UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma
Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:
Okay skitters away
staying up until midnight to talk
(919 words) (x) (:3c)
Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.
The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.
Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.
“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.
Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.
Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.
“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.
“You thought anymore about my offer?”
Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.
(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)
“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.
“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.
“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”
“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”
“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”
Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.
“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”
He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.
“I won’t,” he says.
Bdubs huffs and turns away.
103 notes
·
View notes
(hii Spot been awhile) Something I think that's interesting about the observation about how Slugcats are getting so much attention nowadays is that its almost a 180 from how things were in the pre-downpour days, iirc.
Though I am glad we're getting an AU like yours it's so interesting compared to the usual
Im eating with a fork
Yeah, the fandom was not particularly strong back then, but I think there was more Iterator content. My suspicion as to why slugcats are so much more popular now is because the general "cat appeal"*. Downpour brought in wider audience which mostly consists of people that go wild over cat videos on the internet.
Not my intention to throw shade on it, because after all what does my opinion matter to anyone, but I find the whole "cuteness cult" of the internet annoying and, when applied to Rain World, frustrating. There's a whole silent worldbuilding in basically every screen of the game and the only thing that people seem to take away post-DP is "cute sluggy go wooo :3 the Ancients were such cultist pricks Dx". Which like alright, but expand a little on the latter please? Try? There is So much fun to it when one moves past the "religion only BAD" mindset.
DP also I think didn't care much about the Ancients and the culture they left behind (and therefore the root of Iterators). "But there's Saint!" Saint is almost everything new that wasn't heard of before, can be taken as another fact of monstroid mad religion and, of course, it Has to be wrapped in a fluffy cat package.
The undergrowth Echo also feels like a spit in the face to the lore/religion than an addition, to me. My *guess* would be the original intention was showing an individual who failed to ascend because of the Fifth Hindrance but it doesn't *feel* like it. If that was the intention, I think the author didn't understand why a desire to live/survive could ever, in any form, be bad
It's interesting as well in the sense that when there was only Survivor, maybe up to Hunter- the slugcats felt like a vehicle that brings the player to the story. The player saw the world through their eyes and got to experience the world's rules, abiding them- the original campaigns were still subject to the lore/religion of the world.
DP made the slugcats characters, the main focus, in some cases a rebelion against the lore/religion (forever beef against new route for Survivor and Monk). So people had an easier time latching onto them.
That is my theory at least. Fact is also when I first watched RW I almost didn't get into it as a creator because I felt like I had nowhere to hook to and work with. Characters are great anchor points for people to latch on to and then work with/through, so it's not like I blame the fandom for quite literally getting slug infested. It's natural and logical and I'm well aware of it as someone who's trying to be a writer. Still frustrating.
Either way, at least there's a vacuum for me to fill with something I'm actively actually passionate about. It's kind of a sweet bonus that people are somewhat interested, too.
81 notes
·
View notes
Obsession
I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.
I'm so boring.
I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.
I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.
No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.
I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.
You know... the movie?
You know the movie.
Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.
You can't blame me.
Well... you certainly can't, anyway.
If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?
Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.
I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.
In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.
Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.
It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.
That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.
I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.
A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.
It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.
"Oh-" she says.
"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"
And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!
"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.
She steps all the way into the room.
"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"
"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.
"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."
I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.
"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.
What.
"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.
"What?" I ask, reflexively.
She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.
"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."
I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.
"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."
The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.
I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.
The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.
I have to do something they won't see coming.
I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.
"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"
God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.
I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.
I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.
"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.
She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.
It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.
That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.
I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.
I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.
The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"
"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."
I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.
All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.
The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.
"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"
I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.
Instead, I break down.
"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."
"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.
"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"
"-but-"
"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"
"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.
We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.
Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.
I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.
Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.
Finally.
I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.
"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"
120 notes
·
View notes