#readmore'd for length

[fuckpriest-archive]

@latenighttalkshow whimpered,

❝ you’ve turned me into such a mess … ❞

In the shifting light of the Entity's basement, the moisture that ran down Jane's inner thighs -- smeared across her skin, over the Hell Priest's deft hands as it toyed with her pussy -- sparkled. It had chosen not to bind her this time, to test her obedience, her self-control, since she seemed so intent on returning to offer her supplication again and again. Noting its growing fondness for her, it had, before so much as touching her, given her a stern warning:

Keep your hands on the wall. No touching. And she had done her very best.

The scene began with precise fingertips, barely ghosting down the plane of her naked spine. The Priest hummed, low, an approving sound as it felt gooseflesh start to rise across her skin. With a desire to see her knees buckle before it finally penetrated her with its cool fingers, it had her stand flush against the wall and pulled her back against it by the hips, feeling its cock nestle in the cleft between her legs through the material of its skirts.

One hand to her breast, nipple pinched tightly, the opposite delved between her legs. There, pressing into the velvety passage of her vulva, it luxuriated in how wet she had already become, encircling her clit with slow, deliberate attention. A mild, however firm tug to her nipple broke contact, pulling away to grasp with sharp fingertips the ample swell of her hips and ass.

" Are you going to be good for me? " Its fingers found rhythm against her clit, against that little pebble of nerves inside the flesh there that burned electric and ecstatic. " I think I'll see you drip before I let you feel my fingers fuck you. "

Having become so slick from attending to her swollen clit alone, the Priest found its own pleasure in delving down with both hands, dragging each one over her wanting hole, her throbbing clit, enjoying her every fold. Two fingers on each hand, index and middle, worshipped the shape of her clit -- dragging against it over and over again with alternating rhythm that ensured it never went untouched or without that blessed friction between individual strokes. When she seemed to be approaching twitching orgasm, it relented, holding her for a moment with two fingers pressed against her cunt, but not inside. Each finger coated with her hot, slick eagerness, it grasped her by the inner thigh and dragged wet smears across her skin. It pulled away from her then, to test if she would stay put, if she would stay obedient.

But before it could acknowledge whether or not she had, it had to take pause -- to admire the fact her wetness had seemed to make its way onto its skirts. As it made note of her quaking resolve to obey, it licked its fingers, purring to see the sight of it do so effect her as profoundly as it seemed to.

In a pathetic plea for more, she mewled something about being a mess. The cenobite laughed. She didn't know the meaning of the word.

Without warning, as if all she had to do was ask, it slid its fingers into her hot, wanting insides and curled them against her inner wall. Just one inward gesture, just one, and already it felt her warm juices on its knuckles, on the back of its hand, all but dripping. Two thrusts into her, and it could hear the happy, wet sound of moisture being displaced around its fingers.

" You taste divine, you know. And so well-behaved... I'll let you cum. This time. "

#latenighttalkshow #IT WAS SO LONG I HAD TO CALL IT SOMEWHERE <3 #hey tho if u wanna thread this im not precluding the possiblity of cenodick #i just think jane getting Really Wet And Pathetic is neat #◈⛓ ― .\\ messages #readmore'd for length

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

Recollected Reprisals

Tagging for referential purposes for @rxdhairxdsirxns​, @melodiadraconis​, and @shatteredwastes​ -​

For some, dreams are an escape. For others, a snare, an anchor... but there are always those who blur that so-called line; individuals whose dreams refuse to stay within the lines, for what is it to dream but to escape the limits of the reality one finds one’s self in whilst awake? Is it any wonder that, at times, dreams can be more potent, more heady, than any lucid moment in life? More beautiful, more heartbreaking, more devastating and more enthralling than any mortal promise?

What, then, does one do when dreams escape even their own mercurial bounds? When they shift from mere taunting self-made entertainment into prophecy? When they force one to recollect not only things one has seen, but what one has long forgotten, by design or accident? When they show you not only your own mind’s torments and tantalizations, but that of others, in memories not your own?

For some, dreams can be more, even when it is the last thing wanted at times. Such is the case with Hriob Zagel, one who has warped not only his perception of self over time, but his perception of time itself in small, yet irreversible ways. 

One, a crimson-haired queen and vicious beast, snared by his heart as she had snared him in turn, would dream of hauntingly familiar forests not in a dream of terror, as had visited her tremulous slumber before, but of heartbreak as she witnessed another side of the mystery she found herself enamored with.

Another, in a far-removed place and time, a pale huntress and devastator, poisoned by her one-time nemesis even in her supposed victory, is consumed by memories not her own, as she is slowly killed not by the opponent without, but by the consumed she had thought to add to her own strength.

To some, perhaps, a nightmare. But not all things are concrete, immutable, and what is torture to one may be salvation to another. What matters, in the end, is not only what we take from dreams, perhaps, but also what they take in turn...

A grey-cloaked child shivers in the rain, finally able to rest, if only for as long as the drops continued to fall from the skies, shrouding his presence as few other things could from his hunters. The scars on his face, still red and angry-looking on his pale skin, are wet, coated not only in rain, but with tears as well, salt tinging the waters running down his face ever-so-faintly. His sobs are silent, but there is a tinge of relief in his features, as if he knew he had needed to get this out, if only he had a chance.

__, __, __ Come down, won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?

A red-headed child finds himself in a small, worn, yet warm home after too many times caught in the Loop, found and brought in by a fair young woman of white hair and oddly-ribbed ears. He seems confused, hesitant, and yet something already tells him he is safe here, clinging to her skirts and finally given the first real Food - not foraged but baked with care - he could ever come to remember. There are tears in his eyes, but their flavor is different, as he buries himself into a hug in her arms.

You're scaring us and all of us, some of us love you, __, it's not much but there's proof-

Again, the child finds himself in the same woods, when he had finally gotten used to being in the woman’s care... and tears return again, shivering not with fear or cold, but fury and frustration. When the hunters return, spears of silver flying past him, he runs - into the fray, teeth grit in a wrathful rictus, a knife in hand to defy this fate that would not leave him be-

You crazy-assed cosmonaut, remember your virtue, Redemption lies plainly in truth-

The boy once again stumbles into the bread-scented home of the white-haired woman - his mother in all but fact now - weak and stained in blood, sporting fresh scars, but he does not hesitate to hug her possessively, desperately, as a lost sailor clings to driftwood, afraid that if he’d let go she’d be gone again, and he’d be back in the same forest once more.

Just humour us, __, __, come down, Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

He vanished to the same forest, fighting to make it back Home more and more viciously each time, not noticing the worry growing in the eyes of the woman he called ‘Mutti’, nor the darkness growing in his own frame even as he started to grow taller, still thin and gangly no matter how much he ate, how tall he grew...

Loathe the way they light candles in Rome, But love the sweet air of the votives,

Every time, he came back taller, more bitter and withdrawn... and yet he came back all the same, every reunion met with tears from both, the embrace of child and parent, and promises being kept - no matter how hard it was at times to struggle and keep them.

Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone, Engage with the pain as a motive,

Rain falls, as a sleepless, restless boy- no longer a child, if ever he truly was one, but slowly becoming a teenager- is confronted, then comforted by his mother, trying to get him to talk… It takes time, and much stubbornness, before the words start pouring out. Again, there are tears, of many different flavors blended together, before the woman promises the child something. The young man, composing himself, agrees.

Today of all days, see, How the most dangerous thing is to love-

Out on the outskirts of the village the two now called home, near a different kind of forest all-together, long quarterstaves in hand as she took the lead, instructing him in different motions and mock-sparring. He is knocked down often, yet rises again again. Smiles are shared, even as soreness and pain mount slowly but surely, for there is a goal in sight that he can reach…

How you will heal and you'll rise above-

…And yet, every time he feels safe, content, it seems, it cannot last. Time and time again he wakes in the same accursed forest. Every time, he must find his way back, no matter how many times he must suffer at the ends of the same spears. Every time breaks him a little more, even if his hands grip tightly to hold in the blood, to hold back the pain, to hold himself together until he can reach Home again-

__, __, __, jump now, You are absent of cause or excuse-

The teen is sleepless again, but with fervor, eyes with shadows beneath but light flickering within, as he pours over tome after tome, scroll after scroll, nibbling on a roll. Amongst the books are journals, memoirs, instructional manuals, all covered in runes and scripts on magic- a few written by hands both far older and yet somehow all too relatable, stories and experiences drawing him in and sharing their secrets, teaching and hinting at things that he could learn, if only he read a little longer, thought a little harder… if only one had the secret to escape, to demand and defy what refused to let him go. He studied on, as fascinated as desperate, yet for all the secrets gained, an answer was not amongst them.

So self-indulgent and self-referential, No audience could ever want you-

Even if as a child he was able to blend in with the few children of the nearby village on occasion, as he grew the distance grew further still, rumors and gossip raising a wall between him and those that could have been peers, friends… even if he wanted to, despite not truly wanting to be alone, the boy found it easier to just stay separate, do his own things… and so he grew more distant still.

You crave the applause yet hate the attention, Then miss it, your act is a ruse-

Time and time again the Forest takes him, time and time again he fights, more and more like a beast for the Hunters, even as he learns tactics, strategies, self-defense, even the beginnings of magic to try and stay alive, it doesn’t always work, often has him try again and again to get home, earning more and more scars as he struggles… old doubts starting to return despite everything he’s learned…

It is empty, __, so end it all now, It's a pointless resistance for you-

The unruly teen, on his own, steals a bottle from a pub when no one was looking… and nauseously, unsteadily wobbles to his home, into a long argument that ends in tears when his mother finally catches him… tears that are addressed in the morning, when the headaches return in full force and his stomach refuses to remain steady, but his words have left their mark, as have hers.

__, __, just put down the bottle, Don't listen to what you've consumed-

The young man - no longer able to be confused for the child he once was, in appearance or countenance - throws himself into his self-training, rage and desperation hand-in-hand, knowing he is not yet ready to face the Hunters, may never be if the whispers in the back of his head continue… and yet even as thoughts of surrender float to the surface, they only boil away in the bitter, spiteful fury they spark, urging him further on-

It's chaos, confusion and wholly unworthy, Of feeding and it's wholly untrue-

Another return to the misty, verdant personal hell takes weeks to escape, as he nearly breaks, constantly struggling not only to escape, but struggling against intrusive, defeatist thoughts at the worst possible times, earning yet more scars and nightmares, even as the Hunters finally start to feel the bite of the ‘fangs’ of their quarry, no longer facing easy prey as they had years ago-

You may feel no purpose nor a point for existing, It's all just conjecture and gloom-

When, at long last he finally returns, after months of unintentional detours and false-starts, the Forest continuing to pull at him even as he keeps slipping its grasp, he is met by heated words, and then shaking arms and desperate tears, meeting them in kind, words pouring forth shaky admissions of the enemies within even as he tried to face those without-

And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it, Do not waste yourself on this roof-

The forest does not claim him again, not yet, not so soon, but instead the youth - not yet a man, however much he feels he has to be - leaves Home, after many more tears and promises are made, and sets out on his own. There is uncertainty, but there is also a need for answers, to find a solution. To find, perhaps, himself.

You want the acclaim, the mother of mothers It's not worth it, __-

He wandered, through forests and deserts, finding people and more and more questions, but not yet answers. Thriving in the verdant lands, struggling in those where greenery was all but absent, he slowly began to understand his connection to Life, strengthening it.

More poignant than fame or the taste of another- Don't listen, __-

He found attachments, discovered those he found himself longing for, but ultimately never fitting with, and leaving of his own accord, before anything could ever come of it. Time and time again, until the embers of longing and need were kept dim and cool, though never did they fully go out.

But be real and just jump, you dense motherfucker- You're worth more, __-

He discovered more about himself, talents with magic and craftsmanship, reigning in his emotions as best he could, learning to meditate, to ponder, to put his mind to practical activities instead of wallowing randomly in darker thoughts, and reigning in the storms and clouds that had often followed him in turn.

You will not be more than a rat in the gutter- So much more than a rat-

Still, the Forest did not let him wander freely, and the Hunters found him again… only now he is not Prey, not anymore than a savage grizzly is prey to a few cunning foxes. Finally, he has the Mastery, the Command over himself and the Power to fight back and win… and yet his first victory rings hollow, somehow… all he has done, it seems, is strike down a few lowly goblins, even if the spears they held are collected before the young man continues on.

You want my opinion, my opinion you've got- No one asked your opinion-

He still does not feel fully confident, always ever-vigilant in the back of his head, perhaps too much so, and so he finds new ways to apply himself. His practice with his precious staff has expanded into all sorts of training and exercise, pushing his own limits, trying to drive out the doubts that linger still. The mind does not succumb so easily, but the body grows and hardens all the same with every punch, lunge, step, and strain.

You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts- No one asked for your thoughts-

On occasion, he finds himself in the Forest again all the same, and begins to notice that he is not the only one pulled into it. New purpose fills him, as he finds other wanderers brought in by happenstance or bad luck, defending them from the Would-Be-Hunters, tending their wounds as best he can and collecting more of the accursed spears off the cooling bodies of the predators as he ends them.

Be done with this now and j g u e m t p off the roof-

His issues, he grows accustomed to, his scars fade but never vanish, and the wounds upon his heart, his psyche lessen but never leave. And yet, the more he travels, the more he finds those who, regardless of how much or how little they have suffered, still need help… and so, clumsily at first, but with more tact and careful consideration each time, the Wanderer begins a legacy of his own, for the wounds of others are easier for him to mend than his own.

Can you hear me, __? I'm talking to you-

He ran, he walked, he trod, he traveled. Where one forest ended, another began, seamlessly at first… but before long he was able to finally tell, to notice when he had crossed the boundaries between worlds. Now, at long last, he could notice the pull, and ignore it if he chose… eventually, more would be revealed, and what once was random happenstance or cruel fate became the key to countless worlds, endless possibilities…

Throw yourself into the unknown, With pace and a fury defiant-

The Journey Continued, and somewhere, somehow, along the line, the boy, who had become a teen, had grown into a man. Not out of conquest, or mere height and build, but as the continual wrenching of experience changed him. Every memory he made acted as water over a rock, just as every scar he had earned was flame upon an ingot. He had forged himself out from his own hell, and now he had polished himself from rough, fickle sharpness into something honed, purposeful, gleaming, to be wielded by his own will towards a brighter future.

Clothe yourself in beauty untold, And see life as a means to a triumph-

The vision, the dream, the memories, all start to fade. The Journey has both ended, and only begun. Only now, at the end, is the man before you clearly the one you may have come to know, be it a visage you find attractive or repulsive. A tall, cloaked figure - not yet towering but still far more heavily built than the gangly teen from before, no longer ruled by bitterness so much as driven to defy and overcome it.

A survivor, self-made, forged and tempered. Not perfect, not unmarred, but far from broken.

#ic #rxdhairxdsirxns #shatteredwastes #The Warped Pale Reflection #Written to Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths #ReadMored for Length #ReadMored for potentially triggering content and themes #melodiadraconis #Readmore'd for length #the wheel of fortune; a lost child #the draconic adoptive parent #ic drabbles #your own personal typhon

[eternityservedcold]

i was thinking about this the other day bc i was thinking about the beta kids card shirt symbolism and i decided the XX session kids will have tarot suit symbolism

do you get it or do you not understand anything

#cant catch me gay thoughts #they arent just the aces i just needed a representation of the suit #only readmore'd bc of length (the images are very tall) #lol at keeper being coins. but seriously

[aimlessarchery]

🐕-A memory of teamwork

(from the ‘more memories’ ask meme !)

Python pushes the flap of his tent (their tent, really) open, yawning widely enough to feel the stretch in his jaw. He steps blearily past the glowing remains of a campfire he'd set hours ago—the lingering chill of Wyrmstym hasn't quite dissipated, but it's far too high a risk to create a beacon bright enough to draw attention from any unsavory folk that might be lingering out by the roads. Forsyth had remarked on the increase in their numbers a year or two ago, and that was before a regicide could really stir people up into a violent fuss. True to his vigilant (high strung) nature, Forsyth sits with his back to the fire facing out into the dark. Python drops a hand on his shoulder as he approaches.

"Stand down soldier, your turn's up. Go get some rest before morning."

Forsyth whirls around at the touch, coiled tight like a spring. Or maybe pulled taut like an old, frayed rope, given the dark shadows beneath his eyes that can't be completely attributed to the low light of the fire. "Hwa--? Oh, Python!" A stubborn light still flickers in those hazel irises, shadowed or not. "No, don't worry about me. I don't think I could sleep if I tried." Python strides around to Forsyth's side and sits beside him, blithely ignoring his companion's assertions. "Yeah? Well I'm not interested in waking up to an axe in my back after your knightly nerves finally knock you out. Why don't you try anyway?" "…I will not deny that my perceptive ability is…hindered, right now." Forsyth fidgets with his lance, wearing the grimace that he always does when Python backs him into a corner in their arguments. "But that does not change that sleep will not find me in my current state." Python stretches his limbs in preparation for properly settling in. It's going to be a few dark, chilly hours before the sun finally rises to greet them. "You could go hide from it in our tent if y'want." He throws a sidelong glance Forsyth's way. "Either way. I'm makin' sure nothing else finds us out here." "Hide? Perish the thought." Forsyth's response is as predictable as ever. A small smile plays at Python's lips. What's slightly less expected is the warm weight against his side when Forsyth settles against his shoulder, so suddenly and quietly that it's unlikely he'd thought too much about the gesture. "Thank you, Python. I hope your own rest was fruitful." Python huffs a voiceless laugh. "Mine always are," he lies. Sleep was difficult enough on the regimented schedule of a soldier, with rough spun sheets awaiting him in the barracks at night when he could finally lay to rest. Now he'd traded the stone walls of a fortress for the thin canvas of a tent to keep out the elements for the past two nights; a simple bedroll his only sanctuary after hours of trekking halfway across the countryside. Following Forsyth is an exhausting journey—has been ever since he packed up and trailed behind him down the path out of their little village. The tent-pitching and fire starting and night watch bickering on the way to a new destination would almost, almost be nostalgic, if it weren't so damned miserable. The songs of crickets and frogs blur together into a high-pitched chorus, the only sound save for the sporadic pop or crack from the campfire. A gust of wind sets a shiver up Python's spine that's soothed by the warmth of the body next to him. He glances down, mouth open to comment on how surprisingly quiet he's been, and shuts it. Forsyth's eyes are closed. Python exhales with a helpless smile, shifting slightly to accommodate Forsyth's weight as his breathing slows. "Looks like it got you," he murmurs under his breath. "Relax. I'll make sure nothin' else finds you tonight."

#[ ic ] #[ ask ] #[ headcanon ] #[ drabble ] #// dunno JUST how 'teamwork'-y this is but theyre uhhh tag-teaming night watch poorly! #// forsyth's job is Blanket #// also all forsyth dialogue & gestures & such were provided directly by pat! <3 #// readmore'd for length

[ozimulmakesartwork]

February 2022 - Bear in Mind

February 2022's Patreon piece. Readmore'd for length. Enjoy!

Banjo had been fruitlessly clawing at the sandy hill for a good few minutes. He didn't seem terribly bothered by the fact that he wasn't getting anywhere, though - in fact, he had a rather happy grin on his face, and was humming a little tune to himself as he worked on his endless task.

Kazooie, who was nestled into his backpack, was far less patient. She poked her head out, glaring. "Banjo."

"Yup?"

"What are you doing?"

"Climbing this hill, of course!"

"No, I mean -" She brought her wing to her face, already exasperated. "A Talon Trot will get us up there in no time, why don't you just let me -"

"Kazooie, don't be silly! I wouldn't make you do that!" Banjo took a moment to shake some sand from his paws, then resumed trying to claw up the hill. "Especially not after you've made it clear that you don't want to be here!"

Kazooie was taken aback. Hearing that from Banjo, of all people, had a surprising sting to it. But more importantly... "... Who taught you to be passive-agressive?"

"Aw, we both know the answer to that!"

Her. Of course. It had been a silly question. "Okay, but stop it. It's weird."

"Why? Is it working?"

Kazooie tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"It's just, you were the one who wanted an adventure to begin with! But you've spent the whole time complaining about being here, and learning moves from Bottles, and calling folks names... and asking you to be nicer just wasn't doing the trick!" Banjo kept his cheerful expression the whole time. "So I thought, maybe I just need to see things like you do!"

"Alright, geez, you've made your point." Kazooie kicked her legs through the bottom panel of the backpack and hauled Banjo onto her back in a swift, practiced motion, then turned to face the sandy hill. "Me grumbling about the adventure isn't making things any easier. I'm... sorry." She let out a small huff and started her way up.

"Glad to have you back, Kazooie!" Banjo's expression didn't change, but his cheeriness already sounded much more genuine. "So we missed some stuff in a couple of worlds, and I think that when we go back, you should apologize to those nice people, too..."

Kazooie groaned.

"Or I could slide us back down the hill! Either works for me!"

"Fine! Fine, I'll apologize to people - if they even remember we were there to begin with. I'm not sure how stable some of these worlds are."

#Banjo Kazooie #Banjo #Kazooie #Ozi is on Patreon!

[captainkingsley]

would it be okay if you told about your modern au but put it under a cut to avoid accidental spoilers?👉👈

I’ll see what all I can think of to talk about that might not actually make it into the main fic, but that are still floating around in my head… Mainly because the main fic is almost done and all of that will be out in the world soon enough :3c still readmore'd for the length!

So specifically in this au, Molly, Lucien, and Kingsley are triplets and they’re musicians, and their manager is Gustav, because, well, of course he is. Their whole team that works on shows and marketing are also made up of the circus folk and the Tombtakers, and I might get into it with a side-fic, because the main fic is Caleb’s pov and he’s not entirely familiar with all of it.

A few of the most fun roles I have plotted out for them are Yasha and Zoran handling the security at shows, because who better to do that than them? Yasha is of course still Molly’s best friend and looks out for him, and stops by in the main fic to meet Caleb. Originally my plan was to have them meet at a show, but I couldn’t imagine Molly not letting Yasha meet the person in his first actual romantic relationship far before Caleb winds up at a concert. 

(Molly has had a lot of partners, just never long-term, serious relationships. Getting with Caleb is a whole new thing for him.)

Cree is their sound engineer and also has been Lucien’s partner for a significant portion of both their lives. Which is funny in-universe because most of Lucien’s solo work is music that’s about like, edgy lost love, demons, curses, and similar themes. He likes to keep up appearances of being more on the creepy side in terms of his aesthetic, but he and Cree are actually genuinely happy together. Lucien just knows how to work his audience. 

And I can’t talk about the partners without also talking about Marius and Kingsley. Marius was a drummer they hired to help them with some album recordings, and then Kingsley kept asking Gustav to re-hire him for later work, and then shows, and it wasn’t until Lucien stopped by Kingsley’s place one afternoon that anyone realized why — Marius was just in Kingsley’s apartment, and that’s how they all found out Kingsley and Marius had been sleeping together basically since Marius was first hired.

So that also means Molly was the only one out of the triplets who was single, and he was fine with that, and then Caleb absolutely intrigues Molly, so… it all works out. Lucien and Kingsley poke fun at him for dating a professor, but Molly thinks Caleb being so smart is attractive, so shut it, guys. 

There’s a lot more to all of the relationships within the crew, like Gustav having been one of the first people Elric trusted with helping his siblings after the debacle with the parents, and Ornna handling pyrotechnics and special effects. 

Once the fic is posted I hope the person I'm pairing Elric off is as funny as I think it will be. It's a character I desperately want to see interact with Molly because I feel like their energies would be bonkers next to each other.

But. Okay. Music stuff, too. I’m too embarrassed to share the entire playlists but I want to get a vibe across, here are a couple songs that are kind of my inspirations for Molly’s solo stuff, 

Basically super-colorful upbeat stuff that is not the kind of thing Caleb would purposely seek out, but reflects the stage persona Molly gives himself. He’s outwardly the hedonistic partier of the triplets and Caleb is actually pleasantly surprised to find out that sure, Molly enjoys this stuff, but it’s not all of who he is.

Just like Caleb covers his drama and angst and his sad past with his studying and projecting himself to be the serious professor™, Molly covers his own insecurities by leaning into being the pretty one, the dumb one, the one that drinks too much and parties a bit too loud. 

But Caleb can recognize that Molly’s smarter than he lets on. He knows people, he’s more emotionally adept than Caleb could ever hope to be! And they help bring those sides out in each other.

#catfish fic #GOD i need a title for it. ive been tossing a couple around but they dont Feel right smh #asks

[magicbyhalves]

The ship’s deck was quiet, as it tended to be with a small crew and a calm sea. The Shifter was leaning over the railing, glancing over the ocean on occasion. Mostly, she was staring at Risky Boots, who stood at her side with a more consistent eye on the water.

All things considered, the genie probably shouldn’t have been on that boat. But there were a lot of things that she wasn’t supposed to be doing, and a lot of those things were arbitrary, stupid restrictions, so she ignored them. Sure, there was a war between pirates and genies right now. Sure, they’d get into serious trouble if they were caught in one another’s company. But they were both very good at getting out of trouble, especially together. So here was the Shifter on Risky’s boat, watching the pirate with a fond grin on her face.

 “I’ve been wondering something,” Risky said at last, still not looking her way quite yet. She tucked away a strand of her long, dark hair.

The Shifter’s large, pointed ears twitched to attention. “And what is that, my dear?”

“I’ve fought other genies, and when they let loose with their full power, they look...” Risky gestured with her hand, reaching for a word. “Well, they don’t look as human as you do. They’re like some sort of... grand manifestation of their magic.” She looked over at the genie, finally. “Why don’t you look like that?”

Ah, she should have seen this coming. She was surprised it had taken this long for the topic to come up. “Well, I can, but that form is a bit much for most - ”

“Do it.”

Oh no. It never went well when she did that. She absolutely couldn’t. But what came out of the Shifter’s mouth when she opened it was, “I mean... all right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Risky grinned, waiting. Curse that pirate and her cute little face.

The Shifter pushed herself up off the railing of the ship, and closed her eyes to concentrate, breathing deeply. She reached for her restrained magic, and it instantly unwound, like a coiled spring.

Claws burst from her feet, digging into the boards underfoot. Scales rose up over the length of her long skirt, and the whole thing briefly flared out like a set of draconic wings before coming back to rest. The striped ‘belt’ around her waist unfurled itself into a long and fluffy tail, lashing out wildly before settling into a lazy sway. Golden fur rose up along her hands and lower arms, puffing up into a set of tiger paws. The mantle on her shoulders flared from simple cloth to layers of feathers, and a pair of fangs curled out from her lower jaw.

Oh, it had been so long. Instinctively, she stretched, her long tail curling and unfurling with the motion and her claws flexing and digging into the railing of the ship. She remembered she had company, suddenly, and pulled herself back together. It felt like she towered over Risky, now that she’d revealed her full form... but at the same time, she felt so much smaller.

“So...! This is me, not holding back.” The Shifter shot her a nervous grin, gently tapping her front claws together.

Risky just stared, looking her up and down in silence. Was it awe, or was it...

She should have known this would happen. This was why she hardly showed her true form to begin with. Why had she thought it would be different this time?

It was fine. This was fine.

The Shifter’s ears began to droop, and her long, fluffy tail started to wrap itself around her waist again. Her smile fell away, and soon only the underbite of her fangs poked out from under her lip.

“You told me you were a Genie,” Risky said at last.

“... I am?” It wasn’t what people usually said when they saw her like this, but surely the ‘monster’ followup was inevitable, now. It was a shame, really. She’d rather liked Risky, despite the whole war thing -

“You look more like a goddess to me.”

- wait, what? The droop in her ears tentatively picked up. “I’m sorry?”

Risky strode over and took one of her paws into her hands, making a show of looking it over and pushing her fingers through the golden fur. She didn’t seem to mind the claws in the least. “I will admit, it’s not quite what I expected, but...” Here, she paused, and ran a hand up the Shifter’s arm, right under the feathered mantle. She gave the muscles underneath an appreciative squeeze, and then her usual knowing smirk was back in full force.

And she had good reason, as the Shifter’s ears were bright red and twitching. “You’re... not scared,” managed to tumble out of her mouth after a dumbstruck moment.

“Should I be, canım?”

The blush quickly spread to her face. “Most people usually are.”

“Most people are cowards,” Risky scoffed. Then she threw both her arms up and around the genie’s neck, still grinning. “You said you aren’t ‘holding back’, now, yes?”

The Shifter’s tail instantly wound around Risky’s hips, and she quickly hoisted the pirate up into her arms. When had she started grinning? She couldn’t remember. “I might’ve said something like that.”

Risky kissed her, then, her lips fitting perfectly between the curved fangs.

The genie was only caught off-guard for a second, and then she returned the gesture eagerly, her ears twitching so fast she was afraid they’d lift off at any moment. Eventually she pulled back and giggled, giddily spinning around with Risky still in her arms. A sudden lurch from the ship knocked her off balance, and the pair collapsed in a heap on the deck. The Shifter kept right on laughing.

“How could anyone be scared of you? Look at you, grinning like a fool,” Risky chuckled, as if there wasn’t an adoring smile on her own face.

“Oh, you hush~.”

#drabble #Risky #Mom #A Glance Back #(risky's one lucky pirate) #readmore'd for length #(not feeling the drive for the usual content today so have this)

[sprengfrau]

HC: In the Palm of Her Hands

Bambietta is a very tactile individual, however she was not always this way. As a matter of fact, before she realized her powers, she hated being hugged or patted or engaged in any sort of physical affection or greeting. However, with the introduction of her powers and ultimately the harvesting of her innate ability into a Schrift, this began to change, this is because of the mechanism through which her schrift functions. 

In infusing her reishi into something, she can turn that thing or person into an  explosive. Most times she simply saturates the area around her, or fires her reishi bullets. A process of reishi externalization before it is infused into an object. 

Reiatsu path: Bambi -> Outside -> Target

However in the event of direct physical contact this becomes unnecessary. Similar to channeling reishi through something like a Zanpaku’to or techniques like Kaido (Though these are generally mastered to the point of needing proximity, not direct contact), this allows a direct flow of reishi into a target without externalization.

Reishi path: Bambi -> Target

This removal of an intermediate step means that when executing her schrift on something she is in physical contact with, it can occur instantaneously, and she can infuse a much larger amount of reiatsu more quickly. Which means that Bambi has a considerably higher danger factor when in direct contact with something. And as she came to realize this, she came to find that she could essentially kill anyone who touched her under most circumstances. And in time, this became something of a catharsis for her, a sort of safety. 

At a distance, she can reliably injure someone, but so long as there is direct contact, their life is essentially in her hands, and over time this came to develop into the touchy, playful demeanor that she exhibits in more recent years. 

#OK SO I HAD TO GET THIS OUT OF MY BRAIN BEFORE I SLEEP #[Bang Behind the Buck] #This has been in the back of my mind for a bit since it has come up a few times #readmore'd for length

[abyssel]

@builtperil​​:  29. I love you, they said. I love you.

there are ghost they are not blind to, and craftier ghosts even still. gone so completely, not even a nail that could cut through the very fabric of this world reveals them. what do they dream, if at all? they are there, however faintly. could they be heard, even if it is only by one who has ears honed enough to hear them? what would they say?

they have followed, sweetly and somewhat disturbingly. their presence is so intangible yet so intimately noticed, it is hard to remember times when they did not haunt. in quiet moments, just listen. they will be noticed.

a wanderer sits on a bench beside a beetle after a thrilling dance in a long, forgotten town. a moment of repose, of quiet respite well deserved. the last recognizable sound as they drift to rest is a sharp intake of breath. and then--?

a heavy shell perks up, glances left but beholds nothing. a glance right, and though flush with red and a hint of blue, it was not her voice, not her eyes that stared so completely through them. the wind, perhaps. a memory. a dream. it is soon forgotten. discarded.

the wanderer turns adventurer, uncovering secrets and daring to coax a dead land to breathe with life once again. resolve is proven, a heavy mantle etched so deeply into shell. promise of answers, of truth, a weight unimaginable to discover and a vow to carry it. buried in ash, they are, so suddenly, as if the fates forbid it. but terror is lost on the adventurer. instead, they hear only a sound.

it is not the one who saves them, she says not a word. it is not what she thinks, it is not hidden in the air she breaths. it is not interpreted by her quick departure, there is no hesitation or look back. they are left beside a long rotting corpse that has finally been buried. not the first, and certainly not the last.

the adventurer turns native, remembering the forgotten and knowing now their place in this world. amidst the inky black and hollowed shells, a voice beckons to break through a clarity so deeply understood. frantically, they begin to search. gently shells are shifted about in hopes to find the eyes they feel on them reflected back at them. there is nothing, of course. just a voice.

there are none to cry here. no wind to bring this sweet call to them. no thing alive sentient enough to think that. no one. then what whispers, what lingers, what has found the most private of places and tarnished it? they do not know the answer. even if they did, would they want to?

the native turns a martyr, the greatest of debts finally paid. the light herself is revealed to them. they transcend. their shell is broken. discarded. the darkness within them takes form. no more dreams, it demands, and thus she is snuffed out for good. in the calm that follows, at last they know the source.

bereft the weight they’d carried for years, the knight the kingdom had forgotten so completely is free. they are thankful one remembers them. they are at peace at long last.

the martyr, in their last moments of consciousness, turns into a sibling. as the light fades and the darkness recedes, clarity is bestowed upon the message that has followed them since their arrival: i love you, they said, i love you.

#DO NOT REBLOG. #builtperil #ic. ❫ REMEMBER THE PAST AND UNITE THE ABYSS. #[blows raspberry] #readmore'd for length there's nothing sketchy in here

[nightsblessed]

TRUST NPC - Gawain Chavis

Selection: “Hope you’ve been hunting before.”

Job: Huntsman (HNT)

Weapons: Axe and buckler. Both very worn but ornate, decorated with vine and leaf scrolling.

AI Behavior: 

Aggressive and fast paced tank, will usually do fairly big pulls but not outside their limits. They like to get things done quickly and tend to leave a pack still on low health before pulling the next, leaving other Trusts or PCs to finish it off before starting on the new pack.

Has a good damage output for a tank, and keeps aggro very well. Tends to AOE just until they have solid control of a pack before switching to single target, focusing down single targets one by one, starting with most healer or caster mobs. Tends to be pretty quick intercepting or stunning important casts.

Stays put in front of the boss at all times while DPSing, very good at immediately pointing it away from the rest of the party. Avoids AOEs very meticulously, moving out and to safe spots just as a mechanic starts, watching their feet carefully to avoid unnecessary damage. Will usually throw out ranged attacks while running, if absolutely certain they’ll be safe from mechanics. 

Will not LB, unless absolutely necessary. Typically if they’re the last person up and needs the extra defense, they’ll pop LB just to go longer. 

Actions:

All TANK role abilities.

Unique HNT abilities:

Hunt Ready -  Tank stance. Adds ‘Focus’ gauge.

Fills on auto-attacks. Significantly increases enmity generation. Allows use of Focus abilities.

Maul - Basic single strike.

Mangle - Strikes twice, cutting deeper this time.

Combo Action: Maul.

Combo Bonus: Fills Focus gauge by 10.

Hunter’s Snare - Strikes twice again, but with a finishing shield bash.

Combo Action: Mangle

Combo Bonus: Fills Focus gauge by 15. Slows target.

Sharpened Edges - Damage up. Lasts 10 seconds.

Swipe - Wide frontal cone.

Knock-out - Wide frontal cone.

Combo Action: Swipe

Combo Bonus: Fills Focus gauge by 10. Very short stun.

Huntsman’s Arrow - Ranged attack. Increased enmity.

Barbed Steel - Ranged attack. Increased enmity.

Combo Action: Huntsman’s Arrow

Combo Bonus: Fills Focus gauge by 5.

Bough’s Endurance - Increases armor by a fixed percent for 10 seconds. 

Stag’s Fury - High damage attack. 

Focus gauge cost: 50

Vigilance - 30% damage mitigation.

Unyielding - Health cannot drop below 1. For every percent missing past 50%, attacks and builds Focus gauge faster. Lasts 10 seconds.

Thorns and Brambles - AOE dot. Inflicts a bleed in a circle.

Focus gauge cost: 50

Hunter’s Eye - Strikes twice, then gains a damage buff.

Combo Action: Mangle

Combo Bonus: Increases damage for 30 seconds. Fills Focus gauge by 10.

Quarry - Marks a target, then instantly fills Focus gauge to 100. Focus abilities can only be used against that target until gauge is empty.

Rake - Wide frontal cone dot.

Combo Action: Knock-out

Combo Bonus: Fills Focus gauge by 10.

Watchful Eye - Small AOE mitigation. Applies to self and allies. 

Penumbra - Self-heal.

Trample - Large AOE, deals high damage.

Focus gauge cost: 100

Lunge - Rushes the target and deals damage on impact. 2 charges. 

Wicked Thicket - Frontal cone that deals heavy damage.

Focus gauge cost: 50

Hunter’s Trance - Halves the cost of all Focus gauge abilities, i.e 50 only costing 25, and 100 only costing 50.

Blessed’s Shelter -  Calls up two trees near them, providing shade and damage reduction to themself and everyone who stands in the AOE. Using Penumbra while Shelter is up will apply the heal to everyone as well, but not themself.

Corpse-a-copse - Heavy damage in a front line.

Combo Action: Wicked Thicket

Focus gauge cost: 50

Hunting Party - Grants themself and targeted ally damage reduction and guaranteed critical hits for 10 seconds.

Return to Soil - Can only be used after Focus gauge is empty from Quarry. Deals a final high damage blow to the marked target, and reduced damage to those near it.

Unique Limit Break 3

Virtuous Shield: Calling upon the sheltering darkness, Gawain’s buckler coalesce into a giant shield, providing everyone in the party 80% damage reduction for 12 seconds. The shadows linger afterwards, granting a small HOT for another 8 seconds.

Battle Lines:

“Let the hunt begin.”- Starting Attack Line

“Focus up.” - Assisting an ally 

“This is gonna hurt.” - Using Maul

“Breathe in. Breathe out. Fire.” - Using Huntsman’s Arrow

“You thought I was the hunted, not the hunter?” - Using Stag’s Fury

“I’ll bend, but never break.” - Using Unyielding

“Hah. You’re mine now.” - Using Quarry

“Mm...” - Using Penumbra

“We’re not going to the Sunless Sea yet, friends.” - Using Blessed’s Shelter

“Hm.” -  Being Rescued

“(Terse) Thank you.” -  Being Rescued, Variation 2

“Is this really needed?” - Being Rescued, Variation 3

Limit Break:

“Barely a scratch.” - Using LB1 (Shieldwall)

“Not today.” - Using LB2 (Stronghold)

“The light will never pierce the darkest shade!” - Using LB3 (Virtuous Shield)

KO’d:

“Aw, fu-..” - Variation 1

“Return me to the shadow.” - Variation 2

“(Growl).” - KO via Stack Marker

“You ended my hunt...” - KO shortly after Rescue

Revived:

“Back to work, eh?” - Variation 1

“Thank you.” - Variation 2

“My heartstone won’t join the pile yet.” - Variation 3  

Bonus:

Gawain doesn’t have much banter while running, typically keeping quiet unless the party approaches a boss arena or something changes in the environment. Even then, they keep it short and don’t say much.

If there’s a DNC Trust in the party, they make small comments at successful Standard and Technical steps, usually just small approving remarks. Technical Finish seems to be a favorite of theirs.

If left idle long enough, at least over 5 minutes, Gawain will start humming something similar to the Rak’tika night theme.

______________________________

thank you @locke-rinannis​ for the template!!!

#gawain tag #trust meme #yes me the absolute madman wrote out a whole class for him #the lengths of my dedication #readmore'd bc its long as fuck

[kurumis-archive]

Kanatsubamari trying to decide who gets to be the big/middle/little spoon? Bonus points for whoever is the middle does it so she can bury her face in Kanade's fluffy hair

Kanade Amou was, decidedly, not working very hard.

Seeing her lounge around the sofas of headquarters was hardly a rare sight and just about everyone had come to terms with how much easier it is to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak, versus trying to motivate quite possibly the most stubborn person in any room.

The problem lies, however, in her ability to make other people slack off as well.

Typical enough scenario— Tsubasa attempts to scold her, Kanade picks her words a bit too smoothly, and before long her partner in crime is her partner in snoozing, the two of them haphazardly sprawled across the couch. With how easy it is to lay across Kanade (quite easily the tallest woman in the building), even the cramped space the main lounge offers is hardly a problem.

Well, for a while anyways.

“And what exactly is happening here?” 

The annoyance in Maria’s tone is undeniable. Even if the sight of her girlfriends so calm and content was one just about anyone could appreciate, it was hard to find it in herself when she’d been abandoned to chip away at daily chores on her own. Again.

“Snoozin’.” Kanande mumbles, a sharp russet iris peering over at the woman despite her drowsiness. Tsubasa, at the least, looks apologetic and sheepish.

“Excuse me? I thought we all agreed that today we would go through the refrigerator and–”

“C'moooon, princess.” Kanade groans, head lolling back against the arm of the couch. “What’re weekends for anyways? Chores? Jeez, you’re almost as much of a wet blanket as Tsubaka here…”

That one earns her two indignant huffs, Tsubasa squirming upright soon after.

“She does have a point though, Kanade. Especially since most of the mess belongs to us.” Tsubasa murmurs, a hand rubbing at the back of her neck under Maria’s scrutinous gaze. Maria’s expression seems to soften briefly at the realization Kanade was quickly becoming outnumbered, a softness that disappears just about instantly when another sour look is shot in Kanade’s direction.

“See? Tsubasa agrees.”

“Tsubasa just doesn’t want you to eat her alive. Mostly.” The smirk that tugs at her lips is incorrigable, though a red-faced Maria is the only one that seems to get the implications.

“Look, look…. how ‘bout this?” Kanade begins, raising a brow in Maria’s direction. “Thirty more minutes of snooze town and then we work. That’s fair, right? I mean, we’d still be getting it done anyways.”

There’s a moment of hesitation as Maria considers the offer. As reasonable as it’d sound to anyone else, she knew firsthand how well these two did at stalling responsibility until they could skip out on it altogether.

The way Kanade seems to scootch over on the couch just slightly before patting the spot expectantly, however, brings up another issue.

“There is absolutely no way we can all fit on that.” Maria practically scoffs. “And in case you’ve forgotten, we do have things to do today.”

“We could.” Tsubasa finally offers, her tone and expression characteristically matter-of-fact. “If I’m closest to the outside anyways. You and Kanade might have trouble keeping from falling off though.”

There’s an almost childish pout as Maria glances to the side. Surely that wasn’t a jab at the handful of pounds she’d put on recently…

“A-And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Kanade gripes. “Are you gonna join us or not? ‘cos iunno if either of you noticed, but some of us were trying to mind their business and get some beauty sleep out here.”

On the couch of all places, Maria can’t help but think with a scowl. Still, she isn’t nearly as resolved as she likes to think and, after a good few minutes of three grown women awkwardly squirming on a too-small couch, she falls victim just as Tsubasa had.

Tsubasa was right about one thing at least– being the skinniest by far, it’s all too easy to curve her body around Maria’s in a gentle embrace that keeps her from falling flat on the floor too easily. Kanade, on the other hand, seems resigned to looping an arm around Maria’s shoulders and leaning her head against the other woman’s.

A messy arrangement, sure, but no different from the rest of their relationship.

“You need a haircut.” Maria manages to murmur in spite of the drowsiness that was quickly setting in, a few quiet giggles managing to fight their way out when silky red hair happens to tickle her cheek.

“Nah. Besides, aren’t you two just as bad?” She laughs, wrinkling her nose slightly.

“At least ours is kept up properly.” Tsubasa murmurs into Maria’s shoulder, to which Maria adds, “And some of us have used a brush before.”

With little to no defense, Kanade simply offers a groan as she relaxes against the cushions and allows her eyes to slide shut once more.

“I really gotta stop letting you whiny punks ruin my naps.”

#symphogear #kit fics #sweats and sends this out to the people #dlartistanon #inbox #readmore'd because length but add /mobile to the url if u dont wanna view it on my theme TBH

[disposablelimb]

since today is apparently Vagrant Bitches About Random Shit Day here’s something else for your consideration:

fiction often portrays curing a phobia as happening instantaneously, like they’ll get one good round of exposure during a deadly situation in which they are forced to confront their fear to save themselves/their friends and loved ones and then they’re 100% phobia-free, but in reality it’s more of a process

i no longer have full-on panic attacks upon seeing a hypodermic needle (the distinction has to be made because i’ve always been fine with sewing needles) but i feel faint at the thought of getting my cavity filled in because of the Novocaine shot. i get squeamish at the sight of cartoon representations of injections/IVs and have to look away.

you can also be forced to confront a fear and the fear doesn’t necessarily go away. i can toughen up and get my blood taken every now and again but it doesn’t stop the aching terror i feel at the prospect of getting booster shots for vaccinations i had as a child. i had my blood taken several times for my hypothyroid diagnosis and subsequent trial of figuring out dosage, but i cancelled a dentist’s appointment the night before i was supposed to go because i freaked out over the thought of needles.

if anything, being forced to confront your phobia in a dangerous situation should make you more afraid because you would then associate your fear with being in actual, tangible danger. exposure therapy works because you have control over whether or not you view the video of dogs barking or whether or not you want to touch/look at this properly-contained and harmless spider, or whatever else. common fiction portrayal of phobia-curing is like...the opposite of giving you control.

#vague rants #needle mention / #readmore'd for length #i should think about making a proper blog for proper blogging things but the activity would be more sporadic than it is here #i'm only talkative today because i've had too much coffee

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

On the Other Hand...

Sleep rarely came naturally to Hriob.  There was always something else that needed his attention or warranted doing.  For the most part, his connection to the mountain in which he resided allowed him to stay awake far longer than an ordinary human.

But on occasion, sleep took him unbidden, and he’d find himself dreaming.

This was, after all, a dream, right?  The Halls remained the same, the layout as familiar to him as ever, but there was something different about the energy in the air that he couldn’t quite place.  Cold, unfamiliar, disconnected.

Yes, that was the best way to describe it.  He focused his energy outward, searching for the presence of others within the Halls.  A presence identical to his own was likely in the study - precision was slightly more difficult this far away from the room though.  But something much closer to Hriob caught his attention as well.

A pale, deathly white aura, only a few rooms away.  Claudia, was his first thought - it was weak enough that he doubted it would be her other incarnations.

But still, he was curious, and Hriob found himself walking toward the room.

Curiosity isn’t the best trait to have in a place like this.

He passed through the door as if a ghost, quickly regretting his decision to investigate.

The room itself was heavily warded - layers upon layers of seals and wards to contain what was held within.  The air so thick with such protections that even Hriob found it difficult to move, even though he was clearly not the intended target.

No, this level of security was reserved solely for the pale figure he could just barely make out in the dim magical light.  The figure moved, raising her head, though even the slight movement seemed to cause a ripple effect in the oppressive warding around her.

Amelia - or at least some version of her, but Hriob had never seen her in such a state.  Never even imagined her like this.  Half of her face - half her body - covered in extensive burn scars.  Her wings had clearly been cut off at some point.  Her single working eye fixated on Hriob, glaring at him with pure hatred.

And for once, he had nothing to say to her.  Even after hearing nothing from her for years, seeing another version of her in such a state…  And, to make things worse, knowing that it was likely some version of him that had done this to her.

Silence.  A tension that weighed down on Hriob more than the presence of the wards and seals binding the woman in front of him.  He didn’t know what to say.  What could he say that could possibly quell the burning rage directed at him?

The Jumper spoke first, her voice hoarse, quiet - yet still dripping with venom.  “What do you want, shaman?”

“Nothing, I-”  He turned his gaze away from her, a hand coming from beneath his cloak to brush the hair out of his face.  Was it strange to feel nervous?  He had come to see Amelia as a friend in the past, but this version of her…  Trapped though she was, this Jumper still felt like a threat.

A predator sizing up her next meal.

The thought chilled him to the core.  It’d been a long time since he’d felt that sort of deep, instinctual fear.  He was, briefly, thankful that she had no way to actually strike.  … He hoped.

Quite suddenly, the numerous redundancies in the magic that contained her made a lot more sense than they had before.  “I had… hoped you were someone else.”

“Didn’t think you could hate someone more than me,” she said.

Hriob shook his head, opening his mouth to explain himself, but he was cut off before he could make a sound.

“But you’re not him, I suppose.  Just a wanderer, slipped into the wrong world.”  The corner of her mouth twisted into a smirk.  “Not quite smart enough to know not to mess with other timelines.”

“I have no intention of interfering here.”

“Then why are you here, shaman?”

“I… don’t know,” Hriob admitted.  “Perhaps something drew me here for a reason.  Something I’m meant to see?”

She scoffed, but said nothing more.  Leaving him to his thoughts.

The other presence in the halls was moving.  Coming closer.  Hriob turned to look at the door behind him.  Did he want to meet this other self?  Did he want to know what he had become?  What he could have been?

What he often feared he was, deep down inside?

It was a moment of paralysis - torn between curiosity and dread.

What to do when sleep led him to questions he feared the answer to?

The figure stood in the doorway.  Tall, imposing.  He wore no wraps like Hriob did, though his clothing otherwise appeared nearly identical.  The hood of his cloak up over his head - his face and the mask he wore over it covered in shadow.  A pause, presumably taking in the presence of the first Hriob.

He strode forward with purpose, brushing past - passing through - Hriob as he approached his prisoner.  Like an icy wind, reminding Hriob that he wasn’t truly there.  He could wake up.  Could leave at any moment.

Could he leave, after seeing this?

Hriob wasn’t sure what to think of this other person.  This other him.

It was always a strange, unsettling experience to encounter himself.  Always something that struck him as slightly off with the Hriobs of other timelines.  It never really got any easier to wrap his mind around it.  He still wasn’t fully sure how to even address them.

He’d have to figure out some way of distinguishing them in the near future.

But still.  He had questions, far too many questions.

“What is this?”  His tone was perhaps more… aggressive - more judgemental - than he had intended.  But it still pained him to see his friend not his friend.  This version of the Jumper harbored so much more hatred to even consider calling her a friend in such a condition.  “Why have you done this to her?”

The newcomer - the other Hriob - turned his head, regarding Hriob silently.  It was hard to tell what he was thinking beneath his mask.  Why wear the mask here, in the halls of his own home?  When he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled.  His words carefully chosen.  Deliberate.  “I need it alive.  To study.” 

“You could easily study her without taking such... extreme measures.”

“Perhaps.  It’s safest.”  He pulled what seemed to be a kind of crystal from his pocket, rolling it across the ground.  It passed the barriers easily.

The Jumper fell upon it quickly.  Catching it, and drawing the small, precious magical energy it held into herself.  The action struck Hriob as… starved, desperate.

He felt pity.

“Safe?  Look what you’ve done to her.  What you’ve reduced her to.”

“And?”

“You can’t do this.”

The masked one straightened, his head tilting slightly in Hriob’s direction.  “You disapprove.  After everything this monster has done, the people it’s killed, you object to containing it?”

“Yes!”  Hriob’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms.  “Can’t you see what you’re doing is wrong?  She has just as much of a right to freedom as anyone else.”

“It had to be stopped.  Contained.  So I did.”  A pause, then a long, drawn out, sigh.  “Infinite timelines.  Infinite worlds.  Yet I find you’re the most… challenging version of myself I’ve had the misfortune of running into.”

“You’ve figured that out quickly.”

“It would be foolish to not keep a very close eye on this room.  I heard what it said to you.”

“So you’re not only imprisoning her, you’re spying on her every move as well.”

“It can’t be allowed to escape again.  Precautions have to be taken.”

“There’s a difference between taking precautions and… whatever this is.”  Hriob gestured to the wards containing the Jumper.  “It’s excessive.”

“It’s necessary,” the masked one stressed.

“You’re starving her.  Isolating her.  You can’t do that to a person.”

“It’s not a person.  It’s a parasite.”

Hriob shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.  “I can’t believe this, what could have possibly happened to make me act like this?”

“I shouldn’t need to explain myself.  You’re the one that came here and started arguing that my methods are somehow flawed.  If any explanations are owed, I believe you should be the one explaining yourself.”

“I thought my stance on the ethics of this scenario was pretty clear.”

“Ethics?”  The masked one scoffed.  “This isn’t about ethics.  This is about keeping a monster under control before it kills again.”

“She’s not - She’s a person.  She has thoughts, feelings, a soul.”

“Then it should have considered what would happen when it killed mutti.”  He turned abruptly to leave, the door closing behind him.  Leaving only his final words to echo in Hriob’s mind.  Leaving him alone once again in the room with only the imprisoned Jumper for company.

Before he could move again, before he even contemplate chasing after his doppleganger, before he could even turn to interrogate the 'other' Amelia for that last bit of intel his own 'other' had let slip, he woke up: suddenly sitting up, breathing heavily with a thin sheen of cold sweat, a silent scream of frustration, disbelief and building terror all but completely locked behind the rictus of his grit teeth.

He blinked, groaning as the rush of pain to his head from the visions' passing grew stronger, glancing down at his notes on Claudia's treatment options...

...whether or not that 'dream' was supposed to be a warning or not, he knew he was already running out of time.

#submission #ic #shatteredwastes #AU:The Left-Handed Path #The Broken Wings of Temporis #Experimenting with TextColors ONLY due to the Timeline Shift BS #And you wonder why I always look forward to your writing- #Readmore'd for length #halls of krakonos

[soysaucevictim]

Anyways, exercise.

-

Tuesday:

First, caught up with my DDs.

Sept. 12 - 40″ push-up plank hold with EC (barely). Made 2 goes to tweak my form, because I noticed I was doing this with a wide grip instead of standard. Tried it again with standard grip but my form was appalling. I'm honestly way happier with the first go, but regardless, I definitely felt that and I did manage 40" each time. So I'm counting it. Oi. :P

Sept. 13 - 10 jump knee tucks with EC. I think 10 is squarely in the "this is cake" zone for me. More than that and/or with other stuff, different story, though! :,D

Last, Day 68 of DoA. It was an Endurance Day and done at Level 2. I did have to break the plank - but I did try to keep the breaks around 10-20″. And man, was it hard. I definitely met with my edge there.

-

Wednesday:

First, the next DD. 25 supermen stretches with EC. Very manageable, and helped to wake me up a little. Been rather groggy and tired lately... I guess that's more reason to make myself move. :P

Second, Day 69 of DoA. It was a Cardio HIIT Day and done at Level 3. This was pretty much in my wheelhouse and got me in the sweat zone. Did all of the hidden [basic] burpees, too. I estimated the following numbers per respective intervals: 45-55 high knees, 40-50 punches, 5-6 plank + jab + crosses, and 4-5 plank jack + jab + cross.

Also really helped me feel less like I was in a haze. :Ic

Third, Day 20 of YC. The mantra was “I am worthy.“

Didn’t have quite as much fun with this one, but that’s okay. I guess I just got off on the wrong foot due to picking something I KNEW would break if I put my weight on it (that TNBC lunchbox my bro got me one Christmas, did try to bend it back into shape though). Guess it seeded some internal negativity, to be honest. :/

It was chill but I guess my mellow was a tad too harshed to really appreciate everything. Ah well, I did like the affirmation/mantra though.

Last, Day 21 of YC. The mantra was “I believe,“ which I finished with, “in myself.“

Now this was a fun one! It got pretty intense, but it was very engaging. Mildly amusing that the sequence involved the supermen stretch as well. Hard to pick out my favorite moves in this one (maybe the three legged dog sequences, because my abs really felt it) , but it’s going in my Favorite pile, anyways.

I guess I liked this one also because it lifted some of the [most like sugar-induced] brain fog I was feeling.

-

Now. I should go wind down for bed. Need to be up early.

#adventures with fitness #(readmore'd for length)

[ozimulmakesartwork]

December 2021 - Deep-Freeze Debrief

December 2021's Patreon piece. Readmore'd for length. Enjoy!

Samus had not intended to fall asleep - she had only wanted to close her eyes for a brief moment. At some point she'd drifted off, and was now trapped under a pile of bright fur and feathers, courtesy of the Etecoon primates and Dachora birds. It felt nostalgic, in a way.

One of the Etecoons yawned and started tumbling off of the pile. She instinctively reached out, catching it before it hit the floor of the ship. It let out a sleepy little chirp, then curled up and went back to snoozing.

As cute as it was, the pile had to be disturbed. There was something Samus needed to take care of before she could truly rest. She moved carefully, trying not to disturb her animal companions too much as she made her way out of the pileup.

She regretted it immediately - the ship felt close to freezing. Goosebumps prickled along her skin as she felt her body tense up and start locking down from the cold. It was no wonder the animals had all piled together.

Regardless of how she was feeling, there was still work to be done. She forced herself forward, step by step, and made her way to the front of ship.

[I see you're awake, Lady,] a robotic voice said as she made her way to the pilot's seat.

"How long was I asleep, ADAM?"

[Only an hour or so. Forgive me for not intervening - it seemed like you needed the rest.]

Was that ever an understatement. The Biologic Space Laboratories had only taken a couple of hours to investigate, but they had been very tense hours. The X had turned the entire research station into a nightmare, and that was before Samus had found all of those bioweapons and hidden Metroid lab…

"… I appreciate it," was what she said instead of getting into all of that. She didn't need to. ADAM had been there, after all.

Samus brought up the ship's navigation systems and started tapping in coordinates.

[This planet… forgive me, I am sure it is quite important to you, but I cannot recall the specifics. Some data may have been lost in the transfer from -]

"Don't trouble yourself. I didn't start living here until long after we parted ways, so I doubt the data was there to lose to begin with." It was touching that he was worried, though, and a far cry from his behavior mere hours ago. "I just hope Pyonchi can adjust to the company we're bringing back," she said, gesturing towards the back of the ship.

[He is still around?] Despite the computer's lack of inflection, ADAM seemed relieved. Samus briefly entertained the thought of teasing him over remembering her pet, of all things, but refrained.

"Of course - he's very tough. Sometimes, I think that he adapted to Zebes better than I did, back in the day."

Her mind wandered back to the Etecoons and Dachoras. They were probably shuffling themselves into a new cuddle pile right about now. Surely it was nice, warm, cozy…

She briefly shuddered, feeling chilled anew. "… Can you stay on autopilot for a while?"

[Of course, Lady.]

"Thank you."

Samus stepped away from the ship's control panel. Now that she'd gotten the ship's destination sorted out, getting buried in a pile of fluff sounded like a great idea.

Her ship's computer beeped behind her, and she took comfort in the knowledge that ADAM was calculating the best route home.

-

Of course, the calculation had only taken seconds - it was no issue for a starship of this caliber. What ADAM was actually doing was writing up a private memo, to be archived and buried somewhere that neither Samus nor the Federation would be able to access.

The ship's various onboard sensors had taken note of how badly she'd reacted to the chill. While it wasn't unreasonable for humans to be adverse to such things, there was a certain species that was particularly weakened by cold…

Metroids.

It was no secret that the Metroid Vaccine had changed Samus - it had been the intent, even, to ensure that the X-Parasites were removed from her system. Her accquired ability to absorb them had served her well, but… taking back her suit from the SA-X should have fixed that particular weakness, in theory.

It was clear, now, that this theory had been wrong.

ADAM could only hope that the Metroid DNA wouldn't assert itself any more than it already had.

#Metroid #Metroid Fusion #Samus Aran #Adam Malkovich #Ozi is on Patreon!

[magicbyhalves]

Shantae, Uncle Mimic, Bolo, Sky, and Rottytops were loading the last of their luggage onto the airship back to Scuttle Town.

“For a first vacation, that sure was a doozy...” Shantae said, shoving a particularly heavy bag into place.

Mimic nodded. “I know you had a bit of a rough start, but I’d say it was worth all the trouble in the end, wouldn’t you?”

Shantae smiled and nodded. Then the sound of approaching footsteps drifted to her ears, and she turned to see who was coming over. All of the other Half-Genies had shown up, and she ran over to them - the rest of the luggage would be fine without her, surely. “Hey, everyone!”

Harmony smiled - an easy and gentle expression on her face, like always. “Hello, Shantae. We heard you were leaving, and thought we’d see you off.”

“Aw, thanks! I’m going to miss you all a lot, y’know.”

There was a squeak from the back of the crowd of Half-Genies, and the Lobster Siren poked her head out from behind the group.

“Wha- of course that means you, too!”

The Lobster Siren’s tail thumped against the floor, and she quickly looked the other way as a huge smile broke out over her face.

“We also wanted to give you this, before you go.” Harmony had been keeping her hands behind her back, and now she brought them forward, presenting Shantae with a tied-off bag. “There’s a little something from each of us - it’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done for us.”

“Aw... you guys didn’t have to do this...!” Shantae carefully took the bag from Harmony, trying not to jostle the contents too much. “Uh... should I open this now, or...”

“If you like.” Harmony kept her cool expression, but Vera and Plink seemed unable to contain their excitement about whatever their gifts were. Zapple, by contrast, looked somewhat nervous.

The first thing Shantae pulled out of the bag was a necklace - it looked familiar, and Shantae realized she was looking at Vera’s lucky amulet as she inspected it more closely. The other three Fusion Stones she’d found on her journey had been affixed to the chain, and they gleamed brilliantly in the light.

“In case you ever need to borrow someone’s magic again. It’ll be easier if you have those stones on hand,” Vera said, smiling.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I have this?”

“Of course!”

Shantae kept digging. There was... a surprising amount of food in the bag. She pulled out a stack of melba toast from somewhere in its depths. “Um...”

“Oh, that’s from me,” Plink piped up. “I’ve heard airship food tastes kind of funny, so I wanted to make sure you had something tasty to bring with you! Your blue-haired friend over there is going to be especially grateful, trust me.” She winked, and one of her eyeball-shaped hair ties did too.

Shanate couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed they’d been copying Plink’s expressions this whole time. “Right... well, I’ll make sure it doesn’t go to waste!” She carefully re-placed the stack of melba toast and resumed pawing through the bag. The next thing she grabbed was a sealed envelope.

“It’s an invitation. I know it’s a little too formal, but... if you ever come back to Armor Town, you can get some, uh, real armor. Instead of armor like what they made for your friend.” The normally-confident Zapple was fumbling her speech quite a bit. “... or you could just come to visit m- the island. If you want.” Her pointed ears were about as bright as her outfit, pointing towards the ground, and nervous little sparks flared up around her feet as she spoke.

Shantae was surprised to catch herself regarding the whole thing as cute. She dismissed the thought for the moment - it seemed like something to mull over on the flight back home. “Y’know what, I think I’d like that. Coming back when the island isn’t under attack sounds nice!”

Zapple let out a sigh of relief as her invitation was slipped back into the bag.

There was only one gift left, and Shantae knew what it was immediately as her hand closed around it. All the same, she grabbed the worn-out scrapbook and pulled it out to confirm, looking from it to Harmony.

“I... I can’t accept this!”

Harmony chuckled warmly. “It’s only fair that you get a chance to learn from that book as I did.” As she spoke, an odd, ghostly light grew visible, hovering at her side. “And I’ll always have my mother to guide me, scrapbook or no scrapbook. Please, keep it.”

The Lobster Siren let out an abrupt squeak, charged forward, and flung her arms around Shantae in a hug, her tail wrapping around the Half-Genie’s legs like she didn’t want her to leave. Zapple let out a shocked gasp, then ran forward to hug Shantae as well. Soon, all of the other Half-Genies joined in, too, erupting into a chorus of well-wishes and goodbyes.

Rotty snickered. “Someone’s popular.”

“You jealous?” Sky asked, a smug smirk on her face.

“Uh... why would I be?”

“That’s your girlfriend they’re all throwing themselves at.”

“And? Shantae’s very loveable.” Rotty huffed and crossed her arms. “Don’t project your insecurities onto me, feathers.”

Sky’s face flushed. “How dare you?!” She dove at Rotty, clearly intent on starting a fight. Rotty retaliated by swatting right back, grinning hugely, and soon they were scuffling.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t fight...” Bolo sighed, trying to get between them. He received several smacks for his troubles, and wisely backed away from the ensuing ball of violence.

Shantae, still trapped in the Half-Genie hug pile, let out a sigh, equal parts exasperated and fond.

#drabble #Mimic #Harmony #wretched runaway #Vera #Plink #Zapple #Rotty #Sky #Bolo #7S Vacation Arc #The Real Vacation #readmore'd for length