#that this level would be negligible. wild

[trollbreak]

OH THE COMFIES R BECAUSE I WAS IN PAIN

[tangibletechnomancy]

The reason I took interest in AI as an art medium is that I've always been interested in experimenting with novel and unconventional art media - I started incorporating power tools into a lot of my physical processes younger than most people were even allowed to breathe near them, and I took to digital art like a duck to water when it was the big, relatively new, controversial thing too, so really this just seems like the logical next step. More than that, it's exciting - it's not every day that we just invent an entirely new never-before-seen art medium! I have always been one to go fucking wild for that shit.

Which is, ironically, a huge part of why I almost reflexively recoil at how it's used in the corporate world: because the world of business, particularly the entertainment industry, has what often seems like less than zero interest in appreciating it as a novel medium.

And I often wonder how much less that would be the case - and, by extension, how much less vitriolic the discussion around it would be, and how many fewer well-meaning people would be falling for reactionary mythologies about where exactly the problems lie - if it hadn't reached the point of...at least an illusion of commercial viability, at exactly the moment it did.

See, the groundwork was laid in 2020, back during covid lockdowns, when we saw a massive spike in people relying on TV, games, books, movies, etc. to compensate for the lack of outdoor, physical, social entertainment. This was, seemingly, wonderful for the whole industry - but under late-stage capitalism, it was as much of a curse as it was a gift. When industries are run by people whose sole brain process is "line-go-up", tiny factors like "we're not going to be in lockdown forever" don't matter. CEOs got dollar signs in their eyes. Shareholders demanded not only perpetual growth, but perpetual growth at this rate or better. Even though everyone with an ounce of common sense was screaming "this is an aberration, this is not sustainable" - it didn't matter. The business bros refused to believe it. This was their new normal, they were determined to prove -

And they, predictably, failed to prove it.

So now the business bros are in a pickle. They're beholden to the shareholders to do everything within their power to maintain the infinite growth they promised, in a world with finite resources. In fact, by precedent, they're beholden to this by law. Fiduciary duty has been interpreted in court to mean that, given the choice between offering a better product and ensuring maximum returns for shareholders, the latter MUST be a higher priority; reinvesting too much in the business instead of trying to make the share value increase as much as possible, as fast as possible, can result in a lawsuit - that a board member or CEO can lose, and have lost before - because it's not acting in the best interest of shareholders. If that unsustainable explosive growth was promised forever, all the more so.

And now, 2-3-4 years on, that impossibility hangs like a sword of Damocles over the heads of these media company CEOs. The market is fully saturated; the number of new potential customers left to onboard is negligible. Some companies began trying to "solve" this "problem" by violating consumer privacy and charging per household member, which (also predictably) backfired because those of us who live in reality and not statsland were not exactly thrilled about the concept of being told we couldn't watch TV with our own families. Shareholders are getting antsy, because their (however predictably impossible) infinite lockdown-level profits...aren't coming, and someone's gotta make up for that, right? So they had already started enshittifying, making excuses for layoffs, for cutting employee pay, for duty creep, for increasing crunch, for lean-staffing, for tightening turnarounds-

And that was when we got the first iterations of AI image generation that were actually somewhat useful for things like rapid first drafts, moodboards, and conceptualizing.

Lo! A savior! It might as well have been the digital messiah to the business bros, and their eyes turned back into dollar signs. More than that, they were being promised that this...both was, and wasn't art at the same time. It was good enough for their final product, or if not it would be within a year or two, but it required no skill whatsoever to make! Soon, you could fire ALL your creatives and just have Susan from accounting write your scripts and make your concept art with all the effort that it takes to get lunch from a Star Trek replicator!

This is every bit as much bullshit as the promise of infinite lockdown-level growth, of course, but with shareholders clamoring for the money they were recklessly promised, executives are looking for anything, even the slightest glimmer of a new possibility, that just might work as a life raft from this sinking ship.

So where are we now? Well, we're exiting the "fucking around" phase and entering "finding out". According to anecdotes I've read, companies are, allegedly, already hiring prompt engineers (or "prompters" - can't give them a job title that implies there's skill or thought involved, now can we, that just might imply they deserve enough money to survive!)...and most of them not only lack the skill to manually post-process their works, but don't even know how (or perhaps aren't given access) to fully use the software they specialize in, being blissfully unaware of (or perhaps not able/allowed to use) features such as inpainting or img2img. It has been observed many times that LLMs are being used to flood once-reputable information outlets with hallucinated garbage. I can verify - as can nearly everyone who was online in the aftermath of the Glasgow Willy Wonka Dashcon Experience - that the results are often outright comically bad.

To anyone who was paying attention to anything other than please-line-go-up-faster-please-line-go-please (or buying so heavily into reactionary mythologies about why AI can be dangerous in industry that they bought the tech companies' false promises too and just thought it was a bad thing), this was entirely predictable. Unfortunately for everyone in the blast radius, common sense has never been an executive's strong suit when so much money is on the line.

Much like CGI before it, what we have here is a whole new medium that is seldom being treated as a new medium with its own unique strengths, but more often being used as a replacement for more expensive labor, no matter how bad the result may be - nor, for that matter, how unjust it may be that the labor is so much cheaper.

And it's all because of timing. It's all because it came about in the perfect moment to look like a life raft in a moment of late-stage capitalist panic. Any port in a storm, after all - even if that port is a non-Euclidean labyrinth of soggy, rotten botshit garbage.

Any port in a storm, right? ...right?

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[katbites]

here are all of the brave souls that i lost today in my hyper randomized nuzlocke runs that i did today... they will never be forgotten. and always be missed.

i will be streaming this again same time next week. (psst heres the link to my twich) so if you want to see me avenge my friends, stop by and see the bloodshed. hopefully not our blood but one can hope.

under the readmore will be the details behind their deaths.

RUN 1 -----

SPARROW - flying type camerupt. an angelic sweetheart, a comforting presence in the team. by far the most powerful, died due to my own negligence fighting a monk in the sprout tower, along with puddles.

SIR SPIN - rock type tyrogue. died to an aron hitting him with a bonmerang. i thought there was hope but forgot that it was a two hit move. named for manifesting him to be a hitmontop.

PUDDLES - water type surskit. found in the ruins of alph, died alonside sparrow fighting some random ass monk in the sprout tower. his talent was only knowing aurora beam.

RUN 2 -----

PRINCE - fire/ice type eevee. he was a mysterious fellow, with his Two Different Kinds of Demon Eyes (one with the power of ice and the other with fire) but he always had ways of surprising everyone. with his ability to produce honey. which is weird.

BABYMETAL - steel type weedle. a timid gal, came along with our party because she thought it would be safe for her in a group. unfortunately, she was wrong. but in her last moments she fought with no fear in her heart, willing to sacrifice her life for her friends that she met 10 minutes ago.

DAVE - rock/ground type buizel. had just joined the party right before youngster joey's entei. he didnt even know what was coming.

run 2's party all fell tragically against youngster joey, who in this run happened to have an entei. and had supereffective moves against prince. they all fought valiantly but a level 4 entei was just too much for them to handle.

in conclusion-- of course youngster joey is the one to have an entei. im literally laughing my ass off in like. despair. and in the first one i kept on losing encounters because they were all like mythicals and legendaries xD i am NOT going to be increasing capture rates that is the cowards way out.

but i have to play every battle like its the last one, because even wild pokemon will surprise you (like in sir spin's case).... one of these days i will CONQUER this challenge. and victory will taste so sweet. lol.

[script-a-world]

Hello! I am building a scifi setting, and in this setting there aren't really any known planets besides Earth that would naturally support life (not human life, anyway), but over hundreds of years humans have terraformed several planets to support life in order to build settlements there, and that has included introducing plants and animals from Earth to those planets (my understanding is that terraforming, at least on this sort of degree, isn't really likely to be practical in real life, but that's something I am willing to handwave and go "it works because i say it works, just trust me bro" on).

Once that is done, the wild animals and wild plants brought over to a terraformed planet generally speaking are never transported from one planet to another again, although domestic animals, plants that are farmed, and humans themselves, might be. And I can see insects and microbes getting inadvertently transported from place to place among different kinds of cargo, since they're small enough to escape notice (I mean, the most venomous spider species in my country is a population of spiders that exists in one natural history museum because there were some accidentally brought over in a shipment of stuff from South America in the 60s or so. I can well see that happening on a planetary scale in a scifi story, too - but anyway)

My question is, if you have a population of animals that's isolated from other populations of the species to that degree, how quickly do you start seeing clear differences in the traits that different populations have? Like I don't expect to have entirely different species yet in a matter of centuries, but if you have a population of, say, roe deer, that would have been entirely isolated from other populations for like five hundred years, could there be differences between that population and other populations that a layman might be able to spot?

Tex: If everything’s on the same planet, it’s going to be difficult to truly isolate an area or population, because it’s going to be affected by the same planetary conditions, such as orbit around the nearest star, the ocean and its environment, etc.

Darwin’s finches, for example, have distinct variations in phenotype despite being effectively the same species (a similar situation for the Galapagos tortoises), which shows that a species’ genotypes can still appear as different physical traits given different environmental stresses.

It’s difficult to tell when evolutionary changes occur, because this depends on not only the species, but the environmental changes, the speed of such changes, and how deeply they impact a species in question. There currently isn’t any research being done on evolutionary characteristics of animals and their niche environments that I know of which has already been occurring for a hundred or more years, as much of our current generation of science is relatively recent given the scope of technological evolution.

Taking a look at the niche environment, how it differs from the originating environment (if this is part of the equation), how the two differ, and what environmental pressures are exerted would be a good start in extrapolating how phenotypic expressions might be altered without delving into the much more complex subject of epigenetic changes.

Utuabzu: Gravity, levels of light, the colour of the star, the length of the year and day and the degree of axial tilt are all going to have to be adapted to, since there's not that much that can be done about them. Organisms that evolved seasonal behaviours are going to lose those after a while on a planet with negligible axial tilt and thus negligible seasons. Organisms on tidally locked planets are going to lose traits dependent on a day-night cycle. Organisms on a high-gravity planet will get stockier, while those on a lower gravity one will get taller and thinner.

Photosynthesis is dependent on the interaction of a photosynthetic pigment with certain wavelengths of light. The dominant photosynthetic pigment on Earth is chlorophyll a, which reflects away the wavelengths we call 'green' and absorbs most of the rest of the visible spectrum. One theory for why it's dominant is that because the sun's emissions peak around the green part of the spectrum, this protects the photosynthetic organism from getting burnt - one point in favour of this is that non-chlorophyll a using photosynthesizers tend to favour shade. But around a different star, or even further out in our own solar system, chlorophyll a might not be ideal, and plants that use other proteins would reflect different spectra of light, and thus appear different colours.

But in terms of evolutionary timescale, it depends on generation length. Things evolve based on mutations that offer some benefit to the offspring of the mutant, leading them to be more successful than their peers and have more offspring in turn, which then are also more successful than their peers without the mutation and thus spread it through the genepool. A civilisation that can terraform planets on a reasonable timescale can almost certainly use genetic engineering as a shortcut to ensure their new biosphere can thrive immediately.

So you have a fair bit of leeway in terms of what you can do with other planets' biospheres. Terraforming on a scale shorter than thousands of years would already take technology well beyond anything we have, so you can handwave a fair bit.

[artsycervidae]

Moksha: Chapter 12

Hinata is conflicted on their personal goal and its collateral damage. Tetsuya unlocks a hidden talent.

Word Count: 5.2k

Refer to the masterpost for triggers and chapters.

It was good to keep their hands busy. Hinata had plenty to think about as they prepared the smoke barricade and all its moving parts: dirt holes, stone pits, wisteria blossoms and oils for a little flavor-- it wouldn't last all night once lit. It didn't need to. It only needed to restrict the demon's options. Gyutaro could surely snuff a fire or two if it were his intention to undermine this scheme, kill any stray campers, and flee from society; though Hinata would be surprised if he decided to abandon Yoshiwara to the Demon Corps. That clever bastard Muzan seemed to let his allies run wild, but there was always a strategy behind it: Gyutaro held a very important station here, they knew it even if they had no evidence yet. Was he farming humans? Experimenting with demon blood? Looking for something? The red light district was such a unique place to settle down, Hinata couldn't wait to have the demon's plots in their hands. They itched to peel away his layers, to disjoint the limbs of his plan, to spread it out before their hungry eyes and disassemble his absolute control.

Daydreaming about Gyutaro brought them a great deal of needed comfort and distraction: they found demonic intervention to be far more rewarding a puzzle than any other. Could the Upper Sixth Kizuki cross this clearing before wisteria-choked smoke melted his lungs? Should Hinata sprinkle wisteria oil on trees, like that of planting sumac in a garden? Would any of this even slow the demon? Hinata mentally urged for the sun to fall quicker so they could seek him out, to see his crooked and lean silhouette, analyze his motions, generally appreciate the blood-curdling fear and heart-bruising excitement his gaze elicited... but with all the hopelessness of a true madman, Hinata kept eyes on the back of their head even during the day. (If there was anything Hinata knew about powerful demons, it was that the apex predators could be anywhere, anything, anyone, anytime. There were few realities tethering demons to the level of humans save for death by sunlight exposure, nichirin beheadment, and wisteria poisoning. Plenty of loopholes to evade such fates.)

'Don't underestimate humans either, dipshit,' a vulgar but affectionate presence from their left hand reminded them. 'That's what got me in this situation in the first place.' They supposed that imagining the next showdown against Gyutaro couldn't remain a priority for long... there were other things to consider. The mole, specifically. Nobutoshi's little agent.

After the firepits had been constructed and the excess wood left scattered hastily throughout the wilderness, Hinata returned to their 'campsite.' They found Tetsuya had moved to the ground and leaned back against the fallen tree, his breathing steady and rhythmic. 'He's gotten better...' but not good enough.

Hinata peered over the sleeping child and tapped the tree by his head, nichirin knuckles tinkling. No response. 'Too heavy a sleeper. If Gyutaro could operate like Namazu, could burrow underground during the day and suck victims into pitfalls and ditches, then Tetsu would be good as dead. Nobutoshi, what the hell are you thinking, sending a boy like this out here with me? Do you want him to die?'

Possibly. Nobutoshi probably would throw a martyr into the mix, in case he needed leverage over Hinata-- negligent behavior leading to the death of a tsuguko was liable to open investigations. Hinata couldn't claim to know Nobu as well as they used to, but they could see his smug body language: his shapely shoulders pulled back, his foggy blue eyes narrowed, his full lips pressed tight in forced stoicism. Put your own plans aside, protect this poor child if you don't want to get in trouble with me, they figured was his bluff. A game of chicken, wagering human life. A typical Hashira power move.

But Tetsuya wasn't any 'poor child,' was he? Nor was he a simple spy, or bodyguard, or meat shield. It took intense training to sense an Upper Rank's disguised bloodthirst, yet he had felt it before Hinata could. He couldn't be a marechi; Gyutaro wouldn't have wasted time on Hinata if Tetsuya had been aglow with the power of a hundred humans. If the child was to be trusted, he claimed to not See like Nobutoshi. There were few theories left simmering in Hinata's mind, and of course these possibilities made things all the trickier...

There were only two other people who could probe into Hinata's mind like that, resting their hands on the controls running this machine of a person. Nobutoshi needed time, energy, and either consent or imprisonment. Junko alone could get Hinata's complete vulnerability with a mere touch. She could clutch Hinata's shoulder in exactly the way a scared Kenzou could; she could squeeze Hinata's hand tightly like they had once done for other scared children; she knew exactly what made Hinata operate and how to get them to obey.

Hinata was certain they had not been touching Tetsuya when the boy had touched their mind, pulling down their defenses without a sweat. Had he recognized the drawbacks of post-Immolation? Thankfully the worse symptoms hit them in full swing back in town, where nobody really blinked twice at some person emptying their guts in a back alley. (Not that there was anything for their stomach to regurgitate anyway.) But the feeling had yet to abate: like having a little voice in their head, and not the one of the dead. They felt too enclosed, trapped, and stiff. Hinata rolled their shoulders and raised their arms, stretched as hard as they could until the thin slice in their trunk opened up again and seeped in protest. They welcomed the sharp sensation of their skin splitting-- the biting hurt of exposed dermis and meat. They stretched until their body felt empty and clean, the pain purging them of fatigue and apathy.

Whatever Nobutoshi intended for the boy, it couldn't be good. But Hinata still had their plan: high risk, a high reward, but gambling in itself was a rush, making the whole thing feel... normal. Maybe Nobutoshi had taught Tetsuya more than either Mist Breather let on. If Tetsuya could gain obedience with a touch, then it made he and Nobu all the more powerful and dangerous. Someone who could flip the switch, turn Hinata from an exhausted mess into a rampaging weapon, Immolation with an override-- that could be impressive, if it worked. It could also explode their organs. (Imagine that, though!)

Nobutoshi could try to daunt them with mysterious children as blackmail, but they had seen enough limp bodies of lives claimed too soon. Tetsuya's sleeping form may as well be one of those unliving vessels-- sentenced to death, but unaware of it yet. Hinata could still come out of this siege freed, or Nobutoshi would finally find a proper leash for his war dog.

Unless all went wrong. In which case, that dog would drag their handler-- and his spy--into direct danger, killing all three of them, hopefully. Nobody lived forever. Not even demons. Definitely not talented Hashira and their darling, faultless, blameless tsugukos. Hinata could only hope that Gyutaro ate everyone involved before the Demon Corps came barging in.

...

With a groan, Hinata flopped onto the log. Tetsuya didn't rouse as the kinoe began to rifle through the last of their supplies, intending to reproduce more wisteria perfume bombs. As they worked, they wondered how they could make an escape route for the kid if things went poorly. They couldn't help it-- the idea of Junko's beloved brother being placed in the middle of a hellstorm like this made Hinata want to pluck out all their hair and scrape off all their skin. He shouldn't be here; he was supposed to be in The Garden. The safest place for this child was not under Hinata's care or attention. They needed to get rid of him.

"What are you doing?"

Only with a waking witness did Hinata became aware of their posture: one foot perched up on the log as a makeshift table, their fabric-coccooned left hand carefully balancing a glass ornament on their knee while the right hand tried to shakily affix the nozzle onto the wisteria fumigator without compromising the vacuumed space within. Perhaps this made them look a little foolish. Tetsuya rubbed gunk from his eyes, an adorable parody of a sleepy little boy in the suit of a soldier.

"Failing to put this together," Hinata replied. "Sleep alright? I could use your help."

Tetsuya groaned but sat up and scooted closer. He was an excellent student when he felt like listening, watching, and asking questions as Hinata guided him through the procedure. They couldn't help loving this kid, attitude included-- for more reason than being Junko's brother. All according to Nobu's plan, no doubt, and while they minded being manipulated, it was made tolerable by watching Tetsuya take up their craft and put together a perfume bomb on his own. It also probably helped that he had two hands, and could therefore assemble with less trouble and time. "Look at that," Hinata complimented, "that's a beautiful piece of work. Can't wait to see it in action," and they knew Tetsuya liked the praise, if begrudgingly: he had smiled a little before disguising it as a sneer directed towards the sky. Their stomach fluttered with a conflicting twist-- happy to have someone's approval, even if it was only a child's.

They watched him make a couple more and Hinata sensed his companion fall into an at-ease pattern. A quiet camaraderie. "Can you keep making these?"

"What about the bonfires?"

"Already handled."

"I was meaning to ask," Tetsuya said while Hinata settled comfortably on the ground to relax their muscles, "what if the whole forest sets on fire?"

"Fires happen sometimes. What?" Tetsuya had shot them a look of wide-eyed incredulity. "They're set up with dirt and stone around them. Chances are slim that the fires won't just burn out."

"You play dangerous games, Yasumoto."

"We're all playing, Tetsuya," they replied. They rolled their neck over their shoulders, stretched their arms overhead, and breathed fully.

"You like to be especially precarious," the boy admonished, "such as with how little you've been eating." This again. Tetsuya didn't give them a chance to make excuses: "Your style is derivative of Flame Breathing, isn't it? That's a form that stockpiles power, traditionally by eating a lot and then metering out your energy. So... why haven't you been eating enough?"

Look at this little brainiac. He had only seen them in action, what, twice? Hinata coughed a laugh, "Aren't you a studious martial artist?" Those damn kunoichi probably taught him that, or he learned it himself by utilizing his teacher's observational lessons. "Yes. It is. But I can't eat that way anymore, even if I wanted to." Especially around others-- looking at another human while eating was a struggle, when their brain mixed signals and made even the crispest vegetable snap between their teeth like cartilage. Everything tasted like ash and sand or blood and offal-- but they wanted to devour, wanted to gorge on the suffering. Their first meal in front of someone was always for that person's comfort more than their own: and even that had only been salved by eating the man's paper face.

That being said... they wouldn't have minded sharing a meal with Tetsuya again. He made faces as he thought, and Hinata liked to disrupt his moody moments. Too bad about him dropping his lunch, though probably a good thing in the end. Hinata hadn't been up to the task of pretending they weren't scraping the edges of their brain for the barebones motivation to be a normal diner.

"Well, no wonder," Tetsuya mumbled. "Foliage with Flame is probably like throwing a barrel of gunpowder on a campfire. It's a dangerous thing to be practicing on the field without mastering it first."

"What do you know about Foliage Breathing?" Hinata asked, and Tetsuya's entire face clouded over, soured by their audacity.

"I know it was my sister's creation."

And here Hinata was, desecrating her memory, using those parts of her to fuel the hearth of their fighting spirit. That awful feeling of shame nestled into their tattered heart again. Tetsuya clearly lost interest in creating wisteria fumigators but stared at the fully-finished one in his hands. Hinata wished they had renewed the tether between them, to know what he was feeling exactly.

"You know," Hinata began, floundering. "Your sister and I... really liked fighting. And uh... we fought each other a lot. She taught me so much." They felt a woefully insignificant spark of stupidity in saying this. Would Tetsuya believe Hinata had good intentions, once upon a time? That if Hinata could have, they would have died for her a thousand times over? They would have disassembled their own legacy into its most basic pieces if it meant sparing her the end she met, if the rotted foundation of their reputation wasn't so subpar a building material for a person so fucking phenomenal. 'If I could give her back to you, I would,' they wanted to tell him.

This only mildly interested Tetsuya. His lower lip protruded out as he shifted his eyes to the grassy patches of the forest floor. "... Did you really know her?"

"Of course."

"Do you... have any stories about her?" Asked so hopefully that the illusion of a young boy asking for fairy tales was complete.

There was no language for the reprieve and distress this gave them. It was as if Tetsuya's words cured them of some claustrophobia and pulled them from a deep place, only to introduce the vastness of the sky and its companionable agoraphobia. "I have... lots."

"Can you tell me one?"

"A story?" Hinata asked unintelligently. "About her?"

"Yes."

"We don't have the time for that," they murmured to avoid this subject. The most recent memories to them were the strongest and most fractured. Which Junko was Tetsuya looking for: the one everyone worshipped, the one whose hubris led to her disappearance off the sea barge, or... or the one that only seemed to appear to Hinata in crystal clarity?

It would destroy Nobutoshi, if Tetsuya confronted his teacher about that Junko. But was it worth hurting that smug bastard if it meant hurting the boy along the way?

Tetsuya's face crumpled in, and Hinata, desperate to make amends, picked the next best option. "We don't have time for stories, but..."

She'd never forgive Hinata for what they planned to do next. But it was far too late to respect her wishes now. Her brother already became a Demon Slayer. Demons were a regular threat to him and he would never be safe again, unless she could protect him from beyond the grave. The least Hinata could do was pass her memory back to her remaining family.

"Your sister designed Foliage Breathing to be highly compatible with other styles. It's especially vicious with Mist Breathing--" Tetsuya's eyes snapped upward, his bottle green eyes astonished "-- Oh yes," Hinata chuckled. "Junko wanted him to learn it, too. Nobutoshi was always a perfectionist though. Always fond of neat, tidy lines. Never liked his food to mix, either. Not even curry!"

"He never told me that," Tetsuya remarked, as if this somehow held meaning to him.

'Get used to that, kiddo.' "He could conceptualize it, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He was too proud of his Mist form." It was a nice way to put it: Nobutoshi considered a hybrid style as a sully on the forms his father passed on to him, even if it was meant as a gift. It was just further proof that the Mist Hashira had always been cold, uncaring, and awful... and Hinata was still here, chatting up his learned tsuguko, offering to either improve or undo his hard work. "What do you say?"

Tetsuya blinked. "What do I say to what?"

"Do you want to learn Foliage Breathing?"

"After the mission?" Tetsuya asked. What an optimist.

"Right now. On the fly." And Hinata grinned, flashing their sharp teeth.

Tetsuya gulped then hesitantly rose to his feet, setting the fumigator aside. "I'm ready."

'Probably not,' was the uncharitable assumption. But it remained to be seen if Hinata would spare this kid and send him away or condemn his soul to Hell with their own.

-----

Somehow, for as abrasive a personality Hinata was, it was easy to learn under their instruction. They let Tetsuya use their katana for practice, showing him first the footwork then the motions of Foliage Breathing forms in slow movement, finally encouraging him to mimic them. (He was embarrassed to do so, but it helped to pretend.) Tetsuya couldn't bring himself to mind when they tapped his shoulder or forehead or knee, trying to influence his posture nonverbally, offering tangible corrections without as many nonsensical metaphors.

Tetsuya had to admit, even to himself, that it was a shame that Hinata wasn't a Hashira or proctor; then again, they would probably have too much fun harassing their students; the Corps needed more quality swordsmen, not traumatized children. He understood what his teacher meant now-- Hinata was valuable, but capricious. Too dangerous to give power, too precious to let loose.

But even with the hands-on assistance, Tetsuya couldn't get any of the complex, fluid-yet-solid steps right without slowing down and processing his next few moves-- which defeated the purpose of the whole Breathing form, so far as he understood it. As discouraging as this was, Hinata 'rewarded' him to head pats and scalp scritches. "What did you expect?" they said. "The style was made specifically for people much bigger than you. Still, once you're used to it, your usual sword will make up for your lightness," with all the affection of telling him 'You'll flourish then. You'll see.'

The only downside to being Hinata's student was the obscenely unfair pop quiz and their liar's streak. The kinoe had called for a brief break, letting Tetsuya catch his breath as they stretched again. They admired the sunset for a moment, closing their eyes against the idyllic rays. Before long they announced: "Alright. Now's the time to see how much of that you retained. There's not much wind tonight, but that's fine. All that matters is the work is done."

Tetsuya looked to the sun, blocking most of its blazing glare with a raised hand to squint at Hinata. "Maybe we should head straight into Yoshiwara," he suggested instead. He enjoyed the lessons, but he hadn't forgotten why they were still here. "We don't have the time to light fires if we intend to go through the gate--"

"I'll handle it all," Hinata interrupted, sheathing their katana and covering their tracks with haphazard scuffs of the heel. "I doubt the demons use their own front door, so we'll just sneak in. I want you to race me there using what you learned."

"What?" What would running do to help him hone his approach to Foliage Breathing? If he didn't think Hinata knew better, he would be offended at the notion of improving his stamina and speed. (He still wasn't over their picking at his Total Concentration-- which was now seamless, thank you very much.)

"I'll light all the bonfires and hunt you down!" Surprise! Aren't you excited, young Hashimoto?

Absolutely not! "Hunt me down? I don't think you could catch me if I got such a headstart."

"I hope not," Hinata said, "because if I can catch you, then I can't imagine how quickly Gyutaro can dispose of you."

'Just being a pest again,' Tetsuya reassured himself. 'They want me to be scared so I try harder.' "Is there anything you can't do?" He huffed sarcastically, "besides behave like a decent person?"

"I never learned how to swim," Hinata shrugged off a belt from under their kimono robe, two pouches on either side of its worn leather band, and approached the boy to strap their gift over his uniform's white belt.

"Very funny." Tetsuya felt the small gem-like fumigators sway within the pouches, their own contents swirling and splashing.

As the kinoe cinched the belt to his body, they looked at Tetsuya with softer eyes. "It's just me. I won't really hurt you."

This had a strange effect-- Tetsuya wanted to swat the kinoe off and protect his pride. But the cool loveliness of Hinata's low voice made Tetsuya relax. Enough that he admitted, without thinking much about it, "I don't want to disappoint you."

Hinata hesitated, conflicted over something in their mouth, considering the taste and texture of what they wanted to say. They fidgeted with their clothes, folding the loose kimono over their chest and shoulders properly. Then they offered a bit of advice: "I'll tell you what Junko would tell Nobu. It's alright to rely on your sight. But you can't focus on the visible only. Visualize everything, not just your Mist. Once it's in your mind then you can expand from there. A little imagination won't kill you."

Before Testuya could ask for clarification, they said, "We're losing daylight. Are you ready?"

Tetsuya, suddenly pressed for time, mimicked stretching while looking around to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. He then strapped his sheath to his back in hopes its presence would give him more momentum, rather than weigh him down like he suspected it would. "Ready."

"Oh," Hinata added, as though they had completely forgotten to mention until now, "If I catch you, or if you can't get there by sundown, then you have to turn around and stay behind the siege boundary. Tend the bonfires or something. Watch for crows."

This Tetsuya could not abide. "What?!"

"Go," said the empty space where Hinata once was.

Testuya scrambled, disarmed and incensed. 'They think they can send me away and do whatever they want. They think I won't last,' he thought miserably. He had even believed their prompting and commendations. Hadn't he made better wisteria bombs than they could? How could they dismiss him so easily?

He tried to pour this outrage into his legs and lungs, allowing his sleeves to whip beyond his fingers as he sprinted for the red light district. It wasn't long until he could smell distant smoke. 'Seriously?! Already?'

He envisioned how his route would appear on a map as he sped past oncoming trees, noting any obstacles he had to hop over or slide under. He had an impeccable sense of direction, but his panic also kept him fretting over the ever-stengthening floral smog. Attention split between the oncoming scenery and the everchanging rear view. The world ahead kept blurring and sharpening, unable to remain a coherent visualization over the rush of his adrenal spikes. What if he couldn't do even this, besting Hinata in a foot race? Would he wear himself out before facing Gy-- the demon? Would he be assailed and left behind by Hinata?

'They're coming.'

Blood roared in his mind as it tuned itself to something-- someone-- their mind on him, totally undistracted. Not the same as killing intent but barbed with danger all the same. Some wild creature on the hunt for him.

Something in his mind clicked and Tetsuya felt his nerves electrify to life. The mental map sprung along the gooseflesh of his arms, and it was suddenly much easier to foretell low-hanging boughs, uneven terrain, and sudden drops. The trees' roots tangled into a web of impacts and pillars. Everything seemed magnified to immense detail, the scope of his spatial awareness exploding as he prepared for-- what, he hadn't quite known yet. He imagined Hinata behind him, some burning arrow let loose and flying directly for the center of his back. And then he felt them slicing through the air, a fulfilled prophecy.

A hysterical bleat of uncontrollable anticipation left Tetsuya's mouth. The familiar, automatic jerk of his muscles ripped his sword from his back, the sheath piggybacking desperately as he spun and swung. It collided with Hinata's still-sheathed katana, so close that Tetsuya could see their mouth fall open in momentary shock before the corners flicked upward-- amused and inspired.

Tetsuya moved into the fluid spin and Hinata let their weight be adjusted off-course, rolling before springing back onto their feet: their trunk a tilted slash and their plow-like hand anchoring the sharp turn, churning up the dirt. Right back on his tail. Tetsuya danced off of each foot to remember the feeling of this form, stretching and compressing his muscles. He didn't slow down. He didn't stop. He was weightless, leaves falling silent in a misted wood. He saw the opening. He took it.

He dropped what he had snatched up in his spare hand-- swinging the sword hard to force Hinata back again-- and bolted, not bothering to follow the gesture through.

Hinata saw through the feint and flickered around the nichirin guillotine, suddenly only a half-step behind him. He sensed their outstretched hand mere centimeters away from the back of his neck.

And then the wisteria perfume bomb cracked off the ground and went off, absolutely soaking the both of them in a cloud of lavender. Tetsuya held his lungful of breath until he burst from the afflicted air. He kept running and raised his sword overhead to slip back into its holster, bursting from the treeline and sprinting through the dark towards his next obstacle: the walls of the district, the glowing lights of society casting its shadow over the commoners living beyond its grip. 'I'm almost there!' The fastest way was up: he kicked off, scrambling over and beyond the safeguard, wary of witnesses. But he was alone... for now. Hinata was still close behind-- there was no time to despair over whether smuggling into the district was right or wrong.

He lunged again, banged his knees and ribs clambering up onto the nearest roof. It dampened his momentum; he was heaving buckets of air in and out of his respiratory system, as if he were running for his life instead of his honor. When his sandals slipped on the tiles he moved into it, strafing rather than falling. He was nearly there, nearly there, nearly-- he stumbled and pounced for the nearest brothel with every ounce of effort he had left--

An arm looped around his chest, catching him midair and yanking him slightly off-course, but landing on the same intended building. Tetsuya had known Hinata's slimness had been an illusion. Tucked against their ribs like a suitcase, he could feel their muscles solid as steel, unbelievably warm, as if burning from the inside out. Although he had been captured, the fear morphed into accomplishment-- it was worlds different from their first spar. It was fun.

"I did it!" Tetsuya proclaimed.

"Hm," Hinata said, breaking Tetsuya's heart. "I still caught you. Head back out. I can do this alone." And they did not compliment him, did not pat his head. They simply set him back on his feet and moved as if to leave.

"No!" Tetsuya knew he sounded petulant, voice cracking, but he'd had enough. Enough of Yasumoto messing with him, bullying him, judging him, and making him feel inadequate.

"Don't be a sore loser. I don't need a kid to worry about," they said bluntly and honestly, as if they hadn't done enough damage to his ego. "If you need any backup, just give your right earlobe a really hard tug. I'll find you easily."

Tetsuya stomped into their path and they stopped. His ears, neck, and shoulders felt hot, and he couldn't stop shaking with barely restrained rage.

"I am many things," Tetsuya began to babble with minimum composure, only vaguely aware of the inflated sense of rejection and shock. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but when Yasumoto looked at him curiously, he felt invincible. "I am a Demon Slayer! I'm the student of Nobutoshi Ishikawa, the Pillar of Mist, Exterminator of Lower Ranks, and one of the bravest Hashira to defend humanity. I am one of the final remnants of the Garden. And yes, I am, as you put it, 'a kid,' but I'm a Slayer all the same! I won't be put aside like some mistake by the likes of you."

"Hey now," Yasumoto started and their voice had changed-- still sonarous, but with the easy, chilling delivery of a whetstone down a blade. "Don't forget which one of us has a higher rank, Tetsuya. I've been pretty patient about your inexperience."

"If you gave people a sliver of patience that you give to demons," Tetsuya scolded, forgetting himself, "maybe you wouldn't be disgraced."

That got a reaction: Yasumoto's body language shifted-- Tetsuya nearly flinched-- and their long-lashed eyes opened wide. "... Disgraced?"

Tetsuya had spoken it into existence; something he wasn't supposed to share. Nobutoshi told him in confidence while he'd been briefed on the mission, for his own good. "You--" he stammered, flustered, "I know this job is difficult, but there's no reason I shouldn't be here too, on the front line--"

"Who told you."

"It's not exactly a secret," Tetsuya reasoned with his guilt. "I thought that's why you never wore the uniform anyway..."

A shadow flickered across Hinata's face-- something raw with rage and admiration and terror-- but only upset that Tetsuya had been informed of these circumstances than of the fact itself. "Nobutoshi did, of course." Yasumoto murmured, like waking up from a long nightmare, "I want to say I'm surprised and hurt, but he's always had the capacity for this shit. Well... if he's told you in no uncertain terms, I suppose that's that."

The darkness fell. The sun had finally been obscured and the stars blinked in shock as Yasumoto lifted their left hand. Tetsuya's fingers twitched but he didn't reach for his sword. Rrrrrrrip, went Yasumoto's right sleeve as they pulled the darker fabric away. Tetsuya stiffened his spine when they drew closer-- jerking his hand out when they tied the length of cloth too snugly over his nose. "Relax. This is for the wisteria bombs. Using them at close range wasn't too bad a decision." Perhaps the closest thing Tetsuya would get to an apology tonight. "You take the deeper end of Yoshiwara. I'll be on the other side."

Tetsuya recognized this tone: the same resignation and formality as all the other briefings. He straightened his shoulders, ready for the other's unfair assessment.

"We'll systematically move through the area. There will be nowhere for Gyutaro to go except for us or the bonfires. Maybe he'll try for both. He has the home-field advantage and can decide to go scorched earth anytime. Stay vigilant." And with a snug yank tightening the knot, the makeshift mask was in place. Tetsuya turned to face Yasumoto only for their eyes to slide off of him. Ashamed? Angry? Good. He hoped so.

"Don't regret this," Yasumoto said, adding ruefully, "and don't go crying to Nobu that I didn't give you an out."

"I won't," Tetsuya asserted.

Hinata faltered, but whatever they were thinking remained in their head this time. Testuya turned his back first-- and felt Hinata move behind him, hand reached out for him, mouth open-- he looked back. Nothing was there, not even Yasumoto.

Tetsuya heaved a sigh and hopped across the rooftops, delving into the vivacious, populated district, the beating heart of Yoshiwara.

[succubus-interactivefiction]

More Symbiosis shorts

Explosions rock the city as you drift high above, you can feel the heat from the fires even as high up as you are. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, Ziv had said they would be hitting a few key locations and that civilian casualties would be negligible. But as you watch flames crawling up the side of a hospital your mind is sent reeling and you realize that either something had gone terribly wrong, or Ziv had lied to you. Even the thought of it being the latter has you wanting to puke.

“Valk, we can’t sit here, we need to do something. The plan has obviously failed.” You can feel Gel shifting beneath your skin in agitation, her own thoughts bleeding into your own making your state of mind even worse. But she is right, you can’t just float around up here. With the two of you scanning the sky line you are able to zero in on a large burning building with only a few police vehicles on the scene. “How cliche, an orphanage” You chuckle along with the symbiote as you snap your wings and dive towards the scene.

Coming to a quick stop you hover just above the street in front of the building watching as a pair of officers lead a small group of children from the main doors. As soon as they see you they both pull their weapons and keep them steadily aimed at you. “Valkyrie! Get on the ground and place your hands on your head!!”

“Seriously?!” Everyone turns their heads to stare at a young woman with the group of children, her hair is frazzled and she is covered in ash, but her glare looks like it could bore holes through the men. “There are still children inside and you are more worried about a former hero, who I assume is here to help?” She turns to you as she finishes and you simply nod. “She can obviously help more than you can and you want to turn her away? Why? Because she is allegedly a villain, would a villain be here to help?”

“She and that parasite she carries are wanted for murder, she’s dangerous and we need to take her in.” The officer speaking looks at you like you are the biggest threat he has ever encountered, which you probably are, but his partner lowers his weapon as he looks over his shoulder. “Dar, come on, we need her help. I wouldn’t care if Aeon himself came back from the dead and offered to help. We need to get those kids out, that is our biggest concern right now.” The two cops glare at each other for a moment, but an explosion on the top floor interrupts the situation. Too hell with this.

Lifting your hand you toss a series of small black holes into several windows, the flames and oxygen around each quickly being pulled into their infinite depths. You barely even notice the sound of a gun firing, but the slight tingle Gel sends you lets you know that she caught the round. As you continue clearing out the fires inch by inch your head turns on its own, eyes glowing with a bright green light as a small tendril on your side drops the bullet it caught.

“We are here to assist, so stop wasting our time and either help or stay out of our way.” Your voice warbles as Gel uses your body to speak aloud. Both the officers cringe at the odd display. It’s easy to tell that there are currently two being in control of your body and some people seem to find the odd effect disturbing. You are vaguely aware that the officer who apparently fired the shot levels his weapon at you again, but you know Gel can handle the situation as you’re attention is occupied and handle it she does. It’s always an interesting feeling when dozens of plant-like vines burst from your skin and they quickly surge towards the cop, who immediately panics and tries to fire at the incoming tendrils, which easily weave around his wild shots. They easily snatch the gun from his hand and proceed to secure his hands behind himself with his own cuffs. That will be an embarrassing report.

You take a brief moment to focus on the situation and notice the other cop has his weapon holstered and shakes his head at his struggling partner, his shoulders slumping in a sigh. “Idiot.” He looks back up at you and seems to realize it is now you staring at him, not Gel, who has taken over manipulating the blackholes to fight the fire while you descend to the cop. “Look Valkyrie, I don’t know what's been going on with you lately, but I’ve been a fan since you first showed up on the scene and I know that whatever is happening is bigger than just heroes and villains, so I’m trusting you here, what do we do?”

You, the officer, who’s name you learn is Griffin, the young youth caretaker Heather, and several of the neighbors from the area quickly begin formulating a plan. Heather is quick to use the computer in the cop car to bring up a blueprint which you use to coordinate the rescue. With the fires on the front of the building under control Heather uses a megaphone to get any kids still inside to crawl under the smoke towards that side of the building. Using extinguishers Griffin and the civilians scour the first two floors, pulling a handful more kids from the building. You handle the upper three floors, and when the first tiny head pokes up over a windowsill you smile, Gel is quick to begin scooping children up, gently delivering them to the arms of those below. Despite the terror of the fire several of the kids seem to find this the greatest experience as they laugh and whoop while being lowered by your symbiote.

“Valkyrie!” You glance down and notice Heather yelling up to you. “We got them all!! Everyone is safe!!”

With a nod you increase the power behind your tiny gravity wells as you move into the building, removing the oxygen from within until you are sure that no fires remain. As you step out of the front doors you are surprised at the roar of cheers and clapping that greets you, it seems the entire neighborhood had shown up while you were clearing the fires. You are surprised when you notice several fire fighters smiling and pulling you in for handshakes. “Thank God for you Valkyrie, we never would have made it in time.” With a clap on your shoulder the team leader quickly leads his team into the building for a final check. 

The next few minutes are a blur of shaking hands, hugs, and cheering. You notice several of the kids playing with several of Gels vines which she is using to tease them by booping noses and tickling ears. It’s a surreal feeling, and one you have always wanted to feel but never could before now. For the first time in five you are proud of what you just did. “This is what you always wanted, isn't it. To help people.” You nod and feel her shift happily. “It’s a good feeling”

“Hey Valkyrie” You turn to find Griffin pulling you into a hug. “Thanks for showing up. Like I said before I trust you. Anything you may need help with in the future just give me a call. “You find him slipping you an old school business card. “Don’t make fun.” He snickers when he notices your curious look. “I’m weird, or so I am told. But I just think business cards are classy, you know?” With a smile you slip the card into one of several cleverly concealed pockets in your outfit. Before you can say anything a distant explosion grabs everyone's attention and you hear the report of another detonation at a small clinic a few blocks away. “I got that.” You quickly detach yourself from the numerous tiny hands play with Gel and float up into the air. “You can keep things under control here Griffin?” He simply smirks. “Yeah, I got this. Stay safe Valkyrie.” With a burst of speed you launch into the sky and angle towards the new plume of smoke rising to the west. When this is done you and Ziv will be having a serious discussion.

[larsnicklas]

btw i think people who thought that the l.indholm k.uzmenko trade was a fleecing by c.algary are very silly! and got overwhelmed by the quantity of assets going back one way vs. the other. and i get it! it feels hefty! a first, two prospects, a conditional fourth, and a guy who nearly scored 40 goals last year going the other way feels like a lot for a rental! but let's break this down together, team! because i genuinely think this is one of those circumstances where both teams came out with what they wanted without giving up anything they really didn't want to.

the conditional fourth is basically for dealing in-division. this happened with the z.adorov trade and it's just the price of business. and because it's conditional, they don't have to worry about it until they have to worry about it.

the first round pick for next year is fairly negligible — the 2024 draft class has a steep drop-off after about the top 20; the v.ancouver pick would presumably be outside of that. of course, you'd like to keep your first round picks when you can but when the best right handed center on the market could be yours i think you pull the trigger.

kuz is going to be good, even great for them! e.lliotte mentioned that c.algary is in a weird limbo state rn; they don't want to tear everything down, so they do need current roster players who can help them keep on trucking as they do a little retool. kuz is perfect for that. the thing about him though is that he was absolutely not a fit for the current system with tocc. no matter where he went he was going to outdo what he was doing this year with the c.anucks, and i think pa and jr knew that perfectly well. you just have to eat that sometimes, knowing that you're going to send a guy away and then they're going to perform better. (i'm very glad to see him off to a quick start btw; sometimes a guy just needs a fresh start to get out of his own head.) and frankly, v.ancouver gets something they sorely need with moving kuz: cap space. his hit comes off the books for NEXT year, something that grants them more wiggle room as they maneuver a lot of guys due for raises

the two prospects are the wild card here. you never know. maybe joni j.urmo will suddenly outperform his development curve, but he's a long shot gamble. b.rzustewicz is the guy to keep an eye on here. he's having a MONSTER season with k.itchener; i don't watch the o as much as i watch the dub, but from what i've seen, if he can translate that offense to the next level i think c.algary will be very, very happy. and from v.an's pov, they did well to sell high. it's possible b.rzustewicz hits, but it's also possible that this is as high as his value will get. and i think the other thing to consider is that they achieved something i'm willing to bet they were REALLY focused on: not losing any of l.ekkerimaki, p.odkolzin, w.illander, or even ep II. b.rzustewicz's run this year allowed them to do that.

at the end of the day what it comes down to is this: the front office thinks the team has a legitimate shot. we can scream and wail about their historically high pdo all we want, but i think at this point we have to acknowledge that with under 30 games left, this team has proven to be the real deal. and some of that astronomical pdo (quality shots for, allowing many low danger perimeter shots against) is due to their play style. a number of players are having career seasons, including arguably the most important ones — your goalie, who's on the ice for 60+ minutes a game, and your franchise defenseman, who's out there for half the game, sometimes more, day in and day out. and even if everyone keeps up this torrid pace next year, it's not going to be the same group coming back — guys are playing themselves out of the c.anucks' realistic budget (looking at you, dak </3); they deserve to get paid. and of course there's the elephant in the room, the p.ettersson extension. this might be your best chance for a while, and if this year is lightning in a bottle, you HAVE to be ready to catch it. gotta put yourself into the best position possible.

when you grab l.indholm, you're doing several things in one fell swoop.

first, you get a guy that plays exactly the way t.occhet wants his guys to play: very smart, defensively sound, plays in all game states, can keep up on petey's wing OR center his own line.

he also brings something no other center on this team can bring! he plays righthanded! he's good at faceoffs and he can take the draws that have previously been on every single other center's off side! (yes, petey, jt, b.lueger, s.uter, å.man are all lefties). jt in particular does have a decent opposite side faceoff play but now with l.indholm, t.occhet has more options. it opens up a lot of possibilities.

by trading for l.indholm early, you've set the market and aren't at the whims of other deals being made. you've also given the team quite a decent chunk of time to get acclimated to l.indholm in the lineup and vice versa. the extra month+ vs. acquiring at the deadline is huge; coaches love that and players like it too since they have more time to learn a new system and build chemistry before the gauntlet of the playoffs

it sends a message to your room that the front office believes in them. l.indholm was arguably the biggest fish in the pond this year; he's certainly the best center that was actively being dangled in the trade market. that kind of makes your guys sit up straight, shoulders back.

if l.indholm is with the canucks.... he's NOT with c.olorado. or boston. or any other contenders. :)

IN CONCLUSION...... i think both teams did nicely. if you think pa and jr got fleeced i'm sorry but you just don't know puck!

[scarletooyoroi]

Alright! I did enough head mulling and pondering in order to get the particular vein of my blog underway. This interp of Thoma will be taking a canon divergent route of the events involving Inazuma's Archon Quest.

The emphasis I wish to drive home is the extension of story that such a life changing event in Thoma's life would behold. Casting your spear as an Inazuman towards the symbol of magnanimity known as the Raiden Shogun is within the same ballpark as spitting upon the pride and glories felt by Inazuma as a whole.

In short. Due to his actions of defying the 100th Vision ceremony and fighting for the life of an outlander who risked their neck for him, within this period he'd be hailed as a nationwide outlaw for his transgressions.

This plays upon the events of ACT I: The Immovable God and the Eternal Euthymia

And ACT II: Stillness. The Sublimation of Shadow.

____

By allowing his spear to carve the currents of a cruel fate, his life was sealed. Thoma was well aware of the gravity of his actions. Of the endless eyes that hailed the Almighty Narukami Ogosho and her everlasting reign.

Yet. This did not matter. For the life who found his ambitions worthy enough to be defied would be a soul he'd genuinely fight alongside of to any bitter end.

BRAVERY burned in ways that howled a level of purpose that found itself awakening. Ascending as the encroaching darkness could no longer be held back by stagnating circumstances.

No matter the reason however, to cast your weapon with the emboldened sense of lethal intent towards Inazuma's Raiden Shogun is to cosign yourself to becoming an enemy of the Land of Electro itself. That was no duel being made by codes of honor, it had been a genuine attempt upon her life to save another.

This vastly increased the sheer scale of enemies he'd have against his ambition and and glimmering edges. Old foes, the entire Tenryou Commission, to an endless myriad of Shogunate loyalist, bounty hunters and Fatui, who also held the wishes of gaining better favor.

Thoma accepted the risk of transforming his head into a valuable prize. This is his journey of accepting a new dimension of action in order to carve a path to a brighter future.

____

So rather than spiel a big story. I feel like for this interp, it'd be better to simply highlight some bullets of importance in how this differs. The primary aspect being that he's not HIDING in some xyz unknown area. Thoma's personal values wouldn't attest for that, nor would the hellish scale of unrest even make the city a faint glimmer of a good idea to be stashed away. Upon this path he'd come to join the Watatsumi resistance against the instated Vision Hunts and Sakoku Decrees which would follow to the events of the Tenshukaku showdown with the others.

Differences however would be this!

+ In lieu of his actions. Despite the Kamisato Clan's recent heads holding such a close bond to him, Thoma is exiled and placed upon the Bounty list in order to keep up their good graces.

+ Within this line of events. Thoma would be heavily tested and often, if always spotted in the wilds. Becoming such a popular target means that many skilled beings will come after his head, which demands explosive growth.

+ His goals outside of reaching Watatsumi would be providing key discoveries. Secrets such as what made the Shogun change so rapidly from the legends made of a gentle god, to such a callously negligent one.

This in turn would be where Thoma, the Traveler and the Resistance gaining the full truth of Shogun's secrets and extended grief.

+ His path would heavily come to involve the land itself, the will of the Sacred Sakura helping him and others being a guide of sorts to find proper paths in unearthing the root of this chaos.

+ To join in the great battle to not only carve an opening back to Inazuma once prepared and rallied, but to help crack open the secrets of helping the Traveler reach the Plane of Euthymia once again.

This part would come involve the old Youkai spirits of the land. They would be the golden grail in unearthing not only the secrets, but to learn of the unrest that these five centuries of grief filled silence effected them as well, the unrest sweeping to parties.

+ A personal story of Thoma fortifying his resolve amidst these conditions. Brave as he been, the daunting truth of his reality only hits when he has a potential out by the help of the Crux crew who had their services bought by the resistance. He comes to steel and temper himself upon the decision that this is his fight alongside all the others, it has to be seen to the end.

+ An expansion upon the in game events and the difficulties of fighting within this war at large.

+ A tale of re-establishing his position within Inazuma and at large, winning back the muddied respect in a new refined form, despite his intentions of keeping his amiable position. It would no longer be a secret of Thoma's expertise as made in the hangout event, thus he'd come to embrace the new weights in his life seriously.

This is the brain stormed hindsight that I have in mind. It will be implemented in my pinned post as I intend to better explore that story that mhy spaghetti'd in the beginning.

[littlescaryinternetguy]

15.) Would you rather experience a shrinking/growing effect slowly or just WHABAM new size?

16.) Would you rather be under the care of an overprotective giant that never puts you down/lets you out of their sight, or one that’s so negligent you have to shout/throw things to get their attention?

&

21) Would you rather live as your preferred size during the current century or during medieval times?

please?

15. Man, there's something about a slow shrink, though, isn't there. Like, an instant size change is wild, disorienting on a primal level. But spreading it out over minutes, hours, weeks? Every morning it's new realizations, new comparisons. New firsts. First time you look eye to eye with your partner. First time they can reach something you can't reach, something you need which you put there because it used to be so convenient. First time feeling utterly dwarfed by them. First time they can pick you up. First time they can pick you up in one hand... you just get so many more moments of realization. "This is happening", over and over, as opposed to "What happened?"

Granted, I ain't kicking an instant change out of bed either.

16. See, this is a tough one. There's times I want one and there's times I want the other. I think probably the second though. If I was confident in our relationship, yeah, the second. Because it implies that they know that I am my own person. I am not theirs, I am not an extension of them, I am an individual, one that they know isn't leaving. So in the end, the second.

21. I lack the imagination that would allow me to ignore the fact that life in the middle ages smelled horrible, the food was weird and frequently poisonous, there's no aspirin, Europeans (which is where I'd probably be) didn't bathe, difference was considered Satanic, and there's no electric guitars or skipping CDs. Granted, I like some of the fashions, but people can visit a party store if they want to get a costume.

[notoriousbeb]

Okay, this is last thing I’m going to say on this subject (unless something new comes to light). But…and this is just my two cents…I am not yet fully convinced the Matty/Taylor romance is real. And I have a few reasons (under the cut for your sanity).

We know they are friends and work with the same people and have worked together. The fact that he performed with Phoebe when she opened (and likely would have last night too if not for the rain), is a good enough reason for him to be at the show. Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t he late to the first show? Maybe he was supposed to open that one with Phoebe as well.

On that note, yes, to me, opening up for the biggest tour in the world is a good enough reason to fly 20 hours (it’s not like the man was in coach). The 1975 is successful, but let’s not pretend Matt Healy is the household name Taylor Swift is. He was likely either going to the United States or to England after the Asia tour was over, and the difference in distance is negligible at that level of time commitment.

The car photos: first, we already know she hangs out late with friends after her shows. Hanging out does not necessarily equal, you know, things. ALSO, they were in a big butt SUV that was part of a caravan of her people. Who is to say they were even alone? And even if they were alone, what, she can’t just hang out with a guy friend without making out with them?

I keep seeing people saying they were together in 2014 so this was “a long time coming;” however, there are no dating photos from that time, no comments from Taylor (unless you count the tweet where she requests the media stop insinuating that she’s dating her friends) and a full-out denial from Matty where he said the rumors were “all fake.”

The Entertainment Tonight article is the only one out there that states the 2014 relationship as a fact, and it’s the only one quoting the source(s) about Jack setting them up/the mutual crushes. This tells me this article was either a placement from Taylor’s team or ET is wilding (and I don’t think the latter is likely). So, a planned announcement about Taylor’s new crush…that’s just weird to begin with, right? Has her team ever put out a quote like that, giving the details of an early relationship? Like, to me, that just seems out of left field; which leads me to my final point of contention:

Matty and the band are currently into a whole “performance art” shtick (which I will not pretend to fully understand). Could this article and the on-stage mouthed messages be part of that? Seems totally possible to me.

All that to say, these two dating could certainly be a real thing and/or fling. And if so, get it girl. You do you…But also, Harry is much better looking and does not have a history of saying douchey things, so, do with that information what you will. ;0)

[the-great-elwisty]

Day 19: Confrontation

A/N. I've deliberately avoided writing anything obviously set in my NWN2 fanfic universe for Nevervember, but this snippet has been going round my head for aaaaaages. It's set between one and two years after Mask of the Betrayer. Lila Farlong (former Knight Captain) and Ammon Jerro meet the githzerai.

“You will come with us now, please,” the gith had said, and because he had asked politely, but also because he was accompanied by over fifty more of his kind holding white-metal-tipped spears with an air of negligent expertise, they went.

Their escort had shuffled after and round them, not exchanging a word even among themselves, not threatening or hostile but still moving them inexorably like a flock of determined shepherds with a pair of half-wild rams towards a rocky spur beyond a clutch of cedars. And when the portal had sprung open, and meanders of light washed out into the thyme-scented dawn of Mount Sapithos, Lila Farlong glanced at her companion, registered the lowering of his eyelids that signalled yes, then turned right to offer a bright, insincere smile to the gith spokesman before stepping lightly through the roiling, unsettled space into gods-knew-what.

So that, she imagined telling her friends in Neverwinter at some distant future point, is why we ended up standing in a cavern the size of Crossroad Keep looking towards a single chair placed some three hundred yards ahead of us. The gith spokesman had followed them through, but none of the escort. They weren’t needed. The caverns’ walls had been carved into long raised galleries, and natural bulges turned into lookout posts, each occupied by more spearmen, or archers, or by veiled gith without any visible weapons whom she suspected were the most dangerous of the lot.

Their courteous abductors were githzerai, and not githyanki. That was a bonus. Even if their simple tunics and cloaks weren’t indication enough, the similarity of the spokesman’s level gaze to that of another of his kind whom she had travelled with, if never precisely known, would have confirmed her gut instinct. As far as she was aware, the githzerai had no grudge against them. And another bonus: the two of them were wanted alive. Any half-decent tactician with instructions to complete their death warrants would have ordered his warriors to overwhelm them unawares on the mountainside, not give them time to think and plan.

“You will now approach the barrier, please,” said the spokesman, and began walking towards the chair.

She followed him, and, after hesitating, so did Ammon. He looked tense with anger and suspicion, as she’d expected. But his powers were lying low: the air was calm around him, and no sparks of black and red fire dripped from his fingertips. That meant he must have drawn the same conclusions that she had. The githzerai were not an immediate danger. They wanted something.

“Barrier?” she mouthed at him. Apart from the chair, the cavern was one long sweep of polished, smooth stone lit by grey-green lamps until the shadowy wall at its far end.

He caught her eye, nodded, then indicated ahead of them. She could still see nothing special.

They were fifty yards from the chair when a horizontal slice of space rippled, contracted, then settled into itself again, with one difference. The chair was now occupied.

A githzerai with a single chain-and-ribbon braid of a colour that was not quite silver and not quite gold bound around his brow was leaning back cross-legged in the chair, which was larger and higher-backed than it had seemed a few moments ago. The cavern behind the chair had not quite disappeared; yet it seemed overlain with the outline of another place, a stone terrace, perhaps, or the roof of a tower, one looking out across a blue, cloudless horizon. If there was land apart from the terrace on which the chair rested, it was somewhere far below the parapet, out of sight.

“Serenity,” said the spokesman, and touched his forehead in a gesture of obvious reverence.

The githzerai in the chair said something in his native tongue that Lila half-felt she recognised. When the spokesman started making introductions in Common, as if they were guests arriving at a symposium, not strangers invited in with spears, she had almost expected it.

“Here are two survivors of our victory against the gardas galmaz, the Shadow Guardian. It is the captain and the warlock. Lila Farlong and Ammon Jerro.” The spokesman faced them. “You are privileged, children of the Prime. Here today you meet the Living Thought and Deed, Prince Vizier Zahienin ag-Gith, Servant of the People.”

The solitary throne on its dais didn’t obviously signify ‘servant’ to her, nor did the look of detached interest its occupant was giving them. Since he was, she guessed, literally on another plane of existence, Limbo perhaps, he must reckon he had nothing to fear from them, safe as he was behind the shimmering barrier that separated his world from theirs. And he’d be right: they couldn’t win against a massed force of the githzerai. But they could escape and come back later at a time and in a manner of their choosing.

It was lucky he just wanted to talk.

“You are welcome to the outpost of Er Yuzhida, Lila Farlong,” said the Prince Vizier. His voice reached her as clearly as if he were standing a few feet from her, and – though she was in the largest cave she’d ever seen – was entirely without an echo. “Your great deeds have been recounted to me. Without you, we could not have prevailed against the Shadow.”

She managed not to remark that she couldn’t recall seeing him in the dank, decayed heart of the Illefarn Palace doing any prevailing against the Guardian or anything else. This was a court, and she knew about them. You had to shut up, nod, maybe smile, and then see if you can talk to the leader in private about what’s really important without being scrutinised by the eyes of twenty score of his subjects.

“Thank you, Prince Vizier Zahienin,” she said, hoping she’d pronounced his name acceptably.

He inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement, so she supposed she hadn’t called him a bastard son of an inbred githyanki by accident.

“And Ammon Jerro. Our reports of you are mixed.” The Prince’s voice stayed cool and neutral.

“Really?” said Ammon. The word was edged with just enough contempt to make it obvious that he didn’t care about the answer, or about Zahienin. She knew he’d spent a lot more time at the court of Neverwinter than she had, and that courts, high politics and ceremonials all featured on the rather long list of things he disliked. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Of course, you were our enemy’s enemy,” said the Prince, opening his long, thin fingers in a gesture of release, as if dismissing a topic of little interest. “For a while. But we have also heard that you obstructed our servant, insulted our customs and beliefs, and accused our people of cowardice and treachery.”

“I do not see how what I did or did not say two years ago has any relevance to the present,” Ammon drawled. Lila felt very conscious of the archers lining the cavern walls, and wondered how long her defences would hold up if they all loosed their arrows at once.

The Prince leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands together in what had to be a universal gesture of enjoyment in the springing of an unpleasant surprise on someone else. “Warlock. Captain Farlong. We would like you to meet our honoured mother.”

A second figure appeared on the dais. It was as if she’d stepped onto it through a gap in the air. In reality she had perhaps been standing there from the start, though invisible to watchers on the Prime. She was tall and thin, like all githzerai, and wore a veil over the lower part of her face as seemed typical of the Zerth class. Lila recognised her by her broad green eyes first, and then for confirmation sought out the jade brooch that her former ally had been in the habit of pinning her cloak with.

“Zhjaeve!” she breathed. She wasn’t sure if she was glad to see the priestess again or not.

“Kalach-cha,” Zhjaeve returned, sounding just as she always had and using the old title that had surely become defunct when Nefris cut the shard from Lila’s chest in Rashemen. Or if not during that barely remembered night, then later under the Wall of the Faithless.

“We believe,” said the Prince, still leaning forward towards Ammon, “that you called her a slave of superstition, a blind follower, a spy and an unreasoning zealot.” Lila blinked. She’d missed at least some of those arguments, maybe because Sand and Qara or else Bishop and Casavir were drowning them out.

She caught the sideways glance Ammon sent her and the half-sardonic half-irritated look on his hawkish face, and could have parsed it as an apology; more likely it was a warning to prepare for trouble. It was too late to intervene, anyway.

“You failed to mention equivocator,” said Ammon in the tone of a lecturer pulling a student up on a small but critical detail. “And hypocrite.”

[shiroi---kumo]

The Demons come out || Accepting

Anonymous accused:

the demons come out: ☀️📚 + How helpless do you feel knowing you almost lost the others? It was your own negligence that put you all out in the wilds, was it not?

·:¨༺ ✩★✩ ༻¨:·. He almost hates this place as much as he hates the forests. He almost hates this place as much as he hates the towns because even if they're in a place they're supposed to be able to call safe now some days it hardly feels that way. Tähtien is still sick and Sielu is a shadow of the man he used to be. Pilvi is... different and Revon fell back into older habits just the same as if he regained his missing breath.

There were so many faces here he doesn't know and so many names he can't remember. So many new words he doesn't understand and people that Pilvi called friend without a second thought that he found himself wondering how he could. There were humans here and people that were not human but also not Misterican and he didn't know where to place them or how to even begin asking questions and then there were -

-the voices.

The quiet whispers that float down the halls and fall into his ears and he almost wonders if anyone else can hear them because Tähtien always just continues to read his book and Pilvi continues to talk to his small human and Sielu remains hiding in the dark. Revon is always just outside the room wherever Pilvi rests so it's easy at least to know where the prince is.

At least that level of normalcy has been restored.

At least that.

But there is the voices that only reach his ears and they're - they're right this time. It was his negligence that put them out in the wilds and it was because of that - that Revon got hurt and Sielu almost died and Tähtien collapsed. It was his fault and if Pilvi had been a minute later they all could have faded then and there.

If Pilvi had been one minute later then they would have -

He can't think about this right now and he can't answer them because he knows they're right. He needs to focus on the present and not how much guilt he's been carrying around because of it. Tähtien wanted tea and Sielu's room is on the way. He can spare him his jacket.

[portnewickmystery]

An excerpt from the chapter ‘The WikiLeaks Report,’ taken from journalist Nadine Ames’ controversial book, Vanishing at Port Newick: An Unofficial Account of America’s Most Mysterious National Disaster.

BY THE LATE 2000S, interest in Port Newick and its continued quarantine had died down significantly, in large part due to the lack of any new information, but also due to extraneous events taking precedent in the public’s mind—most notably the war in Iraq and the US’s much-televised war on terror.

However, all that would change in 2008 with the release of new details during the now-infamous WikiLeaks scandal. These documents, comprising communication logs, internal reports and email chains, suggested not just negligence, but deliberate concealment of facts by officials at the highest level.

As one might expect, the fallout was immediate and explosive. Media outlets seized upon the story, reigniting a media frenzy around Port Newick that had not been seen since the immediate aftermath of the initial disappearance. Online forums and social networks were ablaze with speculation, wild theories, and calls for full disclosure from the government. 

However, even in light of this new information, while it was clear that the government’s official explanation for the town’s fate was a facade, it was still unclear as to exactly what had transpired that had seen all of the residents of Port Newick effectively fall off the face of the earth.

It wouldn’t be until late-November of 2009, with the release of The Holloway Footage, that we would get our first answers.

[quristcbdoil]

CBD : Myths vs. Truths

From being nowhere to absolutely everywhere in an incredibly short span of time, CBD has taken the global market by storm. Although this traction helped a lot of facts about CBD come to light, it also led to the creation of a host of myths and uncertainties around it. For your journey with CBD to be as seamless as possible, the Qurist team brought down the gavel on what is fact and what is fiction when it comes to using CBD.

CBD, one of the many components of the hemp plant, of late has become a buzzword especially within the medicine and “wellness” community. However, its rapidly rising popularity has led to a lot of mis-information spreading like wild-fire. The available information is often confusing and polarised. It seemed imperative for the Qurist team to differentiate the myths from the facts as you delve into your journey with CBD.

CBD makes you sleepy.

Not true. 

CBD soothes anxiety and relaxes the body, which can be great for helping you catch more Zs but such an interaction will not directly put you to sleep. Curiously enough, a study in 2014 instead suggests that CBD could conversely, act as a wake-promoting agent. Think of CBD items as the disciplined buddy who’s helping you maximise your healthy sleep pattern by pushing away mental(anxiety, stress etc.) and physical discomfort (like joint pain) to help you get what you need - some sweet sleep.

Since hemp is from the same family as the marijuana plant, CBD is sketchy and not safe.

A myth! 

CBD is non-intoxicating and non-psychoactive. It is mostly derived from the hemp plant which is heavily regulated to ensure negligible levels of THC- the high inducing compound found in marijuana. 

In 2017, the World Anti doping Agency (WADA) removed CBD from its banned substances list. To further clean up its rep, the World Health Organisation (WHO) declared that naturally occurring CBD is safe and well tolerated in humans and is not associated with any public health effects. It goes on to say that, “In humans, CBD exhibits no effects indicative of any abuse or dependence potential.” These recent moves have helped athletes benefit from CBD usage provided they monitor the negligible levels of THC in the products they use. A monumental development though has been FDA approving Epidiolex, a CBD based medication.

We would never spot CBD oil for being a magic potion with zero side effects. It's Important to understand that in rare cases, at very high doses, CBD can react with other medicines “by the exact same mechanism that grapefruit juice does,” Harvard Health adds.

All CBD products are made the same way.

Definitely not.

Before heading out and investing in a CBD product, put on your Sherlock deerstalker cap and find out both - if it's the real deal and if it's safe. Check for the concentration and whether it's organic, vegetarian/vegan friendly, allergen tested, hazardous bacteria tested, GMO free - some things we have made sure of for Qurist's products.

Make sure you check for clear labelling, testing information, stability, extraction methods as well as tests for solvents, pesticides, heavy metals and fillers. All CBD products are not made the same way. Some sellers also try to pass off hemp based products like hemp seed oil as CBD oil, make sure you go over the content on the product packaging very thoroughly before making your purchase.

They further pan out across three availabilities - full-spectrum CBD products, broad-spectrum CBD products and isolate CBD products. Both full-spectrum and broad-spectrum CBD products use a full/broad range of cannabinoids as well as other compounds found in hemp plants. The presence of these compounds help promote the “entourage effect”, the major difference between full-spectrum and broad-spectrum is that the former contains some trace amounts of THC while the latter does not. Isolate CBD products on the other hand have CBD as the active ingredient and no other cannabinoids as a result of which you will not benefit from the entourage.

When it comes to CBD, more is better.

This is on the Myths’ List.

CBD affects different people differently. It’s important to understand that the dosage and the usage for optimising the benefits of this compound is as unique as its user. However, it is imperative that you start with a smaller dosage and increase it as per your body, till you find your sweet-spot. The trick remains in finding this optimal point and maintaining it.

How you take your dosage also affects the changes you observe, for example: instead of gulping a spoonful of CBD oil, which could cause the oil to pass straight out of your body from your digestive tract, some users tried swishing it around the mouth which yielded better results from the same dosage. For better understanding the right dosage for you read our blog article here.

CBD is just another marketing scam.

Simply untrue.

Granted, 2019 saw CBD become a buzzword and it ended up being put into way too many products. But these applications don’t mean every application of CBD is unnecessary. We agree that there isn’t a need for CBD in all products imaginable but this in no way should not lessen the importance of its legitimate applications.

CBD affects other medication.

True.

CBD can lower blood pressure. It can also help out its sedative-medical friends which target the central nervous system, like Valium, amping up the sedative’s effect. Very high doses of CBD might also increase the potency and toxic traits of other drugs by inhibiting enzymes in the liver which break them down. Always be cognizant of the medicines you’re introducing to your body and how well they pair with CBD. We recommend you have a sit-down with your healthcare provider if you’re on a prescription. If speaking to your physician about CBD is not a viable option, try out the grapefruit test. CBD and grapefruit react chemically quite similarly, to the body. In case your doctor is not well acquainted with CBD try asking him/her how your body and your prescribed medicines would react to grapefruit.

CBD has health benefits.

True!

The endocannabinoid system was elected by our body to regulate a host of processes from pain to forming memories. CBD’s association with this system naturally affects these processes. Since there is always newer research underway, there is a whole lot that we are yet to discover about cannabinoids and how they work but presently available reports suggest that CBD can relieve symptoms of anxiety and stress, pain and inflammation, improve sleep, reduce seizures and tremors and possibly much more.

CBD is addictive.

A myth.

On the contrary CBD is seen as a solution for de-addiction. Clinical trials and research shows that CBD reduces addictive potential of substances, reduces withdrawal symptoms and even cravings(for cigarettes, marijuana, heroin, alcohol etc.) . Addiction is often dictated by a craving for dopamine and depends on not just your genetics but also your environment and life experiences which translates to every individual having a different susceptibility to addiction. Though THC can be addictive since it directly affects dopamine release, CBD has a very different mechanism of action. CBD does not mess around directly with CB1 receptors, instead its interaction with D2, dopamine receptor, reflects how CBD could in fact, reduce reward seeking behaviour. To know more about CBD Oil in India: Qurist

[understandableparadox]

bischeon lore part 1: Crash landing era

Welcome to bischeon! the lost colony planet of Alterna.

countless generations ago, this planet was marked to be a safe-haven for high bloods. the long coast lines and fertile lands would be made into resorts, tactical training centers and farm lands. supplying food and young blood thirsty generals to the Grand trollien fleets slow all consuming march across the galaxy.

though as the more astute may observe, given its title of a lost colony, that is not exactly what happened...sailing out over the vast expanse of space, near a old old pocket in a solar system that seemed to good to be true. each planet regardless of how far or close to the burning red sun in its center... all of them were bursting with life! lush and verdant with breathable atmospheres and vast oceans.

the captain of the initial touch down mission was known simply as the Catptain Nyasputin. an eccentric, a lover of history yet one of the most capable pilots within the history of the star born fleets... they were nearing the point where they could park it on any of the many paradise planets and live out the rest of their sweeps. they could almost taste the beach side booze...

they approached the planet with two moons, chosen by committee by the somewhat hive sick highbloods. they planned to have the touch down point in a clearing exactly one mile out from the ocean, allowing the low bloods and drones to start up base camp.

though just before they could pass by the atmosphere, a sound ringed out. not a hiss. not a roar. not a scream.

yet it echos out, reverberating, resonating with all that it comes into contact with. the planet shakes and seems to take on a greener tint. the screams of yellow bloods below within the bowels of the engine room managed to rise up as their power swelled.

psychokinetic energy flooded the facilities, destroying the navigation devices. frying the communications array, nearly exploding the delicate equipment meant to hold and foster the matriorb.

now. the mark of a good captain is hard to measure. at times a bad one and good one can be indistinguishable, as the only goal is to reach point b. everything in between is negligible to a point.

the mark of a good captain is found in HOW they respond to a disaster. of course any captain would do their best to avoid the danger in the first place but as oceans and space hold each other close in their commonality of surprise, we rarely have such a choice.

very truly, the ship may have been a lost cause, one that would have only been remembered as a mysterious disappearance on alternian records and a sign to avoid that general cut of space.

yet nyasputins nerves...or seemingly lack thereof was their life line. even with the multiple engines turning the various appliances of the ship into bombs, the navigations systems still worked. the ship could still be steered.

his original plan was to just level the ship out so that it would skid across the longest possible path, using the trees to act as the ships main method of slowing down, then start culling portions of the engine blocks to come to a halt.

though fate rarely treats our plans kindly. as the catptain looked out at the path that would leave him with some crew instead of none he watched something come into view. something massive. something glowing with burning energy and eyes glowering with a hate much the same.

it had the same white scales of the lusus back hive. yet it was wild. territorial enough to watch this massive meteor of chitin and energy hurtling towards it and not back down...

that glow burns brighter and brighter, flames almost liquid in consistency dripped from its maw. the heckles on nyasputins neck raised as he sensed this wouldn't be a "lol, shoulda fucking moved idiot" situation.

a hail Mary, the catptian through everything into the ships defenses. allowing all steering capabilities to die out, all emergency systems to falter, even removeing power from the wifi router in the highbloods lobby.

just as the shimmering field of psiioniic energy formed around the ship, a beam of pure white wrapped around it. blinding light streaming with the burning hatred for the intruders from the life forms on the planet. the force of the beam slowly dragging the ships orbital crash momentum down to a crawl and finally even pushing it backwards.

even with the shields present, they felt themselves nearly boiling from the heat, yet they felt no burn... instead the crew were lucky enough to only report bouts of confusion. extreme fatique, a good amount of the crew would pass out. those were the enviable as they watched and waited to see if they would die or survive.

minutes or hours, it was impossible to tell as the onslaught finally stopped, the ships power depleted, the engines dead or dieing... the ship fell from the sky with a massive crash. but astoundingly, miraculously intact...

the crew took stock of their dead. they took stock of their injured. the latter far larger... but few dead aside from a vast swathe of yellow bloods. Stranded on planet until a new generation could be established.

the few that took the first few steps realized that they were no where near the ocean...they had no idea where on this vast planet they landed. The only thing they could see were the massive trees that sprouted up around them, they had landed in some kind of clearing.

the drones that weren't fried from radiation or broken on impact were set to work along with low bloods to begin felling trees, the highbloods desperate to establish a hatchery and begin raising the next engines. desperate to at least create smaller ships to cart their numbers to the ocean for a far more favorable base of operations.

yet as they begin to create facilities, as they began to create a small home out of logs and rubble they realized a grim truth. they wouldn't be able to survive in this small clearing for much longer. they wouldn't be able to create the housing needed to both keep and defend their mothergrub with exploration.

a violet looks out towards the tree line. their eyes kept flicking towards small signs of movement, small bits of white within the near pitch black. with the monster still fresh in their mind... they began to feel a bit more conscious of the blood within them and just how easily it could be spilt.

this violet would call for a scouting party.