#powerful earthquake struck

[ukdailymail]

Moment Japan earthquake shakes powerlines as tsunami approaches

[psychotrenny]

The thing with 9/11 is that no one cares that much about the death and destruction itself. Buildings fall down and people die all the time, including in the US. Like at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic you had entire 9/11s worth of USamericans dying on a regular basis. If all that damage was caused by an earthquake or faulty building practices or whatever, there wouldn't have been nearly as much fuss about it. It's not as if the insane response from US population was a matter of "two building fall down"

The reason why 9/11 was so upsetting to the US population was their widespread feelings of Imperialist Chauvinism and the subsequent outrage at seeing it so openly and violently defied. The US was at the height of its Imperialist power at the turn of the millennium, a hegemonic superpower that was dominant in some way over more or less the entire world. Whether they'd phrase it in such a way or not, most people in the US were very well aware of this; as far as they were concerned the US was truly the greatest country on the Earth. For some this was a point of pride, for others it was a simple fact of the world. This made them feel secure; bombings and mass killings might happen in those "shithole nations" of the earth but it couldn't happen over there. The US military could wipe entire cities off the map and like maybe that was good, maybe that was unfortunate and maybe it meant nothing at all. Either way that was normal; the violence flowed from the Core to the Periphery.

Until one day it didn't. One day a group of people from that Periphery, from some shithole group of nations, struck back. Now the sorts of destruction they'd seen on TV were happening right outside their window; the US got the smallest taste of the sort of brutality they had long inflicted on the rest of the world. And they did not like that taste at all. The US people as a whole went mad with grief and rage, not at the death of any people but the death of their sense of unquestionable safety and superiority. And the only hope of getting that feeling back was to inflict a revenge so terrible that no one would dare resist or retaliate again.

If bloodshed was how they'd built their empire, only more bloodshed could keep it safe. And this time they didn't even have to feel bad about it. It's not as if the US empire had ever given the world any peace, but now they had the perfect pretense to escalate it to levels not seen in decades. If they talked about this isolated and comparatively limited attack as though it was some great invasion, the US government and its supporters could take all the moral high ground of "self defence" even as they slaughtered impoverished peoples on the other side of the world. So it made sense to treat the 11 September attacks as though they were the greatest tragedy of all time. 9/11 didn't break the US psyche, it just made them express it in a more shameless way. It's not as though genocidal Imperialist violence was anything new to the USA. Afghans were just the new Apaches; the "Middle East" a new "Wild West"

[slyandthefamilybook]

okay because I'm seeing some misinfo, here's the story on the Key Bridge collapse

What was the Key Bridge?

The Francis Scott Key Bridge (also called the Key Bridge, the Beltway Bridge, and the Outer Harbor Crossing) was steel-arch continuous-through-truss bridge spanning the Patapsco River south of the Baltimore Harbor. The bridge took 5 years to build and cost an estimated $145 million ($735 million in today's dollars). The full bridge project (including approaches) was 10.9 miles long, but the stretch over the Patapsco was 1.6 miles long and 4 lanes wide, and comprised a length of I-695, the Baltimore Beltway. It traveled between Hawkins Point and Dundalk, and in addition to the I-895 Harbor Tunnel was the primary way for Marylanders to cross from the Eastern Shore to the West. The bridge carried an estimated 11.5 million vehicles per year. There is a lane for ships to pass under the Key Bridge with enough clearance.

Was it structurally sound?

The bridge received its latest inspection in 2022 and received a 6/9 score, which is considered "fair" by federal standards. There was a concern with one of its columns, which was downgraded from a health index of 77.8 to 65.9, but it is not clear yet if this was one of the columns struck by the ship. In 1980 the bridge was struck by a different cargo ship which destroyed a concrete support structure, but the bridge itself was unharmed. There is as of yet no evidence that the bridge collapsed because of poor condition. Experts say the lesson to be learned is about the size and weight of modern cargo ships, and that the bridge was not to blame. Engineers have noted, however, that the bridge's piers lacked protective devices such as fenders.

What was the ship?

The MV Dali is a container ship flying the Singapore flag. It is owned by Grace Ocean Private Ltd. and operated by Synergy Marine Group Ltd. The ship is currently being chartered by Maersk, a Dutch shipping company. It was built in 2015 by Hyundai. The ship is 980 feet long and 157 feet wide. The ship's gross tonnage (its internal volume) is 95,128 tons (190,256,000 pounds). Its deadweight (the weight of cargo it can carry) is 116,851 tons (233,702,000 pounds). The ship was carrying 3,000 containers. The engine is a MAN-B&W 9S90ME putting out 41,480 kilowatts (55,626 horsepower).

Over its lifetime the Dali has been inspected 27 times, and only 2 faults were ever found. On June 27, 2023 the Dali was held in port in Chile due to an issue with the propulsion system. According to an inspector the pressure gauges on the heating system were "unreadable". The fault was fixed before the ship left port.

The Dali is crewed by 22 Indian nationals including 2 maritime pilots.

What happened?

The Dali arrived at the Port of Baltimore on March 23, 2024. At 12:44 AM on March 26, 2024 the Dali left port, beginning its journey to Colombo, Sri Lanka. At 01:26 AM the ship suffered a "complete blackout" and began to drift out of the shipping lane. It is not yet known what caused the electrical failure. The backup generator did not power the propulsion system. At around 01:26 AM the crew of the Dali sent a mayday distress call to the Maryland Department of Transportation (MDOT) informing them of the loss of power and that a collision with the Key Bridge was possible. The anchors were dropped as an emergency measure to attempt to slow or stop the vessel. At the request of one of the pilots traffic flow over the bridge was immediately halted. Black smoke was seen coming from the Dali, which experts believe was the result of the crew managing to restart the power system to regain some maneuvering capability.

At 01:28 AM the Dali, traveling at 8 knots (considered to be a fast speed) collided with a support strut beneath the Key Bridge's metal truss at the southwest end of the bridge. A Baltimore resident said he heard the collision and that it "felt like an earthquake". Emergency teams began receiving 911 calls at 01:30 AM, and the Baltimore Police Department were alerted at 01:35 AM. One of the officers present radioed that he was going to go onto the bridge to alert the construction crew as soon as a second officer arrived, but the bridge collapsed seconds later.

What was the damage?

The Key Bridge has completely collapsed. The metal truss relies on structural tension from the bridge itself to maintain its rigidity. As soon as one of the support columns was destroyed, the rest of the bridge quickly followed.

The damage to the Dali is reported as minimal. The ship was impaled by the bridge's structure above the waterline, but has maintained watertight integrity. The crew has not reported any water contamination from its 1.8 million gallons of marine fuel. 13 containers carrying potentially hazardous material were damaged, and are being inspected by a team of Coast Guard divers. At least 5 vehicles including 3 passenger cars and a cement mixer were detected underwater, but authorities do not believe they were occupied

Who was hurt?

The crew of the Dali reports no casualties, except one crewmember who was hospitalized for minor injuries. There was a crew of 8 construction workers on the Key Bridge filling in potholes. 2 were immediately pulled from the water by rescue crews, with 1 being rushed to emergency care and the other reporting minor injuries and refusing treatment. The hospitalized worker has since been discharged. 1 of those rescued was Mexican. The remaining 6 remain missing. Of those 6, 2 have been identified:

Miguel Luna from El Salvador

Maynor Yassir Suazo Sandoval from Honduras

Of the remaining 4, 2 are Guatemalan nationals. Neither have been identified, but the Guatemalan Foreign Affairs Ministry has stated that they were a 26-year-old from San Luis, Petén, and a 35-year-old from Camotán, Chiquimula. The other 2 are presumed to be Mexican.

Rescue Efforts

The Coast Guard was immediately deployed for search-and-rescue operations. Military Blackhawk helicopters were seen over the river. Rescue efforts were ended at 07:30 PM on March 26, 2024 due to darkness, fog, and cold temperatures. Rear Admiral Shannon Gilreath said "Based on the length of time that we've gone in the search, the extensive search efforts that we put into it, the water temperature -- at this point, we do not believe that we're going to find any of these individuals still alive". Recovery operations resumed at 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 with all 6 workers presumed dead.

No divers have yet entered the water underneath the bridge. Supervisory Special Agent Brian Hudson of the FBI's Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team said "the debris field is pretty sizable and I know that’s why they’re hesitant to send divers down because some of the debris is still shifting, the heavy weight of the rocks". The FBI has deployed Remotely Operated Vehicles (ROVs) equipped with cameras and SONAR.

Aftermath

At 05:08 AM on March 26, 2024 Transportation Secretary Pete Buttegiege posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"I’ve spoken with Gov. Moore and Mayor Scott to offer USDOT’s support following the vessel strike and collapse of the Francis Scott Key bridge. Rescue efforts remain underway and drivers in the Baltimore area should follow local responder guidance on detours and response."

At 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 President of the Maryland State Senate Bill Ferguson posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"Over 15,000 in the Balt region rely on daily operations at Port of Baltimore to put food on the table. Today, with Del. @LukeClippinger and colleagues representing Port, we are drafting an emergency bill to provide for income replacement for workers impacted by this travesty."

At around 09:40 AM on March 26, 2024 Maryland Governor Wes Moore and Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott declared a State of Emergency to take effect at 10:30 AM March 26, 2024, and to last 30 days. Baltimore's Emergency Operations Plan was put into effect.

More than 1,000 personnel from the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) have been deployed to assist with clearing the debris and rebuilding efforts. President Joe Biden has pledged that the federal government will pay for the entire reconstruction of the bridge.

Jennifer Homendy, the chair of the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) has recovered the Dali's data recorder, and will be inspecting both the Key Bridge and the Dali to determine the cause of the crash and the collapse. She says the investigation could take up to 2 years to complete.

Was it intentional?

According to William DelBagno, head of the FBI's Baltimore field office: "There is no specific or credible information to suggest there are ties to terrorism in this incident".

Secretary of Homeland Security Alejandro Mayorkas said: "There are no indications this was an intentional act".

At least 3 people have been killed in accidents related to ships operated by Synergy in the past 6 years. In 2018 a person on board a Synergy ship in Australia was killed in an accident relating to the vessel's personnel elevator. In 2019 an officer aboard a Synergy vessel in Singapore fell overboard while performing maintenance. In 2023 at least one sailor was killed when a Synergy ship collided with a dredging ship in the Philippines. In the first two cases safety inspectors noted that proper safety procedures had not been adhered to.

Sources

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

[soapoet]

A letter from your future spouse

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Hello,

You must be up to something, because I cannot get you off my mind. Day and night you haunt me. I type away on my computer, answer phone calls, and I could swear I saw you in the corner of my eyes. At night as I begin to drift, I hear your voice and jolt up, only to be met with an empty room entirely void of you. When you're really here with me in the flesh, I look at you only when you look away. Will I be punished for these stolen glances? You and I, are we forbidden, and if so, who will be the judge?

I thought my life was stable, and in many ways it was. Though it was painted grey, dull. I lived dreary mondays every day of the week. I chased after new experiences, new achievements, new opportunities, new things. New, new, new, new. But it was not until you walked into my life that I truly felt the warmth of the sun and the rain on my skin. Was I colour blind all along? Because you show me colours I never even knew existed. You were truly new. A new light in my life that shines so brightly, but never hurts my eyes. Still I look away. It's not proper, is it? I've been caught up in the crossfire, amidst a battle between head and heart. You're in my heart, you have it in your hands, but didn't I say you are constantly on my mind too? It seems then, my dear, that this battle has a victor, and now I must prcoeed to gather up the courage to speak what I've so carefully kept hidden.

Oh, but you're so observant. You already know. You knew all along, didn't you? You so innocently sat there, knowing I'm a moth to the flame, and that come hail or shine I would find my way to you. You're a mastermind. An architect, the keeper of the blueprint to our tale. I am in awe of you. You were supposed to be a problem, a silly crush I could get over and never act upon, but now I'm thinking of things borrowed and blue. The first day that I saw you lightning struck. It marked the beginning of the end for many things in my life which I had kept around because it was fine. Not perfect, just fine. Suddenly I saw all the cracks and flaws, saw that which I would tolerate, go along with, even when I really didn't want to. You shook me to my core. In many ways, you ruined my life. For the better, I am sure. But for a moment there I wondered what horrors you had unleashed upon me. With your face so sweet and innocent I thought surely you would be unable to trigger earthquakes. And that even if you could, surely you were much too sweet and much too kind to do such thing.

Yet here I stand, amidst the rubble of what I used to call my life. Everything came crashing down because none of it was as stable as it should've been. I'm rebuilding, slowly, and could use some guidance or inspiration. What's your favourite colour? Would you like these tiles for the kitchen? I want to build my life up to look like the perfect home for you. I wish to keep you safe. You've weathered storms just as I have. Had to grow quickly, like dandelions through concrete. You're tired, and I don't want to see you quitting so I am building you a shelter. I promise to keep watch while you get some rest in my arms. When you're healed and strong enough I will provide you the space and time so you can chase your dreams in peace. You can use our home as the foundation for your castle. I know the power you hold, and I will be there to help you wield it.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

02.

Hello,

Coincidentally that is exactly when I knew. "You had me at hello" is such a cliché, but I swear that it is true. I always know trouble when I see it, and you are quite the nightmare indeed. I hope you take no offence to my words. I say what I mean and mean what I say. That typically results in problems, but to me it's another one to toss onto the existing pile. I have a lot of baggage, but if you don't mind, I won't mind yours. Maybe we could get a big storage locker and shove all our baggage in there, lock the door and toss the keys, skip town and never return. It'll all be auctioned off one day for somebody else to deal with. Wouldn't that be nice?

Where was I? Right. Hello. That's when I knew. I always do. I fall very quickly and passionately. Really I leap off into free fall all by my own judgement, sometimes perhaps lack thereof. I know a pretty thing when I see it, though pretty isn't enough, is it? I've learned that the hard way. As I've learned most things. Behind me lays a trail of burnt bridges and broken hearts, though most of those pieces are my own. Most people are unable to tell. I have a reputation, but I think the judgement is unjust. Wholly unfair. I have developed trust issues. Betrayal cuts deep. You know that, don't you? I keep people at bay, and guard my territory fiercly. I am very loyal and I am known for my equal bark and bite. I want to be your guard dog. I swear I will lunge for the jugular if anybody dares cross you. I am protective, albeit a little reckless. I have a lot of scars to prove it.

Little birdies may warn you of me. Tell twisted tales of my exploits. I've been called toxic. Perhaps there is truth to some of it. My love burns bright and hot, but it never wavers. I crave closeness, and wish to crawl into the heart and mind of my target of affections like a spider trespassing into your home to weave its webs in the darkest corners. I want to know you better than anybody else. Know your body, mind, heart, and your soul like it is my own. You will never be left wanting reassurance, because I have known doubt, and doubt is my enemy and I will fight it on sight. You will always know that I am yours. With me you have nothing to fear. Least of all me or my commitment to you and us.

Perhaps we both had to scrape our knees as we crawled through painful loves before we found each other. Together we'll be powerful. A dynamic duo, partners in crime. Those closest to me would come forward as witnesses to my ride or die nature, and you as my life partner will be my biggest testament to this part of my character. You're not too different, are you? You would die for your people, fight with your bare hands if you had to. Together we will face the world. I'll have your back and you'll have mine, a 360° of the battlefield. We can tear down and build up whatever we want. We can build an empire, or bring them down. With you by my side, everything is possible. I would move mountains and part seas for you. Your love is an enchanted rose and I am a beast, and I will wait for you. Come to me quickly.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

03.

Hello,

I hope my words don't bore you with their simplicity. I also hope that you've been well. I have so many questions, but let us not rush. There is no finish line in love, correct? I've been alright. Y'know, ups and downs. I've kept to myself a lot. Self improvement has become akin to an occupation. I always strive to do and be better. I may not seem the kind, but I have a soft heart which I guard closely. I like old timey romance and watch sappy things when I am down. Please don't tell anybody! I am a rock, but for a long time I was but a pebble, kicked around and misplaced. I have moved around a lot and all I want is to grow roots. Would you mind sparing a little spot in your garden? I just need a little sunlight and a fall of rain to grow. I promise I won't waste your time and do my all to never disappoint you.

My affections build slowly. Too slow for many, but I hate accidents and mistakes, at least my own. I strive for perfection, though people tell me it does not exist. I see it in you, though, so they must be wrong. Sure, you have your flaws, but the glue between your cracks glisten in the light and are still beautiful to me. I really do enjoy the simple things. Do you stop to smell the roses too? I have a gentle love to offer. A kitchen bathed in morning sunlight and the smell of pancakes in the air. I'll eat the first pancakes, because the ones I bring to you in bed should be perfect, and the first one never is. You deserve so much good, and I really hope I can provide a lot of that good to you by my own hands.

I am shy, and don't always have a way with words. I will tell you through music how I feel, or paint you on a canvas in all your favourite colours. I'll help you sculpt your dreams and wishes. I'd make a great assistant. I would love to follow you on your way up ladders and mountains. I believe in you like some believe in a higher power. You can put your faith in me too. Love is a choice, and I will make the choice to love you every morning when I rise. You are the kind of fun that doesn't make me ill. The adventure I am unafraid to embark on. We can play our own roles and support each other. I'll be of service to you at every step if you need me. In return I only ask that you hold me close and never let me go.

I fear abandonment, and have known a life without guidance. I've become rigid, and hope that you'll help me bend without snapping and show me the wonders of the unknown. With you by my side I won't be afraid. My skepticism will not be a hindrance because you lead me into uncharted territory as though you have a map, and I trust that you know where we're going. And should uncertainty rise, well, I have dealt with that beast plenty, and I can tame it and send it on its way should it bother you. I will always stand by you so that never again will you need to face challenges alone. You are a promise I will keep forever if you let me.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

04.

Hello,

Have you eaten? Taken your meds? Keep yourself hydrated. Take even just a sip. I apologise if I'm fussing, but I've always been a caregiver. People depend on me. At home, at work, even my friends. I get taken advantage of pretty easily, and I try my best to keep my boundaries. Though I am admittededly prone to a bit of a saviour complex. It's not so much that I don't think others cannot get up on their own, I just think they shouldn't have to. A helping hand is often rare these days. For many, even just the day to day grind is unbearable, so any chance to take the load off another's shoulders and let them rest and catch their breath I'll happily take.

I try my best to be fair, but often lose sight of what's best for me. I want to help and support everyone who needs it, but in my quest to save everyone, I have often abandoned myself. My care is often expected and thus taken for granted. Nobody seems to understand how much it hurts. Well, until I met you anyway. You're a little fire cracker. You have a great presence despite your size. You're honest and so very clever. I was instantly in awe by your radiance, your willpower, your resilience and your strength. You taught me important lessons. I'm older than you but sometimes I feel like a student listening to my teacher preach. You're opinionated and steadfast, and have such a strong sense of justice. You call it like it is, and have called me out aplenty. Always well-intentioned. You get worked up easily, and I find it rather cute. You scold me like a parent their child when I don't take up enough space, don't hold my head high, or when I give away too much for free. You are objective and fair, never tell me I'm right or wrong unless I really am. It's refreshing. You're like a breath of fresh air.

It pains me to hear of your past. How you've been to hell and back. You face struggles even when you really can't or feel like giving up. You always get back up again, always try to find another way around when an obstacle sits in the way of where you're going. You've lived life on hardmode, and now I yearn to make things easier for you. You if anyone deserves my devotion. I know you are much too just to take advantage of my kindness and return my love in earnest. I trust you, and that says a lot as I've only ever been able to trust myself.

Would you let me be your safe space? We can build you a nest and make sure you have the nicest, softest things and plenty of snacks. I wish to provide you the space and time to really relax and let your guard down. You can safely get in touch with your inner child and heal them from all their past wounds. I will guard your sanctuary and let you be free and able to go wherever your heart desires. Let your curiosity guide you, and I will follow and keep bandaids in my pocket should you stumble and fall. You don't need to be strong all the time, and you need not be ready for battle at all hours of the day. I will take the wheel and take us in the direction of your choice whilst you rest safe and sound for as long and as much as you want and need.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

05.

Hello,

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear, ay? Am I late, or were you just early? It seems as though you've been waiting a long time. Wasted your time kissing a whole lot of frogs, huh? Settled for good enough? Jumped from ship to ship like a pirate looking for the best loot? Well, congratulations! You made it. I'm here now! I'm just kidding, but I am, in fact, very happy now that you found me. Lots of hurdles to get over, had to crumple up many plans and ideas and kick yourself into gear on the career front. I'm far from your finish line, I am merely a little prize for a job well done. And now you'll have me by your side for the next chapters. Oh, the adventures we will have! How exciting, I can hardly wait.

Something important you had to learn before you got here is beating the status quo to the curb. You always did struggle with fitting into a neat little box and following orders, didn't you? Yet so many fools tried to bend your will and make you follow a nice little step by step pre-determined program. Hah, as if you'd ever be happy giving up your freedom like that. And I adore that about you. To hell with the status quo. I never do what is expected of me unless I myself set or agreed to those expectations. This is my life, and your life is yours. Wanna dance? Because I'll choose to court you on sight, and I hope you don't make me look like yet another fool because truly, I tell you, our dance will be an exhilarating one. We can both lead, because screw the rules!

Do not mistake my arrogance and my eleutheromania as purely egoic and a sign of wavering commitment. Though I have my admirers and my comrades, I am fiercly loyal. I do intend to flaunt you, because you are a dream come true worthy of the spotlight. I hope you're not shy, and if you are, then well, it'll be that much more entertaining for me to see you flustered by all the attention and applause. So learn to take a compliment, kiddo, because you just hit the jackpot and the prize includes a lifetime supply of praise. Along with a steadfast support system, as not only will I be at your beck and call, I fully intend to introduce you to my network of friends in higher places. Fret not, because your wildest dreams will soon appear mundane as together with some found family we will get where you are going so much faster than you've been going before.

Speaking of family, I'm not very close with mine. Perhaps neither are you, so you will understand the feeling of always having to do everything yourself and not having the kind of safety net that a family can provide. This is why I have collected friends over the years to whom I serve as family and they the same for me in return. In my anxieties of abandonment and neglect, I do everything in my power to help and support my loved ones because I know what it feels like to be without as much as encouragement on this journey of life. If you ever need some kind words, I'll be sure to whisper them in your ear and shout your name from the rooftops. You deserve the world, so pack your bags. We have tickets to explore it all.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

06.

Hello,

I pray you did not hear me talking to myself. I cry out into the void often. My mind, always abuzz with what ifs and wonder, has its way of driving me mad. Often I feel like a mad scientist, fixated on something so long I fail to take care of all my human needs. Before I know it, the sun has set and made way for the night. I recognise the passing of time only when I notice it is dark and the only source of light is the screen right on front of me. I have so many tabs open in my head I don't always notice what goes on around me. But you startled me. Admittededly I did not notice right away, but when I did I was shocked. It must've been weeks before I zoned out, watching your face as I thought of absolutely nothing. I waited for you to finish whatever it was that you were occupied with, and then it hit me. You're beautiful and I like you.

It feels easy to be around you. I can't say the same for many people, if any. I have had plenty of offers, but competing against my solitude is difficult. A race few finish, and none truly come out of as the victor. I get bored easily, and I must be honest and admit that though I may be quickly intrigued and glue myself to my newest interest, my attention is hard to keep. I enjoy the rush of newness, and yearn for a love that stays fresh and full of intrigue. And I found that in you. For you lead your own life, explore your own paths, then report back to me your newest finds. We pick apart things and situations like mechanics figuring out all the parts of a new machine. Then we go and find new things to inevitably share, and sometimes we journey together too. There is always something. I no longer feel like I am the only one keeping the conversation going. No longer the one in charge of every who and what and how and why and when and where. You pull your own weight. For once I, too, feel fascinating. And not only do I feel interesting, I find you equally interesting. It didn't drop for either of us.

Some may look at us strangely, but good heavens, are some people so easily lulled into a boring and mundane routine. Every time I would cry out my woes, I was called childish. Told that love will and should settle into a comfortable and steady routine. That it is normal for the excitement of newness to fade as you get to know someone. I refused to believe every relationship was doomed to become such a snooze. And I am glad you did too, because you keep growing as I grow and our vines they intertwine and part ways and cross again in this intricate web of possibilities. To know you is to be a student of law or medicine. Doctors and lawyers practice their craft, they're not fixed by a mere degree because neither law or medicine is fixed. It is ever-changing and developing. I pinch myself because I can hardly believe I found another student like me.

Never fear I will leave you feeling stupid. I am aware of my own merit, but never wield it against anyone, unless needed. You are very clever and you have strengths and skills that I do not. I promise to be there to listen, especially in times when nobody else will. I have known loneliness and neglect. My curiosity is a form of escapism as I run away from the eldritch horrors of my past. Please be direct with me. Within me lives a tired old hopeless romantic, whom I locked away in shame as I was told it never plays out like in the movies. But you've proved to me that it actually does. And for you I'll do anything. Though you sometimes leave me tongue tied and flustered, you stabilize me. As thanks you'll have my loyalty and devotion. I'm used to taking care of others, and I know my care won't be misplaced on you. I read people easily already, but please allow me to study your face and note down every micro-expression so that I will always be able to tell how you are feeling even when you feel unable to put it into words.

Sincerely, your future spouse.

[neil-gaiman]

In times of tragedy, human beings come together.

If you are able, please help UNHCR deliver emergency supplies like thermal blankets and mattresses for those hit hard by the earthquakes in Türkiye and Syria. Tap the link to donate.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Morning Voice｡⋆.

König x plus size reader

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader

Just imagine their morning voices

Warnings: Lou is thirsty again, implied smut, secret relationship, mutual pinning, injuries, fluff, little angst, itty bitty bit of smut, might be ooc König, mention of stitches

WC: 970

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

König

It was the voices that woke you up. They were muffled behind the door to your private room but just loud enough to rouse you from a surprisingly restful sleep. You blinked your eyes open but the warmth that surrounded you and the heavy weight across your soft stomach urged you back to sleep.

Just as your eyelids fluttered shut once more, a thought occurred to you. You shuffled backwards just slightly and your ass came into contact with something hard and teasingly hot. There came a deep groan from above your head and the weight around your stomach tightened, drawing you even further back into them.

“Stop moving, liebling.” (darling) His voice rumbled through you like an earthquake, shaking you down to your core. It was breathy but not weak, no, you could hear its power waiting just below the surface. The German rolled off his tongue in a way that made your eyes roll back into your head.

“König.” You whimpered. “You have to go, they’ll find out.” But you made no effort to pull away from his protective hold, in fact you snuggled back into the colonel, putting your right hand on top of his own much larger one. 

He laughed softly into your hair before planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think you would rather me stay spatzi.” (little sparrow) Long fingers danced down your plump stomach, drawing closer and closer to your core. “I think you need me right here.” 

You gasped as he finally cupped your mound, the butt of his hand brushing against your overworked clit. “König.” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice down.

“That seems to be all you can say this morning.” He teased and rolled his hips into your ass, forcing his hardening length between her cheeks. “How about I make you scream it?”

Ghost

The words on the report in front of you had stopped making sense about 2 paragraphs ago but you continued your attempt at reading the action report just to distract from the sight only a few feet away from you. The room was silent save for the quiet beeping of the heart monitor and the almost deafening sound of your own breathing.

With a groan, you threw the folder of papers onto your cluttered desk and looked back up to the bed in front of you. 

He was only wearing a tight black shirt and tan cargo pants but you had insisted that the old skull balaclava remain firmly on his head. His wide chest rose and fell consistently, giving you peace of mind even as your hands still burned from stitching up so much of his body and the smell of blood still overpowered that hospital smell you had grown so used to.

He looked so small laying on the infirmary cot, his normally overwhelming presence now dwindling down to an ember and it broke your heart. Not because you were in love with the man! You cared out of professional obligation given you were the only doctor for the 141. 

As the clock struck 3 am, you stood up from your desk and approached the bed. You told yourself that you were just going to check his stitches but you never even touched his bandages. Instead you sat on the rickety folding chair that Gaz had found in one of the broom closets. 

Simon’s hand was devastatingly cold as you took it into your own. You cradled his palm, tracing over the various silvery lines of scars with your fingertips. Exhaustion hit you all at once and you couldn’t help but slump over the huge man, your head coming to rest on his thick thigh. “Only for a second,” You muttered, “Just need to rest my eyes.”

His whole body ached as Simon slowly slipped back into consciousness. His mouth was dry and parts of his skin felt stretched to its limits. But as he opened his eyes, all of that faded away. You were dead asleep on his lap, holding his hand as small snores escaped your lips.

He tutted at the huge dark bags beneath your eyes and he vaguely wondered how long you had been awake for. With his other hand, he cupped your head, marvelling at the way that he almost covered your whole head. You grunted softly and nuzzled into his touch.

Simon would love to let you keep sleeping especially since you were using him as a pillow but your neck was at a weird angle and he didn’t imagine that the metal folding chair you were sitting on was particularly comfortable. 

So with a considerable amount of hesitation, he spoke up. “Doc.” His voice was broken and husky, just barely louder than the machines attached to him. Your brows scrunched and you burrowed further into his thigh, clutching his left hand even tighter.

He smiled beneath his balaclava. 

Pain ripped through his body as Simon bent forward. He slipped his hand from your hold carefully in order to slip them both under your armpits. You were a dead weight in his arms, exacerbating the tight stitches on his sides but he still pulled you up easily, laying your soft body down between his legs. 

Your head fell to his shoulder, nose immediately pushing against his throat. “Si?” You asked sleepily, attempting to sit up but a hand on your shoulder and another one on your wide hip prevented you from moving. 

“Go back to sleep doc, I’ll still be hurt in the morning.” Heat crawled up your neck with the deepness of his voice and you found yourself unable to disagree, even though you were probably causing him even more pain. You nodded against his skin and Simon squeezed your hip gently. “That’s my good girl.” He purred.

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[mindblowingscience]

North America may still be trembling with the aftershocks of two major earthquakes that struck the continent more than a century ago, according to new research. If the statistical inferences that scientists have made are correct, then that means some tremors of today were set in motion way back in the 1800s, after some of the most powerful quakes in the continent's recorded history. In fact, the study authors estimate that around 23 percent to 30 percent of the seismic shocks experienced in the New Madrid seismic zone between 1980 and 2016 were aftershocks of four large earthquakes that struck the area in 1811 and 1812, with magnitudes between 7.2 and 8. What's more, another large quake, with a magnitude of 6.7 to 7.3, which hit Charleston, South Carolina in 1886, could explain up to 72 percent of the seismic shocks experienced in the region since. The findings hint at the possibility that within geologically stable areas of continents, where there isn't a lot of tectonic activity, some earthquake aftershocks can continue uninterrupted for decades or even centuries, although far more research is needed before that controversial idea can be validated.

Continue Reading.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hey happy to see your back, what might you have for living among dinosaurs?

Theme: Dinosaurs

Oh my gosh answering this request is going to be so much fun! I’ve been hoping to do a dinosaur request for a while!

24XX Predators, by Dice Ghosts.

DINOSAURS ROAM THE EARTH! A terrible earthquake has struck the biggest city in the world, releasing prehistoric creatures that were trapped beneath the earth. After quarantining the area, a team of experts has been assembled to enter the city and meet this ancient threat.

Play as a team of uniquely skilled individuals venturing into a ruined city that has become overrun by dinosaurs. Using your unique skills and training, you will need to work together to survive this metropolis of prehistoric predators and complete your mission.

An homage to Jurassic Park, 24XX Predators brings dinosaurs to the big city, in a post-apocalyptic kind of adventure that pits the player character specialists against roaming giant lizards while trying to help hapless bystanders as best as they can. Like many 24XX modules, Predators includes some special rules about being hunted by dinosaurs - are you prepared or ambushed for them? - as well as team mechanics that allow the group to do something called Scatter. When you Scatter, each player thinks of a number between 1-3. If all of the players are in sync, they’re able to help each-other. If one player disagrees, their action is hindered.

If you want a game that has your players feeling confident and you also like picking up small toolboxes with a few neat pieces in them, I recommend 24XX Predators.

Predation, by Monte Cook Games.

Welcome to the Cretaceous. Our ancestors won’t climb down from the trees for another 66 million years, but here we are now. Time travel seemed like a good idea. Exploring the ancient world. Building. Creating an entire society here in the jungles of our primordial Earth. Until those SATI guys messed it all up.

We’ve got gear. We’ve got guns. We’ve even bio-engineered a few dinos to our liking. And that’s good, because we’ll need it all to survive. History says there’s an asteroid headed our way, and there’s no one left alive who knows how to get back to the future.

Predation uses the Cypher System, which means that includes all of the typical neat tricks like spending points to increase chances of success, and one-time use items that are super powerful yet hyper-specific. It also has a really neat addition in the form of Dinosaur Companions - which are played by other people around the table.

That’s right, you’re making your own character and playing them, but you’re also responsible for portraying someone else’s dino pet - and someone else in turn is embodying yours. I find that this keeps everyone at the table more engaged as you play, because they have to keep track not just what their character is doing, but also what their dinosaur’s companion is doing, and it encourages players to interact with each-other whenever your dino decides to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.

If you want adventure, a stunning setting, and friendship, then you want Predation.

Escape From Dino Island, by Sam Roberts and Sam Tung.

Escape from Dino Island is a thrilling adventure game about intrepid heroes trapped on an island overrun with creatures from a lost age—dinosaurs!

Players take on the role of everyday people who are brave and competent, but also in over their head. The game is designed to help you create the kind of stories that are full of action and suspense, but in which fighting is rarely a good option.

Will you escape with your life? And what kind of person will you become in your quest to survive? There’s only one way to find out…

This game isn’t so much about living among dinosaurs as it is about escaping them, true to form for media like Jurassic Park. The game is a PbtA short-form game, designed for 1-2 sessions. Setup is quick and streamlined, providing you with a map and a number of roll-tables to help you make choices about what can be found here and what is known about the island. You also have character playbooks and basic moves, two more tried and true elements of PbtA design. There’s a some really good resources for GMs here, including GM principles and moves, and a number of rumours and reasons for NPCs to be on the island, both nefarious and helpful.

Overall what I really like about Escape from Dino Island is that it knows exactly what it wants to be and uses all of its tools to aim directly at that experience. It’s meant to be punchy, adventurous, and full of mystery, but concise enough to play once or twice before you call it a day.

Sauritopia!, by The Griffin’s Typewriter.

Inspired by half-remembered episodes of Dinotopia, that 2000 movie Dinosaur, the Lindworms from Walter Moer's Zamonia series, and a peculiar cultural osmosis of spacefaring dinosaurs, herein lies the Lost Sphere of SAURITOPIA! Explore the streets of the Meteoric City! Argue with lumbering professors at the Volcanic Colleges! Or just add these intelligent dinos to your vision of the multifarious Spheres, hung delicately across the hump-backed sky!

You’ll need the Troika rulebook in order to use this supplement, which is mostly a series of dinosaur characters that players can choose from and some neat items and skills to use in a dinosaur-centred game. If you want to mix dinosaurs into an acid-fantasy setting, you can allow the player characters to choose from Sauritopia alongside the standard backgrounds, but you could also create a party of dinosaurs and then send them on a mission in the Troika sphere to see how they fare. As a personal fan of the boardgames Dinosaur Tea Party, I think it might be fun (or funny) to combine the characters of Sauritopia with the Troika module An Invitation to Dinner.

Diesel and Dinosaurs, by BasiliskOnline.

Is a rogue tyrannosaurus inciting panic in a local settlement?  Have velociraptors wandered into a neighborhood causing a safety hazard? 

Did an earthquake spook a herd of triceratops which are stampeding towards a local settlement?

Ride into the Parazoic!

Diesel and Dinosaurs is a powered by Charge RPG combining dinosaurs and post apocalypse settings and inspired by the cartoon Cadillacs and Dinosaurs and the comic Xenozoic Tales. Humanity has spent the last 600+ years in bunkers while the planet recovers from a massive climate crisis. Those bunkers began to breakdown beyond the mechanist's abilities to keep them running and eventually humanity began to return to the surface. They found a world once again reclaimed by dinosaurs and other prehistoric animals, and began working to settle this untamed land.

Powered by Charge, Diesel and Dinosaurs contains plenty of nods to Forged in the Dark, including action ratings, dice pools, and the use of Stress. It’s designed for high action scenes in dangerous situations, flexible in tone from Saturday Morning Cartoon to high-adrenaline action film to gritty survival. The game comes with a series of roll-tables for the GM for a number of different kinds of dinosaurs that might be out there, as likely threats, pieces of backdrop, and maybe even new friends!

I’d probably pick up a game of Diesel and Dinosaurs if I’m in the mood for a high-action cheesy 80’s flick or something in that ballpark.

Preshistoric Portals, by Harper Jay.

The portals opened a few months ago. Nobody knows who to blame - scientists? The military? Dark wizards? But it doesn't matter now. What matters is the dinosaurs came through and destroyed life as you knew it. This city, built by a massive life-giving lake, was like a beacon for the prehistoric predators. Only the sturdiest skyscrapers remain fully intact, but even they threaten to fall to the might of the dinosaurs!

Built on Breathless, Prehistoric Portals drops you into a ruthless world of survival and small moments of reprieve. You’ll move between moments of action and danger, throwing everything you have and the kitchen sink into getting from point A to point B. Then you’ll take a break, refresh your resources, and the GM rolls for or creates a new complication - and then you’re on the run again. A great pacing mechanic for high energy games, while still demanding that you keep track of your resources.

Dinosaurs & Man, by Cilindro Cubico.

Humanity faces a crisis when dinosaurs escape from the Triassic Safari zoo due to a corporate espionage operation.  Now, humanity must survive in a world where it is no longer at the top of the food chain. 

Players take on the roles of brave men and women who must confront dangerous dinosaurs and unravel corporate intrigues to save humanity. 

Get ready for an exciting and epic odyssey of survival and adventure!

This is another game inspired by Jurassic Park, so once again, while the dinosaurs are living among you, they certainly aren’t friendly. Task resolution comes in the form of a percentile roll, using a percentage to determine how likely success is going to be, and the player rolling 2d10 with the hopes of rolling at or under the target number.

What I think the neatest thing is about this game is the way it determines your inventory. You have to take everything you have in your pockets out and place it on the table. Those items are your inventory. Your characters might be specialists, but that doesn’t mean they have specialist gear on them - they’ll have to use a combination of their skills and their wits in order to get them out of sticky situations like a rampaging pack of velociraptors, or a hungry t-Rex.

Rex Arcana, by Five Points Games.

The West is a Wild Place and it's about to get even more Wild. You are a band of Drifters out to make your claim on the open Plain, spell slinging outlaws on the run from the law with hearts of gold and teeth as sharp as kitchen knives. You and your fellow T-Rexes will travel the high plains and prairies, fighting corrupt oil tycoons, train-robbing bandits and devouring innocent townsfolk along the way.

This is a game where you play as the dinosaurs, rather than the people running from them. Not only that, you’re rootin’, tootin’ shootin’ defenders of the people, fighting off train robbers and the big fat cats profiting off of oil. If you want goofy, gonzo, and gigantic lizards, you want Rex Arcana.

You Might Also Want To Check Out….

This 2022 Dino Jam.

The Cavemaster RPG and it’s supplement, Dinosaurs of the Lost Valley, by UNIGames.

Camp Cretaceous, by Zozer Games.

Dinos and Lasers, by TassAllgood.

[cuubism]

it's been a while since i've written something that could be described as "literally just hurt/comfort" but well. here it is. i guess XD

--

It amused Hob endlessly that Dream never seemed to sit on his throne. Perhaps he did when welcoming official delegations of visitors, or conducting official business, but Hob had never witnessed it. Every time he had been to Dream’s throne room, Dream had been sprawled on the stairs instead, long limbs all askew, coat flared out dramatically below him, like some kind of panther reclining on its tree branch. Moody, petulant, dramatic thing. Hob loved him so.

He pet up and down Dream’s side as he sat beside him, and Dream, panther-like indeed, purred, pressing his nose into Hob’s throat. He had been about to show Hob something, take him to some new corner of the Dreaming he had created, but as usual they had gotten distracted, necking on the steps like insatiable teenagers. And now they were just talking quietly, one of Hob’s legs slung over Dream’s, Dream’s arm around his waist as Hob kept stroking up and down his rib cage under his cloak.

“I did intend to show you the new gardens,” Dream murmured, but made no move to leave Hob’s side. “You will enjoy them.”

“I’m sure I will,” Hob said, pressing another kiss to his hair. “Enjoying this too, though.”

“Would you like to enjoy more?” Dream asked, suggestion in it now, and Hob laughed.

“If you’re feeling committed enough to get up and lead us to your quarters. I don’t think Lucienne deserves to get an eyeful.”

“I could close off the throne room and have you upon these here steps,” rumbled Dream, grip tightening on Hob’s hip.

“And I could have you over your throne, if we’re doing that,” Hob countered, and a shudder ran up Dream’s spine.

He managed to disentangle himself from Hob and stood, offering a hand. “Come. We will retreat— this time.”

Hob chuckled, letting Dream pull him up. “Not in an exhibitionist mood today?”

“I’d like you to myself.” So saying, he strode down the steps, already summoning a swirl of sand to take them away— back to the waking world, maybe—

when something struck him.

Only there was nothing there. But Dream lurched backward the way the soldiers of Hob’s youth would fall back when lanced through with an arrow on the battlefield—he stumbled on suddenly weak legs, clutching at his chest, and with a cry of pain just—

—dropped

just fell in the middle of his throne room, the very seat of his power. Landed on shaking arms that were already giving out, shoulders curved and head hanging.

It was fucking terrifying.

Hob rushed over to him, fell to his knees by his side. Hands hovering for a moment as he tried to decide if it was safe to touch him. Safe for Dream, that was. Hob hardly cared about what might happen to him. “Dream,” he said, but Dream didn’t respond. He seemed barely able to hold himself up. As Hob watched, blood trickled from his nose and dripped onto the marble floor.

Hob abandoned caution and took him into his arms. Dream wiped at the blood streaming faster from his nose with a limp hand, but only succeeded in smearing it everywhere. “Dream,” Hob said. “What’s happening, love?”

Dream just closed his eyes. “Something…” he murmured, the word slurred and nearly unintelligible, “terrible. Silence. And. Death.”

A tremor rushing through him like an electric shock, and the Dreaming… separated.

Hob felt the schism go through it, felt his own body separating from itself like an earthquake right through the center of existence, the very air trembling. He looked at his hands and saw them in double, looked at the throne room and saw its colors refracting outward in layered planes, and then Dream, in the center of it all, dense as a neutron star.

Then it all slammed back together.

The force of the impact flung Hob across the room, away from Dream. He hit the floor hard, struggling to catch his breath as he scrambled upright, dizzy. Everything seemed to have congealed back into one layer again, but the hall was shaking, and on the other side of the room Dream was trying to push himself up, and failing as his limbs kept giving out on him, blood puddling on the floor from his nose and mouth.

What could possibly make Dream bleed? In his own realm?

Hob raced back over to him, skidding to a stop and crouching by his side so fast he almost fell over. Dream was on his knees, eyes screwed shut, hands pressed to his temples. Hob laid his hands over Dream’s. “Hey. Can you hear me? Can you look at me?”

Dream just let out a pained whine. And then Hob was very glad he was holding onto him because the whole room spun.

Suddenly they were upside down, gravity reversed so down was up, up was down, and Hob was on the ceiling looking down at the endless void of space. They didn’t fall, though, and he wrenched his gaze back to Dream before the vertigo made him puke. And then the room swung upright again, but this time it took gravity with it— Hob grabbed a hold of Dream’s hand and just barely stayed in place but heard things crashing against the palace windows, trees and houses and god knew what else that had been uprooted in the spinning equilibrium.

“Dream,” he said, holding Dream’s face between his hands. “Can you focus? Come back to me, love.”

Dream finally looked at him. His eyes had lost their human veneer and gone starry, but one was utterly black edge-to-edge, like it was dilating wrong in its view of the universe. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but what came out instead was another gush of blood.

“Shit.” Hob hauled him upright, kept him in his arms as he choked and spasmed, blood coming up with each cough, streaming from his nose. The sky had shifted to a glaring red, the stars angry eyes against it, and screaming rose higher and higher from the distant woods outside the palace, a thousand animal voices rising in chorus. “Shit. Alright, it’s okay.” He pet Dream’s hair, kept his voice pitched low and soothing, though his heart was hammering under Dream’s ear pressed against his chest. It most definitely was not alright, but Hob didn’t know what else he could do, other than try to bring Dream back from wherever he was. There was no injury, there was nothing he could fix. “It’s alright, my darling. Come on.”

Dream whimpered in pain and jerked as a lightning bolt of energy raced through him, zapping each of his limbs. Blood had started streaming out of his ears now, too, and past the sleeves of his robe Hob could see bruising around his wrists and trailing up his arms. He yanked up the hem of Dream’s shirt, and found more on his torso, patternless marks of bleeding, and his stomach lurched.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you down,” he said, keeping his voice gentle despite the panic racing through his nervous system. He laid Dream down on the floor, taking off his own jacket and folding it as a makeshift pillow to put under his head. Dream immediately turned and curled up on his side, hands over his ears.

Hob leaned down to try to meet his gaze. “Dream. Hey.” He caressed Dream’s cheek. “Dream. Please. Anything you can tell me that will help. Come on, darling. Talk to me.”

After several long, painful seconds, Dream managed, each word a dragging, pained whisper, “It will pass. I prom—” this was cut off by a horrible scream, animalistic but all wrong, off-pitch, like he was being eviscerated by an electroshock probe.

Matthew careened into the throne room and landed at Hob’s side. “Holy shit, there you are. I thought he was dying in a ditch somewhere, the Dreaming’s going fucking haywire.” He prodded at Dream’s hair with his beak, hopping in distress. “Boss. Boss!”

Dream seemed totally lost to them now, clutching at his head and making an awful whining sound. Hob finally gave up on trying to get him to talk and just pulled him close, laying Dream’s head in his lap.

Matthew perched delicately on Dream’s hip. “Do you know what happened?”

Hob brushed Dream’s hair from his sweaty, feverish forehead. “Not a clue. He said it would pass?”

Matthew tittered nervously. “A whole wing of the library is burning.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Loosh can’t get the fire under control. And a whole mountain range fell into the sea. Is this the apocalypse?”

Hob let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But it this doesn’t get better soon I’m calling his sister for help myself.”

Dream sucked in a huge breath as if summoned back to life by Hob’s words and said, each word a heavy scrape, “She will be far too busy for that.”

Around them, the Dreaming seemed to stabilize, shivering back into place. Everything went quiet again. Hob’s exhale of relief shook his whole body. “Hey. Hey.” He took Dream’s face between his hands and tilted his head up to look at him. “Hey, love. Are you back with us?”

Dream nodded. He looked utterly exhausted, glassy-eyed and with tremors running up and down his frame, but no longer like he was being actively tortured. “That was. The worst of it.”

“The worst of what? Did somebody hurt you?”

“No.” He looked to Hob for help, and Hob didn’t like it but he hauled him upright and helped him sit, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and letting Dream lean against him. “I am,” his voice was hoarse, each word a struggle, “the sum. Of all living minds in this universe. And when so many of those lives are ended at once. I. Feel it. That part of myself. Dying.”

Hob looked around before remembering that he couldn’t exactly see anything from here. “Something happened back home?”

“Your planet is not the only one with life,” Dream said. Hob shook himself before his brain could latch onto that—it was too much to be confronted with in the middle of a crisis. “I do not know exactly what transpired. I will have to ask Death. Only, it was significant.”

“What, like thousands of people? Er, beings?” Matthew said.

Dream’s gaze slanted over to him. He looked horribly sad, underneath the exhaustion. “Trillions. Not only intelligent species dream. Smaller creatures. Insects. Some plants. All eradicated.”

“That’s why that happened to the library,” Hob realized. All the books of all those lives.

Dream’s eyes snapped to him. “What happened to the library?”

“Apparently it was on fire—”

Dream tore himself from Hob’s grasp and staggered to his feet, rushed through a door that hadn’t been there a moment before. He was listing violently to one side, stumbling off balance, but didn’t stop, and Hob and Matthew chased after him.

They tumbled through the door into an inferno, the towering library stacks crackling and popping in the incredible heat. A surprisingly modern sounding alarm was blaring overhead, lights flashing. Lucienne had found a fire extinguisher and was valiantly attempting to put out the blaze, but she could do nothing against the sheer scale of it.

Dream careened into a table, caught himself just before falling, then thrust out his hands. The room plummeted to freezing in an instant, and Hob’s breath caught as all of the oxygen—to whatever extent that even existed in the Dreaming—whooshed out of the room. His chest went tight, and he was pretty sure it was only the nature of the Dreaming that kept them all from suffocating.

Dream held them in stasis like that until all of the fires had sputtered out, starved of air. Then his arms fell heavily to his sides and he dropped sideways into a chair, panting. Air swung back into the room, and Hob sucked in a deep breath.

“Lucienne,” said Dream, breathing heavily, “what— what is— the damage?”

Lucienne sat down beside him. She looked rather more concerned about the state of Dream himself than the books—his skin was still absolutely covered in blood, his face gaunt and hollow, limbs shaking—but she said, “We’ve lost most of this wing, my lord. What happened?”

Dream squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. “Too many lives felled at once.”

Lucienne laid her hand over his, gave it a squeeze. Hob knelt beside him, laying a hand on his knee.

“My fault,” Dream murmured. “I should have conceived of some protection against this. Or recovered myself. Quicker.”

“No,” said Lucienne, even before Hob could. “I don’t think you could have stopped this, my lord.”

"You can't prevent people from dying," said Hob.

"I can certainly prevent their books from being wiped from the library," insisted Dream, and then slumped, leaning his face on his hand, brow pinched in pain. "Too much strain on the Dreaming at once," he murmured, mostly to himself. "This should not have happened."

Hob squeezed Dream’s knee. “I’m sorry, love. I’m really sorry.”

Dream’s frown didn’t soften, if anything, his shoulders slumped further.

“I’ll see what I can salvage,” Lucienne said, standing upright again. “You should rest.”

Dream didn’t seem to have the strength to oppose this. “Matthew, will you find out if any residents were injured in the destruction?”

“Yup, on it, boss.” He landed on Dream’s shoulder for a moment, preened his hair, then winged away again, out of the library.

Then it was just Dream and Hob.

“Hey,” Hob said quietly. Now that they were alone, Dream had gone nearly as limp as a doll. Hob took both of his hands. “Let’s go rest, yeah? You must be knackered.”

That barely scratched the surface, but bringing up Dream’s moments of weakness—as he would see it—was rarely helpful.

“I am not tired so much as…” he plucked each specific word individually from the ether— “Stripped. To the bone. Like carrion.”

Hob’s heart hurt, doubly so for Dream having actually admitted it. “Let’s go rest then, yeah?”

Dream shook his head. “I do not wish to simply return to my quarters. I do not wish to simply return to my quarters. That is not what the Dreaming deserves after this failure.”

“Somewhere else? You can’t just go and try to fix it all now, Dream. Please.”

“Somewhere else,” Dream agreed, at length. "For a time." He interlocked his fingers with Hob’s. Then the library was swirling out of view, and they reemerged in a familiar grassy dell, sitting in the long, soft grass. Fiddler’s Green, Hob thought. Of course.

Gilbert—for since learning that Fiddler’s Green was a he, Hob couldn’t help but call him the more human name he’d chosen—seemed unharmed by the damage that had plowed through the Dreaming. Dream sat cross-legged on the soft ground and brushed his fingertips through the grass, a self-soothing motion. A warm breeze tumbled through his hair, as if Gilbert was trying to comfort him.

Hob gathered Dream into his arms, and as he did a tree sprung up from the ground behind him, growing from a sapling to a massive oak in moments. Hob leaned back against it, holding Dream close. “You’re a gem, Gilbert.”

The leaves rustled in response.

“Has something like this happened before?” Hob asked quietly, lips brushing Dream’s hair, and Dream nodded.

“Yes. Hence why I should have been more prepared.”

“Not what I meant. I wanted to know how to help.”

“There is… little to be done,” Dream said. “In time, the Dreaming will integrate the loss. Any acute damage, I will fix. It simply requires some… patience.”

“And what about you?” Hob said.

This time, Dream didn’t say something about how the Dreaming was him. He just didn’t respond at all.

Hob held out a hand. “Do you want to help me out here, then, Dreaming?”

A soft, wet towel appeared in his hand. “Cheers.”

“Hob,” said Dream uncertainly, as Hob budged him up.

“Let me see your face.” He took Dream’s chin in one hand, and began scrubbing away the blood with the other, wiping clean his lips, and the corners of his eyes, his chin, his throat.

Dream watched him silently. Hob was still wiping clean the sharp hinge of his jaw when the first tear slipped from his eye. “So many dreamers,” he murmured.

Hob pulled him close and pressed Dream’s head to his shoulder. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened, in some far off corner of the universe. But Dream’s pain was plain enough. “I know, love. I’m sorry.”

“I am used,” Dream said, “to the normal cycle of life and death. I have never considered it a tragedy; it is the way of Time. Death herself is kind, but not all ends are, it is the way of things. But such sudden, and widespread destruction. This feels. Like a tragedy. Not only lives were lost. But whole species. Cultures. A history, too. And its remembrance.”

“And normally you’re the one that remembers it,” said Hob, and Dream nodded.

“Now… I can only remember fragments about those civilizations. Whatever survived in the library, or on the fringes of my realm. I can feel the loss in the fabric of dreaming—but I cannot see what was once there.”

Hob kissed the top of his head. “You care so much,” he said, as Dream’s tears wet his shoulder. “Oh, darling. I’m sorry.”

There was really nothing more to say; he couldn’t make it any better. He could only hold Dream while he processed and regained his strength. And so he did just that, leaning back against the tree in the warm, calming breeze of Fiddler’s Green, and kept Dream close to him. And when it came time for Dream to fix the damage done to the Dreaming, Hob would stick by him then, too.

[hungwy]

Japan was rocked Monday by a powerful earthquake measuring a 7 on Japan’s shindo scale — the strongest rating — prompting tsunami warnings for the length of the country's western coast. Tsunami waves had already arrived in some areas following the strongest jolt, a magnitude 7.6 quake that struck near Ishikawa Prefecture’s Noto Peninsula at around 4:10 p.m.

A major tsunami warning — the highest level of alert — was issued for Ishikawa Prefecture’s Noto Peninsula, with the weather agency warning of waves of up to 5 meters in the area. Other areas of the Sea of Japan coast, from Hokkaido to Nagasaki, were under tsunami warnings or advisories, with waves of up to 3 meters forecast.

A major tsunami warning had not been issued since the March 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake, the Meteorological Agency said.

The magnitude of Monday’s quake matches that of the 1983 Sea of Japan earthquake, in which 104 people died and 324 were injured.

[tomorrowusa]

Ukrainian drones blew up a large Russian arms depot west of Moscow. The blast was large enough to have been detected by earthquake sensors.

A Ukrainian drone attack on a large Russian weapons depot caused a blast that was picked up by earthquake monitoring stations, in one of the biggest strikes on Moscow’s military arsenal since the war began. Pro-Russian military bloggers said Ukraine struck an arsenal for the storage of missiles, ammunition and explosives in Toropets, a historic town more than 300 miles north of Ukraine and about 230 miles west of Moscow. Videos and images on social media showed a huge ball of flame rising high into the night sky and detonations thundering across a lake, in a region not far from the border with Belarus. The strike was part of a broader Ukrainian drone campaign targeting Russian oil refineries, power plants, airfields and military factories, and highlights Kyiv’s enhanced long-range drone capabilities. Earthquake monitoring stations registered what sensors thought was a minor earthquake in the area.

The blast was so big that in the first couple of seconds it appears to be during daytime.

The Kyiv Independent has additional details.

Arms depot in Russia's Tver Oblast built to withstand nuclear explosion heavily damaged by Ukrainian drones

Back in 2018, the Russian Defense Ministry bragged that this facility would be prepared to withstand even a nuclear explosion. Six years later, the claim was proven to be false. According to the SBU, the arsenal stored ballistic missiles, including Iskanders, anti-aircraft missiles, artillery ammunition, and KAB guided bombs. The attack "literally wiped off the face of the earth a large warehouse of the main missile and artillery department of the Russian Defense Ministry," the SBU source said. The construction of the arsenal, controlled by the Main Missile and Artillery Directorate, began in 2015 in the town of Toropets, located 480 kilometers north of Ukraine. The construction was part of a 2012 government program set to improve Russia's storage of missiles, ammunition, and explosives. According to Russia's Defense Ministry, the program, worth 90 billion rubles (nearly $980 million), called for 13 modern arms depots to be built. [ ... ] Yet the source in the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) told the Kyiv Independent that a "very powerful detonation" occurred, and the affected area was 6 kilometers (3.7 miles) wide. NASA satellites also recorded a surge in thermal activity in Tver Oblast, where the 107th arsenal of the Main Missile and Artillery Directorate is located. "The arsenal seems to have been built correctly, with bunkered storage facilities that can hold up to 240 tons of ammunition each," Serhiy Zgurets, military expert and CEO of the Ukrainian media Defense Express, told the Kyiv Independent.

As Joe Biden might put it, this is "a big fucking deal". Months worth of ammunition, missiles, and other ordnance which was waiting to be used against Ukrainians has been eliminated.

In total, about 30,000 tons of ammunition were stored in the arsenal in Toropets, which could have been enough to conduct attacks for months, according to the expert. Russia most likely stored 122 mm Grad ammunition, 82 mm mines, and missiles for Buk medium-range surface-to-air missile systems, among other munitions, according to Zgurets.

Ukraine apparently destroyed 30,000 tons (i.e. 30 kilotons) of ammo. For comparison, the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima was the equivalent of 15 kilotons.

Ukrainians are intelligent and resourceful. They are now building drones which cannot be jammed by electronic warfare. They may have used those to get to Toropets.

And it seems a bit weird that Russia would build a gigantic arsenal just 4.51 km (less than 3 miles) from downtown Toropets – a scenic town and local administrative center.

So Ukraine has now penetrated and destroyed an impenetrable arms depot. Previously, Ukraine has stopped unstoppable Kinzhal Russian missiles. This war is unwinnable for Russia but the country continues to humiliate itself with its unmistakable military ineptitude.

[miniar]

Volcanic eruption on the edge of town in Iceland

January 14th update.

Early this morning a crack opened up in the earth and lava started to spill out. This wasn't entirely unexpected but it's placement is the worst case scenario for a lot of people.

You, like the people who live in Grindavík, can watch the slow flow of molten earth towards the town live, on webcams that cover the area from a few angles, on either of these two links. Remember, these are people's homes, so, while bearing witness to nature's wrath is something we may want to do, know you're doing it along side the very people whose homes those are. Don't be a ghoul. Link 1 - Icelandic national broadcast

Link 2 - Morgunblaðið

Now let me go back a couple of days and cover some preamble.

A group of people have been working hard, building a low protective wall (think sandbagging but for lava, not water) and trying to fill in the massive crack in the earth in the Icelandic town of Grindavík when one of them went missing. His tools were spotted down the crack, but after a few days of searching, the authorities gave up on finding him. He's presumed dead, swallowed whole by the earth. This is the first death associated with the situation.

When the crack opened this morning it opened across the protective barrier they had been working on. Some effort was made to try and get the expensive machinery out, making several people watching on live feeds very very nervous, as the lava started running on both sides of this little barrier. A clear black split in the bright red heat of molten rock in the dark winter morning. No machines and no (more) workers were lost, but fear rose quickly. If the lava split the barrier then what of the town?

Before the question could even be asked "officially" enough to start formulating a swift answer, a second smaller tear in the earth opened on the town's side of the wall, far closer to the nearest street, the nearest home, than the previous larger crack.

People who had been struck with fear and a panicked hope that Something could be done to protect their homes watched as that hope was swiftly set ablaze.

The search for the missing man stopped just the day before yesterday, so this has been very quick, and while the previous situation was marked with repeated and intense earthquakes and a tiny spillage of lava that lasted less than a day, this was almost gentle. People didn't get a buildup of warning as pressure rose and the ground readied itself to spill forth it's contents, not the way they did before. It seems the pressure release of December just wasn't enough for a notable difference. The town of Grindavík stands empty right now. No one is in there, waiting for the slow flowing doom. But these are still people's homes. Everyone's been evacuated, but almost everyone had been hoping, and had begun waiting, to go HOME. They are watching this now. Wondering if their home will even exist tomorrow.

This is expected to be the worst volcanic event in Iceland since the eruption in Heimaey where a large portion of the settlement was entirely lost.

We rebuilt then and odds are we'll rebuild now, but everyone who's ever lost anything close to this degree knows that no matter how well you rebuild, no matter what well you replace what you've lost, what's lost is still Lost.

So, be kind, don't be a ghoul, and maybe take the moment to respect the fierce power of the earth we all have such tendency to take for granted, and be reminded of how even in places of peace, human life both physical and metaphorical, is so very, very, very fragile, that we should be treating it gently and not as disposable.

And if you want to donate to help the people of Grindavík, I suggest you donate to help the people of Palestine instead, or to a Transgender charity, or to any other people who are face man-made horrors instead. Your kindness is wonderful, but while this is a fucking disaster, it's one Iceland's familiar with, and it's only natural. You can't counterbalance mother earth, but you can counterbalance your fellow man.

[choicesmaychallenge24]

MAY 2024 PROMPTS

Have fun! Take liberties! Be weird!

Playlist Inspo

SPOTIFY || YOUTUBE

Deity Inspo

(extensive list of Dieties can be found here)

Zeus

Power, Oak tree, unfaithful

"Statistically, you've got better chances being struck by lightning"

Hera

Marriage, revenge, peacock

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"

Poseidon

Ocean, earthquakes, horses

"stormy eyes"

Demeter

Wheat fields, middle child, poppy

"...moods that changed like the weather"

Apollo

Harp, medicine, prophesy

"...like they were the sun"

Artemis

Wilderness, moon, archery

"lets go lesbians, lets go!"

Ares

War, strength, hated

"Don't be a boar"

Athena

Wisdom, strategy, owl

"You're giving me a headache"

Hephaestus

Inventive, disability, overlooked

"...Like a volcano about to erupt"

Aphrodite

Pearls, swan, passion

"You know ___ is an aphrodisiac"

Hermes

Guide, messages, travel

"That's just an eloquent way of saying, 'fuck you.'"

Hestia

Home comforts, Eldest Daughter problems, gentle

"Sometimes a family is (insert found family here)"

Dionysus

Wine, celebration, mania

"I heard it though the grapevine..."

Nyx

Mysterious, rest, starlight

"Goodnight, My Love"

Hades

Rich, death, responsibility

"who's a good puppy?"

Quotes

"You wish to be considered righteous, but not to act with justice." (Eumenides)

"Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish." (The Bacchae)

"Isn’t it delightful to forget how old we are?" (The Bacchae)

"I was born to join in love, not hate - that is my nature" (Antigone)

“I have no love for a friend who loves in words alone.” (Antigone)

“Have you ever been struck by a sudden desire for - soup?” (The Frogs)

Dionysus [doing everything wrong], "Like that?" (The Frogs)

“If you try to cure evil with evil, you will add more pain to your fate.” (Ajax)

“Which would you choose if you could: pleasure for yourself despite your friends, or a share in their grief?” (Ajax)

“I ask this one thing: let me go mad in my own way.” (Electra)

"Oh, it is easy for the one who stands outside the prison-wall of pain to exhort and teach the one who suffers” (Prometheus Bound)

“In childbirth grief begins.” (Medea)

"I'll take care of you."

"it's rotten work."

"Not to me. Not if it's you." (Euripides)

“Love, stealing with grace into the heart you wish to destroy, love, turning us blind with the bitter poison of desire, love come not my way. And when you whirl through the streets, wild steps to unchained rhythms, love, I pray you, brush not against me, love, I beg you, pass me by.” (The Love of the Nightingale)

“There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.” (The Odyssey)

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.” (The Odyssey)

"Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again." (The Iliad)

FASHION INSPO

From Dolce & Gabbana

STORY INSPO

Many of these stories have different tellings and variations, embrace whichever version you most enjoy.

Echo and Narcissus (painting) (story)

Pandora's Box (painting) (story)

Arachne (painting) (story)

Hades and Persephone (painting) (story)

The Gorgon Medusa (painting) (story)

Cygnus (painting) (story)

Theseus, Ariadne, and the Minotaur (painting) (story)

Daedalus and Icarus (painting) (story)

Eros and Psyche (sculpture) (story)

Orpheus and Euydice (painting) (story)

Myth of Sisyphus (painting) (story)

Cassandra (painting) (story)

The Fates (painting) (story)

Atlas (sculpture) (story)

[sixteenseveredhands]

Vardzia, a Medieval Cave City in Georgia (South Caucasus), built in 1150-1200 CE: Vardzia was designed to be used as a fortress/monastery; it was accessible only through hidden passageways, and it contained more than 6,000 caves, 15 chapels, 25 wine cellars, an apothecary, a forge, a bakery, farming terraces, and an irrigation system

The monastic caves at Vardzia cover an area of about 500 meters. They are carved into the cliffs along the Erusheti mountains, which are located in Javakheti (a southern province near the borders between Georgia, Turkey, and Armenia).

Vardzia was originally meant to serve as a fortress, particularly in the event of a Mongol Invasion. It was protected by defensive walls, and the cave system itself was largely concealed within the mountain (though much of it is now exposed); it also contained a secret escape tunnel and several dead-end tunnels that were designed to delay/confuse enemy forces. The cave city could only be accessed through a series of hidden passageways that began near the banks of the Mtkvari River (which runs through the valley below the cave complex). Water was supplied through an irrigation system that was connected to the river, providing the inhabitants with both drinking water and agricultural irrigation, as the site contained its own terraced farmland.

The cave complex also functioned as a monastery, with a large collection of manuscripts and relics ultimately being housed at the site.

In its prime, the complex at Vardzia was inhabited by tens of thousands of residents.

Unfortunately, most of the original structures at Vardzia were destroyed by an earthquake that struck the region in 1283 CE, just a century after its construction; the earthquake sheared away the outer layer of the cliffside, exposed many of the caves, and demolished almost two-thirds of the site. The surviving structures represent only a fraction of the cave complex that once existed at Vardzia, with only about 500 caves still intact.

When the earthquake tore through the site in 1283, much of the fortress and many of its defenses were also destroyed, and Vardzia lost most of its military/defensive purposes. Still, it continued to operate as a Georgian Orthodox monastery for several hundred years after that. It narrowly escaped the Mongol Invasions of the 1290s, but it was raided by the Persians during the 16th century; the invading forces burned many of the manuscripts, relics, and other items that were stored within the cave system, leaving permanent scorch marks along the walls of the inner chambers. The site was abandoned shortly thereafter.

Medieval portrait of Queen/King Tamar: this portrait is one of the Medieval frescoes that still decorate the inner chambers of Vardzia; Tamar was the first queen regnant to rule over Georgia, meaning that she possessed the same power/authority as a king and, as a result, some Medieval sources even refer to her as "King Tamar"

Vardzia is often associated with the reign of Queen Tamar the Great, who ruled over the Kingdom of Georgia from 1184 to 1213 CE, during a particularly successful period that is often known as the "Golden Age" of Georgian history. Queen Tamar was also recognized as the Georgian King, with Medieval sources often referring to her as King Tamar. She possessed the powers of a sovereign leader/queen regnant, and was the first female monarch to be given that title in Georgia.

The initial phases of construction at Vardzia began under the command of King George III, but most of the complex was later built at the behest of his daughter, Queen Tamar, who owned several dedicated rooms at Vardzia and frequently visited the cave city. Due to her relationship with the cave complex at Vardzia, Queen Tamar is sometimes also referred to as the "Mountain Queen."

Despite the damage that the site has sustained throughout its history, many of the caves, tunnels, frescoes, and other structures have survived. The site currently functions as a monastery once more, with Georgian monks living in various chambers throughout the cave system.

I visited Vardzia back in 2011, during my first trip to Georgia. It's an incredible site, though some of the tunnels are very narrow, very dark, and very steep, which can get a bit claustrophobic.

Sources & More Info:

Atlas Obscura: Vardzia Cave Monastery

CNN: Exploring Vardzia, Georgia's Mysterious Rock-Hewed Cave City

Lonely Planet: Vardzia

Globonaut: 5 Facts about Vardzia, Georgia's Hidden Cave City

Wander Lush: Vardzia Cave Monastery (complete visitor's guide)

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 12 >> Chapter 13 >> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: DUBCON (oral gun play, ptv sex, rough sex), Assault (slapping, gun in mouth), revenge porn, descriptions of derealization/mental break, APPROACH WITH CAUTION

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, dubcon & abuse in c13, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 6.5k+

Slipping into your bedroom, a haze of unreality deepens the shadows cast by what little furniture you own.

During the half hour walk here from Roppongi, Hanma’s dress shoes ripped holes in his heels, which he hardly noticed as his imagination fixated on what he would do once he arrived here, repeating the details again and again until they crystalized in his mind. The scene became real to him, closer to the fixed certainty of memory. The way you would wake to the death rattle of Amani Takashi as he choked on his own blood. In the absolute darkness, you wouldn’t recognize the reaper hovering above you, not until his hands, familiar as only a lover’s could be, closed around your bare throat and squeezed. As he choked the life from your body, you would realize the immensity of your mistake in betraying him, and oh, the weight of his satisfaction would be nearly sensual as you gargled out your apologies, your aborted pleas that would have no power over him in the dark, where he can’t see your eyes. It would be all over when those once seductive eyes closed forever.

The scene in his imagination is so vivid that upon entering your room and finding the details differ, a sense of derealization dizzies him. It’s like returning home after an earthquake to find all the furniture shifted almost imperceptibly to the left. Or, like he’s entered one of those children’s puzzles, where you spot the differences between two nearly identical pictures, the eye tripping over itself.

He catalogues each difference precisely as if to anchor himself.

The curtains are wide-open, letting in a blue-toned light that illuminates the bed where you sleep, alone. Your oh-so-lucky boyfriend is nowhere in sight. Tucked in tight with the covers pulled up to your chin as if shielding your throat, you dream the dreams of the innocent, peaceful and nearly glowing in the slight light.

Where he expected predatory excitement or at least the faint hum of purpose fulfilled, Hanma feels nothing but an emptiness, a hole. A vortex writhes within him, the chaos of feelings and impressions no quieter than before, but it sucks away all surface thought and feeling, all warmth, so entirely that he doubts they’ll ever be returned to him again. Suddenly, he feels the chill of winter upon him, those long nights returned to swallow him whole. He realizes his artificial buzz is gone. He’s left tired and dopamine deprived.

He watches you sleep for several long minutes until he fears he’ll lose what little soul he has left to the frostbite. Only once he’s reconciled the differences between the supposed “reality” of the scene with what he pictured in his head does he approach you and the bed with slow steps.

You don’t stir when he peels the blankets back to expose your throat and chest. Your nipples harden beneath your tee-shirt, delectable even now after everything. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels above you, a knee on either side of your waist, but you don’t even murmur, perhaps used to Takashi coming home late.

Again, he’s struck by your sleeping face, how you sleep with lips gently parted, trusting, like a woman with no secrets to condemn her. Many nights he’s watched you sleep just like this. All of his emotions are clogged down, muted, so that he doesn’t know if his feelings for you have changed, but the old instincts – to shield you from harm, to protect your precious sleep, and keep you closeted away somewhere, undeniably his – remain unsullied.

Bottom lip plush and glistening, your mouth beckons to him, and he wants to gently push a finger between those lips, past the blunt teeth and into the heated crevice of your mouth, the heart of you. But, those days are over. He knows this with the same detached certainty he knows when to shift gears when driving or when a piece of meat is chewed enough to swallow. Instead of his finger, Hanma taps the entrance of your mouth with his gun, and then, slides it inside.

For a brief moment, your expression morphs into disgust as you taste metal, but then the sleep recedes from your eyes and panic erupts there. You flail inelegantly against the intrusion, and then, more purposefully, as you recognize who looms above you and what has housed itself inside your mouth.

Hanma subdues you quickly by kneeling on your arms and seating himself on your chest. As you try to question him, mouth widening, the gun pushes its way in deeper, and the words come out an indistinguishable garble. You try to speak regardless, slobbering around the gun as your eyes beseech him, asking for some reassurance or explanation that is not fast in coming. There is nothing in his heart, nothing in his eyes or soul to comfort you. Just the cold.

For a moment, neither of you tries to speak.

Then, as if on autopilot, Hanma recites the words he imagined saying a hundred times already.

“I’ve been thinking about what you call a therapist when there is no patient confidentiality. And then it came to me. You call her an overpriced whore, who doesn’t know when to stop running her mouth.”

It’s as if he’s not the one speaking these words, watching himself from a distance, like an actor’s been hired to act out the part. It’s a rerun. He knows how this ends. Yes, he’s seen this one before.

Except, he’s not supposed to see your eyes. They disturb him, the way they peer up at the him who’s not him, squinting in confusion and protest. They lie for you better than the dialogue written in the script. Tears well along your lash line, and, when you blink, the tips of your eyelashes come away wet.

“I spoke to your friend today, Haitani Ran. Ah, see, there goes the innocent act,” the actor-Hanma sneers, while the real Hanma observes the understanding dawn on your face. “I wonder how much he had to give you to tell all my secrets. I’m always curious just how little people value their lives. How about it? How much was your life worth? What’s the number?”

Whatever you try to say in response is lost around the barrel of his gun.

It too looks strange in your mouth. Plastic, instead of cool metal, like a toy. It feels heavy like always in his hand, the weight of a murder, but what he sees doesn’t match. His brain argues that such a measly hunk of plastic could never be the thing that dims your eyes, now brimming with unshed tears, for good.

The scene simply isn’t right. Something needs to be done.

Breaking free from the script, Hanma decides to let you defend yourself a bit. He battles the actor-Hanma back and pulls the gun away.

“I didn’t!” you cry out immediately, the words slurring in your haste. “Shuji, I swear. I didn’t tell him anything. He cornered me and made me an offer, but I never –”

The barrel of the gun emits a jarring clanging sound as it rams into your front teeth. He won’t listen to you lie to him. Within the maelstrom of impressions that have been too loud to make out, one feeling floats free, taking on a familiar shape: anger.

Hanma can’t fathom how much you could have cost him. Had Haitani used the intel you slipped him to move against Toman, buggering the HKJ deal, he would have lost his shot at Mikey. In the aftermath, Kisaki would have had him killed for his role in it. No second chances. You’d be whacked, too, of course, for knowing too much, for being a liability. And, all that easy intimacy that you had built together over the last many months would be snuffed out as some no-account Toman lackey pureed you, entering you again and again with their knife, until your corpse was so mangled only dental records could hope to identify you someday.

You risked too much, stole too much, and his anger tastes like acid, coating the inside of his mouth.

Around the foul taste, Hanma – or maybe it’s the actor again? – spits the words, “Do you know how many stupid fucking corpses tried what you did in the past? Tried to use their bodies to get close, get my secrets. And it never fucking worked. There’s only one punishment that fits the crime when someone betrays Toman, betrays me, and you knew that when you took this job.”

The hand tattooed with the kanji for punishment pushes the gun deeper, unbothered by the way your soft palette rises on instinct as if you have any hope of choking him out. He forces through the resistance until you swallow his gun all the way to the trigger guard and the tip of the barrel knocks decisively against the back of your throat. Memories of past times when he broke through that same resistance echo, and his cock twitches. If he pulled the trigger at this angle, it would blow a hole clean through your trachea, not a quick and easy death.

Manipulative tears spill down your cheeks as you try to work out a blubbering sob. He wonders if you would have cried for him too had feeding Haitani secrets led him to the noose.

There’s no silencer to dampen the gunshot. It resounds in his ears, throbbing like a declaration.

Hanma doesn’t see the damage until sickly red blood floods your white pillowcases, forever staining them, and then mixing with your hair. You gurgle helplessly as you try to breathe around a compromised trachea, hands flying to your throat like you might massage it back to usefulness.

Condemning eyes glare at him. They’re like an ocean of blood, the waters slowly rising, until the whites of your eyes are gone and nothing but bloodred accusation stares back at him.

He blinks and the blood is gone.

The safety is still engaged. Your eyes are filled with translucent tears, hands still caged by his knees.

He shakes his head a few times. The force knocks his glasses around.

Of course, he didn’t shoot you through the neck. Earlier he strangled you with his own hands. No guns involved. When you died, it was like falling asleep, peaceful and lovely as he cradled your slowing pulse between his palms.

In your final moments, Hanma knows you didn’t spare a thought for Takashi, gut like a pig beside you.

Yes, you’re dead already.

He strangled you to death hours ago. Or minutes ago. Or.

He…or actor-Hanma…or.

No.

Hanma looks to the right where Takashi’s body should be and sees the empty space, the undisturbed blankets and half remembers. That’s right, Takashi wasn’t here when he arrived.

He hasn’t killed you yet. You’re still alive.

Unsure if up is down or down is up, Hanma giggles. In this twisted dreamscape, he thinks he could do anything, fuck the consequences. He can always change the outcome in the post-edit. He’s the director, actor, and audience.

Surreal as this scene may seem, the knowledge of his control over it fills him with an acute sense of power, enough to continue, unfettered by worries about what is or isn’t real.

“Lucky your boytoy isn’t here, right now. Think I’d have killed him first, so I could take the edge off. I want to take my time with you.”

He remembers – No! No pictures – how you would react to Takashi’s unceremonious demise. The corpse would serve as a dire warning, but you wouldn’t waste your tears on him. No, Takashi means nothing to you. Just a body even in life.

Except, Takashi too is still alive.

Every time Hanma blinks, he sees something else, like he’s peering into one of those optical illusion pictures, where if you cross your eyes, a hidden message appears and disappears. He is seeing doubles, triples, but he can’t make out what’s the hidden message underneath and what’s real anymore. He swallows and swears he tastes blood.

“Where is Takashi anyway?” Hanma says, hoping your answer – or lack of answer if you are really, truly dead – will anchor him.

At your gurgle, Hanma remembers the gun and pulls it out.

“Shuji, I swear, I never –”

He slaps you. Barely a love tap by the situation’s standards, but his palm connects with a crack, and your head snaps to the side, burying into the pillows, where you stay, chastened and too scared to try to speak lest he do it again. Breathing heavily, Hanma rewedges the gun between your lips. He’s sweating. Bullets of sweat plummet from his brow to plop on your neck, where the bones are so fragile they peek through the skin.

The tears behind your eyes dry up. The fear is gone in an instant. Hanma lowers his face until you’re nose-to-nose, staring directly into your eyes, looking for the fight, the will to live, but there is nothing. Only resignation.

Is it so hard for you to play your part? After all, actor-Hanma is doing his best to stick to the script even as these changes keep tripping him up.

You’re supposed to fight and plead for your miserable life, not throw it away for some cheap payday or perish without complaint in your bed. Where is the will, the wanting, that he nurtured inside you these last several months? Where is the woman he…

He hates seeing you like this. Hates it more than Haitani’s smug, smiling face, more than Kisaki barking orders at him like he’s nothing but a leashed dog, more than a listless weekend sunrise when the sleeping city threatens to drown him in boredom.

He loathes seeing you like this enough to spare you.

“This could only ever end in one way,” Hanma says, releasing the safety and cocking the gun. He aims the gun higher, so that when he shoots, the bullet will make a home in your brain, a cleaner, faster death. There is mercy in freeing you from this indignity as quickly as possible.

From the small space where your lips stretch obscenely, your tongue darts forward and laves the underside of the slide. The sight of it, incongruously pink on stainless steel, draws him up short. He watches as if hypnotized as you lap at the length of the gun not disappeared in your mouth with long, wet strokes. Craning your neck forward, you can just stretch your tongue to the trigger guard. Where his finger rests on the trigger, he can feel your breath, that wet heat that envelops him so completely.

His pulse ricochets, three beats a second drumming in his cock. Hanma doesn’t want to shoot you with a hard cock. Even by his standards, the idea is too perverse. He tries to will it down, but his blood rushes south like a dam breaking, and he is hard and aching before he can stop it.

Maybe it shows a lack of imagination on his part, but he’s never rammed his gun down a hot throat before. Like so many things in his life, this belongs to you and you alone.

You don’t break eye contact as you push your head forward until your throat restricts around the gun again. Delicious choking noises follow.

It’s faint, but as you suck off his gun, Hanma swears he sees a glimmer of desire warm your dead eyes. The life there, the personality, suits you better, and he lets out a long breath as if finally taking off a pair of shoes two sizes too small.

He still wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you and, by proxy, the entire world. But, painfully hard as he is, he can’t imagine never feeling the heat of your mouth again, never enjoying the best pussy of his life again. A body like yours was made for him to enjoy. There will be time to make you suffer later.

Because once he pulls the trigger, you’ll go cold. The little life in your eyes will leech away by degrees. Your tongue will swell, stiff and useless in your slack maw.

It’s not fair that you would steal even this from him.

He won’t let you.

Hanma takes control. Not bothering to reengage the safety, he fucks in deeper, positively battering the back of your throat, so you spasm with each collision. It is brutal, harsher than any pounding he’s ever delivered with his cock, and tears and drool alike spill down your cheeks to coat his wrist. Intoxicating as the visual is, it’s the glugging noises that tumble helplessly from your throat that really spur him on. He rides high on the line between his pleasure and your pain, until the ache of his trapped cock spikes into a hurt that demands immediate relief.

A long, thick strand of spit connects your mouth to his gun when he pulls back to strip. You gasp and cough as if you just survived a waterboarding, debauched and pathetic as the drool settles on your chin. By the time he throws his jacket and shirt to the side and pulls his cock out of his fly, you have only just caught your breath.

The detached, dead-eyed gaze returns.

“Do whatever you have to do to get this out of your system, Shuji. Use me to get it out,” you whisper huskily, throat too sore to try anything louder, but he hears you as clearly as if you’d shouted.

He could do anything he wants to you now. The invitation is unnecessary. But it’s there between you now regardless. Through your words, he grants himself the permission to possess your cunt one last time, too selfish to deny himself the pleasure.

Things move quickly after that.

Hanma flips you onto your belly, ripping your sleep shorts and panties down the swell of your thighs, so they keep your legs pinned together. In this position, your ass and puffy pussy are perfect. Everything presses together as if to signal just how tight you feel on the inside. He can’t resist spanking your ass, harder than he’s ever hit you before, so that you shriek in pain and the flesh rebounds in his hand. It is a good reminder for you both – when the rush of lust threatens to envelop you and wash away all recollection of your betrayal – and so, he does it again on the other side for good measure.

Slipping one finger inside your cunt, he groans to find you soaked. It is a flood between your thighs, the kind of wet he usually only achieves after hours of edging you with his tongue.

He can’t wait.

Despite the wetness, you aren’t prepped enough for the stretch of his length in this position, so you emit pained whines as he forces his cock inside you. Every centimeter he pushes deeper is a struggle as your body fights against him, but eventually, your cunt yields to the pressure, and he sinks all the way to the balls, the tip battering your cervix cruelly in the process. And isn’t the cruelty half the point? He fucks you brutally, using his arms to leverage as much force as possible into each thrust, making sure to grind in as deep as your body can accept him.

There is a blissful annihilation in this, the mechanical thrusting of hips, the heat of your cunt hugging him, like a fire that burns away his every brain cell. He forgets about you altogether, uses your body like a cheap cocksleeve for his frustrations. One forceful thrust after another, and his brain empties and his balls unload. He moans as he fills you up.

The usual sensitivity follows; but to his surprise, his cock doesn’t go limp, remaining half hard. Like an agoraphobe refusing to go outside, clinging to the walls as his doctors try to force him out the door, his cock doesn’t want to leave this paradise.

Euphoria from his orgasm softens everything else around him, dulling the sound of his breathing, muting colors and smudging the lines of his vision. Hanma peers down on where your face is buried in the pillows as if you’ve been crying, and he feels sorry for you.

It’s his fault in a way, isn’t it? He should have taken better care of you. If he’d insisted on paying your bills sooner, you wouldn’t have been so easily tempted by Haitani’s offer.

And, if he’s honest, isn’t this part of what he loves so much about you? The way you continuously surprise him, never letting life grow dull?

The many days and nights that make up your torrid affair return to him. He remembers how sometimes, when you think he isn’t paying attention, you look at him with a softness that borders on reverence. On that night at the beach, when he got you high and took you dancing, you couldn’t have faked that openness, couldn’t have falsified the sincerity when you called him “Daddy” for the first time. Every moment was real for you.

There is no way you would have knowingly risked hurting him. Haitani must have manipulated you, convinced you that it was a win/win situation for all involved. You didn’t want to destroy him. You’re a brilliant woman, but sometimes, the stupid, greedy girl you buried and denied for so long wins out, that’s all. What you need is someone to teach you, to take care of that little girl with a firm hand.

Everything is his fault really.

Hanma’s thoughts eventually turn to marveling at how small you are in comparison to him. He could positively shroud you with his body if he chose. The space you take up in his life is larger than your body, larger than the shadow you cast when the sun is at its highest.

Hanma rolls to the side, bringing you with him, so you nestle into the give of his body. From where your calves rest against his thighs, up to where your cunt still spreads for his cock, and further up to where your head shelters in the crook of his neck, there is not a shred of space between you. Body-to-body, there is no space remaining for anger or betrayal either.

The heat of your body is a brand against him. He runs his fingers tenderly down the slope of your hip, fascinated by the way you can shiver as if from a chill. When he cradles your breasts, your nipples are tight stones against his palms. It should be impossible for you to feel the cold when your cunt burns him from the inside. The ache of winter nights spent dreaming of relief and sunshine feels like a distant memory. Inside you, with you, he doesn’t believe he’ll ever feel cold again.

The flesh between your thighs is slick when he spreads the lips of your hungry pussy. His fingers slip through the leak, almost unable to find your clit in the mess. It is the first time he’s not made you cum during a round of sex, and so he carefully manipulates your body until he hears your first whimper of pleasure.

Not immune to the sounds you make when your hungry pussy is still clenched around him, Hanma hardens once more inside you. The gentle hug of your cunt coils and tightens until it is a vice that grips him, and he can no longer resist. He wraps both his arms around your chest, crushing your breasts against his forearms, and just rocks against you. Eyes closed, he doesn’t think about anything but how wonderful you feel around him, how the only feeling better in the world is that same cunt squeezing rhythmically as you cum. It won’t be long now either. Between his fingers, your clit grows more engorged, your whimpers more frequent.

Patiently, he coaxes the orgasm out of you, but when you finally cum with a small cry, it is you who leads him right over the edge, so that he dumps a second load into your tired body.

They call it post-nut clarity for a reason, Hanma realizes because in the aftermath, everything once obscured appears so clear, like he had been trying to look at a painting through a dirty glass that’s since been cleaned.

Hanma is not willing to part with this for anything. What you did or might do in the future, your motives and feelings, they’re all irrelevant. Since he started fucking you, he hardly ever wakes up wishing a meteor would strike his building, just for a little novelty. He no longer smiles at the thought of a sinkhole opening up beneath his feet or an overdose slowing his heart to a halt, the kind of ignoble deaths he rejects on principle but would sometimes glitter seductively during life’s most boring moments. Knowing your set of pretty holes are waiting for him gives him a reason to get out of bed every day. And he is not going to let you take that from him over some irrelevant bullshit.

He will set you up in an apartment he owns, shower you in gifts and luxuries to ensure you’re a well-kept woman, happy and eager for his nightly visits. Nothing needs to change.

A frown darkens his face, and he inadvertently tightens his arms around your chest, hard enough to sting, when he realizes there’s still one remaining threat to his plan. Haitani knows you betrayed Toman and has already snitched on you once. If Haitani decides to run his mouth to the others, to Kisaki, you are dead regardless of what Hanma wants.

With his date with Mikey looming around the corner and promising to make the whole matter superfluous, Hanma considers leaving it to chance, but then decides against it. He should probably deal with Haitani. One last hunt before he shuffles off his mortal coil. He doesn’t pretend he won’t enjoy it.

You recover from your orgasm slowly. The pulse at your neck is skittish. Hanma can smell the sweat at the back of your neck. Your breathing takes minutes to return to something remotely steady. He enjoys holding you through these changes, wonders if you’ll fall asleep in his arms.

Kissing your back, Hanma tells you that he forgives you. Sincerity drips from his voice. He means it. It’s a blanket pardon for everything you have done until now. There are only so many days you have left to spend together.

You don’t answer immediately, but when you do, it’s to ask to use the bathroom in a small voice. Rolling aside, Hanma watches you free your body from his clutches and limp from the room, his cum leaking down your thigh. A long time passes. He hears the shower turn on and dozes off, still half-dressed atop your sheets.

Hyper-sensitive to danger, he blinks awake the moment you reenter the bedroom. Water clings to your hair, which dries freely, before puddling in your wake. A lemon-yellow towel wraps tightly around your form, and he wants to rip it off you, so he can watch your naked body strut about as you rifle through your dresser. If he had to put a name to it, he’d call his current feelings “proprietary.” This was a final test, and he controlled himself, and now, as his reward, he gets you. He’s a fair bit impressed with himself.

“I’m going to meet with my realtor tomorrow to tell him to move forward on the Ueno apartment. I’ll transfer it directly to your name, so you don’t need to worry about rent or what happens when I die. I’m free the day after next if you want to go shopping together, too. I don’t give a fuck how you want to decorate, but since I’ll be spending a lot of time there, I want to make sure the furniture’s comfortable at least. I swear half the chairs in this country are too short for me,” Hanma drones, pausing, annoyed, when you pull a massive sweatshirt, large enough to belong to a man, over your body. “You just need to dump that Takashi twat already. He’s not welcome in my apartment.”

You don’t respond. In fact, you haven’t said a word in the better part of an hour.

Looking more carefully – no longer with the distorting eye of a proud lover – he notices a shake to your hands as you tug on a pair of sweatpants. You stand nearly pressed to the door, like you might need to flee at any moment. You’re terrified.

Hanma sighs, regretting how harshly he dealt with you, though you’d left him no choice. Despite a few front row demonstrations of his business, you are mostly unexposed to the violence that characterizes his life, always discussing it in the abstract. If you were more yourself, he’s sure you’d tell him that it’s psychologically healthy to have a physiological response to eating a gun. All those months ago when you played Russian Roulette, your reaction was a lot more fun, but he supposes, special though you are, you are still a civilian, and this kind of response is to be expected.

Still, he doesn’t prefer you hurt or scared. It makes his brain itch.

The bed creaks when he stands. Approaching with slow steps, Hanma notices you literally shrink away from him, leaning more of your weight against the door.

Like soothing a spooked horse, Hanma stretches out an upturned hand, but you slap it away. Heat blazes behind your eyes. No different than a cowering animal, you lash out.

“Don’t touch me!”

This time, Hanma expels a very different sigh, a sigh of irritation at your overreaction. Given the nature of your betrayal, he could have done far worse and been justified. Comforting you is tedious, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to try.

“I forgive you, okay, Doc. You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to shoot you or anything else. I forgive you. You’re still my girl.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’m not your fucking girl!” you seethe, gnashing your teeth at him, like you might truly bite him if he comes closer.

Hanma patiently tries again, “I forgive you –”

“You’re actually insane to think I’m leaving Takashi – my loving, stable boyfriend – to play house with you in some shitty apartment. I’ve heard all your little hints about leaving him, and guess what? I haven’t! I didn’t leave him before you showed up in the middle of the night spewing baseless accusations and stuck a gun in my mouth. Now? You clearly need to find a new therapist because you’ve grown delusional to think I’d choose you over Takashi!”

Cold tendrils creep down his spine. He actually tries counting backwards from one hundred, like that useless technique first suggested to him in elementary school has ever helped him control his temper before.

As he fights down the beginnings of a rage to rival his anger when he first arrived tonight, you keep going in a voice like reinforced steel, “I thought about it in the shower, and the more I thought, the less I understood what you even bring to the table. Takashi is one hundred times the man you will ever be. Do you hear me? All you have going for you is good dick, and frankly, I can live without it. I’m firing you as a patient, effective immediately. I’m obviously not suited to help you as I’m just a…what did you call it? Overpriced whore? And for the record, I’m not interested in being your whore either, so…”

Your lips continue to move as you spit invectives at him, but Hanma tunes out the words. He can’t ignore escape your tone, how the heat slowly dampens, and you grow colder, the unfeeling mask you often wore when you first met returning. The heartless, robotic delivery is somehow more venomous, and the weight of your disdain washes over him like the sea, dragging him down, down, down into its bottomless depths.

 With what little presence of mind he’s regained, Hanma knows that if he fights with you now, it will undo everything he accomplished. He’ll hurt you if he stays. And even if his knuckles strain against his closed fists with the desire to do just that, another stronger part of himself does not want to hurt you at all.

He – and you by virtue of being his therapist – deserve a goddamn medal because instead of lashing out at you, Hanma decides to leave.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Hanma grits out. “It’s been a long day for us both. Get some sleep, and I’ll call you in the morning with what the realtor says.”

His feet drag like they’re stuck to the carpet, but step-by-step, he manages to walk towards the door, where you plaster yourself backwards to avoid the merest brush of his body against yours. Alone in the hallway, the pictures of you and Takashi stare down at him, smiling and false.

It is quiet as the grave on your little residential street. The sky is a deep grey, the faintest hint of light illuminating the world as the sun just begins to peek through the clouds. Sunrise is within the hour.

Only now, free from the oppressive shadows of your apartment, does Hanma acknowledge the miracle that you have somehow survived this night.

Hanma is too tired to hope for anything more. With his thoughts in a frenzy, he walks home. He is not ready for tomorrow, not yet.

--

Growing up, Hanma heard people joke that behind every real estate broker in this city, there hid three yakuza: one to hand out bribes, a second to threaten tenants, and a third to lap up the profits. Another version of the joke boasted that if the government ever nationalized real estate, the yakuza would dry up within the month.

In 2018, the yakuza have diversified their business ventures. The Kokonois of the world have dragged them into the twenty-first century, operating more like billion-dollar conglomerates than classic criminal syndicates. It’s the age of shell companies and tax shelters, stock shorts and corporate espionage. Still, Hanma holds a soft spot for the classics, and there is no shortage of realtors comfortably living in Toman’s pocket.

So, with Toman’s resources, Hanma fast-tracks the procurement of his new apartment, signing on the dotted line before lunch.

He calls it an apartment, but your new home is really only four units housed within a two-story building, squat and bookended by two larger apartment towers on either side. The realtor reassures him that the building meets both of Hanma’s requirements: it’s less than a fifteen-minute walk to your office and the quiet street is several blocks from any major thoroughfare, meaning little foot traffic.

The only complication arrives when Hanma asks about buying out all four apartments. Since he plans to spend much of his time in your apartment, he is willing to considerably drain his personal savings for the luxury.

The realtor, a paunchy, balding man despite not yet reaching forty years of age, named Obara, informs him that two of the other apartments will be simple enough to obtain. He remembers placing both families within the last five years and is confident they’re the reasonable sort who will jump at a generous offer. The problem is Itoh-san in unit four. Widowed for the better part of three decades, she has stubbornly clung to this apartment and the memories it houses. She will not be easily moved.

Your apartment will be on the first floor, unit two, while the old woman’s is directly above. Obara assures Hanma that she rarely leaves the house these days except for a weekly trip to the market or one of her many doctors’ appointments, so she probably won’t even notice his coming and going. But, if Hanma prefers absolute privacy, Obara gently suggests Hanma might send a few men from Toman around the following evening for a “productive conversation.”

Ten years into his real estate career, Obara is well accustomed to working with yaks. He doesn’t so much as blink as he suggests Hanma chase this little old lady out.

There is no need to make a decision just yet. Hanma tells Obara to make offers to the other residents and move forward with the paperwork. He will sleep on Itoh’s fate.

As he dials your number, Hanma reflects that he’s been damned generous of late.

The phone rings six times before clicking to your voicemail. Your voice is cool and impersonal in the recording as it encourages him to leave a message. Hanma foregoes the suggestion and texts you instead.

Hours pass. He pushes his body to the brink at the gym, fighting opponent after opponent until he can no longer recognize where one bruise ends and the next begins. He scalds his skin to a glowing cherry color in the shower and then sweats his brains out in the sauna. He places a few bets on the horses.

Between each activity, he calls you and is met by your voicemail.

Eventually, he can’t keep up the pretense any longer, acknowledging the growing ire inside him.

He pounds back shot after shot of tequila at a dingy izakaya, where he’s one of only two customers and the bartender knows better than to ask questions. As Hanma drinks, he thinks about how fucking entitled you are. After everything he has done for you, sparing you the punishment anyone else would have suffered, you reject him. He tries to remember that you’ve pulled these disappearing acts before and always been easy to lure back with a few false promises, but whenever he remembers your trembling hands, he knows this time is different.

The way you waxed poetic about Takashi yesterday infuriates him. You’re shrinking back into the prison you erected around yourself and called safety before he met you. Only he knows how to provide for you, help you make a real life in this world, rather than wasting away behind unlocked doors, too afraid of your own shadow to try the handle, to want anything.

One last chance, he vows to himself. He’ll give you one last chance to respond and after that, he’ll show you the same consideration you have shown him. None.

He calls your number.

When the fourth ring goes unanswered, he doesn’t bother waiting for your voicemail. He closes out the call and flips straight to his photo gallery, scrolling to the “hidden” folder. There are dozens of photos and videos of you here. Covertly taken, they capture you taking his cock in nearly every position, cockdrunk and desperate for it. He pauses to enjoy one where you lie on your back, neck extended off the bed, while he pushes his cock into your throat, slow and steady, hypnotized by the gush of spit that strings down your chin.

Hanma selects all the videos in the gallery and adds them to a text message with a recipient he knows only by memory.

He hits send.

As the electrical signals race from his phone to his recipient’s, Hanma sighs. This time, it’s a sigh of satisfaction. He honestly feels a lot better.

[000marie198]

It's done. Phew *passes out* here, please accept this little prologue, I've planned a multichapter for this.

Here's my entry to Nine Tailed Travel Guide Through the Multiverse. Juuuust short of time running out. Takes place in Synergy Au

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Unsynched

The sea lit up in a thunderous white flash, lightning striking the mountaineous waves with vengeance, their turbulent surface swallowing million tiny craters and being struck by million more.

Rain fell in torrents, bulleting streams of water speeding downward lit by the blinding flashes every few seconds. Wind screamed and wailed as it hunted within the deadly storm, one of the bigger ones this area had seen since the Rift.

At the edges of a secluded shore, the rumbles of thunder sounded muffled inside a locked up facility, the safety of reinforced hangers and labs failing to hide the chill caused by nature’s wrath. Even as the world slept peacefully, most of the staff was on high alert. That included the operators dutifully running continuous scans at their respective stations.

A large computer set up at the radar control station began to beep in alert, one of its monitors displaying a red dot pinging offshore over the regional map. The agent stationed by it reached for the controls, slipping a headset over his ears to report what the monitor displayed.

“Commander, we've picked up on an energy anamoly fifteen miles west.”

“Another beast?” The gruff voice on the other end inquired almost immediately.

“Negative,” the agent responded, “this signature does not match the one given off by the Breachers.”

There was a pause on the other end, likely due to the other consulting about their next course of action, before another voice crackled through the comm links.

“We are at Hanger 5, prepared for deployment. Allow clearance for investigation.”

“Commander?” The agent prompted for confirmation.

“Send off The Tempest,” the first voice ordered. “We cannot take any chances.”

“Affirmative.”

An intensifying hum sounded from Hanger 5 as mechanisms powered up and the reinforced gates slowly rose, the icy claws of the storm reaching in with a vengeance.

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

Expecting to appear on solid ground as he had the past few times he walked into a new world, Nine hadn't anticipated the portal to deposit him thirty feet high, in the middle of the ocean.

A startled yelp escaped him, quickly turning into terrified scream as rain, wind and lightning blinded his senses, flashes preceding blasts of thunder that shook him to the core.

The world was an earthquake and he was at its epicenter.

His heartrate sped up as he fell. Loud beats thudding through his veins mirrored the thunder’s claps like symphonic war drums. Pupils shrunk into pinpricks and something buzzed across his fur, skin, flesh– every single cell.

Adrenaline.

He was familiar with adrenaline. With its fight or flight instincts.

He had honed them for years to choose fight. With practice and struggle, pain and blood, a lifetime of suffering. Nine squeezed his eyes shut and let them take over, trusting them to keep him safe.

Seven metal tails clicked apart and spun, two organic ones joining them and the kit slammed to a halt midair, the harsh shift in momentum barely shocking him. Black waves below and grey clouds above sandwiched the wind and rain that tried to push him down but he held on, though barely.

Raising an arm to block the droplets, Nine squinted through the shower, flinching as more strikes lit the stormy horizon. He needed to find someplace to land. Now. Being in the air increased the risk of his metallic appendages attracting lightning.

Just stabilizing while hovering in same place was difficult enough, if he couldn't find land soon- he pressed his lips, glancing down at the MTC- he'd have no choice but to leave this universe unexplored.

For the first time in many multiverse adventures, he wished Sonic and Tails would show up. He had internally complained about it before but he could really use some help right now.

Well, no matter, if they couldn't find him, he'll do it himself. A harsh gust pushed at him from the side, Nine grunting as his tails strained to fight against it. Right, he'll try to find them after he was sheltered and not under the mercy of a heavy storm.

Reaching for his yellow handheld, he turned mid air so his back was to the rain’s direction, shielding his front just enough for him to huddle over the device and activate its wave scanner, trying to find a satellite signal he could hack.

In any other case, he would've shot down the thought immediately, considering he's been through universes where such technology didn't even exist, but Nine had checked the readings of this particular world before deciding to teleport here. It seemed to be advanced in technology just as much, if not more, than New Yoke. And it had a strangely strong reading, similar to the fixed Green Hill did compared to the other shatter spaces. He'd looked forward to exploring it.

If only he hadn't ended up in the middle of the storm.

“C'mon, work,” Nine muttered with frustration as the device took longer than it usually did to pick up a signal, the weather hindrance still playing its part.

Finally, it pinged with an alert, the fox not taking another moment to jump on the frequency, launching codes to bypass firewalls and access the available GPS and maps. As he pulled up the one which showed his location, he paused, brows furrowing up in confusion.

“What?”

The live map had his coordinates, which made sense considering he connected through the database, but it also showed location of another signal, heading straight towards him.

He felt the air trmeor with a deep rumbling thud, it's sound blending with the storm’s so well, he hadn't realized it could have a different source.

Nine froze, his fur pricking up as another rumbling thud sounded, louder. Closer. The lightning that would accompany the thunder impossibly staying static, not flashing off within milliseconds.

Nine was not alone.

He held his breath as waves rose like curtains, a deep groan vibrating the moist air like whales’ songs after a last thunderous thud. Glaring beams shone down at his back, framing his sharp shadow flickering with the waves as he hovered with his handheld gripped tight, the other signal blinking right behind his own.

Swallowing back his growing fear, Nine turned around, finding himself face to face with a gigantuan mech’s dark visor, piercing beams from its shoulder pads focused directly upon Nine.

.......

To be continued in Unsynched