#the wasteland of reality is an unforgiving place

[anticidic]

Soo tempted to get to working on that Fyozai reverse soulmates AU...

And after seeing that reverse tropes list a while back, I'm thinking along with Fyodor's real ability, not only they could be soulmates destined to hate/kill each other, but an ending where Dazai dies by other means and in this AU, if one half of a soulmate pairing dies, the other person dies as well.

Fyodor's ability not only means he's cursed to outlive all his soulmates as they die over and over, but Fyodor ends up reincarnating as them

How many deaths of a 'loved one' can one man withstand before he snaps?

[hrefna-the-raven]

The hunt

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

Summary: you were sent to retrieve a precious item, but so was the most notorious bounty hunter in the Wasteland...

(this happens before Cooper ended up in that grave)

Words: 1143

Warnings: swearing

Notes: I had a female reader in mind while reading this but it turned out to be quite neutral so I guess it could be read a gender-neutral as well 😊

Chapter 1 - The plan

The blistering sun burned down on the dusty South Californian wasteland as he entered the ruins of a long deserted town. Tugging his cowboy hat lower to shield his eyes from the blinding sunshine, he instinctively reached for his revolver, drawing it from its holster as he sauntered towards you.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?", he asked with a grin, aiming his gun at you.

You had spotted him the moment he entered the ruins, but hiding was never your style. Your curiosity got the better of you, eager to finally meet the ghoulish bounty hunter whose reputation preceded him. Lifting your gaze from his gun to meet his eyes, you rose to your feet, a mischievous smirk painted across your lips.

"A beautiful face, a wicked sense of humour that provides for good company and", picked up the shotgun propped against the adjacent wall, "a loaded gun if you decide on becoming a problem."

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing the shotgun before returning your smirk.

"Now, ain't that a welcome you could take as a compliment and a warning. Well, you can rest easy, darlin’. I ain't lookin’ to turn this into a bloodbath."

"Neither do I. Would be a shame to rid this world of the legendary Cooper Howard.", you winked at him as you put your gun back.

The ghoul chuckled, holstered his revolver, and tipped his hat while taking a step closer to you.

"Now ain't you a charmer? And one who's done their homework as well."

"Oh when a pre-war celebrity as dashing as you becomes the most renowned bounty hunter of this unforgiving wasteland, one simply must take a closer look."

"Don't go makin' an ol' ghoul blush with your pretty words", he teased.

"As if one could see the blush on that red skin of yours", you chuckled, "so what brings the most feared bounty hunter to this lost place?"

You were intrigued by this man out of time. He lived in the pre-war era, a world that was so different from the one you were born into, wandering around for two decades while he was forced to watch the world crumble and slowly rebuild itself, for better or worse. It begged the question what all this would do to a human's sanity and yet he didn't strike you as mad, quite on the contrary, he possessed something that you'd describe as old world charm paired in a deadly combination with one of the sharpest minds. His expression took on a slightly more serious edge, his gaze fixing to the edge of the ruins.

"Well, I’ve been tracking a caravan, you see. They’re supposed to be passing through these parts sometime soon. I’m looking for a specific item they’re carrying and since this ain't exactly a common route, I'd bet my wrinkly ass you're here for the exact same reason."

"What a coincidence", you laughed, taking out your flask, unscrewing the lid, "that item wouldn't happen to be a crate full of well preserved bottles of the finest pre-war whiskey?"

You took a sip and tapped the space beside you on the wall, gesturing for him to join you before extending the flask towards him. He nodded appreciatively as he accepted it. You were clearly a hunter just like him but your kindness caught him off guard, it was a rare occurrence in the harsh reality of the Wasteland, especially among gunslingers. To him you seemed like a rare but quite intriguing specimen, beauty and charm in a passionate tango with deadly cunning, a single dionaea muscipula thriving in the desert and he was the fly irresistibly drawn to it. This was exactly why he usually kept his distance from others but around you his resolve seemed to crumble, enchanted by the brightness and beauty of your soul.

"Quite the coincidence indeed", the Ghoul murmured, "I wonder how you by this information? If I'd had to guess I'd say that prick Dom Pedro hired one too many for this job."

"Given my additional instructions to kill a certain ghoul should he happen to cross my path, I'd say you're spot on. So what shall we do about this?", you asked, turning towards him, away from the gun as you kept your hands on your lap.

You pokered high on this one, knowing damn well it was a huge risk to admit your instructions to eliminate him while having no intent to do so, it made you vulnerable in front of the Wasteland's most fearsome bounty hunter.

Cooper lit a cigarette, a faint glow casting an eerie glow on his ghoulish face as he puffed on it, studying you with a combination of intrigue and admiration. You had made no move to actually fulfill that part of your contract, another thing that intrigued him about you, another contrast to every other bloodthirsty fucker he met in fucked up ruined world and maybe this was exactly what he needed.

"Well now, ain't that a question for the ages. The way I see it, we got three choices here. First, we could settle this like every other idiot in the trade and see who's left standin'. Second, we could team up and increase our chances of snatchin' that shipment, shared profit of course. Or third...", he took a long drag on his cigarette before throwing it to the ground.

"We get the item, return to dear old Dom and fuck him up gloriously", you offered with a mischievous grin.

Cooper's smile widened as he nodded in agreement. He'd risk a lot but not shooting you straight away but there was this feeling, buried deep down within him that urged him to trust you, a faint notion of the same tingling he had felt so long ago, back when his skin was still smooth and life was less complicated.

"Now you're talkin' my language. Ain't nothin' more exciting than a well-executed betrayal. Besides ol' Dom deserves what's comin' for him. So what do you say? You in?", he asked, extending his hand towards you, his eyes locked on yours.

"Hell yeah", you chuckled and shook his hand, "pleasure doin' business with you, Howard."

The way his name fell from your lips stirred something within him. For over two decades, nobody had called him by his real name, everywhere he went he always simply the ghoul, the notorious mercenary who drifted from place to place, leaving chaos and bloodshed in his wake. However you were the very first person in a long time who seemed to see something different in him and the fearless yet teasing way you talked to him had this undeniable hint of respect, dancing around the borders of genuine affection. He sighed and got up as the sounds of chatters in the distance rang to his ears.

“Our target's approaching, let's get goin'.”

Chapter 2 - The bounty

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[yannights]

Dance of Blood and Frost

Pairing: Yandere Tartaglia x reader

A/n: first fic on Childe,let's go!

Warning: trigger warning, blood, panic attack, prolonged imprisonment, obsessive behaviour, yandere themes.

Walking in snow can feel torturous, as each step becomes a battle against the biting cold, with icy crystals seeping into your boots like relentless invaders, numbing your toes and slowing your progress to a painful crawl. The once pristine white landscape transforms into a treacherous obstacle course, where every misstep risks a slippery slide or a sudden plunge into the freezing depths below. Each gust of wind feels like a slap to the face, driving snowflakes mercilessly into every exposed inch of skin, leaving you feeling raw and exposed to the unforgiving elements. As the snow continues to fall, obscuring your path and muffling the world around you in an eerie silence, the seemingly endless struggle becomes a test of endurance, pushing you to your physical and mental limits until the only thought that remains is the desperate longing for warmth and shelter.

As the minutes into hours, the journey through the snow feels never-ending, each step a laborious effort as exhaustion sets in, weighing heavy on your limbs already burdened by the cold. Time seems to warp, distorting reality as the relentless white landscape blurs into a monotonous expanse of indistinguishable terrain. Every passing moment feels like an eternity, with no end in sight, and the once vibrant world now reduced to a desolate, icy wasteland. The anticipation of reaching your destination becomes a distant dream, overshadowed by the harsh reality of the present struggle. And yet, despite the overwhelming urge to surrender to the numbing embrace of the snow, a flicker of determination remains, driving you forward against all odds, clinging to the hope that somewhere beyond the horizon lies the warmth and comfort you so desperately crave.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Her majesty has assigned with quite a difficult task," he said.

You were sitting on the couch soullessly looking at the floor, lost in a sea of swirling thoughts and emotions, yet your expression remained unhindered and unbothered by his words. These were the consequences of being in captivity for the past month, stuck with the eleventh fatui harbinger. Each day spent in captivity felt like a lifetime, the walls of your prison closing in with each passing moment. The Ajax's presence loomed over you like a shadow, his cold gaze piercing through the facade of defiance you tried so desperately to maintain. Standing by the kitchen counter, he moves closer to you with a smile you wish you could wipe off his face. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he settled himself beside you, and despite your instinct to move away, a firm hand gripped your shoulder, causing you to gasp in surprise. Your attempt to move was futile as his touch restrained your movements, while his other hand firmly grasped yours. He placed his head beside your ear and whispered

"Are you not curious to know what it is? Common, I know you are at least wondering what it consists of, ask me what it is"

You tried to ignore his demand, you had no interest in his little story. However, the hand that held yours shifted towards your chin, seizing it firmly and guiding it to turn, forcing you to face him. You were met by his blue eyes, reflecting a dark abyss of emptiness, no light entered or reflection could be spotted.

"Ask me" he demanded with a colder tone sending chills to your spine. You didn't have a choice but to surrender.

"Wh..What do-o you have t-to do? You stuttered

"I am glad you asked! He mockingly said. Pleased with your question, he let go your chin and turned around to lay his back on the couch, you only wished he could move his other hand.

"You see, a few bandits are indebted to the fatui, and have fled for shelter. The Fatui agents have had trouble locating them and every time a trace is found, they have already fled to another foreign region. This has been going on for 3 weeks now and they are still running around just waiting to be caught. That is why I am being sent off to track them. I am going to have to be more vigilant and careful, I can't lose them as well and fail the Tsarista now, can I? So I am leaving Shneznaya for a couple of days and find them, and when I do... well, you know the rest"

You tried hiding your shock when you heard the words "leaving for a couple of days". Ever since your arrival, never had he been gone for more than two days. A sudden feeling of excitement expanded from head to two. Your heart raced with the possibilities that opened up at that moment. The prospect of his absence ignited a spark of hope within you, fueling your determination to seize this opportunity for escape. As your mind raced with plans and possibilities, you carefully concealed your growing excitement, lest he sense your intentions and thwart your efforts. Despite your growing joy, you remembered currently, that you still had to play the role of his perfect little spouse and forced yourself to ask him where he was going exactly.

"The last few traces indicated that they are in Liyue, so I will pay my visits to Liyue Harbor. Nothing new of course. Why, is my little bunny that eager to come with me?" He says taunting you.

A small feeling of panic started to invade you. You forced a tight smile, trying to maintain composure despite the panic rising within you.

"Just thought a change of scenery might be nice," you replied, your voice wavering slightly. His taunting tone only fueled your anxiety, knowing that any sign of weakness could jeopardize your escape plans.

As he continued to jest, you struggled to keep your emotions in check, the weight of his words bearing down on you like a leaden cloak. With each passing moment, the panic threatened to overwhelm you, clawing at the edges of your mind as you desperately sought a way to regain control of the situation. But deep down, beneath the facade of false bravado, a flicker of determination remained. You refused to let fear dictate your actions, clinging to the hope that his trip to Liyue Harbor could be the key to your freedom.

"As much as I would love to have you by my side, unfortunately, this task remains dangerous, and I won't be gone for too long if that is what you are worried about."

Outwardly, you forced a placid smile, nodding along as he outlined the details of his departure. Inside, however, a storm raged, a torrent of fear and desperation threatening to consume you whole. And as he prepared to leave for Liyue Harbor, you knew that the time for action was drawing near, as you plotted your daring escape from the clutches of your captor.

----------------------------------------------------------

Hours stretched into eternity as you were forced to gaze out at the endless expanse of white that enveloped the landscape. The monotony of the scene weighed heavily on your soul, each passing moment an agonizing reminder of your captivity. The snow-covered lanes stretched on indefinitely, devoid of any signs of life or hope, and felt like you had not moved a single mile. You were 2 seconds away from collapsing from your weak state. Questions start to invade your mind like parasites, questioning your actions. Are you going to make it? Was this worth it? Was this the end? Despite your warm clothes and your pre-organized plan, your determination was fading away. You halted your movements and played back on the nearest tree to try and fix your broken state. You took a painful but reassuring breath to calm yourself and not let your escape go to waste. He was supposed to come back to the cabin in two days which would leave you still enough time to be long gone, all you had to do was strong and keep going. You decided to rest a bit to recuperate your force and find the nearest shelter to rest for the soon upcoming night. After a couple of minutes of coming to your senses, you placed your hand on the tree as support to put yourself back on track. But near your hand came an arrow that plunged into said tree near your hand.

Your heart skipped a beat as your hand brushed against something hard and cold, sending a shiver down your spine. With trembling fingers, you traced the outline of the arrow embedded in the tree trunk, its presence a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the surrounding wilderness. Fear gripped you in its icy embrace as you realized the gravity of the situation upon recognizing the arrow's design. Ajax was out there, watching and waiting with what you estimated a deadly intent.

The arrow served as a chilling warning, a silent threat that spoke volumes about the perils that awaited you beyond. With a surge of panic, you stumbled backward, your heart pounding in your chest as you frantically scanned the snowy landscape. Through the swirling snow, a figure emerged, its form obscured by the wintry mist, steadily advancing towards you. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to flee, to escape the approaching threat before it was too late. With trembling legs, you turned and bolted, your footsteps muffled by the blanket of snow beneath you. Each breath burned in your lungs as you sprinted through the icy terrain.

The noise of an arrow slicing through the air is a sharp, piercing sound, slicing through the tree ahead of you, you could only endure it until you had created a safe distance between the two of you. As you continued to flee, adrenaline pumping through your veins, a sudden, searing pain shot through your leg like a lightning bolt, causing you to cry out in agony. The world spun around you as you stumbled, your vision blurring with tears as the pain radiated through every fiber of your being. Your blood painted the pure colour of snow and you fell into its icy comfort. Every movement sent shockwaves of agony rippling through your body.

Despite the excruciating pain, you forced yourself to press on, driven by the primal instinct to survive at any cost. With gritted teeth and sheer determination, you pushed through the pain and crawled your way forward. Yet, the glimmer of hope that remained was slowly fading as you heard footsteps coming closer behind you.

" You know, had you trained in a form of martial arts, you would have been a great warrior. Your fighting spirits pushing even in the strongest of battles, never giving up" he said.

You were momentarily stunned by his unexpected words, the pain in your leg momentarily forgotten as you processed his unexpected praise. But as his footsteps drew nearer, the weight of his words settled over you like a heavy shroud.

"However, every warrior has its limits, and when faced with stronger opponents, they must learn to give up"

His words cut through you like a knife, sapping the last remnants of hope from you. The weight of his dismissal settled over you like a suffocating blanket, extinguishing the flicker of defiance that had burned within you. As his footsteps drew nearer, a sense of resignation washed over you, knowing that resistance was futile in the face of overwhelming power. With a heavy heart, you lowered your gaze, your spirit broken by his words of condemnation. Every fiber of your being screamed in protest, yearning for a glimmer of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

His footsteps came to a grounding halt as his shadow cast over you, suffocating you with its oppressive weight.

"I'm surprised you bought into my little story, I thought you were smarter than that," he sneered, his voice dripping in mockery. The revelation hit you like a blow to the gut, the bitter taste of betrayal flooding your senses. He kneeled in front of you, looking down at your pathetic form.

"But I am glad we could have a little fun with this game of cat and mouse," he continued, his tone laced with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Maybe this will be a good message that no matter the act of defiance, action, and many more, I will always find you."

His words sent a chill down your spine, the implication sinking in like a lead weight in your stomach. Despite your best efforts to escape, it seemed that he held all the cards, his grip on you unyielding and unrelenting. As his words echoed in the icy air, a wave of dizziness washed over you, threatening to pull you into the depths of unconsciousness. Your vision blurred and the world spun. With a soft groan, you collapsed to the ground, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt strong arms scoop you up, cradling you against a chest that radiated warmth in the cold. As consciousness slipped further from your grasp, you surrendered to the darkness, the rhythmic sound of footsteps lulling you into a fitful slumber. And as you drifted into oblivion, you couldn't help but wonder what trials awaited you on the other side, and if you would ever find the strength to break free from the chains that bound you to him.

[joseykrabs]

Cover art and character art on the way. I know this isn’t the typical ship, but hear me out…

Alcina Dimitrescu has lost everything but her life. Her money. Her home. Her abilities. And worst of all, Her beautiful, loving daughters. She has been captured, put on trial, and is well on her way to rot in prison. As despair sets in from the reality of her predicament, an extraordinary sequence of events occurs as the Train taking her to her new home changes course and derails... straight into the heart of the the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

Every attempt is made to secure her and put her back on track to life in prison. But "The Zone," to those that know it well, is known for besting fate. It is a land where nature's law has lost it's footing. An unforgiving wasteland of anomalies, warring factions, and mysteries. It is a terrifying and restless place where legends are either made, or broken.

Lost and Starving, from her perspective, the turn of events is salt upon her wounds. But it is the first stroke of luck she has had in her very long life. It is here, in the heart of abnormality, that she will meet a band of loners, led by a fractured man. By outlaws and madmen, She will learn the error of her ways. She will learn to live like life is short. And above all, what it is like to be shown love unconditional.

[tahomawhisperingwind]

Adaptation to Desert Life Apache Practices

Image generated by the author

Resilience and Adaptation: The Apache Way of Life in the Desert

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the arid landscape, one can’t help but feel a profound sense of history and resilience in the air. Imagine a world where survival hinges not only on physical strength but also on a deep, spiritual relationship with the land. This is the essence of Apache culture, a remarkable testament to human adaptability in the unforgiving desert of the American Southwest. How did the Apache thrive where many would falter? The answer lies in their unique cultural practices, their profound respect for nature, and their unwavering sense of community.

The Endurance of the Apache Spirit

The Apache are more than just a people; they embody endurance. For centuries, they have navigated the harsh realities of desert life, transforming challenges into opportunities for growth. Their cultural practices are steeped in wisdom passed down through generations, emphasizing not just survival but a thriving existence in the face of adversity.

When one thinks of the desert, images of desolation and scarcity might spring to mind. Yet, for the Apache, the desert is a living entity, rich with resources and knowledge. Their connection to the land is profound, characterized by a symbiotic relationship that fosters respect, gratitude, and survival. The Apache way of life is a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of adaptability, community, and a deep-rooted spirituality.

Key Adaptation Practices: Crafting Tools for Survival

Apache traditions are a testament to human ingenuity in harmonizing with an inhospitable environment. One of the most striking examples is their tool-making and resource management practices. The Apache have crafted tools designed to withstand the extreme weather conditions of the desert, from the searing heat of summer to the chill of winter nights.

The craftsmanship involved in creating these tools is a skill passed down through generations. Elders teach the younger members of the tribe how to shape materials found in their surroundings, transforming stones, bones, and wood into essential instruments for hunting and gathering. This knowledge is not merely practical; it's a way of imbuing the younger generation with a sense of responsibility towards the land they depend on.

Storytelling plays a crucial role in this cultural transmission. Picture the flickering light of a campfire illuminating the faces of the young and old as stories of ancestors come to life. Elders recount tales that not only share cultural identity but also impart lessons about the environment. These narratives form a bond between the generations, ensuring that the wisdom of the past remains alive in the present.

Historical Context: Wisdom Through the Ages

The Apache have thrived for centuries, thanks to their sustainable relationship with the environment. Their extensive knowledge of local flora and fauna is legendary, enabling them to find food and water even in the most severe of conditions. Tribes like the Geronimo and the Mescalero Apache exemplify this adaptability through their migratory practices, moving in search of resources as seasons change.

The wisdom of the Apache is not merely anecdotal; it’s a living library of ecological knowledge that has evolved over centuries. Each plant, animal, and geographical feature is part of a complex system that the Apache have learned to navigate with respect and understanding. The ability to read the land like a book is what has allowed them to flourish in a place where others might only see barren wasteland.

Community and Cooperation: The Heart of Apache Culture

At the core of Apache survival techniques lies a profound sense of community and cooperation. The teachings of the elders are not just individual lessons; they foster a spirit of collaboration that enhances the tribe’s survival during difficult times.

During droughts, for instance, the Apache exhibit remarkable ingenuity. They come together to innovate new ways of water conservation and shelter-building that respect the environment. This communal effort not only bolsters survival but reinforces the bonds that hold the tribe together. It’s a vivid reminder that in the face of adversity, unity becomes strength.

Spirituality: A Living Connection to the Desert

Apache culture is deeply intertwined with the desert landscape, and spirituality plays a significant role in this connection. The Apache view the desert as a teacher, a source of lessons in patience, humility, and respect. Each seasonal ritual, storytelling session, and communal gathering is a celebration of their bond with the land.

Imagine a young Apache child accompanied by an elder, standing atop a sand dune, absorbing the vastness of the desert. The elder shares stories of how the land provides nourishment, how the winds carry messages, and how the stars guide their way. This connection to the land is not a mere backdrop; it shapes their identity and informs their daily practices.

The Apache belief that adaptation is not merely survival but also an acknowledgment of their ancestors is beautifully illustrated through these experiences. Every lesson learned in the desert is a nod to those who came before, a way of honoring their legacy while forging a path forward.

Sustainable Practices: Lessons for a Modern World

The Apache employ various sustainable practices that offer invaluable insights for contemporary society. Their reliance on native plants, such as mesquite and prickly pear, for food and hydration exemplifies their deep understanding of the land’s offerings. Foraging becomes not just a means of survival but a way of engaging with the ecosystem in a respectful manner.

Water conservation techniques, such as capturing rainwater and digging shallow wells, are ingenious adaptations to the desert's scarcity. The seasonal migration practiced by the Apache illustrates a profound understanding of natural rhythms, optimizing resources based on environmental changes.

These practices resonate with modern sustainability efforts, highlighting the importance of traditional ecological knowledge in addressing today’s challenges. Experts in anthropology and cultural ecology emphasize that the Apache way of life serves as a blueprint for resilience amid climate change and resource scarcity.

Modern Relevance: The Apache Legacy Today

The relevance of Apache practices extends far beyond their immediate environment. As the world grapples with pressing issues of climate change, resource management, and community resilience, the lessons of the Apache become increasingly vital. Their communal cooperation, innovative resource management, and spiritual connection to the land offer compelling insights into how we might thrive in our own challenging circumstances.

In a society often marked by individualism and disconnection from nature, the Apache remind us of the power of community and the importance of nurturing our relationship with the environment. Their teachings encourage us to embrace sustainable living, fostering a sense of interconnectedness among land, plants, animals, and community.

Conclusion: Embracing the Apache Spirit

As we reflect on the Apache way of life, we are reminded of the enduring spirit of resilience that defines their culture. In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, the Apache offer a profound lesson: adaptation is not merely about survival; it is about honoring our connections—connections to each other, to the land, and to the wisdom of those who came before us.

So, as you gaze at the desert landscape, consider the lessons etched in its sands. The Apache teach us that every challenge can be transformed into an opportunity for growth, and every moment spent in nature can deepen our understanding of ourselves and our place in the world. In embracing these teachings, we honor a legacy of survival and adaptation that resonates far beyond the desert, inviting us to forge our own paths toward resilience.

About Black Hawk Visions

Black Hawk Visions preserves and shares timeless Apache wisdom through digital media. Inspired by Tahoma Whispering Wind, we offer eBooks, online courses, and newsletters that blend traditional knowledge with modern learning. Explore nature connection, survival skills, and inner growth at Black Hawk Visions.

AI Disclosure: AI was used for content ideation, spelling and grammar checks, and some modification of this article.

About Black Hawk Visions: We preserve and share timeless Apache wisdom through digital media. Explore nature connection, survival skills, and inner growth at Black Hawk Visions.

[thelorehold]

Rhea Dustwalker

Class: Wasteland Ranger (Variant Ranger)

Race: Human

Description:

Stature: Rhea is lean and weather-beaten, with sun-baked skin and dark, windswept hair that often obscures her face. Her eyes are a piercing amber, hardened by the harsh realities of the wasteland. She moves with a predatory grace, her movements economical and efficient.

Style: Rhea's attire is a patchwork of salvaged materials, scavenged from the ruins of a fallen world. She wears a tattered leather duster over layers of worn cloth, offering protection from the elements and the dangers of the wasteland. A battered wide-brimmed hat shields her face from the sun's harsh rays, and a worn bandanna covers her mouth and nose to filter the dust-laden air.

History:

Rhea was born into a nomadic tribe that roamed the vast expanse of the wasteland, eking out a meager existence in the unforgiving environment. From a young age, she was trained in the arts of survival, learning to track prey, scavenge for resources, and defend herself from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. When a catastrophic sandstorm decimated her tribe, Rhea was left to fend for herself. She wandered the wasteland alone, honing her skills and developing a deep understanding of the harsh realities of her world.

Personality:

Rhea is a hardened survivor, her spirit forged in the crucible of the wasteland. She is fiercely independent, preferring to rely on her own instincts and resourcefulness rather than seeking help from others. Rhea is a woman of few words, her silence a testament to the harsh realities she has endured. Despite her tough exterior, she possesses a deep empathy for those struggling to survive in the wasteland and will often offer aid to those in need.

Voice & Mannerisms:

Rhea speaks in a low, gravelly voice, her words often clipped and direct. She rarely wastes time on pleasantries, preferring to get straight to the point. Rhea moves with a quiet efficiency, her footsteps barely disturbing the dusty ground. She has a habit of scanning the horizon with a practiced eye, always on the lookout for potential threats or hidden resources.

Motives & Goals:

Rhea is driven by a relentless determination to survive and thrive in the harsh environment of the wasteland. She seeks to uncover the secrets of the fallen world, hoping to find a way to restore balance to the shattered ecosystem. Rhea yearns to create a safe haven for those who have been displaced by the cataclysm, a place where they can rebuild their lives and find hope in the face of despair.

Beliefs & Values:

Rhea believes in the importance of self-reliance, the power of resilience, and the inherent value of all living things. She values resourcefulness, adaptability, and the ability to find hope even in the darkest of times. Rhea holds a deep reverence for the wasteland, seeing it as a testament to the enduring spirit of life.

Reputation:

Rhea is known as the "Dustwalker," a solitary figure who roams the wasteland, a survivor of countless hardships and a master of the harsh environment. She is respected for her knowledge of the wasteland's secrets and admired for her unwavering resilience. Rhea's reputation precedes her, inspiring awe in those who have witnessed her survival skills and striking fear into the hearts of those who would threaten her.

Quirks & Flaws:

Rhea can be overly cautious and distrustful of others, often pushing away those who try to get close to her. She struggles to express her emotions and can be emotionally distant, masking her vulnerability with a stoic facade. Rhea also has a weakness for salvaged trinkets and a tendency to hoard rare resources.

Secret:

Rhea is haunted by the memory of her lost tribe, the faces of her loved ones forever etched into her mind. She blames herself for their deaths, believing that if she had been stronger or more vigilant, she could have prevented the tragedy. This guilt fuels her relentless determination to survive and create a better future for those who remain.

Allies & Contacts:

A grizzled old scavenger who taught Rhea the art of survival in the wasteland.

A wise and compassionate healer who helped Rhea cope with the trauma of her past.

A network of wasteland traders and nomads who share information and resources.

What's in their pockets?:

A worn leather pouch containing a handful of precious seeds, a symbol of hope for a brighter future.

A shard of obsidian, a remnant of a fallen civilization, a reminder of the past's fragility.

A small, hand-carved wooden whistle, a gift from her lost tribe, a connection to her heritage.

Character Synopsis:

Rhea Dustwalker is a survivor, a wasteland ranger hardened by the harsh realities of her world. Her resourcefulness, resilience, and unwavering determination make her a valuable asset to any party. Rhea's enigmatic nature, hidden vulnerabilities, and secret guilt add depth and intrigue to her character, making her a compelling addition to any high fantasy campaign.

[ww3endofdays]

Mastering the Wasteland: A Guide to Strategic Domination in World War III: End of Days

The bombs have fallen. Civilization crumbles under the weight of its own folly. From the ashes rises a new battleground – the unforgiving wasteland of World War III: End of Days (WW3EOD). Here, amidst the dust and debris, you must rise as a commander, forge an empire, and crush your rivals. But this desolate landscape demands more than brute force; it demands strategic mastery. Here's your guide to navigating the complexities of wasteland warfare and carving your name into the post-apocalyptic history books.

The Lifeblood of Empire: Mastering Resource Management

The wasteland offers a harsh reality check. Forget overflowing stockpiles and lush farmlands. Essential resources like water, food, and raw materials are scarce, demanding strategic management. Here's how to ensure your empire thrives:

Prioritization is Key: Identify your army's needs and research priorities. Focus your resource production on building a powerful force while ensuring a steady supply for upgrades and base development. Utilize advanced structures like refineries and processing plants to maximize output. Don't neglect research – invest in technologies that enhance resource collection and production efficiency, making every drop count.

Securing Your Lifeline: Resource points scattered across the wasteland are your lifeline. Scout these locations strategically and claim them to secure a steady flow of resources. But remember, resources are finite. Be prepared to explore new locations as existing deposits deplete. And don't underestimate the importance of defense – establish a strong military presence to protect your resource gathering parties and transportation routes from opportunistic raiders and rival factions.

Adapting Your War Machine: Building an Army for the Wasteland

The scorched earth and twisted metal of the wasteland demand a different breed of soldier. Forget sleek tanks designed for open battlefields – here, adaptability is paramount. Here's how to build a war machine that thrives in this harsh environment:

Wasteland Warriors: Specialized units are crucial – Scavengers excel at gathering resources in irradiated areas, while radiation-resistant troops shrug off the dangers of toxic wastelands. Don't underestimate the power of modification – upgrade existing units with wasteland-specific technologies to enhance their performance and resilience.

Building a Balanced Force: No single unit conquers all. Create a diverse army composition that can counter various threats – raiders armed with makeshift weapons, mutated creatures with unnatural strength, and rival factions with their own specialized troops. Scout your enemies, analyze their strategies, and develop a flexible army composition that can adapt to any battlefield situation.

Unlocking Potential: Research and development is your key to unlocking new unit types and upgrades for existing troops. Prioritize research based on your strategic goals and resource availability. Invest in technologies that enhance your army's effectiveness in the harsh wasteland environment.

Mastering the Art of War: Tactical Prowess on the Battlefield

WW3EOD isn't just about brute force; it's about tactical brilliance. Here's how to outsmart your opponents and secure battlefield victories:

Formation and Positioning: Positioning is key. Place offensive units like tanks at the forefront, absorbing enemy fire while your support units like medics stay behind, providing healing and buffs. Flanking enemy formations allows you to exploit weaknesses and maximize firepower, overwhelming your opponents before they can react.

Using Abilities Strategically: Each unit type possesses unique strengths and abilities. A well-timed grenade toss can scatter enemy formations, while a defensive buff can turn the tide of battle. Learn to utilize these abilities effectively to gain a tactical advantage.

Adapting to the Battlefield: Knowledge is power. Scout enemy bases before launching attacks to understand their layout and defenses. Adjust your strategy based on the terrain and environmental hazards. Utilize weather patterns to your advantage – launch surprise attacks during a sandstorm to reduce enemy visibility, or unleash a devastating bombardment during a heavy downpour that hinders enemy movement.

Forging Alliances and Conquering Rivals: Diplomacy and Domination

The wasteland is a desolate place, but you don't have to face it alone. Factions of survivors have emerged, each vying for dominance. Here's where diplomacy and strategic alliances come into play:

Strength in Numbers: Alliances offer a significant advantage. Partner with other factions to share resources, coordinate powerful combined attacks on formidable enemies, and provide mutual defense against common threats. Evaluate potential allies based on their strengths, weaknesses, and strategic goals. Negotiate trade agreements and establish clear communication channels to ensure a smooth and mutually beneficial alliance.

The Power of Cooperation: Allied forces can launch devastating combined assaults against heavily fortified enemy positions. Coordinate your attacks, utilizing each faction's strengths to overwhelm your opponents.

The Other Side of the Coin: Expect the unexpected. Wasteland factions often resort to unconventional warfare tactics beyond traditional battles. Raiding parties might target your resource gathering operations,while rivals might employ guerilla attacks and sabotage to disrupt your base and hinder your progress.Develop counter-intelligence measures to identify and neutralize enemy spies. Invest in mobile defensive units to protect your resource gathering parties and establish patrol routes to deter raids.

The Long Game: Progression and Domination

Building a wasteland empire isn't an overnight endeavor. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Here's how to ensure your long-term success:

Upgrading Your Fortress: Constantly improve your base defenses. Invest in stronger walls, advanced defensive structures, and strategically placed traps to deter attackers. Don't neglect your resource production facilities – upgrade them to ensure a steady flow of materials to fuel your war machine.

Leveling Up Your Commander: As you progress, your commander gains valuable experience, unlocking new skills and passive bonuses for your army. Invest in upgrades that complement your chosen playstyle and enhance your overall effectiveness on the battlefield.

Participating in the Arena: Events and challenges offer exciting opportunities to test your skills and earn valuable rewards. These rewards can range from rare resources and blueprints for advanced units to exclusive cosmetic items to personalize your commander and troops.

Building a Community: The wasteland may be a lonely place, but you don't have to navigate it alone.Connect with other players, share strategies, learn from their experiences, and form a supportive community. You might even discover valuable allies who share your vision for wasteland domination.

Conclusion: A Commander's Legacy

Mastering strategy in WW3EOD is a multifaceted endeavor. It requires resource management, tactical prowess, building a formidable army, and adapting to the ever-changing landscape of the wasteland. But for the cunning commander, the rewards are immense. By following these guidelines, you can carve your name into the annals of post-apocalyptic history, forge a mighty empire from the ashes of the old world, and reign supreme in World War III: End of Days.

Dominate the Wasteland, Commander. Download World War III: End of Days Today!

[newmaniawe]

Mastering Rust: Advanced Strategies for Thriving in the Wasteland

Are you tired of constantly dying in Rust's harsh wasteland? Do you struggle to gather resources and build a base to withstand other players' attacks? If so, you're not alone. Rust is a challenging game that requires skill, strategy, and resilience to survive. Fortunately, with the proper knowledge and tactics, you can master Rust and thrive in the wasteland. In this article, we'll share advanced strategies for mastering Rust and thriving in its harsh reality. We'll cover various topics, from resource gathering and base building to combat and raiding. Whether you're a seasoned Rust player or just starting, these strategies will help you gain an edge over your opponents and increase your chances of survival.  So, let's dive in and explore the world of Rust together. To get more knowledge on rust hacks go through this article thoroughly. 

Surviving in the Wasteland

The world can seem harsh and unforgiving when you first start playing Rust. You'll need to quickly learn how to survive in the wasteland if you want to thrive. Here are some basic survival skills, tips for finding food and water, and advice on building a shelter. Basic Survival Skills Before you can do anything else, you must ensure you have the basic skills to survive in Rust. Here are some things you should focus on: - Gathering Resources: You'll need to gather resources like wood, stone, and metal to build your shelter and craft weapons. Look for rocks, trees, and more nodes to get started. - Crafting Tools: Once you have resources, you can craft tools like a hatchet, pickaxe, and hammer. These will help you gather resources more efficiently and build your shelter. - Avoiding Danger: Rust is a dangerous place, and you'll need to be careful to avoid getting killed by other players, animals, or environmental hazards. Stay alert and be ready to run or fight if necessary. Finding Food and Water In Rust, you must eat and drink regularly to stay alive. Here are some tips for finding food and water: - Hunting Animals: You can hunt deer, boars, and chickens for meat. Use a bow or gun to take them down, then use a campfire or cooking pot to cook the meat. - Fishing: You can also fish for food in rivers and lakes. Craft a fishing rod and use bait to catch fish. - Collecting Berries: You can find berries growing on bushes throughout the world. Be careful, though, as some berries are poisonous. - Drinking Water: You can drink water from rivers and lakes, but purify it first. Craft a water purifier or boil the water over a campfire to make it safe to drink. Building a Shelter To survive in Rust, you'll need a base to call home. Here are some tips for building a shelter: - Location: Look for a location that's easy to defend and has access to resources like wood and stone. Avoid building near high-traffic areas like roads and monuments, as other players often target these. - Materials: You'll need to gather wood, stone, and metal resources to build your shelter. Start with a simple wood base and upgrade it as you gather more resources. - Defenses: To protect your base from other players, you must build walls, doors, and traps. Consider using turrets or landmines to deter attackers.

Thriving in the Wasteland

When you find yourself in Rust's harsh wasteland, knowing how to thrive in such a difficult environment is crucial. Here are some advanced strategies and skills to help you survive and thrive in this unpredictable realm. Establishing a Community One of the most important things you can do to thrive in Rust is to establish a community. Working with a group of people will make your life much easier. You can share resources, divide labor, and offer each other protection. Additionally, a community can help you establish a base of operations and defend it from other players. To establish a community, you must find like-minded players who share your goals. You can use the chat function to communicate with other players and ask if they want to form a group. You can also join a clan or a server with a pre-existing community. Sustainable Living Strategies Another key to thriving in Rust is to develop sustainable living strategies. You need to be able to produce food, water, and other resources on a regular basis. This will help you avoid starving or dehydrating to death and allow you to focus on other tasks. To produce food, you can plant crops like corn, pumpkins, and hemp. You can also hunt animals like deer, boar, and chickens for meat. To produce water, you can collect rainwater or build a well. You can also purify water using a water purifier.

Conclusion

In conclusion, mastering Rust requires a combination of skills, strategies, and knowledge. Following the advanced strategies outlined in this article can increase your chances of thriving in the harsh wasteland. Read the full article

[thanks--for--listening]

tethers

hi party people guess who finally finished her fic for the wilds! i’m tagging it as leatin but you could probably read it either in a ship way or just in a friendship way. takes place after the ocean scene but we’re pretending Leah hasn’t gone into the woods to find nora yet. (also on ao3)

~~

The sun was overbearing. Leah tried to open her eyes, but the glare surrounded her, didn't leave room for anyone or anything else. There was no warmth or feeling — just light. She might have compared it to drowning, but the metaphor didn’t hold up anymore. She knew what drowning looked like; there was nothing bright about it.

The waves had been all darkness, pain and pressure toying with her like she weighed nothing at all. She’d heard the ocean described as unforgiving before, and she hadn’t understood it until she was out there. The water didn’t care about her. It didn’t care about anyone. There was fear, a survival instinct that couldn’t be ignored, but there was also something intoxicating about its indifference. Giving up control offered a serenity she hadn’t prepared for. A part of her still longed for it, although it wasn’t strong enough to break through the sun, to drag her up and off the beach. 

The constant light might have tricked her into thinking she’d succeeded, but she was pretty sure the afterlife wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Every muscle in her body groaned, as if they’d rusted over in however long she’d been asleep. There was a quiet but constant pounding in her head, and she let it ground her, let every beat sync up with her heart and confirm that she was still alive. 

Her other sensations came back slowly. The hunger, deep in her gut, made itself known in whispers that weren’t easily ignored. The sand beneath her, damp and cold, served as a constant reminder of the hell she was waking up to. But more than anything, it was the feeling of a hand running through her hair that motivated her to blink away the sun and let reality come back into focus. 

Fatin wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were cast outward, at the infinite ocean surrounding them. She stared at it like she could see past it, like there was more to look at than their own personal wasteland. Like she saw something that wasn’t there.

Leah’s eyes drifted to her hands. She could feel her right one still absentmindedly combing through her hair, but her left was in its own world. Her fingers kept moving, up and down and left to right, slowly then quickly, then slowly again. It looked sporadic at first, but the longer she watched, the more she felt like there was a rhythm to it. A pattern, although one she couldn’t decipher. 

Fatin glanced down, as if she felt her eyes on her. “You’re up.” The worry in her voice contradicted the smile on her face. “How do you feel?”

“Drowsy.” Speaking took more effort than it should have. Her voice carried it's now characteristic crack, the sound almost not coming out at all. 

“Here,” she said as she reached for a water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

Fatin helped her up, held her head as she drank. It didn’t matter that the water was warm — it came with the same relief it had in the few weeks they’d been here. Every sip calmed her, brought her back down to Earth, dampened the pounding and gnawing and rebelling going on inside her body, if only for a moment. Calm wasn’t something she held onto for very long.

She put the bottle down, shifted so her head ended up in Fatin’s lap. They’d never talked about it, this position she often found herself in. Leah wasn’t even sure how it had started. All she knew was that she liked the way it felt, to lay against her, to feel the warmth of another person underneath her. And after that day they’d spent searching, when all she could think about was Fatin dead in a ditch somewhere, Leah couldn’t deny the comfort it gave her, knowing for certain that she was okay. That she was alive. 

Fatin never stopped her, not once.

“How—uh, how are you feeling? You know, up here?“ Fatin tapped on the side of her head as she asked. The hesitation was so unlike her. Guilt reared its ugly head, reminded her of an indisputable fact: Fatin’s fear, her worry, it was all her fault. They were in hell, and she was making things worse. The way she always did.

“Better.” She answered confidently, even though she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was true or not. The desperation was out of the forefront, at the very least. But she wasn’t sure that would classify her as healed. As normal. Leah didn’t think she’d ever fit that label, not before this fucking island and definitely not on it. She did her best to ignore the sinking feeling that she might not find normal anytime after their castaway adventure, either. She would always be this way. That girl who ran to the ocean, she would live somewhere inside her forever. 

Fatin sighed in relief, and all at once she made the white lie worth it. “That’s two things to celebrate.”

“Two?”

Her face lit up. “We’ve got food now. Starvation is officially put on hold.”

She tried to smile. Truly, she did, but whether it was her body’s slow reaction time or her mind’s lingering hold on her, something wouldn’t let it happen. Pretending kept getting harder, and she couldn’t help but worry about what happened when she lost the ability entirely.

Fatin noticed. She always seemed to notice. “Aren’t you happy?” She could hear it in the way she spoke. The concern. Leah hated it, hated being the reason for it. 

“Yeah,” she answered a little too quickly. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. But that’s good, it really is.”

She didn’t look like she believed her. Leah didn’t know how to explain it, her lack of response. It was a little bit of everything: the dread at thinking about what came with survival, the fog from whatever she’d swallowed not fully faded, the lifetime spent not knowing how to feel anything the right amount. She was all or nothing, always had been. And right now, no matter what she did, she couldn’t escape the nothing. 

There was a numbness to it. She’d get moments, watching the world speed around her while she felt trapped in slow motion. The island had broken it initially, but the adrenaline faded with every day that passed, and it took any sort of regulation with it. All she was left with was her typical, fucked up self, her zero to a hundreds. And everyone else was left with it, too.

“What was that thing you were doing earlier?” She asked it mostly as a distraction. Fatin may not have been as shallow as she’d once thought, but she also didn’t pass up many opportunities to talk about herself. The attempt may have been futile, but it could work, if it managed to catch her off guard. Or if Fatin decided to amuse her and ignore the obvious avoidance.

Leah knew she had her when she scrunched her eyebrows together. “What thing?”

“With your hands. You were, like, not tapping exactly, but you were doing...I don’t know. You were moving a lot.”

“Oh. That.” Fatin didn’t blush, not visibly, but she’d seen that smile before. She knew what it meant. “It’s nothing.”

“Does it mean something?”

“No. It’s stupid. Just an old habit.”

She could hear the lie. It didn’t make sense, how something so inconsequential could be worth hiding. Genuine curiosity snuck in, made her forget about distractions entirely. “It’s not like you could embarrass yourself more than I already have, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Leah saw the smile tug at her lips. “Okay,” Fatin said, sounding more herself. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. My reputation depends on it.”

She forced her hand up to her lips, weakly mimicked zipping her mouth shut. Her arm screamed, but the effort was worth it for the laugh she got in return. 

“Alright. Sometimes, when I get bored, or when I need to get out of my head, I mentally run through whatever piece I’m learning.”

The connection took a second. “You mean cello pieces?”

Fatin nodded. “I use my thumb as the makeshift fingerboard,” she said, holding her hand up in front of her. “And I just...go through the motions.”

Leah watched as her fingers moved. She could see it more clearly now, the intentionality of it all. The routine. She moved quickly, confidently, with so much purpose and familiarity. It was something so small, but she felt like it shattered whatever was left of the misconstrued perception she’d had of her. 

Fatin stopped after a few seconds. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s cool.”

She laughed. “If you think this is cool, your social education has failed you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Leah, it’s the cello. Nothing about the cello is cool.”

“Anything is cool if you’re good at it. And I heard you’re, like, really good. Like, Juilliard-level good. That’s cool.”

The smile faded. Leah didn’t understand it, felt a quiet desperation to get it back. “Yeah. Well, if one good thing comes out of this, it’s that I can leverage my parents to make sure I never have to go there. Not sure they’ll be able to say no to me ever again.”

“You don’t wanna go? But isn’t that, like, the be-all end-all school for music?”

“Yeah, if you wanna spend the rest of your life playing concertos written by dead racist white men and wasting your best years wearing concert attire.” She tried to smile, but Leah could see right through her. “You know me, I can’t live my life confined to an all black wardrobe.”

She hesitated, just for a second, before asking, “There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?”

For a second, Leah thought she’d deny it, but instead she just shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time if you wanna explain it.” She motioned vaguely around then. “Schedule’s all clear for the foreseeable future.”

Their eyes met, and even if she’d been strong enough to move, she would have sat frozen in place. Fatin had a way of staring into her like she could see every thought running through her head, like every emotion she had was out on display. It was captivating, and fascinating, and terrifying, and Leah never wanted it to stop.

“My parents started me in lessons when I was little,” she said after a minute. “Tends to come with the territory when you’re first gen. Music is supposed to teach you discipline and patience. Immigrant parents eat that shit up.”

“I’m sure you took to that lesson real fast.”

Fatin cracked a smile. “Oh, yeah. Throw your kid into nonstop music lessons before they know how to read, and you could come out of it with me, every parent’s dream. Clearly I’m a walking success story.”

“I mean, you kinda are. That is, if you’re really that good.”

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m fucking amazing. But it isn’t because of some child prodigy bullshit, or because I have an abundance of patience. Most people aren’t born good at something. You have to work for it.”

She meant to ask it as a joke, but sincerity slipped out. “And...that’s what you did? You worked at it?”

“You don’t have to act all surprised. Yeah, I worked at it. I worked at it a lot.” She held up her hand, and for the first time Leah saw the rough calluses Dot had mentioned earlier. “You don’t get monstrosities like these without spending a lot of fucking time on it.”

“Wow.” She tried to imagine it, a tiny Fatin slaving away at an instrument that had to be just as big as her. A teenage Fatin locked away in a practice room, playing over and over and over again, wounds reopening so many times that even weeks on an island couldn’t properly heal them. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about it.”

She didn’t say anything. For a second she wondered whether she’d gone too far, crossed a line she hadn’t realized was there. An apology was sitting at the tip of her tongue when Fatin sighed and said, “I used to be.”

She could hear it, the way they were treading into delicate territory. Part of her was scared to keep going. Every one of her companions seemed to have their own personal landmines hidden in their time before the crash, and the last thing she wanted was to set off an explosion. She knew how to blow up, but she wasn’t strong the way Fatin was — if she missed a step, she may not be able to put the pieces back together. 

It was the feeling of Fatin’s left hand stalled in the movement, still fingers content to stay tangled in her hair, that made Leah push aside the fear. She could beat herself up later for whatever mistakes she was bound to make, but she couldn’t do nothing. 

“What changed?” The words were an invitation, one she wasn’t sure Fatin would accept. The pain was palpable. Her eyes drifted away from Leah and back out into the ocean, and a small part of her wanted to go back in, to find whatever it was Fatin kept searching for.

“I did, I guess.” She spoke like she was saying the words for the first time. “It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t a popular kid. I had a weird name and a weird family. I brought the wrong lunches to school and I wore the wrong clothes, and no one cared to look any deeper. But none of that mattered, because I had music.”

Leah could see the light creep into her eyes, slowly, quietly. “When I played,” she continued, “I understood everything. I could hear it, the way each note, each piece, was supposed to sound. I could practice, and practice, and practice, and I could get better. I could learn to do everything right.”

She talked about playing the way people talked at funerals: reminiscing about someone who was already gone, picking only the happy memories and pretending for just a moment that no other ones existed. And Leah knew it wasn’t the whole story, but there was something compelling about listening, about imagining a world in which everything made sense and no error was so abhorrent it couldn’t be fixed with a slight adjustment.

“By the time I was in middle school, my future had already been decided. I’d spent every day after school rehearsing, spent every summer at music camps. I never complained, because I truly thought there was nothing else. Nothing could be better than sitting on stage, impressing rows and rows of people who could only dream about having what I had.”

“It sounds amazing.” Leah hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but it was true. It reminded her of writing. Searching for the right words, the right structure, the right pacing. The satisfaction that came with it. She may not have had an audience to look out on, but she’d had glimpses of the feeling. The ability to control the world around you, just for a second.

“It was, at first. Every crowd, every teacher and ensemble member, they all wanted to hear me. They wanted to be me. And maybe it’s shallow, but there’s nothing more intoxicating than being desired.”

“It’s not shallow.” It came out as a whisper. Leah turned her eyes down, even when she was certain Fatin’s had found their way back to her. She knew if she gave her the chance, Fatin would see everything, all the guilt and pain and humiliation. The pages might have burned, but the need for them, for what they once meant, hadn’t turned into ashes yet. 

“Maybe it’s not.” Her voice felt softer as she spoke again. “But it’s easier to say that when it’s coming from an audience. From something you have to earn. It’s a lot harder when it’s coming from boys who see a body instead of a person.”

“So that’s what changed.” She tried to put some humor into the words. The last thing she wanted Fatin to think was that she was judging her. She might have done it before, but the high ground she’d once placed herself on was sinking by the minute.

Fatin chucked. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s the classic story, really. Girl turns fourteen, goes through puberty, and suddenly popularity is offering itself up on a silver platter held by boys in football jerseys and envied by girls with Pom Poms. Trends shift. What was out is now in. And for the first time in my life, I was in.”

“That sounds nice.” She wasn’t sure whether she was lying or not. It did sound tempting, but popularity had always seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

Fatin just sighed. “Part of it was. I’d spent years not really interacting with anyone outside of a rehearsal hall. I thought it’d be hard. But when you're used to searching for emotion in sheet music, faces become so much easier. All these kids projected everything, gave me all the right answers. I never even had to try.”

So much of who she was began to make sense. Her perceptiveness, her empathy, her uncanny ability to read a room. Fatin had gone from an open book to a complete mystery in the last few weeks, and for the first time since, Leah felt like she was beginning to figure her out.

“The people I started to hang with, they were so different from everyone I’d ever met,” Fatin continued. “They were bold. Independent. Filled with confidence that wasn’t reliant on anyone else. It was…” she shrugged. “It was revolutionary.”

“What do you mean?”

“They showed me an entirely different life. Everything I’d thought I could only get while performing was out there, waiting for me. And the options — there were so many options. For so long, music was the only thing I cared about, because it was the only thing that ever made me feel...I don’t know. Seen. Heard. Wanted. But when the world started paying attention to me, I started paying attention back. And the cello wasn’t enough anymore.”

“So, why didn’t you stop?”

Fatin rolled her eyes. “You say it like it’s that easy. I could complain until I ran out of air, but that wasn’t going to change anything. Juilliard was my future. My parents weren’t going to let me throw that away for complete uncertainty.”

“Even if you didn’t want it anymore?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered in that house in a long time.”

Leah hesitated, before asking, “Is that why you’re going to move?”

“You could say that.” She seemed to search for the words. “I thought I’d...my mom, I thought she’d…” Fatin sighed, and she could hear the way her breath shook, went unsteady for just a moment before she kept talking. “I don’t have anyone on my side. The only thing that could keep me there are my brothers, but I’m not what they need. Not now.”

She let the silence fill the space around them. She’d only known Fatin from glimpses in the halls, but in each one she was always talking. Surrounded by people. The idea of her alone was almost unimaginable. “At least you have your friends. I’ve only ever had one, and I went and threw him away.” She thought about Ian, about the tent, about every moment she’d blocked out when her view had been dominated by hand-written notes and whispered confessions. “You still have people to go back to.”

Fatin just shook her head. “It’s not that kind of relationship, hon. We don’t...the people I spend my time with, we don’t talk about the real stuff. I’m not sure any of them are gonna wanna stick around after I come back with all this.”

Leah frowned. “But what about the guys you…”

“The ones I’ve fucked?” Leah nodded. “No. Everything is temporary with them. It’s perfect.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah. We worked because we both knew what we were getting into. They used me, and I used them. They wanted a good time, and I...I wanted that feeling back. The applause.” She exaggerated the word, like she wanted it to be a joke. It didn’t work. “I wanted more of it. I wanted them to need me more than I needed them.”

“That sounds—”

“You can say it. I already know.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m a skank, and I’m taking all of us women down with me and my reckless promiscuity.”

“I was just going to say it sounds lonely.”

She watched Fatin bite her lip, turn her eyes up toward the sky. Leah looked up with her. The clouds could have been painted, they were moving so slowly. It calmed her, although she couldn’t figure out why. 

“There are worse feelings,” Fatin finally said, “than laying with someone who wants you, even if it won’t last.”

He crept in quickly, reminded her of the pain of being left, abandoned, desired and then repulsed. She thought about the dark that had followed and never stopped, the missed calls and the unheard screams. The deafening thud in her head telling her to swim until she reached the end. She thought about the paranoia, the intensity of knowing when something was wrong but having no way to prove it, no way to fix it. 

“Fatin,” she said softly, eyes still glued to the clouds. “I don’t want to stay here, but I don’t think I want to go back home, either.”

She could feel the stare, but she avoided it. “You don’t have to go home.”

“I have nowhere else to go. And even if I make it back, I’ll have nothing. No one.”

“That’s not true. You’ll have me.” Fatin put her hand on her chin, tilted her head, waited until their eyes met. “And there’s no if about it. We will make it out of here. I promise.”

“It’s not just the island. I can’t leave all my problems in my childhood bedroom. I can’t walk out of my own head. I…” she tried not to, but she felt the tear slip out anyway, felt it make its way down past her chin. “I don’t know how to live like this forever.”

Fatin bent over and hugged her, brought their heads together in a way Leah didn’t think was physically possible. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say that everything’s going to be easy. But I know it’ll get better.”

“How? How do you know?”

“Because nothing could possibly be worse than this.” Fatin raised her head, but she kept her hand in her hair. Leah let the motion bring her back down, let it fight off the waves as best as it could. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed there. Long enough for the panic about the future to subside. Long enough for Dot to come over with food. Fatin eased her up, helped her eat slowly, and Leah was grateful. She wasn’t sure she’d have had the self control not to over-indulge without her.

Sleep threatened, tried to tug at her eyelids when Fatin pulled her back down into her lap. She resisted, searched for something to focus on and found the ocean in front of them. The moment leading up to it had been a bit of a blur, desperation blocking out the rest of the world, but she knew who she’d left on the beach. She knew who’d had to watch. 

“Hey,” Leah forced herself to tear her gaze off the sea, to look her in the eye. To not hide from the pain. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that yesterday.”

Fatin shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I know you...you’re not wired like everyone else. You have to be stronger. And that sucks, it really, really does. But promise me something, okay?” Leah nodded, and Fatin put her hands on her cheeks, made sure she couldn’t look away, even if she’d wanted to. “If you ever start feeling that much darkness again, don’t run to the waves. You run to me.”

She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to do anything but nod. Fatin stared at her for another moment, searched her eyes for something and seemed to find it. She let go, but her hand didn’t make its way back to her hair. Instead, they formed fists at her sides, held nothing but air and frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Fatin.”

Leah could feel the breath she took. It was heavy, weighted with burdens Leah knew and ones she didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She spoke to the ground instead of at her. “When you ran out there, I didn’t know how to get to you. I didn’t know how to bring you back.”

“But you did.” This time it was Leah who searched, who’s eyes begged her to listen, to believe her. “Rachel may have carried me to shore, but you saved me, too, Fatin.”

Leah reached for her hand, unraveled it until it fit inside her own. She ran her fingers over the calluses, the marks that told a deeper story than she’d ever suspected. Part of her wondered if they’d ever go away, if any of their pasts would leave them unmarked, or if they’d have to carry those scars forever.

“You know what,” Fatin said after a moment, “you should come with us. Dot and I, you should live with us in LA after this.”

She tried to imagine it: a tiny apartment, the three of them desperately trying to figure out adulthood on their own. It sounded crazy, and unpredictable, and reckless. She wanted it more than anything.

“Okay, but on one condition: you have to play the cello for me, at least once.” 

Fatin scoffed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I just need to hear what all the fuss is about! If I’m living with a music virtuoso, I wanna get an exclusive performance before you retire all together.”

She rolled her eyes, but a grin fought its way through. “I’m not opposed to the idea of playing again, so long as it’s for you.”

“Really? Just for me?”

Fatin fake sighed. “Alright, Dot can listen too, I guess. But my piece selection will consist exclusively of Top 40 covers. If you hear the real stuff, you might become possessed like my parents and try to ship me off to Juilliard in my sleep.”

“Possessed? So what, you’re some kind of Siren now?”

She held her hands up in fake surrender. “I’m just stating facts. My playing convinced my immigrant parents to push their daughter toward a career in the arts. Who knows what other power it holds.”

They laughed, and Leah kept to herself the thought that she could never be a Siren. Sirens were supposed to be tempting only from afar, their beauty a mirage meant to lead sailors astray; the closer she looked, the more confident she became that Fatin was no facade. She might have been the realest thing Leah had.

“If I’m being honest, I kind of miss it.” She looked back at the island. Leah watched the way she stared at it, the hints of appreciation that slipped into her gaze. “This place may be a living nightmare, but it would be a hell of a spot to play. Not for an audition or an audience or anything. Just for the beauty of it.”

“What’s the piece? The one you were practicing before you came here?”

“You wouldn’t know it. Unless you’re a closeted classical music fan.”

“Can you show me what it sounds like?”

Fatin turned toward her and smiled. Leah knew she felt everything in extremes, but she was certain that she could spend forever looking at Fatin’s smile and never grow tired of it. 

She began to hum. It started off fast, the notes bouncing from high to low and back again before Leah could even really process them. The cello was about as foreign to her as any other instrument, but even she could tell it sounded hard. The movements she’d seen earlier began to make sense, the speed at which her hands had shifted. It was impressive, even now, with no instrument in sight. 

When she began to slow down, each note taking up more and more time, Leah closed her eyes. She could hear it now. The timidness that had appeared at the start faded, and all that was left was the emotion. The passion. Part of her longed to point to it, to show her that it hadn’t vanished the way she’d thought, but the last thing she wanted to do was stop the music. So instead she kept her mouth shut and just listened. 

Their hands had found their way back to one another. She let them stay there, momentarily intertwined. Her body still ached but she ignored it, forced her energy into memorizing this moment. When she’d jumped into the ocean, she hadn’t felt strong enough to pull herself back. Her brain could be so selective, so misleading. It could steal the few tethers she did have, leaving her disjointed from everyone around her, from reality itself. She still wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it, but she wanted to try. In her mind’s brief period of peace, she silently vowed to make as many as she could, to stock up on moments that made her feel grateful to be alive. She started with this: Fatin’s melody, accompanied only by the quiet push and pull of the waves. 

[sorathemasterofmasters]

What did you do to Yen Sid?

“Hello Yen Sid” The Sorcerer tensed at the voice of his uninvited guest who had silently appeared behind him and threw himself out of his chair spinning around with a Meteor spell readied. The cloaked intruder rushed inside his guard, Yen Sid’s readied spell dissolved into embers as the intruder brutally knocked the air out of his lungs with a single powerful punch. Yen Sid folded over himself quietly with a stuttering gasp. “Yeah... we’re not doing this.” Spoke the intruder supporting the downed Sorcerer upright and binding his arms behind his back with a spell. “So you have come, Sora” The intruder snorted letting his hood fall down, revealing familiar brown though much longer hair and a single blue slit eye “As if you didn't see this coming” drawled the Master of Masters pulling the captive Sorcerer over to the chest on the other side of the room and activating the hidden way to the old well beneath the tower. “Anyway, you and I are going to have a long-overdue chat” Holding his captive so he wouldn't trip down the stairs The Master of Masters and his captive descended arriving at the bottom of the tower swiftly. “You gave yourself away letting me read that book you know, most of it was completely useless and misleading to boot... but the interlude? Whoa!” The Master of Masters exclaimed with an exaggerated barking laugh prodding the bound Sorceror forward “How did it go again?” The Master of Masters rubbed his chin thoughtfully clearing his throat and reciting something from memory.

“A long dream. A sad farewell, hanging in the air in that ‘world between’. What is reality? What is illusion? The path chosen by the young boy leads to his memories. When caught in the stream of the days and nights going past, gaze anew at your steps… for there all confusion will end.”

The Master of Masters tone shifted from monotone recitation to serious “You were testing me and I think you found what you were looking for” Yen Sid looked away disturbed by the intensity of Sora, The Master of Masters gaze. “You knew who I was going to become from the very beginning and you did nothing to stop it.” There was a strained silence filled only with the sound of nearby rippling water. “Are you going to kill me?” asked Yen Sid unruffled and so clearly unrepentant. It made the Master of Masters want to deck the old sorcerer again, but with an iron will of restraint born of being the most manipulative living being currently in existence the Master of Masters settled for rolling his eye “Oh I'm tempted, really tempted, probably wouldn't even leave a stain on my light either, unfortunately, if you're dead you can't be called out. So you’re just going to suffer instead” At a finger snap light swirled into being behind Yen Sid who breathed a startled exclamation as he realized exactly what the Master of Masters had wrought, The Master of Masters grinned “I’m not the only one you have wronged, so I’m going to leave you with a simple truth it seems you've forgotten” The Master of Masters pulled Yen Sid closely so he could hear what he was going to say. “Heap your scorn upon an innocent child, tell yourself that it means nothing, but beware, eventually that scorn comes due forcing even the righteous of causes to lose meaning.” The Master of Masters abruptly undid the binding spell without warning and pushed Yen Sid backwards into the swirling portal, The Master of Masters grinned ominously a single eye sparkling in delight as the sorcerer vanished into the light. “Say hello to Oswald for me“

-----------------------------------------

Master Report – Strange Artefacts Recently I made a strange purchase, a most peculiar mirror full of strange magical energy. I was most shocked to discover the mirror played host to a portal leading straight into the basement of Yen Sid’s tower. It was there I encountered something that I am unafraid to admit left me shaken and at the same time enraged with the old sorcerer. An artificial world full of former Nobodies, His notes claimed it a sanctuary for the forgotten but the land within is a wasteland. A wasteland he himself has been content to leave forgotten. An unforgivable act when you realize that the people trapped within have long regained their hearts but are left trapped here in a broken world, any attempt I make to fix the place is undone by the world itself in moments. I don’t know how to fix this but there is someone I do know who might be able to, the same person who created this prison, Yen Sid. To say the residents eagerly want to have a few harsh words with their self-appointed warden is a vast understatement.

-----------------------------------------

So the events and general plot and lore of Epic Mickey are a lot different here, The divergent point? Mickey was so spooked he sold the Mirror after the first time he went through it, The events of Epic Mickey are happening now decades later than they should have. Yen Sid honestly forgot about the wasteland and now they hold him prisoner with Mickey, Riku, Kairi, Sora and Axel on a rescue mission. No one knows Mickey was the one who ruined the world by accident in the first place. Also, toon lifespans are weird but let's just ignore that for now.

[thevaultturtle]

Fallout Greatest Fears

Fallout 4 Human and Synth Companions + Maxson

Just a little something that I got inspiration for a few weeks ago. As the title says, it’s about each character’s greatest fear, and I tried to tie most of them into each character’s lore, so if the character has some pretty sad or dark lore, then their fear will probably be sad and dark, too. 

Warnings: Some of these might be a bit sad and dark, as described above.

Cait

Cait is terrified of becoming her parents. Even while they rot in the graves that she put them in herself, Cait's parents still manage to haunt her every day; the memories of abuse and betrayal that they left her with aren't easily forgotten, no matter how hard she tries, and no matter how many chems she takes to try to purge them from her mind. Those memories have also left her with a deep-seated fear of being left behind, betrayed all over again while those who took advantage of her move forward without her. She has a lot of trust issues because of these fears, and the thought of being anything like her parents, of doing to someone else what they did to her, makes Cait more nauseous than any hangover or withdrawals ever could.

Curie

Being useless. Curie put everything on the line, down to her very life, just so she could be more useful to others. Becoming a synth, gaining the capacity for inspiration and a greater ability to learn- all of it was in the hope that she would be of greater use to mankind, and the thought of all of that being in vain never fails to throw her into a panic, and a feeling of aimless hopelessness never fails to wash hover her whenever she goes for any extended period of time without making a new discover that will be beneficial to others or at least making some progress towards one.

Danse

Danse is haunted by the fear of losing himself, which makes the truth of what he really is all the more heartbreaking. Maybe at some subconscious level, he always knew what he really was, because this fear has been with him since his earliest memories. Maybe those memories are what birthed this great fear of his in the first place, those fake memories of a fictitious life that he never really lived; he already lost himself once for one reason or another, whether he can remember it happening or not, and maybe this fear was just his mind’s way of trying to tell him not to let it happen again. Whatever the case may be, the more conviction that he felt towards the Brotherhood's ideals and the more he felt like he belonged with them, the stronger his fear grew, and now that it came to fruition all over again…he's not sure that he can handle it happening again.

Deacon

It's almost hard to even think of what Deacon's greatest fear might be, given that we hardly know anything about Deacon.  He may have told us the truth about his past, but given that he is a known pathological liar, that could have all been a lie as well, but in those lies, you can find the fear that Deacon tries to hide so desperately: the fear of himself. Whether he really was a bigot towards synths, whether his past really did lead to the murder of his wife, or if none of that was true at all, for some reason, Deacon fears himself, what he has done, what he will do, what he wants to do. Even if he has never revealed the whole truth of his past or of who he really is, he obviously did something egregious enough to instill this fear in himself, and he will go to his grave ensuring that no one else sees the entirety of that truth.

Hancock

Hancock is terrified of repeating the past, namely as it relates to what happened to the ghouls in Diamond City. It's a past that he simultaneously tries his damnedest to forget every day yet also refuses to let himself forget. He's haunted by the guilt of this past, but he also tries to use that guilt as motivation to do better. It's a guilt that he's reminded of every time that he looks into a mirror, and he refuses to let that guilt grow any stronger. Because of this past, he will never stand by idly while good, innocent people suffer, and he will do everything in his power to ensure that bad things only happen to those who deserve it.

MacCready

There are two fears that occupy MacCready’s mind, and those are failing his son and becoming a monster, and the two are intertwined in a way. Duncan means everything to Mac; that's his baby, his progeny, and he's one of the last few pieces of Lucy that Mac still has. Mac wants to be a good father more than anything, to do right by his son, and he would die for Duncan in a heartbeat if the need arose, and no matter how hard things get, he lives and keeps going to ensure that his son stays safe. He can't stand the thought of failing his son, and that thought would be an imminent reality if he became a monster, which he was on the verge of doing while he was with the Gunners. The caps were great, and they all went towards saving Duncan, but the actions that he took to get those caps and what he saw the Gunners doing were things that he knew his son would be ashamed of him for.

Nick Valentine

Pre-Far Harbor, Nick feared the possibility of not doing the right thing. The Wasteland is an awful, merciless place, and with memories of what the world used to be like, Nick is even more aware of and impacted by this than most. Even in such a desolate world, though, Nick still hasn't lost hope, and he believes that doing the right thing, that giving people a helping hand when they need it the most, is the only way to make the world better for everyone. After Far Harbor, though, he's more afraid of forgetting himself, and in good reason, too. Not only is it highly probable to happen, but if he can't even remember who he is and why he's doing what he's doing, how can he even remember what the right thing is?

Old Longfellow

Stagnation. Even in his old age, Old Longfellow isn't one to sit around while the world passes him by. Stagnation means death to Old Longfellow, and like most people, he tends to try to avoid that. A life of stagnation means a life with nothing to do, nothing to work for, and that is a meaningless life in his opinion, one that’s hardly even worth calling a life at all. Old Longfellow, even in such a harsh world and even though he may seem so bitter, is still fascinated by life, especially with all of the adventures and twists and turns that it entails, and stagnation would mean that he's lost all of that. It's not necessarily death that he's afraid of since he knows that’s unavoidable, but it's the thought of not having truly lived in the first place that terrifies him.

Piper

Piper fears the unknown, of not knowing when being out of the loop means certain death in this unforgiving world. She will seek out the truth no matter what the cost, although that tenacity has led to a few more fears for her. People turned their backs on her when she became Diamond City’s 'nosy reporter'; everybody has something to hide, and they don't exactly like the thought of her airing out their dirty laundry for everyone to see. She's constantly looking behind her, afraid that someone will betray her in her quest for the truth, and that she'll leave Nat behind in a world full of lies.

Porter Gage

Losing. Gage doesn't like the thought of losing in general, but the lost that terrifies him the most is the possibility of losing to the world and to the life that it put him in. He was born into a pretty rough situation, as most people are in the Wasteland, but unlike many others, Gage refuses to be a victim of those circumstances, and he's going to live his life to the fullest even if it kills him. He wants to conquer the world that wants nothing more than to bring him to his knees, to survive and thrive so he can laugh at the 'fate’ that the world tried to fuck him over with. The thought of failing in that goal terrifies him, and he will avoid that fear at all costs, no matter who else might suffer in the process.

Preston

Preston fears failure. Preston has dedicated his life to the Minutemen, to helping the people of the Commonwealth and trying to rebuild the world. Because of this dedication, failure to him means the failure of the Minutemen, and the failure of the Minutemen would mean the death of the Commonwealth in his mind. This fear has already come to fruition once with the Quincy Massacre, and that nearly broke him. If his saving grace hadn’t wandered out of the Vault shortly after that horrific event, he wouldn't have survived much longer, and he can’t even begin to imagine what a repeat of something like that would do to him.

X6-88

X6-88 also fears failure, although the specifics of his fear are a bit different from everyone else's. X6 specifically fears failing his mission, whatever that may be at the time, because as agent of the Institute, even as a highly trained Courser, failing his mission would mean death, whether that death happens because of the mission itself or because the Institute chose to discard him because his failure made him obsolete. As cold and calculated as he is, X6 still fears death and he truly despises that about himself because there's nothing efficient about fear and he feels like it makes him weak just like the pathetic Wastelanders that he despises so much.

Maxson

Maxson's greatest fear is losing control, whether that be of the Brotherhood or of his own life, but more so the first option, mainly because he feels like he never really had control over the second one. From the day he was born, he never really had control over his own destiny; the Brotherhood always believed that he was destined for greatness because of his lineage, so greatness is what he was pushed towards whether he wanted it or not. Failure was not an option, no matter how much he craved it so he could pursue some sort of normalcy instead of what had been laid before him. Failure was not an option so when he eventually achieved the greatness that he had supposedly been destined for, he feared losing control again, this time over the Brotherhood that was put under his command. Even with that lack of control over his early life, Arthur still loves the Brotherhood, and he fears that losing control again will mean the death of everything that he loves.

[firewarrior117]

Sorry for lack of content! Here is my zombie dragon lass to make up for it! As well as how she looked when she was alive!

Within the frozen wastes of Tundrus lies a maiden whos angelic voice was considered a gift from the ice goddess herself...Cursed by a spiteful canoness to never sing with it lest misfortune fall upon those who hear her... Rosalind De Witte was once a powerful sorceress in the golden age of Tundrus. Her magic performed unparalleled miracles that earned her peerless praise from the devotees of Tundrayla. She was able to cast these spells using her own voice, singing incantations to ease the illnesses and wounds of those who heard her tune. Her father encouraged her singing, blessing her for her efforts in helping her people. The clergy of frost began hailing her as "The Siren of White", the voice of Tundrayla herself. However...The Sisterhood of the clergy did not look upon this gift fondly...Especially their canoness, who despised her for using it. In the eyes of the sisters, her voice was "Heresy" to the goddess of ice, an insult to Tundrayla's own beautiful singing voice. Her mother strongly warned her to cease this gift, while her father encouraged it. She continued to aid the people with this gift, despite her mother's warnings. She continued to earn the love and praise of the people of Tundrus, until finally, the Clergy captured her in the night...Punishing her for her sin against the goddess of ice, they tortured her through the night in unforgivably cruel ways. her mother bore witness to these events, though despite Rosalind’s pleas, she had little choice but to allow the canoness to continue the torture. Finally, the canoness delivered the final punishment to her...She cursed Rosalind's voice with a hex deemed necessary by the sisterhood. From now on, should she speak, or sing, grave misfortune would fall upon those who hear her voice. To Solidify this curse, the sisters stitched her mouth shut, as well as branded her with the mark of a heretic upon her right hand. With her voice cursed, her mouth stitched shut, and her father's grief, she ran away from Blizaga, Exiling herself from the city now being taken by the twisted sisterhood. Angered by her mother’s involvement in this, her father executed her publicly, which ignited a holy war within the city that lead to the near genocide of the frozen city’s population. This holy war and the perversion of Tundrayla's teachings would eventually lead to the curse placed upon her people, branding them now as the undead draconian husks known to the world as "Draughn". After the incident, Rosalind herself roamed the frozen wastelands of Tundrus, seeking a way to reverse the curse for those who wish to live as mortal once more. Tundrayla has long since forgiven her devotees, but as it stands, Xavien's curse is said to be permanent unless someone finds the means to reverse it by magic, or miraculously sway the death god to undo it. Determined, Rosalind seeks to free the undead curse on her people, free herself from the sisterhood's hex, and restore her life to how it was before the tragedies of Tundrus unfolded! And thanks to meeting up with Krouser's party...She may one day make this dream a reality. Her healing magic has been an invaluable asset to Krouser and his friends! With the staff granted to her by Tundrayla, she is able to negate the effects of her curse long enough to perform a song that inflicts ailments upon her enemies as well as cure her friends of whatever ails them!

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads September 2020

It’s that time yet again! For me and other Amazon Prime Members to take our pick of this months Amazon First Reads. So if your an Amazon Prime member don’t forget to get your free First Reads Book.

This months choices are:

Thriller

Every Missing Thing by Martyn Ford, Pages: 367, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: One family. Two missing children. A lifetime of secrets.

Ten-year-old Ethan Clarke’s disappearance gripped the nation. Just as his parents are starting to piece together a life ‘after Ethan’, their world is ripped apart once more when their daughter, Robin, disappears in almost identical circumstances. They’ve lost two children within a decade … and now doubts about their innocence are setting in.

Detective Sam Maguire’s obsession with the first case cost him his own family, but he has unfinished business with the Clarkes. He is convinced that discovering what happened to Ethan holds the key to finding Robin. But what if the Clarkes know more than they’re letting on?

With the world watching eagerly, the clock is ticking for Sam as he embarks on an investigation that forces him to confront his own demons. To uncover the truth, he must follow a trail of devastating deception—but the truth always comes at a cost …

Book Club Fiction

Millicent Glenn’s Last Wish by Tori Whitaker, Pages: 340, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Three generations of women—and the love, loss, sacrifice, and secrets that can bind them forever or tear them apart.

Millicent Glenn is self-sufficient and contentedly alone in the Cincinnati suburbs. As she nears her ninety-first birthday, her daughter Jane, with whom she’s weathered a shaky relationship, suddenly moves back home. Then Millie’s granddaughter shares the thrilling surprise that she’s pregnant. But for Millie, the news stirs heart-breaking memories of a past she’s kept hidden for too long. Maybe it’s time she shared something, too. Millie’s last wish? For Jane to forgive her.

Sixty years ago Millie was living a dream. She had a husband she adored, a job of her own, a precious baby girl, and another child on the way. They were the perfect family. All it took was one irreversible moment to shatter everything, reshaping Millie’s life and the lives of generations to come.

As Millie’s old wounds are exposed, so are the secrets she’s kept for so long. Finally revealing them to her daughter might be the greatest risk a mother could take in the name of love.

Police Procedural

The Unspoken by Ian K Smith, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: In this new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Ian K. Smith, an ex-cop turned private investigator seeks justice on the vibrant, dangerous streets of Chicago.

Former Chicago detective Ashe Cayne is desperate for redemption. After refusing to participate in a police department cover-up involving the death of a young black man, Cayne is pushed out of the force. But he won’t sit quietly on the sidelines: he’s compelled to fight for justice as a private investigator…even if it means putting himself in jeopardy.

When a young woman, Tinsley Gerrigan, goes missing, her wealthy parents from the North Shore hire Cayne to find her. As Cayne looks into her life and past, he uncovers secrets Tinsley’s been hiding from her family. Cayne fears he may never find Tinsley alive.

His worries spike when Tinsley’s boyfriend is found dead—another black man murdered on the tough Chicago streets. Cayne must navigate his complicated relationships within the Chicago PD, leveraging his contacts and police skills to find the missing young woman, see justice done, and earn his redemption.

Contemporary Romance

Roommaids by Sariah Wilson, Pages: 301, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: From bestselling author Sariah Wilson comes a charming romance about living your life one dream at a time.

Madison Huntington is determined to live her dreams. That means getting out from under her family’s wealth and influence by saying no to the family business, her allowance, and her home. But on a teacher’s salary, the real world comes as a rude awakening—especially when she wakes up every morning on a colleague’s couch. To get a place of her own (without cockroaches, mould, or crime scene tape), Madison accepts a position as a roommaid. In exchange for free room and board, all she needs to do is keep her busy roommate’s penthouse clean and his dog company. So what if she’s never washed a dish in her life. She can figure this out, right?

Madison is pretty confident she can fake it well enough that Tyler Roth will never know the difference. The finance whiz is rich and privileged and navigates the same social circles as her parents—but to him she’s just a teacher in need of an apartment. He’s everything Madison has run from, but his kind hearted nature, stomach-fluttering smile, and unexpected insecurities only make her want to get closer. And Tyler is warming to the move.

Rewarding job. Perfect guy. Great future. With everything so right, what could go wrong? Madison is about to find out.

Literary Fiction

A Single Swallow by Zhang Ling, Pages: 299, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: The eagerly awaited English translation of award-winning author Zhang Ling’s epic and intimate novel about the devastation of war, forgiveness, redemption, and the enduring power of love.

On the day of the historic 1945 Jewel Voice Broadcast—in which Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s surrender to the Allied forces, bringing an end to World War II—three men, flush with jubilation, made a pact. After their deaths, each year on the anniversary of the broadcast, their souls would return to the Chinese village of their younger days. It’s where they had fought—and survived—a war that shook the world and changed their own lives in unimaginable ways. Now, seventy years later, the pledge is being fulfilled by American missionary Pastor Billy, brash gunner’s mate Ian Ferguson, and local soldier Liu Zhaohu.

All that’s missing is Ah Yan—also known as Swallow—the girl each man loved, each in his own profound way.

As they unravel their personal stories of the war, and of the woman who touched them so deeply during that unforgiving time, the story of Ah Yan’s life begins to take shape, woven into view by their memories. A woman who had suffered unspeakable atrocities, and yet found the grace and dignity to survive, she’d been the one to bring them together. And it is her spark of humanity, still burning brightly, that gives these ghosts of the past the courage to look back on everything they endured and remember the woman they lost.

Supernatural Thriller

The Haunting of H G Wells by Robert Masello, Pages: 393, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: A plot against England that even the genius of H. G. Wells could not have imagined.

It’s 1914. The Great War grips the world—and from the Western Front a strange story emerges…a story of St. George and a brigade of angels descending from heaven to fight beside the beleaguered British troops. But can there be any truth to it?

H. G. Wells, the most celebrated writer of his day—author of The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man—is dispatched to find out. There, he finds an eerie wasteland inhabited by the living, the dead, and those forever stranded somewhere in between…a no-man’s-land whose unhappy souls trail him home to London, where a deadly plot, one that could turn the tide of war, is rapidly unfolding.

In league with his young love, the reporter and suffragette Rebecca West, Wells must do battle with diabolical forces—secret agents and depraved occultists—to save his sanity, his country, and ultimately the world.

Nonfiction

Welcome to The United States of Anxiety by Jen Lancaster, Pages: 288, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster is here to help you chill the hell out.

When did USA become shorthand for the United States of Anxiety? From the moment Americans wake up, we’re bombarded with all-new terrifying news about crime, the environment, politics, and stroke-inducing foods we’ve been enjoying for years. We’re judged by social media’s faceless masses, pressured into maintaining a Pinterest-perfect home, and expected to base our self-worth on retweets, faves, likes, and followers. Our collective FOMO, and the disparity between the ideal and reality, is leading us to spend more and feel worse. No wonder we’re getting twitchy. Save for an Independence Day–style alien invasion, how do we begin to escape from the stressors that make up our days?

Jen Lancaster is here to take a hard look at our elevating anxieties, and with self-deprecating wit and level-headed wisdom, she charts a path out of the quagmire that keeps us frightened of the future and ashamed of our imperfectly perfect human lives. Take a deep breath, and her advice, and you just might get through a holiday dinner without wanting to disown your uncle.

Children’s Picture Book

The Monster on the Block by Sue Ganz-Schmitt, Illustrator: Luke Flowers, Pages: 32 Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Monster is excited to see what kind of creature will move into Vampire’s old house on the block. He even starts practicing his welcome growl for the new neighbour. But when the moving truck pulls up, it’s not a greedy goblin, an ogre, or a dastardly dragon that steps out. Instead, it’s something even more terrifying than Monster could have imagined! Monster quickly rallies the other neighbours to unite against the new guy on the block. But what if the new neighbour isn’t exactly as bad as Monster thinks? Join Monster as he confronts his fears in this charming and light-hearted look at what it means to accept others who are different from us.

*** Which book will you choose? I have no idea which book I’ll choose as there a couple of books that interest me this month. ***

#AmazonFirstReads, #Amazonkindle, #AmazonPrimeMembers, #BookClubFiction, #Books, #ChildrensPictureBook, #ContemporaryFiction, #Kindle, #KindleBooks, #LiteraryFiction, #NonFiction, #PoliceProcedural, #SupernatuarlThriller, #Thriller

[wispyatomica]

They Were College Lab Partners (Full Modern Day AU Story)

A Modern day AU of Entrapdak where our two scientists are young adult college students in Astrophysics who are required to go and view a very popular and scientifically sound science-fiction film for a required class. Hordak is sure that this younger classmate is not dedicated to the course, but his opinion changes as the two lab partners view their film.  This is the finished product and I hope you all enjoy! I might write more Entrapdak stuff and shorter drabbles in the future!!

“Ooooh this is going to be so much FUN!” 

Fun. 

Hardly the word that Hordak would use to describe the situation that he had been dealt. He simply could not stand the fact that he, a second year classman, was going to have to babysit one of the new students. Granted, the other second year students also had to take partners, but why did he have to get this one? 

Entrapta was bouncing, actually bouncing, as the two students left the large auditorium hall. Her long purple tinted hair pulled into brilliantly flowing ponytails was bouncing behind her as she eagerly followed Hordak down the hall. 

“My name’s Entrapta! Wait, didn’t I already say that? Yes, yes I did!” She proclaimed, having stopped in her contemplation, she had to jog to catch up to Hordak who remained silent to her inquiries and particularly obnoxious tone. He simply shook his head, 

“Hordak.” His response was fairly flat, as his mind had drifted. Here was yet another example of someone who was simply taking a filler course for their Astrophysicist graduate program. There was simply no way this girl would ever survive the year. 

“Hey do you know where this movie is playing at? I mean it’s a requirement for the lecture tomorrow to view it!” She inquired, pulling out a small notebook she kept in one of the many pockets she had on her purple tinted cargo pants. 

“At the local cinema, since it’s required we get in for free.” 

“Oh that is fan-TASTIC!” She exclaimed, jumping in the air behind him. If Hordak didn’t have any self control, his entire head would have rolled with his eyes to her ridiculous amount of sheer enthusiasm. 

“I’ve heard a lot about this Interstellar. It’s supposed to be centralized around Einstein’s theory of relativity!”  This caused Hordak to raise his brow in curiosity, though Entrapta would hardly have known that as she continued to follow behind his seven foot tall visage. So she did a bit of research before the showing. His thoughts blocking out any words that Entrapta was speaking, until she spoke his name did he actually respond. 

“What about you Hordak? Have you seen the movie before? What did you think of it?!” She asked eagerly, pulling a small tape recorder from one of the pockets on her other leg, offering the device up to Hordak’s shoulders as he turned his head over his shoulders. “I saw it the first day of its release,” He could practically hear her entire body expand as she gasped in excitement. “Interstellar is definitely themed around relativity, I certainly hope you can keep up.” 

“Oh I know I can keep up, trust me! I’ve done plenty of research reading the online reviews, though I was careful to avoid spoilers! I hate having films spoiled for me!” 

------------------------------------------

Entrapta and Hordak spent a few minutes outside of the cinema, the former buying a few snacks for the movie. Her indulgences into the film’s theorized meaning had reared the knowledge that Interstellar was approximately almost three hours long. The need for fuel for the sake of science was a must! She was simply shocked that Hordak had not decided to purchase anything outside of a simple drink. The later waved his hand, mentioning he was going to go and find a place to sit in the theater before the film started. Entrapta would excitedly respond back that she’d be right there, but she needed to get one more thing. 

Hordak had partially decided to go and choose seats to see who else was in the theater with them. To his bemusement, aside from a few couples and the few older people, the cinema was practically empty. He sighed, resolving to pick a seat in the center of the theater for optimal immersion. He waited patiently, that was until he heard the rustling of candy bags and boots against the carpeted floor. His attention turned to Entrapta, as her brightly colored hair was even more brightly illuminated by the massive screen. 

Hordak sighed, hoping that perhaps she would have actually lost interest, but waved a hand slightly to catch her attention. She bounced (again) when she saw his wave, eagerly moving to the seat beside him and settling in as the previews began. Entrapta opened her tiny candy bags as quietly as she could before she turned her attention to Hordak. 

“Oh yeah, I saw this at the counter out there.” Her voice was significantly quieter, at least she could tone herself down a bit, that was a relief. Though Hordak’s thoughts quickly vanished from his mind as Entrapta casually handed him a handful of a tiny crunchy bars she had seen him snacking on in one of the first days of class. He looked back at her blankly, before taking the candy and offering a soft smile, nodding his head and turning to watch the film. 

--------------------------------------

Entrapta was quite engulfed in the film, but not so engulfed that she couldn’t take notes! This was hardly ever unnoticed by Hordak, as every so often he could see his pigtailed companion hunched over and writing something in the dim light of the theater. He had to admit, the longer that the film went on and the scenes progressed, all of which he knew, his respect began to rise. She wasn’t just faking a passion for science.  

This became even more prominent in the initial scenes of the film, in which the protagonists left the safety of Earth’s embrace for the cold and unforgiving reality of space. Having seen the film before, he remembered the tension of the scene vividly and he found himself glancing over at Entrapta more than the characters. Watching her reactions, he could see that wide eyed curiosity and strive for adventure, for the unknown.  

Entrapta’s eyes hardly ever diverted from the entire docking procedure on screen. She had to absorb all of this information! The accurate display of zero-gravity, the concept of safely and securely latching onto the Endurance without causing a massive explosion from immediate decompression! There was simply so much that was entering her mind and the smile on her face showed just how much she truly enjoyed this movie. 

--------------------------------------

“Those aren’t mountains. They’re waves.” 

“Oh of course!” Entrapta muttered to herself, though quietly enough that none of the neighboring patrons could hear her, aside from Hordak. “Of course a planet orbiting a black hole would have a massive gravitational pull, and without a moon to regulate a tide, it makes total sense for the planet to be a massive moving ball of condensed water!”  

Hordak felt a genuine smile crawl across his face, having watched her reactions on and off for the entire first hour of the film, he had to admit, she seemed to be legitimate in her fascination with science and her enrollment in the program. Unlike the others who dared to think outside of the box, Entrapta seemed to hardly be able to think inside the box. Her mind flowing like her brilliantly long purple hair; Hordak’s respect for her grew and his stoic position in the cinema changed to a more relaxed one, snacking on the candy bars Entrapta had brought for him. 

-----------------

“I am drawn across the universe to someone who I haven’t seen in a decade, who I know is probably dead. Love is the one thing that we are capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that, even if we can’t fully understand it yet.” 

“...Well that’s not very scientific.” Entrapta remarked flatly, the comment definitely loud enough for some of the other patrons to hear. 

There was a sudden chortle as she peered off to her side, where Hordak’s hunched over form sat. His hand raised to his mouth to stifle a laugh that she managed to stir from the normally unbreakable man. She laughed slightly, only to be shushed by someone sitting behind her. 

The two lab partners quickly righted themselves in their chairs, taking a drink from their respective beverages to act as nonchalant as possible. 

The movie continued on, tracking to a frozen wasteland of a planet where the plot took a turn, as the crew member stranded on that planet revealed that there was never a plan to save the people back on Earth, and that starting a new colony amongst the stars was humanity’s only hope of survival. The betrayal that followed soon after elicited a scowl from Entrapta as she watched the stranded astronaut turn from genius scientist, to crazed man driven to do the unthinkable by loneliness. 

The plotline was seen from a mile away by Entrapta, and obviously by Hordak but what Entrapta didn’t see coming was the pursuit that the protagonists made after the now rouge astronaut. He was attempting to maroon the protagonists on a lifeless planet in order to save humanity, but a particularly clever robot on board had disabled the airlock override feature of the Endurance. She felt her entire body shift forward as the scene played out, the rogue astronaut ignoring the warnings and opening the hull. What happened next was exactly what Entrapta’s scientific mind predicted. 

Decompression. 

Her eyes closed slightly, relaxing in her seat as she nodded her head, confirming to herself that she saw that coming a mile away. Hordak had seen how her posture had changed and he smirked, turning his head back to the screen as an unexpected line caught Entrapta’s attention.

“Analyze the Endurance’s spin.” 

“Cooper what are you doing?” 

“Docking.” 

Entrapta sat straight up in her seat, her hair bouncing as she pulled her feet up into the chair with her. Her eyes glued to the screen as the intense docking sequence passed. Her eyes never leaving the screen, and her heart pounding in her chest as the characters were analyzing their situation and how to do it. 

“Of course! Synchronizing with the Endurance’s rotation is the only way to safely dock, but gravitational forces would knock both of them unconscious, how is it possible?” Entrapta was of course talking to herself, mumbling so incoherently that even Hordak couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he could almost swear that he could see the gears turning inside her head as the scene unfolded. 

He could tell by how intensely she focused on the screen, her eyes jumping from place to place in the frames as they passed. Hordak knew exactly how the scene played out, and watching the live reaction of someone this enthusiastic about science and exploration of the unknown made the scene that much more satisfying. 

As the crew successfully docked with the Endurance and set into motion their final plan, Entrapta’s mind was racing. She finally pulled her knees down, taking the notepad and paper back into her hands and eagerly made notes on what she had just witnessed, as well as listening to the plot of the film as it carried on. Though after the crew in the film performed a sling-shot maneuver around the black hole, she lost a bit of interest. 

Oh well! It enabled her to make better notes! The rest of the film wasn’t as set into scientific reality, as everyone that Entrapta was aware of knew that going into a black hole would mean a very very uncomfortable and sudden death. 

As the film ended, the emotional core having only a small effect on Entrapta, she carefully collected the multitude of candy wrappers she had scattered on the floor in the excitement of the film’s climax. As the lights returned, Hordak was able to truly see how many notes Entrapta had taken during the course of the film. It was an impressive, two and a half notebook page fulls. 

After Entrapta had collected all of her things, stuffing various items into her multitude of pockets, Hordak offered out his hand. “Here, I’ll take some of the wrappers.”  

“Oh thank you so much, I really need to try and jot down a few more notes before I forget them!” 

Entrapta practically threw the items at Hordak, who had no problem catching them and taking them to the recycling bin. He watched as Entrapta was able to miraculously navigate herself down the stairs and towards the exit door. His eyes did a double take, diverting from the section that the two were formerly sitting in, to her current location. There was, stairs and turns and she managed to navigate down to the exit without crashing into something. His brow twitching slightly, this girl was almost scarily impressive.  

He caught up to her with ease, matching her stride as she finished taking her notes. A heavy sigh left her chest as she held the notebook tightly to her chest, a smile brighter than that of the sun beaming from her face. Hordak looked down at her, a small smile forming on the corner of his lips as Entrapta raised her eyes to meet his. 

“Thank you for being my partner. Nobody else seemed to want to.” Her words were soft, much softer than her otherwise normally bubbly personality. 

Hordak lifted his head, nodding in response. “The pleasure is mine Entrapta.” He paused, raising a hand 

in a soft gesture. “Now let’s discuss how the film can be translated to our studies.” 

Entrapta giggled, bouncing in her walk and eagerly began to jot off ideas as the pair discussed their way into their own little world of science and discovery. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

A Watch With No Hands: Interlude (An Excerpt)

A Watch With No Hands:

Part One here.

Interlude coming in 2020.

*

Under other circumstances, Clarke would find herself uncommonly content in this moment. The early summer heat wave has not broken, but the thick canopy of leaves overhead shades them from the worst of the bright sun, and Jasmine knows the path so well that she leads them through the forest with little need for guidance. Clarke holds the reins loosely in her hands and takes in the slight, soft details of the morning: the occasional huff of her horse's breath; the steady, muffled thud of hooves against the well-worn dirt of the trail; the sway of her own body as it follows the animal's movements, and how attuned she is, when she rides, to every tiny hill and every subtle slope in the Earth, in a way that she never is while walking. She watches the sun's rays gleam off the translucent green of the leaves. With some luck and a few decent rains, these pale greens will deepen into an emerald shade that seems almost to glow, to shine with its own light, the full green of growth and abundance as every tree and plant in the whole forest flourishes with a breathtaking richness. Maybe in time. This period of overgrowth is her favorite part of the season; she relishes in the extremity of it; she wishes that she herself would grow with a similar abandon.

Now, she thinks that perhaps such a wish is naive. This is growth. What she is feeling now is growth, because even twenty-four hours ago she did not know of a whole civilization of humans still living, surviving in an utterly different way than her own people did, surviving in the knowledge that their existence is survival, and since coming to learn of them she has had to completely rearrange her view of the world and of humanity and of living. Or start to rearrange her view.

She is traveling even now toward an unknown settlement of unknowable people, and unlike yesterday, when she was so caught up in a whirlwind of activity and excitement, aware of her own role, and surrounded by the safe familiarity of her own village, now she has an unwanted amount of time to speculate, to lose herself in the cloud of her own thoughts.

These thoughts wander and split apart and combine, tangling themselves together in the quiet hollow where conversation should go, because Bellamy is not in the mood for talking. He's sitting behind her with his arms around her waist and his body pressed against her back, warm and close and almost stifling, and for the first time since they met she finds him truly inscrutable and strange. He grunts occasionally under his breath, pained sounds she hears him trying to bite down and swallow, and sometimes when the trail hits a particularly uneven patch, he tightens his hold on her, or swears under his breath. She can feel the tension in him. It radiates through his whole body and flows into hers in ugly, dark waves; faint echoes of it twist up in her stomach when he is particularly frightened or particularly annoyed.

Not that she blames him. Horses can't possibly exist in space. He's probably never seen one before, yet alone ridden on one, and though Jasmine is friendly and fond of humans, Bellamy still eyed her warily as Clarke explained to him how to climb on and balance himself on Jasmine's back. He'd shied away from the horse's attempts at friendliness, and the last comment he made was a snarky remark about falling to his death before he even made it out of the clearing. They'd only barely, awkwardly managed to get him into position, his twisted ankle not helping at all in the endeavor, and Clarke was still on the ground and holding his hand tightly in hers. She would have made a cutting remark back, except that she could feel how hard he was gripping her fingers, could see on his face, in the deepening red of his cheeks and the sheen of sweat along his forehead, that he was only making light of his own fear.

She climbed up and settled in front of him, grabbed his hands and hooked them around her waist, and told him to hang on. Just hang on. Her tone was too short and too frustrated, even to her own ear, but her own nerves were rising like bile in her throat. The reality of their adventure was slowly settling in. And Bellamy was so close and so warm, the intimacy of his hold on her too much for the moment, which was already weighted down with such significance.

Nearly two hours later and she has gotten used to his touch, has even learned to read the slight variations in his movements: how his arms sometimes tense as the ground slopes down, how his breath hitches when they have to duck beneath an overhanging branch. The way he shifts sometimes, trying to ease the pain in his ankle, and how he grabs onto her harder with one arm when he has to use his other hand to wipe the sweat from his face.

What she cannot do is even begin to guess what he is thinking. Is he focusing, perhaps, only on memories of his sister? Is he lost in a thousand different worst case scenarios? Is he holding himself steady only by a stubborn force of will, so strong that it blocks out any thought at all? Is his mind a jumbled mess of memory and worry and confusion, as Clarke's is?

If he were up for conversation, perhaps they could soothe each other's worries. Accepting Bellamy's presence, his mere existence, was easier yesterday because the time she spent with him was so ordinary. They walked through the village. They ate together. They talked. His past was extraordinary, nearly impossible, but he himself was just a person, just like her. Now he and his mind and his mood are all mysteries, and in the silence between them, vast and empty like a desert of infinite, unbroken sand, has become a wasteland where only ugly thoughts and worries are given everything they need to grow.

He's told her enough of his people to give her some idea what they’re like, though at the time, she only basked in the bright fascination of new knowledge, and set all of the details aside as too numerous and too strange to be immediately consumed. She takes them out now. What are they like, these space people? These sky dwellers? She glances up through the leaves at the unblemished swath of light blue above. Such a beautiful space, she thinks, but not fit for human life, especially so far up that, from their homes, they could not even see the sun, and the sky itself was not a kaleidoscope of various blues but only an unchanging and eternal black. And so the people who lived there grew up harsh and unforgiving. Brutally focused, practical, uncreative. Narrowed down to their leanest selves without the bounty of the Earth to draw upon.

How could Bellamy, who pulled a flower from Wells’s garden and tucked it into her hair, and looked at her with such sweet longing, have grown up in such a place? How did it not stifle him, or even utterly destroy him?

Maybe it did, she thinks. Maybe she is seeing only the scraps and hints of what he could have been. Maybe the quiet, tense, shadow-presence at her back is the real him, the majority of him.

[victorywar]

          ( content:  bastard getting some alone time w/ himself, so very starrest )

last night had brought with it uncomfortable dreams--  the sort he rarely had, not of nightmare but of pure, unfiltered lust.  plush lips pressed on his own, against his throat, over the stained glass patterns of his abdomen.  the thrust of hard, lubricant-slick spikes against his valve, his aft, his hands.  a warm mouth--  or valve, he didn’t remember now--  taking his spike whole.  identities of his dreamscape lovers blurred together, unrecognizable, except for one.

the one he could see in real life, the one whose name was placed over the law which he served.

star saber has no choice now but to dust off blacker’s old collection and choose one for his own use, with a quick prayer to ostensibly ask permission that he knows blacker would have happily given were he alive today.  at first he considers one of the small vibrators, only to decide he isn’t willing to spend the time hunting down controllers nor untangle wires and decides to choose a simple dildo--  smaller at the tip, flared at the base.  something that looks conceivably doable for his unused valve, versus most of the rest of blacker’s toys.  (by god, he knew blacker was a promiscuous mech, but how in primus’ name had he even he fit some of these into himself?  they looked too large for star saber, and he was twice blacker’s size!)

he returns to his berth for the act, his panels opening before his back even hits the slab again.  his spike stands proudly, his valve dripping.  star saber wraps a hand around his spike, first.

his fuel pump is already pounding.  unfortunately, he isn’t entirely sure how soundproofed his hab suite is, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that the only other person in the remote vicinity-- that was to say, on board the larger ship--  is tyrest.  tyrest’s hab is rather far from his, and the chief justice doesn’t wake as early as he does on a regular day.

and, his mind offers with a thick tone of lust, would it really be so bad if he did overhear you?  his spike would feel much better than that toy.  his valve would certainly feel much better than your hand.

for once, he didn’t bother to reject the notion.  the honest truth was that he wanted that--  wanted him.  why suggest otherwise, even to himself?

he nudges the toy towards his valve, gasping slightly as it nudges his stiff node.  he turns over on his side, still stroking his spike, and shifts his thighs to better lead the toy towards the weeping entrance of his valve.

but he hesitates as it slides between the thick folds of his receptive array.

star saber remembered this being the part that hurt.  careless previous lovers had failed to prepare him properly, not that he was entirely sure it wasn’t a fault of his own frame.  after all, blacker had never had problems fitting anything into himself, between star saber’s own experiences with his head acolyte and the implicit knowledge going through blacker’s toys had given him.  was it simply that certain mechs were just better built for valve use than others?  or was it a matter of...

god, now is not the time to ruminate on his long-dead friend’s sexual capabilities.  he adjusts his hips, finds the entrance of his valve, and pushes the head of the toy into himself.

to his shock, it goes in... very easily.  yes, he still has to pause after the toy was partly inside, because he is very much not used to having anything inside him, regardless of how aroused he was.  he didn’t realize...  with his valve so wet, insertion actually feels quite good.  trying to shove it too far, where the dildo became thicker the further down he was on its length, was where it grew more uncomfortable.

is this enough?  he supposes it doesn’t matter.  star saber slowly moves the toy out, towards the rim of his entrance, before sliding it back in.  he realizes he’s paused in stroking his spike, too, and starts with that again.

he bites his lip on a moan.  the deeper section of his channel still longs for stimulation, but this is good.  star saber partially buries his face into his pillow, letting himself sink deeper into the sensations of his mortal body.

as the berth creaks beneath his shifting weight, star saber returns his mind to the thought of tyrest...  the thought that tyrest might one day do these things to him.  it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility...

he would never be so crass as to assume tyrest’s feelings, of course, but there was still something in the way he spoke to him, the way he touched him.  tyrest’s touch was a gentle comfort in a wasteland of cruelty.  he was warm, he was merciful to star saber and merciless to the filth that dirtied the universe with their existence.

justice incarnate.

but when he spoke, his alluring voice was the comforting reassurance on the other side of a church confessional.  star saber would listen to tyrest forever if he’d have him, if he’d say his name--  dearest saber.

he moans a little.  he doesn’t realize he’s slid the dildo in a little deeper, now, without any trouble.

oh, what he’d do to have tyrest speak to him, touch him in these supposedly sinful ways.  was it sinful, if it was love?  love was not sinful.  one of twelve had once tried to convince him otherwise, but it was in that alone that star saber had held true to himself and his own faith, rather than allowing one to convince him of the council’s views.

it wasn’t one’s fault, he didn’t think.  it was... surely, only an understandable failure of interpretation of primus’ will.  even he had slipped up once, so surely it wasn’t so bizarre to think that his mentor might have done the same?

primus meant for His children to love one another.  to share pleasure.  to ascend together, hand in hand, to have a taste of where all were one by joining two as one.  star saber felt, yes, he could have such a thing with tyrest.

(my loyal enforcer)

“tyrest...”  he breathes, driving his hips against his own hands.  the dildo strikes the apex of his valve and he realizes with a strangled gasp that over the course of his private session, he’s managed to ease himself along the full length of the toy.  his hands are slick with fluids.  he can hardly keep his grip on the toy, but the hand around his spike has no such trouble.

overload charges are notching up quickly now.  star saber partly muffles himself again, moving quicker.  he imagines the weight of tyrest’s elegantly-crafted body against his back, his hand replacing star saber’s around his spike, and tyrest’s spike in the place of the toy hitting his ceiling node.  and he imagines that voice, that handsome voice--

(dearest saber)

(i’m glad you’ve returned to me)

(my loyal enforcer)

“tyrest...!”  his hips buck harder.  there’s a tight coil inside himself, ready to burst.

(star saber, my loyal enforcer.  i’m glad you’ve returned to me.)

(dearest saber, you needn’t hide anything from me.)

his mind drudges up the things he wants to say.  i am yours, chief justice.  let me kneel to you, let me treat you for the king that you are.  you alone in this vast and unforgiving universe ease the storm in my spark.  you alone give me faith in the moments when even i, primus’ chosen, doubt.  as i believe in god, i believe in you, and there would be no greater privilege or blessing than to be your lover.

he imagines the smile on tyrest’s face, spreading across those full, gorgeous lips.  he imagines tyrest’s hand guiding his face by the chin to look him in the eye.

(dearest saber...)

(i will have you, and you are mine.)

“tyrest!”  star saber cries out in climax.

his valve clenches the toy tightly, as transfluid spurts from the head of his spike.  his body arches into the rush, a few more trembling gasps pulling air into star saber’s intake as his hard-running fans scream their burden.  his vents dump hot air from his frame, and fluids spill and dirty his hands, his thighs, his abdomen.

once it’s over, his arms drop, and he breathes heavily.  it helps--  his mind is blissfully blank for a moment, giving him a moment of peace through the suffocation that his condition had forced on him.

he blinks himself back into reality, of his lonely hab suite and the morning hours’ routine pinging reminders into his hud.  his need subsides...

...but only for a moment.  between his thumb and his forefinger, his spike twitches, still unpleasantly hard.  his valve still aches.

growling, he feels it’s still less enough to ignore for now.  he removes the toy, noting with humiliation how filthied it is with his lubricant--  so thickly, it strings between his gaping valve and the dildo’s length.  that’s to say nothing of the mess of transfluid his spike has left.

he forces himself to get up, embarrassingly stumbling as his legs momentarily forget what their purpose is, and shoves off to the washracks again.  this condition would not get the better of him, he swears it.

(but he holds tight the comfort of tyrest’s image, as his chief justice is his light and mortal heaven, until they can walk on to god’s kingdom together.)