 “Hey, that was uncalled for, but you’re still my favorite out of the whole Nightpelt family so far. I’ll go contact them now since you are my favorite.” Ganymede rummaged through the piles of garbage, pulling out a radio transmitter of sorts, starting it up to make that long distance communication.