#preview snippet

[robthegoodfellow]

Billy and Steve get into an argument about Billy’s behavior—he baited Jason Carver until Carver punched him in the face—and Billy has the shattering realization that he’s been zeroing in on Carver in particular because he reminds Billy of Neil—just like how so many of his destructive behaviors are all about Neil. Sensing he’s about to spiral and not wanting to lash out further at Steve, he tries to leave.

“I just—don’t want you getting hurt,” Harrington insisted.

“Noted. Roger that,” he said, bitingly, and Harrington glared, losing patience. Billy tried to press Pause. Didn’t know why he was being so—“Sorry.” He breathed in. Out. “I should go. M’all screwy—I don’t wanna be a dick. I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to—” Harrington looked gutted, and Billy couldn’t stand that, rounded the counter before he knew it. Insinuated himself between long legs, wrapped himself around Harrington’s torso and got an affirming squeeze in return. “Don’t care if you’re being a dick,” Harrington mumbled.

“I care,” Billy said, and stalled out there. He’d been on such a good stretch for a while—hadn’t felt like this in… weeks? This riotous inner mess pulling him in different directions, thrumming in that panicky, aimless way that demanded some kind of release, that sometimes ended in explosions if he couldn’t redirect it. Numb it. Drown it.

It wasn’t altogether unprecedented, periods of relative peace. Of even-keeled almost-normalcy. For one thing, Neil always lay off a bit during basketball season—the one time of year when he deemed Billy marginally less of a fuckup—so there was less to rock the emotional boat, those months. And it helped to have a Neil-approved reason to be out of the house a lot. So yeah—nothing had really sent him spiraling.

But now it was back: that roiling mass just below the surface—a subconscious disturbance that was liable to boil over at a moment’s notice, and he didn’t want to accidentally burn anyone if it did, least of all Harrington. It was partly the fight with Carver, and his mixed-up feelings about it, partly the crummy resentment that came with uncovering the roots of yet another warped behavior and finding they sprouted directly from Neil. Like Billy was a dumb puppet laboring under the delusion that he was a real boy, when really every jerk of his rotten strings was dear old dad.

Huge, heaving sigh, so big Billy could feel the lungs expand and contract within his hold. Harrington tipped his head back, and Billy obligingly dipped down for a kiss, tried to convey through the gentle press of lips that they were okay—but he couldn’t quite repress a fine tremor.

“I care,” he said again, drawing back, trying to step away. Big warm hands framed his face, and he stilled, looked up to find Harrington evaluating him closely.

“By ‘screwy,’ do you mean like that day we did this?” His pinky brushed the hoop in Billy’s right earlobe. “Because I gave you my number for reason.” A small, stern smile. “Remember?”

Billy did. It was the fourth phone number he’d ever memorized—after his home phone, his grandparents’ place, and Cherry Lane. He’d mentally placed the Harrington landline in the empty category that had once belonged to Carlsbad: In Case of Emergency. He nodded in answer to both questions.

“So,” Harrington said, leading. His thumbs stroked Billy’s cheeks, under his eyes. “Don’t go. Tell me what you—need.”

Everything went tight: Billy’s throat, his lungs, every muscle. Tight and trembling. “I don’t know,” he whispered through gritted teeth. The tingle behind his nose heralded tears. “I can’t—”

It was all a jumble. Knew he’d half intended to go home and instigate something: deliberately wake the monster, walk into Neil’s backhand, maybe add some symmetry to the bruise already blooming. You know, seize some punishment now rather than wait who knows how long for the consequences of his actions. But there was a competing impulse to stay as far away from his puppet-master as possible—to give himself over to some other force, whether human or substance, because… was being in control even an option when so much of what Billy did was a reaction to… him? And so—wouldn’t it be better… to pick who or what was pulling his strings? To at least have that reprieve?

“Can’t—couldn’t you?” Billy asked, breathy and begging, resting more of his weight in Harrington’s hands. “Tell me? What I need? What to do?”

Somehow, Harrington didn’t look confused by that—just considering, cautious. Probably helped that he already knew Billy sometimes liked being ordered around during sex, but that had only ever been little commands here and there, a cheeky means of teasing more than anything. Not quite—as all-encompassing as this.

Harrington slowly pushed back on him until he was standing upright, let his hands fall to Billy’s jittery shoulders.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” Harrington said. It wasn’t a question, but Billy nodded anyway. “Okay.”

Already Billy was buzzing in anticipation—primed to drop to his knees, or strip and bend over. Whatever mind-wiping method was on offer, he’d take it.

Harrington was chewing on his lip, lost in thought. Then he took Billy’s hand, guided him back so he could stand up. Didn’t lace their fingers together like usual, but sort of—grabbed his palm. Held it between them.

“Come on,” he said. Then, in the tone of someone testing a theory: “Past your bedtime, baby.”

Oh. Billy’s eyes went glassy as everything froze. He thought they were gonna—fuck. Not—whatever this was.

“Okay?” Harrington checked.

Billy cleared his throat, blinked till his brain rebooted. “Yeah,” he managed.

Before leading him by the hand out of the kitchen, Harrington asked if he needed anything—Was he hungry? Thirsty? Billy stared, blank, still finding his footing.

“My head,” he said, at last. “Hurts.”

They went to the medicine cabinet. He downed some Advil with the water Harrington gave him in a little Dixie cup.

Harrington kept firm hold of his hand up the stairs, and every step was a toss-up on whether Billy was gonna laugh or cry. His insides had gone fuzzy—staticky and soft. Then he was in the hallway bathroom brushing his teeth because Harrington had told him to, because Harrington would be back soon to check. Unbidden, he’d been silently running through the ABC song—keep brushing till you get to Z, Billy Bear.

He spit, wiped his mouth on a damp washcloth, his burning eyes.

Harrington smiled when he returned, murmured, “Good job,” and herded him down the hall, toward the door at the end, while good job, good job ran on a loop in Billy’s ears. Beyond the door lay a dim cavernous space—the master bedroom. The light from the hallway and the roaring en suite illuminated a massive four poster bed, gleaming dark wood bureau and wardrobe, a chaise lounge by the window…

Not allowed, he thought, nonsensically. Not allowed to be here.

Steam billowed from the adjoining bathroom, the hard surfaces resounding with the thunderous deluge of multiple taps, and the sound shot him back to—god, when he was… eight? Had it been almost ten years since he’d had a bath?

Since someone had given him a bath? Since his mother had?

He stopped a few feet from the threshold, suddenly unsure whether he wanted to…

Harrington came around to his front, ran reassuring hands up and down slack arms.

“All right?” he asked.

Billy followed the arcs of steam curling as they touched the chilly dark. “Are we not gonna…?”

“I wanna take care of you,” said Harrington. On the upsweep, he continued onward, linked his fingers behind Billy’s neck. “Let me.”

“Like this?” Because why would he—want to?

“Like this,” he confirmed. His eyes were warm—dark and steady and sure.

Billy nodded, and Harrington drew him into the golden glow, closed the door behind them. The air was humid, sticky—and between one blink and the next, the lights had softened, only the fixture over the sinks left on.

There was a shower stall to his left, but it was silent and still—all the noise and vapor poured from the opposite corner, where a shining jacuzzi set into this white marble platform was filling up under the onslaught of a pair of ornate faucets.

Harrington helped him get undressed, even knelt to peel off his socks. Billy snuck a glance at the vanity, beheld himself standing there—his broad shoulders, the cut of his pecs, his dick hanging limp from a tawny thatch of pubes.

Lifted his foot, and his foot was bare. Put it down on cold tile.

The definition of his abs, the curve of his biceps, the purple ringing round a socket the way it had so many times before. Then the image split and split and split—the compounding eye view of a bug—and he remembered, in his mother’s voice, the cadence she’d had when reading aloud:

I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child… to forget is a form of suicide.

Lifted his foot, and his foot was bare. Put it down on cold tile.

What book had it been? She was at the kitchen table while he stirred the soup. Had paused, looked at him, read it again. Don’t forget that, she’d said. Don’t forget that, Bear.

When Harrington stood, Billy’s face was wet.

He’d forgotten it. And usually his memory was so good. Too good.

“Ready?” Harrington asked, holding out his hand.

Billy sniffed, took it in that childlike grasp from before.

Heeded words of warning as he stepped, awkward, into the water, as he lowered himself into the bubbling currents of the jets. The heat enveloped him, touched every part with liquid sun, and he let out a long unwinding breath. His ass touched the smooth bottom, and Harrington gestured him toward the built-in headrest, where a jet waited to pummel every knot out of his lower back. Billy groaned, heard a chuckle.

“Good, huh?” Harrington crouched by the lip, testing the water.

Billy wiped a hand down his face, rinsing the salt tracks from his cheeks. “Been holding out on me, Harrington.” Eyed him under heavy lids, drowsy in the lulling warmth. “Really not gonna join me?”

The responding smile was so soft that Billy fought not to look away—managed not to blink until Harrington turned his attention to the taps, shutting them off, plunging them into an abrupt, echoing quiet.

“No,” he said, pushing up off of the marble to stand. “Isn’t about that. Just relax.”

Billy sighed, closing his eyes. He heard the thump and creak of cabinet doors, the thunk of items deposited by his head, but he was too droopy all over to investigate—totally al dente. So remote that he sensed Harrington nearby as though through a fog. A palm rested on his brow, smoothed the hair off his forehead.

“Still awake, baby?”

Billy swallowed—wondered why baby was different than babe, why it stung but made him wanna lean into it all the same. He nodded.

“Can you sit up?” At Billy’s whine, he chuckled again. “Only for a bit. C’mon.” He wedged a hand under Billy’s shoulder, and with an aggrieved grunt Billy was levered upright. The water sloshed, settled back to a simmer.

Harrington had pushed his sleeves up, perched himself on the marble ledge next to an array of… fancy-pants body wash and hair products. Considering that Billy was but a noodle, cooked tender by the buffeting current, it was no wonder that, when Harrington arched an eyebrow, it took him a couple beats to put two and two together. But when he did…

His face flushed. Like he was—too big for his skin, heart pounding loud. Harrington waited placidly until Billy nodded, then cupped his nape, told him to lay back. Billy didn’t speak, too focused on his breathing; tilted until he dipped like a ladle, the hot water exquisite, lapping his temples, his forehead, the hinge of his jaw. Shivered when he sat up and streams ran down his skin, dark tendrils plastered to his neck. Harrington gave him a sudsy washcloth then patted the side of the tub by his hip, and Billy shifted so his back was against the smooth surface.

A whisper, warm in his ear: “This okay?”

Billy filled in the rest—that I’m behind you?—and breathed out a broken laugh. “Yeah.” His only associations here were Ma. Just her.

While he scrubbed at his pits, his crotch, strong soapy fingers massaged his scalp, circling firm to work up a lather, and holy fuck, he did not recall it feeling this good as a kid. Damn near divine. Like, so good his dick was taking an interest—until, that is, he noticed some familiar movements up there… distinctly sculpting.

“Are you giving me a mohawk?”

“Maybe.”

Billy turned to level a joking glare at his tormenter, and Harrington let out a giggle.

“Looks good on you,” he said, then leaned over to fill up a plastic cup with fresh water from the faucet. “Tip your head back, baby.”

Billy did, eyes slipping shut, and didn’t mind at all when it took a couple cascades of water—so hot, but not too hot—to wash it out. Pretended it was cleansing him of more than just soap suds.

Harrington offered conditioner, and Billy’s eager nod made him laugh.

When at last Harrington got up to put the supplies away, Billy unfolded, reacquainting himself with the best jet by the headrest, and thought he’d never felt so… pristine. Weightless. A weird buoyancy in the chest rather than floaty in the brain, as when Harrington mind-wiped him the usual way. Like… out, damned spot. And it was out.

Drifting as he was, it took him a moment to realize Harrington had sat on the tile floor, right where Billy had draped an arm… and how could he resist? Harrington hummed when sluggish fingers sank into his hair, craned for better access, and even this spacey, Billy knew what that meant—gathered a fist of brown locks and lightly squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the pull.

“How’d you know?” Billy asked, quiet over the bubbling jets. “To do all this?”

Harrington’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Gloria,” he said. “Nanny number two. Had this whole—bedtime routine. Brush, bath, story. It was the best.”

After a pause, hoping he’d keep going, Billy prodded. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harrington snorted. “She would sing, tuck me in the right way… They let her go when I was—six, maybe? Seven? And nanny number three said I was old enough for showers, so…” He shrugged.

Billy combed his fingers through silky strands, a slow sweeping arc. “No more songs? Stories?”

“She made me brush my teeth, still.”

God, that tone. It was a Harrington specialty—this jaunty, blithe bitterness—and it stabbed Billy every time.

“Babe,” he said, tugging, and when that didn’t work: “Baby.”

“You’re baby,” Harrington said, finally looking over his shoulder. Billy tugged again, and Harrington sighed, shifted into a kneeling crouch, his arms crossed on the ledge. Billy curled forward, mirroring him.

“We can both be,” he said. “You think I don’t wanna take care you, too?”

Harrington’s mouth twitched, side to side, gaze glued to the seam between fiberglass and marble.

And that… that silence was deafening—so damning that something sprang loose, and Billy was murmuring hey, reaching to tip Harrington’s chin, coax his eyes up. They shone, glimmering in the half light. And Billy saw him, in there—the child inside.

“I—” Billy choked on a painful lump. Took a beat to gulp it down. “I do. Course I do.”

Harrington didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Billy watched nostrils flare, his throat seize, the sheen pool at his lashes. Remembered that night when Harrington told him he could cry if he needed to.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can… tell me.”

It wasn’t like Billy, the way Harrington caved in. He smiled, for one thing—this ghastly crooked baring of teeth—and a few tears spilled over rictus cheeks. Just a few before he ran dry. Gasped a punctured laugh.

“Christ, I used to…” Shook his head, unfocused—a million miles off. “I used to do the routine with my bear. After she left. I’d help him brush his teeth and pretend to give him a bath in the sink and I’d read to him but I couldn’t really read so I’d just make stuff up based on the pictures…”

Billy blinked away his own prickle of tears and quirked trembling lips. “That explains it, then—why you were so good at this. You had practice.”

Harrington chuckled wetly, propped his head on his hand. “Guess so.”

He was trying—Billy was trying so hard not to picture it… a little kid with a brown mop of hair, tucking his teddy into bed, play-acting what he wanted for himself but wasn’t getting anymore.

A phantom kiss on his forehead, a sense memory from way deep in the archives, and before he knew it, he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harrington’s brow—clumsy, catching half skin and half hair.

He sank back down in the water, chin pillowed on his wrist, and when their eyes locked, something had—shifted. Thought about how they weren’t each other’s everything but were… some things.

Things they hadn’t been able to name.

“I’ll be your baby,” he said. “And you’ll be mine?”

The slope of Harrington’s shoulder rose and fell, the heave of release—relief. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. He nodded.

full chapter

[yubsie]

Because Mothers’ Day... here is a snippet from the first part of the Shatterpoint Order AU (which i apparently need to tile the individual stories of? How rude.)

The Lawquanes worked quickly to get everything into place. They must have had experience moving through these processes. As she watched Suu go about her work it slowly dawned on Hera that Rex might have had an ulterior motive in selecting these particular contacts to assist them right now.

When things were nearly in order, she approached Suu in the galley. There were few enough mothers in the Alliance and not many of them were Twi'leks. And if she was right, she might actually know things that only a very narrow group did. "I don't mean to pry but... is Shaeeah your biological child?"

There was a certain family resemblance, but families tended to form strangely in the past few decades. Her fully human children were evidence enough of that.

"Mine, but not Cut's." Suu watched her face, waiting for the real question.

So this was what Rex was thinking, then. "I only ask because I'm pregnant." She hadn't expected to tell a stranger, but she had so many questions. Actually meeting someone who could answer them was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Suu gestured at the couch. "In that case you should sit down."

She often protested when given instructions like that. Somehow hearing it from a woman who had been through the same situation was very different though. She'd been on her feet for... a while. "My doctor hasn't been able to find much information about hybrid children." Just seeing Shaeeah had relaxed a knot in her back. She hadn't even  realized how much she needed to see a living person with the same genetic background as her baby.

[rabbithub]

"You could have found this out earlier!" Doppio growled, angry. "You could have tried to find this woman to settle down with her instead of brooding like some jackass! Ma siete stupidi, cazzo?!"

Oh, this will be a ride....

[tartppola]

heavy is the head that wears the crown

[ghost-bxrd]

Stony silence rings from the other end of the line, but Jason knows Bruce is listening. Listening and running through several possibilities of how someone could have gotten this number while simultaneously tracking the call signal.

This is gonna be fucking gold.

Time to sell it.

“Dad,” he sobs, pitching his voice until it breaks, teeth chattering exaggeratedly, “Dad, please, I’m scared, I-“ Jason cuts himself off with a scream and another series of sobs, “Please, I can’t— it’s locked! Please, no, Dad, it’s locked—“

A sharp intake of breath, the dull thump of something heavy colliding unexpectedly.

“Dad!” Jason cries, calling upon every single drama class he’s ever had, “Please… please- it’s almost to zero- please, I’m sorry, please, please, it hurts so much-“

Bruce breaks.

“Jason, Jason, hold on Jaylad, hold on, I will find-“

Jason smashes the phone against the marble dress of the creepy angel standing guard over his grave. The pieces vanish into the wet grass, like an occult offering eaten by Gotham’s soil.

Then Jason turns and walks away with a gleeful little smile.

But not without flipping the stupid angel off one last time.

— Grave Pretender sneak peek

[egelskop]

version 2.0 of this one.

you can get it as a print. if you want.

[sister-lucifer]

Man Up: A Preview

T4T Tim Wright/Masky x Transmasc!Reader

CW: force masc, degradation, use of homophobic language (i.e. sissy, pansy), generally mean, pissed off dom Tim

“I don’t wanna see you in any of that pansy shit ever again, do you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Tim, please…!” You whimper, grabbing his wrist and weakly trying to free yourself from his grip. 

“I asked you a question, boy. Do you hear me?” 

You nod as best you can, frantically attempting to placate him. 

“Y-Yes, yes! I hear you, okay?! Let go…!” 

He debates the order for a moment, ultimately deciding to concede. He releases his grip on your face, but doesn’t back up. He leans down to speak into your ear, his breath warm on your delicate skin. 

“You’re a man now. You’re gonna stop acting like a fuckin’ sissy. No more skirts, no more lace, no more of that shit I know for a damn fact you hate wearing. It’s for your own good.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you can’t force out any words. The humiliation of this ordeal is making your throat clamp shut. You didn’t think Tim had noticed. How stupid you must be for being so obvious. 

“…I’m sorry,” is the only response you can manage, a little whisper of regret. You keep your gaze trained on the floor, too afraid to look up at Tim. Even now, he thinks, you’re cowering. Pathetic. 

“Let me tell you what you’re gonna do, boy,” He says, placing two hands on your shoulders and squeezing a bit, “You’re gonna take off that frilly ass outfit. All of it. You’re gonna strip down nice and naked, then you’re gonna lay on that bed and wait for me to get back. I’m not done with you.”

[crimsongrimoire]

never call the iudex's bluff worst mistake of wrios life. rip wriothesley then-now he died doing what he loved (flirting too much and it backfiring on him)

[felkithecreator]

Me panicking because I'm having too much fun planning and writing out my TOTK sequel-fix-it where everything goes fucking crazy fic when I should be writing chapter 17 of Reach Through The Mist

Talk to me about Totk, what you like and what you would change. I already have plans/a layout of how things are gonna go but I still wanna hear people's opinions and what-not. Also lmk if u want snippets (if things go well I'll have the first chapter out by Dec 2024 but that's a long fucking way from now so <3 )

[aston-angel]

Niki Lauda convincing everyone he was anything but as insane as the rest of them was the biggest con he ever pulled. I'm enamoured with the workings of his mind.

Something in me broke when I got near the end, and he was like "No, I WILL take time out of my book to complain about people stealing my clothes, the house never having yoghurt, and this one guy trying to sell me a meadow above market price, but I ain't having it."

Also,

>barges into rival's room >today i vin ze championship >refuses the elaborate >leaves

[dayfalwastaken]

The Devil meets the Rabbit's proxy.

“I do hate to see squandered potential. You understand. Your ex-employer, Mr. Afton, had neglected to inform you of… well, everything that was important. Things you should have known before you were sent to act independently, as much as you could have, anyway… given your particular… predicament.” He walked around her. Slowly, and almost gracefully, taking careful steps and speaking as if he was disappointed, though also a bit amused. “In spite of your lack of general, er- information, however… you have performed spectacularly.” He stopped right before her, holding his hands in front of himself like one would do when saying a prayer. “Such performance warrants… reward.”

She didn’t wait for him to continue. Her mind went to the one thing she’d wanted since the start. Above his promises and certainties about her future, above her own goals, small as they were. She’d never forgotten why she’d started this in the first place. Ever since her “birth”, the sole purpose for pushing so far…

“I want-” She couldn’t get three words out before the other’s expression turned pitying.

“-I apologize, Miss Vanny, but I cannot bring your mother back.”

She felt like screaming. Like she would rip her hair off and claw her eyes out the next second.

Finally, after the hell she’d endured for almost two years, she’d found someone who could have helped her. Saved the remainders of her mental well-being. Saved…

Because despite those memories not belonging to her, she had them all the same. Vanny remembered the lies she had told at the pressure of her old man- the betrayed look on her mother’s face as she lost the court battle. And later, the police coming to inform them of what had happened. It was all there, always. The guilt, first and foremost, followed by the determination. The pain too. Not just Vanessa’s.

And just as hope had begun to shine her way, there was nothing. Again. As it had been with Afton. A possibility of peace ripped out of her grasp.

She supposed she did not deserve it after all the lives she’d cut short.

She didn’t know why she kept going. Why she put herself through this hell instead of trying her hardest to fight back. There was nothing left to lose, after all. Nothing to be threatened with. Vanessa had had her life striped of any source of joy long ago, and with her… so had Vanny’s.

“Do not look so downcast, my dear. There is something else I can offer… Something that I know you would find of… equal value.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” She barked back, venom dripping from her tone. She was tired of everyone’s bullshit.

The Shadow Freddy tipped his head forward, dots of light gleaming brighter in the darkness that surrounded most of his form. She didn’t have to see him smile to know he had done so.

“Agency.”

The void enveloped him once again, and in his place a spotlight shined, illuminating a round wooden table with a VR headset on top.

“Put on the headset, Miss Vanny. Put it on and… face your reflection.”

...

(This is a a preview of chapter 23, but I just had to get it out. Y'know, to let people know of what comes after. I guess I shouldn't be wondering why it's taking me so long to post the next chapter if I'm working ahead, should I XD 😅?)

[yubsie]

And for Father’s Day, here’s another little snippet of Or the Order Will Come to You (aka Shatterpoint Order AU Part 1...). It will probably start posting this week, even!

This was fine.

Kanan was on a mission with Hera's father and pretending that the man wasn't going to be a grandfather in a few months.

It was fine.

"Hera is taking to her new role well."

The mission .They could talk about the mission and the war and not worry about anything else the new role had coincided with. "We wouldn't have been able to pull off anything of this scale a year ago. 

"Numa and I are going to lay the charges," Sabine announced. "You two good to go after the data?"

Leaving him alone with  Hera's father to continue not discussing what he must have noticed. Which continued to be fine.

[xmonday-mintx]

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Prologue Teaser

All was still.

It had been still in that particular neck of the Gravity Falls woods for almost a full year.

The residents of the nearby town knew better than to venture too close, and their sentiments were shared by the beings—animal and supernatural alike—who had formerly occupied that part of the forest. Even the Manotaurs had long since abandoned their nearby man cave out of fear—and if even the self-proclaimed representations of manliness themselves wouldn’t dare approach the area, then the rest of the population was in no hurry to do the same.

Such stillness made every step from a pair of unknown feet more prominent, twigs and foliage snapping beneath them as their hooded owner moved swiftly through the underbrush. And despite the darkness of the night sky above—with only the few stray moonbeams through the leaves of the canopy layer acting as a light source—their pace was quick and undisturbed as they ventured deeper into the woods. 

Only broken once they finally arrived at their destination.

A destination in the form of a triangle-shaped statue, half-embedded in the soft earth.

The forest had made several attempts to claim it. Twisting vines encased the statue like a gift box ribbon, several clumps of worn moss peppered the surface on all sides, and the sun-bleached patches of stone were illuminated by a soft glow beneath the moon’s gentle eye.

But despite nature’s best efforts, it still remained. Remained with an open hand on a permanently-outstretched arm. 

Waiting for the day someone finally came along to make a deal.

The mysterious figure stood still for a few minutes, their gaze locked on the singular eye that made up most of the triangle’s face. Their footsteps—those still-shattering footsteps—began again after another minute of staring, this time to close the gap between them and the statue.

And once that gap was properly closed, the figure’s own arm extended towards the statue— 

—and an orange, feathered hand clasped around its stone one.

There was a faint spark in the triangle’s single eye—the first sign of life it had shown in months—before the figure vanished in a flash of light, that little bit of life fading back to nothing with their departure.

And much like the statue itself, all fell still again.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

"...my one year anniversary being on testosterone!!! I had a vision of capturing my total gender euphoria [...] My trans and nonbinary body is divine I honor my body as it is now, and as it will be as I continue to become more and more myself..."