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thepascalofus · 9 months

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Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides.

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing.

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet.

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week.

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night.

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults.

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator.

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off.

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items.

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.”

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull.

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.”

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on.

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market.

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets.

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green.

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag.

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it.

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears.

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless.

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder.

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts.

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred.

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

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urban-homesteading · 2 months

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Information on pruning overgrown plants.

Your goals are to have adequate air flow throughout the plant, remove diseased or dead branches, and have good light penetrating the entire plant.

Remove any branch that is rubbing against another. This can cause an open wound on the branch, which is an opportunity for disease to invade the plant.

Remove branches that are growing toward the center of the plant. Also, remove any branches that cross each other. Remember we want to provide both air circulation and light penetration.

Remove any dead or diseased branches. A dead branch will be brittle, its buds will be brown. While a live branch will be flexible, buds will be green and there will be a green layer under the bark.

Generally, remove 1/3 of the plants’ height or 1/3 of its branches.

Remove any suckers and or waterspouts. These 2 types of branches look similar, growing straight up. However, a sucker originates from the roots or below the graft. While the waterspout will be vigorous and originate from the trunk or large branches.

Here is some additional information:

https://extension.umd.edu/.../water-sprouts-or-suckers.../

https://www.uky.edu/Ag/Horticulture/QRLabels/Pruning.html...

Illustration credit: Don Wittig, former UME Master Gardener, https://extension.umd.edu/.../pruning-trees-home-landscape/

#trees #gardening #arbor #arborists #pruning #pruning trees

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storiesoflilies · 2 months

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaand he’s here!!!! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, spread the love and feels, enjoy the chapter! <3 Ko-Fi.

Next Part - Chapter 5

-•-

Chapter 4

In the stillness of the dead of night, she felt it. An aura that somehow cast a veil of darkness so profound that it deepened the already foreboding sky of Hell. It was a spine-tingling symphony, a waltz of electricity, setting her heart pulsating with tantalizing anticipation. Unfolding in hues of emerald and midnight, it crept towards her, fueled by desire and urgency.

He’s here.

Y/N could feel him acutely, a phantom presence that transcended the actual physical distance between them. In the hushed serenity of her room, she sensed his approach to her – for her. Was she to be gathered and taken to his kingdom like a cherished flower? Or was she to be claimed and ripped away from Geto like a debt owed? It was as if she was a coveted prize rightfully won for eternally silencing the very thunder and might of the Angels.

Only a few hours had passed since her conversation with her brother, and she had only experienced bouts of fitful sleep amidst the pulsating back pain. So she had been awake well before she heard the door creak open and the light pitter-patter of footsteps approaching her bed. A hand placed itself on her shoulder, softly shaking it, and Y/N opened her eyes to look at who had disturbed her.

“Apologies for waking you,” a young girl with dark brown hair whispered softly. Another, her twin, with caramel hair, stood silently behind her. “Your presence is required, and we have been instructed to dress you.”

She knew these girls; she had seen them in Heaven not two moons ago. They were Geto’s young protégés, taken under his wing after their parents had died: Nanako and Mimiko. They must have chosen to follow him on his mission to rain hellfire upon Heaven. Y/N nodded her head, slowly rising from the bed, the sheets rustling as she moved. The twins hurried over, their arms hovering around her to support her while she found her footing. Despite the fiery pain in her back, she managed to stand, albeit shakily. Nanako swiftly moved over to the deep wooden wardrobe opposite the bed, and retrieved a black yukata from within it. Together, the twins donned the garment on her, and tied a simple white sash belt around her waist to complete the ensemble. Guided to the vanity table, Y/N settled onto the small wooden stool before the extravagant mirror, allowing the girls to brush and smooth her hair into a style reminiscent of Geto’s.

Indeed, she almost laughed at how similarly dressed she was to her brother. Had the twins done so intentionally of their own accord, or perhaps they had been ordered to? It was a powerful statement regardless; as if her and Geto were bound together by blood woven into the same familial tapestry, boldly asserting that she wouldn’t be so easily surrendered to him - to Toji. The twins seemed unperturbed by the charged atmosphere; Nanako looked almost irritated, while Mimiko displayed no particular emotion on her face.

Impatience.

“Mimiko, where is Suguru?” Y/N asked, hastily rising from the stool, spurred on by his emotions coursing through the bond, while the girls hovered close by her as she took urgent steps outside the bedroom.

Mimiko raised her eyebrows, perhaps surprised that Y/N even remembered her name, “He’s waiting for you in the throne room. We’ll take you there.”

The trio walked wordlessly down the seemingly endless corridors of Geto’s halls. The walls were made of dark stone, adorned with grand paintings depicting portraits, landscapes, and great battles fought both in Hell and on Earth. Memories of Gojo’s tower came to mind, but where his abode was pristine and crisp, Geto’s palace reflected his new enigmatic and frosty personality. Windows lined the top of the walls, yet no light shone through them, and Y/N doubted any ever had before. Perhaps no light could penetrate this deep into the Earth. How then, were they able to detect the passing of time? Did the residents of Hell simply yield to their passing whims, indulging in eating and sleeping whenever they felt like it?

She didn’t dislike that thought, it was almost liberating.

His aura intensified the longer they walked, and Y/N knew they must be approaching the throne room. She swallowed a thick lump in her throat, the gravity of impending events settling deep in her stomach. Her scar seemed sinister, a damning signature of Toji’s ownership; physical evidence that would be hard to deny his claim. After enduring her seemingly impending death in Mahito’s prison, she was going to face him again. Could he feel everything she experienced during her imprisonment? The air thickened in anticipation as Nanako opened the doors to the throne room, and they all stepped forward.

Y/N eyes immediately locked on to him.

The tension was palpable, charged with both peril and allure as they faced each other. His deep green eyes bore into her, dangerously enticing, moulding a direct connection between them that cut through the space separating them. His whole essence exuded power; his burly build commanded attention as he stood a considerable distance from Geto’s throne. His midnight hair was tousled, framing the contours of his jawline, and she couldn’t help but notice the scar gracing the corner of his lips; as deep and violent as he was. She was magnetized, her soul yearned for her body to be close to him, and yet she stayed put. The twins placed her to stand a step below the throne where her brother sat pensively, then quickly scuttled out of the room. The atmosphere seemed to have finally provoked a reaction from them, and perhaps they were wise to run from the scene.

Toji’s eyes hardened as he took her in, his jaw tightening, and his thick forearms flexed with barely restrained fury. A peculiar, worm-like Curse coiled around his build like a snake, reacting to the movement of its master. Y/N looked down, unable to bear the anger in his gaze, while Geto shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Bring him here,” Toji commanded lowly, prompting her to look up sharply at the sound of his voice.

He sounded like the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm; Y/N thought she could listen to him forever.

Geto nodded and waved his hand at an unseen servant lurking in the shadows behind the throne. Within seconds, a flaming portal materialized in the center of the room, and a disheveled Mahito tumbled through as if he had been forcefully shoved. He fell to the ground, undignified and pathetic, yet his eyes gleamed with all the madness of a cornered animal about to strike.

Rage.

A black flash tore through the air.

Toji reacted instantaneously, a violent burst of movement as he closed the distance between him and his prey with supernatural swiftness. He struck Mahito in a symphony of uncontrolled chaos, the ferocity of his brutal blows leaving no room for even an ounce of mercy. The air crackled as the tension broke through the whirlwind of Toji’s relentless attack, and Y/N felt an unsettling, sick sense of satisfaction, entranced by the visceral ballet of vengeance unfolding before her. Every strike echoed not only physically but also emotionally, as her kidnapper and Nanami’s killer finally faced his punishment. It was thrilling to even think that Toji was driven to such a profound level of violence just for her.

How much had she had changed since descending into Hell? Y/N found herself actually wishing pain upon a living soul – even one as black as Mahito’s – and it was a startling realization.

“You’re. A. Fucking. Child. You don’t know. What. The word. NO. Means,” Toji hissed between blows, his fury punctuating each word as he struck right into Mahito’s throat, robbing the Curse of any possibility of a reply.

His onslaught ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the air heavy with the remnants of violence. Toji stood over the broken form of Mahito, his broad chest heaving; displaying a calmness that starkly contrasted against his previous fury. An uneasy stillness seeped back into the room, and Geto leaned forward on his throne, meeting Toji’s expectant gaze.

“What exactly did you have planned for this one?” Toji inquired, his voice now resonating like a loud thunderclap.

“I thought I would leave that decision to you, given the circumstances,” Geto replied carefully, his words deliberately measured.

Her brother appeared uncharacteristically reserved, walking on eggshells, carefully considering every word and movement in the presence of the superior king.

“Smart, but the question still remains of what to do with him,” Toji hummed, giving Mahito’s crumpled body a pointed kick. The Curse made no sound, lying there almost lifeless, yet his eyes and mouth were wide open, staring at Toji in shock.

“You can kill him if you wish, I have no objection,” Geto suggested.

He chuckled darkly and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her brother, “I don’t need your permission or approval. Do you need another reminder of your place here?”

Geto said nothing, and Toji’s threat settled heavily in Y/N’s chest. What sort of torment had he inflicted on her brother? Moreover, what had Geto done to warrant it?

“I can’t kill him, the others would ask too many questions,” Toji muttered, crossing his arms. “I assume you haven’t told anyone else about… this situation.”

“As far as everyone is aware, you are hunting Satoru Gojo’s wife to eliminate her and his possible spawn. Nobody is aware of Mahito’s involvement in all of this… or your bond with my sister,” Geto replied smoothly.

Toji’s eyebrows raised once more, and he smirked, “Sister, huh? What a happy family reunion.”

His forest green eyes swept over Y/N again, and she sucked in a breath as she felt her body sway under his intense gaze. Their connection snapped into focus again, and she could sense all the churning emotions within his soul swirling like a stormy sea. It was so curious how he somehow managed to maintain his cool and collected exterior, while she was crippled and barely able to speak. Geto cleared his throat, visibly irked, abruptly interrupting their moment. Toji’s eyes flicked over to her brother, annoyance flickering in his irises, and his anger rose steadily like a wave building momentum to crash onto the shore. She tensed, fists clenching, readying herself to bear witness to another episode of violence between him and Geto. Yet, she refused to stand by idly and watch; Y/N would defend her brother just as he had defended her. He had saved her life more than once, and she was worth less than nothing if she didn’t attempt to do the same. Of course Toji noticed her shift in energy, his eyes flashing as he let out an exaggerated sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Effort… dwindling anger.

“Mahito is to remain in prison for the rest of his days,” Toji gritted, eyes opening again to glare at Geto. “You say to the others that he deliberately hid her from me, despite knowing about the bounty, and this is his punishment. Is that clear?”

“Agreed,” Geto said, waving his hand once more. The same fiery portal appeared once more, sucking Mahito’s battered body back through it and zapping closed.

It was deathly silent now, and the pair watched and waited for Toji to continue his demands, the gears in his head turning as he deliberated.

“As for your sister, well… I have no cause to kill her. She is not pregnant with the Six Eyes’ child, and has obviously become one of us now. That’s what you and I will say if any of the others ask about her,” he continued.

Toji stalked towards the throne, his steps deliberate and menacing, until he stood a mere foot away from Y/N. He towered over her, staring deep into her eyes. Geto stood up abruptly, clearly unhappy with his proximity. What exactly he planned on doing she didn’t know, but her soulmate ignored her brother this time.

“Hey you, what’s your name?” Toji demanded, voice deep and haunting, lingering like smoke, as he addressed her directly for the first time.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

He licked his lips, savoring her name like a sweet, and a jolt of energy rushed through her as he hummed, “Do you want me dead, Y/N? For killing your husband.”

Oh, how she loved the sound of her name on his lips; it was divine. She could listen to him forever.

“He wasn’t my husband.”

Interest… relief.

Toji smirked, head tilting to the side as he continued. “I corrupted you, little angel. My sinful soul is bound to you now, and you’ve been cast out of Heaven because of me. Are you sure you don’t want to kill me anyways?”

Her heart hammered as he took a step closer, and she thought he might just reach out and touch her. Toji had figured out the reason for her becoming a curse quicker than she thought, but it wasn’t the only reason. Geto’s energy shifted dangerously, Y/N could feel his power gathering; dark shadows gathering beneath his feet like a serpent ready to strike if Toji took so much as another inch forward – who wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He stood taller than them all; a storm that wouldn’t be deterred from its course. She knew if he wanted to take her away by force, he absolutely could.

“No,” she finally said.

“Hmm, good. In that case, I think it best we have a little arrangement, you and I,” Toji said, finally turning his head up to acknowledge Geto.

“Such as?” Her brother asked, suspicion lacing his words, as his eyes narrowed, his power subsiding just a fraction.

“Consider us allies from here on out. I will not attack you, nor you me, although I doubt you even have the strength to attempt that. So long as Y/N remains here with you, she is not to ascend to Earth for any reason, and in return I expect that your doors are always open for me.”

Toji continued, his words reverberating throughout the room like thunder. “Us three in this room will not speak a word to anyone else of Y/N’s bond with me. You have enough enemies as it is Geto, and my old family aren’t exactly fond of me either. They all don’t need much excuse to kill a Fallen, you know.”

“You may be sending us both to war with this secret alliance,” Geto said. “The others will not appreciate an agreement like this. We are far too powerful united.”

Toji snorted. “We are by no means united, but let them try. If you both keep it together, nobody will figure it out.”

It was silent, and Y/N looked up at her brother, who met her gaze. She could discern any hint on his face as to what he would decide, but was it really a choice? If he said no, what would Toji do? Would it be considered war if he denied another King? In a way, it was just as when Gojo had proposed; only offering an illusion of choice.

“Well?” He huffed impatiently. “Do you agree?”

“Agreed,” Geto gritted, his jaw stiff.

Toji smirked, and looked down at her once more.

“Well then little angel, I’m assuming you would like to stay and catch up with your brother. I’m sure there’s so much you still have to talk about,” he mocked, sly and cruel, his scar stretching as he spoke down to her.

Y/N could only nod, his proximity both exhilarating and debilitating, but she was surprised. Toji had given her a choice, like a fleeting and fragile bloom that lingered just within her grasp. Geto had made it seem Toji would come plundering through his halls to whisk her away, dragging her deeper into his layer of Hell and all his sins. Y/N loathed herself in that moment, her injuries left her incapable of defending herself, and her grief silenced her from speaking up for herself. She was just a pawn in a chess game between monsters and gods; completely out of her depth, like a lost child, not much better than Mahito condemned in prison. Her back started to throb painfully, perhaps because she had been standing too long, or perhaps her self-depreciation had reminded her of the pain that had been there all along. Toji cocked his head at her, his eyes flashing, questioning her without words.

… apologetic?

“I suppose it’s getting late,” he yawned widely, fake and exaggerated. “Take care of yourselves and stay out of trouble, yeah?”

Toji snapped his fingers, and a flaming portal opened up behind him with a thunderous roar. He strode towards it, his back turned to them, the worm slithering menacingly around his arms in loops. Suddenly, he stopped just before the portal, his presence casting a looming and ominous shadow over the room.

And then, he was gone.

-•-

Soon, Y/N discovered, was entirely subjective to Toji’s passing whims.

Two months had dragged by since she, and even Geto for that matter, had seen her Curse in the flesh. Every morning, her heart leaped and mind raced, wondering whether that day would be the day she saw him again. But it never happened, and her brother thought it strange too, considering how fast Toji had arrived when he found out where she was. She couldn’t feel any of his emotions through their bond; perhaps it only sparked to life like a wildfire when they were about to stand face to face. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling a piece of his puzzle had slotted comfortably into her being – a constant and comforting presence that she yearned for, but remained in the background just out of reach.

Despite Toji’s absence, Y/N threw herself wholeheartedly into her recovery process, taking it one day at a time. Her wounds had healed over nicely, leaving two large scars resembling whip lashes on her back where her wings had once been. Though they twinged from time to time, she was no longer crippled, and that was what mattered most. Geto had even resumed sparring with her, trying to help strengthen her muscles and body again, which stirred deep memories with her of her old life.

“You and Nanami fight exactly the same way, and you don’t even use anything I taught you,” he had commented under his breath, as he easily dodged Y/N, preventing her from landing a critical blow.

“That’s not a bad thing,” she huffed, irritated that she had not managed to land a hit on her brother yet. She was still too stiff and wildly unbalanced, partly due to the missing weight of her wings. However, she found she was far more agile than she was before – if only she could control it.

“Hah, you’re like a baby learning to walk,” he snorted, as she fell over quite hard into the dirt, having overestimated how far up into the air she could leap.

She glared at him hard, wiping the sweaty grime from her forehead. “It makes no sense. How can I jump higher without wings?”

“It’s a blessing about becoming a Curse,” Geto smirked, holding a hand out to help her up. “I like to think it was done to help us fight Angels flying in the sky, although most of us learn how to fly without wings with cursed energy.”

“I know that already, but why can’t I control it?” Y/N snapped as Geto hauled her up. She wasn’t really angry; it was more annoyance of her own failings, and her brother’s perfection: his perfect robes, his perfect hair with not a single strand out of place, and his perfectly annoying ability to excel at everything.

Geto laughed gently, “You will sweet sister, one step at a time. Now… let’s try again.”

And such was the routine most days. The mornings and afternoons were spent with sparring, while the evenings were dedicated to swimming in a large, deep pool underneath the palace. It was connected to different rooms within the palace, like her bedroom and Geto’s room, via secret passageways carved into the foundations of the mountain where her brother’s abode was built. It led to the center of the mountain, where there was a large pool, and another small, narrow passage that led directly out of the mountain. Y/N enjoyed it; the water was warm, perhaps even scalding, but her body had well adjusted to the heat of Hell. It was also secluded, which she greatly appreciated, allowing the pair to swim without any other Curses overlooking them.

It was during these evenings that Geto taught her the politics and ways of life of her new world, and it was not long after Toji’s visit that Y/N had asked him about the threat against him.

“In Hell,” Geto began, a dark look ghosting his face like a fog. “If you challenge a King to a fight to the death and they lose, you have every right to take their place. And that’s what happened. I won against the previous King – Kashimo Hajime.”

Kashimo had commanded the very lightning of storm clouds; Y/N had seen his portraits still proudly hanging in the hallways of the palace. With hair as vibrant as a cyan sea and eyes to match, he looked every bit as crazed and untamable as the power he wielded; a force of nature confined to a Cursed form. Their battle would have been a sight to behold, a spectacle beyond compare.

“You challenged him when you first turned?” Y/N asked, surprised, her eyebrows raised as her arms rested against the edge of the pool while Geto sat with his legs in the water.

He shook his head. “No, he tried to kill me. I killed him first.”

“Why’d he want to kill you?”

Geto kicked his legs in the water, splashing her from the side. “How do I put this? Not all Curses here seem to think beings like us are equal to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that true-born Curses do not deem Fallen Angels to be proper Curses. They think we are inferior to them, and they do not trust us or respect us because we were born in Heaven.”

“So… he tried to kill you for being an Angel? But you chose to fall, and other Fallen Angels are no different to true-born Curses energy, they’re all the same.”

“I know that sister, but how can you try and explain prejudice? Because that’s what it is, and that is the way Hell is. There are more true-born Curses nowadays than Fallen than in the olden days of Sukuna.”

Y/N was perplexed. “Well, what about Sukuna then?”

“What about him?” Geto asked, using his arms to push himself off the ledge and propel himself into the pool. His broad strokes cut through the water, and he leaned his head back as he swam, soaking his silken hair.

“He is a Fallen, or have they all forgotten?”

“They conveniently forget, I suppose. Sukuna’s power as a Curse is so great to the point that one forgets who he ever was before. It simply doesn’t register that he is anything other than a Curse. He was the original Curse, from where they were all born, even if his origin wasn’t a true-born.”

They were silent for a while, and Y/N did a few more laps of the pool before taking a break and swimming back towards Geto.

“So Hajime tried to kill you for being a Fallen?” she asked, bringing the conversation back around.

“Not exactly,” Geto said, letting her hang from him behind from him in the water, her arms draped over his shoulders like a cloak. “He claimed he didn’t like my plans for the war against Heaven, but I think he undermined in front of the others, so he tried to kill me to teach a lesson to other Fallen about what happens when they try to lead.”

“That obviously didn’t work,” Y/N remarked quietly, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

“No… no it didn’t.”

“So, how did you manage to anger another King of Hell during your first month here? Idiot.”

“Hmm, I admit after killing Hajime that I became a little… cocky. I challenged Toji for the rule of the Second Layer, my reasoning being that it would be easier to wage my war if I had two of the most powerful armies behind my back. I’d acquired power rather quickly, I wanted more, and I suppose it got to my head.”

Geto grimaced, and looked down at the giant ragged scar that reached all the way from his torso to his chest. “This is the result of my said idiocy.”

We’re both marked forever by his brutality.

“Why he let me live, I don’t know,” Geto continued, gently shaking her off his shoulders and exiting the pool. “Maybe you can ask him the next time you have a chat.”

Her stomach churned and bubbled with nerves at the thought of meeting Toji again, but she said nothing.

“Is he… a Fallen?” Y/N asked uncertainly, apprehension in her voice. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“True-born, traditionally procreated between Curses,” Geto replied smoothly, squeezing the water from his hair. “He belongs to the Zenin Clan of the Fifth Layer, where his cousin Naoya is King. Toji left the clan hundreds of years ago; I think it had something to do with his lack of cursed energy. He changed his last name to Fushiguro some time after that.”

“I see.”

Geto motioned with his hand for her to come over. “Come, let’s go and eat. I’ll tell you more about the rest of the Kings.”

Her brother was true to his word. As they ate later that evening, he told her everything he knew about them all. Sukuna himself had never ascended to Earth since the day he fell from Heaven, keeping much to his own kingdom – the Malevolent Shrine was his palace where he was almost a recluse. He apparently only bothered with Curse business within Hell, and even then he rarely emerged. Whenever the Kings of Hell decided to meet all together, Sukuna himself never came – instead sending his representative Uraume to watch, listen, and report back to him. What he did with that information, nobody knew, for there never was a reaction or repercussion.

The Fourth Layer King was called Jogo, a cruel and ill-tempered Curse that seemed to be born from the very volcanic mountains that spewed the Earth in ash and malice. Him and his retinue were the most mistrustful and hateful of her brother, turning up their noses to him as if they smelled something foul. Geto guessed they would be the first to declare open enmity toward him if it ever came down to it. Meanwhile, Naoya Zenin was a smug and pretentious bastard, according to Geto, who spread venom and lies with his honeyed words. The Zenin’s had ruled the Fifth Layer for nearly as long as Sukuna had been a Curse, and their prejudice was by far the worst, especially against those they deemed lesser than themselves.

Choso Kamo was King of the Sixth Layer, and Geto didn’t seem to know much about him. However, he was the first instance of the product between a Curse and Angel procreating together. Therefore, he had received much abuse from the other Kings before Geto had arrived – who was now the new target of their malice, but his strength as King kept them from overstepping thus far. He ruled both the Sixth and Seventh Layer; the latter not really a kingdom, more so a breeding ground for Curses to be conceived and born. It was Choso’s duty to root through the dirt and find gold, and more often than not his prodigies were taken away by other Kings to join their armies instead of his. Y/N couldn’t help but pity him, wondering what became of his parents, for she’d never heard of his story before.

Until it happened to her, Y/N never even thought a Curse and Angel could become soulmates.

-•-

Y/N pushed open the door to her bedroom, her fingers absentmindedly twirling her freshly washed and smoothed hair. Another thing she couldn’t get used to in her new life was the twins. Nanako and Mimiko waited on her, helped her bathe and dress every morning and night, and changed her bandages whenever her wounds were more severe. They helped her to navigate Geto’s palace, a blessing; the amount of times Y/N got lost was too numerous to count, and the twins had somehow known where she was every time. From what she could tell, the twins seemed to like her well enough, though perhaps that was only due to her relationship with Geto, whom they adored. Which was fair enough – trust and respect had to be earned. But she couldn’t help but feel they all shared the same battle of being Fallen amidst true-born Curses, and therefore she felt some kinship to them already.

Y/N hadn’t faced open disdain from any of the other Curses in her brother’s court. Perhaps some hesitant and suspicious looks, but nobody really went out of their way to speak to her. However, they weren’t entirely opposed if she came up to them with a question – mainly about her brothers whereabouts, or about the identities of the faces in the portraits on the wall. It was strange; she hadn’t considered the possibility of prejudice until Geto had mentioned it, and now it weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N felt she had to tread even more carefully to avoid inadvertently causing offense; her brother had already risked enough to save her life and keep her hidden.

She shut the door behind her, and clicked the lock shut for the night. Her eyes had somehow sharpened over the past two months, and she could now discern the slight darkening of the sky, signaling night had fallen on Heaven and Earth. It helped to structure a rough routine for a time to sleep. The twins had changed her bedsheets for her, opting for a deep mauve color instead of bla–

Y/N froze.

Her balcony door was swung wide open, definitely not as she or the twins would have left it.

She cautiously approached the door, her senses on high alert. Had someone managed to breach through all of Geto’s defenses and entered her room? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and her mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Had the real reason she was in Hell become public knowledge, prompting an assassin to come and kill her? She lightly stepped just before the doorframe, peaking out onto the balcony.

Toji stood leaning casually against the bronze railing of the balcony, an air of nonchalance about him as he gazed out into the dark expanse beyond the mountain.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N exclaimed, apprehension and relief flooding her, her paranoia crashing down like a waterfall. His presence was equal parts alarming and comforting.

He turned to look at her, shrugging casually. “Just passing through,” he replied cryptically.

His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Does my brother know you’re here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as if he was going to burst through her bedroom at any moment.

“Probably not,” Toji smirked, turning his body completely towards her, his green eyes gleaming. “I did say I would be paying you a visit, didn’t I?”

“Yes, it’s just… been a while.”

“I’ve been busy, little angel. Hell doesn’t run itself you know? I would have come sooner if I could.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, trying to detect any deception or malice in his expression or through the bond, but could discern nothing but familiarity and a strange sense of intrigue. However, here was her chance; now that she was stronger and more resilient, she wouldn’t let him dictate the course of this situation any longer.

“Well, whatever it is you want, next time don’t surprise me here. These are my private quarters,” she said, injecting irritation into her voice, a spark of bravery edging her on.

Respect.

Toji raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not expecting her to respond that way. “My apologies. Next time, I’ll make a formal announcement and wait for you in the throne room where everyone can see us together.”

It was silent for a moment, a little bit of tension seeped through the air with his sarcastic response. He cleared his throat, leaned his arms behind him, and tightly gripped the rails.

“Well, I hope Hell has been up to your standards. I know it’s probably not as nice as to what you’re used to,” he said bluntly, an underlying tone of nervousness in his words that satisfied her.

“It’s… different,” she said, not really sure what else to say and not wanting to cause offense. “But I’m content, if that’s what you really want to know.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet. Your brother being good to you, yeah?” He pressed, his arms rocking him back and forth against the rail.

“Always.”

“Good good. I’m glad. You both staying out of trouble?”

“Is that why you’re here? To see if I’m behaving?”

“Sure, why not?”

This side of Toji was a stark difference to when he was in front of Geto in the grandeur of the throne room. Now, in the quiet and suddenly intimate setting of her balcony, he was almost… softened. Did he not feel the need to flaunt his power in front of her? His apprehension was surprising, but Y/N felt almost empowered by this unguarded side of him. It gave her a newfound sense of control she didn’t have before, and she was growing into her new world, like a fragile blossom emerging from the soil trying to reach for the sun.

“You seem… much better than before,” he said slowly, gruffly, snapping her out of her train of thought. “Stronger.”

“Yeah, I’m managing,” she admitted. “All my wounds have nearly fully healed. Geto has started training me again, it’s been good for me.”

Toji smirked at her, “Good to hear, you ever beat him?”

She smiled, a real one, and his green eyes sparkled at the sight of it. “Not yet.”

More.

“Hmm, maybe I can teach you my way to fight,” he suggested, a playful tone lacing his words.

“Maybe,” Y/N mused, walking slowly towards the railing and leaning against it, still keeping some distance between them.

She felt Toji looking at her with interest, making her face burn, and he turned around to lean against the railing once again. ““Humor me on this, though. How did you actually fight properly with wings? I mean, surely they’re just in the way.”

“Not really, I just did I suppose. The same way you can tell when night falls in Hell, even though it’s always dark.”

They stood together in silence, the warm night air carrying the distant sound of the city below the mountain. Toji wasn’t here to stir trouble, Y/N finally decided, as her earlier apprehension melted away. There was no hint of anger from him; instead he seemed almost… relaxed.

“I don’t think I would wish for them back though,” she continued, not sure where the urge came to open up to him, but it was there nonetheless.

“No?”

“No, I think I’m too used to being without them now. I feel… different, but it’s better.”

“I see.”

It was quiet again, before Toji asked slowly, “Did it hurt when you lost them?”

“I think so… I don’t really remember. I was in a fever dream; I couldn’t really feel or see anything at all really.”

He tensed, gripping the rails tightly. Y/N almost swore she could see the bronze metal bend just slightly.

“I could feel you were sick, you know?” He stated, his voice hard.

She was surprised at this. “Really? I can only feel you when you’re close.”

“I don’t really know how all this works, maybe it’s different for each of us.”

“Maybe…”

“Anyway, I could feel it. I didn’t know exactly what it was. It makes sense now you’ve told me, but at the time I thought your mind had broken.”

Y/N sighed heavily, “It did… I think I saw strange things. I don’t really want to remember.”

“I can imagine,” Toji muttered, his tone almost gentle.

They were silent for some time, comfortably so, watching the horizon. Y/N was the one to break the silence this time.

“I don’t think our bond was the only reason I became… a Curse,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.

“How so?”

Y/N bit her lip nervously, grappling with the sheer weight of what she was about to admit. Toji tilted his head at her curiously, patiently waiting for her to answer, his rapt attention making her even more shy. She took a deep breath in to steady herself before continuing.

“I was willing to stand with you against Satoru… I didn’t want you to die by his hand.”

Interest… surprise.

“And that’s enough for you to get exiled?” Toji asked slowly, digesting the information. “That’s harsh,” he added, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes, because I made the choice to betray my own kind, and I would have been in between you both if Nanami hadn’t stopped me. He would have done it too, I think, if I wasn’t… injured.” she said the last part slowly, carefully, softly. The memory of Nanami still brought her to tears if she didn’t steel her heart against the onslaught of emotions.

His emerald orbs softened, and he moved just a fraction closer to her. “Your friend must have cared a lot about you to risk condemning himself to Hell.”

“He was the best of us,” she sniffed, her firsts tightening, holding her breath to steady herself.

It was quiet for a long time after that. The gravity of Nanami’s sacrifice weighed heavily on her shoulders, and Y/N doubted she would ever be free of it for as long as she lived. She stole a glance at Toji, trying to find solace in his presence, but the question remained – was he going to prove himself worthy enough to justify Nanami’s death? The wind whispered mournfully, lamenting everything she had lost to bring her to this moment: her home, her wings, Satoru.

“Listen, I-,” Toji started, closing his mouth abruptly, clearly searching for the right words to say as he avoided direct eye contact with her. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for what happened.”

He was tense; clearly this was new to him – apologizing. She whispered, “What for exactly?”

Toji rolled his eyes and huffed, “For nearly killing you, what do you think?”

The scar on her stomach tingled with a faint, phantom-ache, and she instinctively placed her hand over it. Toji’s gaze followed her movement, his frown deepening, and his fists clenched the bar even tighter this time.

Shame… self loathing.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, and you didn’t know any better,” she said, her voice soft as she placed her hand back on the railing.

He pursed his lips but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the city below. The air fell thick with tension again, heavy with both their emotions, as they both grappled with the weight of their unspoken regrets. Y/N wanted to change the subject to lighten the solemn veil over them, and to unravel the stories and battles that had sculpted the myserious Curse standing beside her.

“So you can feel me, huh?” Toji said suddenly, nearly making her jump, but there was a lighter tone to his voice. “What does it feel like?”

Y/N smiled shyly, searching for the right words. She couldn’t possibly tell him that he felt like smoke and lightning – powerful and elusive, utterly out of her grasp, and she doubted she would ever understand it.

“You feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you for a very long time,” she finally said, settling for a much less daunting truth.

His gaze became kinder, and he rested his head against his hand, staring at her and making her feel shy all over again. “I know what you mean.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Hmm… like you’re there all the time now, in my head. It’s like you know what I’m doing all the time, and you’re watching me. I feel I don’t have to tell you things because I think you already know everything.”

“I actually don’t, and I have been wondering what does a King of Hell do all day long?”

Toji’s lip twitched, “Oh? Does your brother not tell you what he gets up to?”

“I’m asking you, not about him,” Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Well,” he grunted, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I mainly handle my armies strategies and organization. I make sure they’re running well, and if they’re not, well, then that’s where I come in.”

“And when all is well in war, what then?”

“And then… maybe I’ll lend an ear to whatever squabbles the other Curses are having, but if I can avoid it, I will.”

“So that’s what you’re doing here then?”

And he finally laughed, a glorious and heart-stopping smile spreading across his face. Y/N was transfixed, her soul suspended in time at provoking such elation from her soulmate.

“No,” Toji chuckled. “Your company is just so much better than theirs, obviously.”

“Obviously?” She teased, feeling a flush of heat grace her cheeks.

He hummed in agreement, “Of course.”

An endearing and shy silence filled the air, and they enjoyed each other’s presence in comfortable tranquility, a paradox to the supposed suffering and agony in the depths of Hell. Toji shifted beside her, lifting his weight from the railing, and cleared his throat.

“Well… I suppose I better take my leave,” he announced softly, taking a few steps backwards from her.

“Might be best, I’m sure your subjects are wondering where you are,” Y/N jested, smiling. Her inner soul was jumping, and she tried her best to ignore it. She knew it wanted him to stay, screaming don’t go in a silent cry through their bond.

Toji’s eyes glittered, a genuine smile quirking his lips as he chuckled lowly, a gesture just for her. “You might just be right.”

He lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers together, conjuring a sizzling portal of flame that opened up behind him in a mesmerizing display. Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as the warm orange glow of the portal enveloped him, casting him in an ethereal light that illuminated every contour of his face. She felt a pang of longing as he stood there, a transient and fleeting embodiment of sinful allure against the obsidian backdrop of Hell.

“Sleep well, little angel,” Toji mumbled, soft and rumbly, his green eyes almost glowing.

“Goodnight, Toji,” Y/N replied, her voice quaking with all the unspoken feelings of her soul that she couldn’t possibly express in that moment.

He smiled at her and disappeared through the portal, leaving her grasping at the lingering wisps of his presence.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max

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deancaspinefest · 3 months

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all out to sea

Author: s7jacket | Artist: golby moon

Posting on Wednesday April 10

Growing up on a tiny Scottish island, Dean has heard the legends before—legends of creatures that swim in one form and walk on land another. He’s very sure they’re supposed to be fictional, too, but when he comes across the injured guy sprawled across the rocks clutching a dirty old trenchcoat, he has to wonder, as he takes him home, whether selkies truly are creatures of myth.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

The hum of the engine pulls him back from his distant thoughts. The boat is sailing his familiar route—straight towards the horizon and left towards the trees on the other side of the bay. His little town wraps around the horseshoe curve of the island shore, with huge, thick-trunked pine trees creeping their way up the hills. Dean’s cottage, small and squat, sits closest to the water in all its unimposing, white-washed glory, and just beyond that, the homes and businesses are dotted haphazardly around, deferring to the natural landscape rather than the other way around. Birds fly overhead and roost in the roof of the pub, with the generational knowledge that dropped chips will be abundant there; parents send their children out on the agreement to be back by tea time, and those children become responsibility of the island, briefly, returned to their wild ways. The air is sharp and wet with sea spray. The wind nips in quick around unprotected ears and noses. Nothing changes but the seasons.

Dean turns off the engine and lets the bob of the tide pull them forwards. “Whoah, baby,” he soothes, patting the wheel the way one might gentle a skittish horse into submission. Dean, long used to the choppy waves, isn’t sickened by the gentle rocking; sometimes, it feels strange walking on the still, solid set of dry land. When the boat has found a rhythm, he dons the hat he never wears in front of Sam and steps to the side of the boat where the nets sit rolled up and ready.

“Okay, baby, you got this,” he says, and throws the nets overboard. He doesn’t expect a huge haul, nor does he need one—he only feeds the people on the island, and even then, some of them wait for the fancy stuff from the once-a-week supply ferry. They’re the kind of people who want their fish to come pre-battered, anyway, so he’s not losing out on too much business. While the nets sit in the murky waters below, Dean preps the ice buckets to throw the fish in.

He’s just about to haul the first net in when he sees—no, he doesn’t, and he puts his hands on the net again—but actually, yes, it is, sprawled across the the rocky outcropping on the starboard side of the boat. A guy, dark haired, broad shouldered and—yep, naked as the day he was born. There’s a flush creeping over Dean’s face that he tells himself is from the sun, as he leans out to look at the prone figure, as he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Hey, you over there!” over the sea-soaked wind.

The guy doesn’t stir. If Dean was a betting man, he might wager he was dead (Dean is a betting man, but the only person to gamble with is himself, and he doesn’t trust himself not to cheat). A minute later, he shouts again, to no avail. There’s nothing for it. He’ll have to go over.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Wednesday April 10)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: s7jacket #artist: golby moon #AU - Scottish Folklore #Fisherman Dean #Selkie Castiel

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maccaronimassacre · 7 months

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Resident Evil bot dump #4

I was originally planning on posting these after C.ai fixed their user interaction bug but considering its almost been a whole month since the bug first appeared and they still haven't fixed it I simply caved in. On another note though, one of my Ethan bots has hit over 130k interactions which is insane! I appreciate the support and I'll try my best to keep those bots coming. Feel free to make requests for any bot ideas you have <3

STARS!Chris Redfield x Reader

Chris quickly ushers you inside the S.T.A.R.S office, shoving you inside before barricading the door with a metal cabinet. “Jesus that was close!” Chris exclaims while resting his back against the cabinet's frame to catch his breath. You can hear the licker’s claws scratch and tear at the door before it lets out a growl in frustration and stalks away. It looks like you can relax. For now anyway…

STARS!Chris Redfield x Reader

The only noises that can be heard in the Spencer Mansion are your footsteps and the occasional creaks and groans of the hardwood floors underfoot. With the serum for the snake poison in hand, you can only pray that you make it back to Chris in time to cure him. Eventually you find yourself back at the intersecting hallway where Chris’ unconscious form lies. He is sweating and breathing heavily, the bite wound on his forearm now swollen and red with irritation.

Chris Redfield x Reader

When you asked Chris for some tips on how to improve your aim you were expecting a couple of pointers or maybe a demonstration. Instead, Chris has his arms around your body with one arm on your waist and the other under your elbow, gently guiding it up with his hand. His chest is pressed up tightly against your back and you can feel his breath roll against your ear in hot steady waves. “There we go, that’s better. Now aim and fire, {{user}}”.

IT!Ethan x Reader

What is supposed to be a normal day at the office has already turned into a nightmare when your computer just so happens to stop functioning. Fortunately for you, a member of the IT department walks over to your cubicle and lets out a heavy sigh when he looks at your screen. “So have you tried turning it on and off again?” He asks with minimal enthusiasm and a slight hint of sarcasm while adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

Ethan Winters x Reader

“You got all that, babe?” Your partner Ethan asks, glancing over to you before shifting his eyes back onto the road ahead. He was just rambling about the itinerary for today and has been looking forward to spending some more time with you and Rose. He figured that a day out to an amusement park would be the perfect way to kick back and have fun. Rose seems to be quite excited too with the way she is bouncing enthusiastically in the car seat, holding her monkey plushie tightly.

Dead!Ethan Winters x Dead!Reader

What happens after we die? Some say heaven, other say it’s an endless abyss. Yet you stand here in the midst of a frozen and desolate landscape. In the distance there is a man who stands alone, quietly staring off into space with glassy red rimmed eyes in deep contemplation. His left hand looks like it’s been eroded away, almost as if he’s made out of stone. “You are part of the mutamycete.” Despite his voice being a quiet whisper, you can hear the slight tremble in his words.

Fifth Lord!Ethan Winters x Reader

Before you stands the man Mother Miranda declared to be the fifth lord of the village. He steps towards you with black raven wings flapping behind him before folding back up into his body. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?” The man’s voice is low and holds no hint of emotion. He dons red eyes with yellow pupils that pierce straight through your soul as if he’s judging you. Waiting for you to speak.

Leon Kennedy x Officer!Reader

With Leon Kennedy joining the Raccoon City Police Department, Lieutenant Branagh figured you’d be the right officer for the job of welcoming and showing Leon around the city. And that’s how you’ve ended up here, casually patrolling the bustling streets of Raccoon with the blonde rookie in tow who currently is nose deep in a tourist pamphlet about the Arklay County. His eyes are filled with intrigue as he reads about the city’s rich history.

Dead by Daylight!Leon x Reader

A heavy fog rolls over the forest, submerging you in complete darkness. One minute you were in the middle of the woods, the next you find yourself by a large campfire that illuminates your new and unfamiliar surroundings. A variety of strangers sit by the heatless flames, bloodied and bruised yet waiting for something. Something to happen maybe? One of them looks up at you, a man with dirty blonde hair and sapphire eyes flashes you a warm grin and pats the space on the log next to him.

Resident Evil Bot Masterlist

#chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re2 #re1 remake #re1 #re2 remake #resident evil

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zelsisi · 4 months

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How to Properly Kill an Emperor...With Your Problematic Sibling

So this is set in SWTOR during Echoes of Oblivion with Outcast's brother OCs Cuyan (Jedi Knight) and Kaden (Sith Warrior). I’m glossing over things here, it's not supposed to be exactly like the Echoes of Oblivion. I changed some things for the sake of this story considering it's on the OCs and not the story itself.

Also! Hi Outcast! @outcastcommander Been awhile vod! We need to talk more again, only if you want tho. I hope you like this piece (yes it was me as the anon asking lol)!

Here's a preview:

When the two heard what was going down here, of course they wanted to help. Except for very different reasons. For example, Kaden wants to put his former Emperor into the grave for good, afterall a lot of things in the galaxy is his fault. The blue eyes of his brother seem to twitch a bit as he catches the thought through the Force. Meanwhile, Cuyan wants to do it for a multitude of reasons. One to help Satele, the former Grandmaster of the Order and the one that helped him down the road he was on. Two, he hates that he agrees with his brother for wanting to just finally put down the major pain in the osik that is The Emperor. So what if he also wanted to get even for all the bullshit he’s been through? It's not that major. Who is he kidding though? Definitely not his brother who obviously caught wind of the thought through the Force and just gave him a look with his white eyes.

Regardless of why they’re doing this, the fact is that they are doing it. Running head long into danger. Again. For the thousandth time at least. A fact that both have been…quite vocal about as they board the ship that holds the ailing bodies and minds of Master Satele Shan and her students, who they find fairly quickly after carving through the Emperor’s Servants and the Scions.

Both of them kneel and close their eyes, using the Force to go into Satele’s mind. The landscape there is of stars and barren landscapes. Illusions of enemies long dead arrive causing them to fight back to back. The brothers activate their sabers, the glow being the only light close enough to them than the stars. Both are fairly aggressive but Kaden is more honorable in his fighting as he jumps from enemy to enemy, emitting force waves and force slams as he goes. He doesn’t take every opening but that’s his way, better to fight honorably than to take a cheap shot. Cuyan, on the other hand, while he does jump around from enemy to enemy, he’s a bit more…dirty. His fists and feet and head, aided by the force, become his secondary weapons. Every opening he sees he takes, even if it's cheap, his style greatly contrasting to his brother’s.

As the fight winds down, Cuyan’s footing slips on an unstable piece of the area as he dodges to the side, leaving him open to a strike which is quickly intercepted by Kaden’s off hand saber being thrown to throw off the strike. The blue eyes sharpen towards him as they deal with the last of them, “I don’ need your help!”

“Clearly. Tell me brother, how would Kira react if you didn’t come back from this?” That shuts up his brother real quick and Kaden can’t help but feel smug at that and gives a small smirk, “Regardless of your capabilities, this enemy is more cunning than most. As you and I have seen first hand as he was the Emperor of the Sith, saw the way he consumed Ziost, and then saw what he did as Valkorion.” Cuyan’s blue eyes go wide as they go through a wide variety of emotions. The fear of being raised by the Sith so much so that he left and later killed the Emperor as a way to face his own demons. The utter failure he felt after Ziost was consumed, he was a Jedi Knight wasn’t he supposed to save as much as he could? And the utter loathing that he felt when he returned inside his own head after killing him as Valkorion. The final part causes a shiver to run down Cuyan’s spine and he realizes how glad he is that his head is free from that…being.

Kaden sighs lowly as he deactivates his sabers, “Regardless of the past we’ve had, we both want to see that bastard dead. So watch my back, I’ll watch yours.” His hand becomes a fist as it hovers over the area of Cuyan’s armor where his heart is. It's a gesture they used to do as kids before they…made very different life choices. Cuyan freezes and watches it, clearly remembering the gesture but still tenses up. Whenever one of them had touched the other recently it was because they were fighting. Kaden pulls back. He doesn’t know if the touch would even be welcome or if he’d allow it. Both of them turn away from the other.

“How touching.” The brothers whirl around at the familiar voice to see Valkorian. Their eyes narrowing and their sabers activating in near synchronization as they spit out. “Valkorion.”

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catohphm · 4 months

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I have some ideas for a Star Wars OC!

An accomplished Jedi master growing wary of the Clone Wars, but very loyal to the Order and his Republic comrades. His world is turned upside down when the Clone unit he's leading on a mission suddenly attempts to execute him as part of Palpatine's Order 66 to eliminate all Jedi for "treason." The Jedi manages to escape the double-cross by taking a tumble off a cliff into a gorge, falling into the stream below. He goes down it for a mile until he leaps onto dry land beside the river bank in the deep crevice within the landscape. Above in the sky, a dogfight takes place between a Republic fighter and a Separatist vulture droid. The Republic fighter is shot down and crash-lands in front of the Jedi in the gorge.

The pilot doesn't survive the crash, whether fortunate or unfortunate. The Jedi is able to recover the survival pack from the wreckage, which contains a scattergun, meant to be a survival weapon for downed pilots. He does his best to bury the dead pilot and dons his flight gear as a disguise. The Jedi stashes his robes and lightsaber in the survival pack. He must then work his way back to his starship so he can escape and figure out what's happening across the galaxy to his brethren in the Order.

Tagging @lanabenikosdoormat for inspiring me to start brainstorming 😂

#star wars #star wars oc

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daftoldwarrior-a · 9 months

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A soft hum resonated through the dense atmosphere as the TARDIS landed gracefully on the desolate planet of Aite. The air was heavy with moisture, causing a damp mist to cling to every surface. None of the infamous creaking or whirring was to be heard upon the landing, thanks to the gentle inputs of her skilled pilots – Theta and River. The duo had opted for a stealthy approach, silently guiding the TARDIS down to the surface, preserving the ship's breaking system and avoiding any unnecessary attention. Something that took Theta many decades to comprehend.

Theta emerged first, cautiously stepping out onto the hard ground, taking a deep breath of the unusual air. The atmosphere was rich in nitrogen and oxygen, similar to that of Earth, but the air felt heavier, almost suffocating with humidity. Despite being non-toxic, the dense atmosphere gave the impression of being trapped in a humid greenhouse.

He turned back to the TARDIS console room, a small grin forming on his face. "See, not toxic, just damp. The only casualties here will be your curls, sweetheart," he playfully teased, knowing well that River might not appreciate his humour at the moment. With a dry chuckle, he decided to step outside completely, leaving the TARDIS door slightly ajar to allow for a swift retreat if needed. Theta donned an outfit similar to the Doctor’s, a black hooded jacket but instead of flashing a flash of red lining it was zipped up.

The landscape that greeted him was eerie and unsettling. The surface of Aite was covered in a thick layer of moss-like growth that had died and curled brown, making every step a soft crunch beneath his boots. It seemed as though the area of the planet had suffered a catastrophic event that had wiped out most of its plant and animal life, leaving behind a barren and stagnant landscape frozen in time.

The foliage around them appeared shrivelled and lifeless, devoid of any greenery or signs of recent growth. Strangely, there were no signs of decay, almost as if everything had been preserved in a state of perpetual dormancy. Even the dead plants crunched beneath his boots, retaining what was left of its fragile form rather than decomposing into the soil.

The lack of life was overwhelming, and Theta couldn't fathom when or what had caused this devastation. It was a silent graveyard of nature, devoid of any sounds or movements that one would expect on a living planet.

River's graceful presence filled the atmosphere as she disembarked from the TARDIS, her brow furrowed in contemplation. Theta had assumed by now the surprisingly desolate environment might cause River to forget his earlier comment; the brief glare from River proved his assumptions wrong. However, the unexpected desolation of the planet surprised her as well. The last time she had been here, the planet Aite was teeming with life – a simple, technologically unadvanced tribe residing in the lush forests and open plains.

Yet, the devastation before them hinted at a technological interference far beyond natural capabilities. The contrast was jarring – a place that should have been teeming with life now held only the echo of a once-vibrant ecosystem.

The reason for their presence on Aite was just as mysterious. Theta had intercepted an encrypted message meant for someone else, a Time Lord on the Council. The message was addressed to his friend Lex, but Theta's TARDIS had intercepted it, pulling them here instead. All it contained were coordinates leading to this unmarked planet and a single enigmatic word: "Awaken." As far as Theta knew, the native people of Aite hadn't even grasped the concept of a telephone, let alone send interstellar encrypted messages.

"Bit dead here, huh?" Theta probed, hoping for some insight from River, whose vast knowledge of archaeological methods often outweighed his own.

"I have a strange feeling that whoever sent us that message was involved in this disaster, and I doubt they were a native," River replied thoughtfully, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any clues that might explain the planet's desolate state.

Theta nodded in agreement, and both of them activated their tracking devices, intending to explore further into this eerie landscape. Hers being a sophisticated datapad while his remained his trusty sonic screwdriver. However, to their surprise, interference disrupted their readings, leaving only two life signs – their own. It was peculiar, considering even microbial life should register on the sensors.

"Seems like something or someone is interfering with our readings.” Theta murmured. River nodded in response, tapping her device with more vigour.

“If that's the case, then whatever caused this is likely still present," River added, pocketing her datapad after it proved ineffective in deciphering the situation.

As they ventured on, the fog only thickened around them, the air growing heavier with each step. The fog obscured their view, making it difficult to discern what lay ahead. They eventually came across a peculiar dip in the soil. The depression seemed to descend further and further down, as if leading them towards an unknown secret hidden beneath the surface. The couple exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them that they might be on the cusp of a significant discovery, yet also possibly wandering into immediate danger.

The dip in the terrain finally revealed itself to be the entrance to an ancient cavern, carved with precision and purpose. Its smooth walls and intricate markings told a story of intelligent design, a creation by hands that wielded knowledge and skill beyond the natural world. The lack of fluid features on the walls and the precision of the carvings made it evident to the couple that this was no natural phenomenon; it was the work of an ancient civilization.

River's eyes gleamed with excitement and curiosity, knowing that they were about to step into the unknown, unravelling the secrets of a long-forgotten civilization. She glanced at Theta, her expression a mix of anticipation and caution. They both understood the risks, but their shared sense of adventure and insatiable thirst for knowledge spurred them forward.

With a solemn nod, they each produced their weapons, their pistols glinting softly in the dim light of the cavern. The safety switches were disengaged, ready to respond to any potential threats that might await them within the depths of the underground chamber.

The moment they stepped inside, the world outside faded away, and the only sounds that filled the cavern were the soft hum of their pistols warming up and the echoing crunch of gravel beneath their feet. The air inside was still and musty, carrying an aura of ancient story waiting to be uncovered.

Their flashlights revealed cryptic symbols and pictograms adorning the walls, narrating a tale of a civilization long gone, whose knowledge and wisdom were now confined to the cold stone. Strange artefacts and relics were scattered and in most cases broken throughout the cavern, remnants of a time lost to history.

As they continued further into the labyrinthine depths, the cavern's dimensions expanded, revealing a vast underground chamber filled with structures that defied explanation. Giant pillars soared towards the ceiling, adorned with ornate carvings and symbols, hinting at the sophistication and artistry of the civilization that once dwelled here.

Amidst the awe-inspiring sight, Theta and River could feel a powerful energy resonating within the chamber, an energy that seemed to pulse with life despite the apparent lifelessness of the planet above. It was as if the very essence of time and space had converged in this ancient underground world, infusing the surroundings with a sense of history and significance.

Their steps echoed in the vast chamber, mingling with the whispers of the past as they delved deeper into the underground sanctuary. With each new revelation, they realised that the secrets of Aite were far more complex than they could have ever imagined.

At the end of the chamber lay a magnificent staircase, adorned with heavy bronze doors decorated with ornate carvings representing various civilizations from across the universe. River paused, her mind working to decipher the enigmatic symbols and sigils etched into the metal.

"Theta, these carvings are not from Aite. Look, this is a sigil from Mondas before they began their work with cybernetics. And this one, it's a battle banner from Skaro, but the craftsmanship is different from the Daleks'. These markings even include symbols from Earth, ancient San runes," River observed, her eyes wide with astonishment. "How could they possibly have knowledge of all these civilizations?"

Theta's hand brushed across the ancient script of his people, his fingers tracing the circular patterns of old Gallifreyan. He, too, marvelled at the intricacy of the carvings and the vast array of languages represented on the doors. Each symbol seemed to translate into the names of the respective civilizations whose languages adorned the bronze.

Yet, it was the markings in the centre of the doors that captivated his attention. Despite his pride in his linguistic skills, Theta couldn't comprehend the meaning of the enigmatic centrepiece.

"River, the words in the middle, can you read them?" Theta asked, hoping that River might help unlock the puzzle.

A heavy silence enveloped the chamber as Theta and River stood before the mysterious bronze doors, their minds buzzing with questions and uncertainty. River shook her head, her voice tinged with both frustration and fascination.

"No, and my datapad refuses to work here. But, I think… this might be the name of the very architects who built this place," she confessed, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Theta furrowed his brow, lost in thought as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble that had already begun to grow on his face. Yet, he had only changed a couple of hours beforehand. It was strange, as if the rate of time itself had shifted.

"Well, whatever caused this is likely behind these doors," River stated firmly, her resolve undeterred. "Now to open them... That might be a challenge."

Theta surveyed the massive bronze doors, realising they lacked handles or any obvious mechanism for opening. Despite his physical strength, he knew that brute force wouldn't work in this case. However, a spark of inspiration lit up his mind.

Stepping back, he motioned for River to do the same, and together, they took a deep breath. River swiftly caught onto Theta’s train of thought. Then, in a hushed voice, Theta spoke a single word, "Awaken."

For a moment, nothing happened, and River raised an amused eyebrow, ready to tease him for trying a mysterious password. But then, a low rumble echoed through the chamber, causing the bronze doors to tremble and materialise away before their very eyes.

A breathtaking sight awaited them on the other side. As the massive bronze doors fully parted, a lush and vibrant garden revealed itself before Theta and River. Bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of a sun-like light hovering near the ceiling, the garden seemed to emanate with life and tranquillity. Flowers of every hue adorned the landscape, their delicate petals gently swaying in an invisible breeze. The air was filled with the intoxicating scents of blooming blossoms, creating an atmosphere of pure serenity.

With their eyes wide in awe, Theta and River stepped into the ancient garden, their senses overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounded them. The once-hidden sanctuary was now a haven of natural magnificence, as if time itself had conspired to preserve this breathtaking sight for the lucky few who would chance upon it.

In the centre of the garden stood a stone table, its surface adorned with intricate carvings and symbols. At its heart rested a small, wooden carving—a seemingly unremarkable ornament that piqued their curiosity. It appeared religious in nature, depicting what seemed to be a celestial figure with outstretched arms, as if embracing the universe itself. The figure was surrounded by other symbols that hinted at profound connections to cosmic forces and the passage of time.

Theta's initial reaction was one of slight disappointment. "That's it?" he responded, glancing at River with a hint of scepticism. Although the garden was a marvel of natural beauty, the small wooden carving didn't appear to be the monumental discovery he had anticipated. "It looks like a child's toy."

River, however, had a contemplative gleam in her eyes, undeterred by the initial impression. She studied the carving more intently, her fingers lightly tracing the intricate engravings. "This might be more significant than it seems," she mused, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Right, you study that, I'm going to look around outside to make sure we didn't miss anything," Theta retorted, feeling a tinge of frustration with the unremarkable centrepiece. He took one last glance around the garden, finding the rest of the room far more interesting than some wooden piece.

River couldn't help but roll her eyes at her partner's impatience. She understood his eagerness to explore further, but she wanted to make sure they handled the artefact with caution and care.

While River continued to study the wooden carving, Theta ventured back into the darker stone cavern, his mind set on exploring for more clues about the mysterious civilization that had built this sanctuary. As he wandered down the steps and around the chamber, he hoped to uncover more secrets that would shed light on the purpose of this place.

Suddenly, an unusual noise caught his attention, emanating from the entrance of the cave. Curious, he shifted his focus to the noise, and his heart sank as he heard voices—distorted by the masks the individuals were wearing. Hiding behind a nearby wall, Theta listened intently, but the language they spoke was familiar, but the static caused by their masks prevented him from understanding their conversation.

However, he sensed something ominous about the strangers approaching. They sounded tense and well armoured, and their voices changed in tone as they edged closer to his hiding spot. Realising that eavesdropping wouldn't be enough, Theta reached into his pocket and pulled out a small mirror, using it to carefully glance around the corner.

His heart raced as he caught a quick glimpse of the group, and his blood ran cold when he recognized them. These were commandos of Rassilon, ruthless and deadly, known for eliminating anyone who stood in their way. Fear gripped Theta as he knew that even with his gun, he was heavily outnumbered and outmatched.

In a desperate bid to warn River, Theta attempted to bolt back to the garden. Plasma fire whizzed by him, too close for comfort but he expertly used the twists and turns of the cavern as cover. But as he reached the open chamber, panic surged through him as he realised there was nowhere to hide.

"River! H—" he called out, his voice choked with urgency, intending to alert her to the danger just as a burning pain tore through his chest. In that harrowing moment, time seemed to slow down, and the world around him blurred into a chaotic frenzy of sights and sounds. He felt the searing heat of the plasma blast, and his hand instinctively reached for his chest, where his hearts beat erratically.

He stumbled and fell to the ground of the ancient chamber, his vision blurred and his strength rapidly fading. The deadly plasma blast had struck his hearts, leaving him gasping for breath and clinging to consciousness. Blood seeped from the wound, pooling beneath him, and he knew that time was running out.

River's head snapped in the direction of Theta's cry, her eyes widening in horror as she saw him stumble, clutching his chest. Her heart raced as she quickly pieced together the dangerous situation they were in. Panic and adrenaline surged through her veins as she grasped the wooden carving and rushed to cover. This clearly was something of importance to them and there was no way she was letting these murderers get their hands on it.

She exchanged fire with the assailants, her shots precise and skilled, but their numbers were overwhelming. She needed to get to Theta, but the crossfire made it nearly impossible. Fear and desperation welled up inside her, but she knew she couldn't give in to panic.

"Theta, hold on!" she called out, her voice filled with desperation. She knew she had to reach him, to try and save him, but the enemy was relentless, closing in from all sides.

It was fight or flight and River refused to leave Theta to bleed out in front of her. She mustered the strength from all her training and fought back twice as ferociously as the enemy. Each shot was well-calculated, and River never missed.

Theta laid face pressed against the stone-cold floor, the only warmth from the pool of blood slowly reaching his face as he watched her fight, praying to every deity he knew that she could get out safely. Each blink made his eyes more weary, more difficult to keep open. His vision faded from a haze to some clarity as he fought hard to focus.

One long blink later, he could feel gentle hands lifting his head, fingers caressing his cheek. River knelt beside him, a small army of commandos laid dead around them. Theta knew he would join them soon enough. He couldn't even regenerate.

River had to hurry; backup was coming in swiftly. She took off her jacket in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. Theta's strength waned, and he struggled to speak.

"River," Theta whispered, his voice weak but filled with love. He tried to reach up to touch her cheek but failed. "You have to go. They're coming. I can't..."

River's heart shattered at his words, but she refused to give in to despair. She had to find a way to save him, to get him out of there. "I'm not leaving you, Theta," she said, her voice determined. "I can't leave you."

"I love you, River," Theta said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Always have... always will."

Tears streamed down River's face as she leaned in to kiss him gently. "I'm not giving up on you, Theta. We'll find a way out of this together," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion.

But even as she spoke those words, she knew the truth. They were trapped, outnumbered, and time was running out. She couldn't bear to lose him, but she also couldn't bear to see him suffer.

Theta tried to smile, glad that even if this was how he died, he managed to warn his wife and save her. His last view would be of her face, in her arms. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, his eyes unable to fight against the weight of death, and his vision finally faded away, his gaze falling to darkness.

With a heavy heart, River reached into her pocket and pulled out her vortex manipulator. She looked into Theta's eyes, his gaze that was filled with love and strength only a moment ago, now empty.

With tears streaming down her face, River activated the vortex manipulator and vanished from the ancient chamber, leaving Theta behind. She materialised in a distant location, far from the danger, but her heart remained with him.

There she could grieve.

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

Although Theta’s vision had died, his mind greedily held onto what oxygen remained, fighting hard to stay alive. The hearing was supposed to be the last sense to go and then Theta found that to be true. Blind, unable to move or breathe, he could hear his wife finally flee. She was safe and he could die in peace.

Yet the sound of footsteps, not those of booted commando but those that were barefooted. This was the last sound he could hear.

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

Many months had passed when Theta awoke, his senses gradually returning to him. He found himself in a hammock made of broad leaves, woven together with remarkable craftsmanship. The room surrounding him was a perfect blend of advanced medical technology and nature's tranquillity. The soft glow of bioluminescent plants illuminated the space, giving it an otherworldly ambiance.

As Theta tried to sit up, he noticed the silhouette of a young man standing nearby. The man's skin had a gentle green tint, and he wore simple beige clothing that seemed to blend seamlessly with the natural surroundings. Mildly startled by Theta's awakening, the man turned to face him before spinning around and calling for assistance.

As Theta's eyes grew heavy, the young man approached him with a now calm demeanour, seemingly aware of the Time Lord's struggle to stay conscious. With a gentle touch, the young man rested his hand against Theta's forehead, emitting a soothing warmth that spread through his body. It was an unusual sensation, as if the young man's touch reached deep into his mind.

The young man spoke in a voice that sounded both familiar and alien, his words carrying a peculiar accent, as if he were speaking in several languages at once. Yet, despite the complexity of his speech, the message was clear and repeated several times, "Find the artefact."

Theta wanted to inquire about the artefact, about who this enigmatic man was, and how he knew about it, but his mind was clouded by fatigue and the effects of his injuries. Before he could voice any questions, a wave of drowsiness washed over him, and he sank back into the comforting embrace of the hammock.

His thoughts drifted into a dreamlike state as he slipped into a deep, restful slumber. The young man's words echoed in his mind, and a sense of purpose resonated within him. Even in sleep, his mind seemed to be searching for the artefact, the toy as he called it earlier. He couldn’t understand the importance yet, but knew even with the flashing visions through his mind, he had to find and restore this artefact.

When Theta regained consciousness again, he found himself resting in a bountiful field, surrounded by vibrant flowers swaying in the gentle breeze. His TARDIS stood several metres away, a comforting sight in the midst of the unfamiliar landscape. Soft cotton-like bandages were wrapped across his chest, indicating that someone had tended to his injuries with care. New clothing, fashioned similarly to his usual attire, adorned his body.

Theta couldn't believe he was still alive. He patted his face and pinched his arm, reassuring himself that he was awake and truly experiencing this miraculous moment. As he took in the beauty of his surroundings, he couldn't help but wonder who had saved him and brought him to this place of tranquillity.

The memory of the young man with the green-tinted skin flashed through his mind, but the building where he had seen him was nowhere to be seen. It was as if it had vanished into thin air. Regardless, Theta felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards those who had taken him in and nursed him back to health.

As he made his way back to the TARDIS, he couldn't shake the feeling that this place held secrets beyond his understanding. The blend of advanced technology and natural wonders left him with a sense of awe and curiosity. All he knew now was to find River and see how she is and if she still held onto the artefact.

#t. a new life #v. the other man #s. key to time and space #spoilersandguns #12th doctor rp #dw rp #Doctor Who RP

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memoirsofasim · 1 year

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When Katrina Caliente disappeared without a trace the sims of Oasis Springs started dead bolting their front doors and stopped walking the streets late at night. There was a big search party in Skyward Palms and neighbors and friends gathered to help the local police. They walked and walked the dry dusty and rocky landscape searching for evidence but found nothing.

Nina and Dina were very close to their mother and they both know that she would never just get up and leave with out saying goodbye. Dina still has hope that her mother is out there somewhere but she is also trying to move forward and focus on her mixology career and her relationship with Don.

Nina is angry. Angry that the police aren’t still investigating, angry that everyone has accepted that her mother is gone. With a job in the criminal career she hopes to find some answers even if it means breaking the law.

#The Sims 4 #TS4 #Caliente #Nina Caliente #Dina Caliente #Don Lothario

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mybeingthere · 9 months

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Clifton Pugh (1924 – 1990) was an Australian artist and three-time winner of Australia's Archibald Prize. One of Australia's most renowned and successful painters, Pugh was strongly influenced by German Expressionism, and was known for his landscapes and portraiture. Important early group exhibitions include The Antipodeans, the exhibition for which Bernard Smith drafted a manifesto in support of Australian figurative painting, an exhibition in which Arthur Boyd, David Boyd, John Brack, Robert Dickerson, John Perceval and Charles Blackman showed; a joint exhibition with Barry Humphries, in which the two responded to Dadaism; and Group of Four at the Victorian Artists Society Gallery with Pugh, John Howley, Don Laycock and Lawrence Daws.

Frank Neilson, photographer, tells about his visit to Clifton Pugh:

Clifton Pugh, one of Australia’s most celebrated artists and three-time winner of the Archibald Prize for portraiture, lived on his 15 acre property “Dunmoochin” at Cottle’s Bridge in country Victoria. Clifton, born in Melbourne on 17 December 1924, was a prolific painter and print-maker of landscape and portrait subjects. He received the honour of Officer of the Order of Australia for his services to art. A staunch supporter of the Australian Labor Party, one of his memorable Archibald wins was for his 1972 painting of Labor Prime Minister Gough Whitlam.

"I first saw one of Clifton’s paintings during the early sixties, and was impressed by the very “Australian” style he used. That painting was of the carcase of a dead animal in the desert, painted in strong yellows and reds, with expressionistic black outlining. I got to know Clifton in about 1988, whilst photographing a series of works he had produced on the theme of Leda and the Swan; for which I used a studio lighting technique I had developed which correctly threw the brush-strokes into relief. They were made into high-quality posters, which Clifton loved, saying that they looked as good as the originals." Continue https://frankneilsen.com.au/gallery/clifton-pugh

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talenlee · 7 months

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Game Pile: Commander Keen — The Kid; id; Tom Hall

youtube

Hey, kid

Hey psst

Ya ever heard of this game, DOOM?

Doom, the Firstest Person Shooter. Before the 2016 game that came out trading on its identity, this name referred to a game that came out in 1993, and was quickly followed by a sequel named Doom 2, then by Quake then by Quake 2, then by Half Life, then Half Life Episode two, then Half life Alyx – and there is a chain of history that defines the literal everyday environment of videogames that is, probably, directly spawned from DOOM. Steam, one of the dominant gaming platforms, is in part the result of people who made a mod for Quake called Team Fortress, which was one of the children of DOOM. A large body of the early architecture making remote gaming possible pre-internet that was made For DOOM started out with a service called DWANGO, which was so successful in Japan that it’s now a major corporation that itself owns Spike Chunsoft, and is owned by Kadokawa, the company that runs Bookwalker. Competing with and attempting to displace the genre of gameplay Doom and its children in Quake created resulted in a shareware distributor called Epic Megagames to create the videogame Unreal and that engine now runs everything including Star Wars TV Shows. Doom is so important to games that for a time that genre of ‘first person shooter’ was known, at one point, as doom clones.

Doom is important.

Doom is so important it’s difficult to express how important it is.

Talking about how important DOOM is to gaming history is like trying to describe the importance of Franz Ferdinand. Except that dude isn’t fun at parties, since he’s dead, while by comparison, you can boot up original Doom right now and still blast around having a great time with a game that largely holds up using a simple system of design tools iterated on endlessly over thirty years. We have never stopped playing DOOM.

When we talk about games being important, we tend to describe games in a way that hints at a sort of historical sequence of necessary steps – hi Ted, I know I’m skirting close to teleology here. You know, the narrative that this game existed so this game can exist so this game can exist. Trust me, I’m not: This is not about how things had to happen, it’s about reflecting backwards on how people say things happened, because they’ve told us. In the same way that 90s terrible RTS Krush Kill N Destroy directly led to the creation of Total Warhammer because it sucked so bad, we know that Doom and its enormous success is what led to the gaming landscape we live in looking like it does now.

DOOM is one of the great landmarks, one of the first touchstones, of the PC gaming landscape that made it relevant to gaming beyond the boundaries of the PC.

With that in mind, let’s not talk about DOOM.

Let’s talk about the game franchise that made it possible for DOOM to exist. Let’s talk about the language of Minecraft, the formation and end of id software’s earliest identity, and an inexplicable cameo by Tom Cruise.

Let’s talk about Commander Keen.

Kicked off in 1990, Commander Keen is a series (kinda) of six games, made and distributed with the at the time new Shareware model of games. They’re adventure stories, focused on the adventures of one William Joseph Blazkowicz II, aka ‘Billy Blaze.’ Incredibly smart, with an IQ of 314, Billy is an inventor, who at the age of only eight, has been tinkering away in his backyard, even making a spaceship out of junk from around the home. For reasons at that point uncertain, he dons his older sister’s football helmet, and declares himself Commander Keen! Defender of something or other, depending on the text. All we know really, about Billy at this point, is that he’s a plucky kid, he’s a boy genius, and he’s going to solve problems himself.

It’s Calvin and Hobbes, but the spaceship is real and the sense of humour is grim.

Shareware was a really cool way to get games back in the way – you were given free licence to distribute some or even all of a game, as shareware, but the people who made it asked you to send them some money to register the copy, as a thanks for the program you had. Sometimes registering shareware would also get you more of the game or product. Doom was shareware, Wolfenstein was shareware, almost every game distributed by Apogee and Epic Megagames were some sort of shareware, and shareware was the way that good, easily distributed games became popular and made money enough to sustain their development. That meant that a lot of games of this time were divided up into chapters, so they could shareware the first part and then sell the rest. Such is it with Commander Keen’s first three games, the Vorticon Trilogy.

First up we have Marooned on Mars. In this story, while his parents are off having a nice dinner, Keen sneaks out and goes to Mars. As you do. He explores around a bit, and when the time comes to head home, finds his spaceship, the Bean-with-Bacon Megarocket, has had four of its parts nicked, and now you’ve gotta go explore the world to find them. Along the way, you encounter the aliens of Mars, which range from the friendly Yorps – one-eyed goofy friendly problems that run into you and push you into things but are just trying to be friendly – to the deadly Gargs – giant two-eyed monsters that can race at high speed towards you to kill you – and finally the pajama-clad Vorticons. Not Vortigaunts, they came along later, but builds on my theory that this game is part of the lineage that leads to Half Life 3.

Vorticons are a kinda-dog-alien that isn’t from Mars with the mysterious ability to jump. The Vorticons are connected in some nebulous way to the plot to keep Keen stranded on Mars,which they didn’t just try and do by waiting by the Megarocket and kill Keen, but you know, we take those. You thwart their plot, usually by shooting these Vorticons, you drop an enormous weight on their leader, and then make your way home.

This was the shareware episode of the trilogy, so it’s the one most people of the time are likely to know. It dropped in December 1990, and gave you 16 levels to peek around in. It was brightly coloured and had big, detailed (for the time) sprites. In purely technical terms, it’s incredible, but not in ways that most people would ever even notice. It’s a real classic videogame of its type, and you might be forgiven for asking ‘well what’s the big deal’ to look at it. This is definitely a type of game that looks unremarkable to the Nintendo market at the time – it’s basically a slightly higher resolution version of something like Super Mario Bros, and maybe a bit more of an exploration game than a to-the-right hold-on-tight plotless execution game.

We got a lot of videogames early on in the history of shareware that were ultimately exploration games. Drop you into a space to look around, and then gives you stuff to find that lets you win the game. A lot of them were about going to some strange distant place, and walk off with the treasure. This particular narrative, from a designer perspective, is really desireable because it encourages you to get involved with a place and look around for things you might want, but also it’s a trend you’ll see come up in a lot of conversations around colonialism in games. Yes, I’m saying Paginitzu is probably racist. And yes, that game series goes places, but we’re not talking about Paganitzu here. We’re talking about Commander Keen1, Marooned on Mars.

What Commander Keen does is that instead of putting you in the shoes of a coloniser, it puts you in the shoes of an explorer who has been trapped. Keen shows up on Mars to look around (because dang that’s cool), but his goal isn’t the enrichment of the self, it isn’t his own treasure and loot, it’s rather reclaiming earth artifacts that the Martians seem to have stolen (why do they have Pepsi?) and the tools taken from him to stop him from escaping.

Mars’ history, as we understand it, is that there are the Yorps and the Gargs. Gargs, violent and aggressive, ruled over the Yorps for year and built a civilisation on Mars, and then in 1976, humans accidentally killed the King of the Gargs by dropping a exploratory probe on him at speed (based). Then the civilisation was fractured, and all these city states are left to fend for themselves… and then the Vorticons show up and take over a few places. It’s weird because in a way, as much as this silly aesthetic holds together. In the context of trying to make a game that looked and felt like the Mario Bros, short for Brossentias, It’s kind of just videogame stuff… and it tells you about a colonised people at war and their attempts to ensnare a stranger into their mess.

I believe this to be entirely, one hundred percent accidental.

Alright, so, moving on to the next game! Keen fixes the Bean With Bacon Megarocket and flies back home to earth before his parents come home from their nice dinner out (this was a thing that could happen in the 90s, it’s wild). Anyway, they arrive home and check in on Billy. Finding their beloved son faking being asleep, they’re about to go to bed themselves before they notice the Yorp he brought home. Rather than contend with it so late at night, his parents promise to talk about it in the morning and go to bed.

Once his parents have gone to bed, though, Billy sneaks out again, because now he has to deal with the huge floating battleship next to Earth that he saw on the way home.

This begins the second game , where you now have to quest your way through a battleship, which has guns trained on a bunch of important(?) earth cities. If you want, you can even fire the guns, ending the game and blowing up a city you think sucks. But it’s the same basic energy as the first game: Find your way through levels, avoid baddies, shoot things, explore secrets, and break the right machines so you can get out and go home.

In any given trilogy you run the risk of creating the ‘middle’ problem. The middle of a story doesn’t usually get to do anything because the stakes are set up in the first part and resolved in the third, so the middle can feel like padding. The Earth Explodes avoids that because it is still an interesting game with its own exploration mechanic to it, and a real consequence for failure, its own stakes, but the why isn’t explained. It is a detour but not an unrelated detour.

3.1

Also, this game has a gun. It’s not Keen’s first gun. His first gun is the one you pick up from the surface of Mars, not one of the things Keen makes himself. That’s also where he gets the pogo stick which was maybe some sort of alien artefact they stole from Earth a long while ago, sometime after 1919. Don’t get bogged down in those details. The point is, the gun in Commander Keen is external to the self. He gets his first gun in the first level, and it’s marked with a sign that he can’t read.

This gun is essential to completing the game – there is a final puzzle that cannot be solved without access to the gun. Also along the way, numerous lethal threats can be contained with the gun – enemies that are willing to kill Keen are shot, and stop. Some things won’t stop when shot, and some things are only annoying when they’re un-shot, but basically the gun is framed as a tool for protecting Keen himself.

In the mothership, you pick up your next gun, which seems largely the same as the last gun, but stronger – it can now best Vorticons in only one hit – and you’re off. Keen disables the many guns of the mothership and is presented with very few opportunities for a truly pacifist run. While the nature of the game doesn’t make shooting enemies absolutely 100% required, it is definitely necessary for a blind playthrough, and level design makes any alternative pretty much impossible for playskill levels that doesn’t rely on speedrunning pixel-perfect tricks. This is a game where the gun is essential (for breaking the ship’s plot-critical guns, as gun feeds on gun) and presented as part of solving problems.

But there is an optional level you can do, where you find, after a long passage that has involved shooting some more Vorticons, a frozen Vorticon. The frozen Vorticon tells you that first of all, the Vorticons are mind controlled at the behest of the Grand Intellect. All of them.

Then it asks you not to kill them.

This carries with it two horrifying realisations. First, to proceed through the rest of the game with this knowledge requires knowing that you are killing Vorticons, helpless slaves in their own bodies. That’s bad. That’s a rough challenge for a game that is, at the least, a bit unfair about how it distributes difficulty and spawns sprites in its enormous, chunky, vertical-over horizontal engine. This game isn’t easy, and I haven’t finished it without shooting, despite my time trying.

The other thought is that you’ve already killed people! The Vorticons aren’t an alien nothing, the guns you shoot on Mars aren’t knocking people out, they’re killing people, and the killing was done without you necessarily knowing. Though I guess there wasn’t a way to nonviolently crush the Vorticon captain.

The justification – that they are threatening you and may kill you – is perhaps compelling (and we’re not going to get into the Juul-side idea of how multiple lives interact with the game fiction), but even then that’s not necessary because why is this game about being an 8 year old super scientist so dark all of a sudden, and also, all along.

It’s one of those things that I think is part of how Tom Hall got along in id software early on. There’s a bleakness, a schlockness to it, and it is pretty funny to realise the game at one point goes ‘hey, blood is on all our hands. Anyway, doot de doo, go get some teddy bears.’

This is an interesting example of what structuralist game examination, the kind Gerard Geanette never does, calls hypertext. Text is the work, a participation in the media, then there’s paratext, the zone of media created to experience that media, which includes things like interviews about the work, the box it came in, the way your room changes your perception of the light. There’s also subtext (things in the text implied but not stated), and supertext (things the text says that it has in common with other unrelated works), as well as metatext (the way the text replicates trends in other, related works), and finally, finally we get to hypertext.

Hypertext is the way a text changes when you participate in the same text multiple times. First coined when describing interactive fiction (like Twine games!) Hypertext is the conceptual space where videogames can thrive. Hypertext is how you can develop a view of a text by iterating over it again. Sometimes this means rewatching a movie with a twist ending, or watching a movie for the thirtieth time and seeing all the technical details in it now you can appreciate them, or maybe it can mean reading a book twice, with a ten year gap in between. The point is, hypertextuality is using the text to examine the text.

In this case, the first time I finished Commander Keen 2, I never thought about the moral implication of the shooting, because I figured the enemies would get back up. Some of them did. Some were immune. And they were shown falling over, or bouncing and glaring or being surprised at their state. Also, it was a boy’s adventure! There was no need to think about the morality of the violence because the story was more focused on exploration and making that violence relatively low impact. You don’t see blood or violence or injury. Just, well, enemies are zapped.

Once you know about this other point – that the gun works, the gun kills, and nobody you kill in game 2 deserves it – the entire game changes. You can’t not know about it. It was true whether you knew it or not, and the game has no intention of making you feel good about whether or not you engaged with that.

That is some heavy stuff to drop on an 8 year old!

Commander Keen 3, Keen Must Die, is the capstone of the first trilogy, and is meant to be a kind of finale for the character (for now). While one is an escape and two is a rescue, three is a weird kind of journey to confrontation, and the first real representation of something you could consider a boss monster in this otherwise runny-jumpy looky-shooty game. In 3, Keen travels to the homeworld of the Vorticons to do battle with the Grand Intellect, who is both in charge of the invasion force and directly out to get Keen, personally. To defeat the Grand Intellect, he fights his way through the normal homes and lives of the Vorticons, which have been militarised and made into defences for the Intellect.

The intellect, who you then discover, right at the very end is your rival!

No!

Way!

Who you’ve never heard of before this point!

It’s Mortimer Mcmire. Not Morty Maxwell. That was a different 90s videogame villain, second Super Solvers reference ding.

Why does he want to blow up the earth? Well, because everyone there sucks and he’s smarter than him. That is to say, Mortimer McMire believes that everyone in the world who doesn’t test well on an IQ test compared to him deserves to die, and in that way this game was remarkably prophetic about the state of nerd culture in 2023, yikes. Mortimer’s IQ is 315. Billy’s is 314. You know, pi reference. Mortimer, knowing that he’s smarter than even the smartest other kid in the world, has resolved that he can blow up the world and lose nothing. Which, if nothing else, you have to respect the scope of the pettiness.

Structurally, 3 is Billy kind of presented as an aggressor and it’s for a strange purpose. He’s on the Vorticon’s home planet to try and find the person imprisoning them and liberate them, but in the process of liberating most of them he’s going to certainly kill a lot of them. Including several children. The story even makes a point of it: The final narration says that you’re crowned and hailed as a hero by the Vorticons you haven’t slaughtered.

Cough, pause, anyway.

Something you might have noticed so far is that despite being games full of levels for you to play, the narratives of each Keen game quietly ask you to finish the game with as little time spent in the game as possible. In the first game, you’re under a time crunch – you have to get your ship repaired before your parents come home. In the second game, your priority is the destruction of the guns on the ship, and you don’t really care about the other things on the mothership. In the third game, you’re exploring the everyday homes of the mind controlled Vorticons, who you know definitely don’t deserve to be killed.

It’s interesting because this kind of game is one where the fun of the game is usually in exploring and playing them. There’s reward in the form of points from doing a level and looking around in it and finding stuff. They make you stronger or better though, Pogo stick aside, you never get better, you just get lives and points and ammunition. The first time through the game you’re trying to find the end of the game, but after that point, on the second play through you’re left playing a game where your optimal path through the narrative is playing as few levels as possible.

These are games that narratively invite speed runs.

Oh there’s more to it of course, like there’s a whole narrative about Mortimer McMire, and the idea of Billy having a villainous opponent. Across seven games, then, there’s a chance we’ll see more development from this character, right?

Right?

(Not really).

This game also gives you the first full translatable cipher of the Standard Galactic Alphabet, which is used to decorate all the signs around the levels. When you find this secret area it lets you finally go back and translate all the other notes you’ll find written in this.

Like you see in Minecraft.

Yeah! Minecraft’s little weirdo script of enchantments? That’s from Commander Keen.

Does this mean anything? Not really. I guess Hatsune Miku is a fan of 90s shareware videogames.

Thus ends the first three games of the Commander Keen saga. But those are the games as game texts, things for immediate critique. The games are boxes you reach into and you move the parts around inside them. What about the box outside the box? What about the machine that made the game, the id software that started a genre that defined an industry? And where does Tom Cruise figure in? And I know, I know, if you’re a super nerd who knows the origin of Doom you may think you know how Tom Cruise is involved, but no, it’s not that.

Commander Keen was a game made to solve a problem. Before Commander Keen, the PC videogame market had an unsolved problem, and it was a problem that the consoles of the time, the Sega Genesis and Super Nintendo, could handle easily. The question was about smooth scrolling to create a space. If you looked at videogames from before Commander Keen, it’s very rare to see a game where a game entity, like a player, walked forwards and the screen moved with you.

Instead, you were likely to see screens that split things up bit by bit, or limited the movement of the player to big, chunky steps, because what it was secretly doing was drawing simple tiles and keeping a protagonist moving slowly was a good way to keep the buffer from being overwhelmed.That’s how other games, such as the Super Solvers, handled their Ageless-Faceless-Gender-Neutral-Culturally-Ambiguous-Adventure-Person, waddling along at a fixed rate in a slow scrolling background in fixed distances. These fixed steps meant that

Even then, you’ll notice, the screen loading is weird and feels choppy. This creates a phenomenon called ‘tearing,’ where layers of the screen load differently to one another.

Okay, so, scrolling backgrounds and fluid movement. It was a thing EGA based PC games could do, but couldn’t do it fast, they couldn’t do it fluidly, and they also couldn’t do it in a way that handled input from players and allowed for fast reactions.

The problem was the EGA chip, or ‘Enhanced Graphics Adaptor.’ It was a lot better than its predecessor, the CGA Colour Graphics adaptor, but both were pretty ugly. CGA could manage four colours, but EGA? It stepped up to sixteen whole colours. The VGA was years away and the EGA was the industry standard for PC Games, and what it could absolutely not do is Nintendo-style smooth scrolling. Now I’m not going to try and give you a lesson in how the EGA chip handled things, because I can’t, and even if I tried, it would just be me copy-pasting into my script from Masters of Doom. The solution, as best I can describe it is that they simply lied to the graphics display about what they were loading.

Rather than try to load the whole level on demand, at any given point, you were loading A Little Bit More of the level than you could see, and moving that grid of extra space around. You had one full tile on each edge, – you showed a 15×15 square of screen tiles, but you were loading a 17×17 square – and when you moved over one, you didn’t load a neverending thread in that direction, you were just moving the invisible tile off the edge into the visible area, unloading the ones that just left, and loading into the freshly emptied space. Rather than ‘on demand’ it was a sort of ‘just in time’ delivery system for visual information.

When it comes to this kind of ingenuity, you hear that and I bet, if you’re one of my very smart graphic friends with lots of technical knowledge and bappy wolf paws, you go ‘duh.’ But also this was being done on a chip that could manage eight kilobytes of graphics at a time. For comparison, the plain text Wikipedia page on ‘kilobyte’ is 227 kilobytes. The plain text of this script is – at this point of six thousand words – thirty kilobytes. Eight clapping emojis is about eight kilobytes. Eight kilobytes is very small, and using a space that small to process smooth visuals, atl east the first time was very, very impressive.

Commander Keen isn’t the first thing they made with this. The first thing they made was Dangerous Dave in Copyright Infringement, which was a proof-of concept where they made a Super Mario Bros level that ran fluidly and correctly on an EGA computer. This was a disk famously left on Romero’s desk after Carmack spent all night making it work, and was a proof of concept that the PC could do the kinds of games they wanted to do, that they could make the things they wanted to make the way they wanted to make. In a lot of ways this technology is what let id software form, going from a business in potential to people with a product.

A year before Commander Keen 1 came out, the MCGA and VGA chipsets dropped and EGA was a dead chipset walking. When Commander Keen was out, it was already running on old tech. But PC gaming moved slowly, people weren’t going to update their video card to run one game – and making a game that ran on the computer most people had was necessary.

After the closure of the Vorticon trilogy, what next? Well, next up was the ‘lost’ chapter of Commander Keen: Keen Dreams, released only months ahead of the next ‘real’ Commander Keen game, in mid 1991. Keen Dreams marked a turning point in Commander Keen design. Where the first games were about overcoming a technological impossibility (as they perceived it), Keen Dreams was a game to address a new problem: Legal obligations.

Commander Keen was a success! Id software had the money to make themselves into a proper company! They could stop working it as a hobby while doing a day job, pulling together the early dream team of Johns Romero and Carmack, Tom Hall, and Adrian Carmack. Together this squad left their job at Softdisk Software to make a new company.

Except there was suddenly a little spike in the tail – because it turns out they’d developed Commander Keens 1-3 on Softdisk’s computers, in their off time at work. Id, considering the situation, and really, really wanting to make their own games rather than being on the hook to keep being part of Softdisk, made a deal to settle this misuse of company machinery. The deal was that they’d make several games for the Softdisk Gamer’s Edge subscription service. This deal was, essentially, a shareware game a month. Id delivered on this and sure, the games had a fairly healthy ‘guess that’ll do’ vibe. Educational games, puzzle games, a mah-jong game, things that can be made pretty easily and the question of how well you do is a matter of polish. They weren’t all walk-it-in style friday-night-of-the-assignment games though. There wer the two pre-doom first person shooters Hovertank 3d and Catacomb 3d, and the Very id vibes game Dangerous Dave In The Haunted Mansion.

And there was Keen Dreams.

Keen Dreams is a… decent game. It’s fine. It’s alright. It’s definitely weaker than Keen 4 and a little bit better than Keen 3. There’s less game here than you’d think, less spectacle, less fun exploration. Enemies are all based on vegetables, and usually, some variety of pun or playing with words that sounded similar. You’re going to run through places that are, well, also puns or wordplays, find keys, collect Flower Power for flinging at baddies, in an attempt to defeat the villain of the story, the leader of all the vegetable kingdoms, Boobus Tuber.

Keen Dreams is definitely a Commander Keen game; it’s about Commander Keen. It was the first of the VGA Keens released but not the first made. It was essentially . Now, the remaining three Keens (4, 5 and 6) use this base engine, but they have a very different style. They continue Keen’s adventures into space while Keen Dreams is focused instead on the story of Keen being a child. The first adventures were about getting up to something exciting when left to your own devices and your parents were out at dinner, or dealing with a school bully, while Keen Dreams is about not wanting to eat your vegetables and having a nightmare about being tormented by food you don’t like.

The whole game has a lot of what I think of as Tom Hallness to it. There’s a really deliberate lightness to the whole thing – Tom’s reported that his parents weren’t happy with how the Vorticons in Commander Keens 1-3 left behind corpses, because, y’know, you were killing them. In Dreams, instead, your Flower Power seeds that you throw at enemy vegetables, they just turn them into flowers for a bit. When you ‘die’ you don’t even do the classic wiggle-bounce that other Keen games do. You fall asleep. It’s just a gentle game, really.

It’s weird then, that Keen Dreams has a failure state.

The Commander Keen games are relatively robust. They’re not glitch-free, by any means, with the first three games having holes in the ceiling you can thwack into, the ways Dreams lets you sneak keys out of levels, 4’s death warps and 5’s door manipulation, or the most ridiculous thing you can do in Keen 6. Still, the games are, for the most part, an engine dedicated to to handling scrolling correctly.

Levels are largely about just moving – running, jumping, climbing, predicting your jumps and your awareness of vertical or horizontal arcs. They’re pretty much simple iterations on simple objects, and there aren’t a lot of things that can do things that create weird glitchy situations. Plus, the way that you die to almost everything dangerous means that if you’re ever stuck, the game will usually default to just killing you off, and that kicks you out of the game. You may not win, but the game doesn’t lock up, with nothing to do, while it deprives you of ways to advance.

Also, to make the exploration more safe, Keen games tend to be designed as a sequence of levels you can do in almost any order. That means outside of skipping the Pogo in Keen 1, it’s very hard to make whole levels unwinnable by dint of a choice in the earlier game, and it’s not like the Pogo is hard to get.

In Keen Dreams, to kill Boobus Tuber, you need things called Boobus Bombs. Those bombs are scattered throughout the world in sets of three, and in a number of levels in hidden spots – you can finish those levels without getting the bombs. That presents the possibility that you can finish all the game’s levels without getting enough Boobus bombs and find yourself running around in a game world that cannot be finished. There are seven levels with Boobus bombs in them, which means it’s possible to finish four of the sixteen levels, and by not getting the Boobus bombs there, meaning the game doesn’t have enough Boobus bombs in it to finish the game.

It’s a byproduct of freedom and it’s an example of something id games normally design around. It’s a lesson that most of the subsequent Keen games avoided. It’s a phenomenon that you might be familiar with in the Sierra game space as dead man walking syndrome, where the game is bricked, but you won’t know it’s bricked until you’ve spent a lot more energy exhausting your alternatives.

Oh and you don’t have a pogo and you can’t grab ledges, which means that Keen Dreams doesn’t control a lot like either previous or subsequent games.

But okay enough faffing around with the ‘lost chapter,’ this Contractually Obligated All Just A Dream Keen. What about the next place for the story to go?

Commander Keen 4: Goodybe Galaxy! Billy Blaze is off cruising the galaxy again looking for fun on the weekend, and he hears a distress call. Investigating it he finds that there’s a new threat to reality, but to understand them he’s going to need some heavy duty information gathering, which he does by approaching the Gnostiscene Ancients on the planet known as the Shadowlands. Thus begins another journey of Keen to the fire level, the water level, the ice level, the … hole… level? To find the eight beardie dudes and their janitor (if you’re good).

At its heart, the game is a treasure hunt, like Commander Keen 1 and 2. You arrive in a top-down world where you move around between a bunch of little places of interest, and these are levels. These locations of interest can bar your way to progressing to other locations, and there are other locations that are further barred by less obvious means. For example, there are some islands you can’t get to at first, and there’s no obvious adjacent level to beat to work out a way to progress. There are only about eight levels you ‘need’ to finish (some levels gate other levels), where you can find the eight Gnostic mystics that will be able to divine your needed information and win the game.

Keen 4 was the chapter almost everyone got to play, because it was free to share, because, like I said, shareware. It also was brightly coloured, had vibrant music if you had an adlib or soundblaster, and it didn’t feature lots of blood or guts, the way that videogames were parodied as being at the time. You weren’t shooting things with a laser gun that killed them (any more). Basically, Commander Keen 4 was easy to distribute and worth distributing. You’d use it to show off what your computer could do, and you could just straight up give someone a game for the cost of a disk as a present. That normally is enough to make a game a nostalgic classic, because videogames of the 90s were in many cases there to be something you reused until you absolutely had wrung everything out of it. In the case of Commander Keen 4, though, it’s a merciful coincidence that the game is also really quite good.

An interesting question is what are these places? If you look around the environments of Gnosticus IV, you’ll find that a lot of these places are designed to reflect a space people don’t necessarily live but where they do go. Locations like Slug Village, Border Village, Hillville and even the Perilous Pit are all clearly places people live, as you can tell by the number of doors and lodgings, even if they’re not exactly fleshed out with beds and the like. They’re all village-shaped, with a sort of villagey-ness to them. There are large forts, like Sand Yego and probably Crystalus, places that have some purpose that implies a construction, and there are pyramids, which imply mysteries and hidden knowledge with things like runic iconography.

This is of course, a byproduct of tilesets and the limited colour palette of VGA graphics. Oh, you could put 256 colours on the screen, but loading them and moving them around made scrolling less excellent, so if you made everything out of standardised tiles that you can bolt together, you get things to load faster. This is why very few levels have any unique visual elements – oh, they’re sometimes elements from another level, but aside from Miragia, most levels look like a unique combination of elements rather than a unique element. Which is also pretty cool, small numbers of parts used well.

Goodbye Galaxy is a mid-point game; it’s in a way, the kind of story you’d see as 2 of a trilogy, rather than the start of one (though, it and its sequel were conceived as a pair, not a trilogy). It’s because what you’re doing, the thing you’re after, primarily, is information. Billy is trying to rescue eight grumpy old men who can commune with a really powerful artifact (in a funny way) and get information Billy needs about how to stop the Shikadi.

If you look at videogames of this period, the typical end of any given game is killing something. The plots of these games may sometimes have made that end goal – a boss monster – something that may have impeded information, or may, like in games like Bio Menace, reveal to you that hey, actually there’s something else you didn’t know about, now. Now, I’m not getting all functional determinist here, I’m not trying to argue that because videogames express violence that’s all their good for, because it’s kinda dumb? But the premise of Goodbye Galaxy isn’t that you’re finding an artifact broken into pieces, or build a weapon, or awaken some evil you can kill, but instead you’re trying to find people, who can explain something to you. There’s something to be said about the instrument the game is shaping, and what matters to Billy.

There’s something weirdly sweet in all that, too: Billy is trying to learn something, and as much as it can be metaphorised, all of this game is about that quest for discovery. Oh, sure, he still gets through it with a stun gun, but there’s questions you have to answer on the way to building that collection of eight elders.

There’s something weird about this because we often see the question of ‘middle’ stories in trilogies as being hard to do. In Goodbye Galaxy, they don’t bother introducing or explaining the story (which they could do as their own thing), but if they had done a story introducing the conflict, then Goodbye Galaxy would be a nearly perfect example of a middle story. You know there’s a problem, you don’t know how to solve it, and you look for a solution that makes a game mechanical demand out of finding not the solution, but finding out how to find it out.

Anyway, what I’m saying is Commander Keen 5 is the real Half Life 2: Episode 3

One final note about this, though is this: The music in Commander Keen 4 is nothing but bangers.

Commander Keen 5 is kind of the last full conclusion that Commander Keen got. Not a shareware game, and arriving on the scene as BBSes were getting to the point of being able to pirate games a bit more readily, it was apparently a real good seller, at least according to id when asked about it. In 5, you’ve found and boarded the Shikadi’s Armageddon Machine, and have to travel to all the different parts of a great big ship – again – to disable all the bits of the machine that are going to do something bad – again – until you encounter a final stage that involves doing something a tiny bit different, and that’s new.

It’s back to exploring a location with more of Keen running jumping climbing fighting. This time instead of encountering wildlife and living creatures, he’s mostly fighting fighting against ship security, and guard robots and the occasional hapless system operator that can completely mess with the game code if it touches you accidentally.

By the time we reach The Armageddon Machine, the game definitely has a feel of mastery to it. There are more secrets designed to play with your expectations and assumptions. Monsters are a little more time-crunched, and there’s also the biggest monster in all the games, the wonderfully enormous big red robot. The levels are a bit more interwoven, a bit more easy to get lost. Reading the tea leaves I feel like the game is just a bit larger and made by people more familiar with the tools they were using, but also… I might just be getting that vibe because I’m less familiar with it.

Where Goodbye Galaxy was populated by monsters that were meant to be the native wildlife and weirdo beasts in the existing Shadowlands, the Armageddon Machine is a spaceship, set up and set aside from its environment. Everything in it is something that’s meant to be there, things with a purpose and a reason to be where they are.

Because someone chose to make them that way.

Because someone – someone human – is guiding these monsters. That’s right, once more the revelation is that the story of Commander Keen episodes 4 and 5 is about Mortimer McMire, and you can tell because uh

They’ll answer that later.

But yeah, monsters in Aramagddeon Machine are a lot more directly and deliberately malicious and a lot less whimsical. There’s no slugs that poop or charming friendly bouncer balls, or even just things that you can point at and see as creatures just living their lives. There’s a lot more mechanical, a lot more purpose to the game and its setting. But while Shocksunds may be cute, there’s something so much more charming about Goodbye Galaxy’s monsters, what with things like the pooping slugs and the Sneaky Rocks.

And then, finally, we reach the last game in the Keen Heptalogy, Aliens Ate My Babysitter.

Gosh, it’s just a nice one to look at. Or maybe that’s just me.

Keen 6 is set on the world of Fribbulous Xax, where Billy’s babysitter has been kidnapped to. It means you get a mix of the beautiful outdoor environments of the style of Goodbye Galaxy, but along with that, you also get the wonky, weird factories and buildings of the Bloogs as they emulate human society. There’s a really fun, charming aesthetic here that feels, again, to me, very Tom Hall, where there’s an inherent comedy in a world full of extremely stupid versions of things we’re already familiar with.

There’s a lot more funny, silly style to the monsters of Fribbulous Xax. A lot more silly words, things like you’re not breaking fuses and destroying elaborate machines, you’re getting the second biggest sandwich you’ve ever seen. There’s a grappling hook that you can’t really use but can kinda pretend you’re using! The bloogs have factories but run around in them smacking the ground with big clubs to guard things!

Iii love Keen 6. It has also one of the most ambitious end-games of all of them, with the final level being essentially a maze that’s explicitly trying to play with your memory and perceptions. It’s all in a very 1990s aesthetic, in the odd colour scheme and the wonky architecture, intestine walls and high tech flaming orbs.

Uh, Commander Keen 6: Aliens Ate My Babysitter is the most broken of the keen games, with a big bug that you would never discover if you weren’t actively trying to push glitches in speedrun tests. You see, somehow, the bullets your stun gun fires are considered objects – so if you execute the particular technique right, Keen stands on the bullet as he shoots it, which launches you in a straight line across most of the level. It makes Keen 6 one of the more shocking games to watch in speedruns.

Shout out to CapnClever for teaching me this trick.

Keen 6 ended with a promise of a final confrontation with Sir Not Appearing In All But One Of These Games, Mortimer McMire. This final confrontation never happened, for perhaps obvious reasons: There were no other Keen games. The license for Keen doesn’t really belong to id any more, and the people who made the first games all moved on to another stage of their lives, and other projects.

I like talking about Keen in light of Doom in part because Doom is so significant and important , but also because it’s this mix of adolescent and selfserious. It’s a game with murder and blood and demons and rocket launchers and chainsaws and it doesn’t feel like the followup game to a bunch of games about collecting teddy bears on Mars. It’s very easy to look at the gap in aesthetics between Commander Keen and Doom and Quake and ask ‘what happened? Did they lose something that made this kind of game not work any more?’

And kinda, yeah. The answer is Tom Hall. Tom Hall was the lore and fiction guy, the storyteller (and other stuff, I don’t mean to imply he just wrote documents all day) of the early id days. Famously, he didn’t have a lot to do on Doom and all the work he did on Quake was scrapped – and if you wanna know what that work was like, you can find it in the Ordering Info for Commander Keen, where that game describes the ambitious story of the future, of the game they want to make, far off in the future where you play a hammer-swinging demigod called Quake.

I don’t mean to just retell Tom Hall’s story. Hall moved on after id to work on games like Rise of The Triad and Terminal Velocity, both great games on their own terms, Anachronax which was at the very least an interesting game. It even fails to deliver on its plot and assumes it’ll get a sequel, in the true Commander Keen tradition. Nowadays, if you look him up on social media, he’s mostly spending his time playing with games, offering advice to other developers, and doing weird experiments like a game whose whole code base can fit inside two standard sized toots.

Tom Hall is responsible for the Dopefish’s design. He’s responsible for Commander Keen, along with others, of course.

It might suck to have his story have this wrinkle where id software pushed him out because they didn’t need him, but also: I suspect he’s pretty fine, now.

… Okay, so that’s Minecraft, Tom Hall, and is there anything I’m forgetting?

Oh! Oh yeah, there is!

Tom Cruise! Of course!

What are you thinking I mean relates to Tom Cruise in this project?

If you’re a particular kind of nerd, you might be thinking about how Tom Cruise is the guy who’s responsible for the name of Doom, based on this clip from Risky Business.

But no.

That’s about Doom.

That’s not about Commander Keen.

The traditional way to talk about id software is about its genesis. There’s usually the vision of the company as being at its heart, the intersection of the work between John Carmack and John Romero, usually as seen as being two guys in their early 20s, after major life changes, given the freedom and space to work with one another. But did you ever wonder how they met?

They met because they were both recruited, to make videogames, by a guy called Jay Wilbur. Jay was the guy recruited by Softdisk to make videogames for them, and he recruited Carmack and Romero, seeing a programmer and a game creator who both had the minds to work on the kinds of project he wanted them to make at Softdisk. And Jay Wilbur, who is now, the vice president of business at Epic Games, before he worked for Softdisk?

He was the guy who taught Tom Cruise how to mix drinks in a showy, theatrical way for the movie Cocktail.

There, I think I got most of the things you’d find if you just read the book Masters of Doom by David Kushner.

This video was the product of months of work, if you can call writing like this work, per se. It was originally meant to be a thing a lot like the text-and-video work like the Super Solvers. As it is, that didn’t work out for the schedule so instead I’ve just slowly chiselled away at the script for this one.

So hey, if you’re the kind of person who thinks that my short videos are bad, tell me about it, and tell me if you liked this. Or if you’re the kind of person who thinks my long videos are bad, tell me why this is bad. What I’m saying is please, give me feedback, I crave attention.

And of course: This was made with the support of my patrons over on patreon, and I thank you so much for that.

#Game Pile #Games

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nothingrpgzone · 4 months

Text

Upon the Northern Isthmus: The Afterlife and Undeath

The Afterlife

In death there is the gravhela. After death the dead begin their trek to the bottom of the world. Deep underground in the cold and dark beyond the Death Goddesses’ lake sits the realm of gravhela. The winds are cold and biting, there is no light. The only solace is ale provided down there erases all memories of what you were before you died, so your soul can finally rest.

Virtuous or Vile when you die gravhela waits.

One cannot let the certainty of death hold you back, you will be born, you will do what The Weird demands, and you will die. Shirking this fate is cowardice.

The Undead

Ghosts and Revenants

Those that have not fulfilled their obligations in the realm of the living are bound to return in one form or another. Death cannot and will not stop their Weirdbound duty. To counter the will of these rare heroes of Weird is vile, those that do may never taste the sweet ale in gravhela.

Monuments and runestones dot the landscape, telling tales of the undead who completed their purpose, and the living who helped them.

Liches

Lichdom a whispered secret, one can delay their death if they just know the right spells, if they only had one more year they could hold onto power in their petty kingdom. All the nobles know this is what happened, they can smell the rot in the air but still the coward king upon the throne holds on for dear life.

The slaying of a lich is not an act of heroism, it is an act of mercy towards a wretch.

The Mindless Undead

Bodies reanimated for use and command are rare. It is no sin to use what has been made once its soul has no use for it; those who can create such a thing are few and far between. It was once common, in the era of the 1st cycle, but anything from the 1st cycle is buried under ash and flood too deep to ever be remembered. Deep somewhere the secrets of this things are waiting.

Vampires

Burials must be done correctly. Those that do not are inevitably dug up by the scavengers. Those bodies dug up are and what remains of them become vampires, drained of their blood these rail thin creatures take on the forms of what consumed them, donning and doffing the furs or feathers of the beast to assume a bestial or human form.

While in human form they can hide themselves as those they have killed to sate their hunger. They have just enough memory of humanity to hide their bloodlust until the right moment.

Their true corpse form is only revealed once struck with weapons of silver and gold.

#utni #fantasy #afterlife #undeath

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holykillercake · 2 years

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HEIM EXCELLENT - CHAPTER 06

previous chapter - masterlist - next chapter

word count: 4.7k

summary: If you live in this area and are not a gang member, you are an old drunk thrown on the streets, a phantom in society, or dead.

highlight: ¨That´s right. The Shadow District communicates with the Underworld through people like Kid.¨

warning: Eutass´badmood.exe

notes: I enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as well! <3 Cheers for another short season of holy killer cake!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

Still in the wee hours of the morning, as the sun rose above the horizon and the dawn frost clung to the greenery, the deafening bangs on the door almost made you drop your cup of coffee.

Angry screams made the plants lose their vitality, and the white wallpaper lose its color. You´d recognize Eustass Kid's voice even if you lost your hearing. After all, no one else made you want to stick a grenade in your mouth and pull the pin.

Your walk towards the door was languid, like that of an Arcadian character shuffling through their cottage surrounded by a bucolic landscape of flowering fields and golden sunsets.

I'll get to the door when I get to the door.

You recited in your mind the words Eustass Kid used the night before when Killer asked at what time they would be at your apartment for the job.

We'll be there when we do, dammit.

¨Why did it take so long to open the fucking door?!¨ the redhead yelled, letting himself inside. He wore a type of black band across his forehead, and the tip of his nose was red like a reindeer´s.

¨Good morning, Rudolph. Wanna come in?¨ you sighed at the end of the sentence.

¨He still hasn't slept.¨ the blonde said, half his face hidden behind a mask ¨Good morning, YN.¨

¨I don't know if good is the best way to put it. As good as it can be morning, Killer. Come in.¨

After washing your face, you went to your room where your setup was. You took the trouble to straighten the covers and open the windows to ventilate the place. At some point, Kid and Killer started following you like baby ducklings crossing the street.

Or rather, Kid was bored and gave himself the freedom to invade your room. Killer went after him to avoid some tragedy.

It wasn't as if something intrinsic in your soul had a tremendous dislike for the redhead. After all, he saved your life from an unpleasant fate. But he as a person was not very pleasant. And even though you sometimes recoiled from his threats and hysterical screams, it was impossible not to retort with some sarcasm or insult.

You left the room just one more time to get another cup of coffee before starting. Finally, there you were. Kid digging through your miscellaneous on the shelves, Killer a little farther away not to invade your space too much, and you, cross-legged on the office chair, starting to run all the software necessary for work.

¨Tell me again why we´re doing this in this fucking can?¨ you heard the Kid complain for the hundredth time ¨I´m feeling fucking claustrophobic.¨

¨Wow, you know a word with more than two syllables.¨ you muttered, eyes glued to the laptop screen.

¨What did you say?!¨

¨Nothing...¨

The night before, right after a nice dinner with Killer, he suddenly became the bearer of bad news. Apparently, Eustass Kid had a job for you. And, for some reason, he wanted to watch you do it.

He explained briefly what your assignment was, and it seemed like something really simple.

He also explained that Kid let the man escape after a couple of days. You asked if it wasn´t a risky move since no one knew what kind of information he possessed, and Killer replied by telling you to trust Kid´s decisions.

Trust Eustass Kid? I don´t know about that.

¨I thought I had passed your test already.¨ you completed, trying to ignore the raging man stomping around your apartment.

¨I make the rules here. Don´t complain too much, or I´ll make you work at the bar.¨

¨Alright, you two.¨ Killer stepped in, putting back the pieces of decoration Kid took out of place¨Y/N, Kid is here to clear some doubts. And Kid, Y/N feels more comfortable working from her house. Now, the sooner we cooperate, the sooner we´ll be on our way. Can we do that?¨

Other than the comfort of your apartment, you wanted to work with the tools you were used to. And there was nothing better for the job than your setup.

You had a few monitors showing every tab and a powerful CPU to run any program you wanted. Seventy percent of all the money in the house was concentrated in that corner of your room.

¨House... this is more of a shoebox.¨

You breathed slowly at his insults, trying to do as Killer said. Get the job done and get Kid out of your place.

¨Ok, I´m gonna get started.¨ you announced, noticing the slight trembling of your fingers as you were about to press the enter key.

Now, I am one of them.

Click.

¨What do we have?¨ Kid asked, sounding a bit calmer.

You raised your hand in response, signing for him to wait a little more for the page to finish loading. You used a simple password cracker tool to access the messages, and soon they were filling the page.

The tension began to rise up as you typed a few things. You would almost forget that more people were in the room if not for Kid´s breathing. As always, Killer remained deadly silent.

¨Hm... this is not good...¨ you said, sipping your coffee.

¨What?¨

¨Wait, let me...¨ you tried out a few more things before turning to the redhead ¨The messages are not coded. This is just a bunch of BS.¨

¨What do you mean? You said they were coded!¨

¨I know, but they look like coded messages at first sight.¨ you scratched the back of your head ¨ They probably sent with a program that allows the receiver to read the message once before turning into this mess. It´s the equivalent of banging your head on the keyboard. We could be here for hours and get nowhere.¨

¨Can´t you discover where it came from?¨ Killer asked.

¨I tried, but whoever sent this accessed the internet using an anonymizing software. It´s impossible to find out the IP address.¨

¨Can you explain that?¨ the blonde asked again, for both of their behalves. He knew Kid hadn´t understood as well, but he was too proud to ask.

Although technology started to become more accessible, the districts granted more access were the Justice and Commercial Districts. And though they were on good terms with their smartphones and laptops, some technicalities were difficult to keep up with.

¨Uhm... it´s like... IP addresses contain location information and make devices accessible for communication. Think about this, the internet needs a way to differentiate between different computers, routers, and websites, right? IP addresses provide a way of doing so.¨ you started ¨Whoever sent this used an anonymizing software that prevents someone watching your connection from knowing what websites you visit. And in this case, it also enables anonymous communication.¨

¨So we´ll never know the content of the messages?¨ the blonde asked.

¨Yep.¨

¨Oh, great fuck!¨ Kid shouted, pacing around your room.

¨But, I mean, you were expecting this already... right?¨ you asked, confused.

¨What?¨they asked in unison.

¨What?¨

¨Why would we expect this?¨ Kid asked.

¨Wh- because you told me to download a RAT... and you let the man go...¨

¨You told her I let that fucker go?!¨

¨I thought she could use the information.¨

¨Ok, whatever. Y/N, what rat are you talking about?¨

You blinked, realizing that his plans were not as thought through as Killer made you believe.

¨Uh... I... I don´t remember your exact words, but... you said something about RAT?¨

¨No, I didn´t.¨

¨Oh, no, wait, Kid. I think you did.¨ Killer added ¨Were you talking about the animal?¨

¨Fuck yeah, I was talking about the animal. What else could it be?¨

¨Uhm... well, I thought you were talking about remote access Trojan or... RAT...¨

The three of you shared a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

¨Of course, I wasn´t! What the fuck is that?¨

Oh, God, here we go.

¨It´s a malware program that includes a back-¨ you stopped after seeing the will to tear you in a million pieces painted in Eustass´face ¨it´s a program that allows the intruder to do just about anything on the targeted computer. I sent an e-mail and some other requests to see if any worked.¨

¨But he is definitely not using the same smartphone. I mean, he´s not that dumb.¨

¨That´s the beauty of it. As long as he is using the same e-mail address, the system can be compromised.¨

¨Wouldn´t they know it?¨

¨Hardly. The code is small and compact. It usually doesn´t show up in lists of running programs, so it´s difficult to detect. And even if he created another e-mail, I sent it to some of his contacts as well. Someone must have clicked on it.¨

¨Well, can you check it?¨

¨On it.¨ you answered, pulling a cigarette from your pencil holder and holding it between your teeth.

¨Oi, don´t light that shit up now.¨ Kid said.

¨Relax, I don´t light this one up. It just helps me focus.¨ you said, not taking your eyes from the screen.

It was difficult to know exactly what courses of action to take. After all, you knew nothing about their goals and motifs, the other gangs in the area, and what type of things you should be careful of.

The three of you walked on thin ice, unable to trust each other. Even if you made an agreement. Even if Kid saved your life and even if you are a valuable asset to the gang.

Within every key you pressed, the door to go and get your life back seemed more distant. You were the only one losing everything. Losing...

Wait, what am I losing?

Meow

¨Shit!¨ Kid shouted ¨Where did this thing come from?¨

¨Yeah, that´s right. I forgot you had a cat.¨ Killer added, lifting him up.

¨Yeah, don´t worry, Kid. It´s just a cat.¨ you said, condescendingly.

¨I´m not worrying. Is this thing even vaccinated?¨

¨Yes, he is, ¨ you replied, annoyed by the treatment he was giving your pet ¨what about you?¨

¨Ok, that´s enough.¨ Killer said before Eustass had the chance to spit fire on you ¨Y/N, uhm, the IP address thing. Can anyone track our phones if they have our IP addresses?¨

¨Hm, no exactly.¨

¨But you said that IP addresses contain location information.¨

¨Oh, yeah, but computers and cellphones work differently. For example, when you are connected to your house wi-fi, you get an IP address. But as soon as you leave the house and connect to your cellphone data, your IP address will change to the tower you´re getting the signal from. And it keeps changing according to your location. Even if they could access this technology, all they would get is the area surrounding the tower, very roughly.¨

¨And how easy is that?¨

¨To normal people? Not very easy. To people with enough knowledge to send out auto-destructive messages? Not impossible at all.¨

¨Keep that in mind, Killer. We might need it.¨ Kid said with a twisted grin on his face.

¨Yay.¨ you added, clearly faking excitement.

¨What should we be careful of?¨ the redhead asked, somewhat respectfully for the first time of the day.

¨In my opinion...¨ you stood silent for a few seconds, pondering the words ¨the undercover guy´s boss.¨

Kid laughed as if he carried not a single worry regarding that man.

¨What do you mean?¨ Killer asked.

¨I... it´s just that... he could have put on a baseball cap, gone to a coffee shop, blended in with the people, and used public wifi to send those.¨ you tried to express your worries in the best way possible ¨Using onion browsers to protect your identity... I mean, don´t you think they have a place they want to hide or qualified people?¨

The air in the room grew thicker as the three of you refused to say a single word. Or, better said, didn´t have the words to continue the conversation.

The game that once was played solely by the rules of brute force had been shaken by an invisible opponent. One that could come and go unnoticed, one that could hide behind a screen, protected by fortresses.

The day Kid feared had come as well, the proof that not only he would have to step up his game, but someone was already ahead of him. Luckily, he had a new asset.

You had your back already turned to them, checking to find any fish that bit your bait, when someone´s phone exploded with notification bells.

¨Time to go, Killer¨ the redhead put himself on his feet after checking the messages, already exiting the room.

¨Wait, but I didn´t even do anything yet!¨

¨You will. Here,¨ the man threw a wad of cash in your direction ¨find everything you can about the man who sent that idiot here. As I said, this is just part of your payment. You´ll get the rest when I can trust you.¨

And as fast as he stormed in, he stormed out, the apartment going back to being silent and calm like a river.

¨If you need anything, just call.¨ Killer said before leaving in large steps to keep up with the ginger, who, at this point, banged the pickup truck door closed.

¨Thanks.¨ you whispered, leaning against the door, watching the vehicle burning out your street ¨Weird folks.¨

Without much thinking, you returned to your room, taking your headphones to make you company.

¨I just have to find out who the other guy is. C´mon, Y/N, this is your jam.¨

In less time than expected, you had access to the devices of someone called Zhu W. Strangely, there were no signals to intercept the ex-undercover guy. That could mean that he either changed all of the accounts connected to the old e-mail or his cellphone was off.

¨Who leaves their smartphone off nowadays?¨ you muttered, noticing your body heating up.

Every given click tightened the not you felt growing in your throat, and even the most subtle of the sounds could scare you.

¨Come one, mister Zhu. Tell me what you know.¨ you started with the message apps ¨bla bla bla, today's my day off, bla bla bla, fucking cold, bla bla bla it was a shame the boss erased hi-¨

You averted your gaze from the computer screen, feeling your heart rate speeding up, the palm of your hands form a layer of sweat, and the knot tightens even more.

I don´t wanna read anymore.

¨It ain´t such thing as escaping when it comes to Eustass Kid... if he came back is cuz he changed sides...¨ you read in whispers, afraid the neighbors might hear.

No, he didn´t change sides...

¨Boss shot him square in the for-¨ you bit your lips, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Fuck! These people kill for real! Of course, they do, Y/N! Don´t be fucking stupid! Fuck! You gotta calm down. It´s no use crying now.

Not anymore.

Apparently, there was no welcome back party for the man who put his life on the line for his gang. The ¨boss¨, whoever he is, shot him in the head as soon as he stepped in.

The reason why the malware didn´t work on his devices was that he was dead before he could think of opening an e-mail.

I don´t want to take a fucking bullet in the head.

Fuck!

You jumped at the sound of an incoming call, making you put your hand to your chest to hold your heart in place.

You looked at the screen expecting to be one of those blocked numbers from some phone company wanting to sell you some expensive internet data plan. However, it was Killer's name that appeared on the screen.

You picked up your cellphone with shaky hands, sucking in the air before answering ¨Hi.¨

¨Hi... did something happen?¨

¨N-No! Did something happen with you?¨

¨Uh... no, nothing. I just wanted to let you know that Kid and I are going back there tonight. Did you find anything?¨

¨Y-Yes.¨

You stood up from the chair, feeling the world spin around you as you took some steps to exit the room.

¨You sure you´re alright? You sound kinda worried.¨ he insisted.

¨Yeah, everything is alright. Uh... I´ll wait for you here, then. Bye.¨

Without even giving the man a chance to respond, you ended the call and threw the device on the bed, making your way to the living room. There wasn´t a specific reason why you went there. You simply surrendered to your instincts, and they were in fight and flight mode.

Your chest hurt with the tightness, squeezing you from the inside out. It was hard to breathe and focus on the next step. There was no next step for you, only a spiral leading you further down.

¨Please, Y/N. Calm down, please.¨ you begged yourself, hoping that you would listen. ¨Let´s just lay down, okay? On the couch. We´re laying down on the couch.¨

You had acquired the habit of giving yourself instructions whenever episodes like this happened. It wasn´t a health tip you saw on a youtube video but something you started to do without even noticing.

You laid down on your right side, face turned to the cushion and right arm holding your waist like a hug. Your fingers brushed the fabric of your shirt as you tried your best to focus on breathing steadily.

¨We´re okay. You´re okay.¨ you repeated to yourself like a mantra until your body began to calm down, stress drifting you to a nap.

------

¨Y/N, come in!¨ Killer said as he opened the door of his apartment.

After you woke up from your nap, your body felt lighter, except for your arm, which had gone numb. You remained sat on the couch for a while, thinking about how you still had to go back to your room and finish the job before Killer and Kid returned to check on it.

You stalled for a few hours before actually doing so. Taking a shower, eating some lunch, and scrolling through social media. You stalled until the fear of not having the task done before they arrived surpassed the fear of finding another horrid piece of information in that cellphone.

The good old tactic worked just fine. But it might have been because nothing terrible popped out. You tracked the device all day and looked through his e-mail and text messages.

Around nine-thirty, you received a call from Killer, asking you to come down to his place since Kid was not in the mood to be ¨squeezed in the sardine can you called an apartment¨.

So, shoving the pen drive in your pocket, you made your way to the first floor, careful not to trip on the stairs. Differently from the past times, you barely stopped moving before knocking on Killer´s door, not taking long for him to welcome you in.

¨Are you ok? You sounded worried on the phone earlier.¨

¨I...¨ you failed to the find the words, entering the living room and finding Eustass on the couch, staring back at you. ¨I´m fine.¨

¨Spare me time and give me the pen drive, I´ll take a look at it myself. We have a meeting tomorrow, you better be ready.¨ he said straightforwardly, putting his hand out.

You watched him, slowing down as you approached. Kid´s scarred face carried a grumpy scowl, even worse than the one he had earlier that morning. You pressed your fingernails into your palms, squeezing the small device in your right hand.

Kid´s eyes twitched in annoyance at you, short on patience. He wasn´t in the mood to deal with whatever he thought you would pull. You didn´t see, but you guessed that Killer gestured something to the redhead because he rolled his eyes, sighing and putting his hand down.

You stood awkwardly in front of him, struggling to swallow your saliva as your throat went dry.

¨So?¨ Kid asked, raising an eyebrow.

You tried to push the words out of you, but it seemed impossible. Tears started to build up in the corner of your eyes, your nose began running, and you had to use the sleeve of your jacket to keep you from looking like a hopeless snotty child.

¨They killed him, isn´t it?¨

You remained silent, afraid that if you started talking, the waterworks would start as well. You hated that you couldn´t control your emotions. You hated that you didn´t know how to deal with this situation and that your body forced you to be vulnerable in front of other people.

You have been alone for too long, keeping yourself well enough to avoid breakdowns, and when it was too much to bear, you would let the warm water carry your frustrations down the drain. But ever since you met those guys, you were forced to cry every tear you held all those years.

¨Don´t you think it´s about time you stop all this crying?¨ the redhead said, clearly irritated. ¨Every time I see you you´re complaining and whining like a fucking spoiled baby.¨

¨Ki-¨

¨I´m not... a spoiled baby, and I´m not a fucking criminal.¨ you hissed back, chest boiling with anger. ¨I just don´t wanna end up with a hole in my head when you decide I´m not useful anymore.¨

¨You made your choice, Y/N.¨

¨Stop saying that!¨ you said between pauses, raising your voice ¨I know, ok?! I know I made my choice, but what was I supposed to do? I should have gone with those guys to be sold to human trafficking or get fucking killed?! What great options I had!¨

¨What happened doesn´t matter anymore! I don´t know what kind of fairytale crap you lived in until now, but not everyone comes to the big city to live the movie life. Some people end up in the districts where light doesn´t fucking shine. It´s past the time you get with that.¨ Eustass growled, getting on his feet and marching to the door, giving you the last warning before shutting the door ¨We´re having another meeting tomorrow. Get your shit together by then.¨

You flinched at the loud bang, closing your eyes and pursing your lips together. The deep breath you took was loud and almost sounded like a sniff. It technically was. You wanted to cry. Cry out of fear, cry out of frustration, cry out of anger.

Eustass Kid didn´t know shit about your life, and just because you weren´t raised on the streets or had whatever fucked up life he did, doesn´t mean your life was a fairy tale. It enraged you that he thought so, acting and treating you like your feelings weren´t valid.

You heard Killer´s steps getting closer to you, and it almost looked like he made noise on purpose, taking into account what you said about him being so quiet. He didn´t say anything, he only walked over to the couch in front of you, sitting and scrunching his goatee.

¨I don´t wanna talk right now, Killer. I´m going back to my place. I just need to... get my shit together, apparently.¨

¨Ok, ¨ he said softly, making a contrast with Kid ¨But before, can you tell me a little about you?¨

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, you tell me about you, and I tell you about us. Seems fair, right?¨

You watched him for a few seconds, with your brows knitted and your upper lip slightly pulled. Your face could not convey more your exhausted and confused condition.

¨Whatever.¨

¨Where you from?¨

¨Countryside.¨

¨Do you have family?¨

¨My parents and another cat.¨

¨And what did you like to do back in the countryside?¨

¨Nothing. That´s why I came here.¨ you rose from your slumped posture ¨Why are you asking all this? You´re gonna compare me to the tragic life you two had?¨

¨Actually, I will. Do you wanna hear it?¨ he said with a kind smile on his lips.

You couldn´t say no, so you shrugged instead.

¨Alright, I´m not gonna drag this too much, though.¨ he started. ¨I met Kid in the orphanage, he barely talked when he got there. We lived there for a while until the government cut the resources and the staff left. We ran out of food pretty soon and had to find a way to get it. It was our first contact with crime.¨

You looked into his eyes at all times. He talked with such ease as if he carried no pain behind it. As if, because he knew no other life, it was normal.

¨Some gangs in the area started to recruit some of us to do small work in exchange for, you know, housing, food, stuff like that.¨ you nodded. ¨At the time, there wasn´t much violence or money circling in the district. This was just wasteland.¨

¨When did it change?¨ you asked, slowly engaging in his story.

¨They tried to end the Shadow District many times. The first one I remember was when Kid and I went pickpocketing in the Light District. We heard the shooting from there, and when we got here, everyone we knew was dead.¨

¨What happened then?¨

¨After that, everything happened really fast. Someone started supplying weapons to the population for a bargain price. Everyone got one to protect themselves, and, in the end, the district became so marginalized that no one knew what to do with it anymore. No one wanted to invest in this place anymore.¨

¨So... the circulation of illegal stuff moved the economy until all the dirty money in the town was concentrated here.¨ you guessed, letting your body sink onto the couch again.

¨That´s right. The Shadow District communicates with the Underworld through people like Kid.¨

¨Under what?¨

¨Underworld. Where all the illegal stuff comes from.¨ Killer explained briefly.

¨And the police don´t try to arrest anyone?¨

¨The police arrest anyone who leaves loose ends, and Kid is not one of those people.¨

¨He doesn´t look that sophisticated. ¨ you muttered.

¨He´s not. But he´s way more careful than people might think.¨ the blonde opened another smile, filled with admiration for his friend and boss.

¨Why did you tell me all this?¨

¨I know it must be scary to be in your position right now, Y/N, but... it´s not bad. Just... give it a chance. I told you before, we might be rough around the edges, but we´ve got each other´s backs. And if you let us, we´ll have yours too.¨

You searched his eyes for hints that all those pretty words were merely to manipulate you into collaborating but couldn't find any trace of it. Instead, you saw the same ones from the first time you saw him, freezing cold to the eyes and weirdly warming to the soul. Killer had the compassion and understanding that Kid didn´t.

On the other side of the coin, you felt like behind the words, hidden in the fine lines, he wanted to tell you to accept your life now, that the sooner you did it, the less painful it would be.

After all, if you were to be honest, it all felt like a one-time thing. A single favor that, after completed, would allow you to return to your old life. Even though you repeated to yourself thousands of times that there was no turning back, it still felt somewhat like a dream, a mare.

Maybe Eustass was right. Maybe, it was time to get with that.

¨Oh, well, it´s a shame you live the crime life, cause you´d be a great politician.¨ you chuckled for the first time that day, feeling a tiny portion of the tension fall from your shoulders.

The blonde´s spirits lifted at the sight of you, allowing him to relax too, accompanying you with a grin.

¨I´d rather go bald.¨

taglist: @z3llous @p0chy @kerokerogecko @mysticaltigersorceress @maggyme13 @ulk2ds

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

notes: I don´t know if anyone noticed the similarity between their past here and the one told in Puppy Eyes and Fun Rides. That´s because Kid´s one shot was inspired in H.E. and I even flirted with the idea of having Pups be a part of Heim Excellent.

I made no decisions regarding that, but I just wanted to clarify in case you noticed.

#one piece x reader #killer one piece #killer x reader #killer x y/n #killer op #massacre soldier

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newmooninhername · 3 months

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youtube

Phileremon stood at the edge of the wood, staring out into the clear cut beneath power lines, pinching the divot beneath her bottom lip. Her neck had begun to hurt sometime the night before, and indicator that her strange physical affliction was coming on strong. The pain made it difficult to think.

Several feet away towards the middle of the clearing, a family of deer had, overnight, slipped between the long wall of pin oak sentinels and a group of persimmon. She saw evidence there of bark rubbed away, likely by the horns of some lone, rutting buck months prior. One of the elders had a limp, as evidenced by the way the right front hoof left race tracks atop the squall's leavings.

There was also a well-used rabbit trail. She made a mental note, that if she ever got desperate for meat she could make traps for them there. For now, mushroom and shiso-herbed rice and crystal yacón were as proper a meal as any, with their omega fatty acids and high protein content.

"Anassan, whatever lesson you give, I will face head on."

'I just hope it never involves me having to kill another being...' she thought, returning to her investigation.

What was missing was any sign of prints for the diamond-eyed walker. The snow was powdered there, its expanse untrodden at the bases of thistle stalk and burdock bur. The girl looked right and left. Yes, this was the exact spot it had been standing. "Nothing," she billowed, unaware of having spoken. Weren't skinwalkers known for leaving a yellow trail of pustulous saliva from whatever mouth they were wearing? The footprints of the animal or human it had donned? Tags of decaying flesh, left here and there on winter twigs, as its stolen hide slowly fell apart along the trail?

Phileremon suddenly remembered the scent of rotten meat she had smelled as she'd left the offering; the now-realized presence of a corpse. And yet, no sign of it remained. To her knowledge, there was not a creature within fifty miles whose passing was untraceable. Vetala were said to inhabit the mountainside, hanging here and there from old buzzard trees at midnight, but had only ever been sighted north of the halfway mark around its spiky midsection, where wild ginger, blood root and fir lost footing on the sharp spires of ironed manganese.

Phileremon looked up over the rising trees towards the peak. She was accustomed to thinking of it as a mountain, but in fact it was a being, heir of an ancient race, an Antæan skyggeberg named Theou. She stood still as its stone, gaping upwards. What a behemoth it was.

The Antæan had not moved in millennia. In the midst of thousands of kilometers of pin oak, sverrewood and cedar pine, it had settled, dozed and eventually slept, its roots comfortably buried.

Asleep it had remained, now less a being than a legend, its jagged charcoal cliffs and charnel grounds striking companions to the slivers of barren, snow-vowed roads and impassable valleys. Cragged elbow creases and armpits, forever pinned in ice packed so hard as to form glass pauldrons and gauntlets, dappled its massive, wrinkled form.

Theou's southbound crest now seemed to dissolve into the white-grey of that morning's sky. It was said that one could step off of the peak and find oneself standing on the plains of Prytannin, a planar rift of the dead whose sky is the landscape of the human world below. How unsettling that must be, to look up and see ash, oak, elk and bear instead of birds and bluesky. It was said that senates of wizened ghouls presided strictly over the dead there, their broken ramparts and bastions pristine inside, held together by their power. She had never been there, never had a reason to go, but knew that the plane's unique, necrotic creatures, half-ethereal, half-matter, had no interest in traversing into the common world.

On some occasions of unknown celebration--once a year or so, but never the same month--the Prytannin dead would gather along Theou's ridges and cliffsides, led in procession by the Tymbidian, She Athrone the Underworld. Her presiding aspect (generally compassionate Polyodynos, alert Phylakê or the lantern carrier, Noctiluca) would take the River Styx and rise to the surface emanating a muted, Tyrian purple light, raising the dead through the many churt caves of the local karst region surrounding the skyggeberg. Friend of corpses, keeper of lost souls, the Tymbidian would lead them for three days before dissipating with the mists, running back down into the black soil once more, bearing the brunt of winter against her torches.

It was said that she walked them so that they would not feel alone, having something other to do than obsess over the loss of lives once lived above. Phileremon had witnessed the grim procession several years in a row, with absolute awe and wonder. It appeared to be less a trek of boredom, more a rite or ritual.

Nightly, the girl witnessed the Tymbidian walking the local dead along the borders during twilight, as was part of their pact. But She'd never been accompanied by any Prytannin dead below the halfway line except during Procession, so it could not have been them in the clearing, as they never moved into the physical world without Her permission, and certainly not ever alone.

The Theou's dreams mingled with hers often, called her to take its paths to the Prytannin, but she couldn't imagine why she should. It was dangerous up there and, by her estimates, she was still at least a decade away from being powerful enough to manage such a quest.

She wished that, instead of a skyggeberg, a lyfjaberg had settled there, as those brighter Antæan were said to lead to prytannin of healing, powerful artifacts of aide. The skyggeberg, on the other hand, was a place for strict ascetics, where one went to challenge oneself to the utmost, face one's greatest fears. It sickened rather than healed, starved, scared, its sigiled artifacts luring those seeking sepulchral boons only found once the traveler was lost, half-dead or beset by all manners of haunts and half-lives. For the time being, Phileremon had not the strength to undertake such a challenge, and little desire.

Her mind snapped back to the meeting between them, the diamond-eyed creature and she. Phileremon shook her head and shivered, her neck crunching, wisps of hair sticking out of her hood touching her face, too numb now to be felt, to tickle. While it was speaking the name out loud that chanced calling the skinwalker to you, she was even unnerved by thinking the name. What a horror.

The girl quickly admonished herself. Why was she even questioning what she had been told? Veneficar Hegêmonen was not a liar. If she had foreseen a skinwalker, that's exactly what it had been. Yet, Phileremon had lingering questions that she would not gain from Hegêmonen, who spoke so often in riddles and mysteries. She decided to go speak to the Historian about it instead. One thing was for sure, there was no evidence to indicate that anything had passed the treeline and entered her woods.

The skin on her face had begun to burn. It was time to return home. She followed her footsteps back to Propylon, to see about the offering and whether it had been accepted. Passing the apothecary shack at the clearing reminded her of the whistling that had accompanied the beast. She needed to remember to ask the Historian about that as well.

Arriving at Propylon to her right, she saw with sudden delight the massive tracks of a dog, evidenced by the x-shapes that the spaces between paw pads left in the snow. It had eaten, delicately, from the center of the offering plate where she had piled the meat, bone and egg, and marked it afterwards, urine leavings a sure ownership of the small shrine.

The prints never left the circle ward around the stone altar except for where they came and went down the hill to the small cave entrance. Excited, Phileremon ran to the cave, hoping as she ever had to find physical evidence of a visitation by her Matron.

It was as she had hoped, the second evidence of a physical manifestation. No human-shaped footprints, but prints nonetheless; hound tracks beginning and ending at the tiny entrance. No large dog could fit into that hole, and the prints stopped just short of it, which indicated to her that it was, indeed, a Stygian hound manifesting a physical form long enough to take the hill to the offering.

She imagined the scene; a shadow appearing at the hole in the frozen soil, atoms thickening into a black fog, taking form of a giant, silken hound. How graceful it must have been, its eyes slanted and wise. Perhaps one day she would stand before it, before them both as they stood, majestic, on either side of She, Borne of a Thousand Forms: Darksister, the Tuscan healer, Ecate. Leukophryne, the wizened, white-browed, winter veneficar. Ouresiphoitin, solitary wanderer of the Antæan wood. Perhaps the compassionate Agallomenen Elaphoisi.

Her heart beat quick in her chest, her eyes widening, a smile breaking across her numb face. What an eventful deipnon it had been! She had been so worried that the long stint of her inability would be followed by many uneventful months before she could return to her previous skill level. Here was proof, finally, that Hekate had no intention of punishing her for what she had not been capable of.

She knew this already, innately. The belief that she was not worthy was hardly beneficial to her craft. Hekate asked for courage, confidence, asked Phileremon to be the Queen of her land. It was time to stop being the self-doubting acolyte and step into her place at her Matron's side, no longer as a girl but as a Lampade of the New Moon.

She hurried back home to speak to the Historian, though it seemed less pressing now, her smile wide and warming the marble of a face that had been frozen so long, so long.

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slippinmickeys · 1 year

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The Mesas of Deuteronilus Mensae (23/?)

There was a small mirror in the tiny lav and she squinted at her reflection once, eyeing the bandaid she’d put over the small cut on her head. It seemed to cover it okay. Other than the sting of cut skin, she had no headache, nor concussion symptoms. Small favors.

“Mulder?” she called out, tilting her chin over her shoulder as if someone had called her name from the kitchen. There was no answer. Just a steady, soft hiss from the comm system.

She made her way to the front of the vehicle, peering out the listing windshield. Outside, the sun was actively setting, the Martian sky dusty and reddish-rose. Night was coming on fast, and Mulder was nowhere within the horizon of the rover’s windows.

“Mulder?” she called out again. The comm system was set to pick up voices from anywhere in the rover. “Have you found the problem? You’re going to need to come in.” She glanced at the temperature readout, which was dropping quickly. “It’s getting too cold out there for the suits, Mulder.”

There was no answer but that same steady hiss. She never should have suggested that they go outside to investigate whatever had happened to the rover. The vehicle’s systems seemed to be running just fine. The crash—whatever it was—had them stuck, but not dead in the water. What was ten more hours? Well, she heard herself say in her head, in space, ten more hours can kill you. Ten minutes. Ten seconds.

God, where the hell was he?

“Rover Two to Mulder, please come in,” she said officiously. Silence.

She made her way to the port holes in the sides of both sections of the rover and looked out, seeing nothing but the ever-darkening sky. With a low feeling of unease, she sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled up the rover’s computer tracking system. It was a simple ping-and-report framework, which noted the location of any nearby hardsuit with a light on a map of whatever area the rover was in. She activated it and the dot for Mulder hovered right outside the rover, but the light wasn’t blazing steadily, rather, it was fading in and out slowly, erratically.

Perhaps there was a problem with his hardsuit’s electrical system which was interfering with his comms and tracking. Maybe, Scully thought, stealing another look at the surface temperature readout which was still falling, the cold was messing with it. And if it was too cold for the simple systems of the suit to operate, it was definitely too cold for the suit’s heating system.

Mulder could either be out there happily going about his business, unaware that some of his suit’s systems weren’t working correctly, or he could be in serious trouble.

Scully swore. Protocol stipulated no one try to rescue another crew member if you might end up in the same predicament, and it certainly didn’t permit post-nightfall EVAs, but protocol was becoming more and more ambiguous the longer she was away from Earth. And Jesus, it was Mulder .

She quickly donned her hardsuit, briefly considered reporting to Base Base what had happened, and thought better of it. If for some reason she was ordered to stay on the rover and leave Mulder to his fate—whatever it was—she could be held accountable. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

The light in the airlock shone unusually bright against the dark port window that faced the Martian landscape, and it seemed to take forever to depressurize. Finally, the light switched to green and she reached up and turned on the dual LED flashlights that were housed on either side of her helmet. With that, she opened the door.

She could feel the cold through her suit almost immediately, a seeping mass that leaked in at her from the outside in, but she ignored it as best she could and stepped out onto the planet. The twin beams of the lights coalesced into a single fixed point several yards in front of her, making the red ground appear more of a light pink.

“Mulder?”

Turning her head slowly, as she would an arm were she holding out a flashlight, she panned the light incrementally around in a full 360 degree arc. No sign of Mulder. She began to make her way around the rover, moving about ten yards away from it so as to better illuminate more ground. Walking from the back of the rover and around its far side, she ranged widely around the long trailer that held the weather balloons, which sat silent and still on their pallets, covered in a light film of Martian dust.

She continued walking around the far side of the rover and around its listing front, poised for the lights to finally illuminate the white of Mulder’s suit—either standing there, not knowing she couldn’t communicate with him, or prone on the ground, in trouble. But the lights illuminated nothing. She found herself back in front of the airlock where she had started, and there was absolutely no trace of the other astronaut.

“Mulder?” she called out again. Her heart had started pounding. She could hear the tremor in her voice reverberate back to her in her helmet. It was almost suffocating.

There was a faint blip of sound from the comms speaker, nearly impossible to identify, but her first instinct was that it was his voice. Adrenaline dumped.

Where the hell was he?

She briefly considered that he had already started to succumb to hypothermia and had wandered away from the rover in a fog, but he hadn’t been gone nearly enough time for that to have happened. Had he walked away for some other reason? The land they stood on was flat and seemingly endless, a long expanse of Martian dune stretching out on all sides. There was no moonlight to go by—Phobos and Deimos weren’t in the right part of the sky, and didn’t reflect nearly the light of the Earth’s moon—but the stars were blazing and Mulder’s suit would have reflected enough for her to see, even if he were hundreds of yards away.

She took a slow, steadying breath. She needed to go about this logically. The old fashioned way. She would follow his footprints.

In addition to the color-coded stripes on the outside of their hardsuits used to individually identify each astronaut, the treads on their boots were equally distinctive. Each astronaut’s footprint was marked with a pattern of different shapes that could be used to identify whose tracks were whose. She moved her head until her light found the two sets of tracks that had emerged from the rover’s airlock. She saw her own, with a star-shaped pattern in between the lined treads, and then Mulder’s, which were studded with an even pattern of little diamonds. You didn’t need to be an Indian Guide to read the scene. Tilting her head up so that the light tracked them, she followed his bootprints, staying on the outside of them, away from the rover, so as not to muss or muddle them with her own.

The heating unit in her hardsuit was churning, and the life support function was slowly dropping, percentage point by percentage point, the heaters sucking up all available power.

“Come on, Mulder,” she whispered to herself.

Mulder had wasted no time after emerging from the airlock, and had walked directly to the starboard side of the rover toward the front, where the vehicle’s headlights were canted unnaturally.

Scully ran her lights over the front of the rover, curious about what had happened to them despite her concern and dismay over the whereabouts of Mulder. It was hard to discern at first, but as her light panned over the fender and first set of wheels, it became clearer what had happened. The rover had found a hole. But like a pothole filled with water, this one was filled with Martian dust. There was likely no way Mulder had known it was there–she only saw it in the subtle demarcation in the sharp light of her LED. The front wheel was sunk into the hole, but the dust in the hole had simply crept its way back up around the edge, like water seeking its own level. It looked like the tire had come to rest in a puddle. A puddle of silty Martian dust.

In the cone of her light, the dust in the ‘puddle’ had a different quality to it than the regolithic dirt surrounding it, a different tone and texture to the ground upon which she stood. The puddle itself was big, more of a pool really, nearly ten feet across, with the wheels of the rover stuck in the far edge of it.

She swung her head around looking at the scope of it, and that’s when she saw it: Mulder’s bootprint. It sat in the thick dirt only inches from the edge of the pool, and was pointed directly at it. And that’s when it dawned on her what must have happened. Mulder hadn’t seen the delineation of where solid ground met the crater of dust, and he’d stepped right into it. The hole, Scully realized, must be deep. Seven feet or more; deep enough that Mulder had stepped into it and fallen in completely. Sucked into the regolith of Mars like an explorer swallowed by quicksand.

“Mulder!” she shouted, and rushed to the edge of the cavity, diving to her knees, the articulated joints of her suit creaking under her. The cold was pressing in, but her blood zinged through her body like fire. She reached tentatively into the edge of the dust puddle, pressing her fingers at its surface to see how much resistance she met. None. None whatsoever. The dust itself was so fine and satiny that it was practically a liquid. If the depression was deep enough, she might never get him out of it. It could be ten feet deep. Twenty. A thousand. It was a phenomenon no human or Martian probe had ever before encountered. There was just no way of knowing.

And if the liquid dust was hindering his comms from working, it might also have worked its way into the other parts of his suit; shutting down systems, making it inoperable. Killing him. She had to get him out. Fast.

She tried to slow down and think. He couldn’t have gone far into it, he was likely right in front of her, where he’d fallen in. And even if the hole was dozens of feet deep, the gravity on Mars wasn’t as strong as it was on Earth—it wouldn’t have pulled him down as far or as fast. There was a chance he was suspended in the ‘liquid,’ like the Tyndall effect of flour suspended in water.

Tentatively, she reached forward and sunk her arm into the silty murk of the puddle until her arm was buried up to her elbow, then her armpit. Christ, the cold was even worse in the hole, and she could feel the tips of her fingers starting to go numb. She moved her arm around slowly at first, reaching in and feeling around for any resistance or solid mass, and then with a little more urgency. If her arm was this cold, Mulder must be freezing. She was swinging her arm madly now, desperately, thinking that she was going to have to jerry-rig something from one of the alloy pole-like tools that were attached to the side of the rover, when the tip of her finger encountered something just to the right of where Mulder’s bootprint perched on the side of the crater. She shimmied over and flailed again and this time her whole gloved hand hit the solid mass. Her hand bounced off of it—she swirled her arm around the dusty miasma again, trying to triangulate what she’d felt, and then she hit it again and closed her grasp desperately. It felt like an arm. She heaved.

Despite the added strength of her Earth-evolved skeletal and muscular systems, the effort it took to even get him moved even a few inches felt Herculean. Her muscles screamed at her, but she pulled until she got his arm a few more inches up and then she was able to move onto her knees and reach in with both hands, hefting him up with everything she had. It felt, at first, like pulling something out of a tar pit, and then after a second, something seemed to give (perhaps a part of his suit had caught on an underground feature below the surface and snagged there) and up he came, like a sailor hoisting a man overboard up from the sea.

The comm system squelched in her ear as it reconnected to his suit, and she heard him groan. So he was alive, then. A bit of a dead weight, his suit absolutely covered head-to-toe in fine peach-colored grit, but not completely prone. She stood and dragged him away from the lip of the dust pool.

“Mulder,” she grunted. “You need to get up.”

“I can’t,” he panted, but nevertheless managed to roll himself to his knees.

From there Scully fumbled and hauled him to his feet and they stumbled to the small airlock of the rover. She reached down and wiped the dust off the heads up display on his wrist. Power was down to .4%.

“Mulder, I’m going to put you in there first. I need you to clear out of the airlock once it pressurizes so I can come through right after you. Can you do that? Our suits are shutting down.” She glanced at her own wrist read-out. “Can you do that? Mulder?” Her right arm, which she’d used to reach down into the dust felt half-frozen, the tips of her fingers tingling.

He mumbled an affirmative and she shoved him into the airlock and slammed the button home. She watched through the porthole of the airlock door as the chamber pressurized and then the vacuuming system engaged, its powerful suction no match for the clinging dust stuck to Mulder’s suit. Finally she saw the light inside it go to clear and Mulder lurched forward and cleared the door. She hoisted herself in.

Never had an airlock seemed to take so long, and when it finally cleared, she burst through the small door and into the rover, stumbling over Mulder’s body where it lay on the floor, still in his dust-covered suit. She struggled out of her own hardsuit, shedding pieces everywhere, and when she had the top half of it off and free, she knelt down next to him and disengaged his helmet, pulling it off. When she rolled him to face her, he dragged his gaze to her face, his lips blue.

“Cold,” he said, his teeth chattering (which she took as a good sign). “I’m cold.”

“I’m going to get you out of there,” she said, and reached for the releases that locked his suit into place.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #wip #mars AU

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