GenderUnknown's Battlenouns

@aldehydebackhand.bsky.social

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| WE GET VORNY HERE, STRICTLY 18+ | Ask me about the Ravel | Worldbuilder | Environmental chemist | ''Alive'' | Elder Zoomer (29) | Mexican-American | Any Pronoun | pfp by technojara | AI BEGONE

“There they are,” Ayori says close to Benet’s ear, gesturing toward Albireo with her snout. “Looks like they’re headed for Asha.” “So’s everyone,” Benet chuckles. “I’ll catch up with them after they’ve made introductions.” True to Benet’s observations, everyone is swarming, keeping enough distance so as to appear nonchalant, that they might simply happen to enter the host’s orbit like a noncommittal asteroid. Her moon, however, deters all from lingering so close. An enormous canine specimen, or something resembling it, sits at attention, looming over her and most of her guests. Them on four legs, and Albireo on two, they stand shoulder to shoulder. Their eyes scan the crowd from their towering vantage, multiple yellow and black tails thumping the floor in the slow suggestion of nascent agitation. To Asha, it’s hardly worth mentioning; rather, she has since learned that should she decide to, it is already too late. Her pet will personally see to the removal of anyone who should blunder into one question too many. Better she neither invites nor answers any. Her auburn hair bounces with a practiced sort of flair as she seamlessly moves from one guest to the next, a very minimal dress glittering with her graceful motions like rainbow oil on a black ocean, bubbles and all, complemented by those speckles of seafoam-white dotting her bared hips. Ayori and Benet are simply dressed as the help, failing to land a second gig with her by their own talents as data mystics, no place for them here, but showing so little pelt under their uniforms, baggy by design, turns a similar proportion of heads, allowing them to move freely as long as they keep the palm wine flowing. Waiting for the right moment, they vanish back into the crowd.
“Ayori, I made it, but…” Shock lets the silence hang, if she can even respond to them at all. “I see it,” the mystic’s voice confirms. Something different, certainly, unexpected, no doubt, but not altogether unpleasant. Least expected of all was finding themself navigating what very much resembles a physical space with a physical form of their own, or at least its projection. Many people prefer an avatar for their shared lucid dreams, but right now, Shock is as they usually are; form-fitting spray-on jumpsuit, cut off at the calves and biceps, and cropped jacket made heavy under its abundance of patches. There is no sense in trying to improve upon perfection, anyway. Their ringed tail flicks in perplexity, magenta eyes narrowing at the domain they now inhabit. Tall, columnar mountains loom over a misty valley, the canopies of old trees not even close to brushing against the carved, pale stone bridges that weave from tower to tower, anchored into the cliffsides and leading up to a grand estate at the back. Its design has yet to decide on whether it’s a temple or a mansion, its medallioned eaves draped with strings of beads that tap against its whitewashed walls in the gentle breeze. Shock chuckles as they realize it’s neither; it’s a mind palace. And they’ve trashed much classier places than this before. “You’re going to have to deal with it alone for now,” Ayori says. “Back as soon as I can.” “What’s wrong?” Shock asks, but only silence replies. They sigh. At the very least, their ward seems to hold, a thin membrane over their body acting like a viral husk allowing them to slip into Haven’s psyche undetected. That rune is as good as theirs already, as long as there are no more surprises. They are not that naive.
A horned creature, bright red with pale, gray-blue bony adornment turns its long neck toward the viewer. A separated, spherical component floats between its upper two horns. A transparent overlay written "I THINK YOU SHOULD RECONSIDER" covers the image
“Opportunity could emerge any moment,” he scolds. “Therefore, keep your senses sharp.” The doll cranes over me, arms extended to plant his hands into the mattress in that way better reserved for lovers. “We’ll see a ship coming, we’ve got a great view of the harbor,” I say. I reach for the inhaler of dragonbreath somewhere in the blankets but he snatches it up before I can take another drag of the sparkling vapor. “Fine, help yourself,” I invite with a dreamy giggle. “It’s not hitting like it used to, I think my regeneration is counteracting it.” He sets it down on the long, narrow table across from the bed with no intention of partaking. “Please take this seriously, Merion,” he implores. “Give me a little time to grieve,” I protest, my voice rising into a halfhearted yowl. “I don’t even know the totally— fuck. The totality of what I’ve lost yet.” Then he’s back over me as before, placing all of what little weight he has onto the bed. “I do sympathize with you. But you embarrass yourself again.” He clicks fingers near my ear as if it’ll center me. Instead, the sound ripples through my brain across multiple senses; electricity on my skin, waves behind my closed eyes. I crack one open to look at him. Any fear of him I should be feeling isn’t quite taking either. This was a bad idea no matter how irresistible, but I can feel myself having another one. A lopsided grin paints itself over my face instead of the sneer of derision I might have had with more wherewithal. “Suraaaokh,” I unconvincingly croon, “if you’re going to loom over me like that and not even offer to rub my belly then we’re going to have to have a talk about personal space.” My fingers curl into my new shirt to roll it up, exposing a little bit of a pleasantly rounded midriff. At this moment I probably wouldn’t even mind if he took it as an invitation but my bet is otherwise.
A jackal morph towers over the viewer. She brandishes a sword and a lance of crackling energy. One of her eyes surging with the same energy. The other glows with malice as her tongue curls through a bared grin in anticipation. You probably don't have long.
A closeup of Saint Eren, viewed from behind her right shoulder. Art by milkqween.bsky.social
Discord message by alias "BONGLERIAN JOONHOD NOW" Look I'm more interested in *why* they're horny about the things they're horny about than I am in the fact that they're horny and I will take an electron microscope to it
ASTROPRISMA, a solo TTRPG, along with all its expansions
I lose track of how long we’ve been flying, and I can’t even know where we are. The sounds of Rohka honing his returned axes– unloaded, mercifully –and Sal slowly flipping the pages of his book join the ambience of engines and entrails. In this windowless space, Neien is the only one with vision out, a vivicalligraphic interface sharing her nerves with a compact, bony headset, lending her the numerous mismatched eyes studding the warkite’s carapace. Her gaze and mine meet sometimes, interior eyes inside saline ampoules swiveling to check on her passengers. It must be almost intoxicating to pilot one of these, to feel one’s senses expand through specialized components, transforming into something with form and purpose converging on a single point. Then again, that’s sort of what I’m doing already, and it leaves a lot to be desired. Some things are too far gone, others not gone far enough. I wonder why I still even have to bother with organs at this point. I wonder what I’ll be when I don’t.
“Eren,” a voice greets her. “…plus one. She can go.” “Teovald,” she returns. “She will stay.” The other morph, a heavyset raccoon, circles around the desk, continuing to finger-massage a Nayrean-sized maned wolf as he does, who lies there on a mat in nothing but a loose robe that accentuates his long, thin figure. Teovald turns his head to look at Eren properly, and his eyes narrow, zeroing in on the rat on Eren’s shoulder; even if he concedes, it’s important to him that she feel unwelcome. Night doesn’t care. She pulls off her helmet, securing it to a carabiner and beginning to fluff her pale, speckled fur with no concern for the sire’s hostile decorum. “This wasn’t easy to coordinate, you know,” Teovald says through an exaggerated sigh. “I am aware,” Eren replies simply. “…Would you sit?” he asks, extending a hand toward the alcove most would use as a bed, but here it’s been furnished more like a bench for guests. “I already dislike looking at you enough when I don’t have to crane my neck.” “I will stand,” the opossum insists. “Fucking Lurrah, you never make this easy for either of us,” he groans, but it ends on a pleasured cadence as his attendant pops his lower back. “Ondria isn’t going to be pleased with you, are you also aware of that?” This time, the opossum says nothing. As subtle as she can, Night puts a soothing hand on her neck. Eren has no interest in concealing her disdain for the sire, or his equal measures of vanity, treachery, and condescension. “Because,” the maned wolf begins, making space for another entirely too gratuitous moan as the masseuse pops another joint, “leaving Dominion airspace is easy, and entering it is hard. It’s not as if there are many defectors having second thoughts so close to a Warden’s chest anymore, is it? That was all of them, Eren. And you let the void siphon slip through those big, creaky fingers of yours. What are you going to tell Ondria?”
“Did you know they would target Samsara?” Nym challenges, not budging. “Did you get rid of her because she asked too many questions? Not very smart to lose Merion in the same move.” “Watch your slanderous tongue,” Jen warns. Nym points, arm fully extended, up at the curtained thing. “Questions about that, right? Why are you keeping this a secret, if you believe it’ll save us?” His brother stands, pulling a long breath, and letting it out as a sigh. “Why indeed?” Then he turns, gripping the tassels of the curtain and ripping it down. Nym’s vision blurs in an instant and he staggers back, falling over as pain surges through the link. The warkite sways as Neien receives the same, and I do all I can to filter it out, but I can do nothing for Nym. His sinuses dry, the object’s harmful energy flooding the room. This isn’t simply a property of beholding it. This is an attack, consciously made. Jen takes him by his mane behind his ears, seemingly unaffected. “Don’t look away. You wanted to see this, didn’t you? So see.” He tips Nym’s head up, bleary eyes an explosion of color centered around a one-legged powder blue skeleton pressed into porous dark stone, or maybe coral, its pointed face angled to the side, one of presumably a pair of long, thin horns very slightly protruding. Hairlike red filaments line one edge of the horn, quivering in the air the way insect wings do. “This is a live specimen, Nymraylu. A godlike mind, bonded to mine. Soon, everyone will be able to commune with them. Salvation, as a concept, does not belong to the Prelature alone, or even to known pantheons.” Even without the splitting pain in his head, Nym is beginning to desiccate. Jen drops him after several seconds, taking his time in pacing away. He pulls his chair with a loud scrape across the floor, standing on it to replace the curtain. The moment it’s covered, the pressure recedes. Nym cries out, as if his voice had been suppressed, clutching his skull and writhing even as it subsides.
A grating squeal distorts into a howl as external speakers click on, clearing rust and phlegm. “Merion, you traitor!” Rohka bellows through the microphone. “I’ll tear you to pieces!” Yhana is already pushing the engine to its limit. She looks over her shoulder again, eyes wide with a mix of terror and that crazed thrill I’ve gotten a taste of. “Switch out with me!” she shouts to me, fingers searching for the sleeve of my stolen uniform. “Switch out wi– I can’t reach!” I object, though even as I search madly for an alternative, there is none. I duck beside her, letting her take hold around me as she slides backward in the saddle, planting me down before the handlebars. I can barely reach them and the pedal at the same time. I bring a leg up, claws curling into the cracked leather, to stretch the other down. I get a better view off the side than through the short windscreen this way, and I’m so focused on squinting into it that I almost don’t realize Yhana has moved onto the luggage rack and turned herself around. She digs her knees in and reaches out her arms. There are the twin unsynchronized pops of combustion against her palms, and they ignite into blazing jets, pushing us beyond full throttle. 120 kilometers per hour. 130 per hour. 140. I can hardly see through the tears my eyes form in a futile effort to not dry out.
It takes effort, now that she’s let herself come out of fight-or-flight for so long. Being on the smaller side like I am comes with plenty of disadvantages, strength, especially, but it often escapes me just how much of that extra strength it takes at minimum to move at all, as one grows larger. But she makes it onto her back just fine, arms folded up near her head, one leg slightly retracted. Despite how much surface area they cover, the black and cream markings that descend from breast and shoulder blade to low thigh are almost always hidden by clothing. They don’t touch in the middle; from the ring of two-tone fluff at the base of her neck, an uninterrupted golden-brown expanse continues down across her belly. It continues all the way down to a black patch my eyes will not wander beyond, quickly correcting course. In actuality, it’s all lit up the same overpowering green as everything else here. I only really know her colors from a very casual revealing shortly after we met. That feels so long ago now. She’s left me as much room beside her as she can, so I kneel there to work the spot she was kicked in earlier. Centered on the glow, just like the other spots, I rub down that soft dividing stripe, and find myself wondering at how different her abdominal muscles feel from the outside. I almost give myself pause at what a strange thought that is, but evidently, it must be on her mind too. “I really was going to kill you that day,” she says. “You’ve told me before,” I dismiss.
A macuahuitl positioned on its side in a clear stand
I’m running out of distance though; the roof of the structure is almost entirely unfinished. I was expecting maybe a crevice to locate and squeeze into, but no, it’s a big gaping rectangle, boxing in an isolated railyard in a deep valley overlooked by a tower-mounted excavator. I stop a few steps from the edge, whatever passes for adrenaline in this clot of tar I call a body still surging through me. I turn, finding Rohka has already shrugged off any damage and is rapidly approaching me with an ax brandished, blades and short barrel aimed at me. So, having the other ax, I do the same back to him. It’s a heavy thing, but the shells being fed up through the grip would make its weight inconsistent. “Don’t make me do it, Rohka!” I shout as he advances. “I don’t want—” I knew for certain I wouldn’t convince him, but I had to try. He raises the set’s other half and shoots three times. I almost don’t feel anything but the chill and then the burn of perforation until I look down, my stolen red uniform quickly staining black from dozens of holes left in my torso. Hey, this feels familiar. “That was very rude…” I mutter faintly as I crumple over to the side again. If I roll at all, I will fall. I can barely make out what’s being said as Rohka approaches, until he centers my focus by once again pulling my injured arm away from my body in a manner I’m beginning to find more annoying than threatening. He sounds very far away, even kneeling over me and taking his ax back. “By the authority of the Empress and all Wardens under her command—” Yhana’s voice, indistinct to me, gets the attention of us both, and Rohka shifts focus away from me, beginning to stand but not quickly enough to do anything about the full-body, leaping tackle that takes both of them sailing over me and into the pit.
He squints, one cadmium yellow eye through his broken lens narrowing suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not in control?” His stubbornness makes Yhana groan, and I lean in closer, rolling up my sleeve. “Bite me.” “Oh, fuck you too!” Rohka shouts. “No, I— ugh,” I also groan. “*Literally* bite me!” Yhana allows him to raise an arm to his mask, pulling it up. This is the first time I’ve ever seen his face. He has the same sleek black coat all the way over as Sal does, but he’s a little bit pudgier in the face and his fur forms tufts at the jaw a little like my own. He opens his mouth, readying short, sharp teeth, but he hesitates. “You’re not messing with me, right; this isn’t some kink thing?” he checks. “I can just spit in your mouth instead if you want it to be,” I propose. I’m trying to provoke him but my patience is genuinely thinning anyway. He gives the best response he can, admittedly, sinking his fangs into me. I wince as he draws blood, but that’s what I wanted. “Good. Swallow.” His ears flatten, and I nudge my arm against his tongue. “You want proof, this is it.” He obliges, and then lets go, face scrunching as if he takes issue with my flavor. I can’t blame him. Preservatives with a hint of batteries.
A grating squeal distorts into a howl as external speakers click on, clearing rust and phlegm. “Merion, you traitor!” Rohka bellows through the microphone. “I’ll tear you to pieces!” Yhana is already pushing the engine to its limit. She looks over her shoulder again, eyes wide with a mix of terror and that crazed thrill I’ve gotten a taste of. “Switch out with me!” she shouts to me, fingers searching for the sleeve of my stolen uniform. “Switch out wi– I can’t reach!” I object, though even as I search madly for an alternative, there is none. I duck beside her, letting her take hold around me as she slides backward in the saddle, planting me down before the handlebars. I can barely reach them and the pedal at the same time. I bring a leg up, claws curling into the cracked leather, to stretch the other down. I get a better view off the side than through the short windscreen this way, and I’m so focused on squinting into it that I almost don’t realize Yhana has moved onto the luggage rack and turned herself around. She digs her knees in and reaches out her arms. There are the twin unsynchronized pops of combustion against her palms, and they ignite into blazing jets, pushing us beyond full throttle. 120 kilometers per hour. 130 per hour. 140. I can hardly see through the tears my eyes form in a futile effort to not dry out.
A tweet displaying a page from a book of spells, charms, and incantations, with special emphasis on “You may fascinate a woman by giving her a piece of cheese.”
it’s me!
Samsara proves more inclined to make conversation than I had her figured for, speaking up again as we begin to roll. “I would like to apologize for how Jen intimidated you today. His people skills are not usually evident in one-on-one situations.” “Yeah. I get that he means well but…” I sigh, as words fail me yet again. “I’m sorry he dragged you into his example like that, too. I know I wouldn’t have appreciated it.” She nods slowly, though her answer doesn’t match. “It’s no secret why I was persecuted, or why I defected to join the Dominion, way back when. Here, I don’t have to be a secret.” I ease up at that, even managing a smile. “Can’t begrudge him for wanting to protect a place like this, then. It’s hard to reconcile being unable to leave if I wanted to, but… well, there are worse places to be stuck.” “Yes, there are. You very narrowly avoided one.”
SKELETATION ACTIVATATION
“Now this might strike some viewers as harsh, but I believe everyone involved in this story should die.”
Other than that, I encounter nothing else, strangely, though I can distantly hear trains on other tracks, bound for places far to the south. Occasionally, we pass remote homesteads, modest structures or even more repurposed train cars like the inn. One built close to the tracks almost blinds me as its motion activated light illuminates our handcar. For a few seconds, I go still, transfixed, momentum keeping us drifting onward until our presence could not possibly warrant little more than a dismissive shrug from whomever might have been home. I wonder how one gets by out here. The community I lived in was fairly isolated as well, but we at least had community. But it’s not there anymore. I think of my family. I never did make contact with them since becoming tangled up in all this. The administrators likely paid close attention to any messages I had tried to send through the chatterworks in the capital. Everything on a need-to-know basis, carefully curated, labyrinthine bureaucratic machinery operating behind a simple concrete facade. Thinking about it this much, I understand why one would take their chances out here after all, keeping a paranoid eye on the rails. But never as paranoid as I am right now, I’m sure. I keep casting a glance backward trying to catch sight of that other presence coming our way, but after getting a faceful of floodlight I’m night-blind. I didn’t pick up on anyone else in infrared anyway, so they can’t be close. Or they’re hiding.
Chapter 1: Anywhere But Here “I told you we shouldn’t have killed him.”
A headshot of a canine character. Their ears are fully perked, and their eyeless face is impaled by a spike connecting to an eight-pointed halo
art by @milkqween.bsky.social
A green bird puppet says "Fetch me my gouging tools."
He sighs. “Do you understand what the stakes are, Merion?” He overuses my name, like trying to hold the focus of a child. Condescending ass. “Do you understand that the entire sum of all our histories will have been for nothing if we fail?” Jen stands. I already know he’s going to start pacing but it damn near sets me off when he does. Long, practiced strides cultivated in exercises prescribed for the sole purpose of milking grandiosity for all it’s worth. “I will tell you something the public does not know yet,” he continues. “I don’t really care what you do with it. But the Prelature wasn’t here just to raze our city to the ground.” He turns to me, halfway, his reflection in the window staring me down with twofold intensity. “But they very well could have, if not for the quick thinking and selfless sacrifice of 38 furnace workers. Under an onslaught like that, we could never have kept them out of that tower either. Oleander tells me they took something very important.” “They have another piece of Soma?” I say, more mouthing it than speaking it, but it carries. “They have another piece of Soma,” he confirms verbatim, taking his seat again. “At this rate they may well feel emboldened enough to try for the remaining two while we are licking our wounds. So of course I am going to use any means necessary to stop them.” “The creature in the tower, is that what you mean? Are there more of them?” I ask. He actually does chuckle now. “Merion, of course there are more.” He lifts his hand, a single finger extended, pointing upward at the curtain. “There’s one in the room with us now.”
“All forms are unique and beautiful,” Elekse replies. “Even the era of standard templates and assembly lines cannot change that.” Yhana ducks beneath the torso of a combat exoskeleton hanging upside down, and as my lesser height allows me to pass beneath unhindered, I get a good look at the needle-lined interior. It’s perfect for somebody out there, I’m sure, but it takes a good full-body shiver to dismiss my own discomfort. “But you’ve got no augmentations yourself?” I ask. Elekse laughs heartily. “I will embrace change when I have the good fortune to be called to it. I will source my leather from my own pelt, and with my heart will race at the thrill of reinvention, even if the pulse is only for show.” “We’ve got a friend who would love you,” Yhana chuckles, trying to force it over her clear apprehension. I can’t relate to it, instead I think I get exactly where Elekse is coming from.