#wardrums

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve was going to kill Jonathan. 

He had to save the guy’s life first, but once he did, Jonathan was a dead man. 

Skidding around the corner, eyes wild, Steve only slowed down when he could visually confirm that he had in fact, made it in time.

“Whoa, hey.” Jonathan said. startled as Steve nearly crashed into him, dropping the paper plates he was carrying to his backyard. “What’s wrong?” 

“You-” Steve huffed, breath coming out in sharp bursts and man, wasn’t that a sign that he’d been slacking lately on his workouts? “You need to--”

“What’s happening?” Will interrupted, sensing trouble-- and running immediately towards it as always, El trailing behind. “Are you okay?” 

“No.” Steve growled, hands on his knees, glaring up through his hair. “No, I am not okay. Jonathan won’t be either if he doesn’t go inside and stay there for at least the next twenty minutes.” 

He slowly stood, his general fitness allowing him to regain his stamina quickly even if he had been neglecting it. 

‘I’m sorry I ever stopped going on bi weekly runs.’ 

“What?” Jonathan asked, at the same time Will and El said;

“Why?” 

Steve turned his attention to Will, startled to find the kid was almost taller than he was. That was  a train of thought for a different day, because right now he was still focused on keeping Jonathan living and breathing. 

‘The shit I do for these people.’

“You guys remember Gareth?” He said, staring pointedly at Jonathan. 

Ah yes, there was the little wince he was looking for. 

“Gareth?” El asked, voice soft as Will stiffened visibly besides his brother. 

Steve nodded, still glaring Jonathan down. “You know, Gareth. Skipped a grade, Brown hair, part of the Hellfire club, got his ass kicked by Carver’s asshole buddies because he’s super close to Eddie?” 

“Steve--” Will started, staring at him and not at his brother's hunched shoulders, the very first sign of guilt in a Byers. 

(Among many other things, but Steve knew Jonathan better than he knew Will, and those? 

Those were guilty shoulders.) 

“Your brother,” Steve interrupted, making sure the sheer annoyance in his tone came through, “--decided to have a talk with Gareth.”

He  put his hands on his hips, doing his best to communicate ‘you done fucked up’ with his own face. “Eddie found out and is on a rampage.” 

A fact he had been alerted to by Gareth himself, after the poor kid had called him from Eddie’s shiny new government supplied house, begging Steve to stop Eddie before he made the situation worse than it already was.

(Considering Eddie’s paranoia and general protectiveness was still ramped up to a hundred even now, six months after all the Vecna bullshit, Steve didn’t blame Gareth for calling it like it was. 

Eddie absolutely would make things worse.)  

There was a very long pause, in which Steve got a front row seat to several different Byers expressions. 

First was confusion, followed quickly by realization, and then the slow dawning of horror as Will cued in to exactly what his brother had done. 

Meanwhile; Jonathan’s hunched, guilty form took on the look of something a bit more pinched. 

Like a soccer player who had clocked that the ball was in the air, hurtling dead towards his face, and all he could do was stand there and take the hit. 

“Oh.” El said, her head tilted comically, correctly reading her brothers faces. “Gareth is the boy Will has a crush on.” 

She turned to peer Jonathan, Will’s face managing to somehow go redder at his sister's words. 

“The talk Jonathan gave him was like Jim’s talk to Mike.” 

Implied: That talk broke the two of them up. 

Implied: Said talk was now firmly rooted in El’s head as a bad thing. 

Implied: Jonathan was screwed. 

“That’s not good.” She finished calmly, as Will whipped around to confront his brother. 

“What the hell!?” He shrieked, voice cracking right in the middle as Jonathan raised his hands defensively. 

“Look, you’ve been through a lot, and-” He started, only to be immediately interrupted by a furious;  

“That’s not an excuse!” 

Will advanced on him, sticking a pointed finger in Jonathan’s face, a whole tirade of words pouring out of his mouth. “I can’t-I can’t believe you! I told you about Gareth in confidence! You told me I could tell you anything, Jonathan!” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, impressed to find that baby-Byers could actually be intimidating when he wanted to be. 

He was pretty sure it was the height. 

“Scream about it later, get inside now please.” Steve said, trying to cut Will’s attempt on Jonathan’s life off. 

Personally he didn’t care if the guy’s own brother murdered him, he just didn’t need Eddie to catch a charge.

Again. 

The very thought coincided with their time ending, as a furious screech of wheel’s and muffled metal roared into the Byer’s driveway. The car wasn’t even off by the time Steve heard the door slam, Eddie’s stomping footsteps loud enough for Steve to track him as he came around to the backyard. 

“Hey, El?” He said, as he turned to face down his furious boyfriend. “Tell Will I’m on his side for this one, would you?” 

El nodded politely, a smile overtaking her face as she watched Steve match Eddie’s stride, aiming to head his boyfriend off. 

Kid probably knew what he was going to do before he did it, the little shit. 

“Get out of my way, Steve-!” Eddie bit out, stopping only so he could point to where he wanted Steve to move to. 

Sadly for him, Steve had a different plan.

Instead of slowing down, he simply bent at the knees, wrapping his arms around the back of Eddie’s thighs and putting his shoulder firmly in Eddie’s torso. He had to withhold a grunt to do it, the step- to kneel-to carry was not as smooth as it used to be when Steve was in proper shape and throwing girls around like footballs, but he managed to get Eddie over his shoulder anyway. 

“Hey!” His boyfriend squawked, as Steve smoothly continued walking, right back out of the Byer’s backyard, Eddie hanging over his shoulder. 

“Steven Reginald Harrington, put me down right now!” Eddie shrieked, the words only slightly tangled with Will’s own;

“You’re DEAD Jonathan!” 

(and Els’ gentle laugh, of course.) 

[kaeoticneutral]

@shinyredgloss and I play another multiplayer game, except this time it's honour mode and tieflings 🥰 meet Kalliope and Bellona! Your honor, I love them

[ofcircusesandhives]

She's being kept in a cave by other Veldigun, including the Eastridge Demon/The Smiling Snatcher

"....heh..eheheheHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

... ".....M....My poor little girl......This-This wasn't-"

[onewomancitadel]

Another thought I had was musing on Ashgate with that whole deal about Kylo Ren putting his helmet down where he keeps the ashes of his enemies. I actually don't remember the details of this event at all but people were really angry about it, and I know lots of people said this was more evidence for his irredeemability, which is really funny because it's just diva villain behaviour.

Like he's got to be evil you know, otherwise he's not a villain. Like he's either not evil enough (cries, feels bad about killing his daddy, has compassion for Rey, long hair) or he's too evil and both of these things made him unsuitable for being a redeemed character and returning to the Light. Tell me, which is it?

I like when villains are evil and then they have a redemption arc. That's actually interesting.

[dark-elf-writes]

Your hunter au has made my day:)))

Are you considering giving it a title? Maybe a rock song to steal from Dean’s music taste?

I’m thinking Smells Like Teen Spirit, Stairway To Heaven, Sweet Child O' Mine, or Hell's Bells. Of course you don’t have to use any of these, but I thought they were fun.

It will probably eventually get a name. This one came swinging from left field so I wasn’t as prepared for one yet. Sweet Child O’ Mine is definitely a contender. If I ever write something for it and post it I’d probably pull the title from away Your Young by Hozier but my titles and au names aren’t always the same so who knows.

[baekuras]

Decided I would fix my sleep schedule the same day...I downloaded Baldurs Gate 3

seeing as it is right now 6am-yeah that hasn't worked now has it

[metalsongoftheday]

Wednesday, July 12: Wardrum, "Shade of Hope"

Power metal’s course was charted once Helloween broke through in 1987, and decades later Greece’s Wardrum carried on with tradition on “Shade of Hope”.  Yannis Papadopoulos’ vocals were straight in the Angra zone, though he really went for the dog whistles during the exceptionally cheesy chorus.  The riffing was nice, and the galloping generally kept pace, so the track was perfectly consistent with everything everyone knew and liked about power metal, but nothing more.

[miss-celestia13]

The Ending You Deserve

Jake x MC - Duskwood One Shot

I wanted to practice angst and creating suspense. This happened. It has a touch of humor, a hint of fluff, and other things! Sassy MC. No smut for a change. It feels weird 🤭

Can Jake run from death and make it to MC?

Or will his demons win the race?

MC isn't named or described as it was more for the emotions. It's all from Jake’s POV.

Pain. 

Aching. Cold. Hot. Burning, burning, burning. It rolled through him in waves.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

Dread wove through his internal organs and strangled him from the inside like an invasive vine had taken root in the core of himself.

Smoke and ash choked his airways as he stumbled and tripped through the mine.

His heart rattled savagely against his ribs.

It felt like a creature in its death throes, trying to break out of his chest.

His foot collided with a jagged, jutting rock and he went down like a house of cards. Crumpled and folded as he rolled and rolled.

Hissing as tiny sharp stones cut into his face and hands.

Ash ridden sweat trickled down his face and stung the many small slices leaking blood as he lay on his back panting and cursing himself as the ominous orange glow of raging flame inched along the underground tunnel.

The air grew thinner and thinner.

The smoke grew thicker and thicker. 

The gasoline fueled fire was a monster bearing down on him and he scrambled to his trembling feet. Taking off at a staggering jog, one hand braced on the rough, dirty wall.

A pinprick of light opened up far ahead and a jolt of adrenaline surged through his bloodstream. He hurried, panting and terrified, breathing too shallowly as the rising heat nipped at his neck.

He knew he had a choice to make.

It was death by fire or FBI.

Neither option appealed to him, but as he looked back and saw the swirling, furious flames licking nearer and nearer. He knew he had to decide.

It wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t innocent or free from any wrongdoing. But he didn’t deserve to die like an animal, run over and left bleeding out and twitching on the side of the road until he grew cold and stiff. 

No one would miss him.

No one would look for him.

He was all alone. It was a surety. He was always, always alone.

That’s not true though, is it, Jake?

It hasn’t been for a while now.

The voice in his head made his breath catch, and his heart pounded painfully in his throat.

It felt as though someone had reached inside his chest, broken through his flesh, muscle and grasped his bones to pry them apart, an invisible fist that gripped his pulsing heart and shoved it in his mouth. Forcing him to swallow it.

It beat there like a Wardrum. Marching him to his death. 

It throbbed and choked and filled his mouth with copper. He couldn’t stand it. The pain was corrosive as it ate through his nerves and left them exposed to the heat and acrid taint of smoke.

She is waiting for you. Don’t let her down.

You PROMISED.

A soul deep sigh huffed through his nose as his feet sped up, pebbles and broken glass crunched under his boots as he raced toward the gradually growing dot of light.

The roaring fire and echo of his escape bounced off the stone and haunted him as he ran for his life.

Four years of running.

Four years of searching and shame and seclusion. Running had been his gift. His lifeline. 

Yet he felt wholly unprepared for this last sprint.

He was tiring.

Steps shortening faster than his scalding breath as black smoke slithered overhead and wrapped its insidious tentacles around his body.

He would not make it.

He would not see her after all.

The thought felt like a poisoned blade sinking into his chest. He could feel the barbs of it twisting and cutting through sinew.

He would soon bleed out without a sound.

The fight left him as the intangible knife punctured his hope and foolish dream of having a love he didn’t deserve.

They’d been writing their own story, filling the pages with dreams and fragile, flourishing love.

He felt like coming here was akin to him tearing out those pages and ripping them up.

It broke him so completely he almost stopped and let the flames embrace him.

He could already smell the sickly sweet and pungent scent of his blistering flesh. Like tanning leather over a flame.

He was going to burn.

It would hurt more than he already did.

It would roast through his flesh, flay it from his bones and incinerate muscle and blood to dust.

He could already feel it.

Creeping closer, singing the hair on his nape, and filling his nose with the cloying scent of dangerous smoke.

No one would know it was him.

Nothing would remain for her except blackened bones and the memory that he had gone to the mine instead of her.

She would blame herself for this.

It would destroy her.

And it was all his doing.

No.

Never.

He wouldn’t be a cause of her pain anymore than he already had.

A burst of fresh speed and determination glittered through him as the fire drew so near he could feel the flames whispering in his ear.

Too slow, Jake. It’s too late.

You can’t run away from this.

Your luck has faded.

He forced it aside and sobbed through his clenched teeth as the dot of light swelled and came toward him.

His legs were heavy. Growing weightier with every leap over fallen support beams and shattered rock.

His rabbit heart raced faster and faster. It deafened him to the groaning, popping wood as the fire devoured it.

Tears streaked through the soot and blood on his face. Leaving pale tracks through the grime and coating his chapped lips with brine.

His vision blurred as his emotions broke free of the locked and coded vault he’d stuffed in the back of his hive mind to come here.

He attempted to shove them back in.

It didn’t work.

They spilled out and utterly overwhelmed him.

He’d spent years locking them down. Beating them into submission, so they listened to him and not him to them. The steel and stone fortress he erected around himself had already crumbled for her and there was nowhere left to hide.

He’d given her everything he had, and it wouldn’t be enough.

You always knew you weren’t enough. Let’s not think too highly of ourselves.

She deserves better than this.

Better than you.

That is a truth you will never escape.

His heart fractured as his mind fought against him and his flagging spirit frayed further.

She deserved better than this.

He was failing her. Had failed her since he let her in.

He’d always known he’d cause her future hurt.

He just hadn’t expected it would come so soon. That he wouldn’t get to watch from afar as she healed from his vanishing.

They had always lived on borrowed time.

And now, the fire was so close sweat slid like rivers down his back and legs, eating away at his nerves as they flared wildly under his soaking skin.

Jake knew it was futile. The ball of light in his vision seemed to run away from him as his eyes blurred and cleared repeatedly. His hands curled into two tight fists and he fought the urge to punch the wall in fury.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek instead. Biting down hard until the skin gave and blood welled over the tattered edge, glazing his tongue with the buttery, metallic taste of it.

It acted like a stimulant.

His eyes focused and his heart pounded fiercely as he ran and ran and ran.

Feet pounded stone as fire blazed through the mine. He had to outrun it.

He would outrun in it.

There was no other option as his blood pressure skyrocketed and his breath became harsh, shallow.

The fire sucked away the air before it could go in as he tried to gulp it down.

There was no oxygen.

His insides kept writhing and twisting.

They knotted up and up so tightly he swore felt something tear. Something that made him cry out as the air was crushed from him.

He could see shadows in his periphery. Specks of darkness and sparks of light as his lungs ached and screamed for oxygen. For rest.

Resting meant dying.

Dying meant failing her.

Failing her was never an option before.

It couldn’t be one now.

He put his head down and ran.

He jumped over another wooden beam as the light ahead broadened and he landed atop aged wooden boards.

He only had time to scream as they broke under his weight and their age.

Jake fell. And fell and fell.

He screwed his eyes shut before he hit the ground.

The impact was so brutal, he almost wished it had killed him.

He hit the ground with a resounding whack.

His head cracked off the stone. Pain, blinding and bleeding, radiated through his skull and brain, frying his rationality completely and leaving room for fear to consume him wholly.

Warmth seeped across his scalp and his hand came away, stained in crimson when he reached to feel the damage. 

Head wounds bled worse than they were and the gash didn’t feel too bad once the stinging pain subsided a little. He internally surveyed the rest of himself. Finding nothing broken despite his ribs feeling as though a giant had stomped him flat.

Dirt and blood coated his teeth as he wheezed and coughed. Choking and spluttering as he tried to get a handle on himself.

He’d bitten through his lip, and it bled like a bitch.

Something was stabbing into his shoulder. 

As he stared up at the hole he fell through, a sensation like a thousand razor blades slicing down his skin moved down his spine, coiling in his lower back. It swirled there, a ball of cutting, primal fright that soon bled through the rest of him.

A rickety ladder leading up and out offered a small ray of hope.

He clung to it and calculated how long it would take to climb in his current condition. 

Fire scoured over the opening and left no place for him to escape.

His hope died with a breathless whimper.

He barely even heard it as agony rippled through his bones and he rolled onto his knees, panting.

“Fuck!” He spat. The word was more like a vicious curse as it rebounded off the mine walls and into his ears.

Mocking him as he squinted into the darkness and tried to figure out what to do next.

The fire would keep the police and FBI away from the mine until it burnt out. They wouldn’t rush in until it was safe enough. He knew that.

He could use that.

Jake kneeled on the filthy ground and schemed.

The temperature rose and rose as he shuffled through his thoughts.

He neatly ordered and arranged everything, thinking of his brain like a filing cabinet.

He could slide one drawer open and find a treasure trove of data and memories.

Some would get stuck as he tugged at them. Rusty and dusty, hardly ever opened for fear it would cut off his ability to feel nothing.

He pulled at one that had eroded so much he had to kick it and smash it to smithereens to pull the files out.

It was like opening Pandora’s box and expecting sunshine to pour forth. 

A veritable flood of emotion, memory, and agony spilled free of the mental drawer and absolutely annihilated his hold on himself.

He’d forgotten what it was like to feel everything so fully.

Everything of the last few years had felt like he was competing against time itself. And time was humanity’s greatest enemy. There was never enough of it and it actively fought back when you tried to beat it.

It was a losing game and in order to keep playing, he’d become a ghost.

He muted everything that made him human in order to survive.

Calculated.

Clinical.

Cold.

Jake was all of that.

Now, he felt everything.

He wanted to survive. He wanted to live.

Lingering as a phantom on the periphery of reality no longer appealed to him. He wanted to feel and touch and be. He wanted everything life had to give.

The bitter and the sweet. The hurt and the relief. All of it.

Jake just wanted.

And when Jake wanted something, he got it.

He pushed up on his hands. Curling his fingers into the gravelly dirt and ignoring the bark of pain as his nails cracked and split.

His blood mingled with the muck, and he clambered to his feet.

Everything ached and bled and felt so heavy he could barely put one foot in front of the other as he carefully headed down the tunnel he’d dropped into.

His throat was raw. Torn to shreds from smoke and screaming. His hands quaked and his mouth was so dry his tongue curdled in his mouth as he smacked his lips together and tried to create some lubrication.

It was useless. He needed water.

He needed to rest soon, or he would pass out in sheer fright and exhaustion.

It’s too late, Jake.

Give up.

Only fools persist in fighting when the odds are stacked.

Jake’s head throbbed as he thrashed it, as if to dispel the sinister crooning, and muttered, “The odds are always stacked. It’s how you play the system.”

The voice went quiet again, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he tripped over rock and wood, hands scrabbling at the walls to ensure he wouldn’t get himself lost.

He risked taking his phone out of his pocket, scowling at the shattered screen as message after message came through.

MC: Jake. You can’t just tell a woman you love her and then ignore her!

Answer me.

Please.

Just give me a sign. A smoke signal. Send a damn carrier pigeon if you have to! They’re saying there’s no way in or out. But I know better. You’ll find a way. 

Keep going. Please don’t give up. You’re not alone in this. I won’t allow it.

If you die, I will hunt you down, drag you back and kill you again. You must live, Jake. Not for me, not for Hannah or Lilly, but for you. You will make it back to me.

He swiped them away. Deleting them. They made his heart shiver and fracture more. The rubious fissures would leave silver scars behind. He groaned as another came through and he immediately memorized the coordinates she gave him. Deleting the message once he had. He put all his remaining energy and will into planning his escape.

His mind wheeled with memories from before.  Prior to being forced into hiding, he had experienced a life of color and fluctuating joy. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was his. The day he had to leave it all behind, he’d severed all strands of his old life and assumed the identity of many and none. 

He’d learned a lot about humanity and its cruelty in that time. He knew how it worked.

Life was a battle against human cruelty. It always was and always would be. Wisdom, strategy, and hope were the only factors that could hope to gain over cruelty.

And his hope lived on. 

Hope, he understood it lived with her now. He’d given her it and she had offered him her own. He would not waste it.

He flicked through his brain and memories, shelving what didn’t matter and keeping what did. Everything that made him ache, he kept. Everything that made him feel safe, he lost.

If safety meant being alone, lost in a mine until he either burned or starved to death, he didn’t want it.

He reached into the mental vault containing their chats. 

Their conversation about her coming here was the most potent file he had, and it would fuel him to make it out.

She had complimented his research on the mine and he’d told her about some entrances/exits.

He informed her of the ones he thought were most likely to get him caught. It was a manipulative decision, so she wouldn’t get the stupid idea of following him.

He kept one exit loaded like a bullet in the back of his mind.

It was risky.

It was idiotic. 

Still, Jake took off running for it. 

The tunnel was narrowing as he traveled along it. He had to duck before long.

His heart still frothed behind his sternum. Relentless and out of time, with his sawing breath as the walls closed in on him.

He had to crouch now. His head scuffed off the rugged ceiling and he bit back a shout as the pain merged with that of the wound still leaking blood on the back of his skull.

He felt drained. His body became so weighty, he was grateful when the tightening passage forced him to his hands and knees.

Jake crawled and crawled. Palms scraped and searing as sweat irritated all his grazes. His eyes prickled with fresh tears as a draught of fresh air snaked into his nose.

Dread rose to swallow him, but he kept going. He didn’t know what awaited him on the other side, but it was better than dying alone, never to be mourned or found.

The fear of being arrested was so strong it almost halted him as he squeezed through the ever shrinking tunnel and felt like he was caught in a vice.

If he got stuck—No, he couldn’t think it.

He had to turn his fear into a weapon. Run from this place and reclaim his name. The sweat on his brow, the blood running through his veins; it was that of a survivor.

This was just another glitch.

He told himself that over and over as he army crawled through the crushing mine.

He was blind.

The darkness entrenched him.

It would entomb him if he allowed it.

His coat snagged on the rough wall and dragged him back. He shook his sore body as much as the tight space would allow and panted through his clenched teeth.

It kept sticking. He had stretched his hands ahead of him.

There was no room or way for him to tug the fabric free.

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

Helplessness stole his flagging fight, and he slumped into the dirt, hiding his filthy face in it.

Abruptly, Jake started sobbing like a child. Great, gasping cries tore from him and his entire body shuddered with it. So violent and soul destroying he couldn’t temper it.

No matter what he did, it went against him. He’d never worked with such horrendous odds. His brain was a mess of emotion and regret.

He wished he’d written everything he felt and hoped for them down and mailed the letter to her before he entered the mine, but he’d been cocky then. Too confident in his ability to escape any trap or cage.

Jake gave up and accepted his fate.

If he died, if that was his due, there was no stopping it. He’d been living off begged and borrowed and stolen time for years.

It had finally caught up to him.

He was so lost in defeat. Consumed by it. His throat contracted, and he felt like he might be sick.

He hoped he choked on it.

Make it quick.

“I don’t want to die,” He whispered without meaning to and his mouth kept moving, the words kept falling from his bloodstained lips, “Not like this, anything but this.”

His heart shriveled and went cold as he struggled and tried to shuffle forward. He couldn’t breathe properly. All his weight was on his front. His ribs felt bruised and cracked, every tiny inhale felt like a sledgehammer blow.

It is over, Jake. Feel that? The cold creeping in? Soon, it’s all you’ll know. This darkness? It’s all there is. All there ever will be. It’s what you –

“-- I don’t deserve this.” Jake growled with a certainty he’d never known.

Adrenaline coursed through him, lighting up his veins and filling him with new trembling energy as if someone had injected him with a drug.

He rocked and shook his body until his bones jolted and his skin felt too tight. He forced what little breath he had out through gritted teeth and felt the tendons in his neck straining as he dug his fingers into the dirt and put all his strength into pulling himself free.

The sound of fabric ripping caused his heart to start beating again.

He gave a laugh like shattering glass.

Unhinged and desperate as the momentum of his coat coming free shoved him forward a few feet.

From there, it wasn’t easy. He felt like a clumsy serpent as he slithered through the mine.

He kept laughing. His heart kept pounding.

The voice in his head was silent as his hands connected with something that fell away as he shoved at it.

Glorious, clean night air hit his sweaty face, and he gulped it down as he pulled himself out of the horrible tunnel.

It seemed to cling to him. Like invisible hands tugged on his ankles to keep him trapped. He refused to allow it.

Damp earth, long green grass, and dried leaves crunched under his hands as he lay on his back on the forest floor and stared at the starry sky.

He considered the spectacle of stars as the greatest gift he could have received. He analyzed it, finding the North star and thinking of the co-ordinates MC had given him. He quickly checked them on his phone before he threw it away, and was relieved when he discovered it wasn’t too far to make it there on foot.

If he headed in a North- Easterly direction, he could make it there at sunrise.

He didn’t bother looking toward Duskwood, didn’t need to know how close his pursuers might be or he’d lose his nerve.

He shakily got to his feet and started walking.

Time meant nothing to him as he traipsed through forest and open fields. He stayed away from the roads he knew were always busy.

In his current condition, some good samaritan would call for help thinking they were aiding him when in fact they’d be signing his death.

He was so tired. It clung to him like a shroud of smothering fog he would never break out of.

He kept moving. 

Through shadow and moonlight, he kept walking and ignored the pain in his body as best he could. 

There was no end to his exhaustion as pink tinged sunlight shimmered through the pines.

The sun was rising.

How strange, he thought, that his world could burn down around him and yet the sun still rose.

He eyed it and felt strange, like it was an abstract painting absolutely out of place in this world of cruelty, death, and flame.

No matter how deeply or irrevocably the world burned. No matter how thick the shadows grew and the amount the freezing darkness consumed, the sun would always rise.

It filled the world with light, warmth, and color and precious hope.

He felt the soft warmth kiss his hurting face, and it energized him as he broke out of the cover of trees and came to a halt in a motel parking lot.

Jake frowned, glancing around in suspicion and doubt as he failed to understand. Why would she send him here? He hadn’t stayed here. It was too out of the way.

And just how did she know of it?

He stood straight and fear thickened in his throat as his attention snagged on a window. The curtains had moved. He was sure of it.

He moved as though to sink back amongst the trees, but the creak of a door opening made his head snap toward it.

A small, slender hand poked through the gap in the door, beckoning him. He was moving toward it before he could give his feet the command.

His heart picked up speed again. His pulse and distress ratcheting up and infusing him with tension like someone was turning a screw too tightly.

He was only a few steps away from the door now. His skin felt too sensitive and everything hurt in some way. His throat felt like he’d been eating sandpaper and gravel.

The shake in his hands intensified, flight or fight. His nervous system couldn’t decide.

As he hesitated, a female voice trailed through the open door and it was like a salve on his exposed nerves. He had heard that voice, he could recognize it anywhere.

His heart raced for an entirely different reason as he listened to it.

“It’s safe. Come in and I’ll explain.”

Jake didn’t care about her explanation as the adrenaline left him so suddenly he drooped and nearly dropped to his knees.

He tripped through the door instead.

She didn’t give him time to rake his gaze over her the way he wanted to. She gripped him and forcefully dragged him into an embrace, causing him to groan in pain as it aggravated his many minor injuries.

She instantly pulled back, grimacing and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. Here, I have supplies. I figured one of us would get shot or stabbed or maimed. It felt important to be prepared. Thankfully, the worst injury I’ve had is paper cuts. You don’t look like you’ve been so lucky. Are you bleeding anywhere? What do I do first? Are you burnt? You smell like someone roasted you over a spit! Are yo-”

Jake chuckled roughly at her babbling. Touched and amused by her care and thoughtfulness.

It was the first genuine laugh he’d had in years, and it turned into a cackle before long. It just slipped out of him and sounded more like crying by the end.

His gritty eyes closed as emotion swallowed him and he welcomed the darkness they offered.

It was familiar.

It was safe.

He woke hours later very confused and so stiff it felt like he was breaking his bones to sit up. His grunt of pain escaped his teeth as a lilting voice cut through the static in his mind.

“Oh, good. I was worrying. That’s nothing new, but you look like someone just dug you out of your grave. I cleaned and patched you up as best I could without stripping you. I thought I’d let you buy me dinner before we got to that stage!”

Her tone was light and filled with humor, but there was an edge of despair and anxiety in it that told him she’d fussed over him the entire time he slept.

His sluggish heart resided in his empty stomach as she approached him slowly like she thought he was an injured animal and she was afraid to spook him.

“Where are we? Why are you here? You promised to stay away.” He managed as he accepted the glass of water she offered him.

His fingers left dirty streaks on the glass as the dirt mingled with the condensation. The water was cold and crystal clear and he gulped it down to clear the sour taste out of his mouth.

She huffed at his words and waited for him to sink the water before she responded, “Typical. I come and help you and you scold me. Well, shove it.  If it weren’t for me and Alan, you would be dead or rotting in a cell. And I did stay away! I didn't go to the mine, did I?” 

His gaze flew to her indignant face, lovely and open despite the fury razing hell in her narrowed eyes.

He felt shocked that he could speak because his tongue felt so thick in his mouth. “My apologies. I’m still—I’m sorry... Alan? I thought he would be more interested in helping them catch me?”

She smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sat down beside him.

“That was until I ripped him a new one. The fire helped most, but Alan is currently playing down your involvement to give us time. He’ll make contact with us once we find a safe place to stay.”

He opened his mouth to demand she go back home, and he’d message once he was safe, but she flung up a hand to silence him.

“None of that. I’ll explain better once we know the scope of the fallout in Duskwood. But I am coming with you. No, if ands or buts about it, Jake. I make my decisions, not you. The last time someone tried to decide for me, I bit them. Don’t make me bite you too. Are you in?”

Her eyes were hard and unwavering, not a sliver of doubt to be found.

Everything inside him protested against dragging her into his mess, but he was tired.

He was tired of being alone.

He was so tired of losing everything.

Four years of fatigue and depression sank through him like a millstone and he hung his head in defeat. He was in no condition to run alone, anyway.

And he didn't want to. It was selfish. It was daft. But he didn't care.

He hadn't expected to survive this long. Plus, she had been his reason to make it out. He sighed and let his shoulders curl inward. Having someone else to protect would keep him sharp and ready for anything. She must've sensed his resolve weakening. 

She reached out and threaded her clean fingers through his muddy ones, dark and light; he thought stupidly as his skin tingled at the contact.

It had been so long since he’d been touched gently. With obvious affection and because someone wanted to, not because they had to. 

He was used to bruises and hurt. This was — this was what he'd survived for. 

He’d forgotten what it felt like as he met her gaze and felt his stomach fluttering with something that felt like excitement.

It felt like hundreds of tiny birds had taken flight in his abdomen and a frisson of tentative anticipation filtered through him. 

Her eyes glittered and his mouth twitched with the want to smile as he gave his response.

“I’m in.”

—————————

Thank you for reading. I hope it was worth your time despite this being done so many times before me. Oh, and if you leave a comment or reblog, thank you. It is appreciated ❤️

[wisepuma23]

Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.

(…Nobody but him.)

Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.

Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight. 

He needs to fix that. 

“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”

“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”

Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.

(Drip, drip.) 

No, focus. 

Focus.

(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.) 

Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike. 

Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.

 Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!” 

“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.” 

Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped. 

“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.

“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”

“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.” 

Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise. 

The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.

He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended. 

Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.

(Snrrk, clink.)

People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.

Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.

Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.

He remembers a golden clock.

(Rip, snrk, clink.) 

Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle. 

The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms. 

He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.

He meant it. (Yes, really.)

Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.

And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back. 

The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.

The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.

Blood dripping from between their teeth.

(Drip, drip.)

Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?

There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.

Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”

Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.

“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”

“Hey!” 

And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.

(Drip, drip.)

And yet.

(Rip, snrrk, clink.)

…The hunger prevails.  

[alicelufenia]

Testing new ways to recruit Minthara in Patch 6 - Part 2 (KO without being temporarily hostile)

The first part of this series taught me a lot about the changes to Minthara's recruitment conditions. I was fully expecting it to simply be easier to keep her temporarily hostile, but now that we know that any knock out condition will suffice

This means it's now possibly easier to recruit her than ever before.

For this next test I tried fighting her the old fashioned way, how lots of people may have done it and how I had hoped it would work from the start; talk to her at the goblin camp, reject her command to raid the grove, and knock her out as a result, regardless of whatever hostility level the game mechanics say.

What sentence will always start a fight? - "Hey, wanna fight?"

I even made sure they were able to hit the wardrum too, the bane of many an honor mode attempt at a Minthara recruitment.

And look at that, it still worked!

Also she didn't bug out this time, so inviting her to kill the guards together worked just fine.

One thing to note, if you do it her way of slaughtering your way out of the prison, you'll aggro the rest of the tower. You wanna sneak out the doors to the dock, and there's a path that will lead away from the tower. After returning to camp with Minthara and maybe even a long rest, the tower's aggro should reset.

LMAOOO

I'm glad I finally get to witness this special pairing. Ultimatum? Never heard of her.

THIS IS THE SECOND TIME HER CAMP CLOTHES GLITCHED OUT IN THE LEVEL UP SCREEN

Also it wouldn't be a Baldur's Gate 3 patch that introduced new and innovative bugs to our favorite spicy elf. Apparently this is what she says in lieu of whatever appropriate narrative reaction should have triggered. Spoilering this out cause I don't wanna drop big spoiler bombs on unsuspecting people.

Anyway, that's it. I get the feeling I may not have to do any more testing than this. The previous methods of knocking her out should still work, the game has just extended that courtesy to any time she is knocked out.

I still think it would be cool if she disappeared after being reduced to 0 hp during the grove battle, like in the Daughter of Lolth mod which people used prior to all this. I dunno I feel no companion should be completely missable in this game. Although, this means the two people most likely to recruit Minthara without looking anything up are now both people playing an evil route, and those playing a pacifist good guy tav who always tries to knock enemies out instead of killing them. I look forward to the first time someone finds her at Moonrise Towers and it comes as a complete surprise. But I should wrap this up now.

Final Verdict: Recruiting Minthara by KOing her by initiating a fight via dialogue at the Goblin Camp - WORKS!

[trappedinafantasy37]

POV: You are a goblin and you have a little bit of a crush on the drow leader in camp. You recite some shitty poetry, bang your horrendous wardrum, perform a clumsy dance, all attempting to get her attention. She looks down on you, disgusted and annoyed, seriously contemplating kicking you for wasting her time. But you have no issue with that. You want her to kick you.

[luxury-nightmare]

mom says it’s my turn on the writing

Clyde was certain if it had a heart, it would be pounding like a wardrum.

It stalked through the halls of the asylum, leaving a bloody trail behind it. It was never one to pass up on a good snack, and the pure rage it felt after what happened left them with an insatiable bloodlust. Winfrey shared the same hunger after being stuffed into a tiny room for what must have felt like an eternity.

Winfrey, it’s partner, it’s missing piece. It had been waiting so long to break them out of this hellhole. This was not how it planned on this going, being shot and dragged into this place without a proper escape plan, but it could improvise.

Worry still gnawed at the back of its mind. Alex. Would they be ok without it? Would they be taken in, beaten down until they break? Dissected to find out what makes them tick? Not if it could help it.

This place would be rubble by the time it and Winfey were done.

——————————————————————

Alex looked down at the man beneath them, the last of his ragged breath stuttering to a stop. Alex looked down in disgust, before turning to look at their hand. Solid claws, not dripping in the slightest, with a purple eye blinking back at them. The crowbar was slightly bent from the sheer force they were gripping it with.

They caught a glimpse of their reflection in the CCRT monitors lining the walls. Crooked yellows eyes, inhuman teeth, curved horns and green wings looked back at them. They barely recognized their own reflection.

A full veldigun looked back at them, not whatever state in between human and velidgun they were when they left the barn. They looked down for a moment, before adjusting their glasses to their new eyes.

Simon was getting the patients out, but their were still two people Alex needed to go find.

——————————————————————

Alarm bells went off in Clyde’s head as it turned the corner. Broken screens lined the hall, and a trail of blood lead down into a darkness so deep, Clyde was halfway convinced its illusions were playing tricks on it.

It went to take a step down the hallway, only for Winfrey to block it with their hand. Clearly, it wasn’t just it a bit nervous about this hallway. It looked up at its partner, sharing a look, before continuing down the hallway, Winfrey close behind.

It followed the trail, ready to maul anyone who got to close to its partner. They had been through enough, and it wouldn’t hesitate to rip apart anyone who tried to drag them away from it again.

A flickering CCRT lit up the end of the hall, half covered by the silhouette of someone clearly not human, if the horns and wings were anything to go by. A growl built in Clyde’s throat, and it prepared to lunge on the unfamiliar veldigun.

They turned around at the sound, gripping something in their hands. But instead of preparing for an attack, the stranger looked, relieved? Happy? They looked-

They looked like Clyde when it had seen Winfey again for the first time.

“Clyde?” They said,

Using the voice of that madman

Any peace they could have wanted was immediately shattered the instant they used that voice. Winfrey growled, and Clyde prepared and attack.

It was strange hearing so much emotion in that voice. Where had they even gotten it?

“Clyde please it’s me” they said in desperation. Clyde took a step back in confusion. Who was this Velidgun anyway? Clyde looked them over. Purple eyes in their hair, crooked green horns, inky black claws gripping a crowbar.

It couldn’t be-

“Alex?”

The veldigun, no, Alex took a step closer, but Clyde was faster. It raced at its human, no, it’s fellow veldigun, and threw its arms around them. Alex dropped the crowbar and returned the embrace.

They sat like that for what felt like an eternity

“I missed you”

“Me too Clyde”

[chainmail-butch]

You know who I don't see on the street? You know who I don't see caring for their community? You know who I don't see at rallies, protests, and counter-protests? You know who I don't see carrying guns and staring down the cops who are murdering black people in my community?

Democrats. I don't see Democrats.

I don't see Democrats because they think that voting is all they need to do. They think that throwing money at charities is all they need to do. They think that dropping a couple garbage bags full of old shirts and half-empty shampoo bottles at a church is all they need to do. They think that frowning at the TV and huffing over Palestine is all they need to do.

They ignore the actions of a corrupt city. They ignore the brutality of the police. They ignore the imperial capitalism that goes on in their communities because they think voting once or twice a year is enough. They genuinely think that they can make the world a better place from the comfort of their couch.

When I talk about my hatred of the american voting system and by extension my hatred of the Democratic Party, it's because I see the damage their apathy brings. I see them beat the wardrums for Genocide Joe, and at the same time, I see them averting their eyes from the homeless man on the corner.

I listen to them cry about public maintenance, and I have never once walked the street with a Democrat. I'm sick of it.

Get active or shut the fuck up. That's my opinion. My life as a tranny had only gotten worse under Biden and that's a fucking fact.

Don't tell me that the Republicans are worse when the same cops are going to be hog-tying black men because they dared to walk to the store. Don't tell me the Republicans are worse when democratic judges do everything in their power to hurt activists. Don't fucking tell me the Republicans are worse when all you're going to do is piss and moan when a protest has the balls to disrupt your life.

[homunculus-argument]

A little slice-of-life story about a group of different kinds of artists in a post-apocalyptic world - musicians, painters, someone running a printing press, and even a poet - just cheerily having their good time, doing hijinks, making ther respective arts. Absolutely none of these people are particularly good artists, but they're most likely the greatest talents of their time, the best drummer, painter and costume designer currently alive. And how do they support themselves? By comissions! Who the fuck keeps comissioning artists in the fucking post-apocalyptic wasteland? The biggest, most heinous warlord in the setting.

None of these people were going to survive, but one of them was smart enough to convince the warlord of the value and importance of reputation and propaganda. So now the artists are his pets, painting all the blood-and-fire art on the sides of his cars, the skulls on the faces of his soldiers' shabby helmets, while someone dyes and paints the rest of their scraped-together makeshift armour black and adds the warlord's emblems, making them pass for an uniform. Wherever this man goes and is seen in public, he never enters or leaves without the booming fanfare of wardrums.

Every once in a while the artists look at the very obvious and horrifying brutality that their patron spreads around himself to stay in power, and get kind of squeamish and cringe. Someone questions whether it's, uh, ethical of them all to be supporting this guy? Should they be doing something about this?

The poet is the one who shrugs and points out that first of all, he'll kill us if we stop working for him. Second of all, he would be running this show anyway, cool costumes and war drums or no. Third of all, they're not painting him as a good guy, after all, just the strongest one. If the last city-state in the world is a dictatorship, might as well be one that looks cool. If people have the choice to either kneel willingly or have their knees broken, and he wants everyone to know it, might as well write a song about that.

[missfckingfortune]

For the ask game- #16 share a snippet of something you're working on!

Lucien emerged from the bathroom to find that his group had disbanded. Elain and Vassa’s colorful, overpriced drinks were left abandoned and half-consumed on the table. Predictably, he found Jurien skulking on the outskirts of the dancefloor, staring hard into the sea of writhing, sweaty bodies. The bass pounded in Lucien's ears like a wardrum, or a second heartbeat. “So,” Jurien shouted above the music as he motioned to two feminine figures, close together and partially shrouded by the strobe lights. “Why is your girlfriend sucking my girlfriend’s face off?”

[spaghettioverdose]

Changing the twitter logo to X is going to mobilise the furries against it

All the sad drawings of the twitter bird where it's anthropomorphized into a bird woman with big tits saying goodbye and leaving are like wardrums